Fire From The Sky | Book 9 | Brimstone

by Reed, N. C.

  “It hasn't.”

  -

  “. . .and here we are,” Clay finished, having given an abbreviated version of their story to date, beginning with their plans to prepare for a disaster, leaving aside The Warning, at least for now.

  “You have had it rough,” Adcock replied, sipping at a cup of delicious coffee. “I have to admit that the cannibalism issue isn't unique to your position here, either,” he sighed.

  “I figured as much,” Clay nodded slowly. “Feared as much, I should say.”

  “How bad has it been?” Gordon asked. After introductions he had been content to sit with Angela and listen as Clay spoke. Now, he wanted to ask questions of his own.

  “Depends on where you're talking about, and what your definition of bad is, Mister Sanders,” Adcock replied. “In some areas similar to yours, it's been non-existent. People with means and know-how,” he motioned to Gordon at that, “have kept themselves and those around them fed. Mostly large operations such as yours that have opened their land to others in a trade. Labor, in exchange for food and shelter. For most, it's worked fine. Not always, but usually. I will say that it appears you have done as well or better as any of them,” he added politely.

  “We ain't always done so well,” Gordon sighed. “My father tried to gather like-minded folks after the lights went out, and we started out strong enough, but gradually things started to fall apart and unravel. We survived two large splits, but it hurt. I think, or at least I'd like to think, we've pretty much recovered, but it was costly.”

  “I'm afraid that's the story of the day, sir,” Adcock was nodding slowly. “When the lights went out, we had had two days warning from sources in the Pentagon. I say 'sources', because as far as I know, there was no official word until just before the radio and television reports that set everyone in a panic.” He shifted in his chair to get more comfortable.

  “We had assembled some units already, under the guise of an emergency preparedness exercise, but without the Governor's declaration, we couldn't have a general recall. The official word was that we were trying to avoid a mass panic. Worked out very well, as you can imagine,” he snorted at the idea.

  “By the time the Governor's office made the declaration, it was too late,” the Captain admitted. “We managed to save some equipment. The helos, at least some of them, were stripped of their most delicate instruments, but there wasn't enough time to get them all. Most of the Air Guard's planes were too large to fit into hangars, though I do understand that they managed to preserve two transport planes and one refueling craft. The transport planes were in Memphis and the tanker was in Knoxville.”

  “Were?” Clay asked, leaning forward.

  “Last I heard, all military air assets possible were taken to Arnold Air Base, near Tullahoma,” Adcock informed him. “It's rural there, of course I don't have to tell you that, and easier to secure. In addition, the Reaper units stationed in Nashville were able to save most of their drones, and Arnold has the equipment to operate them. It was all that could be saved due to a lack of personnel,” he shrugged helplessly. “If we could have activated at the two-day warning, we could possibly have saved it all,” he added bitterly.

  “Politics is like that, son,” Gordon commiserated. “Go on.”

  “Well, we had loaded a convoy from the main supply depot and started toward Arnold, but were diverted at the last minute to a state forest and park area. There were a few structures there we could make use of and plenty of water and area for camps. We established there and began stripping the vehicles of systems that we feared might not survive the blast, and we were waiting when the light show started.” He paused again, frowning.

  “At first, everything was disorganized,” he continued after a few seconds. “There was little communications, and not much in the way of remaining SOP. The plans we had weren't followed at first because we didn't have the manpower to call on, and then, when the call up went out, it was far too late for most of it to be implemented. I... we, those of us in the initial bail out, that is, we made two runs into supply areas with the working trucks and other vehicles we had in the days immediately following the storm. We gathered equipment and munitions that were available and grabbed every MRE and crew meal we could find, along with water purification and medical gear.”

  “It seemed like a lot at the time,” he grinned sadly. “But in reality, it was just a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to what we needed. Even though it was all we could do at the time, looking back it seems like we didn't do nearly enough.”

