by Bobby Akart
“I’m listening,” replied Duncan.
“We are prepared to provide you your own unit, with a team handpicked by you,” continued the captain. “The TX-QRF is establishing a regional headquarters in Lubbock, and your close proximity, coupled with your father’s knowledge of the area, would provide us a leg up on any potential situations that might arise.”
Duncan sat up in his chair as he processed everything that was said. “I have a duty to protect my family now. I already have a unit here at Armstrong Ranch. Besides, I don’t need a job to make ends meet.”
“We understand that, Commander,” broke in the colonel. “There are other intangibles that we’re prepared to offer you, and your family, for your assistance. For one, as a high-ranking member of our new military apparatus, and technically a part of the administration’s protective detail, your family will be exempt from certain provisions of the martial law declaration, whether presently in place or later enacted.”
“The cattle confiscation?” interrupted Lucy.
“Yes, ma’am, although, without quibbling, the ranchers are being paid for their livestock,” responded the captain.
Lucy was about to fire back her opinion of that when Major gently rested his hand on her knee to subdue his sometimes fiery wife.
The colonel continued. “We will also provide you a Humvee with a full-time aide and a choice of weapons, as well as your choice of confiscated weapons from our stockpiles to be used here at the ranch.”
“You said our unit would be based in Lubbock?” asked Duncan, before adding, “Lubbock is already a war zone, Colonel.”
“That it is, and we hope our increased presence there will help calm things down. You will be stationed at the Army National Guard facility on East Regis Street, adjacent to the airport. We are planning on supplementing your operation with several elements out of Fort Bliss and Fort Hood to help deal with the refugee crisis that has escalated significantly in the last two weeks. This will include choppers and other forms of air support as logistics allow.”
They spoke for another fifteen minutes as Duncan tried to flesh out who, specifically, had suggested him for this task. He knew it was Gregg, and he enjoyed watching the colonel squirm to avoid confirmation.
They eventually said their goodbyes. Duncan promised them an answer within several days, and the vice president’s front men left.
Within seconds of the car leaving the ranch, Duncan and his parents were rehashing the conversation. He wanted to consider the offer for two reasons. One was the benefits provided to his family and the ranch. The trips to Lubbock to slaughter cattle grew more dangerous by the day. Also, adding to their arsenal was huge.
Second, this would give him an opportunity to get on the side of the Texas military apparatus to learn what he could about Gregg, Yancey, and the reasons he was left behind in North Korea.
Both of his parents were adamantly against it. They thought they’d lost Duncan once and were not going to lose him to a fight that wasn’t necessarily theirs. Duncan was still unsure until Palmer and Sook returned from the barnyard. He looked at her beautiful face and remembered what they’d been through to get home. He made his decision without speaking another word about the offer.
No.
PART THREE
Chapter 34
January 7
Patricia, Texas
As nightfall approached, Holloway’s Humvee led the way as they sped away from Wickett, using country roads and deserted highways to zigzag northward toward Lubbock. He knew the National Guard in Odessa would be concerned about the convoy’s disappearance within hours. One phone call, and this desolate part of West Texas would be carpeted with choppers looking for the tractor-trailer rig filled with food.
He studied the map and identified an area halfway between Lubbock and Midland-Odessa. The towns in this part of West Texas were small and therefore conquerable. They could easily conduct raids into the surrounding midsized cities and then disappear into this barren wasteland of oil rigs and scrub brush.
The convoy was speeding northeast on County Road 115 when the driver swerved slightly to avoid dead bodies on the side of the road. The big rig behind them wasn’t as deft, choosing instead to plow over the rotting corpses, slinging blood and body parts under the truck and onto the convoy’s trailing vehicles.
“Patricia,” mumbled Holloway. “Sounds like a nice place to lie down for the night. Slow them down. I want to think this through.”
The driver slowed, and Holloway exited the truck. He studied the map and walked slowly down the highway to think. They needed to hide the truck or off-load it and send his men to ditch it somewhere. More importantly, they needed a base of operations. A location that was centrally located, not only for his personal purposes, but near enough the western border that he and his unit could assist Lee and the rest of the Lightning Death Squads into Texas.
“The quaint hamlet of Patricia might just fit the bill,” he said aloud as he walked past his Humvee and approached the eight trucks and cars that now made up his unit’s fleet. He waved them all out of their vehicles, and they hustled to gather around him.
“Here’s the play, gentlemen,” said Holloway. “This little town may only have a dozen houses or so in it. There’s also a high school about a mile past it. Nobody’s gonna give a rat’s ass about Patricia, Texas, but it suits us perfectly. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
Holloway broke his men into the pairings that best suited their talents. One wheelman coupled with a shooter. The plan was a simple one. Race into town. Bust into homes. Kill everyone, no exceptions. They would take over the town and find a place to hide the truck.
“Everybody got it?” he asked before instructing them to cowboy up, which drew laughter from his band of Korean murderers and thieves.
