Solar Plexus

by Victor Zugg

  Sam glanced at the line of Hummers. “The military?”

  “Police action. My guard unit has joined up with some security forces from Moody Air Force Base and we’re headed to Atlanta. As you can imagine, gangs have taken the opportunity to wreak havoc, especially in the large metropolitan areas. Local police have either deserted or they’re overwhelmed. The Bloods and Crips were a problem before. Now they’re growing exponentially and spreading out. The Aryan brothers are coming out of the woodwork. Even LGF is on the rise again.”

  Lieutenant Harvey spoke up. “We’ll be joining other military units and local LE’s once we reach Atlanta.”

  “LGF?” Sam asked.

  “La Gran Familia, the Hispanic gang from the nineties,” Harvey said. “They’re back at it.”

  Jeffries pointed to the buggy. “Looks like you found one that runs.”

  Sam glanced back. “It’s mine. Built it myself.”

  “Do you have what you need?” Jeffries asked.

  “For the most part. We’re a little short on food and water, but we can make do.”

  Jeffries turned to Harvey. “Load these guys up with a couple of cases of MRE’s and a bottle of water.”

  “Will do, sir,” Harvey said, as he turned and marched away.

  “This convoy includes two hundred troops, forty vehicles including three trucks with provisions, and the ambulance. My orders are to help restore order in Atlanta and help anyone in need as best we can.”

  “I appreciate the food and water, captain. One other thing—mind if we tag along behind for the trip to Atlanta?

  Jeffries scratched his neck. “No, I don’t see a problem with that. I’m sure we’ll need to stop to move vehicles out of the way some but I expect to make good time.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be bringing up the rear then.”

  “Fine. If you’ll excuse me I need to get this wagon train on the road. Be safe.”

  “Will do; you too.”

  The two men shook hands and parted. Sam walked back to the buggy where Chet and Tiff leaned against the grille.

  “Well?” Chet asked.

  “They’re headed for Atlanta. Gangs are out of control and they’ll be joining other units to help restore order. A Captain Jeffries is in charge and he gave the okay for us to tag along.”

  Lieutenant Harvey and an airman approached carrying two cases of MRE’s and a large water cooler type bottle of water. “Here you go,” Harvey said, as he and the airman placed the items in the back of the buggy.

  Sam, Chet, and Tiff joined them at the rear and shook hands. Harvey patted one of the boxes.

  “Spaghetti is the best.”

  “I always preferred the barbeque,” Chet said.

  Tiff lifted the edge of one of the boxes to read the print. “Any chance they’re making it organic these days?”

  “I wish,” Harvey replied. “You guys take care.”

  “Will do,” Sam said. “Thanks again.”

  Sam, Chet, and Tiff piled into the buggy with Chet behind the wheel and waited for the convoy of forty vehicles to pull out. Finally, Jeffries, standing at the lead Hummer, circled his arm in the air, yelled mount up, and did just that.

  Chet waited for each of the vehicles to pull out before he started the engine. He then took up a position about fifty yards behind the last Hummer. Soon the entire convoy reached a cruising speed of fifty.

  Sam reached into the glove box and pulled out the eastern United States map. He unfolded the map and studied the area around Atlanta.

  “Are we driving through Atlanta?” Tiff asked.

  “That would be the fastest, but probably not the safest,” Sam said, without looking up.

  “How do we know what’s the safest?” Chet asked. “The military may be pushing the gangs to the suburbs.”

  Sam looked up. “True.”

  Tiff scrunched forward. “Maybe we should hang with the convoy as long as possible.”

  Sam glanced back. “That might get us into town; getting out of town might be a different story.”

  “I say we hang with the convoy as long as possible and then play it by ear,” Chet said.

  Sam looked at Tiff. She nodded.

  “Atlanta it is,” Sam said.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later they reached Tifton, and the convoy ran into its first obstacle. Sam could not see what was happening at the front of the line but when all the vehicles stopped, he knew something was up. Chet came to a complete stop directly behind the last Hummer and shut the engine off. Sam, Chet, and Tiff exited the buggy and stepped into the middle lane. It was nearly half a mile to the front of the spread out convoy but Sam could make out a barrier of vehicles across all lanes manned by a group of men.

