by Bobby Akart
“We’ll head down to Rhoda’s. Do you remember the way?”
“Pretty much,” she replied. “It was daylight when we came up before. I’ll just have to remember where to turn off. The main road is more to our left.”
Stubby continued to drive through the neighborhoods until he reached a dead end. He turned left toward County Road 128, which led to South Hardin County. As they approached the intersection, a vehicle raced past and Stubby hit the brakes. Then another followed it.
“I’m glad you left the lights off,” said Alex.
“It’s hard to see without them, but at least we can’t be easily seen.”
“Those looked like Hummers,” quipped Alex.
“Yeah, military Humvees, like the Hummer H1. They’re headed south too.”
They reached the intersection and Stubby stopped the truck. “I’m gonna take a look,” he said as he exited the Bronco. “Open up the back and grab a couple of those M16s. We might need some real firepower.”
“No prob,” said Alex as she happily obliged. While she loved the AR-15, which she had relied upon for months, the thought of having the fully automatic M16 as her protector gave her the warm and fuzzies.
Moments later, Stubby returned and met Alex at the back of the truck. She was fumbling through ammo cans, looking for extra magazines and ammo. She held her LED light for Stubby while he got their weapons ready.
“Those Humvees are either going to Miss Rhoda’s because they caught one of the girls and coerced information out of her, or they’re going to block access in and out of south county. Either way, we’re gonna have to deal with them.”
Alex and Stubby both entered the truck and sat silently for a moment. Then Alex chuckled and told Stubby about her idea.
Colton had mentioned in passing that they’d passed the airport on the way to Miss Rhoda’s after they’d taken her from the hospital. He’d noticed a large banner read American Barnstormers Tour: Fun Fly Savannah. Several vintage aircraft were parked on the tarmac near the small terminal. Alex thought it might be a stretch, but what if those planes worked despite the solar flare? They were old looking.
“Who’s gonna fly the thing?” asked Stubby.
“I don’t know. Maybe the pilot lives around there,” started Alex. “The way I see it, we’re not gonna get through that roadblock tonight. We don’t have a map and have no idea how to get around it. Without some recon, we might just get ourselves caught.”
“Well said, grasshopper.” Stubby chuckled as he started up the Bronco.
“Grasshopper?” asked a puzzled Alex.
“Yeah, you know, from the Kung Fu show,” replied Stubby.
“What? Kung Fu?”
“Never mind, young lady,” said Stubby sarcastically. “Keep an eye out. The airport is straight down this road.”
Chapter 7
Dawn, November 23
Wolven Place
Childer’s Hill
Some towns find it necessary to create a claim to fame. You know, Nashville is the Music City, and Lauderhill, Florida, is the home of the world’s largest rubber band ball. Claxton, Georgia, is the fruitcake capital of the world, while Albertville, Alabama, proudly boasts that it is indeed the fire hydrant capital of the world—male dogs of the world rejoice!
But for most small unincorporated communities in Tennessee, they’re just fine being anonymous and nondescript. They have a we’ll do our thing and you do yours mentality. Childer’s Hill was one such community. Like so many scattered throughout the state, their claim to fame was no fame at all, and that was the way the residents liked it.
“This way,” said Jake as he led the caravan of riders, which included Javy and two ranch hands who spoke perfect English. Each rider had a horse in tow, laden with supplies. “Their place is up on the hill on the other side of the Lick Creek Canal.”
The Lick Creek Canal was a manmade river created by the Corps of Engineers during the construction of the Pickwick Dam. It was designed to connect several small tributaries to the Tennessee River for flood control. These early efforts had created a vibrant farming community in the area of Childer’s Hill.
The horses’ hooves clapped along the floor of the wooden covered bridge that crossed over the creek leading to the Wolvens’ home. Although shallow in points, a flat-bottomed boat could navigate Lick Creek directly to Shiloh Ranch.
