“Sorry, buddy. I’m so clumsy,” Chris said.
“What the hell, man. I didn’t do anything to you.
“Yeah? Well I’m shy. Go buy a new cell phone and send me a bill,” Chris moved past him with his gun still prominently displayed.
“What? I don’t know you or have your address.
Chris made it to the Bronco at the end of a long line of cars in the parking lot and pushed his cart next to the rear passenger side door. Then he waited patiently, all the while keeping an eye out for the two men to return.
They did not, and anyone who took even half a glance at him noted the gun, the hard look on his face, and decided to move on without a challenge.
Bradley and Andy returned to the vehicle, and they left without further incident. Chris was under no delusions that this was just the beginning, and other problems were going to crop up. He needed a little more time, and then he would pick a day, and disappear in the middle of the night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bradley slept with the help of another dose of Ambien. He woke up after five hours in a cold sweat. He had managed to throw most of the covers off the bed, so he pulled them to his chin and shivered. Monica slept next to him, but she tossed and turned. He didn’t move for fear of waking her, but after a half hour of violent images rolling through his head, he rose and went to the kitchen to make coffee. There was a half pot from yesterday, and never being one to waste, he poured a mug full and nuked it for a minute.
Then he returned to bed, slipped under the covers, and stared at the wall.
The trip to Walmart the day before had been like walking into a politicized Black Friday sale. He, Andy, and Chris had hastily scratched out notes with the supplies they needed to secure.
Then the mad dash had begun. It took almost an hour, and they were not always successful, but in the end, they came home with a large haul. Fresh bread, rice, beans, flour, and canned goods like meat, fruit and vegetables. Sugar, coffee, salt, vitamins, and oatmeal. Bradley also stocked up on medical supplies. Ointments, bandages, and a couple of large first aid kits. Those would remain sealed until he needed them.
When Bradley said he was worried he didn’t have enough money to cover his list, Chris had reached into his pocket and peeled off a stack of hundred dollar bills.
“I can’t accept this,” Bradley had protested.
“You can. Call it a thank you. I just got a huge bonus, and it’s worth it for all the help you’ve given me. Take it. It probably not going to be worth anything in the coming weeks,” Chris had said and departed into the madness at the store.
When they had returned to Bradley’s house, they had divided up the supplies. Andy had to make several trips to his house to carry over his goods. Chris helped, and told Bradley he should start sorting and storing items. Everything fresh was jammed into the refrigerator. He put a dozen loaves of bread in the deep freeze in the garage, as well as anything else that could remain frozen.
He had even scored a couple of boxes of frozen steaks in vacuum sealed bags. Those were distributed around the freezer with a dozen of them on the bottom. He rolled out his generator, a Troy-Bilt that could generate 7,000 watts. The eight gallon fuel tank would run for almost twenty-four hours. He did some calculations and determined he would need 255 gallons to last a month if it ran all of the time. If they ran it for a few hours a day, it would last considerably longer.
Where was he going to get that much fuel?
He prayed the power didn’t go out, or he would have an entire freezer of spoiled food in a day.
He and Andy decided to go out later and try to secure some large gas containers and STA-BIL to keep the fuel fresh in case it needed to be stored for the long term.
Monica stretched and rolled over after he had slurped down half of his coffee. She rolled over, night gown riding up her side. He put his hand on her hip, and then leaned over and kissed her.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I got beat up. I’m sore everywhere.”
“You slept?”
“Yeah. That Ambien knocked me out. I had some weird dreams,” he said. “How were the kids after I went to bed?”
“They were good. Junior was sullen. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t engage with me. He moped around and then went into his room to mess around with his tablet.”
“I’ll try to talk to him today. I’m still mad that he ran off and nearly got himself killed, but I’m relieved he’s okay. I’m glad we’re all okay after last night.”
There was a knock on the door.
“I’ll make sure it’s not trouble,” Bradley said.
“It’s probably Andy. He always knocks softly and never used the doorbell. At least he’s polite even if he is sort of an asshole,” Monica said.
Bradley grabbed his jeans from the dresser and slid into them. Then tossed on a clean T-shirt and, and picked up the Kydex rapidtuck holstered Kimber, and attached it to the waistband of his pants.
He peeked out of the living room blinds and found Andy standing on his doorstep.
Bradley looked out of the door’s peephole. Andy stood on the front porch with his back to the door. He looked up and down the street, then adjusted his ball cap, and turned as Bradley opened the door.
“Hey, neighbor. Looks like the Anderson’s across the street put all of their stuff in a rental and hauled ass,” Andy said.
Over the last few years, the town of Vicksburg had experienced a lot of growth, but Bradley’s neighborhood had actually shrunk. His house was fifty years old and there were rumors that a developer was eyeing the homes along his street to possibly buy up, raze, and then build a new housing development in its place. So far, no one had shown up at his door with a wheelbarrow full of money.
“That’s a shame. I liked Shawn and Jed well enough,” Bradley said.
“Didn’t bother you that they were a couple of butt pirates?” Andy said.
