As we are standing there talking, one of the guards hollers that two people can be seen coming down the road. We all stop talking, and turn to see what's up. A guy hollers at us to take secure positions. We do so.
A tall scraggly guy with a smaller thin woman can be seen hobbling towards us. Their clothes are dirty and torn. They look sickly. The man has a walking stick, and is holding the woman tightly around the waist. About two hundred yards away, the man rips off what is left of his t-shirt, and ties it to his walking stick, he waves it high in the air, and starts to holler. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! My girl's pregnant, and she needs help! Don't shoot!" We see no firearms. The lead man waves them forward.
A few minutes later, the couple hobbles through the gap, and into safety; and interrogation. These two do not look like refugees. Tattoos, piercings, sunken eyes, goth type dress, these two are druggies.
"Where'd you all come from?" asks Barry.
"Back yonder," the guy responds. "Back up the road." His eyes can't focus, and he doesn't make eye contact with anyone. "My girl is pregnant, and she is real sick, we need help," he pleads.
"Barry, let's get them to town, she's in bad shape, maybe a miscarriage. I want to talk with them, they won't bring no harm. I'll see to that."
Chapter 24 More Central City, Day 3, September 13, 2018
We get our two druggie refugees to Central City. We take them to the townhall, and I send Larson out to find Jerry, or Chief Speigle. A local woman, who is a nurse, begins to check them over. She checks on the woman first. She slowly strips away her ragged clothing, and starts asking her questions. The young girl has clearly been abused, physically, and sexually; blood and bruises show that she has been roughed up.
They begin to tell their story to us, as the nurse continues her check up. They are from Greensburg, were at a friend’s cabin for the weekend. They were just having fun, doing some drugs. With no job to go back to, they decided to stay an extra few days. The freedom of the girl's morals helped pay the way for them to stay. Then the lights went out.
They stayed at that camp for about a day, then someone came around, said that they needed to get all their stuff, and move to this big compound. This guy said the power was down forever, and that this new group was going to rule the area, that they were already out getting food and drugs for everyone. The young man would be a soldier, and the woman could be his wife, they would be okay, especially if the wife continued to be rather friendly.
Jerry, Chief Speigle, and a man I recognize, but don’t know, step into the room. Introductions are made, and I find out the new man is John Fisher, First Sergeant, retired army ranger, First Calvary division. I give them all a brief recap about the two druggies before us. The young man continues with his story.
Not knowing what to do, they went to this new compound. It's a big farm, with horses, cows and several buildings. There were already about twenty people there, many with bikes, and some old farm trucks too. He tells us that the farm trucks go out in pairs on supply runs. Each time they come back, they bring food, liquor drugs, women, and children.
He says that he and his girl stayed liquored up and hyped on meth, just fell into the flow of things. But it was bad, he says. The women and children being brought back were forced to do things, then they saw how pretty his girl was, and they forced her to do things, too. He was forced to go out on a supply trip and was told to just kill the men, bring back the women and children, and anything they had worth keeping.
That night, yesterday, he heard about some of the supply people getting shot up, and that they all had to get ready to take the town in retaliation. The head man, who he described as small and squirrelly, but very mean, said they couldn't have some townsfolk holding out, that they needed to raid the town so they could raid the drug stores and bars; that they needed to teach the people a lesson.
Later, the tall lean druggie continues, his girl came back to their tent, and sha had been really roughed up. She said she would have treated them right, but that they wanted to treat her bad. That’s when she told him she thought she may be pregnant, that she may have had a miscarriage. They both decided they needed to leave.
The next morning, when they had a chance, they grabbed an ATV, and traveled the back paths until they got to a main road. But the ATV ran out of gas, so they started walking, and ended up at the roadblock.
The nurse steps in, grimfaced. "She has had a miscarriage. She's lost a lot of blood, and there is redness and swelling, infection. She is also going through withdrawals."
