by Don Shift
At the Government Center, a large array of tents, pop-ups, and travel trailers formed what he assumed to be the emergency command post. Wires were strung through trees leading towards the antenna at the GSA building. School buses were waiting over by the jail. Sam parked in the deserted courthouse parking lot and strolled towards the sheriff’s building. He recognized one of his old sergeants, now a captain, sitting in the shade beneath a pop-up shelter.
“Hey Cap.”
Captain Gallardo looked up and stared for a moment before he recognized Sam. “Church, how are you?” he asked.
“Good as can be, given the circs. What’s all this?”
“Command post. Everything inside the main building is totally FUBAR.”
“So tell me the truth, how screwed are we?”
“Very”
“How is the department doing?”
“Not too shabby. GSA even figured out a way to pump gas. We’d be up a creek if cars and radios didn’t work, or so they’ve been saying, but I guess we got lucky. Back east they’re hosed. Can you believe the North Koreans and Iran did this?”
“I didn’t know it was confirmed.”
“Well, that’s what the Navy is saying. Scuttlebutt. A bunch of guys came over to help out and setup communications. They’re saying that the Pentagon or whoever told them that World War III kicked off in Asia. North Korea vs. everybody. We nuked them a couple times. Israel attacked Iran and our guys somewhere in the Gulf are engaged. It’s a real mess. I guess some Navy planes can still fly, so they’re trying to deploy who they can to take the fight to whoever did this.”
“I was at Fort Irwin teaching when it went down. They said something like that.”
“Teaching?”
“Yeah, Arabic to a bunch of guys they’re sending to Syria.”’
“Gotcha. Look, are you here to volunteer?”
“Yeah. My roommate said you guys called in all reserves.”
“I think they’re worried about what happens if we can’t get gas for cars. Going to need a lot of people on foot beats.”
“Oh, goody.” Sam was non-plussed.
Gallardo smiled and poked Sam in the arm. “You know you’re excited about all this. I know for a fact you drove down from Monterey to work the Thomas Fire. You get off on this stuff. You’re one sick puppy.”
Sam grinned sheepishly. “I joined the department for this kind of thing, not rolling up addicts and writing reports.”
“So why are you at headquarters?”
“Trying to get someone to put me in with Stackhouse. Seems like it’ll be more exciting.”
“Go inside to Personnel. Tell them you talked to me. I’m supposed to be watch commander today. Not sure if I still am. They’ll get you sorted out.”
“Thanks Cap!”
He scoffed. “It’s Lenny. You don’t lose your first name just because you get brass on your collar.”
“Yes sir, Lenny, sir.” Sam snapped to attention and gave a sharp salute.
“Get lost smart ass,” he said, reaching for the report he had been working on.
The inside of the headquarters building was always dark, even more so without electricity. Sam went into the little Personnel waiting room and rapped against the glass to get someone’s attention. While he waited, he happened to notice that the large display case of every kind of badge was missing from the wall. One of the clerks came around the corner and Sam flashed his badge. She pointed at the employee door, where she let Sam in at.
A woman in her mid-fifties, greeted him with a smile. “Hello Sam Church. I knitted a blue star banner for your mom when you deployed back in 2008.” She gave him a hug.
“Captain Gallardo sent me in. I’ve got a favor to ask.” He explained.
“Hmm. Just a moment.” She walked away and came back a few minutes later with the Personnel captain.
“Hello Sam. Thank you for volunteering. We’re finding out a lot of deputies didn’t show up this morning. Aren’t you a reserve out of East County?”
Sam nodded. “Yes sir. Look, given the circumstances, can I get back on SED with Stackhouse, or am I doomed to patrol?”
“You want to work with Stackhouse?” Captain Kohler thought for a moment. “The decision will be up to Sergeant Stackhouse. They all went home early this morning and won’t be back until tonight. I can leave word for him. We’ll need you to take out a unit today, if you can.”
