The Complete Lee West Post-Apocalyptic Box Set, page 45
part #1 of The Complete Lee West Post-Apocalyptic Box Set Series
The men walked cautiously down the dirt road, hyperaware of their surroundings. The road snaked through the lightly wooded forest into an opening, where a small old stone home sat.
“This place looks deserted.”
“No kidding. I hope we didn’t make the trip for nothing,” said Mark.
“Look there.” Bill pointed to smoke rising from the trees behind the house.
“Let’s go.”
As they walked closer to the house, they could see a well to the side of the property. The wide front porch contained handmade twig-constructed patio furniture. Mark had seen sets like those in magazines, fetching a large price. However, this set look homemade. In fact, the entire home appeared to have been made by hand.
“Hello! Anyone home?” shouted Bill to the still yard.
The two moved around the back of the house, still not hearing any sounds from within. The backyard contained a small natural pond lined with tall cattails. Several ducks bobbed lazily in the afternoon sun.
“There! He must be in the shed,” said Mark.
Just beyond the pond sat a wooden shed like structure, with smoke pouring out a black metal pipe chimney. The shed, like the furniture and home, looked homemade. A small wooden door was propped open by a rock. Inside, the sounds of a hammer hitting metal rang out.
“Hello?” said Mark into the shed.
The men moved to the threshold of the shed and peered inside. A small hunched-over old man stood next to a large anvil. The man’s large heavy hammer effortlessly hit the piece of metal in his hand over and over as he turned and shaped it. The man was completely immersed in his craft and absolutely unaware of their arrival. Mark walked inside, instantly breaking a sweat. The fire in the ample forge next to the man heated the small shed to an unbearable level. He gently placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, causing him to jolt.
“What? Who are you?” said the man.
“Sorry to startle you. I’m Mark and this is Bill. We’re civilian deputies from the Porter Police Department,” he said, showing the man his recently acquired badge.
Mark was grateful that Charlie had asked the ranking member of the Porter Police Department to deputize them and provide badges for their use. Otherwise, the man might not have believed him.
After carefully looking at their identification, the man said, “Have I done something wrong? Is there some sort of problem?”
“No, no. No problem at all. We’re here seeking your assistance,” said Bill.
“I don’t see how much assistance I can be, given that I have no electricity. It’s the oddest thing. The power failed and my truck died along with it. I’ve been waiting for my daughter to come for a visit, so she can call a tow. She usually comes once per week but hasn’t been here for several. I can’t get a signal on my cell phone, so I can’t even call her.”
“Where does your daughter live?” asked Mark.
“In Richmond, just south of here.”
Mark and Bill exchanged a glance.
“Sir, the power in the entire area has been out for weeks. As far as we know, Porter, Grant, Evansville and Bixby are all without electricity,” said Bill.
“I think we can now add Richmond to that list. Sounds like your daughter is dealing with the same thing as everyone else, no electricity and dead cars.”
“Holy smokes. I had no idea. I don’t get out much, especially in the summer. It’s my time for gardening and fishing in the pond. Plus, I’ve got all of this keeping me busy,” he said, waving his hand around the packed room.
Mark could not believe the number of tools the man had in the shed. All sorts of hand-forged items neatly hung from floor to ceiling on each wall. Mark had no idea what most of them were used for; however, he could tell the man made everything himself. He clearly was a very talented blacksmith.
“You can call me Max. No need for sir around here,” said the man.
“Thanks, Max.”
“You said you need help, but I’m not really in a position to help anyone sitting out here in the dark.”
Beads of sweat poured down Mark’s face and back. The heat from the large fire was stifling.
“Do you think we could talk outside? I need a break from the fire,” said Mark.
The man laughed and started walking outside. “I guess I’m used to the heat. I don’t even notice it anymore.”
“Max, when the lights went out, the doors to a local privately run prison opened, disgorging all of the inmates. They’ve been ripping through Grant, Evansville and Porter. We managed to secure Porter but need to now move into Evansville.”
“What about Richmond? Have you heard anything from there? My god, my poor Laura, she could be in danger. She’s all alone.”
“No, as far as we know, the inmates didn’t range too far from the prison. Your daughter should be safe, but we have no way to be certain,” said Bill.
“The police need more ammunition to fight these guys, and we’re hoping you’d be willing to make some bullets for us. I’ve brought a few samples and casings. Is this something you think you could help us with?” asked Mark.
Max took the bullets and casings from Mark and turned the items over in his old, gnarled hand. His eyes, although hooded and deeply lined with age, were alert and engaged as he stood thinking. “Sure, I can do this. No problem. How many do you need?”
“As many as you can make,” said Mark.
“Do you have the raw material needed? Is there a way we could help you obtain lead for the bullets?” asked Bill.
“Lead. Naw, I’ve got plenty. Come on, I’ll show you something.”
Max walked quickly down a well-worn path around the serene pond to another larger structure. Somehow Mark had never noticed the tucked-away barn on their walk into the property. Max slid open one of the barn doors on its rail with a smooth pull of its handle. Inside sat piles of old televisions and computer monitors.
