Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2

by D W McAliley

  "My father served for twenty four years," Marcus said as he pointed to the coin in the Captain's hand. "That was his unit. He gave it to me when I graduated from college and went to work for the government."

  Impressed, Captain Withers looked at the coin and then tried to hand it back, but Marcus shook his head and refused. "You hold onto it for now," he said and shook the Captain's hand firmly. "I'll be back for it. You keep yourself whole, Captain."

  Captain Withers nodded and passed orders among his men to get the work done. In less than an hour, the Blackhawk was flight ready. The two men shook hands again, but neither had any words that seemed to fit the moment. The pilot cranked the engines and throttled up the rotors, and in a matter of moments, they were airborne, headed west.

  Behind them, the eastern horizon showed the first pearly-grey touches of dawn.

  Ch.13

  First Light

  The eastern sky along the edge of the horizon began to change from a deep, dark black to a light blue. The stars overhead faded, and Mike stretched and yawned hard enough to make his jaw creak. He gently nudged Alyssa's foot, and the woman groaned in her sleep. He nudged her again, and she seemed to whimper. Finally, Mike firmly shook her leg, and Alyssa sat bolt upright with a sudden yelp.

  Mike held his hand up in apology. "You're a hard sleeper," he said sheepishly. "Listen, the sun will be up in a few hours, and we can get moving again. I'm going to sleep until then, if that's okay with you, your friggin highness."

  Alyssa stuck her tongue out at him and rolled out of the shelter anyway. Mike handed her the flashlight, and she pulled the pistol from under her cedar pillow and held it in her lap. Mike shook his head, not quite sure what to make of the woman still. At times she seemed as fragile as blown glass, and other times she was tough enough to eat nails.

  He climbed into the lean-to and set the rifle where he'd be able to reach it easily. He took his wrist watch off and put it over his shoe. The watch itself was dead, but it still had a bubble compass on the face that worked just fine. He pointed to the watch and looked at Alyssa. "Listen, when you can read the words on the face and the letters on the compass without the flashlight, wake me up. Won't be sunrise quite yet, but close enough."

  Alyssa nodded somewhat sullenly and rubbed at her eyes a bit before yawning again. "I hear you. I'll stay awake."

  Mike laughed. "I'm more worried about you running off, to tell you the truth. If you do decide to run, just go ahead and shoot me first. That'll save your sister the trouble when I come back empty handed." He turned on his side and nonchalantly stretched out on the warm bed of evergreen boughs.

  "Wait, uh...what?" Alyssa babbled, her voice still a little groggy from sleep. She couldn't tell if Mike had been joking or not. She waited, but got no response from the Ranger. After a moment, she nudged his foot gently with her toe, and he snorted a short snore before growing quiet again.

  Alyssa took a deep breath and tried to find a way to sit that was just comfortable enough not to be painful, but uncomfortable enough to keep her awake. Finally, she settled on standing instead. She checked the ground for any hidden stones or sharp stumps lurking just beneath the leaf litter but found none. Satisfied with her post, she leaned against one of the gnarled oaks surrounding their small camp.

  At least this way, if she fell asleep, the fall would wake her. Alyssa settled in to watch and wait as twilight crept toward dawn.

  Ch.14

  Coming Home

  The sky was gray, with a hint of light pink on the underside of the low cloud bank. It had almost stormed late in the night, but the thunder and lightning passed them to the north. A few scattered hints of rain carried on the wind were all they'd really seen. Dawn was still a few hours away, and Eric leaned on an old pine stump. They'd buried the guns five steps down slope and three steps to the right of the stump in the hollow of an even older wind fall. Each package was wrapped in four sealed layers of trash bags and sheet plastic and then secured with duct tape.

  Joe wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead and handed Eric the trench tool to break down and secure for travel. He looked at Oscar and Justin for a moment and was struck by how similar they looked now that he knew the connection. He handed each of them a bottle of water from his pack, leaving only two for the trip home. Still, the young men had earned it.

