by Joe Nobody
As the officers were mingling with the town’s population, the plane reappeared overhead. Terri’s script had included specific instructions for the policemen on the ground to make sure everyone’s attention was focused on the air show.
Mr. Mills had worked for two days on the old Cessna 210, the aircraft originally used by Alpha’s small skydiving business. The plane was designed to carry six passengers, but with Hugh’s supervision, five of the seats were removed – the modification providing room for six fully equipped contractors and the pilot.
As everyone in Preston watched the small craft fly overhead, men began jumping out of the tiny plane. Most of Deke’s contractors were airborne qualified, and soon the spectacle of colorful chutes drifting down toward the berg held everyone’s attention. The event drew more than its share of “oohs” from the crowd – not something one witnessed in Preston every day. The fact that the skydivers were fully armed with battle rifles and load vests wasn’t lost on any of the spectators.
The final phase of Terri’s well-choreographed plan involved one last convoy rolling into town. Led by a police car escorting an 18-wheel semi pulling a flatbed trailer, a Class-A motorhome with shiny chrome wheels rounded out the last arrival.
The flatbed was loaded with 50-gallon barrels, stenciled with yellow labels identifying “gasoline,” and “diesel.” There were also a few smaller containers secured with rope ties, courtesy of Pete’s bar in Meraton. Word quickly spread that the unlabeled, plastic gallon jugs contained moonshine and homemade beer. While loading the truck, Bishop had teased Meraton’s mayor about the danger of storing his contributions so close to the petrol – the potential for fire or explosion being the gist of the humor. Pete had beamed with pride over Bishop’s concerns.
While the cargo of fuel was obvious, the motorhome was not. The unit parked in the center of town and immediately began to discharge smiling and waving council members, while one of the policemen unfurled a large banner hanging on the side of the huge camper. It read, “The Alliance of West Texas Welcomes the Citizens of Preston.” The council members immediately began shaking hands and congratulating the throng of residents, their intent of making each and every citizen of the tiny berg feel like they were important.
Terri paid special attention to the area farmers and ranchers. She and Deputy Ramirez were sure to visit and talk with each agricultural operation, inviting most to come inside the air conditioned RV and sit, take a load off.
“This is Miguel Hernandez, Ms. Terri. He operates the biggest spread in the area. I’ve known his family since I was a toddler,” introduced the deputy.
After shaking hands and offering refreshments, Terri got right down to business.
“The towns and cities to the north need produce. We need every bushel of food we can lay our hands on. In exchange, we can offer security and fuel.”
Mr. Hernandez smiled, his wrinkled, weathered face expressing the wisdom of a successful businessman. “We’ll need access to more than just fuel to keep production levels high. We’ll need fertilizer, insecticides, and other necessities. While my operation and many of my neighbors have some supply of these items, that inventory won’t last more than a year at best.”
Terri had anticipated the issue and chose her words carefully. “I can’t guarantee anything other than fuel right now. We’re expanding rapidly, so there’s no way of knowing what resources we’ll encounter during our growth. I wish I could give you a more optimistic answer, but I can’t.”
Hernandez seemed to appreciate Terri’s honesty, accepting her response with a simple nod and smile. “What the most critical need at the moment is the irrigation system. We allocate water from the Rio Grande via a system of pumps and levies. That equipment requires constant maintenance and is beginning to fail.”
“We have a potential source that may be able to help with this issue. Let me be clear about one thing, Mr. Hernandez, the council doesn’t order or command people to do anything. My role is as a rainmaker – someone who connects private citizens together so they can prosper and improve their lives. Our government doesn’t want to control or direct business, we want to get out of the way once the introductions are made. After we leave here, I’m going to meet with a businessman who may be able to fix or even expand your irrigation system.”
“Expand? This would be an excellent possibility. My ranch was in the process of building an irrigation system to increase our tillable land by another 1,000 acres when the depression hit the economy. We never finished. Growing rice on this unused acreage would benefit everyone.”
A few hours later, Bishop sat with Terri in the RV’s lounge on the trip back to Alpha. “You look tired,” he observed.
“I’m beat. I wish I could sleep while this thing’s moving, but I can’t.”
“Don’t overdo it, Terri. You’re only human, and a pregnant human at that. Building a baby is a lot of work.”
Terri nodded, leaning back and stretching out on the sofa. “We made a tremendous impression on these people today, Bishop. I received commitments of more food than I think we can consume in a year.”
Her husband agreed, but then had a question. “I heard you talking to a couple of the ranchers about irrigation systems. I didn’t want to ask in front of our new friends, but now I’m curious. Who did you have in mind to fix and expand their systems?”
Smiling coyly, Terri wagged her index finger at her husband. “You’ll find out soon enough. No more business today, though. Would you be a good hubby and rub my feet?”
“Well, Terri, I would . . . but my arm hurts,” Bishop smirked as Terri shot him a playfully intimidating expression.
Chapter 10
Alpha Texas
April 25, 2016
The man standing before the council was known to all of the mayors. Physicians were in high demand, an important asset to the community.
