We Go On (THE DELL)

by Stephen Woods

  He started to protest and I held up my hand to stop him. He closed his mouth and I continued. "First you engaged in an argument with Jim in front of the other group members. You know how he is. Jim is a good man and is good at his job here, organizing and keeping the group running smoothly but he is much more suited for a boardroom. He will never be comfortable in a meeting where our main topic of discussion is how many people did we have to kill today and how are we going to dispose of the bodies. He's just not. I've accepted that and I use him where his strengths lie and I use you the same way. Do you understand?"

  "Yes sir," was the only response I got.

  "I'm responsible for the safety of everyone here, not you, not Jim, just me. Every decision I make I worry about. Is it right? Will it get anyone hurt or killed? And when I make a decision I don't need the people I have helping me run things around here… you Dave," I pointed at him to emphasize the point, "…getting the group stirred up."

  I could tell from the look on his face, this time he understood. "You're right, Scott."

  "So, I should never expect to have this problem again?" I asked.

  "No. I knew better. I just lost my temper. As soon as Jim started I should have grabbed him and headed up here to you. By the way, sorry for barging in like that."

  I nodded. "I don't expect you to be perfect. We make mistakes and we are all under a lot of pressure. That's why I need you to keep a cool head. Especially you. We have on hand about four days of food and water. We depend on the foraging parties to survive. If everyone is scared and refuses to go out on the supply runs, in four days we start to starve. How long can we hold things together then?"

  "Not long. I get it. Today was just another day, no big deal. Handle it and move on but I made it a big deal when I started arguing with Jim."

  I smiled and nodded. I really liked this kid, well, he wasn't a kid. Dave was twenty-eight when the Event occurred. He was thirty-three now. He'd done two tours in Afghanistan and was as cool in a fight as anybody I'd ever seen. That's why his acting this way in front of others had pissed me off so badly. I knew what he was capable of and expected that from him all the time. That's a lot of responsibility to put on someone and I knew I should go easy on him. Problem is we can't afford easy.

  "Okay, let’s move on," he nodded.

  "How did Mike and Nancy get separated so badly that this happened?" I asked.

  Dave looked uncomfortable; I know he felt responsible for them. We had talked about this several times since they had gone missing. I know he had taken out three security teams looking for them but had never found a trace. "I don't know. I know that's not an acceptable answer but it's all I've got. I went over the route the foraging party took out and back that day with Jim and Arnold Jablonski. Arnold led the party that day. He showed me every turn they made and told me he had gone over the route with everyone before they left that morning and before they started back. He said Mike was the driver and was there both times he went over it. I drove that route forward and back. I looked down every side street. The road you guys were on this afternoon was nowhere close to where they should have been. No one can tell me when they got separated or how. I just don't know, Scott."

  "Well, something happened out there. We can't afford to have it happen again. I want you to look at the procedures again. Tighten up on the drivers. When they go over the route make them recite it back so you know they have it. There should have been a gun truck behind all the vehicles in the convoy. How did they slip out of line unnoticed?"

  Dave nodded. "I know. I've asked that same question. Either someone’s lying or they were asleep at the wheel," he said. "I'll start doing the route brief myself for every party. I'll go over procedures for disabled vehicle recovery and what to do if you get lost." He thought a moment. "It would be a lot easier if we had more hand held radios. Each vehicle should have a radio and do frequent radio checks. Even if they get lost we can talk them back to the convoy or find a way to them."

  "Good idea, Dave. Who was in the trail vehicle that day?"

  "Danny Reasoner was the vehicle commander for the tail end gun truck. He's a good kid and I mean kid. He's eighteen but I've never had a problem with him," Dave answered.

  "Eighteen, seems a little young to be in charge of a vehicle out like that?" I respected Dave's opinion, that's why he had the job but something bad happened out there that resulted in the death of two of our people. One of which was a loss we couldn't afford. Nancy had been a nurse and any person with medical training was worth two of me and I was determined to find out what happened. Danny Reasoner seemed like a good place to start. "How did he act when you talked to him?"

