The cave was his bunker. Ever since he’d first visited this property, he knew that was what he was going to do with it. It would be the place they hid if the shit hit the fan at its hardest and most fragrant. It was designed for that, with its concrete entrance wall, steel door, wood stove, and fresh water. It was a prepper’s dream.
Nana couldn't do it though. Her last experience there had almost been the end of her. If he proposed retreating back to the cave again, his parents would want to return to their own home. He understood their reasoning but it would be a death sentence. They would be overrun and robbed within days.
If things got so bad, the attacks unrelenting, perhaps they could move back in there short term. He thought Randi might be glad to take Nana and Pops in as guests. If he provided food for them, they could help out with her grandchildren. They would remain safe in the valley and not in the firing line of every hungry bounty hunter in southwest Virginia.
Charlie had been living with Randi since Alice died, except on those occasions that he and Pete stayed in the outpost. Charlie had always been fond of hunting and camping, and had no problem staying in the woods. On those occasions that he wanted a roof over his head, Randi's house was where he found it, and she seemed to enjoy having an extra set of hands around.
Over the course of the afternoon people began filtering onto Jim’s property. He’d spread word through the families of his tribe that they would have a barbecue that evening. The event would serve multiple functions. Since several of them were going to be involved in the meeting with Scott’s group that night, getting their families together in one place would, theoretically, make it easier to keep them safe. There had been an inordinate amount of stress on everyone and Jim felt the group would benefit from an opportunity to unwind. Realistically, he didn’t really expect the adults to do much relaxing, yet they would benefit from seeing their children and grandchildren smiling. That worked its own kind of magic.
They'd slaughtered a young bull the day before and the meat had been divided between the families in their group. What couldn't be eaten immediately would be pressure canned or smoked into jerky, which was a staple for those working away from home all day. Jim saved back some ribs and other prime cuts for the barbecue.
He put together a large grill from cinderblocks and a thick wire grate. The cuts of meat were cubed and threaded onto skewers made of coat hangers that had been sanded to remove the finish. Besides the meat, there was grilled squash, onions, zucchini, and peas. Ellen put together a salad of fresh garden greens and homemade dressing.
Randi had been experimenting with making cheeses. She hollowed out some of the squash and stuffed them with homemade cheese, breadcrumbs, and morel mushrooms she found in the valley. Debra made cornbread. There were several apple pies made of pie filling canned the previous year.
The children played games together under the supervision of their parents and the older children. The Weathermans and the Birds attended but the Wimmers didn't respond to the invitation. Jim wasn't surprised, knowing that old Mrs. Wimmer probably felt she had to stay home out of respect for her son. Jim was okay with that, knowing that Fred Wimmer’s mouth was responsible for a lot of his woes at the moment.
Jim was pleased to see that Charlotte had chosen to come. She was one of Gary’s daughters and had lost her husband before Gary’s family moved to the valley. He’d been killed in the attack that forced them to see they could no longer stay at their home. She hadn’t adjusted well, having attempted suicide in the depression that followed the loss of her husband. Everyone expected they’d find her dead one day but she pulled herself out of it with some support from Randi. While Jim wasn’t entirely certain how she’d done it, he expected that a practical dose of “tough love” was involved.
Pete and Charlie manned Outpost Pete, providing overwatch for the party. They were too old to play with the children and bored with the adults. They would rather be out there in the field than having to help with the party. Hugh, never comfortable with crowded situations, opted to take a sentry position on a high point between Mack Bird’s house and the Wimmers.’ He was within radio range if he needed backup and had a good vantage point of that part of the valley. He would come down when it was time to rendezvous with Scott’s group.
The festive nature of the activities didn't mean there was no tension. A low hum of fear played constantly in the background, like static, keeping everyone on edge. The adults carried a sidearm at all times, and many had rifles. Those who weren’t carrying them kept them nearby, like tactical party favors. If the enemy came rushing over the hill, no one wanted to lose time having to dig out their weapons. In fact, they’d already determined a course of action should that happen. One part of the group was to herd the children toward the cave while the rest laid down suppressing fire and engaged the attackers.
Despite the stress and undercurrent of worry the evening went well. Used to living off smaller rations than they’d been eating back in the regular world, the group dove into the feast. Lloyd played banjo and sang in between eating kabobs dunked in homemade barbecue sauce.
Around dusk it started to wind down. The Weathermans had animals to take care of and wanted to get home before dark. The Birds were in the same situation, needing to collect eggs and water horses.
The clear light of day turned to the orange of late evening. Long, narrow clouds, scratched into the sky by an angry God turned pink and drew everyone’s attention. Despite everything, it was hard not to gawk. That there was even beauty in this world at all seemed an affront, the cruel joke of a bearded and spiteful storyteller. It was a reminder that the world continued, unhindered by the plight of these small and insignificant humans with their self-importance and faint flickers of awareness.
Jim threw back the tattered flap of his pack and checked the gear he planned on taking. He had a regular flashlight and headlamp, an infrared flashlight, and the infrared landing beacons he’d need to guide Scott in. He had the good night vision they’d gotten from the sheriff’s department, and had several sets thanks to the late Deputy Ford. They also had the low-quality first-generation devices that both Gary and Jim bought several years ago.
