Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga)

by D. A. Roberts

  Everyone was quiet now. He had our undivided attention. For all of us, this was suddenly becoming all too real. The lump in the pit of my stomach now felt like a bowling ball. Bile rose at the back of my throat, and even overpowered the taste of the coffee.

  “You’re all expected to stay at your posts until relieved or dismissed. Call your families and make whatever arrangements for them that you see fit, but your place is here. This is what we get paid for, people. This is why we put on the uniform. The only thing that stands between these rioters and the good citizens of Nathanael County is US. You’re all about to be deputized and put into the field. Only a skeleton crew will remain behind, here at the jail. If any of you have no prior military service or weapons experience, let me or your chain of command know. You’ll be the ones we keep here at the jail. Anyone with any kind of formal weapons training is needed out there. I’ve given the Majors and the Captains a list of assignments and names. When your name is called, sound off with whatever branch of service you were in and if you know how to shoot or not.”

  The next half hour went by very quickly. Very few people in this crowd had little or no experience with firearms. Those of us who were prior military and had additional range time were selected for the more isolated posts. Posts where backup might be a long ways away, if you had any at all. The more isolated posts would be out in the country, mainly closing highways and securing facilities.

  Even with all of us together, we were going to be spread thin covering a lot of ground around the city and the county. Nathanael County covered almost 680 square miles. That was going to take some doing to cover it. Our biggest concern was Springfield, since it was where all the infrastructure and key facilities were at. It was sad, but the surrounding municipalities would have to stand or fall…on their own.

  Next, we all took our oath and were sworn in. Then they gave us our orders and assigned a partner for deployment around the county. By swearing us all in, the Sheriff was officially deputizing us and giving us the authority to act outside the jail. That would make us all Deputies. In theory, that made us all equals. But George Orwell said it best, “Some of us are a little more equal than others.”

  We were being sent to bolster the defenses near critical sites and strategic locations. Some of us were sent to help protect the hospitals and the Evac-center. Still others were sent to help prevent widespread looting, in case the rioting began in town. I drew a post with two other county officers to assist the National Guard in closing a section of US 65 north of town, just outside the small town of Fair Grove. Looking back on it, I should count myself as lucky that I did. Hospital duty turned out to be a death sentence.

  The real pain in the ass was the fact that Fair Grove was completely on the wrong side of the county from where I needed to be when the time came to go for my wife and kids. But, as much as I hated the location, orders were orders and I would do my best to fulfill them. I would do my duty, to the best of my ability. Anything else was unacceptable. I’d do my job, even if it meant laying down my life. Not that I looked forward to doing that or anything. In fact, I’d rather prefer it didn’t come to that. I, for one, subscribe to General George Patton’s philosophy.

  “It’s not the job of the American soldier to die for his country. It’s to make the other dumb son-of-a-bitch die for his.”

  A few minutes later we were issued a Glock 19 and a choice of shotguns, a Remington 870 or a Mossberg Cruiser. I made sure I got a Mossberg. The 870 is a good gun, but I love Mossberg. I’ve been hunting with a Mossberg for years. I’ve never been a big fan of Glocks. I never jumped on that particular bandwagon. I wanted to go back to my locker and get my .45, but I didn’t have time.

  I snagged a range bag with a few hundred rounds of ammo in it and a radio off of the booking counter. There weren’t enough radios to go around with all four shifts on duty at once, so I made sure I got one. The next thing I knew, I was climbing into the front seat of one of Patrol’s Dodge Chargers with Jail Officer Shubach from B-Shift and Patrol Deputy Henderson. Shubach was in the back seat and Henderson was driving.

  There has always been something of a rivalry between the divisions in the department. The Patrol division didn’t always work and play well with the Corrections division. They wore black slacks and gray dress uniform shirts with shiny collar brass, badge and name plate. Jail staff wore black military style fatigues with a sown on patch for a badge and nametag. They got all the newest equipment and we only got the old left-over’s. Hell, we were lucky if the battery on our radios lasted more than an hour when they’re supposed to last 12 hours or more.

  To them, we were just jailers. Gods, I hate that term. That term conjures up images of old-style jails that held ten inmates, at the most. It had about as close a resemblance to what we did as Blackwater Security does to your average Mall Cop. There simply was no comparison. So naturally, when the feces hit the pneumatic oscillator, they came running to us to pick up the slack. Most of us were ex-military. That meant we knew which end of the gun the bullets came out of and we could handle ourselves in tough situations.

