by Trent Reedy
Brad Robinson joined me. “Hey, Wright.” He motioned around the camp. “This is pretty crazy, huh? I mean, we’re all homeless now. Kind of outlaws with the Brotherhood after us.”
“The Brotherhood isn’t the law,” I said. “And if what Mrs. Pierce says about this school is true, we won’t be homeless for long.”
“My family’s been hanging out with Crystal’s family. She always had a pain-in-the-ass curfew of eleven. But now …”
I smiled. “You get to be with her all the time.”
Brad looked around to make sure nobody else was close enough to hear. He spoke quietly. “Yeah, but it’s no hot date. Her little brother and sister are scared shitless, you know? Micah tries to act tough, but I can tell he’s freaked. So I’ve been trying to cheer the two of them up, telling Micah football stories, asking Mara about the book she brought along.” Brad took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m doing any good. How can I help them when I’m probably more scared than they are?”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Brad Robinson, you are one of the most badass guys I know. If we could have finished our football season, we’d have been state champions. You were that good of a center.”
“Yeah, but Wright, that was just a game. Kid stuff.”
“You remember that crowd of reporters and pissed-off people after that game at Bonners Ferry?”
“After the news said you’d been a shooter at the Battle of Boise? Yeah. That was a jacked-up night, man.”
“We had to go into a Point After Touchdown formation to bulldoze through that crowd to get to the bus. You were all, ‘Nobody gets between us.’ All business. No fear.”
“Are you kidding? When that crazy redheaded bastard with the gun showed up, I about shit my pants. I was freaking.”
“No, but see, that’s my point. You were scared inside. Fine. We all were. We are right now. But you didn’t let the fear cripple you. Not then. Not in the fight to kick the Fed out of Freedom Lake. Not now. It’s a jacked-up world, and shit’s probably gonna get bad again. When the time comes, I know we can count on you.”
Brad laughed a little. “Damn, Wright, you sound like you’re forty or something. What happened to you?”
My eyes stung, and I turned away from him. “The war, man. The war happened to me.”
—• I don’t know if you can hear me with the anti-aircraft machine guns firing all over the city, but I’m standing on the Post Street bridge here in downtown Spokane. Oh! There’s another explosion. I’m not sure … Kellen, can we get a shot of that? … I don’t know. I’m going to keep reporting for as long as I can. Jets are everywhere. By the time you hear them, they’re past, but they’re all shooting at each other or dropping bombs. Another one! That explosion was close. The water is surging downriver! It’s like a tidal wave. A tsunami! They must have blown up the dam upstream.
Oh my gosh! Kellen, are you okay!? You’re still rolling? There, folks, you see a bomb or missile has hit the Monroe Street bridge. It’s collapsing! Two pickups crossing it are plummeting all the way down to the river. We’re — I’m coming, Kellen! We’re going to keep filming, but we’re going to try to find someplace safer, though that may be … difficult at a time … like this. Spokane is an all-out battlefield.
Kellen! Viewers, that blast you just heard … I don’t even know if this camera is still working. That blast you just heard was the Post Street bridge exploding. We were off the bridge just in time. My cameraman is hurt. A shard of concrete has sliced his leg and something’s hit his head.
It’s possible US military forces are trying to destroy all our bridges, to cut the town in half. Take cover, everyone. As the sun sets on our city, we wait to see what will remain at dawn. Liz Asher, KHQ News, Spokane. •—
—• Welcome back to the WGN Network, Liberum’s Very Own, broadcasting from our newsroom in our new nation’s capital here in Chicago. I’m Robert Bell.
Liberum military forces are in the middle of a tough fight. United States Marines dispatched from Kentucky have fought their way across the Ohio River and seized Cincinnati and surrounding areas. However, Liberum forces have successfully prevented the US military from advancing any further into Ohio’s coal production country, which provides Ohio with almost 70 percent of its electricity.
