Yellowstone: Fallout: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Yellowstone Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  “No. Now, if it said motor home, I guess I would’ve said yes.”

  “That’s the spirit,” mumbled Ashby as she quickly checked off the boxes for yes or no, as appropriate. “Done. Please, let me deliver these to your new friends over there. Wait’ll they get a load of me.”

  Jake pulled the clipboard from Ashby after she pretended to struggle. “No, you are my secret weapon. We have to establish a good cop, bad cop type of relationship with these people. You have to portray the role of meek, submissive girlfriend. You know, the reasonable one.”

  Ashby turned on her seat, set her jaw and raised her eyebrows. She glared at Jake. “You’re kidding, right? Submissive? Meek? I couldn’t even attempt to fake that.”

  Jake shrugged. “Okay, poor choice of words. How about level-headed and reasonable?”

  “I am level-headed and reasonable, dammit.”

  Jake laughed again. “Oh, of course you are, honey bunch. You’re not impetuous. Strong-willed. Somewhat uncontrollable.”

  “I hate you,” she said playfully and rose to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I can fake it. Just watch.” She snatched the clipboards out of his hands, tussled her hair, and was out the door before he could protest.

  Jake hustled to the driver’s seat and watched her interactions with the men. He was amazed at the difference in their demeanor than what he experienced several minutes ago. After Ashby shook hands with all four guards, she turned back with a huge smile on her face. Jake couldn’t help but notice she allowed her hips to sway back and forth a little more than what her normal walk would allow. He also saw that all four men noticed as well.

  Ashby entered the Bounder and plopped in the passenger seat. “See, that’s how you do it. A wise man once told me to kill them with kindness. That’s what I did.”

  Jake started the motor home and began to pull out. Ashby stared at the men and gave them a playful wave as they left.

  “Well, you certainly seemed to have won them over,” said Jake.

  “Oh yeah. Especially that charming Kendall fella. He was especially receptive.”

  Chapter 25

  Fruitvale West

  Saratoga, California

  Jake drove them around the perimeter of the neighborhood during which time he pointed out certain points of interest. Saratoga and its surrounds had not changed in fifteen to twenty years. It was a triangle shaped community bordered on all sides by the brick and block wall. Across the streets that create the triangle shape were an elementary school, churches, a small community college and parks. There were no adjacent retail businesses as Saratoga had planned decades ago to separate the retail sites from its upscale housing developments.

  Jake commented on the encounter as he found his way back to Saratoga Elementary which had been boarded up. “I give them credit for putting a security team in place, although I’m not particularly fond of their leadership. There’s something about that guy.”

  Ashby had been taking in the surroundings. “I don’t know what it looks like inside the walls, but outside looks deserted.”

  “I think more people have evacuated south than we realize. That’s to our benefit.” Jake parked the motor home and stood. “Let’s get started and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.”

  Ashby joined him as he began to divide their belongings. “Underneath in the storage compartments, is our fishing gear, the canned goods, and the tools from the garage.”

  “They can have all of that,” said Jake.

  “Really? The food too?”

  “We can replace it,” he replied as he began moving the duffle bags of clothing and linens to the bedroom of the Bounder. “I have to assume they won’t be interested in this stuff. My biggest items of concern are the weapons, ammo, and our money.”

  “Do you think we can hide the gold and cash in here somewhere?”

  Jake looked around and shook his head. “Too risky. Besides, they might confiscate the Bounder too. No, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way. I’ll bury it somewhere that I know I can access.”

  “What about the weapons?” asked Ashby and then added, sarcastically. “They are so gracious to allow us one gun per person.”

  “We’ll keep our handguns and one magazine full of bullets for each.”

  “Are you gonna give up the machine gun?”

  Jake laughed. “It’s not a machine gun and no, I’m not. I’ll stash it as well. I do have to give up something, however.”

  “Can’t you just tell them this is all we have?”

  Jake laid out their weapons cache. He also lined up the ammunition on the floor next to the corresponding weapon.

