He was thankful when a sound woke him from the nightmare. Sweat gave his skin an unnatural sheen, and his breathing came in heavy gulps of air. A dream, that was all. Just a dream.
The sound of crickets chirped nearby and must have startled him awake. The sun had finally set, and the night air was warm and sticky with humidity. He itched like mad, noting the multitude of mosquito bites dotting his exposed skin. He scratched gently, unaware of the fact that he was doing so.
It was a quiet night, and as he looked around, he realized why: While Linus slept, the girls had left him.
There was a note scrawled on a piece of loose leaf paper, pinned down by a rock.
“Don’t follow us. – T.”
He was alone.
…
Talia looked back over her shoulder in the direction where they’d left Linus. It wasn’t that she wished the man ill. He was a creep, and he had made some mistakes that she believed had led to her husband’s death, but John had faith enough in the man to ask him to escort them to the farm.
She just couldn’t stand to be around him. Not now.
He knew the direction they were headed. He’d be fine. This was his opportunity to back out.
“What did you see in that man, John?” she asked, eyes skyward. “What was it about him that made you believe he could change?”
She thought back to the day of the gas leak, when Linus had saved the pygmy goats. He was proud of himself for that, like a small child waiting to be praised for doing the right thing. He was just a boy who’d never grown up. Someone who placed his own wants before the needs of others. Still, there was hope there, she thought.
She looked down at her daughter, who walked now, silently, beside her. Juliana’s eyes met Talia’s, and the little girl smiled. In spite of everything she’d been through over the last few days, she still had the strength to smile. Talia envied her.
“Momma?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Where’s Mr. Linus?”
Talia stopped, and something clicked inside of her. She would mourn her husband when they were safe. Until then, she would utilize every resource possible to get her babies to the farm in good health. Even if one of those resources was a selfish jerk who had gotten her daughter kidnapped and her husband killed.
Talia took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Mommy, why are we turning around?”
“We need to wake up Linus, little one. Thank you for reminding me. He’ll worry if he wakes and finds us gone.”
Juliana smiled proudly, and then she climbed back into the wagon to ride with her little brother for a while.
…
They caught up with him a few minutes later. He was sitting on the gravel bike trail, hugging his legs with his face buried deep in his knees. He heard the gravel crunch under the wheels of the wagon and looked up, scrubbing his face.
“You forget something?” he asked.
“Sorry, Linus,” Talia started. “We forgot to wake you. Juliana reminded me. I’m so forgetful. It won’t happen again.”
The promise was there, spoken in code. Come with us. I’m sorry. I won’t leave you again.
It took Linus a moment to register the news. He looked back and forth from Talia to the beaming face of Juliana.
“Of course, I was just waking up. I thought maybe you had gone to use the restroom or shower. Thought I’d give you some privacy.”
“That’s nice of you, Linus. Are you ready to go?”
He nodded.
Talia walked over and extended a hand, helping Linus to his feet.
“Thanks,” he said.
“We’re in this together,” Talia replied.
Linus nodded. Together it was, then.
Linus shouldered his pack awkwardly.
“Here, let me help,” Talia said, stepping behind him. She adjusted some of the straps, and the backpack seemed to feel lighter somehow.
“It was adjusted to fit my husband. The weight should balance more evenly now across your shoulders, back, and hips. You won’t tire as quickly this way.”
“Thank you, Talia. I’m…I’m sorry.”
She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“Please don’t. Not yet. Forgiveness will come, but it’s not in me just yet.”
Linus nodded sadly and walked on in silence.
The branches of maple, oak, and the occasional birch tree hung over the trail, shading out long stretches of the path almost entirely.
The mosquitos were ever-present, seeking out any exposed skin to bite and drink. The group walked in silence, the only sounds being the crunching of feet and wagon wheel on gravel, and the occasional smack of a hand smashing one of the dastardly bugs, leaving behind little smears of scarlet where they’d previously been.
A gust of wind rocked the trees above, and a shower of little seedlings came whirling down like tiny helicopters.
Linus grinned, suddenly remembering.
“I had the weirdest dream last night. There were helicopters. We were rescued.”
Talia nodded glumly. “There were helicopters, Linus. They were pretty far south of us, but I could hear them. They flew out east somewhere.”
Linus was speechless.. Maybe someone was smiling down on him today. Maybe they’d find the helicopters, and rescue, east near Jackson Farm.
He sighed, knowing it was highly improbable.
And then he remembered the sunscreen portion of his nap.
He looked at Talia, knowing it would never happen. Hey, he thought with a shrug, a guy can dream.
Chapter 8 – Plans
Herbie drank another glass of water. If he kept this up, he’d have to excuse himself before too long. It’d been awhile since he’d spoken in front of a group of people. Nerves didn’t bother him, but his throat wasn’t cooperating, and it kept going dry at inopportune moments. Still, he felt the meeting was going well.
