Hard Rain Falling (Walking in the Rain Book 3)

by William Allen

  “Helena, Connie, you know we can’t stay here, right? We’ve already talked about where we could go, but Luke and Amy have given us the option of traveling with them to Texas. Luke is pretty sure his folks will have weathered the storm in good shape. From what Lori has told me, I gather his parents are like Mom and Dad that way, except out in the country.”

  He looked to me for confirmation and I nodded then went into a little more detail.

  “My grandfather was what used to be called a survivalist before it became a dirty word. My father picked up some of the same ideas, both at home growing up and later when he was in the Marines. My mom is a teacher and is a more reluctant prepper, but she was on board with the plans if something should happen.”

  “Have you been able to get in contact with them since the event?” Connie asked hopefully, her face a mixture of hope and concern. Whatever her mental block was concerning the reality of the situation, she seemed to be tracking fairly well at the moment.

  “No, ma’am. But I haven’t tried, either. At first, I wanted to and I’m sure my grandpa has his old HAM radio running, but I really didn’t want to risk it.”

  That comment earned me curious looks from Scott, Helena, and Connie as they sat regarding me. For my part, I looked to Lori, who shook her head slightly. She had not raised the subject yet it seemed. I decided to take the bull by the horns.

  “Y’all have seen the destruction, and the fighting as neighbor turns on neighbor for food. I don’t need to go over that. However, we—Amy, Lori, Summer, and I—have all been witness to another struggle taking shape.”

  With that preamble, I gave a brief description of what I’d seen myself, followed up with an even shorter summary of what others had passed on to me. I didn’t say who told me these things, but since I’d been working with the Guard forces here, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out the source. Helena did not appear shocked by the news, but I thought Connie might go into full-blown hysteria.

  “But that can’t be possible. They are supposed to be the ones protecting us! Luke, dear, are you sure you aren’t just misinterpreting the actions of a few people acting on their own?” Connie was staring down at her lap, studying her interlocked fingers as she spoke, and only looking up at me at the last second to fix me with a terrified look.

  “This is what I thought at first, ma’am,” I agreed, “But the steadily increasing rate of these attacks and their apparent cooperation with groups like the prison gang members has me thinking this is bigger than just this town, or even this state. That’s why I didn’t try to contact my parents, or even give my real last name to the nice people at Fort Chaffee. If there’s a rogue element in our federal government murdering dissenting generals and determined to get their hands on something like nerve gas, I don’t want to even be a blip on their radio intercept technology.”

  Lori gave me a nervous look, and then leaned into Amy’s shoulder for support before she spoke.

  “Didn’t all that stuff get destroyed when the energy pulse hit? I still don’t understand how some things still work and not others. Like why the Humvees work, but not the tanks we saw at Fort Chaffee.”

  “That Suburban in the garage shouldn’t work, like I told Scott earlier. Too many delicate electrical systems. Computers and long-line connected electronics were also particularly vulnerable to whatever took place. I am still leaning towards a solar event, but it doesn’t matter. We know some members of the federal government got word in advance, and took certain precautions. Like sheltering a fleet of black Suburbans for later use and shutting down the nuclear power plants. Some people are also worried about possible drone strikes, which would be improbable without shielding some of the systems.

  “But getting back to your question, Lori. Certain vehicles, like some of the Humvees, use older technology that is more robust than the current computer assisted systems, like fuel injection and such. Those APCs, the M113s, ran because they date from the Vietnam era and still work even if their fancy electronics were inoperable. If you remember, I did some work on certain other vehicles at Fort Chaffee.”

  I could have gone on, but we were getting further away from the topic at hand.

  “So, there seems to be a power struggle going on, mostly behind the scenes. At the same time, hundreds of thousands of Americans have died because of this catastrophe, and the survivors are only getting more ruthless… or determined. I can’t promise you all safety, but if we travel together and take advantage of the National Guard convoy headed for Texas, that should help quite a bit.”

