AFTER THE DUST SETTLED (Countdown to Armageddon Book 2)

by Darrell Maloney

  Jordan had a blast.

  “Wow! That was fun. Too bad there aren’t more to do.”

  “Well, it’s funny you should mention that, son. Because we have to do the same thing to the next two towers.”

  “How come? There aren’t any cameras on those.”

  “No, but these are the three towers that are closest to the compound. If you climb up on these three towers, you can see the house and over the fence. You can see the livestock inside the fence.

  “That’s a bad thing. We don’t want anybody to see that we have livestock and crops. We want them to just walk on by and never even notice.”

  “And what if we have to get up there and adjust the cameras again later on?”

  “Then we bring the extension ladder out of the work shed. It stretches to sixteen feet. That’s plenty to reach the rungs we didn’t cut off.”

  The walkie came back to life.

  “Scott, this is Joyce.”

  “Go ahead, Joyce.”

  “I’ve got two mesquite trees I just uprooted with the Bobcat. Got thorns on them two inches long. Really nasty suckers. I’ve got them standing by to block the end of the drive after you guys get back in. Let me know when you’re headed back so I can close the door behind you.”

  “10-4. That was my next project. Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed, Sugar. Us women do a lot more than cooking, you know.”

  Scott smiled.

  “Yep. I know.”

  After they finished with the other two towers, Scott and Jordan returned to the compound. Joyce, who’d driven the Bobcat often enough to be an expert at it, placed the first tree upright at the end of the driveway. Then she loosened the grip of the hydraulic jaws and gently pushed it forward until it fell perfectly into place. There was still a slight opening, so she did the same thing with the second tree.

  They now had a wall of uprooted mesquite trees that completely encircled the property. It would take a brave soul to fight his way through thorny trees to trespass into the compound. And if anyone was fool enough to try it, he’d be shot anyway.

  Scott was hoping that no one tried. He’d been too young for Vietnam, and too old for the Iraq war. He’d never taken a human life, and he didn’t relish the thought of doing so.

  He knew he would to save his own life. Or the life of someone he cared about. But the way he figured it, if they kept a low enough profile and stayed to themselves, that particular dilemma might never have to present itself.

  -8-

  Their fifth day in, Linda was taking her turn at the security console when Tom Haskins called in on the walkie talkie.

  “Hello, hello. Anybody got their ears on?”

  Tom hadn’t used a radio since his CB radio days.

  Linda smiled.

  “Hey, Tom. How are you doing over there?”

  “I’m okay. A might lonely is all. This not going to work anymore and not seeing people is harder than I thought.”

  “Well, you can come and see us any time you want. And the invitation to move in here with us still stands.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’m headed by for a visit. Can you open the gate for me?”

  “How soon will you be here?”

  “Five minutes, maybe. Ten at the outside.”

  “Okay. We’ll be waiting.”

  “Scott or Joyce, did you copy that?”

  “Yep. Sure did. I’ll take care of it.”

  Scott and Joyce were outside the compound, with the kids, in the one acre field just outside the fence. They’d prepared it a year before by removing the grass and rocks from it. Now they were in the process of planting corn in it.

  It was a tedious and backbreaking process. They hadn’t thought to purchase a seed planting machine, so it had to be done by hand. Row by row, they were using screwdrivers to poke holes in the ground and dropping corn kernels inside them. Every three feet they repeated the process. To plant the whole acre, it would take all of them, six to eight hours a day, at least a week to complete.

  But they’d be rewarded by a glorious harvest of corn that was intended to last them for three years.

  Scott asked Joyce, who was in the row next to his and a little bit ahead of him, “Hey, Doll. You need a break?”

  “No, baby, I just had one. You go ahead.”

  Scott walked over to the end of the driveway, where the two mesquite trees were blocking the entrance to the yard. On the way, he called in.

  “Linda, you still on security?”

  “Yep.”

  “Anybody visible on any of the monitors?”

  “Nope. It’s all clear.”

  “10-4. Let me know if you see any activity out there while we have the gate open, will you?”

  “10-4.”

  Scott backed the Bobcat up to the tallest of the two trees blocking the drive, and tied a chain around its trunk. He dragged it out of the way, got out of the Bobcat and took off the chain. Then he turned the machine around, used the hydraulic jaws to pick it back up, and waited for his friend to appear.

  And it was quite an appearance Tom made.

  Scott was expecting him to ride up on Bonnie, as he did before, or perhaps the Gator they’d given him.

  Instead, a beige 1963 Ford Galaxy 500 came rumbling into the yard, loaded down with boxes of all sizes and shapes. Every spare inch was packed, and there were even four boxes tied to the roof.

  If the Beverly Hillbillies had moved to Beverly in a car instead of an old truck, this was what it would have looked like.

  Scott smiled and said to himself, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Once the old car was in the yard, Scott put the tree back into place, climbed out of the Bobcat and greeted his friend.

  “Hello, Tom. I see you got your car running. And not only that, you’ve turned it into a truck.”

  Tom laughed.

  “Well, I found that it hauls more stuff than your Gator. It has a huge trunk and a huge back seat, and a sturdy roof. This is one of those steel cars that you whippersnappers have heard about but never seen.”

