The Days After (The Tenth Year)

by J. Richardson

  Inside the headquarters, activity created a low buzz. Wayne and Clayton, with their group, made the defensive count about thirty. They relayed supplies down to the underground bunker, checked the weapons and ammunition. In the past, the tax army arrived and set up camp on the plaza. Then they systematically moved through the city, searched for any plunder and eventually arrived at the warehouse. They had always stripped the shelves bare in the supply storage and taken any weapons available.

  The three men located the militia leader and he briefed them on what they knew so far. “The marauders were spotted from the lookout. They are moving in from the north as we suspected, it's just sooner than we hoped. Clay and Angel, with Brent and Allie are at the hospital. They will keep an eye out and get info back to us as they can. We have the walkie talkies, they usually work pretty well from the Clinic, but aren't always reliable from the lookout.”

  Jacob gathered up some boxes of ammunition, he spotted Doc. “Hey, Doc. Chris, Dana and a couple of the militia have already gone to the clinic. I think I'm going over with you. I know that the clinic is not so obvious, on purpose. Still, it's not far from the square. If the raiders notice it and decide something is there, you may need me to help defend it.”

  Doc said, “That's a good idea, Jacob. With the four at the hospital lookout and us at the clinic, it would be a strategic advantage.

  The leader continued, “You all know the plan that we've discussed. As soon as we feel the raiders have moved onto the square to make camp, a defensive ambush will be set up at the location between here and the Clinic. They won't send the whole army to the warehouse, but there will be a large number sent to collect their taxes. If that Jackass of a leader is still alive, he'll definitely be along, he loves the plundering and wants to know what is acquired.”

  Clayton joined them, he looked to his father, Dan, “If we can take them by surprise and hit them hard, before they ever reach the warehouse, we can diminish their number. Then we can move on to the square and hope to eliminate the rest of the threat.”

  Dan spoke, “I assume that we are in agreement, taking prisoners will not be our goal. We need to remove this re-occurring danger. If we take down that leader, it would probably send the remaining marauders into panic and mutiny.”

  They all spoke their agreement and Doc said, “Jacob and I need to get to the Clinic. Time must be running short.”

  The truck eased away from the warehouse and towards the Clinic. Dan pulled around to the back door of the building. Jacob jumped out, tapped on the door and identified himself. The heavy door swung back, the young doctor with Dana at his side, let him and Doc in. Dan leaned across the seat and looked to his daughter, who stood with a walkie-talkie in her hand. “Dana, you okay, honey?”

  She nodded, said with urgency, “Dad, Clay just sent a message. The army is moving into town, towards the plaza.”

  “Get inside and hunker down,” said Dan, “I'll get back to the headquarters with the information.” He sat back up and turned the wheel.

  “Dad!” shouted Dana above the rumble of the truck. He looked her way, “Stay safe...” the Clinic door slammed and locked, the truck sped away.

  A cloud of dust did not announce the movement of the marauding tax army, the snow and ice covered ground was frozen hard. The buildings that formed a four sided square around the plaza obscured the view of the old downtown. Above the town on the hospital roof, Brent knew that the army moved into the park, because he found a break in the trees just north of the square. He closed one eye, peered through the viewer and tried to get an approximate idea of how many soldiers crossed his vision.

  About six men on horseback led the procession. Directly behind them, a man rode a tall horse that moved with a trot. He wore faded army fatigues, as did many of the people in the group. That was about the only thing that even hinted they were an army. The man wore what appeared to be a full length mink coat, sleeves on the short side and some type of helmet with a pointed spike on top. A rifle hung on his shoulder and another stuck out of a scabbard on the horse, heavy saddlebags on both flanks. The furry coat flapped open and exposed a holster tied to his thigh with a big pistol in it. He was wearing a bullet proof vest and dark goggles covered a good part of his face. Behind the horsemen, a weary looking rabble trudged through the snow; included three wagons, one old jeep and more horses and mules.

  The wild and scraggly looking hoard fascinated Brent, made it hard to concentrate on count. He called out numbers to the small girl beside him, “How many, Allie?”

  “About sixty, so far,” she answered.

  He turned back to the viewer, a wagon moved through the opening, about five females huddled in it. “Damn,” he said as he looked closer. Difficult to determine ages, but two guards walked beside the wagon, the women were tied together and to the wagon. “They have prisoners...women.”

  Clay came over to the scope. He and Angel walked the perimeter of the roof, watched for any other signs of the attackers. He bent and looked through the viewer, only caught a glimpse of the back of the wagon. “The low life devils,” he said. “I think I better try to move to the ambush location and let the militia know that there are prisoners. They need to be aware of that.”

  Angel said, “Go then...I don't think there is a threat here. We will continue the lookout.”

  Clay put his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. “I won't be long,” he said. They met in this crazy and difficult new world and the hardships only made them closer. Clay soon hurried down the five flights of stairs.

