by Lopez, Rob
Connors’ horse flinched and skittered sideways at the sound, and Connors reached down to caress its neck. “Easy, now,” he whispered. Pulling on the reins, he turned her around and made his slow way back toward the roadblock.
The guards were in shock, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Connors rode calmly toward them, and the guard who’d first challenged him raised his rifle. A crack rang out from the houses on the embankment, and a fifty-caliber sniper round punched the guard in the chest and carried on straight through him, blowing his entrails and spine in a wide spray across the pavement. A second guard tried to level his shotgun and was forced to duck as automatic fire peppered the barricade. When he lifted his head again, it was taken off by the sniper’s second shot, leaving just a puff of red mist above his sagging shoulders. A third guard, not liking what he saw, took off without looking back. Unperturbed, Connors approached the roadblock, seeing a fourth guard cowering behind it.
“I just want to make it clear,” Connors told him. “That was a warning. You’re obstructing the passage of government, and that I cannot allow. Give me your rifle.”
The guard’s rifle had fallen when he’d taken cover, and it was now lying in blood.
“You’re going to shoot me,” said the guard.
“Only if you do something stupid. Just pass me the rifle.”
Delicately, the guard picked up the rifle and offered it up, keeping his head low. Connors leaned down from the saddle to take it.
“This is an automatic rifle. Are you a serving national guardsman?”
“No.”
“Then it’s illegal for you to have this. Where did you get it?”
“Uhh, I don’t know.”
“Sir, I’m sure you do know, but fortunately for you I don’t have the time right now to pursue this further. Too many of these have been taken from armories, and they’re getting into the wrong hands. The law is still in place. You can’t just do what the hell you like and arm yourself with whatever you want. What kind of crazy place would this be if we simply let that stand?”
The guard stared at him, unsure what to say.
“Exactly,” said Connors. “We need some order, and by God, I aim to bring it. I’m confiscating this weapon. You run on back into town and tell everyone that this is an official government convoy. Any attempt to obstruct its passage will be met with deadly force. This is America, not some sandbox hellhole. When I come back here, I want to find a duly elected representative and a list of men and women willing and able to serve in the state militia.” Connors brandished the rifle. “Then, and only then, will they be allowed this rifle. In the service of something greater than themselves. You hear what I’m saying?”
The guard nodded uncertainly.
“Okay,” said Connors. “We’re on the same page. You can go.”
The barricade was dismantled and the convoy drove through, with Connors riding imperiously at its head. Clearing the town, they made their way up the eight miles of highway to Asheville, reaching the intersection with I-40 and passing under it. The hills rose up all around, and they saw crude shelters clustered under every bridge, but no sign of whoever the inhabitants might have been. Pushing on, they passed dilapidated shanty towns constructed on the highway embankment, and vehicles that looked as if people had been living in them for a while, but again, like the bridge shelters, they stood empty, mute reminders of the pre-winter refugee exodus. Few clues remained as to where they might have gone since, but it didn’t take a genius to guess that most of them probably weren’t around anymore. Two miles farther on, however, they caught sight of a more substantial scratch-built construction.
Built on the main bridge over Highway 70 and blocking their route into Asheville was what appeared to be a log fort. Sandbags reinforced the base of the log wall, and rifle barrels poked out of firing holes. An American flag flew from a pole above the fort.
“At last,” said Connors, lowering his binoculars. “Some sign of organization.”
Dismounting, he left his horse with his squad and walked back to the convoy, leaning in through the open window of an old Buick to address Jeffries.
“Showtime,” he said.
Jeffries got out, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in his pants. It was Connors’ idea that he dress in his old suit in the hope of acquiring some gravitas, but the unpressed pants and jacket gave Jeffries the look of a hobo from an old movie. Apprehensively, the acting-governor looked toward the fort. “This won’t be the same as the last roadblock, will it?” he asked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Connors casually. “You just stick with me and we’ll see how we do.”
“Perhaps I should wait here while you check it out.”
“Grow a backbone, Jeffries. If you want to run this state, you need to lead by example.”
“I’m a lawyer by trade, not a soldier.”
“You’ll never get to practice your trade again if we don’t restore the law to its rightful place, and that starts here, with you and me walking side by side as equals. The citizen soldier and the people’s lawmaker, just as the founding fathers intended. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson were both lawyers. You’ve got to walk in their shoes, now.”
“Those are mighty big shoes.”
“Then you’d better start filling them. Stay by me, walk tall and don’t make any sudden moves.”
The late sun cast long shadows as they walked. In the far distance, snow shone on the peak of Mount Mitchell, and the wisps of cloud that crowned it glowed red. The rifle barrels in the firing ports tracked Connors and Jeffries as they drew closer. A figure in camo gear and body armor appeared at the top of the log wall.
“Halt and identify yourself,” he called.
Connors complied with the order and called back, “Major Connors, U.S. Army special command. And this is Mr. Jeffries, acting governor of the state of North Carolina. And who might you be?”
The figure, not used to receiving distinguished guests, hesitated. “Corporal Parson, NC National Guard, FMC No. 1.”
