by N. C. Reed
The three women in question made their way up to where Shane was standing, all of them eyeing Clay closely. A tall NCO followed at a respectful distance, his eyes seeming to catch everything. Clay returned their gaze without blinking, and none of them could hold his eyes for long.
“Captain Thatcher, this is Lieutenant Clayton Sanders, our former commander,” Shane said to the older woman. She was just a little thicker perhaps than the younger women, possibly because of her age or maybe just because she was built that way. Her dark hair was cut short in what he imagined was a popular style for a doctor. There was no denying the woman was pretty. She was also sharp eyed to the point that Clay decided she was probably a handful.
“Lieutenant,” Thatcher nodded.
“I'm not a Lieutenant anymore, Doctor,” Clay got the vibe that Thatcher was trying to establish herself somehow. “Just a farmer and rancher.”
“With an M-4 rifle,” Thatcher nodded as he had made her point for her.
“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Clay extended his hand, and she finally took it, again as if trying to dictate how the discussion went.
“Hi, I'm Kandi Ledford,” a somewhat busty younger woman with much longer hair stepped forward, her face open and friendly. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail that swished behind her as she walked. While lacking Thatcher's outright attractiveness, Ledford's friendly personality more than made up for it. Her hand was soft, indicating she spent most of her time inside rather than in the field.
“I was with the 13th Sustainment Command,” Ledford told him, as if knowing what he was thinking. “I was lucky to hook up with Shane and his group,” she smiled.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Ledford,” Clay replied with a slight smile.
“Sienna Newell,” the third woman said, also offering her hand. “89th MP Brigade.” Her hair was auburn and fell midway between the other two in length. A smattering of freckles gave her a girl next door vibe. She was slender, taller than the other two and he felt callouses on her hand when they shook. This woman was a soldier in every sense of the word.
“Good to have you with us, Miss Newell,” he replied.
“And Staff Sergeant Virgil Wilcox,” Shane introduced as a tall, dusky skinned man stepped forward, hand extended. He was more solid than he appeared thanks to his height, and had he been shorter Clay would have taken him for at least part Filipino. As it was he felt like Wilcox was too tall for that, and it didn't matter anyway. Wilcox had a competent look to him that Clay immediately liked.
“3rd Cav, Sir,” the man nodded, then stepped back as Clay released his hand. “Pleasure.”
“I know it takes time, Staff Sergeant, but you can just call me Clay, or else Bossman,” Clay offered with a grin. “We're glad to have you here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wilcox replied with a slight glance at Thatcher. Clay ignored that for now.
“Doctor Thatcher, it may interest you to know that we have a Physician's Assistant and an RN in our clinic, as well as having a trained squad medic on the team. And our medic has been teaching basic lifesaving to everyone and advanced aid to those who seem better able to grasp it.”
“I’ll need to see this clinic,” Thatcher was blunt.
“We can arrange that,” Clay nodded. “Anything else?” he looked at Shane.
“You should be talking to me,” Thatcher interrupted before Shane could speak. Shane sighed and gave Clay a look of 'what can you do'.
“Why is that, Doctor Thatcher?” Clay decided to nip this in the bud before it could get out of hand.
“I'm the ranking officer here,” Thatcher replied.
“You may have missed the part where we're not in the Army anymore,” Clay actually smiled at her. “And considering you're here with a stolen armored vehicle full of stolen medical supplies and equipment, I imagine your days in the Army have officially come to an end as well, wouldn't you say?
“We don't operate that way here,” he continued, his tone friendly. “And I'm talking to Shane because he led you here, and is someone I know and trust. He and the others from my team are the reason you're here. And, not to be rude or brag, but if there's a commanding officer here other than me, it's going to be the Old Man. My grandfather. And trust me, Doctor, you do not want to pull this shit with him. He will eat you alive and spit out the bones.
