He heads towards what he can see is the kitchen, dodging the many other cots with other refugees still sleeping. He greets an elderly woman and her young helper with a smile, and offers to help getting the coffee and breakfast going. The woman greets him warmly. She is a bit surprised at his eagerness to help because most who have come through their aid station expect to get help, but don’t offer to give help.
He helps get the coffee brewing, and works the scrambled eggs for forty people. He finds time to step out for a smoke. After he piles scrambled eggs into the large warmer pan, he heads over to where Leesa and young John are starting to stir from a restless night's sleep. They all go through the line together and get a good breakfast. Before they begin to eat, they stop and share a short blessing, thanking God for the food before them. Herc thinks about how many times they have said the same grace automatically. This time it has way more meaning.
As they are eating, a tall lean farm boy with cropped hair comes up and kneels beside Herc. "Frankie says you'll help run guard on a run to Hooversville." He glances at Leesa and John Jr. "They comin' with you?"
Herc looks at the young man. He looks at his family. He thinks of his momma and brother. It only took a minute of him being off guard to lose his momma and brother. Leesa and John Jr. will go wherever he goes. "They ain't leavin' my sightso, yeah, they go with me."
"Okay. We'll be pulling out soon, but you got to come with me so we can set up a protocol with the other trucks" says Brush Cut.
Herc looks him over, thinks about what he has said. "I'm all in," he states. "But I got a lawn tractor with a trailer parked outside. All our stuff is there, everything, all our food and clothes. I'll leave the lawn tractor and trailer, but I need to take our stuff, as much as we can."
"We'll make room for it, get organized so it's easy to move and haul." Brush Cut turns and tells Leesa where the convoy will be meeting up. Herc heads off with his new comrade to find three pickup trucks and six other men, armed as well as he is. The one in charge is Frankie, from the day before.
"Okay guys, this shit sucks. We got Jimmy, who needs to get home, Manda needs to check in on her momma, Herc and his family need safe passage, and we just need to take back this road from the junkies. We know at least twenty people have been killed between here and Hooversville in the last few days. We know most of them have been stragglers from the Flight 93 Memorial, but some of them have been our friends, people we know, our neighbors.
"We also know that one of us locals knocked some of them down, fought back. That sent them back up to the Route 30 area, as best we know. But we will be the first coordinated effort to run through to Hooversville since the power went out." Frankie continues on, letting them know who will be in which trucks, where to look out, etc. Frankie served in Iraq it turns out. This is not new to him. Each man has an assignment, and Frankie makes sure everyone knows what to do if they encounter trouble. At ten o'clock the convoy rolls out.
Herc sits in the front corner of the bed of an old farm truck, first truck in the convoy. Leesa lays next to him in the bed of the truck with two donated duffels full of their last precious possessions. Herc sees the bloated dead bodies at the first bridge. He sees other dead bodies along the road, and at some houses and farms. He sees a few barricaded homes with frightened kids and dads behind makeshift walls. They come into Hooversville thirty minutes later, after clearing their roadblock. Hugs are shared as people from two nearby communities are reunited. But there is a pall of gloom in the air.
He sees Frankie head off to what looks like some kind of command post with a lot of armed guys milling about, some arguing, some trying to calm things down. A state of confusion and panic seems to prevail.
An older man, maybe mid-fifties' hollers for everyone to quiet down so a young man, bandaged, but still bleeding, can tell what happened.
"Yeah, they was ready for us when we rolled up!" says the young man. "They opened up on us before we had a chance. They had some serious firepower. Chief Speigle had us stop short of a small barricade. He hollered for Frank Wagerly to come out, that the anarchy was going to stop, and it was going to stop now. Nothing happened, but we saw a few guys moving here and there. Then wham! They opened up on us heavy! They got an old 60 cal or something. We got ripped apart. We got in some return fire, but us in the two trail trucks, we had to git. We couldn't try to get the Chief, and the three with him; they got ripped down bad. We had to git. You see how bad we got shot up." In his words they all can feel his shame in leaving behind their friends, their comrades, and leader.
