Turning Point (Book 1): A Time To Die

by Wandrey, Mark

  “Are we ready to switch over power?” he yelled as he reset the router, curious if that might help. He took a sip of fresh coffee and glanced out a window. It was a spectacular Texas morning, the sky to the east glowed in startling shades of red and yellow. What had his dad said about red sky in the morning? He couldn’t remember and shrugged.

  “Yes, Vance!” Ann yelled back. “Just like the first four times you asked.”

  He mumbled thanks she’d never hear in the other room over the sound of the grinder. She was busily turning eight five-pound tubes of ground beef into stew, which they would put in the cavernous deep freeze located almost 20 feet underground. They had turned the old root cellar into a sort of bunker, deep enough underground that even in the middle of a San Antonio summer, it never got above 65. Running on energy from their extensive solar farm, the freezers were the first to get power and the last to shut down. Even then, they were so cold, the stuff inside would remain frozen for almost a week. He’d checked once.

  “The Prices are here,” Ann called out a moment before Lexus went braying through the middle of the house. It was even money who’d notice an intruder first, his fiancée or his dog.

  Vance brought up the webcam on his computer screen. Scattered around the property were dozens of webcams, all sending signals to a location at the opposite corner of the 40-acre compound. From there, a buried cable brought the pictures to the house. He could see the tall, lanky form of Tim Price walking back from his car to close the steel gate behind him. Made from two-inch well pipe, that gate would stop a Humvee going 70 mph. The security system hadn’t notified him of their arrival because Tim knew the codes. The two of them conceived the retreat, then they had built it over the last 20 years.

  Vance keyed the remote speaker on the gate. “Hurry up, things are getting hot.” His voice blared over the speaker and made Tim jump in surprise. When Vance finished speaking, Tim waved and jumped back into his early-model Jeep. It had an enclosed cargo trailer in tow and was low on its shocks, likely stuffed to the roof with last-minute preps. Tim took this as seriously as Vance did.

  He flipped cameras to see Tim closing the cloth door on the Jeep, and zoomed the camera in. The man looked determined; the woman looked worried. They exchanged brief words, and she nodded in reply as he restarted the Jeep. That was when Vance noticed they weren’t alone. “What the fuck?” he wondered as he saw another couple in the back seat, crowded in with the Price’s pair of German Shepherds.

  He jumped out of his office chair, ran down the stairs, and opened the front door as the Jeep pulled into view. One look at the expression on Vance’s face, and Tim quickly hopped out of the car, hands held up to forestall what he knew was coming. “I know, Vance, I know…”

  “Tim, seriously, what the fuck?”

  Tim’s two dogs, Rock and Dewey, wiggled between the front seats and leaped out the door, barking and prancing like excited puppies. Ann opened the front door, and Lexus bounded out. In a moment all three dogs were spinning around, yipping and mock fighting. Fun, fun, fun. They were all the same age and had grown up together on the weekends as their masters built the retreat. “Hi Tim,” Ann waved.

  “Ann,” Tim nodded.

  Nicole climbed out of the passenger seat, releasing it to slide forward. Ann’s expression turned serious when she saw the first of the two newcomers climb out. Vance let a hand fall to the pistol on his hip. Tim didn’t fail to notice the movement, his jaw setting in determination.

  “Vance, this is Harry,” Tim said as the man finished unfolding from the back seat. He was about average height but slightly overweight, and he wore ACU camos and a Marine Corps ball cap. He also had a large-framed automatic on his hip. The woman was tiny, maybe five feet, probably less, with an enormous bosom. She wore the same type of clothes, but carried a revolver in a shoulder holster instead. “Harry and Belinda Ross. You know them from the Tex Prep list.”

  “We’ve talked but never met. What I don’t understand is why they’re here. We had an ironclad agreement, Tim.”

  “I know, but this is bigger than an EMP attack or a government collapse,” Tim explained. “Harry was a Marine, and his wife is a physician’s assistant.” He gestured at their vehicle, and for the first time Vance noticed that the safari rack over the top was also laden with packages. “You know they’re preppers like us, and we brought just about all their stuff.”

