Maybe he had...
One afternoon, a few days after her arrival, Scottie and I were showing Nicki around Camelot, when one of our security people, Lacey, came to me and said that someone was at the gate asking for information about Nicki or Scottie Redstone.
Leaving the ladies to enjoy their time together, I was keen to learn who was asking about them.
As I approached the new arrival security holding area of our double barrier main gate, standing inside I could see a tall, extremely well armed, handsome man; very fit and probably in his mid to late thirties. He was the epitome of the Native American, with long black hair, tan skin, and various other subtle accoutrements of Indian culture. He had wise, piercing brown eyes that studied me and my team with alert caution. This was a warrior, without any doubt, and he was calmly ready for anything.
I was fairly sure of who stood before me.
I spoke... “Parlez-vous français?” It was the best that I could do.
“Oui,” came the very easy and pleasant reply. There was a smiling, knowing look on his noble face “Vous comprenez français?”
“Ah, no, I do not,” I said with a grin. “Brick Charbonneau?”
“Yes, none other,” came the immediate reply, “and you are?”
“Flynn Patron, at your service.” I motioned to Lacey to have the gates opened. Everyone stared; even the normally stoic Lacey, who was flushed and unable to speak. They all knew of this legend.
Brick, not the least put off by the reception, paced straight up to me with a long confident stride.
“Ah, Flynn! I am so very pleased to meet you! Nicki has spoken of you often, and you match her admiring descriptions.” I could tell that Brick was a man who did not needlessly flatter, and his words honored me. Even as a stranger, he hugged me like a long lost brother, nearly breaking me in half in the process.
“Let’s go Brick...I know that Nicki will want to see you right away. Scottie, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Marshall Arrives”
“MARSHALL KELLOGG just radioed an update; he’ll be here in thirty.” It was the latest news from Flynn’s radio assistant. I was excited, having not seen my future father-in-law in well over two years. We had grown very close before the epidemic, and Marshall was very much like a second father to me in every genuine way.
Right on time, in the coolness of a fine autumn afternoon, Marshall came blazing through the open gate in a fully operational, lightly armored, diesel powered delivery truck.
The gates were closed behind the truck and the vehicle was immediately surrounded by a half-dozen fighters who thoroughly examined the vehicle – sides, top and undercarriage – for anyone or anything that might have attached itself on the trip.
Finding nothing, an “all clear” was shouted and, after a couple of loud thumps on the truck, the team dispersed and the rear roll-up door appeared to raise itself as Marshall Kellogg lifted the handle from the inside.
I could not contain myself upon seeing my fiance’s father, and tears quickly blurred my vision. Looking very much like his son, only slightly taller and as swarthy as a pirate, Marshall spotted me and leaped from the truck platform like the athlete that he was. His tan face beaming and flushed, he embraced Scottie and me and then, lifting us gently off the tarmac, he slowly, lovingly spun us both as though we were all on a playground. Scottie did not laugh as we twirled, but she closed her eyes and smiled. Yes, I could feel it, too...we were kids again, in an innocent time, if only for this brief moment.
Marshall slowly placed us down and spied Brick grinning at the spectacle. “Hellfire and damnation, Brick Charbonneau! It is very cool to meet you man!” The two men gripped hands in obvious mutual affection and admiration.
We all moved inside. Later, noting Marshall’s intimate spin of Scottie and me, I overheard heard Brick comment to Flynn, “Only a Kellogg could take such familiar license with a Redstone twin, eh Flynn?” Brick clapped Flynn on the shoulder. “The Sioux are a brave people, but this Lakota would much rather spin a pair of hungry runners. Why take the chance?” Flynn and Brick both laughed in mutual agreement.
Brick’s clever humor was never farther away than his guns, and his powerful presence seemed to lift even the darkest spirit. Briefly, as I smiled at his remark, I reminisced about my first encounter with Brick Charbonneau, near the beginning of our long journey. By comparison, we were so very much younger then - as survivors, far less than what we had become. That day seemed far, far in the distant past.
Destiny surely played a hand in that riverside meeting, for it seemed no accident. Brick had become a legend in his own right, and his uplifting effect on others was easily observed wherever we traveled. I was tremendously proud of my friend, and I could not help but feel optimistic in his presence.
As we all sat in Scottie’s and Flynn’s nicely furnished apartment, sipping tea, I remarked, “That’s the first working vehicle that I’ve seen in over a year.”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal, really,” replied Marshall. “There’s no usable gas laying around anymore, as you know, but there are thousands of gallons of clean cooking oil available for diesel, and all of the chemicals for converting it, too. I just assembled the stuff and – boom – diesel power.” It was just like Marshall to make small of the importance of his achievement.
“It’s not an unlimited supply,” he continued, “and I can’t process giant amounts, so we try to be efficient with what we have, for emergency generators and so on. Flynn has done a great job of powering and heating most things with solar cells and water coils, so we mainly use the diesel for travel.”
We spent that afternoon and late into the evening catching up on history. Of course, Marshall was keen to hear all about Kip, and was obviously proud of his son’s success with the rangers.