When Dr. Prescott had arrived at the eastern outpost, word spread quickly that a new sawbones was in town, the uplifting news raising morale even higher. The welcoming committee at the courthouse had made sure the arriving family felt at home.
Now, over a month later, Dr. Daniel Prescott had requested a hearing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me start by saying I appreciate every courtesy that has been extended to my family as well as all of the others who have relocated here from Midland Station. The kindness shown by the people of Alpha and Meraton should make all of you proud.”
The doctor paused to clear his throat and then continued. “As you are all aware, those of us who once lived in Midland Station have formed our own social circles here in Alpha. It is comforting to see familiar faces when living in a new place, a natural desire to interact with people who share your history and experiences. We also share news from home, bits of rumor and gossip about the state of the friends and family we left behind.”
Shifting his feet, the doctor continued, his voice now low and serious. “The news from home isn’t good. Thousands of people are starving while a select few eat well. Personal freedoms are non-existent, the rule of an elite class enforced with an iron fist. The problems that motivated me and hundreds of others are deepening in their severity. I, and the others from Midland Station, feel the need to intervene, and that is why I stand before you today.”
Making eye contact with each council member before continuing, the doctor proceeded to shock everyone in attendance. “We want to form an army… an armed force, and take back our city.”
Terri flashed Diana a look while Pete grunted. DA Gibson’s only reaction was a slight nod of her head.
“Obviously, we don’t wield the resources to accomplish this action on our own. We would require the assets of the entire community to pull this off - weapons, training, and transportation to name a few. Now, I know this may sound selfish. I know my request presents an extreme risk to the people of the Alliance, but I believe the potential reward far outstrips the investment. Midland Station has oil refining, loads of engineering talent, and thousands of
citizens that could contribute to our efforts to establish a new society here in West Texas.”
Nick, sitting in the audience, leaned over and whispered to Bishop, “Here we go again, brother. Who said the plow was mightier than the sword?”
“Wasn’t that the pen that was mightier than the sword?”
“It changed after the apocalypse, bro.”
West Texas
April 28, 2016
Bishop stopped the truck outside T-Bone’s hacienda, his attention distracted by the seemingly endless expanse of equipment, pipe, and discarded vehicles stretching off into the desert. While he had seen the boneyard from the air at night, it was his first visit up close, and the scope of the place was amazing.
Terri opened the passenger door and climbed down, her eyes amazed at the volume of equipment as well. Nick and Deke were in the back seat, both men having visited Mr. T-Bone before. A second truck full of Deke’s contractors pulled up behind Bishop, the show of force deemed necessary in case T-Bone had a short memory of his prior commitments.
Zeus and Hercules were both on the front porch, neither animal apparently concerned with the new arrivals. Deke decided to avoid the gnarly beasts, just in case they didn’t appreciate being shocked into submission.
T-Bone showed himself in the modest entryway, a wry smile on his face. “When you said I owe you one, you weren’t kidding. I didn’t expect you to call the debt so quickly.”
Introductions were made, the team from Alpha relaxing after T-Bone’s demeanor proved he indeed wanted to cooperate. The junkman invited the group into his home and offered refreshments as a sign of good will. Lyndon and a few of the other men were soon invited to the meeting, their attitude friendly and open as well.
Terri began, “Sir, we’ve discovered a potential new line of business for you and your group. The farmers and ranchers along the Rio Grande have need of someone who can fix and expand their irrigation systems. After what Nick and Deke told me of your operation, I thought it might be something you were interested in.”
T-Bone took the carrot, his eyes brightening as Terri expanded on the needs down by the river. An hour later Terri had arranged to escort T-Bone and some of his workers to the river and facilitate introductions. Despite Terri’s non-technical description, Lyndon was excited, sure that the boneyard and his crew had the necessary equipment and knowhow to improve the rancher’s lot.
“I thought you were coming here to collect your debt,” T-Bone commented to Nick, “Not to give us a golden egg.”
“We’re coming to the part about the debt, T-Bone,” interjected Terri. “Is your crew capable of making some delicate modifications to a refrigerator trailer? Welding, sheet metal work – that sort of thing?”
Lyndon snorted, “I’ve got two of the best welders this side of the Pecos living here. Dad’s not so bad with working metal either. What do you have in mind?”
It was Bishop’s turn to speak, “We’re going to address the situation in Midland Station, and we’re going to do so using a very old trick.”
“Trick?” asked T-Bone. “Would, by any chance, this trick allow me to keep Eva in their hospital and make an honest living again?”
Terri laughed, “It might… it just might.”
“I’m in,” replied T-Bone.
Midland Station, Texas
April 30, 2016
T-Bone and Lyndon stopped at the west side roadblock leading into Midland Station. An armed guard approached the semi cautiously until he recognized the driver. “Not seen you pass through here in a while,” he greeted.
Smiling, T-Bone’s voice was cocky. “I’ve got a trailer load of beef and veggies back there. I assume a man can still barter food for fuel hereabouts.”
“Let’s take a peek,” replied the guard.
Lyndon climbed out of the cab and proceeded to the back of the trailer. Climbing up, he pushed up the latch and then opened the heavy door.
