Richard happened to be pulling his regularly scheduled shift at Eden South’s control center on the day Brad went missing.
Arthur was sitting next to him, discussing the training which needed to be done to bring their new militia up to speed, and both men were monitoring radio traffic.
The base radio used at the Eden South control center was identical to the one used at the Junction compound. Marty had come across them in an abandoned trailer and had given one to Junction to upgrade from the older model they were using.
The two base stations also shared a common frequency, and therefore knew what was going on at both places at any given time.
Marty and Lenny had finished their runs at the mine and were headed back to Eden South before Brad was declared missing.
They’d called in to Junction and offered to come back but were waved off by Frank.
“We’re going to assume he’s hunkered down for the night wherever he is,” Frank told them. “We’re not going to spin our wheels and risk anybody else trying to conduct a search at night. Instead we’ll start fresh in the morning.
“If you boys want to join us in the morning, your help is more than welcome. But all gathering operations are on indefinite hold. Tomorrow’s operation will be strictly search and rescue.”
“Copy that,” Marty responded. “We’ll leave a little early and be there before it gets light outside.
“Or, if not light, at least a little less brown.”
The roads were bad, getting increasingly worse each day. Many truckers would have stopped going out by now. In fact, Marty expected that any day now the Junction crew would have to call it quits and say “enough is enough.” They’d park their rigs in the back of the mine and lower the overhead door for the last time until the thaw.
Instead of going out to gather provisions and fuel each day they’d spend four days installing huge pre-fab insulation panels at the mine’s entrance. It would moderate the temperature so it was consistent throughout the mine, instead of being frigid close to the metal door and short-sleeve comfortable everywhere else.
They were down to the last days of the gathering operation. But they weren’t there yet.
Marty and his best friend Lenny were nearing Eden, arriving from its southeast and about five miles out.
They were each hauling empty trailers, which gave them a little more traction on the ice than they’d get by bobtailing it. It sounded counter-intuitive, but the additional weight over the tractor’s drive wheels helped.
Actually, Marty’s trailer was almost empty but not quite.
He’d made a pit stop at an abandoned trailer on Highway 83.
The trailer was marked “AAFES” on the side with a red, white and blue color scheme. And it was fitting the rig was decked out in patriotic colors, for AAFES was a military acronym for the Army and Air Force Exchange Service.
The trailer had four flat tires now. In all likelihood it would never be moved again. Or at least until it was very old. It was abandoned three days after Saris seven hit the earth years before. The driver was headed to an AAFES facility in San Antonio. Its cargo was destined for an AAFES uniform store.
A common misconception for those who’ve never served in the United States Air Force is that the service provides its members new uniforms on a yearly basis or whenever they’re damaged.
That’s not the case. The Air Force provided an initial allotment of uniforms as new recruits graduate from basic training. Later, after they’re in for several years and their initial uniforms start to wear out, the troops are given a monthly clothing allowance. From that point on it’s up to them to buy replacement uniforms as needed for the rest of their career.
To do that they go to an AAFES “Military Clothing Store.”
The driver of the AAFES truck wasn’t an active duty military member. He was a civilian, employed by AAFES to shuttle military exchange goods over the road from its distribution centers to various military bases far and wide.
His name was Stan, and his plan was to drop his load, then bobtail it back to Taylor, Michigan to be with his family.
As fate would have it, the first of the trailer’s four flat tires happened on that day, as he was driving down Highway 83 on his way to drop his load.
He could have gone on and just kept an eye on the blown Goodyear.
He could have stopped at the Trucker’s Paradise Truck Stop and gotten it changed.
But Stan wasn’t the most conscientious man around. And he was planning on quitting the following day anyway.
He decided to pull over, drop the trailer, and quit a day earlier than planned.
With a seven to ten year freeze on the way, he didn’t figure he’d need a job reference from AAFES anytime soon.
This particular load wasn’t destined for the Base Exchange or BX, a kind of department store for military personnel. Rather it was destined for the base Military Clothing Store. For instead of televisions and cookies, it contained uniforms of all types and sizes.
Marty had stopped at the trailer a couple of years before, just after the thaw. He’d inspected its contents and passed, not seeing any need for the items contained in its bowels.
Now, though, he’d had a change of mind.
He’d called Lenny on the radio as they got close to the trailer and asked him to give him ten minutes. He pulled over and climbed aboard the rig.
It had been looted several times since he first saw it, but the looters seemed to come to the same conclusion Marty had. That there was nothing edible on board, therefore it was worthless.
He threw several cardboard boxes off the end of the trailer and had Lenny load them into his own.
“Hey Richard, you still on the control center?”
Richard picked up the microphone.
“Right here, Marty. Y’all getting close?”