“Field Maintenance, huh? Well, Corporal Parson, this gentleman here is your commander-in-chief, and he’d like to see your boss, if you have one.”
The corporal narrowed his eyes as he sized them up. “That’s a nice story, sir. Do you have any ID to back it up?”
“I surely do.”
Connors and Jeffries stepped up to the wall to present their biometric cards and accompanying papers, passing them into a firing port as a rifle barrel was withdrawn. The corporal climbed down from the wall and took their IDs. While he was reading them, Connors examined the fortifications. The wall looked a little more rickety, close up, with numerous gaps between the uneven timbers. Bullet strikes in the wood showed that the fort was no stranger to confrontation.
“This kind of stuff can be picked up anywhere now,” said Parson. “I’m going to need a little more before I waste anyone’s time with this.”
Connors nodded approvingly. “Good answer. Well, the commander of your battalion is Colonel Reese, and if you’re old enough to have been deployed in Iraq, you’d have been stationed in Habbaniyah, because that’s where I met the good colonel, all those miles from home.”
There was a pause. “Habbaniyah. Jeez, that was a shithole. Were you a close friend of the colonel?”
“Not really. We only talked because it was interesting to meet someone from our home state.”
“That’s okay then, because he’s dead.”
“Sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“No clue. Simply got told he wasn’t in command anymore because he was being tipped into a mass grave along with a bunch of others. He probably took sick. It got so that you couldn’t keep up with who was alive and who wasn’t. I stopped taking numbers after a while.”
“Yeah, we had kind of the same experience. Who’s in charge of the city now?”
“That would be County Director Moresby.”
“Is he any good?”
“I wouldn’t like to
say, sir.”
“Uh huh.”
“I can take you and the governor down to see him, but the rest of your people will have to wait outside.”
“That’s not a problem.”
A portion of the wall was unlatched and dragged open. Inside the rustic surroundings, Connors saw two armed civilians and a lean-to with a couple of mattresses inside. A crude box toilet with a lid sat in the corner of the fort. Judging by the smell, it didn’t get emptied much. Corporal Parson gave Connors a casual salute.
“This could be done better,” said Connors as he looked around.
“It was only recently built,” said Parson. “Gives us something visible to be able to control access from the highway better. Come this way, sir.”
Parson lifted a crossbar and opened the rear gate, leading them down a road that curved along the base of Beaucatcher Mountain before entering Asheville.
“How often do you patrol beyond the fort?” asked Connors.
“We don’t, sir. Takes all our manpower just to defend what we’ve got. There’s raiders with vehicles that use the interstate to access the different entryways into the city, so we’ve got a lot of roadblocks that need to be manned. Then we’ve got people stationed at farms outside the city limit, and they get hit a lot. We’re fully stretched, and then some.”
As they rounded the bend, the city’s downtown came into view. Darkened by the shadows thrown by the setting sun, the streets were a far cry from the vibrant, vivacious metropolis that had attracted tourists from near and far to view its sidewalk entertainers and revel in the colorful tradition of music and dance. If ever there was a hippy center of North Carolina, this was it. But no more. Another roadblock awaited them as they neared the courthouse, and the drum chants were replaced with the thump of a generator that provided the only bright spot in a gloomy street as light shone in the windows of City Hall. Parson led the two right up to the main doors.
“I’ll leave you here, sir,” he said. “I’ve gotta get back.”
“Thank you, Corporal. Appreciate it.”
The lights in the foyer throbbed in time with the generator’s thumps. Only one other room was lit, and its door was open. As Connors entered, the solitary inhabitant, an unshaven gentleman sitting at the head of several joined desks, yawned as he wrote notes on a pad. Spread over the desks were blueprints of Asheville’s water and sewage pipes. By the notepad was a revolver.
The man looked up as he heard the footsteps entering his office. His face was drawn and tired, but his hand was quick to grasp his weapon.
“Who the hell are you?” he said.
Connors held his hands out to show he was unarmed. “I’m Major Connors, U.S. Army, and this is Acting-Governor Jeffries. Your corporal at the fort led us down here.”
“Army,” said the gentleman slowly. “You’re about six months too late.”
“Maybe so,” conceded Connors. “You’re Director Moresby, I assume. Is it okay if we sit down?”
Moresby sagged back in his chair. “Sure,” he said, placing the gun back on the table.
Connors took a seat. “We’re relocating the government of North Carolina here.”
“What’s wrong with Raleigh?”
“Untenable.”
“We don’t need more people here. We can’t feed the ones we already have.”
Connors nodded toward Jeffries. “It’s an executive order. The governor’s western residence is here in Asheville. It’s official government property.”
“That’s outside the city limits.”
“It’s within county limits, and that includes the city.”
“I thought you were here to bring us supplies.”
“We have a few supplies. I also have some soldiers who can help you with your manpower problem.”
“I get the sense you haven’t brought much, but you’re still expecting me to house you.”
“That’s correct.”
“Look,” cut in Jeffries, “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, but we’re here to actually help. We’ll set up the General Assembly, and we can incorporate your administration into mine.”
