Bud returned Roy's hard look. Roy stood inches from his face, close enough that he could smell the liquor on his breath. He wouldn't give Roy the satisfaction of having a reaction to his little speech.
"Anybody know who is missing here? Go ahead and chime in if you know the answer. It sounds like the Chief has lost his voice," Roy said.
"Let it go, Roy," Wyatt said.
"You shut up, Wyatt. Shut up. Let's count 'em out. Is Wyatt's son here? Anybody? Jimmy, you out there? My little nephew, Jimmy Ferguson."
Wyatt flinched at the mention of his son's name, scowling.
"I don't hear anything. Nope, not here then. How about my son? Seth? Seth Ferguson? Has anybody seen my son? Nope. He's gone, too," Roy yelled. Roy stared long and hard at Wyatt, and then turned his glare in his direction. Roy spit on the ground at Bud's feet and then walked inside the motorcycle club across the street.
It was true that he had killed Wyatt's son, Jimmy. But he had done it in the line of duty, and in defense of his own son. Jimmy had been coked out of his mind and shot Buddy Jr. during the drug raid. It was a terrible tragedy for which he would bear the weight for the rest of his life. Two fathers and two dead sons. He and Wyatt shared a terrible bond that none of these other people here could imagine. Roy was the lucky one. He should have been thankful that his son was merely sent upstate to the penitentiary. Seth’s sentence was complete now, but he had been in the state penitentiary when the EMP hit, due for release a few days after the event. Still, a missing son was better than a dead one.
Wyatt exhaled a long, slow sigh. "Bud. I'd appreciate it if you came along with Jack on a supply run tomorrow. His son, Danny, isn't getting any better. He needs some real food. Jack is doing all he can but he's at the end of his rope. He wants to head out to a section of the railroad tracks beyond the pass that we haven't scouted out yet. Out by the Green Branch River. It's a long haul," Wyatt said.
"Let Jack know I'll be at the farm first thing in the morning. I've been meaning to get out that way anyway and see some of the folks that live there. We could use some supplies in town, too. Folks are just about down to their last. If we don't have an early spring we're going to have an awful lot of graves to dig."
The town's small population and size had proved to be a double-edged sword. Just after the EMP there had been a steady stream of refugees coming out of the cities and into the larger rural towns. Aside from Wyatt's friend Jack, not a single city person ended up in this backwater town. There was nothing to attract them here. It was too hilly for large scale commercial farms, so there wasn't a surplus of food still on the stalk last fall. While the town had avoided the hordes of city people searching for a food, they also missed out on the manpower boom of the larger communities. More hands meant they were able to spread out farther and faster in their search for the ever dwindling supplies, stripping bare the bones of pre-EMP civilization.
The door of the motorcycle club burst open as Roy emerged with a whiskey bottle in his hand, making his way across the street towards the two men.
If only he had ten young and capable police officers instead of this gang of drunken bikers, things would be a lot different.
"Say, Wyatt. I meant to tell you. I'm not sure I ever mentioned it. Do you know where my boy was when his mama died?" Roy asked, taking a swig from the bottle of whiskey.
Wyatt just gave him a sad look and remained silent.
"He was in the infirmary having a shank pulled out of his guts in Mount Olive Maximum Security Prison. I just thought you'd want to know. Do you know what happened to him after he got out of Mount Olive? 'Cause I never saw him again, Wyatt. I haven't seen my son. He never came home to me. Nobody knows where he is," Roy said.
"I just came down here to ask for help for my friend Jack's son. The boy is starving to death. Jack's going to lose him if he doesn't find more food. I didn't mean to open old wounds or--"
"Don't talk to me about losing a son, Wyatt. Don't you dare talk to me about losing a son," Roy said. He pushed Wyatt's chest roughly, sending him back on his heels.
Wyatt snapped back, his voice raw and ragged. "At least your son is still alive out there somewhere, Roy. Mine's dead! He ain’t never coming back. All because of that dope you and your son were pushing," he yelled. Wyatt surged forward. He swung his right fist and it smashed into Roy's jaw sending him sprawling to the ground.
