by A. American
Well, now we know. You all saw the military choppers that flew over us. That was scary enough. What you heard but didn’t see just before that was the turret gunner on an up-armored HUMVEE mowing down a guy who had a gun. There were at least a dozen military vehicles, including MRAPs, blocking both I-75 and I-85 southbound directions. They had lots of folks handcuffed and standing in a holding pen off to the side. Apparently, the feds are using the airport as a staging area, and don’t want civilians to see it and figure out what’s really happening. Now that I think about it, that makes perfect sense; it’s the most logical place to operate from.
I’m really sorry that I put us in danger going this way. My curiosity nearly killed the cat.”
The 166 wound its way through residential areas and light industrial tracts. The road was a wide four lane boulevard that would eventually narrow into a two lane route as it got farther from Atlanta proper. Where the road narrowed, houses came right up to it, with driveways connecting directly to it. At these houses, the ones they could easily see from the road as they drove by, they started to see a difference.
In many of these driveways, a car or truck sat at the edge of the road, preventing anyone from pulling in. At others, they witnessed people frantically loading their most treasured belongings into a car or truck in what looked for all the world to be a hasty escape. But even with that, the feel to the air was far less tense out here than in the city.
Christy leaned forward and looked at Daniel. “I have to pee.”
Bob looked over at her. “Hold it.”
She slumped back into her seat, her arms crossed over her chest. Daniel looked at her in the mirror, then he asked Bob. “How far away are we?”
“If it stays like this, twenty minutes.”
Daniel looked back at Christy. “Twenty minutes, babe. Can you wait?”
Dismissively, she replied. “Fine.”
“There’s a toilet in the back,” Gene said.
Christy shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll wait.”
Daniel smiled to himself. He remembered the first time she used the small stool in the van. It hadn’t helped that he’d laughed at her until he couldn’t breathe. They’d been up in the mountains of north Georgia camping for the weekend. In the middle of the night Christy had to use the bathroom. He told her she could just go outside because they weren’t in a campground, or she could use the toilet in the van. She chose the one in the van.
The bathroom on the van is in what is essentially a very small closet. He never did get the full story from her about exactly what happened in there. But when she came out with her pants around her ankles and the blue toilet chemicals covering her from nearly the waist down, he burst into laughter. She was already crying, and him laughing only made it worse. But he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t for the life of him understand how something like that could even happen. He’d used it many times. He knew how it worked. It was a simple device. And yet, somehow, Christy had managed to not only make the thing malfunction, but at the same time cover herself in that blue chemical agent. He knew that for her, that was an absolute last resort.
As they approached County Line Rd, Daniel had to slow down. The Dollar Store was being looted. People were streaming in and out of the shattered doors in a surprisingly orderly manner. Across the street, sat a Chevron station, and on the other side of County Line was a Shell. Both of these stores had armed men in the parking lot. But unlike the ones they passed in Atlanta, these men weren’t waving people into the parking lots. They seemed more intent on keeping people out.
It seemed that the crowd was more interested in gutting the Dollar Store than the van. It was quite the contrary actually. Some people, upon coming out of the store and seeing the van slowly rolling by quickly ducked back in. It made Daniel smile. He was upset when he first saw what Gene had done to the van. But now, seeing how people reacted to it, he was glad he had, and it made him feel a little like a character out of a Mad Max flick.
As is all too common and seems only to confuse, the road they were driving changed names, not only the road name, but even the route number. It was now Campbellton Rd, route 154.
Daniel looked at Bob. “Are we on the same road? The name and highway number changed.”
Bob lit a cigarette and snapped his Zippo closed. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he asked, “Have you turned?”
Daniel shrugged. “No. Just wanted to make sure we were going the right way.”
Bob nodded. “Just keep driving.”
Christy was waving the smoke away from her face. “Do you have to smoke in here?”
Bob laughed and replied. “Yes, I do. The balcony is closed.” Getting a chuckle out of Gene.
Teague crawled forward, obviously annoying Christy. “Hey, Bob. Can I have a smoke?”
Bob looked at him sideways. Taking the pack out, he shook a smoke from it and offered it to Teague. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
Teague clenched the cigarette in his teeth and smiled. “I won’t.” As he moved back to the rear of the van, he paused and looked at Christy. “Don’t worry. I’ll blow it out the back window.”
She didn’t reply, and he made his way to his spot by the rear doors. He enjoyed his smoke as he looked out through the expanded metal covering the window holes. The air swirling around him felt cool as he watched the trees rush by. As they were now even further from Atlanta, the landscape was becoming more inviting to a boy from Michigan. The large hardwoods grew right up to the edge of the road and the grass was still thick, though it wouldn’t be for much longer.
