“Oh, that would be great, Frank. Thank you so much.”
“Hey, no need to thank me. After everything you good people are doing to help us, it’s the least I can do.”
Chapter 29
“Okay, here’s how we’re gonna do this, and hopefully it’s gonna work. They know their feed bucket by sight. They tend to follow us around the corral any time we’re carrying it. And we purposely didn’t feed these four head this morning so they’re extra hungry. We did put harnesses on them, though.
“We’ll lower the truck ramp and put sheets of plywood on each side to make walls. That way they won’t look down and see that they’re above ground and freak out. Then we’ll walk up the ramp dangling their feed bucket and see if they follow us.”
Mark held up a cattle prod.
“If they won’t, we’ll slap them on the ass. If that doesn’t work, we’ll use this as a last resort.”
“Have any of them ever ridden in a truck before?”
“Not in a truck, no. But they have ridden in a livestock trailer. And this is how we loaded them. In theory it’s the same principal. They have more room in the truck to get jostled around, but they’ll be okay if you drive carefully and don’t take any fast turns or anything.”
“Okay, then. I’m ready when you are.”
They started with Belle, the milk cow. She was the most sweet tempered of the four. Their hope was that she’d be the easiest to get aboard, and that the other cattle might see her and go to her.
Belle saw her feed bucket and practically ran up the ramp.
Mark led her to the front of the truck and tied her to the tie-down rail, but gave her lots of slack so she could stick her head in the bucket.
Next came Sally and Mable, two and three years old. They’d be around for awhile, and each would produce a calf every year or so.
And last came the bull, Seymour. Seymour loved the ladies, and as soon as he saw the three cows on the truck, he was game to join them. He was halfway up the ramp before he even saw the feed bucket .
Frank remarked, “Well, that was easy.”
John countered, “It might be a bit more difficult when you get them to San Antonio. They might get riled up along the trip. My advice is that when you get them to where you’re going, open the door on the truck for an hour and hang out in there with them. Mingle with them and give them each a bucket of water.
“By hanging out with them and watering them, they should calm down somewhat. They’ll know that they’re in no danger, and that you’re not there to do them harm.
“We only fed them half ration, and we’ll put an extra bucket and some feed in the cab.
“Once they calm down, you can untie them one at a time and let them see the bucket, and they should follow you down the ramp. If they don’t want to move, slap them in the rump a couple of times. That may do the trick. I’ll loan you the prod, but only use it as a last resort. The other cows will be able to hear and smell it, and it’ll make them nervous.
“How high is your hay?”
“Almost waist high.”
“And you say you have about an acre of it?”
“It’s in small plots. The back yards of a string of houses. But it all adds up to a little over an acre, yes.”
“Okay, that should be plenty. If the winter is extra hard, do you know where the feed stores are along the highway?”
“Yes, sir. When I got the chicken feed I checked out their cattle feed inventory. They had a mountain of it.”
“Now, we want this herd to grow, so it can be shared with another group of folks down there in San Antonio. I’ll trust you to honor your commitment to only slaughter one cow for every three live births.”
“Not a problem, John. There are only a few of us, so a good sized cow will last us a long time if we ration it.”
“Good. It’ll get a little easier as the herd grows and you have more cows to get pregnant. Seymour fancies himself a ladies man, so he’ll keep them pregnant whenever nature says they’re ready. When you split the herd, give them only to people you can trust, and get the same commitment from them. If we do this thing right, within twenty years there should be enough beef in San Antonio to let everybody have a taste now and then.”
Frank offered his hand and said, “I don’t know if I’ll see you guys again, but thank you for all you’ve done.”
John said, “Nonsense. You’re coming back at some point for that buck, remember? If you don’t mind, I’d like to go out with you. I haven’t been deer hunting since the meteorite hit, and I miss it.”
“You’re on, my friend. We’ll do it sometime after they rut again. Maybe he can impregnate a few more of his girlfriends so the population grows some more.”
“You’re welcome to come and visit anytime. Just remember that if you think you might be followed, to pass us by until you lose your company. We’re well hidden and we want to stay that way.”
Chapter 30
John was right. The compound was well hidden. But not to everyone.
Pete Skully was many things. A career criminal. A convict assigned to the Eden State Penitentiary, until two days after Saris 7 hit when the warden opened the gates. A leader of a crew of cons who’d terrorized the city of Eden since.
And something else Skully was: he was a patient man. He never did anything in a hurry.
So when he’d seen Mark, Bryan and Brad hauling a piece of farm equipment on a flatbed trailer several weeks before, he’d just filed that information on the back burner of his mind and let it simmer.
Skully didn’t know beans about farm equipment. He didn’t know if the equipment on the back of that trailer was a harvester or a combine or a hay baler. But he was smart enough to recognize it was something someone would use to grow a good sized crop of… something.
And he also reasoned that if the men he saw only wanted a trailer, there were plenty of empty ones they’d passed by. No, they didn’t want a trailer. They wanted the farm equipment.