Roy sprung back to his feet swinging wildly at Wyatt, but was held back as two of the bikers from the motorcycle club restrained him. He struggled to get free of them and screamed with rage as they pulled him back inside of the club. "Easy, Pres, this is exactly what the Chief wants you to do. Don't let him throw you in the clink," a biker said.
Wyatt started after Roy, and he grabbed him by the arm, holding him back. "Easy, Wyatt. Cool off. Tell Jack I'll be there bright and early. We'll help him find some food for his boy."
Chapter 4
Jack released the tow line attached to the Chief's horse as they approached the mountain's summit. For the last couple of hours the horse had steadily towed them up the incline on their mountain bikes, their feet dragging along the ground to keep their balance. They were a long way from town, and the setup had saved Kenny and him from making an exhausting climb up the steep mountain slope.
The summit provided a view unlike any other. The height supplied a good vantage point from which he could see the several mountain ridges in the distance, which had hazy clouds that clung to their wooded slopes. On one of the slopes far away next to the horizon he noticed a wispy strand of smoke rising to join the clouds. Likely from a remote off, of the grid cabin. Even before the EMP there had been plenty of people who lived miles off the paved roads and away from power lines in this part of the country. He wondered how much their lives had changed, if at all, in the past year.
Jack recalled an old timer that had come down from the mountains looking for a tow truck just after they arrived in Wheeler. He complained that his phone stopped working and that his truck had broken down. He was running low on coffee and sugar and had to walk to town to make his yearly supply run. The old timer had been unsurprised to hear about the EMP.
It amazed him that people still lived a life so disconnected from the rest of the world. Yet it was a beautiful landscape in which to do it. He wished he could have visited here before the EMP. There was a lot of scenery to take in that he didn't have time to enjoy.
"Jack, I have to hand it to you, nobody else thought to come out on this section of railroad track. What made you think of it?" Chief Howell asked.
"It's a long shot, but I thought we should check it out. I don't know much about trains and what they carry, but all of the stores have been looted out months ago," Jack said.
"It's definitely worth looking in to. Trains around here carry just about everything. West Virginia ships out a lot of raw material. Timber on flat cars. Hopper cars carry coal, ores, and wood chips from lumber mills. Mostly raw commercial materials, but finished goods and food are shipped on the railroads, too. They'll be inside of shipping containers or box cars.
"The ones that interest us are the intermodal cars and box cars. Intermodal cars are just containers stacked right on top of flat railcars. It's the same type of container tractor trailers move on the highway. Well, the kind they used to move, anyway."
They rode for another hour, slowly descending the mountain. Chief Howell's horse tentatively stepped through the loose shale and rocks along the side of the railroad. Her flattened ears showed her displeasure at moving down the slope through the treacherous terrain.
Jack and Kenny were forced to move slowly as well. The railroad tracks hugged the cliff tightly through this section of the track and they rode their mountain bikes between the tracks on the railroad ties themselves. It made for a teeth-chattering bumpy ride, but it was still faster and less dangerous than walking down the tracks. The last thing he needed was for Kenny or him to step in a hole in between the rail ties and sprain an ankle.
As they descended
, the scenery changed along with the elevation. The ground became less rocky and mountain grasses covered sunlit glades among the tall white oaks and poplar trees. The riding grew easier for the horse and the mountain bikes, and they were able to make good time as they traveled into the center of the valley.
"Chief, look up ahead," Jack said.
The railroad split the narrow valley in two, and then curved slightly and disappeared into the woods, running between the managed forestry land on both sides of the track. The back end of a railcar was visible just before the track disappeared into the woods. More of the train appeared as they rounded the long bend.
"Let's not get our hopes up just yet. Stay alert and keep your eye out for people. I'm not sure exactly where the county line is, but we're close to the border with Long Branch county. Other people might have their sights set on this section of track. We've already had problems with other towns becoming territorial. Understandably so. If we had a resource this big you better believe I would have somebody keeping an eye on it," Chief Howell said.