The Liberum military recently destroyed Government Bridge between Rock Island Arsenal and Davenport, Iowa, along with all other area Mississippi River bridges, in order to prevent invasion by the United States. Rock Island Arsenal on the Mississippi River is the largest government-owned weapons manufacturing facility in Pan America. Anti-aircraft batteries from Naval Station Great Lakes in North Chicago have helped our soldiers maintain control of the island. United States forces in Davenport, Iowa, which planned an amphibious assault across the river, were quickly thrown into disarray when heavy artillery pieces manufactured on the island were used in extensive shelling of the city of Davenport. •—
—• The United States initiated a savage sneak attack on the Keystone Empire early this morning. US ground forces murdered desperate refugees hiding in the irradiated wastelands of New York, New Jersey, and southeast Pennsylvania before attacking buildings, houses, soldiers, and civilians. The assault was widespread and largely indiscriminate, killing thousands before Keystone defenses were able to force the US military back to the coast, where they soon retreated to ships that had been standing by for evacuation. Keystone Empire President Caroline Craig condemned the attack as an “unnecessary tragedy,” repeating her assurance that the Keystone Empire will not engage in an offensive war. Quote, “We are at war with no other nation, but we will defend ourselves if necessary,” end quote. Erin Heddleson, Empire News. •—
—• After a brave struggle, United States forces have liberated a substantial part of western Texas, only to discover several large mass graves, each filled with an estimated three hundred bodies. Army commanders are investigating to determine who is responsible for these horrendous mass murders, but the diverse nature of the victims makes the determination of a motive very difficult. United States Army Major Carol Lassen.”
“I do not believe this kind of killing would have happened before the war, and this is simply another example of why rebel leadership needs to come to their senses and surrender. A lot of the victims were children. It breaks my heart. But it does not diminish my resolve to find those responsible or to continue to liberate Texas from rebels and insurgents.”
“USTV. Hope for a united America. •—
—• Unfortunately The Last Full Measure blog has been forced to make major changes. Since there are so many different fronts in this war, since there are no longer merely United States military and Idaho combatants, and since the level of civilian casualties has skyrocketed as the result of all this senseless fighting, The Last Full Measure is now tracking all combatant deaths together in one column as well as all civilian casualties in the other. It’s important to understand that keeping the death totals up to date is nearly impossible, so the actual number of deaths is much higher. Please send me a private message to report a confirmed death as a direct result of this war. However, IN ORDER TO REDUCE DUPLICATION, PLEASE SEARCH THE LIST BEFORE SUBMITTING THE NAME OF A CASUALTY!
That afternoon, me and Sweeney were back on guard duty, sitting around on Pale Horse. JoBell joined us, and I’m not gonna lie. This was a miserable, tense situation, but all I could think of in that moment was how good she looked in old jeans and a button-down flannel shirt, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. The rifle she carried only made her look hotter, though I wish she didn’t need it.
“Come to save us from our boredom?” Sweeney asked her.
“Be glad you guys are on guard duty. Otherwise you’d be stuck chasing after little kids to make sure they don’t wander off, or you’d be over there listening to Mr. Grenke and his pals bitch about how we should be on the road by now.”
“Yeah, it’s all jacked up,” I said.
“Hey!” A voice came from the perimeter
just down the line. “Don’t move! Freeze, asshole!”
I dropped down off the ambulance pod to stand on the hood, yanking my charging handle to chamber a round. “What the hell is it now?” In two steps, I was on the ground.
One of our guards had walked out about twenty yards from the perimeter, his shotgun raised stock to shoulder, aimed at an older man and a little kid who were stepping out of the tree line with their hands up.
“Who’s the guard?” I asked.
“Craig Rankin,” JoBell said. “Skylar Grenke’s stepdad.” She must have noticed the confusion on my face because she continued, “Yeah, he’s like ten years younger than Skylar’s mom. He used to drive that old Buick with —”
“The Buick Regal with the stupid green neon underglow lights and the loud as hell cherry bomb glasspack muffler.” The mechanic in me often knew people by their cars instead of by name. The way Rankin was holding that gun, he might shoot those people at any moment. “Jo, cover my guard position. I’m going to go fix this.”
“What about rule number one?” she asked.
