Fire From The Sky | Book 8 | Hell Fire

by Reed, N. C.

  -

  Ronny Tillman killed the engine of his backhoe and stepped out onto the ground, brushing his pants off as he walked toward his brother-in-law.

  “That should about do it, you think?” he asked Clay.

  They had just finished the layout of their newest bunker, placed nearly directly across the road from gap between the two farm complexes. When finished it would be much larger than any of their current defensive positions, and contain much heavier firepower as well. Firepower that would include some very nasty surprises for someone like the group that had attacked Placerville.

  “Should do nicely I should think,” Clay replied with a slow nod. “I'd give a great deal right now for just one truck full of concrete, you know,” he added wistfully. “If we could form around this and use concrete for the floor and walls at least, that would add to the strength of it, don't you think?”

  “Well,” Ronny paused, considering the question. “Yes and no. I doubt we can find any actual concrete left, now, since a lot of it would be exposed to the elements. But you know that cement is made from limestone, right?”

  “It is?” Clay turned to look at Ronny.

  “It is,” Ronny nodded firmly. “The thing about cement is that it's better used as mortar or as one of the ingredients of concrete rather than wall material. If we used it, we'd essentially have to spread it against the wall just like mud and then let it dry. Truthfully, I've never done anything like that, so I'm guessing a little. But what I was going to say was that the way you've constructed the smaller foxholes or bunkers or whatever name you want to put on them, is honestly better, in my opinion.”

  “How so?” Clay asked.

  “Well, a log is an excellent bullet stopper if it's big enough,” Ronny shrugged. “I don't know what kind of fire you're anticipating this thing taking,” he nodded at the hole that would eventually be the bunker in question, “but unless it gets a direct hit with something heavy, then good, solid logs would stop pretty much anything that got thrown at them.”

  “The problem,” Ronny continued, “is that the logs won't seal up next to one another, which leaves gaps in them. Along the walls and floor that won't make much difference since they're actually in the dirt, which might be the best bullet stop ever. But on the roof, it will make a difference. On the small emplacements it doesn't matter, since they aren't manned around the clock, but this rig will be. I would suggest we gin up some cement using ground limestone and use that to seal the logs together. Then, once we're sure the roof will hold the weight, we cover it over with say two feet of packed dirt.”

  “With that done, we can start laying odd and end trees and such across it and alongside it, making it look like a dozer pile. Lord knows there's plenty of them around. One more won't attract any real attention. All we have to do is leave the firing lanes and the entrance clear. Throw some grass seed on the roof to hold the dirt in place and you've got a well-hidden spot of ground.”

  Clay looked at him for a few seconds, getting a mental picture of what Ronny had just described. Ronny took this to mean Clay was not happy with the idea.

  “Of course, what do I know,” Ronny said hesitantly.

  “What?” this jarred Clay out of his thinking. “No, man. It's a hell of an idea! I was just trying to picture it in my head, that's all. Can we do that? With the limestone I mean? With what we have here?”

  “We can,” Ronny assured him. “Plenty of limestone on the place along with a good bit of gravel in spots. We can mine the limestone, which essentially means just digging it up with the hoe, then crush it with the dozer. Mix a little water and gravel in there and slap it in place between the logs. It's actually fairly simple.”

  “It can't be that easy,” Clay objected.

  “I never said it was easy,” Ronny corrected. “I said it was simple. It's not complicated, but it is back breaking labor in some ways. Thankfully most of it can be done with machinery that we still have.”

  “How long do you think it will take?” Clay asked, turning back to the large hole in the ground.

  “For this big a project, I don't know,” Ronny admitted. “We'll have to see how quickly we can get things done. I was also going to suggest we use a couple of those railroad rails to reinforce the roof of this thing. If we do, and we make it strong enough, then we can cross the top with another layer of logs running the opposite direction. Even place a layer of dirt between them, if my idea with the rails will work. That would make this thing really stout. Your only real issue then would be that it will be cold as all hell in there in winter with the slits open, and hotter than the sun in the summer when those slits are all you have for ventilation. That ain't a problem in the others because we don't use them all the time, but you're planning on people being here around the clock, right?”

