“In town or outside of it?”
“I don’t know the exact location. It was outside the city, though.”
Mark got back on.
“You never want to be too specific about the location anyway, Dave. Not on the radio. If they made it to the relatives place outside the city, that’s a good thing. Inside the city, it’s pretty much like a war zone. Not many survivors left at all. Do you know much about the general area she was headed to, where the relatives lived?”
“Not much, no. I was there once, but don’t remember much about it. A farm house, maybe nine or ten miles west of the airport. Somewhere in that area. I remember the farm had a good sized creek that ran along its western edge that fed into a river at some point. And that its address was odd. Route 8 or something. That’s all I remember.”
“Well, Route 8 is west of the airport, and there are a couple of rivers in that area and a lot of streams and creeks that connect with them. It sounds like they’re probably in the Leavenworth area. That’s good in a way, and bad in another.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s good in that it’s rural. If they have access to a water source, and they have some land, it’ll be easy for them to grow crops. When there’s not fifty feet of bloody snow on the ground, that is. Also, it’s easier to protect rural land from looters.”
“Okay…”
“The bad news is that the Route 8 area isn’t far from Ft. Leavenworth, the military prison. They had a bad prison break just after the power went out. A very bad one. From what I heard, more than two hundred convicts got out, and nearly all of them are still out there. The military couldn’t go after them because none of their vehicles worked. The convicts presumably couldn’t get far because they had no vehicles either. I heard the Army eventually formed a cavalry detachment, with real horses, like the old days. They were going from one farm to the next, looking for the convicts. Like an old fashioned posse. I heard they caught a few and dragged them back, but that the commanding general finally called off the operation because the farmers and ranchers in the area kept shooting at them. I guess they saw a group of men on horseback and considered them a threat.
“So my guess is, most of them are still in the area, raising havoc. I hope your relatives are well armed and prepared to defend their land.”
“Thank you for the information, Stan.”
“No problem. I don’t mind helping out a friend of a friend. And I’ve known Frank for many years. If he vouches for you then I know you’re good people. I hope you find your family someday, and I hope they’re in good shape.”
“Thank you for that. I have one more question, though. I thought Fort Leavenworth’s prison was just for white collar criminals… deserters and non violent criminals and such. Do you really think the ones who escaped are that dangerous?”
“I hate to break it to you, Dave, but Fort Leavenworth is just like every other prison. The only difference is it’s for military people who were convicted by court martial. But they’ve got the same type of criminals every other prison has, ranging from counterfeiters to murderers.”
Mark cut in.
“Stan, I’m going to ask this question of you because I suspect Dave wants to ask but doesn’t know you well enough to impose. I’ve known you long enough not to care if I impose. Once the snow clears and you’re able to get out again, if he can somehow pinpoint his family’s location, would you be willing to ride one of your horses there to find his family and make sure they’re okay?”
There was a long silence on the radio. The seconds ticked by painfully slowly.
It was apparent that Stan was choosing the right words.
“Mark, I consider you a good friend. But I’d have to say no. The world has gone to hell. It’s a very dangerous place. And that part of the country is one of the most dangerous, because of the prison break. I have my own family to protect, my own loved ones that need me. I feel bad for your friend, but my first allegiance is here, with my own. If I went off in search of your friend’s family, I could very easily get myself killed. And then my own family would pay a heavy price.
“So my answer is no. I owe it to my own wife and children to refuse your request. But I hope that someday the world will get moving again, somehow. I wish you well, Dave, and hope you can reunite with your family someday.”
“Thank you, Stan.”
“I have to go now, fellas, my generator’s about out of juice and starting to sputter. I’ll catch you next time.”
Mark felt the need to apologize.
“I’m sorry, Frank, and Dave. But I understand Stan’s position. I feel the same way. My first priority is protecting my own family, and I can’t do that if I leave them alone to go look for the loved ones of others.”
Dave said, “I understand. Thank you for the information. Now I have a little bit better picture of what it’s like up there, and a better understanding of what to watch out for when I come up there for them.”
“Well, don’t come anytime soon. The snow pack makes it pretty much impossible to get around on foot. I have an old Army deuce and a half in my barn that I was restoring when the EMP hit. Six wheel drive. If I had that thing running, I might chance going out on the roads. But of course, she’ll never run again. Hell, I wouldn’t even take a horse out in conditions like this. If you’re coming this way, make sure the snow pack is melted before you set out.”
Dave looked at Frank, who was smiling. Frank’s smile seemed out of place, but he didn’t mention it.
“Mark, do you mind if I call you back in the spring, when I get ready to set out, to find out what the conditions are like up there?”
“No. I don’t mind at all. It would be the smart thing to do. But are you really going to come all the way up here on foot, just to get your family? I mean, isn’t it several hundred miles? And pardon me for suggesting it, but what if you come all the way up here only to find out they didn’t make it?”
“It’s right around a thousand miles or so. And I have to. The thought of getting them back is the only thing that keeps me alive. If I find out they didn’t make it… well, I don’t know what I’ll do. But it’s something I need to know, one way or the other.”
