THE COLLAPSE: Seeking Refuge

by Frank Kaminski

  Then the air horn went off. Tarra looked at Stephen with a combination of worry and I-told-you-so in her face.

  “Shit!” Stephen yelled. Without hesitation, he sprung from his camp chair and picked up his M-4 that leaned against the bench of the picnic table. He shouldered the weapon and then turned to face Tarra.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Stephen didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he should run to the beach and assist his best friend or remain with his family. A good man’s normal reaction would be to remain with his family, but what if the invaders could be stopped before they even reached the campground? Wouldn’t that be better for everyone?

  “I was thinking about going to help,” Stephen said, then asked, “why are you just sitting there?”

  Tarra remained calm and collected in her chair at the fire. Why wasn’t she freaking out? Their daughters’ lives could be at stake for crying out loud!

  She firmly stated, “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, fool. Stay here,” Tarra said. She stood up and stretched, then picked up her shotgun. Stephen was confused, and continued to stare at her where he was standing without saying anything.

  Tarra added, “I know you want to help, but if you take off into those dark woods by yourself there’s a possibility of you getting shot. Not just by whoever is messing with us right now, but also by one of our own people. We’re new here, and there’s gonna be waaayyy too many trigger-happy amateurs running around right now. Don’t risk it.”

  Stephen frowned. He initially thought that stopping the invaders before they reached the campground was a better idea, but she was probably right. Even so, he felt as if his man card had been pulled, so in lieu of an argument, he simply one-upped his wife by saying, “We need to put the fire out then, so we aren’t exposed.”

  *****

  The two prisoners had surrendered their weapons, both of them had possessed low-end handguns akin to something a person would find in the “WEEKLY BARGAINS” section of a pawn shop. Neither claimed to have any spare ammo, and Fish had verified that information by asking Clay to frisk and pocket-check the two.

  From the northeast, three long blasts on an air horn were heard. It was the “all clear” signal. The beachers had successfully defended their territory from the third boat! Clay had looked at Fish with his air horn in hand, holding it up, as if to ask if he should do the same. Fish nodded at him, and Clay blasted three long tones as well. People from the campground would be on their way to both areas, imminently, and they would be armed. The “all clear” would let them know that their assistance was no longer required.

  Fish noticed that the two prisoners had looked at each other when Clay used his air horn, and he suspected that they were taking mental notes of the security procedures at The Park. He said to the men, “You can just go ahead and erase that shit from your brain right now. There’s no way you’ll ever be able to use it.”

  One of the prisoners asked, “What are you going to do with us?”

  Good question.

  Fish flipped his M-4 onto his back and withdrew his radio. He told the prisoners, “I’m about to find out. It isn’t up to me.”

  Before Fish could radio the information, a female voice came over the radio, “All stations, this is Carrie. Anyone hurt? Everyone okay?”

  Fish then heard responses from the other team leaders.

  “Bridge good-to-go.”

  “Gate good-to-go.”

  Fish pressed the mic and said, “Beach pending. I need to find out if any of my people that intercepted the boat at the north beach are injured or not.”

  “Standing by,” Carrie said.

  “We have a problem,” Fish said into the radio and paused. He looked to the starry sky for a moment, he wasn’t quite sure how to explain the prisoners over the radio. After barking a quick laugh to himself, he said, “Beach requires assistance, we are, uh…currently plus two. We captured them in the parking lot.”

  “Say what!?” a voice boomed over the radio. It sounded like William Probst, but Fish didn’t know that he had a radio. He was told that only the security team leaders and the resident nurse held radios. Stephen didn’t even get one. The Park had other radios, but needed to conserve battery power, so they had taken a vote as to who was deemed critical for communication at a three o’clock meeting many days ago. Ox had a propane generator at his site that his wife would use to power up the rechargeables, but fuel was a very limited resource during The Collapse. How long would it last? If the fuel ran out, Victor and Gerty had disposable batteries at their site, but those wouldn’t last forever, either. Communication was an absolute necessity. Communication saved lives.

