Texas Strong: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  Gregg shrugged as he looked toward the ground and saw the refugees stacked up against the double-fenced rows as they approached the Sabine National Forest. “That’s more border to control, as well,” he mumbled.

  Deur interjected his thoughts. “Easier, actually. Our eastern boundary would be the Mississippi River. That’s much easier to protect than what you see below us. I mean, it’s doable.”

  “I don’t know,” Gregg continued to question the consideration of the proposal, if it even came to fruition. “Look at those fences. They’re bending. My fear is an orchestrated effort, an attack of some kind, that could blow them wide open. We need to assign more troops to this eastern border.”

  “I agree, which is why I scheduled this flight with both of you,” started Deur. “I’m going to redeploy our resources to border control, especially along the east side. The Red River is secured, as is the area bordering Mexico all the way to El Paso.”

  “What about West Texas and the Panhandle?” asked the president.

  “We pulled our units out of Lubbock a month ago and sent them into Amarillo to protect the Panhandle,” replied Deur. “Unfortunately, the city of Lubbock suffered, as our own turned on one another when the security forces pulled out.”

  “What are you doing about that?” asked Gregg.

  “We’re establishing a quick reaction force in Lubbock, headed up by Major Armstrong’s son if he accepts the offer. He’s a decorated vet with extensive training in this area.”

  Gregg gulped and then asked, “He hasn’t accepted the position?”

  “Not yet,” replied Deur. “I’ve heard that he’s been through a difficult time as he returned to the States and then back to the family ranch. We didn’t want to push him.”

  President Burnett spoke up. “We need all Texans to stand strong and step up when they’re needed. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Should I call the young man into Austin to discuss it with him personally?”

  “No, ma’am, not yet,” cautioned Deur. “Let the offer ride for now. There are other pot sweeteners that we can offer, if necessary, to induce him to take the job.”

  “Okay, I’ve seen enough,” said the president. “Take us back to Austin.”

  Deur gave instructions to the pilot and the SpeedHawk chopper raced across The Woodlands north of Houston back toward Austin.

  President Burnett leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Big changes were in store for Texas, and she needed to rally the people behind her.

  “Gentlemen, I need to address the nation. We’ll call it my first State of the Union address. I’ll give the speech to a joint session of Congress. We’ll broadcast it over the radio networks and repeater towers across the country. It’ll be unifying, uplifting, and act as a call to action for everyone to do their part.”

  “I believe that’s a great idea, Marion,” started Gregg. “We need everyone to pull together until the first of February when our food deliveries can make it into the Port of Houston. The country could use a boost, in my opinion.”

  “Thanks, Monty. Say, weren’t you going to take some time off?”

  “Yes. With your permission, I’d like to take a week at my ranch sometime after our address.”

  “Absolutely, Monty. I understand your predicament. Listen, I work from home, so it’s easy for me to find a place to relax. You have a wife that needs you. Spend some time. Reenergize your mind and body. We’ll all need it for the final stretch.”

  Gregg smile and nodded. He appeared tired. “My wife enjoys riding horses at the crack of dawn. It’s been years for me, but I suppose now that I’m back in Texas, I should see if this old war horse can still ride without gettin’ bucked off.”

  Chapter 39

  January 8

  Lubbock, Texas

  The warming weather was welcomed by Holloway and his men as they entered Lubbock piled into three vehicles. He’d left seven men and a top lieutenant behind to guard their new stronghold in Patricia. He and a dozen men brought the least useful cars into the city with an eye on trading up. High on their list were four-door SUVs and pickups, preferably full of gas. It was a shopping trip where the only currency traded was bullets.

  Before they began their quest to enhance their fleet, he wanted to identify the electricity substations that would be attacked when the time was right. According to the now-deceased engineer at the ERCOT station in Wink, the relationship between Lubbock Power & Light, LP&L, and ERCOT was complex. So complicated, in fact, that Holloway had considered keeping the smart guy as a hostage just so he could explain it again, if necessary.