  “They won’t believe it,” he replied. “We have to give them something, so they’ll presume they got it all.”

  “Not my shotgun,” Ashby insisted.

  “For sure. In this scenario, the least useful weapons are this .22 caliber rifle that I used as a kid and the .38 caliber revolver. We have the least amount of ammunition for each of these and these people would consider these two weapons typical of what most people might have.”

  Jake divided the weapons and the ammo into several piles and then he retrieved some Tupperware containers out of the kitchen cabinets. He stored the ammo in zip-lock baggies and the extra handguns in the Tupperware. Then he wrapped them in towels creating separate bundles.

  “Nice and tidy,” observed Ashby. “What if it rains? Will these survive the weather and not rust?”

  “I don’t plan on leaving them outside the wall for long,” replied Jake. “When I was in high school, I used to siphon off six packs of beer after our housekeeper went to the store.”

  Ashby interrupted. “You had a housekeeper who did your shopping?”

  “Yeah. Outrageous, right? My father had his company pay for her. She actually lived on our property in a separate guest house. She was really nice. In fact, I’m pretty sure she knew I was stealing the beer so she always bought a couple of extra six-packs and never said a word when they disappeared.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I’d sneak out at night and meet my friends over at Fellowship Plaza across Fruitvale Road. We’d sit on the tennis courts and drink, bitch about our parents. You know, teenager stuff.”

  “I guess,” said Ashby. “I really didn’t have a normal teenage life. I got bounced around from relative-to-relative, most of whom shipped me off to boarding schools with the money they got from the government after my parent’s death.”

  “That sucks.”

  “I never was in one place long enough to make friends or have a social life, so I focused on school.”

  “That’s why you’re so smart.”

  “And independent. Strong-willed, as you put it.”

  Jake dropped his chin to his chest. He felt bad. “Ashby, I didn’t mean anything by—.”

  “Don’t worry, Jake. I’m not mad. You’re right anyway. Listen, as you know, we’re all shaped by our childhood and teenage years. Mine were different from most. I guess with what happened to my parents, I became a loner. Really, I’d call it self-reliant.”

  Jake reached for her and gave her a hug. “I really, really love you.”

  “I love you, too. Please don’t ever let my quirky nature drive you away.”

  Jake whispered in her ear. “Nothing you do will drive me away. You’re stuck like Chuck.”

  She leaned back and asked, “Who’s Chuck?”

  He looked at her and then she started laughing. “I’m just kidding, Wheeler. Come on, let’s hide this stuff and go back to learn our fate. I hate being judged, especially by a bunch of uppity morons.”

  “I’m with ya’. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll take the sandrail and make the rounds. I already have in mind the places to create the stashes. I’ll save my best spots for the money and the M-16. Also, I plan on hiding the sandrail.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “These fools might want to take it and it’s still our best vehicle if the ash gets worse around here. Also, yo
u never know if we might have to leave in a hurry.”

  Ashby helped Jake gather up the bundles and they headed to the back of the Bounder to load up. “How do you plan on hiding this thing?”

  “There are a couple of houses for sale on Saratoga – Los Gatos Road. They looked empty. I think they’ll be a perfect spot to hide the sandrail in the back. I’ll take the keys and disable the battery, so nobody can steal it.”

  “You have thought this through,” she observed. “We won’t be able to carry much with us if we have to leave.”

  “The sandrail is a last resort,” said Jake. “I expect my father kept a car at the house. We have a three-car garage and he was fond of classic cars. Hopefully, he left one behind for those rare times they came home for business or something.”

  Ashby looked at her watch and saw that time was slipping away. “Let’s make the rounds. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  They loaded up the sandrail and quickly drove around to Jake’s favorite hiding spots. He pointed out to Ashby that garbage collection had apparently been stopped as evidenced by the overflowing roll-off dumpsters. He didn’t plan on hiding the rifles within the dumpsters, as they were a favorite foraging site of the homeless. But the tight space below a dumpster was ideally suited to stash a long gun.