  Another female voice came over the radio, and this time it wasn’t Carrie’s.

  “Bring them to us.”

  There was no doubt about it, the voice belonged to Claudine Probst.

  “Roger that,” Fish answered, and then stowed the radio on his belt. He pulled his 9mm from his shoulder holster and pointed it at the prisoners.

  Clay mentioned, “That was the first time I ever heard either of those two on the radio.”

  “I know, right? That’s odd,” Bryan added, a bit baffled.

  Fish was more interested in the prisoners than playing the who-had-a-radio-and-who-didn’t game. He said to the two captives, “Let’s march. You both better behave, and keep your hands on your heads. You don’t even want to know what I did to the last two shitbags I held at gunpoint.”

  Pharaoh growled at the men as if to support his master’s statements.

  Before the group departed, Bryan asked, “What about the other beachers? Aren’t we going to check on them?”

  “Clay, you go,” Fish ordered, “take my radio, find out if they are good to go or not, then radio Carrie so she’s not standing around waiting all night. Meet us at William and Claudine’s site afterwards.”

  One of the prisoners (who didn’t appear to be very afraid) asked a question, “William and Claudine? Are those the people in charge here?”

  Fish used the barrel of his pistol to get the men moving. He sneered at them, saying, “Don’t worry about who’s in charge here. Like I said, erase all that shit from your brain, because you’ll never be able to use any of that information.”

  Bryan said in an edgy tone, “Maybe we shouldn’t say anything else around these guys.”

  “Good idea,” Fish agreed. “Let’s get these turds to the boss.”

  *****

  Quite a few of The Park residents had taken up arms (some with whatever they could find) to assist with quelling the invasion. The last two attacks had put a vigilant taste for revenge in everyone’s mouth. Fish and Bryan came across a five-man posse on the road leading to Forest Loop. Apparently, the “all clear” signal wasn’t good enough for them, they wanted to check it out for themselves.

  The mob had spotted Fish and Bryan escorting the two prisoners at gunpoint and ran toward them. One of the younger men in the posse had recognized Fish as “The Safeway Guy”, and hollered it to the others as they approached.

  It was quite clear to the mob that the two prisoners were, in fact, prisoners, since they were sullenly walking with their hands upon their heads.

  A man from the posse called out, “Are those Bowmen?”

  “Well? Are they?” another man demanded to know.

  “Everyone calm down,” Fish commanded, scanning all the faces of posse in the starlight for anyone that might be a little too anxious for some get-back. He continued with, “We don’t know anything about these turds yet.”

  “Where are you taking them? To Victor’s site?” a man asked.

  Fish wondered why Victor’s site would have anything to do with prisoners. He hadn’t been there yet. If he had, he would have known that the entire place was strung up with enough barb wire to keep even the rowdiest bull in the pen. And they still had more wire to spare.

  Bryan said to the angry mob, “We’re
taking them to ‘the boss’. Don’t use names, please.”

  The posse members looked at each other, some confused, some not. A few nodded that they understood. Fish and Bryan were thankful for that, however, one man in particular did not nod, did not calm down, and did not understand. For some reason, he wasn’t satisfied with the information he was being provided by the beachers. Luckily, he was only armed with a golf club.

  “I want answers, now,” the golfer demanded, getting between Bryan and the prisoners. He stopped Bryan from moving forward by raising the business end of his golf club to Bryan’s chest.

  “Don’t do this, man, please stop,” Bryan warned quietly.

  “No,” the golfer started, “I want answers. Why are us common folk always left out of the loop? I’m tired of this!”

  “Me too,” another man cried out.

  “Yeah,” a third man added, “why is it that the security people are the only ones that ever know what’s going on? What about everyone else, huh?”