  After that, we sat and talked for a few more hours. Connie went and got her son Kevin and the little girl they had rescued, Rachel, out of one of the back bedrooms where Kevin had been sent to entertain the child while the grownups talked. Kevin was eleven, short for his age and as insanely thin as his sister Helena. I suspected Connie, under her baggy clothes, was just as emaciated. Clearly, the only reason any of them still lived came down to Scott and his food deliveries.

  Scott had explained earlier that he’d found Rachel wandering the streets and couldn’t abandon her to an almost foregone fate. Scott said she was six years old and when asked her name she had responded with ‘RachelLeighLanders’. That was about all anyone could get out of the little girl, and he didn’t know any Landers family in the neighborhood. He’d found her wearing blood splashed clothes and wandering the streets about a mile from the Hybernia Drive home. The blood wasn’t hers, and she claimed to not remember how it got there, but the little girl cried herself to sleep almost every night.

  Today she seemed to be very social though, and made a point of shaking my hand like a big girl and asking why Summer and I were in those funny chairs. Before I could respond, Summer got her distracted by asking her if she liked playing with ponies. Of course she did, and with Lori’s help, they rescued a box of colorful plastic ponies from a high shelf in Summer’s room.

  “I feel like a fool. Rachel’s been here two days and I haven’t found her any toys to play with.”

  Two days? I thought about the time line, and I wondered if I was she reason she as an orphan. I resolved to never go down that mental road, and we continued discussing contingencies for the trip. Lori and Summer were all for it, Scott was resigned to making the move, and Helena had finally noticed I was in the room.

  “Just so we are clear about things, Luke, you are with Amy, correct?”

  “Yes. When Amy gets older and things settle down, we plan to marry.”

  That got a look from Connie. She turned to Amy and I thought, ‘here it comes’.

  “How old are you, dear?”

  “I’ll be fifteen in a few days,” Amy replied, no longer shy about the question. She was comfortable with me, and the age issue was not important to her.

  “And you Luke?”

  “Sixteen, ma’am.”

  “Well, you know, couples married early in the old days. I can see that trend is returning in this new age. I guess I need to have a talk with Scott and Helena about their intentions later though.”

  That got a laugh from all of us, including Rachel, but Helena was blushing as he chuckled. After spending this time with the new folks, I was feeling a good deal better about adding them to the mix. Adding Scott at least meant one more fighter, and I knew I could count Amy, Lori and Summer in that category as well. Based on my candid discussions with Dr. Spaulding, I knew Summer would be mobility limited for quite a while even after she was allowed to start walking again, whereas once my incision closed, the only thing stopping me would be the residual pain. So, not a concern.

  Taking my wheelchair by the handles, Scott rolled me into an unused office on the side of the house and showed me the collection of weapons he’d stripped off the dead neighbors. Most of it was junk, old revolvers and double barreled shotguns, but I saw a few weapons we would want to incorporate into our arsenal.

  “I figured you’d want everything. Uh, Lori said you are a weapons hoarder.”

  I laughed, and then gr
imaced. Scott frowned in sympathy.

  “No, not as much as she thinks. What are you using now?”

  “30-30 Marlin 336. Got a little scope but mainly I use the irons. That’s for self-defense. For rabbits, I use a pump pellet gun.”

  I nodded. That was smart, and I told him so. A pellet gun was enough to kill a rabbit or squirrel but was relatively silent, so as not to alert other hunters.

  “Lori thinks I have a gun fetish because I am always looking to upgrade our weapons. I just like having the right firearm for the problem. When I killed those people in the houses next door, I used an M4 carbine, because of the short barrel and ease of handling. I left my .308 battle rifle in the truck because it wasn’t the tool for the job. Make sense?”

  Scott nodded without hesitation. He stood over the pile of weapons, and I could tell he was trying to explain something to me that he thought I might not want to hear.

