“This is important. You see this area?” Thompson motioned with his hand with the man nodding again. “This entire area is controlled by a gang. They’re made up of mostly of old biker elements and some previous military as well. Plenty of small arms of course, they’ve also managed to get grenades and mortars too. They call themselves ‘The Free Men’ …”
“Free men?”
“Yes, they feel free to rob, rape or kill, that’s about all they ever seem to do anyway. They control this whole area …” Thompson pointed it out with his hand, “everything north of the Elkhorn River, all the way to Sioux City. Normally they stay on their side of the river. But recent reports indicate there have been a few raiding parties, what we euphemistically call ‘food and fun’ parties seen on this side. They haven’t come this far south but I think it would be best if you just avoid the whole area altogether.”
The man interjected with his own ideas, “If I follow this river …” he said tracing with his finger, “I would avoid them completely?” The man suddenly became aware of his bandaged finger and quickly withdrew it from sight.
Thompson made an effort not to notice, “That was my thinking too. That’s Beaver Creek and if you follow it you should stay out of the problem area entirely.”
“Is there anything else I should know?” The man continued to study the maps on the walls and feeling for his missing finger that was now behind his back.
Thompson continued not to notice. “No, that is the only major problem in your direction. Of course, I’m not including the many small gangs wandering around. But I guess you can stay away from them, you’ve been doing it for years. You must’ve been doing something right.”
“What was that shooting about, the day after we arrived? Is that something I need to worry about?”
“That was a local gang, they moved into the neighborhood two months ago, tried to extort the locals. They thought because they had some select fire weapons they stole from the military they could do whatever they wanted. But they found out something about full auto weapons.”
“What’s that?” the man asked as he continued studying the maps all around him.
“That in the hands of the untrained they’re not very effective, and if you’re not paying attention you’ll burn up your ammo supplies before you know it. But you don’t need to worry about them, there’s none left for you to worry about. Would you like a briefing? I mean on the whole country?”
The man turned and acknowledged Thompson at last, “Please. I don’t know very much, just lots of rumors I’ve heard over the years.”
Thompson then turned to the largest map of the United States. “Well, after the collapse the worst areas affected were on the East Coast.” Thompson picked up a long wooden pointer and pointed it out on the map. “The further east you go, the worse it is. Some cities on the eastern seaboard were completely devastated. From what we understand a lot of them were totally emptied, very few survivors, just a few crazy holdouts living among the dead. That’s where the major epidemics started too.”
“Epidemics? I knew of one. Was there more?”
“Yes, it really got bad after that first winter, influenza and cholera epidemics, tuberculosis too. As I was saying, it started in the east, millions more were killed, more than the rioting and lawlessness killed. Within a year we started seeing the refugees heading this way. By then many were sick and starving, dying. It was heartbreaking to see but there was only so much we could do for them. We helped those we could, the others we gave a Christian burial. We’ve got our own cemetery on the far south side of the property. There’s fifty-nine people there, seven our own, and the others refugees like you, the ones that didn’t survive.”
“How many died? I mean, how many Americans are dead, total?” The man wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“That’s a tough question. From what we know from various radio sources around the country, from refugees we’ve interviewed and from my own intuition, my best guess estimate would be somewhere just over two hundred million. Probably three-quarters of those since the initial unrest, and the majority from starvation and diseases associated with it. As far as we can determine, of the remaining population, around seventy-five percent now live on the west side of the Mississippi.”
The man was speechless at it all and while he had witnessed the devastation personally, it now seemed even more enormous illustrated with maps and numbers.
“Those remaining on the east side of the country, a large number of them anyway, live in labor camps liked the one you mentioned near Fort Knox Kentucky.”
“You know anything about that camp?”
“No, not that one. But we’ve had escapees from similar camps come through and I’m willing to bet it’s the same as the others. At first they were set up to help those that were starving, those that didn’t have a home anymore. But over time they basically developed into slave labor camps. Now the people inside spend the majority of their time farming, just trying to scratch out a living off the surrounding land. Whatever they grow feeds the guards and administrators, whatever’s left they keep for themselves. And from what I hear that’s not much. Those camps started off with good intentions, they were trying to protect people, help save them from the unrest, and from starvation. Now it’s a living nightmare. You ever heard that saying ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions?’”
“Of course …”
“Well, those camps are living proof of it.”
Now the man was becoming indignant, “But couldn’t somebody help us? Some of our friends?”
“You mean other countries?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t anybody help us?”
Thompson went to the world map, “Not really, most of them got hurt too. When our economy collapsed it sent shock waves that went around the world. Quite a few countries went the same way we did, civil unrest, mass killing. Most of Europe was hit as bad as us, some even worse. The United Kingdom, France, all the rest of Western Europe, they’re out of this, they can hardly help themselves. There are reports of getting some aid. The Canadians sent us some help, not very much. They were hurt too, bad, but not as bad as us. There have been reports of them bringing in a few small relief operations on the border. We’ve also had an unsubstantiated report that Chinese troops have landed in southern California, San Diego. We don’t know what that’s about yet.”
