By the Dawn's Early Light

by David Kershner

  Just as they cleared the impediment, the world around them went eerily silent. They stopped their progression to listen.

  When an occasional moan or pleading wail was heard, it was immediately followed by a gunshot. Josh counted four single shots aloud as they cracked through the afternoon air.

  “Guess they aren’t taking prisoners in Chillicothe today,” he said stating the obvious.

  After a final coup de grâce was fired, he and the rest of the men exited from behind cover. Each declared, ‘Clear,’ as they showed themselves to the townsmen now occupying the bridge.

  “You the folks from McArthur?” was called out as they approached.

  “We are. Dallas McKutcheon, and you are?”

  “I’m Mac. I’m the unofficial official Sheriff,” the man answered as they shook hands.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Dallas replied. “What happened to the other guy?” he asked.

  “He got caught up in a gunfight with some looters. They had some armor piercing stuff, blew right through his vest. Didn’t even make it forty-eight hours after the lights went out,” Mac stated. “I can’t thank you enough for the assist though. We really appreciate it.”

  “You had it well in hand. Just a few stranglers for the relief pitcher is all,” Josh responded. “By the looks of things, you could use some help setting up some defenses… Maybe reduce the number of these ingress points.”

  “We’ll take whatever assistance you can offer at this point,” Mac replied. “What did you have in mind?”

  “For starters, I’d drop those two bridges in the river for damn sure,” Hoplite interjected.

  “After today’s festivities I was thinking the same thing,” the new sheriff responded.

  “We’ve got some guys that specialize in that type of stuff. I could send ‘em over in a couple of days, if that’d be all right,” Josh offered.

  “Really? Hell yeah!” the man answered excitedly.

  “What happened here, anyway? From what we heard of your conversation before we cut in, this was the result of some former prisoners that got out?”

  “That’s about the long and the short of it,” a bystander said as he approached. “Frank Johnston,” he stated as he extended his hand. “Are you Mother Goose?”

  “That’s just the handle for our comm room. Call me Josh. What can you tell me about the prison?”

  “Ah hell. When the power blew, most of the gennies never cranked up. Those that did fire up ran out of fuel after a day or two. I imagine it was the same all over the country. After a few days, most of the guards didn’t come back. Those guys still reporting for duty got pretty desperate when the food was gone. We heard that they expedited death row sentences over in Lucasville... same thing for lifers. I hate to say it, but it wasn’t all that different here.”

  “Why? What happened here?” James asked.

  “Prison staff was fairly fortunate that all of the prisoners were still in lockdown from the previous night. However, that didn’t stop the inmates from causing floods by stopping up their sinks and toilets and lighting their bedding on fire. The sympathetic ones were foolish enough to open the doors for lesser offenders.

  “Once out, they quickly overran the rest of the staffers. Most were beaten, some were executed. All told, I’d say millions of felons have been released back into the population across the country. I’m talking the worst of the frickin’ worst. Can you imagine the depravity coming out of Rikers, San Quentin, or Joliet?

  “If you don’t mind my askin’,” the unofficial official Sheriff said. “Why so curious about the prison?”

  “I have a keen interested in one of its residents. I’d like to verify that he was put down by the guards, assuming he was,” Josh stated bluntly.

  “You came all this way in a world gone to hell… for that? We coulda just looked for ya and then radioed back,” Mac offered.

  Dallas stepped in and explained, “My friend is of the type that needs to see it with his own eyes before he’ll rest easy.”

  “Why so much attention in an inmate?” Frank chimed in.

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but that little cretin sexually abused my daughters and physically assaulted another,” Josh answered candidly. “If possible, I’d like you to have a man lead me to the final resting place of Javier ‘Javy’ Dolbrow.”

  Frank’s eyes grew large.

  “What’s your name, mister? If you don’t mind my askin’,” the former guard asked as he gestured toward Mac.

  “Josh Simmons.”

