The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  Lieutenant Geiger had asked him to bring his rifle along and shoot the last round of fire with the last group of shooters, of which there would only be two. He thought it might speed up the instruction process if the trainees were impressed with Jack’s ability from the start.

  “And what if one of the trainees outshoots me, LT?” he asked.

  “In that unlikely event the person can help you and Art with the other trainees.”

  The evaluation went without incident. One of the shooters in the third round did very well, putting all of his shots in the white, but ran out of time in the last course of fire and left two rounds unfired. When they brought in the targets and the Rangers looked them over, Lieutenant Geiger said to Jack, “You did better in your eval, Jack, and this shooter has a purpose-built target rifle with twelve power optics.”

  “True enough, LT.” He looked at the trainee’s name on the target. “It’s still nice shooting. Mr. Baker can shoot. I have my work cut out for me.”

  When the last two shooters were ready for their last course of fire, Jack got into position on one of the empty lanes and listened to Art’s commands. Dan Geiger acted as his scorer.

  “Shooters, you will now be firing two rounds at each target, and you will have one minute in which to do it. Load your weapons. Scorers, signal me when your shooter is ready.”

  Very shortly the corporal received the signals that all three shooters were ready. “Shooters, on my command you will fire two rounds at each target, in one minute. Fire!”

  One minute later the shooting was complete, the weapons were cleared, and the range was declared safe. Lew Braden was one of the Ranger instructors going downrange with the trainees, and said he would recover Jack’s targets.

  When they returned, Lew gave Jack a dirty look then broke into a smile and said, “You have a warped sense of humor, Jack.”

  “What happened?” asked Dan Geiger.

  “I go downrange to recover Jack’s targets, right?” he said.

  Dan nodded.

  “I get to the hundred yard target, and nothing. No hits. I wondered what was going on. I get to the two hundred yard target, same thing. Three hundred? Nope, no hits. By now I figure Jack must have screwed up and shot at the wrong lane. Figured we’d have to make a trainee shoot again because Jack shot extra holes in somebody else’s targets. I get to the four hundred yard target and I see this,” he said as he slapped the target down on the range table. “The son of a bitch fired all eight of his shots at the four hundred. He did that in one minute, with a bolt-action, with a reload in the middle of it all.”

  Lieutenant Geiger looked at the group of bullet holes in the paper, covering perhaps only a fraction under five inches and said, “I did say impress, didn’t I?”

  “Why didn’t you write your name in bullet holes, or at least shoot a smiley face? That would have been more impressive,” Art kidded, which elicited laughter from the group around the table.

  “Is that the standard we have to meet, Corporal Sierra? Because there ain’t no way I can match that no matter how much practice you give me,” said one of the trainees who had returned from recovering targets with Corporal Braden.

  “No, you don’t have to worry. I doubt there are too many folks that can match what you see on that paper. But that Ranger right there,” Sierra said, pointing at Jack, “that Ranger is going to make you a better shooter. If you play it smart and listen to what he has to say.”

  Lieutenant Geiger took the target over to the twelve trainees who were waiting on the benches behind the firing line and showed it to them and after they reacted in similar fashion to the trainee at the table, he repeated Art’s line about Jack being able to make them better shooters. They were impressed.

  The next two weeks—the initial phase of training—would see six trainees leave the group, mostly due to injuries.

  The trainees responded well to Art and Jack’s marksmanship training and AKM rifle instruction, well enough that by the end of the initial phase Lieutenant Geiger felt they could forego the standard training that would normally take place during the advanced phase. This would give them more time to devote to other areas of training.

  During this time Jack and Jennifer exchanged innocuous messages through missed phone calls. Eventually Jack left a message for Jennifer at the med training facility in Heaven for her to call the Ranger HQ in Geneva late at night. While she thought it a little odd, she called nonetheless.

  “Jack?” she said when she heard the phone receiver lifted on the other end of the line.

  “It’s me Jennifer.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice. I was a little worried we might not get to actually talk to one another, or maybe you had second thoughts.”

  “Second thoughts? Not a chance. I was worried you’d come to your senses and realized the terrible mistake you’d made.”

  “I’d laugh, but you sound serious. You have nothing to worry about. No second thoughts, and no mistakes made on my end, Jack.”

  “So then I wasted a few weeks of perfectly good moping around for nothing,” he said.

  “Yes you did,” she said laughing quietly. “As did I.”

  “I’m glad we have that cleared up. I guess Amanda told you we missed each other in Heaven by a day?”

  “Yes she did. Say, who came up with the simply brilliant idea to talk in the middle of the night? I never would have thought of it.”

  “Lieutenant Geiger. He told me he stays in touch with his family this way.”

  “He knows about us?”

  “I’m fairly certain every single person in Geneva knows. Ol’ Carson was headed south from Heaven, so maybe everyone down there will know by now too.”

  “Does anyone down there know either one of us?”

  “They will now,” he said, making Jennifer laugh. “How have your first few weeks of med training been going?”

  “Pretty well, but I’m not sure about this.”

  “What are you not sure about?”

