"Keep him alive and send him on to First Sergeant Fisher to talk with him. You'll find the First Sergeant by the town hall or at the VFW." The Doc and First Sergeant have apparently talked before, because the Doc knows the protocol. I ask if it is all right to leave my brother there for a few hours; that I will be back for him later.
"What? Leave your unconscious brother, who should be in intensive care, lingering in a doctors lobby with lifesaving plasma dripping into his veins, while I try to save the leg of the man who may have killed his wife? Yeah, it's good Mark! It's all good! I'll take two aspirin and see you in the morning…"
* * *
After leaving the doctor's office we head over to Reverend Wysinger's church. I have Rusty with me as my shotgun rider. He knows his responsibilities and takes them seriously. The crowds of refugees at the church have swollen as people from the Flight 93 Memorial and other outlying areas have come into town looking for refuge. We park alongside several other older farm trucks. Rusty steps out with his 12-gauge pump and indicates that he knows what to do. He quickly introduces himself to the other truck guards.
There is a line at the church entrance and the same woman from the other day greets me warmly, remembering me from all the stockpiles of food and water we donated on day one. She is not as cheerful as she had been a few days ago, agitated by the stress she is under, the chaos, even here at the church, where everyone expects everything to run smoothly. But everything is not running smoothly, even with the generator that gives them electricity. People want food, they want shelter, they want water. And more significantly, they want answers! Unfortunately they want answers from their government, not the church. As many times as the reverend has tried to tell them that they are a church, not a government shelter, and as many times as he has tried to convey through deeds, and words, that God loves them, some of the people are still restless and resentful.
Much to the chagrin of quite a few people, I am ushered to the front of the line to see the reverend. I'm glad to avoid the wait but understand the frustration of those I was placed ahead of. I feel a need to address this situation. But before I can say anything, the cheerful woman comes to my rescue. She quickly spreads the word, that through God's grace, I am largely responsible for the food they have to eat and the water they have to drink. A few minutes later I sit before the reverend.
We greet warmly with hugs, but we are both stressed. I unload about the attack on the farmstead, he unloads about the stress of their aid effort. Today, a new mandate has come down to the refugees. A loose coalition of the churches and the city, all who have been helping the refugees, have determined that a new system needs to be implemented. Refugees, anyone looking for food or shelter, must start to help on the roadblocks, help in the kitchens, or help in the aid stations, if they expect to receive food and assistance. The system needs to be coordinated, so that all aid stations know who is helping and who isn’t. And it all needs to be done by hand. In addition, convoys will be arranged for those unwilling to help. They will be taken to Windber. But, the convoys need to be large and defended.
Thinking of the old laptops and computer gear sitting in my Faraday cage, I offer the reverend a laptop, if he thinks that will help to coordinate and organize their efforts. "You have a laptop?!" the reverend exclaims. I briefly explain how a Faraday Cage protects electronics, and that I have a laptop that the church can have. "Okay, that explains how city hall has one. The guy I told you about, with the shortwave radio, he gave a computer to city hall. He's also been talking a lot with Sergeant Fisher. You need to get together with him, tell him what happened out your way."
We shift the discussion to food and the many farmers that will need extra hands. That could help relieve the strain on the small town. Maybe a system could be set up for people to work on the farms; corn and hay will need to be harvested, cows will need to be milked, butter churned, chickens fed. Heck, each farms needs to be defended, I exclaim. He nods his agreement and ponders the idea.
"I'll line up the farmers who are willing to accept help in exchange for room and board, you work on signing up people willing to help. Send the complainers onward. If they are not willing to help, then they will not receive help. 'God helps those who help themselves.'" I say.
