Tertiary Effects Series | Book 3 | Bite of Frost

by Allen, William

  “Are you okay?” Clay asked, probably concerned by my intense concentration. Mike still gave me crap about my thinking face, claiming it looked like I was suffering from severe constipation.

  Angelo State, came to mind, in nearby San Angelo, but that wasn’t it. Then the thoughts finally clicked in my head.

  “Goodfellow,” I muttered, then looked up. “Goodfellow Air Force Base in San Angelo. Get with Staff Sergeant Hall and see if they can accommodate your people.”

  “Goodfellow? But that’s…” Al Mendoza started, then stopped, shaking his head. “That’s right down Highway 87 from Big Spring. You think they’re still holding out okay there?”

  I had to shrug. “I’ve only been to the campus once, but I know the base is in town and not all spread out. But that’s where they train intel and crypto weenies for the various services, so I have to imagine the security is pretty good. I know I got the hairy eyeball the one time I parked on base.”

  “How do you know about that base, Bryan?”

  “My wife’s cousin graduated from there some years ago. We flew out to Abilene, then rented a car for the drive. Sorry, but I don’t remember much about the place other than the guards didn’t like letting a rental past security. I don’t know who those boys were, but they sure as hell weren’t Wackenhut’s Finest.”

  That prompted another thought, and I had to ask the question.

  “But why did you say Dyess and Bliss were closed? That’s two of the biggest military reservations in the state, best I can remember.”

  “Your memory is correct,” Clay said with a head shake before continuing. “Dyess was transformed into a giant refugee camp when the jets were grounded. Turned the whole place into a tent city, ten miles by ten miles, they say. Now they are getting cleared for some flights, depending on the ash level that day, but the whole reservation is stretched way beyond capacity. Bliss, well, that’s another story.”

  “Freaking Mexican Army has taken to lobbing artillery rounds into the base,” Mendoza all but spat out the words. “The radio broadcasts out of Juarez claim they are trying to take out the tanks, but they keep hitting the housing units. Gonna get real ugly when Big Army rolls south, I gotta’ tell you.”

  Mendoza’s anger surprised me a bit, and somehow my face must have given me away.

  “The Mexican who wants to kill Mexicans doesn’t seem right, does it?” he asked with a grim chuckle. “Dude, I’m like fourth generation American. I learned my Spanish in high school, not from my family.”

  I held up my hands in surrender.

  “I think I get it. My people came over from England in the early 1800s, but that didn’t stop Great, Great, Whatever Grandpa Malcolm from fighting with Andy Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans. Point is, a lot of innocent people are going to die when the fighting starts.”

  “The fighting’s been going on for months now, and thousands are already dead. This Reconquista bull is going to cost Mexico, and it is going to hurt more than they can imagine,” Al Mendoza all but spat out the words, and I wondered what must have happened to generate that level of anger, but I recognized it for what it was.

  “Al, why don’t you track down Hall and give him Bryan’s recommendation?” Clay said softly, and Al gave a nod before sticking out a hand. I shook it vigorously, seeing a spark of hope in the younger man’s eyes as he made his way out of the cafeteria. Clay lingered a moment, and I caught his hesitation, as if he wanted to say something. He finally got around to saying what was on his mind.

  “You didn’t hear this from me, but if the LT leaves Corporal Cansler in charge of the squad, I’d recommend just taking your sister-in-law and your neighbor lady and just staying home. That chucklehead can screw up a wet dream.”

  “That why he’s likely to leave him behind, then? Afraid he’ll get your guys in trouble at some critical juncture with his lack of judgment?” I stated more than guessed.

  “You are a smart one, Bryan,” Clay retorted, giving me an exaggerated wink. “We kind of inherited the jerk, and the LT doesn’t have the grounds to bust him.”

  I shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

  “Yeah, like your late, unlamented sheriff. Man, was he really making kiddie porn, and snuff films?”

