“We have confirmed with our sister stations in Portland, Seattle, and San Francisco, that in fact, North Korean land forces have invaded those areas along the Pacific Coast of the United States.” The female reporter shook her head. “Why the government will not acknowledge that we’re at war is beyond me.”
“The unexplained blackout on communications affecting much of the country west of the Rockies makes it difficult to know one way or another what is going on—let alone casualty figures,” said the male talking head. “The lists of missing people are starting to grow at an alarming rate. We here in Boise have been inundated with requests from family members, hoping for some news. As part of our continuing effort to support our community in this time of crisis, Channel 12 and all our sister stations will broadcast a list of missing persons, which is now scrolling across the top of your screen. Please, if you see your name, contact your families, right away…”
Static turned the screen into a picture of snowy signal interference. Denny clicked the volume down, sighed, and returned to his task at hand.
Before him on the dining room table lay his hickory recurve bow and a dozen arrows he had set aside last hunting season. He had a large candle burning directly in front of him. Next to his right leg, he had a bundle of new arrow shafts that he had been saving for winter work.
Last winter he had bought a chunk of Port Orford Cedar at a local lumber mill that had been drying for a year. Just a few weeks ago, he had started to mill the lumber into half-inch square billets. Ever so slowly, as a kind of meditation after a long day at school, he would continue to turn the billets into round dowels.
He had clamped those rough billets to his workbench and ran his favorite hand plane ever so slowly along the corners. In that way, every schnick of the plane, every curl of the aromatic wood that he sliced free, he was gradually turning those square billets into arrow shafts. It had, of course, taken much longer than it would have if he had simply ordered a batch of arrows online, but these were hand-made. These were his.
Since he had used a well-sharpened smoothing plane, the shafts that lay on the table before him were perfectly smooth—smoother than any sandpaper could have achieved. Now, he mused, his task was to make sure the nascent arrow shafts were straight and true.
Carefully, he rolled one of the new shafts along the length of the table, peering down along the surface to see if there were any high spots. There was a small hump a few millimeters in height around the middle of this particular shaft.
He picked up the shaft while glancing at the static-filled television, and carefully lowered the shaft over the flame of the candle. Working carefully so as to not scorch the wood, he applied pressure with his thumbs and fingers and as the heat of the candle saturated the wood, he bent the shaft in the opposite direction of the crook.
After pulling it away from the flame and letting it cool a minute, he again rolled the shaft on the table. The gap was gone. He smiled. That shaft would be added to the pile by his left foot, ready for fletching and an arrowhead.
The television returned and the screen flickered as he picked up the next shaft. He listened absently while he checked again for a bend in the shaft by sighting along the length as he rolled it on the table.
“—state of affairs when the President of the United States refuses to admit that our country is under attack.”
“Well, I can tell you,” said a voice clearly coming through a phone system. Denny looked up from the candle and saw a picture of some official in the government on the screen with the caption: On the Phone, US Secretary of State, Alexandra Stonemyer.
“I can tell you unequivocally that the support from the World Health Organization is not only most welcome, but most needed. New York, as you know, is being hit hard with this mystery flu. The vaccines that were available during The Great Pandemic just don’t seem to be working—”
“Madam Secretary, I thought most of the H5N1 vaccines were lost in the nuclear attack on Atlanta last week?” asked the female reporter. “Are you telling me that is not the case?”
“I’m telling you, Alice,” the Secretary continued, “that the French contingent is bringing their own vaccines, equipment, emergency food and even power generators to Queens, an area especially hard-hit. Even in Boston, where our German friends are assembling, the relief is quickly flowing. This crisis is a true example of how the nations of the civilized world can and will help each other in times of need.”
“Madam Secretary, what can you tell us about reports of para-troopers landing hundreds of miles from the coast in South Carolina, setting up roadblocks and cordoning off government buildings? We’ve had word that Russian soldiers were threatening American citizens who attempted to contact their state representatives. Can you comment on this?”
There was a pause on the phone and the screen flickered momentarily in static. Denny hoped it would hold steady for the Secretary of State’s answer.
“I think that the good people of South Carolina are very happy with the help our friends from Russia have provided. Food, medicine, power—”
“But these reports of Russian soldiers waving machine guns at—”
“Alice, let me finish, please. These reports, I think when it’s all said and done, will be nothing more than the fantasies of some bored people who want to make a name for themselves. It’s utter hogwash. My counterpart in the Russian Federation has assured me, just this morning, that there are no Russian forces outside of Charleston, at this time.”
“So you’re denying the multiple reports—”
“Of course! There is nothing to worry about. President Barron himself invited the W.H.O. and it’s accompanying security forces to assist us with making this country safe and helping us to fight this−“
Static returned and killed the transmission. Denny sighed again and turned back to his arrow shafts, his mind troubled. Another shaft finished, he reached for a third, glancing at the television.
The little handheld Garmin Rhino radio/GPS unit his neighbor John had given him two days ago broke squelch: “You watching TV?”
