Chapter 8: Journey's Start

The night passed, and we rose before dawn on Monday. After washing, eating, and the rest, we loaded the last few items into my Sienna, straightened the cabin, tied blue bandannas around the appropriate arms, and departed with the arriving sun.

We were close enough to the Needles Highway that it was the most sensible route on the way to Hot Springs, though I think it was supposed to be closed. It was slushy and twisty, but there was no traffic. We took it slow and finally came out in Custer Park. I wanted one last look in hopes of seeing the bison on the wildlife loop. We were not disappointed, though I really had expected them to be sheltering in the canyons. We all leaked tears as we drove away.

We picked up Highway 385 and traveled into Hot Springs. During the whole trip, we saw no vehicles and few tire tracks.

Approaching one house along the highway, we saw smoke from a chimney. I had my ladies wait beside the van to back me up and knocked on the door. A bent old woman answered the door. When I introduced myself and explained my mission, she invited us in and gave us coffee.

“Son, this is my home, and I have no intention of leaving. My family is buried here, and I plan to be, too. I have terminal cancer, and I’m past menopause, so the Confederacy doesn’t want me. If those Swarm things want my house, they are going to pay a dear price.”

She explained, “My grandson is in construction. He had enough dynamite in my shed to blow at least a fifty-foot crater. I had him bring it into the house and rig a detonator. If I die, electronics arm the detonator, and if the house is disturbed, the dynamite exacts my price.”

Holding up her hands to forestall interruption, she went on. “Today, I’ll be putting up signs all around the outside of the house explaining what I’ve done and how to disarm the detonator. I wouldn’t want an innocent to be killed. Anyone stupid enough not to believe the signs, that’s another matter entirely.

“AND the Swarm things can’t read English,” she gloated.

We thanked her for the coffee, and each of us kissed her cheek. Then we moved on. That was going to be an interesting tidbit to report to the marshal during my next call.

As we entered Hot Springs, we looked up the hill to the VA hospital and decided it would be our first stop. I had always loved the pink stone construction used on the hospital and much of the town down along the river.

As we pulled up, the silence and stillness were almost overwhelming. A young captain, dressed in Vietnam era fatigues with a name tag reading ‘Johnson,’ looked up as we entered the lobby. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered and explained our mission.

“Well, depending on your point of view, you’re too early or too late. I’m rear and advance guard for a Confederacy operation run by a fella named Matthews. We were waiting for evacuation, and yesterday, he showed up here with boat load of medical types and a squad of Confederacy marines. They met with staff, then wheeled every possible vet into the mess hall and made them offers that not one of them refused. I know. I was one of them.

“This was the deal he offered. Any vet who volunteered would be transported to a Confederacy base where he or she would be brought back to health, limbs restored, or whatever was needed. If they had a CAP score high enough, they could be extracted or could be considered for concubines, if not and that was their wish. Or, they could join the EDF and help defend the Earth. The entire VA staff was also included in the deal. Everybody went.

“I was one of the first through the med tubes, and they sent me back to warn off folks who might want to abuse this facility. The EDF wants to be able to use it for staging if the need occurs. As you can see, my CAP wasn’t high enough to be extracted - I’m not sure I would have gone anyway - but no matter, it feels great to be able to defend my country again.”

“Do you know what’s happening in town?” I asked.

Captain Johnson responded, “Not much. A lot of people were already gone when Matthews arrived. He made the same offer to the vets over at the home, there were a few Confederacy extractions, and those folks that remain are not exactly the top ornaments on the Christmas tree. That’s why I’m here.”

We thanked him and departed. Driving into town, we could see that the evacuation had been reasonably orderly. There were a few broken windows and some signs of looting, but not much.

We parked the Sienna and were walking along checking for stragglers, when we were fired on by someone on a rooftop across the street. That was Cathleen’s side, and her three-round burst brought a scream and the clatter of a weapon falling to the street.

