“But I have great news!” I turn towards Rebecca. “Alex is alive! She’s with a strong militia group outside of Jerome. They are on a farm with plenty of food, and their group will be joinin’ us.”
Becca’s mood turns on a dime. “Alex, you saw Alex! Is she here? Did you bring her with you?”
“I didn’t see her, and no, she’s not here. I saw Jim Cashaw. She’s with his group.”
“Oh my God, Alex is okay! Thank you Lord!” She comes over and hugs me. “Can we go see her? Is she okay? What about Frank?” she asks. I tell her everything I know, including that Frank didn’t make it. She takes it all in. Being biracial, she is glad that her sister and many of her ethnic people will be joining our militia. But she is saddened by the loss of life, including our brother-in-law, Frank.
We agree that we will go find Alex the next day. The small group that had been congregating on the front deck breaks up. Tomorrow will bring new challenges and we need our rest.
Chapter 13, No Deal
West of Jerome
9/29 - 30
Lucas Thomas looks to his nephew, who is tense and angry. “Are you ready to do this?” he asks.
“Sons-a-bitches ain’t stealing pappy’s farm. I don’t care what that one legged bastard says, we ain’t workin’ our farm so some lazy city people can sit and get all the food. Yeah, Lucas, let’s take back Pap’s farm,” the young man responds.
Lucas, and his extended family have begged, borrowed and stole enough weapons and ammunitions to mount an assault on their grandfather’s farm. They complained to the council about the “deal” that Mark Mays set up. But the council stands by the deal, realizing the loss of life to take back all the farms by force would be great on both sides. So Lucas has organized his family to do the right thing in his mind, take back their farm, no matter the consequences.
The farm has been in the family for five generations. Before the EMP they owned over three hundred acres with two dairy barns and two well built homes. The extended family includes miners, loggers, a teacher, a doctor, and a preacher. They don’t agree with the righteous sacrifice that their neighbors have agreed to in working their farms for the invading murderer, Dave Jones. Their clan left the Mennonite church and its pacifist ideals many years ago. They loosely follow a more militant creed now.
Lucas, his wife, and his cousin come out of the woods and begin to walk towards the main house where a couple of dozen squatters are cleaning up from their morning meal. Lucas and his cousin carry twelve gauge pump action shot guns openly, not an uncommon sight. They both have nine millimeter semi-automatics concealed under their heavy coats on this brisk autumn morning. Lucas’s wife carries a large doll in her arms, swaddled to look like an actual baby. Concealed in the swaddled doll is another semi-automatic pistol.
The group of squatters look up to them as they approach. Two guards in the group with M16A2’s come alert as well.
“Hello y’all,” Lucas hollers as they approach. He knows he needs to get in close for their plan to work, so they must appear innocent. “This here is my pap’s farm and we want to help you all out, we can’t see a hundred years of farming go bad cause of this EMP thing. So we’s comin’ back to farm the land like they asked us to.”
The squatters relax noticeably. This scene has been playing out at many farms and homes in the area. They have been waiting for someone to come and take over the operation of the farm.
A tall thin man with loose fitting clothes stands and smiles. “We were told to expect help. We mean no offense sir, we just needed food, and our leader said we could have this farm. It’s mighty gracious of you to help us work the land. Without your help, heck, these animals would probably die and we’d have to move to another farm.”
By this time Lucas and his crew have walked right into the middle the squatter’s camp. The congenial man wipes off his hands in expectation of shaking Lucas’ hand. Two loud booms echo across the unharvested corn fields and both security men fall to the ground, one dead, one badly wounded. Lucas quickly brings his gun to bear on the man ten yards from him and fires twice. His cousin begins to fire as well. His wife takes down an armed man as he steps out of the farm house. Several dozen more shots ring out from the surrounding woods and more squatters fall dead or injured. A few shots are fired in return, but being taken totally off guard, most of the squatters are killed on the spot or take off running for the woods.
A dozen men come racing in from the wood line where they have laid in ambush. They quickly clear the two houses and surrounding buildings. The all clear signal is given and their wives and children come in hastily. Five minutes after approaching the squatters, Lucas and his clan have retaken their ancestral farm. Twelve squatters lay dead or dying, including two women and two children. Lucas’ cousin lies dying too, a gunshot wound to the belly.
What remains of Dave Jones’ followers flee into the woods, mostly women and children, fleeing for their lives. Panic stricken, they race head long through jaggers and saplings, tearing their skin and ripping at their arms and legs. Shortly, they stumble upon another farm where they tell about the raid. Their bleeding arms and legs bring a sense of urgency to their pleas for help. The farm’s squatters are already alert, having clearly heard the battle. The farm’s owners try to maintain calm, fearing the squatters may retaliate against them.
Lucas and his clan quickly establish their own defensive perimeter, fully expecting either the squatters or the one legged dictator to respond. They know that they have only won a battle, keeping their land will be part of a war, a sacrifice they all are willing to make to keep what is theirs.
Even as the security positions are being established, the clan members begin to start taking care of their animals and their land. Two runners are sent off to let other farmers sympathetic to their position know of their success. Two hours later their ranks have swelled to over fifty, including the doctor and preacher.
