FORSAKEN: THE SYSTEMIC SERIES (15 page)

The traders didn’t like it.  But what choice did they have? And Ava made sure to keep the requests upon the traders’ resources reasonable since she understood they might scurry off in search of help from the Three Families should her demands prove too excessive.  As long as Jake and Ava were able to keep their requests less than what the Three Families would require of the traders for protection, Ava felt they would remain loyal – at least until the Three Families eventually forced them into submission. 

But Ava only needed to buy herself a few months.  It was now mid-May, and while Jake remained blissfully unaware, this particular phase of Ava’s plan was really only meant to last through summer.  Then the Three Families could have it all.

The last two raids turned out to be a bit more difficult than their predecessors.  Word had spread about Jake and Ava and the armor they had acquired, and the traders were now better prepared for the possibility of their swift and devastating arrival.  They knew that if they could outlast the first few minutes of the massive assault, they might be able to stave off the rest of the attack. 

In Jake and Ava’s fourth assault, the trader and his men – of which there were at least a dozen – countered Jake’s Mike Tyson-like attack with an Ali-style rope-a-dope.  They allowed for more flexible defenses, putting several men out front to absorb and defend against the initial brunt of the Strykers’ blows, largely sacrificing this front line to the intense and deadly firepower of the armored vehicles while holding the majority of their forces in reserve. 

This tactic initially caught Jake and Ava a bit off guard, but they were able to safely penetrate deep enough into the enemy’s perimeter with the use of their armor to cut the defenses and defenders to pieces.  In the process though, one of the Strykers was hit by heavy gunfire, destroying three of its four right-side tires.  This had momentarily immobilized the vehicle and the defenders were able to lob several grenades at it.  The Stryker would have successfully handled the grenades if one of them hadn’t landed on, and become lodged in, the remote weapon station’s 50 caliber machinegun atop the vehicle.  The station was subsequently blasted to bits.  Not only this, but as the men inside the Stryker had exited the immobilized vehicle, Steel Will had been shot through the hand, temporarily costing Jake his second Stryker operator.   

While they had a replacement weapon and extra tires back at the pump station, the loss of such prized and valuable equipment irked Jake, and they didn’t have anyone other than Steel Will and Mad Dog readily trained on operating the Strykers. 

Jake was ready to kill the captured trader when the fighting was finally over, but Ava stopped him, reasoning with him that the trader was more valuable to them alive.  Instead, Jake upped the ante and took half of the food that the trader had on hand in payment for his damaged Stryker in addition to the trader having to fulfill the weekly list of goods that Ava provided him.

The trader started to bitch, but he was quickly silenced as Ava told him to consider himself lucky to have escaped with his life and then whipped the butt of one of her 9 millimeter handguns against the side of his head, knocking the man unconscious just in case he was stupid enough to continue with his outburst in front of Jake.  She felt she was doing him a favor.

The injured Steel Will managed to limp the damaged Stryker back home where they were able to conduct repairs both upon him as well as the vehicle.

The next assault came a week later.  Jake and Ava didn’t want to wait this long as they were hoping to carry out all their planned attacks in rapid succession to maintain the element of surprise, but the injury to Will and the repairs to the Stryker forced them to postpone their plans.  Therefore, with their final target likely realizing that they were on Jake and Ava’s hit list, Ava took a little more time to prepare for this last raid.

She had thought about giving their planned objective the option to surrender first.  Ava had actually considered this option for all five of their planned assaults, but she was concerned that giving them advanced warning would allow the traders to better prepare their defenses for what they knew was coming.  Therefore, she decided force was the best policy in these types of situations, shooting first and allowing the traders the chance to show just how willing – or unwilling – they were to succumb.

With this final target having had ample time to prepare, Jake and Ava thought it pertinent to do a little extra prep work.  This particular trader and his men had chosen a good base of operations.  They had set up shop inside an old bank.  The building was constructed of red brick and concrete, and according to Ava’s reports, the trader and his crew had stashed most of their goods in the big walk-in vault upstairs and a secondary vault where the safety deposit boxes were located downstairs. 

Jake and Ava decided to start off like usual.  They felt that a little heavy hitting with the Strykers wouldn’t hurt, but they wouldn’t go charging headlong into the defenders’ line of fire.  Instead, they’d let loose on the bank building from afar. The plan was to sit back and plug away with the remote weapons systems, taking out any easily visible targets, then they’d edge their way in slowly, letting the attack come to them. 

As their barrage began, Steel Will – his wounded hand bandaged but functioning – pulled up in the first Stryker and unloaded with the M240 machinegun they’d used to replace the previously destroyed 50 cal.  There was no reason to get up close right away with the firepower they had.  Sending Steel Will in first was just a way to rattle the trader’s cage and introduce themselves.  Will raked the building, shooting out all the glass windows and doors and shredding the boards and plywood they’d affixed as secondary protection for these areas.  He punched enough holes for Mad Dog – operating the second Stryker – to follow up a couple minutes later and conduct a little business of his own.  Mad Dog launched several grenades in through the bank’s front doors and then several more in through the windows that Will had blasted open. 