He remembered where they’d turned off Highway 83. And he knew that, hidden in those woods just off the highway, was a working farm.
He hadn’t had fresh fruit or vegetables in seven long years. His mouth watered just thinking of the possibilities.
After Saris 7 hit the earth and the sky went black, most of the corrections officers at Eden State Penitentiary abandoned their posts and went home to their families. They expected to die in the coming weeks, and they wanted to be with their families when they did. Or, they planned to join much of the rest of the country and make their way through Mexico to Central America, where it would be warmer.
And that left Warden Ron Chandler with a dilemma.
He didn’t have enough personnel left to run the prison. More and more were failing to come in with each shift. He had all the cellblocks on lockdown. The prisoners were all confined to their individual areas of the prison. If he left them there when all the staff was gone, they’d all starve to death.
So he did what he knew was the humane thing to do.
He opened the doors and set them free, admonishing them to please behave themselves. The world was hurting enough, he told them.
Then Warden Chandler went home to his family, gave his wife and children heavy sedatives, and shot each of them in the head before taking his own life. His last words, as he looked toward the heavens, were “Please have mercy on us, Lord. I see no other way.”
Nearly all of the convicts scattered to the wind, afraid that the warden would change his mind, or that he’d be overruled by the Texas Criminal Justice Division and troopers would be sent to round them back up again.
But Skully and his crew did just the opposite. Not only did they stay in Eden, they stayed in the prison.
Their logic was sound, and it was actually one of the smartest decisions Skully ever made. Once the prison was opened, he was able to find all the keys and figure out how to use the security console.
And he and twenty seven others locked themselves inside.
They figured that any place built to keep people in would also do an effective job of keeping people out. And they also knew that a mess hall which fed seventeen hundred prisoners per day had a good supply of food in its storerooms.
And they found that their little walled oasis had other things as well. Like an assortment of very lethal weapons. And generators, with a very large tank full of diesel fuel.
And an infirmary with all kinds of great prescription drugs.
The twenty eight were whittled down to eighteen over the course of their six and a half year voluntary incarceration. Personality issues, mostly. And when the food ran low, two of the men tried to hide some of it from Skully. It was the last mistake they’d ever make.
The last eighteen survived by eating food from the mess hall and water from the water tank until they ran out. When the food was gone, they started going on night raids, methodically looting the houses in Eden, gathering whatever food they could, then taking it back to the pen. Those people who objected were shot and left to rot where they fell.
When the water supply ran out, there was plenty of snow to gather and melt. And there was plenty to burn within the prison walls. They started with the warden’s mahogany desk and the pews from the prison chapel, then gathered whatever wood they could find.
When it became apparent they wouldn’t have enough diesel to run the huge generators for more than a few months, they chose to turn them off. They took to wearing their heavy prison-issue coats and four layers of prison jumpsuits.
They also fashioned a diesel burning heater from materials in the metal shop. It was sufficient to heat the day room in their cell block. That’s where they spent their daylight hours, playing cards and roughhousing until the sunlight stopped coming through the windows from the yard outside. At night they slept in their bunks underneath a dozen blankets they’d gathered from the empty cells around them.
It wasn’t an easy life by any means. But they managed to survive. And by the time the thaw came, they were strong and bitter and used to taking what they wanted by force.
They no longer lived within the prison walls. They’d moved to the abandoned fire station, enjoying its setting a little better. And these days, for food, they did the same thing the residents were doing. Raiding the abandoned trucks that seemed to be everywhere.
The locals were all too familiar with the sound the Yamaha quad runners made. Once upon a time they were used by corrections officers to get quickly across the exercise yard from one pod to another, to quell riots and such.
Now the five machines belonged to Skully and his crew. And the high pitched whine they made was a warning for the locals to scatter.
For nothing good ever happened when Skully and his crew showed up.
Those who didn’t make it away fast enough were robbed of the food they’d gathered. And if they were women, and especially if they were attractive women… well, they were robbed of other things even more precious.
The men knew not to fight back. A couple of them had tried in the past and were shot down like dogs. And the rest of the populace just submitted to the horrors. They figured there was little other choice.
Skully’s crew didn’t believe him the first time he told the story of watching the truck drive away with the big piece of farm equipment.
They thought he was just weaving another of his tall tales. Like the time he’d claimed that he was once the mayor of Dayton, Ohio before he was arrested and sent away on a trumped up triple murder charge.
Or the time he professed to be a former major league baseball player who’d played for the Cincinnati Reds. Until one of his doubters asked him to describe a changeup pitch and how it behaved on its way to the plate. When he was called on one of his lies, he’d laugh it off and claim he was just kidding to pass the time. And then he’d fume silently because someone had the nerve to call him out.
So it was understandable that his story about the farm equipment was met with some skepticism.
