Even with my usual suspicion toward churches and organized religion, I was not about to turn down their charity. I took a Styrofoam plate from a smiling woman and began filling it. Even as I appreciatively heaped food on my plate, I could not help but be aware that the generosity I was seeing was both an indication of very poor planning and possibly even a suicidal gesture for these friendly folks. These people didn’t understand that they might not be able to replace the food they were giving away, assuming that in a day or two there would be more trucks of food showing up at their local grocery store and that the power would be back on. It was quite possible that this would not be the case. It could be months before we saw things restored to normal, maybe even longer. The very food that they were giving away might mean the death of their own families in a few weeks when the food supply dried up. It was already cooked and waiting, though, so I was not about to voice my concerns. With my plate so full it was about to collapse under the weight, I found a shady spot under a nearby tree and slid my pack to the ground. I went back and took two bottles of icy cold water from a cooler under the tent and was already eating when my fellow travelers joined me.
“Make sure you save all your water bottles,” I told them. “We may need to refill and re-use them if we have to walk.”
“I hope we don’t have to walk,” Randi said. “My feet are not used to this. What did we just walk? Ten or twelve miles? Fifteen?”
“A little over four,” I said, my mouth full.
Randi groaned.
“I guess we’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings,” Alice said, digging into a hot dog.
The plastic-haired minister approached and stood over us while we ate. “I know you folks have your mouths full so I won’t bother you much,” he said. “But may I ask where you folks are headed?”
Gary took a drink, cleared his throat and replied, our default spokesman in this kind of situation. He was probably the best man for it, too, with a more agreeable disposition than I.
“We left Richmond this morning headed for Russell County,” he said.
The minister gave a low whistle as he considered this. “I’ve never been there,” he said, “but I know it’s a far piece. How many miles are you talking?”
“Over two hundred from here,” Gary said.
The minister shook his head. “Any idea how are you going to get there?”
Gary shook his head. “Don’t know yet. We just left our vehicle behind a couple of hours ago. We’re hoping to find a place for the night and then see what tomorrow brings.”
“The last town we stopped in was not this friendly,” Rebecca commented. “We appreciate the hospitality.”
“I’m afraid this town isn’t much friendlier,” the minister said with a little regret in his voice. “You can’t see it from here, but they have a roadblock just over the hill there and they’re not letting anyone into town, either. They agreed to let us come out to try and ease the suffering of you weary travelers. They did warn us that we couldn’t bring anyone back with us, though. Otherwise we’d open our church as a shelter as the Lord would have us do.”
I wondered if the minister threw in that last part to deter us from asking for shelter for the night.
“What’s the latest news? Heard anything?” I asked between bites of baked beans. “Pakistani terrorists have taken credit is what I last heard,” the minister said. “A lot of the terrorist acts took place in remote areas so the full effect isn’t known yet. The news is getting kind of spotty and it sounds like there isn’t much official information coming in. I think the power outages and fuel shortages are starting to interfere with getting the news out. Whatever is happening is nothing that we can’t make it through. People must not lose hope.”
In that last sentence I could hear that this minister believed this might be as bad as it got. I knew this area received its fair share of ice storms and people here were used to power outages with downed trees and impassable roads. Perhaps that was what he was expecting from this – nothing more than an ice storm’s level of inconvenience.
“What about the gas situation?” Gary asked.
“Not good,” the minister replied. “What news you can get says they’ve hit pipelines and refineries, as well as destroying large quantities of the available gas supply stored at those refineries. They don’t know when we’ll be able to start buying gas again. Some say it could be months. They’re telling people to conserve what gas they have because it may be all they get for a while. Most of my folks serving the food here walked or came on bikes. We used ATVs to bring the food.”
“If they’re not selling gas, why aren’t there are any guards at the stations we just passed?” I asked. “The last station we stopped at up the road had troopers show up to make sure no gas was being sold.”