  What made matters worse was that Henderson was a real jackass about, too. He kept calling me “old-timer” and asking me if I could keep up. Ricky Henderson was about 5’7” and weighed about 140 lbs. I’m 6’0” and weighed closer to 225. Besides, I was 40…not 70. Even though he was 18 years my junior, I’d put my next paycheck on the fact that I could bench press more than him and out-perform him on any P.T. test he wanted to name. Well, except maybe running. I’ve heard that Henderson was really good at running, if you know what I mean.

  Shubach wasn’t really any help, either. I barely knew the guy, since we were on different shifts. He was on “B” shift. What I did know was that Shu had the personality of a cold fish. He rarely spoke, if at all, but he was a solid officer from what I’d heard about him. He certainly wasn’t a coward, either. I’d heard a story about him wading into a fight between four inmates and having it broken up before his back-up even arrived, all without even using his pepper-spray.

  So when Henderson started barking orders at us, Shu gave me a look like he was considering shooting him on the spot. That put a smile on my face and made Shu’s stock go up a few points in my book. As we drove out to Fair Grove, there was a steady stream of traffic leaving the area. Our job was to help keep traffic from coming into the area, and hopefully keep anyone infected out. Little did we know that we were already far too late.

  By the time we linked up with the National Guard unit it was almost 0730 hours and the traffic was beginning to thin out. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t the least bit surprised when we arrived and discovered that the National Guard Unit was one up-armored Humvee and two National Guardsmen. At least they were armed. Thank the Gods for small miracles. The Humvee was equipped with a turret, but it didn’t have a weapon.

  We pulled across the median and linked up with the Guardsmen. They had their Humvee pulled across the shoulder and into the south-bound outer lane of the highway. We stopped at the shoulder of the inner side of the road and nosed into the other lane. As we climbed out of the Charger, the two Guardsmen placed a pair of saw horses in between the two vehicles, blocking the entire road.

  Not that there was any traffic to block. The only cars that we’d seen on the way out were heading north, away from Springfield. All the vehicles we saw were loaded down with personal effects. Not a bad plan, I had to admit. I couldn’t argue with them since I’d used the same logic when I sent my wife and the boys to her sister’s house at the lake. Since I hadn’t been able to reach them on my cell phone since we’d left the Justice Center, I could only pray I’d made the right decision. Besides that, the worst of the rioting was taking place in big cities. Wasn’t it?

  Henderson climbed out of the car like he owned the place. He swaggered around the end of the car and wiped a spec of dirt off of the hood. Then, he made a big production of putting on his campaign hat and sliding his flashlight into his belt ring. Taking it upon him
self to introduce all of us, he walked up to the National Guardsmen like a general reviewing his troops.

  “I’m Deputy Rickey Henderson and this is Officer Willie Grant and Officer Brian Shuback,” he said. “I’m in charge of this roadblock.”

  “Wylie,” I corrected, scowling at the little idiot.

  “What?” asked Henderson, annoyed that I’d interrupted him.

  “My name is WYLIE,” I replied, using the voice I reserved for small children.

  “Whatever,” he said, dismissing me and turned back to the Guardsmen.

  He didn’t seem to notice or even care that he pronounced Shu’s name wrong, too. He also assumed that he was in command of Shu and me, plus the two National Guardsmen. That little jerk’s arrogance truly had no end. I wanted to strangle him with his own radio cord, but I reluctantly resisted. Shu gave him a look that would curdle milk and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “No one said you were in charge, Rickey,” I said.

  “I’m the only one here who is patrol certified, so that automatically puts me in charge,” he replied, condescendingly.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Rickey,” I said, glaring at him. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

  I loaded as much venom and condescension into his name as I could possibly muster. He didn’t seem to notice. The two National Guardsmen introduced themselves, but I didn’t catch their names. I was too busy unloading our gear from the Charger and checking out our area. To be honest, I didn’t expect to make friends with the National Guard and had no intention of making small talk. It could have been a lingering prejudice from my active-duty Army days.

  At about 0815 hours, I got through to my wife on my cell phone. I was ecstatic. In fact, it made me so happy that I didn’t punch out Henderson for giving me a dirty look for being on the phone. I was willing to ignore him for the moment, but that wouldn’t last forever. My tolerance level for Rickey Henderson was quickly coming to an end.

  “Wylie, thank God,” said my wife, her tone frantic.

  “It’s ok, babe,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. “Tell me what happened.”

  “You were right! I saw them. I saw some of the rioters. Wylie, I think they were dead!”

  “Yeah, I know, babe. Are you and the boys alright?”

  “Yes, we’re fine. But I never should have stopped at Mega-Mart before we left town.”