I look at the man before us. He has turned even paler, and is showing signs of withdrawal, too. "Can we get some antibiotics from the pharmacy? There's a methadone clinic at the edge of town, can we get a few hits from them?"
"Maybe, but who's going to pay for this?" the nurse responds.
"They came to us for help, we have to help them, if we can." I dig into my wallet, cash is getting short after the big splurge at the dollar store. "Will two hundred bucks cover what we need?"
The First Sergeant pulls out another hundred dollars, and hands it to the nurse. "Tell Maggie at the clinic to make sure to take care of them, this is important." The nurse looks at the cash, then at us, she nods, and heads back out the door.
The First Sergeant looks at the strung-out man. "Young man, we will do what we can to save your girl and you, but you need to tell us everything you saw at that compound you were at. We have already made a commitment to help you and your girl, now it's your turn to help us."
"You don't understand, sir, I'll help all I can. Those people are evil! And now I've lost a son! Help me please, help my girl! I'll tell you everything."
I look at Jerry, the First Sergeant, and Chief Speigle. "You all got this. I got a farm to run, and a family to look after. You all know where I am, send word if you need me." They nod in unison. I feel confident that they will take good care of our two informants. I head back outside.
Larson and I swing past the church, and I briefly talk with the reverend, telling him of all we have learned. He lets me know that if we can't open up the roads, and move the refugees on, food will get short.
We climb back in the van, I let Larson know we are taking a route out towards Route 30, and then follow some back roads east, to the farmstead. I want to see what's going on up towards Route 30, where the trouble seems to be happening. I tell him to keep alert, that we will hit the gas, and run if we see any trouble. He nods, his AR15 gripped firmly.
We head out past the roadblock that had been hit the day before, our tensions rising as we are heading into no-man's land. We crest the hill well past the roadblock, and see the road almost completely blocked! But this isn't a roadblock, this is a cattle drive!
We pull off to the side of the road as about thirty milk cows, heavy in the udder, start to pass by. There are two young men, teenagers, moving the cattle, along with an older girl, maybe twenty, in a wagon pulled by a horse. "What's up, men?" I holler from the van as they pass by.
One of the young men stops to talk with me. "We can't milk and feed all the cows. Pop said for us to move these cows into town. Sell ‘em if we can. They're gonna go dry if we keep them on the farm. We can't milk 'em all, and we won’t have enough feed for them through the winter. We also got milk and butter in the wagon. Ain't pasteurized, but it’s better that way, I say."
"You take these cows to Reverend Wysinger at the Baptist Church. He may not be able to pay you for them, but have him give you a voucher for thirty cows that you gave to the community. Your generosity will be noted. He'll take care of you, sooner or later. I see you're armed, stay alert, there's been bad trouble on some of these roads. You see trouble coming, you run, don't wait to see if they're friendly folks, okay?" They nod as they continue on to town.
A mile further up the road we turn left, and start taking country roads back to the farmstead. We stop and talk with a few folks we see. We let them know about the meth-heads, and warn them to be wary. Almost all of them are carrying side arms at this poi
nt. The third day, and people are starting to realize that things are different.
Larson and I make our round about way back to the farmstead, and pull down the country lane about midafternoon.
Chapter 25 Moxham to Davidsville, Day 3 Herc's Story, September 13, /2018
Herc has an old lawn tractor with a trailer, and a spare five-gallon can of gas. They will head up the hill towards Richland, and the better neighborhoods, where there are less drug dealers and hoodlums. He is a skilled guy, he can get work up there, until they get settled in, he thinks.
"Leesa. you're right, we gotta go. And we won’t be back. Pack everything you can that will fit in the garden trailer. I'm packing my guns and tools, too, so that won't leave much room. We're leavin' as soon as we can."
They pack up in the dark of night. Some clothes, some food, some of Herc's tools that he saved from his house, and the rest of the available room for Herc's guns and ammo. They also pack a rucksack that Herc will wear as he walks alongside the garden tractor that Leesa will drive, with John Jr. in the trailer.
