by Don Shift
“Stop.” The man was holding both hands up. “Who are you?”
“Kyle Sibley, from down the road. We knew the Sanchezes.” The man looked at both trucks and peered in. Everyone was a stranger to him but did not appear threatening. He did not see the pistol Mr. Sibley held by the side of his right leg. “We were looking to see who had hay we could barter for and we found everyone murdered back there.”
The man nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought. Happened last night. I was worried you were them.”
“No. Just friends. We buried everyone. Whoever it was killed both the brothers, their father, and a woman.”
“Was it Rosie or Emmy?”
“Emmy,” Sean said from the passenger seat. “We believe they kidnapped Rosie.”
“Oh my,” the neighbor said, putting his hands on his knees. “There was a lot of gunfire last night. Sounded like machine guns. We couldn’t see anything in the dark and the rain. We hid in a closet, worried that they’d come for us next. I wished I had a gun.”
“Anything that can help us find the people who did it?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. But hey, do you have any food you can spare?”
“I’m sorry pal. I have to look after my own.”
The neighbor flashed into rage and smacked the door with the flat of his palm. “I can smell the coffee still on your breath! You know how long it’s been since I’ve had coffee? Look in a mirror. You’re all obviously well fed and fat. You can spare some food.” The senses of starving people were much more attuned to the small clues of where their next meal might come from.
For some reason, Mr. Sibley did not just drive off. “What are you eating?”
“Oranges, mostly. The avocados are all gone now. We’ll try planting potatoes again in a few months. We’re sprouting them in front of the windows.”
“Good, good. Look, I can’t feed you. Not to rub it in, but I planned ahead. You gotta keep doing what you’re doing.”
“We ate our dog for Thanksgiving. I’ve got two little girls, nine and eleven.”
A chill ran up Mr. Sibley’s spine.
“Alright. I’ll give you enough rice and beans for two months. Then that’s it. Don’t ask me again. I can’t afford to be everyone’s pantry.”
The man smiled. At least scurvy wasn’t a problem. “Thank you. The name is John.”
They shook hands. “You’re welcome John. I’ll send the boys back when we get the hay unloaded.” Driving off, he turned around and said, “See boys, I’m not just some heartless psychopath with machine guns and explosives.”
“Sure Dad,” Sean said sarcastically.
David was on all fours combing through calf-deep wet grass. “You know, this would be much easier with a metal detector,” he said to Sam.
“Okay, I’ll just pop on down to the Crime Lab and bring one back.”
“You could be a lot more helpful down here.”
Sam got up from the stoop where he was resting and knelt in the grass to resume the search. They recovered 9mm pistol brass inside the house, but because it was a mix of cartridges and 9mm was so common, it could just be a coincidence between killers. Many criminals used “ghetto loads” of mixed ammo of whatever they could steal or scrounge. Many times, both deputies had seen hollow point and full metal jacket bullets mixed in the same magazine.
It took half the morning combing through the grass, but David came up with a single steel case empty cartridge that matched the ones found at the Coyote Ranch. Had this been a proper investigation, they would have been able to locate all twenty or so rifle casings fired at the house, but one would do now. All they had to do is prove to themselves that the murders of the Andersons massacred the Sanchez family and kidnapped Mrs. Sanchez.
Back at the ranch, Mr. Sibley concurred with the conclusion.
“Sam, get cleaned up. I want you to ride with me to Todd Road to report this. Look the part.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam took off his muddy clothes and changed into a pair of shorts and his shower flip-flops. The casita had a communal bathroom. To conserve propane, the water was cold, so his shower was brief, but at least he didn’t itch from the grass anymore. Finished, he had a slight problem. His uniforms were hanging in the closet in the suite he gave to Mika.
He knocked on the door and she answered, surprised to see a shirtless Sam with a towel wrapped around his neck. “Uh hi.”
“Hi Mika. I just need to grab my uniform really quick.”
