Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 27
“Alright,” Charlie agreed. “Wayne, go check on Josh.” Wayne took off while Phil radioed Josh to let him know he was getting a visitor.
“So, while we’re alone, brother, let me ask you something,” Phil said.
“Shoot.”
“Why was this effin’ pervert chipped…” He paused for emphasis on that word, “and released this morning?” Phil could feel his anger building. “There are girl’s panties in there that don’t belong to Savannah!”
“Phil, I get it. It’s bad—”
“Darn tootin’ it’s bad,” Phil said cutting his friend off.
Charlie put his hands up at chest height to diffuse Phil’s emotion. “Look, we don’t make policy decisions down here in the trenches. What I mean is, it’s bad. Things right now are not good, and they’re only gonna get worse. The county can’t feed the inmates. There’s no choice.”
“No choice!” Phil was incredulous. “There’s always a choice when it comes to sexual predators!”
“Phil, it is what it is. There’s no changing it. I don’t know what you want to hear, but I’m giving you the truth out of respect.”
Eli, Savannah, and Jeff approached at this point, sensing that the conversation was a bit strained. “Hey,” Eli said on behalf of the group. Savannah went right past Charlie and to her Paw-paw’s legs.
“Hey, Savannah,” Charlie said, squatting to let her look eye to eye with him. “Remember me? We met at your grandpa’s last year, at a bar-b-que. Also, my kids are Charles Jr. and Kiersten. They live at the range with you, now.”
She nodded. Everyone could tell she was just ready to get home, find her mama, and get some sleep.
“Good,” Charlie continued. “Say, in just a little while, a lady deputy—dressed in the same uniform as me—will come by to talk to your mom. She may ask you some questions, too. Is that okay?”
“Y-yeah-h,” she mumbled, nodding her head.
Charlie looked at Eli. “Why don’t you all go wait by Deputy Luzon’s car?”
Eli took the hint and shepherded Savannah and Jeff in that direction. Charlie started for the house, dodging piles of trash on the front porch as he walked. Phil followed him.
Wayne had Harry untied from the chair and was frisking him. Charlie saw the piles of paracord around the chair and shot Phil a scowl.
Don’t judge me, friend, Phil shot back with his own look. It wasn’t your grandkid.
“The other two?” Charlie asked.
“Down in the last bedroom,” Josh answered.
Charlie gave Josh a once over as he passed him, heading to the back room to evaluate the situation fully. Phil could hear them both start to bark about assault and lawyers. Charlie was back in the kitchen in less than a minute. He instructed Wayne and Josh to sit tight and watch everyone, and then he gave Phil a nod to follow him back outside.
Back out in the yard, he broke it down to his friend. “Look. The reality is…I’m supposed to confiscate your guns.”
The air between them suddenly became still. Phil’s eyes locked on his friends as his mind began to race. Ironic. This is the one man in the world I honestly owe my life to. “Well, that’s certainly interesting,” he said slowly and purposefully. Did it suddenly get hot out here?
“Phil…it’s me.” Charlie scanned his friend’s face. “I got your back on this. I just thought you should know. We’ve been ordered to collect all weaponry from any incident involving violence.”
Phil let out a breath. “Yeah, well…if there had been violence—other than the kidnapping of my granddaughter—you’d have never been called.”
Charlie sighed. “I get it. All I ask is that you think of the pickle that the cops and the government are in. Entire neighborhoods are setting up armed check points, for Pete’s sake! The county is doing their best to get a grip on a deteriorating situation.”
“I do, Charlie. Look, I owe you a debt I can never repay. But I need you to remember why I was lying there bleeding in the first place. I know exactly what you guys put on the line every day. All I ask in return is for the cops to remember who’s on their side—who’s using guns to guard their families while they’re at work,” Phil reminded him.
The two friends were at an impasse, each wondering where this path would lead them.
