The Alpha Chronicles

by Joe Nobody

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  The four men strolled a few blocks down Main and then crossed the road at Cherry Street. Meraton’s sole HAM radio operator resided at the end of Cherry and was normally an early riser.

  All four remained silent during the trip, each man keeping his early morning thoughts to himself. A few blocks later Pete paused and pointed to a single-story brick, ranch style home, the property’s only noticeable feature being a 50-foot tower topped by an unusually shaped antenna.

  Dennis Levine answered the knock on his door with a sleep-filled, gravelly voice that somehow managed to relay curiosity and annoyance in the same tone. “Pete? Is something wrong?”

  “Good morning, Dennis. I have Mr. Beltran and two of his men with me. We have a message we need to get off to Alpha. Is your equipment running this morning?”

  The front door opened a few inches and then all the way. “No, I’ve not turned it on yet. It’ll take a few minutes to warm up. Come on in.”

  The four visitors entered a modest living room, Mr. Levine already sitting at what had once been a dining room table, but now more closely resembled a radio station’s control room. Numerous black boxes, rows of switches and dials, and a maze of wiring filled the space.

  A sleepy sounding voice called out from the back of the house, “Dennis? Is everything okay?”

  Cupping his hand beside his mouth, the radio operator answered, “Everything’s fine, Marie. It’s Pete and some friends needing to send a message. Go back to sleep.”

  Dennis began flipping switches and turning dials. Taking a pad and pen, his eyes surveyed Pete’s face for instructions. “What’s the message?”

  “The dispatch is for Diana and Nick. Tell them Mr. Beltran is in Meraton and has a serious problem. He’s losing cattle and needs several tons of feed. Ask them if they have any ideas on where we can find a source to keep his livestock from starving.”

  Pete looked up at Carlos, “That sound about right?”

  “Yes, that pretty much covers it. Please add that I appreciate everyone’s time.”

  “I’ll send it first thing after the radio’s tubes warm up,” promised Mr. Levine.

  The conversation was interrupted by a rustling sound from the back of the house. Everyone but Slim ignored the disturbance, all of them assuming Mrs. Levine had decided to stay awake. Mr. Beltran was just reaching to shake Mr. Levine’s hand when Slim yelled out, “GUN!”

  Pete half turned in time to see a rifle barrel rounding a corner before the room erupted in movement. Slim produced a Glock pistol from his beltline, the handgun raised and aimed in a blur of motion.

  Butter moved to shield his boss, the effort causing him to step through a cluster of wires feeding the tabletop menagerie of electronics. The big fellow’s foot hooked in a power cord, pulling the attached black box onto the floor.

  Mr. Levine ducked under the table, his mind finally settling on the thought that someone was going to shoot his wife. He managed a weak and pleading, “Wait!”

  “Come on out, now,” Slim’s voice stated with authority. “Move real slow, and no one will get hurt.”

  A head showed around the corner. A patch of rustled gray hair appeared, soon joined by a pair of bushy eyebrows peeking for only a moment before ducking back behind the wall. “Dennis,” a distant, nervous voice sounded, “you okay? What’s going on over here?”

  It took a moment for the terrified homeowner to respond. “Dean? Dean is that you? What in God’s name are you doing?”

  “I saw all these strangers walking up to your house, Dennis. I thought you were being robbed.”

  Mr. Levine held up a shaking hand, his eyes wide with fear. Looking at Slim, he managed, “That’s my neighbor. He’s a little nosy, but you don’t need to shoot him for it. Please don’t kill him, mister. Except for grilling Texas’ worst barbecue, he’s not really such a bad guy.”

  Pete knew the man as well. “Dean, it’s me, Pete. Put that damned gun down before these men scatter your insides all over Marie’s carpet. Nobody is being robbed.”

  The town’s mayor walked toward the corner, shaking his head in frustration. Slim watched as Pete’s hand reached out and snatched the barrel of a weapon. He soon returned with an embarrassed, older man wearing a nightshirt, shorts and bright pink slippers. Pete couldn’t resist. Pointing down at the intruder’s feet he remarked, “Love the shoes, Dean. You wear those every day or did you save them especially for the apocalypse?”