“You're a doctor, and that's fantastic to be honest. We're genuinely glad to have you here in that capacity. Your husband is a truck driver, and appeared to be a good one. Based on his nod when I mentioned farming being hard work, I'm willing to bet he has at least a basic knowledge of farm equipment which is even better. So it's in no way an exaggeration to say we're glad to have you.
“But don't make the mistake of thinking your Army rank means anything here,” Clay's voice lost its 'friendly' tone and his eyes grew flinty. “Right now, my sister-in-law is in charge of the clinic. Assuming she surrenders that responsibility to you, then that's what you will command. We don't risk anyone with that kind of training in the field so other than basic self-defense you won't have to worry about training with the rest of the group.
“None of that is negotiable, by the way,” he finished as Thatcher's face got redder. “It's not personal, so please don't try to make it that way. It's strictly a matter of survival. I wasn't lying or exaggerating when I told you we're thrilled to have a doctor joining us. Emphasis on doctor, not Captain. I trust you ladies get that as well?” he looked toward the two lieutenants.
“My Army days are behind me,” Ledford nodded. “Got outta there by the thread of my underwear as it was. I've never seen any actual combat, or even a field deployment for that matter, being in Sustainment my entire career, but I've had basic and qualified on several weapons and systems. I also went through Basic Infantry Officer training. It was just that my organizational and computer skills landed me in a staff job.”
“Same here,” Newell was also nodding. “I knew what I was getting into when I signed on. Shane was in charge from the get go and we followed him all the way here. Now that we are here, we’ll serve wherever you want us to. I've deployed to Iraq twice and Afghanistan once as an MP. Usually patrolling unsecured areas for insurgent activity.”
“Sounds like you two have got it together then,” Clay grinned at them. “We’ll talk more about your skills in a day or two. For now, rest and relax. I'm sure you can use it.”
“And how,” the two replied in unison.
“Is there anything else?” Clay looked at Shane, pointedly ignoring the good Captain.
“Nah, just wanted you to meet the plus two and the rest,” Shane shook his head.
“Plus two?” Thatcher had to ask.
“I couldn't tell him exactly how many were along in case others were listening, so I used an old trick from back in the day,” Shane replied. “If anyone heard me, they got no idea how many people were on the convoy, or how many might be a threat. Any advantage is gold in battle.”
“Amen,” Wilcox echoed Clay and the two nodded at each other.
“Well then, assuming you're up to it, I guess I need to take you up to meet the Old Man,” Clay told Shane.
“Works for me.”
***
“I need to take a piss!”
“I wonder if she eats with that mouth,” Vicki groused as she and Zach sat in the shade of the armored car, where the prisoner couldn't see them.
“If she doesn't, it'd be interesting to see how she does eat,” Zach snorted and Vicki punched his shoulder.
“What?” Zach gave a 'helpless' shrug. “I'm just saying it would make for interesting-”
“Hey!” the woman on the ground interrupted again. “I know you can hear me! Now untie me and let me take a leak!”
“Clay already told her to swallow it,” Zach said, winking at Vicki as he did so. “Again, something that might prove interesting if you can do it without letting it out to start with. Otherwise it's just sick,” he made a gagging motion.
“I can tell this
is gonna be a long afternoon,” Vicki groaned as she lay back on the ground, crossing her ankles and resting on her elbows.
“We’ll find some way to pass the time, I'm sure.”
***
“Leon, this is Shane Golden, a teammate from my Africa days. He was the one who called on the radio last night. Shane, this is the Old Man, my grandfather, Leon. He's pretty much in charge of everything that isn't security related or personal business.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Shane offered his hand.
“Same,” Leon's voice was gruff but not unfriendly as he took the hand. “I hear you had a long, hard trip, boy,” he looked up at Shane. “And left a bad situation behind you.”
“That we did, I'm afraid,” Shane sighed tiredly. “I'd rather not get into the nuts and bolts tonight, if you don't mind. I really am beat. But maybe ten days or so after the CME hit, things started popping. I think it took that long for people to realize that things weren't going to go back to normal, and for supplies to start running out.”