The train lay half a mile down the track, and more and more cars appeared from around the bend as they grew closer. The cars in the rear were midnight black and had the name of the rail company stenciled in bright yellow on the sides. These hopper cars were filled to the brim with black coal, the dull black rock mounded up and visible from the ground. Other cars were nondescript grey rectangles painted with indecipherable markings on the sides.
"Here we go. These two box cars here might have something, and I counted sixteen intermodal containers further up the line. There's probably more we can't see from here. If there's anything of use to us, it will be in these cars. I'll go on ahead and check the containers. You see if there's anything in the box cars," Chief Howell said.
Jack hopped off his bike and leaned it against a tree a few meters away from the railroad track. The door of the first box car was open and he peered into the deep shadows at either end of the car, unable to see any cargo from the doorway.
"Come here, Kenny. I'll give you a boost," Jack said.
Jack interlaced his fingers and crouched down, then held his hands together to give Kenny a foothold.
Kenny planted his foot in Jack's hands and grabbed the side of the box car, pulling himself inside. His footsteps echoed inside the car as he walked from one end to the other.
"Nothing in here, it’s empty," Kenny said, hopping down out of the car.
Jack moved up to the next car and hoisted Kenny up again.
The second car was also empty. As he helped Kenny down from the boxcar, Chief Howell appeared from further up the line, waving his arms frantically to get their attention.
"Jack, come here. You have to take a look at this," Chief Howell said.
He followed Chief Howell to a container car and climbed up inside. Neat rows of shrink wrapped goods were stacked on pallets filling the shipping container from floor to ceiling. Just beyond the open door the sunlight stopped and the container was ominously dark.
An involuntary shiver went through him, as if he were standing at the edge of a cliff about to lose his balance. The shipping container was nearly identical to Wyatt's truck. The last time he ventured into a container like this he wound up losing two fingers.
"What's the matter Jack, you look like you're going to be sick. I thought you'd be happy as a clam," Chief Howell said.
"Nothing. It's nothing. Forget about it. Have you unwrapped any of the pallets?" Jack asked.
"No, I thought I'd let you do the honors."
He took his pocketknife from his pocket and sliced through the thick layers of shrink wrapping. He pulled the shrink wrap away and exposed the contents, a pallet of adult diapers. He opened another one and his heart nearly skipped a beat. The pallet was stacked head high with rows of canned goods, neatly stacked in half height cardboard boxes. It was more food than he'd seen in one place in months.
"Guys, look at this," he said.
"Is that chicken noodle soup? Oh man! Is that really chicken noodle soup?" Kenny asked.
"Well would you look at that," Chief Howell said.
"Kenny, get on your bike and go find Wyatt. Have him bring Britches and the wagon. We need to get this food back to town, and there is way more than we can carry here even with the Chief's horse," Jack said, tossing a few of soup cans to Kenny. "And here, take a few of these to your brother. The Chief and I will stay here and go through the rest of the rail cars and see what else we can find."
Kenny caught the cans, stuffed them in his backpack, and then quickly rode away on his mountain bike.
"I'll go up a few cars and start opening up the containers to see what’s inside. I can't believe this has been sitting here untouched the whole time," Chief Howell said.
After the Chief left, Jack set to work opening the remainder of the goods in the trailer. The pallets were a mix of cleaning products, electronics, and canned goods. He removed the shrink wrapping off of the canned goods so that they would be ready to move as soon as Wyatt arrived with the cart. This haul was more than even Britches could pull home. It would take several days’ worth of trips to bring it all back to town.
Jack worked for another hour and had just finished going through a second railcar when he heard a loud metal plink hit against the side of the container. A split second later a slamming noise echoed through the space.
Curious, he went to the double doors of the container and hopped down. As he stepped around the corner of the rail car he saw Sheriff Howell red faced and running down the tracks coming towards him. He was moving fast for a man of his size.