  ***

  The tax collector army filed into the downtown, spread out on the plaza. Arrogant and full of confidence, the rabble hustled to set up their camp. Just their arrival had always been enough to send any pitiful surviving inhabitants skulking away. The “general”, as he insisted all of the soldiers call him, swung down from the his mount. He tied the horse to a tree, rubbed his gloved hands together and chuckled to himself. The coat brushed the top of his boots as he stalked around among his people settling in. He passed by the wagon where the five women shivered with the cold. He commented that the women didn't smell so good. “Hell, I think you ladies need a good bath,” he laughed out loud. Their eyes widened with fear, they knew he wouldn't hesitate to douse them with buckets of freezing water. He shouted to a man that walked by, “Hey...you! Get me a fire going. Move man! Move.”

  The man murmured yes sir, hustled away to get a fire built. The general gloated, a long hard hundred miles from the town up north, but they made it. They arrived in this little town he recalled as usually pretty good and easy pickings. He made a mistake and stayed way too long at the last place. They had picked it near clean and he realized they could not wait for warmer weather to be on the move. No matter, they were here now. If that warehouse was as stocked as it usually was, they would be good here until it got warmer. Yeah, he would get all cozied in here, get those women cleaned up, get his people soothed with some food.

  The fire started to blaze up, one of his men brought an old lawn chair from a wagon. The general stretched his legs out in front of the fire. I'll let the word spread that we are in town. Give these chicken sh—ts a chance to crawl into their holes. Later, I'll take a raiding party and we will go visit that warehouse.

  ***

  A hard knock rapped on the back door of the clinic, “It's Clay.” He slid in the door. The Clinic was fairly secure. There was only the front door, with it's small window covered and the back door, a few narrow high windows down the sides of the long building. Careful that no lights were visible, it basically looked like it was deserted. He told them about the prisoners. “If we are able to rescue them, there's no telling what condition they are in. I am sure they will need some care.” None of them spoke what they knew, that this battle would likely bring them plenty of patients.

  He slipped back out and moved towards the location of the ambush, stayed behind buildings and out of sight. When he drew near the building on his side of the street where the
militia waited, he gave three whistles, paused and gave three more. This was the acknowledged danger signal among the city inhabitants. Wayne appeared, his rifle at hand and they both entered the building. About half of the armed militia awaited the raiders on this site, across the street in an old car wash the remaining members stayed low.

  Clay gave the report of the prisoners and that the marauders would be setting up camp on the plaza by now. Wayne said, “Thanks. That means it won't be very long before they move towards the warehouse.”

  “I think you're right. From what we observed, they looked worn out and my guess would be hungry. The man that I've heard called “the general” was still in charge. I don't imagine they will waste much time getting to the plundering,” said Clay. “Brent guessed the count of about sixty. They only have one vehicle, an old jeep, there's wagons and horses. “I'll return to the lookout. If we have any more intel, we'll get word to you.”

  Clay darted behind cover, hurried back to the hospital, up the stairs and to the roof. Though the scope could capture very little of the encampment on the plaza, they could see the smoke from at least four fires as it spiraled into the wintry sky. An occasional figure walked across their view. They were able to see the street where it exited the square, so they watched carefully for the army to move towards the warehouse. It was Angel's turn at the viewer and the others paced the perimeter, watched for any movement around the city. Clay, with a small pair of binoculars could spot the roof of the Clinic and of the building where the ambush was set up. They waited.

  At the Clinic, they made sure they were prepared to treat injuries. The stove burned with pots of water, some with medical tools, simmered on the top. Chris and Doc worked to get the implements ready. Jacob dragged a step ladder under one of the high windows and monitored the street from the square. Down the hall, Dana sat with her legs dangling from a treatment table in a small room. She asked the young doctor, “Have you treated many gunshot wounds?”

  “Not many,” he said. “You know, illness was the thing that decimated the town, the most. We have never had a true battle here.”

  She hopped to the tiled floor, being a bit cautious with her leg, although it hurt her very little these days. On the wall an old framed photograph hung, a view of the town before the big event. Cars were parked all around the town square and people filled the sidewalks and scattered across the park plaza. She studied the picture, being in her early twenties now, she had some memories of the bustling town. The young man walked over and looked at the picture with her.

  She looked up to him, “I kind of miss that life...what do you think really happened?”

  He studied the photo a moment more and moved over to one of the cabinets to check the supplies. About ten years her senior, his mind stored plenty of memories of the before world. “I don't know, Dana. For a long time, years, we all were desperate to know what happened. It became obvious that we could rule out some things...no super volcanoes erupted, no nuclear bombs, no global warming or return of the ice age...just by process of elimination, it had to be a type of EMP event. With the cars dead and the electrical grid down, worldwide it appeared, it had to be an Electro Magnetic Pulse.”

  Dana said, “I guess we'll probably never know exactly what or why or if there was a who.”

  “You're right,” he said. “Most of us agree that it doesn't matter any more. It only matters what we do now and how we move forward.” She moved over to help him with the supplies, he placed his hand on top of hers, “I miss lots of things about that life, but I really believe that if we work together, a new world and a good life will grow.” Her eyes met his serious gaze and the tick of the battery clock on the wall was the only sound in the room.

  Down the street, Wayne leaned against the front wall of the old building, near a window. In the silence, a vision of his wife's face floated across his mind and he thought of Brent and Chris. He inhaled deeply and kept both hands on his rifle.

