To the Rescue; Surviving the Black--Book 2 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  My dad had the stubborn Breckinridge chin and a prominent nose. His once bushy red hair was now more gray than red, and it was thinning on top. We had a similar build, and I hoped I was in the same shape when I turned 67. He and I shared the same bluish-gray eyes I saw every day in Jennifer. Both of us had leathery tanned skin sprinkled with freckles where it was exposed to the sun and lily-white freckled skin nearly everywhere else.

  I’d learned to take only a partial cup and to sip cautiously after my prior experience trying several of her non-traditional concoctions. My cautious approach proved warranted. The new brew nearly made me gag.

  “I was afraid you might have that response,” my mom said, shaking her head. “That was yaupon tea. We’ve got some yaupon shrubs growing in one of our warmer growing areas. It is the only native plant having any appreciable caffeine in it. It doesn’t have a lot only about one-third of the caffeine as tea. But I think it will be the best we can do for delivering a caffeine boost, long-term. Fixing the taste remains a challenge. Of course, most people don’t like coffee the first time they try it, either.”

  At least coffee had a lovely aroma, it didn’t smell like swamp fungus.

  “I’m sending a recon team to Oneida,” I announced, to both of them. “I’m concerned Allen will join up with some faction up there. FOB Justice might be considered enough of a prize to take back.”

  “We knew it was a possibility,” my dad said. “We need someone qualified to fly a small airplane.”

  That tangent caught me entirely off guard.

  “Oh, we need to deal with Oneida, first,” my dad assured me. “But we don’t know what is going on in the area around us. Those planes parked at the airport could give us an edge. I’ve asked Roger to find out if anyone we’ve recruited lately can fly a plane. I’m kicking myself for not thinking of this before the crash.”

  “We might find someone left near the airport, but it’s a long shot,” I suggested. “Especially after that group of planes flew off days after the static cleared.”

  “Still, it is worth pursuing. You might also go see Jerry Hill. I haven’t heard anything from him in a while. I suspect he is holed up with all his people, wondering what is going on. We could use his help with more roadblocks. He had at least a hundred big-rig trailers at his place when the lights went out.

  “Jerry might trade some of them for fuel or fresh meat,” my dad said. “Depending on what we find in Oneida, we may want to use those trailers to funnel any attacking group. Certainly, they could help you block any mobile force from reaching Justice.”

  I already wanted to talk with Jerry, but this moved him up on my priority list.

  “What do you think is going on in Oneida?” I asked.

  “I wish I knew,” said my dad. “They had enough food in that Walmart alone to feed most people in Oneida through the winter. If you add in all the fast food restaurants and other food stores, they could be in great shape. I got the feeling from Sheriff Lewis there was so much infighting they let much of the frozen and refrigerated food spoil before even trying to distribute it. Wasting all that food sparked the public’s push back against the police. I’ll give Sheriff Lewis credit, he kept Huntsville from falling into that trap.”

  “Any group with enough cohesiveness to oppose the cops?” I asked, having long ago stopped paying attention to Mecklin County politics.

  “The only group I think who might be organized enough is the American Legion,” dad said. “They have a pretty large post in this county. Several of our allies were active in the post before the crash. They might know who is running the group, now.”

  “They might be worth cultivating,” I said. “Any other factions I should know about?”

  “Some of the farmers outside of Oneida were nearly as prepared for this mess as we were,” my mom said. “I don’t see any of them getting involved in town, though. I’d like to contact them toward springtime to find out if they would be interested in trade. If some group raided them that would be bad news for all of us. Farmers know we haven’t been growing enough food to support the local population. They will be ramping up next spring if they have the seeds. Unless idiots attack them so they can’t. Most of them lack our strategic isolation, but they aren’t sited in downtown Oneida, either.”

  I radioed Ben a head’s up about the American Legion. He assured me he’d get the full details on the group.

  “Your grandmother announced she is moving into your place,” my dad announced without preamble. “With Steve and Mandy away, she felt it was unfair to leave you to deal with their kids.” He usually only used “your grandmother” when she was doing something he didn’t approve of.

  A jolt went through me as I realized one of the implications of Steve and Mandy’s absence I hadn’t considered. I wasn’t worried about Billy and Joe, but Ellie? She was a 13-year-old diva who was always stirring up shit.

  “I’ll appreciate the help with Ellie,” I said, truthfully.

  “That is good because ma wasn’t asking,” my dad said. “Expect her to move in tonight. And, no, this does not relax the requirement that you sleep in the Valley. I still don’t want you staying at Justice overnight.”

  He knew me pretty well. I gave my mom a quick hug and left.

  I trotted back to the armory to see what my guys were planning.

  Ben expected the mission to take about a day and a half, so they were taking three days of rations. As usual, on recon missions, they offered to leave their body armor behind. I understood the weight versus protection calculus. They weren’t taking any heavy weapons, so a full armor load was well within our training limits.