“I gotta make sure Rankin’s not alone.” I was already running. I pulled the Motorola from my pocket and keyed the mike. “Pirate, this is Pale Horse.”
Kemp came on the radio. “Go ahead. Over.”
“Get to the west perimeter. ASAP. Over.”
“Roger. Out.”
“Hey, Craig. Ease it down,” I said as I ran up on the scene. The man and kid still had their hands up and looked scared, but Rankin’s finger was on the trigger, and he was shaking all over. “You don’t have to aim the gun right at them. They’re unarmed.”
“We don’t know who else they got with them.” Craig eyed the tree line but kept his shotgun pointed at the man and the boy. “Could be an ambush.”
Right, I thought, because the really smart enemies tip everybody off by sending in two unarmed people before they launch their attack. But I didn’t say anything.
“We don’t want any trouble,” the man said. “I’m Eliot. This is my grandson Tyson. He was off playing in the woods when he saw you all, saw your fuel truck.”
“Yeah, well, he should learn to mind his own business,” Rankin said.
“Rankin, lower the gun,” I said, a little more firmly.
“I’m supposed to be standing guard.”
“Lower the weapon,” Sergeant Kemp said, all business, coming up behind us. “Now.” Craig finally stopped aiming right at the newcomers. “Is anyone else with you?” Kemp held his rifle at the low ready, scanning the woods.
“We’re alone,” said the man.
“We don’t want any trouble either,” Kemp said. “We’ll be moving on soon.”
“Please,” the man said. “Could we bother you for a little fuel? You got diesel, right?”
“Maybe,” Kemp said.
“We could trade some food or something else for it. If we could just fill up the tank on our fire truck. Right now we have about enough diesel to drive the truck to a fire. After that, it’s stuck. Bunch of us are actually working to build a hand-crank water pump system with a hose that we could mount on a horse-drawn wagon. But that thing would take forever to get to a fire. By then … Please.” The man looked serious. “Please, it’s not for me. You’d be saving lives.”
“No way,” Rankin said. “This is ours. We need it. Get your own.”
How very Brotherhood of him, wanting to keep it all for ourselves. On the other hand, people all over Idaho needed fuel. There were fire trucks and ambulances in every town that wouldn’t run, useless bone-dry generators that were needed to power everything from houses to medical equipment. Kemp turned so he could fix his good eye on me.
The man took a step forward. “Please. Like I said, we can trade. We have some food. Potatoes. Canned beets.”
“Nobody likes beets,” Rankin said.
“Just calm down,” Kemp said to him. “Right now, we have more fuel than food.”
“You know how much diesel sells for?” Rankin said. “A hell of a lot more than some old beets.”
“The gas is worth jack shit if we starve to death,” I said.
“Come with us,” Sergeant Kemp said to the man. “Let’s talk to our leadership.” Me and Kemp led the man and his grandson into our camp.
“We’re not handing over our fuel, man. No way!” Rankin followed us.
“Craig, you didn’t lift a finger to get us that fuel, so shut the hell up,” I said.
“Listen, kid. I don’t have to put up with your —”
“Get back to your post! Right now!” Sergeant Kemp yelled. Rankin started to point at me, but Kemp cut him off. “Wright was relieved. Someone is covering his guard position. Go back to yours.”
Rankin gave in and went back to the perimeter. Me and Kemp took the man and the kid to Mrs. Pierce.
Instantly, another giant argument flared up.
“We’re doing this to save ourselves, not to be heroes for everyone else,” Mr. Grenke said.
“It’s not that much fuel,” said Crystal Bean’s mom. “We can spare it.”
Our old shop teacher, Mr. Cretis, shook his head. “We don’t know that. If there’s another bridge out along our route, we may have to backtrack hundreds of miles. We may have to drive around searching for another place if we can’t get where we’re going.”
Chaplain Carmichael pulled a cross necklace out from under his uniform. “ ‘I was hungry, and you gave me no food. I was thirsty, and you gave me no drink. I was a stranger and you did not welcome me.’ ”
“This ain’t a Bible lesson,” said Mr. Grenke.
