by Nathan Combs
Anna said, “They drove a tank and Hummers to Fort Oglethorpe, right?”
“That’s the story, yeah.”
“Okay. They also told the Patriots they couldn’t go north of a line intersecting Cleveland, right?”
“Right. What’s your point?”
“Why would they worry about Fort Oglethorpe if they were in North Carolina? I mean, it doesn’t seem as though Nirvana would be a threat if they were that far away. Why Cleveland, Tennessee? Why not say ‘you’re not allowed to cross the North Carolina border’? Something like that?”
Noah thought about it. “So… okay… if they aren’t in North Carolina, where would they… ” He was looking at the Tennessee map. “Holy shit, how could I have been so blind?” He stared at the map, then tapped it with his forefinger. “Here. The ORNL.”
“That rings a bell, Noah. The ORNL. Yes… I remember. It was a federal research facility or something.”
“Yeah, it was. And I’m betting that’s where they are. It answers every question you raised and it’s not that far away.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Way South
Wade spent a week at Fort Terminus helping install seven wood stoves and two large wind power turbine systems. He helped Highlander tie the turbines into the grid, and by the end of the week, Fort-T was blessed with an excess of electricity. It was a definite upgrade, and although the wood stoves would help, Wade couldn’t shake the thought that the effort was in vain. He was beginning to believe they would inevitably be forced to move south. As the old saying goes: it’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when. He hoped when wouldn’t rear its head for at least another year.
Because the danger from The Light had been eliminated, Wade took Maggie and Adam with him to Fort Hope for the second week in a row. Standing with Stuart on a small ridge under the ever-present overcast sky, they looked over the newly-plowed fields.
Stuart said, “They’re ready to plant, Wade. That’s the good news.”
“The bad?”
“There’s still frost in spots. We can get the wheat in, but, man, I don’t know what the harvest will look like.”
Hands on hips, a faraway look on his face, Wade slowly shook his head from side to side. He looked down at Adam looking up at him expectantly, then put his arm around Maggie. “No one will want to hear this, but we have to consider migration of the entire population. It can’t wait until next year. Let’s get the staff together.” Stooping to Adam’s eye level, Wade said, “I want you to stay with your mother for the rest of the day. Tonight we’re going to watch Ice Age, like I promised.”
Maggie grinned. “Ice Age? You’re going to watch Ice Age?”
Wade smiled back. “Yeah. Thought maybe I’d get some ideas.”
An hour later, Wade, Stuart, Randal, Bill, Cole, and Tyler were in the ops center discussing the future of Olympia. A map of what was once the United States lay spread on the table.
Wade said, “So that’s it. We can probably skate by this year, but it looks like next year will be problematic. Since we’re in agreement ensuing winters are likely to get progressively worse, we need to find a solution. And we aren’t going to wait until we have to come up with one. The nuclear reactor should last for ten years or more, but when it shuts down, we’re gonna be in trouble. The wind-farm should be up and running before the end of the year and, of course, we have plenty of wood stoves and wood. So warmth and cooking won’t be a factor for a long time. Food’s a different story. The hydroponics farm can’t provide food for the entire population. Needless to say, without the animals we’d be hurting big time. We have to consider the ramifications of our actions decades into the future. If we die out in twenty years due to starvation, we didn’t do our job. If we wait to migrate, the snow could be so deep we’d be trapped here. Some would make it out, but certainly not everyone. Let’s work up a game plan. Thoughts.”
Cole said, “Well, the only option I can think of is to go south. But we don’t have a clue what the weather’s like in the rest of the country.”
Randal said, “We need to send a patrol. That’s the only way we’ll know for certain, but before we do, even though I get why we don’t broadcast with the ham radio, why don’t we communicate with the Texas group? That would give us insight into another area of the country. Could save us a lot of time and grief.”
Bill added, “We don’t have anything to lose by broadcasting. We don’t have to tell them where we are, and if they don’t have a method to trace the transmission, which seems likely, it won’t matter.”