  “Yeah, it does. Also tells me you are a cold-blooded planner, too. I don’t mean that as an insult. That you had the presence of mind to grab the right tool for the job speaks to your ability to lead this herd of cats. Don’t think I haven’t wondered why my sister holds you in such regard, or what makes those soldiers back at the base tip their hats to you every time they walk past you. I’ve got no qualms about your age, or your ability to fucking kill everybody in the room if necessary. I just needed to see you with Amy to be sure you were the right man for the job.”

  I nodded, understanding. “I have feelings. I do care about the safety and welfare of others. Amy first, but Lori and Summer are right up there too. I know both of them feel like they did something wrong, and in hindsight, maybe mistakes were made when we came the other day, but I take responsibility for those mistakes. I don’t hold them liable, and I think they have figured that out.”

  “And you don’t plan on adding them to your harem?” Scott said it as a joke, but I wanted to make sure we were very clear. These were his sisters, after all.

  “Dude, no offense. Lori is attractive, and Summer is going to be a cutie someday, but so not going to happen. Not only do I not feel that way about them in the slightest, but my fiancée just killed for the first time a few days ago and I’ve seen her more upset about burning the rabbit when she made dinner for us. Lori, I think she went and took a body count of those they killed and wrote about it in her journal.”

  Scott laughed again, but he got the message in ‘guy code’. There would be no misunderstandings on the road.

  Going through the hoard of weapons, I got Scott to make two stacks. One, the smaller of the two, would go with us, joining the Footlocker of Destruction, while the other would be boxed up and donated to the militia group at Krebs Avenue.

  Scott thought that made good sense. We’d been cruising through their territory like it was the new express lane, and these guys deserved something for their trouble. The area they claimed was fairly free of violence, or crime of any sort. Captain Bisley was already working with them as his eyes and ears in the community.

  They clearly weren’t gang affiliated and though I wondered where they were getting their food, I only asked Captain Bisley after I couldn’t figure it out myself. The good captain laid out a detailed map in front of me and said, ‘figure it out.’ And I did. There was a fairly large warehouse complex nearly in the middle of the area claimed by the residents. I’m going to guess the warehouses had at least some food supplies in there.

  In the end, I said Scott should help himself to an AR-15 and a .45 ACP pistol. He picked out a Smith & Wesson M&P 15 and a .45 ACP Rock Island Arsenal 1911, which were two of the better weapons in the mix. I asked him if Helena or Connie could shoot, and when he said no I had him pull a pair of semi-automatic shotguns for the ladies. He gave me a funny look but didn’t speak until he had the two long barreled weapons, a Benelli and a Winchester, and lay them aside.

  “For them to stick out the widow and pull the trigger. I prefer pump action myself, but sometimes you forget to work the slide when people are shooting at you. No shell in the chamber though; I’m crazy, but not that crazy.”

  With that, I watched Scott finish loading up the donation box and wondered what devilment the girls were getting up to while we were out of the way. I said as much to Scott and he laughed all the way to the garage. Even better, he never ratted me out to the ladies. He was definitely beginning to grow on me as potential ‘bro’ material. Someone to watch your back and trust enough to stand watch while you slept.

  On the return trip, I talked the others into letting me drive and my only passengers were Amy and Summer. Andy and his friends were excited to unload the box of presents we left on the back of the loading gate. The guns were a hit with the guys, but Andy admitted to me in a low voiced conversation with me sitting in the driver’s seat that the ammo was even more welcome. Again, if it didn’t fit our designated calibers, we didn’t want it slowing us down.

  I told Andy this, and then said the only exception would have been .338 Lapua Magnum for the Barrett, but unfortunately no one had this. He understood I was joking because that caliber was harder than .50 caliber to find in most gun stores. To my knowledge, that caliber was exclusively for high dollar sniper rifles, and I still haven’t shot the darned thing yet. Between the expected recoil and the healing hole in my belly, that would not happen for quite some time.

