Another 20 Miles Page 4

  When Damon had arrived the previous evening, the facility had come alive with activity. An actual running vehicle was a surprise in and of itself, but when Damon told them he was on a mission from the Pentagon, under orders from the Chief of Staff of the Army, no less, the half-dozen men and women there were eager for more information. Damon had told them he had been ordered to strict confidentiality as to the reason for his journey. Though they were curious, they respected the orders and his desire to follow them. They set him down with an MRE and some water, and he shared with them what he knew from Everley about the attack and what the president's current plan of action was. That information was met with quite a bit of grumbling and dissension. He told them about what he had seen so far on the road. They talked for a while, then the Guardsmen showed him where he could sleep for the night. He hadn't gotten their story yet — why they were there and not with their families — but that could wait. He was exhausted after the long, tense day and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Coffee in hand, Damon and Hutch sat at a table in the mess hall. The rest of the men and women gave them their space and went about the duties they had been assigned by the captain. Damon spoke first.

  "So, what's your story, Hutch? I mean, all of you? Why are you here and not home with your families?" He took a tentative sip of the scalding hot, strong beverage and set it down. Wow, it's almost like espresso, he thought. I'll be awake in another sip or two.

  Hutch took a drink of his own cup, his eyes opening wide. He swallowed hard then turned to a corporal in the kitchen area and yelled, "Thompson! Good God, woman, how much coffee did you put in that pot?"

  Elizabeth Thompson, Liz to her friends, jerked her head up from the pot she was stirring. "Just two packs, Captain. Why? Too strong?"

  "Not if you don't want to sleep for the next week or so," Hutch replied as he poured some sugar into his cup. "It's one pack per pot."

  Liz looked confused. "Even if we're cooking it on the gas stove? I thought those packs were small for that big coffee pot."

  "Especially if you're cooking it on a gas stove," Hutch said. "Drip coffee makers use more coffee per cup because the coffee isn't in contact with the hot water for very long. When you make boiled coffee, the water is in contact with the grounds the whole time. You need maybe half, three-quarters max, of one of those pre-measured packs."

  Looking crestfallen, Liz mumbled, "Sorry, Captain. I'll get it figured out. It won't happen again."

  Hutch softened his tone. "You won't be on mess duty next time. Talk to … who's on after you?"

  She grinned and said, "I believe it's you, Sir."

  He turned back to Damon. "Then I know we'll have good coffee next time."

  Damon chuckled. "And how do you know so much about making coffee without a coffeemaker?"

  "Camping. My family was big into it when I was a kid. Coffee on the campfire at night was the end all be all for us." He took another sip of the coffee, grimaced, then went on. "Anyway, to answer your question, none of us have families … well, no spouses or kids, no folks close. We were already here when everything went down. We decided to wait it out and see if anyone showed up with any orders. It's as good a place as any to ride out a storm like this. There were a dozen others with us when it happened, but they did have families and lit out trying to get home. I don't blame them. I hope they made it."

  Damon nodded in agreement then said, "What do you think about what I told you last night? About the president's plans and decrees?"

  "I think it's total bullshit, to be honest. Repeal the Second? Not step down for the new president? That's crazy — and dangerous."

  "Dangerous?" Damon asked, with a cock of his head and a slight shudder at another attempt to drink the coffee.

  Hutch replied, "Yeah. Think about it. There's over three hundred million people in this country. Probably a third of them own guns. No one knows for sure since most states don't require you to register them, but the guess is between eighty and a hundred million. Last I read, the average number per gun owner was three point something guns each. There might be a small percentage of those people who would give up their firearms voluntarily, especially if they were hungry and were promised food or something in return. The majority of them are going to see this edict for what it is: the very reason the Second Amendment was written over two hundred and forty years ago. For the people to be able to resist an overbearing tyrannical government. I'd be willing to bet that most of our soldiers are not going to comply with those orders. I won't."

