Liberators

by Rawles James Wesley

  Joshua answered, “We did notice the situation is potentially volatile here.” He extended his hand. “My name is Joshua Kim.”

  The man with the badly pitted lever gun offered his hand and said, “I’m Ganesh Sansudeen. If you can pump the fuel out with your device, I can sell it to you at fifteen dollars per gallon. Of course, if you were willing to offer the pump in partial payment, then we could negotiate for a lower rate, say ten dollars per gallon. This gives you fuel at a lower price and me the opportunity to sell gasoline, something that would help us greatly right now.”

  Joshua sized up the offer and then prudently answered, “Ah, friend, you’re mistaken if you think that I’m in charge here. Frankly, it’s not my pump to sell. You’d have to ask this smart and beautiful woman right here. She’s the owner of the pump.”

  Megan thought about the situation and the “savings” on fuel now versus what they might need to do in another situation tomorrow. “Mr. Sansudeen, I can appreciate your offer and it’s a fair one on all accounts. However, we’re traveling much farther west, our route is uncertain, civil order is deteriorating, and we can’t say what the power situation will be at any other gas station on our way. This pump is our only means to access fuel in tanks below ground. Yet, I think that perhaps we can agree to do something to help the situation in your favor. I assume that you’re running a cash-only business here today?”

  Ganesh looked at her intently. “You are correct, ma’am.”

  Joshua was transfixed watching his fiancée negotiate this situation. It was clear that Megan was bargaining from a position of power. “Then we can pour fuel into our Jeep from the fuel jugs we have with us, then refill those jugs and be able to meter with a high degree of certainty how much fuel we are buying from you today. In trade, I cannot exchange my pump, but I would be happy to rent it to you so that you can fill your vehicle and then any jugs that you have available on hand. This would give you the opportunity to sell fixed quantities of gasoline to stranded travelers at a price that you set—fifteen dollars a gallon seems reasonable given how hard the commodity is to come by right now. In exchange for using my pump, we would be buying the fuel we take at nine dollars per gallon. Do we have a deal?”

  Joshua showed his loyalty to Megan by maintaining a poker face as Ganesh stroked his chin and turned the offer over in his head. “We have a deal. How long are the leads on your pump?”

  Megan had already thought of this and quickly responded, “Long enough to reach that pickup truck over there so as to not present the risk of starting a fire with fumes and an errant spark.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. Please fuel your Jeep from the cans that you have with you, as you said, then replenish the fuel that you need. I see that you have three five-gallon cans with you. As a separate agreement, would you sell me one of those empty jugs for thirty-five dollars? That’s four gallons of fuel in trade for an empty jug. You see, I have thousands of gallons of fuel, but no way to get to it right now and precious few jugs to sell it in. Although, after seeing your pump, I intend to have one of my guys start building one right away if we’re able to do so.”

  “Four gallons of fuel for an empty gas can?” Megan asked out loud to be sure that she understood, and Ganesh nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, we can agree on that.”

  Both Megan and Joshua shook hands with Ganesh. “Nice negotiating, there!” Joshua said as they walked away from Ganesh to the Jeep.

  Joshua posted himself with his .270 rifle behind a small berm on the back edge of the parking lot. He had heard a lot of activity coming from the general direction of the McDonald’s and Bob Evans across the street, and he wanted to identify threats before they became too proximal. Two of the men posted close to the road were turning away people regularly now, but Joshua wondered for how long people would take a polite “no” for an answer. With this many people stranded, someone was bound to get stupid. Having seen the whole transaction between his boss and Megan, one of the men employed by the gas station came over to Joshua.

  Joshua knew that he would be coming to ask him what he was doing, so in the interest of brevity Joshua said, “I’m just here for overwatch while they fuel up the Jeep. We should be gone soon.”

  The man was in his midtwenties, with a short-cropped haircut and a good physique. He said, “Going where, exactly? Since you have Maryland plates I take it that you’re not from here and that you probably haven’t heard why the interstate is closed?”

