Merry's Marauders (Book #2 ~ Scenic Route to Paradise, refreshed 2016 edition)

by Andrea Aarons

  “You don’t know her then... I suppose you’re one of these juvenile delinquents that have overrun our fine establishment here,” he said as he eyed her from behind bushy grey eyebrows and a closed shaved head of grey hair.

  Mrs. Ortiz noticed that there weren’t medical machines in the room and the thought crossed through her mind like a cat stalling at the top of a fence before proceeding forward, that he wasn’t physically frail but... mentally.

  “Yes, you might say that but I wouldn’t describe myself as a juvenile. Only Junior who looks to be about 10 years old would be considered a juvenile in our group. I’m over 70 and I think Mac... the foreign fellow is close to 40 years old,” she told him.

  “You’re 70... a mere child, but I cannot see you so well. Come closer,” he said squinting dramatically to make his point. She stepped closer and then he said, “Forty years old and you’re 70! Just a bunch of kids trying to overtake our house of paradise. You shouldn’t fool with people like me! I’m going to be 90 years old.”

  Ninety! He didn’t appear a day older than she. Mrs. Ortiz came up to the bed and she was about to tell him that he looked very young for his age when he grabbed her arm, holding it firmly.

  “Ouch! Oh, help,” she squeaked.

  “Quiet or I’ll have to break your arm!” The old man threatened in a forceful whisper. He continued, “Now, tell me what’s really going on. Who are you and who are these pirates?”

  He was hurting her arm but she said, “On Monday, did you see the blinding flash? Monday morning? Didn’t you hear the distant thunder? The booming? Ouch!” He loosened his grip.

  “No, I didn’t see a flash and the thunder... Yes, of course I heard that! What was that noise all about? Don’t tell me we’ve been invaded! Those Commies! And we thought they were are friends...” he stopped when Mrs. Ortiz interrupted.

  “No! Oh, I don’t know. The car radio is the only place we’ve gotten any news but it’s very vague,” she said. “Apparently someone... some nation has bombed us. You are correct and I suppose it could be the Commies but no one seems to know... or if they do know, no one is announcing it.”

  “And what else? Why are you people running around in this place? Where did you come from?” he asked.

  “Well sir, we’re not pirates but we do have a captain. I am actually your neighbor. I live up... or I should say, I did live up the street on the corner until tonight. I used to walk by here every evening with my pooch, Salsa. I always wondered what kind of people were in here,” she said this as she looked significantly at her forearm enclosed in his large fist. Mrs. Ortiz concluded, “They borrowed my house first but when Mac saw this place, he told us that we and you too - would be better off in here when rioting and looting start in earnest.”

  He continued holding her wrist but not as fiercely. “Humph! I think I understand. Your captain has commandeered our retirement home. Well, good for him. He has a military mind. I bet old Ratchet has her chonies in a knot over this,” he said grinning. “That’ll teach her,” he added. “Hey, while we’re breaking all the rules, there isn’t any chocolate-chip cookies in the kitchen are there? I haven’t had a decent cookie since Christmas!”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” she said yanking her hand free. She stepped away from the bed, rubbing her wrist. “I am supposed to be taking inventory of the pantry stocks. I don’t think you’re 90 years old!” accused Mrs. Ortiz as she turned to leave.

  “Ninety? I didn’t say I was 90... I said I was going to be 90. Yes, I am,” he told her. “I’m planning to celebrate my 90th year but that will be many years in the future.”

  Chapter 6 Window of Opportunity

  The sun was rising when the VW bug carried its last load from the Ortiz house. Merry had locked the place up wondering if it would be better to leave the house open against intruders who might break windows or kick in doors. For peace of mind sake, she pulled the blinds and locked the doors.

  Nikki returned to help Merry wrap-up and now she sat in the passenger seat with numerous loose household items on her lap, including a kitchen drawer that contained multi sized nails, screws, a measuring tape and other odds and ends. Merry climbed in next to Nikki and slammed her door shut. She was tired. She leaned forward, her head against the steering wheel for a moments rest. From this position, she put the key in and turned over the engine. The radio was on.