"Reverend, this is only just the beginning, people from the city are going to be coming this way. First out of Windber and Johnstown. Then from Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, even New York. They are going to run out of food in the cities, maybe already have run out of food, and they are going to head into the countryside. Desperate people looking for food are heading this way. We need to figure out how to help them without killing ourselves doing it, without sacrificing our ability to rebuild. I don't know how to justify that. I try to be a righteous man, but whom do you turn away and whom do you help? Where is the line? Maybe our test run with these refugees here will help us decide that. Come to think of it reverend, I'm going to put it to the test right now!"
A few minutes later, I stand on the porch to the side entrance of the church. I holler for quiet several times over the commotion of the crowd. After announcing that I have job openings for four people, the crowd quiets down.
"As you all know, beginning today, you need to serve on the road guard, help in the kitchen, or in some ways, help the community to get by. I have four positions I need filled. I can only offer room and board at this time, but I need four people. You will be treated respectfully, well housed and fed to the best of my ability. First off, I need a nurse, preferably with OR or ER experience. Second I need a lead carpenter, third I need two security people, military background preferred. I cannot offer any more than room and board for your services, but again, you will be respected for your service. I will be over at the large white and green van in the parking lot if you feel you can help me out."
* * *
My announcement causes a stir. The service for food arrangement had not yet officially been proclaimed, but had been widely rumored, so now it is policy! God's speed! Now, true capitalistic work for room and board! This is something totally new to many of these people. Skills required, not just a piece of paper. Work required, not just showing up!
At my van, a small crowd is gathering. The first woman in line states she is a VA nurse and is used to dealing with battle trauma patients. I present my arm to her and ask her to prep a vein for a transfusion. She takes my pulse and asks me questions about how many guns I own and past head injuries.
"My head is fine, and I need the guns to protect my property, it's the gash in my side I need stitched up! Sorry madam, you’re not what I'm looking for." I interview a couple more people in the line of now fifty refugees waiting, looking for a job.
After five people I accept a marine corporal, Daneel as a security man, along with his young pregnant wife. He was at Flight 93 as an Honor Guard. Born in America, he is the son of Iranian immigrants who live in Chicago. He has six more months on his stint, and then was planning on going to college. Still in his dress uniform, his chest salad displays a combat infantry badge a Purple Heart and a bronze star. The line for my jobs has dwindled to about twenty as they realize that real work experience is required.
After dismissing a few more, a middle aged woman steps up, and before I can even ask a question, she grabs my arm, turns it palm up, in fifteen seconds she tells me my pulse rate, then slaps my upper exposed forearm and says. "You give me a needle you white honkie, I'll stick it where it belongs! I'm from Baltimore. I'm an ER nurse, if you ask me one more question about ER medicine I'll make you cry for three weeks! Don’t doubt me!"
"You… are… hired! Please let go of that pressure point!"
"My husband and boy come with me. My husband is you carpenter. You best find another good security person. I don’t plan on getting killed."
Her name is Niki, her husband is Joseph, "not Joe, Joseph, like the carpenter." States Niki. I can tell we will get along well!
"Niki, You and Joe go get my brother, John from the doctor's office on Sunshine Avenu
e. Wait for me there, it may be a while. I have to meet with someone else before I leave."
"Joseph! You uppity whitey! His name is Joseph!" She grabs her man and son and starts heading away from the church, people stand back as they pass. She calms down a bit and asks for directions to the doctor's office on Sunshine Avenue. Four interviews later, the second to last man in line, I hire an E6 MP who was at Flight 93 on his own. He has a wife and kid in Florida with his dad, but he has no way to get there. He is willing to stick around for the winter, then try to get home to Florida in the spring.
* * *
I have my two new military men stand with Rusty at the van as I walk over to the VFW hoping to find First Sergeant Fisher. The VFW is an impressive building. From the outside, it looks like your average 1950's building. But on the inside, from the skilled eye of a carpenter, you can tell this building is different, poured concrete, floors and walls, a remodeler's nightmare. A strategists dream!
