by Bobby Akart
“It started yesterday,” replied Junior. “They don’t have nothin’, so we can’t use them. If a moving car does approach the bridge, they can’t pass because these people have the road blocked. We’ve tried to move them off the road into the homes in Bridge View Estates, but the residents started shooting at them.”
“Good,” shot back Ma. “Let them deal with the problem.”
“It won’t last for long,” said Junior. “Those people in Bridge View ain’t got a pot to piss in and soon they’ll run out of ammo. They’ll be overrun.”
Ma sat back in her rocker and let out a sigh. “Good. What else?”
Cherry spoke up. “We’re continuing to run the radio broadcasts, but our recruits are not as frequent as in the past. With the bridge blocked, our only major route into town right now is from the east. The Pickwick Dam is still blocked by the National Guard, and the bridge at Clifton is supposedly blocked by a bunch from Decatur County. They’ve got their own little toll booth program set up.”
“Are you talkin’ about at Nance Bend where Highway 641 crosses?” asked Ma.
“Yeah,” started Cherry. “The county line is in the middle of the bridge. They’re blocking folks coming and going unless they’re problem children. They’re dumping them into Hardin County.”
Ma bristled. She turned to Junior. “You knew about this?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. I learned about it when I sent the boys huntin’ after that Dalton fella. I figured we had enough to deal with. Plus, they stayed on their side of the bridge.”
“Gentlemen, let me get this straight,” said Ma. “We’re broadcasting as far north as I-40 and the only road down to us is being blocked by a bunch of good ole boys running their own shakedown? Put an end to that crap, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Junior. “Well, we’ve been needin’ to have a talk with old Percy and also I need to pay a little visit to Saltillo. I’m hearin’ they’re doin’ real well up there. I think it’s time they pay taxes to contribute to the coffers, don’t ya think?”
“You betcha,” said Cherry.
“And I’m certain that Dalton family snuck across the river using the old man’s ferry,” continued Junior. “That means somebody up there knows somethin’ and I intend to find out what that somethin’ is!”
“Okay, Junior, you do that,” added Ma. “However, young man, we don’t need a repeat of Adamsville.”
“But, Ma, you said—”
“I know what I said, but in hindsight it wasn’t a good decision. I let my hatred for those people get in the way of business.” She pointed at Cherry’s chest and then added, “I need you to speak up when I do that. You know my temper, but you can’t let that get in the way of making good decisions.”
“Ma, they had it comin’, and if those folks in Saltillo helped that Dalton family, they’ll have it comin’ too.”
“No, Junior. Our partners in the minin’ operation let me know in no uncertain terms that Adamsville was too much. They’ll tolerate our form of discipline and control, but burnin’ towns will get the attention of the feds, who, if you recall, just moved into Jackson to set up another big FEMA camp. We don’t want them down here sniffin’ around, do we?”
“No, ma’am,” replied Junior.
“How did our partners in Pulaski find out about Adamsville, a town nearly a hundred miles away?” asked Cherry.
“Well, Bill,” started Ma in a sarcastic tone, “obviously someone in the Vulcan operations ran their mouth during a delivery. I expect you to take care of that. In fact, make a big to-do about it at the mine. Send a message to all of them. Keep your dang mouths shut!”
“Okay, Ma,” replied Cherry. “We’ve increased our production, and they’ve really filled up our pockets. They’re about ready to sell the lignite coal to those small towns around Tullahoma to fire up their electricity. They’ll also have plenty of heating fuel for the winter.”
“Bully, bully for them,” said Ma. “We all know what they really want out of that quarry—the ammonium sulfate byproduct.”
Cherry reached for his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, but Ma gave him the stink-eye. She’d thought about getting him hypnosis to kick the habit, but Junior got the psychologist killed. She’d just take the cigarettes away instead.
“How much of that explosive do the Klansmen want?” asked Junior.
“They’ve got big plans and deep pockets,” replied Cherry. “They call it the cleansing. They’ve not told me specifically where this cleansing is gonna take place, but all I know is they said to keep the ammonium sulfate comin’.”
