by JK Franks
Sheriff Warren handled security along with his two remaining deputies. He also added to his ranks when he could. One of these recruits was a young ex-marine named Clements, who had been a patrolman for the city. They recruited several others with experience either in the military or as part of law enforcement in their previous life. They decided, based on practicality and their limited resources and manpower, to patrol a small, manageable area. This zone did not extend out as far as the old county limits. Scott’s home, in fact, was now just outside of the patrol zone.
As had been the practice since the CME hit, or “The Big Crunch,” as many more were now calling it, there were no police arrests. Many more crimes were deemed capital offenses now, and executions by the patrolman would in time become a sad fact of life. They would need to come up with lesser punishments in time for minor offenses. Public humiliation and chain gangs were possible options, but no one would get a free ride sitting in prison anymore. No one wanted to feed someone who had broken the law. The food was reserved for those who worked for it. The threat of capital punishment did wonders for keeping down the mayhem. After Deputy Clements shot a man who had beaten a shop owner, the message was clear to all.
As the days/weeks passed, the group had also come up with a schedule for limiting access to the town of Harris Springs by raising and lowering the three drawbridges that spanned the wide Intercoastal Waterway. They could essentially cut the town off completely if need be. As the county maintained all the bridges, Bartos had keys to control them. A small portable generator was mounted on a trailer and hooked up to each when they wanted to operate it. They made a schedule and posted it for all the townspeople and farmers out beyond the waterway, so they would know ahead of time what bridge would be traversable at what time. A permanently manned guard was posted any time any of the bridges was lowered. While this seemed reasonable to the group, others viewed it as castle mentality, a guard at the moat. No matter what they did, some people grumbled, some louder than others.
Perhaps the hardest assignment had fallen to Preacher Jack. He was the countering force to the brutality and absolute rule that was going into effect. Jack’s primary job was to keep everyone human; to be the voice of reason and an advocate for the defenseless. That did not extend as far as helping those unwilling to help themselves. Jack himself, was a staunch believer in allowing no entitlements of any kind. But he was more willing to let men prove themselves, even those judged as criminals in the world before. He had taken in several former prisoners who had slipped into the town one way or another: trustees that he had known from his previous prison ministry. These guys had an assortment of useful skills and several eventually found their way onto Bartos’ procurement teams. By the end of the first month, Jack had also fulfilled his promise to Todd by starting to train Scott and Kaylie in the art of KFM combat. Scott had been amazed at how quickly the big guy could move and how every point on his body could become a weapon. Kaylie had taken to the sport like a champion, glad to be back on a workout schedule.
Scott had personally taken on several key assignments. The first was to work with the farmers, fishermen and hunters to develop a system of crop and game management and establish the basic system of fair trade. From the municipal warehouses, the hunters would get ammo; the council offered them access to previously protected lands, and the sports bar had cold storage for the meat they produced. Fishermen and farmers could get limited rations of fuel and labor as well as secure storage. No one profited in the new system, but they might survive. He made the rounds of the farms every few days, checking on them to make sure they had what they needed. Farmers proved to be a self-reliant bunch and slow to accept any benefits from the trade plan. Scott knew how they thought, though, and didn’t force it. He knew, in time, they would need help.
One other issue they worked on was electricity. Many days were dedicated to expanding the town’s solar power to reach more buildings. They were adding to the collector array as they found other panels. In his rides, Scott had spotted solar panels on several rooftops and yards. The teams also found them down railroad tracks where they powered the now useless signal lights for trains. So far, they had enough solar units and deep cycle batteries to triple the town’s current output. Much of what they had planned were very long-term projects. First, they had to survive the next few months.
As September gave way to October, plans began to slip sideways. The realization of winter coming at the same time hoarded supplies began to dwindle drove many people over the edge. On the radio, they heard reports of bands of raiders hitting survivor settlements. Scott had seen numerous instances of cruelty, but even he was shocked the morning he saw part of the old housing projects down on the black river on fire. He hadn’t noticed the smoke as it was the same color as the gray overcast sky. Stopping his bike, he saw flames shooting from windows of house after house along the old docks. What he didn’t see was the people… not until he rode farther down the road. Hanging from trees were body after body. Women, children, elderly, black and white. Already the poorest people in the town; none of them deserved this injustice. What little most of them had probably would not have even gotten them through the winter months, but someone decided their life didn’t matter. This was to be just the first of a string of new misfortunes that descended on the little town.
Scott and Kaylie had consumed the last of the ‘normal’ food a week earlier. Now they were living off the supplies, supplementing it with fresh meat when they could. Kaylie looked up from her empty plate, “Is it ever going to get better, Uncle Scott? Will I see my family or friends again?” Scott had dreaded this question but knew it was always on her mind. He reached over and held her hand.
“It’s up to us to make it better. I won’t lie to you, Kaylie, I can’t tell you definitely that you will see them again. We just have to believe that we will.”
She nodded. “Is this why you’re helping everyone in town, your friends? I thought all preppers walled themselves up alone to survive.”