Holloway left the Humvee and its fifty-caliber machine gun to guard their rear as well as the prized food truck. He took the wheel of a four-door Ram pickup and led the charge at nearly eighty miles an hour. The first stop, Patricia Farmer’s Cotton Gin, was his target. He waved the rest of this men forward into the town.
Each team of two rushed ahead, seeking a residence or a business to attack. Holloway and his partner moved swiftly and efficiently through the cotton gin operation, but found it to be uninhabited, just as another group had learned two weeks prior. He looked at the enormous drive-thru Quonset-hut building used to load and unload cotton. It could hide four rigs like their food truck.
Holloway sent his partner to retrieve the Humvee and the eighteen-wheeler. While they were catching up to him, he walked through the quiet gravel parking lot toward the highway, intently listening for the sound of gunfire. The big rig was secured and hidden upon its arrival. Then Holloway headed farther into town to find out why his men didn’t engage any of the locals.
As he passed the houses, his men stood in the front yards and waved, some holding their rifles high in the air as a salute. In the ten minutes it took him to walk slowly through Patricia, he realized there were no hostiles to engage. The town had been abandoned.
Holloway stood in the middle of the two highways that intersected the tiny community. He slowly spun in a circle, taking in his surroundings. As the sun disappeared to their west, he realized they were now the locals.
“I want perimeter security established at all four of these roads entering town. Patrols need to be set up around the clock with double coverage on the cotton gin. Be ready. These Texans are gonna be pissed when they see the mess we left back there.”
He motioned for his two top lieutenants to join him. His mind was racing at the possibilities of having this location to hide his activities. It was well off the beaten path. There was a high school down the road, which might yield more food and living space for Lee’s men as they rallied before being sent elsewhere.
“First thing in the morning, I want you to take two guys over to the high school,” began Holloway. He turned toward the east and squinted, but the coming darkness prevented him from see
ing far. “Clear the area, go inside, and let me know how many men you think it can house. I’m thinking about bringing Lee and his commandos here. When you’re finished, we’ll head into Lubbock and get a lay of the land.”
“We’ll need more vehicles and fuel,” interrupted one of his men.
“That’s high on the priority list,” said Holloway. “I also want to identify the substations to be taken down.”
“Maybe they have an armory?”
“Probably do, and it’s on the shopping list too,” replied Holloway. “First, get the men in place and settled. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
Chapter 35
January 7
The National Mall
Washington, DC
The snow had just begun to fall when Yancey exited the Town Car and walked toward the Reflecting Pool, which was mostly frozen over. The glorious monuments of the nation’s capital, the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, rested silently, without power.
Through a herculean effort coordinated by the Capital Police and the National Guard, much of the chaos in Washington had been subdued. A large swath of the city from the Potomac to the U.S. Capitol complex, as well as the streets surrounding the White House, had been cordoned off. The most important buildings that housed the United States government were protected and their electricity powered by massive backup generators.
Yancey continued to work out of the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, but was summoned to the White House by Chief of Staff Acton. At the last minute, he was advised that Acton would meet him away from the White House, on this bench across from the Reflecting Pool next to the JFK Hockey Fields.
As he approached, Acton spoke first, choosing to dispense with the preliminaries. “I’ve been doing some thinking, Billy. I may be wrong, but I doubt it. You see, this whole secession thing has bothered me from the moment I learned of it. Monty’s unexpected disappearance into Texas with the lame excuse of appeasing his wife didn’t make sense. Now, in hindsight, it all fits. Monty Gregg is knee-deep in this betrayal of our nation, and he’s standing in the way of our country’s recovery from the EMP.”
Yancey listened as Acton spoke, somewhat relieved that the ire of the president’s chief advisor was directed elsewhere. He exhaled and nodded, choosing to hold his words until pressed by Acton.
“Billy, I’m prepared to bring treason charges against Monty for his role in the Texas secession and for his role in the assassination attempt of Kim Jong-un.”
Yancey perked up and fought back the reaction that his body so desperately wanted to release. Run!
Acton turned his body to look Yancey in the eye. “You didn’t think I’d find out about something this big? Well, I guess if we’d continued business as usual around here, you and your goon squad could effectively hide the truth or eliminate those who wanted to come clean. You couldn’t pull off a mission like that one without underlings to help. After the collapse, your control of the situation collapsed with it.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Shut up, Billy, or I’ll drag you into Leavenworth along with your deep-state buddy,” said Acton with a raised voice. “I’m not here to have you arrested or snitch on your pals. I’m here to offer a deal, make an alliance, in effect, that furthers my agenda and saves your hide in the process.”
“I’m listening,” said Yancey. He’d switch to the winning horse to save his hide.
“You went to Texas for a while when Monty left Raven Rock,” continued Yancey. “I doubt you were involved in the secession movement, although, with your background, you’d be a valuable counselor on such matters. What I want to know is whether you’ve returned to Washington to do your job for the United States government, or are you Monty’s do-boy on the inside?”
