Chapter 23
January 17, 2009
Daily observations
Low temperature: 27
High temperature: 48
Barometric pressure: 30.4
Sunny in the morning, becoming cloudy in the late afternoon.
Yesterday was the best day we've had since...well, for a very long time, I guess. James and a lot of our National Guard guys are back home. It was a complete surprise, but I suppose it shouldn't be--there's no such thing as "the news" any more. There's a lot more I ought to write about, but it's going to have to wait--busy day ahead.
From the Journal of Thomas Wilson Carpenter
January 18, 2009
Yadkin College, NC
The smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen was tantalizing. They hadn't eaten a breakfast like this in a while, bacon, eggs and all the trimmings, but this breakfast was a celebration of sorts. It had to be a celebratory breakfast, rather than a dinner or supper, because there were a lot of things planned for today.
He looked out of the windows at his front yard. Four Humvees and two big trucks--"deuce and a halfs", he mentally corrected himself, sat in an arc facing the road. Several tents were clustered behind them, between the house and the trucks. Men in uniform were moving around, eating, breaking down their tents and preparing to move. It was shortly after dawn.
His brother James walked into the room, gun in hand. "Man oh man, was that great! I haven't slept in a real bed in a long time. And a shower! I just wish I had a way to let all the men have one as well."
"Well, Big Brother, if you weren't in such a hurry, we could. We've got enough gas to run the generator for a while, thanks to you. If the generator runs, so does the pump."
"Another time. We've got places to go and things to see. You still coming along?"
"Absolutely. I've been putting off going into Lexington for a while. I need some things if I can get them, and the county owes us some food for Caleb. We can do without it, but we've been feeding a lot of mouths that were never planned for, so we could use it."
"Well, I wouldn't get my hopes up too high on the food. That's a little short everywhere right now. Hopefully it's going to be addressed. I know Bragg is working on it."
He picked up his M4. "Let's get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover today, and I need to get my teams organized."
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Last night, after the panicked run to the front of the house to find out what was going on, and after all of the back-slapping, hugging, handshakes and so on had been accomplished, James had organized his men, putting some to work arranging a bivouac for the night, while sending others on a reconnaissance around the immediate area. That done, he had accepted an offer of a chair in a warm room and some food. Everyone within sight of Tom's house had arrived, and were dying to hear any news from beyond the Yadkin College area.
First, he filled them in on the trip back from Georgia. After that, it was the state of Mocksville (bad) and the renewal of contact with their higher command (worse). Nation-wide gang attacks, terrorist attacks, unattributed sabotage, biological warfare and not two, but four, attacks with nuclear devices. Military Intelligence, as much of it as still existed, believed that it was coordinated, but had no confirmation. The military was acting as if that were the case. They had no choice.
To make matters worse, in the chaos that had followed the various attacks, the garden variety criminals had opportunistically taken their toll, as had various "old-fashioned" diseases such as cholera and dysentery. There was widespread starvation since the distribution infrastructure had collapsed. The US population was currently estimated at around 200 million people, and likely to drop further--a lot further. One of the estimates was that it might be stabilized at around 100 million, providing that some sort of food distribution could be organized.
After giving them the short version, he filled them in on the details. There had been a movement, or at least attempted movement, of illegal aliens toward the south, in an effort to return to their homes. While they had been slowly leaving the country before the attacks due to the declining economy, the attacks had accelerated the process. Correctly concluding that the good times were over, they en mass tried to go home.
Unfortunately for them, they ran into various gangs and groups, some intent on "vengeance" against any Hispanic; some merely looking for easy targets for their criminal activities. The Mexican government, already shaky from several years of reverse immigration and drug gang warfare, blockaded their own border. People had stacked up for miles. The Mexican Army had opened fire when some had tried to force their way through; more died from disease and gang depredation. Still died when they attempted to walk south through the desert. Those who remained stuck near the border had simply set up typical third world refugee camps, sure that the El Nortes would help them--after all, they always had.
Except this time. The state governments of the border states, with the partial exception of Texas, had essentially collapsed. The Federal government was busy all over, and spread thin. No help came.
After a couple of weeks, desperation forced them to try moving south again. This time they simply overran the Mexican army, whose blockade had been weakened in order to send troops to other areas as the situation in Mexico deteriorated further. As they flooded south, they stripped every town, city and farm in the way.
Some large US cities had been thrown into chaos from biological warfare attacks, which had used a modified influenza virus. Overwhelmed hospitals couldn't handle the load, and those working in them became quickly infected by the highly contagious illness. Many attempted to flee the fast-spreading disease, dying in the attempt, either from the disease itself or killed and their bodies burned by residents of areas where they sought refuge, as word of the plague spread. Those who made it out became the source of new outbreaks. Suburbs and small towns surrounding the big cities were often wiped out within a few days of the start of the original outbreak. The two pieces of luck were that the virus worked quickly and died without a living host in a short period. This meant that the infection burned itself out in relatively short order. If things hadn't already been bad and people had been able to travel as they had some months earlier, it would have been much worse.
Finally, there were the cities that had been targeted for nuclear terrorism. Of all the events, these were the ones where the least information was available. It was thought that the devices used were tactical nuclear warheads, smuggled into the country by means unknown. At any rate, how they had arrived made little difference to those in New York, Houston, Wichita and Seattle. Those who had not been instantly immolated in the fireballs were currently suffering from the same problems as everyone else, with heavy destruction and radiation sickness thrown in as bonuses.