  Chillicothe’s unofficial Sheriff flashed a knowing smile. “That’d be short for Josiah, I’d imagine.”

  “It would.”

  “Well, Mr. Simmons, today’s your lucky day. Frank here was a guard over there. He’ll be your guide, take you to see what you need. You’ll get the closure you’re looking for.”

  “Sounds good,” he replied as the two shook hands.

  “You and me are up front,” Josh stated with a nod to Frank. “The rest of you, in the back. Safeties off,’ he ordered.

  * * *

  The cab of the deuce was silent except for the occasional direction while they drove from the bridge to the northeast side of town. As the armed contingent rammed their way through the closed gate of the prison, the passenger directed Josh to the infirmary wing of the structure.

  “Why are we headed there?” he asked.

  “Your man was still awaiting trial and recuperating from surgery. Apparently his last attempted victims didn’t appreciate his advances and shot him. I’m guessing that’d be your daughter’s handiwork… if the rumors are true.”

  He just nodded.

  “Good to know,” Frank replied. “Well, he was slated to be moved to Columbus, but the lights went about out a week before that date. Go ahead and park here.”

  Once the truck was shut off, the prison was eerily silent. There were no noisy prisoners in the yard lifting weights, jogging, or playing basketball. The PA system was dormant and the slamming of heavy metal doors couldn’t be heard either.

  “Your man’s in there,” the former guard said as he pointed toward a door marked ‘Infirmary’ above its berth.

  “Lead the way,” Josh replied as he motioned to the man and withdrew his Beretta.

  Frank reached around for his satchel and pulled several fairly clean bandanas. He threw one to each of them.

  “Here, put these on. The stench in there is pretty noxious.”

  Each of the McArthur men unfurled the folded cloth, formed it into a mask, and securely tied it behind their heads.

  Inside the building, the smell of death and decay was pungent and overpowering. Almost a month had passed since the HANE and the bodies hadn’t been moved. As they worked their way through the dozen or so beds headed to the isolation room, most were empty and appeared to be freshly made, but some were not. Those still holding their handcuffed occupants were blackened and swollen; others had leaked their internal juices on the floor. Rats scampered off of the corpses as they approached.

  “Javy’s in there. One door in or out and you need a key card access to unlock it.”

  “That explains the broken frame,” Dallas observed.

  “He better be in there,” Josh warned.

  The man sniffed. “He is.”

  “You seem to have an awful lot of info about this prisoner.”

  The former guard just stared at the floor in contemplation.

  “Something we should know, Frank?” he asked as he slid the slide partially back to check that a round was chambered.

  In an almost whisper, he replied, “I never killed a man before that day. The prisoners were starting to get each other out of their cells ‘cause some idiot decided to take pity on a few of the level one felons. It was chaos. I was assigned to the infirmary.”

  “What happened? Tell me now or so help me.”

  “Javy f— Dolbrow happened, that’s what!” he snapped. “As soon as that son-of-a-bitch got here he was inciting the other
prisoners. If he wasn’t singin’ up a storm he was regaling the female staff with his conquests. They finally had enough and drugged his ass just to shut ‘em up! Once he was out cold, they handcuffed his butt to the bed and stuffed him in the isolation room,” he answered as he motioned toward the back. “One of the more hard core residents was a fan and attempted to get him out,” he added.

  “I didn’t know what else to do. I’d had my ass whipped pretty good by that lunatic over there,” Frank continued, but paused to point at the bed next to James. “So I ran to my truck and retrieved my Sig. By the time I returned, your man was free and they were almost out of the room. That guy,” he said as he motioned toward to decaying body again, “He had exited, saw me, and then bull rushed me. I put one in his head.”

  “What happened to Javy,” Josh demanded.

  “He was coming through the cracked up opening right behind him. I hit ‘em three times in the chest. Me and another guard dragged that dude out of the way, but it wasn’t easy…” As an afterthought, he added, “I never knew dead people were so heavy.” Then he paused again. Once his moment of remembrance and reflection wore off, he concluded. “Anyway, we waited for him to just bleed out.”

