Holding Their Own: The Salt War

by Joe Nobody

  His bedding was quickly laid out, along with three magazines lined up on a nearby bale. If shooting started, he’d have reloads at hand.

  Next, he found the partial roll of duct tape, an always-present item in his pack. Careful to peel off a 1.5-inch section without making a sound, he pressed the sticky strip across his nose, pulling it tight via the skin of his cheeks.

  “It wouldn’t be good if I gave myself away by snoring,” he chuckled under his breath, remembering the old Special Forces trick.

  A few moments later, pleased with hiding right under the enemy’s nose, Nick drifted off.

  Cory made it back to his tent undetected. After allowing his nerves to settle, he began to inventory the small package of goods Grim had delivered.

  The first and largest item he pulled from the pack was a bottle of bleach. Frowning with a question over the choice of a cleaner, he moved on.

  A bottle of antibiotics was next. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he whispered.

  A can of pears, small tin of coffee, bottle of bourbon, and the instruction manual for a gasoline generator rounded out Grim’s grocery acquisitions.

  He almost missed the scrawled note on the bottom of the list, recognizing Grim’s handwriting instantly. The list read: “Bleach for water purification, pills – tons of them, still within their expiration, bourbon – lots of booze here, coffee – ‘nuff said. We found one truck full of brand new generators.”

  Cory nodded, now understanding Grim’s shopping trip. Nick had said much of the town had been wiped out by disease from contaminated water. A small amount of the chlorine could have gone a long way to purify the city’s water system.

  Some of the items were targeted for personal comfort, such as the coffee and booze, while others would and could ease the population’s suffering. The antibiotics were worth more than anything else on the planet.

  Returning the incredibly valuable items back to the bag, Cory hid the goodies as best he could under his sleeping bag. He just never knew when the authorities might decide to check inside his tent.

  A deep yawn made him realize he hadn’t slept much, a glance at his watch indicating it was still a few hours before the Exchange would open.

  “Nap time,” he whispered, resetting his watch alarm. “Now we can get this show on the road.”

  The sound of several engines interrupted Nick’s slumber. If that disturbance wasn’t enough, someone had started brewing coffee, the aroma easily overwhelming the smell of the straw that surrounded him.

  Before the collapse, the arrival of internal combustion engines would have been expected. Much the same could have been said of the coffee, an everyday occurrence when large groups of men were gathering to work in the early hours of the day.

  Now, Nick found himself analyzing such things, always trying to figure out the source or supplier of such amenities. Did Gospel have some sort of refining capability, or did they just figure out how to preserve the content of dozens of tanker trailers?

  How did they keep the vehicles running? Even when the Alliance secured a fuel supply, spares required scavenging auto parts stores and dealerships. “Just in time” inventory practices had made the effort frustrating at times, especially for the military with its high portfolio of machines and tools.

  The coffee was another valuable commodity, the source bean not indigenous to Texas, or even North America. Hell, Nick thought, inhaling the aroma. The java is probably more valuable than the gasoline.

  As he lay in his fortress of hay, Nick could hear the distant hum of voices. As he had anticipated, there were hundreds of men gathering outside.

  It wasn’t long before the activity increased inside the barn as well. Twenty minutes after the trucks, buses, and other transports started arriving from Cartersville, the people in charge began gathering inside the organization’s leadership hub.

  Nick, raising up on one elbow, prepared to enjoy the show.

  “Today we’re going to perform a pincher movement,” a voice bellowed over the others, demanding the attention of the crowd. “I want every man in group A to disembark from this line. Group B will proceed from the lake, and group C will act as a blocking force. Any questions?”

  The ex-Green Beret had attended hundreds of such briefings in his day. While he couldn’t risk exposing himself to spy on the management meeting below, it was easy to envision the gathered leaders checking their maps, making notes and asking for clarification on one point or another.

  Less than ten minutes later, he could tell the session had ended.

  Shouted commands and orders began to fill the air outside the barn, men being commanded to head here or there while the drivers revved engines and piloted the ragtag assortment of transports.

  What a waste, Nick thought, lying back onto his bed of soft straw. My biggest problem is going to be where to use the bathroom here in a few hours. Have fun, guys…. Elvis has left the building.

  Cory found the Exchange open for business, just as Nick had indicated it would be. He also noted there were far more vendors than customers at the early hour.

  He assumed the lack of shoppers was partly because of the time of day, but also due to Nick’s antics, hundreds of men having been reallocated to the woods. Whatever the reason, low consumer foot traffic was perfect for Cory’s mission.

  With his satchel draped over one shoulder, he made one complete tour of the marketplace. Just like his team leader had reported, it was very much like Meraton’s Market, an open-air bazaar offering everything from foodstuffs to candles and cloth.

  But Cory wasn’t shopping for goods or services. No, he was carefully observing the vendors themselves, looking for the telltale signs of respected, established, professional merchants.

  The first indicator of a potential contact was the size of the booth. The more prominent vendors were likely to have been in business the longest and have the most resources.

  Secondly, he was scouting for respected individuals, taking note of how each interacted with browsing customers and neighboring booths. He needed to find people who could raise a stink, rally their fellow citizens, and not be afraid to confront the man everyone called Gospel.

