Customs even opened the gates for him, thinking he was heading to the hospital with a patient. Now this was prior to 9/11 and times have changed, but Haliday’s route wouldn’t take him through any major cities for the most part or put him in those positions. That’s what he counted on during his travel─ avoiding big populations.
He was driving and thinking about how much of a fool he was for not thinking of another plan. He started doubting himself and the ability to make it. Here he was in this fake DHS Tahoe, black BDU’s and DHS patches bought from eBay for that matter; and about to drive 450 miles one way and then 450 back within an hour of getting there.
It was crazy, but then again if you knew Haliday, it was as sane as sane can get. One more stop to make which was on the way and then the journey would begin. Not quite the journey he was counting on. Things would take some very unexpected turns.
Chapter 4
Heading south, he passed by another hospital. This was actually much closer than the one he worked at, but opportunities here were very limited, so he had chosen the other. Dodging cars scattered on the streets was time consuming and he had underestimated travel time. Driving slower, he had time to check out this hospital.
Dawn was a little more than an hour away; so still being dark outside, the only thing he could make out was the occasional beam from a flashlight in the windows. He couldn’t believe people were still there. What could they possibly do? Delay the inevitable; for some it was the only thing that came to mind. Good little sheeple staying in their barnyard.
The worst part was that he saw people working their way to the hospital. Normally a safe haven of sorts, it was the last place he would go. Of course having worked at one for quite a few years, he knew what it would turn into. It had given him the opportunity to gain some valuable skills though.
Right out of high school, Haliday had pulled a stint of active duty in the army as an MP and then pulled some reserve duty. He had put in seven years at a small time police department with a whopping 178 homes on a private lake with people too rich for their own good. Everyone there was part time so he had picked up the job at the hospital for benefits and a steady check.
Even though he had attended a fair amount of decent schools in the service and taken a few courses here and there for the small police department, the hospital had given him the chance to excel more than the others. He worked his way into becoming the training officer and picked up certifications to teach.
TASER, chemical deterrent—which was just pepper spray—and management of aggressive behavior including pressure point control techniques were some of the courses. He was by no means a walking bad ass, and didn’t portray himself as anything other than a regular old schmuck. He simply learned to be a teacher and what better way to keep your skills honed?
That wasn’t the clincher though. Training all the new hires and making sure they had uniforms and equipment gave him the chance to purchase items under the radar. Of course he paid for them, but it was easier to have items shipped directly to the hospital under his name than to try and explain the personal purchases.
He even volunteered to take care of the vehicle maintenance. Ordering an LED light bar with red/blue lights, TASERS or pepper spray and other equipment to a home address would have raised red flags big time. He got what he wanted, no questions asked, no worrying about what popped up on the door step or who would inquire about it.
Haliday was mostly riding the center turn lanes with the occasional zigzag when he had to slam on the breaks. He had to start paying more attention; this was the real thing now. A couple had run into the street in front of him waving their arms for him to stop. “Oh great,” he said to himself.
He hit them with the spotlight and quickly got out of the vehicle and as they approached he ordered them to stop. He wasn’t taking any chances and had drawn the 40 and took a bead on the guy. He darted his eyes back and forth and swept the area for other movement. Why the hell didn’t I wait until daylight, he thought to himself.
The couple had stopped dead in their tracks at the command and could see his profile with the gun drawn on them. “Hey mister, we ain’t criminals, we just need help. You are supposed to help us, you’re the police.” Haliday had analyzed them from the very first second. Early thirties, both white, ragged jeans and t-shirts, light jackets, maybe not outstanding citizens, but not trouble either.
Haliday responded and said, “What’s going on, what is it folks need?”
“We could use a ride home. We’ve been walking all night since we left our friend’s house in Rochester Hills. We only live in Warren.” They’d walked about 12-15 miles, and had maybe 6 to go. Haliday said, “Sorry folks, I’ve got a job to do and playing taxi right now is not on the top of my list. Now please move aside.”
The couple got upset and the woman replied to him and said, “It’s not like there’s cars to pull over or anything. What could be so important?” Haliday was ready for just this type of smart-ass attitude. “Look folks, the side of the truck says federal protective service. If we don’t make sure we secure all of the social security buildings, veteran’s clinics and federal buildings and property, we could be in a world of hurt. Hell, we don’t even know what happened yet.”
“I’d like to explain the importance of securing the information in these buildings, but I gotta go.” He then holstered his pistol and waited a moment. The couple started to move away and all he heard was mumbling. He jumped back in the truck, killed the spotlight and took off again. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he could feel the adrenaline rush. Nice and slow concentrated breaths to bring his heartbeat down and respirations back to normal.
Haliday pulled off the main road onto a side street and he slowed down and killed the lights on the truck. He knew this area very well, since his parents had lived here since ‘89. He crept along slowly, making sure no cars were stalled in the street. He didn’t use the lights because he didn’t want to draw attention to his parents’ house.
When he was about three houses away, he pulled up along the curb and turned the truck off. Anyone spotting it may tie it to the house he was parked in front of. Just a little deception. Glancing around, he didn’t see candles, flashlights or anyone moving. He grabbed his rifle, jumped out, locked the truck and bolted for their front door.