“Fine by me,” said Ma. “In business, I’ve learned that morality gets in the way of profit. Government is no different. Look how those fools in Washington ran this country. They didn’t care about us. They looked for more power and wealth. Now, it’s our turn. Who are we to judge the Klansmen? We’ll mine the lignite and give ’em their ammonium sulfate. They pay us handsomely, which allows us to ride this horse for as long as we can. What happens after that is none of my business.”
Chapter 25
1:00 p.m., Halloween
Saltillo
“Well, Mr. Mayor, the first annual Apocalyptic Hootenanny has been a real success,” said Russ Hilton to the mayor of Saltillo, Jimmy Snyder. Kids were running up and down Main Street, picking up candy from makeshift booths and playing the various carnival games that remained from the Labor Day events prior to the solar storm.
“Listen, Russ, it’s no secret that the entire community looks up to you and considers you the real mayor of Saltillo,” said Snyder. “Since my legal troubles came to light, I’ve lost quite a few friends around here. Please don’t tell anyone I said this, but this whole grid-collapse thing was just what the doctor ordered for me. Life’s a lot simpler now, and I don’t miss the stresses accompanying the real world. No, sir, not one bit.”
“I get it, Jimmy. You and I have been friends since the day you welcomed me into this community. There are only a few hundred folks, and they all have bonded through this experience. Maybe a reset of our country wasn’t such a bad thing?”
“It makes you wonder,” replied Snyder. “All I know is that I’ve got a fresh start and people who disliked me are coming around. This Halloween festival was a great idea. We don’t have much to give the kids other than some stale candy and several bushels of apples from the surrounding orchards, but they sure are enjoying themselves.”
“Hey, Daddy!” exclaimed one of the Hilton kids, who was standing proudly by a Skee-Ball game. “I just hit the fifty-point ring twice in a row!” A couple of the local carpenters had created a Skee-Ball game using luan plywood, a variety of PVC plumbing pipes and some flexible plastic landscape edging. The holes were cut for the various point levels, and pipes were inserted in corresponding dimensions. With a Sharpie, they identified the points levels and the game was ready to set up. It was a big hit and was made completely out of scrap materials.
Another popular game, especially with the adults who enjoyed a friendly wager, was cornhole. One out of five households in Saltillo owned their own custom cornhole platform. The concept was simple. Each team had four sets of bean bags, filled with corn kernels if they were homemade, which were tossed towards a platform nine yards away. A bag in the hole earned three points and a bag landing on the cornhole board earned one. Just like darts were played in the big city pubs, a cornhole game was a mainstay of the Southerner’s backyard.
“Tell me about this afternoon’s show,” continued Snyder as they walked through the three hundred locals of all ages enjoying this beautiful autumn afternoon.
“We’ve got the usual band, but we’re also blessed to have some of the ladies from the Shady Grove Church put together a program of gospel music. You know how they are when they get wound up. Boy, there will be a lot of praise the lord this afternoon!”
The men laughed as they walked to the westernmost part of Main Street. Suddenly, shouts came from toward the river.
Fire! There’s a fire by the river!
Russ took off toward Shoreline Lane to investigate the ruckus. Most of the mothers in attendance gathered their children close while the men ran towards the west bank of the river. Russ reached the shoreline to watch the last of Percy’s home collapse within itself. The old wooden structure never had a chance against a hot fire.
The wind had picked up and the black smoke blew across the river, temporarily obstructing his view. But he heard the distinctive sound of Percy’s ferry chugging through the water. Snyder’s portly frame finally caught up to Russ.
“My gosh, Russ,” said Snyder. “Poor old Percy. Do you think he’s all right?”
“I don’t know, Jimmy, but this may be him comin’ now,” said Russ as he pointed to the ferry as it emerged from the thick black smoke, which quickly spread across the surface of the water.
CHUGA—CHUGA, CHUGA—CHUGA, CHUG.