* * *
“How do you propose to get that generator off a three hundred foot tall tower, Paul?” I ask. Paul’s two wind grinders have managed to disengage all the electronics from one of the wind turbines, and have found that the generator still works.
“The generator tower is only two hundred feet tall, but we would need a three hundred foot crane to get it down.”
“If it works, why not let it spin where it is?” I ask, hoping for an easy solution.
“Too many variables. The wind blows from different directions at different speeds. All the fried electronics accounted for that to keep the generator running at a relatively constant speed. If we tried a direct connection without the electronics, it would give such wide range of power that it would fry anything hooked up to it. But if we could power it by something consistent, like a watermill, that might work.”
“So you need to get a ten thousand pound generator off a two hundred foot tower.”
“Yep.” Paul responds, smiling, his dog Badzy sitting by his side, waiting patiently for him to throw his stick again.
“Good luck with that!” I respond.
“They have cranes that big in Altoona. Your team is going to be scouting that way I hear. It should be on the list of objectives,” he says, still smiling as he launches Badzy’s stick out over the large hay field surrounding the towering wind mill.
“You think we can find a three hundred foot working crane? You’re out of your mind!”
“It doesn’t have to be working, Mark, It just needs to be three hundred foot tall. Most of what operates it is hydraulics. We bypass the electronics, provide a power source, one of the old diesel engines around here maybe, and we could have an operating crane.”
“Let me get this right. If we find a three hundred foot crane fifty miles from here, what do we do, drag it here with a farm tractor?” I respond.
“I was thinking horses, but if we got a big enough tractor, that’s a great idea!” Paul smiles at me as he wrestles the stick from his dog. I shake my head, but realize he is dead serious.
�
��Mark, the problem is electronics, not mechanics. Us brainiacs have been thinking this through. Eliminate the electronics and you have a functioning mechanical system. Will it run as smoothly and efficiently? No. But we think we can make things run. All these system worked before modern electronics. We just have to strip them down and then improvise.
“The water filtration system for example is mainly gravity fed. Some of the electricians you sent us are stripping out all the dead electronics as we speak. We think we can have a clean water supply within a week. There are chemicals stored on sight that will last three months. We will need to figure that out for the long term. The final problem will be pumping the water into the water towers. But again, that is a mechanical system, not an electronic system. The Egyptians figured out water pumps five thousand years ago. We can make it work. Right now we are thinking about a horse powered turnstile attached to a gear box from one of the locomotives to power the pumps.”
I look at him stunned. “You think you will have clean water for Central City within a week?”
“It will be only a day or so for most folks, if they are downstream. Everyone else, yeah, a week and we can get it done,” Paul states absently as the stick flies out of his hand once again. “But I want that crane Mark, see if you can find one, I’m serious.”
We talk a bit longer before I am urgently pulled away by a breathless runner.
* * *
“There is a major breakdown in our truce with that Jones guys;” states Lt. Anders. “Seems a few local farmers didn’t like the deal and they took back their farm by force a few hours ago. A dozen of Jones’ people got killed and he is pissed. He closed off his land to any more returning farmers and terminated the agreement. He claims all the farmers that have returned to their farms are now his subjects and all free movement is suspended.”
“Crap, twelve dead, huh? Do we have anyone in contact with these farmers?”
“Captain Regis is heading out that way now, along with one of the missionaries you helped orchestrate.”
For three hours I am stuck in the VFW as more information pours in. The militant farm is surrounded, on one side by our people, led by Captain Regis. On the other side by Dave Jones’ best people. In the middle is Lucas and his clan talking with Terry Barnes, the woman who got the truce started.
* * *
“What makes you so special? How’s it that you feel you can come in here and kill twelve people without causin’ serious problems.” Terry rages at Lucas in the kitchen of the old farm house.
“We own this farm, that’s what makes me feel I can kill twelve looters. We took back what belongs to us.”
“But you’ve jeopardized the lives of hundreds of people, your neighbors, your friends. This truce woulda worked. The Jones’ people woulda been fed and the farms woulda survived. Everything is different now. If you didn’t like the deal, we coulda tried to work something else out.”
“I talked to our so called council representative, he gave me bullshit. I got two-hundred head here that would have died. And I won’t be a slave to Dave Jones or a pawn for Mark Mays. This is our land, we took it back from the thieves who took it from us. We don’t need your help nor your approval.” With that statement, Lucas turns his back on Terry and starts giving orders to his security people.
Terry has been dismissed and she knows it. She asks God for words, but nothing comes. Flabbergasted and stunned, she leaves the large farmhouse, taking notice of the large number of people deliberately going about their business of securing the farm and tending to the animals. She mounts her horse and heads back east to Jerome.
In the confusion of the day, Captain Regis and the heavily armed Cashaw clan secured the road to Jerome. For two days tensions had eased, now armed roadblocks are rebuilt. Where people were freely returning to their homes, refugees once again are left homeless. People who returned to their homes in the Davidsville area now will be subject to whatever dictates Dave Jones issues.