Carmen Martinez didn’t notice the beauty of the mansion. She didn’t notice the polished marble counters or the art or the expensive furniture. She didn’t look out the windows and see the beautifully manicured lawns. She didn’t notice that the marine layer had burnt through, revealing a blue sky, autumn morning—the kind they put on postcards—if just for a little while. She was still in a daze of shock and anger. She was only following Stu’s voice prompts because the prior week and a half had felt like a lifetime and every person before Stu felt like a distant dream. His was the one voice she could trust.
Stu brought her into the breakfast nook and instructed her to sit. He had found some bottled water and canned goods and set them out for her. I’m not hungry, she told herself at the same moment she was gulping down two bottles of water. Thirst was a more primal pang—it couldn’t be pushed to the back of the mind like hunger could. Stu had wandered off to continue the search for clothing and equipment. Carmen could hear knocking on the front door, though she wasn’t really listening.
She sat there in her shocked stupor, listening to the pounding increase. Is someone yelling? Who cares, she scolded herself. The whole world could go screw itself. Nothing matters anymore.
Stu came flying back down the stairs with an armload of clothing. He glanced through the doorway to make sure she was still there and then went to the front door. “Yes?” he asked through the door.
“Oscar?” he heard. “You’re not Oscar! Who is this? Open up!”
Stu looked through the peephole and saw a nicely dressed, retiree aged man with a full head of neatly groomed white hair. He couldn’t see the man’s hands. “Okay,” he hollered through the door. He placed his foot behind the door near the opening side about two inches and shifted his stance so there was quite a bit of weight on it. He opened the door to his foot and peeked out the gap as best as he could.
“Who’s in there?” the man demanded. “I saw your boat! I’m going to get someone!” He started to back away.
“Wait. Doctor! I’m a doctor. Name’s Dr. Schwartz!” Stu opened the door far enough to prop his face out. He hoped that two weeks of facial hair hadn’t yet damaged his appearance.
The man looked back. “Where’s the Nelsons?” He looked like he was ready to square up and throw down, old school.
Stu opened the door enough to step out with his hands raised. “There was an incident…” He didn’t know where to begin. “The homeowners are dead, and so are the animals that killed them.”
The old man stared, disbelieving. “No. No, that isn’t right. I just talked to Oscar last night.” He was clearly pondering what Stu was saying. “Wait. Doctor?” He stared at Stu for a moment. “Just what is going on here?”
“My friend and I were abducted and…brutalized. We were tied up on the boat. I managed to escape. In the middle of the night, I was able to sneak in and…stop them. But…too late to help your friends…I’m sorry.” Phil had put his hands down by then, not too worried about the man. The visitor’s demeanor had slumped with the shock of the news.
The man said he was the Nelsons’ neighbor and had come by to check on them when he saw the boat, particularly after Oscar had failed to show up for a daily community meeting that morning. At the neighbor’s insistence, Stu let him in to see the situation for himself. The man was already shocked by the events, but he paled when he saw the manner in which the two criminals had perished. When he met Carmen, he could tell that by the swelling and bruises on her face that Stu’s story was true. He didn’t press her for conversation.
The old man was at a loss for what to do. Stu reminded him that he and Carmen were victims, too, and they needed some time to themselves to recover. He asked that the man give them a day to clean up before he told anyone. The neighbor mulled that over for a bit. In exchange, Stu explained, he would write a letter detailing everything and providing his contact information. He would even leave one of his business cards.
“Look—we’re in a pinch,” Stu said as the man was preparing to depart. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding opportunistic, but—Oscar isn’t going to be needing some of his clothes anymore…”
“True,” the man said, nodding.
“Or…a few pieces of gear. Like, his camping stuff, some food, or…his car.”
“No, no, no—clothes and gear are one thing. His car? No way!”
Stu thought for a minute. “Okay, tell me this. Where are we, exactly?”
The man was dumbfounded. “F-Fox Island,” he stammered, not believing that Stu didn’t know.
“Island?” Stu repeated. “Please tell me there’s a bridge.”
“There is, which we’ve set up a guard station on.”
Stu saw the lightbulb come on for the man. The people on this island had been smugly sure that they were secure. The neighbor was looking out the window toward the boat on the pier. He was figuring out that islands and mansions were no guarantee of safety. “You’ll have to pass through them to get off the island.”
