He kept to the left at the fork and almost immediately ran into the entrance to the school. Signs proudly proclaimed Franklin High School, and Panther Pride. He turned left after the entrance toward what appeared to be the front of the school. From what he could see, the campus was huge, spread out over dozens of acres and multiple buildings.
The one to his immediate front was a two-story red brick building with a red roof. The building to his right must have been built at a different time. The bricks were less vivid and appeared to be a reddish-brown color. That building had the words FINE ARTS CENTER high up on the nearest wall. There was a mixture of civilian and military vehicles parked in the lot across the road from the school and more in the lot in front of the building itself.
Dave could see a lot of activity centered around two tan-colored MRAPs with the back doors down. He drove up closer, hoping he would recognize his crew from the mountain. A young woman appeared to be caring for wounded men as they were carried out of the MRAP on stretchers. She wasn’t Sheila. In fact, Dave didn’t recognize any of the people.
“Are your friends here?” Analiz’ voice was tinged with hope.
Dave looked around for one of the tubs, but neither was visible. He responded, “I don’t see them anywhere.” He slowed to a stop away from the activity and continued to look at faces, hoping to recognize someone. Finally, he saw a short woman walking from the school toward a Humvee in the lot.
Dave quickly put the Kona in park and opened his door. “Jessica!” The woman turned toward the sound of his voice. “Jess! Over here!”
The woman he had known for years took a second to recognize him behind his patchy beard. “Dave? Ohmygod! What the hell are you doing here!?” She hurried over to give him a hug, taking note of his passenger as she drew close.
“How did you find us?” She stopped herself. “No, first things first. Who is this beautiful woman you’ve kidnapped?”
He stepped back and responded, “Ha, very funny. I did NOT kidnap Analiz. She came willingly.” He smiled at Analiz. “Analiz, this is my friend Jessica.” As Analiz got out of the SUV to greet Jessica, he asked, “Where is everyone? Jensen? Daniel? Sheila? Are they okay? Is Brent here?” He thought back to who else would have been at the cabin, “Marcy? Abby and Dylan?”
Jessica’s face fell at the questions. “You’ve missed a lot. We lost Sheila, Abby, and Dylan. Brent and Jensen are inside. We’re expecting Daniel and Marcy any minute.” As if on cue, a man in a golf cart drove up, followed by a dark gray pickup truck.
It had barely come to a stop when the passenger door swung open and a loud voice boomed out. “Well slap my ass and call me Margaret. If it isn’t Corporal Stokov!” Daniel hurried forward with his hand outstretched, then pulled the smaller man in for a shoulder to shoulder hug. “What are you doing here brother?” Then, in a stage whisper, he asked, “And who is the blind woman?”
Dave sighed heavily. “This is Analiz. Analiz, meet Daniel.”
She gave him a timid wave and asked, “You were the guy we heard on the radio? Daniel Benton?” He nodded, “Wait? You can see me? I would have sworn you were blind.”
Analiz look confused as she asked, “Why?”
He pointed a big thumb at Dave and explained, “Well, if you’re hanging out with this ugly fuck, I figured you had to be vision impaired.”
As she passed him to hug Dave, Marcy punched him in the arm. “Be nice.”
From the other side, Jessica punched him for good measure.
Daniel recoiled in mock pain. “What was that for?” He looked askance at Jessica. “I just said he was ugly. We were all thinking it, I just said it.”
Analiz giggled a little bit as she looked at Dave. “This is the friend you were so eager to get back to?”
The big man continued his theatrics. “Wait, you missed me? I know Marines are part of the Navy, but I haven’t got time to fight off your advances. Anyway, I’m spoken for.”
He looked at Marcy and smiled, but she feigned annoyance and told Dave, “I don’t want him. He’s all yours.”
Benton stuck out his lower lip and said, “Your words are hurtful.” His fake pouting quickly disappeared as he addressed Analiz. “Analiz, is it?” She nodded. He indicated the tall blonde with her arms crossed just to his left. “This is my girlfriend, Marcy.”
