Righteous Bloodshed: Righteous Survival EMP Saga, Book 2

by Timothy Van Sickel

  "We feed em and clean em up. We offer em the same deal as all the other stragglers. Room and board for services rendered," says Jerry. "There may be some doctors, nurses, engineers, even electricians in there. We could use their help."

  The idea is discussed for another fifteen minutes then it is put to a vote. By seven to two it is decided to rescue the stragglers. A plan is laid out. Four cows will be butchered and the food prepared in the church kitchens, ready to go first thing the next morning. The route to the memorial will be scouted again tonight and heavy guard points set up by Top and his men. Ten of our biggest trucks will head out first thing in the morning with the food and water, under heavy guard. Once the trucks have off loaded the food and set up a control point, the ten trucks will start to bring people back to Central City.

  Reverend Wysinger volunteers to go to the Memorial site today, to let them know that help is on the way, to help them get organized. Jerry says he will make sure word gets to Hooversville as to what is happening with hopes that they will allow us to send some of the refugees along to them.

  Word is quickly spread about this rescue attempt. Many are happy, these people have been on their minds ever since the first stragglers started reporting the mayhem taking place five days ago. But more people are disgruntled, worrying about how a thousand people will affect our limited resources. I speak with many groups, acting as the spokesman for our unelected council. I stress that we need to help them or they will compete with us for the same limited resources, and only those willing to help us will be allowed to stay. It is actually very biblical, love thy neighbor, (New Testament) bring strangers into your nation, (Old Testament).

  A lot of people, locals and newcomers alike, are persuaded, but many are still worried. I don’t blame them. With this influx of people, newcomers will outnumber the locals. We have no formal set of governance yet. When "immigrants" start to outnumber the locals how will that effect our ability to survive? I can understand the locals concerns. But if the stragglers are willing to pitch in, willing to work and help to protect the town, and respect the property rights of the locals, all should go well. But that’s a lot of ifs.

  * * *

  Randy Hutchins is a local vet who has rallied to the call of duty. Twenty-eight years old and unmarried, he lives with his sister and her two kids. The father got hooked on heroin and was kicked out of the family. Randy holds down two part time jobs trying to help his sister make ends meet. Randy's parent's home was hit the day before. It was burned to the ground. He is well connected with his fellow veterans, the skills from his days in the dessert highly valued.

  "Top, as this relief mission is going down, I can take a few of my folks and put that trap we talked about in place," Says Randy. With two tours in Afghanistan he has skills and knows tactics. "You know, as soon as the anarchists realize we are rescuing those stragglers, they will move fast, and without thinking, without scouts. That is the perfect time to hit them with our ambush plan."

  "We don’t have the man power to do that. There are six points we have to man to run this relief mission, plus men on the trucks. This is a bunch of rag tags right now. I need your experience out on the relief effort." Top Responds.

  "No you don't." You can man up those hot points with Jerry's people and the new comers we've recruited. I got over twenty combat vets with me now. You can have eight of them for the relief operation. One for each control point, and two to go in with the main effort. I can take twelve for the ambush. It will actually make the relief effort safer!" Randy states confidently. "If we can hit them coming out of their base of operations, then they won’t be able to come after the relief effort."

  Top pauses. He is not a natural strategist, but he sees the overall picture forming, and how Randy's plan could stifle the anarchists. "You got a good point there, Randy. We got to play offence sooner or later. Put it in place, brother. God speed to you and your men."

  * * *

  Erratic gunfire echoes across the valley and hills around the Farmstead. Thad's tractor putters along as it harvests the fresh hay. The migratory hawks and eagles sail overhead, looking for a wayward rabbit or ground hog. The ducks are quiet, hiding in the tall grasses from the threat aloft. Young children are helping to gather the last of the summer crops from the garden as they shoo the flies and mosquitoes away that are pestering them. The adults of the farmstead move with deliberate haste, knowing that being alert and being prepared is the edge that will help them survive, keep them alive.