Marshall Kellogg was one of the few people who seemed to really flourish in the new world, being unusually cheerful and lively, contrary to his old, somewhat depressed self. I pointed out my observation to him.
“Oh, hell yeah. It’s amazing, really.” He replied, “I sleep well at night and my back pains have completely disappeared. I do what I want, when I want, and make a real contribution here. No girl troubles, either. Can it get any better?”
Later in the evening we relaxed, filled with stories of resourcefulness, endurance, bravery and sorrow. There was still much history to cover, and futures to be discussed.
“So what are your plans?” Marshall inquired as we all sipped a highly prized, dark red cabernet. “Off to Oregon?”
“There’s a lot to consider before I can decide,” I replied, “and it would be helpful to know what your thoughts are, Scottie, Flynn, Brick...everyone.”
“Well, my direction is obvious and easy.” Brick spoke first in his comfortable, confident style. Every person present understood what he meant and nodded solemnly in acknowledgment. Our reputation as an unbreakable team was well known by all. That would never change, not when we were on the road. He continued, “And, actually, I think it might be helpful to everyone’s deliberation to have some insight into your thinking on this, Nicki.”
Brick was correct, of course. “Well, I have a few thoughts,” I began. “First - and it is my preference - you all go with me to Oregon. En route, we aim for the Gulf coast, where I’m sure we can link up with Gus for the return trip.” Flynn looked at Scottie, who had leaned back, a faraway look in her eyes.
“Next,” I continued, “at some point in the future, I will be going to Quebec City to learn the condition of any remaining family there. ‘When’ is the only question.”
“Finally, I want to learn the status of the old CDC in Atlanta. We need to know if there is any useful activity there.” I had earlier provided an abbreviated description of my encounter with the rapid runner conversion at the government shelter, and explained my concerns.
Scottie looked at me, her red eye somehow always seemed angry. “There’s nothing left, Nicki, not a scrap. That CDC facility in Atlanta was overrun by
panicked mobs early on. A rumor flashed around that they were holding a small cache of vaccine there for politicians and wealthy donors. Maybe it was more than a rumor – who knows? Anyway, with panic and anarchy taking hold, the crowds captured heavy weapons from separated military units – who were all over Atlanta, by the way – and blew through the CDC defense system, and then the whole place went up. God knows what they unleashed there, but the entire complex became one big superheated fireball, burning everything to dust for a quarter-mile radius.”
Flynn spoke softly as he sniffed his wine, “The news came from reliable sources, when we still had some working communication systems.”
Brick spoke up, “Burnside was sometimes in the news for having a solid research lab for infectious diseases. Is it still around?”
“I’ve seen it; nothing left.” Marshall burped in the delivery. “Sorry.”
I smiled... Good ol’ Marshall.
“Okay, so we’re all on our own now, until we come up with another vaccine idea,” I said. “We’ll hope for the best. That leaves two choices. Oregon or Canada. Any thoughts?”
Scottie affectionately put her hand on Flynn’s arm before speaking. “Nicki, it will be awhile before we can leave. We have accomplished a lot, as you have seen, but there is much more to be done. We have a wonderful group of people here, but they still need us and we cannot abandon them. Marshall, Flynn and I have discussed this a few times, even before you arrived. We are staying until this place is self sufficient...we want you and Brick to stay and to help us.”
“You both would be tremendous assets in every way,” Marshall added, “and Ben, too, of course.” Ben had worked his way into everyone’s heart, becoming a Camelot mascot, of sorts.
The conversation proved to be a turning point for me, and entirely unexpected. I had never anticipated that they, especially Scottie, would not return with me to Hedley. And to stay there? The idea had never entered my thoughts.
My mind flashed through the concept. My precious twin sister was involved in some desperately dangerous business. By staying, I could protect and assist her, yet I knew that my presence might not always be welcome, and both Brick and I might be seen as distractions. On the other hand, I was loathe to leave Scottie without the speed of my hands to protect her, to say nothing of Brick’s fearsome fighting ability and Ben’s wolfish power and senses.
As we sipped wine, Brick made a quiet observation, “Before the world ended, who would have imagined what we would be doing at this very moment, and what we would have done to be here. It is really quite remarkable.” That was the historian in Brick, but his point was meaningful.
Numerous topics remained on the table and unresolved that evening, but before we closed for the night, Scottie promised to take us on her next “visit”, as she called them. Set for the next morning, this would be a trip to a recently discovered and questionable homestead. It would prove very interesting.
I was repeatedly impressed with what Scottie and Flynn had accomplished. Their operation was not confined to a single, re-purposed hotel; rather, they had six such locations, each serving a similar, vital purpose. Every “castle”’ was within a few hours hike of at least one of the other five.
Unlike Camp Puller and Hedley, where reconstruction efforts were principally based out of a central community, Scottie had developed a very workable expansion of civilization by establishing repetitions of secure locations, each of which served three basic functions:
First, there were the “castles”, which were sturdy bases from which rescue teams could patrol the surrounding countryside, providing aid and support to those in need.
Second, the permanent occupants of each citadel were always in position to support other castles, should the need arise. Protocols had been established for handling every conceivable emergency. Planning, preparation and training were hallmarks of Scottie’s organization.
