"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." Says Ken. "We haven't had time to do a full food inventory yet, but a quick calorie count against people here, we came up with ball park figure. Right now we are good on food for about twelve months. That’s assuming we keep half of our reproductive females for breeding, and keep a good share of seed crop too. Thad has traded six dairy cows to us, and he will help us breed them, he has been a huge help. But, the wheat you have down there, we need to keep most of it for seed. There is very little wheat seed in the area, we need to keep that for new crops next year."
"So how does that affect our ability to trade for an electrician? Get to the point Ken."
"Well, actually pretty good. In the long run, wheat seed will be a good commodity, but not right now. People just want food and security. Our seed stock is maybe our best asset. Problem is, most people don’t know it. So food and ammunition are the trading items now."
"So if we need an electrician we need to feed him or her, right! We can feed someone to do that for a day or two. Minimal electricity at the new house, for a few days of food, is worth the trade. We need to keep our people as healthy as we can, and some power up there will do that. How can we help anyone if they come to our door and we are worse off than they are? Get it done Ken. "
I light my smoke and take a pull from the bourbon.
"So what's going on in town, son?" I ask. It's been three days since I lost my leg, and most of that time I have been in a delirium
"City folk have been moving in, Mark. It's getting serious. The first skirmish was a few days ago. Our guys laid the aggressors down, and we assimilated the rest. But hordes of people are coming out now, the last of the survivors. There is no food left in the city, and now we are having to move back."
"What do you mean move back?" I ask sternly.
"We had positions all the way up to the outskirts of Windber. There are some good farms up that way that we tried to protect. We offered our work for food program, but it backfired. The refugees turned on the farm owners and took them over. It happened too fast for us to help. Now we have our roadblock about five miles north of town. But, the people who took over the northern farms have been probing at us, trying to get into our secure area. They are sneaky and smart.”
"What about the battle between Johnstown and Richland that we heard about?"
"That's over. Both sides agreed to stop fighting because it became pointless. Neither side had any food to fight over. Both sides have sick and dying they can't do anything about. It's their combined group of survivors that is moving our way.
"It's worse along 219. The locals in Davidsville have been over run. Jerome has set up a system like ours, and is holding the line. Same with Benson Borough, with Hooversville supporting them. But there are thousands of refugees coming from Johnstown, hungry and desperate." Ken's voice trails off, belying his concern.
"What about our church? Has it been over run? A lot of the parishioners are farmers, they're probably facing this head on, and here we are twenty miles from everything."
"Becca knew you would be concerned about the church, so I tried to find out anything I could. They had set up as a refugee site, but we don't know what's going on now."
"I need to get to town! We need to get to Davidsville to help those people, the townsfolk and the farmers! That is prime farmland, and if it gets tore up, next year will be bad for many, many people. Where's Niki! Niki! Do what needs to be done so I can get to town!" I shout.
Niki, their new resident nurse, steps into the door, having heard everything. "You ain't goin' no where’s! You got half your leg gone and it needs to heal up. Look at that, I see a bit of red on your bandages. You got your blood pressure up. Now calm down. Ken, get gone now. He don't need no more news."
Niki refreshes my bandage and has me take my antibiotic, a precious commodity. She refreshes my bourbon too.
Here Mark," she says as she slips me another cigarette. "They may be bad for the lungs, but they're good for the blood pressure. You just calm down. That 'Top' guy, and Jerry, and Reverend Wysinger, they will work this out with the other towns. You rest and heal up, okay?"
* * *
That evening Ken is in town, for the regular meeting of the town leaders. He has been sitting in for Mark for three days. The nine of them present tonight are glad to hear Mark is finally awake and coherent. "Prayers answered!" shouts Top. Reverend Wysinger smiles at him and nods.
Jerry updates them on the city refugee situation. "We have set a strong roadblock on Route 160, and smaller roadblocks on the county roads heading this way. We have spread the word of our work for room and board, and every day we let a few more in. But many are sick, and won’t go to our quarantine center, they have set up a camp about a quarter mile from the roadblock."
