Apocalypse Law 4

by John Grit

  Hewitt wasn’t concerned. “Yeah, they sent a brigadier general. I’m scared shitless.” Spittle flew from his mouth, as he spoke. His face red with rage, he pointed at a nearby light pole. “Hang him!”

  The soldiers hesitated. This was too much. Hang a captain? Hewitt is nuts! While everyone there had seen too much and was as rough around the edges as a soldier could be, unlike the Colonel, they were not crazy enough to hang a captain. With military discipline being the way it had been the last few months, thoughts of being tried and executed raced through their minds.

  Staff Sergeant Steve Novak barked, “You heard the Colonel!” A dozen soldiers looked at each other nervously, not knowing what to do.

  Sergeant First Class Quint Bartow rushed in from the edge of the crowd. “Col. Hewitt’s orders are not legal. And I believe Capt. Donovan’s claim that the Colonel has been relieved of duty.” No one moved. Bartow let loose with a string of obscenities only a soldier could think of. “Use your goddamn heads! Since when does the U.S. Army summarily hang captains?” Still no one moved. “I’m the senior noncom here. And Col. Hewitt is obviously bat shit crazy. Now detain the Colonel and let the Captain go. The Captain will be in charge until the BG arrives.”

  Novak raised his carbine to shoot Bartow. A private reached out and snatched the barrel, forcing the muzzle skyward just as a round went off. Two more soldiers moved in to help and forced Novak to the ground.

  Novak screamed threats. “You pussies do not seem to understand that this is not the world we were in before the plague. Only the strong and hard will survive.”

  “Make sure they’re both unarmed,” Bartow ordered. “Then tie their hands and take them to the courthouse. Release the civilian locked in the cell there and put these two in his place.” He looked around, his gaze as cold as ice. “If anyone here thinks I’ve committed a crime, report me to the BG when he arrives. In the meantime, write down what you’ve witnessed here, because you’ll be expected to testify.” He produced a knife from his pocket and bent down to cut the zip ties from Donovan’s wrists. After helping him up, he asked, “What are your orders?”

  Donovan rubbed his sore jaw and wiped blood off his chin. “Carry on, Sergeant.” His eyes were still red from the pepper spray, but they lit up as he rubbed his cut and bleeding wrists. “You’re doing a splendid job on your own. You don’t need my supervision.”

  “Thank you sir.” Bartow handed Donovan a canteen of water.

  The first thing Donovan did after washing the pepper spray out of his eyes was check on the wounded soldier who had helped him in the radio room. Learning that the man had died pissed him off. He marched to the courthouse to confront Novak, ignoring the throbbing pain from having a tooth kicked out of his mouth. Standing in front of the cell door, Donovan glared at Novak. “Sergeant Silverstein died. Do you know who fired into the radio room?”

  Novak sat on the edge of a bunk, looking at the floor. “Go to hell.”

  Donovan simmered long enough to hold his temper. Too much insane bullshit had already occurred, and he refused to add to it. “A man has been murdered, and you have nothing to say?”

  Novak still didn’t bother to look up. “I already said it. Go to hell.”

  Hewitt lay in a bunk on the other side of the cell, quivering and muttering to himself, showing more signs of a total breakdown. Evidently, there was still enough of a mind left in his head to allow him to understand he was in deep trouble.

  ~~~

  Four helicopters were waiting when Mrs. MacKay’s group arrived at the farm, escorted by the soldiers. A pilot called Lt. Herzing over. “Has your radio been on the blink?” he asked. “Capt. Donovan’s been trying to raise you.” He motioned with his head. “Come on and use the chopper radio.”

  Herzing got in the helicopter and waited until the pilot had Donovan on the radio and then took the mike and earphones. He listened intently as the radio crackled, his eyes growing wide at times and narrowing at other times. Afterward, he strode to Mrs. MacKay, a sense of purpose in his gait. “Call all of your lieutenants around,” he told her. “I don’t want to have to say this but once.”

  She looked confused. “Lieutenants?”

  Seeming to be impatient, he answered, “Foremen, managers, closest confidants, people you rely on to help you run this place.”

  Mrs. MacKay pointed to Ramiro, who stood next to her. “My foreman’s right here.” There were more than a dozen others with her also, including Nate, Kendell, and Brian, still on the stretcher. Two dozen children were under a nearby large oak, most of them were asleep on the grass. Renee watched over them.

  “Well.” Herzing scratched his neck. “It’s good news. I’ve been ordered to leave you people alone and allow you to keep your weapons. We’re still going to take the wounded to town, though.”

  Kendell exploded. “It’s a bit too goddamn late! You gonna bring back the dead?”

  Herzing turned white under his suntanned skin. “I know it’s all fu –” He glanced at Mrs. MacKay and Rita. “Uh, this has been a crazy morning for all of us. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes you are,” Kendell said. He looked around and saw that most of the soldiers close enough to hear were looking down in shame. He swallowed and walked away twenty yards, then turned his back and cried.