“How about a counter offer, then? Maybe you can give us a ride off the island, maybe even to Gig Harbor.”
The old man was sullen, reality slowly sinking in. He had to tell his peers what was happening. “Here’s the scoop,” he said. “I’m going to report all of this, but I’ll explain everything to the rest of the neighborhood and keep them out of here for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll give you two a ride off the island. But I’m definitely not taking you all the way to Gig Harbor! The world has changed. I’m too old to risk my life for strangers.”
The ferry was packed tightly with bodies, bicycles, and backpacks. There had been two successful runs the day before, and Talia and Tasha’s class had been given spots on the day two runs. The ferry system was limited in capacity by only having one usable slip in each city—Seattle and Bartlett. Other limits included limited fuel and crew resources. The stated objective was to get people back to their families with the ulterior motive of hoping that those families would feed them.
Tony couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The day was quite clear, and the shorelines on both sides of the passage into Simpson Inlet were dotted with seagulls. There must be thousands, Tony thought. Dozens of thousands. Where’d they all come from? The seagulls were feasting on the crabs that were feasting on the countless bloated bodies that had washed up on shore. They were hard to see in all the tree- and house-rubble that made the shoreline look like a wasteland. He’d been able to take a better look at Russell Island—he was in awe at the sheer volume of the landslide that had disappeared into the Sound.
Marine hazards were still a valid threat to the ferries. The usual fifty-five-minute run now took over two hours. When they got to the approach lane to the terminal in Bartlett, Tony couldn’t believe his eyes. He was looking at a ferry and pier debris that had been pushed up onto the shore to the north. After the ferry turned to approach the slip from the south, he heard a commotion on the port side of the ship and decided to investigate. “Follow me, girls.” The twins were never more than five feet away.
Ho-Ly crap… Tony couldn’t believe his eyes. The stoic Hammerhead crane was tipped over, standing out of the water like a giant green robot that had been beaten in combat by a giant green lizard. People were gawking and whispering. Some were even quietly crying to themselves. The thought that the “indestructible” had been destroyed made them feel vulnerable.
After the ship tied up, the Manners family joined the pack of people slowly moving off like herded sheep. As they started to leave the confines of the ferry terminal, the pack split apart. Look at all the trash. He saw tarps and plywood over business windows. Garbage was collecting in the gutters and piling up on the sidewalks. There was a weird smell, too—a combination of body odor, human waste, and decay.
“Dad. How are we gonna get home?” Talia asked.
“Still workin’ on that, baby girl,” he said. “Just stay close.” He looked for where the foot ferry to Port View used to launch from. The entire marina—not just that pier—was now obliterated. The only remnants were some of the old creosote pilings sticking out of the water at odd angles. On the sidewalk someone had spray painted a message on a big piece of plywood—“Foot Ferry @Fountain Park, 1 Qt. Per” Fountain Park is just over there near the shipyard. Tony led his daughters to it.
He found a large group of people waiting. At most everyone’s feet were some form of backpack, cart, or luggage. Tony scanned the crowd and soon realized that everyone had a container, too. Several of them were gas cans.
“What’s the deal here?” he asked someone on the edge of the crowd. He noticed that just talking to the man had made the multitude of people behind that person perk up.
“Back of the line!” he heard someone yell from afar. There were several more similar chants about no cutting.
“Need a quart of gas or diesel to catch the ferry. First come, first served,” the man said.
“How often?” Tony asked.
“They’re runnin’ about three per day. They fill up really full before they leave.”
“Thanks,” Tony mumbled and led his daughters several feet away. He was worried that they might get something thrown at them if they stood there too long.
“How are we gonna find gas, Daddy?” Tasha asked.
“I don’t know, Tash’,” Tony said, staring at the crowd. “I don’t know…”
25
“The difference between the difficult and the impossible
is that the impossible takes a little longer time.” – Lady Aberdeen
Tahoma’s Hammer + 12 Days.