“Sure thing, Captain. Will I be a full deputy, or do I need to be supervised?” Even the most experienced, Level 1 Reserves were required by the department to partner up with another reserve or full-time deputy.
“Up to local command. Might need to double up depending on cars. We can trust you to ride alone, but some of the younger guys seem to be at a loss for what to do.” Many of the patrol deputies were pretty green and there was a shortage of veteran deputies, many of whom had been rotated back into the jail. “Lots of changes around here. We’ve got so many new people it’s not even funny. Not very many quality people want to be cops these days. You would be shocked at the crap I’ve had to sign off on simply to get warm bodies into the academy only to have IA fire their asses a year later for something stupid we should have seen coming in the hiring process. We even hired an ex-porn star and a tranny at one point. I guess I don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
“Everybody gave me grief for being a golden boy.”
“I know, but it pisses me off to see a guy like you get screwed over by life. Everybody who counts has had nothing but good things to say about you.
“I appreciate the kind words, sir.”
“Until we get word from Stackhouse, can you work East County?”
“Oohrah. Thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you. But I hope you know what you signed up for.”
Coming to Terms
Mr. Church got home at nine sharp. He spent the last two hours driving around trying to get information and gas. Despite what he thought, he could find no linemen at any substation that he knew of. He finally drove down to the sheriff’s station only to be told that the power would be out “for at least a month.” Next, he went looking to get gas, but every gas station he went to was either totally closed or jam packed with cars as someone manually pumped gas from the underground tanks. Harold did stop by the hardware store where he worked to buy a fluid transfer pump. All the gas cans were gone, including the one-gallon ones. He paid $4.33 in cash and pocket change, something that was beyond most shoppers’ ability. A shoplifter was chased into the parking lot, daring to pull a gun on the pursuing employees. All Harold could do was watch, not believing what he saw.
It was a huge relief when he closed the garage door sealing the world out behind him.
“What a mess,” he said to Jenny, then told her what he saw.
“You’re probably right about getting out of here for a while.” She had spent the last two hours half-heartedly packing valuables and keepsakes.
“I’d like to leave in an hour or less.”
“An hour? How am I going to pack all this in an hour?
“Honey, we’re not going to take everything. We’re not moving. We’re just going to stay with Sammy until this all blows over. Take the important things, you know just in case something happens to the house while we’re gone. The photo albums, your jewelry.”
She frowned. “Alright.”
“Pack sensible clothing. We’re not going to be going out, I think.”
Harold went to pack his own things and then the essentials. One suitcase full of clothing, shoes, toiletries, and a few carefully chosen books would do it for him. He’d take his own pillow of course. The hiking gear in the garage would also go along with the emergency survival backpack that Sam had given them. Since there were no packing materials, he placed his radio and antenna in a cardboard box and used rags to pad the open spaces.
Jenny had packed three boxes full of “essential” nostalgia in addition to two boxes of the non-perishable food. Then there was the cooler. Fil
ling the car would be like a game of Tetris. He went into the bedroom and found Jenny looking at several of her good dresses lying on the bed.
“I can’t decide which ones I want to take. Which one is your favorite?”
Harold got upset. “Jenny, I told you no dresses. Sensible clothing. We don’t have room in the car for all your clothing. This isn’t a vacation.”
She turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Harold Church don’t use that tone with me. You suggested that ‘something might happen’ to our house and you expect me to leave my best clothes behind for that something?”
“Yes! In case you didn’t notice, it’s 90 degrees inside, there is no water coming out of the sink, and the sheriffs said the power would be out for at least a month. This is an evacuation. One suitcase. The medium rolling one.”
“You’re over-reacting.”
“And I don’t know you’ve quite grasped the reality of the situation.” Mrs. Church tended to ignore certain things. When they faced foreclosure in California, she continued to look at remodeling magazines until the house was listed for sale. “Jenny, we have to pack light. I swear, if you put any of that in your suitcase, I’ll throw it out.”