  ***

  Two hours later, Clay sent word over the walkie-talkie to the Clinic. The militia man that helped to secure the medical facility slipped out to go warn the rest of the militia. The general and about twenty five of his men left the square and moved towards the warehouse. The pointy headed, fur clad army leader ensconced in the old jeep, headed the parade, with another man as his driver. Two horse drawn wagons to load their looted goods in, rolled along and the rest of the armed men moved on foot. They trooped along, checked out all around them, not so much in fear of resistance, but in search of places to pillage.

  As the entourage strung out by the ambush site, the militia leader gave three sharp whistles and shots peppered the air from both sides of the street. In just seconds, nearly half the walkers lay dead or injured on the ground. Others dove into the wagons, searched for a target to return fire on. About half a dozen men ran back towards the old town square. The jeep driver slumped over the wheel, it raced into the curb and rolled to it's side. The general crawled out and fired from behind the jeep towards the building windows. Wayne watched the large figure as he moved around behind the buildings, in an effort to escape.

  One of the horses bolted, a wagon with three men wildly bounced down the street. It broke loose and tumbled over, pinned the men underneath, a large wheel still spun. A man in the remaining wagon grabbed the reins, turned his horse back towards the square. As the wagon fled, two more men were shot, one toppled out of the wagon bed. The driver and a couple of men made a dash for the plaza, whipping the horse into a run. The militia began to pour out of both sides of the street. They would enter the rear of the deserted buildings on the square and attack the remaining army from the storefronts.

  Wayne said to Clayton, “Come with me, the general is making his escape.” They moved out the back door of the ambush building in pursuit of the tax army's head man. There was a glimpse of the furry coat tail as it disappeared behind a structure and they followed, waiting for a good shot at the man. He moved in the direction of the old hospital and they dogged his steps, lost sight of him a time or two and then spotted him again. At a distance they saw him enter the front entrance of the sprawling medical building.

  With extreme caution, the two men entered the hospital lobby. They stood still for a moment, listened for the echo of boots. A loud banging noise erupted, they moved towards the sound. Every room down the long hallway checked, they saw at the end, a door stood ajar. A silver cross was mounted above the archway, the door kicked open. Wayne and Clayton entered a chapel. Down rows of wooden pews, at the back of the chapel, another door stood open. As they flanked it, they heard the sound of booted footfalls, close now, the steps moved down the narrow and darkened hallway of the nunnery.

  Wayne handed Clayton a small flashlight and said in a whisper, “You cover and shine the light ahead of us.” They flattened against opposite sides of the hall and inched slowly forward. Only four doors opened off of the hall, very small and sparse rooms were behind them. Wayne held up a hand, a scuffling sound and a flickering yellow light spilled from an opened door a few feet ahead.

  Clayton motioned to the older man, on three. Both men stepped into the doorway, their guns drawn. Just a few feet away, the “general” stood; one gloved hand over the mouth of a woman much shorter than himself, the pistol from his thigh holster poked into her breast. He grinned with a mouth that had straight white teeth, hair nearly the color of the mink coat streamed from beneath the spiked helmet. The goggles that he still wore gave him the appearance of giant furry, single horned bug. Hard to determine but Clayton would guess that he wasn't much older than himself.

  The woman's coffee colored eyes were opened wide above the smothering hand and she stood perfectly still. Her dark smooth hair streamed down below her shoulders, pulled back from her face with a wide white band. She wore a white blouse with a black cardigan sweater, jeans and black boots. A silver cross hung from a long chain around her neck, reflected the light of the candle that burned on a small table.

  “Let the woman go,” said Way
ne. “Your army is gone, you are on your own.”

  The man slid his hand down to the woman's waist, pulled her in close to his side and laughed out loud. “I am impressed, I must say. The people of this town finally got some balls.” His speech was educated and precise, “The army is of no consequence. They are dispensable, I can build a new army, plenty of hungry men out there.”

  Their guns remained leveled at the man. He let his hand roam around the woman's body, she remained stoically silent. He said, “Tell you what we're going to do...” he looked down at the woman, “Well, it's what we are going to do, if you two give a crap about this lady. If not, we'll just have a good old fashioned shoot out right here.”

  Wayne looked over the raised rifle, “And you propose what...”

  “You will leave your weapons, all of them right here. The four of us will go back through the building to the entrance. You give the woman and I, ten minutes head start. If you don't follow before that time, you will find her waiting, north of town. If you follow sooner, if I see any sign of you, I will shoot her on the spot.”

  “Why would we trust you to let her go?” said Clayton.

  The man ignored the question, “You have a watch?” He pulled down the cuff of a glove and looked at a sparkling expensive watch on his thick wrist. A Rolex and mink, the man had champagne taste.

  Wayne nodded towards his own watch. The goggled face turned towards Clayton, “I don't need a woman to tow around, while I'm getting regrouped.” He looked down on the dark shiny head, “Not my taste, anyway.” He fondled a strand of her hair, “Although, she is probably pure and untouched.” His vulgar laugh echoed in the small room.