Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (8 page)

With the door key hanging from a dog-tag chain around his neck, John leaned forward and unlocked the door. With a great deal of effort, he pulled the door outward and swept the ash off the step. Once sufficiently clear of the ash, John quickly entered the dark shop and instinctively reached for the light switch, but he diverted his hand up to his helmet mounted flashlight. He turned it on and examined the shop for reasons of security. Finding the shop clear, he closed the door. A trail of ash revealed his path, but he wasn’t worried about it in the shop. He was just glad it wasn’t deeper than it was.

The flashlight beam played across the familiar landscape of the shop, and despite the darkness, it remained a comfortable and familiar place. John spent a lot of time in the shop, it was his man-cave of sorts. He removed his goggles and face mask, and set about preparing the generator for action. The brand-new generator sat patiently next to the shop’s large, metal, roll-up door. He regretted not setting it up yesterday, before the ash had fallen, but was still surprised he needed to use it this soon. He lifted one end of the generator and wheeled it over to where his cast-iron potbelly stove once stood. The stove’s vent line was capped and waiting for an entirely different exhaust mission. John purchased the cast iron, railroad-type, potbelly stove to heat the shop during the winter, but he used it so little that he moved it to the garage. Before the disaster he planned on selling it, but now he was glad he didn’t. He knew it would come in handy now, much more than ever before.

Using hose clamps, and garage grade metal flex hose, John attached the generator exhaust pipe to the stove vent in the wall. He knew it wouldn’t be carbon monoxide proof, but it would be better than letting the generator run completely unventilated in the closed up shop. He decided to bring a carbon monoxide alarm with him when he returned to the shop.

After adding oil to the generator, and filling the tank with gasoline from one of his vintage military jerry-cans, John hit the starter button and smiled when the generator came instantly to life. He was glad he didn’t have Adam put all the gas cans in the fuel pit. Given the conditions outside, that would have added another twenty minutes to his mission.

Next, John removed three, two-hundred foot, contractor grade extension cords from a storage box and set them on the floor next to the generator. He then opened a box marked “Christmas Lights” and removed four spools of white, LED Christmas lights. After unwinding one of the extension cords, John anchored it to the side of the shop with several heavy-duty cable staples. He didn’t want to make any unnecessary trips back to the shop because someone accidentally pulled the cord free from the generator, so he purposely anchored it firmly to the side of the shop’s wall.

He was certain two cords would reach the house, but he wasn’t sure they would reach the well pump in the garage, so he grabbed an extra cord and secured two ends together with zip-ties. Like paracord, zip-ties had a hundred useful purposes, and John had a variety of different lengths and thicknesses, everything from the small and narrow three-inch long zip-ties, to the wide, heavy, twelve-inch long ties. He grabbed a handful of the six-inch long zip-ties from his workbench and stuffed them into his pocket under the coveralls. To finish the connection, John wrapped the extension cord connection with a generous portion of duct tape.

John had several more extension cords in the garage, so if he needed more he wouldn’t have to return to the shop, but he would
need to return to refill the generator, so he also grabbed his spool of 550 cord. Before plugging the extension cord into the generator, John secured a single strand of 550 cord to the four-by-four leg of the work bench, the leg closest to the shop door, and then zip-tied it to the extension cord. Both cords would now serve as a guide line, if and when he needed one. As soon as John plugged the cord into the generator, he put his mask and goggles on, hefted the loop of extension cord onto his shoulder, opened the shop door, and stepped back out into the ash.

Ash immediately began to accumulate on his goggles. He had forgotten to clean them, and realized that there was a very light breeze in the air. Again he wondered what the weather patterns would be like with the ash; how long it would take for things to return to normal, but he couldn’t worry about it now. He wiped his goggles with a gloved hand and headed toward the house, uncoiling the extension and 550 cord as he walked. His earlier trail was easy enough to find, but it was barely visible through the goggles. The beam of the flashlight reflected off the suspended ash, acting against him to blur his vision, so he reached up and turned it off.

