Pedestals of Ash

by Joe Nobody

  To the rear of the giant structure was a paved parking area capable of holding at least 50 semi-trucks. Twenty or more of the big rigs sat there now.

  Surrounding the building and parking area was a 10-foot high fence with serious-looking strands of razor wire, angled outward along the top. The lights Bishop had been seeing were mounted on high posts in the enclosure every so often, as well as at each corner of the building. The entire grounds of the structure were very well lit, as was several hundred yards of the surrounding desert.

  Bishop’s gaze finally made its way to the parking lot in the front of the complex, and what he saw there was really out of place. There were at least 50 vehicles parked around what appeared to be the main entrance. Well over half of them were police cars. Bishop used his magnified optic to scan the different cruisers and saw the emblems of at least five different law enforcement agencies, a few associated with the state of Texas, and a few others from nearby towns. There was even a SWAT van parked near the back of the lot.

  While he was trying to figure it all out, movement caught his eye, and he adjusted his rifle for a view of the roof of the giant structure. There, concealed behind sandbagged emplacements at each corner, were two-man teams with long rifles and some serious-looking scopes. These over watch positions were well hidden by the back glow of the bright spotlights mounted on the building just below them.

  Before he even finished looking at those locations, more movement directed his attention to two men exiting a side door. These two fellows were wearing motorcycle helmets and mounted a pair of all-terrain vehicles parked nearby. After a couple of quick kicks to the starter, a mobile patrol headed toward the west. Both men had AR15 rifles strapped to their backs.

  As Bishop’s eyes followed the riders, his scope scanned past a large sign that had escaped notice until now. He immediately recognized the familiar branding on the sign, solving a large piece of the puzzle before him. The words confirmed his conclusion, reading “Wal-Mart Regional Distribution Center.”

  Bishop slowly lowered his rifle and moved a few feet back down the ridge. He needed time to digest it all. He pulled out a small notebook and began drawing diagrams of what he had just seen. The exercise helped him commit detail to memory and to work through what it all meant. His neurons were firing in all directions, in an attempt to wrap his head around the unbelievable scale of the treasure trove of food, medicine, fuel, water, and other miscellaneous necessities located on just the other side of the ridge. As he sat drawing, he began doing a mental, virtual tour of his last visit to the big department store before the collapse. It had aisle after aisle of groceries and almost as many freezers. A large distribution center like the one below would have enough stock to supply several of those individual stores.

  Bishop remembered walking by entire sections of clothing, furniture, and electronics. When his mind wandered to the pharmacy section, he subconsciously scratched his head, thinking about the rows and rows of shampoo that had been stocked. I bet they have my brand of toothpaste, he thought.

  As he recalled, the sporting goods section had been just a few aisles over, and the thought of those large glass cases of ammunition made him smile. At the time, he had smirked at the quality and prices. He wouldn’t now.

  There had to be enough goods in that building to keep an entire town the size of Meraton supplied for months. Just one of those semi-trailers carried tons of food that would enable hundreds of people to gorge themselves for days.

  The complex was a natural fortress. No doubt, the designers and architects had chosen the location to service as many stores as possible. Bishop envisioned a map in some corporate office with pins depicting all of the stores in the region and this tract of secluded desert being right in the middle. Since it was so remote, security must have been a priority when the site was being designed. In addition to the fence, Bishop guessed the doors and structure were built with would-be burglars in mind. There was probably a sophisticated video system and perhaps even remote sensors built into the surrounding grounds or fence. During the last few years of the Second Great Depression, so much wealth concentrated into a single location would have been a target for thieves.

  So what were all the cops doing there? Had some wise, quick-reacting county manager decided to seize the building in order to provide care for the citizens? Had some government agency taken control in order to distribute the goods to the people?

  While the thought was a positive one, Bishop didn’t think that was the case. If a government agency were truly in charge, the sentries would have the manpower and support to hold the building without early warning systems. Why the booby traps and trip wires then? If a local agency or officials had commandeered the compound, that might explain the situation – but why had they sent a team when Bishop tripped the flare? Why hadn’t they identified themselves right away when they were looking for him?

  The police cars explained why one man had called the other “Sarge” the previous night. They weren’t military – it was a police sergeant. Why the heavily armed mobile patrol?

  Bishop quickly realized he wasn’t going to get any answers by sitting around daydreaming. He needed more information before he took his next step, and that meant observation. That also required being careful, as the SWAT truck indicated some high-tech sniper and surveillance capabilities might be searching for trespassers.

  Sheriff Watts strolled through the hallway leading from the offices at the front of the building to the main storage facilities. His men had named their new home “Wallyworld,” and that was good enough for him. He glanced at the pictures hanging from the walls, their perfectly even spacing agreeing with his general philosophy of an orderly existence. A dedicated officer of the law for most of his adult life, he had won the last three county elections unopposed. He was an honest man who performed the duties of his office with a fair hand and positive attitude. He had never taken a bribe or anything else that he hadn’t earned – at least not until the events of the last few months.