  “How long did that take?” Hoplite asked.

  “It was the longest half hour of my life. Damn,” he sighed at the recollection. “It seemed like it took a hell of a lot longer.”

  “Did he suffer?”

  The man chortled, “You could say that.”

  “Perfect!” Josh exclaimed giddily as he dropped his pack on the empty bed.

  He retrieved his flashlight and then slowly worked his way through the opening. The last thing he needed was an infected wound or tetanus so he took his time with the splintered wood, bent metal, and broken glass. Once he was finally inside, he saw a blackish trail on the floor. Josh cautiously approached the bed and shone his light. The hand and leg shackles were dangling from the rails. Javy wasn’t in them.

  Damn it, he thought. So much for the easy answer.

  As he looked further, he noticed that the sheets were a crumbled mess. There was definitely blood residue all over them. He checked the corners of the room only to find medical equipment gathering dust. Turning back to the bed, he peered on either side, nothing.

  Josh backed up and followed the path of dried goo with his beam. It led under the heavy hospital frame. When he directed the stream of light underneath, the bare soles of two feet pointing skyward greeted him.

  He jumped.

  The father bent on revenge heaved the single bed over against the wall with a crash. In front of him lay the decaying corpse of Javier Dolbrow. Sprawled out on the floor, the man looked like an animal that had been put out of its misery. The surgical bandages covering the bullet wounds from his daughters well placed shots were still affixed to this shoulders. His hands were firmly clasped on what he imagined were the gut shots Frank had mentioned.

  That explains the trail on the floor.

  Josh had been robbed of the opportunity to see the little bastard squirm on the table on his execution day. In fact, aside from his upcoming nuptials, there was nothing he was looking forward to more. However, he received extreme satisfaction when he emptied a clip from his Beretta into the man for good measure.

  * * *

  It took some doing, but after three days and nights of discreetly moving materials and reassigning men, Lt. Stokes and his platoon of Combat Engineers arrived in Chillicothe. Sheriff Mac and his deputies were surprised when the convoy came rolling up to the horribly configured roadblock.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” the guard asked as he approached.

  The engineering commander exited the lead vehicle and advanced steadfastly. The man truly did not like being exposed out on the open.

  “I’m looking for either Mac or Frank. A mutual acquaintance said they should be expecting us.”

  “You found ‘em,” Mac answered as he withdrew from the shadows and holstered his sidearm. “What have you got?” he asked as he motioned toward the three trucks.

  “What I have in there is enough men and materials to get you folks situated for the long haul. How’d that be?”

  “I’d say you have a deal, sir.”

  “There a place where we can park and have my guys stretch? We need to review this aerial map and Josh’s notes.”

  “Absolutely!”

  In an effort to make good on his promise to the Chillicothe Sheriff, Josh sent the engineers on an organized ‘midnight run’ out of the park. He figured they could use the deployment to reacquire skills that lay dormant from lack of training time.

  Mac, Frank, Lt. Stokes, and Jake, his Senior Sapper, sat in a candle lit hole-in-the-wall bar sipping black coffee as they reviewed Josh’s map. Unfortunately, it depicted the entire state and didn’t provide the detail or scale needed to make the decisions for the problems they were looking to solve. As a result, the Sheriff asked one of his deputies to retrieve an enlarged diagram of the city from the Chamber of Commerce building.

  With the new drawing laid out before them, the Lt. and his Sapper were in quick agreement with Josh’s observations.

  “Okay, here’s what I see,” Stokes began. “This town is damn near perfectly situated. You can’t get in here without crossing either the Scioto River or Paint Creek. That’s good.”

  “Why’s that?” Frank asked.

