Righteous Bloodshed: Righteous Survival EMP Saga, Book 2

by Timothy Van Sickel

  David marvels at his good fortune. The farmers were defenseless against his mob, his people walked right in. Small resistance was met here and there, but his core believers took them out ruthlessly. The aid stations were quickly over run, the people running them branded as hoarders, further inflaming his followers. "This belongs to the community now." Was heard again and again as his starving hoard over ran farm after farm.

  * * *

  Two days after the plan was hatched, David is a king, looking to expand his kingdom. He has no regard for the people he has displaced. He has no care for tending to the farms, taking care of the animals that might feed him for years, not just weeks. The power over the desperate people he commands is intoxicating. More people are coming to join him from Johnstown. He is a man who has delivered food to a starving people. Maybe he is a 'chosen one' in God's eye. He shrugs that off, there is no God. God is for small people who can't deal with life, but he will use God to manipulate the small people following him.

  He stretches as he looks over the land he now controls. "God is good!" he says out loud, and chuckles at the irony of his statement. Just then a lone motorcyclist comes over the hill carrying a white flag. David does not want his people to know that the farms they just ransacked have been offering peace the whole time. That cannot become known to his followers.

  "Take that do-gooder out." David tells one of his men sitting with him on the porch of the Joe Johns farm. A high-powered rifle cracks and the motorcyclist goes down. David smirks as the bike hits the side berm of the road and flies high into the air, the rider tumbling across the dirt road.

  His shooter starts laughing out loud at the wreck he caused. His laughing is stopped abruptly as a 30.06 round enters though his cheekbone and explodes out the rear of his head, splattering blood and brain matter across the white clapboard siding of the house.

  A few hundred of his people are here at his new headquarters, many are women and children, they flee for cover at the gunshots. This is not new to any of them from their experiences with the gangs over the past several days. They know to find cover fast.

  David ducks into the house behind him, he is a coward at heart. Once out of immediate danger, he straightens up. Seeing one of his other trusted men he starts yelling. "How did that guy get this close to us? Why wasn't he killed a mile away? We can't have these folks seeing us kill a guy with a white flag! Damn it! Get out there, take a strong batch of men and get this place secure!"

  "It looks like there is a truck out there, with armed men, a few hundred yards from the house. This could be serious boss."

  Just then they hear tires spinning on the road and gunfire erupting from both their farmstead and the hill where the truck is. David turns to see what is going on. Just then, heavy sustained gunfire erupts from the left side of the road where the truck was. He sees the truck fish tail a hundred yards from him, then spin out back the way it came. The downed biker is gone.

  "They rescued him, those sons-a-bitches swooped in and rescued him. This is not good." David quickly barks more orders. He steps out onto the balcony overlooking where his followers were roasting beef. Seeing the truck crest the hill, leaving the area, he thinks quickly. "Look, they have turned and run. They are cowards! Send a strong team out there to see what they may have left behind. We are strong and they ran!" he bellows. "Stay with me and we will conquer the Promised Land. Let the feast continue!"

  Since the firing has stopped, some people come out to tend to the roasting meat and stew pots. About fifty armed men are recruited to go check on the scene, in a show of force. David watches with pride as his men line up and proceed across the field towards the rise where the gunfire came from. This will scare the pants off these few holdouts. He smiles again as he looks over the lush farmlands that he now owns. He watches as several of his men fire on a truck that is just emerging over the crest of the hill

  Suddenly staccato fire erupts, in a short burst. He watches in horror as a half dozen men crumble to the ground. Another short staccato burst and another half dozen men are mowed down. The rest of his men drop to the ground, seeking any protection they can find, or they flee back to the barn with the women and children. Rage burns in David's eyes. How dare they fight back! This is his farm now. For the good of the community! He can feed his people for weeks, maybe all winter. He will demolish any who stand against him. He now has food, water and shelter. People will flock to him. He will build an army. He vows to be ruthless to any who resist his dominion. The truck and its intruders retreat. David wonders why, but smiles. Maybe there is a God.