  “Vance,” Harry said, and came up to shake his hand. Vance looked at it for a moment then took it. “I know this is irregular. But our place is south of here, and I know you are aware of what’s going on in Mexico.”

  “Not all of it,” Vance admitted. He looked at the trailer. “You bring your guns?”

  “You know it,” Harry said, then trotted back to the trailer. “I want to offer something in exchange for the space we’ll use.”

  “And water,” Vance reminded him, “we didn’t build with six people in mind.”

  Harry was opening the trailer; he stopped and nodded. “I brought some water, but of course it takes up a lot of space.” Belinda didn’t want to look at Vance, and he could tell Harry was nervous. He finished opening the trailer and took out a gun case. It was huge.

  “What is it?” Vance asked as the man came up the steps and put it before him like an offering.

  “Open it up.”

  Vance knelt and released the locks, swinging the case open. Inside was a Barrett M82 .50 BMG rifle. Two seven-round magazines rested in the custom foam inset and a line of the huge bullets sat next to them. Mounted on top of the rifle was a nine-power variable Leupold scope. “Holy shit,” Vance coughed, a huge grin coming to his face. “This is too much,” he complained.

  “No, it’s not. And I have two more. I do gun reviews for magazines. That was a comp from Barrett. I’ll come clean; that’s the oldest of my three and not the coolest.”

  “Wow,” Vance said, laughing. Tim came up and smacked him on the back, and the two laughed. “Tim, why didn’t you just call?”

  “I think the government is monitoring the cell phones.”

  Vance stood, the gun temporarily forgotten. “Why?”

  “We passed two military units setting up at rest stops along the freeway,” Tim said.

  “Classic place for a checkpoint,” Harry told him, “we did it all the time in the ‘Stan.”

  “Hellfire,” Vance said. Belinda and Ann were meeting, a little handshake then a hug. He wasn’t worried about that. Ann was good with all kinds of people. “Monitoring the cell phones would be the next step,” he agreed, and the two other men nodded their heads.

  Belinda and Ann walked to the back of the trailer and began unloading bags and boxes marked with a red cross. There were a lot. Vance thought back to what Tim had said. Physician’s assistant. “She’s really a PA?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Harry said. “She was working trauma at San Antonio General, and she’s been thinking of going for her MD.”

  “That means she can write prescriptions,” Tim reminded his friend.

  Vance nodded. “Won’t do us any good out here, though.”

  “We’ve been filling scripts for a week,” Belinda said, coming up with a Plano tackle box. She popped it open and Vance could see the interior compartments were all carefully labeled, each one holding a large pill case, all full. “Once we were sure the shit was hitting the fan, we started. If we are wrong, I’m probably going to jail.” Vance nodded in appreciation. He was no doctor, but he’d had a bit of training as had Ann, Tim, and Nicole. Nicole was the group’s medic. Belinda was one step from a doctor. He recognized a lot of very valuable and very controlled substances in that box. It was quickly becoming a no-brainer. Especially when he thought about Ann’s…condition.

  “You don’t mind my being in charge?”

  “I was a sergeant,” Harry said. “Been taking orders my whole life.”

  “I’m not a captain or anything,” Vance said, holding up his hands. “I’m just the senior member of the group.”

&nb
sp; “Like I told you on the way out,” Tim said, “Vance started it all and this is his property. Sometimes someone needs to be in charge, and we both agreed it’s him.”

  “Can I speak up if the situation calls for it?”

  “You have combat experience?”

  Harry smirked. It was a look he’d seen before on his vet friends. “I’m no REMF,” he said, short for Rear Echelon Mother Fucker. “Combat logistics was my specialty, but I’ve been in over a dozen battles and was pressed into action for house-to-house more than once because I have good instincts.” He rolled up his left sleeve and showed a line of nasty scar tissue. “AK-47,” he said, “guy was hiding under the bed. Gun jammed after the first round or I’d be dead. It severed a couple of nerves, so I have some reduced mobility. Luckily it was my left, so I can still shoot good, but the Corps sent me home.”

