Chapter 12
“Well, those stories you heard about Donny musta been more than rumors.”
I sniffed at the weird smell. “What is this stuff?”
Mitch investigated the weird odor before we opened the container. Another “surprise” we didn’t need.
He explained, “I think it is just a different kind of camouflage. There’s a hole a few yards over there where they dumped rotten meat. Coulda lost a freezer full when the power went out or it could have been a way to draw sniffer dogs off the scent. Also smells like they dobbed bobcat lure around … or maybe something bigger. Definitely some type of cat. Damn it stinks, but only outside the freight container.”
“Okay, seems kinda stupid. But why?”
“This is a black market stash, or a stolen cache. Amounts to the same thing. And it’s about to be confiscated.”
“By who? The phones don’t work. How’re you gonna call the Sheriff? Or do you still have military contacts? Is there some paper in there who says who is coming to get it?”
Without even looking at me he popped me in the head with his cap. “Your name is Dump, not Ding Bat.”
“Huh? Oh,” I said feeling more than a little stupid. “I guess that was dumb.”
“Not dumb. Naive. I know your parents raised you a certain way, but try and avoid that from here on out; or at least so much of it. Being honest is good. Being brickwall hardheaded on the definition of honesty not so good. And don’t get that look on your face, ‘cause I know you’ve heard Dad go on about it before. Even Uncle John could agree on it … at least when Aunt Dina wasn’t around to add her say to Grammy’s.”
I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing. When Uncle Hy got in a type of mood it usually wasn’t long before Grammy was looking at her broom like it was a tool of discipline. It was funny how mother and son got along like hand and glove yet could irritate each other just as bad in the opposite direction. It was a family joke and even the two of them would often laugh at themselves; at least when they weren’t in the middle of a dust up.
After he realized I was less easily offended than most females of his acquaintance he eased back then went on to say, “We are not leaving this for the bad guys … or for it to go bad before Donny Winters and his crew can get back to it, assuming they ever do. I’ve helped bust down a few caches like this when I was assigned to Confiscation and Supply.”
“Confiscation and Supply? I thought Uncle Hy said you were in Supply and Requisition … or something like that.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Amounts to the same thing these days. Our job was to go into the war zones to keep things out of enemy hands. We don’t want our assets feeding their supply lines.” He looked at everything then said, “This isn’t a huge operation, but it ain’t small either. Help by grabbing some of these little items and we’ll walk back with what fills our pockets and the game cart. Then we are gonna use Dale’s truck and hitch up the farm trailer and come get what we can before dark. How much gas did you say was left?”
“Tank and a half plus another fifteen in canisters,” I answered.
“That’s well over what we need. If Dale bellyaches, we’ll figure something out. I’d use Dad’s truck, but the rings are going bad and it guzzles oil, and I don’t want to …”
“Wind up stuck someplace with a blown engine. I get it. Please don’t give me a freakin’ dissertation on trucks. I have to listen to that stuff enough from my brother. Besides, Dale won’t bellyache, he isn’t like that. He’ll accept your explanation and that’ll be the end of it. I’m more worried about what he’s gonna say about the holes in the door.”
“What holes?” Mitch asked suspiciously.
I got the hot seat for leaving out certain details and Mitch growled off and on all the way back to the farm. Once we got there and checked to make sure things were as they should be, he had me get the keys and pull the truck out into the yard.
“I don’t see any holes.”
“They’re under the dried mud.”
Once he’d located them Mitch fell silent and pensive. “I’ll bondo the door to keep things from rusting.” Then he surprised me with a one-armed hug. “I need to listen better,” was all he said until we got half-way back to the Winters place.
“I keep being gladder that Dad dropped the bridge when he did.”
“I haven’t been unhappy about it, that’s for dang sure,” I told him.
Switching gears (no pun intended), he said, “You drive pretty good.”
“For a girl you mean.”
"No. For any flavor. I take it Dale had a hand in this?”
“Eh … it was a trade. He taught me to mudbog, I taught him to dance; just don’t tell him I told you.”
After a surprised silence, Mitch started laughing and didn’t stop until I backed up to the first of the two storage pods.
“C’mon … and I want to load it so that it makes some sense, and so it is easier to take off and set where it needs to go.”
“Uh … okay.”
Hearing something in my voice Mitch said, “Speak up if you have a better idea.”
“No. Just … this feels … icky. Like stealing.”
Mitch snorted. “This stuff is already stolen. We’re just reclaiming it. If Uncle John or Dale were here and agreeable would you make a fuss?”