They would be leaving their horses at home and walking the twenty minutes to the landing zone where they expected Scott to show up later tonight. Gary's family would stay at Jim's place until he returned so they could walk home together in the dark. Gary brought headlamps for everyone in his family and intended to make an entertaining field trip out of it. He wanted the girls to become comfortable with the night and with doing things that may be a bit scary for them. It was a good survival skill for their new way of life.
As Jim was zipping his pack shut, Randi came over to borrow a piece of duct tape. Some of the kids were playing Frisbee and didn’t want to quit just because it was getting dark. Randi didn’t want to have to treat a child with a broken nose or black eye because they failed to see the Frisbee coming. She wanted to tape a chemical lightstick to the bottom so it would glow like a UFO, making the game safer and way cooler.
"Are you guys comfortable with us being gone for a few?" Jim asked.
Randi frowned. "I don’t know who you think you’re talking to. The day I need a man to take care of me is the day I end it all."
"I wasn’t talking so much about gender as about numbers," Jim said, trying to backtrack and quite possibly save his own life. “There're a lot of kids to keep up with and shit’s been hairy recently."
"I know how things have been lately. Every woman here knows how to shoot. Every woman here has taken a life. You don’t have to be concerned that we’ll swoon, drop our guns, and run off."
"Uh, sorry I asked." Jim cocked his head, pretending to hear a voice. “Hey, those kids want their Frisbee back."
Randi gave him a death stare. “I know what you did, Jim Powell. You just want rid of me.”
Jim flashed her his most charming smile, which was not very impressive at all. “Now why would I want rid of you, Randi, dear? I so e
njoy your company.”
She stalked off and Jim felt lucky she hadn’t hit him. How a woman like her could be dating his friend Lloyd was nearly unimaginable to him. Lloyd had an early twentieth century mindset. He stated it loud and clear, accepting the blows that came along with his pronouncements. He offered no apology for thinking the old days were the best days. Somehow those two had struck a chord with each other in the midst of the chaos and violence around them.
More power to them, Jim thought.
He shouldered his pack and headed to the fire pit. The backyard was the hub of activity and where most people were hanging out. He approached Lloyd, then glanced around until he found who he was searching for and waved Will over.
"I had planned on leaving you guys behind at the party to keep an eye on things until I was informed that your services were not needed. Be that as it may, I want you on outpost duty while we’re gone. Pete and Charlie have Outpost Pete covered, so I’ll stick you at the new outpost up on the logged-out hill. We’re calling it Outpost Charlie. I'll leave you Gary’s gen one night vision. It's not the greatest but beats the hell out of a flashlight. Besides, anyone who tries to come in is probably going to be using flashlights to navigate. They’ll be easy to spot.”
“Don’t you have some of the good night vision?” Lloyd asked.
“We do but I'm afraid we’re going to need it."
"We’ll be fine," Will said. “We’ve got it covered.”
“You sure you want us both up there?" Lloyd asked.
"I do," Jim said. “Nearly everybody is here at this one house and the two outposts have a good view of everything. We’ll radio you before we come back so make sure you guys have a working radio. It will probably reach us at the landing zone because there’re no major hills in the way. You can use it to call us if you see something suspicious."
The men nodded that they understood and had no questions. Will went to grab his gear while Lloyd stashed his banjo in the house. On the way back, Lloyd stopped by the grill to pick up a few kebabs for the road. Jim was disgusted to see Lloyd shove them in his pocket.
"Can’t keep watch on the empty fuel tank," Lloyd said defensively when he saw Jim’s face.
"That’s revolting. I’ve seen the kind of crap you put in that pocket. It’s full of lint, dirt, and God knows what else.”
"I just look at it as breading,” Lloyd said. “You judgy bastard.”
Jim joined Gary by the fire pit. Hugh had joined the group and was working to start a campfire for those remaining behind.
“I’m going to tell stories when everyone settles down,” Pops said.
"Nothing scary," Jim warned. "If these kids can’t sleep tonight, you’re going to have some angry mothers to deal with."
Once he got the fire going, Hugh stood up and dusted off. He grabbed his gear from a folding chair and started loading up.
"You ready?" Jim asked.
“Almost.”
Jim looked at Gary. "You?"
"I've got everything."
The three men checked for the glint of brass in the chambers of their rifles, double-checked that their mags were well-seated, and then did the same for their sidearms. They walked around the house to the side that faced up the valley. Putting the house between them and the group instantly muffled the sound and the valley lay incredibly still before them. Jim didn't know if it had the same effect on the other men as it had on him but he couldn't help being taken aback by the peaceful calm of it all.
As the world cooled, the mist rose and all things that sang in the night were tuning up. Cattle ambled in the gloaming, the sound of their chewing a subtle grinding that carried across the pastures. At once the country was as it should be, yet completely alien. Jim understood that the strangeness of things was in his own mind. If asked, the cows could not have noticed much difference between this summer and last, aside from there being fewer lights.
