by Finley, Zack
"That kind of aircraft can't fly straight from Flagstaff to Oneida, can it?" I asked.
"Of course not. My next stop was a hangar at the Clinton-Sherman airport a few miles west of Oklahoma City," Jules said. "My sophisticated bug out plan. I maintained hangars in Flagstaff, Clinton, and Oneida with food, water, basic survival gear, and two 55-gallon drums of stabilized aviation gas in each. I haven't seen the Oneida hangar, my dad arranged it for me, years ago."
I stood up, "Let's go shopping for a used airplane. Maybe you can give me a ride today?"
"If I can locate a suitable plane that starts," Jules said. "I'm willing, just hope you don't get airsick."
We found Jules' hangar easily. Jules had the key, and after a sharp debate about whether to strip the place, we agreed to leave things alone, for now. Jules spotted five airplanes he was familiar with secured on the tarmac. There were probably more inside the various hangars, but we stopped looking after Jules pointed us at the plane he wanted.
The crew enjoyed pushing the plane over to Jules's hangar for a fill-up. Jules insisted on charging up the battery and going over every nut and bolt in the plane. Only then did he let us top off the fuel. Not having a key didn't worry Jules. Whether this showed a new disdain for law and order or was common for private plane owners. I'm sure there was a back story somewhere, but decided it could wait.
We jump-started the plane, but only after Jules declared satisfaction with the charge level of the plane's battery. He didn't want to draw down that battery by cold-starting the plane engine.
It took more than a half-hour, with lots of fits and belches and a few false starts before the engine ran smoothly. It took another 15 minutes for Jules to declare the plane airworthy.
My crew disconnected the jumper cables and parked the pickup to the side of the hangar. I crawl up into the plane with some trepidation, before fastening my seatbelt. Jules beamed ear-to-ear with a flash of happiness that reminded me of our youth. I didn’t share his enthusiasm, but sucked it up.
I sent half the team back to the Valley and requested the other half to wait for us. They planned to use the time documenting potential salvage available in other locked hangars.
Jules handed me a set of earphones. "Where do you want to go?"
"Knoxville?" I asked.
"With less than half an hour of good light left, Knoxville is out. I wondered which direction you wanted to go," Jules said.
"East," I said. "If we could loop over to Jacksboro, I could check out how bad they are. Our scouts went to the edge of the freeway, but that is as far as anyone went that direction."
"East it is," Jules eased the plane forward onto the runway. "Look for any debris, I'd rather not crash on takeoff."
Once we got to the end of the tarmac, Jules turned us around. He revved the engine, and we started to roll forward, gaining speed. Before I could hyperventilate too much, we were in the air. Being in a small plane didn’t worry me; it was the driver.
"There is a pair of binoculars in that cubbyhole," Jules said, pointing. "I don't intend to get very low, so you'll need to be satisfied with what you can see with them."
Jacksboro was closer to east-southeast. Jules estimated the distance at less than 25 miles. Flying over the mountainous forestland, nothing appeared changed by the CME and subsequent power failure. The only oddity was the absence of moving vehicles and the pall of smoke lingering in the valleys. Once over more urban zones, some impact from the change was visible. I-75 looked like a winding river of parked cars. I spotted two groups of five or six walking north amongst the cars. One group stopped and pointed directly at us. When I saw that, I urged Jules to veer to the south.
We flew past the Campbell County Airport before circling back. The major mall not far off the end of the runway also burned to the ground. The Jacksboro Walmart was a blackened hulk.
Chimney smoke wafted from many older houses on the outskirts of town, but a lot of homes in the heart of downtown looked lifeless Jacksboro was more of a resort town, compared to anywhere in Mecklin County.
More of the large new homes had fireplaces than we saw in Oneida. Here most neighborhoods had smoky chimneys. It seemed odd that only luxurious high-end houses and old turn of last century farmhouses had wood heat. We didn't linger, flying straight back to our airport.
"My mom will get over this," Jules said, broaching a topic I just wanted to leave alone. That was not to be.
"She has a point, I commanded the mission Andy died on," I said.
"Bull, that is just your martyr thing working. Andy stood guard duty. People stand guard duty because the bad guys might show up. Most times, they don't, but this time they did. Because our guards did their jobs, the kids and the vulnerable survived, and the bad guys died. You aren't God. I don't blame you; Audrey doesn't blame you; and Dad sure as hell doesn't blame you. None of us will get over Andy's death, especially after all we went through. But my mom will stop this whole blame thing, as soon as she can think. Right now, it is easier for her to focus on you than to blame me, Andy, or some dead bad guy. Just because Mom went all crazy doesn't mean you should too. Take my word as an astrophysicist, you didn't make the sun vomit. That is way above your pay grade."
One can't stomp off in irritation when strapped in a small airplane’s seat.