Scott smiled, he had thought the same. “It has been difficult for me. Your dad helped me realize the truth. We need other people, other like-minded people, to survive. This is what society is, people living together for the common good. Unfortunately, a lot of people will feel otherwise. Many are out for themselves. Many will always feel like society owes them. This point in our history is going to be a major reset for that group, and they are not going to go away quietly.” They both had been hearing the reports of looters and gangs wreaking havoc out in the county. So far, the town had remained calm, though. How long that would last was anyone’s guess. Kaylie knew this was why her uncle had been hiding supplies and food caches, as well as making her learn even more about self-defense and how to use all the different guns they had. She wasn’t as scared as she’d imagined she would be. She knew they had contingency plans, supplies and most importantly, her uncle seemed to have a purpose again. She was proud of him and the responsibility he had taken on.
It had taken the townspeople several weeks to start pitching together, but now that it was organized, things seemed better. She, Bartos, and a guy named Clive had been working to clear unoccupied houses in the area. Uncle Scott and the preacher had joined them several times recently as they moved subdivision to subdivision. Occasionally, they met resistance; when they did, they simply offered them the deal: work with them and share, or stay on their own, but don't ever ask for help. She knew they were a kind of a gang, but none of the members of the group were out for personal benefit. Sheriff Buck Warren and Bartos had made sure of that.
One of the guys in town had been giving them a hard time, but no one seemed too concerned about him. “A blowhard” was what her uncle had called him. She did know these next few weeks might be the worst yet, though. Food and fuel had long run out for those that had not prepared, and desperate people were capable of anything. She knew her uncle had been stocking up the alternate locations to use in case of emergency, but she hoped she didn’t have to leave the cottag
e. She loved it here. Now that they had the generator running the old water well, she could even take a shower again, although it was a cold one.
Raiding parties were spotted several times on the roads. Most were small groups that a few shots easily scared off, but some with twenty or more men were spotted and had to be avoided. Scott kept shifting resources to other locations and shoring up defenses at the cottage. He had managed to hook up the large generator, not just to the water pump but also the freezer and refrigerator, so what fresh supplies they had stayed somewhat cold as well. They had also taken time to disguise the drive and camouflage the house to make the quaint cottage look more like a derelict. Beyond the road gangs, other unexpected encounters were also unnerving.
After one particularly difficult day in which, among other things, the bodies of two of the more popular townsfolk had been discovered and later buried, an exhausted Scott had gone to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. With no power, they had gotten used to the total silence in the dark house. At some point, Scott had awoken to something. It had sounded and even felt like a large object hitting the side of the cottage. He knew it could be a dream, but for some reason, he didn’t think so. Silently, he made the rounds looking out across the moonlit yard but saw nothing. He could hear the gentle snores coming from Kaylie’s room. Scott lay back down thinking it must have been a bird or something. His mind was active now, though, and sleep would not return. Reluctantly, he decided to get up and read some of the Catalyst information again to see if he could come up with some better solutions for the town and himself.
Just before lighting the lantern, he checked the front yard again. To his shock he saw a large man standing there. The man was shirtless, wearing long pants and appeared to be holding something. He was also standing still as a statue. Scott crept back to his bedside and retrieved the Sig Sauer pistol. He decided to wake Kaylie as well, motioning her to be silent as he pointed the man out to her. She started to whisper something, but he shushed her knowing that whispers can often be noticed easier than normal voices. They both waited, looking out the window for much of the night. Scott didn’t want to shoot the man for just standing there, but he also didn’t take chances anymore. As the eastern sky began to lighten, they could make out more details on the man who still stood in the same spot. He was bald with what looked like a nasty scar along the top of his head. The skull seemed…wrong, misshapen underneath. Scott could see the vague color of tattoos on the man’s arms. They also noticed the man’s mouth was moving. He was saying something; it appeared to be the same words over and over. Scott could see now that the man was holding what looked to be a girl’s hair ribbon.
Scott looked at Kaylie and quietly said, “I don’t think he is a threat, I am going to go out and talk to him.”
She placed a hand on his arm, “Look at his wrist.”
It was now light enough to see pretty well, and Scott could see what his niece had noticed. A ragged light-colored bracelet hung loosely from the man’s left wrist. Kaylie leaned in, “He was a patient at a hospital.”
Scott looked at the man more closely. His eyes were closed, spittle dripped from the corners of his mouth. He was still uttering the same words. A patient yes, but from what kind of hospital? Scott thought about the patients at the mental hospital that had been turned out. He nodded at Kaylie, “Stay here, but come out firing if I get into trouble.” Scott stood and quietly unlatched the door and went out into the cool morning air.
The man took no notice of Scott, even after he had called to him several times, “Sir, sir! Hey! Can I help you?” Scott could see the tattoos were military, possibly Army. Man, this guy may be a disabled vet. A war hero with a head wound. He deserves better than this. The man’s cheeks were sunken in, and his ribs were visible. His bare feet were covered with cracks and oozing sores. His pants were stained with all manner of foulness, and the smell of wood smoke was overwhelming. Scott had run into numerous delirious individuals in the last two months, but this was different. Scott touched the man lightly on the arm, and instantly the eyes were open and looking directly at him. The mouth kept repeating those same words over and over.