  "Like you'd expect, I guess. Sorry it happened. Couldn't figure out how it happened. Said it would never happen again. Like I said, he's a good kid and isn't a problem like some of the others," Dave explained.

  "Okay, I want to talk to him," I said. I could tell from Dave's face that upset him. "I'm not saying you don't know how to handle these men and women. I'm just saying he might say something to me he wouldn't or couldn't say to you."

  "Fine. Where do you want to talk to him? I'll find him and send him you’re way."

  I was about to respond when the radio on Dave's hip came to life. It was the watch tower by the main entrance, tower one. Dave answered and told them to go ahead.

  I heard, “We've got a problem down here. You might want to get here kind of quick.”

  "Can you give me any more detail?" Dave asked.

  “Yeah, a Road Gang. About ten vehicles pulling up across the road from the gate. They don't look happy,” was the reply.

  Dave and I looked at each other. “Let's go!” I said.

  Chapter 5

  It Can Always Be Worse

  I grabbed my rifle off the desk and kissed Kat on the cheek. Dave headed out the door as I followed. My wife threw a "be careful" at me as I started down the hall. To myself I thought, be careful, yeah, that's going to happen, but I knew what she meant.

  I caught up to Dave as we started down the steps to the main warehouse floor. When we hit the bottom of the stairs, Dave yelled he'd meet me outside at the trucks; he had to go get his rifle. As we split up, I paused for a moment to look around the big open floor of the warehouse.

  We had been very active trying to get things set up to not only be comfortable but safe. Dave was in charge of security and as part of those duties had established procedures for what he referred to as Force Protection. He said it had been a big part of living in Afghanistan for two years and it had kept them safe. He was diligent and before long we had procedures for alert status. Green’s for normal activity and no problems. Other than the obvious zombies trying to eat us while we were on the verge of starvation.

  Yellow’s up a notch and for when there’s a threat but nothing had happened yet. Red was bad. Red’s for when the shit had really hit the fan. Dave assigned everybody duties and places to be during each of the alert status. Some people were assigned to work in the Aid Station; some were assigned to be stretcher bearers in case of wounded. Some were assigned to our kitchen area to prepare meals for those on watch or patrol. We had people who took the kids to one of the safe areas and kept them all together, though most of the able bodied people were assigned to augment the security force.

  We couldn't harden the entire warehouse, it was just too big. Dave had built safe rooms inside the warehouse and protected them with sandbags we had scavenged from military convoys and the bases we searched. Sandbags are great. They’ve been around for centuries, low tech, and effective. Fill them with dirt, stack them up, and you have a bunker that small arms and shrapnel can't penetrate. So basically, he created bunkers inside that the noncombatants could shelter in if there was a fight. He also built several positions around the perimeter so the security force had protected areas to fight from and had even lined the guard towers with sandbags to help protect those guy's. Dave's philosophy was that Force Protection’s an ongoing endeavor and he had his people make improvemen
ts on our facility each day.

  I stood at the door to the outside as Dave caught back up to me. I stared out over the floor, looking at all of our people going about their normal day, well as normal as things could be now. On the floor, kids ran around playing and adults talked or worked on projects. I looked at Dave. "Think maybe we need to go ahead and sound yellow alert?"

  Dave looked out over the floor and I could see his thoughts. What would happen if bullets started ripping through the thin sheet metal sides of the building while all these people were standing around unprotected? He looked back at me. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea." He ran off to pass the word on the alert.

  I took one last look around and headed out the door, happy about stepping up the alert status. Kat's place of duty during emergencies was the Aid Station. Doc Groves wanted her to help him even though she had no medical training. His reasoning was that she was smart and he didn't have to tell her every step to make. I was glad because the Aid Station was one of the places we had hardened with sandbags. I knew it was selfish to upgrade the alert status just so Kat could be in a safe area but if anything happened it also meant the majority of our people would be in protected areas.