The fallen rifle had been ruined by the fall, so we stripped it of ammo and threw it in the river. We held a powwow, and I opined that urban fighting wasn’t in our charter. “I think we at least sent a message that ambush is not automatically successful.” I said. “I don’t really care if that thug bleeds to death or lives to tell his sad tale. It’s time to move on.”

Cathleen, my lady the nurse, disagreed. So we entered the building and climbed to the roof. Our would-be assassin lay on his back, watching us. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but it was evident that he was seriously wounded. Cathleen opened his shirt and looked him over. She shook her head and told him, “I’m a nurse. You need to know that you aren’t going to die in the next few hours, but you are seriously wounded, and without medical attention I don’t have, you are going to die.”

She paused, then continued. “I seriously doubt there is anyone around who could or even would get you to a hospital, and I don’t believe in killing a helpless human, no matter how worthless. So, here’s the deal. I’m leaving your pistol with one round in it and your canteen of water. You can wait as long as you care to for help. It is likely to be a lonely and painful wait, even if help comes.”

I stepped over and added, “And let me assure you, if you choose to use your only bullet to shoot at one of us, I will shoot both your kneecaps and won’t replace your bullet.”

I turned to my lovelies and motioned back to the stairs. “Now, it’s time to go.”

My ladies agreed, and we descended to the street, saddled up, and headed out of town on 385.

When we saw the Dairy Queen on the edge of town, lights still on, we decided we were hungry. On the door was a sign that said “Hungry? Fix it yourself and it is free. Just clean up and leave something for your brothers and sisters. Thank you for your business. The management.”

The refrigerators, freezers, and stoves were still powered and working. I got some burgers on, and Rachel sliced tomatoes and assembled other additions for the meal. It was a nice chance for a reasonably normal meal.

While we were eating, I called Marshal Pope for our morning update. It was a little late, but I wasn’t particularly concerned, because I felt complete was better than timely. At least in this case, the marshal agreed.

I briefed him on our recent activities, and he concurred with our conclusions and decision to head on south. We cleaned up, grabbed a Dilly-Bar apiece, and left for Chadron.

Just for the heck of it, I decided to pull into what had been the old Maverick Junction Truck Stop located where 385 turned south. No one was there, but the pumps were in operation. I didn’t even need to use a credit card when I filled up. So in Hot Springs alone - three ‘attaboys’ and one ‘ohshit’ - not bad in a crisis. Kinda restores your faith in humanity...

As I expected, there were more signs of traffic as we drove south. We saw no moving vehicles, but someone had run a snowplow down one south-bound lane, and there were tracks. Still, it’s a pretty dull drive, with cows in the field, one small ‘town’, and few other buildings. As predicted, accumulated snow had tapered off. When we hit the Nebraska border, the casino parking lot was empty. That was a first for me.

We picked up Highway 20 just outside of Chadron, and I ducked north to look at the municipal airport. There was a military presence, including four A10 Warthogs parked near the terminal building, so I heeded Marshal Pope’s instructions and avoided them.

As we entered Chadron, we saw the Wal-Mart on the right, up the hill, so we went in to check it out. It was deserted, and the doors were unlocked. Most of the canned foods, camping gear, and other items useful when traveling or camping were gone. So were the weapons. All to be expected, given the situation. I had hoped to find some analgesics stronger than aspirin or ibuprofen, but aside from a large bottle of ibuprofen abandoned on the floor, there was nothing useful.

We drove across on 10th Street but saw no one until we reached the college. In front of the main residence complex was an old Volvo station wagon with two young men loading boxes. We pulled in and stopped. Jaws dropped when my ladies got out and approached them.

The two introduced themselves as Ron and Steve, students who were making their last preparations to leave. The Confederacy had staged a pickup on campus the previous night, but the two had CAPs too low to be extracted. They had declined the offer to join the EDF and were in the last stages of heading east towards home in O’Neil. I told them of the staging area in Valentine and warned them about folks posing as peace officers.