I am more worried about the folks gathering further north. We have scouted them, and they are ravaging the farms. They are eating what is available, then moving to the next farm. No concern for long-term food sources. We can't let them breech our farms, or we will not make it through next year."
"I have tried to get someone out to talk with me," states Reverend Wysinger. "I got this in return." He points to a bandaged shoulder from a bullet wound.
"We have to make a stand," says the Mayor. All agree. "Top, figure out a way to stop these marauders." Top nods.
Much more is discussed concerning health, trade, water, food and sanitation. But the pressing issue is the marauders taking over the farms to the north and west. If they overtake their area, sanitation, trade and health will not matter.
An hour later, they end their meeting as they started it, with a prayer, asking for God's guidance and wisdom, and the strength to extend a hand of love to those in need.
Top pulls Ken aside after the meeting. Jerry, Reverend Wysinger, Randy, the mayor, and Cy, the head of the local grange, stop to listen in. "So the happy warrior is up and talking? What he have to say."
"He wanted to come in tonight, but Niki and Becca vetoed that. He got his wits about him though. I gave him the best update I could, but he had lots of questions. He wanted to know what was going on. Asked questions I couldn't answer, questions I never even thought to ask. What's going on in Somerset? What's going on in Ebensburg? Is the Turnpike open? What's coming in on the HAM radio? Has the grange started forming a long term plan?"
"He's a smart son-of-a-bitch." States the mayor. "That's stuff we should know, we should be asking."
"And the grange needs to get organized and active, like in the old days," Cy adds. "The farmers won’t make it on their own. We need to cooperate in order to effectively raise enough crops and meat to feed everyone."
"Can we visit him tomorrow?" asks Jerry.
"I think that would be okay, but keep it to three of four of you. I'll make sure we have breakfast for you at sunrise."
Later that night, a roadblock near Boswell gets over run. By the next morning three prosperous farms have been raided, many people on both sides have died. Cows and pigs have been slaughtered, and roving bands are looting farms and houses along Route 30.
Chapter 24, Paul Comes Home
Route 30, Laurel Highlands
September 22nd
"Down, down, down! Don't move." Paul beckons to his wife and Georgeanne as they flatten into the roadside drainage ditch. Badzy obediently follows them into the ditch, alert and protective, ready to pounce on any threat. For the third time this night, serious gunfire has rung out within a half mile of them.
"There's a freakin' war going on out here," Georgeanne says. "I thought you said it would be safer out here!"
"We're less than five miles from Central City. We have to press on. If we can get there by daylight, then Mountain Side is only another few miles. I don't know what all this shooting is about. Eve, are you okay, are you with me?" Covered from head to toe in dirt, grime and mud, she looks at Paul and nods, determined to complete the journey.
The shooting dies off. Paul hauls the lawn cart out of the ditch an
d the two women get up and follow him. They have plodded almost seventy miles over the past four days. They have encountered more craziness than can be imagined. They have passed through roadblocks, been welcomed by strangers who had no more than they had, and had to reroute around areas of mayhem. Two nights ago, Paul had to gun down two young street thugs that crept up on their hidden campsite. Now, they seem to be in the middle of a war, as they make the last few miles to the family farmstead known as Mountain Side.
They determinedly walk forward as the long straight miles of Route 30 roll out before them. Badzy ranges ahead of them, their forward scout. They pass the Flight 93 Memorial entrance, pass homes and farms, pass burned out buildings and abandoned cars and trucks. Many farms are barricaded, and they can tell the barricades are manned, eyes watching them as they slowly make their way down the highway. They are no threat to the farms, so they pass silently, unchallenged.
Through the dim moonlight, Paul sees the outline of the diner where he has eaten many good meals. He knows the next turnoff is close. Badzy begins to bark wildly and a bright concentrated light suddenly blinds him.