“Five minutes, maybe ten. Do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure. Just name it.”
“Have somebody put a dolly in the Sally port. We brought you back a Christmas present.”
“That’s nice of you. But I’m Jewish.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. A Hanukah present, then.”
Richard chuckled. He didn’t know what Marty was up to, but he’d play along.
“Ten four, good buddy. Control to Sally port.”
“Sally port copied. We’ll have a dolly in place.”
Arthur looked at Richard and said, “What do you suppose that crazy old coot is up to?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he says he’s bearing gifts, who are we to refuse them?”
“Yeah. But what kind of gifts?”
“I don’t know. But if I was given a choice I’d go with a redhead. Maybe five foot ten.”
Richard didn’t get his redhead.
But he wasn’t disappointed, for what he got instead was seven cases of desert camouflage battle dress uniforms.
And he was happy to get them.
Uniforms would enhance the cohesiveness of his fighting force. And by wearing uniforms specifically designed for battle they’d be able to wear their battle gear, with pockets in just the rights places for extra magazines and other hardware.
He had just one question.
“All you got was small, medium and large. What if we enlist somebody who needs a larger size?”
Marty was taken aback. But he took it in stride.
“Richard, when was the last time you saw anybody who wasn’t skinny as a rail? After all the world has put us through, there are no fat people anymore.”
He hadn’t thought of it, but he looked around and pondered Marty’s words.
It was absolutely true.
-10-
Marty, I appreciate the uniforms. It’ll make the guys feel like they’re a part of something. It’ll give them a sense of pride.”
“Don’t mention it. I figured they deserved some small token for all the hell you’ve been putting them through.”
&nb
sp; “Hell?”
Mayor Al had just walked up to join the conversation. He chuckled.
“They’ve been coming to me complaining that you’re a brutal dictator. That you’re making them do so many sit-ups and pushups their arms are getting ready to fall off.”
“I’m just trying to whip them into shape, Al. I can’t use a security force that has to stop and rest halfway through a battle.”
“Oh, I know that, Richard. And they know that too. It’s just that somebody told them the old adage about it being a soldier’s God-given right to complain.”
“Well, at least they’re starting to think of themselves as soldiers. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“They are. And despite their complaints, there’s not a single one of them who regrets signing on with your militia. They seem to be getting their self-confidence back.”
“I noticed that too. One of them came to me a couple of days ago and told me something I’ll never forget. He said that after Castillo and his band of thugs took over the town all the men were emasculated. They were forced to watch Castillo and his men have their way with their women. Use their kids as slaves. In some cases use the men as slaves too. They didn’t fight back for fear of being shot and making it even worse for their families.
“He said that their refusal to go help when Glenna asked them to reinforced the feeling they were losers and cowards. That when she called them out it was a hard dose of reality they needed.
“He said they’re actually looking forward to defending the prison from attack. He said when that happens maybe they’ll be able to see themselves as men again and not just losers.”
Al asked, “Have you told Marty and Lenny yet, Richard?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Told me what?” Marty asked.
“An hour ago, when the word came over the radio one of Junction’s men was missing, the boys in the militia got together.
“They decided they want to go out with you in the morning. They want to help in the search.”
“Seriously? But why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they feel the need to help in some small way. Maybe they need to soothe the guilt they’re feeling because they didn’t step up when Glenna asked them to.
“Maybe both. Why ask why?”
“Where are they now?”
“They were so confident you’d take them up on their offer they went to their racks to get some sleep. Said they wanted to be well rested so they were on their game.
“I told them you usually headed out about oh six hundred. They said they’d be here and be ready.”
Marty was hesitant.
“I don’t know about this, Richard. I mean, I appreciate their offer. But how many of them are proficient in driving on icy roads? I don’t want to be in a situation where we spend more time rescuing your men than we do looking for Brad.”
Mayor Al took over.
“We thought about that, Marty, and agree with you. But here’s the thing. They don’t have to drive to be of some help. They can ride in the passenger seat with your regular drivers. Even in the daytime it’s hard to see because of all the dirt and dust in the air. An extra pair of eyes can be of some benefit, surely.”
“Maybe you’re right. But please don’t call me Shirley.”
Al groaned.
Marty said, “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
“If your drivers have a passenger to watch the right side of the roadway they can focus all their attention on the left side. They might be able to see something in the yuck and muck that they’d otherwise miss.
“And there’s something else, too. We don’t know what your friend Brad’s gotten himself into. Maybe he’s injured and lying in a gully somewhere. Maybe you’ll need a second pair of hands and a second man to carry him back out again.”
Richard said, “Marty, we’ve only known each other for a year or so. But you know me well enough to know I don’t ask for much. But I’m asking for this.