  The last stop was at Fellowship Plaza, a senior housing facility near the neighborhood. The complex was heavily landscaped and completely surrounded by an eight-foot tall wooden privacy fence. Jake was already concerned that the sandrail would draw attention, but the gravel access road to the back of the facility was an ideal place to pull off the main road, jump the fence, and store the money in one spot and the gold in another. The fence would act as a deterrent and an extra layer of protection.

  After ninety minutes, they’d created all of their caches and Jake, with Ashby’s assistance, made the final drop-off. She’d insisted she could drive the sandrail which allowed Jake to make the drop without them having to idle the relatively loud vehicle. The primarily off-road vehicle was built for performance, not luxury or quiet.

  They stowed the sandrail in the backyard of a single-story home that looked abandoned or in foreclosure. The front door had been broken into, but the interior was devoid of furniture. Even looters wouldn’t find anything enticing as they approached from the front, hopefully discouraging them from looking behind the house where Jake parked the sandrail.

  Promptly at four, Jake and Ashby pulled up to the front gate once again. This time, the welcoming committee had grown and appeared somewhat more welcoming. At least there weren’t any guns pointed at them.

  They did, however, need to pass one more test. They had to kiss the rings of the Fruitvale West Homeowner’s Association Executive Committee.

  Chapter 26

  Fruitvale West

  Saratoga, California

  Jake and Ashby exited the motor home and walked through the open gates to greet the group of Fruitvale West residents. Paulette stood off to the side with a much older man. Ken was the first to approach Jake.

  “May I have your keys, please?” Jake hesitated and then pulled them out of his pocket. Ken was giving orders to his three men who immediately began walking around the Bounder, looking underneath, and opening up the exterior compartments.

  “Mr. Wheeler, my name is Joe Van Halen.” The man extended his hand to shake and Jake quickly returned the gesture, although he did say the words, no relation, I presume, in his mind.

  “Jake Wheeler, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. This is my friend, Dr. Ashby Donovan.”

  “Welcome to Fruitvale West, Dr. Donovan. I, too am a doctor, holding a Phd in Sociology from Stanford. I would like you to meet your new neighbors.”

  Ashby looked at Jake and smiled. Her assumption was the same as is—they were in. Ashby turned on the charm as the oldest of the executive committee offered his arm to escort you through to the awaiting group.

  “Of course, Dr. Van Halen. Sociology is so fascinating. I imagine the present circumstances have piqued your interest.”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Much of what I taught to my proteges appears to be coming to fruition.”

  For the next several minutes, Joe introduced Jake and Ashby to the members of the Executive Committee who gave their unanimous approval to grant them entry. Paulette revealed that two of the neighbors were familiar with Jake and spoke highly of him. They were also impressed by his experience in law enforcement as none of the members of their community had any formal training in that regard.

  After the pleasantries were exchanged, the Van Halen’s led them to a six-seat, red NEV. NEV was an acronym for neighborhood electric vehicle. They became popular in communities with posted speed limits of forty-five miles per hour, or less. They came in all sizes, but the Van Halen’s were the proud owner of a six-seater which was as long as a small sedan.

  “What about the Bounder?” asked Jake.

  “You do remember our agreement?” asked Paulette.

  “Yes, of course. But we have clothing—.”

  Joe patted Jake on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit in the front row next to the driver’s seat. “Jake, this is simply part of our protocol. Ken and his team will take your vehicle to the Swimming Club to give it the once over. Was the club here when you were a full-time resident?”

  “Yes, sir. We didn’t have a pool so I’d walk over there and swim every day that I could. It’s practically at our front door.”

  “That’s right. The club is an integral part of our community. Not only is it a central warehousing facility for our supplies and weapons, but it’s also a gathering place for meetings with the community. We’ll take a little tour around, and that’ll be our last stop. Ken’s people will empty your vehicle, log in your belongings, and anything you’re allowed to have under our rules will be delivered to your home. The RV will remain parked at the club.”