“Okay,” Wade said. “I’ll go along with that. We need information and options. Is Florida a nuclear wasteland? Will it be warm enough in the future? Do we need to think about Mexico or Central America? If that’s the case, we’re not talking about a trip to 7-Eleven.”
After bandying about different options for the next hour, they decided to contact the Texas group and take it from there. Bill and Cole would visit the comms center, while Randal, Stuart, and Wade worked on the initial logistics of such a massive move.
The group reconvened over bowls of chili brought to the ops center by Maggie and a girl from the cafeteria. Wade told Maggie to stay and, after the girl left, he said, “They call themselves The Texas Republic. For the most part, they operate like we do. They’re in Corpus Christi. Just over a thousand of them, and they haven’t encountered any bad guys. The weather is a lot warmer than it is here. Daytime highs are around sixty-five; nighttime lows in the low fifties. Rainfall is up about fifty percent. They had contact with a survival group in North Dakota and one in Arizona, but haven’t heard from either for several months. As it stands, we’re the only survivors they’re aware of. We didn’t tell them much about us other than we were in the Appalachians. We fudged our population at a thousand. We agreed to stay in contact on a weekly basis. They sound like good people, but of course that could be a ruse.”
Bill said, “Hate to say this, Wade, but I’m not really into trusting anyone I don’t know.”
“What’s new about that? You never trusted anyone other than the teams in your life.”
“And I’m still kickin’ because of it. If we had to, Corpus is doable, but honestly, I’d rather find our own place in the sun instead of sharing someone else’s.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Wade said, “All right, we’ll keep Texas as an option. In the interim, let’s send an extended patrol to Florida. It’s about 750 miles to Lake Okeechobee. The area south of there has rich farmland. In addition to vegetables and citrus, we’d have the Atlantic and/or the Gulf for seafood. A patrol should be able to make it there in a week. Another week scouting and a week back. If the weather’s warmer, and it’s hard to imagine that it wouldn’t be, I’d rather make a stand in Florida than Texas.”
Bill asked, “Who are we sending and when are they going?”
Wade looked thoughtful. “I’d like to go myself, but I know that’s out of the question. It has to be one of you guys.”
Randal said, “I’m going, Dad. I’ll take Bill, Tyler, Joe, and two Rangers. Cole, you stay here and help Dad and Stu. When do you want us to leave?”
“The sooner the better.”
Bill said, “I assume we can spend a day or two at Fort-T before we go.”
Wade said, “Yeah. Other than your wives, keep this mission to yourselves. You leave in four days.”
The patrol spent two days prepping for the trip. They packed weather instruments, dosimeters, a Geiger counter, and two sat-phones with extra batteries. They decided to take two horses loaded with food and gear and one extra horse in case one of their mounts was injured. The remainder of the four days was spent enjoying long-awaited and much-deserved time off.
On the morning of April 15th, the temperature was 35 degrees and snow flurries thickened the air. Randal, Bill, Ty
ler, Sergeant Joe Wilkerson, and two other Rangers mounted up and headed west on Interstate 40, then south on Interstate 75. They stopped for the night just south of Dalton, Georgia, and Randal called Wade to report all was okay.
The evening of the fourth day, they entered Ocala. Bill was speaking just to be speaking as their horses loped along at a steady walk. “I can’t count how many times I made this trip in a car. This is really weird.”
Randal said, “Yeah, it’s a bit unnerving. Reminds me of The Walking Dead, sans the zombies.”
Tyler said, “I never saw that show.”
Bill laughed. “What the fuck did you do for fun, Tyler?”
“Tracked deer across concrete ’n shit.”
Bill grabbed his crotch. “Track this squaw man.”
Tyler laughed and flipped Bill the bird. “At least it’s warm here and there’s no radiation.”
A day later, they camped for the night at Lake Placid in Sylvan Shores.