They head out at first light. They tell no one they are going. They just head off to higher ground, hopefully safer ground. They leave behind smoldering fires, occasional gunshots, and the putrid smell of death and destruction. Wayward travelers in a new world.
It is early in the third morning after the power went out. Herc walks with Leesa driving the lawn tractor, the trailer, and John Jr. in tow, with all they own. Herc carries his 30/30 on a swivel sling with his twelve gauge pump action shotgun strapped to his back, and his Colt 1911 45mm tucked in the back of his belt. Leesa has a .38 in a shoulder holster and a scoped 270 sitting on her lap. He fears nothing, and everything, at the same time. They make good time heading up the hill, away from Moxham.
They pass the remains of the concrete truck, fuel truck collision, and see the scars left by the fire still burning further up the hill. Many other people are heading up the hill, too. Some totally unprepared, just walking away from the mayhem below. Others are leaving town like Herc and Leesa, full back packs, bicycles with trailers, wheelbarrows full of belongings. There is a definite migration away from the valley, and the chaos that is consuming it.
By the time they make it to Scalp Avenue, the main drag through Richland, and the main shopping districts, the sun is fully up, and more people are out and about. No one pays them much attention. A plan is formulating between Leesa and Herc. Leesa is a paralegal, and has some connections with a few well-off people in Richland. They hope those connections will help out. Realizing legal services won't be in high demand, she will offer services as a nanny or housemaid, and Herc will try to earn some money as a handy man. Hopefully they will find a place to stay and they get settled in.
Just before noon, they are heading towards the intersection of Route 219 and Scalp Avenue. They are squarely in the middle of the main shopping area for all of Johnstown. Looting of stores is going on around them as they slowly roll down the road. A few stores are defended by armed men, and the looters, or scavengers, stay away from them. The people here look more desperate, not as angry. They are looking for food, not revenge or control, as they where in Moxham. Most people pay no attention to Herc and his family. The few that turn his way, quickly look elsewhere when they see he is well armed, and carries a determined look.
At the 219 overpass, he sees a roadblock has been set up. He has Leesa stop with their tractor, about 100 yards short of the roadblock. He gives Leesa the 30/30, and approaches the roadblock. His pistol is in his belt, his shot gun is in his raised hand, finger held well away from the trigger, the other hand held high, too.
Herc is not much of a talker, so he keeps heading toward the roadblock expecting a warm reception. About fifty yards away he is told to stop by a large man in a cop uniform. "What business you got comin' up here?" The large cop hollers.
"Me and my wife and kid got nowhere to go. My house burned down in Moxham, and my family got killed down there. I can work construction, and my wife, she's a paralegal and knows some people up here. She can clean houses, and stuff like that. We're willing to work if someone will put us up."
"You ain't the only ones that's offered that," replies the large cop. "This is a gun-free zone. We can try to help you, but you got to give up your arms. Both you and the woman have to disarm, then maybe we can take you in."
Herc stands there in the middle of the road, looking at the roadblock, hands still held high. "I can fight, officer. I know my weapons, I'll help you on your guard post." There is some discussion among a few people at the roadblock.
"Don't want to be turning down help., but we don't know you. If you want through, you got to disarm. We don’t want all that lootin' on this side of the highway. We all decided this is our stand. Those are the rules. You can come in, but you got to disarm. Maybe after we get to know you, you can join our guard."
Herc looks around. He has always been a self-reliant man who has never made quick decisions. His weapons have set him apart from others. His weapons saved what is left of his family. He don’t see givin' up his weapons as a good idea. He watches as a desperate couple walks thru the roadblock. The man hands over a 12 gauge single shot, and a small caliber pistol. They are quickly welcomed, and led off, past his field of view.
No, he decides. He will not be reliant on these people. He has food for a while, and he can defend himself and his family.