As James had been making his matter-of-fact recitation of the situation, Tom and his neighbors listened in shock. When James finished, they all sat in Tom's great room, just looking at each other. Finally, Alice asked James, "What about the Federal government?"
"No one's sure. I know that the military has received nothing from our civilian leadership, or from any further up the chain than Northcom. I know that attempts have been made to reach every possible part of the civilian leadership, but so far, they haven't been able to reliably make contact with anyone. They thought they had reached Secretary of Energy, but he dropped off the air shortly after and hasn't been heard from since. There's speculation that such a complete loss of the civilian leadership couldn't be accidental."
Walt grunted. "James, it's January 17th. Do you know what happens on the 20th?"
"By then, I'm scheduled to be back in Mocksville. Why?"
"Get out of tactical mode, son, and think big. What happens every four years on January 20th?"
"Crap! They inaugurate the new President!"
"That's right. Anyone heard from him?"
"I don't know--no one's said."
"Well, I'll bet that your higher ups have tried. If they'd found him, you'd have probably heard. Since you haven't, I think it's safe to assume that they haven't, either."
Jannie looked puzzled. "So who's running the country?"
Walt looked at her thoughtfully. "It would seem, my dear, that the US military is in charge."
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Tom nodded. "So what's the plan, or you can you tell us lowly civilian-types?"
"I can, and not just because you're my favorite little brother..."
"I happen to be your only little brother."
"...but because you're now a 'local leader', whatever the hell that is," James finished without missing a beat. "While we're on these missions, we're supposed to seek out these 'local leaders' and bring them up to speed on current events and our current efforts to get the country back on its feet. By the way, consider yourself up to speed. In turn the local leaders are supposed to disseminate this information far and wide, casting it like seeds in a field, where it will take root..."
"I get it, I get it already. Good grief, do they teach you sarcasm in the military?"
"When you've seen the outcome of a lot of our government's policies, you start to find out how full of BS our elected leaders frequently are. You find solace in sarcasm."
"Uh-huh. So why bother trying?"
"I took an oath, remember? And as we say, Uncle Sam Ain't Released Me Yet." He pointed to the "US ARMY" patch on his chest.
"OK, whatever. So what is this plan?"
"First, we to recon as much of our AOs--that's Area of Operations, for you non-military types--as feasible. For us, at least for now, that's Davie, Davidson and Rowan counties, plus any contiguous areas that we feel we can handle. Of course, we're going to be spread thin. We've about half the strength we should be, more or less. During the process, we find all of you local leaders who have sprung up, clue you in and gain your support."
Tom snorted. "I'll support anything if it'll get the lights back on."
"Careful what you wish for. As far as I'm concerned, this situation has 'mo betta disaster' written all over it."
"Meaning?"
"Geeze, did you get stupid while I was gone or what? Think, will you!"
"Give me a break, you know politics was never my big thing."
"Yeah, and neither was current events. You always had your head stuffed into a computer."
"Well, it worked out well--I made a lot of money!" Tom said defensively.
"Sure you did--and Sarah spent it for you. Fairly well, from what I'm seeing. You've got most of the building blocks to be able to keep yourself and your family safe and sound."
"Hey, I bought guns!"
"Only because you like to shoot. Look, I don't want to argue with you. For crying out loud, we haven't seen each other in over a year, and we can't make it a day without arguing? Look, what I'm saying is that you can't afford to focus on one thing to the exclusion of all else. You used to do it with computers, and now you're doing it with solar panels and chopping wood. You've got to stop that, or something ugly is going to blind-side you. And right now, there's a lot of ugly out there."
"Like what?"
James told him, in detail, what had transpired around in the areas when they had passed through around Charlotte. Tom went a little pale. "And, little brother, I'll bet that just as bad has happened near here as well. You just haven't been out there to see it. Consider yourself lucky that it hasn't came looking for you. Remind me to give you some security tips before I leave, because you need them."
"Why?"
"We found two old folks, raped, robbed and murdered, about 5 miles up the highway from here yesterday afternoon."
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On the road toward Lexington, a house had attracted James' attention, and they stopped to investigate. Tom had stayed outside while the soldiers had entered the house. They had been in there for a few minutes when James walked out of the house, followed by his men. He was stuffing what looked like mail into a pocket. He pointed at two of his men. "Burn it."
As the men grabbed a can of diesel fuel and entered the house, James walked toward Tom, shaking his head. "Not as bad as we've seen, but bad enough. We were able to find names and some addresses. Maybe some day we can let their kids or grandkids or whoever know that they're dead."
"Why burn it?"
"SOP. It takes too much time to give them a decent burial. Besides, the house was pretty messy."
Tom didn't ask any more questions. He wasn't sure that he wanted the answers.
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The lead Humvee stopped well short of the road block on Lexington's South Main Street. It had been substantially enlarged and improved since Tom had last seen it seen it, a bit less than 3 months ago. It would take a bulldozer to push it aside now. He said so to James.
"Yeah, but it would be a trivial exercise to walk around it. Besides, why have the thing this far out of town?"
"Well, the hospital is down here."
"True, but without power, all that equipment is worthless. They'd be better off with an expedient hospital set up further into town. Strip as much as possible, and move it. Make the area you're defending as compact as possible."
A sergeant whose name Tom couldn't recall swung out of the passenger door of the Humvee and put a bullhorn to his mouth. You could see the men at the roadblock watching cautiously. At least they the good sense not to threaten the little convoy. Tom knew that if they had, the reaction would have been swift and probably fatal. These men weren't taking chances.