  "Listen, you're going to have to keep an eye on Brant," Joe said as the two brothers guzzled their water. "He's still in shock from everything, and I don't know what will happen when it finally sinks in all the way. He's tough, but this is going to be difficult to take. And whatever else y'all decide to do, please move your tent down here. You're set back a ways from the highway as it is, but it's all open pasture between where the house stood and the road. You're still pretty visible, and that fire was definitely noticeable from a distance."

  "Aren't you going to come say goodbye?" Oscar asked. He screwed the top back on his half-full bottle of water and stuck it in his back pocket. Justin did the same, and Joe made a mental note of it.

  "No," Joe said, shaking his head, "I don't think so. Brant knows where we live, and I already said what needed to be said. If he decides to come, you tell him to take the highway. It'll be quicker and I don't want to risk someone following your trail to our back door."

  Joe shook their hands one more time and then started off through the undergrowth toward the river. Eric paused and shook hands with the brothers, then turned and trotted down slope to catch up to his father. They walked in silence for a time through an eerie bluish-gray haze that seemed to seep up out of the moist ground and fill the river bottom with thin wisps of fog. Finally, Eric broke the silence between them.

  "I don't think we should tell the others what happened," Eric said hesitantly. "At least not all of it, not about Brant's parents. It just doesn't feel right to me. That's Brant's story, and he needs to be the one to tell it...or not.... as he chooses."

  Joe looked over at his son for a moment, and then nodded in agreement. "I think you're right, son. We'll just tell them we saw Brant, he's okay, and hopefully we'll see him in three days."

  "What if he decides not to come?" Eric asked after a moment.

  "His call, son," Joe replied with a small shrug. "We can't force him to come shelter with us. Honestly, we've got enough as it is, but we could use his cattle down the road. Either way, we're going to need a more stable food source than hunting squirrels and deer and fishing the river. Your friend just inherited a little more than three hundred head of cattle and about four hundred and fifty acres of pasture, Eric. That makes him about the richest person in this part of the county, now."

  Eric frowned and suddenly felt a little queasy to his stomach. "Wait a minute," he growled. "So you just offered Brant shelter so you could get his cattle from him? Isn't that a little shady, Dad?"

  Joe snorted, "Yeah, it would be, but that's not why I did it and you should know that, son. I'd have offered him shelter no matter what he had or didn't have. It's just the right thing to do. There's going to come a time when I can't take any more people in. I'll have to start telling them no, and that's going to lead to blood. But we ain't there yet...not quite...so no, it wasn't because of his cattle. But I hope if he takes us up on the offer that he'll be smart enough to see that he's going to need help with the cows and give us a share to provide him that help and security."

  Eric mulled over Joe's answer. It still felt a little like selling help to a friend in return for something they probably wouldn't have offered any other time. The fact was, though, the group at the farm was already large, and they were tough to feed. So far, the stock in the freezers and smoke house, the wild game and fish had been enough to provide for them, but that couldn't hold out forever.

  Joe was right; like it or not, they needed Brant's cattle.

  "What if he doesn't come to us for help?" Eric asked.

  Joe was quiet for a moment as they pushed their way through the fog and the briars along the river bank. Eric was beginning to wonder if his fa
ther had heard him at all, when finally Joe sighed and shrugged. "I guess we'll have to try and figure out some other way to get some domestic livestock. We can always try and buy some of Brant's cows."

  "And if he doesn't feel like selling?" Eric shot back.

  Joe shook his head firmly. "I'll only go down the 'what-if' road for so long before it's time to turn around and come back to what is, son."

  Eric snorted hard. "I'm not ten anymore, Dad. I know that means you just don't want to tell me."

  Joe smiled and gave Eric a wink. "Good," he answered. "That saves me from having to explain it to you. Now let's go; I want to get home before sunrise."

  Joe picked up the pace, and Eric had no choice but to follow. They were moving too fast to speak, but Eric's mind still spun around the idea of Brant and his cattle. All he and Brant had talked about through high school and the first few years of college was getting away from this pit of a county in the middle of nowhere. More than once, Brant had told him that he didn't want to grow old smelling cow manure on the wind. Yet, here they both were, back in the middle of that thick stench again, but this time it felt like home.