  However, the map the man had provided, coupled with Holloway retaining what he’d learned rather than getting distracted by the young girl, helped him with the primary task at hand—preparation for the collapse of the Texas power grid.

  LP&L was owned by the City of Lubbock and initially integrated with the Eastern Interconnection power grid. Through advance planning, LP&L had reciprocal agreements with ERCOT to share electricity to help each other with peak power requirements. The load and transmission network was integrated into ERCOT’s, which enabled Lubbock to draw power from ERCOT in the event of an outage within the Eastern Interconnection.

  To accomplish this, LP&L built three power generation and transmission facilities around the city. The locations were identified as North, located north of the city; Wadsworth, located east of the city; and New Oliver, located to the south.

  Holloway and his teams spent the first part of the morning locating the three power-generating stations. When the coordinated attacks on the Texas grid began, his team would have three targets, whereas the other Lightning Death Squads would have just one. After surveilling the last power plant, the consensus of the men was they’d need explosives or an additional rocket-propelled grenade launcher for the three Type 69 RPGs they’d taken from Lee’s men. He pledged to give that some more thought. They moved on to the next order of business, which was locating and assessing an assault on the National Guard Armory.

  Holloway and his men’s capabilities couldn’t be placed into a single box. They were adept at roadside hijackings, as they’d proven in Wickett with the military convoy. They were highly successful in their raid on the Roswell National Guard Armory. The taking of the whole town of Patricia, albeit an empty one, gave Holloway the confidence he needed as they began their raids of Lubbock.

  They stopped at a convenience store, refueled their cars, and picked up a few things, including a map, an old Homes Real Estate Guide, and an Auto Trader magazine. They thanked the sole salesclerk and his woefully outmatched armed guard, shot them both in the head, and then left.

  As they made their way into Lubbock to the Army National Guard facility, Holloway devised a one-stop shopping plan that would minimize their exposure while in the city and accomplish their purpose.

  Holloway took his eyes off the map for a moment and immediately ordered his driver to stop. As they rounded a bend in the road, the airport came into view, as did dozens of military vehicles pulling into the back side of the National Guard property.

  “This is not going to work, boys,” said Holloway as he gestured with his hand for the driver to pull ahead. “Take the first left up here on MLK and just keep driving south. We only attack soft targets, and there’s nothing soft about what I see in front of us.”

  They drove a few miles away from the airport, and when they came upon South Loop 289, Holloway pointed his driver in the direction of the west on-ramp.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  Holloway folded the Auto Trader magazine open and pointed to an advertisement for Pollard Friendly Ford. “Their ad says they’ve got over fifty crew cabs on the lot. I can’t think of a better vehicle, can you, guys?”

  “Four-door pickups?” asked one of the men in the backseat.

  “You bet,” replied Holloway. “Including one of those Texas-sized King Ranch trucks for yours truly.”

  “Do you think they’ll be open? Look around, t
his place looks a little like South Central LA except these dudes are mostly Anglos.”

  Holloway patted his M16 and grinned. “This rifle guarantees us private shopping and zero-down, zero-percent financing. Right?”

  The three-car caravan turned off the highway, circled under the overpass, and eased past the Valero gas station, which had been closed down. The windows were broken out, and the small gas station had been looted. Adjacent to the Valero was Pollard Ford, and Holloway immediately grinned as he saw evidence that the advertisement didn’t lie.

  There were rows upon rows of shiny new Ford trucks facing forward and ready for acquisition. The dealership’s lot was surrounded by heavy-duty chain to discourage anyone from driving onto the property, not that Holloway intended to.