“Sure thing.” She let him in.
He grabbed one of his wash and wear uniforms that hung from a single hanger. “Mika, I wanted to apologize for last night.”
“Sam, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not. I don’t get close to women very easily. My emotions are very complex, to say the least.” Sam shook his head. Don’t do it! Part of him yelled. Rip off the Band-Aid my friend; do it now or you never will. “Would you like to go for a walk when I get back?”
Because they all lived in crowded quarters, she understood the significance of that. When any of the couples needed romantic time alone outside of their bedrooms, they strolled up the gravel road on nice evenings as an ersatz date. The question coming out of Sam, who clearly had been suppressing his desire, pleasantly surprised her.
Mika smiled, blushing slightly. “I’d like that.”
“Okay then.” Sam almost ran out of the room. Why is this so much harder than scamming on a chick at a bar?
Love and War
Sam and Willow trotted behind Mr. Sibley on Bilbo. They had just crested the top of the ridge on the back of South Mountain. Below them, down a steep and narrow goat path lay the Santa Clara River and valley. The Todd Road jail was visible to them. The last of the rainclouds had gone and the wind was nothing more than a gentle breeze, making the grass wave.
“I feel like I’m in a Western!” Sam called out.
“You sort-of are. It’s a hybrid genre. Post-apocalyptic western, without the Indians. Now be careful and keep your balance on this trail. Don’t fall and break your neck trying to be John Wayne.”
The hill descended, Sam and Sibley clip-clopped down Todd Road towards the jail’s front gate. Wearing their uniforms and department hats—the Mounted Posse white cowboy hat for Sibley and a green Smokey the Bear campaign hat for Sam—the deputy on guard did not point his shotgun at them.
“Howdy!”
Everyone introduced themselves. Further inside, a young woman and her husband took the two horses to a makeshift stable where at least two dozen more horses stood.
The Todd Road Jail sat a few miles from Ventura and Santa Paula on the banks of the Santa Clara River surrounded by lemon and avocado orchards. With two and a half hard perimeters and partially screened by a windbreak of eucalyptus trees, it was a good redoubt. Had the Honor Farm in Ojai still been operational, it would have made an excellent second location. However, Todd Road was slightly more remote.
Conversion of the jail into a fortress was not difficult, especially in consideration that everyone now living there valued safety over comfort. Once the bodies of the doomed felons had been removed from the cells, and each thoroughly cleaned and disinfected, all of the locks were disabled in each pod. A commercial well driller was offered a chance to take up residence to drill and install a well to compensate for the lack of mains water. When the taps flowed again, Villareal and Ostrander found it bitterly ironic that the forgotten inmates died of dehydration.
The three acres of existing solar panels were undamaged and only needed a little TLC to get back into shape. Teams of deputies stripped solar panels off public buildings and some commercial ones before looters could steal anymore. Finding intact charge controllers that hadn’t been fried was more of a challenge, but at least marine batteries were plentiful in the marinas and boat storage yards. With electricity no longer a factor of American life, finding the circuit breakers and other items needed to rebuild the fried wiring inside the jail was a matter of visiting construction and ele
ctrical suppliers.
A large food warehouse complex sat at the end of the driveway. The Saticoy Food Corporation initially seemed like it would have been a boon, except on the fourth day after the pulse, someone walked over to find out all they sold were pimentos and bell peppers. The food already in the jail warehouse and that which was brought over from Main Jail would have to be enough to get everyone through the first few months.
Those adults not on security duty were put out in the adjoining fields to farm. The rows of strawberries, converted from lemon orchards some years back, were now being slowly turned into more sustaining foods. Much of the seeds had been acquired locally from some of the growers that raised more diversified produce than the usual cash crops. A major downside to the use of commercials seeds is that the plants they produced tended to be sterile hybrids, guaranteeing one or two growing seasons before they ceased to reproduce. No one had thought to stockpile hundreds of thousands of variegated heirloom seeds.