  Joyce had seen the car pull in and thought it a good time to take a break after all.

  “Well hello, neighbor!”

  “Hello, Joyce. You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you. You’re looking pretty bright and cheerful yourself. What’s with all the boxes?”

  “Well, I wrote out a check for twelve thousand dollars and left it on the steering wheel of one of the Walmart trucks. It’s all the money I had left in the bank, but I figure that’s enough to own what’s in the back of the truck. And I’m finding all kinds of good stuff. And it’s way more than I need. So I figured I’d share it with you good folks.”

  About that time Sara came running out of the field and over to the car.

  “Oh, my God! Am I really seeing this?”

  Her eyes were locked in on a box on top of the car that was imprinted with the Brach’s Chocolates logo.

  Tom laughed.

  “I thought the kids would especially like that one.”

  Joyce corrected him.

  “Not just the kids, Tom. Us ladies like our chocolate too. Thank you so much. You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?”

  “Well, to be honest, I was hoping for an invitation. I’m used to eating like a single man, but a good home cooked meal sure sounds good occasionally.”

  “Okay, then, it’s settled. We’re having pot roast tonight. It’s in the crock pot cooking now. I hope you brought your appetite with you.”

  “I certainly did. Now, where can I put this stuff?”

  Scott said, “Just drive it on into the compound and we’ll put it in one of the sheds. And while we’re unloading it, you can tell me all about how you managed to get this thing running again.”

  As they stacked cases of canned goods, breakfast cereals and boxed pasta into the shed, Tom explained what he’d been working on the previous days.

  “Like I suspected, the auto parts place had everything I n
eeded. A new solenoid for the starter and a new ignition switch. They had the old fashioned glass fuses this old girl uses, so I was able to replace all the fuses in the fuse box. Now it runs like a champ.

  “I picked up some extra stuff for you too. In the trunk are a couple of dry batteries. Eventually you’ll need them as your others wear out. Have you ever used a dry battery before?”

  Yes, but it’s been a few years.

  “It’s easy. It has caps that come off and there’s six cells on the inside of it. There’s a plastic package of powered acid for each battery. You pour the acid more or less evenly into the six cells. Then you add water, and the acid reacts to the copper plates on the inside. That’s what gives it its power. With these kind of batteries you’ll have to pull the caps off every month or two to add water. These aren’t maintenance free like the newer batteries.”

  “So they survived the EMPs because they didn’t have water in them?”

  “Exactly. Since there was no water, there was nothing to connect the two terminals and short the battery out.”

  “Thank you, Tom. I appreciate you thinking of us.”

  “Shoot. Why wouldn’t I? You’re great friends and great neighbors and you’ve treated me kindly. It’s the least I can do.”

  -9-

  Over dinner, Scott asked Tom, “Would you be willing to share the information about fixing your car with the San Antonio police?”

  Tom gave him a blank look.

  “Sure. But how?”

  “I set up my ham radio the night before last just to try it out. I didn’t do any talking. I just listened in to see how many people were out there who still had radio capability. It was mostly quiet, but I did stumble across two men talking. I knew they were very close because the signal was so strong.

  “They were both preppers who’d protected their radios from the EMPs, and they were talking about how bad the situation was in San Antonio. Thousands of people dead, either by suicide or murder. The whole city is in full chaos. One of the men said he was a cop, and that they were overwhelmed, with no vehicles, and that many of the cops just didn’t even try to help any more.

  “I wrote down his call sign and frequency. If I can raise that guy on the radio again, would you share what you know with him? Maybe if the SAPD can get even a few cars running, it might save some lives.”

  “Sure. I’d be happy to help. With newer cars, they’d have to bypass all the fancy electronic ignitions and on board computers and all that. But I could explain to them how to rig them up.”

  That evening Scott and Tom went to the ham radio and found the frequency Scott had been listening to two nights before.

  “This is K57B59. Looking for K408T1. Are you on tonight?”

  “There was a brief delay, then, “This is Kilo-408-Tango-1. Do I know you?”

  “No. But I was monitoring this frequency the other night and I’m aware of your situation. I think we can help you get some of your police cars going again.”

  “Seriously? How?”

  Scott handed Tom the microphone.

  “My name is Tom. Are you a mechanic?”

  “No, I tinker is all. But I have a neighbor who is. I can send my wife to get him.”

  “That would probably be best. It’s not a difficult process, but if you skip a step it won’t work.”

  “Okay. I just sent my wife. She’ll be back with Paul in a minute. My name’s John. Where are y’all at?”

  Tom looked at Scott, who vigorously shook his head.

  “We’re near Dallas.”

  “Do y’all have your cars running up there?”

  “Only one so far. Maybe after you know how to do it you can help spread the word to other police departments.”

  “Buddy, if you can help us get our cars running again, we’ll tell the whole damn world.”

  There was another pause. Then,

  “Okay, our mechanic is here. His name is Paul. Go ahead.”

  “Paul, my name is Tom. Can you get to an auto parts store?”

  “Yes. We’ll have to walk, but there’s an Auto Zone about half a mile from here.”

