by Payne, T. L.
Roger nodded as he headed toward the Humvee.
Maddie watched the three of them turn out of the drive and disappear.
Roger and Maria piled their packs and the weapons into the back of the Humvee. Maddie checked the side pocket of her tactical pants and glanced over at Jacob. He held up two magazines for the Glock that Ryan had given him. They wouldn’t have a repeat of their earlier problem. They both now carried the same Glock 19 pistol and ammunition.
They sat at the end of Ron's driveway, waiting. Maddie's head was pounding now. She felt slightly dizzy.
"Just allergies," she said under her breath.
"What?" Jacob asked.
"Nothing," she said as she rubbed her temples.
Finally, Roger said, "Let's get this show on the road."
Maddie pulled the Humvee out of the driveway, and they headed for Houston. She drove cautiously as she passed the spot where they'd been ambushed hours earlier. The sun glinted off the spent rounds scattered across both roads at the intersection. The bodies were gone, but there was no sign of any other members of the Jewell family. When they finally reached Highway 32, Rank, Lugnut, and Zach greeted them. They waved as the Humvee approached.
"See anything?" Roger called through his open window.
"Not a thing," Rank said.
“Someone retrieved the bodies," Jacob said.
“It looked like they loaded them on ATVs and took off north,” Rank said. “We’re going see if we can find where they went.”
"You guys need to keep your heads on a swivel out there," Maddie said.
Maddie decided to turn left and drive past the prison to get to Houston instead of turning right on Highway 17. They passed the spot where Ron and Austin were shot and killed. She knew she needed to avoid being pulled back into that despair—she had to focus on their mission. She wanted to scope out the situation around the prison, anyway.
Maddie slowed as they approached South Central Correctional Center. Cars blocked the road.
"Roadblock ahead," she called out.
Roger put his monocular to his eye as Maddie pulled the Humvee to a stop.
Jacob pulled his own monocular from his pack and did the same.
"It's Jed Brown. He’s with the Licking Police Department. I know him," Jacob said, putting the monocular back into his pack.
Maddie put the Humvee back in gear and slowly pulled up to the roadblock.
The men behind the cars had their rifles pointed straight at the Humvee. Maddie instinctively put her hand on her holster.
"Don't," Jacob said, putting his hand on hers. "They won't shoot. Just keep your hands where they can see them." Jacob opened his door and stepped out with his hands in the air. "Hey, Jed. It's me, Jacob Rawlings."
Maddie couldn't hear their response, but a second later, Jacob walked over to the men. After some discussion, he pointed to the Humvee then turned and ran back to the vehicle.
"They're going to let us pass."
As Maddie zig-zagged through the cars making up the roadblock, Jacob filled them in on the information he was able to get from the officers.
"The judge is going to be pissed," Jacob said as he buckled his seat belt.
"About what?" Maddie asked.
"The Licking mayor has ordered the town's residents to evacuate."
"What? To where?" Maddie asked.
"To the Red Cross shelter in Rolla."
"Shit!" Came the response in unison from the back of the Humvee.
Maddie looked in the rearview mirror. The officers were pushing the cars back into place.
"They've been having a difficult time with people wanting to come through town. They said hundreds of people are migrating from down near Shannon County and places south of here, on their way to Rolla. Highway 63 is lined with people on foot. Officers have spent all their time escorting travelers through town.”
Maddie thought for a moment. Highways 63 and 72 both ran pretty much north and south into Rolla. She imagined Salem was having the same issue.
"I guess there aren't any shelters south of here? I wonder why they don't at least have some food distribution centers down there.” Maddie asked.
"They had one early on. But it got overrun and became too dangerous to maintain. They asked for help from the National Guard, but they’ve been busy holding back the flood of people coming out of St. Louis."
Two men in military uniforms stood at the entrance to the prison. Maddie threw up a hand and waved as they passed them. They just stared back at her.
Maddie slowed at the intersection of Highway 32 and 63. People were gathered in the parking lot of the Scenic View Motel. No one even paid attention to the Humvee rolling through town. A military truck pulled to a stop across from them on the other side of the highway, then proceeded through the intersection. The driver nodded a greeting as he passed them.
After making the turn onto Highway 63, Maddie glanced to her left. Cars were lined up at the Sonic Drive-In. It was like a snapshot in time of the moment the lights went out. One moment, the people in those cars were enjoying a number one with cheese, fries, and an ocean water, and the next, their whole world had gone to shit.
"What I wouldn't give for a number one with cheese and mustard right now," Jacob said, pointing to the fast-food drive-in.
"I'd love a chocolate shake," Maria said from the back.
Maddie nodded. She wondered if Harmony knew how to make ice cream. They had cream from Ron's cows—lots of it—no ice, though.
"Maybe this winter," Maddie said out loud.
"This winter, what?" Jacob asked.
"Maybe this winter we can make ice cream,” Maddie said.
Jacob smiled and nodded.
Maddie looked back at the drive-in restaurant. Those days were over. She wondered if they'd ever get back to where people whipped into a fast-food restaurant to grab food on-the-go.