“Well, good luck on your journey, and touch base with me when you get closer to leaving. I’ll share any information I can find to aid you. Frank, I’m signing off too now. You guys stay safe.”
“Ten four. Thank you, Mark.”
-31-
Frank turned off the radio and turned to Dave.
“Do you need to hurry home, or would you like some coffee?”
The truth was, Dave was starved for human interaction. He was tired of being alone in what he was coming to consider his own personal prison, with no one but a dead body and a couple of rabbits to talk to.
“I’d love some coffee. Thanks.”
“You sit here. I’ll put the pot on the fire and add another log or two, and I’ll be back in a minute. You just relax here in my ‘TV room.’ It ain’t too fancy, but it’s comfortable.”
Dave put the chair back into the dining room and then returned to relax in a recliner. He looked around the room while waiting for Frank to return.
It was a typical family room, with Frank’s police awards and Eva’s nick nacks displayed here and there. There were several photos of small children hanging on the walls.
Dave decided not to ask who the children were or what might have become of them. He didn’t want to cause any pain for this kind friend who was hosting him on this dark and frigid night.
Frank returned.
“The water was only a little bit icy, so it should boil in ten or fifteen minutes. While we’re waiting, you can tell me how you plan to get all the way up to Kansas City, and how I can help you in your endeavor.”
“Well, I plan to drive if the roads aren’t completely blocked with dead cars. If I get part of the way there and then get bottled up, I’ll see if I can find a farmer with a horse and gear. And I’ll try to barter my car for i
t. If all else fails, I’ll walk. I figure I can live off the land and still make ten miles a day. That’s three months, worst case scenario. But I’ll get there. The only thing that’s holding me back is this damn weather.”
“You mentioned that same thing before… that you knew how to get your car started. Are you sure you can do that?”
“Well, I’ve never done it before, if that’s what you’re asking. But the concept is sound, if you have the right parts.”
“I don’t suppose you’d mind sharing that information with me, would you? I mean, it’s not some kind of secret you’re keeping, is it? I prepped for five years before the power finally went out. We never got so serious that we decided to keep bunny rabbits, so I’m not quite on your level. But Eva and I used to watch all the prepper shows, and write down ideas we thought might help us. We put aside what we could, as often as we could. You can tell by looking around the house that everything in it is old. We skipped things like new furniture and vacations and such to buy staples and supplies. Some of our friends thought us crazy, but now we don’t seem quite so much so.
“But I have to say, Dave, that of all the research we did prior to the blackout, I never saw anything that hinted we could get vehicles working again after an EMP. So how did you figure it out?”
“Well, like I said, Frank, I’ve never actually done it. But I’ve walked my way through the process in my head, and in theory I see no reason why it won’t work. As for where I got the information, it was from my Grandpa Speer.
“You see, my Grandpa Speer and I were very close. He died just before my high school graduation, and I was devastated for a very long time. But he left me with a lot of really great memories. Way more than most boys have of their grandfathers.”
“How so?”
“Well, I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. And I know I was a handful for my parents. I roamed the neighborhood, always looking for something to do, always looking for mischief to get into. Nothing serious, mind you. I never got arrested or hurt anybody or anything. But I was the kind of kid who’d try to hop on a moving freight train and ride it for twenty miles and then walk back home all night long and into the next afternoon.
“I was always skipping school to go fishing and putting rocks into people’s hubcaps and climbing water towers to spray paint my girl’s initials on the top. Stuff like that.”
Frank smiled, as though remembering his own mischievous childhood.
“Since I was such a handful, I always went to spend summers with my grandparents. He was a cotton and sorghum farmer outside of Lubbock, and he also grew about fifty short rows of vegetables on the side of his fields for people to come and pick by the bushel. And for Grandma to can. Anyway, Grandpa was as big a prankster as I was, and Grandma always said that’s where I got it from.
“We used to go out sometimes on the little highway that ran from Tahoka to Post. State Highway 380. He’d take one of Grandma’s old purses and tie some fishing line to it and leave it by the side of the road. And he and I would hide in a culvert fifty yards away.
“There wasn’t a lot of traffic on Highway 380 back in those days, and the highway patrol never traveled on it. They focused on the busier roads. So sometimes it would be five minutes between cars, and they usually came through going pretty fast.
“We used to sit in the culvert and talk about life and memories and missed opportunities and such, until we’d hear a car coming. As soon as it passed over us we’d peek up and look for brake lights.
“Sometimes the drivers were going too fast to even see the purse, or weren’t paying attention. But we could tell who saw it, because we’d see their brake lights light up immediately when they screeched to a halt.
“Well, as soon as we saw those brake lights, Grandpa would start furiously reeling in that purse, hand over hand, while the driver stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road and either turned around or backed up.
“Of course, by the time they got back the purse was long gone. We’d watch from the bushes and laugh. Sometimes they’d walk back and forth, scratching their heads for half an hour or more.
“Grandma used to stand in the window of the farmhouse, watching us off in the distance, just shaking her head.”
“Did y’all ever get caught?”
