When Jason told Bud and Tanner who the bikers were, only Tanner had a quizzical look on his face. Bud and Jason’s faces showed looks of grave concern.
The Scorpions were a large motorcycle gang reportedly headquartered on a farm just outside Camp Verde, in Rim Rock, and had chapters all over Arizona. They were reputed to be the most violent of such gangs; known to be involved in drugs, gun running, protection, and human trafficking. They were an equal opportunity gang, having both men and women from white, black, Hispanic, and Asian populations and, it appeared, a wide range of ages.
They owned the farm on which they made their headquarters and had two large barns in which they kept and maintained their motorcycles and the other wares of their trade. It was rumored they even kept their human trade-goods housed in a jail-like barn on the property until they were moved to their final disposition in other communities. The farm was surrounded with an 8-foot game fence, had high-tech security systems, and reportedly was heavily fortified.
They operated primarily in small towns or villages where the local constabulary would be ineffective in controlling them. They were heavily armed and not afraid to use their weapons. For that reason, local law enforcement had an unwritten agreement that the Scorpions were the purview of the DEA, ATF, ICE, FBI, and any other of the alphabet soup that wanted a piece of the action, but local law enforcement was just going to be an interested but uninvolved bystander.
The Scorpions made little or no trouble in their own communities; living by the adage “don’t shit in your own nest,” other than a couple of minor altercations under the influence of alcohol at one or more of the local watering holes, which were quickly quieted by their own leadership. So local police took a “live and let live” attitude toward them. Leave it to the alphabets!
Bud had used his key to open the padlock on the rail gate that crossed the entrance road, which they had unfortunately felt no need to close and lock behind them. The key also opened the gated, barbed-wire fence that surrounded the maintenance and storage facilities and they had pulled their truck deep into the yard, again without closing the gate behind them. The warehouses each had padlocked, roll-up garage doors and a padlocked people door beside it. The key must have been a master because it opened the lock, not only on the two main gates but on the first of the warehouse doors they tried it on. They assumed it would work on the remaining two and the roll-up doors, as well. They had been inside the farthest warehouse when they heard the thunder of the motorcycles.
Now, as they peeked out the doorway, they saw the Scorpions spread out between the two office buildings and heard the slamming and breaking of glass as they made their way through the various offices, looking for heaven knows what.
They were a motley looking crew. Bathing was not a characteristic one would associate with the Scorpions. Their jeans were ripped and covered with grease and their leathers: vests, chaps and pants, were well-worn. Most of the men had beards; some full and unkempt, some cut into Van Dykes, and others in goatees. Some had long bushy mustaches, some like Yosemite Sam, and others like Fu Man Chu. Most had long, straggly hair, or had no hair at all; shaved clean as a cue ball.
The women weren’t any better. Their hair looked like it hadn’t seen a shampoo or a comb in a very long time. Some were pulled back in ponytails, some were braided, but the style du jour seemed to be loose. Some men and women with long hair favored bandannas to keep their hair from blowing in their face. Both sexes were heavily tattooed and both had liberal amounts of piercings. They wore heavy boots or athletic shoes that looked like they’d seen many better days. Men and women alike wore leather jackets or vests with the distinctive red scorpion logo on the back; an eclectic assortment of dirty tee shirts and muscle shirts were revealed under their vests.
There wasn’t a safety helmet among them, unless you counted the World War II German helmets some of them sported; some with swastikas and some with red scorpions painted on the sides. They felt helmets were for sissies. They only wore them if they were on long road trips that used the Interstates. They tried to avoid conflict with the Highway Patrols. But, then, there were no cops to be worried about on this particular trip, were there?
Some of the men and women had gray hair pulled into ponytails, looking like they were fresh from a Grateful Dead concert.
They emerged from the offices and remounted their bikes, with some of the women perched behind the drivers on high-backed passenger seats or sitting in a sidecar. Some had their own bikes. The roar of the bikes as they started and revved their engines was almost deafening and then they headed back the way they had come in. Bud counted seven doubles, so there were at least 27 Scorpions in all.
If they were going to be spotted by the Scorpions now would be the time, as the sightline from the road would be looking directly into the maintenance yard.
Jason had crept out and locked the gate to the maintenance area and he, Bud, and Tanner were now well-hidden in the shadows between the buildings, praying the Scorpions would not decide to check out the storage buildings. A confrontation between the three Mavericks and the Scorpions could only have one outcome and they breathed a collective sigh of relief when they passed on by, with the sound of a slow moving freight train, never even looking into the maintenance yard, turned right onto 179 and headed toward the Village.
Bud had no idea why the Scorpions had even detoured into the Forest Service Headquarters, unless just out of curiosity, but they were in and out in less than 15-minutes and carried nothing visible from the buildings.
Bud got on the two-way and warned Colby about the bikers. He indicated they would be back as soon as they finished exploring the three warehouses and as soon as they were sure the Scorpions weren’t between them and home. He warned Colby to notify the others and to stay close to the houses—armed.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
The three men stepped back into the building numbered with a large numeral one to the right of the door. It also had a painted sign on the door that read: STORAGE.
