Switched On

by Franklin Horton

  When they reached the higher mountain communities, Jim was pleasantly surprised to see people generally ignored them, making him wonder if the residents were accustomed to folks on horseback moving around. It was a good sign. Maybe these people were weathering the hard times with the same resiliency Jim and his neighbors had demonstrated.

  Seeing people made Jim feel very exposed on the open road. He would not have been surprised at any moment to hear the crack of a rifle firing a warning shot, or worse, in their direction. The roads changed from asphalt to gravel as they went higher on the shoulder of the mountain and soon they reached their destination. It sat off the road in dense woods but the oaks, maples, and poplars were bare this time of year. Had it been summer and the trees fully leafed out, they may have ridden right by it.

  A flat gravel pad had been bulldozed into the side of the mountain and hundreds of tons of gravel scattered to create the site. A wide gravel road wound its way up to the site. The road was still snow-covered at this elevation and overlapping tire tracks laced their way up the road. This had to be the place.

  Jim spotted vehicles but heard nothing. He didn't know the work style of these linemen. Maybe they all had their heads down working hard and didn't have time for chatter. While he was trying to spot the crew, Hugh paused his horse and whipped up his rifle. The sudden motion caused Jim to grab his own.

  "What is it? You see something?" Jim asked.

  Everyone else immediately went on guard, shifting their horses to make sure all directions were covered. When Hugh whipped his rifle in a different direction, still without saying a word, Jim finally raised his own and began scanning the substation with his optic. Even with the low power optic he was able to spot what had caught Hugh’s attention.

  “Oh shit,” Jim groaned. “Oh shit.”

  Jim slid off his horse and started tying it off to a bush.

  "I'll take him," Randi said, extending a hand for Jim’s reins.

  Gary and Hugh were right behind him, handing over the reins to Randi and hurrying to catch Jim. He was on high alert but moving quickly toward the trucks. They had to run to catch up.

  “What did you see?” Gary puffed. He was running a red dot with no magnification on his rifle and hadn’t been able to pick up what all the fuss was about.

  "Bodies," Hugh muttered.

  They moved steadily to the rear-most freezer truck, the first cover available to them. Several of the freezer compartment doors were open and various electrical tools hung out of them. Hugh signaled he would take the right side of the vehicle while Jim and Gary should move up the left side.

  Once past the front of the vehicle, they used the same approach to move around the next. Beyond that truck it became a struggle to remain vigilant while also taking in the macabre scene they found before them. The bizarre sight that originally got Hugh’s attention from the road and was unavoidable, as well as incomprehensible, at this distance. The bodies of the crew hung from the wooden utility poles erected around the jobsite. Somehow, whoever had done this vile act strapped each man to the pole by wrapping his own lineman’s belt around his neck.

  Jim looked from man to man but did not see anyone that he recognized, particularly Kyle. He had to have been here when this happened. Perhaps he lay dead somewhere else on the site. Worse yet, perhaps they took him with them.

  "Jesus, they’re all missing their hands," Gary said.

  While nobody had noticed that detail until Gary pointed it out, it was true. Each man’s hands had been cut off at the wrist.

  "Why the fuck would somebody do that?" Jim asked.

  "It's an ancient message," Hugh said. "In its simplest form it means hands off. It means someone tried to steal or take something that wasn't theirs."

  “None of these men are Kyle,” Jim said. “We need to find him.”

  "The hands," Gary said, pointing ahead of them. On the ground was a canvas lineman's bucket with a rope handle, the type the men used for raising tools up and down on a rope. It was heaped high with the severed hands of the dead linemen.

  Jim shook his head. "Those fuckers."

  Hugh brushed close to the fender of one of the trucks and snagged the sleeve of his coat on a jagged curl of metal. That was when he noticed the bullet holes riddling the engine compartment of the vehicle. “They shot up the trucks.”