“Once. A man saw us in the bushes and came over to talk to us. He said his wife accidentally dropped her purse out of the car window, and asked if we’d seen it. Of course we said we hadn’t, but Grandpa was sitting on it by then. He asked what we were doing in the bushes under the culvert, and Grandpa said it was the only shade within two hundred yards in any direction, which was true. He said we were just discussing the meaning of life and why men do the things they do. He invited the stranger to join us but the man passed. He said he had to find his wife’s purse so she wouldn’t be upset anymore, and he left.”
“Sounds like a good time, and a nice memory.”
“Oh, that’s not the best part of the story. The best part was, after the man left, Grandpa just shook his head. I asked why, and he said, ‘Dave, that just goes to show you that you can never completely trust anyone. Everyone lies every once in awhile. Sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for selfish ones. Do you know who that man was, the one who just said his wife dropped her purse and he was just retrieving it for her?’
“I shook my head no, and he said, ‘That was the preacher at the Church of Christ in Tahoka.’
Frank laughed uproariously.
“Well, I guess that just goes to show you gotta be careful who you trust in life. Wait right here. I’ll be right back with our coffee. No milk, of course, but I have creamer in little packets and sugar.”
“Thanks, but I drink my coffee black. I’ll leave all that foo foo stuff for someone else.”
-32-
The two men sipped their coffee and bonded, becoming closer friends with each passing minute.
After entertaining Frank with tales of vanishing purses and boyhood fishing trips, Dave finally got around to the subject of how to make vehicles run again.
Sarah always said that Dave provided fifty dollar answers to five cent questions. But he eventually got around to answering the question if she waited him out long enough.
“My Grandpa could fix anything with his hands. He never took anything to a mechanic, ever. Whatever broke, be it in his farmhouse or on his equipment, he took great pride in fixing it himself.
“I remember we were finishing up his harvest one year and we were trying to hurry. We had maybe five acres left, and the weatherman said there was a huge storm front on its way in.
“And, of course, that was when the harvester he rented decided to break down. He had me run to the house to tell Grandma to call the equipment rental and to stay there to find out what they told her. I had to go back out to the field to tell him they wouldn’t come out until after the storm passed.
“He said, ‘Bullshit!’ That was the one and only time he ever used that word in my presence. Usually he substituted other words, like ‘dad gummit’ and ‘goll durnit.’
“Anyway, he ran to his old F-100 tractor and took it to the barn and towed his welding rig over to the broken harvester. He had me hold the broken piece in place while he welded it, as the wind started to blow real hard and dirt was pelting our faces.
“After a few minutes it was good as new. Grandma came running outside to tell us she got a call from a friend in Tahoka. The tornado sirens were going off in town, and there was a tornado somewhere in the area.
“Grandpa told Grandma and me to run to the shelter, and we did. But Grandpa, he climbed back on that harvester and went back to work, even in howling winds that must have been forty miles an hour or better.
“He wound up bringing in the last of his crop, by himself, and got it all in the barn just before the clouds let loose with the most vicious rainstorm I ever saw. His fields were so flooded you couldn’t walk in them for at least a week without sinking down in mud up to your ankles. But that crop, it was in the
barn just as dry as could be.”
Dave suddenly caught himself, and realized he was going on and on.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Frank. I guess I’m getting kind of long winded.”
“You’re doing fine, son. You just keep right on going. It so happens my appointment calendar is completely free at the moment.”
“Anyway, like I said, Grandpa never relied on other people to fix things. He found ways to fix them himself. The best example was that F-100 tractor I mentioned. I don’t know how old it was, but it looked ancient to me at the time. He always said it was the best tractor he ever had, and he kept that thing running for many years, until he got old and had to give up his farm. Then he gave it to his best friend with the agreement it would never go to the scrap yard as long as Grandpa was alive. Grandma said he loved that tractor more than he loved her.
“I don’t know if you’ve been under the hoods of many tractors, but you’d be amazed at how few parts they have. At least back then, anyway. I’m not so sure about today’s tractors. But back then, there were just a few basic parts under a tractor’s hood. Nothing fancy, nothing extra, just enough to get the thing started and keep it running.
“So, I was thinking one day, and figured that after the EMP hit, if I had the right parts, I could bypass most of the crap on a modern car and just rig it up like a tractor. Just bypass the fuse box and the electronic ignition and the on board computer and just use the basics.
“The biggest part is the battery, of course. I put two new car batteries in my Faraday cage, but if the EMP didn’t happen within a couple or three years I knew there was a chance they’d go bad. So I also went out to a farm equipment dealer outside of town, and was able to buy two dry batteries.”
“What do you mean, dry batteries? Like the ones with caps that you can add water to? I didn’t think they made those anymore.”
“They still make them for farm equipment, but not for cars. They told me at the dealer that when the government mandated sealed batteries for cars, the agricultural lobby got together and got congress to write an exemption into the bill. The farmers knew that a battery would last a lot longer if they could check it themselves to keep it from going dry. And apparently their lobby was able to bribe enough congressmen to get themselves exempt.
An Unkind Winter (Alone Book 2) Page 12