Analiz smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Marcy. I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”
Marcy laughed as she responded, “So am I. So am I.”
Chapter 14
Bobby Snead looked down at his watch again. He had been receiving updates about his team’s progress in Highlands. Every thirty minutes or so, more text would appear on the digital watch face. His men had managed to kill everyone at a roadblock on the southeast edge of town and had killed two more as they moved through town.
He grimaced at the most recent message. His forces had finally tracked down the place where the escapees had been. They had left plenty of military equipment, including a couple of Apache helicopters, but all of the people had departed.
“Is something wrong, Mr. President?” Korbin Sullivan, Governor of Mississippi, asked as he noticed Snead checking his watch again. His tone didn’t match the question. Sullivan’s irritation about the distraction was evident.
Snead noticed and filed it away for future reference. He answered, “Potentially. I’m getting reports from my security people that the insurgent group operating out of North Carolina managed to get their hands on some Apache helicopters. My men recovered two of them, but who knows what else they’ve managed to get their hands on.” Snead looked at the significantly overweight, older man in front of him and shook his head. “I’ll never understand why some people just feel the need to kill and destroy. We’re trying to rebuild society and those cowards are attacking defenseless people in small towns.” Bobby looked properly stricken, as though he found such action offensive to his very nature.
Governor Sullivan had no idea Snead had been behind the supervirus which wiped out most of humanity, nor was he aware that Snead had directed nuclear attacks in his own state. He certainly had no idea the attacks on the small towns in Georgia and South Carolina had been orchestrated by Snead and carried out by the very same security detail reporting in to him now.
Snead had perfected his act. Sometimes he could almost believe it himself. He’d had similar conversations earlier in the week with Governors Tyler Perkins of Tennessee and Elijah Sanders of Louisiana. Both had vowed to support his defensive action with troops and materiel if needed in order to provide a common defense.
Governor Sanders was crucial to Bobby’s plans. Not the man himself, but access to the West Hackberry and Bayou Choctaw Strategic Petroleum Reserves in southern Louisiana. The almost 300 million barrels of oil stored in subterranean salt caverns could power the remaining population of the southern states for years.
He also needed a way to move the oil, which would be turned into useable fuel at the surviving refineries near Lake Charles, into Georgia. Control of food, water, fuel, energy, medical care, and military were all major points in his plan to cement himself as the leader of the new United States. Engineers had already closed off the pipelines which once traveled into Atlanta and redirected the flow south, toward Macon, and to the distribution station in Americus.
Snead didn’t like Sullivan very much, but he hid his distaste. The Mississippi Governor treated his body like a junkyard and had a mind to match. To top it off, he had a distinct halo of body odor and mildew surrounding him. Snead generally kept his distance and held his breath when they shook hands. However, he as a crucial ally. If they couldn’t get the pipeline fixed in Mississippi, all the work he’d done further up the line in Georgia would be for naught.
The capitol building still under construction in Americus was only a couple of miles from a fuel depot on the Colonial Pipeline. It wasn’t just the name which had drawn Snead to this location for the capitol, it was defensible, secure, and would be one of the only places in America to hav
e ready access to fuel for the next few years. The building site on Statham Lake was also less than twelve miles from his bunker at the former site of Andersonville Prison.
The eastern seaboard had been entirely dependent on fuel coming in from the Colonial Pipeline. Snead remembered the shutdowns in the past: Hurricane Katrina, Hurricane Harvey, pipeline spills. Each time the pipeline would shut down for a few days, everyone on the east coast lost their minds. Fuel prices spiked and stations would be out of gasoline within hours.
Although plug-in electric automobiles had been growing in popularity, most people still drove old gas guzzlers, or at best had a gasoline hybrid. He could use access to fuel and food to bring the populace east of the Mississippi to heel. If he could do that, the west would be easy. America had once expanded from east to west; HIS America would do so again.