“There’s no gas here to guard,” the minister said. “All the tanks sold out this morning. I think there’s a little kerosene left and that’s it.”
“Are the hotels accepting guests?” Alice asked.
“I think so,” he said. “There’s a rumor that FEMA is supposed to charter some buses and come through and deliver people down the interstate. One rumor is that they’ll bus people closer to home. Another says they’ll bus them to FEMA camps to sit out the worst of this. Because of that a lot of people are just sitting around waiting for the buses to show up. Some have checked into the hotels. They don’t have power and I’m sure the water is probably down to a trickle by now but I guess it beats sleeping in the bushes.”
At the mention of FEMA, I caught Gary’s eye and fought back a grin. While we were both a little paranoid, FEMA inspired severe paranoia in many in the prepper community. They were attributed with all manner of powers specifically tailored to taking our liberties. FEMA and the Department of Homeland Security were alleged to be evil incarnate.
“Are people behaving themselves?” I asked. “There are a lot of people here.”
The minister considered this. “They are for now,” he said after a moment, “because they think buses are coming to get them. When it gets dark and there are no buses, I’m not sure how they’ll act. Not everyone has the means to pay for a hotel, even if they are accepting plastic. There have also been a lot of folks purchasing alcohol from the convenience stores and sitting around drinking it since they don’t have anything else to do. We tried to discourage that by saying we wouldn’t serve anyone who was intoxicated, but some prefer the bottle to the burger.”
“I agree that things might not be so pretty here when people realize that the rumor was just that,” I said. “When people get desperate, they get ugly.”
“Yes,” Alice agreed. “We’ve seen that today already.”
“You folks have seen the face of man’s ugliness today?” the minister asked.
“We lost a member of our group this morning and it’s still upsetting to us,” I said.
“I’m sorry if I’ve hit a sore spot,” the minister said. “I do a lot of spiritual counseling and prying is in my nature.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “No harm done. We definitely appreciate the hospitality.”
“You’re most welcome,” the minister said. “I see more hungry folks coming so I better get back to the serving line.”
“Sir?” I said. “One more thing.”
He turned back around. “Yes?”
“You mentioned ATVs,” I said. “We passed an elderly couple about two miles north of here on the interstate. They were out of gas and the woman was in medical distress, unable to walk. Do you think that someone might be able to go pick them up and bring them back here? I’m really concerned about them.”
“I’m sure that we could,” the minister said. “We have a side-by-side ATV that holds three people and has a cargo bed. We also have a trailer attached to it.”
“I would be glad to go with you,” I added. “We hated to leave them, but we couldn’t carry them without a vehicle of some sort.”
“Why don’t you folks go see if you can secur
e a hotel room after you’re finished eating?” he said. “Come back here in about thirty minutes and I’ll have someone available to pick them up if you can show us where they are.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
The minister smiled, turned, and walked back to his station, patting shoulders and greeting more hungry faces.
We decided to start with the hotel farthest from the interstate. We’d had a short discussion about it and Gary pointed out that it was likely to be the least crowded since tired travelers would probably stop at the first hotel they came to. We walked in that direction, passing the second convenience store. As the minister had mentioned, there was a lot of drinking going on in the parking lot. Most people there appeared to be part of two large groups. One was made up of what looked like young rednecks in tank tops and ball caps, hanging around a cluster of pickup trucks with fishing poles and canoes in the beds. The other group was primarily Hispanic, chugging forty ounce beers and casting hairy eyeballs toward the rednecks. Both groups were playing music from car stereos, running down the batteries of already dead or nearly dead vehicles. In the battle between Lynyrd Skynyrd and Latin hip hop, it seemed like hip hop was winning.
