by Mic Roland
“We have been in the Econolodge since Saturday morning, not far from the scene, covering the first encounter, so we were already in a good position to cover the unfolding events. Everyone else has evacuated voluntarily, but we stayed behind to bring you this exclusive WHLO coverage of the Showdown at Acre Fresh.”
“As we saw Sunday, before the Army moved in, many other people came and added their cars to the long barricade around the warehouse. They joined the workers. Estimates are that there are now over a hundred people inside. The new people were clearly armed — some of them with assault rifles. The rumors that other armed citizens have been streaming to the area from surrounding towns has only heightened the tensions. This whole ugly confrontation is a stain on the reputation of Ohio and, if any lives are lost, will clearly be laid at the feet of the Governor.”
“From our vantage point on the roof of the Econolodge, we could see the dozens of white FEMA semi trucks parked in the lot across Gilchrist Road since Saturday morning. Their drivers stymied by the plant workers’ refusal to comply with the Feds’ efforts to bring much-needed supplies to those cities wracked by food riots.”
“Since Monday’s tear gas assault failed to dislodge the workers, negotiations have stalled. The workers still refuse to leave or allow the trucks to enter or be loaded with food. Fears are that this standoff situation has slim prospects for a peaceful resolution.”
“Holy crap! What was that? Listeners: there was an explosion down near the scene. I can see the fire: across the street, among the parked FEMA trucks.”
“A shot! Someone fired a shot. Who was it? Holy crap, now the Army is firing into the barricade. The workers are firing back. Oh no, oh no. This is terrible. This all going horribly wrong. Someone is shouting something with a bullhorn. We can’t make out what, or even who. The firing continues. Both sides are…”
Whoa! A huge fire ball explosion on the barricade. Explosion on the barricade! The Army must have fired a cannon, or an RPG or something at the barricade. The truck and car in the middle of the driveway blew up and are now engulfed in flames. The fire is so bright, it lights up the parking lot and yard area. I can see men running back by the buildings.”
“Whoa mama! Another RPG. This one flipped the car over. The Army made a breech in the barricade. Lots of small arms fire now. Men up on the roof of the warehouse are firing on the soldiers. They have fortified positions up there.
“I can see two, no, three armored personnel carriers advancing on the breech in the barricade. They’re firing the guns mounted on their roofs. It looks like the Army is going to force their way in. They must be trying to isolate the office building from the warehouse. Men inside the barricade are running but…
“Oh. Oh my god! An explosion under one of the vehicles. Something blew up under the middle APC. It is engulfed in flames. It’s backing up: backing up quickly. Its tires are on fire. The other two are backing up too, providing covering fire.”
“Oh, on the right. Men are running out from behind the office building. They have torches. No, molotovs! One of them falls. Shot?. The others keep running forward. They throw. Another man falls. Trails of fire arc over the barricade. The APC nearest us has been hit twice. No, three, four molotovs hit it. It’s on fire. It’s backing away quickly now too. More men fall behind the barricade.”
“I can’t see the vehicles anymore. They went behind a low building. I’m guessing the fires are out because I don’t see glow over there.”
“How long can this go on? How many men inside the compound are going to die over this? Surely they can see that they are surrounded, cut off from everything. Why do they continue? The Army can afford to sit and wait.”
“Oh, hold on. I hear a helicopter coming.”
The low throb of a helicopter rotor grew louder in the background.
“This is a dark, overcast night, so we can’t see it. It’s showing no lights, of course. Oh! Up there. Above the restaurant. I think I saw it. Maybe the fires reflected in the windows or something. Oh my god. The helicopter is firing on the compound! It’s firing something big. A cannon or something. I don’t know. There are tracers. They seem to be concentrating on the corners of the roof where the workers constructed machine gun nests Sunday.”
“Wait! The compound is returning fire! I saw sparks up in the sky there. More gunfire. They’re firing on the helicopter. Where is that coming from? Oh wait. The chopper’s engine sounds different. I think it’s been hit. The chopper is pulling back. It’s headed away.”
“I don’t see any flames. Do you? No. No, but it’s getting lower, though. It’s going that way. God, I hope it doesn’t crash. Please don’t crash.”
“Ha! Way over there. It turned on its lights. See it? It set down okay. Oh thank god! It landed in the yard of one of those companies beyond the tracks. There’s smoke, but I don’t see any fire.”
“Okay listeners, I can report that the helicopter did not crash. Repeat: did not crash. I saw it set down safely, though apparently damaged by…”
“What the? Gunfire came from somewhere over there. You heard it, right? Randy, where did that come from? Behind us? Where? I don’t see…oh!”
“Okay everyone, we just heard more gunfire farther from the compound. I can see flashes from the embankment of the interstate. I don’t think these are soldiers. The muzzle flashes are strung out all along the interstate embankment from the river bridge to down behind the woods.”
“Holy crap! The Army is firing back at whoever that is. We’re between them! We’re in the crossfire! Get down everyone. Get down. Down, down. Behind the walls.”
