by G. R. Carter
In a split-second decision, Phil sent half of his group to help Olsen and the new arrivals. He took the rest back into the building, making for the emergency stairway. He was cussing his middle-aged legs when he heard muffled gunfire. He flung open the third floor door and sprinted down the hallway to the windows looking out over the parking lot. He sent two of his men further down to the other corner of the building, while he and the rest took positions separated by several yards.
Time seemed to slow down. His friends were in trouble. He could hear himself directing men to blast out windows and giving each one a different target to fire on. As soon as the Shelby County AR–15s and SKS rifles opened fire, he saw the look of surprise and confusion coming from the soldiers in the Humvees down below. Phil recognized at least one of the enemy vehicles with a large machine gun mounted on the roof. The gun would sporadically fire with a roar that could be heard even over all the multitude of other rifles going off. Phil shouted for everyone to make that their target, and lead rained on the uniformed men below.
Untrained civilians with automatic weapons are incredibly inaccurate. But the sheer volume of hot metal heading towards one target ensured some found their mark by the time the co-op’s rifles clicked empty. The man handling the .50 caliber slumped over the top of the vehicle, while others swiveled to face the threat coming at them from above. Faced with a two front fight, and with the loss of their heavy weapon, the morale of the soldiers in the Humvees seemed to dissipate. Phil watched the olive colored vehicles lurch backwards as their engines revved. One ran over a tree and another climbed over the mulch landscaping as each hurried to leave the parking lot and return to the frontage road.
Leaving two men to keep an eye out for a feigned retreat, Phil sprinted to the stairway to get back to his friends down below. As he ran out of the jagged opening in the front of the building, he could see one of his Turtles with a plume of smoke arising from the engine compartment. The still form of a man lay just behind the vehicle, with two others beside him performing first aid. Phil ran past them heading for the sheriff's command vehicle. Someone he didn’t recognize was talking with Olsen, who was glaring at the man as though he was on trial.
“We barely cleared the fence when the alarm sounded,” Phil heard the man in camouflage say as he slowed to a walk and approached. “We tore out as fast as we could, but within a few minutes those Humvees were catching up.”
“Why were they chasing you, and why were you trying to escape?” Clark asked. “I don’t even know your name, and now I’ve got a man down and a vehicle destroyed.”
“I’m sorry about your guy, I truly am. But I’m so thankful for your vehicles, although I have to say I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in the Sandbox,” the man said. Phil recognized the term; the men and women who were veterans of the Middle Eastern wars all referred to that part of the world as “the Sandbox.”
“My name is Captain Martin Fredericks, formerly of the United States Army Reserve. My little group and I were stationed at the National Guard base here in town,” he said as he pointed in the direction he’d come from.
“We’re aware of the National Guard post, we made our first salvage trip here right after the computers went to sleep,” Clark said. “The police chief told us then that he thought the National Guard major was going to be trouble. He said we should get out of town right away.”
“The chief should have listened to his own advice,” Captain Fredericks said. “He’s probably dead by now, along with the mayor and several of the city council who didn’t go along with martial law. The major insisted that his last orders from his commander were to take control of all resources inside the city and provide security by any means necessary. That’s why we left; the 'any means necessary' part turned out to mean weekly executions on the steps of the courthouse. I signed up to protect Americans, not kill them.”
“So government here is still functioning?” Phil asked. “I figured it wasn’t with the city looking like this.”
“No, it’s still functioning, though with a much smaller population. Major Stillman has turned it into a military base. The old National Guard armory is the hub, sort of a capitol building. There’s zero tolerance for crime, which is where the executions come in. And no looting or black market food allowed. It’s safe, I guess, but the price is you do what you’re told, when you’re told, or you and your family don’t get your ration allowance. People there have to trade freedom for survival,” Captain Fredericks replied.
“I have to admit, Captain, when you look at the wreckage we’re standing in now, it’s hard to argue that the man didn’t do the right thing. Those citizens are alive, not dusty bones lying in the middle of a ghost town,” Olsen said.
“Maybe,” Captain Fredericks allowed, “but is that how you all live? I just had to believe there was a better way. All my crew thought the same. Meeting you guys makes me think we were right.”
Their discussion was interrupted by Father Stephen Simpson. Although Father Steve was the parish priest for St. Mary’s Catholic Church, he was also an avid hunter and a former college athlete. That he volunteered for this mission surprised no one. Phil remained a through-and-through Protestant, but Father Steve had become a close friend and confidant. Father Steve also challenged Phil’s stereotype of a priest; this man of the cloth was a man’s man. He shared the belief that using force to protect the innocent was not only allowed by God, but required of those who could accomplish it. In Father Steve’s mind, the AR15 slung across his back was the equivalent of a Templar broadsword a millennium before.
“We couldn’t save him,” Father Steve reported to the group. “He just lost too much blood. But he wasn’t in any pain, and he’ll meet God with a clear conscience today.”