Bradley rolled his eyes and fought from laying into Andy. If there was one thing he hated, it was intolerance. Shawn and Jed were nice guys, and had even helped out when a tornado nearly touched down in the neighborhood. He’d had a large tree fall, narrowly avoiding his Bronco, and blocking his driveway. The men had come out in coveralls to help the neighbors out, and they had stopped at his house first. Twenty minutes with a chainsaw, some back breaking labor dragging the pieces aside, and he’d had his driveway back.
“Not a very polite thing to say, Andy. And no, it doesn’t bother me at all. Whatever they are happy with ain’t my concern,” Bradley said.
“Okay, I’ll give you that, I guess. What time do you want to go get the fuel tanks?”
“How about in an hour, sound good?”
“Sure,” Andy said. “Where’s your buddy?”
“Chris? I think he’s still in the basement. I let him crash down there last night.”
“I wondered if he stayed. Assumed he had. You feel okay with him around?”
“Yeah, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Something off about that guy. He’s got some hard edges, and I don’t mean he’s grumpy. I believe he could shoot either one of us and walk away without a second thought,” Andy said.
“He seems harmless enough,” Bradley tried to placate Andy.
“Harmless? He killed Russ Reels last night, and then threatened to shoot his son and his son’s wife.”
“They were a threat. I shot Stephen. Are you suddenly afraid of me?”
“No, I guess not. Just don’t plug me for my food when the shit hits the fan.” Andy offered a grin.
“I promise I won’t. I’ll just wait until your rotten ass dies because you can’t get the internet and look at sheep porn anymore,” Bradley said.
Andy got a quizzical look on his face for a split second, then he burst into laughter. He doubled over and nearly choked himself.
“You got me, okay. Shots fired, neighbor. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Uh, might be longer than an hour,�
�� Bradley said as his gaze was pulled to the end of the street.
Andy turned to follow his look, and then swallowed, and his face went white.
There was a police cruiser on the road, and it headed right for Bradley’s house.
Chapter Twenty-Four
James Briggs got a little bit of sleep.
After they had been relieved at 0600, he and the rest of Bravo had assisted in moving some large barricades across the street so it created a one way entry point. Traffic departing the city was rerouted a block away. Then they had assisted with hanging up a six foot sign that proclaimed:
MARTIAL LAW IS IN EFFECT. 10:00 PM CURFEW ENFORCED.
PLEASE APPLY FOR HARDSHIP OR WORK PERMITS.
VIOLATORS ARE SUBJECT TO MILITARY AND POLICE DETENTION.
THE USE OF LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED FOR LOOTERS.
By then, he was dead on his feet, but he pushed on. Finally, they had been granted rest. Wells apologized and said he’d been swept up in patrols, but that his squad did good and they should get some shut eye.
There was no mention of the two men they had brought in. The pair had been loaded onto the back of a transport filled with angry citizens.
The Guard had setup a temporary FOB with a couple of hastily constructed barracks in the southwest corner. He found a cot, rolled onto it, and passed out. After being up for nearly thirty-six hours, he was beat. He tried to answer a couple of messages from Jessica but sleep dragged him down.
Someone bumped his cot hours later. He rolled over and stared at the sleeping face of Skip, three feet away, who snored like a tornado shaking a house.
Something cracked in the distance like a popcorn maker. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, eyes wide.
Those had been gunshots.
James checked his watch and found it was nineteen hundred hours.
“Where did that come from?” he muttered.
“Thought it was you farting,” Skip Koslowski said. He yawned and rolled over.
“I heard shooting,” James said.
“Yeah. I heard it too, but it was pretty far away. When everyone else dives under their cot, I’ll be right there with them,” Skip said. “Gonna catch a few more winks. Wake me thirty?”
“Sure. I need to get some chow.”
“I’ll find an MRE later. Better than that slop in the DFAC,” Skip said and closed his eyes.
James rose, slung on his M4, retrieved his combat helmet and dropped it on his head, and went to the latrine to relieve himself. Glancing in the mirror, he found his face looked haggard. Whiskers had popped up along his cheeks and neck. He splashed some cold water on his face, and then leaned over and drank from the faucet for a solid thirty seconds. James wasn’t a big coffee drinker, preferring to stay hydrated with water. He had found that a large glass of ice cold water in the morning woke him up quicker than a cup of Joe ever did.
The DFAC (Dining Facility) was a disorganized clutter of chairs and benches. The line for food was much longer than he had expected, but his stomach grumbled so he waited it out and was rewarded with something that vaguely resembled beef stew and had no flavor. There was no place to sit so he stood near a wall with a dozen other Guardsmen and regular Army, and ate something that might have been chili mac. After the second bite, he sought out some hot sauce, salt and pepper, but it barely made an impact on the blandness of the dish.
A pair of regular Army guys stood near him. They glanced at his uniform, and one of the men smirked at his friend. James ignored them and slurped up the rest of his food, and then got a cup of bug juice and drank it down in a half-dozen gulps. Protein and sugar, he felt like he had a damn hangover, but that was probably just the stress of yesterday combined with a need for more sleep. He could find another cot and try to close his eyes for thirty minutes, but he’d feel better if he talked to his girlfriend.