“Look, man—I got my daughters here. It’s all on the up and up.” Tony was bargaining hard, trying to get a guy with a large supply of gas to trade him for jugs of water.
“Dude, I don’t know where you been,” the opportunist said, “but possession is nine-tenths and what not. I don’t know you. You could be makin’ this bull up.”
The man had apparently stolen some gas and set up a quick business selling to people desperate to take the small private ferry to Port View. Tony knew the gas was stolen, and he didn’t care. “Look!” he demanded, pulling out a stack of business cards. “See? I’m a delivery and sales rep! See? Tony Manners. It’s like a thirty-minute walk from the ferry once we’re over there.” He showed the matching name on his driver’s license.
“Let’s say this is legit,” the man said. “You’re over here, the gas is over here…the water…” He looked across the inlet hoping the obvious didn’t have to be stated.
“Then your two trip fees are covered. Let’s cut a deal, man. C’mon!” Tony was starting to convince the man. “Surely we can figure out a rate. How about five gallons of water?”
“Five!” the man repeated, insulted. “Dude, I was thinking like, twenty!”
“Hmmpph—you funny,” Tony laughed. “We both know that you’ll be siphoning gas a Hella lot longer than fresh water’ll be around.” Tony paused for a second. “Ten. Do you really think I’d show you where my daughters live if it wasn’t legit?” Tony’s serious face convinced the man.
“Aright, dude. But I need to bring a friend and a cart to help carry, which is two more tickets. Fifteen.” The two traders stared at each other.
I wonder if this is how it’ll always be from now on, Tony thought. “Deal.”
They spent the next five hours in line, waiting. Tony’s daughters had grilled him about the danger of letting this man know where they live.
“Don’t worry, girls,” he said calmly. “We won’t be there very long.”
“Good to see you up and about, Don,” Phil said, yawning. Don had pretty much recovered from a mild concussion. It was late afternoon, and Phil was still groggy from the almost three-hour nap, which had felt like four minutes. He was moving around the office on his crutches and occasionally sipping on some instant coffee. We’re going to need to score some more java, soon, Phil thought. The apocalypse starts when that runs out. It still felt like the day the kidnapping-ordeal had all started, which was two afternoons earlier. “That is quite the family your daughter married into.”
“Heh, thanks. Yep, Eli has always been a good man—never had to worry about him doing anything to hurt Alana or the kids. I don’t know his brother too well, but he’s a vet. He’s had a couple of bad divorces, but he saw some action, so I take that into account.”
“Yeah, well, he’s earned my trust. Josh is solid—a real asset.” Phil turned his attention to the others in the office. He’d called all four of the other officers or trustees who’d made it to the range for a small meeting. In addition to himself and Don that included Fred, Alice Huddlesten, and Jose “Joe” Santillan, the club’s secretary. There were some concerning issues to discuss before he called for an all-residents meeting the following morning. He started with a recap of the entire operation to rescue Savannah, which took most of an hour. His coffee had grown cold before he could finish drinking it.
“The lesson I took from Charlie is this—we’re on our own. It wasn’t what he intended to relay, but it was the truth behind the facts. Charlie and I even had a bit of a…moment of friction, we’ll call it—regarding this whole chipping and gun confiscation thing.”
“Did you remind him our guns are protecting his wife and kids?” Joe snapped.
“I sure did. But I really didn’t have to. He knows,” Phil summed up.
“Where does that leave us?” Alice asked worriedly. “Are we not supposed to defend ourselves?”
“No, I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Phil replied slowly. “But if we have to shoot anyone, we may find ourselves in a new pickle when the sheriffs show up. Deterrence is the key. We just need to be sure we know what we’re doing. I mean—the guys at the front gate were swapping war stories the day the group that snagged Savannah walked by.” He let them mull that over for a second. “We need to let everyone know how things are now. This isn’t camping. This is serious business. People out there—right now—are planning and plotting on how they’re going to come in here and take our stuff. Including our children,” he added for effect. “If we deter well enough, we may be able to postpone any attacks until the authorities have changed their minds about armed citizenry.”