  “I’m beat,” she said.

  Nikki said, “Listen!” She turned up the volume. The announcer had a British accent. It was the BBC. The strike on America that followed the New Madrid earthquake had been the topic for almost two days and would continue to be the only real news for several weeks. As soon as Merry backed down into the street, the radio station faded. Nikki failed to pick it up or any other station although she tried until Merry turned the engine off in front of the Hacienda.

  “You know Nikki,” began Merry. “The only thing that will directly affect us from the outside world right now is another military strike. You heard Malak, he doesn’t think that will happen. Our country is on its knees already. I think he’s right. What is important to you and I... er, you and me is the immediate local threats that might happen. Looting, people rioting... I hope he is wrong about that.”

  Nikki agreed. “If I wasn’t living through this, I would think it wasn’t reality. You know... you see the pictures of kids in Africa or the Japan earthquakes or what happened in LA and it seems unreal. Its 9/11 magnified. All Mac’s talk about gang bangers and lawlessness is surreal but then we see the smoke.” They shifted their eyes, looking up above the roofline at the distant smoke filled sky over Santa Fe. The ski basin was hidden by the smoldering cloud and haze.

  Merry popped the trunk latch. Together they began bringing inside the things loaded into her small car. The foyer was filled with the accumulated goods from three houses, including the two-story home across the street.

  The doors opening into nurses’ quarters behind the front desk were closed and Merry assumed the only attendant on duty had locked herself in. Merry bolted the front door after locking up her car. A moment later she found Nikki in the kitchen with Lenny and Mac. Everyone else had found a place to sleep, retiring from the night’s work some time before.

  Mac got up and gave his seat to Merry while he perched on the countertop next to the antique lantern left where he placed it some hours before.

  “Is everybody accounted for? What happened to Junior?” asked Lenny. Merry shrugged but Nikki said she saw him sleeping in the lounge in front of the lifeless big screen TV.

  Lenny smiled, “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

  Mac said, “Smart fellow. That is what I plan to do - get some sleep. It was a very successful night... no one hurt except Junior but not too bad as he was running back and forth the rest of the night. So, a great success. Everyone did their part.”

  Merry got up and poured a cup of water from the gallon jug on the counter. Junior was scurrying about all night. She remembered Patsy praying over him. Apparently, he was healed. Merry wondered if Junior would make the connection. She nodded and smiled at the thought. Lenny and Nikki were talking about their parents in hushed tones at the table but Mac was looking down at Merry standing next to him.

  He said, “You’re very tired but you smile still. That is good.” Wiping the water from her lips, she thought that she couldn’t explain why she was smiling, as she didn’t think he would accredit God to Junior’s noticeable improvement.

  She said, “Yes. The Bible says, the joy of the Lord is my strength and so I smile.” Merry looked away from him. Wanting to ask him what the plans were for the upcoming day but also afraid of his answer. She said nothing more. Instead, she went to Nikki at the table and asked her where the lounge was located. Nikki pointed back down the hallway toward the front door.

  Finding a stack of blankets and pillows taken from the two-story across the street piled in the hallway, Merry selected two of each. Mac checking on her a few minutes later found her sleeping in an easy-boy in the l
ounge. Junior was on a couch, snoring noisily. After checking the front door, he too found a blanket and a bed.

  Merry awoke to the smell of food. When she went into the kitchen, an older man sat in a wheelchair in the one sunny spot in the room. The skylight offset the muted kitchen lighting coming from the patio doors in the small sunroom on the south side of the house. Mrs. Ortiz was behind the long counter that divided the cooking area from the eating area. Flour was spread out in front of her and a mound of tortilla dough next to it.

  “Here comes another one!” said the wheelchair occupant. “Who might you be?” he asked.

  “Hello there. Call me Merry and what is your name?” Merry asked.