  “I think there’s a uniform behind the barrier,” Tiff said.

  Chet stretched his neck as if it would get him a better look. “Must be a police barrier; otherwise, there would probably be shooting by now.”

  Sam walked to the back of the buggy. “I say we take this opportunity to top off the tank and refill the cans.”

  “Good idea,” Chet said.

  They removed the gas cans from the tailgate and poured the first one into the buggy. Sam immediately took the empty can over to a stalled car and began siphoning gas. Before he was finished, Tiff brought the second can over.

  Chet came over and picked up the first can which was now full. “Keep going, I’m going to fill up the buggy with this can.”

  “Gotcha,” Sam replied.

  Sam had to move to another stalled car to fill the second can and then topped off the first can when Chet brought it back over. When they were finished, the buggy and both gas cans were full. They reattached the gas cans to the tailgate and wiped their hands with a rag. Sam then walked up to the last Hummer in line.

  “I presume your radios work. Any word on what’s happening up there?”

  The driver, an air force staff sergeant, stepped from the Hummer with a cigarette in his hand. “Police barricade. They’re probably getting the skinny on Tifton while they move the cars out of the way. We should be moving soon.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said. He turned and walked back to join Chet and Tiff.

  “Police barricade.”

  “Yeah, we heard,” Chet said. “Anyone want a bagel?”

  Tiff moved with Chet to the back of the buggy. “I’ll take one.”

  Sam joined them. “Me too.”

  Sam, Chet, and Tiff were munching bagels and washing them down with water when engines began starting. The three piled in and Chet pulled out, keeping their position immediately behind the last Hummer. When they arrived at the barricade, several police officers stared as the buggy passed by.

  “We’re with them,” Chet said, as he smiled and waved.

  The convoy snaked around stalled vehicles until they were leaving Tifton and then were able to pick their speed back up to fifty.

  Chet glanced over at Sam. “It will be getting late when we arrive in Atlanta. Any thoughts on where we might spend the night?”

  “Been thinking about that. Why don’t we try bivouacking with the guard?”

  Tiff spoke up. “Men are pigs, remember?”

  Sam glanced back at Tiff. “That was the corps. This is the army and air force.”

  “Big difference,” Chet added.

  Tiff slid back in her seat. “Ha-ha.”

  Other than stopping occasionally to move stalled vehicles out of the way, the convoy was able to cruise. Sam noted that people leaving the moderately sized towns, like Tifton, and heading for the countryside, were becoming more evident. Even families, kids in tow, were on the move with what they could carry. Even the smaller towns were apparently becoming more dangerous. Large cities, like Atlanta, were probably war zones at this point.

  Sam understood that not even the entire military, much less this convoy, could solve the food and water problems the masses were only beginning to experience. It would only get worse. Much worse. The strong would take fro
m the weak. Marauding armed gangs would sack homes and individuals at will. Places and persons with anything of value would be a target. High on the list would be food, water, tools, guns and ammo, and any sort of transportation from horses and bikes to vehicles still running. Without legal constraints, people would act on a whim. Rape and death for anyone caught in the wrong place at the wrong time by the wrong people would be all too frequent. Surviving in a gang would be perilous. Surviving outside of a gang would depend on cunning, preparation, perseverance, and luck. Chances are, either way; life for most people would be tragic and short.

  Sam also realized that soon, government officials, and even the military, would put themselves and their families first. And then, any semblance of order would cease. Where once there was calm there would be total chaos. Dystopia was not far off. Hell, it was already here.

  Sam was jolted from his reverie by brake lights, Chet’s sudden deceleration, and the stop.

  “We’re coming up on Macon,” Chet said. “It’s probably just another blockade.”

  Sam nodded but then stepped out and over to the center lane. “Much bigger barricade than Tifton. There seems to be some arguing going on up there.”