As the group started up the incline to the log house owned by the Wolvens, Jake recalled their history. Fred and Char Wolven were interested in farming as they approached retirement. Living near large cities in Indiana all their lives, they woke up one day and said they wanted to try something totally different. The Wolvens had always dabbled in their small gardens, but Char’s love for animals wasn’t feasible near the city.
On a whim, they loaded up their retirement vehicle, a Winnebago, and started to tour the southeast. By sheer fate, Fred turned down Lick Creek Road and found his way to the covered bridge, where they were prevented from continuing. Char, always the adventurous one, encouraged Fred to walk to the other side of the canal through the bridge and they found their way to the top of Childer’s Hill. They sat there for hours, admiring the view and listening to the sounds of birds. This was their spot.
When they returned to their motorhome, they immediately began to study maps and make phone calls. As it turned out, the property was available for sale and a deal was struck. Fred called Fifth Third Bank, liquidated his retirement, and the Wolvens’ retirement home came to fruition.
Now it was about to become the refuge for a couple dozen folks in fear of their lives. Char and Fred wouldn’t have it any other way.
Jake led the way through the tree-lined driveway until they reached a clearing at the top of the hill. He stopped the group and paused to take in the view. Childer’s Hill was an aberration compared to the rest of the landscape. It rose out of the ground a couple of hundred feet higher than the flatlands below it. Jake, whose only experience in any type of battle had come in the last month, was astute enough to see how easily defendable this property was. They’d be able to see anyone coming for miles.
“Hey, Jake!” shouted Fred as he walked out of a storage building to the left. He wiped his hands off on his overalls and he approached the group. “Y’all movin’ in?”
“Fred, how are you?” replied Jake as he dismounted. The two old friends shook hands. Stubby had introduced the two men during a chance meeting at the feed store. The families had hit it off and became friends.
“I’m doin’ just fine, but I’m guessin’ somethin’ must be goin’ on over your way,” replied Fred.
“Yeah, we’ve stirred ’em up over in Savannah. I know you and Stubby have discussed this before, but we’re gonna need a place to hang our hats for a while until things settle down.”
Fred shook Javy’s hand and motioned for them to follow him. They strode toward the house as Char exited the entrance, waving as she recognized Jake.
“Hey, Jake, I’ve got a pot of stew started. Did you come to sing for your supper?”
“I reckon so, Char,” he replied. “We’ll have to do somethin’ to earn our keep.”
Fred showed Javy where to unload their supplies, and then Jake filled him in on what had happened in Savannah. The two men found a couple of Adirondack chairs on the porch overlooking Lick Creek.
Fred shook his head in disbelief. “We’ve been insulated from that mess over there and glad of it. Listen, y’all are welcome to stay here as long as you want, but I’m afraid for your ranch, being left unattended and all.”
“Me too, Fred, which is why we intend to bring as much as we can to keep it safe here. If they destroy the house, then we’ll just rebuild it. Our lives are more important than trying to fight a military led by the devil.”
Chapter 8
Dawn, November 23
Hardin County Airfield
Savannah
After they cleared the airport and deemed it secure, they elected to get some sleep before getting an early s
tart. The next morning, they inspected the vintage airplanes, which were parked in an open hangar. In addition to a ticket office, which also contained a number of vending machines, the building contained a large room with a movie screen, theater-type seating, and several exhibits around the perimeter of the room. A beautiful mural adorned one wall with a blown-up photograph of Savannah and the Tennessee River.
“You know what I find odd about all of this,” said Stubby as he looked around the hangar containing three vintage aircraft. “It’s undisturbed, even tidy. If I didn’t know better, someone is looking after the place.”
“Do you think the pilots are still here?” asked Alex. “It’s our only hope of getting around FEMA’s blockades.”
Stubby led Alex outside and looked around. There were no houses nearby. The only option was down the road a half mile. Stubby pointed toward the south.
“Let’s check it out.”