  Vehicular traffic was practically nonexistent, and only a few pedestrians milled about. The new homeless, as Holloway called them, who traveled from one closed business to another. Although the new homeless were not truly homeless, as they most likely lived in nearby Lakeridge Country Club or the prestigious Reserve at Ravenwood. They were dressed nicely in their Sheplers western wear and Tony Lama boots. Even the red Target shopping carts they pushed gave them an air of superiority over their truly homeless counterparts, who opted for the smaller Dollar General models. Hungry and desperate was a common thread the homeless, new and old, shared.

  One thing was certain, nobody was in the market for a ridiculously priced sixty-nine-thousand-dollar pickup truck, except Holloway, of course.

  They spent thirty minutes watching for a security guard to patrol the perimeter of the car dealership. A single guard, wearing his Sentry Associates uniform, drove between the rows of vehicles in an E-Z-GO golf cart. He only appeared once before disappearing to the rear of the building near the repair shop.

  Holloway dispatched his men one at a time to take up positions around the building. He donned an eye patch, which he rarely used except on those rare occasions he needed to look respectable. He topped off his façade with a cowboy hat found in the home in Patricia that he’d taken for his own.

  Once the men were in place, Holloway approached the plate-glass doors at the front entrance of Pollard Ford. He cupped his eye and looked through the windows into the showroom. There was no movement of any kind.

  He pounded on the door, hoping to get someone’s attention. If they opened the door, his task would be made easier and more sly. He’d slit the throat of the unsuspecting fool who gave him access.

  Nobody responded. He pounded again, this time with a little more force. If they didn’t answer, that was fine because he knew they were in the rear of the building, where a gunshot could be masked.

  Again, there was no answer, so Holloway walked through an open breezeway connecting the showroom with the repair shop intake center. When he rounded the corner, he found the security guard leaning against the E-Z-GO, smoking a cigarette. Holloway quickly drew his sidearm and pointed it at the guard’s head.

  “Hello, friend,” said Holloway in a deep voice. Holloway’s imposing size caused the man to slide away and drop his cigarette. His right hand slid down toward his holster, which Holloway immediately noticed.

  “Not a good idea, pal,” growled Holloway as he used the barrel of his pistol to direct the man’s hand away from the butt of the pistol. “Whether I kill you depends on the answer to the next two questions. Do you understand?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have access to the keys to these trucks?”

  The older man nodded his head up and down.

  “Very good, Cletus,” said Holloway.

  “But my name isn’t—” stammered the old guy.

  “Cletus! I don’t care what your name is, old man. You’re Cletus today, got it!”

  The old man nodded his head up and down vigorously, then got weak in the knees.

  “Stand up!” shouted Holloway, and the old man regained his composure. Holloway lifted his right arm and circled his hand in the air. His operatives would pass the message down the line and be by his side in minutes. “Let’s go, Cletus. Open up for business, and we’ll get this over with quickly, fair enough?”

  Once his men were inside the dealership, Holloway located the lockbox that contained the keys to the new trucks. He had twelve men with him, and he planned on leaving with twelve new trucks. He sent two guys onto the lot to identify the dealer stock numbers for the trucks located in the inner row adjacent to the building. He also instructed them to get the number for the King Ranch special edition in gold that was parked next to the Texas flag.

  He devised a risky plan, which could work as long as the local law enforcement had more important things to do than investigate missing vehicles from a car lot. Holloway would pull the truck closest to the street over the sidewalk and onto the service road. The other eleven men would follow him in new trucks.

  Because they were only a few miles from the outskirts of town, they would park this first purchase order, as Holloway called it, and then pile into one truck and immediately make another run until they’d exhausted their window of opportunity. To expedite matters, they matched the keys with the vehicles to take on subsequent runs.

  Upon their return, it was simply a matter of jumping out of the back, choosing a truck, and heading out towards the Woodrow neighborhood where the other vehicles were stashed.

  Holloway knew that this might be the most important aspect of the preinvasion planning to assist Lee and his commandos. By obtaining several dozen vehicles for his commandos’ use, they could move into position on the western border and move swiftly from the chaos they created.