  “Anyway,” he shook off the self-recrimination, “we began assisting where we could, but in all honesty, there wasn't much we could do at that point. We didn't have the gear or the people to help. People wasted so much at the beginning, right at the start of winter, as if the problem was just temporary and would go away soon,” his head was shaking sadly. “It took, maybe. . .two months, generally, for people to become desperate. Right around and after Christmas, I guess,” he glanced at Flores, who nodded.

  “We got word from Nashville of a riot,” she said quietly. “Not just a disturbance, mind. There had been plenty of those in the days after the lights went out. This was different. It apparently started small, according to the reports we got from people still in the city. But it grew quickly, and then became violent. Buildings burned, people dragged from homes and stores and killed for 'hoarding', things like that on a mass scale that had so far been avoided.”

  “It was the food shortage,” Adcock agreed. “So long as there was food, and everyone was separated, things were at least survivable, if you were careful. Once the food was gone, that was it. Even the people who had up until then been peaceful, came out in force.”

  “It was a slaughter,” Flores looked almost sick. “Anyone with a scrap of food was a hoarder, and had to pay for inflicting pain on the others. Any kind of justification for what they were doing. I doubt America has ever seen anything like it.”

  “No, I'd say not,” Gordon said sadly. Angela reached out carefully and patted the younger woman's hand. The young solider grasped her hand and squeezed gently, smiling ever so slightly in thanks.

  “Wasn't just Nashville,” Adcock took the narrative back. “All the major cities had something similar, and so did several of the smaller ones. And it wasn't just Tennessee, either, of course. The last word that I heard from Pentagon sources before they went quiet was that riots of some kind were prevalent in almost every city, everywhere. Again, once the food ran out. That was the trigger.”

  “We saw something similar here,” Gordon nodded. “People had the misconception that since farmers grow food, they always have food. With all the extra mouths to feed here, we barely made it through the winter. No one who hadn't lived this life could understand why we didn't have any food to give them,” he shrugged.

  “It was the same in several other places,” Adcock assured him. “As I said, some met that demand by swapping food and shelter for labor to replace machines that no longer operated. Others were just bowled over, and then blamed when what little they did have ran out again.”

  “They were often accused of hiding the food, and killed on that pretense,” Flores noted. Before she could say more, Maxwell interrupted them coming in from the outside.

  “Sir, the men have finished eating,” he announced.

  “Return to the assembly point and allow the next group to come down, Top,” Adcock ordered. “Lieutenant, you should see to that,” he added.

  “Sir,” Flores stood, wiping her hands and mouth on her napkin. “Mister and Mrs. Sanders, allow me to extend my personal thanks for a lovely meal,” she smiled brightly at the older couple. “I sincerely appreciate your hospitality.”

  “You're welcome, dear,” Angela answered for both of them.

  “I'll be back shortly with the second group, sir,” Flores then turned to Adcock. “With your permission?”

  “Carry on, Lieutenant,” Adcock nodded, pleased so far with Flores' performance. Once she w
as gone, he turned back to his hosts.

  “She's come a long way since all this started,” he said frankly. “When we first assembled, she was as timid as bunny rabbit, not accustomed to giving orders to combat soldiers in the field, and thus unsure of herself. The last few months have seen her break out of that shell and begin the transformation into a real line officer. I'm rather proud of her development, to be honest.”

  “She seems competent,” Clay agreed. “Smart, as well.”

  “She is,” Adcock nodded. “Very smart. If things hadn't fallen like they had, she would have had a good career ahead of her. Now? Now we're just fighting to preserve a little piece of what we once had.” He paused for a minute, leaning forward to brace himself on the table.

  “Changing the subject for just a minute, do you have working radio equipment?”

  “Some,” Clay nodded slowly. “We're limited in range with our ability to transmit, but we can receive okay. There's not much to listen to, though,” he shrugged.

  “We typically had operated without using what little we have in way of equipment,” Adcock stated. “But there have been. . .some disturbing messages being intercepted on certain wave lengths we can monitor. Very disturbing.”

