Desolation

When they reached their destination, they dropped their rail with a thunderous thud near the end of the one-sided spur. Except for Melanie, they all collapsed in a heap where they stood, lungs frantically trying to take in air, already punished by the town’s high altitude.

“Great job, take five,” Melanie ordered, barely out of breath. She turned her attention to another group of eight, lumbering toward them from a different direction, with less difficulty. Their cargo was a large rectangular metal plate, and their job was made easier by a dolly system Tex had rigged up. The plate was formerly used to temporarily cover holes in a roadway. This would be laid lengthwise, end-to-end to the others, connected to one another by metal shims. “It’s perfect right there,” she said. They flopped the heavy rectangle into place at the end of the runway that ran down the middle of Grand Ave, away from the spur. The spur and runway of plates were now only a few feet away from one another. Two more lengths of rail and they’d be done. Perfect, she thought. “You guys take five as well,” she said as she headed back to the workshop. “I’m going to go check in on my husband.” She smiled as she said it, enjoying the ease with which the word fell from her lips, even if it wasn’t really true. Yet.

~~~

Carrington was standing over a model of the town in their workshop, describing how his defense plan would be orchestrated and what still needed to be done to an audience of Tex, the sheriff, Bob Smucker, and a guy everyone called Frank, who had been in the military at one time and ran the lookouts around town. Frank wore fatigues and a gun belt holding his Beretta and his lucky hand grenade, which made them all nervous.

“Once we have the Executioner up and running, we can focus on other concerns, but until then, I think you’re going to want to put more people on that wall,” said Carrington.

“How much longer until ya think it’ll be done?” asked Tex.

“It depends on Mel… Here she is now. What’s our ETA on the rails and plates?” He beamed now that she was here.

“We’ll be done by tomorrow at the latest,” she answered, grinning back.

Tex couldn’t help but notice, and he found himself smiling too.

“That’s great,” said Smucker. “Once that’s functional, we can put more on the supply detail. The pickings have been very thin lately and so we’re going to have to extend our search out farther.”

“What are your supplies like now?” Carrington asked.

“We’re doing damn good if I say so myself. We have enough non-perishables to feed everyone in the Fort for close to a year,” Smucker said, with an obvious sense of pride.

“Please don’t take any offense, but this Event is permanent, not just a year or two. You will never have power again. You’ll have to make your own food and you’ll have to be very creative, because much of what you see around you will die off from the excessive radiation and a drought that started even before the Event. So, you will need a lot more food before you even can hope to have any sustainability.”

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Frank cut in. “There are a couple of supply warehouses east of here that might be good places to search. A lot of the food that was transported by rail through Laramie gets broken down at those warehouses and then sent out on semis to other points out west. The cold stuff would be bad by now, but they should have a lot of dry food as well, assuming it hasn’t already been taken.”

“That’s brilliant; we’ll send tonight’s team that way. But, why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?” asked the sheriff.

“As you can see, Sheriff, I’ve been a little busy,” he said, pointing to the corners of the town, and then resting his hands on his gun belt.

“All right, I think we’re done for now,” said Tex. “Let’s give the love birds some private time with one another.” He winked, smirking at Carrington and Melanie, who were standing beside each other.

Bob spoke next. “Thanks, every—”

A loud horn blared a long, deep tone, followed immediately by three short notes.

“Dammit, we’ve got a sighting on the eastern gate,” said Frank, who grabbed his rifle from its resting place against the wall. He had designed a warning call with Jeff Rohrbach, who used to play the French horn professionally and was now Fort Laramie’s Paul Revere. Jeff blew one long blast, which indicated there was a threat coming to their wall. Then, each of the short blasts that followed told them at what point on a clock the threat was coming to, with 5^th and Clark Street being twelve o’clock. So, the three short blows indicated that trouble was coming from three o’clock, which meant the eastern gate at Grand and 9^th Street.

23. Resistance Is Futile

Rural Illinois