The prisoners had cut across to the loop that bypasses downtown, avoiding the local police. When they came to the National Guard roadblock, they must have figured something up that road was worth protecting and started their unopposed rampage. There was no way for them to know the roadblock wasn’t to protect anything, it was meant to keep people on the other side out not in. Because these prisoners were from lower Michigan, they didn’t know that once they started their northward trek of destruction, there was no place to go once they got here—no place except to go back to the waiting law enforcement. Clearly they hadn’t counted on the resistance they were to encounter. Had they turned south instead of north, they might have been unstoppable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
JOURNAL ENTRY: February 7
It’s been eight days since The Wheelers attacked us and we defeated them. The defeat was good and necessary, but it came at a great cost. Not only the four lives, two of them very close to me, but part of the cost was our innocence as a town, as a community.
I’m still sweeping up glass. Thankfully the glass door-wall was not one of the casualties, though the dining room window was and now we are lacking in natural light. The other window was in the hall and it was dark there anyway. Someday I hope that we can replace the glass. Jason and John scavenged some plywood from the barn to cover the outside and there was enough of the roll of metallic insulation to piece together a covering for the inside to keep out the drafts and cold. It’s still only February, and March is and always has been our heaviest snowfall month.
Over the past several days, we’ve had another six inches of purifying snow. It’s cleaned up the mess on the road. The ATVs that were left by the wayside are now mounds and formless humps and have taken on shapes that Jacob thinks look like giant turtles. At some point I’m sure the dealership will be out to reclaim them. Meanwhile they are a reminder to me of some horrible times.
* * *
We buried Don and Nancy in a single grave in the Moose Creek Cemetery last Monday. I would rather have buried them in one of her flower beds, but because of the deep frost line there is no digging in February here and Pete already had several graves pre-dug. Immediately after the burial, Jason went into Don’s house to secure it. I knew why he waited. He loved his uncle and it would have been impossible for him to be there with them still in the middle of the kitchen. He got the woodstove fired up and then drained all the pipes of water. Don always kept a couple gallons of RV antifreeze, which Jason found in the basement after a great deal of searching. Don wasn’t always the most organized person. With the pipes drained and the traps full of antifreeze, Jason stoked up the fire, and then dampened it down for a slow burn.
Jason is now considering moving into Don’s house. There is a two-year supply of wood for the woodstove so they would have heat. One of the freezers is still full of food, partly with jugs of ice that have been frozen outside. My brother did an excellent job keeping the freezer intact. What canned goods were left he had brought out of the basement and lined the bookshelves to keep them from freezing. Pork & beans, soups and pasta sauces now took the place of the encyclopedia, novels and cookbooks. When I asked Jason why he wanted to move, he said it might be better if John and I had more privacy. They would still come over for dinner though, and I would bake for them. John grumbled about taking on Jason’s chores, but Jason just laughed.
I’m still not sure the move is a good idea.
On the bright side, we were delightfully surprised yesterday by the arrival of another food warehouse truck at the township hall. When I questioned the driver about it, he looked at the paperwork and pointed out that our shipment was classified to be recurring. Recurring, meaning every month we would be getting food now! The relief flooded through me and we quickly refilled our near empty tables with fresh supplies.
“Allexa! Good to hear from you. I have to tell you, your little town has caused quite a stir here,” Tom laughed when I called to thank him for the provisions.
“Oh? Why? For defending ourselves?” I know I sounded a little snarky, but I was still hurt that Bill Lacey had hung us out to dry.
“Well, honestly? Yes. The Sheriff’s office is taking a lot of flak for not stopping that crew before they headed your way. You did what needed to be done and without hesitation. The word on the street is that the locals here have new respect for the people of Moose Creek. You might even get a float in this year’s Fourth of July parade.”
“We’ll see when July rolls around, Tom. I can’t even think that far ahead. The reason I called, though, was to thank you for the recurring food delivery. That means a great deal to me, and it means survival for Moose Creek.”
“Are you sure you won’t—”
“No, my place is here, Tom. You of all people should understand that now.” I hung up on him this time, before he offered me a job again.
* * *
John surprised me this morning by wishing me a Happy Valentine’s Day and presented me with a handmade card. He made me potato pancakes for breakfast, one of the few things he says he does well. They were indeed excellent. I know that I’ve not been very good company for him this past week. With all that’s happened— the shootings, the deaths, the funeral and burial— I’ve been in a daze. He’s been so very sweet and patient with me. Perhaps I can make it up to him later. Tonight.
