THE COLLAPSE: Seeking Refuge (8 page)

Stephen asked if he could bring Hal Hollingsworth to the recycling area for him to pick out what he would need to build the herring smokers.  The Martinez’ had replied by cordially inviting Stephen to do whatever he thought would be necessary, if, in fact, it would be beneficial in some way to The Park. 

Since they were near the barbwire, Stephen touched a strand and asked, “How did you get all this wire?” 

To his question, Victor and Gerty looked at each other, confused.  As if neither of them had a clue where the wire had come from.  Victor finally said, “Not sure.  I think they scavenged the ranger station for it.  We never ask where Claudie and Bill come up with this stuff.”

Stephen squinted in thought and asked, “Claudie and Bill?  Are you referring to Claudine and William Probst?”

Gerty laughed, “You can go ahead and call them ‘Claudine and William’ all you wish.  They were our neighbors back in the real world, so they’re just ‘Claudie and Bill’ to us.”

“I see,” Stephen acknowledged.  It was becoming more and more of a realization that ol’ Claudie and Bill had been stacking their team this whole time.  Nothing wrong with that, surrounding yourself with leadership that you can trust. 
Nothing wrong with that at all
, Stephen thought.  It was actually a wise thing to do.  He felt privileged to be part of the team!  But…how in the hell did that turd Larry Paulson previously fit into the picture, though?

Victor changed the subject, “Okay, son.  Here’s the rules.  Nobody gets to take anything outta here without working for it.  Claudie has a strict, ‘no free ride’ policy.  You work for The Park, you get paid with stuff from here, simple as that.”

Gerty added, “They left it up to me and Vic to determine distribution.  We get confirmation from either Ox, Hal or Alexis as to who is putting in time on the security teams.  Larry used to provide us confirmation of his resource people, but I guess that will be your job, now.  Which is better, I think, because we never really did trust him.  We’re pretty sure he gave us names of   people that never contributed to The Park.  Buddies of his.”

“Oh, great,” Stephen sighed.  “That doesn’t surprise me.” 

Victor then took a more serious tone and stated, “Things are still good here, for now.  But keep in mind, son, there are over a hundred people living here at The Park.  This food’ll disappear quick, once everyone’s personal stashes are all used up.  The bridge teams used to bring down a lot of stuff, but it has been slim pickins’ the last few days.”

“I plan on helping out with that issue,” Stephen proudly began, “I’m setting up two herring smokers at the two wood stations in The Park.  All that fish, coupled with the rice, noodles and canned goods that you folks have stored up here should make for a very long haul.  In my humble opinion, of course.”

Victor and Gerty smiled at Stephen’s humble opinion comment.  Victor put a friendly slap onto Stephen’s back and said, “You’re doing right by us, son.  Right by us.”

“I have a quick question,” Stephen said as he put his finger up.  He had just thought of something.  “What about fuel?  Gasoline, diesel, propane, etcetera, etcetera?”

Gerty replied before Victor could, “Ox is the fuel manager.  He keeps it fenced off at his site.  His wife and son keep an eye on it while he is up on the bridge.  Ox and his teams are just about the only ones that would need fuel around here, anyway.  Plus, Bill didn’t want all that fuel at this site, side by side with all the other stuff we have...”

“Boom!” Victor yelled and made an explosion with his hands, startling Stephen.  Victor laughed and playfully nudged Stephen’s arm.

“That makes sense,” Stephen said, shaking off the willies and nodding his head in agreement.

Just then, a woman approached the entryway to the provision managers’ site.  She called out for permission to enter.

Stephen and the Martinez couple met the woman.  Gerty asked, “Yes, young lady? How can we help you?”

“I was hoping for a little bit of food, and maybe a towel, if you have any.”  She replied.

Victor put on his business face and asked, “And you are?”

“I’m Cynthia Hostetter.  My son, Craig, is a woodcutter.  He works every day.”

Victor and Gerty both looked at Stephen, as if to ask,
“Is that true?”