At route 70, Cascade Palmetto Highway, Bob told Daniel to make a left. They hadn’t passed many cars. It seemed people out here just weren’t moving around. It was as if they were the only ones on the road. A housing development appeared on the left. It was occupied by large homes with a fake sense of wealth. While they were large two-story structures, they sat on small lots and were of mediocre construction. Stucco over OSB, cheap at best.
But it was someone’s dream, many someone’s from the size of the place. As they approached the entrance of Legacy something-or-other, they were closely scrutinized by a number of men manning a makeshift roadblock. They carried an assortment of weapons and watched the van closely as it rumbled past them.
“Looks like people out here are a little worried too,” Daniel said.
“It’s only a matter of time before the people in the cities are forced to leave. That’s what those guys are waiting on.” Bob replied.
But they didn’t make it far before the road was completely blocked. Daniel slowed the van as the line of trucks and construction vehicles came into view. It was yet another large pre-planned housing development with a name to instill confidence, pride and possibly a little envy, Legacy at Palmetto Farms. This was kind of laughable when you considered the absurdity of someone farming palmettos.
The men at this roadblock were pretty serious. They’d commandeered construction equipment from the areas still under construction and moved it out onto the road, completely blocking it. They were all fairly well armed, with a number of ARs and AKs visible. Someone with some tactical experience was obviously overseeing the operations, as there were men placed on both sides of the road and there were two pickups turned into technicals with mounted men, possibly as chase vehicles or maybe as a quick reaction force.
A man stepped out from the roadblock and raised his hand, motioning for Daniel to stop. Daniel slowed the van as he muttered. “Oh shit.”
Teague’s head appeared between Bob and Daniel. “What sort of bullshit is this?”
Bob sat up. “I don’t know. Get your ass to the back of the bus and keep your eyes open.”
“What should I do?” Daniel asked.
“I suggest you slow down,” Bob said.
Daniel slowed the van as they approached the
man in the road. As he slowed, several other men came around the barricade to join the first one in the road. Daniel put both the front windows down as the armed man walked up to his side of the van and another approached Bob’s side.
The man on Daniel’s side was a big guy. He wore an olive drab plate carrier with several magazine pouches and a pistol in a drop-leg holster. With his bald head and ear rings, he was an intimidating sight. The man looked the van over as he approached, then looked at Daniel.
“Where are you going?” He asked.
Before Daniel could reply, Teague shouted. “None of your damn business!”
Bob turned in his seat. “You need to shut the hell up.”
“Fuck him. Who’s he to stop us and ask where we’re going? It’s none of his damn business.” Teague shot back.
The bald man leaned in to look in the van. “Is there a problem in here?”
Gene spun around in his seat to face Teague. “Look kid, I like you.” Gene paused and racked the shotgun in his lap. “But before I let you talk us into a gun fight, I’ll cut you in half. Understand? Just keep your mouth shut. There’s a time to fight and a time to talk. You need to figure those two out. You feelin’ what I’m sayin’?”
Teague studied him briefly. Gene sat patiently, tapping his finger on the side of the shotgun. After a moment, Teague nodded. “Got it.”
Gene looked back over Daniel’s shoulder. “No problem here, bud.”
Bob leaned forward. “We’re heading to my house. I live over off North Cut Lane.”
The bald man looked the van over again. With a nod at the windshield he asked, “What’s with all this?”
Bob jabbed a finger over his shoulder. “Old Gene back there did that. We were in the Buckhead business district. It was rough. Good thing he did it too because there were a couple of times people were throwing shit at us.”
“What’s it like up there?”
“It’s nuts. You don’t want to go there,” Daniel said.
“Riots?” The man asked.
“Oh yeah. We watched the Feds raid one of the protester encampments. They just executed people, right in the street. You want to stay away from the Feds, man. They’re bad news,” Daniel said.
The man reached into his plate carrier and pulled out a small leather case. He held it up to show a badge. It was a shield with an eagle, and above it, Department of Justice. On the shield was a large US with Drug Enforcement Agency arching over the top of it. Daniel registered what he was seeing and swallowed hard.
The man looked at the badge, then at Daniel. “I am the Feds. And you’re right. You want to stay as far from them as you can.”
Trying not to give away the fact he was about to shit himself, Daniel nodded. “Yeah.”
“Is the power on out here?” Bob asked.
“It comes and goes. What about in Atlanta?” The bald man asked.
“it went off yesterday. We were in a bank building and running on the generator. But fuel was getting low and the riots were getting worse. There was a lot of shooting between the cops and the people. We had to get out.” Pointing to Christy, “we went to her apartment, but it was already looted. We decided it was a bad idea to try and go to anyone’s place in town. Since I live out here far from town, I figured this would be the safest place for now.”
The man nodded. “You got ID that verifies you live out here?”
Bob nodded as he reached for his wallet. “Sure.”
Taking the ID, the man examined it briefly and handed it back. With a nod of his head, he said, “There’s another road block up the road there. I’ll radio them and let them know you’re coming through. We’re just trying to protect our homes is all.”