"Everyone is tiptoeing around you, worried you are going to wig out over this, like you did a year ago. I already lost one brother; you are the only one I have left."
What could I say?
"I'm not wigging out," I said.
"Could have fooled me," Jules said. "There is our airport, right on time."
Jules checked the windsock, then circled around to begin our approach. We only bounced a little, and in moments we taxied for his hangar.
As ordered, one of our trucks returned to the Valley during our joy ride. The ones who remained followed protocol, staying out of sight until they confirmed our identity.
Pushing the airplane into the hangar felt anticlimactic as everyone offered opinions about our next flight. We piled into the truck and headed home.
◆◆◆
Chapter 4
"You should talk with Claire and Aaron before it gets too late," Granny said as I walked in the door. "But that can wait until you visit a little with Jennifer and Melissa. Aaron may be impatient, but he can bide his time."
I hesitated, torn between finding out what was up and checking on my girls. Granny's pugnacious stance sent me into the family room.
Billy, Melissa, Jennifer, and Joe played a board game. Ellie sat on the couch. Craig and the rest of the Rangers who lived with us were probably at the video match organized by the Gammas tonight at the recreation hall. The Gammas persuaded those who ran the nightly movies to give them access to the television. If video matches became popular, they hoped to hold tournaments several times each month.
Having a place to congregate in the evenings was great for morale. It made me reconsider salvaging the pool and ping pong tables from the college recreation room. I didn't take the suggestions the guys made to bring them back to the Valley very seriously. Maybe I should have. Not everyone lived with two growing girls to entertain them after work.
Joe offered to stop the game for a few minutes when I walked in.
"I just need a minute. Your mom and dad really want to move you in with them at Justice as soon as possible. We think the security issues will be fixed by the day after tomorrow. You should start packing up tomorrow evening to be ready. We will miss you, but your mom and dad miss you more," I said.
"Thanks a lot, Uncle Jeremy. We will pack up tomorrow night," Joe said, looking firmly at Billy and then Ellie. At 16-years-old, Joe was maturing into a fine young man. During the past 3 months, I watched him shed the remnants of childhood and embrace the burdens of adulthood. I doubted Steve and Mandy were ready for the change in him. I could sympathize, looking at my own two. Jennifer and Melissa matured at a breakneck pace since the crash.
"If you forget something, someone c
an always bring it to you at Justice later," I said. "No need to stress. And you’ll be back plenty of times. I wanted to give you a heads up about the plans."
With that announcement, no one was interested in talking to me, anymore. I said goodnight to them all and slipped out the door.
From the chill outside, tonight would drop below freezing again, despite the warmer temperatures during the day. This afternoon I felt the early hint of spring in the weather when it warmed to 50 degrees. Still time this month for some snow flurries, but more days like today and winter would lose its grip on us.
The atmosphere in my parents' home was so tense, I wished I came here straight away. Even Roger was here, along with many on the council. This included Glenn and the other sponsors.
"What happened?" I asked.
"The whole charter thing didn't go as we hoped," my dad summarized.
"Don't soft-pedal things, Aaron, the situation blew the hell up," Glenn said. "What a group of ungrateful assholes."
That Glenn didn't apologize to my mom for his language showed his level of distress.
"They are demanding a hearing before the full council," my mom said. "Apparently, they are being held as slaves against their will. We owe them compensation for their contributions. Their spokesman will contact us with a list of reparations."
"What? They have a spokesman?" I asked.
"They were organizing," Glenn said. "Under our very noses."
"All of them?" I asked.
"No," my dad said, "but about half. Several families told their sponsors the others didn't speak for them. Claire is pulling together a list of suspects, tonight."
"Are you going to give them their council hearing?" I asked.
"Of course, we intend to invite them all to share their grievances," my dad said. By the way his jaw clenched, and his eyes flashed, they would not enjoy their reception.
"The council meeting is set for tomorrow after dark in the barn," Roger said. "We need the Betas and Gammas to provide security. Too many weapons for such a gathering and violence will erupt if we try to disarm them at the door."
"Can we limit the number of council members in danger by having them arrive late?" I asked. "I'd rather fill the barn with disgruntled armed malcontents and no one else. That way, they can just shoot or kill each other. We can then use teargas, pepper spray, and flashbangs to separate them from their weapons."
"I'll work on setting up a safety zone inside for our people to duck behind," Roger said. "We can put a long table up at one end of the barn. If we cover the tabletop with tarps, stacking sandbags underneath will provide cover without them being aware."
"Stash some gas masks under there, too," I offered. "I still want to minimize the number of our people inside. How many chairs and benches can we set up in the barn? If we encourage them to grab the seats, they should be easier to control."
The more serious question was what to do with this group once we disarmed them? The second question that would keep many of us up nights was, how this developed without us being aware?