“Everything is a Bible lesson,” answered the chaplain.
“Okay,” Grenke said. “How’s this, then? They can go to hell!”
“You see why I divorced him?” said Skylar Grenke’s mom to no one in particular. Skylar’s dad pretended not to hear.
Samantha Monohan’s dad spoke up. “We’re talking about filling up one fire truck. There’ve been a ton of fires with all the bombing and fighting. How’d you like your home and community burning up with no fire truck to help? We’ll still have more than enough fuel, and this one act could save dozens, maybe hundreds of lives.”
JoBell stepped up and put her arm around me. She held up a hand as Kemp was about to say something. “Don’t worry. Sergeant Crocker relieved me. I couldn’t miss this.” Then she spoke louder so that everyone could hear her over the growing roar of the argument. “On the drive down here with the fuel, which we stole from the Brotherhood, who had stolen it and were hoarding it, we passed by people who needed our help. They’re dead now. Or worse.”
“We couldn’t help them,” said Mr. Grenke.
“You wouldn’t even let us try!” JoBell stomped her foot on the last word. “On our way back from Boise, Eric, Danny, and I got stuck in Lewiston because our Idaho Army Humvee was out of gas.” She let out a small, sad laugh. “We were caught by these sick bastards who would have raped and murdered us. But Cal and the Brotherhood came and saved us. The Brotherhood! Are you seriously saying that we will be no better than the group we’re trying to get away from? I understand that we have to protect ourselves, that we have to look out for our own, but I refuse to accept that we can’t do that and still help people when we can.”
Caitlyn Ericson’s mom actually raised her hand. “Okay, JoBell. Fine. This little boy found us here. How long until the whole town knows we’re here?” She pointed at the old man.
“It’s just me and Tyson,” said the man. “Nobody else knows you all are out here. I’d tell as few people as I could, as few as possible so that I could still bring the truck to fuel up.”
“This guy is nice,” said Mrs. Ericson. “He comes asking for fuel, offering a trade. Who’s to say the next guy won’t bring a bunch of his friends and kill us to take everything we have?”
“You all make good points,” Mrs. Pierce said. “So this is how it’s going to be. Everybody load up and get ready to move. If our location is compromised, we can’t st
ay.” She turned to the man and his grandson. “Meanwhile, if you want that fire truck fueled up, you need to hurry and get it here. We’ll fuel that truck, and then we’ll roll out.”
A half-dozen people started to object, but Sergeant Kemp shouted over them, “You heard her! Pack it up. We need to be ready to move.”
“Let’s go!” I yelled. My buddies all fell in with me, and then other families went along with them, until we had enough people to force a decision.
* * *
The stranger was quick. He had the fire truck up to our camp within a half hour. By that time, we were mostly ready to go. We’d be driving through a few hours of daylight, but it would be dark soon enough.
We would be shuffling duties a little for this stretch of the journey. I would be driving Pale Horse. Kemp would ride shotgun and cover the radio. Sergeant Crocker and Tabitha Pierce would ride in the ambulance module right behind the door to the cab. Becca would take over for Brad Robinson’s dad on the driver’s side .50. Cal would be on the turret. Sweeney still had the 240 covering our six, and TJ would man the passenger side machine gun. JoBell would ride with us too, moving around and relieving people as needed.
Tucker Blake’s uncle, Derrick, had some experience trucking, so he would take over driving the M978 fuel truck. Even with his wounded shoulder, Mr. Hartling insisted on riding shotgun with him. When Mr. Robinson offered to be the third man pulling security with them, Mr. Grenke agreed immediately.
“Oh no,” Kemp said, looking over the top of the radio he’d been adjusting in Pale Horse. I sat up in the driver’s seat. A team of four horses pulled a modern tractor across the golf course toward us, one man sitting on the front to drive the horses and another in the cab steering. “More people heard about the fuel,” Kemp said.
It wasn’t the guys on the tractor I was worried about. Walking on either side of the tractor and horses were six men armed with a mix of shotguns and rifles. Another crowd of people were back behind them, some armed, some not. A lot of them carried fuel cans.