Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 50
“Go on,” Erin urged as she sipped some coffee.
A test…MMM-kayyy…”Coffee to spare. I’m betting that won’t run out for months. Maybe years. Those barricades were already out here, somewhere...” He looked at Conner. What am I missing?
“You didn’t just know we were coming,” his bestie took over. “You knew we were worthy of a sit-down. That means you’ve been reconning our side of the river.” He nodded his head towards the door. “The junior high kid outside is strapped. That means you all are not only highly trained, but your kids are, too. And, everyone trusts each other’s kids to have firearms. You aren’t just neighbors. You’re family. Some of you anyhow.”
Vince chuckled. “Just cuz I’m Hispanic doesn’t mean I can’t be part of the family!”
The usually flippant Conner was caught off-guard. “I—I…wasn’t—I’m not…”
“Relax, Con-Man, he’s screwing with you,” Earl said, taking his brother off the hook. Everyone but Conner and Lacey were laughing. “I’m guessing you were a Joe, too,” he said to Vince.
“That was long ago. I was a Huey ‘Slick’ crew chief. Took that trainin’ and became a full-fledged helicopter mechanic.”
“HUA,” Earl said with the familiar Army groan. “We gettin’ warm?” he asked Erin.
“Baby!” Erin exclaimed, who was probably in her mid-fifties. “You guys are on fire! You Army, too?” she asked Conner.
“75th Rangers. Vet, not retired. I’ve been an equipment operator for several years.”
“What brought you guys across the bridge?” Vince queried.
“Well…unlike you all, the south side of the river is occupied by well-meaning but ill-trained folks,” Earl explained. “We have a basic check-point set up. Conner and I decided to see where this road went.” He looked back and forth at all three of his hosts. “I guess our northern flank is secure.” This elicited a small chuckle from Erin and Vince. Earl looked at Lacey. “I noticed you don’t say much.”
“I speak when I got something to say.” The look on the young woman’s face was set in stone.
Got ya, Earl said with his look. “Roger that.” To Erin, “We’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for the cuppa joe. Doubt you all need anything from us, but…maybe we should set up some sort of comms strategy to alert each other…”
“You said what I was thinkin’, Earl,” Erin agreed. The group as a whole went outside and prepared to separate. Lacey loaded the cart and started heading east. Erin turned back to Conner and Earl. “My daughter’s been through a real rough patch.”
So has mine. “No explanation needed,” Earl assured her before changing the topic. “Can I ask you how long you all have been preparing? I gotta admit I’m just a bit jealous. It’s like you hypnotized your neighbors and ordered them to be preppers.”
“Years, darlin’,” Erin said. “Vince and I are just the reception committee. Some of us are related,” she said, answering Conner’s guess, “ but mostly we’re all just friends that’ve been working together on this for a long, long time. Eventually someone bought a place out here. Rest followed suit as life allowed ‘em to. People around here know us all as Phalanx.”
Like the Spartans, Earl realized. He stuck his hand out for both of them to shake. “I’ve got some radios. Let me get a few other people from my side to come back this time tomorrow. There’s a few like me an’ Conner that aren’t completely helpless. You should meet them.” And help me train them, he didn’t add as they left.
Ka-Krow! The lower brainpan of a man fifteen feet in front of and to Sticky’s left dissolved as if it were a flesh-colored water balloon filled with red paint. Blood and brain coated everyone between the two. Almost simultaneously, Chuck O’Reilly’s chest to Sticky’s right caved in. That three-quarters of a second for bullet-travel had been enough time for the walking man to literally be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The thin bone of the face was not enough resistance to skew the bullet’s trajectory very far…but it was enough to deflect it into Chuck. Fate had saved Sticky Wood.