Moresby glanced lazily at Jeffries. “Real generous of you,” he drawled.
“There’s a lot we can achieve if we work together. I look forward especially to working with Mayor Sturgeon.”
“She’s dead.”
“Oh. What about council member Clair Worley?”
“Dead.”
“Paul Vincent?”
“Dead.”
“Bill Kerry?”
“Missing.”
“Missing?”
“Presumed dead.”
Jeffries paused to take that in. “Surely there’s someone from the county office still alive. Besides yourself, that is.”
Moresby stifled a yawn and massaged his brow. “I’m not from the county office. Not in the way you mean, anyway. I ran the mail room. Kayla Morgan was a clerk in the Highways Department. She handles food rationing now. Jimmy Powers is our water engineer. I think he came down from the university. Sullivan handles Public Health. I can’t remember what he did before. And you’ve met Corporal Parson. He’s our security chief.” Moresby thought for a moment. “There’s a cop who does law enforcement, but I can’t remember his name. Charlie Thorpe? No, he got some kind of infection and died. It’s someone else then.”
“How many people have died?” asked Jeffries.
“Out of a population of ninety thousand? Well, most of them, I guess. Still got a few thousand, I think, but I haven’t counted them. Feel free to try.”
10
Rick watched as the raiders uncoupled the last wagon of the coal train. The train was about a mile long, stretching almost to Old Fort. Two of its four diesel locomotives were burnt hulks. Backing up an old sedan and a pickup, the raiders attached tow ropes from the two vehicles to the freight wagon and spent the next few minutes churning up gravel from the tires as they attempted to get the wagon moving.
The raiders were stationed in a large wooded valley, and the rail line entered the valley and looped around the knob before running on toward Black Mountain. The knob, with its steep sides and lavish lodge, did indeed look like a castle, though it was wood rather than stone. It dominated the valley floor. On the line near the knob sat four empty coal wagons that had been dragged into place some time earlier. With a revving of engines, the raiders succeeded in getting the uncoupled full wagon moving, and were coaxing it along, into the valley. The two laboring vehicles separated to drive on either side of the empty wagons, and the full wagon smacked into them with a mighty clang. Waiting raiders immediately leaped onto the wagon to apply its brakes.
Rick switched his binocular’s gaze to a wooden guard tower that had been built by the lodge on the knob. The guard was armed with a scoped rifle and appeared vigilant. Log barricades at the three approach roads were also manned. At the foot of the knob, sparks flew as a raider welded sheet metal armor to the chassis of a truck.
“Tough nut to crack,” murmured Scott. “I don’t see any women or children either. It’s like a military camp.”
Buckets of coal were carried to a hut. Smoke rose from the hut’s improvised chimney. Outside the hut, a buck hanging from a pole was being skinned and butchered, the fresh cuts of meat taken inside. Fishing nets hung out to dry by a small lake.
“It’s a good setup,” admitted Rick.
“We need to find a place like that.”
Rick lowered his binoculars. “We just did.”
“Another place like that. Far away. This whole thing stinks. A bunch of helpless villagers ask us for help with a gang of hombres who are making their life hell? Sorry, but I’ve already seen that movie, and I know damn well you have. In the movie, they had seven gunfighters to help them out. We’ve only got two.”
“Lauren, Harvey and Packy can handle themselves.”
“In defense, maybe. You know that an assault takes a hell of a lot more. They ain’t trained for that, and are you really willing
to risk your own wife? I know I wouldn’t.”
“I was just thinking out loud, that’s all.”
“Normally your thinking’s good, but right now I’ll say that you ain’t thinking enough.”
“I didn’t say I’d made a decision.”
“But you’re heading that way. I can see it.”
“You’re assuming too much. Let’s get back.”
*
“Hey there,” said April.
Dee sat on the stoop of the trailer home. Jacob played in the dirt at her feet, sampling a dry leaf. April squatted down by him.
“They’ll eat just about anything,” said April, watching Jacob remove the leaf from his mouth and look at it, like he wasn’t sure whether it was good or not. “Daniel was a terror for that. I had to watch him so closely. I never knew what he was going to find next. I had to keep the house so clean, and still he’d find stuff under the couch or in some other place. Never touched his own toys. Bought so many nice things for him, all colorful and sterilized like the magazine articles recommended – I was real picky in those days and I believed every childcare magazine I read – but he preferred garbage instead.”
Dee sat unresponsive, staring into the middle distance.
April plucked the leaf from Jacob’s chubby fingers. “You don’t want to eat that,” she said to him.
Jacob looked at her like maybe he would.
“Leave him alone,” said Dee abruptly.
Respectfully, April leaned back out of his personal space. “Sorry,” she said. “Did it out of habit. Might not be a good idea to let him put too much in his mouth, though. You don’t want him to get sick. I mean, Sally’s good, but, with no medicines and all …”
Dee didn’t even look at her. April tailed off with a frown.
“Look,” she said, “we’re not the bad guys. I know you had it rough, but nobody here’s going to hurt you. Or your baby.”