Stephen asked the woman, “Does your son go by ‘Craigger’ by any chance?”

“No, actually he doesn’t, but his friends insist on calling him that for some odd reason,” the woman laughed.

Stephen nodded at Gerty and said, “There’s a Craig that I met this morning.  Hard little worker, too, I might add.”

“That’s my Craig!” the woman said, proudly.

Victor grinned and told Stephen, “See, you really
are
handy, son!”

Gerty gently grasped the woman by her arm and escorted her into their site, saying, “Come on in, honey.  Let’s see what we can do for you.”

*****

Just as Larry Paulson had finally walked away from Carrie’s site, Tarra heard a series of gunshots in the distance.  They sounded like different types of firearms; none of the shots really sounded the same.  The shots, however, did not sound as if they had originated from the beach as the others earlier that day.  They weren’t warning shots, either.  Some even sounded like automatic fire.

Seconds after the gunshots had ceased, Tarra heard an electronic squawk from inside Carrie’s RV.  Another squawk, then there was a voice. 

“Carrie, this is Ox.  Carrie, are you there?  Carrie, come in!”

It sounded like a walkie-talkie or a CB radio, but Carrie had never told Tarra anything about a radio.  She ran inside the RV, and sure enough, after a quick search she had found a small handheld transceiver radio on the window sill above the RV’s sink. 

“
How in God’s name could I have missed that, earlier?”
Tarra cursed at herself as she picked up the radio and pressed the mic button.

“Carrie’s still not back from the meeting yet, this is Tarra.  Can I help you?”

“One of my guys just got popped.  They’re bringing him down now.”

Tarra gulped.  Was it what she had feared?  A gunshot wound?  A bullet wound was quite a bit outside of the scope of her limited training.  She pressed the button again and asked, “Popped as in…shot?”

“Yeah.  Two times, same shoulder, same arm.  Are you okay with this?  Where the hell is Carrie?”

Tarra had no immediate reply.  Where
was
Carrie?  She should have been back from the meeting a long time ago.  Even on foot, it shouldn’t have taken that long.  Tarra’s blood pressure began to rise.  She briefly contemplated sending the Kays out to look for Carrie.  Both of the girls were notably familiar with The Park, but Larry Paulson was also out there too, somewhere, lurking around.  Too big a risk, she decided they needed to stay with her at site 72.

Tarra answered into the radio, “She should be back soon, bring the man down and I will do whatever I can until she gets here.”

“Roger that, you should be hearing the truck in a minute,”
Ox replied.

“Shit!  Shit!  Shit!” Tarra screamed as she bounded out of the RV.  She told the Kays that an injured man was being brought down to the site, and then ordered the girls to keep Dakota with them and to remain at the picnic table.  “Do not leave this table under ANY circumstances!  Do you understand me?” she had yelled, and the Kays acknowledged her.

Tarra ran back into the RV and opened the cupboards that contained Carrie’s medical supplies. 
What would I need for a gunshot?  Alcohol or betadine to sterilize the wound?  Gauze to stop the bleeding?  Something to stitch up the holes?  What if the bullets were still inside the man?
  Tarra only knew what she had seen on television when it came to gunshot wounds.

*****

The reason Carrie was absent from site 72 was because she had followed Hal Hollingsworth after the meeting.  She knew that he would likely check his own campsite first, then double back toward the gate to retrace his wife’s steps.  Sure enough, she was right.  She had caught up with the panicky man and followed him at a distance where he wouldn’t be able to see her.

Carrie witnessed Hal catch up to Julia and Sydney on their way to the gate.  They were both carrying Dutch oven sized pots.  “
Hmmm, I guess they weren’t lying about the food.  At least that part of their story was true,”
Carrie thought as she snuck as close as she could to the group without being seen and hid behind a tree.  Carrie was a decent-sized woman, broad and muscular, so the tree she chose needed to accommodate her accordingly.

