“Remember that wolverine, Laz? Once blood is on the wind, that animal won’t give up until its belly is full.”
“I remember that reek most all. This time I’ll hang the meat way out of reach.”
Lazlo put his rigging skill to work with a come-along and tire chains from the military trucks. He hung the bundle not from the bridge, but over the river from the slick, ice covered Alyeska pipeline. Lazlo chuckled to himself at the new use he had put to his employer’s defunct investment. He could picture the wagging finger.
Lazlo joined Christie inspecting the visitor’s cabin. The log building with its covered deck porch looked perfectly suited for their use. Thick timber boards covered door and windows.
“Laz, I wonder why the cabin was boarded at all. Do you suppose this was a morgue?”
“I don’t smell anything, but let’s pry open a window first.”
“I’ll check inside when you’re ready,” said Ernie. “My turn to do something useful; I’ve already been exposed.”
Lazlo pried the sturdy timber away and forced a window. Using Christie’s tiny LED pocket light, Ernie peered inside.
“Nothing in there looks like a corpse that I can see… but look for yourselves,” said Ernie. “No wonder they boarded it up! This is a quartermaster’s storeroom!”
They saw clothing, boxed weapons, cases of ammunition, and a myriad of wrapped military gear. “Wow!” said Lazlo. “I wonder why they left it all here.”
“How were they going to get it across the bridge?” asked Christie
“I suppose the military wouldn’t have just heaved valuable gear in the river.”
“Maybe… but remember how panicked you were?” replied Christie. “They had to know what was happening first hand. Government was shutting down… their families were in trouble and they couldn’t help from here… so they left.”
“They didn’t go to all this trouble and retreat,” said Ernie. “They never left, knowing the Army. But let’s quit guessing and climb inside. You both go… I’ll stay with your dog.”
Once inside, Lazlo called out, “Damn… can’t believe our luck. There’s tons of stuff… even military food packets… lots of ‘em!”
“Clothing…” said Christie, “and field medical kits…”
Puppy’s vigorous barking outside interrupted. Ernie appeared at the window and said, “Guys… better come out here. There’s a bear headed up river toward camp. I’ve got hold of your dog, but I can’t hang on for long.”
Christie scrambled out and took hold of Puppy just in time to see a black bear disappear inside the tent. “Damn!” said Christie, “The pot!”
The tent shook vigorously as gear clattered inside. The black bear emerged, meat in mouth, got tangled in guy ropes, then stumbled and fell. Startled as if attacked, the bear wheeled about and reared. Still ensnared in a rope twisted around its neck, the bear slashed repeatedly to get free, further ripping the tent.
The mighty struggle with a phantom adversary brought Puppy to stiff-necked outrage. Alarmed, the bear rose on its haunches to assess the new threat and then bounded off mouthing the huge moose liver.
Puppy struggled to gain her freedom for the chase but Christie held on. The bear paused once more to look back at the commotion, and then indifferently wandered away into the woods.
“Hell, there goes dinner,” said Ernie.
“That does it, Laz! We’re moving in here right now.”
The three returned to the tents to collect their belongings. The bear had scattered their gear, overturned the table and stove, soiled the sleeping bags with bloody fluids from the pot, and rendered the tent useless. Just as Ernie feared, the overturned pot was empty; the bear had devoured the moose heart on the spot.
Inside the crammed log cabin, they moved crates, stacked everything possible, set up military winter cots, and unrolled new sleeping bags. They cleared a space around the barrel stove and stacked wood cut from the observation post.
Ernie couldn’t lift or haul firewood, but was helpful at organizing and cooking. With immediate duties, Ernie was coming out of his shell.
Christie erected a canvas partition so that she and Lazlo could sleep together. Lazlo felt content sleeping beside Christie again; she was truly a compassionate woman. And she was growing on him in a way he never experienced with his wife. He hoped he would never need to explain Christie to Barbara anytime in this life. In another… perhaps she would understand.