Herc listens further to the group and the heated conversation that rages back and forth among the men and a few women. It turns out the town sent a posse to the compound of the junkies and meth heads they think are causing all the mayhem. It was led by their fire chief, a Gulf War vet, who had stepped up as a leader. Twelve men and four women had gone out in three farm trucks. Two farm trucks, nine men and three women returned. They all said getting the fallen would have been suicide. The compound had over fifty people and all were well armed. The firepower was over whelming.
It becomes apparent that no one is in charge. Their leader had been Fire Chief Speigle, but he is now dead or captured. Now they all argue amongst themselves. Some want to negotiate a truce, some want to hunker down and wait for help, a few want to retaliate. Others say you can't negotiate with killers and rapists. Still others note that no help has come for those at the Flight 93 Memorial, so why would they come to help their little town. Most say retaliation won’t work since they have already lost some of their best men. No one can agree on anything.
Finally, an old coot, wiry with steely gray eyes, a hard life written on every wrinkle in his face, stands and calls for attention. He is ignored. He speaks louder and a few turn to listen, but the general confusion continues around him. Frankie recognizes the face of the old coot from the VFW, and calls for calm, but he is also ignored. He pulls his shotgun, and fires three shots in the air. The crowd goes silent.
"The commander wants to speak!" Frankie states firmly. Most in the small town think the 'commander' is just a few loose nuts away from the looney farm. Frankie and many of the other vets know better since they have talked with him at the VFW, the way only vets can talk. The commander served in Vietnam, three tours from 1967 to 1970. One of the original Special Forces, he earned a Silver Star, two Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts. He was demoted and discharged on trumped up charges for doing his job, the job the United States Army trained him to do. Although he had been through some rough times, the commander had a good head on his shoulders.
With a high and whiney voice, the commander speaks out. "Ya'll arguin' ain't gonna get shit done, and you ain't got time to be arguing. If I'm the Wagerly’s, I'm already comin' down the road for ya. I'll show up on your doorstep as soon as possible. There's only four roads into town. Get ‘em manned up now. Someone take charge of that, and get moving. Quit yer pissin' about, and get it done. And don’t expect no one to be helping you, go find help. These folks got here from Hollsopple, they'll help you. Unite with the other towns, Central City, Jerome. One of ya needs to step up and start making sure ya'll can communicate. And if you go runnin' off half-cocked after those bastards without a plan, you'll get killed, just like Chief Speigle. Scout, probe, set up a plan. Be smarter than them. Go get Jerry to figure this out, or one of the other vets. If you ask for their help, they'll help. It's in their blood." He pulls a flask from his hip pocket, and takes a short draw. His eyes grow weary for a minute, then brighten again. "We is all in a world of deep shit. If you ain't smart, it will go bad. Be smart." The commander sits back down and takes another draw from his flask. He is done with what he had to say. But what he had to say has sunk in with enough men who know his caliber.
An Army Reserve Staff Sergeant who had been helping with the roadblocks steps forward to take charge of making sure all the roadblocks are manned. Frankie steps up to continue making sure the roads are open between Hooversville and Hollsopple, and
that they coordinate efforts. Another man, a trucker, no military experience, says he'll make sure to open things up to Central City. Two pastors step forward to say they will coordinate refugee efforts and relief for locals in need. Some order starts to take place, with people migrating to where they think they can help.
The beginning of orderliness is broken by gunfire. A few random shots at first, then heavy fire, and a few explosions followed by long strings of automatic ans semi automatic gunfire. There is panic for a moment. Some men pick up their arms, and start heading towards the gunfire. A few run from the gunfire or take cover. The commander and those that stepped up to lead take note. They know who to have on the frontline and who to have as helpers. Before anyone can get moving, the area goes quiet again, and the gunfire ceases.