John made his way back to the side door of the house, and was glad to see that no light escaped through the heavy curtain that covered the window. He knocked the first code and waited. A few seconds later a reply knock was heard. John counted the set amount of seconds and answered with the correct reply knock. Jenna peeked out from behind the window, saw John, and immediately opened the door for him. The lantern on the mudroom bench was the second best welcome he received. Jenna, holding a shotgun at low ready, was the first.

“Yuuu woot afumm beaeb?”

“What?” Jenna asked, with a confused grin.

John lowered the breathing mask and raised his goggles. “I said . . . you look awesome, babe.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m holding one of your shotguns,” replied Jenna, playfully.

“You’re right, but you’d look awesome standing there holding a rotten watermelon, too,” replied John, in defense of his innocent appraisal.

“Will you please come in and shut the door . . . you’re letting ash in.”

“Actually, I’m just here to drop off this cord. But now that I think about it, I should probably run it in through one of the back windows.”

“An upstairs window?” asked Jenna.

“Hmm . . . you’re right. Do you think we can close the back door over the cord?” asked John.

“I think that would be a better option than a window,” she said.

“OK, then lock up and I’ll run the cord to the back door. I also have some Christmas lights I want to bring in and string up for interior lighting.”

“Christmas lights?” asked Jenna, with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, they’re LED, which means they’re bright and won’t draw a lot of power. I want to run them through the house so we don’t have to carry lanterns around with us everywhere we go. That means I’ve got to make another trip to the shop. I also want to check on the pool cover, so I’m thinking I’ll be out for about another fifteen or twenty minutes. Are the kids holding up?”

Jenna nodded, “Yes, I just checked on them.” She lowered the barrel of the shotgun to the floor.

“They’re bored, but holding up. They said they can’t see anything.”

“Even Adam?” asked John.

“He said the scope is really cool, but he can’t see anything through the ash.”

“OK, just tell them to stay put for a few more minutes.” John returned the goggles and breathing mask to his face and backed out the door. He waved to Jenna and stood on the doorstep until he heard her engage the deadbolt and drop the security bar back into place. John picked up the extension cord and hastily coiled it up as he walked around to the back patio. He dropped the coil at the back door and surveyed the patio with his flashlight.

When he was satisfied everything looked fine, he set his bearings and cut a new trail to join up with the first one he cut to the shop. He moved with much more confidence now, and soon picked up his old trail by the tree. The sound of the running generator could be heard outside the shop, but it was quieter than John would have imagined. He figured the heavy air must be muffling the sound.

Once back inside the shop, the generator sounded painfully loud. Such sounds normally didn’t bother John, but the raspy silence of the ash was strangely soothing, like white noise. Everything else seemed to assault his ears. He realized it was strange to think the sound of falling ash was soothing, but he preferred it to the sound of the generator running in his shop.

The generator’s indicator lights reflected off the green plastic spools of Christmas lights. John quickly stuffed them into a garbage bag, and tossed it over his shoulder. He wanted to take the lights in the house, so he had to protect them from the ash. But he also wanted to keep one of his hands free, and the light spools in the bag made that possible. John scanned the shop with his helmet mounted flashlight one last time, and then stepped back out into the ash, locking and pulling the shop door closed behind him.

John quickly made his way to the back patio, and sat the bag of Christmas lights on the extension cord coiled by the backdoor. He wanted to quickly check the pool cover before going back inside. He was seriously concerned about how well the cover was holding up to the accumulating ash. Cutting a new trail through the ash, John headed east, where he knew the pool cover would be. When he saw the unmistakable outline of the tie-down stakes, he paused and looked up to see the looming shape of the pool cover.

John reached up and turned on his helmet mounted flashlight for a quick survey of the cover. As best he could tell, the tarp seemed to be holding up very well. There was ash on the tarp, but most of it had slid down the steep sides and accumulated at the bottom, on the part of the trap that rested on the lawn instead of directly over the pool itself. The
sides of the tarps extended several feet beyond the edge of the pool, so the weight of the ash didn’t tear the tarp. He was excited to tell Adam about their success.