* * *
The next day another council meeting is held. Rather than in Central City, it is held in Jennerstown, with a dozen people from the various free towns represented.
Brit stands to address the room. “The doctors and my Mom gave orders for General Mays to stay home and rest, his leg is not healing as well as it should. As his aide I will give you the Militia’s stand on the breech of the truce.
“First, the occupied farm is on the west side of the Jones territory. The western border was for him to secure, so we did not fail the agreement.
“Second, the main goal was to get farmers peacefully back to their farms. It is our understanding that most farmers and many home owners were able to peacefully return to their homes.
“Now this part will not sit well with many people here. It does not sit well with me, but Mark, I mean General Mays, insisted that I state this with confidence. Let it all stand as it is. The farms have been saved, that was the most important part of the truce. Those in Dave Jones land are now trapped there, but the farms will survive.
“He says that Dave Jones will have to renegotiate with us. Our people will not just survive, but prosper while his people will struggle to survive. He says to secure the borders and then worry about more important things.
“Last point. Dave Jones is a small concern. Just as the people came out of Johnstown into the country looking for food. That is happening across the country. And ravaging bands from Pittsburgh will be raiding our lands soon. That is the crisis this council should focus on according to Mark.”
For an hour the assembled men and women discuss the options. A few people with family in Davidsville are dumbstruck that their loved ones will be left under the tyranny of Dave Jones. But the reports of what is happening outside of Pittsburgh sways the argument.
Tens of thousands of people are on the move. Farms just thirty miles to the west are being overrun. Gun battles are ravaging the land. Starving people are ruining the farms that could save them. Ms. Hodges, the Somerset County councilwoman, has heard first hand from Pittsburghers with vacation homes in the Laurel Mountains. They have told her how bad things are to the west. Their stories are much worse than what the few early refugees have had told. Chaos and murder are rampant. Militant groups are ravaging the land.
Less than three weeks after the attack that sent most of the nation into a state of barbarism, their area is an enclave of stability. Long term plans need to be made, or the barbarism will overrun them too. Brit and Colonel Fisher commit to shifting manpower towards the Laurel Mountain ridge along with civilian assets to help set up refugee centers. But there is strife, hunger and displaced people in their own community. It is hard for them to believe that their Laurel Highlands is a place of stability.
The complexity of the situation starts to overwhelm some in the meeting. Brit stands and addresses the crowd, loudly demanding the floor to get the attention of the dispirited and confused crowd. “Pull up your big boy pants people,” she exclaims, once she has their attention.
“No one is going to come in and save us. Tough decisions are going to have to be made. We may not like what has to be done. I don’t like the murders that have happened in Davidsville, by Dave Jones and his people, or by this Lucas guy. But we have to move forward. If we sit and argue about what we cannot change we achieve nothing, we will end up defeated, overrun.
“I am not nearly the believer that my step dad is, but we all have talents that God has blessed us with. We have farmers, we have soldiers, we have leaders, we have tradesmen, we even have a brainiac squad for Pete’s sake.
“Let’s all calm down and deal with each problem as we can. Ms. Hodge, you are one of the leaders and know this area and its people well. You also know the systems that have worked. Will you help organize the civilian side of this problem? The militia will put together a plan for the security side.
“Is there any objection to this?” Brit asks. A few murmurings are heard around the room.
“Hey, people,” Ms. Hodges states, “If any one of yo
u would like to lead the civilian operations, speak up. My sister here just volunteered me for this job, and I will gladly let someone else better qualified take it. So step on up, and I will gladly be your aide.”
A middle aged man from the Davidsville area, a displaced professional himself, speaks up. “I will be your aide Commissioner Hodge. I know of no one here more qualified than you to get us organized. You have my support.” His statement is followed by many yesses and a few nods of heads. A few remain stoic, but do not state any better alternative.
Colonel Fisher stands, “Okay, Ms. Hodge will be our civilian leader for now. Does anyone object to the Laurel Highlands Militia and its leadership in keeping the area secure? I know Rebecca Mays would be happy to keep her husband at home. And I am sure that Brit would rather be helping her kids learn to shoot squirrels rather than fight marauders. Anyone want to take leadership of the militia?”
Feet can be heard shuffling in the silence that follows. The actions of the militia have saved them from chaos and they know it.
“I’ll let Generals Mays know that his leadership is appreciated.” The colonel states stoically, but with a smile.
Ms. Hodge takes over the meeting, work groups and leaders are assigned to various needs. Shortly the group breaks up. Two participants head back to their families and friends, and they pack up to join Lucas and his independent farm.
Chapter 14, New Beginnings
The Farmstead
10/01
Zach snuggles next to Janie in the predawn darkness, rubbing her belly as they cuddle under the heavy comforter. They both are beaming from the love they share, and from the secret they share as well. A secret they have decided to share with their family now that they are sure. Zach peers into the eyes of his wife and they giggle happily.
“Again?” Janie says coyly.
“Yes, again,” Zach says. She clearly feels his growing desire for her passion.
Righteous Sacrifice Page 10