  Dean glanced down and then flushed red. “I guess I put on the wife’s shoes. We had the curtains drawn, and it was dark in the bedroom.”

  Pete handed the man his rifle back, his tone stern. “You’d better get back home, Dean. Your better half might come looking for you and someone might get hurt - probably you for sneaking out in her pink bunny slippers.”

  Turning back to Dennis, Pete questioned, “Are you okay?”

  The man answered with a nod and then began to immediately reassemble his equipment. Mr. Levine’s face expressed concern over the box that had landed on the floor, cradling the hardware like a mother would comfort a child with a skinned knee.

  “Is your equipment okay, sir?” asked an embarrassed Butter.

  “I... I… don’t know yet. I think so.”

  Pete stepped over, placing a comforting hand on the radio operator’s shoulder.

  “Do you have the message straight?”

  “Yes, yes, I sure do.”

  “Okay, Dennis. Sorry to have bothered you and sorry about the commotion. We’ll be on our way.”

  Pete and his guests exited the radioman’s home, making their way back toward Main Street and the preparations to open the market.

  After a short period spent gathering his wits, Mr. Levine finally checked his frequencies and centered the microphone. “Alpha… Alpha… This is Meraton. Come in, please.”

  It was 20 seconds before the small speaker hissed static, “Dennis, is that you?”

  “Yes, of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”

  “There must be sunspots or something this morning, Dennis. Your voice sounds odd, and I’m not catching every word.”

  “Never mind that, Phil. I have a very important message for Diana and Nick. Are you ready?”

  “Please repeat that, Dennis. The message broke up. All I heard was ‘Important,’ and ‘Diana and Nick.’ What’s going on?”

  “Look, I’ve had a helluva morning already, my friend. I had armed men in my house. They’re in Meraton. They almost shot my neighbor. They’re from the Beltran ranch, and Mr. Beltran has a serious problem. He needs help. He needs food for his cattle, and a ton of it. Pete wanted to know if Nick or Diana had any ideas on how to help.”

  The Meraton broadcaster waited on his friend in Alpha to respond, but he never did. Mr. Levine hailed his counterpart again. “Alpha? Alpha? Are you there?”

  No response.

  Checking the lights on the various electrical components, Mr. Lavine noticed one critical lamp was no longer glowing with power. “Damn it! That’s the piece that got knocked on the floor.”

  Forgetting all about the message, Dennis immediately moved to unplug the malfunctioning box and then headed to his garage with the hope of repair dominating his thoughts.

  Phil looked at what he had written down, no longer craving coffee or more sleep. Anxiety caused his hand to shake the pencil as he mentally reviewed the unusual transmission. Something was really wrong in Meraton, and he needed to find Diana or Nick.

  Thoughts of combing his hair, putting on socks, or brushing his teeth forgotten, Phil rushed from his home on South 4th and headed directly for the church six blocks away.

  There were several residents already awake and milling about, a few of them greeting Phil as he rushed by. The radio operator ignored his neighbors; panic welling as he worried that his friend Dennis was in serious trouble.

  Pushing through the front doors of the church, Phil was relieved to find Diana and Nick talking just inside the lobby. “
Nick! Diana! Meraton is under attack! I just received a transmission from Dennis, and now he’s off the air.”

  “What? What do you mean by, ‘They’re under attack’?”

  Holding out his paper, the anxious messenger showed Nick the words. “See? See here. Dennis’ words were breaking up. I kept hearing pops that might have been gunshots, but look at what I did hear. ‘Armed men in my house… Meraton… Help… Beltran ranch… Help… Ton… Men.’”

  Diana asked, “Can you verify his message? Can’t you get any more information?”

  “He went off the air after this. He’s neither broadcasting, nor receiving.”