A slight mist formed when the outside warmth mixed with the cooler, refrigerated air from the trailer. The fog cleared quickly, revealing several hanging sides of beef, crates of melons, and other green vegetables.
Whistling, the guard asked, “Now where did you guys manage to get all that?”
“We’ve got a new source,” replied Lyndon.
Nodding, the sentry stepped back to the concrete barriers and picked up a radio. A few minutes later, he received clearance to proceed downtown.
Obviously excited about the potential exchange of goods, Lyndon motioned for the guard to follow him back to the rear of the trailer. “Hey, I forgot I brought something special along. I don’t have enough for everybody, so keep it quiet.”
Intrigued, the man followed Lyndon. Opening the trailer’s door again, the guard watched as Lyndon climbed inside and then waved for the man to follow. “Come on up and take a look. Maybe you can tell me what this is worth.”
The sentry glanced around to see if any of his comrades were paying attention. They were not, so he climbed aboard and entered. Lyndon was almost to the front, pushing past the cold slabs of beef swinging with his passage. Following a few steps behind, the guard watched as Lyndon bent down and pulled a bottle of whiskey from a small crate. Reaching for the ultra-rare item was the man’s last act.
Lyndon watched as a shadow appeared over the guard’s shoulder and then a solid thud echoed through the confines of the trailer. The man facing Lyndon jerked slightly, and then his eyes went wide with disbelief before rolling to the back of his head. Nick appeared behind the collapsing man, and a moment later, he and Lyndon were stripping the clothing and weapon from the body.
Lyndon didn’t really look all that much like the fallen sentry, but the baseball cap, shirt and weapon would pass a quick glance. Sticking his head around the corner of the trailer, he shouted at another guard, “Hey! You’re not going to believe what these guys have back here,” and motioned for the fellow to hurry and have a look.
When the second sentry rounded the corner of the trailer, Nick and Lyndon shoved their weapons in his face, and then two were down.
At Nick’s signal, the car in line behind the semi started honking its horn, the woman driver sticking her head out the window and yelling, “What’s taking so long? What are you guys drinking up there?”
Her shouting brought a third sentry to check on the commotion, and he was disabled within seconds. The remaining three security men working the roadblock didn’t put up a fight when several gun barrels appeared in their faces.
Bishop and Deke survivede the situation with cautious smiles. Nick, reaching for his radio, transmitted, “The west side roadblock is now open.”
After the semi and Terri’s car pulled through the concrete barriers, four school busses arrived, each full of men. Nick waved them through and then jumped in the back of the trailing pickup.
The convoy used an abandoned strip mall as a staging area. Men poured out of the school busses, weapons pointed skyward and grim expressions on their faces. After 15 minutes of organization, one last briefing of orders, objectives and well wishing, groups of men began trekking toward downtown Midland Station. The refrigerated semi pulled out, rolling slowly to the center of the business district.
Lou looked out the high-rise window on the western side of Mr. Lewis’s office, anticipating the arrival of what his men at the roadblock had described as a big-ass trailer full of food. Such a shipment arriving unexpectedly would surely improve the boss’ mood, and perhaps ease the tensions of the day.
There were three company warehouses used to store consumables, the largest of which was two blocks away from the headquarters and well within the inner ring of security he’d established for his principal.
Lou smiled when he spotted the oncoming 18-wheeler, the elevated perch providing a clear view of the over-sized grocery cart as it rolled up to another checkpoint. A wave of pride passed through his mind as he watched the sentries open the trailer for an inspection, despite everyone with a radio knowing “that junk dealer dude,” wa
s delivering a truck full of calories.
The contents of the trailer must have been as advertised. A few moments later, the semi was waved through and began its slow progress toward the warehouse.
T-Bone wasn’t the most experienced over-the-road truck driver and required three attempts to back the trailer properly to the loading dock’s ramp. Normally, the Midland security personnel would have been harassing the driver to death, but the contents of this load provided a free pass to the unskilled teamster. The armed men were standing on both sides his rig, waving their arms in an attempt to guide him in.
Finally, T-Bone got it right, cheers erupting from the handful of men loitering inside the warehouse, waiting to unload. T-Bone and Lyndon climbed out of the cab, both men carrying paper bags that immediately piqued the interest of the security guards.
Motioning for the armed guards to follow, Lyndon lead the men on his side of the trailer like a mother duck trailing a line of her offspring. T-Bones’ side of the big-rig was more of a gaggle, the excited sentries eager to see what was in the sack.
Inside the trailer, wedged in a three-foot wide welded compartment, Nick, Deke and the Darkwater operators sat in silence, cramped in the tiny space by their number and the heavy assault packs full of equipment. The hidden section at the very front of the trailer was Bishop’s idea, his concept of using the “ol’ Trojan Horse routine,” initially drawing laughs and chuckles. The deft touch of T-Bones’ welding and manipulation of sheet metal had changed everyone’s opinion, the boneyard owner creating a nearly invisible hidden compartment, which included peepholes and slots in the roof for circulation.
As the driver and his son occupied the guards with their bags of liquor, Nick and Deke observed the situation through the tiny, cleverly disguised opening on each side of the trailer. “I’m good over here,” whispered Deke.