“'Bout that here, too,” Leon nodded.
“Well, it doesn't seem to get a lot of press, but the southwestern area of the country has a major gang problem,” Shane continued. “Some of which are actually terrorist groups with the mission statement of taking Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and California back for Mexico.”
“Welcome to California,” Leon snorted and Shane laughed.
“Most others out there would agree, sir,” he nodded. “But not where we were in rural Arizona. No one there will tolerate that kind of shit, and that includes the citizens who have Mexican ancestry.” He paused, thinking about recent events.
“It started small,” he went on finally. “A murdered rancher. Burned home. Ransacked business. But within two weeks the tempo had increased significantly. So much so that by the third week we were already preparing to bug out. I don't know why I didn't see it,” Shane shook his head slowly. “I should have accounted for that, I really should. I knew the gangs were a problem but I counted on our isolation to protect us from most of it, and we had the firepower to deal with what found us. At least so long as it was small outfits.”
“So what changed?” Clay asked.
“Everything,” Shane snorted. “But it started with someone getting the upper hand and bringing all the Hispanic gangs under one banner. Or maybe it's three, I don't know for sure and didn't try to find out.”
“Wait,” Leon held up a gnarled hand. “Aztlan? That one of 'em? Mecha something? The Raza?”
“Someone knows what's going on,” Shane nodded in approval.
“Damn, I thought that shit died out twenty years ago,” Leon shook his head. “It was a political movement wanting the southwest 'territory' back in Mexican hands. Had some communist leanings and had offices on a bunch of college campuses. Always trying to stir shit.”
“That would be them,” Shane was nodding again. “And I gotta say before I go any further, this isn't a race issue. Some of the ranchers they killed were just as Hispanic as any of them. Some of the places they burned belonged to Hispanic families that have lived and worked that land for umpteen generations. It's about power, pure and simple.
“Whoever is leading them is pretty damn smart, too. Once they were all in hand and working together, he started seizing control of the water. That part of the country is water poor anyway. Not as many aquifers as around here and not nearly as many rivers, streams and lakes. It's like it was in the old west day; whoever controls the water controls the land. With the power off and the grid destroyed, there's no more turning on a tap for water. Whoever controls the fresh water is in charge.”
“Makes sense,” Leon mused. “Decent tactic. Whoever you were dealing with either has some training or else has someone working for him who does. Sounds like all of this is coming from a playbook that was already made up and ready, too.”
“It ran like it, yes sir,” Shane agreed. “Too smooth and too organized. I grant you they were slow to get started, but then the CME took everyone by surprise for the most part, so I doubt they were waiting to kick off their revolution. They had to play catch up, and then they had to hash things out between them. By the time they had done that, we were making tracks this way.”
“Leave anything behind?” Clay asked.
“Nothing useful,” Shane shook his head. “Food and water supplies we didn't think we'd need. Some needy soul may come across them and it save their life, who knows? But everything else we brought with us. Even if we couldn't get here, we weren't going back there.” Shane paused, yawning. “Sorry.”
“You've had a long day, son,” Leon told him. “Go and rest. Nothing that's happening out there is gonna affect us here, least not tonight. Might be interesting to hear what you ran through to get here, but that can wait for you to rest up. Go on, now. We’ll talk again in a couple days. Go take care of yourself.”
“Thank you, sir,” Shane stood.
“I gotta head back down, Leon,” Clay was on his feet as well. “Shane caught a rat on the way here and she might be important in a semi sort of way. Hopefully we can get some information out of her. We're letting her stew a bit before interrogating her.”
“Sounds like you boys got everything under control, then,” Leon nodded in approval. “Keep me updated on what you're doing.”
“Will do.”
***
Freshly showered and wearing sweats that belonged to Abby's brother, Mattie Simmons was sitting at the dining room table devouring a plate of roasted beef and warmed vegetables.