“Is there anyone in charge?” The man was only becoming more frustrated as they talked.
“You mean at a national level?”
“Right.”
“No, as far as we can tell. Mostly everything is local. A lot of small towns have law enforcement operating. Many have started having elections again. The two biggest cities that have returned to some kind of normalcy are Corpus Christi Texas and Wichita Kansas.”
“Does anyone have a plan to rebuild? Corpus Christi or Wichita maybe?”
“The rebuilding is going on right now, right here, every compound like ours, every small town, they’re all rebuilding. There’s no ‘big plan,’ we’re going to have to rebuild this country from the ground up, one farm, one town, one city at a time. When the honest people of this nation are strong enough, then we’ll start eliminating the criminal elements among us. That’s already starting to happen, as I said a lot of places have police and working courts. Law and order is being restored bit by bit. When we finally eliminate the last of the outlaws here in the western states, then we’ll be able to do something about all those people in the eastern half living in slavery. Bring the entire country back together, one nation again, under God.” Thompson was already tiring of his pulpit, “When are you and Joshua going?”
“We’ll be leaving early in the morning.”
“I won’t even try talking you out of it. I can see your mind is made up. Your rifle and other equipment are over at our supply building, it was the large metal building on the left, I pointed it out.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“You can go on over and get your gear, I i
magine you’ll want to check and repack it yourself. We’ve got some extra food and other items for you too, as much as we could spare.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem, I did say we would help you as much as we could. Just go over there and ask for Terry Lacey. In the morning I’ll have Bob Tatum escort you off our property. We have some security concerns so I ask that you follow his instructions, okay?”
“Fine, I understand.”
“Is there anything else we can do before you go?”
The man just stared at Thompson, an awkward feeling in him, the anger and appreciation trying to overpower the other. “No, but thank you again.”
Thompson then offered out his hand, “I won’t be there in the morning, so I suspect this is the last time we see each other. All I want to say is good luck, and we’ll be praying for you.”
The man hesitated, the gratitude now in charge. He then offered out his own bandaged hand. “Thank you for all the help you’ve given us. Thank you for giving us the chance to go on.”
“I was glad I could help you. Good-bye, and again good luck.”
The man then left knowing that the two would never meet again. As he walked to the supply building the man continued to rub his aching finger and think about it all. As he arrived and opened the door, the man made a decision, to try and let go of any of the resentment inside him. Thompson had saved them and that was the only thing that mattered.
He went through the door and there was young man waiting for him there. Staring up at the man from a desk was a friendly looking fellow. He couldn’t have been thirty and he greeted him with a jovial smile that the man was sure wasn’t a lie. His short-cropped hair was a dark burnt orange and as he got closer noticed his eyebrows were too.
The room itself was large and open, with many tall metal shelving units running its length and several lockers on the far left wall. It appeared that anything you might want was probably there. “Thompson sent me over to speak to someone named Terry Lacey.”
“That’s me. He told me you were coming. I’ve got your stuff ready.” The young man pointed out the gear stacked against the far wall. “Thompson probably told you we added some things.”
“Yes … I’m grateful.”
“We do what we can. I put it in your backpack already. We also repaired some of your gear too, the tent, blankets and sleeping bags have all been mended. Also, your rifle and pistol have both been detail stripped and cleaned and are in perfect working order. I test fired them myself.”
“Well, thank you … I guess I’ll be going.” The man turned to pick up his entire life’s possessions lying on the floor.
“Don’t you want to know the rest?” The young man was still wearing his sincere smile.
“Yeah, okay.”
“We’ve given you a few more MREs. I bet you’re tired of them but it’s the one thing we still have plenty of. We also gave you a few canned goods too. As for ammo we topped off all eight of your magazines with some 1980s British surplus we had. It’s very reliable. You now have one hundred sixty rounds … counting the sixty-two you already had. We’ve also given you four boxes, another two hundred rounds of twenty-two.
“Thank you … you’ve done more than I deserve.” The man began to turn for his gear again.
“Wait. There’s one more thing. Thompson wanted you to have this.” The young man then pulled opened the top desk drawer and produced a pistol in a flap holster with a web belt. He then tried to hand it to the man.
“Thompson wanted me to have this?”
“That’s right, here.” The soldier continued to present it out to the man who only stared at it. “He wanted you to have it. He knew you had a twenty-two but said you needed a self-defense handgun. We captured more than a dozen different guns after that attack on the compound a few weeks ago. Thompson personally picked this out for you.”
The man finally, reluctantly, took it from him and pulled the pistol out of its holster. The left side of the slide was marked “Government Model COLT Automatic Caliber .45” and the pistol appeared used but cared for. Its polished blue finish was faded and worn and completely gone on the sharp edges, but despite years of wear it still appeared reliable and solid.