Randal stoked the campfire and, as Bill poured bitter chicory coffee in Little Soldier’s mug, he said, “We’ll get to Clewiston tomorrow afternoon. This is going too smooth. I don’t like walks in the park.”
Everyone nodded agreement. A two-hour perimeter watch was set, and they turned in for the night. Just before sunrise, Bill put the coffee pot on and kicked Randal’s feet to wake him. An hour later, the group was on the move again.
The old vegetable fields south of Lake Okeechobee were Pampas-like in their expanse. Mile after mile of open fields dotted here and there with small groves of palm trees and newly-grown weeds stretched endlessly to the horizon. With no elevation, there was no vantage point to observe the way forward. Rather than ride nonchalantly through the waist-high weeds and grass, Tyler suggested climbing a palm tree for a better view. Locating a suitable specimen, they stopped and Tyler climbed to the top of the palm. His glass immediately fell on several head of untended cattle. “I count six—no make it seven—Black Angus. Looks like they’re wild, and—hang on. There’s a column of smoke about… two miles south of us, maybe a half mile from the cows. There’s another grove of trees”—he ranged the distance—“five hundred yards past the cows, roughly one hundred yards from the smoke.” He scurried down the tree. “What now?”
“Armor up. Twenty yard spacing abreast. When we get to the next grove, you can take another look.”
In the closer palm, Tyler’s glass fell on a settlement. A half dozen small thatched huts surrounded one large hut with open sides. A communal campfire burned in the middle of the large hut and the smoke exited through an opening in the roof, much like an Indian teepee. Several women were lazing in the shade of the larger shelter. “I count six females. They’re armed. No males. No kids. Two dogs and—hang on.” He raised the binoculars and glassed for a minute. “An armed horse patrol is incoming. They’re… two hundred yards out.”
“White flag, Randal?” asked Tyler.
Bill said, “No way.”
“We have to make contact, Bill. We’ll do the white flag. Tyler, get back up the tree and cover. The rest of you guys approach to within a hundred yards. I’ll go in with the flag.”
Randal approached the camp carrying the flag of truce. The horse patrol had arrived and the riders were tending their horses. He walked in plain sight to within fifty yards of the camp and stopped. To his amazement, no one noticed him standing there with a dirty white flag on a long tree limb over his head.
The riders were dressed in dirty t-shirts and tattered jeans, and wore a variety of head gear. The entire group appeared unconcerned about security.
Randal yelled, “Hello!”
Twelve rifles instantly pointed in his direction. The apparent leader stepped forward. “Put yer gun on the ground and raise yer hands, bro.”
Randal replied, “Can’t do that, my friend. I’m just here to talk.”
“Won’t tell ya again, homey. Put yer gun down and yer hands up, or yer dead.”
“Like I said. I just want to talk. That’s all. I’m not a danger to you.”
The man squeezed the trigger and the round caught Randal in the chest, knocking him down.
Bill, Tyler, Joe, and the other two Rangers cut loose. Within seconds, the entire population of the small village was dead or dying.
Hustling to where Randal lay, Bill found him clutching his chest. “They’re all down, Randal. You all right?”
Sitting up, he pulled at the Velcro straps and jerked the body armor off, then his helmet, letting it drop between his splayed legs. He muttered, “Damn, that hurts.” He fell back on the trampled long grass and worked on catching his breath.
Bill grinned. “Pussy.”
Grimacing, he sneered. “Fuck you, Bill.” He wrestled his aching body to his feet. “Let’s go see if anyone’s left alive.”
There was one female survivor, but she was badly wounded and wasn’t going to make it. Tyler held her head in his lap, offering comfort while Randal asked her questions. “Why did you guys shoot?”
“’Cause we don’t mingle with white boys.”
“That’s too bad. We didn’t mean you any harm. What’s your name?”
“Kineesha.”
“Are there any other survivors around, Kineesha?”
She coughed and choked on the blood filling her mouth, and Tyler gently wiped it away with a bandana. She looked at Randal with fear-filled eyes and asked, “Am I gonna die?”