  I held up my hands, palm up. “I have no idea. You’ve likely heard more about it than we have, but then, my family hasn’t been in Albany County long enough to get tied into rumor central. Plus, we’ve been staying close to home, since providing security here is straining our manpower. We’re still trying to recover from the last hurricane, but thank the Lord it wasn’t as bad as Debbie.”

  “I hear you about Javier. Just glad it took that little detour at the end, or we’d be in even worse shape. Well, if I didn’t want to mess with hurricanes, I never should’ve joined the National Guard, right?”

  I had to chuckle at that, knowing it was just the truth. Then I decided to ask the question that had been niggling at my brain for the last few minutes.

  “What’s up with Al, if you can say,” I asked, giving Clay both hands up, open palm again. “Not nosy, but I’m surprised he’s still just a private. Sounds like he’s been around awhile, but what do I know? Only thing I know about the Army is reading Sergeant Rock when I was a kid.”

  Clay seemed to puff up at the question, then he suppressed what was almost a giggle when I delivered the last part in my best self-effacing manner.

  “He used to be a buck sergeant. Got busted down recently. He’ll get the stripes back. He always does.”

  “Well, I hope things work out okay with your families. I know how that worry can eat away at you.”

  Clay rose from his seat, but he paused to leave a parting message.

  “What Al said about the Mexicans earlier, he’s mad, and he’s got a right to be, and it’s a big reason we’re wanting to get our families out of Big Spring. One of the gangs hit the store where his little brother was working. They killed everybody there, then looted the place. Manny was only nineteen, and he wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Just senseless violence was all it was,” Clay said with a huff, his tired eyes boring into mine as he made his pronouncement.

  Yeah, a lot of that going around these days, I thought sadly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  That evening after dinner, I called a quiet meeting of the planning committee in my office. This consisted of Mike, Nikki, and Pat, as well as Nancy and Sally. This wasn’t one of our secret, take-it-to-the-grave gatherings, but I’d already shared the bare bones of the news about the Guard reducing their presence at the hospital while we had our late meal, and Marta begged off, opting for an early bed rather than rehashing the conversation from our drive home.

  The reason for this meeting was, well, as the name of the group implied, planning. In a nutshell, we needed to discuss some options if the security conditions at the hospital, already somewhat tenuous, became more serious.

  “Pull out,” were Pat’s first words as he stated his position simply. “Splitting our force is already a bad idea, and having three members of our group off premises, given the threat level, is unacceptable.”

  “Marta won’t go for that,” Mike countered tiredly, as if he’d already covered this ground with his significant other. “She’ll insist they’re doing important work there, saving lives.”

  “If the steady supply shipments stop, the surgical ward will need to shut down pretty quickly anyway,” Pat countered.

  “We need that hospital though,” Nancy insisted. “Those refugee camps are full of sick people, and the only way they are getting treatments and their meds is through that hospital. Isn’t there anything we can do to help them with security?”

  “I got clued in that the corporal they’re thinking about leaving behind is a reject their CO doesn’t want with a rifle at his back,” I explained. “Or at least, that’s what Private Mendoza and Corporal Gaudette told me.”

  “Shoot, they took Al’s stripes after all,” Sally muttered, and I cast a curious glance her way. S
he colored slightly but I gave her an encouraging smile for her to continue.

  “I’ve gotten to know some of those boys while waiting for Marta and Dorothy,” Sally said. “Al was a sergeant, but he was up on charges for punching one of the State Healthcare beancounters when they tried to throw a pregnant woman out of the ER. She was going into early labor and was having a hard time of it. They found out she didn’t have the right ID and wanted to dump her for it. Al intervened.”

  “Wrong ID? Was she illegal?” Mike asked, using the old, politically incorrect term that we all grown up with before it was changed by the thought police.

  “You could say that,” Sally griped. “She had a valid driver’s license. For Indiana. Seems she was down staying with family in Port Arthur when the city was evacuated for Debbie. The Texas Healthcare system is only for Texas citizens, or some such.”