Top is sitting at the bar, drinking a coke, three men around him. He shuts down and closes a clunky old laptop as he stands and salutes at my approach. "At ease First Sergeant, I told you, I resigned my commission twenty years ago." We shake hands as he drops his military bearing just a bit. I turn and see Jerry, a new friend and Deacon at Reverend Wysinger's church. We embrace warmly.
"I hear things got hot at your place last night" says Top.
"That's what I came here to tell you about, how do you know already?"
"We just talked yesterday about setting up a local militia, but these boys had it set up already. The two bicycle riders that skirted town, we knew about them, but they were harmless, so we let them go. Turns out they were your brother and sister-in-law I guess." I nod and he continues. "The methhead marauders that hit your homestead last night, we had a heads up on them too, but we couldn't put anyone in position to help you out. We set up to take them down on their way back, but by then, your crew had sent them running to the hills! Glad to hear your family made it to your place."
I look at him somberly, trying to read truth from lie. Does he not know? Does he know and is trying to play dumb. Just then, someone I had seen at the doc's office comes in and pulls John aside. A minute later John retakes his seat next to me, remorse on his eyes.
"I spoke too soon, I am very sorry for your loss," says John, looking askance. Looking back at me as he finishes his statement, knowing his credibility is on the line. "Your brother at the doc's office is awake now, and doing okay. He is asking about his wife and you. He doesn't know she is dead. That nurse you hired is being pretty protective. You generate loyalty very quickly Mark Mays."
"And you generate intel quickly First Sergeant." I turn in my seat. "Bar keep, bring us two beers if you still got em." I holler.
"I only got a few more cold ones, they're ten dollars apiece, you can have warm ones for five."
"Cold ones, and bring us each a finger of bourbon."
I turn back to the First Sergeant. "How you know all this so quick, Top?"
Jerry, my friend who went with me to get my kids from Johnstown, steps up. "Don't be too skeptical Mark. A lot of boys who hang out here, we saw what went down and knew as soon as those drug heads hit up Hooversville, that we had to band together. That’s why the roadblocks where out so quick. Your pointers helped get us on the ball, and we have been out and gathering our folks. We have systems and people already in place, just not enough yet."
John speaks up again. "We barely have enough to defend the town, and we have a few scouts out and about. But we have no way to communicate, other than word of mouth, which can take hours. Now that the refugees are going to help at the roadblocks, that frees some of us up. We are going to go after these hoodlums, the ones that attacked you, that put a bounty on your head, and have been ravaging the countryside. We could use some help from you. As I said, you generate loyalty very quickly. We need that kind of leadership."
I ponder this. I have always been a likable person, but I always figured that was because I try to treat people fairly, it’s just the way I live my life. Love your neighbor, it is what a Christian is commanded to do, even when that neighbor just killed your sister-in law.
"Tell me about the laptop John" I query, changing the subject.
"Old coot, lives out on Lambertsville Road gave it to us. A few of our guys are out there now. Appears he knew about this Fardway cage thing too. He has a shortwave radio up and running. Also has some CB radios, a few old computers and some other gizmos. He says he's got lots of stuff that may help us repair some things, get some things running again. I'll let you know what we find out."
"Faraday cage," I correct him. "Top, if this guy has what you say, you need to send anyone you can spare to protect him. Having modern electronics today is like having a machine gun in the middle ages. This guy needs to be respected and protected."
Top takes a sip from the bourbon and ponders. "If the town gets me some good folks for the roadblocks, you're right, we need to do that. Hadn't thought about it that way."
"Our electronics saved our lives. You'd be hearing about the slaughter of a farmer's family right now if it weren't for the edge our cameras gave us. And some of these refugees are okay, I just hired a nurse, a carpenter, a Marine and an MP. Seemed like solid folks, willing to work for room and board. People are starting to understand that things are different; some people anyway."
"So what did the guy have to say about the info coming over the shortwave?" I ask
"I ain't going to go into that." Responds Top. "Sounded like too much gibberish. Our guys are going to try and sort that out. Let’s meet here tomorrow at noon. I'll set that up with the other folks in the community that seem to be trying to help get things organized. I'd like to keep that meeting small, too many people and nothing will get done."