  It actually took two passes before Cory identified his first candidate. The vendor’s setup was one of the larger along the street, offering a variety of tools and other household items ranging from spatulas to weaving looms. The proprietor was obviously a woodworker of some skill, the collapse providing a market for household goods that had been made of plastic or metal before everything had gone to hell.

  The proprietor was a balding, slightly overweight man in his late 50s. He appeared to know everyone, smiling and waving to practically every passerby. But it was the framed photographs hanging from a support post that drew Cory’s attention. There was a picture of a woman, probably his wife. Below that was a family portrait of a younger couple, complete with two small children and a dog. Someone had carved a beautiful inscription in the frame that read, “R.I.P. You will not be forgotten.”

  Cory entered the display of goods, nodding and smiling at the owner, who graciously returned the greeting.

  After browsing a reasonable amount of time, Cory pointed to the photographs and asked, “Is that your family, sir?”

  Nodding, the proprietor responded sadly, “Yes, I lost my beloved Sadie to dehydration… my daughter, too. My son-in-law and grandson succumbed to the fevers.”

  “Those must have been terrible times,” Cory responded. “I lost most of my family as well.”

  The two men stood in silence for a moment, each consumed by horrible memories.

  Extending his hand, the older man introduced himself, “My name is Victor Morten.”

  Cory returned the handshake introducing himself to the local businessman with a warm smile. “I’m traveling to Louisiana, hoping to find my brother. He’s got a small farm out that way, and I pray I’ll find his family doing better than I was up in Oklahoma City.”

  “I hear things were rough all over, f
riend. Has the road been safe?” Victor asked.

  “There have been a few times I thought I might be in a fix, but in reality, I’ve encountered very few people. Most towns don’t cater to strangers; some even enforce their point of view with a warning shot if you get too close. I mainly keep to the secondary roads and avoid other folks.”

  Victor looked his customer up and down. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well, Cory. I’ve seen my share of travelers come through here who looked a lot worse.”

  Leaning in close, Cory acted as if he were sharing a big secret. “I got lucky and stumbled onto an unbelievable treasure trove just north of here. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

  Vic was skeptical, having heard it all before.

  Cory glanced both directions, ensuring no one was close by. Reaching inside his pack, he produced the bottle of bleach and flashed it to the booth’s owner.

  Victor knew the value of the liquid immediately, a few drops able to purify water without boiling. “There are truckloads of this stuff,” Cory continued. “And I found a huge stash of medicine as well,” he added, showing his new friend the bottle of antibiotics.

  Taking the offered bottle of pills and turning his back to the street, Victor read the label and then opened the lid. Despite finding the seal still in place, he was skeptical. “How do I know these are real and not just sugar pills? A lot of people have pawned off placebos as medication, you know.”

  “Open them,” Cory suggested. “Surely a man with your experience and savvy can tell a counterfeit from the real thing.”

  Taking his customer up on the offer, Vic pried off the foil seal and then raised the bottle to his nose. After inhaling the medicine-like aroma, he poured a couple of samples out in his hand, examining the manufacturer’s stamp and the firmness of the tablets. “Well I’ll be…” he mumbled, returning the pills to the bottle. “How much are you asking for these?”

  Cory waved him off, pretending like he wasn’t concerned. “That little bottle? Why you can have that, Vic. There are entire cases of those less than a mile from here.”

  It was Victor’s turn to glance both directions, a signal to Cory that he’d landed his first Cartersville fish. “Less than a mile from here? Really? Cases?”

  “Yes, sir. I found semi-trailers full of goodies. Check this out,” Cory said, showing Vic the can of pears. “I don’t know why no one has raided that bonanza yet, but there wasn’t anybody around when I came through. I’ve gorged myself like a king for two days.”

  It all fell into place for the merchant, the mention of tractor-trailers, the distance from town, the supposed huge cache of valuables. Still, being a trader in a post-collapse world left a man with a healthy dose of skepticism. “What are you after?” he asked, frowning at the anticipated answer.

  “I need to get east… to my brother’s place. A truck with gasoline would be great. I’ve only got an old shotgun for protection, so a better weapon and ammo would be of value to me. There are entire trailers of canned goods out there but not any bread. Basically, I want to equip myself to make the trip as fast and safe as possible.”

  Vic thought about the stranger’s request, eventually clearing his throat and saying, “Would you be willing to show me and perhaps another person I know this treasure trove? I promise my friend is trustworthy.”

  It was Cory’s turn to be contemplative. “I don’t know… it’s hard to trust anyone these days. No offense, but surely a man in your position understands how things are.”

  The vendor made to reassure his now-skittish acquaintance. Patting Cory on the shoulder, Vic responded, “The other man I’d like to see your discovery is a doctor… one of the few that survived after the collapse. He’s an honest, older fellow, who could tell us the true value of the medical supplies and the other items you’ve mentioned.”

  Cory started backing away, doing his best to act like the frightened bird who was about to fly away. “I don’t know… those guys running this town seemed awful harsh. Downright mean, if you ask me. I don’t trust men like that.”