Gene scooted forward. “Have you heard about Texas?”
The man shook his head. “No, what’s up out there?”
“They told the Feds to stuff their martial law up their ass. They severed the power grid where it left the state and have mobilized the Texas National Guard to protect the state. The commander of Fort Hood even placed the base under the control of the Governor.”
The man nodded, obviously thinking. “Interesting. How’d you hear that?”
“HAM radio. You guys have any here?” Gene asked.
He shook his head. “No. Wish we did.”
Gene smiled. “No kill switch on those.”
The man took an iPhone from a pouch on his vest. “Yeah. I remember when they came up with all that shit. They told us it was to prevent terrorism and to fight drug traffickers. We figured it was all BS.”
As the man was talking, the phone suddenly began to emit the emergency alert tone, as did everyone’s in the van. As they went for their phones, the man said, “It’s a text. Says there’s going to be an address by the Secretary of Homeland Security today at five.”
Daniel leaned out the open window, and the man turned the phone so he could see it. “Looks like the phones are one-way now,” Daniel said.
“What do you want to bet the power comes back on sometime before five?” Bob asked.
The man nodded and said, “I bet you’re right. You guys go ahead.” He turned and waved to the men behind him, and one of them climbed up onto a Case front-end loader that sat in the middle of the barricade and backed it out of the way, allowing them to pass.
Bob waved at the man. “Thanks. You guys take care of yourselves.”
The man nodded. “We are. You do the same.”
“That was scary,” Christy said.
Bob snorted. “It could have gone a lot worse.”
Gene smiled and looked at Teague. “You did good. I know you’re young and think you’re ten feet tall and bulletproof, and that your pecker is bigger than everyone else’s. Hell, maybe it is. But you need to learn there’s a time to fight and a time to listen. When you’re running your face hole like you were, you leave nothing to the imagination of those you’re talking to. They already know you’re a problem, and they are then more likely to deal with it quickly. If you’re quiet and just listening, they don’t know what to think.” Gene tapped his head with his finger. “Use it for more than just a hat rack.”
Teague seemed to take the advice to heart, much to Gene’s surprise. “I need to learn to think before I start running my mouth. Thanks for keeping me in line. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
Gene sat back and slapped his knees. “Then you and me will get on fine, just fine.” He lifted the Mossberg and added. “And I won’t have to shoot your ass with this thing.”
Teague laughed. “I appreciate that, Gene. Really and truly.”
The rest of the drive to Bob’s went without issue. At the turnoff to North Cut Lane, they stopped for the two tractors blocking the way. Bob quickly waved at the two men and greeted them.
“Hey, Bill, Dale. How’s it going?”
Dale stepped up to the van, cradling an AK. He looked in and surveyed the people inside. “I see you’ve got some refugees.”
Annoyed, Christy shot back. “We’re not refugees.”
Bob ignored her comment. “Glad to see you guys out here. We’ve passed a couple other roadblocks, people doing the same thing.”
Dale shrugged. “We gotta look out for our homes.” He looked at the van and added. “Going all Mad Max?”
“We took precautions to get out of town.”
“How was the trip out of Atlanta?” Dale asked.
Bob lit a smoke before answering. “It was rough, but not as bad as it could have been. Have you seen any trouble out here?”
Dale slowly shook his head and replied in a thick, slow southern drawl. “Naw. Ain’t no trouble out here. Just being careful is all.”
Bob nodded. “That’s good. Is the power on?”
Dale shrugged. “Comes and goes. But your generator is
running. We moved a couple fridges into your garage so we didn’t lose all our food.”
“No problem. Glad it was there for you.” Bob wagged a finger at Dale. “I told you it would come in handy.”
Dale dropped his head. “I know. You was right and I was wrong.”
“It’s alright, old buddy. Just glad we have it. At least as long as the natural gas keeps flowing.”
Dale nodded. “When that runs out, I won’t be able to cook anymore.”
Bob laughed. “When the gas runs out, we’ll have a lot more to worry about, old friend.” Dale nodded and Bob added. “We’re going to the house. I need to rest and maybe get a shower.”
Dale slapped the side of the van. “Glad to see you made it out of Atlanta. Good to have you home, ole buddy.”
Bob waved and guided Daniel to his house. The driveway cut through a stand of trees and curved towards the house. It wasn’t visible from the road. The house was a simple wood-framed affair with several outbuildings. It was just the kind of thing you’d expect to find in the Georgia countryside. Where the driveway turned into the parking area at the house, sat a garden plot, long ago gone fallow.
Gene grunted. “Didn’t figure you for the gardener type.”
Bob looked at the small patch of ground where he’d had great aspirations. But like many would-be gardeners, it just didn’t work out. “Yeah. Well, as you can see, I’m not. I tried it for a bit, just looking for a way to get out of the house, something to help lower the blood pressure. But work kept me too busy.”