Righteous Bloodshed: Righteous Survival EMP Saga, Book 2

by Timothy Van Sickel

  Chapter 11, More People, Good People

  Central City

  September 16th

  John has not asked about Jan. I don't think he knows anything about her being shot. The last thing he remembers is the cornfield and firing at the intruders. I wait until we are home, and he has other family members around him to let him know. Becca, Janie, Nikki and I are with him as we set him up in the last spare bedroom in the main house. By this time he is asking about Jan, why isn't she there.

  Becca kneels next to his bed and takes his hand, small tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "She is with Our Father, John. She said she wanted to make sure you got here, she did that. But she is with God now." The tears in Becca's eyes well up, and she hugs John lovingly. "She didn't make it John, She didn't make it!" she sobs.

  John stares blankly, not fully comprehending. "What do you mean she didn't make it?! She was right there, next to me, in the cornfield!"

  With my best compassion I explain. "She took a bullet through her gut; liver, kidneys, belly. We couldn't save her. But she made sure we saved you. I'm sorry John, she didn’t make it." I try to maintain my composure, but tears roll down my face. "She made us promise her that you would live, she prayed to God that you would live. I am so sorry John, I am so sorry..."

  Niki pushes in next to John and she looks at him sternly as he tries to comprehend what he has just learned. "You just hush up all of you!" she says, and scoots us away. "John, I am Niki, your nurse. Jan is with the Lord now, but you are with me. My job is to keep you alive, and I take my job seriously. Jan wanted you here, alive, so you do what Jan wanted you to. You hear me? You be strong for Jan. I'll be strong for you. We got a deal John?" Through watery eyes, John nods at Niki as she dabs away his tears.

  * * *

  Back at the farmhouse, after everyone has been introduced and fed, we make arrangements for the night. We set Niki up on the couch in the main house and provide room for everyone else in the barn. I show Joe and the others how we will make a bunkroom for them before winter sets in. The Marine and MP question the aftermath of last night's battle, and are impressed at how a family like ours stood firm against such a blast and ensuing battle; women, children, old men, fighting against anarchists. They gladly help fill in the watch list, and point out things we need to do to improve our defenses.

  The next morning, before breakfast is even served, Jan's grave is being dug. Herc and Joe fashion a tombstone from a large plank, chiseling in the pertinent information. Jan is wrapped in a blanket and let down to her resting place, on a rise above the old farmstead. Prayers are said and her soul is commended into God's house, where Christ has already prepared a place for her, in the golden streets of heaven. Tearfully, John convicts to her and God that he will walk the path laid before him, without remorse, without regret.

  As we eat breakfast, at Becca's encouragement, we talk of Jan and the wonderful things she brought into our lives; her wonder of nature and science, her love for animals, her faithful walk in Christ and outreach to her local community. Jan is remembered for her beautiful life and her final conviction to make sure her husband lived, even while she was dying, a life of service to others to the very end.

  As we are cleaning up from breakfast, young Mark comes into the kitchen dressed in his best Sunday clothes. "When are we going to go to Church, mommy?" he asks Janie. We all look at him, then everyone looks at me. I do a quick calculation in my head. It is Sunday! Leave it to the young and innocent to remind us of what is most important in life. I glance at the clock, we cannot make it to Davidsville, to our regular church, but we can get to Reverend Wysinger's Church.

  "Well, Mark, we are going to go right now. We can't have us all miss church, now can we?" I look around the crowded room, "Okay, we are off to church, we leave in twenty minutes! Don't worry about the dishes, don't worry about the chores, anyone who wants to go to church, be on front steps of the old farmhouse in twenty minutes!"

  Forty-five minutes later our entire crew except the Marine, his wife and John are in the Baptist Reformed Church listening to Reverend Wysinger tell us to "Love Thy Neighbor."