Objecting I said, “I’m not fussing now. It just seems … I don’t know. Like two wrongs don’t make a right, if that makes sense.”
Mitch opened the first storage pod and dropped the gate on the tall-sided farm trailer. He then beckoned me over and had me look at the boxes. “Dump, we have a job. First, it is to stay alive and stay out of trouble. Second part of the job is to secure the farm as a … as a fallback position for any family that might come running this direction. First part will be relatively easy as long as things remain copacetic in this area. The second part of our job is going to be the most challenging.”
“And that is?”
He explained, “It doesn’t do any good to have a place to run to if that place doesn’t have the supplies so you can stay put. If it doesn’t, all we’re doing is making sure family will get dumped back on the road searching for necessities which could then compromise everything else … including their health and safety, and ours.”
“And you’re saying … I guess what you mean is, I need to … to … compromise my principles.”
“Wrong way of looking at it. This isn’t about principles, or ethics, anything like that. What I’m trying to get you to see is we aren’t turning into black market kings by … er … transferring ownership of this contraband. We aren’t looking to turn a profit. Our goal is to secure and supply a sanctuary for the family. Whether we have one, or a dozen, arrive at the gate we need to be able to … to …”
Then it finally clicked. “Give them time to breathe so they can help replace what they use. And the more cushion we build up, the more time we’ll have to put off making the tough choices … like who can stay long term and who will need to be helped on down the road.”
Surprised at my sudden pragmatism he asked, “You think of that yourself?”
“No. I guess I just got over myself or whatever. I listened to Dale and the rest of the guys in the Crew as they were planning for just in case and they talked about this stuff enough. Only the ‘compound’ they planned for fell through,” I said starting to feel anxious and sad.
He bumped my shoulder to bring me back to the present. “They’re probably better off long term at the campground. It’s further inside a designated Safe Zone. They’ll just need to watch and make sure to fly under the radar so no one thinks to use the area as a combat or medical staging area. Especially since posse comitatus was fully suspended last year. We’ll need to take the same precautions by drawing as little notice ourselves as possible.”
“So what do we take first?” I said finally capitulating and putting my other feelings aside.
“Any and all food goes in the back of the truck,” Mitch answered. “If we have to drop the trailer, the most valuable stuff needs to be secured first.”
“Well, those stories you heard about Donny musta been more than rumors.”
I sniffed at the weird smell. “What is this stuff?”
Mitch investigated the weird odor before we opened the container. Another “surprise” we didn’t need.
He explained, “I think it is just a different kind of camouflage. There’s a hole a few yards over there where they dumped rotten meat. Coulda lost a freezer full when the power went out or it could have been a way to draw sniffer dogs off the scent. Also smells like they dobbed bobcat lure around … or maybe something bigger. Definitely some type of cat. Damn it stinks, but only outside the freight container.”
“Okay, seems kinda stupid. But why?”
“This is a black market stash, or a stolen cache. Amounts to the same thing. And it’s about to be confiscated.”
“By who? The phones don’t work. How’re you gonna call the Sheriff? Or do you still have military contacts? Is there some paper in there who says who is coming to get it?”
Without even looking at me he popped me in the head with his cap. “Your name is Dump, not Ding Bat.”
“Huh? Oh,” I said feeling more than a little stupid. “I guess that was dumb.”
“Not dumb. Naive. I know your parents raised you a certain way, but try and avoid that from here on out; or at least so much of it. Being honest is good. Being brickwall hardheaded on the definition of honesty not so good. And don’t get that look on your face, ‘cause I know you’ve heard Dad go on about it before. Even Uncle John could agree on it … at least when Aunt Dina wasn’t around to add her say to Grammy’s.”
I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing. When Uncle Hy got in a type of mood it usually wasn’t long before Grammy was looking at her broom like it was a tool of discipline. It was funny how mother and son got along like hand and glove yet could irritate each other just as bad in the opposite direction. It was a family joke and even the two of them would often laugh at themselves; at least when they weren’t in the middle of a dust up.
After he realized I was less easily offended than most females of his acquaintance he eased back then went on to say, “We are not leaving this for the bad guys … or for it to go bad before Donny Winters and his crew can get back to it, assuming they ever do. I’ve helped bust down a few caches like this when I was assigned to Confiscation and Supply.”