The bow of the boat revealed several sets of legs and the barrels of rifles. When the ferry was less than twenty yards away, the picture became clear to Russ. Armed men, at least half a dozen, were coming their way.
“Run!” he exclaimed. “Everyone, go back to your homes. Now!”
“Russ, what do we do?” asked Snyder.
Before Russ could answer, shouts and screams came from town. He immediately thought of Lisa and the baby. He charged up the hill as the roar of a loud muffler could be heard from north of town on Route 69.
“C’mon, we’re under attack!” he yelled as he bolted up the hill with his pistol drawn. He was greeted by women and children screaming as they ran away from Main Street.
“Stop! Don’t come this way!” shouted Snyder. Several dozen people crashed into each other as they looked in all directions for an escape route.
“Go home,” said Russ. “Go home and lock your doors!”
His neighbors scattered in all directions and Russ ran up a side street only to reach Main in time to observe the results of the onslaught. Several pickup trucks were roaring through the small town coming close to, but not hitting, the women and children who huddled on the sidewalk. They didn’t hesitate, however, to run over the cornhole boards and destroy most of the carnival games the children had enjoyed in the middle of Main Street. The Apocalyptic Hootenanny was over.
Russ couldn’t decide if he was frightened or furious. Their small town had been isolated from the world because of its remote location. Their only real contact with outsiders had been the Rymans. Colton had told him about the run-in with the Durhams in Savannah, and Russ’s immediate thought was this might be related. When he saw Junior jump out of the front seat of an old Cadillac, his fears were confirmed.
“Who’s in charge of this little party?” hollered Junior.
The only sounds that could be heard were the idling of the vehicles’ engines and the crying children holding their mothers. Snyder looked toward Russ and hid behind the bigger man’s body. Russ understood that Snyder wouldn’t take the leadership role. He was all too happy to avoid law enforcement.
“Last chance! My name is Sheriff Durham, sheriff of Hardin County. Somebody needs to step up and talk to me, or my deputies are gonna have to find someone to speak for you.”
The entire town stood still, reminiscent of a scene in an old western. Russ took a deep breath and stepped out of the crowd toward Junior. He realized he still held his sidearm, so he quickly holstered it. Let’s not get shot because of a misunderstanding, don’t you agree?
“This here is my party, Sheriff,” said Russ respectfully. “Now, I apologize for not getting a permit from the county, but we didn’t expect that y’all would send in the SWAT team.” Russ chuckled and several of Junior’s deputies did as well until he shot them a death stare.
“This is official county business, mister,” started Junior. “State your name.”
“I’m Russ Hilton. I think I can speak for the entire town. What can we help you with, Sheriff Durham?”
“There’ll be a lot of things that you can help us with, Hilton. First off, are you the country singer? You look like him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, good,” said Junior as he walked up to Russ. The height differential between the two men was remarkable as Russ looked down almost a foot upon the shorter Junior. But what Junior didn’t possess in stature, he did possess in cajones.
“I guess you’ve gone from a big country star to runnin’ this little town. Ain’t you in high cotton.”
Russ ignored Junior. He continued to analyze their surroundings. Saltillo was not prepared for a confrontation like this. They took their isolation for granted and should have known the ugliness of a post-apocalyptic world would knock on their door at some point. They’d be ready next time, if there was a next time.
“How can we help you, Sheriff?”
“Well, Mayor Hilton,” said Junior sarcastically. “We’re looking for information first. Have you seen a family come through town named Dalton? Man, wife and a perky teenage daughter?”
Russ knew it. He hesitated as he thought of an answer, a mistake that might destroy his opportunity to cover for Colton and the girls. Think! Tell the truth, sort of.
“Yeah, I remember them comin’ through nearly a month ago. They rode Old Man Percy’s ferry across. What’s happened over there? Is Percy okay?”