  “At least something like that,” Clay agreed. “We can't risk not being able to get here in time if we get attacked by someone with heavy vehicles and firepower. This bunker is going to be our equalizer. I hope,” he added softly.

  “Have you considered doing the same thing across the road?” Ronny asked. “Instead of here, I mean?”

  “Not really,” Clay admitted. “Most of our other positions are across the road already.”

  “True, but there are houses and other structures over there that we might hit by accident with something heavy fired from over here,” Ronny suggested. “My point, though, was that if you did this across the road, then you would be better able to make sure the post was manned even on short notice. The response unit could be there in less than a minute from where they are. See what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” Clay said slowly, mind running things over once more. “The reason I wanted it here was just because we needed to have coverage on this side of the road. If we leave a position like this empty and an enemy finds it, then they can use it against us. But we could always add another, smaller position on the hill, to help cover the cabins, and use your idea, all your ideas, on the ground near the equipment driveway on the Troy place. We couldn't use the brush pile disguise there, though,” he added thoughtfully.

  “No, but there's other ways to hide stuff,” Ronny shrugged a little. “Old farm equipment, old vehicles, hell even new vehicles now, since most of them don't work anymore. Most places like ours had equipment setting out front for sale before the lights went out. No reason to move it since, and in most cases no way to move it, either. Something like that would likely be ignored with no more than a cursory glance.”

  “So maybe just fill this hole back in, then, and move this operation across the road?” Clay asked, clearly favoring the idea.

  “Is there a good reason not to?” Ronny asked in lieu of answering. “I'm not a soldier, Clay. Is there some kind of military advantage to having this thing here as opposed to over there?” he nodded across the road.

  Clay took the time to consider that before answering.

  “I wanted to give us a way to have more than one lane of fire,” he said finally. “I also wanted something to draw fire away from our civilians. But considering what happened to Placerville, I don't think that's going to work, to be honest.” He paused, again considering the entire situation.

  “I think your idea is better than mine,” he said finally. “We can prepare another smaller position on the hill to help support the one already there and the tower, and put the bunker, this one,” he indicated the empty hole, “across the road. We can site it where it maybe won't draw as much fire toward the houses, but we've got emplacements near all of them anyway, so there's gonna be some fire incoming no matter what I do.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

  “Let’s do it your way,” he said, more firmly this time. “We can get Abby to fill this in so they can use it. Let’s go look at what we can make.”

  -

  There were more changes in store for the envisioned bunker.

  “In this heat?” Jake almost wailed. “And without Goodrum? No account bastard he may be, but he is strong as an ox. Or w
as.”

  “I know, and I'm sorry, but... this is something we need,” Clay tried to soothe his large friend. “You'll have every available able-bodied man other than two security teams who will stay here to guard the farm. Brick already said he'd be glad to go. And we'll juggle things around to give you the strongest of the teens, as well. Can't use the Webb boys since they're not one hundred percent yet, but Seth can go, and so can Goodrum's oldest son. We need this or I swear I wouldn't ask.”

  'This' was another run on the railroad rails at the battery plant spur line. A large one. After looking things over and talking some more about the shape, design and structure of the new bunker, both Clay and Ronny had come to the conclusion that using the rails on the ceiling instead of logs would greatly increase the bunker's strength. They would create the roof with the rails, cover them with a layer of logs, and then finally with dirt. Clay estimated it would take a direct hit by artillery fire to disable the emplacement.

  After deciding on that change, the two began to look at replacing the roofs on all of the smaller emplacements, and perhaps to using them to strengthen the shelters as well, though they were already dug very deep and reinforced in every way possible. That led to a discussion about lining the towers with pieces of rail, to help protect their sharpshooters.

