by Mark Rounds
“Rachel was very nice,” said Connor haltingly, “and a lot of fun, but she was more interested in soccer and horses than me. She was still a friend before … well, before. Anyway, with Amy, it's different. There are no games; we share all of our secrets. It's comfortable to just be in the same space and we don't even have to talk. I don't know, I’m all confused.”
“All pretty good points in your favor,” said Chad. “So is there any 'urgency' in this request?”
“You aren't going to be grandparents anytime soon if that’s what you mean,” said Connor, suddenly an exasperated teenager again. “But I want to know.”
“If you can, let this rest for a while,” said Chad, choosing his words carefully. “You have been in one tough scrape after another for the last two months. Sometimes people fall in love when in situations that tax them, only to find out that it was more the situation and not the individual. Am I making sense?”
“Lots, Dad,” said Connor. “There is no hurry. We can let it rest for a while. There is certainly enough to do. That brings me to the other question. I have been trying to work with the kids around here, you know, in Mom's garden and other stuff. I can't work a whole day because of the wound and all, but I try. Anyway, the kids here treat me funny.”
“Are they picking on you?” asked Chad. He was concerned that old habit patterns were reappearing.
“Just the opposite, dad,” said Connor. “I think they are afraid of me. Conversations stop when I walk by and people get out of my way, like I was royalty or something. Then there were the two guys who were fighting on one of the dorm floors. I walked in and told them to stop, and they backed up and both of them apologized to me. What's going on?”
“I think I get it,” said Chad, relaxing. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but how many gun fights have you been in?”
“I don't know, a half a dozen or so,” said Connor perplexed.
“At least that many, and I know you have the respect of your Uncle Dave and Sayla.”
“I haven't done much, and anyway, how would they know?”
“Son, this may seem strange but do you know who your biggest supporter around here is?”
“Who?” asked Connor.
“You sister, Fiona,” said Chad.
“Fiona? She is my sister and all, but normally, all she does is insult me.”
“To your face, sure,” said Chad. “But a couple of the girls have asked about you. She has told them in no uncertain terms how you saved everybody by fighting off flaming bikers with your baseball bat.”
“There was only one and that was because my hands were shaking so bad that I couldn't load the shotgun,” said Connor, looking at his shoes, “and then if hadn't been for Amy, and Fiona and Ginger firing at that guy, I would never have had time to gather my wits and get the bat.”
“Then there is your Uncle Dave,” said Chad, “who really appreciated your coolness as his spotter at the bridge when you took over as shooter when his rifle was fouled.”
“I didn't even hit anything!” said Connor exasperatedly.
“Dave tells the story differently,” said Chad. “When he is training some of the young recruits around here, he says that you were firing at the absolute maximum range of a sixty year-old rifle and you were getting hits close enough that the bad guys took cover and let Screwball live to see another day. Were you old enough, I bet Screwball would stand you to all the drinks you could hold. Then there is Sayla.”
“That guy scares me,” said Connor.
“He scares everyone,” said Chad, with a chuckle. “But he thinks you are a warrior. That is high praise in his culture. Even though he speaks very little, he has mentioned you to others. In one case, when one of the dorm residents was faking an injury to get out of some work, Sayla said he was, and I quote, 'a child looking to suckle at his mother's teat and if he wanted to see how a real man behaved when hurt, he should watch you.'
“Son, most of these guys were just college students before the Plague came. They were worried about homework, Netflix, pretty girls, and parties. Then the Plague came and they mostly hid here and were beaten into submission. They have really been pretty sheltered from some of the things you have seen.”
“They would have done the same things I did,” said Connor quietly, “if they had been where I was.”
“But they didn't,” said Chad with some pride, “you did. You sound like almost every combat veteran that I have ever heard speak. But I will put it to you plainly. In the last two months, you have grown up to be a fine young man. Someone I am very proud to call my son. They are still just college kids without much real life experience. To them, you are a bad ass.”
“Not me ...” said Connor. “They were doing all the things I wanted, going to college, playing sports ...”
“The world changed, son,” said Chad, interrupting. “You were challenged and didn't back down. The situation was different, but they see in you what they want to believe is in them. You are an example to them.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” said Chad. “In fact, Dave and I were talking. We are going to be bringing some of these young people into the militia. They are going to need leaders. Dave and I think you would make a fine young NCO. Think about it.”
July 3rd, Sunday, 11:47 pm PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID
Pullman Chief of Police Yates worked his way quietly up Paradise creek across the Idaho Washington border. The water flow down the creek had slowed dramatically over the last two days and people in Pullman were worried. Mayor Henderson’s monitors were keeping everyone in town, so no one had tried to check out the rumors he had heard about the students at the University of Idaho building a dam across the creek.
Since he didn’t want to get his officers who were watching the checkpoint on the Moscow/Pullman highway in trouble, he opted to sneak down the creek at night to see for himself. He crossed the border a couple hundred yards to the south of the highway and spent the better part of two hours working his way along the south side of the creek. He had passed the sewage treatment plant and there was a moderate amount of water leaving the clean water dump line, but almost no water beyond that, just a network of sloughs and sump holes with little water flowing.