  “What?” I almost shouted. “I thought you were going straight to the lake?”

  My wife always lived up to her marriage vows, with the exception of the obey part. You know; love, honor and obey. She pretty much ignored that last one.

  “Well, I wanted to be sure we had enough supplies. Since you were so worried, I bought more ammo for the pistol and the shotgun. Don’t be mad at me for using the credit card, but I bought all they had.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that. The irony was absolutely perfect. The world was being overrun by zombies and she was worried about the damned credit card. That was the last thing in the world that I was worried about, now.

  “That’s fine, babe. I could care less about the credit card, right now. How much ammo did you get?”

  “I bought about four hundred dollars worth, but that’s just the ammunition. I spent another five hundred on food and camping supplies. I bought propane for the cook stove and all of the hand-crank powered lanterns they had in stock. I also bought another shotgun.”

  “That’s my girl,” I said, smiling. “Where are you, right now?”

  “We’re out on the boat. We have Kris Newberry’s daughter with us and my sister and her girls. My parents didn’t think that there was anything to worry about, and I couldn’t convince them to come.”

  “I’ll talk to them on my way out of town,” I reassured her.

  “And when will that be?”

  “I don’t know, babe. I’m clear on the other side of the county, working a road block. I promise I will come for you.”

  “What do we do if someone tries to get aboard the boat?”

  “Well babe, honestly, I think I’d probably shoot first and ask questions later. Not all of the rioters are dead. Some are just scum-bags looking to loot and rape. Use your best judgment if someone shows up, but I wouldn’t let anyone on board if it was me.”

  “We’ll be waiting for you. I love…..”

  The cell phone chose that moment to lose the damned signal.

  “Damn it!” I cursed and just barely refrained from throwing the phone.

  “Keep it together, Grant,” snapped Henderson.

  “Henderson, why don’t you go fuck yourself?” I replied, venom in my voice.

  I started to take a step towards Henderson.

  “Hey, hey,” said one of the Guardsmen, stepping in between us. “We’ve got bigger problems, right now. You two can sort this shit out later.”

  Henderson took several steps back and actually put his hand on his pistol. I knew right then that Rickey Henderson and I were going to have to come to an understanding before one of us got hurt. If that arrogant little cod was willing to pull a gun on me for cursing at him, we were going to be in some serious trouble when we encountered actual rioters. What little respect I had for Henderson just vanished like a puff of smoke.

  I put away my cell phone and stalked to the other side of the barrier. I wanted to put some distance between myself and Rickey before I knocked him on his ass. Right about then, we began to hear gunshots coming from the town of Fair Grove. All our attention was now focused on the little town just a few hundred yards south of us. The gunfire was sporadic, but continued for almost a minute before going quiet.

  “What do you think’s going on?” asked one of the guardsmen.

  I noticed that he was looking at me when he asked the question. Before I could answer, Henderson chimed in and cut me off.

  “It’s probably just looters. It’s not your problem. You have your own orders to worry about.”

  The guardsman gave Henderson a dirty look after his last comment. I don’t think they liked the idea of taking orders from the little idiot any more than I did. That made me smile. It wasn’t just other officers that hated that little punk. He was pretty much universally hated. To know him was to loathe him.

  About this time, I started to pay more attention to our two soldiers. Since they were both wearing body armor and helmets, I could only see their ranks. One was an E-4 and the other was an E-2. Back in my day in the Army, most E-4’s were called Specialists, so that nick-name gelled in my brain right then and there. I’d call him Spec-4 and the other one E-2.

  Spec-4 had a combat patch on his right shoulder that indicated he’d been in combat with the 101st Airborne Division. He also had a CAB, or a Combat Action Badge, indicating that he’d not only been assigned to a combat unit but had actually been in combat. E-2 didn’t have a combat patch, which meant he’d never been deployed. He was what we used to call Fresh Meat.

  “So where’d you see action?” I asked Spec-4.

  “Iraq and Afghanistan,” replied Spec-4. “Two tours when I was active duty. That was back in ‘08 and ‘10.”

  “Nice. I was in Kuwait back in ’91 and ’92, but that was way back during Desert Shield and Desert Storm.”

  Realization was dawning on me, right about then. I’d been too absorbed in everything that was going on to notice before, but Spec-4 was a woman. Hey, I’m usually more observant than that, but full body armor, helmet and combat gear make it a little tough to tell sometimes. She smiled at me and nodded her approval. I couldn’t help but notice then that she had pale blue eyes about the color of glacial ice.

  “What about them?” she asked, nodding at the others.