  All of this 'discussion' led them to the realization that they would need a lot more of the rails than they had. And since the first loads had been intended to give them a decent supply of steel, no one wanted to cut into that if it could be avoided.

  Which led to the latest 'discussion' between Clay and Jake.

  “Dammit, Clay,” Jake's voice was somewhere between a whine and a growl. “You're just asking for someone to get snake bit or else die of heat stroke, here!”

  “You can take your time and make sure everyone drinks plenty of water,” Clay reasoned. “Tandi will be there to check everyone over, and he has a great deal of experience in working in hot conditions. We're looking at two, maybe three days at most and then it's done. We need enough to do this new bunker, then later on to cut into shorter sections for the smaller holes. Maybe to line the towers with if there's enough, we haven't decided for sure if they can take the weight. But the main thing is to harden the new bunker out front to draw and take any heavy fire from an attacker.”

  “And what if they come from behind us, or from the other way?” Jake demanded. “You think about that?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, for fu-, Pete's sake,” Jake caught himself, looking around for anyone he might have almost offended. “You didn't, did you?”

  Clay castigated himself quietly for having once again developed tunnel vision, a habit that could be deadly in their current situation. Not for the first time he was reminded of what the loss of John Barnes had meant to him, and was still meaning. Had Big John still been with him, he would never had allowed Clay to sink into that 'zone' where he only saw what was in front of him. Jose tried to do the same, but lacked John's experience, as did the others.

  Clay closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair for a few seconds.

  “Hey man, don't crap out on me, now,” Jake's voice had turned to concern. “I was just saying.”

  “You were saying right,” Clay opened his eyes once more. “And no, I hadn't. We have those areas covered with emplacements we can man in case of an attack, but we can't station people there all the time. We just don't have the manpower and it would be impractical during the winter, anyway. But it might be a good idea to have something similar up behind Leon's place. We added a position there after we were attacked from that direction, but it's just like the others. We do man the tower there around the clock just like we do the cupola down here.” Clay used his hands to scrub his face.

  He was tired. That's all it was, he promised himself. He was tired and that meant he was letting things slip past him that he normally caught. He would go home tonight and get a good night's sleep if there was any way possible. Tomorrow would be better.

  “We'll get it done,” Jake was saying when Clay tuned back in on his surroundings. “But I want Gordy and the rest of the ball players. All of them. You can juggle your teams around for that. We can make do with one security ride I should imagine, if you have to. I'll leave that for you guys to decide. We'll leave out at first light. We need it to be full light before we start so we can see.” The big mechanic got to his feet slowly, as if the weight of his task was keeping him down.

  “I'm sorry, Jake,” Clay said softly. “If we didn't need it so bad...”

  “Yeah, I know,” Jake waved off the apology as unnecessary. “I just don't want to go out into that shit again. You think them kids ordered any Deep Woods Off spray? Something to keep ticks and fleas and skeeters away?”

  “As a matter of fact, I think they did,” Clay mused. “Let’s go find out.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  It would take three brutal days of back breaking labor to secure enough rails to complete the work they were intended for, Jake had estimated. Three days of once again having far too many people off of the farm and leaving their defenses too thin. Three days of Clay constantly sweating as he helped walk patrols and ensure their safety while worrying all the while about the people he had ordered into the field.

  Cliff Laramie managed to get his hand trapped beneath one of the rails on the first day, pinned actually between two of the rails on the truck. Jake Sidell's massive strength was likely the only thing that kept the older man from losing his fingers, as Jake had grabbed the rail and simply tossed it away. As it was, Cliff was returned to the farm at once, where Jaylyn Thatcher found he had three broken fingers and a fractured capitate, which she explained was the center bone of the hand. Cliff would be unable to do a majority of the work he normally performed for the next six to eight weeks as his hand healed. The only fortunate thing other than the lack of complete amputation was that with his hand and fingers in a cast, he would still be able to drive. Lifting anything of consequence however, would be out of the question.