  "Mom! You, Kim, and Linc are next!" Yells Britt, as she walks up from the target range. As they get closer, Brit smiles at Rebecca, "These guys are really good, Mom. They know what they're doing. We all learned a ton about the weapons, not just shooting, but also sighting, cleaning and safety. I told them I was Mark's Colonel, and Mark is the General, I was just kiddin', ya' know. But from then on they saluted me, and I was Ma'am or Colonel!"

  One look from Becca and Brit's enthusiasm wanes. "They're training us to shoot people Britt," Becca states. She puts her arm around her daughter. "What these soldiers are teaching us, it may keep us alive. But we cannot be thrilled about it. We must look at it as a necessary survival skill. Mark will do everything he can to keep trouble away from us. He will try to make peace, even with these renegades, if he can, in the hope that love, God's love, will prevail.

  "But don't be mistaken about Mark, honey. He may be a pacifist, but he is a realist. You saw it at the gunfight at the bridge. He offered those men peace. But they fired on him; on you and your family. Mark made sure that you were ready, that Ken was ready. You all could have been killed. But Mark thought it through first, and the renegades ended up dead, not you. He is doing the same thing right now, he doesn't want us to fight, but he is getting us ready to fight if we have to."

  Brit's good mood turns sullen, pondering all of this. Becca hugs her tightly. "Mark needs you as his 'Colonel', Brit. You are doing important things here. I just want to make sure you have the right perspective on what's going on. Keep God first Brit, keep God first."

  Brit is not sure where God is, first, last, not even there. If there is a God, how could he have let this all happen? But her family is safe and protected; she will hang on to that thought.

  Chapter 13, The Rescue

  Flight 93 Memorial

  September 17th

  Randy is tired and dirty, sweat and grime cling to his body as he watches and waits. He thought that his combat days, and the adrenaline rush that it brings, were behind him. But here he lies, with eleven other men willing to lay their lives down for the freedom of their homeland. The rocky desolate outposts of Afghanistan are replaced by the lush green forests of the Appalachian highlands. A well-trained cohesive unit is replaced by a dozen desperate men trying to defend their homes and their families. But the mission is the same, kill the men who want to kill you. And Randy is good at killing bad men.

  He and his makeshift squad had arrived on this remote country road six hours earlier, barely one mile away from the Wagerlys' compound. They worked tirelessly through the dark night to set their plans in place. And they pulled it off undetected by the meth heads just down the road. Now comes the infamous army paradigm of 'hurry up and wait.' One of his young recruits silently approaches and relays a message that he has been anticipating. The relieve effort is underway. Things could get hot very soon.

  * * *

  Jerry and Mark pray with several men and women from town as the sky lightens in the east. Top is with them, as are some of his key men, the Mayor, and others involved in the relief effort. Many moving parts are coming together as the community has organized to bring as many as a thousand refuges into their midst. It is not just a matter of moving them out of the chaos that is the Flight 93 Memorial, it is also being ready to bring them in, attend to their needs and feed them. Then they can help them move on, or stay if they wish, if they are allowed.

  The school campus has been converted into a refugee center. Food is already being prepared. The schoolrooms are b
eing made ready for various uses; makeshift refuge shelters, first aid stations, a quarantine area. A processing center has been established, so they know who is coming in. The community will need to know what their intentions are, to move on or to stay, what are their skills, and what is their health. Kind of a mini Ellis Island.

  Hundreds of people have been working overnight in preparation for today's effort. Now the convoy of trucks, older cars and farm tractors with trailers, starts to roll down the road. A few bikes and quads, acting as scouts and runners, have been active for an hour, the scouts indicating that the path is clear for now. They take water, fresh baked goods and other prepared foods with them, to start the relief effort as soon as they arrive on site. Several churches have provided people experienced in missionary relief efforts to help the relief crew try to understand the chaos they will encounter when met by a thousand starving people.