Generations of Breckinridges started our Valley, a testament to hardscrabble lives of self-reliance and perseverance despite the brutal social and economic conditions of rural Tennessee.
After the Vietnam War, our ranks expanded to include a new kinship, forged between men in battle. Those men married and raised families, but the collective backbone of military service and shared values remained. Vietnam left a legacy of distrust in our government amongst those who served.
For us, this translated to a fundamental certainty that if civilization broke down, we were on our own. No one was coming to save us.
We spent treasure and sweat to create this lifeboat for our families. As prepared as we were, this was no holiday cruise but a fight for our lives. And the lives of our children. And grandchildren.
Why couldn't these people see what the rest of us did? Their complaints reflected ignorance and privilege. Their complaints amounted to arguments about colors of the blankets on the Titanic.
We hashed out a general plan, before disbanding. The council would alert our remaining allies of the threat tonight. Tomorrow the council would prepare the barn for our meeting. Moving in benches and chairs would mask the creation of a safety zone.
I eventually agreed not to cancel tomorrow’s offsite mission for most of the Betas and Gammas. We had a punch list of security items at Justice to polish off. I proposed assigning my troops to spend the entire day patrolling the Valley, but no one else thought that was the right move. Reluctantly, I acquiesced. Defusing the situation without casualties on our side remained our top priority. My mom promised to keep the kids off the streets and out of any potential line-of-fire by declaring a home study day after supper.
After the meeting disbanded, I went straight to the recreation hut to brief Zeke. I wanted everybody, Beta or Gamma, to carry their squad radios for the next few days. That would require finally mounting the radio rebroadcast unit on top of Justice for full coverage. Zeke would need help tonight, and we would alert the rest of our team at PT in the morning.
Tomorrow morning we would concentrate on finishing our security punch list, quickly to get everyone back to the Valley. I'd take two Gammas with me to my chat with Jerry Hill.
Dr. Jerrod was removing the first set of Craig's stitches tomorrow. He, Ben, and Scott planned to start marksman testing for the Arkansas arrivals. Zeke, Joel, and Tom would return to their normal duties.
Everyone who was designated for the operation would converge on the Valley by 16:00 for supper. The council meeting would begin at 18:30, which was at dusk. Zeke would line up some armory work to keep most of us busy until we were due at the barn.
When I walked into the recreation hut, the video tournament was in full swing. From the number of people watching and shouting from the sidelines, I doubted there would be any pushback about holding future tourneys. I snagged Zeke and Ben trailed out of the hut with us.
"We have a secret mission in the Valley for all Gammas and Betas tomorrow at dusk," I said. "We need everyone in full battle rattle, heavy ammo load including non-lethal measures, radios, and NVGs."
Both men looked alarmed.
"What is the threat?" Zeke asked. I told them. Ben was shocked, but Zeke was disgusted.
"I hoped they got over their stupids," Zeke said. "But this is worse than I ever expected. What are we going to do after we disarm them?"
"No clue. Split them up and drop them off at the borders?" I said or asked, it wasn't clear to me.
"It isn't like those Oneida thugs," Zeke countered. "These people lived and worked in the Valley for months. I'm not sure I want them talking about us, putting a large target on our backs. The only thing those Oneida exiles could tell anyone was that we were badass."
If we let them leave, they would need to go far away. Far enough that making the trip to the Valley wouldn't seem worth the pot of gold at the end.
"People sure are stupid," Ben said, getting over his shock. "What part of 'the end of the world as we know it,’ don't they comprehend?"
"We considered exposing them to conditions on the outside over the next few weeks, but that won't happen now," I said. "They blew those plans to hell."
"I'll brief some of the guys once they leave the tournament," Zeke said. "They can help me prepare the extra gear tonight. I'll ask Joel to install the radio booster on top of Justice in the morning. To get the best coverage, we may need to put the other one up on Sally's hill above the Valley. I'll talk with her after PT."
Zeke sent Ben and me to bed, saying, "you both still need your beauty sleep after the last mission."
The house was quiet when I slipped in through the mudroom. A night light glowed in the family room. Granny sat with her feet up on the couch, wrapped in her cozy wool blanket.
"I'm surprised you are still awake," I said, slumping in my chair.
"I wanted to know what the plan is," Granny said. "But not enough to go see Aaron or Claire about it."
&n
bsp; "The idiots are demanding a council meeting tomorrow," I said.
"Yeah, I knew that, what are we doing about it?" Granny said.
"Once all the rats are in the barn, we'll disarm them. Rounding them up may be easier than deciding what to do with them," I said.
"That is a tough one," Granny said. "There is no good option. Killing them ends the short-term threat, but could rip up our community with dire long-term consequences. Most aren't bad people like those militia or the murdering sheriff's deputies. I work with some of them, and that makes the situation doubly hard."
Granny folded up her blanket before tucking her feet into her slippers. "Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day. We should get some sleep."