  “Let me guess,” Clay snorted. “The Worthy?”

  “So, you have heard him? Them?” Adcock looked at him.

  “Oh, yes,” Clay confirmed. “We have. Some wild stuff, really. We've wondered if it's just one guy somewhere with a working transmitter who's bored, of if it's an actual group of some kind. We've had our own problems with other groups, so we know it's not impossible.”

  “No, it's not impossible,” the Captain assured him. “We have had word, through word of mouth, actually, that the group, or at least a group using the Worthy title, has been making their way through the area south of us. Sending in 'prophets', who 'preach' to the masses, while what they're really doing is spying. Reporting back to this Worthy fellow about usable stores and people who can be added to their number or need to be cleansed. None of which I care for the sound of, to be honest.”

  “We've heard part of that,” Clay agreed. “About the purifying part, anyway. Threats of an unspecified nature, doom and devastation to all those who refuse to surrender to the will of God, who has struck us down in His displeasure, and so forth and so on.”

  “You've definitely heard him,” Adcock chuckled. “We ignored it at first, thinking along one of the lines you mentioned before. Man with a transmitter, a little loony, spending his free time preaching to whoever could hear him. But the stories we're getting are hard to ignore, to be honest. We've tried to track in on it, but the best we've been able to determine is that he's somewhere southeast of us, probably around Atlanta, somewhere. Everything that has happened that we can pinpoint, seems to center on Atlanta.”

  “That's what we worked out, too,” Clay decided to offer. “We don't have any reports or anything, but we did do a very rudimentary DF on his transmission. We figured within a few degrees of accuracy that Atlanta was the likely spot for him. At least, somewhere in that area.”

  “We haven't had any word from Atlanta at all,” Adcock informed them. “And that is troublesome, since Atlanta is one of those hubs that is supposed to have at least some measure of protection, with installations there that are equipped to handle even this kind of disaster. We should have heard something from somewhere down there. The CDC if no one else.”

  “I'd rather not think of the things that the CDC might hold, in the hands of a lunatic like that,” Gordon said gently. “It's bad enough what he's doing by just talking.”

  “I agree,” Adcock replied. “The CDC is supposed to be protected against anything such as that,” he added. “There is a fail-safe there, I learned in school, that is designed to basically erase the Center and anything and everything stored there. Something between a MOAB and a nuke,” he told Clay in particular.

  “An FAE,” Clay said without thinking. “Pump it through the ventilation shafts and flood the entire place, then light it up.”

  “Yes,” Adcock was nodding. “That is my understanding.”

  “What is a Moab?” Gordon asked. “I have to assume we aren't talking about the Moab nation in the Old Testament,” he added with a snort.

  “In slang, it's 'Mother of All Bombs',” Clay chuckled darkly. “Officially, it's 'Massive Ordnance Air Blast', though it's also been called 'Massive Overpressure Air-delivered Bomb', or something similar to that anyway,” he shrugged.

  “An FAE,” Adcock stated, “is a Fuel-Air Explosive. Essentially, pressurized or atomized flammable liquid that is dispersed under pressure and then ignited. A very devastating weapon, though not nearly so large. But if used as your son mentioned, it's not so much a bomb but an actual delivery system. If their fail-safe unit is such a weapon, it would basically flood the entire place with pressurized explosive vapor, which, when ignited, would literally blow the complex to atoms. Nothing they store in their vaults for study could survive.”

  “In theory,” Clay added, and Adcock nodded.

  “In theory,” he agreed.

  “Good Lord,” Angela was shaking her head as she got to her feet. “How many ways does man have of killing each other?” She began gathering plates, having heard more than enough.

  “Too many, I'm afraid, Mrs. Sanders,” Adcock stood, handing her his plate. “Thank you, Ma'am, for your hospitality this evening. We are indeed indebted to you.”