James had thought to carry a battery brick with him, and he had relied on it the night before to charge his phone. He might get another full charge out of it before he had to put the damn thing on to charge itself.
He had an hour to kill before his squad had to be back on duty so he left the DFAC and checked his phone.
James opened his banking app, and was greeted by a small message.
Withdrawals temporarily limited to $20.
What in the hell? Since when was a bank allowed to tell a customer how much money they could take out of their account?
Then James breathed a sigh of relief when he checked his account balance. Most of the money the hacker had stolen had been returned by his bank. He had half a mind to find a branch, and demand that they give him his money.
A message from Jessica popped up.
Not what I expected here, but I’m doing okay.
I miss you. I’m staying at home because work has some concerns regarding the legality of martial law. I guess everyone is trying to work from home. It’s hard to get on the internet.
He told her to stay safe, and that he would see her soon, even though he doubted he would. James tried to stay optimistic but it was not looking good for them returning to their homes in the coming week.
He tried to call but couldn’t get through, which was troubling. Was the government cracking down on the cell towers for some reason?
I miss your face
He took a selfie of his tired features and sent it.
I take it back
Glad you’re at home and safe.
I am, but I’m but scared.
Then she sent him a selfie. She was cross-eyed and had stuck her tongue out
You and me. We’re a hot mess.
She didn’t respond right away, so he went to find Wells and find out what his orders were for the day.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The police officer parked the cruiser in front of Bradley’s house and opened the door. He nodded at Bradley and Andy, so they nodded back. The officer’s partner got out of his car as well but stood next to the cruiser.
The man who approached Bradley looked familiar. He had dark skin and a black mustache. It took him a second before Bradley realized it was one of the cops who had been on the scene of the incident at work the other day.
“Officer Jenz, right?” Bradley greeted him.
“Good memory,” Jenz said.
“I guess I know why you’re here,” Bradley said.
“Don’t you say nothing until you talk to a lawyer,” Andy advised.
Bradley brushed past his older neighbor and met the officer at the foot of his porch.
“So, I heard from Sondra Reels that you opened fire on them without provocation. Now I’m not saying she’s lying, but what was she doing here last night?”
“My wife called for help and no one came. Sondra showed up with Ed Reels father, and her husband, and Russ’s other son. They raised all kinds of unholy hell, threatened my wife, banged on the door with a baseball bat, and when I got home, they threatened to kill me,” Bradley said in a rush. He was scared. The man could slap him in cuffs and book him. Plus, he was carrying the weapon he’d used in the shooting. By rights they would confiscate it into evidence.
“I saw the whole thing, officer. The shootings were justified. I came out with my shotgun, Remington pump action, you know, and I was going to help out, but Bradley and Chris sorted it out,” Andy said.
Bradley noticed he wasn’t writing anything down.
“Look, I should bring you both in. Truth is, we’re up to our necks in shit right now. I came here as a courtesy to let you know not to leave town. Please. It’s not that I’m arresting you, I don’t want to, I just need to know that you’re available so we can ask a few questions when this all blows over,” Jenz said.
“I agree to that,” Bradley said, absolutely surprised they were here to just ask a few questions.
“Sondra Reels raised all kinds of hell. She yelled at everyone from the chief of police to the mayor. Now I spoke up for you because I know what happened at your workplace. The chance of that woman and her family just happeni
ng to stroll past your house so you could take a few shots at them is ludicrous. I don’t suppose you have any video footage of what happened? That would be real helpful,” Jenz said.
“How could I forget about that. I got a security system. My cameras don’t point at Bradley’s yard, I’m not a peeping Tom, but they do have fish eyes. Might be we caught some of it. Plus, there would be audio,” Andy said.
“Like I said. That would be very helpful. Can you put that on a flash drive and drop it at the police station down on Elm?” Jenz took out a card and handed it to Bradley.
“That’s it?” Bradley said.
“We can barely keep up with everything in this town. Last night a kid was killed in the street and we don’t have a single witness. Nice boy, too. Went to the high school. Seems like his only crime was having dark skin and being from a Syrian family. Then we got the looting, practically a riot at Walgreens last night. Plus, we’re dealing with the feds. We got convoys of troops passing through town on their way up north. Then there’s the run on stores. Fights everywhere, people brandishing weapons, you get my drift?”
“I guess so,” Bradley said.
“Then some yahoos set the high school on fire the last night, and they had a five alarmer. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, and I have to make at least seven more stops before my shift is over,” Jenz said. “Not to sound like an asshole, but do me a favor, Bradley, please don’t shoot any more people for a few days. I already have enough paperwork to catch up on to last me six months.”
“Uh, okay.” Bradley nodded.
“Oh, who’s this Chris guy?”
“He came down from Chicago with me. He’s a good guy, got trapped in the city. He helped us out,” Bradley said and conveniently left out the fact that he’d been in another fight at a Subway when he’d met Chris. “He’s around here somewhere. Need to speak to him?”
“Just give us a few days. When it’s calm, I’d like for you to call and arrange a visit with this Chris guy. We’ll take a proper statement and look at that video,” Jenz said.
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 15