Ka-Krow! Ka-Krow! It wasn’t conscious thought that drove Sticky straight down to the ground like an eight-penny nail—it was the subconscious survival mechanism that triggers fight or flight. Not everybody possessed it. Ka-Krow! Another chest exploded. Then two more heads. But Sticky’s mind was in full-alert. Body parts don’t explode, his subconscious mind said. Lower yourself to the ground rapidly. Here, let me help. His knees went limp, and after two full seconds of staring at the five—No! That’s six! —victims on the ground, he started low-crawling like mad. Any drill sergeant would have been proud. No butts were sticking up in the air that day. Seeing the flyswatter up close was a powerful motivator.
Most of the resident-perverts had run into various buildings. Sticky had crawled back into the main rec facility. How many of them are there? It took him several minutes to work up the courage to crawl around in the building. The sniping had slowed and then ceased after the targets had all disappeared. Holy crap! Double crap! Cops? No! Maybe…naw! That’s someone else…He’s a… Sticky actually smiled when he caught himself getting ready to think it. “Up yours, Predator!” he yelled to nobody in particular. Just like the day the hammer fell, Sticky started laughing uncontrollably. The rest of the men sheltering in that building just looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
Look at ‘em all. “Dealers of death and destruction” until it’s their neck on the chopping block! Sticky reveled in the opportunity. His first instinct was to start helping the sniper. I could take all the pedos out, for sure, he thought. He ultimately decided against it. Numbers were safety. There’s just one or two guys out there. Why would I reduce their number of targets? He looked around at the terrified residents. Shoe’s on the other foot, now, ain’t it, perverts? He decided he would make someone go out and “play canary” after dark.
19
“The two toughest kids on the block, I guess. Sooner or later, they gonna fight.”
—Lt. Col. Andy Tanner
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 23 Days.
In the weeks since the events, both China and Russia had been making motions. Each was motivated by the intense desire to feed its population. Each also had ulterior motives. For Russia, it came down to proving after the thirty-plus year gap since the first Cold War ended that they had been right all along. For China, it came down to the fact that they felt they were due. It was their turn to be the world’s provider, protector, and dominating superpower. Their system of government was less than a century old, but their culture was almost five thousand years old. It’s. Our. Turn.
The former biggest kid on the block—the U.S.—now had a broken arm. Russia and China, while both establishing aggressive foreign policies towards the U.S., were now eyeballing each other, squaring up. Trains in both countries were starting to load up with troops and gear and move toward their mutual border to conduct exercises. Navies started loading ordnance and food onto ships. Both bullies figured they’d better fight each other at full-strength and get that broken arm kid afterwards. The trickle-down effects of Tahoma’s Hammer were getting dangerous for the entire world.
“You’ll need to pay a toll ‘bout two blocks that way,” Jerome told Phil. “Once through there, about four to five blocks north ought to get you the audience you seek.” He gave Phil a concerned glance. “I still think you need to reconsider this.”
That’ll put me a couple of blocks from the house Crane was renting, Phil thought solemnly. “You’re the latest on a growing list of people to tell me that,” Phil told the big man with a small smile. He stuck his hand out. “Take care of these people, my friend. Come summer, I’ll make sure some of our yield makes its way down here.” The church had fed Phil some soup, and Martha had insisted he stay for their daily prayer vigil. It was already late morning by the time he made ready to leave.
Jerome gave him a firm handshake and a respectful nod and stepped back from the jeep. A month earlier, these two men from different worlds would have hardly looked at each other at the gas station or grocery store. That distinction was not lost on people from different cultures who had to start earning trust with actions, not words. Phil figured that most modern racial strife was probably more about cultural differences rather than skin tone. In the grand scheme, Phil didn’t care what the scholars decided—he just cared if the people around him shared the same core value—treat others well.
With the clunkiness of a half-sized clutch leg, he caressed the Jeep to the intersection and turned east. Just as Jerome predicted, he rolled up to a series of cars and lit barrels forcing him to stop. The three young men and women staffing this checkpoint approached the jeep with caution. They weren’t openly carrying firearms, but Phil was sure he was in someone’s sights at that moment.
“Turn around. Leave,” he was ordered by the tallest one. He looked of Islander descent and had tattoos on the backs of his hands sticking out from under his raincoat. He started to eyeball the jeep with the look of a wolf.