  ~~~

  The critically wounded were the first to be loaded onto the helicopters. Brian was not among them. He still lay on the stretcher, but it had been put on a couch in Mrs. MacKay’s living room. He lay there and watched his father and Kendell help Mrs. MacKay clean up the mess left by the soldiers. Several times, he had started to get up, but Nate stopped him, insisting that he be checked out by a doctor before he tried to stand or walk.

  Kendell carefully removed photos from their shattered frames and put them in a cardboard box.

  “Careful you don’t cut yourself on the broken glass,” Mrs. MacKay warned.

  “I don’t understand why they shot up your house.” Kendell placed a wedding photo of Mrs. MacKay and her late husband in the box.

  Her hand shook as she repositioned a strand of hair to get it out of her eyes. “I would rather they had done all of the shooting in here. This house doesn’t bleed.”

  “For a while there, it looked like it was going to get real bad.” Kendell stopped short when he noticed everyone in the room was looking at him.

  Nate had a broom in his hands. He stopped sweeping and said, “It was close. But there’s no point in lingering on what might have happened.”

  “I ain’t lingering,” Kendell said. “But there ain’t no forgetting the needless killing of kids.”

  “No, there isn’t,” Nate agreed. “But it was brought on by nervous soldiers who were afraid of being ambushed. It was an accident. As I told you before, no order to fire was given.”

  Kendell persisted. “People were killed for no reason.”

  Nate debated whether to respond or let Kendell’s statement stand, when he noticed Brian had fallen asleep on the stretcher. He walked over and checked his breathing, finding it shallow and slow. He could tell something was wrong, so he shook him. “Brian. Wake up.” He didn’t respond.

  “What’s wrong?” Kendell asked, as he rushed over.

  Nate’s nervous response was, “He’s out again, and barely breathing.”

  Renee was in the kitchen and helping to prepare a meal for the children when she heard. She ran into the living room. Standing near Brian and Nate, she reached down and touched Brian’s forehead. “He’s very pale and clammy. Something’s wrong.”

  Chapter 11

  Two soldiers helped Nate get Brian on board the helicopter, its rotor blade spinning overhead and jet engine roaring. Brian still hadn’t woken. Nate reached in and put his hand on Brian’s chest to check his breathing.

  Ramiro and a dozen other men had gone back to get everyone’s weapons and had just returned. He handed Nate his rifle and pistol. After handing Nate his backpack he said, “I’ll put Brian’s rifle and pack away where it’ll b
e safe until he comes back. Good luck. We’ll pray for him.”

  “Thank you,” Nate said, sick with worry.

  Renee stood by Kendell and watched the helicopter lift off, her face strained. She held Kendell for a second and then walked back toward the house.

  Twenty-five minutes later, they were flying over the edge of town. Nate noticed right away that the number of soldiers had tripled since the last time he was there. The pilot changed the rotor’s pitch and slowed the helicopter, then made a left turn and landed in the middle of a baseball field. A military ambulance waited nearby.