  When I explained that part to Andy, he laughed again and said he would keep his eye out for some. They had some .50 caliber rifles, a Barrett, and a Tac-50, he admitted, but nothing in .338. I thanked him for checking but didn’t think any more about the topic. I had 56 rounds of the nice Hornady A-Max Boat Tail and that was likely all I would have until I reached the ranch. I knew we had the dies and some primers in a package my father bought, but I would need to hold on to any brass we used.

  My father didn’t have the .338 Lapua Magnum Barrett. I was always trying to get him a birthday present, so this would make a nice one. When I grinned, Amy demanded an explanation. Even Summer thought it was funny.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  We rolled out in an a six vehicle convoy, with three Humvees sporting M-240B medium machine guns, two five- ton gun trucks also carrying the same, and a commandeered Suburban with a shitty new red paint job and an irritated seventeen year old girl behind the wheel. Lori wanted her sister to ride in the Suburban with her, but Summer needed to man the radio in our Humvee. It was the complicated SINCGARS model that we were never going to use anyway, but our military element insisted someone needed to be there, just in case.

  Since we drew Sergeant Barlow for our mission, I made the call and Summer was riding in the Humvee with her brother, and Connie was driving. Yes, Scott was occupied too, manning the machine gun. In the four days we waited for Lieutenant Colonel Forshe to arrive with his troops, I made sure all the newcomers to our little troupe received some type of useful instruction. Scott trained on the M-240B, Summer and I took radio classes, and Connie, Amy, and Lori trained on driving the Humvee.

  I wanted to take the machine gun training as well, but Dr. Spaulding nixed that plan immediately. I was walking around now, sort of hunched over yet mobile, but the doctor wanted to give my incision a few more days, or a week, to heal first. So I got to lookee, but no touchee.

  Since learning to operate a Humvee turned out to be no big challenge, I asked Nurse Nicole to continue Amy’s First Aid training to include suturing and removing them. I figured she was going to get the honors of removing the fishing line holding my guts on the inside. Oh, and Dr. Spaulding had fibbed a bit; only the outside stitches came from a Zebco reel. The internal stitches I received were dissolving after all, so that was great news for me personally.

  While all was being done to prepare for our departure, Lori completed her own task of trying to track down the parents or guardians of the remaining group of girls from the cheerleading camp. We took turns riding with her and she crisscrossed the town trying to locate the proper addresses. The goal was to arrange their eventual return to the McAles
ter area, but after two days of fruitless searching and being shot at several times, she finally had to give up.

  Most of the houses she found ended up being either burned or deserted. She only found three parents, a mother and father for one little girl, the mother only for another. Once Lori was able to give the parents some reassurance about where their daughters were staying, all three urged Lori to keep their daughters at the Keller farm. At least there they had a better chance of surviving.

  Lori felt bad, I could tell, but at least she could turn in a report to Captain Bisley regarding the exercise. I went with her as moral support, and to practice more of this walking around thing I was still readjusting to, but the captain did not seem the least bit surprised by the news.

  Sergeant Barlow got the bump to staff sergeant and had twelve men in his outsized new squad, including the sergeant, and Scott and I spent time trying to get to know each man, at least a little bit. Neither one of us were pretending to be soldiers and made that very clear, but we could help out and would be responsible for protecting our own vehicles as part of the convoy. The captain quickly added his endorsement of Scott and Helena to my dog-eared contract for security services, even though at the McAlester armory everyone went armed all the time. The paper would probably be useful down the road.

  One of the soldiers, a bit of a comedian and a crackerjack on the M-240B, jokingly asked Scott where he was hiding his Oakley’s. The other soldiers laughed but neither one of us got the joke until Corporal Carmichael explained.

  “Man, when I was in the ‘stan, everybody that was cool in the private security companies, you know, the mercs, they all wore Oakley sunglasses. I think it started out as a Special Forces thing, but all those guys would pop their Oakley’s on as soon as they hit the sunshine.”

  Scott finally got the joke and then asked, “Why didn’t you ask Luke where he was hiding his Oakley’s?’