The rattle of gunfire grew much louder through the speaker, followed by smacks and clangs.
“Everyone get off the roof. Get off now! Get to the stairs! Stay low. Holy crap! No. Forget that stuff. Just get to the stairs. Holy crap. We have to….”
The sound stopped. Only soft static remained. Everyone sat motionless for a minute, as if afraid that by moving, they might jinx the radio wave fluke that brought them the signal in the first place and silence it permanently. Walter finally reached up to study his equipment and fine tune.
“No. I think it’s gone,” he said gravely.
“Do you think they were….” Sally began, but trailed off, as if she did not want her question answered.
“Could be just that his radio equipment got damaged,” offered Dustin. “They could have gotten away okay.” His tone tried to be optimistic.
“Or maybe the station cut the signal off,” added Martin. “After all, the sound just stopped all of a sudden. If they had been…um…but the equipment still working, we’d still hear something.” He needed to stop talking before grim details emerged.
“Oh.” Sally happily grasped the straw Dustin and Martin offered. “I sure hope you’re right.”
After Walter shut off the generator, the silence felt thick and oppressive. Everyone sat in silence for many minutes, each trying to process what they heard.
“That was awful,” Sally said. “Has it come to this?”
“Maybe not everywhere,” offered Judy softly. “Maybe not here.”
Chapter 7: Temperamental Saviors
“The line isn’t too long,” Margaret said. “At least we won’t be out in the road.”
“Are you sure this is where they said?” asked Dustin.
Martin’s mind was still trying to run out the ramifications of what they heard on Walter’s radio the night before. The world seemed changed, yet it looked exactly the same as it did yesterday. Until last night, the biggest problem was how to stretch limited supplies, random beggars and maybe clueless squatters.
Would such force be applied in Cheshire? Did Cheshire have anything the power-that-be would want badly enough to take by force? Would the people of Cheshire be as determined — unto death — to refuse? Would Martin be that determined?
None of the other people approaching the line appeared to be armed. Everyone looked like the average folks they were. Perhaps they all had their a
rms hidden, like Martin did.
“Dad? Is this it?” Dustin repeated.
“Huh?
“We’re just supposed to stand outside in the cold and hope a truck comes by?”
“All they said was a truck would come to ‘your town center’,” replied Martin. “The general store sits at THE intersection in town. That seems about as ‘center’ as it gets. Looks like it’s not just me. All these other people thought so too. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a bust, or maybe we’ll get something. Worth a try.”
Martin and Margaret, followed by Dustin and Judy, took their place in the ragged line of people in the parking lot of the general store. It was more of a dotted line. Most of them had formed into conversational clusters. All were bundled up against the cold. Most of the faces looked concerned or worried or just uncomfortable.
“Hey, there’s Walter and Sally up ahead in line.” Martin pointed. “I want to go ask if he heard any more news about that Ohio thing. Be right back.”
“Hi Walter. Hi Sally. Sorry to interrupt.” Sally was too engaged in conversation with another woman to notice Martin.
“No problem, Martin,” said Walter. “We were done, just chewing it around some more. Thanks Frank.” The man Walter had been talking with turned and chatted with another man behind him.
“Oh, thanks. I was wondering if you heard anything more about that thing in Ohio last night. It has me kinda spooked that the feds might send the army up here, or something.”
“I got a bit more from Joyce on our noon check-in.” Walter said. “Details are still sketchy. But it don’t seem like they’ll be coming up here. Sounds like that thing in Ohio as upset just about everyone. Unofficial toll is three soldiers dead, nineteen wounded. No numbers on the folks in the compound. They’re still holed up in there. Army pulled way back. It’s still a siege sort of thing, but no more shooting. Word out of DC is that the President blew a gasket and ordered air strikes, but the Air Force refused. Army air units refused too. There’s some rumor the military types are holding a meeting today. Could just be a rumor.”
“Folks all around are mighty nervous this morning. Been some tough talk coming out of the Governor of Ohio about not letting the feds strip his state bare just to feed east coast cities. Sounds like some other midwest governors are siding with him. Things are sounding pretty tense out there, Martin. Pretty tense. If you ask me, there’s a bigger pot a brewin’. Kinda doubt that dinky little Cheshire’s gonna get much notice.”
“Hmm. I guess being insignificant has some advantages. Still, the prospect of the feds using the Army as muscle is kind of intimidating. Is that why people look so glum here today?”
“Could be they’re just cold and worried about getting by. I’ve been sharing the news. I’ll admit that hasn’t cheered anybody up. The Cauloff’s, way back there, are worried about their grandkids out in Texas. Ours are down in Florida. Seem to be doing okay. At least they’re not cold. What about that girl of yours, Susan. Her folks were in Ohio, right?”
Martin coughed. “You know, Susan isn’t a ‘girl of mine.’ She’s just someone who…” Martin stopped himself. None of the words he thought to use were going to sound any better. A change of approach seemed like a better plan.
“Actually, that’s my wife back there in the long black coat. See her? Right beside Dustin and Judy? That’s Margaret: my wife.” Martin hoped that settled the issue.