  Joshua had been moving from crisis to crisis since they exited the interstate, negotiated for fuel, and got themselves generally sorted out. He had uncharacteristically not thought of the next step from here. “You are correct, sir.” Joshua remembered his manners and extended his right hand, “My name is Joshua Kim and I’m in need of information, please. We’re headed west to Kentucky, if at all possible.”

  “Derrick Klaus. Nice to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Joshua did not want to lose tactical awareness, so he posted himself with a 120-degree difference in field of view so that between the two of them they could at least keep an eye on the developing situation. “All of this chaos is nationwide, but the biggest news here in Charleston is the prison break last night,” Klaus explained.

  “Whoa, that’s a big variable. How far from here?”

  “It was the Mount Olive Correctional Complex, West Virginia’s only maximum-security prison. It is less than forty miles from Charleston heading south and east as the crow flies. Although the prison houses less than a thousand inmates, they’re the worst of the worst. The whole thing was clearly planned and likely an inside job. I would love to tell you that those thugs were on foot, but a group of them stole three buses, killed a bunch of guards, and likely had an arms cache supplied to them as well. All of that was reported across the ham network, not the news channels, mind you. They were not intent on raping and pillaging the common folk yet; instead they made a beeline for the state capitol building. By the time the authorities knew what was going on, they had two hundred violent criminals descending upon Charleston. The governor and the legislature fled and there simply weren’t enough good guys with guns to quell the rebellion. Geography is your biggest obstacle right now, Joshua. The interstate freeways are blocked, and you’re unfortunately on the wrong side of Charleston to be trying to flee westward.”

  “How long until your situation here becomes untenable?” Joshua asked.

  Derrick never lost his cool; Joshua guessed he had some kind of military experience keeping him focused through all of this as he continued to scan his sector. “I think that we’ll have a full-blown riot situation here in about ninety minutes or less, and I’m not expecting that there are any cops left to dispatch to this place.”

  To punctuate Derrick’s comments a close gunshot was heard, followed by screaming from the other side of the Bob Evans. Joshua was following the briefing the best that he could, but realizing that they would need to leave soon, he asked, “Are we without any options?”

  “I grew up around here, and the problem is that your Jeep is not amphibious. To get anywhere in West Virginia, you’ll need to eventually cross water. If you head south and east toward Montgomery, West Virginia, then you’re cut off from a viable route west anytime soon. I’ve been keeping tabs on the ham network through my friend Lou, who relays a summary to me every half hour or so. Lou is working up the road at the church with a community-organized roadblock. When the interstate was blocked, we didn’t want people pouring into our neighborhoods, looking like refugees but intent on pillaging the good people that I grew up with.”

  Derrick pointed without looking to his right across Joshua’s rifle. “If you head up Frame Road there, you’ll run into the roadblock and not be able to get any farther west. However, if you like, I can radio to Lou and tell him to let the guards know your party is coming. They can let you through, and from there you can make your way to the Raymond City/Dunbar area. If that bridge isn’t closed, then you might still b
e able to cross the river and then beat feet west and south from there to get to Kentucky.”

  Joshua assessed the whole situation before accepting Derrick’s help.

  “Now for your test of character and goodwill.” Joshua looked puzzled. “Did you notice the Chrysler that sputtered to a stop past you where you were parked initially?” Joshua nodded. “That old lady is stuck; no fuel and no way to get it. I know that she lives over in the Raymond City area. The route west across the back roads is pretty complicated if you don’t know it—but she does and could give you turn-by-turn directions. This isn’t a must, but if I were you, I’d be sowing some good karma right now and take her with you to Raymond City. It’s your choice and your risk to take her or not take her and lose precious time before that bridge potentially closes. I think that your ladies over there have that fueling mission wrapped up, so it’s time to react most rick tick. I’ll call Lou while you load up.”