“Those babies have enough lead in them to create bullets for an army. I’ve been looking for a new project to use them on. There are only so many fire pokers and gardening trowels I can make before going a little bonkers.”
“This is amazing. I didn’t realize all the old electronics contained that much lead,” said Bill.
“Oh sure, lead and gold. In some countries people do nothing but farm ‘recycled’ electronics from the States for precious metals like gold. It’s a big business.”
“How did you manage to get all of this stuff?” asked Mark.
“I just put fliers out in town. People have no idea how to get rid of their old CPUs and love the opportunity to drop them off. I’ve been piling up these babies for years, using a few here and there to replenish my supply of lead for classes I teach on blacksmithing.”
“That’s how we found you. One of your students, Henry Kreen, was here for a weekend and thought you might be able to help us with our dwindling-ammunition troubles.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. It’ll give me something useful to work on while I wait for Laura.”
“You might be waiting a little while for her. She would likely have to walk here. Chances are her vehicle is dead too. A few survived, but not many.”
“What sort of thing causes all of this? The power, the vehicles?” Max asked.
“We haven’t had contact with anyone outside our immediate towns, so we don’t know for sure, but it was likely an EMP,” said Mark.
“Holy shit. The Russians,” said Max. “Or the Chinese.”
“Could be. But who knows at this point,” said Bill.
“Are you okay out here? Do you need us to bring you any supplies?” asked Mark.
“Supplies? No. But thank you anyway. I have a garden, a well, a stocked pond and, thanks to Laura, more canned food than anyone could ever eat. She was always worried about a freak snowstorm isolating me out here. Speaking of eating. you guys hungry?”
Mark and Bill smiled at each other.
“Are we ever!” said Bill.
“Come on, then, let’s get you fed. You’re welcome to spend the night here. You must’ve been walking all day to get here from Porter.”
“Thank you very much, Max. We’d love to if you don’t mind,” said Bill.
The three walked back to the main house in silence. Mark was once again grateful to Henry for his quick thinking and creativity. With the additional ammunition, the New Order would not stand a chance against the police.
Chapter Twenty
Beth Pulte, head administrator of Memorial Hospital, stood on the second floor of the building, staring blankly at the forest in the distance. Exhaustion beckoned her to rest, but duty stood in the way. The recent attack on the hospital had her on edge. She knew it had only been a matter of time before an organized gang of people tried to shoot their way in, but it still came as a shock.
Scratching her greasy red hair, she daydreamed about a hot shower, a welcome change from her usual cold-water sponge baths. Perhaps even better than sleep. There’d be none of that. She’d be lucky to find time for the cold-water treatment at this point. Her time would be spent thinking and rethinking security, her number one concern right now.
She kept four men at any given time in the “bunker,” as they now called the second-floor waiting room. The men were mostly citizens from the local community or relatives of patients, who volunteered to defend the building. Jerry Marsh was the exception. He was the head of hospital security. Normally, Jerry’s job consisted of maintaining order in an already safe environment. After the lights went out, she was impressed by how quickly Jerry responded to their changed world. A former Marine, he had the skills and training to adapt. Even though she was an Army brat and had grown up in a military family, she knew creating a defensive posture for the facility was beyond her capabilities.
“Hey, guys. Anything moving out there?” she asked the men.
“No. Nothing at all. Just the birds,” said Jerry.
“We radioed Porter this morning to request immediate assistance from the police. They’re sending a team of officers, with weapons and additional ammunition,” she said.
“That sure is a relief. Given the increase in New Order activity, I’ve been getting nervous that they’re planning a major attack,” said Peter Murphy.
“Me too. And I know we lack the weapons necessary to send them packing,” she said.
“So far I think we have them guessing as to how well we’re guarded over here. I’m hoping that the surprise police presence during their last run gave the appearance that we’re a fortress, hardly worth the effort,” said Jerry.
“We really did get lucky with the timing of their last patrol run. You’re right, perhaps the police presence will give them pause,” said Beth.
“Or it’ll make them bring more men and weapons than we can effectively fight against,” said Peter.
“Yes. I would imagine the prospect of obtaining street-value drugs is pretty appealing to them. That’s why I requested police assistance. The New Order presence is getting bolder and more regular every day. I think with the additional support, we’ll be fine until all of this blows over,” said Beth.
“If it blows over,” said Jerry gravely.
The tension in the group was palpable. Beth knew that the men felt a tremendous responsibility to protect the people housed in the hospital. The group of roughly twenty-five civilians who volunteered for security duty could never have imagined what they would be fighting against. Nor could they imagine the lack of resources at their disposal. The hospital did not contain much of an armory. It was merely stocked with a few pistols for basic security. However, the citizens who arrived at the hospital had brought their own weapons. Some came to assist the hospital to maintain order; some showed up with their families seeking shelter. All were prepared to defend the facility with their lives. Beth felt extremely lucky to have their assistance. She knew the citizens who sought shelter at the hospital depended on them for their safety. Together they would weather the storm.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lea stood, massaging her aching neck. She had been picking vegetables from the garden for most of the morning. After saying goodbye to her parents in the predawn hours, she needed something to occupy her mind. Fear for their safety gnawed at her; the physical demand of the work helped to distract her. As soon as they left, she filled several containers of water for the kitchen, tidied up the woodpile, and then turned to the gardening.