  Mrs. Ortiz stopped her rolling pin in mid roll and looked at the man. He looked at the older woman and said, “Ah, I see you’re trying to cheat at our guessing game.” Then he said to Merry, “Mary what? A proper introduction includes a surname unless of course you’re my niece. You’re not my niece are you?”

  The man’s response made Merry realized she needed something to drink to get her brain going. There was the jug of water on the counter from the night before. She headed for that as she said, “I might be your niece if perhaps your surname is Merriweather.”

  “Now this young woman knows how to play guessing games!” He said enthusiastically.

  Mrs. Ortiz had gone back to her tortillas but she interrupted the game by saying, “Merry, if you want to get a shower and I’m sure you do after two days of grime, now is the time. The generator is on and Mac told me he will run it until two. I have time to finish this meal but you better hurry.”

  A shower? Merry rushed from the room.

  The elderly pair continued their name game until Junior and Tina came in.

  Mrs. Ortiz said to Junior, “That shower was nice wasn’t it?” Junior had never been one to “enjoy” bathing but two days of sweat and dust convinced him that a periodic shower could be enjoyable. He smiled and nodded as he stole a tortilla from the finished pile. Tina took one too.

  “Let me see, your Tiny Tina correct?” asked the grey-haired man scooting his chair to the counter. Tina wasn’t exactly tiny but she might be considered short at 5 feet, one inch tall. Before she answered, he asked her to hand him a tortilla.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” announced Mrs. Ortiz. Junior had moved to warm himself in the sunspot, his hair still damp from bathing. “Junior, you get some dishes out and silverware. Stack them on the table there. Then, I want you to get enough chairs to seat everyone. Tina, please take the food off the stove and put it on the table. Oh, here comes Patsy.”

  Patsy ambled in from the front hallway. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a sky-blue jogging suit with only white socks on her feet.

  “Would you help Tina?” Mrs. Ortiz asked her. Patsy felt like a new person after her sleep and shower.

  By the time, Merry returned, only she and Sylvia hadn’t eaten yet and the men were lingering at the table, including Junior and the old man. The oldest and the youngest listened while Mac talked and periodic questions were voiced by Lenny. Merry struggled about leaving the plans for their immediate future to the men with her own sense of duty for the women and also, towards God. Deciding on a middle of the road approach, Merry leaned against the kitchen counter with her breakfast burrito to listen in on their discussion.

  Only the old man, apparently the sole client of the elderly home that was not hauled away in the white van the evening before - took notice of her. He gave her a wink when she officially joined them. Merry gave a nod of her head and then she and he both turned their attention to Lenny who was speaking.

  “Eventually, the military is going to come riding in with white hats and bring a halt to any looting or anarchy, even if it means martial law,” he was saying. “I mean, the US government isn’t going to let whole towns - cities just collapse into lawlessness indefinitely without intervening. So, Mac let’s keep that concept in mind while we make our plans. The million dollar question is how long... How long do we have to hold out against chaos, food shortages and blackouts?”

  Mac said, “I have no experience with the rescue operations of your government but of course, I have seen what they do worldwide when there has been past catastrophes. Having said that, I think we might surmise this situation is very different than any encountered by your people before. It seems whoever attacked your nation reacted in tandem with this devastating earthquake.” Drinking from his coffee mug, he then added, “It was a genius stroke from a military perspective.” He smiled and nodded at the men but they responded grim faced. Merry supposed Mac was disappointed in their reaction of his appreciation for the enemy's game plan.

  Shrugging off their apathy toward military strategy, he said, “Lenny makes a relevant point. This is important. How long should we hold out or hold up? The other relevant question is what are the possible outcomes of what we are experiencing? I’ve said already that I don’t think we will be attacked again by shelling but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a possibility of real combat with real invasion troops. The radio doesn’t give the details of what is happening beyond what we observe here.” Again he looked around and the wheelchair occupant - the elderly man motioned as if to respond but didn’t. Mac continued, “So we have other enemies that we are to subdue momentarily. Lenny, security is foremost. For the time being this house will do but we’re going to need more weapons. After security, we need water and food. Provisions such as proper clothing, medicines and household tools are next. The more people we have, the more secure we are but also, the more we need to house and feed. More people can mean diversification which is extremely helpful under these circumstances.”

