Midnight Skills

by William Allen

  “I just don’t like to talk about this kind of thing. That’s all. There were a couple of times,” Luke continued, “I think I should have died and didn’t, just because I somehow managed to do the right thing. That doesn’t mean I like hurting people. Back at the truck stop, I almost threw up after I got Morgan to talk, and the whole time, I knew I was just pretending to be crazy.

  “You want to know the worst thing, though? The very worst thing?” Luke’s voice lost all emotion and he sounded tired, and sad.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Scott admitted, his own voice filled with pain and remorse.

  “The very worst thing is I’m afraid you might be right,” Luke whispered. “I think if I kill enough people, I just might start to enjoy it.”

  Scott didn’t have anything to say to that, and Luke felt exhausted by the time they reached their destination in Kingwood. When he chanced a quick glance over again, Luke saw that Scott had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. The pain meds from Eric appeared to finally be giving his friend some relief.

  The site Mike guided them to was a massive warehouse complex situated in an industrial park and surrounded by other massive metal buildings. Other than a small housing development approximately half a mile away, Luke saw no signs of recent habitation. He watched carefully as the convoy rolled past acres packed in neat rows with oilfield service equipment that far exceeded Luke’s limited knowledge on the subject. Fortunately, Mike Elkins and Lee Farrell seemed to know what they were doing when Lee flung open the tall chain-link fence and guided the big Peterbilt to a stop, adjacent to what looked like yet another nondescript metal-clad building.

  Luke stayed in his seat and watched the world through a pixilated pattern while Mike and Lee handled the chore of hooking up the Peterbilt to the massive skid-mounted SX Refinery already loaded onto a trailer in the yard. In fact, since they’d found two, Mike and his crew piggybacked a second trailer with the intention of hauling both units home, along with a pallet load of replacement parts and repair kits. Suddenly, everyone Luke saw on the screen seemed to be smiling at their windfall.

  While the two experienced oilfield men worked, the remainder formed up a quick perimeter, bristling with barrels pointed out. What they lacked in manpower, Luke’s father seemed determined to make up with firepower.

  When his father came by to relieve him, Luke almost bowled the older man over when he hustled outside to unbutton his pants. Then, remembering he still had somebody else’s blood on his jeans, the young man froze.

  “Hey, Dad?” Luke called over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, son?”

  “You got any wet wipes in your bag?”

  “What happened to the ones I gave you before we left?”

  “Used them all to clean up with earlier,” Luke replied, now desperate to void his bladder, but damned if he was going to use his bare hands to touch the blood-crusted zipper, then handle his business. Something had to give, and soon.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  “I gotta pee, and I ain’t touching my jeans without some disinfectant wipes. Bloodborne pathogens and all that. But if I don’t get something soon, it won’t matter.”

  “Got yourself in a real pickle there,” Luke heard another voice, groggy with sleep, pipe up from the back of the Cougar.

  “No, Scott, you can come hold it for me. Kinda difficult anyway, with just one hand to control this monster,” Luke fired back, quick as a shot.

  “Ohhhhhhhh!” Scott cried in mock distress. “That’s horrible, making fun of poor, injured little me. Shame on you, you big bully.”

  If he’d said anything else, his father’s laughter overrode the sounds as Sam Messner began to cackle with unrestrained glee. Then a travel-sized box of disinfectant wipes came sailing out the half-opened door, and Luke was too busy for the next little bit to pay attention to anything else.

  “Better?” his father asked.

  “Much,” Luke replied. He’d managed to rezip without incident and used another wet wipe to clean his hands one last time.

  “Man, I hate getting somebody else’s blood all over my clothes,” Luke lamented, climbing back into the armored vehicle.

  “Yeah, that’s not something I ever expected to hear my son complain about,” Sam replied, his chuckles dying down. “Of course, if you’d followed Billy into the ring, that might have been different.”

  “You thought about being a pro fighter?” Scott asked with some surprise.