“Okay, you’ve been reasonable, so I’m going to be straightforward,” replied Yancey. “I considered the Texas option but not as a part of their government. They don’t have a use for a man of my talents. I might have been consulted now and again, but mainly, I planned on retiring and riding out my years watching the world collapse around me.”
“What brought you back to DC?” asked Acton.
“Assuming, for sake of argument, that there was an assassination attempt on a certain dictator, which may or may not have triggered a big mess, loose ends existed that could blow up in everyone’s faces, regardless of culpability. I decided it was my duty to sweep the floors, so to speak, before some media mope stumbled across something.”
“I get it, and I commend you for that,” said Acton. “Be that as it may, I have a problem, a thorn in my side, that I need surgically removed. I need a win for my president, and you’re going to use your considerable talents to effectuate the change necessary to give her that win.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Let’s start with Monty,” replied Acton. “I need him out of my way so that he can’t act as Burnett’s shield. Do you have any ideas?”
Yancey thought for a moment. “Well, let’s just say he’s asked me for a favor that I’m about to implement. Perhaps I can use that to our advantage and possibly as leverage.”
“What is it? Some kind of quid pro quo?” asked Acton.
“Sorry, don’t forget rule number one of any White House senior advisor—plausible deniability.”
Chapter 36
January 8
Midland, Texas
The weather had cleared and warmed enough to begin melting snow off the roads. Major and Preacher readied the trucks to make the eighty-mile drive into Midland, where the Arnold Oil Company was located. When he woke up, he and Lucy retrieved one of his caches of gold from behind the house.
Within a small notebook she kept with her most of the day, Lucy had a series of treasure maps, as she called them, written down in sufficient detail that any member of the family could follow them.
Over time, she and Major had converted cash into junk silver and gold coins. They’d envisioned a grid-down scenario in which currency had become worthless and a barter economy rose out of the ashes. If such a new economy never came to pass, then they always had the ability to convert their precious metals back into paper currency.
In the meantime, prior to the collapse, they’d thought it prudent to hide their silver and gold throughout the ranch in the event they were overrun. Initially, they’d marked each spot using the global positioning satellite apps on their smartphones. But as they learned more about the electromagnetic pulse threat, they’d opted for the old-fashioned paper and pencil method.
To store their gold and silver, Lucy used old paint cans and oxygen-absorber packets. The paint cans provided a good seal, and the oxygen absorbers slowed the tarnishing of the silver. Once the can was secured, she dug a hole at least two feet deep and buried the can. Then she marked exact distances between permanent landmarks, whether it was a tree, a building, or large rock, in order to remember its location.
Finally, to frustrate any unauthorized prospector from finding her stash with a metal detector, she implemented diversions designed to confound the thief. All around the stash location, she buried empty steel cans and any kind of trash made of metal, including nails. Someone with a metal detector would hopefully get frustrated digging up garbage before they got to the bull’s-eye where their barter currency was buried.
During the days following the collapse, many forms of barter came to mind, from cattle to ammunition. Unless absolutely necessary, Major wanted to avoid bartering their food resources. Under no circumstances would he agree to barter guns or ammunition, which would provide a stranger the tools necessary to kill his family. That was just plain stupid.
Their gold and silver resources were not unlimited, obviously, but would help them as they continued to survive until the world righted itself. Having access to fuel was a critical part of their survival.
Two of their three-hundred-gallon tanks were empty. Using heavy-duty chain and steel hooks, the backhoe lifted the tanks into the air and set
them each inside a pickup truck. To secure the tanks, the ranch hands used the same chain and four-inch-wide tie-downs used on their flatbed trailers when hauling rolls of hay.
They needed two trucks to accommodate the weight of the tanks when filled. Diesel weighed around seven pounds per gallon, compared to just over six pounds for ethanol-free gasoline. Once the trucks were loaded, they began the trip to Arnold Oil located northwest of Midland.
Major and Preacher drove the lead truck while Duncan and Sook followed behind. The two hadn’t spent much time together other than during Duncan’s firearm-training sessions. Duncan was very impressed with her ability to handle a sidearm, especially in close-quarters combat scenarios.
Her slight frame still made it difficult to handle more than one shot with a long rifle due to its recoil. He’d just started training her with the AR-15 that morning when Major asked them to travel to Arnold Oil.
The group traveled the backroads, working their way to the west through Vealmoor and Ackerly, then turning south toward Midland when they reached Route 349, a few miles south of Patricia. This took them directly toward Midland and Arnold Oil.
The ride was uneventful, but the bartering between Major and the general manager was not. The first thing that Major noticed was the level of security around the facility. Two military vehicles were stationed at the ten-foot-tall chain-link gate to the parking area. Two guards stood behind concrete barriers with their weapons at low ready, while another man was stationed at the front door. A fourth Guardsman was walking the perimeter of the fenced utility yard, which contained a single metal prefabricated building and an office.
After Major provided the guards his identification and the group agreed to check their weapons, they were allowed to drive in.