This seemed rather obvious to Tanner, but then he thought, I suppose there are several different types of storage: cold storage, dry storage, junk storage, or whatever!
They shined their flashlights around the inside of the building and Tanner learned immediately what kind of storage this building housed: desks, chairs, file cabinets, and assorted other office equipment, remnants of a counter, some display cases, and some old three-dimensional maps of the region. These were things no longer required in the headquarters building or the Visitor’s Center.
“I don’t imagine we’ll have much use for any of this stuff,” ventured Bud, “unless we decide to set up an office building.” The others chuckled at the thought that they, given the situation they found themselves in, would ever be building or furnishing an office building.
“Let’s check the next building,” Bud said. As they departed, he put the padlock back into the strong metal hasp that closed the door to unwanted entrance, and they moved to the middle building, numero dos, as Jason pointed out.
The sign on the door read: FIRE TEAM.
Bud’s key again worked its magic and they entered the vast space, again sweeping the interior with their flashlights. Everything in this building was neatly stacked on pallets, hung on hooks, or standing on special racks.
Hanging on the hooks was fire fighters’ gear: yellow rubberized pants and jackets, yellow helmets, suspenders, and breathing apparatus. And below them, on shelves, were heavy-duty boots, gloves, goggles, headlamps, first aid kits of various sizes, trauma medical bags, and hot shields for face protection.
Standing on the special racks that ran the length of the building, down the center, were the fire fighters’ tools of the trade: spades, picks, square and pointed shovels, fire rakes, McCleods, fire brooms, and sledge hammers.
To the left of the racks, beyond the hanging gear, were metal shelves that went from floor to ceiling with boxes and pallets of ropes, webbing, rain gear, pulleys, scene lights, portable pumps,
backpacks, canteens and hydration systems, fire shelters and fire blankets, Indian fire pumps, drip torches, hand pumps, foam pack systems, portable pumps, fire extinguishers, several types of hand saws, chain saws, and reels of cable and cord. And, leaning against the ground-level shelves were several medical stretchers. There was enough gear here to fully outfit a large compliment of forest fire-fighters with the latest and best equipment.
On the shelves to the right of the standing racks were cases of shrink-wrapped MREs (meals ready to eat) and energy drink mixes, as well as stackable storage buckets and plastic storage bins of various sizes. The fire-fighters weren’t going to go hungry or thirsty! There were shelves containing boxes that weren’t marked and this was no time to examine them but, needless to say, it was obvious that this particular building was intended to make all the tools and supplies needed by firefighters available at a moment’s notice. Standing in the middle of the building were two, 7,500 watt, Champion generators that were designed to run on gasoline or propane. They each had a metal frame and wheels on one end to make them easy to move around in emergency situations. Each had an LPG hose and regulator attached in plastic bags in order to adapt them to using propane.
“Wow,” was the unanimous expression of the three men. They all agreed that a lot of this stuff could really come in handy; especially the MREs.
Tanner suggested they move on because it was getting late and would be dark soon. He was also nervous about leaving his family so long when the Scorpions were on the loose.
Again, Bud locked the door behind them and they moved to numero tres, as Jason again read the number aloud. The sign on the door read: DISASTER RELIEF.
When they entered the building and lit up the interior with their flashlights, they were dumbstruck. If they thought the previous building was impressive with what it held that could help them, this one blew their collective minds. Floor to ceiling metal shelves lined three sides of the building and, in the middle, were two, 500-gallon water trailers. When they tapped on the sides of the black plastic containers, they realized they were full. Painted in large white letters on both sides of the tanks were: POTABLE WATER. Stacked between the two trailers were at least two dozen steel mesh planks, eight feet long and 18-inches wide. Bud pointed out that these were to provide a bridge over mud or soft sand so the tankers wouldn’t get bogged down and could also be used as ramps to load equipment onto trailers.
The shelves were stacked high with shrink-wrapped cases of dehydrated food, drinks, and even more MREs, just like those in the previous building. There were case upon case of bottled water, plastic plates, plastic eating utensils, and plastic cups. It was a veritable supermarket!
There were army surplus cots, blankets, pillows, and footlockers and at least a dozen large army surplus tents. There were also folding tables and chairs, food service counters, and all kinds of stainless steel food service containers.
If this treasure wasn’t equal to that of the Spanish galleon Atocha, or the Treasure of the Sierra Madre, given the circumstances it was at least equal to finding the Lost Dutchman mine. The equipment and supplies in these three buildings could sustain the Mavericks for a long time, as long as they could find potable water to replenish that held in the two tank trailers.
Tanner suggested they needed to get going. They needed to get back to the rest of the group and give them the great news about their discoveries. But, most importantly, they needed to strategize how they would deal with the Scorpions, if necessary.
After locking the building they got into Bud’s truck and headed toward the locked front gate. As they drew adjacent to the large maintenance building, which was used to maintain the Forest Service’s fleet of vehicles that were currently on alert near Flagstaff, Bud suddenly stopped. He jumped out of the cab and ran to a large above ground tank and tapped on it. It was a 1,500-gallon gravity-flow fuel tank and, as best as Bud could tell – it was full. This was icing on the cake. They now had water, food, and fuel to sustain whatever survival strategy they devised: assuming someone else didn’t get the same idea.