“As I was saying,” he said, setting the empty glass down on a table, “it’s time we talk about the helicopters and what they may mean.”
Mrs. Jackson clucked her tongue, refilled the glass, and set it on a coaster before settling back into her rocking chair. The gesture wasn’t lost on the inhabitants of the room, who laughed enthusiastically at the exchange.
Herbie waited until everyone was settled once again before speaking.
“The question we’re all asking, myself included, is, ‘Are they friendly?’ I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. What I do know,” he continued, “is that they weren’t marked with any sort of identifiers. Meaning, I have no idea who they belong to.”
That drew a buzz of concern from around the room.
“Now, I can tell you that the models aren’t something I’m familiar with. That doesn’t mean a whole lot, as I’ve been out of that particular game for a while now. My guess, though, is these are next-gen tech from our government built to withstand the effects of an EMP, or they’re someone else’s toys.”
“No disrespect, Herbie,” Red said, “but that doesn’t exactly narrow things down for us at all.”
Herbie gave a soft chuckle.
“No offense taken. You’re right. It’s not a lot of info. We do have a few things to go on, though, if we stop and think.”
A tickle in his throat caused Herbie to stop and cough, so he paused and took another drink before continuing.
“I have a few guesses as to who those helicopters might belong to. More importantly in the short-term, however, is where they’re headed, and why. To that, I think I know the answer. Depending on who they are, they’re either flying to Scott Air Force Base over in Illinois or that nuclear power plant in the next county over from us. My guess,” he said, “is the latter.”
“Why is that?” M
rs. Grimes wondered aloud.
“Well, Carla, the hippies tried to warn us, but those plants are dangerous. We learned a lot after Three Mile, Chernobyl, and, most recently, Fukoshima. Those reactors have to be cooled by a steady supply of water, or things get bad. Lots of potential for radiation to leak into local waterways, or the air if there’s an explosion. Now I’ve heard these plants are required to have a backup supply of fuel for their generators that run the water pumps. My guess is that whoever was responsible for our current situation doesn’t want the world to end in a huge radioactive wasteland, so they’ve sent in teams to fix the problem.”
“So what do we do?” Matt asked.
“I’m proposing we don’t do a darn thing. What good would any of us do heading over there, risking our necks? The engineers and whoever was in those helicopters probably have a better plan than I could cook up. So we wait and see what they do, and while we’re waiting, we work on our systems here. First thing is getting a few proper outhouses dug. I’ll show you all where to dig them. It’s going to be hard work.”
The faces around him looked determined, mouths set, teeth clenched slightly. Herbie nodded, satisfied. They were taking this threat seriously.
“Next, we set up a system so we can pressurize the well water we pump. This will allow us to use the indoor plumbing. Showers, sinks, all that good stuff. You guys need a shower. Walking into this room was like stepping into the boy’s locker room after a football game.” He held his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Whew!”
The room erupted into nervous laughter, and Herbie caught more than one person take a not-so-subtle sniff of their own armpits.
This gave him a case of the giggles.
“Mrs. Jackson and I are going to be assigning work details. First things first, though; you’ve got an hour to move your rooms to the locations Mrs. Jackson has specified. After that, boys have no reason to be upstairs. Understood?”
A chorus of “yes, sirs” greeted him in response.
“Good, then. Dismissed.”
The younger folks scrambled, presumably in a hurry to move their rooms.
The older folks, Carla, Herbie, Mrs. Jackson, and Thom, sat talking a while longer, putting together the work detail and getting to know one another just a bit better over a bottle of apple cider Mrs. Jackson had pressed earlier that day.
Chapter 9 – Arrival
George marched down to the parking lot where the helicopters waited. By now, news had spread throughout the plant that they had visitors, so George was ready to see nearly everyone in the plant waiting outside to hail their rescuers.
He wasn’t quite prepared for what he actually saw.
A handful of his security forces faced off against a group of heavily-armed men dressed in black. They wore black neoprene facemasks, despite the heat of the day, and had their weapons raised, pointed directly at the plant security forces.
“Hey now, that’s not necessary!” George said.
At least, that’s what he started to say. What actually came out was more of a, “Hey n—” before two of the rifles were trained on his chest, little red dots dancing to and fro over his heart. He stopped talking pretty quickly after that.
His knees grew suddenly weak, threatening to send him to the ground involuntarily. Looking around, he noticed that some of the other men were already on the ground.
He regained his composure after a few deep breaths but sank to his knees like the others. He needed to think.
A central figure emerged from the helicopter, scanning the crowd of workers, all of them but the security forces now kneeling. He was uncommonly tall, and built like a swimmer; narrow hips and broad, powerful arms and shoulders.
George placed him at about 6’6” and 250 pounds.