Life inside was dark and uncomfortable. To conserve power, the overhead lights had all been switched off. It was light enough in the pods themselves, yet the corridors were dark enough that children would not go down them without a flashlight. On warm days, the ventilation system could barely keep the air circulating and certainly not cool it down. Everyone seemed to sleep in the rec yards then. On the wintrier days, the chill often seeped in.
Sheriff Villareal welcomed the two men in to his office which formerly belonged to the jail commander. Not being allowed to bring his extended family in the commander opted to chance things on the outside. No one had heard from him in months.
“Quite an operation you have here, Tino.”
“Well thank you. Can you imagine an old Pinoy like me learning to ride a horse? Anyhow, what have you got for me?”
Sibley looked at Sam. “Sheriff, two 187s, at least six victims dead, a rape, and one kidnapped, we believe. Motive and weapons lead us to believe it’s the same group involved.” Sam explained the details.
“Fits with some of the reports we have.” He explained that radio reports and word of mouth had filtered back that numerous violent thieves were targeting people who still had horses. So far, no one had been killed to his knowledge.
Crime in the county was at an all-time high. Theft and violence were the only ways to survive for the half of the population that didn’t have the preparation or guile to make it on their own. Even the department had looted abandoned stores and property. Used to throwing all resources against murderers and rapists, now those things were considered personal matters to defend against. The most the deputies could do is take down reports, made days later, and pass the information on via courier to Todd Road. To the seasoned detectives and patrol cops, it was depressing to know the level of depravity and savagery going on out there with no ability to stem it.
“So what plan do you have?”
“Sir?”
“With a resourceful bunch like you out there, I’m sure you’ve thought of something.”
Sam saved the day. “Our options are rather limited. We know the vehicles that were stolen, so if we can find them, we can narrow down where and who the killers are. To do so, we will have to surveille targets of opportunity and recon the area. It’ll be mostly chance, but in expanding our patrols we can probably get a lead. I’d like to request that you put a BOLO out to Patrol.”
Villareal snickered. “Patrol? We have no Patrol Division anymore. We’re lucky to maintain order over the water distribution points and a few square miles here and there. The last patrol we sent out got ambushed and killed. We’re hunkering down right now. I’ve got couriers running around the county in plainclothes and that’s the best I can do just to get news back and forth.”
“How long is this hunkering down going to continue for?”
The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t know. Bottom line, too many people are still alive and fighting over scarce resources. Until we reach some sort of equilibrium, a man on a horse in a uniform is a target. People resent law and order because we can’t protect them and want to punish a man for stealing to feed his family. I never thought I’d see the day when stealing food from a starving family would be the mark of a good husband.” He shook his head. “The kind of iniquity society condones when it is on the ropes.”
Sibley thought of the story from the Bible where two women who had a dispute and went to the king of Israel. The first woman complained that they had agreed to kill and eat their babies. The first day, the first woman killed and cooked her child, and they ate him, but on the second day, the second woman had hidden her baby. Both of them strolled into court nonchalantly expecting the king to settle the dispute as if were any other legal matter.
“You’re free to find these guys on your own.”
“And when we do, sir?”
Villareal just shrugged.
On the ride back, Sibley was silent. Driving the horses at a slow gallop, there seemed to be a sort of determination in the way he held himself on the horse. Whatever he was thinking suited Sam. Samuel Church didn’t sign up to be a deputy because he needed a job. He saw the men in tan and green as modern knights, ready to do battle against evil and slay dragons. When 9/11 happened, Sam didn’t force his parents to sign the delayed enlistment paperwork because he couldn’t get into college. Marine or deputy, Sam was a true believer.
At dinner that night, everyone immediately knew something was up. Sam was wearing clean jeans and a collared shirt with buttons and Mika wore makeup. Going outside together after twilight under a rising full moon, without a rifle, sealed the deal. The two were now dating.
For a while they walked without saying anything.