Phil noticed the surprised look on Captain Fredericks’ face. He clearly wasn’t expecting to find a warrior monk here in an office parking lot. Of course, the Captain also didn’t know there would be armored cars here, either.
“Let’s get him loaded in the back wagon. Nothing else is in there, so it will serve as a hearse. Thank you, Father.” Phil saw the sheriff hang his head for a moment as though trying to bring some sense to this.
“I can’t even remember the guy’s name,” Olsen said, “I know he was from Strasburg. But that’s all I can remember. Another man dead under my command, and I can’t even remember his name.”
Captain Fredericks stepped in before Phil could. “Sheriff,” the Captain said, “I’ve lost men under my command, too. It’s never easy, and it never should be. But just remember what the Father said. Your man was doing what he believed in, and helping protect his friends.”
Fredericks’ eyes narrowed and his voice lowered: “I just don’t think there’s a better way to live than that. I know it doesn’t make it any better for you right now, but I hope over time it will. Besides, it’s not like we have much choice in this world we’re living in right now.”
Olsen didn’t say a word, just nodded to them both and turned to start getting the column together. Phil took over command when he saw the state his friend was in, shouting, “Everyone, we need to get out of here ASAP! I want each vehicle ready to stage on the frontage road right outside the south parking lot. Gunners on top, with eyes toward where those Humvees went. Give me two men to get that wrecked vehicle stripped and destroyed. We’re not going to leave behind anything useful for those other people. “
Phil grabbed Fredericks by the arm. “Captain, we don’t have any room to spare now that one of our vehicles looks to be out of commission. So you’ll have to pile all your people back into your Suburbans. I have no idea how you fit so many in, but you’ll have to do it again. We’re about forty-five miles from home and it took us several hours last time. It'll be longer going back since we'll be hauling extra weight.”
“I understand. Wherever you're going, we’re grateful for your help.”
“One request, though,” Phil interjected. “I would like you to ride with me in my vehicle on the way b
ack. We’ve got some questions to get answered. I don’t think Sheriff Olsen is up to it right now, so I’ll do the debrief. You can take the navigator spot in my vehicle, and we can figure out what in the world is going on.”
“Roger that,” the Captain said. “It will be my pleasure.”
Old Main
Jim Ruff rubbed his hands together, trying to generate any possible heat to warm him from the chilly rain drifting down. Spring was coming, but not soon enough. He shifted his feet on the metal grating below, forcing his mind to stay focused on the task. This was his weekly rotation in the night’s watch, standing on the service platform of his farm’s grain transfer leg nearly fifty feet in the air.
Usually a sentry could see for nearly a mile from here even after dark if the moon cooperated. There was no lunar cooperation tonight, but the duty remained. With limited visibility he resorted to listening for the trip-wires holding rattle cans and squinting through the rain to pick up any movement.
Weeks had gone by since the power went out in the surrounding communities. So far no one had tried to break into their farm, but in the back of his mind he was sure somebody was out there…watching and waiting for the Ruff family and the people they had taken in to make a mistake and let their guard down.
Half of the people living in the farmhouse and barns below him had barely escaped with their lives from raids. Partly because of community obligation and partly because extra bodies helped in work and security, Jim had taken each neighbor in.
His wife Julia begged him to make the seven mile move onto the Old Main College campus. But there was no way he was giving up a farm that had been in their family for nearly two hundred years. No matter what the threat was he would stay and fight for what was theirs.
Besides, if they made the farm a tough enough target, whoever was out there raiding and looting would just move on. Their luck had held so far, but the local attacks seemed to be getting worse. Even with limited communications, word still got around. Julia gave him the gory details every time people straggled in from the countryside. Survivors, along with most of their frightened neighbors, showed up at the gates of Old Main, still secure behind barricades and a militia made up of students and faculty.
The pain of today’s reality burned at him. The days of a few families moving in together for help and protection were ending.
He still wasn’t giving in. For generations, rural people had been arming themselves against the terrors lurking just out of sight. When Doomsday did arrive, the millions of rifles and shotguns stored in safes and basements came out ready to finally fulfill their mission. The lesson some forgot was what their frontier ancestors learned the hard way; a lone defender, no matter how well trained, no matter how well armed, eventually gets overwhelmed. Even small groups have to sleep sometime, and that’s usually when trouble hit.
The pitch black night made Jim wonder if he should have taken this group behind the walls of Old Main. He felt the darkness creeping in.
He’d discussed with neighbors doing some sort of daily patrols to try and flush out the nests of these night stalkers, but chores and immediate needs of survival pushed those goals back every day. Another thing he regretted tonight. He should have made that a priority. He felt real fear at not being able to see out in the dark. A visceral terror of the night reemerged after a hundred and fifty years of electric light had put it to restful sleep.
The Ruff farm did have some electricity, of course. Biofuel generators developed by Old Main and the neighboring Shelby County Cooperative whirred away down below, providing enough heat and light to make nights like these a little more comfortable. But Jim longed for enough power to send a searchlight beam out into the pitch black. Or perhaps have security lights out on the perimeter instead of just some metal cans with rocks inside. But they just weren’t capable yet, even though Julia promised any upgrades would be tested at their own farm first.