She scoffed at him. “Who do you think you are?” She didn’t finish the thought. Someone was knocking at the door.
Harold went and looked out the peephole. It was their neighbor Colletta Levine. When Jenny opened the door, they could see that Mrs. Levine was red, sweaty, and could barely stand.
“Colletta, come in. Sit down.”
Harold took her arm and led her to the couch.
“Oh dear me, I’m burning up,” Colletta said.
“Jenny, get her some water.” Harold got up and returned with two soaked washcloths, putting them on the elderly woman’s forehead and neck. “What happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” she said after sipping some water. “I haven’t seen the power out this long in forty years. I’ve been burning up. Do you know what’s going on? I couldn’t hear anything on the car radio.”
Jenny looked at Harold to explain. “Well Colletta, I rigged up my mother’s old radio, you know, the kind that you can get shortwave with?” She nodded. She was old enough to remember those kinds of radios. “They were saying that someone set off a nuclear weapon high in the atmosphere.”
“A nuclear weapon?” Her eyes looked like they were about to bug out of her head. “Was it the Russians? Did they drop the bomb?”
“No, not like that. I’m not too clear on the science myself. That’s what made the power go out and why people are having trouble with radios.”
“Do we have to worry about fallout?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“When will the power be back on? And the water?”
“I don’t know about water, but the sheriffs said at least a month without power.”
“A month! I’ll die.” It was extremely likely that in this heat, Colletta would succumb in only a few more days, if that. “My son lives in Redondo Beach. I should have moved in with him,” she observed.
“We’re going to our son’s in Simi Valley. We can take you to Redondo Beach on our way,” Harold offered. Jenny was not happy about her husband’s offer.
The old woman perked up. “Oh, would you? That would be wonderful.”
“When you’re feeling better,” Harold said “Jenny will go across the street with you to help you pack. You’ll have to pack light, one box and a suitcase. We don’t have much room in the car.”
“I don’t have much. I’ve never been one for keeping clutter around.” Mrs. Levine was a minimalist. She rarely kept more than snacks in the house, preferring her food be delivered by one of those custom “cook it yourself” kit outfits.
Jenny finished packing and took Mrs. Levine to pack her own things. Harold went to the garage and loaded the car. Then he used his fluid transfer pump to suck the quarter-tank of gas from his wife’s Camry into the Chevy’s gas tank, bringing it up to about three-quarters. Still he needed more, so he backed the car out, opened Mrs. Levine’s garage, and parked inside next to her car to siphon the remainder needed out of her tank. When the ladies were ready and after each had said goodbye to their houses, Harold drove them off in one very cramped car on a long and uncertain road trip west.
Back home in Simi, Sam noticed that the Jeep was back down to near empty again. He scowled. Getting gas was unavoidable and it was better to do it now rather than be unable to later. Last year, a new gas station had gone up on the corner of two major streets. It was a very large gas station that featured a full-service “auto spa” and had a large fountain out front. Since the garish decoration reminded Sam of the volcano at the Mirage, his nickname for the place was Las Vegas. When he got there the line a dozen cars long and six lanes across. Sam took his place and waited in line, which moved more quickly than expected. He found out why when it was his turn.
Each pump had a sign taped to it that read “Cash Only—$20/gal, 5gal Max.” Many of the drivers were upset about the cost, the limit, or their inability to pay with cards. Most were buying only one to two gallons, pumped by an attendant.
“Hello,” the attendant said to Sam. “Five-gallon max, $100 or $20 a gallon. Cash only.”
“I don’t think that’s quite fair.”
The attendant had heard this dozens of times already. “That’s what we’re charging, it’s my cousin’s business. He can charge what he wants. It’s not like any more gas is coming soon. Take it or leave it.”
“Ever hear of price gouging? It’s illegal.”
The man shrugged. “$100 or move your car.”
“I want to talk to the owner.”
“Sir, pay or leave.”
Sam already had his seatbelt off and opened the door. The attendant pushed back.