"I'm Sergeant Andre Ray of the 4th Cavalry," boomed the amplified voice. "Take no threatening actions; our rules of engagement allow us to open fire as we believe necessary. We just want to come into Lexington and make contact with your governing body."
Tom thought he could hear someone answer, but he couldn't make out what it said. Apparently Sgt. Ray could.
"I understand. However, we're under orders to make contact with the civilian government in this area. We're just trying to get the word out about the situation in the country and what steps are being taken."
There was a longer shouted answer this time.
"No, we aren't bringing supplies at this time. However, there will be supplies in the future. I need you to understand that I'm not going to stand here all day and discuss this with you. You can either open up and let us in so we can talk to your city council, or we can leave. You need to understand that if we leave, we won't be back for quite a while, and you will not be on our A List for supply distribution. I doubt your city council will be happy with that, do you? I wonder how they'll react when the find out how you screwed the pooch over this? You don't suppose you might find yourself on this side of that thing, do you?"
James yawned and stretched. "Will somebody explain to me why every damn town we've been to since we got back all think that they are running the world now? This is getting old."
Tom leaned forward. "Well, the last time we were here, they wouldn't let us in either. At least they let us come up to the barricade and talk. The town took a heavy beating in a fight early on--the Cambodians. The Sheriff was killed along with a lot of other people. After that, we heard they were having problems with refugees."
James grunted. "Well, that all sounds familiar. I guess that no one carried through on that plan to clean up that part of town, huh?"
"Thank you," the amplified voice boomed.
The school buses that formed the "gate" in the barricade were being started and moved out of the way.
James straightened up in his seat. "I will say that Sgt. Ray does have a way with this particular work."
The convoy slowly rolled through the barricade. The men manning it looked at them with expressions ranging from curious to furious. One man was talking into a walkie-talkie. Tom turned around to see the buses being pushed back into place.
South Main looked pretty much as Tom remembered it, but without any people. A couple of buildings had burned, and a number of the old dilapidated houses appeared to be in the process of being torn down. Wood from them was piled in the yards.
As they made their way north on Main Street, they started seeing some signs of habitation. People were outside, working at various tasks. Some were building what looked like defensive positions around groups of houses, while others carried, pulled or pushed wood, salvaged lumber and various nondescript loads in their arms, in wagons or wheelbarrows. James nodded.
"Someone around here has enough sense to know those barricades won't stop anyone large enough and determined. Defense in depth."
"I don't understand," said Tom.
"If you count on just a perimeter defense, if that's breached, the bad guys get to come in and snack on the soft chewy middle of the town. This way, the bad guys will be met time after time by people in prepared positions. Depending on the size and training of the force, plus its equipment, they may be able to take a number of these positions--but each time, they get to bleed. Bleed them enough, and they may decide to leave before getting to the center of town, which is where I'd assume most of the people and remaining goodies are kept."
"Oh."
"Like I said little brother, before we leave we're going to give you some lessons. Otherwise, the first seriously bad guys that come along are going to be living in your house, eating your food and probably raping your women. You've been lucky so far, but don't count on that for much longer. If nothing else, when the weather warms up we're going to see a lot of activity as people--good and bad--who have holed up for winter start coming out and moving around looking for food, a better place to live or whatever."
"That's comforting," Tom said sarcastically.
"It wasn't meant to be. I keep telling you, there's a lot of ugly out there, and before this is all over, I expect we'll get to see every sort you can imagine."
The little convoy pulled up in front of city hall and stopped. They quickly attracted a small crowd. Shouted questions came thick and fast. James and his men fended off questions about food, fuel, medicine and the welfare of various members of their unit. Sgt. Ray had dispatched two men to go into the building and find someone in charge, but that person was not making a timely appearance. The people were getting more insistent and closer to out of control. Finally, James grabbed his bullhorn.
"Folks, FOLKS! A little quiet, please!" He waited as the crowd quieted. "I know you all have questions, but we don't have the time to answer them all for each person we meet. We're going to talk with the people who are running things and give them all the information we have. Then they can pass it around to all of you."
As he finished his last sentence, the two men detailed to find someone in charge exited the building, bringing with them 2 men, one in a uniform. Tom recognized him as John Dean, who had been acting Sheriff the last he had seen him. Tom waved, and Dean waved back. "He looks older," thought Tom.
The other man asked for and was handed the bullhorn. "People, we need for you to go back to your work assignments. We're going to talk to our boys from the Army and then we'll report to you latter today on the bulletin boards. I know you all have questions to ask and things you need, but right now, let's give these men a chance to get settled. Please, back to work."
There was some grumbling, but most of the crowd began turning away. It was obvious that they didn't like what they had been told, but it seemed equally obvious that no one was going to question it too loudly. Tom wondered about that. It seemed unusual.
James turned to the men and introduced himself. In return, Wilson Summey, the Lexington City Manager and John Dean, Sheriff of Davidson County, introduced themselves. Tom didn't miss that the word "Acting" was gone from his title now.
Tom couldn't hear what was said, but James, the two soldiers, the city manager and the sheriff went back into the building. Tom supposed that this would be a briefing similar to what he had received. He wondered how long it would take, and supposed that he would have time to walk back to Main Street and see if any stores were open. He expected that to be a waste of time, but it beat standing around waiting.