Denny picked up the black radio and pushed the transmit button carefully. He had never used this type of two-way radio before—he had always used his cell phone. But lately, cell reception seemed to have vanished—or replaced with a computerized message that said: Due to unusually high call volume, this network is down. Please try your call again later.
“Yes, I was. Until I lost the signal again.”
“I think you’d better come over.”
Denny looked at the pile of unfinished arrows on the floor. He was about to sigh and make a comment about his Mormon neighbor being paranoid, but then the confrontation with his students flashed back in his mind. The world was changing.
Two weeks ago, he would have laughed at John’s urging him to retreat into their bunker. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have thought he’d have to put his tomahawk against a high school student’s neck to keep him from killing his elderly neighbor. Two weeks ago, people weren’t dying of some super flu—again.
Two weeks ago, the nation wasn’t at war.
“Okay,” he said. The power flickered, causing the TV to shut off, as if to validate the ominous tone of John’s voice.
It wasn’t hard to lock up the house and head across the yard. The night that he had confronted Jeb Townsend, Denny had a premonition that the hothead and his father would come looking for retribution. The easiest target was his truck, parked out in the open on the driveway slab. Therefore, the day after the incident, he had pulled his truck around behind the house and backed it up to a back door off the living room.
The truck was currently parked there, next to some big pines along the back of his house and up under a metal, open-enclosure garage roof. It was completely hidden from street.
He checked the lock on the front door again and made sure the windows were locked and the curtains were drawn tight in the windows facing the street. Since the power had been going on and off at random for the
last few days, he had simply left everything off and unplugged. He hoped that made his house look deserted. Maybe it would encourage Jeb and his friends to look elsewhere for trouble.
Walking back through the kitchen, he paused long enough to shut off the TV, blow out the candle on the table and pick up his tomahawk. Once slipped onto his belt, he picked up the radio, clipped it on the other side of his waist and headed out the back kitchen door.
A plan had been evolving in his head lately, to load up his truck with all the gear he needed and head up into the foothills of the Bitterroot Mountains, directly west of his house. It would be a simple thing, he thought as he crossed the yard. Just load up and drive away from the chaos that was enveloping Salmon Falls.
He stepped on a fallen pine tree twig and paused at the loud sound. The snow from the early storm last weekend had long ago melted, but the ground was still cold and beginning its long sleep for the coming winter. Moving quickly, he crossed the side yard and arrived at the back door to the Andertons’ house.
John was there, waiting for him. “We need to talk.” He ushered his neighbor over to the kitchen table. Ruth was busy preparing a meal from what looked like half a dozen cookbooks spread out on the counter.
“Hello, Denny!” she said with a bright smile and came across the room to smother him in a grandmotherly hug. “I’m just fixing an early supper. Won’t you join us?”
Before Denny could do anything but smile, she turned, nodding and humming to herself. “Of course you will. I’m making my world famous kitchen sink chili and cornbread!”
Denny sat down in the proffered chair and accepted a glass of iced tea. He raised an eyebrow at John. “It’s because she puts everything in it but the kitchen sink,” the old man laughed. “It’s a ritual she goes through. Every time there’s a blizzard, ice storm, or baby born. She makes a huge batch of this chili, using everything she can get her hands on—“
“That’s right,” she said nodding her plump, smiling face. Her hair was silver-gray and coiled neatly in a tight, proper-looking bun on the back of her head. The laugh-lines around her eyes made her look like an off-duty Mrs. Claus, Denny thought, hiding a smile.
She nodded again to herself and went back to mixing in the big silver cauldron on the stove. Over her shoulder, she said: “You never know in one of those situations when you’re going to have time to eat, or if your power will go off and you’ll lose the food in your ‘fridge. This solves both problems. Ready when you are to heat it up and eat, and uses up a little of everything so you don’t lose it all in a power outage.”
“Anyway,” John said, turning back in his seat to face Denny. “I asked you over here to see if you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t, John,” said Denny, shaking his head. “I’m not made to hide under the ground. No offense,” he said quickly.
John raised his hands, “None taken. I’m too old to go tromping off in the woods hunting and fishing.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Besides, maybe this will work out for both of us. With that radio I gave you, I can feed you information and you can keep an eye on things topside for us.”
Denny nodded. “That’s what I thought. But…”
“But you’re wondering why I asked you over here.” The old man sighed. “I think something bad is coming.”
“What do you mean?” Denny asked over the top of his glass of iced tea.
“You remember the smoke we saw yesterday?”
“Yes,” said Denny. He remembered seeing a dark smudge on the horizon, topped by a large plume of smoke to the northeast, in the direction of the main part of town.
“It was the school and city hall.”
“What?” Denny said, sitting up. “Who—how?”
John shook his head. “I don’t know, but a HAM friend of mine on the other side of town could see it burning and called me just now. He could see from his ranch a group of people heading from the school to city hall, and then on down Main Street.”
“Doesn’t make any sense,” Denny said quietly.
“I think we know who was behind it.”
