Pedestals of Ash

by Joe Nobody

  After sucking the last few morsels from his fingertips, Bishop pulled his gloves on and began to scout the base below. He could easily make out the area around Biggs Field, and its long landing strip that serviced the fort. Huge hangars dwarfed the other structures in the area. It took him a few minutes of searching, but he eventually saw what he was looking for. The towering white tail fin of a large commercial jet was visible between two of the hangars. While his four times magnification couldn’t make out many details, Bishop was reasonably sure the aircraft was Air Force One. Looking further south toward the border, Bishop could see the hazy outlines of the main base’s buildings, including a taller structure that he remembered was a hospital.

  Bishop sat on the fender of the ATV and tried to recall everything he knew of Fort Bliss. He remembered a large expansion of the base being ordered a few years ago, as the 1st Armored Division was being brought home after 40 years of being stationed in Germany. Bliss was the perfect place for tanks to roll all over the desert and shoot their massive guns. Although he didn’t know who, someone had once said Bliss was the largest fort in the United States in terms of square miles available for gun ranges. I bet it’s a hell of a lot of fun busting ass all over the desert in a tank and shooting that gun. I wonder if I could tank-jack an Abrams?

  Recalling all of this didn’t help him make the critical decision where to enter the property. On one hand, he considered just driving up to the main gate and announcing himself. He was here on legitimate business and had nothing to hide. The problem with that course of action was that it necessitated a drive through a heavily populated portion of El Paso. The main entrance to the facility bordered on the north side of the city, and according to everything he had heard, El Paso wasn’t a place where one casually strolled around these days.

  Had he simply wanted to meet with the base commander or other higher ups, he would have driven the ATV onto the property until he found a road and followed the signs to the HQ building. The problem with that strategy was the President of the United States was most likely staying at the base, and that meant security would be tight – very tight. A lone stranger with a rifle strapped to his back would probably invoke a “shoot now and ask questions later,” response.

  Bishop had no way of knowing how Bliss and those assigned to the base had weathered the storm of collapse. The 1st Armored Division would have at least four brigades. According to what the Colonel had detailed, the army sent brigade-sized forces into the major cities when martial law had been declared. It was a strong probability that the 1st had been taxed with the same orders. Bliss was a major training center as well, so there was no telling how many forces were here on temporary duty assignments when the economy collapsed and sent society reeling. Regardless, base commanders would have retained enough force to secure their facility. It was their job, and besides, their families were typically living with them on base.

  Bishop dug around in the ATV’s storage compartment and eyed the last two nutrition bars. One was chocolate, and the other featured cranberries and raisins. He had to save one of them for Terri, no ifs-ands-or-buts about it. He was already in enough domestic trouble as it was, but couldn’t help wondering if his wife liked cranberries or raisins. He chuckled to himself as his mind raced with wild tales of savage mountain lions, raiding his camp and eating the chocolate bars. No, he thought, I’ll tell her I had to use them to bribe a rogue lynch mob in order to save my neck. On and on his mind raced, creating ever-greater fabrications and excuses to explain to his wife why she only received one treat, and it wasn’t chocolate. Maybe I’ll say the president saw them in my pack and wanted them. Bishop rested his hand on the grip of his pistol, and the feel of the weapon reminded him of Terri’s skill with a handgun. I’ll leave the chocolate one damn it…just my luck to marry a girl who can shoot.

  The thought of being straight up with Terri led to the more immediate decision. Bishop sat back in the driver’s seat and kick-started the motor. He would chance traveling through a portion of El Paso and approach the front gate like a regular visitor. It just seemed the proper thing to do.

  One thing that bothered Bishop about riding the ATV was the engine noise. Not only did the mechanical beast’s rumblings let everyone within a half mile know where he was, it also blocked his senses as well. Riding the machine across open desert was worth the risk. As he approached the suburbs around El Paso, he felt an ever-growing need to be stealthy.

  A cluster of car-sized boulders provided an excellent place to stash his ride. While the weight of his pack was an unwelcome addition to his shoulders, being able to hear while moving was worth it. After one last check that his kit was in order, Bishop sat out on foot toward the first housing development he knew was over the next rise. It was broad daylight, and he considered waiting until nightfall, but decided this little adventure was taking too long, and he wanted to see Terri again – chocolate or no chocolate.

  Bishop went prone as he approached the crest of the rise and looked down at the houses below through his optic. There was a cluster of nine middleclass homes on two cross streets. The neighborhood was laid out like thousands of others nestled on the outskirts of American cities from California to the Carolinas. This specific development was designed with a southwestern, stucco flair in mind. Bishop liked the design and surmised the primary occupants would most likely be married soldiers stationed at the base.

  As he scouted the subdivision, he noticed that some houses had large mounds of trash bags stacked by the curb, while others didn’t. He shook his head at the oversight by the occupants. It was a clear sign that someone was home, and the occupants either had cleaned out the garage, or at minimum, were eating. While a lack of trash wasn’t a guarantee of an empty house, a large pile of bags did stand out. Unless the owner was crafty and stacked his bags on the neighbor’s lawn, trash was a sure sign of food. The observation also made Bishop wonder about the mindset of the people down there. Did they still believe trash pickup was going to resume at some point in time? How big did they intend on letting the heaps get before going to plan B?