The soldiers had already posted guards. Some began quick checks on their vehicles, while other followed the time-honored tradition of grabbing a quick nap while it was quiet. Tom approached Sgt. Ray, who was giving orders to a group of three men. He waited until the men left, and then said "Excuse me, sergeant? Can I have a minute?"
"Sure, sir. What can I do for you?"
"I'm going to take a quick walk back up to Main Street and see if anything is still open. We need some things, and I'd like to see what's available."
"Sir, I'd be more comfortable if you stayed here with us. We're not sure what the situation is here, and until we know, it's best that no one to go off on their own."
"Sergeant, we're all from this area--this is Lexington, for crying out loud. I don't think anyone is going to kidnap me."
"Probably not, sir, but a lot has changed in the last few weeks. The town has changed--people have changed. Someone is desperate enough, they might decide to kill you for that nice coat you're wearing, or maybe your boots. I can't stop you from going, but I advise against it. In the most strenuous terms, sir."
Tom looked at him, then back toward Main Street. He turned back, but before he could speak, Sgt. Ray said "Sir, I know the Captain has told you a lot of what we've seen in the last few weeks and months. Trust me when I tell you that telling is very different from seeing. I've seen it, and I really think you need to stick close to us. Everything's changed, and none of it for the good."
Tom, suddenly aware that his mouth was hanging open, closed it. He then opened it to say "OK, sergeant, if you feel that strongly, I'll wait here."
"Thank you, sir. I'd hate for my CO's brother to get in trouble when I'm supposed to be keeping an eye him." He smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I have some things to attend to." He motioned to two men and began moving toward them.
Alone, Tom wondered what to do with himself. He wondered back toward James' Humvee, opened a door and climbed inside, leaving the door open. Not knowing what else to do, he rocked his head back and drifted off into a nap.
Some time later, he woke with a start. He had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. Checking his watch, he noted that slightly over an hour had passed. Tom sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked around the area.
There were a number of people moving about. Some carried tools while others pushed wheelbarrows or shopping carts carrying various goods. A few carried boxes with unknown contents. One pair, a male and a female, passed by, each wearing a red armband and carrying a rifle. "Roving guards?", Tom wondered. Was it dangerous enough here that they needed full-time guards?
Finally, he spotted them--there was someone watching him. Two someones, actually. He saw them watching from an old gas station that now advertised "BAIL BONDS". They didn't seem to be obviously threatening, but they were definitely keeping an eye on him.
He reached into his coat as if to scratch an itch, and felt the comforting weight of his pistol nestled in its shoulder holster. He rarely went anywhere without it these days, just on general principle. He really didn't think that it was that dangerous during the day, but still...better safe than sorry.
The pair had evidently attracted the notice of one of the soldiers, who nudged one of his buddies and nodded toward them. Tom saw them shift their grips on their their M4s and walk across the street. They moved together, but with a lot of space between them. The guns were not aimed at the pair of watchers, but were carried so that there could be no question whether or not they could be brought into action quickly.
The watchers did not notice the soldiers until they were halfway across the street. One moved as if to leave, but the other put his hand on his arm and said something. The soldiers approached, one moving forward to talk to them, one lagging behind a bit. They spoke for a moment, then the soldier gestured to the other side of the street. The pair started to walk across, one man beside them, the other trailing.
Once on Tom's side of the street, two more soldiers approached the group. Tom watched with interest as they spoke. One man detached himself from the group and walked toward Tom. As he came around the open Humvee door, he spoke. "Sir, these guys say they know your grandfather and they'd like to speak to you. Do you know either one of them?"
"It's hard to say from across the street. Can I talk to them?"
The man thought for a second, then said "I guess that's OK. They don't look like they could cause much trouble."
Tom slid out of the vehicle and walked over to the men. As he got closer, he recognized one of the men, a local lawyer who had attended Walt and Alice's wedding. He couldn't recall the name, but the face was familiar.
The man spoke. "You're Tom Carpenter? Judge Carpenter's grandson?"
"Yes, I am. I remember your face, but not your name. Could you help me out?"
The man smiled and put out his hand. "I'm David Hendrick. I know your grandfather and one of your neighbors, Walt Johnson. We've all been in court together a few times--more than a few, actually. I hope they're all still well?"
Tom took the offered hand and shook it. "They are. Walt is as big a pain ass ever, and my grandfather and grandmother are doing fine. I got to see them a couple of days ago, but we talk on the radio at least once a day."
The man's smile widened. "That's wonderful. We were working on cleaning out this building and saw you when you arrived. The officer--he's your older brother, isn't he? I haven't seen him in some time. I doubt that either of you would remember it, but I would help watch you two on days the Judge brought you to court with him. You were just little guys then."
Tom smiled. "I remember coming to the court house, but I don't remember much else. That was a long time ago."
"Indeed it was. A long time ago and a better place, as well." He shook his head. "I have a message--a request, actually--that I'd like to get to your grandfather. You said that you talked to him on the radio, so I assume he still has all his ham gear?"
"Oh yes--an entire room full of it. My grandmother still complains."
"Excellent! I guess you remember that a lot of us who worked in the courts here were ham operators?" Tom nodded yes, and the man continued. "We're trying to get a communications network set up here, and we're out of some items we need. If I can get you a list together, would you pass it along to your grandfather? We've tried to raise him, but he hasn't been answering."