Third and finally, those fortresses offered secure locations where survivors could flee for a safe haven, medical care, protection and a future. Flynn designed the layouts and, along with Marshall, oversaw construction of each site. The system worked beautifully and, as with Hedley and Camp Puller, it was the hopeful birth of a new civilization.
Scottie’s name was clearly well recognized in the region, and all held her in great respect. Not only respect, but deep affection, which was obvious from the children who attempted to follow her as she paced through her duties each day.
Adults, too, were clearly fond of Scottie, often stopping her to embrace and thank her for some generosity, although frequently it was for saving a life, or ending a wrong.
Even her very observant protectors, Diego and Marguerite, were the grateful product of a deadly conflict that resulted in the rescue of their younger siblings and elderly parents from an especially brutal slaver group far outside of Scottie’s area of operations and control. Those two never willingly left her side when on the road, and they were never far from her even when in the secure confines of any hotel fortress.
I found that, in general, Scottie took a personal interest in all isolated survivors who lorded power over others – “ravens” was the name coined for those sociopaths.
Sometimes the ravens were iron-fisted patriarchs who ruled via God’s wrath, demanding subservience from all according to the “old ways”. Each of those tribes or colonies were handled by Scottie’s intervention teams according to their own peculiarities and levels of misbehavior.
Other ravens were the more deadly types – the slavers. For those, Scottie showed no mercy, which pleased me. There was no equivocation; her justice was swift and deadly.
Finally, there were ravens who were not necessarily bad people, but they were the lost ones - those with no place else to go, so they stuck life out with someone who offered protection, but little else, which often meant an unpleasant life among even more unpleasant people.
Scottie’s teams sought out, observed and engaged all survivors, and evaluated their situations. If signs of distress were identified (the field crews became very good at spotting trouble), then the distressed survivors would not be immediately disturbed, but quiet surveillance would be established in order to learn the severity of any particular problem. The observers carefully documented every detail – layout, supplies, personnel, security, defenses, routines, escape routes, neighboring communities - everything. Scottie was always notified of these locations, and she kept herself thoroughly up-to-date on all of them.
On several occasions, she invited me to join her. One such excursion, in particular, simple though it was, highlighted the unpleasant tendency in humans for the strong to dominate the weak.
After a few hours hike from one of Flynn’s “hotels” and with a team of five well-armed companions from Camelot, including Diego and Marguerite, of course, we arrived at our target.
Speaking to Brick and to me, Scottie said, “Sometimes these guys can get violent fast; usually, I approach alone. They don’t fear women, even armed as I am. The psychology of male dominance always works in our favor. You can go with me, Nicki, and Ben, too, but I’m sorry Brick – I think your presence would scare someone into action, maybe even shooting.”
Brick understood, of course, and set himself into a position where he could observe through his rifle scope.
Scottie looked at Diego and Marguerite, who clearly knew the plan, “Ready?” They nodded in reply.
Another team member stood facing away, guarding our backs and flanks, as Scottie’s protectors moved to camouflaged positions that paralleled what would become Scottie’s approach. The other two fighters trained their scoped rifles on the compound. Everyone was obviously experienced at this very delicate procedure; each knew exactly where to go and what to do.
Scottie was supremely calm. “I’m glad you’re here, Nicki; I feel complete, somehow, walking side-by-side together with you.”
“Yeah, me too, Scottie; this seems so right.” I replied. “Here and now, with you, this is where I belong. Daddy would be p
roud.”
With Ben faithfully at my flank, we stepped into the open, near where young women and a few children were picking late harvest tomatoes and placing them in baskets. Three bearded men, dressed in black and wearing wide brimmed, wicker hats, stood silent watch; large gauge shotguns resting across their forearms.
“Everyone is here,” Scottie said. “Three men, five women and six kids. At least two of the women are pregnant.”
We stopped when it was obvious that we were spotted.
“Hello,” Scottie shouted, “we would like to talk with you.”
There was a brief hubbub among the men as the women remained frozen in position.
“Keep working!” One deep voiced, thin old man ordered. He looked like the shadow of a scarecrow in his black attire. “We know who you are; we don’t want no trouble. This is my family! Go away! Everyone is here because they believe in the ‘Word’! This is their home!” The men were clearly nervous; agitated. The women and children furtively glanced our way as they hunched over their labor, but said nothing.
Scottie muttered an aside to me, “Uh huh, I’ve heard that one before.”
Then out loud, “We’d like to talk; this is my sister, Nicki.” With those words, the tension level went up immediately. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up. Dark eyes under thick eyebrows went wide. Evidently a real break in the monotony. The men pulled closer together, gripping their weapons, hands nervously flexing on the wooden stocks.
Scottie couldn’t resist a sisterly jab, “I guess they know who you are, Nicki. Not too happy, though. ‘Must have heard one of your jokes.” Humor from Scottie? I smiled at the unexpected levity.
“We said we don’t want no trouble!” A tremulous voice barked out. “We don’t hurt no one. Just read the bible and work the land.”
THE KILLER ANGEL : Book Three Journey (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 3) Page 15