  The other, more important point was that the homes were separated and surrounded by privacy fences. This was a good thing, as it would allow Bishop to move with more cover. Privacy was a two-way street.

  Bishop was just about to head down into the neighborhood when movement caught his eye. The small cluster of homes was accessed from a larger street a few hundred yards away. Bishop could see a few people walking along that street, one person carrying a large bundle on his head. What really drew his attention was the Humvee sitting right in the middle of the intersection. While details were difficult to make out at this range, he could tell that there were soldiers at the crossroads. It looked like a checkpoint, and that actually made a lot of sense. If he were in charge of base security, establishing control points on the major roadways leading to the base would be a good tactic.

  This revelation gave Bishop a moment of pause. It would be risky enough approaching the base’s main gate. An armed man passing by these checkpoints was sure to garner unwelcome inquiries. While he had no way of knowing the situation below, it wouldn’t be a surprise if now the all-powerful military granted considerable leeway to the men stationed at these outposts. In some parts of the world where Bishop had worked, soldiers such as these even preyed on the civilians. Bishop didn’t believe the U.S. military would resort to that – but he didn’t want to find out the hard way. He needed another plan. After observing the foot traffic around the checkpoint, he finally came up with an idea.

  After carefully picking his route, Bishop slowly made his way down the hillside, moving from cover to cover, approaching the civilization below. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Rotting garbage, human waste and dead flesh hovered over the valley like a cloud. The foul air was so unpleasant, Bishop considered changing his plan. He took cover in a concrete drainage ditch and removed his pack. Digging around inside, he pulled out the pine needles used for tea, and ground up a pinch und
er his rifle butt. He took the oil and rubbed it on the skin under his nose, hoping the smell of pine would override the horrific odors assaulting his senses and distracting him from his initiative.

  When everything was repacked, Bishop moved out and approached the back fence of the closest house. He had picked this specific structure because it didn’t have much of a trash heap, and appeared to have already been looted. There were miscellanies spread all over the yard, and the front door appeared to be open. As he carefully peered over the fence, he noticed the backyard showed no signs of either looters or life. Like many homes in this part of the world, the yard was mainly sand and rock. Grass required expensive watering, and many homeowners had chosen to go ‘native’ with their landscaping. A small child’s plastic wading pool and a rusted metal swing set were the only indicators that the residence had ever been occupied.

  Bishop waited for almost 20 minutes to see if anyone were really home and just doing a good job of hiding in plain sight. After he was sure his approach had gone undetected, he pulled his fighting knife and picked up a baseball-sized rock. He used the crude tools to pry three boards loose from the fence and entered the toddler’s playground.

  Relieved that no one shot at him or otherwise sounded any alarm, Bishop cautiously approached the back of the home. The door was ajar and lead to a laundry room where an undisturbed washer and dryer sat looking like they were ready for the next load. Bishop paused and decided to announce himself in case someone was hiding with a shotgun inside. “Hello…hello inside…I mean you no harm. If anyone is home, just let me know, and I’ll leave. I don’t want any trouble.” After broadcasting his presence, he felt a little silly. If an elderly couple were hiding inside, they would be smart not to answer. How would they know I wasn’t just trying to draw them out?

  Bishop looked around the corner into the kitchen and relaxed. All the cabinet doors stood ajar, and the non-editable contents were strewn all over the floor. Every drawer was either hanging from the rails or had been removed, searched and flung across the room. The side-by-side refrigerator stood with both doors wide open. Someone had ransacked the kitchen, looking for food. Bishop had to walk carefully because the floor was littered with broken glass, silverware, papers and other content once neatly stored. He made it to the fridge and absent-mindedly, reached up and closed the doors. There, held in place with magnets, were two items that caught his attention. The first was a picture of a young couple. The man was dressed in an army uniform, sitting with his arm around a pretty young woman in her early 20s. On their laps sat two children, both under the age of ten.

  The second item was a handwritten note. Bishop pulled it from under the cartoon character magnet and read the neat handwriting:

  My Dearest James,

  The children and I are leaving for my sister’s house in Prescott. The power has been out for seven days, and we haven’t had water for five. The grocery store had a riot and was burned out. People are going nuts Jimmy, and I’m scared. The kids and I hear guns being shot, and some sound like they are close by. There are strange men driving around the neighborhood, and Mr. Young’s house was broken into last night.

  Little Jimmy only has enough insulin for a couple more days. There are no phones, and it took all day just to drive to three different drug stores. All of them were boarded up or looted. I tried the base, and they wouldn’t let me in without you. I took my ID and papers and tried to get in the base as a dependent. There were hundreds of people at the gate, and I got shoved to the ground. I lost my papers Jimmy; I think someone took them out of my hand. I begged them for some food and insulin, but the guards just ignored me. I’m so frightened and don’t know what else to do but leave. We tried to stay Jimmy…we tried really hard to wait for you to get back from overseas. A lot of the neighbors are leaving, too.