  Vance nodded and looked from Tim to Harry. He’d been hopping mad when Harry came out, figuring Tim had brought some needy friend or relative. He felt kind of bad now, considering these people were almost a dream come true. He turned to Belinda. “Have you ever done maternity?” he felt Ann tense.

  “Not my specialty, but if you’re asking if I’ve delivered babies or assisted, yeah. A couple dozen. And I have just about every medical text that’s ever been published on Adobe.”

  “Then we have something to admit as well,” he said and turned to Ann.

  She looked nervous, but he nodded and indicated for her to continue. “We’re pregnant,” she admitted.

  Nicole put her hands to her mouth and squealed, instantly sweeping her friend into a huge hug. In moments, they were laughing and crying at the same time. Belinda congratulated her and joined in the display. The men looked at each other and shook their heads. Women.

  “Congrats, bro!” Tim said, and slapped him on the back. Harry surprised Vance by producing a plastic case that held cigars. Really good ones.

  “This and whiskey are my only vices,” he admitted.

  “And fine vices they are!” Vance said, helping himself. In a moment the men were puffing stinky cigars and getting baleful looks from the women retreating upwind. Men.

  “So, what do you say?” Tim asked around the cigar.

  “I’ve never been a man to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Vance said. He held out a hand to Harry. “Of course, you can stay.” They shook hands warmly. Vance noted the grip was strong and sure, calluses covering the hands. “But I can’t take the gun, that wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Fair my ass,” Harry roared, then laughed. “Tim said he’d put about $50,000 into this place since you guys started out. That gun is worth about $10,000. Consider it a down payment. If the shit doesn’t hit the fan, we can sell it to post bail for Belinda.”

  “Done,” Vance said. “Welcome to The Retreat.”

  Inside the house, the women made breakfast while Tim and Vance showed Harry all The Retreat’s systems. The armory and its armored walls doubled as a last-ditch safe room. “The tunnel goes down three meters and almost 200 meters east before it emerges behind a little hill. Cost us a pretty penny to get it finished.” Harry nodded in appreciation of the designs of both the armory and the escape tunnel. Rifle racks full of ARs, hunting rifles, and shotguns, all organized by caliber and purpose, lined the walls. Harry carefully took down a Remington 700 and admired the scope. It was the same model of Leupold as was on the Barrett he’d just bartered to Vance.

  Vance was looking at the walls with an eye toward incorporating both his new Barrett and all the guns Harry had brought. On the other side of the room was the ammo magazine. Stacked by caliber and purpose were dozens and dozens of metal and plastic ammo cans. The wall at the back of the room held a long bench covered with reloading gear. Steel lockers held powder, bullets, and primers. “Damned fine setup,” Harry nodded.

  “We never did get that last order of powder,” Vance told Tim.

  “Shit, that sucks. How much was left?”

  “After that shoot we had in February, we have about two hundred.”

  “Pounds?” Harry asked.

  “No,” Vance laughed, “two hundred cans.” He opened one of the powder lockers to show it filled from top to bottom with five-pound cans of various types of rifle powder. “We’re down twenty-five cans.”

  “I have to ask, Vance,” Harry said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “This is awesome, but isn’t it overkill for four people?”

  “We plan to help rebuild after the collapse,” Vance said. “We have enough supplies to load about five million rounds of most types. That might seem like a lot, but you have to realize there are about a thousand families within twenty miles of us. Most are farmers. If a quarter of them survive, that’s two hundred and fifty families, or around twelve hundred people. That’s only a couple thousand rounds each.”

  Harry nodded, understanding. “Forward thinking of you. I like it.”

  They finished in Vance’s office, showing Harry the huge wall of LCD monitors configured to display live video from any of the dozens of cameras all over the property. Tim showed him the high-resolution relief map of the property, and the Marine studied it with an eye toward tactics. “I’d put an observation post up here, at the crest of that hill, and another over here by this dry stream bed.”

  “We have an observation post on the hill,” Vance admitted, “but not by the creek bed.” He looked at the location where the property swept away toward the desert. “Why there?”