Reaching the porch he stood to the side of the door and tapped lightly on the door and waited. If there were any shots coming through the door he would be off to the side. He tapped a little harder and waited. At 75 and 73 years old, they moved a little slow and their hearing was not what it used to be.
He remembered, as a teen in high school, talking to friends in the front yard of his childhood home about buying beer for a party that night. When he walked around the back there was his dad sitting on the back porch. He looked at Roger and said, “I think you’re staying home tonight.” Never figured out how he heard that.
A muffled voice came through the door. “Who’s out there?” Haliday said, “Mom it’s me, Roger.”
“I don’t know any Roger,” was the response. Haliday answered back again and said, “But you know Ruger, right?” This was a little code they worked out to make sure she knew it was him. It was her favorite new prep item.
He heard a series of locks being opened and the door swung open wide. He stepped inside and gave her a hug and asked how his dad was doing. She called out, “Hey Rich, Roger’s here.”
“Ok Bev, I’ll be there in a minute.” Bev asked him what he thought happened. “I have no idea mom, not a clue. All I can say is it’s definitely hit the fan.” His dad came out and he gave him a quick hug as well.
Haliday looked around and saw some candles burning in the kitchen and in the living room. It reminded him; he told them to make sure they didn’t run the generator more than two hours a day, to stop after the third day until they could feel out the atmosphere of the neighborhood, to keep the doors and windows locked and not to let anyone in. They ha
d placed a few boards over the windows to stop intruders, but not as elaborate as he had done.
Next on the agenda was making sure they were locked and loaded. His dad had an old H&R .22 revolver he had gotten back during the riots in Detroit in 1967 and his mom had a Ruger LC9 and S&W 40. The Smith was a Y2K purchase, the Ruger was recent. They couldn’t handle a shotgun, so he worked them up a lightweight AR15. Everything was loaded and good to go. Plenty of magazines were at the ready. Enough lead down range and they should be able to hit what they pointed the guns at. Both knew how to fire what was in the house.
There was no time for a lot of chit chat; he told them he was heading out to get Kayla and would try to swing back by on his way home. He was located about 10 miles north of them, practically in a straight line, so it was convenient. He told them to turn their ham radio on at 8:00 am and listen. Not to talk, but listen and answer only if he asked a question or unless it was very important.
This would keep them updated on his progress and he on their current situation. Every two hours was the designated contact time and would help save on their batteries. His rig was powering his radio so he was not worried too much about leaving his on. Of course he would have to make sure he kept his truck battery charged; there wouldn’t be any AAA service calls.
Haliday explained that if any of the other kids showed up to make sure it was just them and their families. He couldn’t insist on this enough; it wasn’t a Holiday Inn he told them. They had sorted through her preps and calculated five months for the 14 people who may show up. Not really a lot in all reality. They had started in early ‘99 for Y2K and had rotated through, and then added what they needed. Over the past years they managed to add quite a bit.
One of his brothers actually worked at a survival store back then and sold everyone who came in the store on the idea. Unfortunately, these days he fell into line with the rest of the sheeple and dropped the whole idea. Just this past Father’s Day, he was saying that he thought having two weeks of basics was enough for most anything. Two weeks now would get you two weeks closer to starving around the holidays. Haliday was disappointed with that.
Haliday never talked to his brothers and sister about his readiness. Nothing but ridicule would ensue and he wouldn’t have any part of it. His mom was different and she would welcome the rest into the house to make the best of it. A niece and nephew were welcome as well. They’d come in handy for labor, security and whatever else needed to be done. The trade off was food supply. But strength in groups was one of the popular sayings in readiness. Hopefully whoever showed up would bring what they could.
A quick set of goodbyes and wishing everyone the best of luck and he was out the door. Heading back toward the truck, he had walked straight out to the street and then toward the truck with his rifle in a low ready position. It was fairly light outside now and he could see a couple people down the street come out of their house. They were surprised to see him there, so he kept up the act. A young boy with them came running up and said, “Mister, my dad wants to talk to you.” Haliday rolled his eyes, mumbled a bit and said, “Fine.”
He stood there and the guy was walking toward him. Oh ya, dress like the DHS, good idea genius, he thought to himself. He carefully watched the man approach. “Excuse me sir, what’s going on?”
“So far as we can tell, it’s a regional terrorist attack and we’ve tracked some people into this neighborhood, so I suggest you go home, lock your doors and wait it out. We’ll be sending more agents and support in a few days, so hold out as long as you can. In the meantime we are trying to hunt them down.”
He guessed the guy bought into the story. He hoped so; fewer people out in the chaos that was closing in fast enough. He got back in the truck and took off through the neighborhood. He passed an old lady who just waved as he drove by. She was putting an envelope in her mail box and raised the flag on the side of the mail box. He started laughing out loud. Oh boy, that’s going to be one for the story books. Lady, there isn’t enough postage to get that delivered right now. In a few days, she’d probably try to call the postmaster and complain about how it wasn’t picked up.