  Victor tried to reassure the young trader, “Oh, no, no, no. I wouldn’t bring those animals in on any deal.” His voice then dropped to a whisper as he added, “Doc and I don’t care much for Gospel and his henchmen. We tolerate them because we have to. Believe you me, stranger, Stan and his gang of bullies are the last people we want to know about your discovery.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the passing of an armed patrol. As Cory moved away, pretending to examine a wooden cup from a table, Victor called out, “Good morning, gentlemen. Looks to be another great day.”

  The passing security men merely nodded, both appearing exhausted despite the early hour. Victor couldn’t let it go. “Any news on that thieving madman you guys have been hunting?”

  The question caused the two enforcers to pause, frowns flashing on both their faces. “No,” reported the older man. “We’ve been pulling double-shifts while they track him down. The chief says we’re getting close though. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Well, best of luck, guys,” Victor replied. “And as always, let me know if there’s anything this old peddler can do to help the cause.”

  After nodding their appreciation, the patrolmen continued on, scanning the Exchange’s growing crowd. Victor turned to Cory and then spat on the ground. “Assholes,” he mumbled. “Most of them were truck drivers Gospel lured here with the promise of protection and security. Now they think they own the damned town. It’s so ironic… no one hated the law more than truck drivers. Now, they strut around here with their tin badges and guns, acting like they are a force for the public good.”

  Cory watched the two armed men fade into the distance and then glanced up. “Do a lot of people hereabouts feel like you do?”

  “Some do; some don’t,” came the candid response. “As time goes on, more and more people are becoming impatient with their oppressive rules and Gospel’s constant skimming. Still, they did protect the town and establish order. Cartersville has fared a lot better than most places from what I hear.”

  After digesting Vic’s words, Cory smiled brightly. “I’ll be happy to show you and your friend my stash,” he confided. “When would you like to go?”

  “My assistant can take over for me after lunch. I’ll send word for the doctor to join us here. Are you sure it’s safe to go in the daylight?”

  “I think we’ll be okay,” Cory responded, visions of Grim’s assault from the night before still fresh in his mind.

  “Okay, we’ll meet you here around 12:30.”

  Cory shook hands with his fellow-conspirator, secretly pleased with his progress on the mission. “And so the games begin,” he mumbled as he stepped away.

  There was another reason why Cory was content with his new friend, Victor. The merchant’s booth was easily visible from several good hiding places.

  Grim had always stressed to stay away from potential traps and double-dealings, and Cory knew enough to take the advice to heart.

  He found an area mostly obscured by landscaping hedges with just enough “pinholes,” that he could sit privately and observe the activity around Vic’s enterprise. If several enforcers arrived shortly before their meeting time, he would have to slink quietly out of town and scratch the mission.

  But it didn’t happen.

  Only one man showed up a few minutes before the scheduled rendezvous, a salt and pepper-haired gent who matched the stereotype of a small town sawbones.

  Despite his continuous observation, Cory approached cautiously, finding the doctor examining the bottle of tablets he’d left with the proprietor.

  “This is Dr. Hanes,” Victor introduced as Cory walked up. “He is the man I told you about.”

  After shaking hands with the physician, Cory looked around anxiously. “Are we ready?”

  The three men casually strolled through the Exchange, making every attempt to appear normal to any observer. Eventually, they left the crowded confines of the market, making
their way to the north gate.

  There were three security men working that portal to Cartersville, all of whom knew both Victor and the good doctor. “Where are you going?” one of them asked bluntly.

  “This man has an ill companion,” answered the doctor. “I told him he can’t bring the patient into Cartersville, so I’m going to make a house call.”

  The explanation was accepted without further challenge, and soon the trio was traveling through sparsely populated countryside, with only the occasional abandoned building or farm adjoining the road.

  “I wish I’d brought a firearm along with me,” Victor commented, scanning a dilapidated structure that had once housed a small convenience store. “I’ve been inside those walls so long it feels weird not to have any people around.”

  “I agree,” stated the doctor. “There might be any number of nomads, vagabonds, or ne’er-do-wells roaming the countryside.”

  Cory wanted to tell his friends about Grim and Kevin, but decided against it. They would be meeting the rest of his team soon enough.

  They continued north, signs of civilization thinning as they trekked further away from the town. It was Victor who saw the two men appear out of the waist-high weeds bordering the highway.

  Both men were armed, one with a shotgun, the other with a sizeable revolver in his hand. Their clothing was filthy, with holes in the knees and several tears. Long, unkempt hair, soiled faces, and dark teeth left little doubt that the duo had seen better days.

  “Highwaymen,” Dr. Hanes announced unnecessarily.

  “Now looky here,” one of them drawled. “We have gone and stumbled upon three unarmed travelers.”

  “No shit,” replied his co-robber, spitting for emphisis. “And while they don’t appear to be carrying much, their clothes sure do look to be in better shape than ours.”

  Cory took a few steps forward, moving in front of his guests from Cartersville. “Move on,” he said in a strong, clear voice. “You’re signing up for more trouble than you can even imagine… so move on and live another day.”