  When everything had started falling apart, things had changed. The deputies’ paychecks bounced, leaving their children hungry and their families stressed. The mechanics who worked on his patrol cars refused to perform repairs, and the civilian staff that supported the jail started calling in sick. The lawman couldn’t blame them – no matter how much folks believed in the importance of their jobs, they just couldn’t afford to work without pay.

  But that was just the beginning of his change of heart. Watching good, solid, law-abiding citizens he had known for years start fistfights at the local bank when it ran short of cash, degraded the sheriff’s outlook on life. Having those same upstanding members of the community turn on his men when they attempted to calm the situation made things worse. He had personally served eviction papers on at least two dozen families in the last few months. Many of these people were friends he had known since elementary school. For three years, one of the families sat beside his in the reserved section of the Cougars’ stadium, as they both cheered their sons to a state championship. He could have handled all of that in stride, but for one key event that pushed him to the other side of the law.

  The sheriff’s only son had joined the department a few short months before. An athletic, good-natured kid with sandy, blonde hair and a clear complexion, Deputy Watts was sort of a local celebrity, having been the star of the local high school football team. Unlike so many of the popular athletes of the day, Tony Watts Jr. didn’t let his popularity go to his head. He was always polite to everyone around town and was never known to leverage his father’s powerful position. He worked his way through college flipping burgers on the weekends and working construction in the summers. Having just graduated magna cum laude last June with a degree in Criminal Justice, Tony Jr. hoped to follow in his father’s footsteps.

  The Wal-Mart Distribution Center had been a welcome addition to the area when it had been erected four years ago. At least it had been welcomed by everyone but Sheriff Watts. Since its grand open
ing, the huge complex had been nothing but trouble for his force and him. The additional truck traffic had led to a host of issues. In addition, the center had been the site of several burglary attempts and random vandalism. While the issues caused by the facility would hardly be noticed in many areas, Sheriff Watts presided over a very quiet county. Still, the jobs that were created were welcomed in the mostly ranching community, and most viewed the new warehouse as a positive. When the economy had taken a dive, the incidents at the distribution center increased markedly, and it seemed like dispatch was always sending a car to check on one thing or another. A few days after most of the county lost power, Sheriff Watts received a call that the alarm system at the big warehouse had been tripped - yet again. The closest deputy had been his son, who had responded to the call immediately. When nothing had been heard from Deputy Watts for over an hour, the dispatcher became concerned.

  Sheriff Watts arrived to find his son’s patrol car sitting in the parking lot with the engine still running and the sound of the dispatcher’s repeated calls coming over the radio. Using his flashlight, he found what had evidently piqued his son’s interest. A side emergency exit showed signs of being pried open.

  He picked up the microphone and asked for more help as his instinct told him something was very wrong. Sheriff Watts drew his weapon and entered the dark warehouse. He found his son, lying on the cold concrete floor, with a bullet wound in his side and another in one leg. The lightweight body armor issued by the department had taken the blunt of the chest wound, but the bullet had still penetrated his boy’s body.

  The sheriff ran outside to escape the radio interference of the huge structure and called desperately for an ambulance. He grabbed the first aid kit from the trunk of his patrol car and rushed back to render aid to his only child. He still wasn’t sure how long he waited, but at some point in time, it dawned on him that he should be hearing the sirens of approaching help. Eventually, two other patrol cars from his department arrived, and a Texas Highway Patrol car responded as well. Still, no EMTs arrived.

  When Sheriff Watts radioed his dispatcher to find out what the hell was going on, he was informed that the first ambulance ran out of gas, and that the other two had left the county hours before, responding to riots that had broken out in El Paso.

  Throwing down the radio receiver, the sheriff rushed back inside. He hoisted his son on his shoulder and carried him to the cruiser. After arranging the injured man in the back seat, he drove to the local hospital. His son was pronounced dead a few hours later.

  Everything had been a blur after that. Losing his child in such a way tore at the very soul of the lawman. After grieving with his wife for hours in the hospital chapel, he couldn’t help himself and returned to the scene of his son’s murder. On the way there, the peace officer hardly noticed the number of cars pulled to the side along I-10. He hadn’t listened to a news broadcast for days and initially had no concept of what was going on. His wife found out where he was and drove to meet her husband at the distribution center, where the couple sat and mourned for hours. It became clear the next day that everything had fallen apart.

  The sheriff’s wife, expecting relatives to arrive for the funeral, stopped to pick up a few things on the way home from making arrangements. When she returned from the local grocery store empty-handed and frazzled, her report of bare shelves and panicked people was the final straw. What little news that did drift in, mostly television reports when the electricity was still working, made it clear to him what was happening.