But all this was just to shake things up a little bit. 

Jake and Ava had learned from their last experience.  This time they weren’t getting in close enough to risk their armored assets unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Next, Mad Dog had one of his men switch things up a little, moving from explosive grenades to gas rounds.  This was the changeup that Jake and Ava hadn’t used yet in any of their raids and figured the trader and his men wouldn’t be expecting.

Mad Dog fired in three shells and then they waited for the gas to do its work.  Jake and Ava watched from inside Mad Dog’s Stryker.  They knew the trader and his men wouldn’t come out through the front door.  That would be walking right into the lion’s den.  This is why they’d thought to set up Kill King and have him ready and waiting.  He’d circled around back of where the action was taking place out front, taking along with him Rambo and the Fallback Man. 

As the trader’s men began exiting through the rear of the bank to escape the gas, Rambo and Fallback hit them with heavy machinegun fire from a covered position about 50 yards from the exit.  This fire wasn’t meant to stop them, just slow them enough so that Kill King could do his thing.  The defenders started scattering as Rambo and Fallback laid down an intense barrage, but they didn’t get far before the King had dropped two of them and wounded another.  Seconds later, about six more guys – including the trader – emerged with hands up, having seen their comrades gunned down and unable to stand it inside any longer.  They were coughing, crying, wheezing, and vomiting from the gas.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it’d begun.  In all, Ava estimated it lasted about seven minutes from their arrival to the trader’s surrender.  It was somewhat anti-climactic, and Jake almost seemed a little disappointed that their opponents hadn’t put up more of a fight.                 

But with this final trader now soundly defeated and under their control, they’d collected the five they needed to secure a regular and reliable food supply, and had in the process, developed a nicely trained and heavily armed little army.  All things considered, the plan had gone even better than Ava expected. 

However, there was still one thing that bothered her.  While the armored personnel carriers were hell on wheels in battle, they were also gas guzzling monsters.  Worse yet, they consumed diesel fuel, which was becoming increasingly rare in and around Atlanta.  After the past few raids, both vehicles had consumed much of their supply.  The behemoths now needed to be fed, and siphoning a few gallons here and there wasn’t going to cut it.

And as Ava pondered this issue, she began to realize that the Stryker’s excessive fuel consumption might actually serve as the “out” she needed to eventually get Jake to unwittingly agree to the next layer of her plan.             

Chapter 13

It’d been about three weeks since the last rainfall.

During that period, I’d noticed a significant drop in our reserve water supply at the pond.  The pond itself wasn’t large, maybe an acre in total, and it was so shallow that I could almost walk across it.  I’d guess it was probably only about six feet at its deepest point.

A week earlier, I had driven a stake into the ground at the pond’s water line.  That marker now sat nearly six inches from the water’s edge.  Added to this dilemma was the fact that we were using up valuable fuel driving back and forth between the store and the pond to fill our numerous water containers on almost a daily basis.  The garden seemed to be taking increasingly large amounts of our precious water supply. 

To compensate for our increased visits, we’d started working to develop a better system for transporting larger quantities of water in the pickup.  We decided to remove bathtubs from several of the older, more dilapidated homes in the area, seal their drains, and fit them into the back of the truck to increase our water-hauling capacity.  But we had yet to finish securing them to the truck bed to keep them from sliding around as we drove.

Looking back on it, I found myself second guessing my Bessie decision.  I wondered if it would have been better to have kept the sweet cow alive.  Then we could have built a cart for her and had her haul the water for us rather than using the truck.  She could have tanked up on water while at the pond and then brought the rest of our water back with her, no gasoline necessary.  But it was too late now, and it would have been yet another drain on our already meager water supply. 

To hedge our bets when it came to staying liquid, we decided to make more scouting missions, expanding our search radius in hopes of finding other creeks, ponds, lakes, or springs.

Unfortunately, we had absolutely no luck. 

Any streams we found were dry.  And the one pond we came across was so muck-filled and nasty looking that we figured it would be more trouble getting any useable amount of clean water from it than it was worth.  Plus, it was out in the middle of a field with no easy way to get a vehicle to it.  Five days after finding it, it was completely dry anyway.  Looking at the map, there were several larger lakes and a river around 15 to 20 miles from Olsten, but getting there and back would rapidly diminish our available fuel supply.

Therefore, we stuck to doing what we’d been doing, hauling water from the pond to the store.  Meanwhile, we amped up our efforts to get the pickup modified with our new water-hauling tubs.