About a half-mile out of Licking, another checkpoint blocked the road. This time, when the group of men saw them coming, they immediately pushed the vehicles out of their path. A man in his late-fifties to early-sixties waved them through.
That was the first time she'd seen it. Hordes of people clogged the road. Some pushed bicycles. Others rolled suitcases or pulled wagons. Some pushed shopping carts. Many just wore backpacks. They walked with their heads down. Most didn't even acknowledge the Humvee as they slowly walked past.
Due to the crowds, it took longer than Maddie had expected to get to Houston. When they neared the city, another roadblock greeted them. Jacob got out, spoke to the man and woman operating the checkpoint, and a moment later, they were on their way to the courthouse.
Roger and Maria got out and leaned against the Humvee. Roger pulled a bag of jerky from a side pocket of his tactical pants and handed a hunk to Maria. Maddie looked back at the two as she and Jacob walked up the sidewalk to the courthouse.
It was late afternoon. Maddie was afraid that the judge might have gone home. She breathed a sigh of relief as they were let into the judge's chambers.
"You're late," Judge Farley barked.
He stared at them over the top of his reading glasses.
"I'm sorry, sir," Jacob said.
Maddie walked over to the desk. When Jacob didn't follow, she looked over her shoulder. Maddie couldn't read Jacob’s expression. She turned to face the judge.
"We were attacked on the road, sir," Maddie said.
"Bandits?" the judge asked.
"Some of the Jewell family," Maddie said.
Judge Farley craned his neck to look around Maddie. "You gonna stand there looking pretty or what?"
"No. No, Your Honor. I was …" Jacob said, rushing over to stand beside Maddie.
"You made it, so I expect you took care of it."
"Our friend, Maria, did. She's a Marine. She …" Maddie said before the judge interrupted her.
He reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Maddie. Maddie unfolded it, glanced down, and counted the nam
es written in neat penmanship. She was grateful. Her own handwriting sucked, and no one could read what she wrote.
"You best get busy securing that prison."
"Judge, I spoke to the police chief in Licking. Did you know their mayor has ordered the town evacuated? He isn't planning to help secure the prison,” Jacob said.
"He told me. Goddamn coward," the judge said. He turned to Maddie. "Pardon my language."
Maddie nodded, then looked back down at the paper. She continued counting the names.
"I'm not sure how we'll secure the prison with so few people."
"That is just the first shift. You'll have more tomorrow," the judge said as he pushed himself away from his desk. He stood, stretched, then pointed to the window.
"They'll guard that damn prison or be on the road to Rolla with the cowards. I won't oblige a bunch of freeloading cowards in my town."
He said what Maddie knew all along. He was in charge of the town. He knew it. Everyone knew it.
"Is what's left of the police department going to stay and maintain the city's roadblocks?" Jacob asked.
"They will. Someone has to stop those hordes on the highway from tromping through our town."
Maddie's eyes grew wide. "You aren't letting them pass?"
"Hell no. They can go through Raymondville. I don't want those traitors traipsing through my town. They should’ve stayed and helped their communities weather this storm. What the hell do they think's going to happen when the lights come back on and they’re all stranded in Rolla without their vehicles?"
Maddie shot a surprised look at Jacob.
She couldn't believe that the judge still thought the lights were coming back on soon. She wondered how that might affect his decision-making in the future, but for now, it may work to their advantage. If he knew that the lights might never come back on, he might handle things differently. It was something she would need to discuss with their group. But for now, she and Jacob needed to find their new prison guards and get to the prison.
Chapter 8
Duke, Missouri
Event + 20 Days
Gene Mather looked nothing like Zach had imagined. He'd pictured a bearded man in buckskins wearing a hat with a furry animal tail hanging from the back. But Gene looked more like Doc Brown from the Back to the Future movies. The thin, tall man greeted them with an excited smile as they pulled into his driveway. A small, modest house sat near the road. Behind it was an enormous metal shop with multiple roll-up garage doors and one walk-through door in the corner.
"So, Dave is still kicking. The way the man drinks, I'd thought he would’ve kicked the bucket by now," Gene said, with seriousness in his voice.
Roger nodded but said nothing. "He said you might have some traps you might be willing to trade."
Gene lifted a bushy eyebrow. "He did, did he? Well, I might have a couple. What do you have to trade?" Gene looked Roger up and down, then looked at Zach. "You ever done any trapping?"
"Actually, no. My dad has a book on it at our cabin," Zach said, then immediately regretted saying it.
Gene looked at him sideways.
"We are prepared to learn. We realize that we need to use every available tool to survive now. We won't be making any trips to the grocery store anytime soon," Roger said.
"That's the truth. There's more to trapping than setting a trap on the ground and walking away,” Gene said.
Zach responded with a half-smile. "I read that you need to boil them to get the human scent off and bait them with the right thing for the species you want."
"What you two need is someone to take you out and show you their lines. There are a lot of nuances to it that lead to success or failure,” Gene said.
Zach looked at Roger. Neither said anything.
"But anyway, I guess if you've got something I want, I might make a trade.”
When Roger pulled out the five-pound bag of sugar from his pack, Zach's eyes got wide.
Maddie is going to kill him.
The corners of Gene's mouth curled up then dropped quickly.