  “What you’re going to do is grab some old fashioned car parts. The old two port ignition switches that used to attach to a car’s fender wells. Have you seen them?”

  “Yes. But not for awhile.”

  “You might have to search for them, but they’ll have them for older model cars. You’ll also need some old fashioned batteries. The dry ones. The ones that aren’t maintenance free. Since you guys live in the city, they may not stock very many of them. But once you get a couple cars running, hit rural parts stores, or farm implement companies. They’ll have a lot of them, because they still use them on tractors and harvesters and such. You’ll also need solenoids and fuses, because yours are going to be shot. But I’ll bet that your starters are okay. I think the solenoids all shorted out, and that’s as far as the damage went. The generator on my car was okay, but you might want to grab some of those too in case yours were damaged.”

  Tom paused to catch his breath.

  “Am I talking too fast?”

  “No, you’re doing fine. And John’s taking notes. Go ahead.”

  “Okay. Your newer cars have way too much crap under the hoods. Electronic mumbo jumbo and pollution prevention type of stuff. But when you get right down to it, the main parts, the starting system and engine and such haven’t changed much over the years.

  “You’ll have a dedicated wire inside the wiring bundle that goes from the battery to the steering column. It’s probably red, but I don’t know if that’s industry standard so don’t count on it. It should be easy to spot because it’ll have an in-line fuse. Find that wire and replace the fuse.

  “Now take that good old fashioned ignition switch. It used to bolt under the hood on the fender well closest to the battery. It normally mounts with two bolts, but I know you can’t drill any new holes so just do the best you can. Mount it someplace where it’s stable, and make sure it’s grounded.

  “Then wire that to the solenoid. The new solenoid, after you take the starter off and replace it. And don’t throw the old solenoid away. The copper will be fried on the inside of it, but any good machine shop technician can rebuild it for one of your other cars.

  “Replace all of your fuses and you should be good to go. You’ll bypass a lot of the sensors and other junk you don’t need anyway. But the car should run. Don’t forget to check your generator to make sure it’s charging the battery, though, or you’ll only get a few starts out of it.”

  Scott and Tom couldn’t see them, but John was looking expectantly at his friend Paul. Paul shook his head yes, meaning that, in his opinion, it sounded like a good plan. He thought it would work.

  John got back on.

  “Thanks, fellas. You can officially consider yourself heroes. If we all survive this and things ever get back to normal, I’ll make sure the city of San Antonio throws a parade in your honor.

  Scott replied, “Hey, we’re just glad we can help. Once you get your cars running again, don’t forget to help spread the word to other departments.”

  “We’ll do that, Scott. Thanks again, and keep in touch.”

  “Okay. Will do. K57B59 out.”

  Another voice came on.

  “Hey, K57B59, this is BR671K14. We took notes too down here in Orlando. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Scott laughed.

  “Don’t mind at all, Orlando. Spread the word, will you?”

  “Roger. Gonna do that now.”

  -10-

  In the weeks after their arrival at the compound, the dust finally began to settle and the group developed a routine of sorts.

  Everyone had chores to do, and there were plenty to go around. They were able to relax a little now, knowing that their compound was not only very well hidden, it was also almost impenetrable.

  They still took turns at the security console, of course. Just in case. They switched off every four hours, around the clock. Even Zachary and
Sara took their turns. The short four hour shifts kept anyone from becoming too bored, and since there were six of them, it enabled each of them to pull security duty at the same time each day.

  And that enabled their body clocks to stabilize.

  Outside, there was plenty of work to do. The livestock had to be fed and cared for. The eggs had to be gathered, and someone had to milk old Bessie every morning.

  The garden that Joyce and Linda planted required a lot of care. So did the acre of corn. But everyone pitched in to pull weeds, water and fertilize the plants. There wasn’t a single slacker in the group.

  The rabbits had dug their way out of their pen and now had free run of the yard. Scott was okay with that as long as the dogs didn’t bother them too much. But when they found a dead rabbit and several half-eaten heads of cabbage, he had to rethink things.

  His solution was to take six sheets of plywood and build the rabbits a new pen in the back corner of the compound. He buried each sheet of plywood a foot deep into the ground to keep them from digging out again, and he thought he was finished with them for awhile.

  It only took them half a day to get out again.

  It was Sara, of all people, who came up with a better plan. She and Scott spent three days digging a patch of dirt twelve inches deep, eight feet wide, and sixteen feet long.

  Then she dragged two sheets of half inch plywood into the hole and filled it back in again. Scott rebuilt the plywood fence, and the problem seemed solved for good.

  The rabbits still dug, of course. But once they hit the plywood they abandoned the hole and went elsewhere. Within a week, the pockmarked piece of land looked like an artillery range. But at least it kept the rabbits in.

  Sara asked Scott while they were working on the project together, “How come you have so many rabbits? Do you like bunnies?”

  “No, honey. Those three females and three males we let start mingling will produce a couple of hundred offspring a year. We’re going to eat them.”

  Sara was shocked.

  “No way!”

  “Yes. Sorry, but they’re a good source of protein. They grow faster than any of the other animals, and they’re a renewable source of food.”