  Joe pushed hard and managed to stay far enough ahead of Eric that conversation was impossible. By the time they reached the upper rows of the vineyard at Nanny and Granddaddy's house, they both were more winded than they were ready to let on. So they slowed and took some time to lean against the waist-thick grape vines that spread out across steel cables that were strung between poles. The poles were buried with half of their twelve-foot length in the soil to provide support for the massive old vines. Some of the trunks had been there for over six decades, and they still produced every single year. It was too early for the grapes to turn their soft shades of gold and purple that would mean they were ready to eat, but they were still thick on the vines. Joe hoped that they would be able to find sugar before the grapes spoiled so Nanny could work her magic on them and make her blue ribbon jelly and smooth, sweet wine.

  "Dad," Eric said, jolting Joe out of his reverie, "I'm not gonna steal the cattle from Brant. Whatever he decides, they're his cows, and we just don't have a right. Whatever else happens, I won't start stealing from people."

  Joe regarded his son for quite some time before venturing a response. "I hope it never comes to that, son, I really do. I don't want to steal from Brant anymore than you do. But I tell you this, I will do whatever it takes to keep this family and the people under my protection alive. We're going to survive. Period. That's my answer to this. I don't know what your answer is, but you'd better find out. One day soon, you're going to find yourself in a situation where you have to make that decision. But until you do, you do as I say because I've already made it."

  Eric met his dad's steady gaze and nodded slowly.

  "Good," Joe said as he reached over and patted Eric on his shoulder. "You'd better head inside and get a few hours of rest. There's a lot we need to get done tomorrow, and you're going to need all of the energy you can muster."

  Once on his feet, Eric stifled a yawn and the urge to take a nap right where he was. As he passed Joe, he paused and squeezed his father's shoulder. "Thanks for doing this." he said softly, and then he was gone.

  Joe sat for a long moment, then climbed slowly and painfully to his feet. His legs were already beginning to knot up and cramp from the unexpected use. He punished them harshly these days, and the past week of action had taken its toll.

  Instead of heading to the farmhouse, Joe went to the edge of the vineyard and leaned against one of the half-posts. He looked out over the solar array and the broad field beyond. A low layer of misty-white fog clung to the ground and looked almost like snow in the growing pre-dawn light. Joe snorted a short laugh at the thought of winter weather. The nearest snow was still a good four, if not five months away, if they got any at all this year.

  Joe would be happy to make it through the next five days.

  Ch.15

  Rise and Shine

  Mike woke slowly, though he tried his best not to. The sound of birds became too loud to ignore, and he could feel the heat of the sun behind the glow on his eyelids.

  Mike blinked, suddenly alert.

  Sunrise?

  Mike concentrated and forced himself to take carefully measured, slow breaths and pretend to still be asleep. His ears strained for any sound or voice as he mentally checked himself for unexpected pains or numbness. His heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to figure out how and why he had slept so long that the angled rays of the sun, now fully above the horizon, were cutting through the trees and shining on his face. Suddenly, outside the small lean-to, Mike heard the loud snort of someone snoring loudly in a deep sleep.

  Mike took a long, slow breath to calm himself, and he listened once more for any other sound. Thankfully, he heard nothing save the rhythmic sound of snoring that had first caught his attention. He sat up slowly, and quietly scanned the area he could see from his bed of evergreen limbs. Nothing moved in the woods except for a handful of squirrels and dozens of birds. It was darker out among the tree trunks than it had seemed at first. One of only a few visible shafts of light just happened to have fallen on Mike's face for long enough to rouse him from the blackness of dreamless, exhausted sleep that had engulfed him.

  Just to be on the safe side, Mike pulled the M-4 out with him as he rolled from underneath the lean-to. He stood slowly, keeping an eye on the woods around him. After completing a wide, slow circuit of the camp, Mike was satisfied that no one had been anywhere near them in the early morning hours since he'd passed off the watch to Alyssa.