  Unknown to him, David has started a larger movement than he can imagine. Word of food in the countryside has spurred several thousand people to begin to flee the city. Many are people following him. Many are just people who are desperate to feed their families. Some form loose knit groups, some form tight military style units. Some come looking for help, some come looking to take what they can. Even the gangs take note of the movement to the countryside. But they stay where they are, they figure the city will become more wide open to them.

  Chapter 28, Organizing

  Central City

  September 22nd

  In a quiet corner of the militia headquarters, Mark finds his wife sobbing. She looks up at him with bloodshot eyes. He clumsily sits on the armrest beside her. He takes her hand, and prays silently. God has given him a good woman, a steady balance to his reckless and impulsive nature. She has endured his many faults. She has encouraged him to pursue his dreams. She worked with him while they turned their idle farm into productive acreage. She helped to reclaim the gardens, rebuild the pens and coops. She has even slopped out the manure when he was sick, then went on to her day job. She has given him a family, with three stepchildren and nine grandchildren. She has given him much, and he thanks God for all of those blessings.

  And, she has endured much; the ups and downs of owning a small business, the rigors of living miles from the city, the daily chores of owning animals, the never ending tasks of maintaining the property. She has endured all this, loved all this, despite the constant pain from her rheumatoid arthritis. But, the one thing she hates the most is when Mark is away from home. Throughout their marriage, Mark has almost always been home every night, to sleep with his wife. The few times that he has been away from her, are the times that have worried her the most, the times that she has been the most distressed. Not from a fear of infidelity, but because she craves the comfort of having her strong man next to her, keeping her safe.

  Mark knows that being selected as the General is stressing his beautiful bride. She has seen the violence of this new world, defended her home and family from the violence. Now she must endure her husband being the leader of this new army that will try to bring peace to this land. That will certainly involve violence. He will certainly be called away from their home. He will definitely be in harm’s way. Mark knows all of these things are bearing on the mind of his wife. He prays God to strengthen her as much as he prays for anything else.

  Becca looks at him again, her eyes still red and teary. "You have to do this, Mark. I want to say no, but I can't. It is not my decision. And it is not yours' either. We both know that. Be a good leader, Mark. Keep God in your heart. You are a good man, be a good man." She looks to the sky. "Thy will be done," she says with conviction. She stands and helps him to his feet, then hugs him fiercely, sobbing heavily again.

  After standing quietly together for a few moments, Mark breaks the tension. "They have a traders market here now. Let's go check it out, take a walk around town."

  Becca smiles, "Yes, that would be nice. Let’s take a walk together, do some bartering. Let me do the negotiating, you’re terrible at dickering!”"

  Mark tells Colonel Fisher he is going for a walk around town with his wife. "A lot has changed over the past three days, mostly for the good." Replies the Colonel, who nods to two men waiting patiently. The two men shoulder their weapons and follow the couple out the door. They are joined by Larson, who
has been waiting quietly in the main room of the VFW.

  Mark, struggling to get down the steps on his crutches, waves away the help that is offered him by their shadow guard. "I got to learn to do this by myself. You can protect me from mobs of menacing people. But I need to adjust to not having my leg without your help." Reaching the even surface of the sidewalk, Mark gallantly bows to his wife and says, "Let’s go for a walk my dear."

  Turning towards the main street of the small town, the first thing Mark notices is that the street has been cleaned up. All of the stalled cars have been moved; the street is wide open. A few carts are being pulled along by everything from horses to goats. A couple of tractors and a few farm trucks are in the mix of moving vehicles.

  Two young women usher along three fat pigs, protected by a gnarly looking old man with a shotgun resting in his arms. As Mark looks about, he sees that most everyone is carrying a side arm or a long gun. People moving trade items seem to be better armed than the average citizen. They pass a young boy beckoning people to come into his father's barbershop. One egg will get you a haircut. Another egg will get you a shave.