  After Brian was loaded on board the ambulance along with several other patients, he was whisked away to the town clinic. Nate caught a ride in a HUMVEE. As they sped through town following the ambulance, Nate was in for more surprises, astonished at how much work had been completed since the last time he was in town. He estimated the Army’s presence to be at battalion level, and that was going by only what he could see from the air earlier and then at street level. When the ambulance stopped in front of the clinic, Nate jumped out of the HUMVEE and followed those carrying Brian’s stretcher to the front entrance. Soldiers guarding the entrance insisted he give up his weapons before entering. He handed them over without hesitation and then dropped his pack by the wall out of the way. A private promised he would take care of them, but Brian was the only thing on Nate’s mind at that moment. He rushed in without a word.

  Nate was ordered to wait in the lobby. In an air-conditioned room for the first time in over a year, he felt cold. The sunrise hour had been in the fifties, but as the day had worn on, it had risen into the eighties and grown humid. Folding his arms for warmth, he looked out the ground-level window, preparing for a long anxious wait. Two women in white walked by, chatting quietly. He turned and noticed for the first time that the ceiling lights were also lit up. It gave him reassurance to learn they had plenty of power and seemed to have a fully operating medical installation going.

  After staring out of the window for more than an hour, Nate turned when Doctor Sheila Brant appeared, looking tired and harried, but somehow less strained than he had ever seen her before. There seemed to be a spring in her step and a purposeful confidence on her face. Following along behind her was a military doctor dressed in a blue surgeon gown. A face mask hung from his neck. He stopped at a trash can long enough to remove the mask and gown and throw them in.

  Doctor Brant said, “I wish I had better news for you.”

  Nate turned white. “Tell me. Don’t drag it out.”

  She said, “He’s alive, but still unconscious. The problem is his skull was fractured and a piece of bone is protruding into his brain, producing hematoma. We performed a CT angiography and found no vascular injuries, but a blood clot is causing pressure on his brain. He’s being prepped for surgery to relieve that pressure.” She motioned with her right hand. “Doctor Millhouse will perform the surgery.”

  Brian was foremost on Nate’s list of concerns, but in the back of his mind were thoughts of astonishment at the progress that had been made in so little time since he was last in town. Nate felt as if he had been brought back to the twenty-first century, and renewed hopes for Brian welled up within him, despite the dire prognosis. Sometimes the military can prove that government inefficiency and incompetence doesn’t have to be the norm. He noticed the doctor’s rank. “Major, what are his chances?”

  Doctor Millhouse crossed his arms. “What has me worried is the length of time since the injury. It looks like it has been many days, maybe a week. It’s a very small piece of bone and it’s not very deep into the brain. His problem is the damage from waiting so long for treatment.” He glanced at Dr. Brant and then back to Nate. “Has he been unconscious since the injury?”

  Nate mopped his forehead with his arm. “No. He woke for a few seconds sometime back and again this morning for over an hour and seemed okay. He was talking and seemed normal. In less than two hours though, he was unconscious again.”

  “You must have kept him horizontal since he was injured.”

  Dr. Brant looked on waiting for Nate’s answer.

  “Yes,” Nate said. “He wanted to get up several times, but I told him not to.”

  Dr. Brant commented, “That saved his life. If he had stood, his brain would’ve shifted in his skull, and that may have killed him. It certainly would have caused more hemorrhaging and a larger blood clot, resulting in even more pressure on his brain.”

  Nate had to sit down. He staggered to a nearby chair, remembering how he had almost allowed Brian to go ahead and stand. He just seemed to be so normal when he was conscious.

  Dr. Brant sat down beside him. “Now that he has access to modern medicine, he has a good chance. The army has brought in a lot of equipment, including large diesel generators to power the clinic. Their medical personnel are the best there is. So Brian is in good hands. A lot has been going on around here besides Col. Hewitt’s antics.”

  Doctor Millhouse tilted his head and gave Nate an intense stare. “What happened to the boy? Looks like somebody put a boot to him. He has broken ribs and a broken arm. I’ve seen plenty of spouse and child abuse in my time, so tell the truth.”

  Nate’s eyes flared. “Someone did beat the hell out of him. A soldier shot the bastard this morning, before I had a chance.”