As he closed on the University, there was a little more water in the channel, but almost no flow. If there was a dam, it was probably inside the campus. If he continued, he would have cover through the water treatment plant and he could stay among the buildings and fields of the experimental farm on the hill east of the creek and check it out pretty carefully, but after that, it crossed to the north of the athletic field and he would either be in the sparse cover right on the creek bank itself or well away from the creek and so might miss any low level structures.
Yates opted for prudence and stayed well to the south, using the darkened agricultural buildings and greenhouses for cover until he reached the creek. It was still running very low so he decided to penetrate deeper into the campus.
He continued east and just after he cleared the corner of the Wallace complex, noted several students moving around in the kitchen area working on the morning meal chores. They were working under the poor light shed by oil lamps that were smoking somewhat, a sign that they were using cooking oil for light. Yates looked over to the creek and the water levels were still very low. He would have to go deeper.
After some thought, he decided to detour around the northern side of the Rec center rather then get any closer to Theopholis Tower. There were already signs of movement in the building, and besides, this move would get him closer to the creek. He followed around the building, using the vegetation planted along the Chipman Trail for cover until he found what he was looking for. Just beyond the intersection of Line Street and Paradise Creek Street, there was a convenient concrete diversion area for the creek and at the head of that was a reasonably well-constructed dam. He was about to head back toward Pullman when a very large Bowie knife pressed gently against his neck.<
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“That’s far enough,” said Sayla.
“How long have you been tracking me?” asked Yates, chagrined that he had been caught and worried would they would do to him now.
“You slipped up crossing Stadium Way,” said Sayla.
“What are you going to do now,” asked Yates. “I am the Police Chief for Pullman and I will be missed if I am gone too long.”
“You will talk with Major Tippet,” said Sayla. “He is awake and on duty.”
“Why the heck are you up so early?” asked Yates with some irritation.
“Don’t sleep much,” said Sayla cryptically.
July 4th, Monday, 12:33 am PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID
“Chief Yates, I am sorry to have to meet like this,” said Dave Tippet leaning back in the office chair in his makeshift office. Chad and the Air Force Personnel from Fort Lewis had set up in the University Commons. It had the advantage of being centrally located on campus and some of the office caught the morning light so that they didn't have to work so much using smoky oil lamps.
“You have built a dam on Paradise Creek,” said Yates without a preamble. “Water is tight already and we don't have enough fuel to run our pumps to get water from the wells that Pullman citizens need. Are you just trying to provoke Henderson? This will give him ammo to vilify you even more.”
“First off, this wasn't an idea that came from this office,” said Dave. “It was the college kids in the dorms. They flat ran out of water. It's only been in place for thirty-six hours.”
“We have our own water problems, Major,” said Yates with some heat. “The fact that all the water in the creek now comes through your sewage treatment plant is causing more than a little distress among some Pullman residents. I am going to have to ask you to breach that dam.”
“We’re working on that,” said Dave. “We don't have the fuel resources you do and you have two other creeks coming into town that should buy you a little time. We need to pump the tanks full before we do that. Then there is the sewage problem you mentioned. In a week, maybe two, the settling ponds will be full. Then real sewage will be running in the creek. We need your help to stop it.”
“Shit,” said Chief Yates, and then in spite of himself, he laughed.
“You said it, not me,” said Dave grinning. “But anyway, back to the subject. You can either sneak back or we can give you a ride on horseback to the check point on the highway. We have no secrets about this, and we really do need your help.”
“How can we help you?” asked Chief Yates, who was visibly relieved that there were going to be no repercussions.
“Well,” said Dave, “before you closed the road, we had a couple of farmers from over by Waiawa come up to our Saturday Market, and they said they are still getting electricity from Lower Granite Dam.”
“Yeah, it’s not a secret,” said Yates. “We even tried to run a couple of high tension wires from there. But there are folks who cut the line and then demanded enormous 'rent' to run the lines on their land. Then there are roving bands like the one Pederson encountered. We don't have enough troops or resources to do enough patrolling and still secure Pullman. I only have about fifty police officers and a dozen reserves that have come in since the Plague. Henderson's monitors are useless. They don't venture far from town and they won't do perimeter duty. We would have to cover something like fifteen miles of open country to keep power on.”
“We do have the resources,” said Dave. “We have something like a full battalion of troops, plus our original National Guard engineering company and even some cavalry. But we can't cross the state line here without causing an incident. We would like to avoid that.”
“So would I,” said Yates. “Damn that Henderson! Look, we need to resolve this water thing now. I want to help but my hands are tied.”