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: February 15
John and I strolled over to David’s with a box of food from the recently resupplied food pantry and a can of gas from the grateful town of Moose Creek for his warning about the Wheelers. There’s no telling what would have happened if we hadn’t known and been ready for them. The thought sent shivers up my spine. We listened to the ham radio, picking up bits and pieces of news, and I took in the changes in the house. Gone were the dirty floral sheets covering the furniture, no dishes were stacked in the sink, and I’m thinking they removed some of the carpeting, but I’m not really sure about that, all I know is the smell is gone. It’s amazing what having water will do, that and knowing someone cares. We live surrounded by lakes, yet the water isn’t that easy to come by.
More news confirms that most large cities are cesspools to live in. Martial Law is the norm and most law enforcement agencies have had to be augmented from the local population. The corruption that has infiltrated the ranks runs rampant. The politicians are so far removed from the man on the street that they don’t have any idea about what is really going on. They likely don’t want to know. It appears that the political corruption hasn’t changed much.
One item of good news is that power is slowly being restored to the smaller towns and cities. I felt my pulse jump a few beats when I heard that. I wonder if there really is a chance we will have the electricity turned back on in the near future. We will have to survive until then.
* * *
With a slightly better attitude than I’ve had in days, I ventured into Moose Creek to see how the town was handling all that has happened. I was surprised, and yet not, to see it was business as usual. People were walking around, Fram’s was still open for a few hours each day for hardware or the weekly gas allotments, notices were posted, and the township hall was back to being the hub of activity.
“Good morning, Allexa!” Karen greeted me cheerily.
“Well, you’re in a good mood,” I said. Her upbeat mood was contagious.
“I am! My work just got a lot easier,” she said. “With all the weapons confiscated from the Wheelers, and especially the thousands of rounds of ammo, we no longer have to depend on our own reserves. They were beginning to get severely strained. Plus, our new deputy is down at the Big Guppy supervising the replacing of the logs. I might be able to take a real lunch break!”
“Whoa! What new deputy? And what about the logs? I thought Danny had already moved them out of the way.”
In fact, I knew he had moved them. It was the only clear route, and was how Ken had taken the bodies to town and the food truck had gotten up here.
“What have I missed?”
Karen grinned. “We deputized Lenny Bagget yesterday. He’s going to work out great. I can’t believe we actually suspected him of those fires.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He’s eager to do even the crappy jobs, like organizing the mess Danny left.”
The dozen logs Danny had put in the path of the Wheelers were dragged out of the way when they were no longer needed, and then haphazardly piled to the side. After further discussing the situation, it was realized that if those logs were needed again it would take twice the time to move them with the way they were now since they looked like a bunch of giant pickup sticks with bark. By making two piles, one on either side of the road, and arranging them in a 3-2-1 stack, replacing the barricade would take only half the time. We were well aware of how valuable a few minutes could be and what a difference it could make to our safety.
“I will be sure to congratulate Lenny the next time I see him,” I commented. Things were taking on an interesting slant in our little town.
I wandered over to the Stone Soup Kitchen to put in an hour of volunteer work. Several ladies were working on a new batch of stew since someone had brought in fresh meat. A few men were there too, moving tables, sweeping and staying busy. Since I felt that I wasn’t needed there, I went home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The days seem to just slide on by. We have all lapsed into our own routines that see little change and even less variation. John hauls wood, I bake and cook, Jason shovels snow, and we all pitch in giving lessons to Jacob.
Jason is about to make the move across the road. I still don’t like it. Jacob has been over there several times with Jason while he checks everything over and keeps it heated. The little guy is excited about having his own room again and I’m letting him take most of the toys that I’ve had here for him. I will keep a few here. The school supplies go with them too. After all, I stocked them for Jacob.
* * *
Several guys from town showed up this afternoon with the flatbed truck and the township backhoe to dig out the eight silent four-wheelers. I will be glad to see them gone. They are too much of a reminder of sadder days.
“Hey, Pete, come to take away my road junk?” I laughed as I walked up to the busy crew. Some days I have to laugh to keep from crying.
“Well, yes and no,” he said.
It was good to see him smile. I know that he must still be feeling the pain from his mother’s death, though hers was more natural and expected, and Don’s was neither.
“I’m guessing you will tell me what that means, Pete.”
“Once we have all of the machines freed, cleaned off and started, you get to take your pick of one to keep.” I was startled into silence. “And Jason gets one, and so does David. The rest we’ll load up and take back to Moose Creek.”
“Why?”
“A gift from a grateful township.” He looked almost hurt that I wasn’t overjoyed.
“These machines aren’t the township’s to give away, they belong to the dealership they were stolen from,” I insisted.
“Not anymore, Allexa. Anna will explain it better when you go into the office, but the dealership has given the township the machines, all of them, as a thank you for ridding the county of those renegades,” Pete said with delight. My guess is he gets one of these too.
Well, they will certainly be better on gas! Now to pick one. I think I’d better confer with John and Jason; I’m likely to pick one because of the color.