One morning while Ray, Will, dad, and I were working on this critical project, I decided it’d be a good idea to ask Claire for an update on her insulin and diabetic supplies.  The steady diet and variety of foods from which we now had to choose had helped us to better regulate her blood sugars.  And she had been doing a fantastic job of conserving her available supplies.  But this didn’t mean that we could choose to ignore her condition.

I watched from my position in the truck as my lovely wife made her way from the garden, across the dusty yard, and towards the back door of the general store.  Her hair was as blonde as it had ever been due to the regular blasting it received from the Georgia sun.  Her creamy skin had baked to a toasty almond color now.  Over the past few months, her gymnast’s frame had become more muscular and lean, yet it still exhibited those feminine qualities that I found so appealing.  Shapely legs, a sweet, soft outward curve of her abdomen, and that cute little supple butt that I never failed to find the urge to squeeze when the opportunity presented itself, were thankfully all still there.  I was proud to call her my wife even if there remained very few people to whom I could do so.

I watched in admiration as she disappeared inside the store to review her supply levels. 

Shaking myself from my hormone-induced daze, I glanced over at the garden to where Claire had been working before I made my request.  I noticed that while all the other women were busy working away, Joanna stood, silently watching me.  As soon as we made eye-contact, she turned back to her work watering rows of corn.  No one else seemed to take any notice, and I quickly and quietly returned to my own work. 

It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but it felt like it was already 90 degrees out.  I wasn’t sure if it actually was or if it was just a combination of the humidity and the unobstructed sun beating down upon us that made it seem so hot.

About ten minutes later, Claire was at the back door, waving me in for a break from my labors to give me an update on her supply situation.

I climbed down from my perch upon the pickup’s bed and walked over.  “How are we doing?” I asked her, always apprehensive of her answer.  Even though I’d been married to Claire for nearly a decade, I still was no expert when it came to diabetes and how best to regulate the condition. 

Before the flu, other than urging a well-stocked kit of emergency supplies, I’d always left the tending to and tracking of the disease’s effects upon my wife’s lovely body largely up to her.  It wasn’t that I didn’t care.  If I hadn’t cared, I wouldn’t have pushed her to build the ample reserve of supplies that had kept her alive since the flu.  But since she had dealt with the disease since she was a child, she was by far the expert in the family; and frankly, it’d just been easier to let her handle it.  Plus, up until recently, there’d been little cause for me to become so heavily involved.  In the past, Claire had regularly-scheduled doctor visits to ensure everything was being handled properly, help monitor her blood sugar levels, and adjust her insulin as necessary.  She had drug companies to send regular amounts of insulin and other supplies and to provide upgrades as new monitoring devices or insulin pumps became available.  And at the time, in a worst-case scenario in which a device broke or something else went wrong, there was always a pharmacy, hospital or emergency care facility just a few minutes away should it be needed.

Then the flu hit, and with it, all of those safeguards were eliminated.

I think it actually took less time for me to realize the immense ramifications of such an event for Claire’s well-being than it did for her.  Due to my being so prepared and aware of the possibilities and eventualities of the effects of something like a pandemic, I’d spent time pondering how we would handle things like Claire’s condition.  She on the other hand, had always been one to hold faith in the status quo and believe that everything would turn out okay given time.  The idea that one day there might not be drug companies to produce more insulin or pharmacies from which to pick up a quick prescription was one that never entered her mind until I came into the picture; and even then, it was more something she preferred to leave to me to worry about, as in her mind, it was an impossibility.  And how could I blame her?  We’d always lived in a world where things had just been the way they were.  Such amenities and services had always been there for her and would always continue to be there…until they weren’t.

I think that the gravity of the situation – and the realization of the possibility of there never being another vile of insulin produced in our lifetime – hadn’t truly struck her until we reached Olsten.  However, living in a town for several months now without the arrival of one visitor, without the sound of one other vehicle other than ours, without one airplane passing overhead, and without televisions, radios, the internet, or cell phones, had finally and cruelly driven the point home.  She hadn’t made a big fuss over it or anything like that.  Claire wasn’t that way.  Concerned or carefree, happy or sad, excited or frightened, Claire always seemed to manage to mask her emotions incredibly well.  But lately, I’d noticed something in her; something that hadn’t been there before.  It was almost a melancholy sadness about her.  Anyone else would have said she was acting the same as usually, but as a husband, I could tell something just wasn’t quite right with her.  It made sense though.  Coming to the realization that in a few months’ time, the items necessary to keep her alive and with us in this world might forever be gone, was likely something no one would be able to handle without it changing something in their demeanor.

The hard part for me, was figuring out how to handle
her
, handling
this
.  I didn’t want to make things worse by seeming overly concerned, as that might make her even more worried about the future.  Yet, at the same time, I didn’t want to seem blaze about it, acting as though I didn’t care that her supplies might run out soon.