  Looking at his friend, Luke regretted being so blunt with him earlier. Scott didn’t need to hear things like that, and in retrospect, Luke felt like he should have just kept his mouth shut. Some things he only felt comfortable sharing with Amy, after all.

  “For about ten seconds,” Luke admitted. “I probably could have made a little money, playing off my famous uncle’s name, if nothing else, but the demands on my time for that level of training would have been brutal. Not something I could do while also trying to attend college. Especially if I made it into the Naval Academy like I was hoping.”

  “He just wanted to make sure his old man had to salute him,” Sam added, getting up from the console to switch places with his son.

  “Well, that was just one option. I already had some college credits accumulated, but they wouldn’t transfer there. If I didn’t get in, I could have stayed close to home and attended SFA, or maybe opted for the University of Texas.”

  “Nothing out of state?” Scott asked, curious. He’d already shared his aborted future plans with Luke after all.

  “With out-of-state tuition like it was? Not happening,” Luke replied with a derisive snort.

  “Unless somebody like LSU or Arkansas offered you a scholarship to play ball,” Sam added.

  “Yeah, like that was going to happen,” Luke dismissed.

  “You never know,” his father replied.

  “And now, I never will,” Luke observed softly, and all three men seemed to deflate.

  Luke’s words brought everybody back to the here-and-now, and Sam paused to squeeze his son’s shoulder before scrambling to dismount from the MRAP.

  “You have a good dad there, Luke,” Scott noted as he settled back on his pallet.

  “He is at that,” Luke agreed. “Look, about what I said earlier, I wanted to apologize…”

  “Man, you have nothing to apologize for,” Scott interrupted. “I insulted you and misunderstood, and that’s on me. I’m sorry for what I said, and about not being a better friend to you. Okay?”

  “Okay, and for the record, I don’t share my emotions very well,” Luke admitted. Then to bring the earlier banter back, he felt the need to add, “me not being a girl, and all that.”

  Scott laughed, and as the convoy pulled out of the deserted industrial park, Luke found himself engaged in a verbal sparring match with his friend that lasted until they reached the security of their home. Luke’s attention never wavered while he maintained the watch, but he did allow himself to feel some satisfaction of a job well done when the gates clanged shut behind them.

  CHAPTER 24

  “So, what were those guys after?” Amy asked as she snuggled into the mattress, molding her delightful shape to match his own.

  The nightly debrief was a ritual practiced by the two teenagers going back to their time together on the road. What began as an opportunity for Amy to pick Luke’s brain for what she’d seen during that day’s trek, over time morphed into a free exchange of plans and observations when the two travelers huddled under a blanket.

  “Well, you know not to say anything, but this is really secret, okay?” Luke said as he nibbled lightly on her ear.

  “Yes, I get the idea of need-to-know,” Amy replied with a soft chuckle, turning her head to capture Luke’s lips with her own. Their kiss deepened, and Luke slid his arms around her heavenly form. Yep, thought Luke, this ‘sleeping in the same bed’ sure can cause some issues.

  Finally, sanity prevailed once more, and they drew back with some hesitation. Luke rolled over, f
acing Amy.

  “You know they are tied in with the Regular Army types, you know, a lot tighter than we are here?” Luke asked carefully.

  “Yes, I get that,” Amy replied, using a little hand wave, barely visible in the low light, urging Luke to get on with it. “Best we got is Major Warren, and he doesn’t strike me as much of a go-getter.”

  “Well, that may be true, but the guys at the port not only have access to the regular chain of command through General McMillan, they also have a retired Navy captain who was also a spook of some sort.”

  “A spook? Like some kind of spy or something?”

  “Or something,” Luke inclined his head in agreement. “Dad didn’t get into the details, but apparently this guy went to work for the Department of Defense after he retired, and he knows stuff. Like the location of one of the Strategic National Stockpile sites.”

  “Okay, cowboy,” Amy said, giving Luke an affectionate, and encouraging squeeze, “you lost me there.”

  “Oh,” Luke stammered, losing his train of thought for a moment when she’d pressed her no-longer tiny protrusions into his chest. Eating right and gaining weight for Amy meant she was going through a bit of a growth spurt at fifteen, and adding inches to areas other than just her height.