37
Palmer, Matanuska Valley, October 21st. Dawning light allowed Tony to steer toward a pair of tanker trailers spotted during his nighttime reconnoiter with Jack. He stopped, jumped down, fetched a tire iron, and beckoned Jack alongside the trailers.
“Musta used ‘em to block the runway. Whatta ya thinkin’?” asked Jack.
“We have a problem I haven’t told the others about,” replied Tony. “If we’re headin’ east, we won’t get fifty miles before we’re outta fuel. If we stay in town, fuel won’t matter just yet. But I’m thinkin’ those gang bangers claim town as their turf, so taking a tanker might bring trouble.”
“The best farms are right here in Palmer, not somewhere east in the boonies. But gang bangers or not, we’ll need fuel,” replied Jack. “Might be our turn to catch a break.”
Tony followed Jack to the trailers with his tire iron. With his ear against the stainless steel tank, he gently tapped one, then the other. “First is full; second isn’t,” he reported.
“Might not be diesel,” Jack replied. “We should check.” He climbed on the first tank, dipped a strip of rope into a hatch, smelled it and handed it down to Tony. The two men smiled broadly. They hitched up, tied a spare tire to the tongue of the tanker, and lashed the motorcycle on back. Once aboard, Tony explained to the others, “Bring this tanker along and no worries about fuel.”
Only Pappy and Onita knew Palmer, so Tony depended on their guidance. Town looked better preserved than what they’d seen elsewhere. Most shops were boarded up and appeared unmolested.
Mac said, “Damn curious, I’d say. Someone went to a lot of trouble securing all those buildings.”
“Might ‘a been organized before the quarantine,” replied Jack.
“Just the same… someone did organize it.”
But the band found grocery outlets looted and trashed, especially those associated with gas stations. Discouraged, Tony stopped and climbed to the bridge.
“Wherever we’re headed from here, we’re gonna need food for winter. We could break houses, but I think they’ll be slim pickings for what we’ll need.”
“We shouldn’t risk that yet,” said Judy.
“That gang must ‘a found food somewhere in this town,” said Jack
“Maybe those vigilantes are calling this whole town their own,” said Mac, and then asked Onita, “Those bikers always try to chase everyone away?”
“They find us, they always chased us,” she replied.
“Then why come back? There must be a safer place.”
“No food… nada.”
“Did they board up the buildings?”
“I don’t know. Some hid food. We found some.”
“Did the bikers try to stop you finding food?” asked Pappy.
“We were fast. Nobody could catch us. Pandilla just shot at us.”
“Damn!” said Pappy with surprise.
“We shouldn’t leave town without bringing a lot more food,” said Jack. “We’ve got a week’s worth, max. And we’re driving straight into winter. It’s now or never, whatever it takes.”
Pappy asked Tony to double back through town to the Palmer Wasilla Highway where they headed for a supermarket he sought, “Three Bears of Alaska is a big box grocery with tall racks like Costco. The place stocks every food imaginable,” he explained. But when they found the business, the storef
ront was solidly boarded up.
Everyone watched anxiously while Jack pried a corner of plywood covering the doors and sniffed the air. Jack waived everyone down and levered open the door with the cat’s tire iron. Standing on the bridge with a rifle, Tony guarded Onita who couldn’t leave the cat.
Inside was neat, tidy and tight against vermin, and smelled only of stale air. All spoiled food had been removed, but the four men wheeled carts grabbing preserved food - canned meat and fish, cooking oil, a entire shelf of Bisquick, canned fruit and vegetables, dried beans, rice, bottled preserves and sauces, tea and coffee, and two large pails of baker’s honey.
They found soap, detergent and shaving lotion, but no toilet paper, nor white flour, liquor, canned drinks, matches, batteries, or bottled propane. Mac found a display of vegetable seed packets and grabbed every one, remembering Judy’s request.