  Lenny rubbed his chin and the back of his neck. A few days ago, he had planned to strike out on his own and try to hole-up somewhere until normalcy returned. Everything had changed when Nikki showed up at his motel door. How could he have planned for these changes, he wondered? There were a series of events that brought him to this table in the mess hall of an elderly care home on the outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico during the onset of a possible World War. He had told his parents he would help anyway he could to alleviate the stress Nikki was causing them but he hadn’t signed up for this. His parents... Several times in the last 24 hours Nikki and Lenny rehashed concerns about their family’s well-being and what they might be experiencing on the other side of the country. The siblings decided that whatever Mr. and Mrs. Brown were going through it had to better than their own precarious situation.

  “Mac, as I’ve told you already,” Lenny began. “I’ve have absolutely no idea how to proceed. You’re the man. You are going to have to tell me what to do and how to do it. Can I shoot a gun? Yeah, birdshot from a double barrel… I will say, I’m a quick learner when it comes to living opposed to dying, though.” He pointed to the skylight. “I suppose you know we need to cover the windows and skylights. I built house decks every summer during college and so I can do that. I’m handy with a hammer… I suppose, it won’t be pretty but I will do a thorough job,” Lenny told him.

  “Good, yes that is what I mean. Each person or group will have specific jobs. I sense we have gotten a substantial lead on the confusion that is unfolding. You may not see much yet but I do not joke when I warn you of what is going to happen,” Mac looked with deliberation at each man. “I know war and you need my help and let me tell you plainly, I need yours. Can I survive without you? Truthfully, I think I can but I am positive you cannot survive without me. I have no plans of surviving without all of you because I would have to learn as I go… In this country and at this time, that would not be wise. I know what I know already, so why not put it to use for everyone’s benefit?”

  “Merry get me some coffee,” he told her. His words startled Merry. She stood several feet behind him and out of his range of vision. She hadn’t thought he knew she was listening. Saying nothing, Merry went to the big stove and picked up the glass pot with coffee in it. She felt it and the container was hot but not really h
ot. The generator was off and so the stove was off too. She came and refilled his cup. She offered Lenny and the old man a topper but Lenny shook his head, no.

  “Sit down,” Mac ordered. “We have to continue planning and keeping ahead of the events threatening to overtake us.” Merry looked longingly to her unfinished breakfast left on the counter behind him but sat down obediently in hopes of returning to it afterward. His 5 o’clock shadow that sprouted since she met him just two days ago at the Albuquerque airport, had been shaved, she noted. His aristocratic look from that morning was replaced with a sobered almost savage look of a person with his back to the wall. Merry had seen similar reflections on the faces of people who were scratching out a life plan against great odds in Africa. She had not recognized it for what it was until now, looking at Malak as he forced himself to plan and prepare for a horrific something. Merry didn’t understand what that something actually was but she did understand that there was a growing threat that must be met by her and all of them. More so, she both admired and feared Malak for his determination to meet this unknown monster; fully prepared to engage it in battle – not to win... no, but to live and to fight again another day. He was a healthy strong man she could see but he wasn’t a superhero or a bulky muscled, football-player type. Malak from D’Almata was more brain than brawn. He was confident in his abilities and Merry found herself confident in him too.

  It was true Merry found the D’Almatan ways barbaric and yet, she couldn’t help but admire him. The old man was speaking but she was looking down the table at Malak. His straight back and wide shoulders, his olive skin and long fingers where he wore a silver ring, stamped him as the foreigner he was. Her gaze measuring him; his dark hair was cut very short and his nose and dark browed eyes…

  He was watching her, as she leisurely examined his shoulders, hair and face. Merry locked eyes with him. Instantly, she knew she went red. She tilted her head slightly to face the man in the wheelchair speaking from the end of the table but her eyes were slow to follow. Malak smiled. As she finally shifted her look she realized the strain she had initially noticed had lifted from his face.