  Ashby settled in her seat next to Paulette and Joe eased them in reverse before heading down the street. The NEV barely made a sound.

  Ashby asked, “What if we need to go somewhere?”

  Paulette responded. “There is a vehicle at the property. We were unable to find a set of keys for it, but Jake might know of where they are kept.”

  Jake snapped his head around and addressed Paulette. “What do you mean by you were unable to find the keys? Were you inside my parents’ home?”

  Joe raised his hand to calm the situation as Jake’s tone was combative. “We entered every home out of precaution and for the safety of the entire community. Like your parents, not everyone here is a full-time resident. Therefore, any foods or perishables that were stored in a freezer were of little use to them upon their return as everything goes into the communal breadbasket, as I like to call it. In addition, any weapons, naturally, needed to be confiscated.”

  “Why?” asked Jake. “If those homeowners returned, wouldn’t they be entitled to their weapons for self-defense?”

  “Of course, but the same rules apply to them as they applied to the rest of us. One weapon per person with a sufficient number of bullets to protect themselves.”

  “How many?” asked Ashby.

  “Excuse me?” Joe replied with a question.

  “How many bullets are necessary for self-defense?”

  “Based upon our committee’s calculations, eight is sufficient, even if you are a novice shooter. For heaven’s sakes, it’s not necessary to make swiss cheese of an intruder.”

  Ashby bowed up and was about to school the Doctor of Sociology on what societal collapse really looked like when Jake sensed her strong-willed side taking over the reasonable Ashby she was supposed to portray.

  “Hey, did they turn the trail into a road?” he interrupted pointing at a paved turn off Douglass Lane into a long stretch of trees.

  Joe turned the NEV down the narrow path under a canopy of oak trees. “Formally, it’s called the Carnelian Glen – Douglas Connection. We simply call it the connection. It enables us to connect the east side
of the community with the west side. It’s especially helpful with our street patrols as they traverse the neighborhood day and night.”

  Paulette spoke up. “Jake, one of the things we need to discuss with the both of you is the matter of jobs. Everyone within the community lends a hand. There will be an additional interview process with a subcommittee responsible for assigning your duties, but with your impressive background as a park ranger, we plan on—.”

  “Law enforcement ranger,” interrupted Jake. “There’s a big difference.”

  “Pardon me for the faux pas,” said Paulette defensively. “As a I was stating, we plan on assigning you to Ken Kennedy. I trust that will be acceptable.”

  Keep your enemies close.

  “Of course,” replied Jake. “We could use a day to get settled in and rest. We’ve been through a lot since the eruption.”

  Paulette nodded. “Yes. Yes. Do take some time to get settled. Please report to Ken at the front gate the day after tomorrow at eight AM sharp.”

  Jake gave her a thumbs up. Ashby was taking in the scenery as Joe continued driving. Once in a while, he’d slow and point out the house of an executive committee member or some other important resident in the Fruitvale West hierarchy.

  Ashby asked, “What kind of job will I be assigned?”

  “Well, we’re not quite sure yet,” replied Paulette. “We haven’t much need for a rocket scientist. No offense, of course.”

  Ashby began to reply, “That’s good, because I’m not—.”

  Jake stopped her mid-sentence again. They might have to reverse roles on the good cop, bad cop routine.

  “Ashby is very well organized,” he interrupted. “She managed a large budget in running her department at Oregon State. In addition to managing the University’s resources on campus, she had to coordinate the travel of her department abroad. Of course, she can tell you more about her experience in that regard, but it’s valuable, practical knowledge that should be of use.”

  “Good news, Ashby,” said Joe with a smile as he glanced in the rear-view mirror at Ashby. “You know, we are operating the functional equivalent of a small city here at Fruitvale West. Managing our food inventories and planning for future needs can be quite taxing. We need talented people like yourselves. It takes a village, you know.”