"Ain't givin up my weapons," he hollers at the officer. "They're the only reason me and my family are still alive. We'll head south on the highway."
The cop eyes him up, eyes up Leesa, and John Jr. on their overloaded tractor. He tells the men at the roadblock to stand down as he walks out to talk with Herc.
As the cop approaches, he extends a hand, "Jeff Hays. If you're heading south, I want to tell you what I know."
"Herc," Herc grasps his hand as Leesa comes up with the lawn tractor. "That's my girl, Leesa and boy, John Jr."
The cop looks around a bit nervously. He looks at Herc, a bit questioningly.
"Whatever you got to say to me, they can hear it too, we're all headin' the same way."
"We took in a few hundred people, they come up from the Flight 93 Memorial. They all showed up the first night, after it all went dark. Since then, we got in only a couple dozen people. All of them are talking about some crazed dudes. Bad stuff, if you know what I mean," he says, looking at Leesa, and John Jr. with a rueful eye. "Most of the bad shit has happened on Route 30, and the back roads. The army, just a few hours ago, started running patrols up and down 219 to Somerset and back. But they only have a few vehicles running. I asked them about heading back to the Flight 93 Memorial. They say that's going to be their next move, but it may be a few days. If you get off Route 219, you're in no man's land."
"We're heading south. You ain't got no reason to stop us, do you?" Herc responds frankly, mind made up.
"No sir, just wanted you to be aware."
Herc nods. "I can take care of me and mine, always have, always will." He motions to Leesa, and they head off together down Route 219, south. All they own is in a lawn tractor and trailer, with little John glancing around at the far off views of the western Pennsylvania mountains. Smoke plumes can be seen in several directions. Herc shakes his head in disgust as to what has happened to the world. Then he focuses on what is next, Route 219 South.
There is very little traffic on 219, foot traffic that is. Nor are there any farm trucks or old bikes. Basically nothing. Herc sees a few walkers in each direction, maybe ten in total over the two mile stretch he can see. That’s not good, he thinks. Why haven't more people started heading towards the highway?
They walk for several hours, covering the eight miles to the Davidsville exit. Twice they are passed by a couple of old Hummers that slow down and check them over as they roll by. Dusk will be coming on before they get to the next exit. His gas can is half empty now. Maybe they can find some good people in Davidsville. They walk down the exit that takes them to Route 403.
&
nbsp; At the bottom of the hill, blocking the way to State Route 403, is another roadblock. Herc is not surprised, it is where a roadblock should be. He stops several hundred yards away. He pulls up his field binoculars, and eyes up the scene. The roadway, with berms and grass, is almost fifty yards wide. The roadblock is very haphazard, but efficient. An old boat on a trailer, several cars, an RV. Much less organized than the Richland roadblock, but much more effective, mainly because of the manpower he sees.
At least five folk move to a ready position as he comes into their view. He figures there has to be at least five more already in position, as he scouts the landscape. Another dozen are milling around, getting food from a truck, glancing his way, and pointing this way and that. Not a black skin to be seen. Herc is not a racist, but he is a realist. Twenty-five armed white guys looking at one well-armed black man with his inter-racial family. This needs to be handled delicately.
He grabs his white bandana off his head, and ties it to his 30/30. He waves it high over his head. "Can me and my family get safe rest here?" he hollers.
He sees a few long guns rest easy as a few others talk amongst themselves. After a few moments, one hollers for them to come closer. Herc brings his small caravan up to about one hundred yards from the roadblock. He is in no-mans land. If they open up on him, he and his family are done. But he doesn't have much choice. He stops again, waving his white flag atop his 30/30. "Can we have a safe place for the evening? We have our own food, we just want a safe place to stay," Herc hollers.
Two men come out from the roadblock, one younger, one older. Another comes down from a hidden position on the hillside. The one that comes down from the hidden position is as black-skinned as Herc. He steps up before the two from the roadblock arrive.
Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga Page 17