  Top gives two clicks on CB channel seven to let his mercenary squad know the convoy has started moving out. He gets a single click in response; Randy's men are ready.

  Two trucks, and a quad or bike peel off at each designated control point, as the convoy makes its way forward. These key intersections need to be controlled for the relief effort to be successful.

  Thirty minutes later, two lead trucks and two scout bikes approach the entrance to the Flight 93 Memorial. Two old but fast street bikes peel out from a hide spot, and roar away from the lead elements of the convoy. The scout bikes give chase but return after only a few minutes, unable to catch the larger and faster bikes. Word will soon get to the Wagerly's that something is up.

  The lead trucks roll down the entrance to the Memorial, and are met by a scene of desperation. A makeshift roadblock has been put in place, but with the wide grassy berms, and no easy way to move vehicles, it is haphazard. Signs of it being compromised are evident, as are the signs that it has been patched back together, desperate people trying to hold off lawlessness.

  * * *

  I jump out of the lead truck, waving my white bandana and hollering. "We come in peace! We come in peace! Is reverend Wysinger here, we are his friends!"

  The Reverend steps out from behind the roadblock and runs as fast as his old body can carry him to embrace me. "Thank God you are here Brother! Thank God! These are desperate people, they have almost no food, and water is being rationed because the wells here have gone dry. Thank God! Thank God!" The Reverend exclaims.

  There are now throngs of people straining at the roadblock, hearing our approach and being told that relief would be coming. I set our security people up in a perimeter to allow our relief trucks space to set up. The crowd at the roadblock starts to surge over the people trying to maintain control. For a minute, there is mayhem. This could get ugly before we even set up to help these people. I grab Jerry and the two of us rush at the thousand strong throng pushing towards our small relief convoy.

  "Stop! Stop! Stop!" We both yell, guns held high, command in our voices. The sight of two crazed and armed men running at them slows down the mass of desperate people. "We are here to help, we have food and water. We will help you, but this needs to be orderly. Reverend, have these people line up in the priorities you gave them last night."

  The stunned crowd begins to mill about and organize itself as the Reverend had requested. Our relief trucks get set up on the wide berm. Within fifteen minutes the lines of people are moving through, getting water and food. The first groups to be sent back to Central City are being loaded on the farm trailers for the ride to safety. A pair of EMTs is checking everyone heading back to town. All who are deemed healthy are assigned to certain trailers. Those deemed sick are assigned to other trailers. In order to not break up families, the healthy may ride with the sick, but they will have to stay with the sick. They must be cleared before leaving the restricted quarters of those determined to be unhealthy. Our few medical people, and the town council, are adamant about keeping this quarantine. Dysentery, cholera, and even TB are a major concern given the breakdown in the sanitary system. This probably is already causing major concerns in the larger metropolitan areas. Disease and lack of food will be the two biggest mortality causes across the country. We have food; we need to keep the diseases contained.

  The reverend points out several doctors, nurses, clergy and other leaders who had helped organize the crowd, keep them on an even keel. It is decided that most of the medical people will move on the first convoy so that they can help with the sick that will be moved to the segregated area of the school

  This is a hard thing to implement. But again, the doctors and nurses demand that some type of segregation of the sick has to be implemented. Even common ailments would spread quickly if the sick are not confined. Arguments break out, even a few shoving matches, as people are assigned various health statuses. We assign several armed guards to the EMTs and medical people, which brings the crowd in line.

  The reverend and some of the leaders of the refugees, step in to offer consolation and explanation. The sick must be quarantined. Many proclaim a violation of their rights, but none can tell us which right is being infringed upon. Separation of the sick from the healthy is an ancient practice, dating from before the dark ages, when ships where sent away, even burned, rather than letting disease spread. In the books of Moses, there are many references to separating the sick from the healthy. The practice of letting the sick freely into America is a recent phenomenon generated through our ridiculous open borders mentality. That is not happening here in Central City. The sick will not be rejected, they will be cared for, but they will be set apart.