  “Yeah, so anyway,” he continued, “after Katrina and Rita and that big Ebola scare, the CDC stepped up their practice of building massive supply caches around the country. Stocked them with medical equipment, emergency supplies, and medicines. These places are not exactly common knowledge, and this captain knows the location of one within driving distance.”

  “Wouldn’t somebody have raided a place like that by now? I mean, even if it was a secret, nothing is really that secret. Stuff was getting leaked on the Internet, seemed like every week, back before. Somebody would know. Heck, probably the guys guarding it would have known.”

  “Good chance you are right,” Luke agreed, “but I get the idea they’ve burned through a lot of the prepositioned medical supplies at the port. I don’t know the numbers but sounds like they took in a whole bunch of refugees when things went dark. Anyway, since we are allies, Lieutenant Gilbert promised Dad if they found enough there, he would make sure we received an allotment of the medicines.”

  “Holy cow!” Amy exclaimed, appropriating one of Paige’s more favorite sayings, “that could be huge. I know Beth is worried about how low we are getting on antibiotics. She’s worried this winter is going to be bad with sicknesses. Good thing the baby isn’t due until late in the spring.”

  Amy stroked Luke’s arm, and stopped when she reached the brace he was wearing on his injured wrist.

  “Speaking of drugs, do you need a pain pill for this?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Luke replied, then amended his answer when he felt Amy tense. “Okay, fine-ish. It still hurts, but with the Advil for my head, I can take it. Really, I’ve been hurt worse playing football. Plus, it feels kind of wimpy taking something for the pain, what with losing Rudy and the other guys. Just seems wrong.”

  “I hate it, too,” Amy murmured softly. “When we got the radio call that your convoy was coming back and there were casualties, I was terrified. Then I prayed, really prayed so hard, that it wasn’t you. Your mom was there too when your dad called, and she was a nervous wreck. Your dad didn’t want to say too much over the radio, but when he said knucklehead was bruised but fine, I could see her relax. So that’s your nickname? Knucklehead?”

  Amy gave a sniffle then, and Luke knew she was fighting back tears. Trying to distract herself with the silly question too, it seemed.

  “No, just what Dad called me when I did something not smart. Really, though, I can’t think of what else we could have done. They had us outgunned, Amy. Hell, my bullets just bounced off the thing, and even Scott couldn’t penetrate the armor with his pop gun. But we had to keep them distracted, so the rest of the convoy could get away. And we showed them, in the end.”

  “I saw the new trucks. Are they that much better than the Humvee?”

  “Oh, yeah, honey,” Luke assured her. “Those Cougar MRAPs are definitely better. I just wish we hadn’t paid such a price for them.”

  “So, you didn’t say anything about Beth’s impending bundle of joy. Did Mike say something?”

  “What? No, he didn’t. Of course, we barely had a chance to talk, what with so much going on out there.”

  Luke took a moment to digest this news, or more accurately, this confirmation. “So, it’s true? Beth’s pregnant again?”

  “Yep, and don’t ask me how that could’ve happened, Luke,” Amy admonished. “You know darn good and well where babies come from. And yes, she used one of those EPT tests. About the only thing that didn’t get looted from the pharmacies except the condoms,” she added with a snort, “so we have plenty for the time being. Both the prophylactics, and the means to determine their failure.”

  Luke chuckled at Amy’s words. She was sharp, this girl, woman he mentally corrected, of his. She also wanted to change the subject, Luke knew, and he decided to go along. He knew Mike was still torn up over the losses, but maybe the idea of having another child would help lift him out of his funk.

  “I guess they didn’t have much else to do, what with the Internet and Facebook being gone,” he agreed. Then, he couldn’t help adding his own little zinger. “I guess with Scott laid up again, we can expect Helena to be peeing on a stick pretty soon herself.”

  “Rude,” Amy protested, but couldn’t hide the giggle before she continued. “Also, probably true. Well, at least he’ll stop this nonsense about going off and joining the Army.”