“Lea! Come on and have a seat. You need to take a break,” said Doris.
Doris brought a tray of fresh water straight from the well. The jug containing the cold water beaded, sweating in the heat.
“Come on. Five minutes won’t kill you,” said Doris, settling into a old wooden chair.
“I guess you’re right. I could use a break.”
Lea took off her gloves and wiped the sweat from her hands on her jeans. Walking over to the shade of the oak tree, Lea sat next to Doris. The tray of water and a few pecans sat between them.
“Here you go, honey,” said Doris as she poured.
“Thanks. I’m so thirsty but didn’t feel like making the trek back to the house.”
“That’s what I figured. I’ve been there myself. I walk out here just to check on things, and then I start pulling weeds or trimming. Before I know it, two hours have gone by, the sun is up, and I’m parched.”
“Yep. That’s what happened to me too,” said Lea with a smile.
“The garden has a way of doing that to everyone. It’s also a soothing place for me. Something about how the plants take care of themselves while we merely steward them, coaxing them along.”
“I’m no gardener, but yeah, I get that.”
Lea didn’t want to be rude, but she needed to keep working, or anxiety would quickly take hold.
She started to get up when Doris said, “I know you’re worried about your parents and you should be. We’re in a very dangerous world here. But if I know one thing, it’s that Sam and Jane can take care of themselves. They’ll be just fine, you’ll see.”
“I hope so. Well, thanks for the water and nuts. I’ll keep going for a little while before I come in for lunch.”
“Sounds good, sweetie.”
Lea watched Doris return to the main house. Over the weeks she had grown very attached to the woman and hoped that she hadn’t been too abrupt. Doris was just trying to help. She also knew Doris was probably right about her parents. Everything would be fine; they could take care of themselves. Besides, her worry wouldn’t help them.
She returned to the garden, pulling her soiled gloves tightly over her sore fingers. Her thoughts suddenly flashed to Tank. Damn! Even hard physical labor couldn’t banish that menace from her mind. She was sure that he was somehow behind the attack on the camp. Tank wasn’t the sort of guy to just give up on something, especially her. He would be looking for her. Hunting her. And she knew it.
Doris’s house seemed safe, but he was a monster who did erratic, evil things. She would never feel safe until he was dead or incarcerated, physically unable to get to her. The chief and other officers said they hadn’t counted him among the New Order men they’d killed at the camp, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been at the camp. Tank could have fled before the fighting started. He was mean but not stupid. He would protect himself and she knew it. She wished her parents hadn’t stopped her from shooting out his tires. At least she would have slowed him down. With that stupid car of his, he could range out looking for her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlie sat with Gayle in her kitchen, eating lunch and catching up. Father Roy had assembled a team of volunteers to gather pantry items and cook. The group collected all the flours, beans, pastas and spices from anyone willing to part with their dry pantry supplies. Despite the odd array of ingredients, a few chefs from the local restaurants had figured out a way to keep everyone satisfied with their meals.
“I have to say this is the best meal I think I’ve had in weeks,” said Gayle.
“You’re not kidding. Nothing like having hot food instead of canned veggies.”
“The New Order idiots ate through the town’s ready-made food, even the frozen stuff,” she said. “But apparently they’re too lazy to actually cook real food.”
“Fast-food lifestyles and years of eating food off a tray on the inside,” said Charlie.
“I thought the prisoners cooked the food in prison,” said Gayle. “PrisCorp wouldn’t hire cooks when they could force the inmates to do it.”
“I don’t think any of the guys running the gangs lifted a finger in the prison,” said Charlie. “My guess is that they would have moved from town to town like locusts, eating and drinking everything they could find—and didn’t have to cook.”
“I hate that they drank the town dry. I could use a cold beer right about now,” she said.
“Or two. What’s your plan for the rest of the day? You on watch?” asked Charlie.
“Yes. I have to go back to the horse trail at seven this evening. I thought I’d help Father Roy a little before then. You?”
“I’m headed back to the station. We’re expecting Mark and Bill to come back this afternoon. Mark radioed ahead to say they made it safely and that the blacksmith, Max, could help make bullets.”
“That’s a huge relief. I think the dwindling supply of ammo has been on everyone’s minds. I just couldn’t see how we could fight back against the New Order without an infusion of supplies.”
“Right, me too. But the New Order had the same supply problem.”
“Until they didn’t.”
“Until they didn’t,” Charlie said gravely.
Charlie, like everyone else, worried that the New Order’s refresh of weapons and ammunition from the Grant armory would tip the balance of power in the gang’s favor. And to make matters worse, they seemed to be getting bolder and more aggressive. They’d attacked the camp and the hospital all within a twenty-four-hour period. In the past, there seemed to be a lull in between attacks. Something had changed on their end. However, they had no eyes on the New Order. No intelligence to work with. Typically, the police would learn the subject and plan accordingly. Undercover officers would be imbedded in gangs, while others would run external surveillance. In this situation, they had neither.