Only the Staff Sergeant's loud bellowing stops the rush towards where the gunshots had rung out. He quickly gathers five men to send off towards the roadblock where the firefight just took place. He sends three men to each of the other three roadblocks, giving them instructions for how to set things up, and to be on high alert. He lets each of them know he will be by to check on things. Frankie starts to organize his return convoy, gathering information, and letting people know of a safe ride to Davidsville. The trucker starts recruiting farm truck drivers for a heavily armed move to Central City. His mom and brother live up that way, so he has added incentive to get there.
The wiry gray-eyed commander looks around at the more orderly direction that the agitated mob has taken. He catches the eye of the Staff Sergeant and gives him a nod, which puffs up the sergeant, as he continues to organize roadblock deployments. The two pastors are heading off with a dozen eager helpers. But the commander knows bad news is coming from the roadblock, where the short raid just occurred.
Shortly later, an older teen, who had headed off with the five reinforcements, comes sprinting back. He is out of breath, and a little sickly looking, like he has just thrown up. "Sergeant! You gotta come see this! It’s bad! They, they,,,," he stutters. He turns and vomits again, but there is nothing inside him, he dry heaves several times. Several people rush to help him, consoling him, trying to find out what he has to say. The sergeant kneels down next to him and offers him some water.
"It's okay, son, tell me what you saw," he offers kindly.
"They cut his head off!" the teen blurts out. "And they attached a note." He dry heaves more. "They cut his freakin' head off!" he begins to sob. "They cut his head off," he says again, slowly, angrily. "And they left a note."
The sergeant points to three able men, including Herc, and tells them to follow him as he quickly makes his way to the roadblock that was attacked. No one hesitates as they grab their weapons, and run towards the site of the attack.
They arrive on the scene minutes later. Three people are being bandaged up, to be taken back to town for treatment. One is badly injured. Herc figures he will bleed out before he can get help. The scene at the roadblock is devastating. The two explosions have thrown cars off to the side. If the attackers had wanted to, they could have driven through easily. Three more guards at the roadblock have injuries, but refuse to leave their posts. They are bleeding from small wounds and gashes that have been patched up with shirtsleeves and bandanas, whatever was available. Herc is struck numb by the devastation and gore before him. Instinctively he jumps into the line, standing watch behind a twisted old Pontiac; he doesn't have first aid skills, but he does have weapons skills.
He surveys the scene in front of him. The road heads out of town, turning to the right, past a few houses, with the headwaters of the Stoneycreek River below them. To the left of the road, the hillside soars steeply for several hundred feet. Down by the river are some well kept gardens. He sees a rabbit scurry into a row of late season lettuce. Two blue jays hoot and cackle, as they fight each other over a mulberry tree. The river, maybe twenty feet wide at this point, slowly meanders by, several deep pools surely swimming with trout and bluegills.
But Herc's attention is drawn to the road where two men are inspecting a lifeless body, as a third man looks around intently as their scout. The body is headless. Herc turns, and pukes, what remains of the good breakfast he helped prepare ends up on the road beside him. He wipes his eyes, and again looks at the dead body about fifty feet in front of the road block. Indeed, there is visibly seen a note pinned to the dead man's chest.
Herc watches as a husky woman in a civilian medic's uniform runs out with a stretcher. She has the two men help her load the gruesome cargo, and they all head back to the safety of the roadblock. A young man with a farm tractor already has a few cars in position to fill the gap that the renegades had blown out.
Herc keeps his eyes down road, he knows that is his job right now, but he can’t help but overhear the conversation of the medic and the sergeant.
The medic hurries off to look after the injured. The sergeant reads the note aloud to a few close by civilians.
"I am king now. Do not send your heroes after me. This will be their fate. As king, I will demand tribute. Be prepared to pay heavily. You and your rules mocked me and jailed me, now is my time. There are no more rules, I will make my own rules. This man killed my nephew. Your people killed two of my sons. I will exact revenge. There will be no tribute for those who killed my sons. Their fate, and those that help them, is death. I have gold and food for anyone who helps me put their heads on a pike."