Here it comes. He's going to play hardball.
"That might get you a rabbit snare," Gene quipped.
Roger reached in and pulled out a bag of Folger's coffee grounds.
Zach saw a flicker in Gene's eye.
It was the homemade bread that sealed the deal. When Roger peeled back the white cloth wrapped around Harmony's fresh-baked sourdough bread, the man's eyes lit up. Zach would have sworn he could see him salivating. The sugar, coffee, bread, and two jars of moonshine got them twelve traps and four snares.
Workbenches filled with tool bins, gears, bolts, and shelves lined with circuit boards, copper wire, small motors, and tools of all sorts filled the space. Several projects appeared to be in various stages of completion with parts strewn about on the floor around each of them.
Zach was sure there must be a method to Gene’s madness, but he couldn't see it. In one bay off to the side stood three hot water heaters of varying sizes. All had copper tubing and wires attached to them. Next to them sat a huge tank filled with some kind of oil. In another bay sat a gasifier similar to the one in the bed of Ron’s truck.
“You build those?”
Gene looked over his shoulder. “I used to sell plans for them online. I’m working on some improvements now that it might be a hot commodity.”
Zach nodded.
“My friend has one on his old truck, but I can’t seem to get it to work. It starts, sputters, then stops.”
“Depending on your friend’s set-up, it could be a lot of things. I’d have to look at it to make any suggestions to you.”
Zach’s mind spun trying to think of a way they could tow the old truck to Gene’s shop. If they did, how much would he want in trade to fix it?
"What are you working on there?" Zach asked, pointing to the water heaters.
"That short one there is the original Appleseed processor. The other two are upgrades on that design."
Zach raised an eyebrow. He had no idea why anyone would want to process apple seeds, but they were there to learn from the man.
"Back there," Gene said, pointing to the back corner of the shop, "is my own version of the Appleseed biodiesel processor design."
"Biodiesel? You can make that?" Roger asked.
“Sure. If you know what you’re doing. It's dangerous if you don't."
"I’ll bet," Roger said, walking up beside Zach.
"I burned down my shop with my first attempt," Gene chuckled.
Zach's eyes got wide.
"I figured out my mistake and corrected it. Haven't had any issues since."
"You run your vehicles on vegetable oil?" Roger asked, staring down at the tank of oil beside the hot water heater.
"Sort of. It’s the main ingredient. I prefer canola oil. It’s the lowest in saturated fat content."
Roger raised an eyebrow.
“It's the most efficient and works best in cold weather. It's harder to find now that I can’t get it in bulk from a supplier, but restaurants all used peanut or canola oil. I've been gathering all the waste frying oil from the restaurants in St. Robert and Houston since this shit went down. After all this is gone, I guess I'll be left to try lard or processing corn, if I can find any."
"Makes sense," Roger said, nodding like he understood what Gene was saying.
Zach didn't exactly understand either, but he knew that there were a few ways to make biodiesel and waste frying oil was one.
"You fellas want to come in and have a cup of coffee before you head back?" Gene asked. "I don't get much company anymore. Except for the radio, I ain't heard a human voice in weeks."
Zach and Roger looked at each other. Zach smiled and nodded. Roger and Zach followed Gene up to his house. On the way, they passed what Zach assumed were some of Gene's many inventions. A windmill whirled above a well. A large wheel turned in the nearby stream.
Inside, Gene flicked on a light switch by the door, and the place lit up. He p
icked up a remote and turned on a stereo. Seventies music played from a pair of speakers flanking a large stone fireplace. A large center island divided the living room from the kitchen. Four bar stools were pushed up to the counter. Roger and Zach took a seat.
After serving them freshly brewed coffee, Gene explained what he'd heard on the radio about the state of the world since the shit hit the fan. None of it was good.
"From what I hear, D.C. is gone, as is most of the east coast. Folks on the west coast are talking about the possible fallout from various nuclear blasts around the world, but without true instruments for taking accurate measurements, who the hell knows how much they will affect us here in the middle of the country."
Zach sat up straighter. He hadn't had time to ponder about what might be happening in other parts of the U.S., let alone around the world. Gene's description of what was happening closer to home in Illinois concerned him the most. News of the military instituting martial law there and thousands of people fleeing the state and seeking refuge in Missouri was of more importance to Zach. What happens when FEMA resources run out and those refugees become desperate? How far south will they spread? Or will they stay near the shelters where they were placed?
Zach tried to recall what he'd read in the books in his dad's office. From what he recalled off-hand, roaming bands of people seeking resources would become their biggest danger. He hoped their location, hidden in the woods away from the main roads, would afford them time.
Gene stood and retrieved the coffee pot from a small, wood stove in the corner.
"My buddy in Columbia, Missouri, fears that General Dempsey will invade and attempt to take over here as well. He spoke to someone, from a group in Peoria, Illinois, that was heading to Missouri, who believed that was their plan. That group had been targeted by the government because they had been too public about preparing. That’s why I kept to myself.”
“Who is General Dempsey?” asked Zach.
“He’s some military general who instituted martial law up in Illinois and has been running people off their land. I hear he’s forcing folks into labor camps,” Gene said.