  Fish had to get things under control before they got out of hand. Keeping his pistol pointed at the prisoners, he announced to the group of men, “Hey guys, I’m brand new here. I’m the new night shift team leader for the beach. Were just following orders from the boss, so why don’t you throw us a bone here. Let us take these guys in and we’ll find some answers. All of us, together, if you want.”

  “That’s not good enough,” said the golfer, “I think we should ask them a few questions right here and now.”

  Fish thought for a moment, then said to him, “Nope, not gonna happen. We need to take these guys in, ASAP. Who the hell are you, anyway? The captain of the neighborhood watch?”

  The golfer sneered at Fish’s comment, and then back at the prisoners, who were becoming increasingly nervous as the altercation continued in the middle of the road.

  Fish tried to redirect the mob’s attention away from the prisoners by saying, “Listen, I think I know why the security people know more about what’s going on here than the rest of you.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” the golfer’s supporter shouted.

  “Because they have representatives at the daily meetings with The Park leadership, that’s why. After each meeting, I am pretty sure that they inform their teams of what’s going on.”

  Fish’s explanation agitated the mob even more.

  Another man hollered, “So, are you telling us that the only way to get any information around here is to put our lives on the line every day with the security teams, is that what you are saying?”

  Bryan looked at the man and firmly stated, “Doesn’t that seem logical to you?”

  The golfer then said, seemingly to all men present instead of just to Fish and Bryan, “I’ve got way too much other shit going on, with fishing all day and taking care of my family. I don’t have time to volunteer on those teams.”

  “Me neither!” the golfer’s sidekick shouted once again.

  Fish looked at Bryan, he sensed that they were losing control of the vigilantes. Bryan sensed it, too, because he shook his head at Fish. The small mob was nothing more than a bunch of frustrated, strung-out men that simply wanted information. Or were they?

  Fish suddenly had other ideas, and became angry right back at them. Even though he was brand new at The Park, he could very clearly see what was going on there. He thought the golfer and his supporters were just lazy, cowardly individuals that were too afraid of the beach or the bridge to volunteer on the security teams. But yet they felt as though they were entitled to “answers” and information. “Answers” - how dare they? Additionally, the golfer was jeopardizing the current mission, and Fish intended on putting an immediate end to the ridiculousness occurring in the middle of the road. The prisoners were watching, and if they sensed weakness amongst those who were charged with the protection of The Park, they might attempt to escape. Even worse, if they actually did escape, what if they took all this information and observations back to the rest of their own people, Bowmen or otherwise?

  Fish decided to take action. The golfer noticed that Fish put away his pistol and was removing the M-4 rifle from his back. He nervously began to step backward away from Bryan as Fish stepped toward him.

  “Hey, stop! What are you doing!?!!!” the golfer screamed in terror as he ducked away, almost falling to the ground in his haste. Fish had the ass end of his rifle in the air, as if he was about to butt-stroke the man in the head. He didn’t, though, it was just a bluff. He just wanted to scare the obnoxious golfer, nothing more. A mere show of force to calm his ass down. It must have worked, because the golfer and his supporter bolted a few yards up the road before turning around again. The large German shepherd barking loudly in a protective posture next to Fish had frightened the men even more.

  “Anyone else want ‘answers’?” Fish yelled to the rest of the posse over Pharaoh’s barking, “I gave all of you a chance to come with us and you fuckin’ blew it. So…get the hell out of here. Go back to your campsites.”

  The remaining members of the posse scattered without further question.

  Bryan didn’t seem to approve of the way Fish handled the situation, but said nothing about it. He reserved the right (to himself) to question Fish’s methods later on. After the prisoners were delivered and secured, of course.

  The young man that originally had recognized Fish as the Safeway Guy said sadly before he left the group, “I thought that you were supposed to be our hero. But I was wrong, you’re just a damn bully.”