“Oh?” Walter’s face was twisted with confusion. “What happened to Susan?”
“Nothing. That’s her coming up the hill back there. See her? Helping that old lady in white? That’s Ruby, who’s also staying with us on account of the outage and all.”
“So you’ve got Susan and Margaret living in the same house with you?” The confusion was not going away. “How’s that work?”
Martin heaved a big sigh, as if it might clear the cobwebs. “Never mind. Susan is just a guest. My wife, Margaret, and I…Oh. That reminds me. Margaret gave me a message to give you for your next check-in with Joyce.” Martin fished in his pockets for the scrap of paper. “Ah. Here it is.”
Walter uncrumpled the note. “To: Lindsey I., Excalibur, Wisconsin. Congrats and buckets.” He looked up at Martin. “If it’s not too personal or anything, what’s that buckets thing all about?”
“Just a family-ism. Lindsey started it back in high school. ‘So much love you’ll need a bucket’, she used to say. That became buckets-of-love, then finally just buckets. Seemed like a good family code-word for us.”
“Ah,” Walter nodded then kept reading. “ ‘Congrats and buckets. D and J with us. More too. We’re ok. ‘ Well, sir, I’ll get that one sent along at the next check-in…assuming we ever get home. We’ve been standing out here for over an hour and it still ain’t three o’clock.”
“Well, I’d better get back to Margaret,” Martin emphasized her name. “If I don’t see you before Monday’s meeting, you take care of yourself.” Walter nodded.
“What did he say, dad?”
“Doesn’t sound good. Sounds like the workers are still in the warehouse and the army pulled back. Lots of hot words flying between DC and the governors out there.”
“Cool! Well, sort of…I mean, I was kinda rooting for the guys in the warehouse. I’m glad they didn’t lose. I’m not sure if it’s good news that they’re still in there or not. That’s gotta be really tough.”
“Indeed. Kinda makes it hard to complain about only having to stand in line, in the cold, for a couple hours.”
Working his way up the line was Jeff Landers. He was chatting lightly with people he knew well and shaking hands or waving to those he did not. He was acting overly cheerful, perhaps trying to lighten the mood of his town’s residents — either against the gloomy news out of Ohio, or just against the cold and gray.
“Simmons!” Landers said enthusiastically as he shook Martin’s hand. “Glad to see you could make it. Quite the line already, eh? No idea what our generous Mr. Quinn will have in his truck — hopefully, it’s not full of snake bite kits! Landers laughed a hollow theatrical laugh. It must have been a line he had used too many times to find sincerely funny, but too good not to use.
“I’m curious too,” said Martin. He squared his shoulders. This was his opportunity to set the record straight. “Um…Landers…Jeff, I’d like to introduce you to my wife: Margaret.”
Landers had started to turn away to shake the next set of hands, so had to turn back. He extended his hand to Margaret, but stopped and stared at her. “This is your wife? But I thought…” He recovered his social composure with a couple of blinks of his eyes. “Oh. Glad to meet you Mrs. Simmons.” He shook her hand a bit too vigorously. “We really loved your jam. Excellent work. Excellent. Well, I have more people to greet. See you later. Hang in there.”
“Why did he say it like such a question? ’This is your wife’?” Margaret asked. Her voice had that do-we-have-a-problem-here tone to it.
Martin squirmed. He had felt chilled by the cool gray day, that is, up until that moment. He pulled at his collar. He and Susan had been at the last two meetings. Did he and Susan look like a couple? That was mere coincidence. Could they not simply look like neighbors or friends?
He did not want Margaret to think he was having some fling with Susan. She did not need the extra aggravation at a time like this. He had never given her cause to be angry or jealous in the past. In the midst of a crisis, was a bad time to allow strife at home. There was no fling. He prided himself on having successfully ‘locked the door’ years ago.
Yet, to deny something out loud is to simultaneously create the category being denied. To say ‘I did not break your window’ automatically creates a broken window in peoples’ minds. The fact that ‘I did not break your window’ could also mean the window is unbroken, just does not seem to occur to people first. That was a conundrum he did not want to tackle while standing in the cold, with his son and dozens of other people nearby.
“I’m not sure,” Martin said. “At the meeting, La
nders was saying how he had never met you, but heard about your homemade jam from Lance and Miri.” He held a broad smile. “He probably just had a different mental picture of you is all. You know how people do that, right?”
“Uh huh.” She did not sound convinced.
“Hey” shouted a man standing at the intersection. He pointed north. “I see someone coming. I think it might be the truck!”
All eyes turned to look north, even though the crest of Town Hill obscured the view of the lower highway beyond. The dozens of conversations buzzed up in volume briefly before quieting away. If people could not see the truck approach, they wanted to hear it, at least.
Emerging over the crest, looking like a slowly-breaching whale, rose a black Escalade. It was followed by a white whale: a Suburban. Laboring up the hill unseen, with deep diesel growls, was the long-awaited semi.