“I can't honestly remember the last time I had a decent meal,” Mattie almost groaned as she paused long enough to get a drink of water. “We've been eating out of cans and bags since I joined up with their convoy. Before that I was eating whatever I could find while staying out of sight.”
“How did you end up with them?” Abby asked her.
“We were on a road trip to Houston when the lights went out,” Mattie replied. “For the first few minutes we just sat there but then someone yelled about lights outside and so we streamed out of the gym and sure enough it looked like the sky had caught fire.
“After an hour or so the coach decided we should try heading home, since it looked like this was going to be a disaster, but the bus wouldn't even turn over. About that time he realized that most of the cars in the parking lot wouldn't start, either, and that a mild panic was starting. People starting mentioning September Eleven, the War or Terror, the election and so forth and so on, working the crowd into a real fever pitch.
“Coach tried to keep us all together at first, sure that things would right themselves. For the first night and next day it was okay. Not great but okay. The university was able to feed us and we were staying on campus so that wasn't a problem, but . . . after that things started to turn sour. By the second day the city was turning itself inside out and I really don't think Coach knew what to do at that point. Several of my teammates were starting to annoy me with their whining anyway and it really looked like things weren't going to reset, so to speak, so me and another girl decided we'd had enough and started making plans to make our way home.
“The first problem with that plan was it was November,” Mattie sighed. “Already cool if not cold, and we weren't exactly prepared for something like that, you know? But we started gathering supplies like bottled water and packaged food from vending machines and secreting it away. We made ponchos from the blankets on our beds and took the bedspreads for blankets. We were almost sure Coach knew what we were planning but he was starting to break down too and I think he ignored us. He and his wife had just had a baby and he couldn't get in touch with her of course, and the baby was too young and his wife still too weak for them to have made the trip with us. So he was preoccupied with that and with a few of the other girls being whiny and starting to panic, so . . . well, we just slipped away and started walking this way,” she shrugged.
“Which one was the other girl?” Abby asked. “You want us to bring her over here
too?”
Mattie was silent for a minute and Abby realized she had hit a nerve.
“Cindy . . . Cindy didn't make it,” Mattie finally said. “I mean, she didn't make it all the way here. She may still be alive, I don't know. It might be kinder to her if she wasn't, though.” She took a ragged breath and released it before continuing.
“We actually did okay at first,” she went on, trying to sound up beat. “We walked only during the day, made sure we were well off the road before night and set up somewhere that we could hide. At first that worked great since most people seemed to be doing the same thing. That lasted for I think eight days. It might have been nine, I'm not sure.”
“We had made it a pretty good ways, using a state highway to go north looking for Interstate 20. We knew it would take us across the river and that was our one big concern. Fools we. We had a lot of concerns, we just didn't know it yet. We knew enough to try and skirt big towns and cities after seeing what had started in Houston, but . . . we were foolish enough to think that passing through small towns was safer.”
“We rarely stopped anywhere in any town. We just walked through and kept going. By that time no one wanted strangers around to share what was left, and we understood that fine. I was finding enough berries and late fruit to keep us eating and while water was a problem, every now and then we'd find someone with a well who wouldn't mind allowing a couple of poor college girls far from home to fill up their empty water bottles.
“But, it couldn't last,” Mattie sighed, and her eyes might have been just a little wet. “Things were breaking down pretty bad after maybe three weeks, two of which we'd spent on the road. We were both in good shape and had good shoes so we were making good time. About nine or so miles a day or so we estimated. That may not sound like a lot, but we had to be careful and absolutely had to be somewhere safe before dark because it was dark as pitch once night fell. Anyway, we did okay, but we pushed too hard and headed through a mid-sized town just before dark. The place was bigger than it looked and the sun set with us still there and . . . well, you remember that old song; freaks come out at night.” She paused again, clearly reliving something bad.