  "That is your part of the new covenant! We have salvation through the blood of Jesus Christ. In return we are asked to do two things. Love the lord! And love thy neighbor! That is what we owe the Lord for his grace. As you look around this crowded church today, your neighbor may be someone from Washington, or New York. That person is your neighbor and you are commanded by God to love them! In these trying times, that may be a difficult thing to do. 'I only have so much food' you may think, 'I don't have room in my house to take someone in' you may think. But you are commanded, by GOD! As your part of the new covenant, to LOVE THY NEIGHBOR!" The Reverend goes on, and hits his point home, we must reach out to our neighbors, love them, help them as best we can.

  That may become a tough commandment to follow, when a "neighbor" comes with a gun, demanding we give to him what God has given to us. Looking around at the locals, I think we have done a pretty good job of loving our neighbor. The outsiders stuck here, many of them are helping out, loving us back. The reverend's message needs to be spread outside of the church walls, into the community, because it is the truth, and it works.

  But, what do you do when the neighbor shows up to steal, murder and rape, I ponder. Maybe they are not to be considered a neighbor? But we are also told to love our enemies. How are we to love our enemies and survive? Are we to lay down our lives, only to have renegades decimate the land? Christ gave his life for us. We are commanded to do the same. How? Am I to forsake my family and neighbors in favor of my enemies? These questions race through my mind as the sending hymn is sung.

  Our newly formed clan is glad they came and worshipped, glad for the many others who came as well. A big barbeque has been put together by the church. Many hungry bellies are filled, news is exchanged, a number of people are shocked to learn of the deaths of people they knew, and the threat from the renegade druggies. But many reach out to those in need, offering assistance. Trades of goods are discussed, refugees offer to help on some of the farms, old fashioned bartering tales place. It is neighbor helping neighbor, loving their neighbor.

  Before we leave, news comes into town of a large biker and truck crew that has rolled through the mountains. Rumor is that they headed to the Wagerlys' compound. This brings some panic to the crowd, which disperses rather quickly, wanting to get home to defend their property, or leave their homes for the safety of the town.

  If Frank Wagerly is my neighbor, and he wants to kill me, how am I supposed to love him? We head back to the farmstead on high alert, with this thought running through my head.

  * * *

  Our new Marine, Daneel, is dutifully standing guard, his wife is monitoring the cameras and John is sleeping, recovering. Becca, Niki and Kim head off with the young ones to take care of chores while the rest of us have a strategy meeting. We bring our two new military recruits up to date on what we know about the threat; mainly the Wagerly's, but also stragglers and others looking for an easy target, an easy way to feed themselves.

  The main priorities are decided upon. Sand bagging of the farmhouse needs to be completed and two fighting positions need to be made on both sides of the lane about a hundred yards from the farmhouse. Another camera needs to be installed at the crest of the hill to cover the blind spot in the lane. The main house needs to be sand bagged too, if we need to fall back. Finally, everyone old enough to handle a rifle, needs target practice, weapons training.

  A somber mood has settled in over the farmstead as we go about our assigned tasks to defend our property, our lives.

  * * *

  Back at the VFW in Central City, Top is meeting with the leaders of his hastily gathered militia. He has three "recruiters" outside, interviewing locals and stragglers. Some are being assigned to the roadblocks, mostly the stragglers. A few, mainly locals with hunting experience, are being assigned as scouts. Those with military experience, locals and stragglers alike, are be
ing assigned to an offensive unit he needs to assemble to meet this new threat. Those that his recruiters feel as not fit for fighting are sent on to where the farmers are recruiting extra help.

  Since word has spread that all who want to stay in town would need to help out, there has been no lack of volunteer labor. Those still thinking the government is going to come in and rescue them, or those just unwilling to help, are being ushered along to Windber, on the outskirts of Johnstown. Some of those people return, willing to pitch in, once they see the bleakness of the situation in the city.

  "Attention Men!" A loud voice barks from the rear entrance to the VFW. Habitually, all but the Commander jump to attention. "Good to see military rank is still recognized somewhere." A plumpish middle-aged man strolls up to the four men standing at attention by the bar. He turns to the Commander, a homeless looking man slouched in a corner chair, with a warm beer in his hand. "I ordered attention soldier! Show some respect!"