  Sam walked over to the staff sergeant in the last Hummer. “What’s happening?”

  “Apparently, a bunch of rednecks with guns want some kind of tribute to let us through.”

  Chet walked up and joined the conversation. “Do they know you guys have bigger guns?”

  “You would think,” the staff sergeant said.

  Just as Sam glanced up to the barricade again, small arms fire erupted from behind the cars pulled across the lanes. Sam saw someone in uniform go down. And then came several bursts from the unmistakable Hummer mounted Browning fifty caliber M2 machine gun. Sam and Chet ducked behind the Hummer. And then it was quiet.

  A few minutes later an engine revved from up front. Sam stepped out for a peek and saw a Hummer racing to the rear of the stopped convoy. The Hummer screeched to a stop next to the ambulance which was three vehicles in front of the buggy. Two guardsmen leaped from the vehicle, grabbed a third man from the back, obviously wounded, and hauled him to the back of the ambulance.

  Sam and Chet, now joined by Tiff, started walking toward the ambulance. As they got closer Sam recognized the face of the injured man—Jeffries. The two guardsmen lifted the semi-conscious Jeffries onto a stretcher.

  “Shit!” Sam said. He continued forward and came up next to one of the men who had carried Jeffries to the ambulance. “How bad?”

  “Hit in the shoulder and losing a lot of blood.”

  As two combat medics lifted the stretcher and slid Jeffries into the ambulance, another Hummer screeched to a stop. Lieutenant Harvey jumped out and raced to the back of the ambulance.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Harvey yelled, as he stared at the two medics working on Jeffries.

  One of the medics looked up from his work. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Better if you back off for now.”

  Harvey turned away and came face to face with Sam. “Those stupid rednecks,” Harvey said.

  “What happened?” Sam asked.

  “They wanted food and water—they wanted one of our three trucks. The captain said no.”

  “And the rednecks just opened up when he said no?” Sam asked.

  “That’s right. The captain was hit immediately and went down. The fifty did all the talking after that. The rednecks are dead.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure the captain will be okay.”

  “I hope,” he said.

  Harvey paced back and forth behind the ambulance.

  “Lieutenant Harvey,” Sam said. “This puts you in charge. You can’t leave the convoy exposed like this. Those rednecks might have friends.”

  Harvey stared into Sam’s eyes for a moment and then nodded. He turned back to the medics in the ambulance.

  “Can we move without making it worse?”

  The same medic raised his head while continuing to work. “We have the bleeding stopped. But keep it slow.” The medic returned his focus to his work.

  Harvey addressed everyone standing around. “Let’s load up.” Harvey glanced at the medic. “Let me know if anything changes.”

  The medic nodded without looking up.

  Harvey got in his Hummer. Before pulling away he stuck his head out the window. “Sam, it’s still okay for your group to tag along—if you want to.”

  “Where are we headed exactly?”

  “The Atlanta airport. We’ll be rendezvousing with other units at the hotels on the north side of the runways. There will be a field hospital set up there as well.”

  “That’s on our way to Tennessee. We’ll be bringing up the rear.”

  Harvey put the truck in gear and drove off, heading back to the front of the line. Sam saw him stop at the front and speak to Lieutenant Jensen and Sergeant Thompson for a few moments. Sam could see Thompson directing men to push the barricade cars out of the way. Within a few minutes, everyone was loaded and moving, including the ambulance. When the buggy reached the barricade, it was obvious that little attention had been paid to the dead rednecks. Seven men were sprawled about, each lying in a pool of blood from massive wounds inflicted by the fifty caliber rounds.

  Chet glanced at the bodies. “Desperate people doing desperate things. This trip is starting to get real.”

  “The last three days haven’t been real enough for you?” Tiff asked.

  “It’s getting more real,” Chet said, without taking his eyes off the road.

  The convoy motored along the 475 beltway around Macon, keeping a pace of about forty, except when they had to snake around vehicles in the middle of the road. They had just passed the route 74 exit at West Oak when Chet looked in the mirror.