  Nick looked at Diana, Alpha’s Mayor responding immediately. “They came to our aid when things looked hopeless. Gather up as many men as you can. Use the emergency gasoline supply, and go help them, Nick.”

  The big man nodded, “On my way.”

  Reaching for the ever-present radio on his belt, Nick began transmitting instructions before he reached the door.

  Nick looked out over the multitude of men gathering for the trip to Meraton, the football field at Alpha High School an ant mound of bustling activity. Men hurried here and there, taking instructions from their team leaders and making sure equipment was ready and stowed in the proper places. Motor noise, shouted orders, and banging equipment accented the visual image of what amounted to a small army preparing to move. Trucks and vehicles of every description delivered both men and materials while volunteers waved arms and shouted orders to control the flow of traffic.

  The gathering of men and machines being assembled for the mission was impressive, especially given the size of the town. Deke had even offered up four of his men to help.

  Nick looked up to see Terri approaching the field, a rifle slung over her shoulder, and a determined look on her face.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

  “I’m going to help. Bishop isn’t well enough yet, but we intend to pull our weight – just like everyone else.”

  Nick smiled at her gumption, and then shook his head. “You don’t have to do this. You and Bishop have done more than your share.”

  “Are you saying you don’t need experienced fighters?”

  Nick knew where the conversation was headed. On more than one occasion, Terri had proved herself the equal of most any man in a gunfight. He had witnessed her skillset personally.

  “Terri, I can’t in good conscience allow a pregnant woman to enter a battle. I don’t care a rat’s ass about honor, equality, or the fact that every female left in the country needs a pioneering spirit to survive. Intentionally putting you in harm’s way goes against my grain.”

  Terri’s expression softened, her friendship with Nick strong. “Are you going to scout the town first?”

  “As a matter of fact I am.”

  “Let me go in first. I know the people there better than anyone on your team. I’ll know if something is wrong. If there are lawbreakers around, their suspicions are less likely to be aroused by a pregnant girl.”

  Nick thought about the idea and had to admit she was right. Still, the mere chance that something could happen to her made his stomach churn.

  Terri touched Nick’s shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. With a serious tone, she reminded him, “Nick – the people in Meraton are my friends, too.”

  That was the clincher, the final argument he couldn’t debate. Still, he had conditions. “Terri, so help me God… if there’s even the slightest indication of trouble, I want you to find a safe corner and hide. Promise me you’ll not do anything brash or foolhardy.”

  “Promise.”

  As an afterthought, Nick asked, “Where’s Bishop? I assume he knows what you’re planning?”

  Terri waved him off, “Oh, I would have told him for sure, but Bishop left to check on the ranch first thing this morning. He won’t be back until much later this afternoon.”

  Oh great, he thought. I just told my best friend’s wife she can tag along and gather Intel on criminals prior to a skirmish. That’s just great.

  He shook off the concern over Terri and jumped back into organizing his men. Heeding Deke’s advice, Nick had decided to arrive in Meraton with a show of overwhelming force. Normally, 10-20 men would be enough to handle practically any situation, but today almost 50 were going to make the trip. If Meraton and the Beltran ranch were calling for help, the situation must be extremely serious.

  Nick paced over to one of his team leaders and said, “Good morning. Has everyone in your group been briefed on the plan?”

  The man nodded nervously, “Yes, sir. Our job is to approach from the north.”

  Nick smiled to relax the man, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, but your guys are well trained, brave men. It could be just a few drunken nomads trying to shoot up the market. No one knows. We’ll be okay, if we just stick together.”

  Two 18-wheel semi-trucks were requisitioned to provide transport for equipment. Six ATV units were wheeled onto one trailer, while packs, equipment, and supplies filled the second.

  A school bus would provide the majority of the men a ride to the outskirts of the troubled town. A pickup full of shooters was designated to escort the convoy, with a string of 4-wheel drive pickups bringing up the rear. Nick sighed, thinking about the amount of fuel that was going to be consumed during the endeavor. Refined fossil fuel, gasoline and diesel, was going to be their choking point, and everyone knew it. He began to question the wisdom of today’s investment, but then thought about all of his friends in Meraton. If we ever called for help, I’d want them to respond like this, he decided.