He doubted that a little, even though he tried not to. She of course wouldn’t intentionally hold anything back; it's just that her sense of obligation often left him feeling like an afterthought. The two had drifted apart emotionally years ago when they first moved to the nation’s capital after she was elected to the Senate. Farm-raised work ethic mixed with a zealous drive to set things right with the world kept her away from Jim and their daughter Rebekah day and night. He never worried about infidelity, but he still felt abandoned in many ways. Frankly, he had never wanted her to be a Senator; they were just caught up in a whirlwind that took her from local government to state government to federal office in less than ten years. She was fast-tracked in spite of her beliefs; the political party handlers just assumed they could change her once she experienced the trappings of power and the evening dinner circuit.
Once the entrenched powers in DC realized she was a true believer and couldn’t be twisted into their image, the Ruffs went from rising stars to outcasts. The backlash they faced even affected the schools Rebekah could attend. Once their only child graduated high school, she immediately returned to their ancestral home and the college that sat just a few miles away from the farm.
Julia finally realized there was nothing that could be done to change the problems the federal government faced. An offer from Old Main College to come and give their commencement address led unexpectedly to an offer to run the entire institution. Once again, a whirlwind swept the family up and before they knew it they were back to the life they both grew up with. As usual, the farm life wasn’t enough for Julia and she set to work making Old Main into a world-class institution. Whatever hopes the couple had for a closer connection never seemed to take root, and he drifted closer to the farm as she became a rock star in academic administration.
Even the world being plunged into darkness didn’t seem to bring them closer the way some survivors had; without the outside influence and with starvation now a very real threat, many families closed ranks and forgot old grudges for now. But once again Jim and Julia ended up spending time apart, focused on improving this crazy new world. Rebekah was their connection and she served as a messenger between campus and the farm.
Julia had blossomed into a brilliant leader after the dawn of darkness. The production of cereal bars by Old Main’s Applied Science department was a stroke of brilliance and had saved thousands of lives. Using all available resources, the bars were nutritious and easy to produce. But the bars had the consistency of cardboard mixed with the chewiness of fruit that had been sitting out in the sun. That was pretty much all they had to eat there.
The community still needed fresh food too, and farming the campus lawns wasn’t going to produce enough to keep everyone fed. Another reason Jim felt an obligation to keep as many people as possible out on the farms like his.
Security. No matter what progress they made, the danger of bandits hung over them like a black cloud.
He had asked Julia to request help from the people running the Shelby County Cooperative. He’d met a few of them in the years before the power went out. Being just a couple counties over, they’d been at some of the county fairs where his daughter showed for 4H. He was impressed with them in better times, even more so now after he learned they were working on ways to secure their own farms from attack. Julia said she would talk to their leaders, but Jim figured she didn’t want to bother them. She already had a fortified campus where people could live.
The time he spent up here, plus all the hours spent on their still functioning tractors, gave him the chance to figure out his own way to keep the bad guys away. The Ruffs' farm now held thirty-three people, but that included seven kids too young to do anything in the way of defense. He aimed to recruit more and had convinced a family of seven to join them in the next couple of days…
Jim thought he saw a shape move between the machine shed and the hog barn. He strained to see through the rain, hoping it was just a leaf blowing through with the wind. But then another shape followed, too big for a leaf and too conspicuous for an animal. No time to worry about a false
alarm. Jim began to clang the old school bell that hung next to the watch stand. At the same time, he pulled a rope back and forth, ringing another bell that was placed inside the farm house.
He heard a pained scream pierce the night from below; the other man on watch was posted at the entrance of the machine shed. Scrambling over the wet metal, Jim stumbled down the stairs that wound around the grain bin he was perched above. He barely held on to the slick railing. More screams as he willed himself to go faster into the dark, losing sight of the shed and the house momentarily as the staircase took him to the back of the bin.
Standing at the base of the stairs was a scrawny figure with the remnants of jeans held up by a tattered rope and a flannel shirt half hanging from his shoulders. Both men froze for an instant that seemed like an eternity. Terror hit as he realized he’d left his rifle up on the lookout platform. His haste now left him defenseless except for his skinning knife sheathed on his belt.
As he reached for the knife he watched the scarecrow figure raise up a shotgun held low out of the rain. The two barrels stared at Jim’s face like an evil owl and he stood there, knife in hand, resigned to his fate.
Click. Click.
The gun misfired from either the rain or neglect; a wave of relief washed over Jim as he felt the joy of survival. That joy turned to rage and he lunged at the scarecrow man with his knife drawn. Screaming a guttural roar, he lowered his shoulder and knocked the gun and the man into the mud. Before the water could even splash Jim was on him, knife slicing into denim and flannel and skin. Eventually the rage subsided and he wretched. He had just taken a human life. The horror he imagined became all too real. He just broke one of his religion’s most emphasized commandments…