Jack pried open the pharmacy screen so Judy could gather pharmaceutical and medical supplies, especially antibiotics and dressings. Long inside and growing anxious, Judy and Jack just grabbed what was at hand and ran for the cat.
Tony hailed, “We’re hearing motorcycles again. Jack, forget any more. Jump up here and help me load.”
Frightened, Onita cried, “Vamanos… Apuro!” Judy glassed the neighborhood but spotted nothing alarming. The five men upended shopping carts into tent folds on the cargo rack then jumped aboard. Tony sped off leaving shopping carts where they fell.
However, leaving town proved uneventful. At the intersection of Fishhook Junction and the Glenn Highway, Jack called a halt despite the tension and asked Tony to shut off the engine. “Judy, here’s another prospect… do we turn here and drive into the old mining district and look for a winter-over place or move on looking for something better?”
“Anyone know about the mining district?” she asked.
Pappy answered, “Popular summer pass in the mountains, coupla nice tourist lodges, a few wealthy houses and a nice park… not much else but old mine workings. Hellava lotta snow in the winter… so, very little game. And that short cut road to the pass is where we found so many dead people.”
“Sounds like our mining camp in the Otter,” said Judy.
“Lot better chance for game in the river valleys, I would think,” said Tony.
“Much better,” said Pappy. “Resident caribou, moose all winter, great fishing, but lots of critters with teeth. Nice tourist lodges there too… even a few farms. But right nearby, you’re looking at the best farmland in Alaska and doesn’t get any better than the Farm Loop just down this road a hair.”
“If we could just find a way to stay outta sight,” replied Mac.
“Just how do you stay outta sight working a farm?” asked Pappy.
“But that doesn’t happen until spring,” replied Jack. “Before we move on, we should drive that farm loop… at least have a quick look, our last chance.”
“There’s another choice,” said Mac. “I’m for returning to the Talkeetna Lodge. Stock up with more food from big box stores on our way back. Should be way safer than here.”
“Finding a safe place for winter is the most important thing to me.” said Judy.
Fate intervened again. The unmistakable sound of high-winding motorcycles returned. With the diesel engine silent, the whining reverberated among the rolling hills, fading in and out. Onita’s eyes darted anxiously among her companions as they listened. The motorcycle battle had been tragic for Onita, but left an indelible mark on everyone else.
Nevertheless, Jack still preferred a local farm, “Anyone else think this valley could be made safe by spring?”
“No!” said Onita emphatically. With shaking heads all around, Tony hit the road without another word. Jack stood at his bridge seat, looking unhappy as they passed the beckoning Farm Loop intersection.
Leaving town, the comfort of tranquil woodlands enveloped the highway. The forces of nature were reclaiming the road. Storms, the fall season, and neglect conspired to blanket the pavement with downed branches, water born silt and fans of gravel. Water erosion had washed cobbles, boulders and even a few trees onto the pavement. Tony drove cautiously, swerving around tire damaging obstacles. Concerned about jarring Onita’s shoulder, he steered the smoothest path.
The relaxed pace was a joy for those riding on the bridge with the bimini top furled back. Their open convertible view displayed picture perfect fall images. They caught wildlife unwary, already accustomed to following the unobstructed paved trail through the woods. Despite the noisy approach of the cat, they even glimpsed a lynx, and later, a fox scampering for cover.
Mac’s mind was pleasantly absorbed when Jack interrupted his muse, “Boys, take a gander down the road behind us when we round the next curve.” Fourteen wheels were leaving a clearly discernible trail of crushed fall debris. Theirs were the only tracks on the road.
“You lookouts oughtta face back and keep your eyes peeled,” said Jack.
The pilots were the designated lookouts, so Mac returned to enjoying the parade of fall. Presently, Tony halted on the Moose Creek Bridge, where Mac saw a constructed blockade on the far side of the bridge. Blocking the road were hulks of burned out vehicles chained together and to steel guardrails on both sides.
Jack glassed the wreckage and called down to Tony, “When they torched those wrecks, I think they made our work easier. Let’s check ‘em out.”