This time, it would stay on track. The Civil War may have freed the slaves, and to be quite fair, Bobby agreed with that. But, in his mind, it had also set the country on the track toward godlessness. The Sentry Group would be his warriors, helping to guide the new country toward achieving its greatest version of itself.
Recently named President of the Coalition of Southern States, Snead needed Sullivan, as much as he hated to admit it. He continued to hide his distaste for the man as he told him, “It appears it may have been the insurgent group who attacked Salem who also ambushed some of my men as they were patrolling near the North Carolina border.
“It’s imperative that we get fuel flowing again. My men are brave, but they’re desperately outmatched by the military equipment they’re going up against in the mountains.” Snead rubbed his eyes and temples, as though lost in thought. “We have firepower, we just can’t mobilize it against this threat without fuel. I need your help, Korbin. We’re at a critical juncture in our rebuilding. Power is going on all across the South. Thanks to you, we’ll be able to feed everyone. It’s not enough though. To move forward, we’re going to need fuel.”
Sullivan leaned forward to put his hand on Snead’s shoulder, bringing the stench of his BO with him. “You know I’m with you, Bobby. We’re partners in this. Now, and in the future.”
Bobby nodded, hoping it would be enough to get Sullivan to lean back again. “I know, Korbin. I see a future with you playing a large part in the CSS.”
They both knew how the game was played. If Sullivan helped now, he would find a place in the new government. Power over one state, even though it had been largely untouched by the nuclear attacks, was one thing, but a position of power over what would once again become a great nation? That was surely another. If he played his cards right, he might even jockey himself into Snead’s position someday.
Chapter 15
The members of the survivor group, now including Dave and Analiz, had been given a place to stay in a converted classroom on the second floor of the main school building. It wasn’t much—a couple of cots and blankets—but it was far better than being out in the elements. Brent was still under Brinkley’s care in the fine arts building, which had been converted to a makeshift hospital and administrative center.
Daniel looked out over the rooftops toward the river at dark smoke billowing into the sky not far away. “What do you suppose is going on over there?”
Jensen barely looked before replying, “I’d imagine a fire of some sort.”
Benton sighed as he looked around for something to throw. This would be the perfect time to find an eraser or something for the big whiteboard near the front of the room. Unfortunately, it appeared any school supplies had been removed.
Instead, he said, “You know you’re an asshole, right?”
His friend nodded, “Yup. I’m aware.”
Daniel nodded in return, looking for support from someone else in the group, but receiving no acknowledgement. He had it coming. "Okay, just making sure. Sometimes we can be a mystery to ourselves.”
He was a mystery to himself, sometimes. Daniel was pretty sure he was more self-aware than most, but he’d been seesawing wildly between depression and optimism over the past few days. The prospect of being involved in the fighting excited him, while still causing him to reflect on his actions while in the military. They weren’t always pretty. He had been willing to sacrifice his relationship with Marcy and probably even his own life by staying at the radio for too long, but she had come for him. And things changed. Again.
Now he was more curious about the rising smoke. “You think they’re burning bodies or something?” He once again turned to look at the people in the room. “Maybe we happened upon a cannibalistic society who brings in refugees, eats them, and then burns the scraps to destroy the evidence.”
Jensen rubbed his eyes. “How are we friends?”
Marcy, smiling, told him, “How do you think I feel? I’m the one dating him.”
Her response made him snort as he chuckled. “Good point. Now I don’t feel as bad.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a clear pouch, tossing it to Daniel. “Harmony House. It’s a company just down the road which freeze-dries food.” He indicated the surrounding area with a wave of his arm. “Between game in the mountains, piles of nonperishable food, and the surrounding farms, they’ve got plenty of food.” He glanced toward the black smoke, “If I had to guess, I’d say they were burning trash or human waste, not devoured corpses.”
Daniel looked down at the plastic bag. “What the fuck, bro? Hamish bits? Like, did they grind up a Scottish dude and make him into bits?” He squinted at the package with a look of confusion. “Textured vegetable protein?”
Jensen chuckled again, this time at Daniel’s horrified expression.