Stubby hustled across the road into the vast parking lot of the Clayton Mobile Homes manufacturing plant. The facility assembled double-wide homes in two parts, each of which were side by side, awaiting furnishings. The plastic wrap covers of the partially constructed units were gently flapping in the breeze as storms and high winds took their toll on the protective measure.
Alex joined him and they took cover behind the first mobile home. They both peered under the plastic sheeting. This half of the manufactured home contained the kitchen, a small bath, half the living room, and part of a bedroom.
They darted from spot to spot, taking cover as they got closer to the administrative offices. When they were only a hundred feet away, they stopped to observe the area. Stubby didn’t want to walk up on trouble.
“Do you think they’re here?” asked Alex.
“It’s possible. A facility this large probably has a cafeteria with food storage. I see several model homes that somebody could hide out in. From what I saw across the street, it doesn’t appear that Junior’s men showed any kind of interest in this area.”
A curtain fluttered in the window of one of the homes. “Stubby, did you see that? Did you see that curtain move?”
“No, which building?”
“That one, with the wooden stairs leading to the front door,” replied Alex.
“Okay, listen up. I don’t know if they saw us, but we have to assume they did. I want you to run through the parked cars to the other side of the building while I cover you. I’ll watch for movement. Once you’re in position, I’ll try to talk them out. Okay?”
Alex gave Stubby a thumbs-up and prepared to run through the cars. She was off in a flash and ran a zigzagged pattern through the parked vehicles. When she was in position next to a partially constructed home, she waved to Stubby.
Stubby took off for the parked cars and placed himself behind the hood of a pickup truck. He studied the building and didn’t see any movement.
“Psssst!” Alex was trying to get his attention. She pointed to her eyes and then the end of the building that Stubby couldn’t see. She gave him another thumbs-up.
Stubby nodded and raised the M16. “Hey, inside! We need to talk. Come out with your hands up. We are not going to harm you. We just need your help.”
There was movement behind the sheer curtains to the right of the entry door. Stubby swung his rifle to take aim on the shadow of a figure that paced back and forth in front of the window. The occupant was nervous.
“Hello. You inside. Please come out. We will not hurt you. We’re looking for the pilots of the old airplanes. Can you help us?”
Two faces emerged in the window, older men wearing glasses. For a moment, they were gone and then suddenly the window was pushed open, allowing the wind to blow the sheers.
“What do you want?” yelled a voice with a heavy German accent.
Stubby glanced at Alex and nodded.
“We’re looking for the pilots of the barnstormer airplanes. Can you help us?”
“Warum? Why?” asked the German.
Stubby slung his rifle over his shoulder and looked toward Alex, who had him covered. He trusted her implicitly and knew that she would shoot anyone who threatened him. With his arms raised, he walked out into the open space between the parked cars and the model home.
“My name is Stubby Crump and I live across the river in Shiloh. I was hoping you’d give us a ride home.”
Stubby could hear their muffled voices as he carefully approached the steps leading to the front door. He studied his cover options. If a gun emerged, he’d hit the ground and roll under the building, which was mounted on wheels.
Stubby inched forward. “Can we talk about it?” he asked just as the front door slowly opened.
An older, heavyset man emerged onto the landing, nervously holding a small gun.
“Drop the gun!” yelled Alex, who maintained her cover behind the corner of the manufactured home.
The man swung his weapon in her direction and then back towards Stubby.
“Hold on! Hold on!” Stubby repeated. “Nobody has to get hurt here. Lower your weapon, sir. Alex, stand down!”
“Drop it!” Alex yelled again.
“Is that a Luger?” asked Stubby, trying to diffuse the situation. “You’ll never get off a shot before my friend drops you. Please lower your weapon.”
“Ja, no sudden moves, Verstehen?” the man asked.
“I understand, and so does my friend with her automatic weapon. Now, I’ve come to you in good faith, so please stop pointing that gun at me.”