The sergeant looks up and is pissed. He begins to crumple the paper, to discard it, but one of the civilians stops him. "Everyone needs to see this, we have to take it back to town." The sergeant nods to her as he straightens the note. His stare is distant as he looks down the road heading out of town. He barks some orders to get the roadblock more secure with more vehicles and flankers up on the hillside. He turns, with a look of disgust on his face as he heads back towards town with the note in his hand.
Herc listens to all this as he stands guard at the roadblock. He wants to let the sergeant know he is detailed to a convoy for Central City, but he doesn't want to upset matters, so he stands his position. An old high lift rolls up with a big new Yukon in tow. They quickly maneuver it into position in the roadblock, and the machine operator heads off for another useless vehicle. Herc notes how funny it is that fifty thousand dollar cars are used for a roadblock, and thirty year old rusted farm trucks are worth their weight in gold. He thinks of Leesa and John Jr., and is content that they are safe back at the church refugee shelter. But he has to figure out how to get back there for the convoy without leaving his position open.
Several hours later, the sergeant comes back, looking weary from the day's events, even though it is not yet mid-afternoon. As the sergeant passes, Herc waves him down. "I was at the meeting this morning when this all went down. Ya'll picked me to help man the roadblock. But ya'll also picked me to help the trucker run a convoy to Central City. I'll stay here as long as you need me here, but the trucker guy, he may be lookin' for me, ya know?"
The sergeant stops and looks Herc over. "Yeah, I remember you, you rode guard on the convoy in from Davidsville. Okay. Hey John!" he hollers at the guy organizing things at this roadblock. "Find someone to spell this man, he needs to ride convoy support to Central City." A young man, still in his teens, shouldering a 30.06, comes over and relieves Herc. Herc points out his hide spot and the best fields of fire to the young man, who is impressed, and a little slack jawed as the gravity of the responsibility he has been given begins to sink in. This is no video game. That is real blood on the road, people he knows are really dead, no game reset. Herc gives the teenager words of encouragement before heading back to town.
When he gets to the church where his family is, he sees the pastor and a few men in an animated discussion. There is no anger that he can hear, more frustration. "We got to get word to the guy somehow," one man says.
"His name was Mark, and he lives in Central City," states a woman. "I talked with him and his family when they passed through for some refreshments."
; "That's not much to go on, but we gotta let him know, him and his family are in the cross hairs of this thug," states another man. "I thought he said he had a farm outside of town. And he had lots of kids and grandkids, that van and trailer was really loaded down."
Herc stops to listen. He interjects into the discussion. "Don’t mean to be eavesdroppin', but this guy you’re talkin' about, did he run a construction company?" He is met with a few puzzled looks. "Was he mid-fifties, short gray beard, and dirty blond hair? Talked about God, and said everything would be okay?"
"Yeah!" says the woman, "He said a short prayer with me. I was really frazzled, it calmed me down. Do your know him?"
"Mark? Mark Mays? Knowed him for fifteen years, I work for him!" Herc says proudly. "He in trouble? I'm tryin' to get out to his place, I can pass on the word."
They all look at him a little shocked. He has gone three days with no change of clothes, no shower, he has fought fires, fought bandits, killed people. He looks a little rough. Herc is used to skepticism. As a black man, he has had to deal with it his entire life.
He looks himself over as they gaze at him open mouthed. "I am as mean as I look, but I'm on your side. This is my momma's blood, cause those bastards killed her. My shirt's ripped up from fightin' to save my family. I stood guard on your roadblock, as asked, and I'm willing to run convoy to Central City. So quit lookin' at the black man like he's crazy. I'm on your side!"
Stunned silence is replaced by some laughs and a few quick introductions. The tension has been relieved. Herc lets them know he knows where Mark's farm is. He asks about the trucker putting the convoy together, and they let him know where it is forming up. They let him know why they need to get information to Mark. It is him and his family that have a bounty on their heads.
Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga Page 21