They set out across the side yard to a new gate Jim had recently added. He found it funny how transitioning to foot and horse traffic affected the layout of their various farms. Anything built since the advent of the modern automobile was laid out differently, built around road gates that were sized for vehicles. Everything was designed to allow trucks and tractors to get where they needed to go.
It was a narrow gauge world now. The primary means of travel was by foot and a single line of horses. The really old farms, the seventeenth and eighteenth century farms in the valley, reflected that in the bits of original infrastructure that remained. Jim was adapting his own place to accommodate their new life. Everywhere he had to climb a fence more than a few times he added a gate. Once he started doing that, he learned just how few walk gates were available in the valley. It wasn’t something people tended to buy or use anymore. Nearly everything he found was eight, ten, twelve, or sixteen feet wide so he ended up building a lot of gates.
They walked in silence, each man revisiting his own persistent concerns, his own troubles. Each worried about the same and different things alike. In a global sense, each worried for the safety of the folks in the valley, and worried to some extent about their own personal fate. To a greater extent, each man found himself worrying about the future of those young folks among them who had no idea what the world held for them. What was their future to be?
Jim found himself harboring a degree of hope that tonight's visit would give him some options he didn't currently have. He didn’t have a lot of hope anymore. Hoping for things had been disappointing so it wasn’t something he resorted to often. It was a lot to ask for but he needed an infusion of positivity.
One of the benchmarks of a quiet country life, at least among men, was that he be able to pee off his own porch without neighbors to be concerned with. Jim didn’t have any neighbors on top of him but he was quickly reaching the point where he didn’t feel safe standing on his own porch. Every time he did so he imagined a sniper’s bullet burning its way into his chest or an assassin's blade raking across his throat. The front porch was the rural American’s window onto the world and someone was trying to take that from him. It would end badly. The only question was as to whether the unfortunate ending would befall the attacker attempting to take Jim’s peace or whether it would befall Jim himself.
They travelled the fields, preferring them over the more exposed paved road. There was no trail in the direction they moved so they cut straight across tall grass that would have been mowed for hay during better times. When seeing became difficult, they went to night vision and kept going, though there was a learning curve there. Everyone had experience with it but no one was well-adapted to the practice.
"This is the spot," Jim announced.
While there was nothing about it that gave away the fact they’d used it as a landing zone before, Jim knew his valley. He took off his pack and unbuckled the top, removing four infrared landing beacons which would show Scott's chopper pilot where to set down in the moonless night. Jim had a variety of infrared gear in his preparations but he never expected there to be a need for something like this. They walked off the distances, turned the devices on, and placed them in the grass. Their night vision allowed them to see that the devices were all working correctly.
"Now we wait," Gary said.
The men retreated a good distance back from the landing zone. They found an exposed boulder the size of a Volkswagen Beetle that provided decent seating. Even as the night air cooled around them and the dew settled, the rock held warmth from the sunny day. A coyote called in the distance and more joined in quickly. It was a chilling, primal sound.
“Pete and Charlie haven’t got them all,” Hugh observed.
“They’re making a dent,” Jim countered.
The boys had been using organs from game they snared to bait coyote traps. They’d had some success, killing one every week or so.
"Listen,” Hugh whispered.
Jim was expecting more coyote calls but soon heard the low vibration of a chopper somewhere in the distance.
"I
hear it," Gary said.
"Hugh, do we have a way to communicate with them?" Jim asked.
"No. The only radios I have that operate on their bands are not portable."
Jim began to feel the thrum of the rotors. They were closing in, but without lights it was difficult to judge how far out they were. Then his ears told him that the chopper was no longer approaching but slightly above him. The pitch of the engines changed and he was able to pick it out of the night sky with his night vision. The chopper hovered for a moment then settled precisely into the box they'd created with the infrared beacons.
Jim wasn't sure exactly how this was supposed to go down. Was the pilot going to drop them off and leave for a while? Was this going to be a short meeting where he sat there with the engine running? His question was answered when the chopper began to power down. That was fine with Jim. The whine of those engines drew too much attention. The sound carried a long way when folks weren’t sitting in their living rooms watching television at night.
He impatiently waited for the passengers to disembark. It occurred to him that this might not even be Scott. What if their messages had been intercepted? Had some random chopper seen the beacons, deciding to land and see what was up? It didn’t seem likely but this had been a year of unlikely shit. He’d stay put until he saw a familiar face.
While the rotors wound down, the door slid open. Men clustered in the opening, scanning the night. Jim gave two flashes from an infrared spotlight to let Scott's team know where they were. Three people exited the chopper and headed in their direction at a quick walk. They carried rifles but didn’t wear web gear. They wore high-visibility green jackets with a patch on the chest. Even though it was too far off to read, Jim knew it identified them as being from the East Coast Power Recovery Commission.
When Jim turned his night vision off and flipped it out of the way, Hugh and Gary followed suit. Jim pulled a red chemlight stick from his vest, cracked it, and tossed it on the ground. The red would provide enough ambient light for a meeting without affecting their ability to see in the dark. Scott approached, stuck out his hand, and the two men shook. Jim could now see that Scott’s companions were a man and a woman.
The Ungovernable Page 21