  The Commander looks at the new man with contempt. He slowly takes a drag from his cigarette and then takes a long sip from his beer. Top, seeing a situation arising tells his men to stand at ease, while trying to hide a smirk.

  With his clear blue eyes boring in on the newcomer, the Commander states, "I show no man respect that has not earned my respect. You got some rank while sitting on your fat ass, telling boys like these how to fight a war. You ain't never been within a thousand miles of a live round. Piss off, Sir."

  "It's Colonel Anders! And my rank deserves respect! Stand to attention!" Barks the newcomer.

  The Commander, a highly decorated Special Forces Officer, disgraced upon his return to America after his third tour in Vietnam, turns his head and coughs heavily. After the coughing spate is over he turns back to the Colonel. "Where did you serve Colonel? You got a combat badge? Purple Heart? Commendation Medal? Let me guess, you spent time in the UAE to get an overseas ticket on your resume. Your kind sent me out to do your dirty business, then turned on me. Top, find out this guy's back ground, you're in charge here, not this dimwitted buffoon."

  'Wait a minute! Your mayor sent me over here to take charge of this outfit. I am Lt. Colonel Sam Anders. As the highest-ranking officer here, I am now in charge. Get this filthy belligerent civilian out of here!"

  Top and his four aides sit back down, as they know what is about to take place. Top speaks up first. "Colonel, the man you are asking us to remove from this place has two silver stars and four purple hearts. He may look old and filthy, but he can probably still kick my ass. If you want to remove him from this place, you go right ahead." A couple of snickers are heard from the men in the room and the bar keep, who has been dutifully cleaning glasses and wiping down the bar.

  "So who are you, and why should we listen to you?" Jerry asks Lt. Colonel Anders pointedly.

  "I am Lt. Colonel John Anders, Signal Corps, United States Army and I am the highest ranking officer here, so I deserve your respect."

  The commander tosses his AR15 at the colonel who manages to catch it by the strap as the butt of the gun clunks off the ground. "Clear that weapon Colonel, then strip it, clean it and reassemble it." The commander had already cleared the weapon, but the colonel is dumfounded. He has not held a weapon like this in years. He ineptly tries to inspect the weapon.

  Top saves him from total disgrace. "You're out of your league Colonel. But as a military man, I will invite you to sit down and listen in. This is not the United States Army, this is the Laurel Highlands Militia. The war is not a thousand miles away; it is right outside that door. We need men willing to fight. Your new rank is Sergeant and until we figure out what to do with you, you are in charge of nothing."

  The freshly demoted sergeant sits down, dumbfounded. The rest of the group begins to talk as if he wasn't even there. They talk about a courier system, CB radios, shortwave radios, Morse code and using the existing power lines for a telegraph system. Communicating effectively is a big issue. Sergeant Anders is not dumb, maybe a bit arrogant, but not dumb. His specialty is cyber security, wireless security, but the basics of communication are needed here, and he has the smarts to help them out. He joins them in fleshing out their communications problems and offers sound options. An hour later he is still Sergeant Anders, but he is in charge of communications. He is even offered to sit in as they discuss the operations they are planning: good communications will be a key to success.

  As the meeting breaks up, Sergeant Anders, feeling more motivated than he has in many years, sends out requests for old dial up phones and some various other equipment that may have survived and be useful to setting up an old fashioned switchboard. He also sends out word that old CB radios are needed. Then, with an armed escort, he heads up to visit the old coot with the shortwave radio.