  Joshua thanked Derrick and went over to the Jeep to brief Megan and Malorie on their options and the recent developments in Charleston. The sisters agreed that taking the grandmother was a good move. “I have to think that God would honor that,” Megan said. “She can sit back here with one of the boys on her lap while you and Malorie continue to drive and keep your eyes open. I have a feeling that things are not going to calm down until we are well out of Charleston. I’ll go talk to her; Joshua, you pay and ask Derrick how we signal the guys at the checkpoint.”

  Joshua hustled across the parking lot and thought, “She thinks of everything!” Derrick was walking toward him with the radio up to his mouth. Joshua said, “Derrick, I cannot thank you enough. My fiancée went to get the woman in the Chrysler; we can get her to Raymond City. What is our signal to Lou?”

  “Good on ya, not everyone would have done that for her. Lou said to get a yellow plastic WET FLOOR sign and attach it to your front brush guard. That way they can wave you through from afar. The roadblock is layered, so to get past the first two points, then to the serpentine section, you have to advance to be recognized. Those boys up there are good shots, so proceed with caution. God bless.”

  Joshua thanked Derrick again and paid Ganesh in cash for the fuel, thanking him once more. He asked for a WET FLOOR sign for the checkpoint and Ganesh appeared back out in a moment with it and some duct tape. Joshua paid him an extra ten dollars for the sign and then got into the driver’s side of the Jeep. Malorie was partially standing in the Jeep, with one leg out, using the door for makeshift cover as much as possible in case she had to react quickly. The boys had been hunkered down in the bushes, but as Megan crossed the parking lot with her arm linked with the older woman’s, Malorie called them, “Viens ici!” They were all loaded up as the last strip of duct tape was applied to the WET FLOOR sign. The Jeep pulled out of the parking lot, turned right, and then left up Frame Road. A short round of introductions and pleasantries were exchanged with Mrs. Townsend, their new passenger.

  Joshua downshifted into second gear and slowly approached the first barrier, an old Pontiac station wagon from an era when Americans built cars that measured sheet metal in acres. The young man situated behind the engine block saw the WET FLOOR sign as a signal and waved them through, speaking into his radio.

  Joshua slowly cleared the second barrier and was again waved ahead, then crept through the serpentine section up the hill toward Sandy Grove Missionary Baptist Church, where he was greeted by a young, overweight man holding an Icom radio. Malorie rolled down the window and the man said, “Hey, you must be Joshua; I’m Lou. I see that you took the extra passenger.” Leaning over to talk to Mrs. Townsend, he said, “Ma’am, how are you?”

  Mrs. Townsend answered, “I’ve been better, but thank you for all of your help. I was visiting my grandchildren in Sutton; now all I want is to get home. I haven’t been able to get hold of my husband, Dale. The kids all insist that I carry this stupid cell phone, and it hasn’t worked since about noon today.”

  “We noticed the same thing, but us hams are prepared for that!” Lou held up his Icom radio and then continued, “We are getting reports that the roads from here to Dunbar are passable, no significant reports of civil unrest. Keep that WET FLOOR sign on your brush guard; I can relay to other hams farther down to look out for you.”

  Joshua said, “Will do.”

  “How are you fixed for water?” Lou asked.

  “We’re good on water, food, and also fuel, thanks to some prudent planning by my sister back there,” Malorie said.

  “Once you cross the river you should be okay. Godspeed.” He tapped the hood of the Jeep like some sergeant in a war movie, and they were once again making progress westward.

  15

  BYPASS

  That’s what happened under communism—and increasingly, it’s happening in America. As Joseph Sobran put it: “Need” now means wanting someone else’s money. “Greed” means wanting to keep your own. “Compassion” is when a politician arranges the transfer.

  —John Stossel

  En Route Through West Virginia—October, the First Year

  The Jeep rolled slowly along winding roads. Malorie had already committed the next portion of the map to memory, so she knew to turn right at the intersection, as it was the most westerly option in the unfamiliar terrain.