“You think the Townsend boy−”
“I think his father,” said John with a knowing look. “He’s the town drunk, you said it yourself. He’s always been a rabble-rouser and since he was laid-off last year he’s been out of work and looking for something to do.” The old man took a sip of his tea. “I don’t know. But, it sure wouldn’t surprise me.”
“What about Sheriff Bridger?”
“From what I hear, he’s got the new super flu. Sounds like some of the kids from the school have actually died. Now their families are sick. It’s just horrible.”
“Oh no,” Denny whispered. “Bob was right—” he saw the questioning look on his neighbors face. “The principal. He thought the kids from the sophomore class brought the flu back from California last week. He had to close school that first day.” He shook his head again. “This is going to be bad, John.”
“Don’t I know it. HAMs all over the country are reporting how serious it’s getting. There’s bodies in the streets in Chicago and New York. Can you believe it? It’s like…” John paused, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry, Denny, I know how you lost Emily in The Pandemic. This has got to be hard on you.”
Denny was quiet a moment. Then, softly, he spoke: “It’s okay, John. I made my peace with her a long time ago.”
John nodded.
Denny took another sip from his drink. He savored the hearty smells from the cooking chili. “Have you seen the Townsend boy again?”
“No,” said John with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s the war I called you over to talk about.”
“What war?”
“The North Koreans have invaded California, Denny!”
“But, the news said—”
“I’m not talking about the bullcrap you see on TV. I’m talking about what I’m hearing with my HAM gear from people on the West Coast who are there; right there in middle of this mess! The stuff they’re telling me is scary, Denny, very scary. A few bodies on the ground in Chicago is nothing compared to foreign jets and tanks blowing up buildings and killing people left and right in Los Angeles. They’re pushing inland, Denny. Taking land!”
“I don’t understand,” Denny said, shaking his head slightly.
“The North Koreans started a war in the middle of this flu outbreak. You think that the television signals are screwed up for no reason at all? Think, Denny. These guys I’m friends with, a lot of them were in the military back in the day. They know what they’re talking about when they say a tank rolled down their street with twenty guys carrying rifles following it and ransacking houses. And that’s just the West Coast.”
“What do you mean?”
“Out east, they’re being real sneaky.”
Denny swallowed. “The U.N.?”
“Yes,” said John sadly. “All the reports we hear about how these doctors from Europe are bringing medicine and food and generators to restore power. They should! How many times have we spent American blood and treasure on Europe?”
Denny nodded. “World War I, World War II, the Cold War…”
John pointed at Denny and nodded. “That’s right! Time and time again, we go to help them. And now it’s their turn. Well, they’re helping, but they’re helping themselves.”
“Pardon?”
“Did you hear the reports about the Russians in South Carolina? Basically took over that town? The doctors brought along ‘security forces’ as well.”
“Yes, but the Secretary of State—”
John hissed. “She’s a liar. Always has been. A hack for the new President. I’ve been in contact with a HAM I know who lives near that town. He saw the transport planes, he saw the parachutes. Then he saw the smoke and took in some of the people that fled. The Russians didn’t bring food and medicine, they brought guns and death. They took that town. Now it’s cordoned off and under a military blockade. Our own people tricked into letting the Russians take ov
er—I bet you we’ll hear it’s under “quarantine” next.”
“John…” said Denny, still not sure.
“From what I hear, the Germans are doing the same thing Boston—but the people are fighting back. Civil disobedience, riots, that sort of thing.” John shrugged. “They’re doing what they can, I guess—they had all their guns taken away years ago.”
“Wait—South Carolina never jumped on the gun control bandwagon—“
John sighed. “The HAMs I know said the Russians hit like a tornado in the middle of the night. No warning—no one had a chance. Lots of shooting and shouting and next thing you know, the towns under their control. Then they started rounding up people they didn’t like—the ones with guns, the outspoken ones, the young men, that sort of thing.”
“Then what?”
John shrugged. “I don’t know. No one does. Shoot, even some of the HAMs were rounded up—big antenna’s sticking up in your yard are kind of a giveaway. That’s why mine are hidden in the trees,” John said with a wink. He sighed again. “Anyway, everything I’ve heard suggests those people were marched off in the night and just…vanished. I’m assuming their just being held at the local school or something…”
“So where’s the Army? The Marines? The Air force? Why aren’t we fighting back? I cannot believe Washington would sit back and let all this happen.”
John stared at his own glass of water. “Believe it, Denny. I think they’re in on it. Ok, so maybe most of our military is spread around the world and has been since…well, really since 9/11, but definitely since The Pandemic and the war with Iran. I get that.”
“Yes, but surely not all—“
“Oh no, not all of it. We’ve got Reserves and the National Guard…but we’ve had a string of Presidents now that have kept cutting the military and Denton has been one of the worst of ‘em since Clinton. There’s no need for such a big military machine, right? Isn’t that what they’re always telling us? H5N1 reduced the world’s population and made a lot of threats just disappear.” John shook his head. “Now look where their bleeding-heart policies have left us. Protecting the whole world, and almost defenseless at home. It’s scary, Denny. Real scary.”
Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Page 24