  An hour later, the convoy rolled out of town, a parade unlike anything the citizens of Alpha had witnessed in a very long time. Diana and Kevin stood, watching the procession, waving at the vehicles as they passed.

  “Should I have delivered a rah-rah, go get ’m speech?” asked Diana, trying to lighten the mood.

  Kevin didn’t respond, silently cursing the wound that prohibited him from being at this father’s side.

  Bishop turned off the truck, his routine of covering his tracks and disconnecting the booby traps complete. The morning sun glinted off the camper’s shell as he walked toward what had been their home for several months. Everything looked undisturbed.

  His first thought was of the Bat Cave, really a rock room that he had modified with a heavy steel door and locks. His weapons, the bank robber’s gold, and all of his other equipment was untouched.

  Next, he checked the camper, and while dusty, it too had not received any visitors since he and Terri left in a rush. He gathered up the small amount of food that could possibly spoil in the next few weeks, and set it aside.

  The hot tub was full to the brim thanks to the constant trickle of water dripping from the rock shelf above. He gingerly bent down, scooped a handful of clear, cool, spring water, and drank his fill. They had celebrated Christmas here just a few weeks ago, the memory of Terri’s childlike excitement bringing a smile to his face.

  The garden was the only casualty. His meager plantings hadn’t survived the absence of irrigation. If the number of tracks were any indication, the local rabbit population had been busy with a harvest of their own. At least all that work hadn’t been a total waste of time, he thought. The jacks probably managed a few nibbles before the sprouts completely shriveled away.

  By the time he loaded the truck with ammo, some gun cleaning supplies, and spare clothing for himself and Terri, Bishop was exhausted. His throbbing shoulder and left side warned him that he was overdoing it.

  Assessing the strength of the sun and the heat, he decided a nap was in order, despite the early hour. The Bat Cave would be cool and shady. There was a cot in there that was far from a torture device, so he locked the truck’s bed and made for one of his favorite resting spots.

  Bishop entered the refreshing stone chamber and closed the door behind him. Unfolding the old makeshift bed, he fashioned a
pillow out of one of his packs and gently lowered his aching frame onto the sagging, olive green canvas.

  Ten minutes later, a gentle rasp of snoring added its voice to the desert’s morning choir.

  Two miles outside of Meraton, Nick motioned for the driver to pull over. The team leaders dismounted and met Nick along the side of the road where he repeated the plan to ensure everyone understood.

  “This is very simple folks. Team 1 is going to head off across the desert in their four-wheel drive trucks. They’ll dismount and approach Meraton on foot from the north. Team 2 is going to wait right here until Team 1 is in position. Everyone clear on that?”

  Nick surveyed the circle of attentive, nervous faces but didn’t see any problem. He continued, “I’m going to give Terri a ride into town and drop her off. She is going to try to get us some intelligence on what’s going on. She’ll have a radio, and we can all hope to have a better picture of the threat before we move in. Is everyone clear on that?”

  Again, the circle of men nodded their understanding.

  “Let’s do it!”

  Nick watched as men hustled off, some nervous, some showing outward fear, and others calm, cool and collected. Just like any other group of soldiers I’ve led, thought Nick. They’ll all do fine.

  A few minutes later Nick pulled into a vacant lot on the edge of Meraton. In the distance, he and Terri could see activity on Main Street, but couldn’t make out many details.

  “It looks like the market is opening like usual,” observed Terri.

  “Hard to tell from here. I don’t want to get any closer in case someone gets curious. You good?”

  Smiling, Terri patted her pistol and then pointed at the small radio beside her in the seat. “I’m good.” She picked up a baseball hat and proceeded to tuck her hair under the hat. A pair of sunglasses rounded out the disguise. “There’s not that many pregnant ladies walking around,” she noted, “but this little get-up might keep a few folks from recognizing me.”