“Whoa pal, what do you think you’re doing?” Sam asked.
“Stay in your car. Please leave.” The man was pushing the door closed with his arm, but not his bodyweight. Sam stepped out and slammed his bodyweight into the door, knocking the attendant back and into the pump.
“Don’t try anything stupid. Where is the manager?”
Sam looked up to see a well-muscled man running up with a baseball bat. Sam put his hand on the grip of his pistol underneath of his shirt and held up his badge and ID. “Deputy sheriff. Chill out.” The man with the bat stopped and lowered his weapon. “Where is the manager?”
Without taking his eyes off Sam, the buff guy called out: “Hey Sanjay!”
Sanjay came walking over. “What’s the problem here? Can I help you sir?”
Sam flashed his badge again. “Yeah. You tell your attendant to stop assaulting people.” He explained what happened. “Second, you can’t be charging $20 a gallon. That’s price gouging and taking advantage of an emergency to make a profit. That’s illegal.”
“From my understanding, there has to be an ordinance or proclamation fixing prices and I have not heard of one. Have you, deputy?”
The legal words sounded funny in the man’s accent and it annoyed Sam to hear the insolence in the man’s tone. “That’s pretty low.”
“I’ll do you a favor deputy. I’ll let you fill up, but at full price.”
It wasn’t a favor. The man was negotiating. He had come from a culture where police routinely abused their power and made threats to obtain favors. That wasn’t what Sam was doing at all. Instead, he was outraged that the man was ripping desperate people off, like the guy in LA after the Northridge earthquake who was convicted for selling drinking water at $10 a gallon in 1994 dollars. Was Sam above taking a bribe? Well, it wasn’t exactly a bribe. Sam hadn’t threatened anyone, and Sanjay was right, he didn’t have any power, that he knew of, to shut the guy down.
“Half price. Paid in a roll of pre-1965 silver quarters. Call the quarters $5 each. $200.”
Sanjay thought about it for a moment. He would have preferred gold, but that was a little out of reach. He had done his research and yes, it wa
s fair under the circumstances for the old silver quarters to be worth about $5 each. An ounce of silver would be worth ten or twenty times that in a few days. “$100 in cash too. Hard to spend silver at the moment. Not too many people think ahead like you and I.”
He had Sam over a barrel. If he tried to over negotiate, he’d lose it all. “Deal.” He flashed a smile and the two men shook hands. According to the attendant, the only thing left was premium, but it all burned the same to Sam. When the tank was filled, Sam came over with his empty jerry can.
“Fill this up too.”
“I can’t. That wasn’t your deal.”
“I don’t care. Sanjay ripped me off. Fill it up.” Sam’s hand was resting on his gun again. The attendant thought for a moment, looked around for the cousin with the bat or any witnesses, and filled up the jerry can. Sam hauled it out of there before someone got wise.
At home, Marco was napping on the couch cradling his shotgun. He had picked up an old LAPD-issue Ithaca Model 37, 12 gauge in a department auction. Sam let him sleep and went into the bedroom.
Hanging in a large garment bag in his closet were his uniforms. It didn’t take him long to put on his uniform. It felt comforting and familiar to do so. He exchanged his shoes for his boots, which were sorely in need of a good dusting. At least the base shine was still good. He figured he’d take his rifle and his own Remington 870 shotgun. For good measure, he placed a strip of duct tape with his name on it on the butts of both. Since he was wearing soft armor under his shirt, he pulled the ceramic plates from his tactical vest and brought along his helmet and face shield for good measure. An unknown world was unfolding; he might need it all.
New Realities
Villareal’s morning stunk and only part of it was the fact he was at work without having a large cup of decent hot coffee. Instead, he was drinking Folgers brewed up in a motorhome and eating a stale sticky bun. He was happy to hear that the stations didn’t have any shortage of manpower. He anticipated dawn shift would be problematic as deputies would want to stay home to protect their families at night, but that problem had not materialized.