Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (63 page)

“I do like him, but the other ones . . . they’re a mess,” said Pete.

“Like Shelly?” asked Bonnie, prodding Pete into discussing the meeting in the teacher’s lounge.

“Yes, like Shelly. All she’s worried about is holding on to her power, and in her ability to control everyone around her. She likes controlling people. She’s bad news for this neighborhood. I hope they see through her motivation and do something about it before she gets people killed,” said Pete.

“Well, you’ve done everything you can to help them. Did you give Charlie, John’s address?”

“What? No!” said Pete, giving Bonnie a troubled look. “It’s not my place to add anyone to John’s invitation list. But I did advise Charlie to be ready to leave when things here turn ugly. He didn’t seem interested though. Speaking of John, how far are we from his place?” asked Pete.

“I’d say we’re about thirty miles, but I don’t know what that will mean in terms of actual driving time,” said Bonnie.

Pete saw they were approaching the east Harmon Road roadblock, and he slowed the truck to a stop. Charlie maneuvered the golf cart to the side and immediately waved Pete and Bonnie through the
roadblock. Pete hollered through his open window, “You take care of yourself, Charlie!”

“You folks do the same, and good luck to you both!” replied Charlie, as he offered a sloppy civilian salute in reply.

P
ete and Bonnie waved in reply. He knew, just from the expression on Bonnie’s face, that she had enjoyed the visit, and that she wasn’t thrilled about leaving an area that offered them so many comforts of normal life. “I know you liked it here, but this place is only an illusion of normal. We’ll be much better off at John’s,” said Pete.

“How do you know that?” replied Bonnie, with mild irritation.

“About this place, or John?”

“John’s,” she snapped.

“Well, I’ll talk both then. First off, I know, John. Second, these people have stuff, but they’re not prepared. They got lucky, in a lot of ways, but it won’t last. They’ll break down at the first sign of trouble. They’ll probably get their butts handed to them when the lead starts flying. After that, if they survive, they’ll have nothing,” said Pete.

“It’s sad that you think so little of their resolve, their will to survive,” replied Bonnie.

“It’s not that I think so little of their resolve, it’s that the last two days taught me a lot about how this survival situation will play out,” said Pete. “Violence is the new norm . . . life is very medieval now. And kingdoms, like the one we just left, will pop up here and there, only to be swept away by more ruthless and better armed people. Unfortunately, the people of Travis Heights don’t have a castle to run to.

“Did you tell them that?”

“I did, in a way,” said Pete, “but I told Charlie more. They may be able to hold on to their luck, but their group dynamics is all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bonnie

“I mean, they’re too big as a group, with far too large of a footprint, and too few weapons, training and experience to adequately defend themselves. Don’t get me wrong, they have a chance, but their luck will only carry them so far,” said Pete. “I’m thinking company, or clan sized units of thirty to forty people will work best in this environment, but not a thousand. Small groups willing to work together, through alliance and barter, with mutually supporting defense pacts, will probably endure the longest.

“But clans were pre-medieval,” replied Bonnie, “primitive, like the American Indians.”

“There was significant overlap. Clans are still a major part of organization in Iraq and Afghanistan . . . stronger than their local governments. Anyway, the point is, small groups of people will have a better chance of surviving this disaster than large groups . . . like the one Shelly’s trying to control,” finished Pete.

“What would you do if you were Shelly?” asked Bonnie, sincerely.

She seemed genuinely interested in hearing his opinion, which surprised Pete a little. “Well, I haven’t given it that much thought, but I told them they should move their food out of the DC and put it in the school, the BEP, and hide some in food caches. Oh, and I told them to let the people have the rest . . . to spread it out,” he said.

“But you wouldn’t try to defend the neighborhood?”

“Nope. The BEP, maybe, but I would have to get a closer look at that building before I committed to it. It has a lit perimeter fence with an anti-vehicle cable laced through the bottom, but that’s all I saw from the checkpoint. It helps that they have electricity and water, so if the building is solidly built, which I suspect it is, then I would try to defend from there. You know, treat it as a castle. Then I’d post concealed OPs at a distance, to provide early warning. Then, at the first sign of trouble, I’d sound an alarm and have everyone move to the BEP.”

“OPs?” asked Bonnie

“Observation Posts . . . positioned to observe enemy movement through likely avenues of approach or key terrain,” replied Pete.

“But wouldn’t the invaders burn the neighborhood down?”

“Probably,” replied Pete, “but homes can be rebuilt.”

Bonnie was silent for a moment and then asked, “I wonder what’s going on in John’s neighborhood?” She turned to look out the window to identify the next pertinent road signs.

Pete knew her question was rhetorical, but he decided to answer despite himself, “I’m guessing he’s got them standing in a formation, and maybe even doing physical training every morning,” said Pete.

“Really?” asked Bonnie, reengaged.

Pete laughed and said, “No. He’s always been very low-profile about his preparedness. I doubt he’s done anything more than take a walk around the block a few times. His neighborhood is a bit off the beaten path, so unless they’re attacked I doubt he’s done more than secure his own home.”

They continued driving east on Harmon Road, but when the road turned north Pete grew concerned. He wanted to get back on I-35W, which was east of them, not north. Bonnie told him to relax, that they were doing fine and would soon find an on-ramp. That was a true statement, but Bonnie couldn’t predict the traffic. They were forced to a stop about a mile short of Keller-Hicks Road, the first available on-ramp. Before them, a line of tail lights extended off into the distance. Pete mumbled something about his decision to drive Harmon Road. The road wasn’t even wide enough for him to make a clean u-turn, and he hated back-tracking.