Reluctantly, the old man nodded and tucked the Luger into his waistband. “My apologies, sir. One cannot be too sure.”
“Thank you,” said Stubby. “May we come in?”
“Ja, wo sind sie freunden? Your friends?”
Stubby waved to Alex, who came around the partially built home. As she trotted, carrying her M16 at low ready, her blond ponytail swished back and forth across her back.
“Ah, Wunderschön! She is a beautiful young woman. Please, both of you, come in.”
*****
Gunther Splinter and his younger brother, Horst, were the proprietors of the American Barnstormers tour although their touring days had come to an end when the solar storm had caused the collapse of America’s power grid. They were a product of post-World War Two Germany, a nation torn apart both during and after the war.
The Splinters had lived in Berlin, and like so many German families, they found themselves foraging for food and supplies in order to survive. After the war, Germany was divided into four sectors, with the Allies—the U.S., France, and England—controlling the west, and the old Soviet Union controlling the east.
The war-ravaged capital of Germany, Berlin, was isolated from the west sector because it was located one hundred miles within the heart of Soviet-controlled East Germany. Food was scarce and the Russian soldiers were brutal in their treatment of Berliners who wandered out of the confines of the city.
Horst and Gunther were young boys at the time, but they recollected how their sisters would have to sneak out of their homes at night to look for food. At times, the girls would have to venture into the forest in search of farmhouses, where they might be given a loaf of bread and some cheese. The entire family developed a survival mind-set as a result of those difficult years.
The boys would frequently go to Tempelhof Airport, where they would watch the Americans fly in food and supplies during the infamous Berlin Airlift. They vowed to become pilots one day, and when their family emigrated from Germany to America, they immediately got jobs on a farm in Wisconsin, where they learned to fly crop dusters.
With the growing popularity of the Peanuts cartoons—especially Snoopy and the Red Baron—the Splinters purchased a Spartan three-seater biplane. The aircraft, which resembled the legendary Sopwith Camel, became so popular around Milwaukee that the Splinter brothers quickly became an attraction in local air shows. They eventually added a Bristol Primary Trainer so that each of the brothers could fly and perform aerial acrobatics for their paid onlookers.
The brothers eventually settled down in Savannah because of its idyllic location on the Tennessee River. It reminded them of the Rhine River, which meandered from Switzerland, across Germany, and into the North Sea.
“When the Berlin Wall was constructed by the Russians, the city was cut into two parts,” said Gunther. “Families were torn apart as the Russians refused passage from East to West Berlin. The Russians were trying to contain the flood of Germans who fled the east sector and its socialist government.”
“The Iron Curtain,” interjected Stubby.
“Symbolically, yes,” replied Horst. “My brother and I will never forget the joy we felt in 1989. After many years of political pressure from President Reagan, the Berlin Wall was removed.”
“I learned about this in my history class,” said Alex. “The President said, ‘Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.’ Right?”
“You are correct,” replied Gunther. “It was a symbol of freedom that Germans will never forget. On that day, Horst and I became proud Americans.”
The group sat quietly in the middle of the Clayton model home, sipping bottled water. When the grid collapsed, the Splinters had remained in hiding in their downtown home for several days until Junior’s men came around and discovered them. They had been bullied and beaten down while their home was disgorged of its food and medical supplies.
The brothers had discussed the situation and considered flying to another location, but there was too much uncertainty. They’d foraged for a couple of days and then made their way into the cafeteria at Clayton’s plant. Horst and Gunther said they’d cried when they opened the dry good storage room in the kitchen. There was enough food to feed them both for six months or more.
With a new sense of commitment to living, the brothers drew on their upbringing and heritage to gather strength to survive. They’d disbursed the canned goods throughout the vast Clayton complex, using hidden storage compartments in the partially built homes. Within the confines of their model home, they kept the bare minimum in case they were confronted by someone. They’d give up a few cans of food to preserve the rest.