Walking in the Rain: Surviving the Fall (13 page)

              I let Ruth do the talking at first.  I couldn’t help but notice her Arkansas twang got a little sharper the more she spoke.  The three guys at the barrier, which was a black Suburban parked across the two lane blacktop, all carried AR pattern rifles and looked like they knew from which end the bullets came out.  Hunters, or prior military, I thought, so I let my eyes wander while Ruth answered questions and eventually spotted one of the snipers.  Overwatch, I guessed, and figured they had two or three more guys out there as backup.

              I tuned back in and listened intently as Ruth finished explaining our destination, being more than a little vague about the whereabouts of her family’s farm.  In response, the older gentleman, at least, older to me since I placed him in his mid thirties, slung his rifle and his two compatriots joined suit.

              “Look, we aren’t trying to block the road, just deter folks from coming into this part of the park.  We got our families in there, you understand?  Ya’ll can go on ahead and I hope you can get where you’re heading.  Before you go, can I ask if you have any diesel you can spare?  This ain’t no toll or nothing like that, but we got a generator running and I was hoping you might have some to trade.”

              I could tell there was more to it than that, but I wouldn’t ask.  However, the fact he was asking even though he could have tried to take us, and the truck, spoke to his overall good intentions.

              “Yes, sir.  We got a little,” I said, speaking up for the first time.  “I think we can let go of a five gallon can if you can swap me some ammo.”

              That I said anything seemed to take the gentleman by surprise, and I could tell from the indrawn breath from the back seat that Stan was caught off guard as well.  Ruth didn’t make a sound, but she did glance my way.

              “How much and what caliber?”

              I paused, as if to think.  I really didn’t need anything except some 308 Winchester but I wouldn’t ask for that.  Diesel was still plentiful, just sitting there in those underground gas station tanks, but I was willing to bet they had already used up a fair portion of their diesel in the camp.  Going out to recover more would be a dangerous chore.

              “A box of 38 Specials, if you have it.”

              The man gave me a look that wrinkled his brow but nodded.  Laying my CETME across the seat, I slowly opened the door with exaggerated care.  No need to give the watchers any reason to jump to a wrong conclusion.

              “Brent, can you run back and get me a box of 38s, please?” The man asked, and gave a little wave as well to his sniper crew, hopefully calling them off.  He gave me another encouraging nod and I walked around to the tailgate of the truck, popped the cracked glass door and reached in, again going with very slow motions.  We still had three five gallon cans, two full of fuel, and I hefted the one closest to me and lifted it up on the top of the tailgate, then set it on the asphalt.

              “Thank you,” the man said, his face relaxed a bit.  “We’ve been rationing the diesel but still, running that gennie takes a steady sip of fuel.  Need it though, ‘cause two of the little ones are on insulin.  We just need to hold out until this mess gets straightened out.”

              “I understand, and I wish we could spare more.  You tried getting it out of the tanks at a gas station?” I asked, already fearing the answer.

              “Yeah, one of our guys is an electrician.  He said it takes a three phase generator to run the pumps and we can’t find one that still runs.”

              Yep, like a figured.  I’d seen the same situation before.  Fortunately, I also saw how other folks got around the problem.

“Just get a regular old single phase generator like you have and hook it up to something like a sump pump, I reckon.  Just drop a hose in the tank and pull out what you can with your pump.  Would be slow, but still you should be able to work something out.  As for the insulin, I can’t begin to tell you how to make that.”

              The man nodded and stuck out his hand.

              “My name’s Richard, but folks call me Rich. That’s a fine idea.  We’ll give it a try.”

He paused, and gave me a keen-eyed expression.  “You don’t think this is going to get straightened out any time soon, do you?”

              “I’m Luke, and no sir, I don’t.  Near as I can tell, the rest of the country is like this.  No place to really mount a recovery from, if that makes sense.”

              He just shook his head, and I wondered if one of those little ones dependent on the insulin was one of his children.

              “I get you, Luke.  Look, you guys need to be careful up ahead.  Like I told your friend, the folks in Bentonville have set up something like a wall around their town and are guarding those Wal-Mart distribution centers like Fort Knox. The other cities in the corridor have followed suit.  I think you might be able to scrape through Springdale like Ruth mentioned, but be on the lookout for ambushers.  Not everybody is as fair minded as we are, you know.”

              “I follow, Rich.  If not for the baby we’d still be afoot.  Slower but safer that way.  We just picked up the truck recently and I hate that big old target on my back.”

              “I wish I could give you more detail about what you are facing out there, but we haven’t strayed far from the Park since we moved in a month ago.”

              “Why’d you move, if you don’t mind me asking?”

              Rich laughed.  “Most of us lived in a small subdivision over in Lowell.  All electric appliances, no water source and the lots were too small to really plant a garden.  We had four trucks in the whole community that still ran, so we scouted around until one of us remembered the little cabins in the campground here.  No electric, but hand pumps for water and conveniently placed fire rings to build cook fires.  All the comforts of home, now.  We fish and tend our gardens and watch the roads.”

              I nodded.  All the comforts indeed.  Rich didn’t mention how they dealt with trespassers and I didn’t need to ask.  That they were still alive said enough.  I decided to share a little more intel, for whatever good it might do.

              “Sweet.  One last thing and please don’t take this the wrong way, okay?  If anybody comes around saying they are from the National Guard and tries to get you folks to go to a FEMA camp, just nod your head and play along, then get the hell out of the Park.”

              “You saying some of these thugs are impersonating the Guard?  Seriously?”

              “I don’t know about whether they are real or not, but just be careful.  I saw one of those camps up in Illinois and once they get you inside, good luck getting out alive.  The one I saw in Missouri was worse.  They might have started off trying to help people.  But, with little food and no medical care that I could see, I figured out real quick I had a better chance surviving out in the wild on my own.”