  “I'd say it's the least we can do,” Angela smiled weakly. “Stay safe, young man,” she added as she departed. “Visit us again when you can.”

  “Thank you, Ma'am,” he bowed slightly, resuming his seat after she had gone.

  “You're very well mannered, son,” Gordon complimented.

  “Thank you, Mister Sanders,” Adcock replied. “I appreciate that. I have to thank my late mother for it. She ingrained politeness into me from the time I was a small boy.”

  “I'm sorry she'd no longer with you,” Gordon offered.

  “She had a heart attack while I was deployed in the field in Afghanistan,” Adcock sighed softly. “I wasn't aware until three days after her funeral. It took that long to find me in the desert. Caused a riff between my two sisters and myself that never healed.” He sat up sharply, as if suddenly aware of what he had said.

  “Back to our mutual acquaintance,” he told Clay. “My group is essentially a scout troop, looking for signs that our Worthy friend is encroaching into our area. If he truly does have 'armies', whether of God or anyone else, then we need to know where they are, and if they are a threat to us.”

  “Agreed,” Clay nodded slowly. “I have to say, though, from listening to those insane rants of his, if they do have an army, or 'armies', then they're definitely a threat. To someone at least.”

  “That kind of ideology is dangerous from either end of the spectrum,” Adcock agreed. “On that score, have you heard of anything in the immediate area that might indicate we've had a visit from his minions?”

  “We don't get much information on the local front, to be honest,” Clay replied. “We've had our hands full here at home, and haven't tried to visit anywhere else. We've been to Jordan, the little town you were looking for, of course. Helped them get on their feet in fact, and arm their citizens with arms and ammunition we took from people trying to attack us. Helped them train constables to try and keep the peace. That sort of thing.”

  “Other than that, we've been to Peabody twice, both times on rescue missions to reclaim people taken prisoner for nefarious reasons. First was a crooked cop who had a tiny little criminal empire running there, and second was some kind of militant wannabes who were gathering women and children as trade items. Some stayed here with us while the rest went to Jordan.”

  “Tell me about these militants, if you don't mind,” Adcock leaned forward, arms on the table.

  “Didn't get their names,” Clay admitted. “They pulled up here pretty much like you did, except they got out spouting a bullshit line abo
ut being under orders to seize food and firearms and expected our cooperation. Pretty much a line right out of a bad end times movie,” he snorted, though not in humor.

  “Where did they go?” Adcock asked, frowning.

  “They're fertilizing my eastern fence line,” Clay didn't bother to lie. “We lost one of our best kids to them, and had another half-dozen wounded, but we reduced their number, save for sixteen men left in Peabody. That night, against my orders, four of my men slipped into town, killed the rest, and brought the majority of the people they found in cages back here.”

  “The other major trouble was with a so-called 'militia' group from outside of Huntsville,” Clay continued when Adcock didn't comment. “A large group of survivalists, they had quite the set-up, but burned through their stores like things would be okay in a few weeks. Once they ran low of food, they began raiding the surrounding countryside. Eventually they headed this way and attacked Jordan. While Jordan was defending against them, we came up from behind and helped reduce them. After that, we found out where their compound was, and my group joined with a few hearty souls from town took that compound and cleaned it out. Went a long way toward equipping the town with weapons, ammo, gear and even some solar panels and a generator. That and several working vehicles and a good store of fuel, though when I say good store, think of it as a country store gas station. A little of this and a little of that. Jordan had some fuel, of course, in their own version of small-town filling stations, but what they picked up did help.”

  “Is that all?” Adcock asked, sitting back again, his face showing his interest.

  “Well, the trouble with the cop and his 'posse', of course,” Clay shrugged. “And then my dad's friend with his Committee for Reconstruction,” he dug at Gordon a bit.

  “That man was never my friend, Clayton Sanders,” Gordon raised an eyebrow, but acknowledged the dig for what it was. A joke.

  “Sounds like you've had plenty of difficulty for someone trying to keep their heads down,” Adcock noted.