Tom nodded. "Sure, I'd be happy to. I imagine he's been conserving his power. We're all making do with some solar panels and a little generator time, but electricity is at a premium. Knowing him, I doubt he has it on unless he's planning on talking to someone."
"I understand. We're a little better off, since we were still active in ARES when this all hit. We have power, but not enough coax and connectors to set up all the radios we need. We
re also short on microphones, antenna parts and a few other things. I hope he has some parts we can beg. I think there are some pads and pens in the office--let me go make a list."
One of the soldiers put out a hand. "I have a pad and a pen you can use, sir." Velcro ripped, and he pulled them out of a pocket and handed them to the man, who started writing. Ripping off the sheet, he handed it to Tom. He then handed the pad and pen back to the soldier.
"Thank you, Private..." The man turned so that the name tag on his chest was visible. "...Higgs. Thank you. Tom, I've also included the times for our nets. Please ask your Grandfather to join in if he can. We can trade information about our areas--that's sort of the whole purpose of this--to keep everyone in touch."
"I will, sir. I imagine he can." Tom shook the man's hand, and held his out for the other man. "I never got your name, sir. I'm Tom Carpenter."
The man took Tom's hand. "Bradley Johnson. I never had the pleasure of meeting your grandfather; he had retired before I moved to town."
"You mean you're not a ham radio guy? How'd you get a job in this town? I thought a amateur license was a requirement to practice law in Lexington." Tom smiled. It was something of a local joke.
"No, I'm a computer sort of guy."
"I understand--I'm a computer geek by trade."
Sergeant Ray stepped up. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Captain's coming out. I expect he'll want to be moving soon."
"Yes, of course," said Hendrick. "We really ought to get back to our work as well. Around here, if you don't work, you don't eat."
Tom considered that last statement and filed it away. "Well, goodbye. I'll pass this along as soon as I can."
"Thank you, Tom. Give your grandparents my best."
Tom and the soldiers walked across the street. He mused that it still felt awfully funny to not have to look both ways before crossing a street, but he still did it from reflex.
As Tom walked up, James, the sheriff and the city manager were shaking hands. James was speaking. "I'm sorry the news isn't better. I'll take your list and start running it up the chain and we'll see what kind of help we can shake free. If nothing else, maybe we can get you some medical supplies."
Sheriff Dean nodded. "We'd appreciate anything you could do. We've lost a lot of the old folks. I'm getting tired of organizing burial parties." He saw Tom, and stuck out his hand. "Well, Tom! How's life out in your part of the county?"
Tom took his hand and shook it. "It seems that we've had it a lot easier than you folks. Sure you won't consider the offer and move out with us?"
Dean shook his head. "No, I'm needed here a lot worse. We're holding our own, more or less. It'd help if we could keep these groups of thugs out of the area. We're slowly taking a toll on them, but they just keep filtering in from over toward High Point and Thomasville."
"Funny," said Tom. "I can remember reading some of the stuff my wife had accumulated off the Internet, and they always argued about whether the bad guys would descend like a horde of locusts, or it they would be content to loot where they lived until they used up everything and found themselves having to walk to the next place."
"Well, it isn't either--it's both. We get them in big groups and small ones. Some of them drive in. Those are the easiest, since they have to pretty much stick to the roads. We pretty much have things set up so that they find themselves in a world of hurt." James rolled his eyes, but the sheriff missed it. "But there are a bunch who are on foot, and they're making things hard. Every so often a few get into town, take over a house or two on the outskirts when we aren't looking...and well, then things aren't so easy. We have to go in and root them out, and that's costly. We've lost a lot of people doing that, and burned up a lot of our ammo supply."
Tom didn't know how to respond to that, so he said nothing. Dean brightened a bit. "Anyway, we're figuring it out. Since the Guard's back, maybe we'll be able to get some help sometime."
"We'll do what we can, sheriff, but as I've told you, our resources are limited for now. You're primarily going to have on depend on yourselves and your own resources." James was obviously exasperated with the man.
"Remember what we went over. First, you need to stop trying to defend the entire town--I don't care what the town council and the county commissioners say--you're spread way too thin. That's why these people on foot are getting in. Second, you need to organize patrols to sweep a mile or two out of town on a regular basis--you don't want to be surprised. Third, get your salvage parties moving out of town and see what you can round up. Make them big, arm them heavily, keep your eyes open and you should be OK. But your main thing is going to be to just hang on until something gets organized on a regional scale. That's going to take time."
He didn't' give the sheriff a chance to reply, but motioned to Sgt. Ray. "Mount 'em up." Sgt. Ray turned and started getting the troops into their vehicles.
Tom gave Dean a little wave. "John, I'll see you next time."
"Sure, Tom. See you next time." The sheriff stood there, obviously unhappy.
As the convoy started moving, Tom reached forward and tapped James on the shoulder. "So, how are things in Lexington?"
"They've got a wish list about a mile long--food, fuel, medical supplies, guns and ammo--you name it, they want it. Sad thing is that they need it all. Sadder thing is that I can't help them right now. I kept having to explain that we're just getting organized. Maybe by spring we can help them out substantially. Right now, I'll play the dickens just getting them some med supplies."