“These men are damaged. Damaged not only from the first freeze, but by the loss of their courage. They need something to help make them whole again. They need something to make them feel less like losers and more like men.
“They need a mission. Their going along cannot possibly hurt and may very well help. I’m asking you, as a favor to me, give them that opportunity.”
Marty thought about it. But not for long.
“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm off, how can I say no?
“But when Lenny and I are ready to go, we’re headed out. We’re not gonna stand around and wait while somebody shampoos their hair or plucks their eyebrows or something.”
“Fair enough. I’ll make sure they’re all here and ready to go. I’m going to wake them up myself, a little earlier than they expected to get up.”
“How come?”
“So I can issue their new uniforms to them. If they’re going to go on a real mission like a real militia then by God, they should look the part.”
-11-
It was several weeks before John and Justin Dwyer decided to leave Welfare and head back to Plainview to reunite with the rest of their family.
It would have been longer if John’s girlfriend hadn’t kicked them out of her house.
John thought it quite unreasonable of her to kick them out in the cold.
Just because she found out John slept with her best friend.
He was going to argue the point, to tell her she just needed to chill out and listen to reason. Then she stuck a twelve gauge shot gun in his face.
He decided maybe talking it out wasn’t such a good idea after all.
The brothers had been kicking around the idea of leaving soon anyway. The roads were starting to get pretty bad now, and within a few days they’d be pretty much impossible to navigate.
Having grown up in north Texas, they were no strangers to icy roads. That wasn’t what bothered them.
But icy roads covered by several inches of ice-packed snow was a different story. And the longer they waited to make their journey the more chance they wouldn’t be able to.
The one bright spot in his getting kicked out was that John happened to have his girlfriend’s keys in his pocket at the time.
She woke up the next morning to find an empty space in the driveway where her pickup once was.
And she cursed her now-former boyfriend.
Then she laughed.
Because she knew something he didn’t know.
John wasn’t the most ambitious guy around.
His own mother called him the “laziest turd” she’d ever seen.
When one’s own mother says one is the “laziest turd” she’d ever seen it’s a good indication that one is indeed lazy.
And to be sure, as a high schooler John kept his room looking like a Kansas twister had just blown through.
As an adult he wasn’t much better.
Someone asked him once what color carpet he had in his apartment. He scratched his head and thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen it for a very long time.”
Because he was so lazy, it was no surprise to John’s girlfriend Amy that he never helped around the house. She did all the gathering, all the cooking, all the cleaning.
And all the vehicle maintenance.
She’d had the pickup for several years. She’d driven it hard and fast.
That was why it left a trail of ugly smoke behind it as it drove down the highway.
Oh, it ran well enough for her purposes. She wasn’t a woman who needed a spotless and fancy truck.
Or a spotless and fancy boyfriend either, for that matter.
In fact, John never drove the truck. He just went out and sat in it occasionally when he wanted to smoke a cigarette and get away from Amy for awhile.
He knew the truck smoked, but didn’t see it as a problem.
That was because it was Amy and not him who checked the oil level religiously every other day.
And who pour
ed a quart of oil into the crankcase at least twice a week to replace what was being burned off.
Two quarts a week, minimum. And that was just driving around town looking for food to eat.
She knew once John took it on the highway it wouldn’t be long until Karma came back and bit him in the butt.
Just thinking about it brought a smile to her face.
Sure enough, the engine started knocking ferociously when the brothers were just past Kerrville. A few more miles would have put them in Junction. There was no place to fix the truck, of course, since all businesses in town closed down years before.
But in Junction there would be people about, searching desperately for food and water.
Most would have vehicles.
And many of the dumb saps would leave their engines running when they were out of the vehicle so it stayed warm and toasty inside.
A perfect opportunity to abandon Amy’s truck and steal another vehicle.
-12-
Unfortunately they didn’t make it that far.
The old pickup started putting out much more smoke its last miles of life.
Had John Dwyer looked in his rear view mirror he might have noticed that.
Or maybe not. For there was so much loose snow on the highway, the pickup was kicking up a dirty white cloud of mammoth proportions anyway.
They slowed, even with John’s foot forcing the accelerator pedal all the way to the floor. The knocking got increasingly worse.
There was the unmistakable smell of burning oil.
This particular model truck didn’t come with pressure gauges. If it had, John might have noticed his oil pressure was dangerously low and might have pulled over and searched some abandoned cars for a quart of Quaker State.
No, this particular pickup came with what mechanics disdainfully call “idiot lights.”
The red “check engine” light came on precisely thirty seconds before the engine gasped its last breath.
Finally, the engine gave one last noticeable clanking sound. The sound of a vehicle which has run out of oil and has seized up, never to run again.
One of Our Own: Final Dawn: Book 11 Page 4