"Stop where you are, and call off the dog now!” A voice barks from beyond the light.
Paul claps twice quickly followed by a whistle and Badzy reluctantly heels.
“That’s a good start, stranger. Now place all your weapons on the ground and raise your hands!"
Paul, caught totally off guard did not see any roadblock, nothing to give him concern. Now he is blinded, and he is sure his women are too. He has no choice but to drop his 12 gauge shot gun and motions for his women to drop their weapons too.
"Okay, big guy, now drop your side arm. Same with the women, drop your side arms"
Paul complies, but leaves the .38 in the small of his back. He hears guns fall behind him.
"Walk forward, big guy. Leave the dog with your women." States the voice from somewhere beyond the light.
'If they wanted me dead, I would be dead' runs through Paul's head. He starts forward to meet the men with the bright light.
He walks about fifty yards towards the bright light, wondering when he will be stopped. He feels cold steel press against his temple. 'Where did that guy come from,' he thinks. 'These guys are good.'
"On your knees now!" barks the man with a gun to his head. Paul complies.
"What business do you have sneaking along our road in the middle of the night?" Asks the gunman.
Truth is the best answer rings through Paul's head. "I am trying to make it to our family farmstead on the other side of Central City. We have traveled for over four days to get here."
"What farmstead?" asks the guard.
"Mays, my father owned it, now it belongs to my brother, Mark Mays."
"That's bullshit. I lived here over thirty years, ain't no Mays' farmstead out here. You got to have something better than that."
"We just mean to pass through, our farm is on Lambertsville Road on the other side of Central City."
"You wait here while I check this out."
* * *
The guard, actually a soldier refugee from Flight 93, returns to talk with the roadblock leader, a local who knows the area well. "The guy says he's looking for the Mays' farm on Lambertsville road. He looks like a refugee. I don't think he's part of all the shooting we heard." The roadblock has been on high alert after hearing all the shooting to the west.
"Looking for the Mays farm?" The local asks. "That could be good or bad. Mark is the guy that killed the druggie leader. They put a bounty on his head, could this guy be part of that gang? They had people coming out here from Pittsburgh."
"I don't think he’s part of a drug gang. He's too old and don't look like no biker."
"Okay," says the local. "Are they armed?"
"Yep, but they wouldn't have made it this far if they weren't," says the guard.
"Bring em up, I'll talk to em. Let them keep their arms. Tell everyone to stand tall, let's not get caught off guard if this is some Trojan horse ploy."
* * *
Twenty minutes later Paul, Eve and Georgeanne are talking with the local leader who has given them hot cider and pulled them off to the side of the fortified position. Paul sees now why he didn't see a roadblock. This is the intersection of Route 30 and Route 160. It is too wide to effectively barricade. Instead, fortified positions have been set up in buildings and on rooftops. Paul has only noticed two, but he is sure there are more.
"So your Mark's brother, and you want to get to the Mays' farm? I know it, you got to travel about five more miles east on 30 then turn south on White Mountain Road." Says the roadblock leader.
Paul thinks about that. "That won’t get me there. Maybe if I turned north, but I don't know that way. I should head north on 160, then head east just before we get to town."
"Oh yeah, I'm sorry your right, I meant north not south. I guess it would be quicker to go north here on 160." Says the local man. "Give him my condolences about Jennifer."
"What? Who's Jennifer?" Paul gets worried at these strange directions and comments. "Who are you guys? You don't know my brother, what is going on here?" He starts to move his weapon to a ready position but it is slapped out of his hands quickly by the guard.
"Thanks." The local says to the guard, as he picks up Paul's shotgun. "It's okay, he's legit."
"Sorry about that Paul. We just have to be sure of who we let through, especially with all the shootin' going on tonight. Your who your ID says you are, and you didn't buy any of my bullshit either. Welcome to Central City."
"Whoa, so you were testing me? Things must be bad here."