  I’ll be at sis’s place, waiting on you. I love you so much, and the kids miss you. Please hurry, my love.

  Love,

  Linda

  Bishop looked up from the note and stared out the window for a little bit. He wondered how many million times this same story had been repeated all around the world. He knew what it was like to have to abandon a home. The sickening feeling that went through his gut as Terri and he drove away would be something he would never forget. To leave one’s life behind while knowing deep down inside that returning was unlikely was an indescribable sorrow.

  His mind then drifted to the husband and what the reaction would be if James ever read the note. The country he was serving had abandoned his family. The people he had committed to protect had turned their backs on his wife and kids. Bishop grunted out loud and put his hand on the rifle slung across his chest. I know what my reaction would be.

  Bishop carefully placed the note back on the door in exactly the same place as he had found it. He looked around the kitchen again, this time in a new light. This had been a happy home, full of laughing children. He could imagine the smell of baking cookies and happy squeals when ice cream was being dipped into bowls. Bishop sighed and had to clear his mind of the melancholy trap it was falling into. I’m sure she made it to her sister’s house, he thought, I hope Jimmy joined them there.

  The living room was trashed, but not as thoroughly. The looters had been digging for food. Bishop went into the master bedroom, avoiding even a glance inside of the children’s rooms. He was already in a foul mood and didn’t want to go there.

  Jimmy was a little larger guy than Bishop, and that was a good thing. Pushing back a tinge of guilt, he fingered through the soldier’s clothing, hung neatly on one side of the closet. After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for and consoled himself. What I’m doing may help everyone. I’m not taking these things for myself, but to help end this madness.

  Bishop found a bundle of clothing as well as a suitcase with wheels and extending handle. He took his loot outside and poured just a little water on the ground, quickly stirring the soil into a muddy concoction. He dirtied the pants, overcoat, and suitcase as much as possible. He then gathered papers from the kitchen and even found a small stain of grease on the garage floor. Rubbing the clothing in the oily substance added to the affect.

  The next step was to remove his chest rig and rifle. This part disturbed Bishop greatly. He was going to be without easy access to his primary weapon, and that was uncomfortable. Still, it had to be done. After packing his gear into the suitcase, he donned the now filthy clothing and looked in the mirror to see the results. The final touch was to bundle a spare shirt and several pieces of paper to the handle of the pull-along suitcase. He unlaced one of his boots and cut the fingers out of a pair of gardening gloves he found in the garage.

  Anyone watching the house would have seen just another homeless vagabond walking across the front yard and onto the street. Even the careful observer would notice a hunched over man whose ill-fitting clothes hung on his frame. Streaked with dirt and grime, the shuffling gait of the stranger projected an image of a lost soul. The pull-along suitcase being dragged along was torn and ripped, with a hobo’s collection of newspaper and other items tied to the handle. The wandering man wasn’t a threat. He kept his head down, and his eyes never looked out more than a few steps ahead of him. Anyone approaching would have heard him humming an out of tune rendition of “When the Saints Come Marching In.” But, there was no need to approach the stranger. He clearly had nothing of value and seemed intent on just passing through.

  Bishop came to the first intersection manned by army troopers after traveling three blocks. The soldiers were bored, sitting on the hood of their Humvee and laughing about something. Bishop kept his gaze downward and his pace slow, the weight of his pistol against his hip providing little comfort. If the soldiers noticed him, they made no comment. He relaxed somewhat after he had made it more than a block past the checkpoint without being challenged.

  Bishop passed by two more intersections manned by army troops before he could see the front gate of Fort Bliss ahead. He limped off the main street and found
shelter in an abandoned doughnut store.

  Corporal Peterson looked at his watch again. Two more hours of guard duty, and then he would have an entire day off. He remembered when having leave meant a trip to El Paso to chase girls, but that was no longer possible. Still, a day off was better than sitting at the front gate and watching nothing. He looked up at the avenue approaching his position and wondered how things really were out in the world. They were certainly bad enough here on the base, and with a VIP visiting, things had gotten worse. Scuttlebutt had it that the President of these United States was going to be at Bliss for quite a while, and that meant extra duty and more restrictions. Still, the fact that the president was traveling around the country had to mean something positive – didn’t it? Peterson was shocked when his CO posted the duty roster, and he had the day off. As far as he could tell, he was the only one, and that had resulted in some serious ribbing as well as several attempts to bribe a trade in shifts. No one had anything worth a shit for bartering, so he kept the free time.

  The corporal looked down at the M249 SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon) resting on the sandbags in front of him. Thank God the machine gun hadn’t been required for several weeks. When the White House had been stormed, orders had been received for three of the 1st’s brigades to move out. He had heard two of them were headed to Phoenix and one to Tuscan – but that was just rumor. The 4th brigade wasn’t ready to move as it was in the middle of a seriously needed refit, and half of its vehicles were non-functional. That had ended up being lucky because those troopers had been needed right here at home.