But Skully was adamant. There was a farm back in those woods somewhere. He knew it. And once he started mentioning the possibility of eating strawberries and watermelons and tomatoes, his crew started hoping he wasn’t full of crap this time.
On a Wednesday morning in June after the thaw, he decided to prove his theory, and to take Smitty, one of his bigger doubters, along for the ride.
Chapter 31
Smitty wasn’t convinced
“Are you sure this is it? This don’t look like no damn farm road to me.”
“Oh, shut up. Wait and see.”
Skully was a scumbag in the truest sense of the word. He had absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever. But one thing he did have was an excellent memory. And even though it had been weeks since the day he’d followed that loaded flatbed trailer down this highway, he was certain that this was where it had turned off. And he’d prove it.
The two cons turned their quad runners and headed up the narrow paved road that disappeared into the scrub brush a hundred yards off the highway.
They followed it slowly, as silently as they could, as it turned a couple of times. They weren’t sure what they’d find, and although they were well armed themselves, they didn’t want to come around a bend and find an old farmer with a shotgun who had the drop on them.
So they took their time and tried to be as stealthy as possible.
Karen’s husband David, the group’s dentist, was pulling his shift on the security desk.
He’d seen the pair as they approached on Highway 83, and watched as they slowed and took the turn toward the compound.
He’d immediately gotten on his radio and called everyone inside the compound to come immediately into the building. He then told John that they had visitors.
John came running, as did Mark and Brad.
Bryan and Sarah were in their apartment, trying to make a baby. He’d be along shortly.
David lost sight of the intruders as they entered the tree line between Highway 83 and the compound. They were no longer visible on monitor 7. But he kept an eye on monitor 4, knowing that the camera on the front of the compound would pick them up again as they came into the clearing.
By the time they were picked up on camera 4, John, Mark and Brad could clearly see them as well.
“Probably just hunters looking for game. No need to panic yet.”
“I don’t know. If I was a hunter looking for game, I’d be in the woods. Not on paved roads. I think it’s more likely they’re looters.”
“Well, it’s likely the signs will scare them off, but Brad, would you take an AK to the roof, just in case?”
“Sure, John.”
Brad grabbed a rifle and two magazines and headed for the stairs in the center of the building.
John got on the radio.
“Hannah, Sarah, Sami… would you take a head count? Make sure everyone is inside?”
The men continued to watch the monitors. Hannah’s voice came on the radio.
“We just got finished doing one, John. Everyone is accounted for except for Sarah and Bryan.”
Sarah said, “Oh, crap,” and reached for the radio on her night table.
She was nearly out of breath when she keyed the mike and said, “Bryan and I are in the building. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Hannah noticed the breathlessness in Sarah’s voice and smiled. No one else had a clue.
Outside the tall wall surrounding the compound, Skully and Smitty were unsure what to do. They’d parked their quad runners at the edge of the clearing so that none of the farmers inside the fence would hear them. Then they walked over to the wall, Smitty muttering, “How the hell do we get over that thing?”
“We don’t go over it, stupid. There’s got to be a gate on one of the other sides. That’s how we get in. But first I want to see what those signs say.”
They walked up to the wall and read one of the white signs that were spaced evenly all the way around it.
WARNING—EXTREME DANGER
U.S. GO
VERNMENT
BIOLOGICAL RESEARCH CENTER
INFECTIOUS DISEASES CONTAINED WITHIN
DO NOT ENTER
ADVERTENCIA-PELIGRO EXTREMO
GOBIERNO DE LOS EE.UU.
Centro de Investigaciones Biológicas
Enfermedades infecciosas CONTENIDA EN
NO ENTRE
Smitty was aghast.
“Oh, hell no! Ain’t no way I’m going in there!”
Skully was more of a seasoned criminal, though. Warnings to keep out never really bothered him much, and seldom even slowed his down.
Granted, this one was a bit unusual, though, and gave him momentary pause.
But he was skeptical.
“Why would the government put a facility like this way out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Hey, man, who the hell knows why the government does anything? Maybe to hide it from the TV station so they could do weird experiments or something. Maybe this is where they make nerve gas or something.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I’ll tell you what it ain’t, Skully. It ain’t no damn farm. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Smitty turned and started walking back to his wheeler. Skully was still debating in his own mind whether to turn back or investigate further.
He was just about to give up and follow Smitty back to Eden, when the fickle hands of fate dealt a cruel blow to the good folks on the other side of the wall.
For it was at that exact moment that two male hogs got into a biting match over a sow who happened to be in heat.
Pigs, when they’re angry, can make a lot of ruckus.
Especially when one is bitten on the flank and in pain.
The injured hog let out a mighty squeal, partly because he was in pain and partly to try to scare off his foil before he got bit a second time.
Smitty, it just happened to turn out, was raised on a hog farm.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Then he looked at Skully and said, “What in the hell? Them’s pigs! It’s a damned pig farm!”
Breakout (Final Dawn) Page 11