  The group hurriedly examined each of the freezer trucks and found that a burst of full auto fire from a large caliber weapon had destroyed each engine. Even if they were repairable, it wasn’t likely they would be able to find the parts to do it. Jim shook his head in disgust.

  When they rounded the front of the last truck, Hugh found a man zip-tied in a seated position with his back against the front bumper. His clothes were blood-soaked and his face battered. "I've got another body."

  Jim rushed over. “It’s Kyle!” He propped his gun up against the truck and checked his friend’s neck for a pulse.

  “He’s alive,” Jim said.

  Kyle's wrists were zip-tied to the bumper as if he had been crucified. Another, tightly strapped around his neck, forced him to keep his head back.

  "They made him watch," Hugh said. "I’ve seen that before. They strapped him there and made him watch."

  Kyle had been severely beaten and the zip tie around his neck had restricted his breathing. Had he completely lost consciousness, he’d likely be dead. While Hugh held Kyle’s head, Jim sliced away the thick zip tie that held his neck to the grille of the truck. He then sliced the ties holding each wrist and Kyle collapsed against Hugh.

  Jim knelt beside his old friend and rolled him over onto his back. Kyle was semi-conscious and mumbling incoherently. Jim ripped open the Velcro strap on his belt, pulling a water bottle from a pouch. He put a hand under Kyle's head and elevated it slightly, pouring some of the water between his lips.

  The water immediately came back up in a spray of bloody vomit.

  “Get Randi up here!” Jim said.

  Hugh called to her.

  "What happened?" Jim asked

  Kyle’s eyes fluttered open and words came out they made no sense.

  "He’s probably in shock," Gary said. "Who wouldn’t be if they had to watch something like this?"

  Randi reached them, handing the horses over to Gary.

  "Let's get him out of the snow," she said. “He’s probably close to hypothermic.”

  Jim grabbed one arm, Hugh the other, and they lifted Kyle. As they did, his flannel shirt fell open, exposing a belly covered in streaks of blood and deep scratches.

  “What the fuck?” Hugh spat.

  “Did they torture him?” Randi asked.

  No one answered. No one knew.

  Hugh, in a better vantage point to see the wounds, spoke up. "No, it's writing."

  A plastic tarp was laid out to the side of one of the trucks, providing a dry spot for the linemen to sit and eat their lunch. They stretched Kyle out on the tarp and Jim immediately threw his shirt back to read the writing.

  In scabbed, scratchy letters, the statement was carved into Kyle’s flesh: Don’t make us come back.

  “Those bastards,” Jim mumbled. He got up and went to his horse. He had a bivy sack there. They needed to warm Kyle up.

  Everyone had blowout or trauma kit somewhere in their gear but no one carried a comprehensive first-aid kit in their Go Bags. The pooled their resources while Randi tried to get another drink of water down him. This one came up as bloody vomit, same as the other.

  Randi gave up on the water, instead checking Kyle’s wounds. Despite the volume of blood, none of it appeared to be from life-threatening injuries. It was mostly from cuts, torn skin, and his broken nose. There were nasty bruises, some of the worst she’d ever seen outside of a car accident.

  When Jim got back with the bivy sack, they stretched it over Kyle.

  "Can you understand me?" Randi asked the injured man.

  Kyle gave an erratic nod.

  "I want you to take another drink but I don't want you to s
wallow it. Just rinse your mouth out and let's try to get some of that blood washed out of there."

  She and Jim helped Kyle lean his head up and she tipped a water bottle to his mouth. He followed her directions, rinsing his mouth out and then spitting. As he did it, she saw that two teeth had been broken off at gum-level. Both his tongue and the inside of his lip were also split.

  "Those sons-of-bitches," Kyle mumbled hoarsely. With his nose broken and swollen shut, his throat was probably dry from having to breathe through his mouth.

  "Let’s just focus on you right now. Where are you hurting?" Randi said.

  "Arm. Ribs."

  "Is that all?" Kyle's eyes fluttered and he winced. "Nuts," he groaned.