  “They tell me they’ll release me from my Ranger commitment if I pursue training to be a doctor.”

  “I sense you don’t want to do that?”

  “I don’t know, Jack. It’s an opportunity, but it’s not what I had planned. I saw myself serving as a Ranger and medic. They say I have what it takes to be a doctor, and I’m honored, but...,” she trailed off.

  “If someone gave you a choice that you had to make right now, Ranger medic or doctor, what do you go with?”

  “Ranger.”

  “Is there any reason you can’t go back later and pursue becoming a doctor if you wish?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Kinda sounds like you have an answer.”

  “Yes, but what are the higher ups that want me to pursue medical training going to do?”

  “It’s not their decision. You asked to be a Ranger. They accepted. You completed training and pinned on the star. They can’t fire you unless you seriously foul up, and that isn’t likely. So if they don’t like your decision then they’ll just have to live with it. Besides, the Rangers are short on medics. We need you.”

  “I guess you think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Jack Traipse?”

  “I have my moments, Miss Lewis, but you don’t see me getting invites to receive med training like somebody in this conversation.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, but thank you. Time for you to tell me some stories about your trip. There was talk that you went to the Deva State with a woman you picked up in Seligman. I know that can’t be. How do stories like that get started?”

  “Well, that story is partially true, that’s how. You see—”

  “What do you mean partially true?” she blurted angrily.

  “I couldn’t resist. Her name is Jenny and we got along so well. You see, she’s an—”

  “A what?” she snapped.

  “An Appaloosa.”

  “An Appaloosa?”

  “Yes.”

  “A mare... I’m g
oing to kill you the next time I see you, Jack Traipse,” she said laughing. “Okay, now tell me a story that won’t scare me or make me angry.”

  “Where to start? I know, I’ll tell you about a couple of interesting fellows in the Deva State named Yuri and Gregori and a gauntlet called Sex Show Row...”

  . . . . .

  The next morning Jack met Art at the range for his last day of working with the trainees. Art noticed Jack yawning and asked, “You sleep poorly last night?”

  “No, just not quite enough of it,” he replied. But so very worth it.

  “Still worried about that lady down south?”

  He shook his head. “No, not any longer.”“Good to hear, Jack. Now I suppose we’ll have to put up with you permanently smiling and acting all smug?”

  Jack sighed. “Probably,” he said rolling his eyes, “but I’ll try and keep it in check, Art.”

  “See that you do, we have work to do, lover boy,” Art said with a grin.

  At the end of the day, Jack was told Lieutenant Geiger needed to see him. The Lieutenant had a new assignment for him.

  “You remember me saying those not doing training would be run ragged?” Dan asked as Jack stepped into the office.

  “I remember. I guess that means I’m running?”

  Dan chuckled. “Yes. I need you to accompany some salvagers in the morning. They think there are some propane gas tanks down in Yates Center that were mistakenly marked as empty sometime in the past. They need to go and confirm whether this is the case. There is also a collection of books someone came across down there in an old museum. I don’t know if they aim to recover them or not, but Marian has a list of titles she would like brought back if nothing else. You’ll need to go over and see her before you leave at first light.”

  “I’ll go over there now. Who are the salvagers?”

  “Amanda’s parents, a guy named Clyde Dando, and maybe a few people who will help transport anything that might be recovered.”

  “I’m going solo?”

  “Afraid so. Sean wanted to go, but the docs say he’s not fit for strenuous service for another six days, same with Ranger Stark. That’s eight Rangers we have to work with, so don’t figure on any downtime for awhile.”

  Jack tapped the Ranger star on his chest. “Goes with the job, LT.”

  Geiger nodded. “Draw a TROG for your mission. You’ll be ten miles out and be pretty much on your own.”

  “Will do.”

  Jack left Geiger’s office and found Amanda already had a TROG sitting on a table.

  “Barlo was right. Look at the efficiency,” Jack said pointing at the TROG.

  “My best friend and parents are going out to an area where there have been raiders, rads, and bipeds spotted recently. You’ll need that. I’ll be up bright and early. Do a commo check when you leave, okay?”

  “Will do,” he said with a nod.

  Jack threw the strap on the TROG over his shoulder and made his way to the library. He found Jim Pyle reading at a table.

  “Hey, Jim. Is Marian around?”

  Jim shook his head as he glanced at a clock on the wall. “She should be back any time. Hey, do you know much about the Calamity, Jack?”

  “Some, but I’m not an expert,” Jack said as he sat down across the table from the young man. “Why, something you want to know?”

  “I was wondering how many people in the Freelands have memories about the Calamity. I figure anyone over forty or so would have at least some, right?”

  “I would think so. There’s at least twenty or thirty thousand people in the Freelands they say. There must be a pretty good sized chunk of them of that age. Why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Carson said everyone has a story and there aren’t a lot of people left who were adults back then. I was wondering how hard it would be to get all of those that might want to tell their story about the Calamity to write it down or record it so their stories would be saved.”

  “Good question. You have any ideas on how to do that? That might give you a sense of how hard it might be.”