He wore his silver hair shaved in the military style, maybe a fraction of an inch longer than regulation.
“Gentlemen,” he said, voice calm and cold, “lower your weapons. We’re not here to hurt anyone. On the contrary, we’d like to help stabilize the situation here.”
George thought he sounded strange, his words over-enunciated like the Shakespearean actors Martha had made him watch last summer in the park.
The man walked up to Bill.
“How much fuel do you have left in the diesel generators?”
George shook his head ever so slightly, willing Bill to look over at him, but he didn’t.
“We’re almost out,” Bill said.
George glared at him, not wanting to give any information before they knew more about who these men were and why they were really here.
“Who are you?” George asked, meeting the eyes of the group’s leader.
“Let’s put the guns down first so that we can all talk like gentlemen.”
“You first,” Anthony, one of the security guards, said.
George felt for the guards. They received at least 270 hours of active training before posting, and another 90 or so a year to requalify with their weapons, but looking at the two groups, it was easy to tell how this battle would go if it came down to that.
It was AR-15s vs. M4s. Tear gas vs. fragmentation grenades. Not to mention the freaking helicopters, one of which still circled in a wide loop overhead, a sniper perched in the doorway, a red laser dancing on Anthony’s head, occasionally flashing in his eyes.
They were outgunned, out-trained, and suffering from low morale. Over half of the guards who were on duty at the time the lights went out walked off of their posts within a day.
These were kids. Most of them were being paid less than the janitors who worked here.
George sighed.
“Anthony, put down the guns.”
Anthony paused for a moment, and then nodded, a look of relief washing over his face.
“You sure, boss?”
George wasn’t really his boss, but he nodded anyway.
Silver Hair grinned, using a match to light a cigarillo.
“Son, you’d better listen to your boss quickly. My men are professionals, but even professionals lose their patience every now and then.”
The others looked to Anthony for leadership. He nodded and set his rifle down.
“Side arm.”
Anthony grimaced as he removed his gun from the holster, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. Once it had been set down, he kicked it over to the man with the silver hair.
The other four of his guards complied as well, and weapons skittered over concrete a few breaths later.
Silver Hair smiled.
“Good. Now we can be friendly. So you’re the boss here?” He gestured to George.
George nodded.
“I see. And your name is?”
“George.”
George looked around.
Five security guards and about ten other workers looked at him. He shook his head mirthfully.
Silver Hair looked at George curiously, the patience draining from his face like sand through an hourglass.
“Only two years out from retirement. Should have never listened to my financial planner.”
“Good. Gentlemen, please stay put. George and I are going inside to talk.”
One of the men in black nodded.
George and the silver-haired man walked inside to the break room.
“Coke?”
“Sorry, I’m a Pepsi man, myself.”
“Should have landed about 30 minutes east of here. New Haven’s where they bottle the stuff.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do you mind if I grab one for myself?”
Silver Hair shook his head. “Go right ahead.”
George walked over to the soda machine and reached inside, grabbing a Coke. His fingers wrapped around it, and he wondered how
hard, and where, he’d need to strike the man opposite him in order to disable him.
Now, now, George, he thought to himself, you don’t even know what they’re here for. At least hear the man out before you try and knock the middle out from between his ears.
He set the Coke down on the table and sat down.
A moment later, several of his men burst through the door, carrying huge boxes.
“What’s all this?”
“MREs! It’s food! Real food!” Bill cheered.
George lit up. Real food. He chuckled at the fact that he was considering an MRE real food, but it was a heck of a lot closer to real food than a package of frosted cakes.
“We have a shipment of fuel inbound, about an hour out. I apologize, we’d planned to arrive yesterday but got delayed.”
George nodded, not quite letting his guard down.
“We’ll refuel the generators and buy some time while we get the coal plant in Columbia up and running. There’s a small one on the campus there. We’ve got a crew working to restore the rail lines from Kansas City. Intel reports there’s quite a lot of coal sitting in train cars north of the river there. Enough to get this place running safely on external power for a while until we can build something more long-term.”
Bill and the others left, presumably to retrieve more food from the helicopters. George suddenly felt very alone.
“So, I guess the question is, who are you?”
Silver Hair smiled.
“Who I am is unimportant. You can call me Colonel if it helps to put a name to my face.”
George nodded. “Well, Colonel, I suppose my next question is, who are you with?”
The colonel laughed, blowing a great cloud of smoke George’s direction. “I’m sorry, but I thought it was obvious.”
George just looked at the man, obviously confused.
“We’re with the government.”
George nodded. “So you’re with the government and you’re here to help? My apologies if I don’t just jump for joy. We’re pretty familiar with that line around these parts. I wouldn’t try it with the farmers west of here, they might shoot before you can explain much further.”
Breakdown: Episode 6 Page 4