"Run, Jack," he said, sucking in a wheezing breath.
Jack squinted and could see men with rifles further down the line running towards him.
A deafening noise rang out as a bullet hit the train next to him. Jack flinched and crouched down.
"Run, you idiot," Chief Howell yelled as he mounted his skittish horse.
Jack drew his pistol, ready to return fire if he was cornered by one of the men. He picked up his bike and ran to catch up with the Chief, but then stopped in his tracks.
All of that food. He couldn't just give up all of the food they'd just found. Danny needed that food. Badly. The couple of cans Kenny took back with him weren't enough.
The men were still far down the railroad tracks but were approaching fast. He had just enough time to hop into the car and fill up his backpack. Without hesitation he pulled himself into the train car. He found the pallet of chicken soup and ripped the cinch of his backpack open. Jack stuffed it full of cans as quickly as he could. Bag full, he turned to exit the car.
A shadow appeared outside the door and a young man in his twenties dressed in blue jeans and a camouflage hunting jacket climbed into the car. The young man, or boy really, was probably in his late teens or early twenties. He nervously looked around, holding his shotgun pointed at the floor as he peered into the darkness.
Jack's heart drummed loudly in his chest. The young man barred his exit. He had to get out of here before the rest of the men arrived or before the young man's eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness. Slinging the heavy backpack over his shoulder he brought his pistol up in a steady two handed grip.
"Don't move. Put your gun down on the floor. I'm going to take what I've got and go. My son is dying and he needs this food. I only took a few cans. Just enough to feed him," Jack said.
The young man flinched, frozen in place as he caught sight of Jack's gun leveled at him.
"Listen to me. Just put the gun down and I'm going to leave. You'll never see me again," Jack said.
"You have to put back the cans that you took," the young man said, his voice shaky. "I'm supposed to shoot looters."
"I don't have time for this. I'm leaving now. Look around you at all of this food. You're not going to miss a few cans. Keep that shotgun pointed at the ground and just I'll walk right by you. You can tell your friends I snuck past you," Jack said.
The young man's lower lip quivered an
d his hands visibly shook as the shouting voices of his friends drew closer.
"Don't do it! We can still both walk out of here alive," Jack said, in a pleading voice.
"Put it all back. I have to stop you," the young man said.
A dark stain appeared on the front the young man's blue jeans and spread down the front of his pant leg. His eyes wide with fear he shucked the chamber of the shotgun and raised the barrel up.
"No!" Jack screamed. A split second later instinct took over and he squeezed the trigger of his pistol three times in rapid succession.
The shotgun tumbled from the young man's hands as he fell to the floor, a river of blood erupting from his chest.
"Oh, God, no," Jack cried out. With no time to waste before his friends arrived, Jack stepped over his body and jumped out of the rail car. He swiveled his head in all directions. The men running down the railway were almost to him.
Jack sprinted for his bike, half tripping over his own feet as he righted the bike. His heart sank as he saw how close his pursuers were. He was never going to make it out of here alive. They were too close.
One of the pursuing men sank to one knee and shouldered his rifle. The glass of his rifle scope glinted in the sunlight as he took aim. Suddenly, the man's head exploded in a spray of blood.
His legs were like rubber underneath his body, and his mind screaming at them to move. He was still alive, and he needed to run. Run! Jack realized it wasn't the voice in his head, but that of someone else.
"Run, Jack! Get out of there! I'll keep 'em pinned down," Chief Howell said, his voice carrying from somewhere inside the tree line.
Jack sprinted, pushing the bike along until he hit a patch of smooth ground and then jumped into the seat and pedaled hard. The handlebars seemed to have a mind of their own in his shaky hands as he used all of his remaining strength to fuel his escape.
A bullet ripped through his shirt sleeve and left a line of burning heat on his right arm. A small rivulet of blood dripped from the wound. It wasn't deep, though, he'd been lucky.
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 2): Desperate Measures Page 3