After leaving the students, we drove around town, but saw no one. It was a very eerie experience. Rachel suggested that we only stop at houses with cars in front on the theory that the others had most likely departed. Even so, we encountered no one else.

The Arby’s Restaurant offered an experience similar to Hot Springs’ Dairy Queen, and after eating, we found an empty room in the Best Western and settled in for the night. Let me tell you, a hot shower and a king bed were gifts from the gods.

We played and sexed and cuddled for a couple of hours before falling into an exhausted sleep.

Tuesday morning, we showered again, and at the Village Inn next door, we fixed ourselves breakfast and some sandwiches to carry with us. We were about to head out when the power went out. It had been good while it lasted. Who knew when we’d see a hot shower or a civilized meal again?

That morning we checked Ace Hardware’s gun store, but found it bare of anything useful. I did pickup a nice pair of wire cutters should we need to cross open country. Between Safeway’s pharmacy and Peterson’s Drugs, we managed to score some Tylenol with codeine and sterile bandages that had somehow been overlooked. I also added several packages of dried soup and beef jerky. Then we were off.

As we headed out on Highway 20, Rachel looked back and noticed a pawn shop on the edge of town. On a hunch, we stopped, went in, and found it abandoned like the rest of the town. There were several empty gun racks, but the shop looked otherwise undisturbed.

I walked over to the glass cases near the cash register, and wonder of wonders, there were several pistols, including a Glock, the same caliber as my two. Looking further, I found five empty magazines in an open box under the counter. That caused me to look even deeper, and I found several boxes of ammo.

With three of us, I had thought it would be wise to carry weapons that used the same caliber; that way we could share in case of need. Cathleen’s .22 magnum was nice, and she was familiar with its characteristics, but if we went afoot, that would likely be the gun abandoned.

I noticed two old knives, much like Bowie knives, together with scabbards. They looked very serviceable, but in need of sharpening. I requisitioned them along with a whetstone, intending to sharpen them in the evening before sleep.

With the power loss, I almost decided to turn off my cell phone to conserve the battery, but when we reentered the van, I just plugged into the car charger as we drove out of town. Good that I did, because it rang just as we approached the Museum of the Fur Trade. I had planned to stop there, so I pulled off and punched my Bluetooth to answer.

Marshal Pope started in immediately with no greeting. “Listen up! There’s been a new development. The Swarm have figured out that cars and trucks are transporting humans, even if they are not threatening. Basically, they are treating civilian vehicles as Spam-on-wheels. You’d think that they were playing some kind of game, because they peel open a car and eat, even when there are cattle and bison nearby.

“So guys, my recommendation is to ditch your car and walk. I also think it would be wise to stay off roads if you can. Above all, stay the hell away from any Sa’arm you might see. You aren’t going to be a match for any Sa’arm, no matter how good you are.”

Oh well.

He offered us one advantage; the Air Force was trying to engage the Sa’arm where they found them and was also keeping him informed of radar contacts with Sa’arm sorties, so he could give us some warning as long as we had cell phone coverage. If the cloud cover permitted, he would also give me GPS coordinates for houses and locations he wanted us to check on. That would save us a lot of walking.

I remembered earlier visits to the museum. It had just about every weapon and artifact imaginable from the early French explorers through the aftermath of the War of Northern Aggression (Southern Boy - remember... )

We went inside to see if there might be anything useable for a cross country trek, but amazingly, the building was empty. We later found out that an extraction team, like that formerly headed by a Lieutenant T. E. Lawrence, had identified the museum as desirable to retain our culture. Because of the anticipated Sa’arm advance, the exhibits were removed rather than simply scanned. Things were moving fast. Very good. Very good, indeed.

Well, it was time to say goodbye to my Sienna - sooner than I thought or hoped. We unloaded it into the museum so we could sort through our travel equipment one more time. It was our last chance to get it right, and that might mean survival or not.

We emptied out packs and spread the contents into three stacks. We carefully assured that we had multiple changes of socks and underwear and two changes of outerwear. Every pack had the essentials needed for survival if we were separated.