Phil was scanning the other three as they started to surround him. Don’t get tunnel vision. “I’m trying to set up a meet with the Terrytown Kings,” Phil said. “I can pay the fee.”
“TK don’t want to meet you,” the lead guard said. “An’ you can’t afford the fee.”
“Bet I can,” Phil said. He nodded towards the tennis racket bag on the passenger seat.
“Slowly, brah,” the man said.
Phil could sense their unease. He unbuckled the far seatbelt and pulled the bag toward himself. He barely unzipped the side pocket, pulling out a sandwich bag with a hundred rounds of 22-caliber ammo and fifty rounds of 9mm. He lightly tossed it to the man.
He scanned it and looked back up at Phil. “What else is in the bag?”
“There’s a hefty fee to find out,” Phil said coldly. He kept his eyes locked on the man’s eyes. If I’m going down, you’re the one I’m killing in the process, his eyes said.
After a tense moment, the man nodded the rest of his crew back to their post. “Go north until you can’t go no mo’,” the man said.
Phil cautiously snaked the jeep through the fiery barrels and cars and slowly drove north at the next intersection. Many of the older houses in this part of Bartlett had been shaken off their foundations. Some had collapsed. Trees were laying on others. The entire area reeked of human waste, as every low spot was a pool where the rain kept pushing stuff. There were fires in the front of some houses. Phil deduced those were probably a marker for the ones that were intact. There were boards over windows and wind-damaged tarps flapping from broken roofs.
He was five blocks along when a gray Chevy pick-up with five armed men in the back pulled in front of him and came to a stop. He slowed down and checked his mirrors, which confirmed the same thing happening behind him with an older blue truck. Ambush 101…If I make a run for it, my clutching alone would let them catch me. Here goes nothing.
On the slow drive up, he’d pulled the AR pistol out of the case and slung it around his neck, leaving it in his lap. As he put the rig in neutral and set the parking brake, he slowly unbuckled the seatbelt and stepped out. When he did, the AR yanked down with a motion, revealing itself to the locals. Phil had his hands up just high enough to be above his elbows. He’d left the jeep running for obvious reasons. He scanned around. The men in the truck to his rear were still in the back of the pickup. He figured that truck was poised for the chase, should he decide to rabbit. The five men to his front were slowly spreading out, and the one in the center was approaching.
He was a tough looking Filipino in a brown trench coat and leather plateau hat. He looks like an Asian Stevie Ray Vaughan, Phil thought. “You made a mistake coming here,” he said. “Bad mistake, dead man.”
Phil knew there was only one way out of this pickle, and it involved both luck and earned respect. In one swift motion he grabbed the pistol, flipping off the safety as he raised it to the firing position aimed at the man ten yards to his front. He could feel the blood start to pound in his temples as the adrenaline started to surge. He waited for the impact of a bullet to his skull. One second. Two seconds…
“I’m here to talk. Tell them to stand down,” Phil said coolly. The man before him was a cool cat with crazy in his eyes. He just stared at Phil, smiling as if deciding whether or not he was going to pick that day to die. “It’s about the Reverend Sherman Robertson!” The man’s delay had spooked Phil into thinking he needed to keep trying. “I know the soldiers killed him!” Pandering wasn’t beneath Phil when he was outnumbered ten-to-one.
This was enough to spark curiosity with the gang leader. “You first,” he told Phil. Phil scanned the others and all four of them were still squarely beaded on shooting him. He slowly lowered his weapon to low-ready. The leader looked at the others and nodded, causing them to lower their weapons. “So…whatcha want, dead man?”
“I want to hear the story about how ‘the man’ shot the Reverend from those that were there,” Phil replied.
This seemed to genuinely surprise the gangster. “Gonna cost you, bro. That jeep,” he said smirking and nodding at the vehicle. Phil knew they were going to take it anyway. It pissed him off, but he knew he had to bury that for a time when he was out of danger. He nodded at the man. This was the moment he realized he might just get to see Caroline and Crane again, very soon.