Carrie eavesdropped as the group argued.  She heard Hal demand an answer as to where the women had been all afternoon.  She even heard her own name being dropped, as Hal told them that he knew exactly what time Dakota was left at site 72.

Julia screamed at him, “You don’t appreciate anything I fucking do for you!”

Sydney chimed in, too, saying, “Do you know how long it takes to cook up this much rice?  Stop being an idiot, Hal!”

The soap opera in the middle of the road was getting good, and Carrie was savoring each moment.  But then a series of gunshots at the bridge had to go and ruin it!  She watched the group turn silent as they listened to the explosions, then Hal ordered the women to return to their campsites.  He removed a pistol that was lodged between his jeans and his back, then bustled toward the gate.

“Shit!  Those whores are going to see me now!”
Carrie thought as the women approached her direction with their Dutch ovens in hand.  So, she did the only responsible thing she could do at that moment, and bounded out from behind the tree and ran past the women in the same direction as Hal.

Sydney had yelled, “What the fuck is this bitch doing here?” as Carrie’s powerful frame propelled her forward and past the two surprised women.  They turned their heads and made ugly faces at the nurse as she skirted between them, but Carrie refused to give them the pleasure of an acknowledgment.  She knew that if there were any injuries at the bridge, a vehicle would be on its way down at any second, and she intended on meeting it en route.

*****

Tarra was thinking fast and gathering up what she thought would be necessary to patch up the wounded man when she heard the sound of an engine approaching in the distance.  Engine sounds were crystal clear during The Collapse, as vehicles were rarely used.  Nobody wanted to waste their precious fuel when walking would suffice.  But the sound of the truck and the consumption of the fuel was necessary in this case, it was an emergency!

Tarra had her hands full of medical equipment when she heard the Kays yelling outside.

“Dakota, get back here!” one yelled.  “Get back here, now!  Get away from the road!”

Tarra’s heart leapt into her throat and her eyes popped opened wide with alarm.  The worst dread she had felt in a long time settled over her like a dark cloud.  The kid had probably heard the truck approaching and went into the road to check it out.  His mother had never taught him any better.  The sound of the truck was even closer now, so Tarra had no choice but to drop everything she was carrying and plummet out of the trailer.  She looked toward the sound of the engine, which was much closer now, and saw a white Chevy S-10 screaming around the corner toward Carrie’s site, and, goddamnit, Dakota
was
in the middle of the road and walking toward the sound!  Would the driver see him in time?  Unlikely, since the driver would be traveling as fast as he possibly could.  One of his buddies was shot!

Tarra needed to grab the boy.  She went forward, but felt as though she was running in slow motion as she sprinted to the child.  Her thigh muscles burned with each step as she launched herself closer to the child.  She prayed that she would make it in time,
“Dear lord, please let me get to him in time, PLEASE!”

Just as the truck finished the corner and was yards from the boy, Tarra felt as if she was going to make it.  She dived head first, as if sliding into home plate during a playoff baseball game, and while airborne, managed to grasp a handful of the boy’s jacket as she rolled to the side of the road, forcefully jerking him with her. 

The man driving the truck had spotted Tarra running toward the boy in the road and slammed on the brakes.  The tires screeched and skidded on the dusty, pine-needle covered pavement as the truck hurtled past Tarra and the boy laying on the side of the road. 

Carrie had been riding in the bed of the truck.  She had ripped off the injured man’s shirt and was applying pressure to the wounds with the shreds when the driver hit the brakes.  She was catapulted forward, and her head hit the truck’s rear glass pane with enough force to shatter it completely as she damn near entered the cab of the truck with her entire body.

The driver and the other man who had been escorting the wounded man to Carrie’s site instantly thought that Carrie was dead.  She had hit that glass wayyyy too hard.  Tarra scurried to the rear of the truck and saw Carrie’s body half-in, half-out of the truck.  She cursed at herself,
“This is all my fucking fault!  How could I have let this happen?”