  “I think we’re ready,” said his lieutenant as the men gathered around. “Each guy has a truck assigned, and the backups are already identified too.”

  “Good work, gentlemen,” Holloway said with a smile. He accepted the keys to his new truck and began to walk toward the front door.

  His lieutenant called after him, “Whadya want me to do with the old guy?”

  “Take him in a back office and kill him,” replied Holloway.

  “Hey, I thought you said you wouldn’t kill me!”

  Holloway laughed. “I said I wouldn’t. I never said he wouldn’t. Sorry, Cletus.”

  Chapter 40

  January 9

  Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  The more hospitable weather enabled the members of the Armstrong Ranch to incorporate hunting into their weekly routine. Although the frequent trips into Lubbock had greatly increased their available meat supply, the Cryovac packaging enabled them to store the meat in favor of other readily available sources. Lucy and Major were beginning to think long term now as the prospects of food supplies dwindled and the threat of cattle confiscations loomed large.

  For the first hunt, Cooper and Riley led a group that consisted of Duncan, Palmer, and Sook. Each of them held the reins of a horse to carry their kills out of the valley on the east side of the ranch, where they’d hunt for the day.

  They made their way past their shooting range and into the woods adjacent to Lake J. B. Thomas. Once known for its deer hunting, the population had been decimated by a recent outbreak of epizootic hemorrhagic disease, which was transmitted by small flies.

  “How did it happen?” asked Duncan as they ambled along toward the flat ground ahead.

  Cooper provided an explanation. “Landowners along the lake would mow down their crop fields at the end of the growing season so the deer would come out into the fields. This past year, they noticed the deer didn’t come out as usual, and some of the guys began walking through the woods that border our property and the small farms. They found dozens of them lying dead throughout the woods.”

  “Flies carried the disease,” added Palmer.

  “Flies, midges, and mites,” said Riley, who explained further. “Hundreds of deer were killed off in our area alone. When Texas Parks and Wildlife were notified, they sent a whol
e team out here to capture the deer and treat them before they died. They relocated them to other parts of the state where the disease hadn’t shown up yet. Any deer that they missed died.”

  “Very sad,” said Sook.

  “Well, the good news is the disease does have an expiration date—the first frost,” said Cooper. “The midges, or no-see-ums, as we call them, can’t survive the freezing temperatures. The plan was to repopulate the woods with deer this spring, but I’m thinkin’ that’s not gonna happen.”

  They rode along as the group approached the trails that entered the woods. Ordinarily, they could hear four-wheelers running the trails or along the edge of the lake. Today, only the occasional red-tail hawk could be heard searching the ground for food. Unlike most birds, many raptors, including red-tails, did not migrate during the winter months. They didn’t necessarily stay in the same nest from year to year, but these woods appeared to be one of their favorite habitats.

  Riley changed the conversation. “After deer huntin’ season, we’d turn our attention to wild pigs. Especially in cold weather.”

  “Why in the cold?” asked Sook.

  “The cold weather causes the hogs to eat earlier in the day and consume more food,” started Riley in response. He was the most experienced hunter of the Armstrong siblings. “That exposes them longer because they come out to forage earlier and more often, giving us hunters a better chance.”

  “Here’s another thing,” added Palmer. “Most wild hogs breed in the spring or fall. They carry their baby pigs for just under four months, which means a lot of young pigs are weaned and competing with the older hogs for food. The competition is stiff, and the hogs tend to focus on food rather than safety.”

  “And we don’t have to quickly return to the ranch with our kill,” said Riley. “The meat won’t spoil as fast in this cold weather.”

  “Whoa,” said Cooper as he brought his horse to a stop. “Let’s tie off here and enter the woods at this point. If we follow these trails in, the underbrush gets thicker and heavier as we get closer to the muddy areas along the lake. The melting snow gives them soft ground to root around, but the dead brush in the winter gives us a longer line of sight.”