“So why the change in heart?” Mika asked.
“As you get older and more mature you tend to get better at recognizing when you’re being a prick for no reason.”
“You’re honest. Do you actually like me?”
“That’s the problem. I do. I was so nasty to you in the beginning. And you just kept being nice, doing my laundry and whatnot. I kept telling myself the feelings I had were because you were the only single woman here. You see, I never wanted to be that guy. I hated the horndogs in the jail trying to bang every new female boot.”
“Well thanks for not being ‘that guy’, Sam. I had enough of that with my ex.”
“Douchebag. Don’t worry, if it hadn’t hit the fan, he’d be bait for IA in the long run.”
She laughed. “Did you know I had a date the night this happened?”
“I did not.”
“It was my second date with this doctor. She was going to take me out for sushi.”
“She?!”
Mika squeezed Sam’s arm. “Relax and don’t get excited, it’s not like that. I was so burnt out on men that I figured I’d try a woman. I was confused and desperate. Dating had gotten to be such trash.”
Sam agreed. It was all swipe, swipe, swipe. Casual sex got old quick. It must have been particularly rough on the female end to jade a heterosexual woman like Mika badly enough to drive her into another woman’s arms.
“We should have brought some wine out.”
Sam dug into a pocket and pulled out a flask. “Here.”
Mika took a drink. “Ugh, what is that?”
“Cherry moonshine.” Sam took a pull. “You don’t like it?”
“It tastes like cough syrup.”
At the end of their first loop, they sat on a rusty horse drawn tractor that served as a yard ornament. “So why’d you become a cop?” Sam asked.
“My dad was LAPD. He wanted a boy to follow in his footsteps, but all he had was a girl. He divorced my mom and moved to Idaho when he retired. Guess I’m still trying to impress him.” The liquor was having its effect and she cuddled up to Sam.
“How about you?”
“Our community resources officer came to my high school and gave a talk. There was just something so impressive and friendly about him. I thought, ‘I want to be like that guy’. Honest, hardworking, and so
mebody the community liked.”
“Do you think the community liked you?”
Sam laughed. “No way.”
“Miss it?”
He hugged her tight. “Everyday. It was the worst while my back healed. I refused medical retirement, even though that meant I had to quit.”
“Are we going to have a life after this?”
“Together, you mean?”
“I suppose if it works out between you and I, but what comes next when things settle down?”
“I’m game if you are.” He kissed her cheek. “We’ll probably each take over a nearby farm or ranch. Grow our own food and live a self-sustaining lifestyle. Kinda like Little House on the Prairie.”
Mika was a fan of the books as a girl. It seemed good enough to her. Sam would let her dream of the possibilities for the future while he dealt with the problems of the present.
Making a Case
Sam, David, Sean, and Mr. Sibley walked over to the Hidalgo ranch. The chief of security, a tall black man, as a novelty gave them all a ride up the hill on a large electric golf cart. Alex Hidalgo himself met them at the security bunker, a literal excavated hole in the hillside covered with dirt and sealed with a blast door. David noted the 90 degree turn in the entrance tunnel designed to stop gamma radiation in the event of nuclear fallout.
Inside, the bunker clearly had been well-protected from the effects of EMP. The TVs mounted on the walls above the map boards were dark, but several computer monitors were on. A man in his sixties sat behind a monitor wearing headphones. Radios and scanners were lined up in several banks. It was a multi-millionaire’s command center.
“Holy cow Alex, you put my little operation to shame,” Mr. Sibley complimented.
Sam saw a deployment board on the wall. The schedule showed 36 security team members. Hidalgo had hired his own private army. There had been no major attacks on the property, just small-time opportunistic produce theft. Getting past the low fields and up the hill towards the inner perimeter involved navigating a complex series of gates and confusing lanes. Word quickly spread not to mess with the big house on the hill guarded by well-trained professionals. Smart animals never tested a coiled rattlesnake.