  I approached one of the gun trucks as its crew clambered aboard. Dave must have called them as he went to get his rifle. I climbed into the seat as Dave came out the warehouse door. I heard the alarm inside sounding yellow alert as the door shut behind him. He opened the rear door on the driver’s side and said ‘let's go’ as he climbed in. Our vehicle lurched forward and started for the gate. The other two trucks fell in behind us and I keyed my radio and told everybody to lock and load. I could hear the 50 cal. gunner in the turret working the action to make the big machine gun ready.

  I looked over at our driver; sweat ran down his face and from his expression, I could tell he was nervous. I tried to lighten the mood. "Hey, it can always be worse."

  Dave stuck his arm up between the driver and me, pointing out the windshield. "It’s worse," he said.

  We were nearing the gate and I could see what he pointed at. Sparta Pike, a four lane divided highway ran in front of the gate. On the opposite side from our warehouse lay a large tree lined field that was part of the Wilson County fairgrounds. Barns and pavilions used during fairs and animal shows sat back from the highway about two- hundred yards and big open fields ran from the structures down to the edge of the road. Trees grew in lines along the border and in clumps throughout the grounds giving the area a park like appearance. Of course, after five years of no maintenance, the grass was over grown and the place generally looked un-kept.

  Behind the trees growing along the highway was a group of about fifteen assorted vehicles. Pickups, old cars, even a few military type vehicles and all loaded with armed men and a few women. They were unloading from the vehicles and spreading out to take positions behind any cover they could find. I saw heavy weapons like our 50 cal. mounted on a few of the vehicles.

  As we pulled to a stop in front of the gate, I looked back at Dave. "You're right. It's worse." The driver looked at me; I could tell from his new expression he didn’t appreciate my candor. I told him to be ready and he nodded.

  "Might as well get this over with," I said, and opened the door stepping out into the cool evening air. It wasn't dark yet, but the sun was definitely going down and the temperature with it. I looked around at our defenses and could see all of our security people strung out along the barricades and over turned semi-trailers. The gunner in the watch tower by the gate had the stock of his weapon in his shoulder and looked ready. I nodded more to myself than anybody else, thinking we have trained for this. Dave has gotten them as prepared as is possible.

  Dave joined me on my side of the truck and we exchanged looks. He didn't say anything and neither did I. There wasn't much to be said at this point. Our people were in position and the bad guys were about one hundred and fifty yards away across the highway. With all the fire power aimed at each other across the road, if everybody started shooting it would be a mess for both sides.

  I knew I needed to de-escalate this situation but I wasn't holding out much hope. That's the one thing you can count on with the Road Gangs. They aren't much for backing down or reconsidering once their blood is up. I started toward the gate and Dave fell in beside me. I stopped and looked at him. "Dave I want you to stay with the heavy gun truck."

  "Fuck that! I'm not letting you go out there alone."

  "Dave, I really need you to stay with the truck." He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. "Look, I've got to go out there and try to talk to these bastards. If shit goes bad, I need you directing the 50 cal. to save my ass. Besides, if I get dinged, you have to take charge. Both of us can't go out there. I need you here."

  I could tell he didn't like it but he saw the logic in my thinking. He nodded and went back beside the truck. I heard him telling the gunner to make sure he covered me. Even though I knew Dave watched my back and that every gun we had was currently aimed across the road, I still felt exposed as I turned and started back toward the gate.

  It's a funny feeling walking into what you already know is a killing ground. I've bluffed my way into several tough places just by acting badder than the guys I confronted. It used to work well when there had been consequences for shooting a cop. Now though, I knew the crew across that highway didn't give damn if I was a cop or the Pope. If it wasn't for the guns we had pointed in their direction, they would have already opened fire. It's a funny feeling, kind of like being told your fly’s down on a day you skipped wearing underwear and realize it's been a couple of hours since you last went to the toilet. Exposed.