James stretched around so he could see Tom. "They've lost a lot of their old folks. According to his count, they've lost almost half of their over-65 population. The ones who needed drugs--blood pressure, heart disease and so on--almost all of them are gone. Diabetics are mostly dead now as well. A few are surviving on highly modified diets, but I don't think that will last long--they're just dying slower. The kids, they've lost a bunch of them as well--got hit with a nasty upper-respiratory. Their docs said they could have saved them all if they'd had antibiotics. People who get hurt, or wounded in a fight have a 50-50 chance. Pneumonia is a killer again. The hospital is closed. They've taken over the old hospital building because it's closer into town and are using it--at least they've had that much sense. But without drugs and supplies, it's probably just a place to go and die."
"And they're being stupid...just incredibly stupid. Dean is ex-military, and he knows they're being stupid, and he's just doing it anyway. The idiot politicians want to defend the entire town. Hell, that'd be hard enough if you had a battalion to work with. They have maybe 200 people, most of whom have no combat experience. Too many have no military experience at all. It's hopeless. They need to pull back to a core and defend that core. But no, we're going to defend everything. And that means they can defend nothing."
"They're also hungry--they're all hungry. The city government has taken all the food from the stores, abandoned homes, everywhere they could find it. They're doling it out. The people doing hard labor are getting around 1500 calories a day. Everyone else gets a lot less."
"That's not too bad, is it? I mean, we were always told how fat we Americans are."
James looked at him. "The rule of thumb for a soldier in the field is 4500 calories per day. I imagine that labor is a bit less intensive, but not much. If we can't get them some food, or if they won't go further out of town looking, they're going to starve before summer when the first crops come in."
"Why won't they look out of town?"
"They've lost a lot of people that way. Of course, it was their fault--they didn't send out teams big enough to defend themselves, Some of these groups that hit them have 25, maybe 30 guys, all armed. They were sending people out two, there, four at a time. Stupid. So now they want to sit there in their perimeter, such as it is, and hope help comes to them. Right now, that's a long wait for a train that's not coming."
"So what are you going to do?"
James shrugged. "I'll pass it up the line, along with the requests from Mocksville, Fork and every other place we've been to. I figure by the time any help is available, it won't be needed--one way or the other."
-------------------
As they moved slowly through town, Tom looked at things from a different viewpoint. It did seem that people were thin, especially in their faces. Some moved a bit slower than you'd expect--tired or just hungry and low on energy?
It was just as well that he hadn't went exploring for an open store. There were none. Some were in the process of being stripped, while others were obviously already cleaned out.
Suddenly, he heard a car horn, then another and another. People on the street started running--some with an apparent purpose, some almost in panic.
"What the hell is going on?" shouted James. "Get us stopped--up there by that guy next to that white Toyota," he pointed.
The Humvee pulled up to the car James had pointed out. Before it had fully stopped, the door slammed open and James was out of the vehicle. He grabbed the man, who was furiously honking the car's horn.
"What the dickens is going on? What's all this horn business?" James had to shout to be heard over the horn. "And stop honking that damn horn!"
"It's an attack--when there's an attack we start blowing car horns to alert everyone to either get into a safe place or to respond to their defense assignment." As he shouted his reply, he kept honking the horn and looking around the area. Satisfied that everyone had gotten the point, he stopped.
"Do you know where the attack is--how big?" asked James.
"Not yet." Gunfire sounded in the near distance. "But I'd guess it's that way." He pointed northeast, along Main Street.
--------------------------------------
Tom had never been in a firefight. So far, he wasn't enjoying his first one.
James had hustled the little convoy toward the gunfire, stopping twice to listen and refine the direction. The route had lead them straight down Main Street, as if they had been leaving town. As the topped the small hill that hid the edge of town, they could see the situation unfolding.
There were no terrain features to provide a base for a defense line in this area. There was no commanding high ground, no river or stream, not even a ditch. All they had to work with was the US 64 overpass where it crossed US 29-70. Trying to build that, a double line of cars and trucks had been positioned about 50 yards beyond the bridge to completely block 29-70 to vehicular traffic, except for one narrow "cattle gate". More cars were lined up along the bridge. Tom guessed they were to provide cover for those who manned the roadblock from an attack from the east or west. There was no obvious defense from an attack east or west on 64.
The double line of cars had been breached in two places by large dump trucks which had been crahsed through the barricade. A number of cars and trucks were stopped just beyond the roadblock, and several had followed the trucks through the holes they had created. Tom could not tell how many were attacking, and the attackers had gotten in among them, and the weight of numbers was in their favor.
Tom saw another defender fall, and at that point the Lexington men decided to make a run for it. The last one was cut down before he was able to duck off the road into some bushes. The attackers began popping up all along the roadblock, scrambling over the vehicles. Pushing their own disabled vehicles out of the way, they began clearing room for those that still ran to make their way past the roadblock. They didn't notice the 3 Humvees sitting at the top of the small hill at first.
However, they soon did and started shooting in their direction. James moved the vehicles toward the sides of the street and his men deployed, seeking such cover as was available. Tom was told to stay behind a vehicle and out of the way. Sgt. Ray was beside him, aiming his M4 toward the attackers, who were making rapid headway in clearing their path forward. James grabbed townspeople as they showed up, and deployed them where they could do some good.
James banged on the Humvee. "Open fire!" The .50 caliber M2 machine guns mounted on each began hammering at the remains of the roadblock. Parts of vehicles and people flew as the bullets hit.
The Guardsman opened fire as well, picking their targets carefully. The attackers started falling. The people from Lexington began firing as well, rifles of various calibers adding to the racket. It was incredibly loud. He reached under his coat and pulled out his pistol, preparing to add to the fire.
Sgt. Ray reached out a hand. "Don't waste it, you're too far away for that to..."
