Desolation

He passed over some railroad tracks and the crown of a bridge, when he noticed a purposeful grouping of vehicles forming a barricade in the road. He continued forward, hoping there was a way around it. A single gunshot cracked the silence, the bullet striking the asphalt a few feet away from him. Digging into his brakes, he came to a stop almost instantly. If it wasn’t a warning, he and his new friend’s lives were finished.

“State your business,” a high-pitched, screechy voice called out from behind a Chevy Tahoe.

Scratchy wisps of breath were all that would come out of his mouth. He tried once more. “I’m… Dr. Carr-ing-ton… Reid. I’m really si-”

“Carrington Reid? As in the Dr. Carrington Reid?” a jubilant voice asked from behind the several vehicles blocking their way.

“Yes… I am… Dr. Reid.” His words were feeble and hard to hear above the wind washing over this bridge.

“Well I’ll be damned,” came another voice out of group-led murmurs. “Let the man who probably single-handedly saved our town through the gates,” said a deep male voice with a very pronounced Texas drawl.

One of the cars, a little blue Ford Fiesta, rolled just behind the bulk of a late model Chevy Tahoe. It continued its silent march, without the sound of an engine, until it revealed seven or eight people. All had rifles, but all held in a nonthreatening manner. Before allowing himself to pass out he watched a man who wore a giant white Stetson walk through the opening, holding his hand up in the universal sign of “hello.”

~~~

His eyes flickered open. Blinking several times, he attempted to orient himself with the gray 1970s popcorn ceiling above.

“Welcome back, Dr. Reid,” said the man wearing the big white Stetson.

He wondered if it was the same day or much later, trying to remember the light outside when he passed out. Then he thought of the woman. He attempted to say something, but nothing came out. His throat felt like coarse sandpaper. “Where is the girl?” The words rubbing the back of his throat came out in harsh whispers.

“Oh, Melanie? She’s a purdy one, your wife is. She’s fully recovered since ya brought her in three days ago. We were worried about you, Dr. Reid. You were one sorry-lookin’ son-a-beach when you ended up on our doorstep. Ya’d a fever of one-hundred-four, but our doc shot ya full of antibiotics and yer fever broke yesterday. We’ve been tryin to let ya sleep. But that filly, she’s been check’n on ya all the time.”

“My wife?” Carrington asked, puzzled but feeling better by the minute. “Where is she?”

“She’s working on the wall detail. Don’t get mad, she was dying to help. Ya’ll see her shortly, I’m sure. How ya feelin’, Doc?” The way he said “help” sounded like “hail” with a P on the end.

Carrington pushed himself out of bed, onto his feet. He felt pretty good, although a little weak. He smiled his answer.

After introductions, Bartholomew T. Witherstream, who offered to be called Tex—this was of course a lot easier to remember since it matched his drawl—gave him the grand tour of the town. It turned out Tex had been a subscriber to Carrington’s CMERI Bulletins, and he’d prepped the whole town. Four days before the Event, Tex had worked with the town’s police and council to start their contingency plan. When Carrington sent out his last Bulletin, the day before the Event, Laramie carried out Tex’s plan. They sealed up the historic downtown area and literally cut the electrical lines leading to the town’s center, along with many of those leading to buildings. That let them escape the fires when the first CME hit. They also collected food and water and now had storehouses of both. Since then, they had been shoring up their defenses, awaiting an attack they were sure would come any day now.

“Everybody’s got their duties an’ so far they’s all worked t’gether,” Tex went on, continuing the tour. “Y’see, becuz most of the buildin’s are brick an’ we disconnected off the grid, we were able t’avoid th’ fires.”

“What about outside of the downtown?” Dr. Reid asked.

“Well so far, they haven’t been a problem, but we expect that to change shortly when the food runs out,” chimed in Sheriff Ralf Peterman.

“Raff takes his s’curity serious as a heart-attack,” Tex added. “Tell Dr. Reid whatchu done.”

“Besides the walls, we’ve set up scouts who watch all four points of the perimeter for any incoming threat,” Peterman continued. “That’s how we knew you were coming.”

“So, what do you have as far as weapons go?” Carrington asked, sitting on a chair in front of the sheriff’s station, a few blocks from where the tour started.

“Nothing major, Doc,” said the sheriff, “mostly hunting rifles, a few Winchesters and a couple of assault rifles from the local store. Most everyone here has a handgun. But that’s it.”

“Yep, we didn’t plan that one too good, did we, Doc?” said Tex plaintively.

“Show me the railroad yard, ’cause I have a couple of ideas on that,” Carrington said as he stood.