He felt the need to inspect the other side of the cover, so he turned his flashlight off and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. John cautiously followed the line of stakes around to the opposite side of the pool cover. But when he reached the far side he stopped. Another track was in the ash, and it wasn’t one of his. John was so surprised to see another track that he actually froze in place. From the looks of it, someone had just made it. John wondered if it was Darrel, and his body made an immediate request for adrenaline. He calmed himself, and took a knee to consider his options, while unconsciously resting his hand on his pistol. With open eyes and ears, John surveyed the area for the intruder.

John scanned the area, pushing his eyes to penetrate the heavy gloom around him, commanding his ears to detect anything unusual or out of place. He was glad he turned off his flashlight, but he wondered if the intruder already saw it and moved to take up a better position in order to ambush him. John was convinced an intruder was waiting nearby; waiting for him to make a mistake, to lower his guard and expose himself to attack. But John was ready. He completed his transition to tactical mode. It was a completely natural transition for him, long practiced despite the fact that he hadn’t engaged it since his retirement. He wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t reckless either. John knew, from experience, that alertness and nerves were always better than careless and reckless behavior.

The only sound was the whispering of ash. It filled his ears through the hood of the painter’s coveralls. He decided to cut ear holes in the hood before his next excursion, or better yet, he’d just leave the hood down. While at a crouch, John backed down his trail and waited. He noticed that the intruder’s trail continued beyond the pool towards the back of John’s property. He followed the new trail as he instinctively released the safety strap over his pistol.

Ready for action, John followed the trail as it led around to the back of the shop. Whoever the intruder was, John saw that he was determined, nosy, and in danger of being shot. Anyone walking around in these conditions had to be up to no good. All of John’s senses were heightened, and acutely focused on tracking the intruder. He blocked out concern for his lower back, that it hurt from walking at a crouch, or that no one in his family knew they were in danger, but he continued forward, cautiously stalking his prey.

Each step was deliberate and measured, perfectly balanced and set for immediate action in any direction. He moved his right hand from his pistol and moved it to his vest, where he released the safety strap for the combat knife. He silently drew the knife and passed it to his left hand. He wasn’t sure why he drew it, only that if felt good to hold. If necessary, he knew he could quickly drop the knife, but it seemed to focus his attention even more.

He completed the intruders’ circuit through the ash, having followed it around the far side of the shop to end at the same corner where John had stopped during his first search for the door. The sound of the generator seemed louder than before, and he realized it was probably louder because he was more open to the sounds around him. John stopped at the corner of the shop and knelt to survey the area around him. It was difficult to tell, but it looked to John as if there was a dark mass moving away from the side door. He considered running forward and engaging his target, but he wasn’t sure he could reach him without jeopardizing his own footing. It wouldn’t be good to trip and fall just as he reached his target. Besides, John wanted to understand the intruder, to figure out what his intent was before confronting him.

John stopped at the shop’s side door and noticed two hand prints in the film of ash that coated the window. He quickly turned to follow the trail back toward the house. He moved with greater speed now that he knew where the intruder actually was, and he wanted to get closer to his target. John found the intruder leaning against the window of the side door, apparently trying to look through the gaps in the heavy
blanket that hung over the window. John silently drew his pistol, and with a knife in his left hand, holding it similar to how he would a flashlight-pistol combination, he moved to within striking distance of the intruder.

The intruder was much smaller than Darrel, which immediately released a load of tension by several degrees. He was wearing dark pants, a dark colored sweatshirt with the hoody pulled up over his head, and high-top court shoes. The intruder’s hands were bare and visible on either side of the door as he bobbed his head around the window in an effort to see past the curtain. John was glad to see the intruder didn’t have a weapon in his hands, and realized that if he didn’t move, he could probably pat him down right where he stood.