  "Maybe you should take them up on that haircut." Becca says.

  "I don’t happen to have an egg with me right now." Mark responds.

  Larson pulls four large greenish duck eggs from his pocket. "I got you covered Pap. Go on if you wanna." Mark looks at him quizzically. "Dad told me eggs are a good trade item, so I got about a dozen with me."

  Moseying along, they turn the corner that takes them to the central park. Before them is what looks like a carnival going on. Several dozen trading stations are set up. The biggest one is the room and board platform. It is set to the side, being its own attraction. Over fifty people are there. 'I got carpenter skills' one hollers. Another lean man hollers out, 'I'll slop cow shit, I'll take any work.' The cow shit slopper is grabbed up, 'I'll need you to milk cows too,' says the farmer as he leads his new worker away, offering him water and a meat filled bisquet as they go. More offers, more takers. The carpenter get snagged by a woman needing a smoke house built. There is work that needs to be done, and people willing to do it.

  Things that used to be done mechanically, now need to be done manually. More farmers are realizing that, putting on demand for labor. Their food that used to be marketed to the city, can no longer be delivered, so they have food to offer in return for the labor. A new economy is starting. Actually, an old economy, from a hundred-fifty years ago, is emerging.

  The dozens of other booths offer a variety of goods and services. Honey, maple syrup, soap, meat, vegetables, live chickens and ducks, arms and ammunition, reloading services, gasoline and diesel fuel are all available for barter. Services are offered too, everything from roof repair and blacksmithing to palm reading and séances. Bartering is the means of exchange. Ammunition for butter, roof repair for meat, a horse shod for two chickens, an egg for a blade honing, which Larson goes for. The mood is almost festive. Most people are healthy and active, which drive those looking for work to try even harder. If you have a skill, and are willing to work, you will be rewarded, you will survive.

  We leave the market and head towards the Baptist church. Close to a hundred refugees linger in the parking lot. Any who linger more than three days are given counseling and moved along. At the door, the same cheerful woman from when it all started greets them, guarded by the same large man, now armed.

  "Oh, Mark! The Reverend will be so glad to see you! You must be Becca!" she says turning to my wife. "The Reverend is meeting with our kitchen crew right now, he should be available in a few minutes. Have a seat, I'll let him know you're here." Becca and I take a seat. One of our shadows stays with us. Larson and the other shadow take up watch outside the church entrance. A few minutes later, the cheerful woman escorts us back to the reverend’s office.

  * * *

  "Mark, Mark, Mark! So good to see you up and about! Or maybe I should say General! And Becca dear, so good to see you too." He stands and gives Becca a heartfelt hug. A knowing man of God, he looks at Becca. "Are you okay Sister Becca? The lord has laid a lot on your shoulders. We will be praying with you and for you."

  A small tear forms at the corner of Becca's eye. "I'm okay Reverend. I've given it up to the Lord. It is in his hands now. But, I thank you for your prayers.

  "The town is rebounding, since those hoodlums have been dealt with. Now people can get out and about. Some people are still trying to come to grips with what has happened. And so am I, but we are here, and we have to move forward," she adds.

  The reverend nods, then turns to me. "So you are our General now. I am glad for that. I am a peace loving man, I know you are too, Mark. I know you will seek peace first. That's why I voted for you."

  "Well, keep the prayers coming Reverend. The peace we have here is not the norm. I am astonished at the tranquility here. Ten miles away farms are being overrun, people are dying, fights are raging. We have to figure out how to spread our peace to our neighbors. I don't know how to do that."

  "You are a smart man, Mark, God will guide you, I am sure of that."

  "You know what, Reverend, I am so full of questions that it makes me doubt, but one thing I do know, God will guide us all. I just pray we are smart enough and humble enough to follow him. Let’s pray together Reverend. We have come a long way, but we have a lot yet before us."