  “Oh, boo hoo,” Fish made a crying sound to the disappointed young man as he slowly walked away, then continued with, “you just stood there while your idiot friends almost ruined our mission. Grow some balls, stand up for yourself.”

  “Whatever,” the young man said, his back still turned to Fish.

  Fish’s anger increased exponentially at the “whatever” comment.

  “Whatever, yeah. WHATEVER!” Fish shouted, his blood boiling. “You know what? It was guys like you that got us into this whole Collapse mess in the first place. Bunch of mobs of people protesting and crying about racism and government and cops and taxes and rich people. Millions of people just like you playing follow the leader to loudmouths like the jackass with the golf club tonight. You, yes, YOU are the reason the whole country fell apart. Standing right there in the middle of everything and participating in all the bullshit, too afraid to do anything other than the same stupid shit everyone else was doing. How does that make you feel, coward? WHATEVER!”

  The saddened soul refused to turn around, but said, “No, sir, I disagree. Actually…I think it was the oppressive people in charge like you, yes, YOU that destroyed our country.”

  Fish had no response. In a small way, he thought that the guy might have been right. Maybe even in a big way, but his fury would never allow him to admit it, nor apologize. He just flipped the M-4 strap over his shoulder and removed his 9mm pistol as he ordered the prisoners to march faster. His former fan disappeared into the darkness in the opposite direction.

  Bryan continued to walk behind the prisoners in silent disapproval, hoping that Fish wouldn’t talk to him or ask him his opinion about anything that had just happened.

  Fish didn’t.

  For once, he knew better.

  Chapter 8

  Upon reaching the intersection that dispatched Forest Loop to the right, and Lower Loop to the left, Fish had excused Pharaoh from duty. He pointed toward Lower Loop and told the dog to “go back to the truck”. Pharaoh had whined in protest, but after Fish commanded him a second time, the dog reluctantly obeyed. Fish wasn’t sure what to expect at the Probsts’ site, and felt as if Pharaoh might have been a liability during the interrogation process.

  William met Fish and Bryan outside his RV with two lengths of plastic cord. The cord reminded Fish of his mother’s clothesline when he was a child. It was somewhat stretchy, but ultra-strong. William asked the beachers to secure the prisoners’ hands with it, then told Fish to bring the men inside the RV. Fish m
oved the two turds toward the RV’s door and pushed them inside. He had tried to follow them in, but William put his hand up as if he wanted Fish to remain outside. That was a shock!

  “Let us talk to them alone first, please,” William said to Fish. Fish thought that was rather odd, he felt as if somebody should be watching over the potentially dangerous prisoners while the bosses conducted their interrogation. But, Fish was accustomed to following orders, so he obliged.

  “Roger that,” Fish acknowledged, stepping back off the RV’s footboards, “we’ll be right outside the door in case you need us.”

  “Thank you, Fish. You did an excellent job tonight,” William stated. Then he poked his head further out the door and said, “You, too, Bryan. Good job, thank you.”

  “No problem, sir,” Bryan respectfully replied.

  Minutes passed as the bosses questioned the prisoners. The Probst’s had a very, very nice RV, and it was constructed in a manner that prevented Fish or Bryan from discerning any of the conversation taking place inside. Fish and Bryan wanted nothing more than to eavesdrop on the interrogation, but neither of them wanted to be caught with their ear pressed against the bosses’ window or door.

  It had taken Bryan a few minutes to muster up the courage to ask Fish why he had acted so ruthlessly to the men that had intercepted them on the road earlier.

  Fish admitted, “Sometimes I get too emotional about stuff. It’s hard to describe.”

  “Were you really going to hit that man in the head with your rifle?” Bryan asked.

  Fish laughed, “Hell no! I just wanted to scare the dude, that’s all.”

  “Oh, okay. That makes me feel a little bit better, I thought you were actually going to hit him,” Bryan said.

  “Nope,” Fish said, “but…I probably shouldn’t have yelled at the kid that called me a bully, either.”