The hardest part was giving up Dad’s guns and other duplicate items that had strong sentimental attachment. There was also Dad’s strong box with close to three pounds in gold coins - over fifty thousand dollars by weight alone - and silver coins. I buried the box with his papers, but had little hope of ever seeing it again. I divided the gold and silver between the three packs. The money took up relatively little space, and there might be a time it would be needed.

In addition to the packs with essentials, we each carried a small add-on pack of nice-to-have items that could easily be abandoned if the burden became too heavy. Cathleen’s .22 magnum and two boxes of ammo went into her extra pack. Mom’s thirty thousand dollars in paper money went in these add-ons and would be spent first - if we could - before inflation made it worthless.

My ladies were each armed with the M-16s, and I carried the M-14 - not my favorite weapon, but it gave our team both firepower and somewhat more range than the M-16s. I had my old iRiver MP3 player with a 40 gig hard drive. More importantly for the present, it had an FM tuner. I put in one earbud so I could monitor for emergency broadcasts and updates. My solar charger rode on top of my backpack.

It was now late morning, so we ate our sandwiches before heading out. Knowing we were in for several days of steady walking, I began a routine of popping three ibuprofen every four hours to get ahead of the pain and inflammation that was surely headed for my knee.

Cathleen took the lead, Rachel followed, and I was tail-end-Charlie. I was complaining to myself that my ladies’ parkas covered their well shaped bubble butts. Here I was, strategically placed to admire a view, but it was hidden.

We passed a flock of wild turkeys on the north side of the highway just past a sign that read ‘Half Ass Ranch.’ It looked like they were feeding in corn fields that had been harvested in the fall.

Suddenly, Cathleen raised her hand and signaled a halt.

Rachel and I took up positions that enabled us to better cover her, and she slowly advanced down the road towards a red car skewed off to the right. When she was next to the vehicle she signaled us to come ahead, and we found her next to the Volvo station wagon we had last seen in front of the residence hall. The roof had been peeled back and blood and shattered glass were everywhere in the front seat. There was no other sign of Ron and Steve, the two students.

I called Marshal Pope and reported our find. “Marshal, it appears that your warning saved our lives. I’m going to upload a picture. Without seeing it, there just isn’t a way imagination would do justice. I haven’t heard anything on the radio about this development. It would be a good idea to get the news out, pronto.”

The marshal agreed, then told us, “The sheriff in Valentine is Rusty Naile. No shit, N-A-I-L-E. I’ll call and alert him on this development - that at least some Swarm are likely heading in his direction, and that you are on the way. I’ll text you his cell number so you can keep him informed as well as me. You will probably be the only law between Chadron and Valentine.”

Then he was gone, and minutes later, my phone had an incoming text with Sheriff Naile’s contact information.

After a few more minutes to reflect on Ron and Steve, we continued on.

My typical walking speed is about four miles per hour. With her shorter legs, I judged that might push Cathleen unnecessarily. That was one of the reasons for having her in the lead. We could determine the most comfortable pace for all of us, and a somewhat reduced pace would also help my knee over time. Without any detours, we had roughly one hundred and thirty miles until we reached Valentine.

I wanted to follow the marshal’s advice and get off the highway. I knew that the ‘Cowboy Trail’ was on an old abandoned rail right-of-way that ran roughly along Highway 20. Most of the rails had been removed some years ago, and some of the trail was improved with crushed gravel. It didn’t take long to find it, and though the portion leading from Chadron wasn’t improved, we were shortly moving at a reasonable pace.

We took hourly breaks and managed to make a little over twelve miles before calling a longer halt. We had checked on several ranches and farms, but found them abandoned, with the gates and doors to many outbuildings open so that livestock could roam free. Most had signs on the front door stating that the house had been abandoned and visitors were welcome to shelter and food. In those cases, power and heat were still on. Power? Who knew why one place and not another.