“Is there any way around this mess?” he asked Bonnie after looking around.

“Not unless you’re willing to drive cross-country,” said Bonnie.

After some thirty minutes of little or no movement, Pete asked to look at the map. “OK, we’re going west,” he declared. “Cross-country it is.”

“How do you plan to do that?” she asked, surprised that her comment was taken seriously.

“You’ll see,” said Pete. He set the parking brake and got out of the truck. Bonnie watched as Pete reached under the tarp, then, after a minute of rummaging around, Pete withdrew a pair of leather work gloves, and a set of heavy gauge wire cutters. He returned to the truck and grinned at Bonnie. “When all else fails,” he said, as he held up the wire cutters “improvise.”

Pete, not one to get too close to any vehicle sitting in front of him, steered his truck to the left and drove it straight for the three-strand, barbed-wire fence on the other side of the road. The truck’s bed extended into the on-coming lane, but no traffic moved on it so he wasn’t worried about blocking the road. Besides, he wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to make a scene. He approached the fence and with three quick snips of the cutters, the fence was opened. Pete pulled the wire aside and dropped it to the ground.

When he returned to the truck, Bonnie asked, “Why didn’t you just drive through the fence?”

“That only works in the movies,” said Pete. “I once saw a single strand of concertina-wire stop a fast moving military Jeep in less than ten feet. It was impressive. And it took the driver more than two hours to cut the wire from around the Jeep’s front axle. He wasn’t happy.”

Bonnie nodded. “So you’re just going to cut your way through every fence we meet?”

“Yes. That’s the general idea,” replied Pete. “You ready?”

It took Pete more than an hour to reach the first unfinished road. He had to cut through six more fences, which really didn’t take him long. It was the slow and deliberate drive across the open fields that took most of the time. The terrain was very difficult to read under the ash, and he very much wanted to avoid damaging his truck, or getting it stuck. There were no tow trucks or road service crews available to come to his rescue, so he drove slowly. Several times he got out of the truck to walk the route ahead. Bonnie would inch the truck forward until Pete was comfortable with the ground under his feet. It was slow
going, but better than sitting on the road behind traffic. It was progress, and that’s all Pete wanted.

Near the end of their cross-country expedition, Bonnie reported seeing headlights, from at least two other cars, following them across the field. She asked Pete nervously, “Do you think it’s the police?”

“No. I don’t. It’s probably someone hoping to capitalize on our trail. I wouldn’t worry about them, but let me know if they get closer.”

Pete saw a long and wide depression in the ash ahead and got out to inspect it. When he returned to the truck he told Bonnie that he found tire tracks in the ash, and that the tracks led north, which was the direction they needed to go. Pete was also happy to find that the road surface under the tire tracks consisted of hard packed dirt and gravel, not the field grass they had been crossing. He told Bonnie they would follow the tire tracks because he was certain they would lead to an improved road surface.

Pete noticed that the first set of headlights was gaining on them, so as soon as he had his truck on the dirt road, he accelerated away. A huge tail of gray dust went up from behind the truck, obscuring everything behind them. As Pete accelerated, Bonnie expressed her concern about their safety. He was about to slow down when he saw a flash of light on his left. It was followed by a sharp crack.

Pete calmly asked, “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“I think we’re right about here,” she said, while looking at the map. But when she realized Pete couldn’t take his eyes off the road, she continued, “Yes, I think so, but I won’t know for sure until I can see something . . . like a street sign.”

“Fair enough. Crap! Hold on! Gate ahead!” said Pete, as he plowed the truck through the four-foot high, pipe and wire fence gate that stood before them. He slammed on the brakes as he passed the gate posts, but with nothing more than ash for the tires to find purchase, the big truck slid sideways across the blacktop roadway, and came to a rest against the embankment on the far side of the road.

Pete saw another flash, and heard another gunshot, so he floored the accelerator. The four rear tires kicked up another huge cloud of ash, and it seemed like an eternity to Pete before his truck began to move forward on the paved road beneath them. Finally, after a great deal of work and danger, they resumed their westward direction.

“Wow, that was fun,” said Bonnie, with sarcasm laced with relief.

“That was nothing. There was this time, back when . . .”

“Pete! Please!” interrupted Bonnie. “Not another war story. I’m begging you.”

“I was just going to tell you about how I avoided an ambush, once, but suit yourself. At least we’re back on the road.”

“This is true. Now I just have to figure out where we are. Please stop at the next intersection so I can read the signs,” said Bonnie, with a sigh and a shake of her head.

Pete didn’t see the headlights of any other vehicles, and he wondered if the shooter managed to convince them to turn around. He knew, from experience, that nothing got the heart rate up like being shot at, but Bonnie didn’t seem to be at all upset by what happened. “You did know that someone was shooting at us back there, right?” said Pete.

“I thought that’s what it was, but you didn’t seem worried about it, so I wasn’t,” she replied.

Pete laughed and said, “Well, Bon, I was worried about it. One lucky shot and he could have ended our trip. This truck is our lifeboat.”

“Then why didn’t you stop and shoot back,” asked Bonnie.

“Because we were wrong to be on his property,” replied Pete. “And retreat is not a bad word.”

“But we were just passing through.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t know that. With those other cars following us, he probably thought we were invading him. But at least we’re safe now.”

Pete saw a road sign and said, “Look, we’re coming up on 156.”

“I got it,” said Bonnie. “Take a right. If we stay on 156 for about ten miles, we’ll hit highway 114.”