There was some evident hostility there, too, that went beyond the battling tastes in music. Who knew what insults may have been cast back and forth over the course of this drunken day? I knew things like this didn’t end well. Someone would be hurt before the night was over. Eyes cut toward us as we moved along down the road. No comments were made, though, so we kept faces forward and walked straight to the Comfort Inn. I’d had my share of altercations for the day. As we neared the hotel, we could see people hanging around outside the entryway. Kids played in the parking lot, made safer by the absence of moving vehicles. Some of the folks drank from water bottles, beer bottles, or red plastic cups. It was an odd environment and in its atmosphere and informality was more like approaching a backpacker’s hostel in a trail town than a chain hotel by the side of an interstate highway.
We wove through the milling people and entered the dark, humid lobby. Light entering through the large picture windows revealed a tired Pakistani woman in a sari sitting on a stool at the counter. Rather than greeting us or asking us what we needed, she just stared apprehensively in our direction.
“We’re looking for rooms,” Alice said, taking the lead and approaching the woman. “I’m assuming that you’re open to guests?”
The woman looked us over. “Can you pay?” she asked. “No free rooms.”
“We can pay,” Alice responded, “As long as you still take credit cards.”
The woman shook her head. “Cards no good,” she said. “Cash only.”
Alice was visibly frustrated by this. “We work for a government agency,” she said. “Our cards are good.”
“No matter,” the lady said. “Processing is down. Cash only.”
“You could write the information down off our cards and bill them later,” Rebecca suggested helpfully.
The woman’s head shook rapidly and she began muttering before Rebecca was even done. “No, no, no,” she said adamantly. “Cash only or go away.”
“How much are rooms?” Alice asked.
“Two hundred dollars cash for a room,” the lady responded. “For twenty, you can sleep in hall or lobby.”
These were rooms that were probably $58 a night before the shit hit the fan.
“Does anyone have a thousand dollars cash?” Alice said quietly, turning back to us.
As usual, I could not restrain myself. “You’ve got to be kidding me. If I had a thousand dollars cash on me I would not spend it on a night in hotel. There could be more pressing needs before this trip is over.”
Alice frowned at me. “I guess we share,” she said. “Do we all just want to put in forty each and share a room?”
Everyone coughed up forty dollars and Alice handed it to the lady across the counter, who handed her back a plastic key card.
“Does this still work?” Alice asked, looking at the card.
“Batteries still work,” the lady responded. “Card will work. Water does not, though. You have to make pee outside in bushes.”
“Great,” Randi said. “Probably three hundred people here and I think I saw two bushes out there.”
“More bushes out back,” the desk clerk offered helpfully.
I elbowed Randi. “It’s a new hotel, too,” I pointed out. “The bushes aren’t really even leafed out fully yet.”
“Great,” she sighed.
“Is the kitchen serving anything?” Gary asked.
The lady nodded. “Bar open, kitchen open. Cash only.”
“Of course,” Alice muttered. “Cash only.”
We made our way up to the third floor in a stairwell that was dimly lit by small windows spaced throughout. When we entered the third floor hallway, we found a scene much like the one we left behind this morning – a dim hallway, strangely silent. Without the HVAC system working its miracle, the hallway was musty. It was also clear from the smell of the hallway that not everyone was utilizing the bushes. The hallways stank of unflushed toilets and urine. Our room was equally musty but was well-lit and had opening windows that allowed us to bring in a little fresh air. It was also clean, apparently unused since the disaster.
We crowded into the small room with two double beds, standing around awkwardly. All of us wanted to sit down on the nearest bed but we didn’t have a protocol for this. It was way too awkward.
“I’m sure it’s fine with Jim and I if you guys take the beds. We’ll sleep on the floor. Work for you, Jim?”
I nodded. “Not a problem.”
“Are you going back after those older folks?” Alice asked me. “Who all is going?”
“I don’t think we all need to go,” I said. “I think if Gary and I went, and the church sends someone, that should be enough.”
“If you’re sure,” Alice said. “I don’t mind going.”
“It should be fine,” I said. “I just need to shift a few things in my pack.”