We depart with an embrace. I hug my friend, Jerry too, and then head back to the van.
My new security detail is standing tall. We all load into the van and head to the doctor's office. There we pick up our new nurse with her family, and my injured brother, John. The van is now completely overloaded. Twenty minutes later we pull down the drive to the farmstead.
Chapter 10, Reinforcements
Wagerly's Compound
September 16th
A low rumble is heard through the valleys and across the mountaintops. The rumble ebbs and flows, changing in pitch and intensity as it makes its way through winding roads. People wander to the roadside to see what is going on, then flee back to their homes when they see the bikes trucks and vintage cars heading their way. Some scurry off, to bring news of this development to the outlying towns.
Frank Wagerly’s smile broadens as he hears the distant rumble. He has been expecting this crew from the eastern suburbs of Pittsburgh for a while: his suppliers, ex-cons, and other bikers he has known and partied with at his compound over the years. He had Hairy send word that they were welcome at his compound. Finally, good news and solid reinforcements. Not like the drug addled idiots that he has gathered so far, that have been mucking things up and getting themselves killed.
Frank is a local drug kingpin, a conspiracy theory prepper. His boys were out causing chaos on day one. He has gathered the anarchists and thugs to his compound while wreaking havoc on the locals.
"Tap a Keg!" He hollers as he heads out to his main gate to greet the newcomers. "Get some fresh meat on the fire pit and get ready to feed some hungry mouths!" He urgently tries to shape up his motley crew and quarters to give the best reception he can to the gang heading his way.
A few minutes later the procession begins to roll through his roadblock. A dozen bikes rumble through, followed by several cars. More bikes come through, then more trucks with loaded trailers. More bikes flow in, then several larger trucks, dual axle and tri-axle trucks, some pulling trailers with equipment, all overloaded with people and supplies. More bikes, more trucks, more cars, come rolling through. Frank is out of his mind! This will be the army that will tame the countryside and begin his kingdom. He i
s not even sure where he is going to put them all as his people try and lead this inflow of vehicles into the fields and park them. Just last night he lost seven men raiding some piss-ant farm; now ten times that many has just rolled in!
Ten minutes later he and three leaders from the new arrivals are exchanging high fives and discussing the conquest of their new kingdom. Soon they are talking about how the farmers will be bringing them food; and their daughters! The townsfolk will be paying them tribute and meeting their needs. They can turn the people stranded at the Flight 93 Memorial into their slaves! The talk is rude and crude, their plans of domination will be brutal. They down shots of Crown Royal to cement the reign of terror they will implement. Glancing through the window, Frank can see that Hairy and the other lieutenants are organizing the mob. They already have one of the excavators moving dirt to reinforce their roadblock.
Before their gathering breaks up, Frank tells them of all the farms they have plundered and the slave whores they have brought in. He lets them know they will soon be eating fresh meat from one of those stupid farmers.
He tells them of how, with their help and equipment, they will be able to roll over the roadblocks at the towns and bring those bastards into line. Then he tells them about the religious son of a bitch that killed his sons, and how they will string up his family, rape his women and make his compound part of their kingdom, maybe their new headquarters. There are cheers all around at the thought of revenge for their brother's sons, and the violence that they will unleash. A day of gluttony, drunkenness, drugs, orgies and rape ensue; the women prisoners from Flight 93 are given freely to satisfy the new men's sexual appetite.
A few of the newcomers are ex-military, most dishonorably discharged or served time in Leavenworth. A war council is formed and plans are made to begin scouting and putting together a plan of conquest. Plans are made to equip war parties to begin enforcing their law on the people and the land around them. Locating the religious clan and their farm is made a priority; anyone defying their rule must be destroyed!
Righteous Bloodshed: Righteous Survival EMP Saga, Book 2 Page 6