  Mrs. Townsend, or Beatrice as she preferred to be called, gave them exact directions on how to navigate to Nitro, West Virginia, where they would be looking for the Third Street Bridge. No one else in the Jeep could yet appreciate just how far out of the way they had had to go to circumnavigate Charleston, but it increasingly became clear just how providential it was that they’d met her. Beatrice explained that she was the wife of Pastor Dale Townsend of St. Paul Baptist church in St. Albans, and that he had been golf partners with Pastor Townsend since the two of them graduated seminary together more than forty years ago. “I never would have thought that law and order could diminish so quickly!” Megan let out a long, low whistle and nodded. “In all of my years in colaboring with Dale, we have been on dozens of mission trips and we have seen what happens when man decides not to live according to God’s law and what a reckless experiment that is—but here in West Virginia? I’m sorry; I shouldn’t talk this way in front of your boys.”

  Megan grasped her hand and said, “We appreciate you helping us, and your candor as well.”

  As Malorie threaded through the back roads, Beatrice engaged the children as only someone who has taught decades’ worth of Sunday school could do. She was attentive as they explained the pages that they had colored and was even more pleased at the boys’ recall of Scripture.

  As they neared Nitro, there were noticeably more people and an equally high proportion of tension as well. Beatrice directed them toward the Third Street Bridge. They could see the cloudy sky at dusk reflecting orange back from the city that was engulfed with flames to the east. Traffic was thick, and they were not moving very fast, but at least they were moving. Malorie always made sure that she drove with at least one car length in front of her and a clear “out” in case she needed to do some evasive driving. Nearing the bridge they had an encounter with a local sheriff’s deputy, who flagged them down to ask why they had a WET FLOOR sign on their front brush guard. Joshua, who spoke “cop,” did all of the talking; he sheepishly grinned and said that he would remove it as soon as they crossed the bridge. Joshua took the opportunity to ask the deputy of any news on the other side of the river. “It’s hard to say with all of the reports coming in. The interstate is shut down, and the through-town traffic is very dicey. We’re getting reports of looting and even some break-ins.”

  Joshua knew that everyone else was getting impatient, so he kept the conversation brief and direct. “I think that we can avoid any retail areas just fine and steer clear of the looting, but are there any patterns to the break-ins? And what is the best route for us to get to Kentucky?”

  Malorie kept her cool, nonchalantly smiling and nodding to defuse tension. The sheriff’s deputy was getting
noticeably concerned with the traffic lined up behind the Jeep, and he quickly responded, “None of the detectives have given any official statements, but the talk across the radio seems to be that people are fond of their social media street cred.” Joshua looked puzzled as the sheriff’s deputy continued, “I have yet to figure out why, but people who post all these pictures and links about guns seem to have pretty poor OPSEC, and some smart criminals must have been taking note before the power went out because they’re making surgical strikes on those people now. Why people advertise about themselves like that is beyond me, but some folks sure are taking advantage of all of the geo-tagged photos now! We just don’t have the manpower to stop it. Did you say that you’re heading over the bridge?”

  “Yes, we need to get Mrs. Townsend to the St. Paul Baptist Church parsonage just over the bridge. From there, we’re looking to make it to Kentucky.”

  The deputy may have been young, but he had his senses honed to already know how many people were in the vehicle and a general description of each, so he looked directly at Beatrice Townsend and said, “Ma’am, there have been reports of gunfire from the apartment building behind your church—please be careful.” He then shifted his gaze to Malorie and Joshua and said, “I would avoid any big roads. All routes into Charleston are closed due to the escalated criminal gang violence, making major highways going west pretty congested. I see that you have paper maps, good on ya, since the cellular service has been down most of the day. Keep moving. People are getting relieved of their lives and property if they hang out on the side of the road too long.” The sheriff’s deputy then stood up and tapped the hood of the Jeep and waved them on through the checkpoint, across the Kanawha River and over the bridge.