  Normally, in times of dire circumstances, the good sheriff’s first thoughts would be of protecting the public and serving society. Not anymore. Now his priority was protecting his men and their families. A plan formed in his head while driving to the office the next morning. He quickly picked up the radio and made a call on several different frequencies – Sheriff Watts was seizing the Wal-Mart Distribution Center and any officer who wanted to take shelter there was welcome. Immediate family would be accommodated as well. He turned back, gathered up his wife, and set off to the warehouse. They had never returned to their home.

  At first, Sheriff Watts wasn’t sure anyone had heard his call. It took a few hours, but one after one, both his men and officers from other agencies showed up at the gate with their families. When a neighboring county’s SWAT team had arrived in their fully equipped truck, the total number of lawmen was over 40. Counting all of their family members, the community of Wallyworld numbered well over 110.

  For the first few days, the policemen, deputies and other lawmen had organized themselves and learned as much as possible about the facility, its contents, and especially how to operate the building’s extensive generator system. There were over 30 huge walk-in freezers stuffed to the gills with food. The designers of the building realized that one significant power outage could ruin hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of stock and had equipped the center with a state of the art uninterruptable power supply. Buried in the ground at the rear of the building were two, 5,000-gallon diesel storage tanks. These tanks were not only used to fuel the massive fleet of trucks that served the warehouse, but also as a source for the two, huge diesel generators wired into the building. In addition, there had been dozens of trucks loaded with additional supplies, docked at the various stations waiting to be emptied. Many of these tractors had tanks full of additional diesel fuel.

  On the third day of occupation, one of the officers ran up to Sheriff Watts and informed him a group of people were at the front gates, asking for food and water. The people claimed to be stranded motorists from the nearby interstate. A quick meeting of the senior lawmen resulted in the people being given some water and sent on their way. The next day, the exact same group returned, this time with several additional people. Again, they were given water and sent away. On the third day, over 50 desperate people were at the gate. Sheriff Watts realized where their charity was headed, and told the men guarding the gate to send everyone away. This resulted in a heated argument, and things came close to getting out of control. Eventually, the beggars shuffled off, mumbling about the greedy cops. That night, several men with rifles attempted to storm the property, resulting in two officers and five attackers being killed.

  It was that incident that transformed Wallyworld from being a refuge to a defended camp. Over the next few weeks, several attempts had been made to dislodge the cops. One very creative group of men even approached under a white flag and offered to barter for goods. It had been a trap, and gunfire had broken out resulting in more death. The residents of Wallyworld brought women and children with them, and like most families, they needed to get fresh air. Playground equipment and even a blow-up swimming pool had been scavenged from the shelves and assembled at the back of the building. A few days later, a sniper from a nearby ridgeline fired several shots at family members enjoying the makeshift playground. That incident had really upped the ante on security, and the men set about stringing trip wires and enhancing the general security. These preparations had included posting clearly printed signs along the building’s drive that said, “No barter. No food. No water. Trespassers will be shot. White flags will be ignored.”

  Some of the officers eventually realized that civilization wasn’t going to return anytime soon and set about preparing for the long-term occupation of the site. A flat patch of land on the west side of the parking lot had been converted to a vegetable garden using the seeds from the lawn and garden department. Rabbits were trapped from the surrounding area and placed in pens for breeding. One group of officers mounted an excursion into a nearby state park and looted every solar panel they could find. The panels had been installed to provide more security in the remote areas of the grounds. They were combined with batteries from the automotive department, and reusable power now took a small, but growing burden off the diesel generators. Everyone knew the diesel fuel would eventually run out, and the solar cells would then be the sole source of electrical power for Wallyworld.

  Even the proc
ess of rationing food resulted in some creative planning. Originally, the freezers had been stocked by category of goods, with one freezer being full of beef while another contained chicken. The new residents of the center had rearranged the contents so as to consume the perishable items, freezer by freezer. As soon as one was empty, it was taken off-line to conserve fuel. The empty units were converted into special rooms to be used by the community. One empty freezer was now a break room used by the sentries as they changed shifts. Another became the movie theatre and a third was now a makeshift schoolroom for the younger children. Even the textbooks for the school had come from the storage shelves.

  Using the floodlights at night had been the subject of hot debate. Some of the officers believed the lights made the property a big target for anyone in the area. Others believed an assertive posture was best. Over time, the number of “visitors” challenging the center dwindled, and for the last two weeks, the only disturbances had been the local deer and other wildlife.

  Bishop decided he needed a different angle to observe the complex below and set about trying to find a better perch. Twenty minutes later, he leaned back against a large rock, disgusted by the entire situation. The building and surrounding grounds were right in the middle of where he needed to go. To the south was I-10, complete with thousands of abandoned cars and trucks. While he couldn’t be 100% sure, there was little doubt in his mind that the guys occupying the distribution center would have that entire area wired and perhaps patrolled. Given his recent experience on the interstate, the thought of trying to weave his way along that stretch of road made him shiver.