  As Mike circled back around to their makeshift camp, he could hear her rattling snore far before he could see her. Mike suppressed a chuckle and worked his way close enough to get a look at her as she slept propped in between two small maple trees. Her legs were crossed underneath her, and her pistol was resting in her lap close to both hands.

  Suddenly, Mike didn't find the prospect of having to wake Alyssa up nearly as humorous. If she spooked easily, the gun in her lap could take things from interesting to deadly in a heartbeat. Yet, he couldn't let her sleep. She was much too loud; anyone passing within a reasonable distance could certainly hear her. Mike considered the problem carefully for a moment and decided his best bet was to put at least a small tree between them and then call her from a distance.

  Mike found a sizeable pine that would offer him cover in case Alyssa pulled the trigger before she recognized him. He took a deep breath and called, "Alyssa!" Then louder, "Alyssa!" The woman grumbled something, shifted her weight a bit, but she didn't wake. Finally, Mike shouted, "ALYSSA!"

  Alyssa bolted straight up with a startled yelp. The pistol was instantly in her hands, and she peered through the shadows in Mike's direction. Mike stuck both hands out from behind the tree. "Alyssa, it's me, Mike! Don't shoot, okay? You dozed off and I had to wake you up, but no sense catching a bullet for it."

  "Let me see you!" Alyssa called in response, a tense edge of uncertainty on her voice.

  Mike stepped slowly out from behind the pine tree and breathed a sigh of relief when Alyssa immediately lowered the gun. Despite her hardened facade, Alyssa somehow managed to turn a deep shade of crimson as her embarrassment crept up her neck and flushed her face. Mike felt his own face start to flush, and he started to speak to break the silence, but she beat him to it.

  "I must have just rested my eyes for a minute," Alyssa stammered sheepishly. "Maybe I lost track of time or something, I'm not sure. How long were you awake?"

  Mike shook his head, thankful that the awkward moment had passed. "Doesn't matter," he replied. "That's why I took the first watch anyway. We're much more likely to get hit early in the night than closer to sunrise, so I wanted to be alert in case someone tried it. I kind of thought you might....doze off.....on your watch anyway."

  "You did, did you?" Alyssa asked in a deceptively soft, but biting tone.

  Mike shrugged. "Was I wrong?"

  Alyssa grumbled at Mike's unsp
oken accusation, but she didn't offer any immediate retort. She turned to step away from Mike and nearly toppled over onto her face. "My feet are both asleep!" she cried as she stumbled to the side and fell heavily back on her bottom. To her credit, though, Alyssa kept her hands on her weapon and managed not to sweep Mike with the muzzle once.

  Mike helped Alyssa back to her feet, and she handed the pistol over to him. "Maybe you'd better hold onto this until my feet wake up," Alyssa said as she gripped his hand briefly to steady herself. "I'm sorry I fell asleep. I tried to stay awake, I really did."

  Mike nodded, but didn't say anything. He was pretty sure anything he meant to reassure would come out condescending, so he bit his tongue instead. He helped Alyssa hobble over to an old windfall stump, where she sat and massaged her tingling toes to work the feeling back into them. Mike pulled the supports from the roof of the lean-to and threaded them between the layer of evergreens that served as the bed and the layer that served as the roof. With any luck, the green needles would keep enough moisture and insects out to allow the supports to cure and keep in case they ever came this way again.

  When he was done sweeping through the campsite to collect any sign they'd been there, Mike helped Alyssa back to her feet. She was more stable this time and took her pistol back from him. The holster on her hip looked oddly large and clearly built for the range rather than concealment. However, keeping the gun concealed wasn't as important as keeping it easy to get to, so holster size hardly mattered. And, when it came down to it, the thing was good for what it was designed for. It held the gun securely and in a position that could be easily drawn.

  They left the camp behind and returned to the power line cut through. It was still early enough for the low clouds to hold onto a little of the pink and orange of the sunrise as the sun itself had already begun to slip behind the shroud of clouds. It looked like a strong early autumn front was coming through, and that would spell a few days of rain, thunder, and wind.