* * *
Once that decision was handed off to my two guys, with my preference voiced, I made I quick trip to talk with Anna.
“Pick out your new ride yet?” Anna asked when I arrived at the office.
“Yeah, the one with the camouflage paint job, provided they can get it started.”
“Why does that not surprise me,” Anna chuckled.
“Why didn’t you warn me? You know I don’t like surprises like this,” I scowled.
“Why haven’t you been in to the office in,” she glanced at the calendar, “five days?”
I dropped into the seat across from her instead of the chair at my desk. “Permission to speak freely, Ma’am?”
“Why ask permission now? You’ve always spoken your mind.”
I looked down at my trembling hands. “I don’t know how much more I can take, Anna. I really don’t. I feel like I’m being torn apart inside. I’m exhausted all the time and I’m not thinking clearly. See? I didn’t realize that it had been five days since I left the house.” I took a deep breath. “I feel like I’m on the edge of tears half the time and that’s certainly not a good professional image to project!”
“I see you’ve lost more weight. Do we need to increase your rations?” she asked.
“No! No more food! I just don’t have much of an appetite anymore,” I confessed.
“What else is going on, besides the obvious?” she asked, genuinely concerned.
I leaned back in my chair, not knowing how personal to get. “Jason is moving out. He’s going over to Don’s house. I don’t know if John loves me or is staying with me for the… benefits. I haven’t heard from my other son in Florida since this all started, and the worry is tearing me apart.” My voice cracked; I couldn’t help it.
“I know what you need! A vacation!” she exclaimed and I started to laugh. I laughed until I sobbed. “First you need to read this,” her voice gentled. “A communique from Sawyer Air Force Base routed through Tom White.”
On Jan. 24, 1955, the United States government signed a 99-year lease with Marquette County. Almost immediately, construction of military support facilities began and K.I. Sawyer AFB was a reality and became an important part of Marquette County infrastructure. K.I. Sawyer Air Force Base was decommissioned in 1995 as a military facility, but had operated for nearly forty years, and was a major employer in the county. Its closure meant the loss of hundreds of jobs, both at the base and the filter down jobs. It was re-purchased by the county and the new county airport, Sawyer International, took over and now occupies a portion of the base and has, or did have, scheduled airline flights and some general aviation activity. During this crisis, most domestic flights were curtailed, and limited military flights were resumed. The joke around the county for years was we had commuter planes landing on airstrips that could land the space shuttle, overkill to say the least.
To have a direct communique from there was curious, disturbing, alarming and hopeful. The message that was faxed over was already two days old, having had to wait until someone was at the office to turn the generator power on. The message was also maddeningly brief: just to contact them about a package that had arrived.
I called Tom White immediately. No answer. I called Dispatch and asked where I could find him, only to be told he had gone home for the day. I was happy for Tom that he went home, but it also meant that I would have to wait a day to find out what Sawyer wanted with me and what this package was. The last package I received were batteries. I doubt that’s what this package was.
* * *
When I arrived home, there were three cleaned off four wheelers sitting in the driveway. The camouflage painted one which I had tagged for myself, a hunter green one, and a deep blue one, all of them with the bells and whistles that would delight those that could afford such toys. At the time, I didn’t know that David had already been given one, and these three were ours. Even John got his own set of wheels for his part in our town’s violent history.
The snow on the shoulders of the road had been greatly disturbed, but the rest of the machines were gone. I’m still not sure how I’m going to feel riding a machine that had been used to wreak such havoc on our quiet community. There was still no word on what had happened during the rampage to the south of here. What damage and death the Wheelers had left behind may be never fully known.
John came out when he saw me pull in, I think so it wouldn’t be a surprise to walk into an empty house. For the brief time I’d been gone, they’d been busy moving Jas
on and Jacob across the road. The house was indeed quiet and empty.
* * *
“What is this about Sawyer, Tom?” I asked when I finally got him on the phone. I’d been calling him since nine o’clock, dialing non-stop until he picked up twenty minutes later.
“Good morning to you, too,” he replied. “Someone has landed with a military clearance, looking for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, by name. He also gave what he calls a password,” and Tom told me what this ‘someone’ said. My heart almost stopped. Very few people knew what I used as a secret verification word, only close friends and family: Tufts.
“Where is this person now?” I managed to squeak out.
“They’re being held at Sawyer. Does this mean anything to you?” Tom questioned.
“They?” my heart did a double trip. Could it possibly be? “Yes, it means something.”
“Then I think you should make a trip down to Sawyer, Allexa. Conditions there aren’t what they use to be, though it is very secure.” I could hear Tom shuffling papers again.
“Who should I ask for when I get there? I could be there in less than two hours.” I wrote down Captain James Andrews on a slip of paper.
The Journal: Cracked Earth Page 24