The young man went on with his sales pitch although the man now decided he wanted it. “That pistol is nearly seventy-five years old but it still works fine. Test fired this one for you to. I’ve put all new springs in it and should be good for another seventy-five years. Just wipe it down regularly to keep it from rusting, clean it occasionally, and this gun will outlive you and me.”
The man still didn’t believe. “Thompson specifically said he wanted me to have this gun?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, I guess not.”
“As you can see, it’s got two more magazines on the belt. In your pack you’ll find two more mags and three boxes, one hundred fifty rounds of ball ammo, and one box of hollow points, twenty rounds. You better use those sparingly. They are very hard to come by these days.”
The man was tongue-tied with the generosity of it all but in a moment found his voice again, “When you see Thompson could you tell him that I was very grateful for everything … but especially for this.” The man then put the pistol back in its holster and secured the belt around his waist.
“No problem, I’ll do that. Can I ask you one thing though?” The young man rushed to the man’s gear and picked up a curious item leaning against the wall. It looked like a six-foot length of plastic plumbing pipe with one end sharpened to a fine point. “What exactly do you use this for?”
“That’s my dog spear.”
“What?”
“Dog spear. You don’t have a problem with wild dogs around here?”
“No, we have a pack of ’em come through every once in a while. We just take out as many as we can with a scoped rifle.”
“Well, I can’t afford to waste valuable ammunition on dogs, so if a pack ever gets close to me I use this on them. After I stab one or two the rest will usually scatter. This pole was over eight feet when I first started, every time I use it the point breaks off inside them. Then I whittle it down again, got over a year out of this one so far.”
The man then picked up his rifle and all of his gear with the young fellow just looking at it and thinking about what he had just been told.
That night he was in the surgery using the table to check his gear one last time. He came upon his old chromed cigarette lighter in the bottom of his pack. He hadn’t smoked in a long while but held onto it for the utility and the sentiment, although its usefulness had ended years ago. Checking, he could see it now worked again and a smile came to his face like welcoming a long lost friend.
He put the boy to bed and the child finally, reluctantly fell asleep only ten minutes before. The child was sad when he was told they would be leaving the next morning but there wasn’t an argument. The man had hinted at the idea several times since he got back on his feet. While it was heartbreaking news to the boy, it certainly wasn’t a complete surprise.
The man heard a light tapping and turned to see Amy Helton at the doorway. He put the lighter in his pocket.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Sure.”
She reluctantly came into the room a few steps, “I wanted to talk to you … I know that Michael has already discussed this with you but I wanted to talk to you myself …”
“You’re talking about staying here?”
“Yes.”
“Thompson asked before, more than once. We’re not staying. We’ve got to be going. We’ve been here too long as it is. We’re just wasting time now. We can cover a lot of miles before the weather stops us again next fall.”
“Would it be so horrible?”
“What?”
“Staying here. This is a nice place, plenty of food, and a lot of nice people. We’re starting something important here and you could be part of it. Doc Susie says she could train you to be a doctor. Y
ou and Joshua could have a life here … a good life.”
“Yes, it was an interesting offer. But like I said we have to be going. I’ve been through too much to stop now. Besides, no matter what I do I don’t think I would ever completely fit in here.”
“This is all just about you and Michael, what he did to you? You’re just angry at Michael and Joshua is going to suffer for it.”
“I don’t have a right to be angry?”
“If you could just get past it and think about the whole thing rationally I know you would realize that staying here is the best thing for you and Joshua.”
“I’ll decide what’s best for me and Joshua. I’ve had him for over four years now and I’ve kept him and me alive all this time. I think I’ve done a pretty good job. I decided a long time ago that I was going to be with the only family I have left … and that I was keeping Joshua. I’m leaving, and where I go Joshua goes, and you’re not going to talk me out of it. If that’s what you came to do.”
“I can see that it was useless to come here. I don’t know why I did.”
“Did Thompson send you?”
“What?”
“Did Thompson send you to convince me to stay? Did he?”
“No he did not. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I came on my own. I thought if I could just reason with you I could make you see that staying here is the smart decision … that traveling across the wild areas, especially dragging a seven-year-old behind you was not. But now I can see your irrational hatred of Michael won’t let you think straight. You’re putting yourself and Joshua in unnecessary danger just because of your hatred for one man.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“I wish I had a mirror to show you your face, you would see just what a ridiculous lie that is. But you’re not lying, are you? You think you’re telling the truth.”
“I don’t hate him. We’re just different kind of people. We would never get along. I couldn’t live here with a ‘leader’ like that over me.”
“Leader? You think all the rest of us are brainwashed, don’t you? You think he’s some kind of dictator and we’re just his simple-minded followers merrily being led around by the nose.”
Joshua (Book 1) Page 25