  "Prayer is good brother Mark, let's pray." We bow our head. Reverend Wysinger thanks God for the many blessings He has given us. He asks God to forgive us for failing him, beseeches God to guide us. He asks that we may love our neighbors as he loves our neighbors. Ten minutes later, we all say amen. I feel better, knowing that Godly men are praying for me, asking for Gods guidance for us all. I know rocky days are coming. I know the turbulence has just begun.

  After leaving the church, I tell Larson to have our official guard bring up a truck, I want to go to the main refugee camp and the quarantine area at the school. I spend several minutes outside the church talking with the refugees from Windber. Their story is one of raids, desperation and mayhem. Even the great research hospital had been over run. There are a few first rate scientists and researchers among the crowd, barely surviving. Their knowledge is priceless. I write two notes declaring them "Invaluable Assets." I send them on to the aid station at city hall along with one of my shadows with orders to make sure they and their families are taken care of.

  My other shadow returns with a truck and we head out to the refugee camp and the quarantine area. Approaching the school, we pass a group of twenty men digging graves. There is a large pile of white shrouded bodies nearby. The stench of rotting flesh overwhelms us. Larson gags and vomits on the floor of the truck.

  A few minutes later we arrive at the front of the school, where we are met by a man and a woman, both with masks over their faces. They offer us masks, and usher us into the school office.

  The woman, the doctor I met earlier that day, hugs me and my wife. She steps back and looks me directly in the eye. "We have serious problems, and no way to fix them." She goes on to explain the spread of disease and the problems with the water and sanitary conditions. Everyone needs to boil water at this point, but they cannot boil enough. The quarantine area is a mess, it is now thought of as a death sentence, because very few make it through. Even finding people willing to feed and help the quarantined is difficult, she tells me, because it is so hard to get properly sanitized after leaving the area.

  Cleaning and sanitizing is the main problem that needs to be solved. We brainstorm for a way to bring large quantities of hot water to the quarantine area. Railroad tracks and a decent stream are close to the school. A tanker car on the tracks, with a large fire under it could heat the water. A pumping system must be set up to move water from the stream to the tanker, then on to the school. Getting a tanker car in place will be the hard part. I tell the doctor we will do our best to set up a good hot water supply system for them.

  We all head back to town. There, I find one of the scien
tists from Windber and tell her of our dilemma. I round up the mayor and issue directions for a hot water system to be set up. They flood me with questions, even asking if I have the authority to do this.

  "First, if the quarantine camp is not cleaned up, they all could turn on us, and spread more disease, so that is a safety issue." I respond. "You are a molecular biologist, which means you are smart. So figure out how to get this done. Plumbing is a hell of a lot easier than molecular biology!" I get a few chuckles at this, then the mayor steps up.

  "You heard the man, we need to get hot water to the quarantine area. We got lots of idle people, let's get them cutting wood for the fire, and let's figure out how to get a tanker up there. Get moving, people. Act as if one of your own was up there!" Groups start forming and people start moving. Some of them do have family up there. The dying has to stop, and they will pitch in to help.

  * * *

  Becca and I end up back at the VFW where we started. Larson stands guard next to our van. I have been thinking all morning about my new position. My earlier appearance was just show. Now is the real deal. I have to get this ragtag militia up and running as an army. I am showed a side room that has been set up as my office.

  "No," I say. I turn away and hobble back to the large room. I see a corner of the room not yet occupied. I hobble over and indicates with my crutches. "Right here, set up my office right here. I want to see Jerry, Randy, Colonel Fisher and Lieutenant Anders here right away. And I would like to see Cy from the grange when he is available."

  Fifteen minutes later four men stand at attention before me, they are all ex-military, they all know the drill. "At ease gentlemen, take a seat. You all know Top is now Colonel Fisher. Colonel Fisher, you are my Executive Officer and S4, in charge of supply, don’t let anything bad happen to me, or this is all yours." I wave wide with my hands.