  Luke snorted. “How come I am always the last to hear anything around here? I didn’t even know he was thinking about doing such a fool thing until he was already laid up.”

  “Uh, Luke, you aren’t always here, and even when you are, well, you don’t always listen real good,” Amy explained, carefully. She knew Luke was staying out like he did, riding patrols and sitting ambush duty, because he was afraid. Not fearing for his own personal safety, but for her, and for all of them. Others just didn’t get it, and couldn’t understand what drove the young man, but Amy did.

  “It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” Luke replied, “but I get what you mean. I really do. Sometimes my head is still stuck out there.”

  “So, you aren’t thinking about joining up too, are you?” Amy asked, her whispered voice sounded almost loud in the quiet bedroom.

  “What? Oh, hell, no!” Luke exclaimed, thunder in his tone. “I got nothing but respect for those men and women, but I’ve got my responsibilities right here. Maybe if things were like they were before, and it was safe for you on the ranch, then sure.”

  He paused, his voice dropping a bit as he spoke again. “It was always part of my plans. Get into Annapolis, earn my commission, and make Dad have to feel his arm twitch to salute every time he saw me in uniform.”

  “But not now?”

  “Like I said, now I’ve got responsibilities here, and the state, this country is such, well, I guess we’ll all need to stay farmers and ranchers if we want to eat. So, hairbrained stunts like going to get this oil processing equipment aside, I’m planning to stick close to home and guard this place.”

  “Did we really need these mini-refineries, though? I mean, if the plan was to get the old refinery back up and running in Tyler, did we need to add the capacity here?”

  Luke thought about the question for a moment before replying. “Yes, I think we did. Look, if Tim and the guys he’s recruited can get that place running, which is still a big question mark, then most of the refining is going to be devoted to keeping the military running. With more vehicles slowly getting resurrected, we’ve burned through a lot of the fuel stores available locally, and I’ll bet most, if not all, of the limited product they generate in Tyler is going to either keep our National Guard trucks running here or will be shipped up to Joplin for use there.

  “Add to that, whoever ends up in char
ge in Tyler will need guards on that plant twenty-four-seven to keep Chambers’ saboteurs out, much less the garden variety raiders who you know will show up. Once we get those tanks ready and the pump overhauled for the crude oil truck, Mike is confident he and Lee can get these two units up and running. That way, we will not only have diesel for our own use come spring planting, but also the kerosene needed to run heaters this winter.”

  “Oh,” Amy enthused, thinking on the subject, “that reminds me. Gaddis and Mr. Tompkins finished that prototype heater from the designs your dad had saved off the Internet. Mr. Gaddis said they will be easier to build using that old stovepipe and some other materials they found in the hardware store.”

  Luke thought on this topic and then gave Amy a kiss to show his approval. His father, and Sheriff Henderson for that matter, worried about survivors heating their homes this winter. While this part of Texas usually enjoyed mild temperatures and no shortage of trees for fuel, Luke knew they had nowhere near enough properly aged firewood for everyone to remain comfortable this winter, especially since so much wood had already been used simply for cooking or boiling water. Also, many newer homes completely lacked a woodstove or fireplace, and he knew of several families in their own little community who cooked over a firepit in the backyard.

  With these new, simple to fabricate kerosene heaters, Luke knew they gave off enough heat to warm at least one room in a house, and with the addition of a suspended grate, the heater converted to a small stove as well. Nothing fancy, but utility trumped pretty in a survival situation.

  “We need to make sure our friends all have a copy of this design,” Luke finally suggested. “I know the winters are worse up in Arkansas and Oklahoma than we get down here. I’m sure Darwin and his network of farmers could assemble dozens of these things for their use, and maybe to trade.”

  That was the plan, anyway. Locally, Sam Messner wanted someone, preferably Gerald Tompkins, to begin manufacturing the simple kerosene stoves for the community. Gerald owned one of the last light manufacturing plants in the area, once devoted to plastics extrusion, but all of his fancy computer-driven manufacturing equipment now did nothing more than gather dust.