  Sometimes I wondered if they asked me this question just to hear me turn them down. No one had started taking pot shots at us, yet. I feared that might change. At some point, people might begin shooting each other just to get better weapons and gear.

  The recon team sacked out on cots in the back of the armory, while the rest of us went back to work.

  “Roger, have you seen my German Shepherd puppies?” I asked. Roger was my third father figure growing up. It was odd even now to call him by his first name.

  When I was growing up, he towered over me with his middle linebacker frame. He was still taller than me and still had plenty of strength and quickness, but age had softened his edges. His hair was still closely cropped, but the little he had left was white, not black. He is the one who taught me and his son Jules how to shoot, how to hunt, how to fish. When his son Andy got old enough, he came with us on our manly outings.

  It wasn’t that my dad didn’t teach me things, they were different. My dad taught Jules and me about farming. Uncle George taught us about raising cattle and horses. My grandpa taught us about bootlegging, whittling, and the good old days. Jules and I were inseparable until college. We even went to the University of Tennessee together. We didn’t apply to any other school.

  Until we grew apart. I left for the Army and married Irene. Jules left Tennessee for grad school in California. No one had heard from Jules since he called me, giving us time to get most of our people to safety. Except for Jules and Andy. I knew that had to be giving Roger and Carmine nightmares.

  “I wouldn’t call them puppies at this stage,” Roger said. “More like monsters.”

  For a second, I’d forgotten what we were discussing. I mentally shook myself and got back into the conversation.

  “Where are they being kept?” I asked. “I haven’t seen them since the crash.”

  “George has them all staying at his house. He put up a fence next to his house and a kennel for them to stay in some of the time, but mostly they live in his house,” Roger said. “He works with them a lot, but eight puppies are a handful. George recruited several of your guys to help with enhanced training, but I don’t think he can bear to part with any of them, yet.”

  My uncle George, who never invited any human into his home, opened it up to eight German Shepherd puppies. He was always closer to animals than to people. I should have kno
wn he would take responsibility for this new group of animals.

  Acquiring these puppies was part of the last-minute splurge ahead of the crash. While I knew someone was caring for them, I just hadn’t spent any energy finding out who. Too many other things on my plate.

  George was in charge of the animal side of our farm. He made sure every animal was fed, watered and sheltered. He ensured all the eggs were gathered, the cows and goats were milked, and the pigs and the rabbits were harvested.

  He had only a small core group working with him who knew what they were doing. The rest of his help were children and people without other skills. I should have realized he’d take care of the puppies without anyone having to ask him.

  Knowing George, he was using a training manual for police or combat support dogs to raise them. I needed to find out how Force Beta and Gamma could help though I suspected they’d be a lot more useful for Valley defense.

  I went to supper when the gong rang, eager to see my girls. I’d missed supper in the Valley during the last few days dealing with the Justice Center mess. As usual, my girls were at the kid’s table. While Jennifer, 13, acted put off by my kiss and hug, Melissa, 10, jumped into my arms without any hesitation. I assured them both I’d be home tonight and that Granny was moving in with us.

  I’d apparently scooped them. Their first question was where granny was going to sleep, and their next question was where were Steve and Mandy going. I was a little surprised they didn’t ask if Mandy was taking their daughter Ellie to Justice with them.

  The rest of the kids were congratulating Jennifer and Melissa on having granny stay with them when I went up to get my meal. Kids throughout the Valley loved my granny. Granny was 88 and still considered herself a farm wife. I knew my mom had tried to get her to rest more, but she insisted on helping cook every meal for the Valley, every day.

  Pork stew again, with tortillas, and stewed tomatoes. I was happy to get my mug of coffee. My new daytime fantasy surfaced. It involved finding an abandoned Starbucks warehouse filled with coffee beans.

  Force Beta and Gamma now got together during most meals, even when we weren’t on the same work crews. Both groups participated in physical training before dawn every morning, although the Justice operation put that on hold for a few days. I expected to resume our exercises tomorrow morning, despite being split up. Early morning calisthenics had several advantages, the first was we got first shot at the bathrooms, but the lasting one was that we were nearly in warrior shape.

  Our Gamma recruits were finally getting into warrior shape for the first time in their lives. Force Beta was getting our edge back. It was one reason I wasn’t worried about my recon team being too overloaded to perform their mission.

  The two squads were really gelling together. Roger recruited Force Gamma from the best in the Valley defense force. We’d been working together for nearly a month, but Justice was the first combat mission we’d been on together.

  They were now Force Beta’s primary backup. They would increase in value as they received training in heavy weapons and tactics. At some point, we’d need to send mixed teams out on missions, but I wasn’t ready for that.

  Gamma had five women in the group, and I was pleased to detect no hints of strain caused by this new reality. Intellectually we knew we couldn’t afford to discount half the population when looking for combat talent. The Rangers were a boys’ club, and I was alert for any issues that posed.