They carefully locked the gate behind them and headed toward the same exit the gang had used. This time they locked the bar gate behind them, to hopefully deter any other would-be explorers.
It was now nearing dusk, with only a hint of orange on the western horizon. They decided they would go slowly and without lights, in hopes of not encountering the Scorpions.
As they passed Tequa, the retail area at the entrance to the Hilton Resort that contained a couple of upscale restaurants, some retail shops, and a branch of the Sedona Library, they could see the Scorpions’ bikes scattered throughout the development, especially in front of the Full Moon Saloon. They could hear loud music, possibly powered by batteries or a generator, and laughter and it was obvious the Scorpions were taking advantage of the vast beer and liquor stores available in the otherwise deserted saloon. Bud guessed they would drink until they could drink no more and then invade the Hilton, where they would avail themselves of the finest suites in the hotel.
“I think they’ll drink themselves into oblivion and then crash in the hotel for the night,” said Bud. “I hope they drink fast and heavy. That will ground most of them for the night and reduce the chances we’ll have to deal with them; at least until tomorrow.”◘
Chapter 12
Decisions
Arriving at Bishop’s house they could see two figures behind the parapet on the roof, each carrying a rifle. It was Colby and Matt, having taken heed of Bud’s radioed message to keep an eye out for the Scorpions—and be armed. They waved at Bud and climbed down the aluminum extension ladder they had propped against the dark side of the house where it was least likely to be seen by anyone passing by; namely the bikers.
Colby informed his father that they had climbed onto the roof almost immediately after receiving his warning and had seen and heard the thunder and rattle of the motorcycles as the gang moved up 179 toward the center of the Village. From their vantage point they could see the line of motorcycles go up the highway and then come back down, stopping occasionally to check out the interiors of the vehicles along the way, and into Tequa and the Hilton Resort. “I couldn’t see the Resort from the roof but the motor noise stopped. I figure they didn’t see anything in the Village that made them want to stick around so they decided to settle at the Resort,” he said.
“That’s a fact,” said Bud. “We saw all their bikes parked in front of the Full Moon Saloon. They’ll probably be too drunk to head back to Rim Rock, so they’ll most likely crash in the Hilton; at least those who can still walk.”
Having heard the truck pull up and the voices outside, Bishop came out to greet the three men. He guided them inside, where they found the entire group had assembled. All of the men, and a couple of the women, were cradling rifles.
“We took your warning seriously,” Jenny told Bud. “They would have had one hell of a fight on their hands if they had come into our space. We’d have done what the alphabets haven’t been able to do for years!”
They were all nodding their heads in agreement. It was obvious this group had a strong survival instinct and a willingness to confront danger when, and if, it reared its ugly head.
“Well,” said Bishop, “we’re anxious to hear what you found at the Ranger Headquarters.”
“It’s a treasure trove,” responded Tanner with excitement.
The three men gave a full accounting of what they had found, especially the water, gasoline, and food.
“It gives us a breather, at least for a while,” said Tanner, “especially the water. As long as we don’t waste it. And, we’ll have to be frugal with our bathing.”
“Well, we have enough water here to help with that,” responded Jenny, having taken a water inventory while they were gone. “We’ve filled all the available water containers and we can add another week or two. We can bathe using water in buckets to wet ourselves and then rinse off, kind of like the Japanese bath houses. We’ll plug the drain a
nd collect the used water for the toilets.”
“Great idea,” Jenny, “said Tanner.
“And, the gasoline will enable us to run our vehicles and generators for quite a while,” said Bud. “I’m sure that with the food we have already, along with all the dehydrated foods and MREs in the warehouses, we should have enough food to last us for at least a year,” he added.
“Well, it looks like we can handle the basics for a while,” interjected Bishop. “I suggest we digest the information we have and gather after breakfast tomorrow to lay out a plan. In the meantime, we need to provide some security tonight. Why don’t we use shifts, like we did yesterday for the fire watches? Since Bud’s house and mine have flat roofs with parapets, the Brenners’ and Thomas’ can work out shifts at Bud’s and the Lloyds can work with us.”
All agreed and then Bud suggested that he and Matt would go back to the Forest Service storage facilities to keep an eye on them.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Bishop. “If the Scorpions decide they want to check out those facilities, the two of you won’t be able to stop them and might get hurt. And, I doubt anybody else will be out and about in the dark tonight. I’d rather you two stay with your families and we’ll deal with the storage facilities tomorrow, when we have a plan. It’s your call, but I think the gang is going to stay pretty close to the booze tonight and I’d prefer we not get separated, if at all possible. In fact, we have enough two-way radios that each house can have one and we can keep in touch, if need be. Set all the radios to channel 10. And stay put in your homes unless one of us calls the others out,” he suggested.
“All right,” responded Bud, “I see your point. Let’s get as much sleep as we can. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Oh, and happy Fourth of July,” he said with a big smile.
Sinagua Rising: A story of survival after a worldwide catastrophe Page 12