“Confiscation and Supply? I thought Uncle Hy said you were in Supply and Requisition … or something like that.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Amounts to the same thing these days. Our job was to go into the war zones to keep things out of enemy hands. We don’t want our assets feeding their supply lines.” He looked at everything then said, “This isn’t a huge operation, but it ain’t small either. Help by grabbing some of these little items and we’ll walk back with what fills our pockets and the game cart. Then we are gonna use Dale’s truck and hitch up the farm trailer and come get what we can before dark. How much gas did you say was left?”
“Tank and a half plus another fifteen in canisters,” I answered.
“That’s well over what we need. If Dale bellyaches, we’ll figure something out. I’d use Dad’s truck, but the rings are going bad and it guzzles oil, and I don’t want to …”
“Wind up stuck someplace with a blown engine. I get it. Please don’t give me a freakin’ dissertation on trucks. I have to listen to that stuff enough from my brother. Besides, Dale won’t bellyache, he isn’t like that. He’ll accept your explanation and that’ll be the end of it. I’m more worried about what he’s gonna say about the holes in the door.”
“What holes?” Mitch asked suspiciously.
I got the hot seat for leaving out certain details and Mitch growled off and on all the way back to the farm. Once we got there and checked to make sure things were as they should be, he had me get the keys and pull the truck out into the yard.
“I don’t see any holes.”
“They’re under the dried mud.”
Once he’d located them Mitch fell silent and pensive. “I’ll bondo the door to keep things from rusting.” Then he surprised me with a one-armed hug. “I need to listen better,” was all he said until we got half-way back to the Winters place.
“I keep being gladder that Dad dropped the bridge when he did.”
“I haven’t been unhappy about it, that’s for dang sure,” I told him.
Switching gears (no pun intended), he said, “You drive pretty good.”
“For a girl you mean.”
"No. For any flavor. I take it Dale had a hand in this?”
“Eh … it was a trade. He taught me to mudbog, I taught him to dance; just don’t tell him I told you.”
After a surprised silence, Mitch started laughing and didn’t stop until I backed up to the first of the two storage pods.
“C’mon … and I want to load it so that it makes some sense, and so it is easier to take off and set where it needs to go.”
“Uh … okay.”
Hearing something in my voice Mitch said, “Speak up if you have a better idea.”
“No. Just … this feels … icky. Like stealing.”
Mitch snorted. “This stuff is already stolen. We’re just reclaiming it. If Uncle John or Dale were here and agreeable would you make a fuss?”
Objecting I said, “I’m not fussing now. It just seems … I don’t know. Like two wrongs don’t make a right, if that makes sense.”
Mitch opened the first storage pod and dropped the gate on the tall-sided farm trailer. He then beckoned me over and had me look at the boxes. “Dump, we have a job. First, it is to stay alive and stay out of trouble. Second part of the job is to secure the farm as a … as a fallback position for any family that might come running this direction. First part will be relatively easy as long as things remain copacetic in this area. The second part of our job is going to be the most challenging.”
“And that is?”
He explained, “It doesn’t do any good to have a place to run to if that place doesn’t have the supplies so you can stay put. If it doesn’t, all we’re doing is making sure family will get dumped back on the road searching for necessities which could then compromise everything else … including their health and safety, and ours.”
“And you’re saying … I guess what you mean is, I need to … to … compromise my principles.”
“Wrong way of looking at it. This isn’t about principles, or ethics, anything like that. What I’m trying to get you to see is we aren’t turning into black market kings by … er … transferring ownership of this contraband. We aren’t looking to turn a profit. Our goal is to secure and supply a sanctuary for the family. Whether we have one, or a dozen, arrive at the gate we need to be able to … to …”
Then it finally clicked. “Give them time to breathe so they can help replace what they use. And the more cushion we build up, the more time we’ll have to put off making the tough choices … like who can stay long term and who will need to be helped on down the road.”
Surprised at my sudden pragmatism he asked, “You think of that yourself?”
“No. I guess I just got over myself or whatever. I listened to Dale and the rest of the guys in the Crew as they were planning for just in case and they talked about this stuff enough. Only the ‘compound’ they planned for fell through,” I said starting to feel anxious and sad.
He bumped my shoulder to bring me back to the present. “They’re probably better off long term at the campground. It’s further inside a designated Safe Zone. They’ll just need to watch and make sure to fly under the radar so no one thinks to use the area as a combat or medical staging area. Especially since posse comitatus was fully suspended last year. We’ll need to take the same precautions by drawing as little notice ourselves as possible.”
“So what do we take first?” I said finally capitulating and putting my other feelings aside.
“Any and all food goes in the back of the truck,” Mitch answered. “If we have to drop the trailer, the most valuable stuff needs to be secured first.”