  It helped during the last mission to have women soldiers we trusted to protect Dr. Jerrod.

  After supper, I rode one of the electric motorcycles to FOB Echo to get within radio range of FOB Justice. We called the motorcycles ninjas. They were matte black, rechargeable, and very quiet. We’d used them a lot in the early days following the crash. We switched to Humvees after Deputy Jenson was ambushed and murdered by a bunch of scumbags.

  Before returning to Justice, I needed to know what tools and materials I should bring with me so we could start covering all those windows.

  “Boss,” Buzzer said, “We found a stack of galvanized roof panels at the county maintenance yard. They are 41 inches by 96 inches long. It isn’t quite wide enough to cover the whole window, but no one is going to crawl through the hole if we leave it at the top. If the people in the room don’t like it, they can cover the hole with a board later on. Or, we can use a boatload of plywood.”

  “How do we secure the metal to the building?” I asked.

  “I think an inch or inch and a half sheet metal screw will do it. And a bunch of drills and extension cords and step ladders,” said Buzzer but I could tell Matt was feeding him the information.

  There were still a few hours of daylight, so I packed up the tools along with several boxes of screws and drove them to FOB Justice in a Humvee. You couldn’t miss the galvanized sheets now standing neatly against the walls next to the windows.

  Steve joined me at the Humvee as Buzzer and Matt removed the tools.

  “Granny is moving into your room,” I said, as the Rangers got to work.

  “So I hear,” Steve said, cutting me off. “Would you offer the ex-deputies a spot in Justice?” The intensity of the question and the accusatory tone was a surprise after the blandness of his prior statement.

  I took in a gulp of air, meaning to bark back at him until I noticed the new heavy bags under his eyes and his slumped posture. If the former prisoners betrayed us, people we cared about might die. This type of decision wasn’t something Steve faced before the crash. Steve was feeling the weight of command.

  “I probably would,” I said, letting out my breath. “Jake and Brian volunteered to save the women and children, knowing they were outgunned and outnumbered. I don’t know the other two. I’m not sure any of them want to stay. If they want to leave, just take them toward Jacksboro or Jamestown. I don’t know what is going on over there, but I sure don’t want them in Oneida, right now.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, though south might be okay, too,” said Steve. “Mandy and I are trying to come up with a charter for FOB Justice, so we don’t seem arbitrary if we kick people out or execute them. The executions freaked out the deputies and the women. All of them knew what the men and that woman were doing, but they can’t reconcile that with our shooting them.”

  “If they think keeping sex slaves is okay, you don’t want them anyway,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’re right, but if we bring in people from outside the Valley, we should let people know what they are signing up for,” said Steve.

  “It looks like they’ve got all the help they can use,” I said. I indicated the three groups screwing the sheet metal into the window frames. A few from Force Beta and Force Gamma looked disappointed there weren’t more stepladders and drills to go around. Two others were driving up in a county backhoe. “If you want to discuss this further, I’m game.”

  I followed Steve into one of the sheriff’s offices where Mandy was writing on a notepad. In many ways, Mandy reminded me of my mom. Both were driven, and both loved a challenge. While Steve looked diminished and overwhelmed, Mandy looked invigorated. Her eyes were bloodshot, and I doubted she had any more sleep than Steve did.

  Mandy gave Steve a smile then turned to me, “Good afternoon Jeremy, just the man I was hoping to see.”

  “We need running water to clean this pigsty up,” Mandy continued, as I walked in. “If you could take a crew out on a scavenger hunt for a water tank, tomorrow if possible, that would help out. I want to put a water tank on the jail’s second-floor roof, but we need you to make sure it won’t collapse the roof.”

  “We have poly tanks in the Valley, don’t we?” I asked. The idea made a lot of sense. We had a water tower in the Valley, and it would be better if we didn’t have to build one here. It wouldn’t provide a lot of water pressure, but it would be a lot better than buckets.

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not pull in Valley supplies if we can scavenge it in town,” Mandy said. “Claire says she’ll have flyers for you to post
all over town by then, so it can be a multi-tasker for your crew.”

  “I knew a flyer was in the works,” I said. “What are we going to put in it?”

  “We are offering a bounty for Allen’s body or other proof of death,” Mandy said. She said it just like it was something routine.

  “The bounty is 50 rounds of common ammunition or 10 pounds of pork,” Mandy continued. “Aaron picked up a photo of Allen last night. Claire wants Justice to reestablish contact with the community including bringing back the noon CB communications. We’ve agreed to take a significantly more active role in pulling the community together, starting by making announcements and scheduling a medical clinic.”

  No wonder Steve was feeling stressed. He needed manpower to get everything going at once, and his hiring pool might be full of potential backstabbers.

  Mandy continued unchecked, “Dr. Jerrod says she’ll catch a ride to Justice with you in the morning. She wants to inventory and organize all the medical supplies here. She wants to borrow Tom to help her.” Tom was the Force Beta medic.