“Spring?” Stu asked. “I don’t know, Josh…I know I can’t string you guys along, but I need to go check on my folks.”
“I get that, Doc, but I’m thinking about Payton. She’s well past half-way on this pregnancy. It’s mutually beneficial for you to stay here with us, too,” Josh explained.
“Oh, I know,” Stu said. He’d had enough life experiences in the prior twenty-four days to appreciate the people around him—and their capabilities. The arrogant Stuart Schwartz was dead, and the new one didn’t particularly miss him. “And I truly appreciate you all for putting me up here. If it weren’t for needing to get to Sequim, I’d be committed to the cause…”
“What if our radio guys can get hold of someone up there. Do a welfare check.” What if they find out your folks are dead, he didn’t add.
“That’s something to consider, for sure,” Stu confirmed. “But in reality, they’re going to need me. They’re in their seventies, after all.”
“Sure, Doc, I get that.” Josh was silent while pulling up the words for his Plan B. “How about this—go get them and bring them back.”
This caused the light bulb to come on over Stu’s head. “That might be worth thinking about…” He discarded the idea fairly quickly, though. “Except we’re moving toward winter. I don’t know if I could get there, convince them, and get back that quickly. I mean, we both know that this will be on foot. It literally takes an army to drive anywhere now-a-days.”
He’s got me on that one, Josh thought. And we can’t spare the people to take him…or could we? “Tell you what, Stu. Let’s both agree to think some more before any decisions are made.”
“Sure thing,” the good doctor agreed.
Josh left Stu’s little cubby hole and headed toward the front gate. As he passed the end of the rifle line structure, he looked at what was the back wall of Stu’s office. This is like fifty feet from the gate. Need to line this wall with sandbags! When he got to the gate guards, he talked to them while they all watched a couple of wanderers. He could see Tyler’s daily patrol slowly driving down the road from the north in a pick-up truck. They opened the lower gate and let them drive down. Looks like they scored quite a bit of canned goods and gasoline today…
As the patrol members piled out, a few other range members came over and started helping unload. Josh helped with the chores. As the group eventually dispersed, Tyler and Teddy Wilson started towards their tent holding hands.
Gene Hackett just stared. Then he looked at Josh for a moment, then looked back. “Those two brothers sure are close,” he mused.
Josh almost laughed out loud and could see thorough confusion on the man’s face. Might as well get ahead of this… “You mean husbands,” he corrected him.
“Huh?” Gene was a bit slow on the uptake. “What?”
“They’re married. Pretty much everyone knows,” Josh explained.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Does Phil know?”
Josh wasn’t sure, but he knew it wouldn’t have mattered. “Yep. Why? What’s the matter?”
“I’m just surprised, I guess,” the middle-aged man said. “They don’t seem gay.”
“Not all gay people act queer, Gene. Most of my gay friends don’t.” I thought everyone understood this by now. “Is this really a problem for you?” Josh was a little concerned.
“No. Not as long as my Christian beliefs are equally respected.” He could see the doubt on Josh’s face. “Seriously. Recent history is full of examples of Christians having the viewpoints of others crammed down their throats, usually in court. I respect those two, because I know I’m no better than them. But I won’t cause any drama as long as they don’t.”
“Judging by the fact that you just learned about them being gay, it seems that they’ve already proven they won’t. Right?” Before Gene could answer, Josh headed off to find Payton for some quality time before he got trapped into a philosophical conversation. People are in for some tough conversations as this thing plays out. People need to learn to respect the ones they don’t necessarily agree with.
“You got balls, dude. I’ll give you that,” the older man seated across from Phil said. “Giant, hairy ones.”
He had been taken to a house one block north and two blocks east. He was sitting across the dining table just off of what used to be the living room in the older home. Phil presumed the man to be about his own age. He was also of Filipino heritage. Phil noticed that the entire group was Filipino or Islander.