              “So we have to be ready to fight the Army too?”  Rich said, sounding deflated and a little defiant.

              “No, I didn’t say that.  You shouldn’t fight them at all if they try to relocate you. Just ask for some time to pack up and pretend to be excited by the prospect of being saved.  If you can get them to leave for a later pick up, then haul ass out of the park. 

“On the other hand, if they just stop by to check on you, then likely you all should be fine.  I’ve seen some other Guard troops up in Missouri that were just trying to help folks.  Distributing water and things like that.  I think it depends on the commander of each particular unit.”

“How do you know all this?  I mean, sure, Missouri is pretty close but how do you know what was going on in Illinois?  Is that something you heard somewhere?”

“Saw it with my own eyes.  Look, we better get going before your folks and mine start getting worried.  So good luck, and I hope I’m wrong about how long this will take to get the power straightened out.”

When we got back on the road, driving through the gap in the lane where the SUV had been pushed aside, I was thinking about what Rich had said.  Bentonville would definitely make a great target for looters, what with multiple distribution centers situated in the area.  Of course, if the Bentonites were manning the ramparts, then the bandits would just have to go elsewhere for their looting and pillaging.  Places like the small farms that dotted the rural stretches of country bordering the big cities.

“What was that all about, Luke?” Stan asked, breaking through my woolgathering.

“Selling them the diesel, you mean?  Well, it got Rich to loosen up a bit and frankly, I figured out they weren’t going to rob us when he had his snipers stand down.”

“Rich, huh?”  Ruth interjected absently.  “What all did Rich have to say?  He seemed pretty tight lipped when we spoke.  And what snipers?”

Though the words came out terse, I knew Ruth was just venting some of the stress we were all feeling. 

“Like everybody else, he’s just worried about his family.  They are a lot like you guys, Ruth, suburbanites from over near Lowell.  They banded together and decided to bug out to the park early on after they figured out the power wasn’t coming back on any time soon.  The snipers were just a precaution and I didn’t mention catching sight of them, anyway.”

I went on to expand on what Rich said about Bentonville and the other communities, information that Ruth had already garnered but with more detail.  I decided to keep my own counsel regarding the likely implications.  The Schecters had enough to worry about at the moment, and I figured Stan would make the connections soon enough.  Oh, Ruth was bright, too, but she was still coming to grips with the brutal nature of our new existence.

So we crept along the back country roads that appeared little better than goat paths.  Well, maybe not that bad, but these dirt roads showed up on none of the maps I possessed, and the four of us wasted no more of our concentration on anything except scanning our surroundings.  I kept the CETME at the ready, and our two back seat gunners did the same.  Stan with the semi auto AK clone and Amy holding the M4 we just recently picked up. 

My instructions for the girl consisted of little more than “stick the barrel out the window and hold down the trigger until the magazine is empty and repeat as necessary.”  I hoped her display of spray and pray would put any attackers off their game.  Amy still needed training but by God she was willing.  What more could I ask for?

CHAPTER TWO

Three hours after our chance meeting with Rich, Ruth claimed we were on the home stretch and I was ready to kill somebody.  Not anybody in the truck, mind you, but twice during our trip the truck took fire, once actually hitting the truck bed, but we never saw the shooters.  I was thinking about coming back one night when the moon was down and cutting some throats, starting with those snipers.  Satisfying, but ultimately fruitless I decided.  Needless to say, my nerves were near shot from the constant state of vigilance, and my traveling companions seemed in a mild state of shock.

Maybe it was all the bodies.  Even taking side roads and back streets, we saw constant reminders of the ongoing urban struggle as corpses dotted the landscape.  Some fell clumped together, showing signs of making a pathetic last stand before being overwhelmed, while others lay as single islands of stinking decay in the middle of a street that didn’t smell much better.  All the bodies appeared stripped of anything usable, down to the tattered clothes off their backs.  Many looked to have been there for awhile, but a few pools of blood looked dauntingly fresh.

Ruth barely said a word until we turned off the last stretch of asphalt and started down the graveled track to the Keller family farm.  That was her maiden name, Keller.  Ruth seemed particularly affected by what she had seen, and again I decided that Stan had done his best to protect his wife from the ugliest of conditions out there.

“Here’s the curve coming up,” Ruth announced.  “We won’t be able to see from here but I’ll bet Daddy has the gate closed.  Be ready for me to stop.”

The gate, a massive steel pipe affair mounted on even bigger steel well casing posts, was indeed shut and locked.  And guarded, but neither Ruth nor Stan seemed concerned as Ruth pulled up next to the gate.  Inside the gate I could make out a pair of armed men hunkered down, occupying a heavily sandbagged guard post.

“Mark, you put that gun down and come open this gate.  It’s Ruth and Stan, and we brought some friends,” she called out through the open window and one of the men, a hard faced fellow in his late twenties or early thirties, stepped out from behind the shelter.  He lowered the automatic shotgun to the low ready position but did not sling the weapon as he approached.  The second guard didn’t even pretend to relax.

“Ruthie, I see you and Stan, but I don’t recognize your friends.”  The voice was neutral but held a tight edge.  His Spidey sense was likely going off and I knew this was not someone I wanted to spook.  The smooth way he moved reminded me of my father when he was home from a deployment.  I knew from our conversations that Mark was Ruth’s brother, and he was also either active duty military or only recently separated.

“Mark, this here is Luke and Amy.  They are new friends, but seeing as how they saved our lives, I figure they are more like family.”

Ruth’s spoke in a manner that had me snapping to attention.  That was a mother’s voice, and one that would brook no argument.  Stan’s clearly uttered “damn straight” from the back seat seemed to settle any lingering concerns Mark may have had.