Tony grabbed his rifle, shut off the cat and jumped down; Jack followed. With the cat’s engine silent, everyone heard the familiar whine of motorcycle engines approaching nearby.
Jack, without his weapon shouted, “Tony, take right! Mac, cover us,” and scrambled back to the bridge for his sniper rifle. He scanned the road watching cyclists round a curve, then jumped to the ground for cover.
Onita screamed, “Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios! Sálvenos!” and pulled the tarp over her head, snuggling deep into the mound of food.
Without finding adequate cover on the highway bridge, the miners crouched behind the tanker’s dual rear wheels. They watched three riders approach, suddenly breaking hard. The outriders pulled to the shoulder short of the bridge while the third biker advanced within twenty yards of the tanker where he stopped and dismounted. With affected calm, he parked his bike on its kick stand, and stood, hands on hips, observing.
The outriders stood their motorcycles on the shoulder of the road and crouched behind them, M-16 rifles braced on seat pads. Dressed in camouflage military uniforms and heavy boots, Mac thought they looked remarkably young for vigilantes, hardly more than teenagers. Leaving his rifle behind, the center man, armed only with a holstered pistol, swaggered toward them removing long white gloves with exaggerated display, tucking them behind his belt.
Mac thought the man was a dubious looking leader. He was short, thin, and so young his beard looked like fuzz. His affected swagger made Mac wonder if he was some sort of pretentious shill. Three cocky youths trying to intimidate five armed men didn’t make any sense. Might they be bandits?
Jack called, “Mac, cover center! Everybody else… shotguns!”
Instead, the Captain donned his airline cap, stood tall, and called out, “That’s far enough young man! I’m coming down.”
Jack quietly cursed, but didn’t object.
The Captain, unarmed and dressed in his white uniform, walked to within conversational distance and stopped facing the ‘leader.’ Jack was pleased he was careful not to block their line of fire from the bridge. He spoke formally for all to hear, “I’m Captain Churchill. Kindly ask your men to safety their weapons.”
“I’m Sergeant Hawking of the Matanuska Valley Militia. Back away or on my cue, my men will fire on your position.” Mac thought the haughty military voice wasn’t any more impressive than his appearance.
“Then, Sergeant, the four of us will surely die,” said the Captain. “Pleas
e, ask.”
The sergeant paused for a moment and then waived his arm. The movement was slight, but their rifles no longer pointed directly at the Captain.
“Now Sergeant, what possible business can the Matanuska Valley Militia have with us at gun point?”
“Captain, if that’s who you really are, I’ll ask the questions…”
“Sergeant!” interrupted the Captain. “You must understand how hair trigger this moment is. Insults will get us killed. Get on with your business.”
Sergeant Hawking shifted nervously. The man looked uncomfortable confronting the Captain’s unyielding response and huffed up his voice.
“I’m investigating the homicide of five of my fellow officers, the theft of Matanuska Valley property including our food supplies. You and your gang have been accused of murder and there is no doubt of your theft… right in front of our eyes. We’re here to take you into custody.”
Now threatened, each side aimed their weapons at one another.
“Young man, try that and both of us will die. If you value your own life, please realize how inflammatory your words are. Now, let’s calmly talk about these accusations. We’ve murdered no one and we are not a gang. We are just passing through.”
“You’re a liar. You have our tanker in your possession. You were observed looting a grocery store boarded for our use, and that motorcycle was identified by two of our officers as property of a man you killed.” Fuzz face was so emotional that he stammered out his last words. “There… there can be no doubt of your guilt.”
“Sergeant, we acquired the tanker, the food, and the motorcycle, but we did not kill your men. We don’t belong to that black shirted bunch you fought yesterday. We have no quarrel with you but we will most certainly defend ourselves.”
“So you admit to burglary! You will return our property! Drop the guns!” Raising his voice, he shrieked, “You’ve got nowhere to go!”
Flight To Pandemonium Page 35