  “It means natural obstacles that can’t be easily crossed,” Jake replied. “I’m thinking that because of the route of the riverbed, we could blow these two main bridges to the north and leave the southern ones standing with increased defenses. If someone is hell bent on getting in here, we’ll at least make them burn what precious fuel they do have to drive all the way around to the open side of town.”

  “What about these ingress points?” Mac asked as he pointed to three other points of entry.

  “We’ll place heavily fortified barricades at the Route 104 / 35 exchange, maybe some pill boxes with claymore backups. You guys have any Jersey barriers laying around?”

  The two men from Chillicothe started laughing.

  “If you could see this town in the daylight, you’d have seen the DOT building in all its glory. We’ve got concrete highway dividers coming out of our ears!”

  “Perfect,” Lt. Stokes replied. “That’ll make this whole thing go a hell of a lot faster. I don’t suppose you have any working machinery capable of lifting and transporting them around?”

  “We might get a farmer to help us out. Someone’s gotta have a working backhoe. We’ll have to look around for one of those. If not, we can definitely drag them where you want ‘em. How’d that do?”

  “That’ll work,” the Sapper answered. “Maybe build some sort of lift and lever system to manhandle them up into place if we can’t find a piece of machinery to lift it though. We’ll need to find some strong backs by morning? Those things are two and half tons of concrete and re-bar.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. Let’s just hope we locate a working backhoe or something larger,” Frank answered.

  “Narrow your focus to people with older machines. As far as we can tell, the old stuff survived the EMP,” the Lt. interjected.

  “So that’s what it was? An EMP?”

  “Yup,” Jake responded flatly.

  Stokes half expected a million questions to start coming at him, but all either said was, “Well, that answers that.”

  When nothing else was mentioned, the Lieutenant continued.

  “Okay, so we’ll demo the two northern bridges and, unless you guys can think of a good reason, we should probably blow this other small bridge while we’re at it. That’ll close off the town to the north, east, and west. The only thing south of this place is Cincinnati and Huntington. What’s that, an hour an half by car to either? I doubt they are coming this far on foot or horseback looking for resources.”

  “Sounds about right,” Mac replied. “But we’ve got some residents that live out there though.”

  “Do
you think they’d be willing to relocate to this side of Paint Creek?”

  The pair looked at each other and furrowed their collective brows. Almost in unison, they said, “Can we have a minute?”

  “Not a problem,” Lt. Stokes answered as he began to stand. “It’s your town guys. We’re happy to do whatever you like. We’re only pointing out what we would be doing in a combat zone given these circumstances. Unfortunately, that’s exactly where you currently find yourselves. Come on, Jake. Let’s let these guys discuss some things.”

  The two engineers exited the table and went to the counter where a disinterested bartender was reading a well-worn book. The men placed their empty cups on the bar and then leaned against it to observe. Frank and Mac weren’t exactly having a heated or animated conversation, but they seemed at odds over something.

  “Wonder what that’s all about,” the Sapper asked.

  “How would you feel if some group of thugs just rolled into your hometown and shot the place up?” Stokes replied.

  “Oh, hell boys, it ain’t nothing like that. Frank’s sister lives a few miles west of town. Husband ran off a decade ago. Son-of-a-bitch left her to fend for herself with three kids under the age of five. Youngest one must be goin’ on thirteen or fourteen now. Ya’ll blow that bridge and she and number of other families are exposed on our flank.”

  The engineers turned in time to see the old bartender rolling up his sleeve to expose what was left of his tattoo. The shape and markings were still unmistakable though. It was a deeply aged Airborne tat. The two men whistled at the age of the ink and the fact that half was missing.

  “You damn right, sonny,” the barkeep said with pride. “This thing’s probably older than both of you… combined.”

  “Where in the world did you get that?” the Sapper asked in amazement.

  “Little Vietnamese girl did me in town called Saigon… you might have heard of it. The rest of it is in some rice patty on the other side of the Pacific. I was twenty years old when they airlifted me out of that shit hole.”