  Randi furrowed her brow. "Do you have a groin injury?"

  Kyle nodded.

  "Hit? Kick? What?"

  "One solid kick in the balls," Kyle said sheepishly. “I think it was just one.”

  Randi turned to the men standing behind her. "Hugh, I need you to find some type of bag you can pack with snow to make a cold compress. We don’t have a catheter and we need to make sure the swelling doesn't cut off the flow of urine."

  “Roger,” Hugh said.

  Randi turned back to her patient. "I know it’s chilly but can I get your shirt off of you for a second? I want to check your wounds.”

  “Okay,” Kyle muttered.

  “Jim, let's sit him fully up. We’ll probably need to help him slide his shirt off.”

  They both placed arms beneath Kyle and eased him into a seated position. Seeing Kyle’s expression, the wincing at the movement, made Jim think that he probably did have some broken ribs. They slid his shirt off and Randi examined his arm, prodding it gently with her fingers. The bruising she found made her think a fracture was likely but it didn't feel displaced.

  She examined the bruising on his torso and traced his ribs, determining that two may be cracked. With Jim’s help, she laid him back and probed his abdomen but found nothing to indicate internal injuries. Without access to advanced diagnostic tools or a skilled trauma physician, there were still a lot of things she could be missing.

  Hugh found a wide roll of electrical tape on one of the trucks and they used it to wrap Kyle's ribs. They helped him dress, putting his gore encrusted shirt back because they had nothing else, and then putting his coat on over that. Hugh and Gary helped him to his feet, then held his arm long enough to make certain he was not going to pass out when they had him standing.

  Maybe the pain of standing acted as a stimulant, but he seemed more alert now. He regarded the bodies of his friends and crewmembers. "They made me watch. They said they were leaving me alive to tell the story."

  "Who?" Jim asked. “Who did this?"

  "They looked military, but maybe not our military. Some of them were speaking a foreign language."

  Jim shook his head with disgust and looked at Hugh. "It has to be those bastards from the power plant. It has to be."

  Kyle nodded. "They said something like that. They said the power was theirs, that we had no right to be messing with it."

  Jim paced angrily. He needed something to do, somebody to kill. Somebody needed to pay for this. He waved desperately at the bodies and looked at the people around them. “Is there any way we can at least get them down? Can we even get them down to bury them?"

  Kyle's eyes filled with tears. "They destroyed our gear. I don't know how you get up there without it. The damn pole is covered in splinters and would eat you alive if you tried to climb it."

  Jim studied the pole and saw that Kyle was right. With a belt and spurs he may have been able to do it but without the proper gear it was a recipe for disaster.

  Over his outburst, Jim faced his people. He’d choked down the emotion now and made it work for him. He was in his cold, calculating place. The place he went when determining how to make men die.

  “We have to make them pay,” Jim said. “There’s no other way. This is not something we live with.”

  "We don’t fully know their capabilities," Hugh said. “We've seen a lot of vehicles and a few mixed troops, but they could have access to gunships. They could have all kinds of missile and drone capabilities that could reduce this valley to a scorched hole.”

  Jim stared back at Hugh, his face a mask of determination and cold hatred. "All that tells me is that we can't get in a protracted war with these people. If we strike first and we strike hard enough we could put a serious dent in their effectiveness."

  "Won't they just send more people if we attack?" Gary asked. “I’m also wondering about the consequences if they track this back to us. If they do, we’re all dead."

  "They’re only here for one reason and that’s because we can generate power. If we take away their ability to produce power I would venture that this whole thing goes away. They’re not going to take the time to rebuild that plant right now. They’ll just move somewhere else."

  "Let me get this straight. You're talking about taking out the power plant?" Kyle asked. "Aren’t we just cutting off our nose to spite our face? If we lose that power plant it could be decades before we get power back here again. I want to make them pay too, but I don’t know about taking out the plant."