He never finished the sentence. Tom had turned toward him just in time to watch his head explode as a round caught him just under the edge of his helmet. Blood and bits of flesh splattered on him. Sgt. Ray's body balanced for a split second, then fell toward Tom, landing at his feet.
Tom gagged, then threw up. He tried to miss the body and failed. His head spun, and he grabbed the Humvee for support. Distantly, he could feel something wet under his fingers, and his stomach heaved again. He turned and sagged back against the vehicle, sliding down into a sitting position.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there until he was aware of one of the soldiers, who had grabbed Sgt. Ray's M4 and was thrusting it out at him. "Here! Take this and get into the fight!'
Tom looked at him dumbly. He heard a scream nearby. The soldier hit him in the chest with his fist, which was still holding the gun. "Take this and use it! We're going to get our asses kicked here! Come on!" He fired his own gun left-handed, then turn back. "Tom, dammit! We need you!" An M2 hammered in the background.
Tom realized it was his brother James who was yelling at him. He reached out and took the carbine from him and looked at it.
"That's a boy! Get around the back of the Humvee and start shooting the bastards." His foot pushed a pile of web gear toward him as he turned and fired again. "Take this...you'll need more ammo."
Tom looked at him, then at the web gear and the gun in his hands. Both had spots of blood on them. Tom thought, "That's the sergeant's blood."
He stood up and started to slowly walk to the rear of the Humvee. As bullets twipped by him, he heard James yell. "Get down! Get the hell down! Stay behind the vehicle!"
Tom heard more bullets hit the armored vehicle. Something in him started to wake up, and he realized that he was exposed to fire from the attackers. He ducked down and scrambled to the rear of the Humvee. Peaking around it, he could see an awful lot of men and women running up the hill. They were getting hit, and a lot of them had fallen, but they weren't stopping. Vaguely, he wondered why they hadn't given up.
He checked the position of the safety. It was in the "semi" position. He pulled back the charging handle, and a round popped out. Letting it snap forward, he brought the gun up to his shoulder, picked a target--he couldn't think of it as a person--and squeezed the trigger.
He was almost surprised as his target stood straight up, clawing at her stomach. He aimed and fired again, and this time she fell into a flopping heap on the road. Shifting to another target, he saw it drop before he could fire. Someone else had beaten him to that one. He picked another and fired, and then another. At some point, the bolt locked back and he had to fumble for a fresh magazine. He kept shooting.
So did everyone else. The M2s hammered, the M4s snapped and the heavier caliber guns of the locals cracked viciously. A couple of vehicles caught fire. The attackers kept coming up the hill, the smoke obscuring them a little. It wasn't a tall hill, and they didn't have far to come. It seemed that there was no end of them.
They got within 50 feet of the crest before they broke. Whatever it was that had pushed them that far into the hail of gunfire finally failed, and those still able to move turned and started to run back down the hill. None of them made it back to the shelter of the roadblock.
However, that wasn't the end of it. There were still people--"people who want to kill us," he thought--at the roadblock, and those people were still shooting. He heard a high-pitched scream, and looked to his left. He saw a local woman trying to stuff her intestines back into her body. She looked him straight in the eyes, silently pleading for him to help her. Then she slipped to the ground; her intestines spilling out around her.
Tom could hear the M2s continuing to hammer at "those people" at the bottom of the hill. He also heard shouts. It was James, trying to organize a push down the hill to dislodge them from the roadblock.
Tom fired at anything that showed itself in the mass of metal at the bottom of the hill. He didn't know if he was hitting anything, but he kept shooting. He saw men moving down the sides of the street, from one bit of cover to another. One fell, but they kept moving and firing, moving and firing. Tom stayed where he was and kept firing.
"Their guys" kept getting closer, and eventually "the other guys" started to break and run. The scoped hunting rifles carried by some of the Lexington defenders swatted down many of them. Some got away, but it was hard to tell for sure from this far back how many escaped. Vehicles beyond the shattered barricade started backing up, turning around--running from the failed attack. Tom shifted his fire to them.
The Guardsmen and the locals who had went down the hill with them were in among the vehicles on the bridge. A few shots could be heard. Someone jumped from behind a car and started to run. They were quickly cut down.
Suddenly, there were no more targets. The vehicles that were still running were out of sight, as were any remaining attackers. It was quiet again.
Tom looked down the hill and started counting bodies. Reaching 30, he stopped. There were a lot more, but he suddenly discovered he didn't want to know how many. He sat down heavily, the M4 across his lap. He looked down at it, and flipped the selector switch to "safe". Looking to his left, he could see Sgt. Ray's body. Looking right, he saw the anonymous woman. Looking down the hill, he could see "their guys" slowly working their way through the vehicles. Every so often, there would be a shot.
Eventually, a couple of men came back up the hill, gathered some of the Lexington people and took them back down the hill. A fire truck showed up, went down the hill and put out the fires. Three ambulances and several pickups, one towing a large equipment trailer, arrived. Wounded were attended to, then loaded to go to the hospital. Two more died during the process, one a kid--maybe 16 or so by the looks of him. A man, apparently his father, sat beside him, holding a bloody hand and silently weeping. Another stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, looking down at them both. The dead were loaded on the trailer, segregated into to piles--"us" and "them".
Tom sat there for a while longer, thinking, yet not thinking. He had killed today. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He wondered if he had let James down. He had been so scared--he had frozen. He hadn't went down the hill.