Junior stood as tall as he could and pointed his finger in Russ’s face. “That old man’s none of your concern, but from the looks of that smoke, I’m guessin’ my boys felt like he wasn’t cooperating with law enforcement as he’s supposed to. Listen up. We’d be glad to bring a lot more of that smoke down Main Street, startin’ with the Hillbilly Hilton over there, unless you tell me what you know.”
“Fine. They came through about a month ago. They were scared and hungry. We fed ’em, let them sleep one night, and sent them on their way. It was the decent thing to do.”
“Did they tell you they were fugitives from justice?”
“Of course not. If they had, we would’ve turned them away. We don’t want any trouble from drifters or troublemakers.”
“What did they tell you?” asked Junior.
“They said they were headed toward Memphis. We pointed them west out Highway 69 and they were gone.”
Junior studied Russ’s face for a moment. Russ thanked God that Colton didn’t tell him where he was really going. Plausible deniability.
“Okay, Mayor, here’s what’s gonna happen next. We can’t have you folks armed. None of your people, to their credit, opened fire on us. Other towns were not so cooperative and it cost ’em. I need you to voluntarily give us your weapons and ammo, starting with yours.”
Junior held his hand out for Russ’s gun. Russ stood defiantly for a moment until Junior pointed at his holster and wiggled his fingers. “Fork it over, Mayor, or I’ll get this party started again, but it’ll be my way.”
Russ handed over his weapon and then nodded to his friends in Saltillo, indicating that they do the same. Junior smiled at Russ.
“Very good, big man. Now, we’re gonna go street by street. I want you to tell all of your constituents to run along and gather their weapons. I wanna be back in Savannah before dark and my men get real awnry if they miss their afternoon happy hour. Unless, of course, you’d rather let them stay the night.”
Russ wanted to grab this idiot by the neck and choke him like a chicken. Apparently, his face was getting red and his anger was readily apparent.
Junior got right up in his face. “You got something to say, Mayor.”
“No, Sheriff, not a word.”
“Good, we’ll be seein’ ya, then!”
Junior turned and marched off toward his Cadillac. He swirled his hand in the air and the people of Saltillo hustled off to their homes, and Junior’s men began to canvass the streets. Saltillo had dodged a bullet in more ways than one, but somehow Russ knew they’d meet up with Sheriff Durham again.
Chapter 26
7:00 p.m., October 31
Shiloh
Ranch
The evening routine continued to include a debriefing of the day’s events. Stubby and Emily, who worked closely with the new Mennonite families, advised the group on their progress assimilating the new residents into Shiloh Ranch. The plan to house the Mexican families in areas away from the main house created some logistical issues for Emily and Madison. They needed to devise some form of taxi service to pick up Javy’s people each day or assign a horse for every member of the Shiloh Ranch group. Alex and Chase assured everyone that horses and another wagon was high on the priority list. It was a shame that the Mennonite families didn’t have their own, but in the end, the hardworking families were well worth the short-term inconveniences.
The subject of Alex and Chase’s activities came up often because they’d become the group’s eyes and ears outside their security perimeter. Madison had gradually accepted Alex’s role as intelligence gatherer and part of the lead scavenging team. It was hard for Madison not to look at her beautiful young daughter as the smart, golf-loving teenager of two months ago. Alex had matured and was becoming fearless. Madison now wondered if Chase should be the one to hold Alex back when they made their runs.
“We learned a lot today,” started Alex. “We agreed it was risky, but we approached a couple of women and their children near Crump. We found them hiding in an abandoned house at River Heights.”
“Were they armed?” asked Madison.
“No, Mom, and we were very careful, as always,” replied Alex. “They had traveled all the way from Memphis on bicycles. When they arrived yesterday, their husbands approached the bridge to find out why it was blocked. Junior’s men beat one of the men and the other man turned and rode his bike back to Crump.”
“Why did they beat the man?” asked Emily.
“’Cause they could,” said Chase dryly as he tossed an apple core into the fire. “From what we’re told, Junior is clearing people off the bridge. There are campsites all around the area, created by the homeless out of Memphis. Junior won’t let ’em into Savannah, so they simply take up residence wherever they can find a place.”