“We are working on a short-term solution,” said Dave. “Bob Strickland and some engineering students have come up with a little generator that runs on canola oil. We have a small supply and after the rapeseed harvest we will have more. We can pump the tanks full once. We are going through all the closed restaurants in town and gathering their used grease but even so, it is just short-term. We need that power. What do you need to get on Henderson, to have a credible reason to take him out of office, and if you did, who would be in charge in his place?”
“We would need real evidence that he was involved in serious crime,” said Yates after a minute’s thought. “It would have to be Slash abuse, or misuse of his office. As to who would be in charge, probably the chairman of the city council until we could have an election.
“Trouble is, except for a couple of undercover officers that are really just college kids we recruited after the Plague started, all my guys are on the perimeter.
“Heck, there was an attempted burglary at my place that might have even been a hit for all I know. Anyway, I had hardly sat the boy down to interrogate him when Henderson shows up with his monitors and a tame judge. While I stalled, my guys hustled him out the back. I have him in a safe house now. We need to get him away from Pullman or he is dead meat. Henderson has upped the tasking on my police so that he will know the second I try to move the kid out of town. I can't get at Henderson or get the boy out of town.”
“I can,” said Sayla.
Both Yates and Dave were startled by Sayla's voice. He was so silent that they had forgotten he was in the room.
“OK,” said Dave, “let's the three of us talk about this while we walk you back to the check-point.”
Chapter 19
July 4th, Monday, 8:54 am PDT
Main Street, Moscow ID
It was the 4th of July, and at least in Moscow, there was no parade. Fuel was too dear for floats. Food was too dear for a picnic. There was no band, for the musicians were scattered far and wide. But on this day a lone man in an old uniform walked, straight and proud, to Friendship Square. The uniform was that of a Marine Corps Sergeant and it fit snugly in places where it once was loose, but the man inside was still Harold Gibson, a veteran of Khe Sanh and later, Saigon during the Tet Offensive.
He took a place near the fountain and began reading the Declaration of Independence in a clear voice. One by one, people began to gather and listen to him and he continued, until the end.
“If we have learned one thing,” said Gibson after he had finished, “from our forefathers is that from time to time, the tree of liberty and freedom must be watered with the blood of patriots and tyrants. There are people who would use this Plague to subjugate, not only the people of the United States of America, but of the entire world. Americans rose up and buried their differences once to defend their liberty from a tyrant across the sea. We are again besieged by a distant enemy. It is my hope and prayer that we can do so again. So, if they will have me, at seventy one, I will again volunteer to defend my country and my way of life. If anyone here would like to join me, I'll stand you to a beer after we are sworn in.”
July 5th, Sunday, 6:54 am PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID
“So explain why it was so important to have Capt Nixon wake me up,” asked a slightly groggy Maj Gen Antonopoulos. “I was up all night dealing with two colonels who couldn't make a simple decision. I was just lying down for a power nap when you called. I hope that this isn't more of the same.”
“Sir, we have good intel from Spokane,” said Dave, who decided to go straight to the issue rather than deal up-front with Gen Antonopoulos' bad mood. “We have reason to believe that Macklin is there and raising a force again to hit us.”
“We knew he was in Spokane,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “I suppose that is what they use him for, so why is it so important that I know now?”
“Previously, he raised a gang of fifty to one hundred dirt-bags to be his muscle for things like this,” said Dave. “They were armed with miscellaneous weapons, had little training, communications gear, or unit control. What he is raising this time looks for all the world like
an infantry battalion. They have heavy weapons, a chain of command, a comm net, MRAPS, and a logistics tail. I don’t think we can count on the opposition to be amateurish and ill-armed anymore. The stakes just got higher.”
“So what makes you think this Nergüi character is going to use it against you?” asked Gen Antonopoulos, who was suddenly wide awake.
“Macklin confirmed as much to our agent, sir,” said Dave. “He said that Nergüi kept things pretty close to his chest, but he keeps jonesing for the Stricklands and Amber. He has made four or five runs at it already. I don’t think he is that innovative to change up his attack unless you beat him over the head with a crowbar.”
“Let’s assume for a moment that he does try to hit you,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “What kind of shape are you in?”
“Moscow is pretty strong,” said Dave, “though we are lacking in heavy weapons, aside from a few machine guns that are here for training. We do have a lot of shooters and they are reasonably well armed. We would probably get more when they head our way as local farmers flee ahead of Macklin and join us.
“Pullman is not so hot,” said Dave. “They have fifty or so police and maybe the same number of monitors, and no one trusts anyone over there.”
“You haven't been successful then in testing Henderson?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.
“Sir, that would be playing into his hand,” said Dave. “We have some issues here. First, a lot of folks on both sides of the state line think the Government abandoned them.”
“Well, frankly, we did,” said Gen Antonopoulos ruefully. “It was all we could do to survive ourselves.”
“Henderson has played that to his advantage,” said Dave, “We also have another problem, water. The local creek is running low and all the wells need electricity to pump. The students took matters into their own hands, frankly with our help, and dammed the stream. We also have a sewage plant that is about to overflow into said stream.”