I tried to decide if I was going to take my pack with me on this little errand or leave it in the hotel room. As much as I was ready to have the heavy, sweaty thing off my back, I was also afraid to leave it. What if I didn’t make it back here for some reason? What if it was stolen? The idea of making it through this crisis without my gear was not encouraging. I’d put too much planning into this Get Home Bag to step out of this room without it.
I also wanted to switch pistols. While the Ruger LCP was my primary carry pistol due to its light weight and the fact that it was easily concealable, I carried a larger pistol in my Get Home Bag. It was Beretta 92 9mm with fixed sights. Although it was not the first gun I’d ever owned, it was the first gun I ever went out and bought with my own money. I had just gotten my first full-time job and wanted a handgun. Concealed Carry Permits were difficult to obtain at the time. You had to go before a judge and present a damn good reason for needing one. My reason for needing one, I felt, was that I travelled a lot at odd hours on lonely highways and didn’t want to be caught unprepared. For twenty years, that gun had been my constant travel companion. It didn’t have an accessory rail, or tritium sights, or a laser, but it was dependable and comfortable in my hand. I knew it intimately and it was the pistol I wanted in my belt.
I took a flashlight from my pack and disappeared into the bathroom. I shifted a few things around, tucking away some extra water bottles I’d brought from the church tent. I also removed my other pistol from the pack. When my adjustments were complete, I had the heavier Beretta concealed in a Fobus paddle holster under my un-tucked shirt. I also had two spare magazines for the pistol in a magazine holster on my left hip. Everything was hidden but easily accessible.
When I exited the bathroom, I had the Ruger LCP in my hand. Rebecca stared at it.
I looked at Randi. “You ever shoot one of these?” I asked, holding up the LCP.
She smiled. “Oh, hell yeah. I’ve shot guns my entire life
.”
“Keep this in your pocket until we get back,” I instructed her. “If there’s an emergency, use it. I just reloaded it. There’s no safety so when you pull it out, just point it and pull the trigger.”
“I’ve fired guns, too,” Alice said. “You could have left it with me.”
“I was afraid you might not give it back, Alice. Policy violation, you know.”
“So you brought two guns?” Rebecca asked. “Why in the hell would you take two guns on a business trip?”
“One is a pocket gun,” I said. “I carry it every day.”
“Hopefully not to the office,” Alice commented. “We—”
“—have a policy against that,” I cut in. “I know. The Beretta is the gun that I carry in my pack for real emergencies, Rebecca, like the one we’re experiencing now. The events of today should clearly explain just why in the hell I would carry two guns on a business trip.”
I turned back to Randi. “Do not wave that thing around as a threat. People may try to steal it if they see it. Only pull it out if you are fully intent on killing someone. Do you understand?”
Randi nodded.
“You really think she’ll need that thing?” Rebecca asked. “We’re in a hotel room.”
“I don’t know if she’ll need it or not,” I said. “I want you guys to have it if you do need it. There’s a parking lot full of drunks, the food and alcohol is going to run out soon, and tensions will flare up out of nowhere. Anything could happen.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes at me and lay back on the bed. “I think I’m going to take a nap,” she said. “I think you guys are getting a little too gung-ho.”
I couldn’t hold back a smirk. “You do that,” I told her. “Take a nice long nap and have sweet dreams. Maybe something with unicorns.”
I shouldered my pack. “Gary?”
“I’m ready.”
Chapter 9
Thirty minutes later we were speeding up the shoulder of the northbound lane of the interstate in a Polaris Ranger with a retired insurance salesman named Emmet. It was a newer side-by-side ATV that seated four people. Behind us, we pulled a utility trailer. Although we’d not seen any traffic on the highway, we stayed to the shoulder to avoid being run down by a fast-moving semi or military convoy. This was something that would have been illegal yesterday but today was of little consequence. We reached the stranded elderly couple and Emmet swung around and drove across the median, another action we probably wouldn’t have taken yesterday. We pulled in behind the stranded car and stopped.
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