  “Well, if I knew you were dug in here, the way the house is cut into this hill, I’d consider taking the long way across the desert.”

  “That’s a couple miles to the road,” Tim pointed out.

  Harry shrugged. “If it meant not getting my ass shot off by that sniper point you have up on the third floor, I’d walk the damned desert and come in on you from behind.”

  Both Tim and Vance examined the map and considered. Tim finally spoke. “Well, Harry, I admit we didn’t think of that.”

  “Yep,” Vance agreed. “You mind helping us start on that new observation post this afternoon? We have the sand bags in storage.”

  “Not at all,” the marine said and flexed his hands. He grabbed his slight paunch and shook it. “Hell, the old lady’s been saying I need to lose the gut anyway.”

  “The hell I have,” Belinda laughed as the women arrived with plates full of steaming food.

  “You boys done with your pissing contest and ready for some chow?” Ann asked.

  “You betcha!” Vance agreed, and everyone set to eating.

  The office was crowded with six people in it, especially when the three dogs magically appeared as soon as they smelled food, but everyone managed. Vance told the women about Harry’s observation on the vulnerability, and that they were going to build the new observation post that afternoon.

  “We’re going to get all of Harry’s and Belinda’s gear integrated into ours,” Ann said, “and I’m going to remake the rec room into a bedroom. Will that work?”

  Vance considered, then nodded. He would miss the foosball table, but it wasn’t fair to ask a married couple to sleep on the couch. It was already apparent they would be pulling their fair share. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “We really appreciate this,” Belinda said, the relief on her face apparent.

  “No problem,” Ann replied, and the two hugged.

  “Oh God, they’re all going to start crying again,” Tim moaned. Nicole threw a biscuit at him, and that was that.

  “Those eggs were great, by the way,” Harry said.

  “Should be, we have a dozen chickens outside laying them,” Vance told him.

  “And a small herd of goats we let free-range the property,” Ann added.

  “It’s supposed to be the damned dog’s job to watch the goats,” Vance said, and hooked a thumb at Lexus. The Doberman mix was instantly alert, keenly aware not all the plates were empty yet. Giving in, Vance tossed a piece of bacon, and Lexus snatched it expertly out of the air. Rock a
nd Dewey gave their masters mournful looks, and Tim threw them each something, too. Harry reached over and scratched Dewey behind the ear, and the Shepherd almost smiled as it chewed. Vance was glad to see the Rosses getting along with the dogs.

  Vance’s computer chimed, the sound of a Facebook instant message arriving, and he turned to see who it was. As soon as his friend arrived with their new members, Vance had switched off the cellular connection and moved the house Internet over to their DSL. It was less secure overall, but if someone was intercepting the cell signals, it was the only option. When the problems he’d been having instantly went away, it was further confirmation.

  He only kept a low-profile account on Facebook. Unlike his public prepper face, this account was for the few close friends who knew where The Retreat was and who he’d met in person. Harry hadn’t been in that circle, until now. The message was from a guy he only knew as Snapshot. Vance had met him several years before and was surprised at how well-connected he was within the government. He knew about all kinds of contingency plans and FEMA shelter locations. More important, he had contacts within the military intelligence circle. Vance had carefully cultivated him as a contact for years before finally meeting him in person. He’d turned out to be a little guy, not much taller than Belinda, and he didn’t have many people skills. He’d proven several times he was the real deal, though.

  “Vance, you there?” the chat asked.

  “What’s up, Snap?”

  “Tim and Nicole make it to your bugout site?”

  “How’d you know we were bugging out?” Vance asked.

  “Dude, everyone is bugging out. So, they make it?”

  “Yeah, and they brought friends,” he admitted, then told them who.

  “Surprising, but good choice. Ex-Force Recon Marine, two tours in the ‘Stan. He could have been an operator, but didn’t like being in the shit that much. Got wounded, if I remember right, and retired.”

  Once again, Snapshot proved knowledgeable. Vance added a little. “His wife is a PA.”

  “Bonus!” Snapshot typed, then paused. “I bumped you to warn you, the shit just got real.”