  “But isn’t the money for their budget coming from federal funds? That doesn’t sound even close to being right,” Mike groused. One of the few things the federal government was managing to do was keep the moribund economy afloat by means of magically creating more money for critical services, and massive grants to the states to do the same. That was where Texas was getting the money for now to operate the hospitals and clinics still open.

  The results were mixed, and I knew the infusion of unbacked fiat currency was already causing inflation despite the price freezes as well as lining the pockets of some unscrupulous government contractors, but at least the large grant transfers were keeping cops and firemen paid for the time being, as well as keeping those selected medical centers open for the public.

  The system leaked, though, and in simplistic terms, our economy was burdened with too few goods being chased by too much cash, and the shaky supply chains were already being severed at multiple levels. We’d lost so much in all phases of manufacturing, from the transformers the power company needed to the simple LED light bulbs most homes used.

  “What are they running short of at the hospital, Mike?” Pat asked, and I turned watch as my brother mentally ran through the list Marta had mentioned. Pat could have simply cut out the middle man and asked Marta, but everyone was solicitous of her time and long hours at work. We all understood that if Pat needed specifics, only then would he go to the source.

  “Propofol, mainly. You know, Marta works surgical, so that’s what she mentioned. I think the anesthesiologists use that…”

  “Yeah, that’s what killed Michael Jackson,” Nikki piped up, and all eyes swiveled to the interruption. Curiosity burned in many of the other members, but I just smiled at my sister’s antics.

  “What? I recognized it from the trial,” she insisted, and I couldn’t help when my smile grew into laughter at Nikki’s sudden irritation.

  “Anyway,” Mike continued with a sigh, pressing on. “She also complained about being out of different versions of lidocaine and isoflurane, too. Plus, they are having to play mix and match with the antibiotics, based on what comes in a shipment.”

  “They’re running out of Forane, too?” Pat mumbled to himself. Rubbing his forehead, Pat gave Mike a scowl. I didn’t know enough to comment, but Pat’s lapse in his normally unflappable demeanor made me sit up and take notice.

  “What’s that? And how do you spell it?” Sally asked, taking notes as the secretary of our meeting. We could have been recording the minutes, but it turned out Sally actually remembered how to take shorthand, an almost lost art in the so-called modern world.

  Pat spelled out the brand name for the product, explaining it was another form of anesthesia used for surgery. Then he went on, this time like he was thinking out loud.

  “Mike, you better dig out the chemical process for making ether,” Pat expounded. “Sooner or later, we are going to need it, and it looks like borrowing any quantity from the hospital is going to be a no-go. Alright, I’ll go over the rest with Marta later. Now, backtracking, what are we going to do about this change in the security posture at the hospital? You all know my position, but I want to hear if there are any other proposals.”

  I thought about the question, and I remembered my concerns on the road. Even if the increased security continued as it was at the hospital, which we knew was not the case, the drive to and from made on-going travel a dicey prospect.

  “I’ll talk to Wade tomorrow, but I can’t disagree with Pat. I felt crosshairs on us the entire trip in and out. I might just be paranoid, though. Sally, you’ve taken more shifts than anybody. What’s your take?”

  Sally seemed surprised at being singled out, but I really did value her input.

  “At first, it was okay,” Sally said carefully, as if she were choosing her words. “But the last few trips, I felt the same way as you did, Bryan. Nothing overt, but I felt like I had eyes on us. The only way I see us continuing is if we either changed up the route or the times. Either that, or we roll with multiple vehicles and at least a squad of shooters.”

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen, I concluded, and I realized why Sally wanted to be careful about what she said. Even though she was a member of the planning committee. Sally was still finding her footing in this group, and I worried that Sally was feeling like a junior member of the group, with her opinion discounted by the others of us bound by blood or marriage.

  “I agree,” I chimed in supportively. In my mind, Sally contributed more than her share. She needed to be built up, to feel confidence in not only herself but also our regard for her.