Tom finally stood up, slinging the carbine over his shoulder. He picked up the web gear and added it to his load. Walking over to Sgt. Ray's body, he found his pistol on the asphalt of the road. He picked it up and looked at it. The Springfield XD was scratched where he had dropped it. He checked the loaded indicator and saw that it was still loaded, then ejected the magazine. The gun had not been fired. Strangely, there was no blood on it. He settled it back into its holster.
Looking down the hill, he could see people moving among the bodies, collecting weapons and other items. Beyond them, he could see the Guardsmen moving back up the hill in a sort of spread out group. Counting heads, he came up with 6. That left them 5 men short. Turning, he could see a body slumped over one of the heavy machine guns. Two more were still manning theirs, scanning the area. That made 9, and Sgt. Ray was 10. One more.
Tom went from vehicle to vehicle, fear growing. Looking down the hill, he saw a camouflage-clad heap. He ran to it, afraid of what he would find. He grabbed the body and turned it over...
...and it wasn't James. Tom was momentarily ashamed of his relief, knowing that this man was someone's son, maybe someone's boyfriend, their husband or their father. But it wasn't James, and that was what was most important to him in the here and now.
The group of Guardsmen reached him. James was in the lead. His face was dirty, and, seeing Tom, he smiled with impossibly white teeth. Grabbing his brother, has asked "Are you OK? Did you get hit anywhere?"
"No."
James spoke to the men with him. "In the back of my vehicle...there are some body bags. Get a couple and pick up Daryl and Andre."
Tom spoke. "There's another." He pointed.
"Shit. Get Harry down from there. Dammit."
He looked back at Tom. "Are you OK?"
"I...I...I don't know."
James reached out and draped an arm over Tom's shoulder. "Come on. We still have some work to do. You can help me. Trust me, keeping busy will help. Have you gotten the shakes yet?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, you will. Tell me when they start. I keep a bottle for these emergencies."
Tom looked at James. James looked back. "What?"
"Is it...is it always like that?"
James looked at his brother, and reflected on how Tom had always had it a bit easier than he had. James had been the jock in the family, and Tom, while athletic, had always been more intellectual. James supposed that his world, already turned upside down, had just been turned inside out as well.
"Pretty much. Sometimes it happens faster, and sometimes you get to see coming. But that is pretty much what combat is like. It isn't pretty, and it damn sure isn't glorious."
"I was scared--I couldn't move, I couldn't think."
"That's not surprising. Our training, coupled with experience, lets us overcome that. You've never went through any of that. You did OK. You got in the fight and you fired your rifle. Heck, you didn't even piss your pants--we might just make a soldier out of you, little brother." He smiled, then reached out and took Tom by the shoulder, turning him toward the next task.
Tom looked down at his watch. It was barely past noon.
---------------------------------
Back at City Hall, a large group was gathered around the 3 Humvees, all of which were considerably worse for wear than they had been a few hours ago, as were the men they carried.
"I'm not sure we can take many more wins like this one," said John Dean. "As it stands, if you and your men hadn't been here, I don't want to think what would have happened." He looked at the back of one of the Humvees, where three body bags rested. "I'm sorry about your men."
"Yeah. Well, I'll pass that along." James had gotten over the rush of battle and was now well and throughly angry. As far as he was concerned, this whole thing was the fault of "these idiots in Lexington", and he had read the Sheriff and everyone else he could find the Riot Act. They needed to get their act together and stop trying to defend the entire county, improve their defenses and start patrolling their area. They had gotten caught flat-footed, and had paid a heavy price for it. As far as he was concerned, the Guard had paid far too much for their stupidity. He had went on for several minutes, until he ran out of steam.
"Look, I said I was sorry..."
James cut him off. "Sorry? Mister, sorry isn't the half of it. You're prior service--you should know better. You're the sheriff--this is your responsibility. Maybe your people can't be everywhere all the time, but you're going to have to do better than this. I lost three men today--men I can't replace."
Dean was heating up as well. "Really? We lost over 20 people at last count! Twenty! Somehow, I don't think their families can replace them either."
"Most of them are dead because you and the rest of the idiots in charge didn't do your jobs. Sure, there is a lot to do and precious little to do it with. And now, there are 20 fewer pairs of hands to do the work. God knows how much ammo they expended in this little party. You can't replace that, either. Get off your ass, Mr. Sheriff, and get this place organized for real. We may not be around to bail you out the next time. Real life isn't a John Wayne movie, and the cavalry doesn't always come over the hill to save the day." He looked for Sgt. Ray and couldn't find him. Correcting himself, he said "Dalton, mount 'em up."
Dalton bellowed "You heard the man--mount up! We're moving out."
Sheriff John Dean opened his mouth to say something more, then thought about it and closed it. James climbed into his vehicle without another word, and motioned to Dalton to move out. The little convoy moved out for Yadkin College for the second time that day. To Tom's newly opened eyes, the town looked vulnerable. James had been right this morning--had it just been this morning?--about how vulnerable he and his neighbors were. They had a lot of work to do.
Driving down Center Street toward Highway 64 and home, Tom leaned forward and pointed toward the west. "Look at the clouds. There's another storm coming. We'll split your guys up in our houses so they don't have to sleep in the rain...or the snow."
James looked at the clouds, then slouched down in his seat and pulled his helmet down to cover his eyes. "Looks to me, little brother, like the storm is already here." He wiggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. "Wake me up when we get there."
END