  Jim shrugged. “It might be worth the trade, because I'm not living with an occupying army that does shit like this." He stabbed a finger at the bodies for emphasis.

  Kyle sighed. "Then I'm with you. I kind of feel like some of this is my fault. We just jumped on this without even talking to you. If you hadn’t come looking for me, I would have died right there on the bumper of that truck. I don't know what would happen to my family then. I feel an obligation to avenge these guys because I asked each and every one of them to be here."

  "Every man makes his own choices in life," Jim said wisely. “It could just as easily be my fault for coming to your house and bringing this whole thing up in the first place. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

  “Then let’s make it right,” Kyle said.

  “If we do this, it better be right,” Gary insisted. “There may only be one shot. If it fails, everyone in the valley may pay the price.”

  24

  After leaving the substation, Jim’s entire group headed back to the valley. It was a long ride back to Kyle’s house and the valley was the halfway point. Randi and Gary had to double up on a horse to make room for Kyle. The injured man held up well despite his injuries, but occasional grunts of pain escaped him when the horse took a misstep on the slick ground. The three hour ride took nearly four and a half hours, putting them back in the valley just as the sun was setting over the patchy white earth.

  They turned their horses over to Pete and Charlie. Gary headed home to check on his own family, while Randi took Kyle into Jim’s house to better tend his wounds. Hugh stuck around because he didn’t want to miss anything. When the group entered the house, Nana took Ariel to a back room so she wouldn't have to see Kyle's injuries and overhear any discussion. Pops stuck around to hear the story of what had taken place.

  They assisted Kyle with removing his shirt and Randi cleaned his injuries with rubbing alcohol and applied a topical antibiotic to the cuts and scratches. She didn’t re-tape his ribs because the electrical tape seemed to be adhering well.

  “Where’s the bag of snow I gave you for your groin?” Randi asked.

  “It melted,” Kyle said.

  “Hugh, go get him another one, please.”

  Hugh did as he was asked.

  "I'm serious about this,” Randi said. “Keep that in place as long as you can. You do not want the swelling to shut off the flow. That’s a painful death."

  “It’s going to be just as bad if the pipes freeze,” Kyle said. “That snow is cold. I’m completely numb.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Randi said. “You’re not going to freeze with those clothes on. It should be just the right amount of cold.”

  Kyle looked doubtful.

  Pete stuck his head through the front door. "Dad, that gu
y from the barn is here."

  Jim frowned. He’d forgotten about those guys.

  “I think their supply drop is supposed to be tonight,” Hugh said. “They’re supposed to be bringing the supplies we asked for.”

  Jim nodded. "I'll go see what he wants."

  Pete held the door open for his dad while Jim slipped on his snow boots. He strode out to the porch where he found Scott waiting for him on the steps. Scott had found the one step that was free of snow and dried from the day’s sunlight. Jim’s ass had not adjusted to all the horseback riding. He was too sore to sit. He walked stiffly down the steps and faced the seated man.

  Pete continued to hang out on the porch.

  "Are you done with the horses?" Jim asked his son.

  Pete scowled and shook his head. "No." He clearly wanted to eavesdrop.

  “Then get to it.”

  When Pete was gone, Jim returned his gaze Scott. "Sorry about that. What can I do for you?"

  "It’s okay, I’ve got kids. I know how they are. Anyway, we noticed you guys traveling by the barn earlier. I know it's none of my business but it looked like you might have an injured man. I was curious what kind of trouble you ran into. If our gear gets here tonight, we’re going to head out of here in the morning. I'd like to know what I might be dealing with."

  Jim’s stomach knotted at the memory of what Scott and his people might be dealing with. "The injured guy is my friend Kyle. I've known him a long time. He works–worked—for the power company and we had been talking about a plan of how we might redirect some of that grid power to our own community when it was restored. Kyle went ahead and implemented the plan without letting me know, so he didn’t have any security in place. Somehow the guys from the power plant tracked him down and decided to send us a message."