Scott was shaken by the man’s alertness but still not overly afraid. He asked him again if he needed anything. Not getting a response or further reaction, Scott called to his niece to come out. She discreetly gave the man a basic medical check and said what Scott had surmised. Dehydration, malnutrition, untreated and infected wounds, and probably impaired mental state due to injury or illness. Scott knew the humane thing to do was to put the man down, but the likelihood that he had been a soldier prevented him from taking that option. They could take him somewhere and drop him, but that just made it someone else’s problem.
“Ideas?” Scott asked.
“He needs to be in a hospital or institutionalized, he is incoherent, probably had no idea who he is or what has happened. He can’t make it much longer on his own. He may even be a danger to himself…or others.” She was using a small squirt bottle to shoot water into the man’s mouth and throat. The man took no notice, and most of it just ran out the side of his mouth and down his sunken chest. They tried moving the man over to a tree stump to sit, but he just stayed frozen in place. Checking the man’s wrist, Kaylie said he was from the VA hospital up in Meridian. She couldn’t make out the patient name. Scott kept looking at the length of ribbon in the man’s other hand. It unnerved him in ways he couldn’t identify. Scott eventually gave up trying to make sense of it, deciding the man was no immediate threat. He went inside to make some coffee. Kaylie kept trying to get some response from the stranger, but after another hour, she came inside, too. They decided that they could probably get the man in the Jeep and take him into town to see if the doctor at the clinic could help. Deep down they both knew there was no place in this new world for someone with this man’s problems. Packing up their day bags and weapons, Scott pulled the Jeep out of the garage to see Kaylie standing dumbfounded in an empty yard. The man was gone. They looked quickly in all directions but saw no one. They searched the roads, the adjacent fields and even the bayou out back but found no sign of the stranger. Shocked, but somewhat relieved, the two got back in the car and headed off toward town to start their day.
Scott was faced with countless other tasks at home and larger ones in his new role with the council. Some would have to wait until they had more people and time. These were only slightly lower priorities, such as a way to do laundry or recover salt from seawater, which was already in limited supply. Setting up the medical clinic had been a top priority and was done as soon as it was safe. They had medics and a couple of doctors but had to locate everything else. Of desperate need were antibiotics and pain relievers. They had gotten lucky in that the small hospital was pretty well-stocked and had not been looted. Several local pet stores carried animal and fish medicines, many of which, some of the doctors said, could also be used for human use.
The council quickly became inundated with special requests, as well as complaints, mostly from those people not doing a goddamn thing to contribute. The response from Scott and the council to this group was generally, “Fuck off,” or, “Handle it yourself.”
The priority was to stay alive today. Everyone was hungry, all wanted protection from the roving gangs of criminals. The complainers and real troublemakers in the town were on a steady increase and at times took on mob-like status. In the absence of power or government assistance, this group were made up of truly desperate individuals and they only needed a little push to set them off. The new ad-hoc council’s apparent lack of concern for the complaining groups fanned the flames of discontent. These people of the township felt their needs were just as vital as anyone else’s, and since Scott's little group was assuming power, that group felt that they should be the ones helping the less fortunate. It was only a matter of time before the two views clashed.
Chapter Forty-Six
Day 35
Of increasing irritation to the group was the one former politic
o, a snake who continually raised his ugly head and attempted to penetrate the little group as the spokesperson for the complainers. Ronald Hansbrough was not happy and was suspicious of what these guys were up to. More clearly, he felt they were the quickest way to get his hands on the supplies he would need to survive without actually doing the work required to get them otherwise.
To him, the new town council was just another gang of thugs, stealing and hoarding supplies. The fact that the weasel Cajun seemed to have assumed a position of influence really pissed him off. The guy was a fucking mechanic. He was also sure that Bartos had been using his position at the county to help his friends. And his hatred of him for refusing to pave the road into the development park had never really gone away.
Who did the little fuck think he was? Ronald fumed once again as he walked out of the government building he had just been asked to leave, by Bartos himself. Not only that, but the other guy in there, the quiet one with the bike, pissed him off, too. He felt sure it was the same guy that had flipped him off on the road the day the power died. What in the fuck was his angle in all this, anyway?
Ronald looked up at the plaque mounted on the well-manicured lawn. His family name was on that plaque. It also lent itself to one of the main streets, and several other important buildings in the county. This was his town, and he would be damned if any of these other shits was going to take it away from him. This was bigger than politics, he felt. This was survival.
Preacher Jack watched the red-faced Hansbrough muttering under his breath as he walked out of the meeting hall and turned down the block toward the other side of town. That man is trouble,” he said to no one in particular. Jack knew more about trouble than most people in this area did. He also knew that one of Hansbrough’s associates was a Mr. Tyrell Johnson. Tyrell was a big, rough man. He often stayed down at the community center located in the same direction that Hansbrough was now walking.