  There wasn't anything to do but to do it. I walked right up to the center of the gate and stopped, put my hands on my hips, and yelled across the road. I asked what they wanted and that I would talk to whoever was in charge. Silence. That's not at all what I expected in return to my challenge.

  In most feudal societies getting elected Boss is not a matter of popularity, charisma, or education. All of those characteristics might help but the one that puts a guy on top is intimidation. The little scrawny geek might know everything there is to know about survival, battling zombies, or re-establishing society but nine out of ten times it's the six- foot-four-inch, 250 pound monster with the twenty-inch biceps who gets elected leader. I'm kind of the exception because I'm none of those things. I think I got it because nobody else wanted it but they wanted somebody to blame when things went wrong. Anyway, the rougher the crew, the rougher the Boss has to be and this bunch looked rough.

  I got exactly what I expected. A man, and I use that term loosely. He looked more like a grizzly bear in jeans and sleeveless shirt, had broken away from a group of four to five others clustered around an old red Chevy pickup, and made his way toward the edge of the road. He carried a sawed off shotgun and his size made the 12 gauge look tiny. He had to be close to seven-feet in height. The full beard and shaggy hair added to the bear-like appearance. He stepped up the edge of the road and stared back at me.

  I thought to myself, he looks like a reasonable guy, I can talk to him. Then the other side of my brain kicked in with, ‘yeah, right.’ Either way, I had to do something and “I'm Scott, can I help you?” was what came out. I sounded like a door greeter at Wal-Mart, I could have kicked myself. So I followed up with, “Jeez, you're a big guy. Where do they get enough food to feed you?” I knew if I looked down, I'd find my balls rolling around on the ground so I kept looking straight ahead at the giant I tried to intimidate. Maybe if I asked him about his ensemble. I thought the green baseball cap clashed with the red check pattern of his sleeveless shirt. I heard Dave groan in the back ground. Not an auspicious start.

  Man-bear continued to stare back at me without answering. I figured this was a good time to re-group, so I put on my best cop face and asked, "What do you want?"

  You know how sometimes when you look at a guy and you try to figure out personal things about him and then when you find out the truth so
metimes it doesn't match up? Like when you meet a great big guy and it turns out he's got this squeaky little voice and you think to yourself, well, that ain't right. Well, that didn't happen this time. His voice came out a deep baritone that perfectly matched his appearance and I had no problem hearing him across the distance of the four lane road, even though he wasn't yelling.

  "You-ans killed my cousin, Markey. I'm gonna want whoever’s responsible."

  Succinctly put, I thought to myself. Not a Rhodes Scholar but capable of complete sentences. Yeah, I can talk to this guy. "You’re going to have to be a little more specific. We kill a lot of people," I answered back. I felt sure I already knew who he meant, I am a detective, remember.

  "Sun up tomorrow or we's gonna come in there and take everybody." With that, he turned and walked back to the pickup. At least he's not long winded, that's the reason I don't care for preachers or politicians.

  I felt kind of silly standing there at the gate with nobody to talk to, so I walked over to Dave. Dave, my ever present critic said, "Great opening, 'Can I help you?' Good job Emily Post." I had to remember to better explain the leader- subordinate relationship to Dave when we had time.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. I thought the 'we kill a lot of people' thing at the end was a nice touch, though."

  "I'm not sure. Were you trying to scare him or piss him off? Cause I think you pissed him off."

  "Really?" I asked. "I thought he looked scared. He looked like he was shaking when he walked away."

  "Na, that’s just all that body hair moving around under his shirt," Dave replied.

  I laughed, one of the reasons I liked him so much. No matter how bad the situation was, he could find something humorous to say. But we had a problem and it was time to get back to business. Dave saw the mental shift in my face. "Okay, what now?" he asked.