  Chapter 12, War Plans

  Wagerly Compound

  September 17th

  "You don't control shit, Frank!" exclaims Georgia, in a southern drawl. He is the head man from the Pittsburgh biker crew. "You got some scared farmers who will give you food so they don’t get killed. You got a bunch of wimps at the Flight 93 Memorial that you have got some slaves from, and you got most people scared to run the roads. But you don't control nuthin! Your people have just been running chaos missions, which is good, but we need these people scared shitless, we need to start to actually control the situation, control the roads, control the people. These townsfolk are buggering that all up. And this farmstead that blew your people all to hell, they got to go too.

  "We got to start right here, the closest farms to the compound. They pay tribute, or we take them over. This is what we do, take their women, hold them here. When they pay tribute, they get to see their women. For a night ya know, their men will toe the line! And we get their women the other six nights!" The idea is met with hoots and hollers.

  "Now these townsfolk, we got to bring them under our thumb. We got the firepower to bring them down, we just need a good plan. First we need some scouts out to see how well prepared they are…" Georgia continues his planning with the other lead bikers. Even with this gang of partying drug dealers, it becomes apparent that it will take more than just violence to bring the countryside under their control. It will take planning and work. Shortly after their meeting breaks up, holding cages are being constructed and their largest machine is pulled off the line for serious Mad Max style modifications. Looting teams are sent out to scavenge trucks on the highway, and roadside stores. Raiding teams are sent out to the local farms. Scouts are organized and sent to watch the towns and gather information. This time they are more organized; each team has a leader, a mission and a plan. No more assaults on an unknown enemy and getting shot up.

  By the next morning, women from a half dozen farms are held as sex slaves, their men left to work their farms in perpetual bondage. Three farms have been set ablaze, their occupants fighting to the death. The scavenger crews have returned with loot from the abandoned semi-trucks; food, clothing, auto parts, building materials. It will literally take them days to empty out the semis into their smaller trucks. But the loot will keep their renegade group going for a long time.

  This is all good news to Frank and Georgia, but the reports back from the scouts are mixed news. The small towns are organizing. The roadblocks are getting fortified and better manned. Armed convoys are starting to move people between the towns and the farms. There are even reports of militias forming and training. Worse yet, some scouts don't return at all.

  Another troublesome development is the number of sick people in their compound. Sanitary conditions are poor, there is not enough drinking water let alone to cook, clean and wash up. Diarrhea is rampant, diminishing their ranks of useable men and women.

  The decision is made to get more slaves from the Flight 93 Memorial stragglers. Scouts have reported that they have not been relieved and conditions are poor. Many have decided to try and get to Johnstown, some through the back roads, some following the main route to 219. Georgia and Frank send crews out to gather up some of the hopeless
fools trying to escape. A few hours later they have rounded up a couple dozen pitiful slaves, those too weak to run when their trucks rolled up. They are meagerly fed, and given water, then put to work, digging latrines, cleaning up the camp, fortifying the perimeter; moving rock and dirt.

  * * *

  Reports have been coming back into Central City, to the loose group of people trying to bring the situation under control. Farms raided, women taken, stragglers rounded up and taken, the Wagerley's camp being increased and fortified, stores and trucks being looted. Worst of all, the Flight 93 Memorial area is a mess. Over a thousand people are there, desperate and starving. A local farm managed to bring them a few cows, which were so quickly devoured they were eaten almost raw, and a near riot broke out, starving people fighting over the food. A local horse farmer reported that a group came and stole five horses; he found where they had been quartered and hauled back to the Memorial. The reports of what has happened to those trying to escape are just as bad. Some have made it to Central City, but many have not, with reports of those unable to run from the renegades being taken captive.

  "We have to get a supply mission to those folks," I say. "Then we have to find a way to get them here, to safety and food."

  "Mark, how are we going to feed another thousand people? They are going to need medical help too. We got one doctor, and he is over run. I hear ya Mark, but what can we do?" says the Mayor.

  "Save them," states Reverend Wysinger. "To do nothing is immoral and dumb. They already raided a horse farm; they will start to raid other farms too. They have no vehicles and very few or no weapons, but desperate people will do desperate things. If we help them, save them, they will be on our side. If we do nothing, they will not be on our side."