"Things have been bad. Your brother has helped a lot in setting things right. You will be safer here than out on the road. What do you know about the gunfire to the west?"
"It's been scaring the shit out of us, that's what I know. Started about midnight. One battle seemed to be less than a mile behind us. Now that I think about it, just east of 219 was a roadblock that we cleared just after dusk. A few hours later, there was a lot of shooting and a few big booms came from that direction. Lasted for almost an hour. Then there has been periodic shooting all night. Always behind us to the west on Route 30."
A grave look crosses the local's face. "I know the roadblock you are talking about. Come with me, you are going to get a ride into town."
* * *
As the eastern sky begins to show hues of purple and pink, the old farm truck carrying the weary travelers pulls into the VFW. The place is full of activity for such an early hour. Several dozen armed men and women are moving this way and that. Most of them are in some type of battle dress or camouflage, even full face paint. A mess truck is setting up to serve food. The women are told to unload their belongings, and to go get some food from the mess line. Paul is ushered into the building.
Inside of the building, things are just as active as outside. Paul is escorted to a tall thin man with bright blue eyes. "Top, this man claims to be Mark Mays' brother, and he checks out. You need to hear his story. Tell him about your travels last night."
Paul retells about the roadblock and all the gunfire. Top listens intently.
As Paul tells his story, Top realizes their town is in a bubble. They have little idea of what's going on five miles from where they sit. That has to change. It has to change now.
"Sgt Anders!" Top hollers. A middle-aged man comes over from where Paul can hear different radio communications squawking.
"You have just been promoted to Lieutenant. Things are happening that we don't know about. You're our communications expert. We are going to establish better communications. Shit is happening that we need to know about, not from stragglers, from those in contact.
"I am assigning you and Randy a two-truck detail and two scout bikes. We need to be able to communicate with the other towns. Get the mayor to help you figure out where to set up hubs, scavenge those towns for CB radios and set up a system so we all know what's going on. This ain't tomorrow's project, this is yesterday’s pro
ject. I'm relying on you. Get it done."
Lt. Anders, formerly Col. Anders, snaps a salute and turns away. He turns back briefly. "Sgt Fisher, if I am a lieutenant that makes me out rank you."
"Yea, thought of that friend, and I am going to see Mark now. He has been designated the General. I will make sure that he makes the appropriate promotions. If you pull rank on me right now, it won’t end well." They both laugh. They both know where their strengths lie. Sgt Anders, now Lt Anders has never felt more useful in his life. He is no longer pushing useless Pentagon papers, he is helping good people to survive.
Paul takes all this in, watches as Lt Anders starts to put plans in motion. He watches a stern looking man begin to organize the security detail. Others move about with haste, but with purpose. Top issues orders, and Paul soon sees the truck he rode in on, and another truck, both full of armed men and women, head back out the way they came in. This is not chaos, this is people with a purpose trying to protect something they hold dear, freedom. Even if it's just in their small community.
* * *
Vivid yellows, oranges and reds play along the eastern skyline, and the deep blue of a clear morning spreads across the sky. A tractor with a farm trailer pulls up. "This is all we got right now, Top." Says a young man driving the tractor. They all load up, along with Paul's few belongings. "It’s going to be a bit bumpy guys, but I'll try to make as best time as I can," hollers the young tractor driver.
There are twelve people in the trailer, which is lined all the way around with sand bags two feet high. All but one is well armed. Paul watches as they all lay down and take up security positions. He does the same and indicates for Eve and Georgeanne to do the same. The ride is bumpy and loud as the old farm tractor rumbles along. Very little is said as he watches familiar scenery pass by on their way to the farmstead. He sees cars pushed to the side of the road. They pass a few trucks and even a couple of horse drawn wagons, loaded with goods, heading towards Central City. He notices that they have not heard any gunfire close by, only occasional bursts far in the distance, miles away.
Righteous Bloodshed: Righteous Survival EMP Saga, Book 2 Page 16