  On the second day, Gordy barely avoided being bitten by a copperhead snake, seeing it just before it struck and jumping out of the way. Mitchell Nolan had drawn a sawed-off .410 shotgun known as a Snake Charmer and killed the snake before it could strike again, and Seth Webb had immediately grabbed the dead snake and proceeded to skin it, slicing the head off and kicking it away to avoid being accidentally injected with venom.

  “What'd you do that for?” Mitchell had asked as he reloaded the shotgun.

  “Snake ain't dead till the sun sets on it,” multiple teen voices replied, shocking the older man.

  “Say what now?” Tandi Maseo asked, astonished.

  “A snake's venom is still deadly even if he's dead,” Gordy explained, still sweating his near miss. “Muscle contractions as the nerves die in the snake's body can still cause him to bite even if he's technically dead. So, you either hang the snake's body on a fence and wait, or else you cut the head off and get rid of it. No venom, no worries.”

  “Lotta people eat snakes, too,” Kade threw in as he and Titus used the crane to heft another rail onto the truck. “Gotta get the head off and the venom away from the snake meat before it spoils.”

  “Are you serious?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yeah, it ain't bad eating,” Zach Willis nodded. He and Corey Reynard were next in line to place a rail on the truck. “You know, tastes like chicken?” he chuckled.

  “I meant about the sun going down!” Mitchell specified. “I never heard that before.”

  “Just what we're taught,” Gordy shrugged. “Maybe just to make sure we leave 'em alone after someone kills them, I dunno. Still, lessons like that stay with you,” he finished as Seth stood, carrying the snake skin to the truck and laying it carefully across the transmission.

  “I don't want that thing near me!” Roddy Thatcher exclaimed.

  “It ain't the snake, just the hide,” Seth explained, cleaning his knife and putting it away. “I'll tan it for ya when we get the time
,” he told Gordy. “It's big enough to make a nice belt out of.”

  “Won't fit me,” Gordy shook his head, to which Seth smirked at him.

  “Wasn't thinking about you, man,” he winked. Gordy took a minute to catch of before smiling broadly.

  “Yeah. Thanks man.”

  “You bet!”

  -

  While Mitchell and Tandi were receiving a lesson that most all southern children learned early in life concerning snakes, Shane Golden was eating his lunch beside Kandi Ledford, who was helping with the security detail while so many were off the farm.

  “Nothing like country living,” Shane said tiredly as he plopped down on the ground next to her. She had spread a blanket on the ground beneath the larger shade trees around the Sanders' homes. There was a minute breeze blowing that, working with the shade, made it almost comfortable. Both had stripped their gear down to tee-shirts to try and cool off, but it only helped so much.

  “Nothing at all,” Kandi sighed, handing him a sandwich she had procured from the Troy House kitchen. There was a large water jug between them with ice water.

  “Times like this I miss a nice, cold, Coke,” Shane mourned. “One where the ice forms when you open it.”

  “Oh, why did you have to say that,” Kandi almost moaned. “Now I want one, too.”

  “Sorry,” Shane grinned at her. “Other than that machine the kid uses once in a while, I'd say the days of Coke and Roses are over,” he joked.

  “You're so funny,” she raised an eyebrow at him. “But you are right, I'm afraid. Things can only get worse from here. Well, by worse I mean more difficult. You know,” she settled for waving a hand to get her point across.

  “I know,” he nodded, sitting with his legs up, arms braced on his knees. “We'll gradually lose most of the conveniences we still have, as well as things like prepared foods. From harvest forward I'd say, we won't be eating anything we haven't grown ourselves.”

  “I underestimated how much beef we need to survive like this, too,” she nodded slowly as she chewed. “We don't have many pigs, yet. And most of the wild game was driven away by the fire they had before we arrived. The Sanders have a lot of cattle, but we're going to go through them a lot faster than I had imagined. I'm sure they've thought of that, but I hadn't.”