  “There’s a pickup approaching fast—still a couple of miles back.”

  Tiff and Sam looked to the rear. Sam saw three men in the front seat and four men standing in the bed of an old Chevy. The men in the bed held rifles. Seven men in a pickup attacking a forty vehicle convoy, Sam thought. What are these people smoking around here?

  “Isn’t there a song about redneck friends?” Sam asked. “Flash your lights at the tail Hummer to let him know something’s up.”

  Chet flashed the lights and blew the horn as Sam, rifle in hand, crawled in the back with Tiff.

  “Sorry for the close quarters,” Sam said to Tiff.

  “Apology accepted,” she said. They both rested their rifles on the back of the seat.

  The last two Hummers slowed; one had a mounted M2. The rest of the convoy, including the ambulance and a trailing Hummer, continued on. The pickup was within less than a mile when the men with rifles opened up. The four men in the back, along with one hanging out the passenger window, were able to send a heavy volley at the buggy and the two Hummers. Rounds began pinging off metal. One splintered the end of the two-by-four above Sam’s head. Sam and Tiff returned fire. Due to their more stable firing platform and Sam’s magnified sight, they were able to land several rounds on the truck. But it kept coming, and the men kept firing. Rounds whizzed by as Sam and Tiff returned fire.

  Sam had just emptied his first magazine when he heard a pop. The buggy immediately veered to the right and onto the shoulder. Sam instantly knew that the buggy’s right rear tire had taken a round. As Chet maneuvered the buggy to a complete stop, the gun-mounted Hummer peeled off, made a U-turn in the middle of the highway, and raced back toward the approaching pickup. A second Hummer, a transport, peeled off, made a U-turn, and pulled up next to the buggy.

  Sam slammed a second magazine into his rifle, charged the chamber, and took advantage of the now non-moving seat to take careful aim. He fired three quick rounds and then another three. Two rounds hit the pickup’s windshield. One of the men standing in the truck’s bed fell backward and didn’t get up.

  At that moment, the gunner on the M2 mounted Hummer opened up with two short bursts. All landed wide to the pickup’s right as the tr
uck veered sharply left, into the median, and then accelerated back the other way. The gunner sent a third burst intentionally wide, probably to ensure they got the message, and then turned back. The mounted Hummer pulled up next to the buggy and the transport Hummer as Sam, Chet, and Tiff exited the buggy.

  Sam went to meet the troops stepping from the Hummers as Chet and Tiff walked around to examine the buggy.

  An air force security forces technical sergeant, along with an airman from the transport Hummer, approached Sam. “Everyone okay?” the tech sergeant asked.

  “We are but I think the buggy’s wounded,” Sam said.

  The three of them walked over to join Chet and Tiff.

  “This tire is literally shot,” Chet said, as he bent down and stuck his finger into a gaping hole.

  “Do you have a spare?” the tech sergeant asked.

  Sam kicked the tire. “Afraid not. And there’s no way this thing can be patched.”

  Tiff looked back down the roadway. “The shitheads will be back for sure.”

  The tech sergeant stuck his hand out and shook hands with Sam. “I’m Sergeant Forsyth, forty-seventh security forces, Moody Air Force Base.”

  “Sam Pratt. This is Sergeant Major Chet Stevens, army retired, and Tiffany Conway, former marine corps.”

  Forsyth shook hands with Chet and Tiff and then looked back to Sam. “You’re the retired major?”

  “Guilty,” Sam replied.

  “Can’t leave you guys to the mercy of redneck justice. Let’s load your gear into my Hummer. It’s just me and Airman Davis here; we have plenty of room.”

  “Are you sure?” Sam asked.

  “Absolutely, major,” Forsyth said. “Your buggy isn’t going anywhere.”

  “We were headed for Tennessee,” Chet said. “This puts a serious dent in our plans.”

  Forsyth grabbed two bundles of gear from the buggy and headed toward his Hummer. “For now, it doesn’t appear you have an option.”

  Sam kicked the buggy and then did a slow hand rub of his entire face. “Dammit to hell and back!”