  “Sally, do you know why we called this the planning committee?”

  I could tell she had something on the tip of her tongue, but again, her hesitation made her bite back the comment.

  “Sally, we call ourselves the planning committee in recognition of the eternal truth that nothing worthwhile was ever designed by committee, so we can’t take ourselves too seriously,” Nikki explained, and once again I was reminded that even though she was my little sister, Nikki was also an experienced leader in her own right, successfully overseeing a staff of more than two dozen employees at her bank.

  “And of course you have to know that oldest of proverbs, man plans while God laughs,” Mike continued. “We take the work seriously, but not ourselves. Whatever you were going to say, spit it out. Nobody here is going to judge. Heck, we even pretend to listen whenever Bryan opens his mouth, when we all know he’s nothing but hot air.”

  “Hey,” I exclaimed, hamming it up, “I resemble that remark.”

  “Okay, I just know some of the people who live out on that route along Highway 190,” Sally began, then paused again before forging ahead. “They might know some of the people we are worried about. Not that they’d associate with bandits, or anything, but they do live in the area.”

  “Hey, if these are friends you want to go check on, Sally, just say the word,” Pat chimed in, looking around to get a consensus from the rest of us. “I’ll load up the truck and we can go now.”

  “I’m in,” I added, “for comic relief, if nothing else.”

  “No, no,” Sally protested. “I don’t think Judith and Amy would be in any danger. Trust me, Judith can take care of herself, and she might have some sort if threat assessment on who’s moving around out there.”

  “You serve with her?” Pat asked, picking up on the way Sally spoke of her friend.

  “No, but I did know her older sister Kate from school. Judith was years behind me,” Sally explained. “She joined the Marine Corps right out of high school and did six years active duty. I really got to know her when she was working at the furniture plant before it closed.”

  “What was her MOS?” Mike asked, now curious. Sally was older than the me, older than any of us at the farm other than Marta’s mom, but I could tell Mike was now wondering about this person. Like me and my siblings, Sally had attended school over in Jasper, so maybe we knew the family if nothing else.

  “You know, I don’t remember right off. I know she was holding down some kind of a mechanic slot for most of her time in the Marines. She
spent plenty of time running convoys when she was in Afghanistan. Did two tours there, maybe more.”

  “What was her full name, Sally? I was just wandering if I knew her family,” I wondered aloud. “If she went to Jasper, we might have known some of her siblings, or cousins for that matter.”

  “Judith Sutcliffe, and I doubt it. Was just her, her sister, and her mother, and I know Sheila, her mom, wasn’t a local.”

  I ran the name through my head, but nothing popped up. If Judith had been in either my class or Mike’s, we should have at least recognized the name. Our school just wasn’t that big.

  “You think we should see if she wants to relocate here? Or nearby? The Fitts place is sitting open, now that the family is gone,” Nikki suggested, and I could see the sense in her suggestion. I thought about the location, and a plan began to form even as dark memories swirled in my head.

  “No, Nikki. We’re still not to Mad Max time, yet.” I chided my sister.

  “But…” She started, then stopped, looking around.

  “There are still some rules in place, and eyes on us from outside. We can’t just seize the building and put our own people in there. Yet.” I stressed that last word again.

  Wally Fitts had been a rotund little man, a New Albany city employee who supervised the Public Works Department. Most thought of him as the guy in charge of insuring the potholes were filled. More importantly, he oversaw the maintenance of the municipal water and sewer system, including the water tower and the sewage plant out at the edge of the city limits.

  With Wally gone, I’d bet many of the residents of New Albany were beginning to realize just how much they missed the quiet leadership of the funny little fat man in his garishly colored ties. Sure, they had trained personnel who actually ran the machinery, but Wally had been the glue that held the disparate divisions of the Department together and made sure the system hummed along. Wally, along with his other duties, had been spearheading the post-hurricane reconstruction of the flooded sewer service.