Claire sat down on the back porch steps and I sat down beside her.  I took her hand in mine and held it, resting them together on her leg.  She proceeded to give me a run down of how many boxes of this she had, and how many vials of that she had. 

When she’d finished going through the list, I asked, “So how many months?”

She looked at the blazing blue sky above us, considering.

“If we really stretch it?” she asked.

“If we really,
really
stretch it,” I emphasized.

She took a deep breath, still thinking.  “I’d say, two or three…
maybe
four or a little bit longer.”

I nodded, “Okay.  And you’re feeling good?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.  “I get a little more lightheaded and nauseous occasionally since I’m taking more time between shots.  And I’m eating more snacks.  But other than that, things seem to be okay.  It’s weird being on shots again instead of on the pump, but I’m pretty much back in the groove again.”

“Good,” I nodded, squeezing her hand.  “The nearest big cities to us are Macon and Valdosta.  In a month or so, I’d like to try to make a trip to one of them to see what the situation with medical supplies is.”  I looked up at the sky, “I just wish it’d fucking rain here first so that we could stop hauling water for these crops all the goddamn time.  We’re going to burn up all our fuel doing that.”

She squeezed my hand back and smiled, looking into my eyes, “I know you’ll take care of me…of us,” she said.  You’ve already done it for almost a year now, and you’re getting better at it every day.  You’ll figure things out.  I know you will.”

I looked away from Claire, her confidence worrying me but at the same time providing a deep sense of pride and inspiration. 

I looked over at the garden and saw Joanna watching me again.  Our eyes met, and then I looked back to Claire.  She was looking over at Joanna too, watching her watch me.  Then she looked back at me, that melancholy look back on her face. I squeezed her hand again, “We’ll figure it all out,” I nodded, trying to reassure her. 

Claire just nodded, gave me a half-hearted smile, and stood.  “Okay,” she said.  “I’d better get back to work.”

“Don’t overdo it, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed softly as she walked back to the garden.

I continued to sit on the porch another minute, watching her and thinking, and trying to figure out what to do.

* * *

By late afternoon of that sizzling June day, we finally finished making our modifications to the pickup truck.  With two full-sized bathtubs – their drains plugged – affixed to the bed of the truck for added stability, we were ready to haul several hundred gallons of water all in one trip.  Best of all, we’d fitted the tubs with plywood covers in an effort not only to help keep the water in the tubs during transport, but to keep bugs, debris, and animals out of our water source.  We wanted to keep the water in the back of the truck when at home, using the tubs as storage tanks.  We had a plan to attach rubber hoses to the drain areas that could be opened to supply us with water whenever we wanted.  So rather than hauling 50 containers or more around in the back of the truck, and then having to pour water from them whenever we needed it, which often resulted in spillage and waste, we now had a central reservoir that could easily provide us with a nearly week-long supply in a much simpler and less wasteful manner.

The problem we faced now that we had the means and capacity to transport our water was whether we’d have enough to keep it filled.  Our pond was falling to a level that concerned me, and without rain, I could see that between the evaporation from the fierce sun, consumption by any animals that might frequent the area as their own water source, and our hefty draw upon the dwindling supply, the pond might only last another month, and that was if we were lucky.

I decided to take the truck over after dinner and test out our water hauler.  I had found that evenings, when the sun had started to set and things had cooled a bit, were the best time of day in which to conduct this sort of work.

After dinner, as the rest of the group retired to the front porch and the kids began a game of tag out front, I announced, “I’m going to take the truck over to the pond and get it filled.”

“Want any help?” Will asked. 

“Yeah, we’d be happy to lend a hand” Ray offered.

“No, that’s alright,” I said.  “I’m good.” 

I was actually looking forward to having some time alone.  I found it nice to take a few minutes beside the pond and just relax in solitude occasionally.  I loved my family, but sometimes it was nice to be alone with my thoughts away from noisy kids and friendly but talkative adults.

Everyone was settling into their respective chairs, and a few beers were being popped.

“I’ll keep your beer cold for you,” said dad.

“Thanks,” I nodded.  “Well, I’m gonna get going,” I bent to kiss Claire goodbye, something we always did now, even for little tasks where we would only briefly be apart.  After all we’d been through since the flu had struck, we’d realized just how precious, as well as how fragile life could be, and that it could quickly and easily be taken from us at any moment.

“Mind if I tag along?” asked Joanna.

The request caught me off guard.  It also made me feel very uncomfortable.  As I stood from kissing Claire, I could feel my wife’s eyes burning into me, waiting for me to answer.  I didn’t want to make a big thing out of the request, since really it wasn’t a big deal, or at least it shouldn’t be. 

There was a sort of uncomfortable silence among the group as they waited to hear what I’d say.

“Sure,” I said in as upbeat a way as I could manage and as though it were Ray or Will or dad or anyone else in the group making the request.