  Doctor Millhouse grunted. “I see. Time for me to scrub up.” He rubbed his red eyes. “It’s going to be a while, so try not to worry yourself to death. I think he’ll be okay, but I won’t know until I see what’s inside. Problem is we’re getting low on drugs, and he’ll need anti-seizure medication while he’s healing. A medical supply company’s trying to jumpstart its production, but, of course, the plague killed off most of their qualified personnel and anti-seizure drugs aren’t high on the priority list.” He bent backward to stretch his tired back muscles and said, “We’ll have to get by with what we have. It’ll all be over for your son long before we get any new drugs.” Seeing the look on Nate’s face, he added, “I really do think, though, Brian will be back on his feet and out of here in a few days.” He turned and disappeared down a hallway.

  Dr. Brant changed the subject. “Capt. Donovan has already made a lot of difference in the short time he’s been in charge. I’ve been told a brigadier general is taking over and Col. Hewitt is being held for trial.”

  Nate barely heard her words.

  She touched his shoulder. “After all you’ve been through, I have no doubt you’ll stand up to whatever happens. He’s in good hands, so try to relax until it’s over.” She stood. “I have patients to see, but I’ll check on him and report back to you later.” She left Nate sitting there in the lobby with a dozen other worried people, who, like Nate, had the dread of impending loss on their faces.

  ~~~

  Brigadier General Bernard Myers craned his neck to get a better look at the activities below as the helicopter approached the downtown area. He spoke into the mike. “Give me a one-mile circle at low altitude.”

  The pilot nodded. “Yes sir.”

  The bustle of little people far below reminded him of an anthill. Flying over the outskirts of town earlier, he had noticed a steady stream of vehicles heading for the lake. A tanker truck loaded with fresh gasoline straight from Texas and the one and only refinery that a company had managed to start up again stood in a parking lot that was once for school buses. Another tanker contained diesel fuel. The military still had the oil reserves that had lasted so long because most of the military was forced to shut down from lack of personnel. Refining the oil reserves into usable fuel had been a problem until the Texas company managed to restart operations. No one in government had planned for such a massive die-off outside of a full nuclear war with Russia, and every decision had to be made on the fly. Several eighteen-wheelers of food, mostly two-year-old MREs, were parked on the other side of the compound. The food wasn’t for the civilians, though some of it had been handed out that morning to those who appeared to be near starvation. From what h
e had seen already, Donovan was already well on his way to getting things moving in the right direction. The fuel trucks were not his doing, but most of the rest was, and Myers was pleased with what he had seen so far. He anticipated a short stay before leaving Donovan in charge.

  Myers spoke into the mike again, “Bring us on in.”

  The pilot flared, turned to the right, and touched down next to another helicopter. Donovan ran to greet him. He saluted. “It’s been a while, General. I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”

  The General instinctively bent over to keep low until he was out from under the spinning rotor. Yelling above the noise of the engine, he asked, “Where is Col. Hewitt?”

  “Locked in a cell in the courthouse.” The two climbed into a HUMVEE. “He is unharmed and comfortable enough. Do you want to see him now?”

  “No,” Myers said. “Take me to your headquarters. I want you to fill me in on what you’ve managed to accomplish and what you plan to get done over the next weeks and months.”

  The driver took them through the large parking lot and past the two fuel tanker trucks he had seen while in the air. Myers asked, “How much fuel have you distributed to the locals?”

  “Not much. A few hundred gallons,” Donovan answered. “Just enough to get their truck loads of stuff to the lake.”

  “What’s the population of the locals here?”

  “About two hundred, maybe a little more.”

  Myers seemed pleased. “Good. You’re being stingy with the fuel. Those two tankers will probably be all you’ll get for a long time. You’ll need that fuel for your own vehicles.” Myers looked out the window and watched a heavily loaded truck drive by, heading for the lake. He had questions, lots of questions. “Have you checked out the location they’re moving to? Is it a viable place for agriculture? They’ll be needing five pounds of food per day per person, and that’ll require them to successfully work a very large and productive farm.”