He pulled back onto the main road and was heading west. Over in a nearby strip mall there was a small Middle Eastern fruit market with a lot of goods under a tent outside. People were lining up already. Mostly older Middle Eastern folks, a few others as well and he could hear who he thought was the owner yelling at them all.
“Stand in line. I am taking only money. No credit cards. Do not buy it if you don’t have cash.” Haliday shook his head. Cash was about as good as toilet paper right now, but nobody knew it yet. How could they not? Nothing worked. Nothing. Did they think it was going to magically just come back on or something?
He looked at the 7-11 and it was closed. Haliday ran it down in his mind and laughed. He figured other than the frozen drinks, there was about a year’s worth of junk food. Candy bars, potato chips, gum, a few bags of jerky and some overpriced canned food. Too bad the owner didn’t have sense to hide it all.
He continued his trek westward. Same thing again and again, zigzagging through the streets and dodging cars and the odd person walking the streets or sidewalk. It was still early and he didn’t really expect to see many people out anyway. It was a Wednesday and even though they should be working, no one except a few would be going anywhere. He figured local markets or small shops like the fruit market where the owners lived close by may open, but nothing else. No power, no communications, no work.
He turned the ham on to see if he could hear any information about what went down. There seemed to be a lot of theories, but nothing official as far as he could tell. He reached over and grabbed a large binder and flipped it open. This was his map set for the route he was taking.
He had printed and laminated each sheet and made notes about possible areas to stop, areas to avoid, alternates to bypass trouble when—not if—he ran into it, water holes and more. As he progressed, he would flip to the next page and continue doing that until he got there. He put together another binder in reverse for the return trip. He had made the trip four times before to get all of the info logged.
Wading through the suburban sprawl was time consuming. It was still early enough and he hadn’t had any troubles other than the interested parties seeking info from “the police”. He still doubted this plan, but so far he was pulling off the scam. Reaching the more rural area just outside of the congested suburbs, he popped up onto a small state highway running East and West and was able to pick up some speed.
Even with the area littered with the cars he could maintain almost 45mph, but the 70mph limit would have been nicer. He looked down at the gas gauge and it was just under a quarter of a tank. He looked at his binder on the map and found what he wanted. He had a few spots picked out to stop at.
No doubt he would make it there, but he was not sure what to expect when he arrived. About 10 minutes later, he saw the sign. Ride Share 1 mile. It was essentially a parking lot where folks parked and car pooled in state-owned vans to go to work. With a lot of people around this area working 45 minutes to an hour away, it was cheaper to pay the weekly fee than to pay for gas, and pay for parking in the tight Downtown Lansing area. He wasn’t going there though; he would split off and head south long before going near the state capitol.
He pulled into the Ride Share lot and estimated about 45 to 50 cars in the lot. He staged the truck toward the center of the lot, angled toward the exit. He didn’t want to get caught in the lot or become blocked in and not be able to get the vehicle out. He hadn’t seen anyone here or nearby.
He had figured anyone near this lot had probably walked the couple miles to the little nearby town to seek help. He placed it in park and looked at the time. 8:10 am—real good—he was late. He hadn’t heard them broadcast, which meant they were listening to his instructions.
Keying the mic, he spit out a quick sentence. “Kaybear and Bobily (his mom’s nickname from her grandfather) all good on track and safe, r
eply one word.” He heard Kayla respond “yes,” and his mom respond “yes.” Next he said two words only. “Anything bad?” He received two “no’s” in response.
There would be no chatter. This would deter anyone listening from trying to piece together the plan or any other info. No designated route info given, no locations of anyone, no time schedules to figure out or anything like that. Haliday thought this was the safest way to go.
He climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear passenger door. Off the floorboard he grabbed a small plastic bag and a six gallon gas can generally used for boating. He walked up to a pickup truck in the parking lot and placed the gas can close underneath. He kept looking around and still saw no signs of anyone. He unscrewed the top and set it aside. Out of the plastic bag he pulled out a strange looking contraption he made just for this purpose.
Haliday had taken one inch galvanized pipe and installed a ball valve faucet in the middle. He used that to attach the hose to. One end of the pipe was ground down at an angle and to a point. The other end was capped off. This was a quick and effective method to pierce the tanks.
Haliday placed the open end of the hose in the gas can and then placed the spike up against the gas tank of the pickup truck. Using a small five pound hand sledge a quick rap on the cap and it pierced the tank. He pulled out another plain spike and popped a hole in the pickup’s tank near the top of the tank. The air hole allowed the gas to flow smoothly after opening the ball valve and in about two minutes the gas can was full.
The height of the pickup’s tank and the low profile of the gas can let gravity do the work perfectly. He pulled the spike out and crammed a cork in the hole. He didn’t want gas spilling all over the place. He carried the gas can over to his truck, attached a nozzle and dumped it in. About six minutes total.
He had full gas cans stored in the back of the Tahoe and it should be enough to get him there, but he wanted to save those for the time when he might not have this luxury of draining someone else’s tank. Was it stealing? Absolutely. Did he care? No. He doubted they would be coming back for their vehicles and by the time they did the gas would most likely be bad anyway.
Dark Days Rough Roads Page 4