The package fell to the floor as Daniel dropped it like a hot potato. “I feel sullied having touched this. Textured vegetable protein made to look like bacon bits? No, no, no. All of the nos.” He nudged the package with his boot, as though it might lash out at him. “I think I’d rather it were Scottish-guy bits.”
Dave reached over from where he was sitting on the edge of a cot and snagged the package. He turned to Jensen. “Got any more of these stashed in there?” He looked up at Daniel. “Hey Air Force, I’m sorry it’s not filet mignon and caviar, but these aren’t bad. They’d probably make that soup we’ve been eating taste significantly better.” The former Marine used his thumb to indicate himself and Analiz. “We found a pallet of low-sodium soup that we’ve been eating the past few weeks. Pretty sure it was there because nobody else was willing to eat it. Everything in those cans resembles wet cardboard.”
Analiz just nodded. She’d been quiet since they first met in the parking lot as she tried to size up the new people. The soup really had sucked, but it was a hell of a lot better than eating canned dog food or trying to cut up a catfish. Catfish was only edible breaded and fried, unless you were starving.
For a while, Analiz had been starving more often than not. She wasn’t entirely sure about the encampment after being mostly solitary for so long, but the prospect of real food, or even textured vegetable protein, had her a little bit excited.
Jessica tried to draw Analiz out a little bit, worried about how quiet she had been. “Which one was the worst?”
Without allowing her to reply, Dave said, “Minestrone. Definitely the minestrone. It was disgusting.”
Jess glared at him. “I was asking HER,” she said.
Dave looked abashed. “Sorry.”
“Analiz,” Jessica said slowly, staring at Dave before she smiled sweetly at the other woman. “Which one did YOU think was the worst?”
Analiz didn’t even have to think about her reply. “Tomato soup. It was terrible! It tasted like rust.” She thought back to slurping the cold soup out of a coffee mug in the dark. “If we had heated it up, it might have been edible, but I almost threw up trying to drink it cold. And then I was hungry again twenty minutes later because there was nothing in it but tomato paste and water.” She scrunched her shoulders together in a mock shudder.
As he stood, once again lo
oking out at the smoke behind the school, Daniel said, “Mmmm, rusty tomato soup. Maybe hamish bits aren’t so bad after all.” He seemed to wilt a little bit in the sun streaming in through the window. “I think it’s Sunday.”
Jensen put his head down. “Don’t start on the fried chicken.” He focused on the intersection of four tiles on the floor as he waited for the next words.
Daniel quickly obliged. “When did it become wrong to want fried chicken? If loving fried chicken is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”
“You’re not right in the head, first off.” Jensen couldn’t resist answering. “Secondly, EVERY day is Sunday now because all of the restaurants are closed.”
Daniel was about to respond when he noticed Analiz staring at Jensen in shock. He asked her, “What’s wrong?” Color crept into her cheeks as she hesitated to answer. He quickly figured out the problem and laughed. “Oh, it’s only racist when he says it. When I say it, it’s okay.” Daniel replayed the conversation in his head. “Hey, wait! You racist dick!”
Jensen sighed heavily. “It’s not racist when you’ve talked about literally nothing but fried chicken for the past couple of weeks.”
Benton sulked. “Well it feels racist.” He quickly smiled at Analiz. “We do this.” He indicated Jensen with a head tilt. “Anyway, he’s only racist toward me.”
Daniel did his best to restrain a laugh when Jensen, still not looking at him, sighed again and said, “That’s not how racism works. You can’t be racist toward just one person.”
Jessica and Marcy could see what was going on and were doing their best not to laugh, either.
Their mirth put him over the line. Daniel was already laughing as he put his hands up in front of him and said, “My mistake. You’re the racism expert here.”
It was enough to make everyone in the room but Jensen and Analiz laugh. She was still a little uncomfortable about their casual talk about a huge issue in the south and Jensen had just become aware he was the butt of the joke.
Tomorrow's Dawn (Book 4): Gathering Storms Page 7