  Thirty minutes later six farm tractors with trailers begin rolling back towards Central City with almost one hundred and fifty refugees. They are the sickest and worst off. Five of the six trailers will be stopping at the confinement area, hopefully, with our limited care abilities, they will survive. Two armed farm trucks are in the lead. One farm truck trails, and an off road bike runs scout for them.

  * * *

  A Harley Sportser and a Triumph come roaring past Randy's squad, heading towards the Wagerly's Compound. They sit quietly, letting the two bikes pass unmolested. 'The fight will be on very soon' Randy thinks. He is happy that all his men let the bikes roll past. Good discipline that they learned somewhere. His motley crew may pull this off.

  Twenty minutes later they can hear commotion at the compound. Distant shouts, a few gunshots and motors being fired up. Moments later six bikes come roaring past their position. Randy holds the igniter for the blast that is to start their ambush. No one is to fire until he sets of that massive explosion. But, they are looking to trap more than a few bikes. He holds off, and so does the rest of the squad.

  A few minutes later he hears sporadic gunfire to the east; those six bikes just hit the control point. The gunfire gets heavier, faster, then trails off and stops. That could be good, or that could be bad, he is hoping for the best. While these thoughts are still running through his head, two bikes come flying past, heading back towards the enemy compound. That is good, he thinks. "Come on you rats, head out for the bait! We got you!" he says quietly to himself. The sweat begins to pour from his body as the anticipation of the fight to come increases his already heightened senses.

  Four more bikes and an old sports car race past his position. More gunfire from his left as the nearby control point is under attack again. He winces. He could have saved those men from being attacked. Then he hears the sound of more bikes, cars and trucks heading from the compound, heading towards him and his men.

  About a quarter mile away he sees an old five-ton truck make the bend in the road. It looks like something from Mad Max! It has a snowplow mounted on the front. There are steel plates welded over the hood. An M60 machine gun is mounted to steel plates over the roof of the cab. A couple of large bikes with sidecars lead it, moving slowly. Several more trucks follow, all brimming with men and guns. Two small fast bikes shoot past the convoy heading out towards where the control point gunfight still rages.

 
Randy begins to control his breathing; slow steady breathes, controlling the adrenaline. Five, maybe six trucks are in the kill zone. As always, in his mind he begins to doubt, he rethinks every connection of the wiring, the mixing of the diesel and fertilizer, the size of the firing charge, the positioning of his men, every step. 'What if?' goes through his head a hundred more times.

  The lead truck with its' armored plating, snow plow, and 30 caliber machinegun rolls down the dirt road and over the fertilizer and diesel explosive buried there. Randy pumps the trigger from eighty yards away. Head down, he braces for the massive blast that will halt this convoy, trapping it in the middle of the deadly ambush he and his men have set up.

  * * *

  Sgt. Anders has never felt so useful in his entire life. The few CB radios he managed to scrounge up are squawking like crazy. He is with Top, and is trying his best to keep up on what is happening.

  "The control points are all manned, Top." He reports

  "The relief convoy is at the Memorial, they had some problems at first, but it is going well now."

  "The first convoy is on its way there, most of the folks are bad off and will need to be confined, I relayed that to the school, Top."

  "Control point two has got a small skirmish going on. They say they have held off the meth heads but would like some help."

  * * *

  "What!" I hear Jerry say into the mic. "They are being attacked at control point two? The relief convoy will be there in ten minutes! We can't roll a hundred and fifty refugees through a hot firefight. Can we send more people there to push those bastards back? Move two trucks off the roadblocks in town, and up to that control point, Top! We got innocents rolling past there!"

  Jerry looks at me, and the Reverend. "We got problems. Control point two is being attacked. More renegades are moving in. That’s the main route from the Wagerlys' compound. Randy was supposed to seal that off, stop any reinforcements. This could go to crap if Randy got compromised. If the Wagerlys roll out here, I don’t want to even think about it." Jerry shakes his downcast head. "God help us." He mumbles