“We don’t have the gear to fix you. I’m sorry.”
She stared at him for several seconds, then said, “It was all Stinger’s fuckin’ idea.” She hacked violently and coughed more blood. “There ain’t no people from Fort Myers clear to Miami. None.” She coughed again, hacked up more blood, stiffened, then went limp. Tyler closed her eyes, laid her head gently on the ground, and stood.
Checking the camp, they found evidence they were raiders. A cache of identification cards, DLs, credit cards, pictures, and personal belongings that didn’t match the dead showed who they were and how they functioned.
Bill asked no one in particular, “Credit cards? Really?” He shook his head sadly and said, “What the fuck is wrong with the human race?” He picked up and dropped a few credit cards at a time as the hamster wheel of his mind spun. “You know what I think? I think we should give everyone a basic IQ test. If they fail it, we should… Fuck it. I’m so over this shit.”
Randal said, “Relax, Bill. We all feel the same way.”
They all looked around at the senseless carnage.
Tyler broke the silence. “If she’s right, there are no other survivors in south Florida. At least there’s that.”
Randal said, “Yeah, but we can’t take that to the bank. Let’s bury them. We’ll bivy here for the night and head to the coast in the morning.”
“Which one?” asked Bill.
“The Gulf first. Then we’ll check the Atlantic.”
Bill nodded. “Cool. I can grab some of my old skivvies.”
Tyler smirked. “Has anyone, like a shrink, ever determined what was wrong with you, Bill?”
“Yeah. As a matter of fact, he said I’m fucked up because your mother wouldn’t stop sending me pictures.”
Laughing with the others, Randal said, “You should have done standup instead of SEAL work, Bill. Tyler could have been your straight man.”
“Only thing straight about that little motherfucker is his two-inch dick.”
“Yeah? The only reason it’s two inches is because it shrinks and tries to hide every time you attempt to touch it.”
Randal allowed the banter to go on for a few more minutes. “All right, let’s get serious. It’s obviously warm enough, but assuming we migrate here, we won’t have Fort-Terminus or Fort Hope. We’ll have to build an entirely new fort. And without the benefit of the mountains to hide i
t in.”
Bill said, “Yeah, six of one, half dozen of the other. Let’s gather as much intel as we can. That’s what we’re here for. We can figure it out when we get back.”
The west coast was devoid of human life, but Bill took advantage of the trip to check out his and Wade’s old homes. They were both trashed. At his old house, he found a picture album. Linda would like that. At Wade’s abode, he found a couple of Adam’s little Master Chief figurines and put them in his pack.
They rode as far as Fort Myers Beach and gazed at the Gulf of Mexico. The vacant fishing pier was lined with hundreds of pelicans.
Tyler asked, “What do pelicans taste like?”
Bill answered him. “They’re birds, dumbass. They taste like chicken.”
“Really? Why does everything taste like chicken except damned chicken?”
“Who gives a shit? Shoot one and we’ll cook it for supper.”
The East Coast was a mirror image of the West. There was no sign of humanity, but there were numerous small herds of wild cattle scattered throughout the vast fields between the coasts.
Bill thought out loud as they set up camp their last night in Florida. “We can round those suckers up and raise them. If we can find a bull, we’ll be in like Flint.”
Tyler asked, “What the hell does that mean?”
“What?”
“In like Flint?”
“It means you’re a dumb ass.”
“At least I’m not a fat ass.”
“No, you’re not, you’re a—”
Randal cut in. “Knock it off. I have to call in. Remind me not to bring you two on another mission. Jesus Christ.”
Bill and Tyler looked at each other with smug grins.
Wade was relieved to hear it was much warmer, there was no radiation and, other than the dead raiders, there were no other survivors in the area. Randal also reported that citrus crops were abundant, and that after clearing the fields they would be able to plant acres of vegetables, and the animals would have more than enough graze. “We found several herds of wild cattle too, and with Lake Okeechobee and the ocean and gulf, Florida is definitely the place.”