  “How about we just ask them?” Jim said earnestly. “We wouldn’t force anyone that didn’t want to do it, but I think a lot of them would be happy to do it if they knew it was so people years from now might understand the Calamity.”

  “Just ask them…” Jack said with a smile. “That doesn’t sound too hard does it?”

  “I guess not. But who is going to do it?”

  “I’d imagine those that want to tell their story could write their own, or if they don’t write well, dictate it to someone. Archivists, library staff, pastors, teachers, volunteers, they could do it. Take a tape recorder, that wouldn’t be difficult. Sounds like you have yourself a basis of a plan.”

  Marian Tyler entered the library. When she saw Jack she held up a finger and said, “I have a list of books for you. Wait there.”

  She went behind the front counter and into an office.

  Jack slid his chair back and stood up. “Run your plan by Marian.”

  “You came up with most of it,” Jim said.

  Jack smiled and shook his head. “Oh no, my friend. I’m not bright enough for that. Ask people to tell of their Calamity experience, record it or write it down, preserve it for future generations. That was all yours.”

  Marian came out of the office. “Sorry I made you wait.” She passed a folded piece of paper to Jack. “If you can’t bring anything back, note any of those titles you might see and we’ll try and recover them another time.”

  “Sure. See you tomorrow when we get back,” he said as he turned to leave. “Jim’s got a plan for you I think you’ll like.”

  Jack waved a goodbye as he opened the door and left.

  “Ranger Traipse is pretty smart, isn’t he?” Jim asked.

  Marian looked at Jim. “There aren’t too many that have much on him.”

  “But he doesn’t think he’s very smart?”

  “I think he knows,” Marian said with a smile. “He also knows being smart doesn’t always make a person right. He’s self-effacing. It’s his way to avoid arrogance.”

  “My dad said arrogance is what happens just before life kicks you in the seat of the pants.”

  Marian laughed. “I think your father is right. Now, let’s hear this plan of yours.”

  . . . . .

  On the following day, shortly after dawn, Jack was on the road with the small salvage team. Debby and James Hays, Clyde Dando, with Ned and Kyle Cates—two young men learning the trade—made up the team.

  The salvagers played an important and sometimes vital role in the Freelands. They were not mere scavengers, they were knowledgeable and brave. It was not uncommon for them to place themselves at risk to recover important items, especially if it was for something imperative. They searched for sources of anything useful, from the mundane to the next to impossible to find. Until the Freelands was capable of producing the things it needed to continue as it was, salvagers filled the supply need.

  They went west-southwest until they came to a disused railroad where the trees and brush that edged the route were fighting a battle of encroachment against the gravel bed laid decades before. The group followed the rails southwest to a point northeast of the ghost town that was Yates Center.

  They slowed their pace as they neared the city. Despite much of the place being overgrown, it was much more difficult to move undetected than it was in the woods.

  Jack was going with Clyde Dando and the brothers Cates to check the collection of books while Debby and James Hays checked the propane tanks.

  “We’ll stay in radio contact,” Debby said. “Once we finish checking the tanks we’ll join you at the book collection.”

  “Be careful,” Jack said.

  “We’re always careful, Jack,” James replied. “It’s part of the business.”

  “Be extra careful then. Amanda will have my ass if anything happens to you.”

  Debby and James both laughed softly.

  “
Channel 19 on the CB frequencies, Jack,” Debby said. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

  James partially opened the lever on his battered but still serviceable .30-30 lever action rifle, confirming he had a round in the chamber, then squeezed the lever back into the closed position.

  Jack led the three men he was to accompany into the town, heading for the south-central part of the city.

  “There’s still a few buildings in the downtown area that might not have been searched before,” Clyde whispered when the 19th and early 20th Century buildings came into sight. “If the town looks clear, and we got time, maybe we swing that way.”

  Jack nodded and continued south for a few blocks until they came to the street indicated on Jack’s map. The group turned right and went west down the street until they came to a white building with a rusting metal sign in the front. The window openings had been bricked up and painted over white sometime in the past, but the paint was succumbing to the test of time, flaking and peeling to reveal the brownish bricks underneath.

  “It looks like a church,” Ned Cates said.

  “Pretty sure it was one once,” Clyde said.

  The quartet moved slowly around the left side of the building, stopping to kneel under a window at Clyde’s signal.

  “How did a museum end up with a cache of books?” Jack asked.

  “Can’t say for sure, but I guess they stored them here hoping they’d be safe. I’d wager they had to leave and hoped they’d make it back.” Clyde said. “Good bet on keeping the books safe. They looked to be in fine shape, but after thirty years I reckon the folks that put them here ain’t coming back.”

  “Where we going in?” Kyle asked.

  Clyde pointed at the window. “Same place I went in.”

  “You put the bricks back in place,” Jack said with a smile. “Neat trick.”

  Clyde chuckled quietly. “We Dandos are known for being a little slippery, but it ain’t all true,” he said with a wink. “Let’s boost the lightest one of us up there and get the bricks clear.”

  “That’d be me,” Kyle said.

  Fifteen minutes later the bricks were stacked to the left of the window, and after some manipulation with a screwdriver, the window latch was free and the way into the building was open.