  "Me, either, Cap," Perez called out as he walked toward them.

  "Or me," said Liz heading their way from the cook stove.

  The other three Guardsmen — Sergeant Darrell Light, Staff Sergeant Kevin Blake, and Lieutenant Stacy Manning — shouted out their rebellion as they all joined Damon and Hutch. Darrell stood at attention, raised his right hand and said, "I, Darrell Light, do solemnly swear that I will uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic." He put his hand down, looked at all of them and went on. "If what the president wants goes against that, then his orders are invalid. That part comes first for a reason."

  They all nodded in agreement. In that moment, Damon got the answer to the question on his mind. Voice full of resolve, he said, "My mission is to retrieve the president-elect from New York City and get him to D.C. The hope is that if he's there, the president can't go through with his plan not to step down and that Mr. Tanner will have a different agenda than President Olstein, one that will help the country, not tear it further apart. After what I've seen so far on the trip, I think I could use some back up. Anyone interested in going with me?"

  Six hands shot up.

  Damon smiled. "That's awesome. I'm thinking I can only take two, so we have room for Tanner for the return trip." He looked pointedly at Hutch. "You're senior on post. You choose."

  Hutch appeared to be considering the options. "Well, my first thought is me and probably Blake. Blake is a hell of a shot. If I go, that leaves Manning as senior." He turned to the young woman standing behind him. "You up for that, Lieutenant?"

  She nodded and replied, "Yes, sir, Captain!"

  He turned back to Damon. "I kind of feel like a major and a captain will carry a bit more juice. Are you sure we can't fit one more? Light is a bad ass hand-to-hand." Darrell tried to look serious, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were trying not to smile.

  Damon looked thoughtful, then said, "Let's try. We don't have a top gun turret, but there's a hatch we could use if needed. Yeah, I think we should try to get as many warm bodies as we can in on this trip."

  Hutch stood up. "Alright, guys and gals, let's get some supplies ready. I want a portable cook stove with a box of fuel cubes; mess kit for each man plus an extra for Mr. Tanner; four cases of MREs — make that six; emergency blankets; a case of ammo for each man; top off that fuel tank, and load us up with as many more cans of diesel as will fit in the space that's left. Oh, and a pack of decent toilet paper."

  Everyone headed off to carry out the orders of their commanding officer, though they were all snickering, probably over the toilet paper request. Damon looked at the captain. "Toilet paper? Is that an essential item?"

  Hutch replied, "You've used the TP in the MREs, right?"

  Damon nodded. "Good point. Good idea."

  It took about an hour to get everything loaded up. The snow was falling heavier by the minute as the winter storm made its way to them. When they were ready to move out, Hutch addressed the three who would be staying.

  "I don't know what's going to happen here. I don't know how long it will take anyone to get out this way with orders; and, if they do, I don't know if it will be orders you can obey and live with yourself after. Only you can decide that. I doubt we'll be back. Once we get to D.C., I'm sure we'll be pressed into service of some kind. Lock the gate. Lock the doors. There are supplies in here that people will kill for in a few days, maybe less. Manning will decide
if and when you dole those out to the people. I think if it were me I probably would, but it would be about a week from now. Regardless, this is her command now. Follow her orders as you did mine. It has been an honor to serve with each of you. Good luck and God bless." He turned to Damon. "Major, are you ready to head out?"

  Damon looked for the sun rising in the east. He had always loved sunrises; the feeling that a new day was dawning with new possibilities. The brilliant ball of light ascending in the sky had held such promise for him in the past. Instead, he was met with low-hanging clouds blocking the sun’s rays, casting the landscape in hues of gray and white. It didn’t matter. Today, the future of the country was at stake. If his mission failed, it was almost certain the country would cease to exist as a free republic. They couldn't fail. That wasn't an option.

  "Yesterday morning I was sure I could do this alone," Damon answered. "After a few hundred miles, I was no longer certain I'd even make it there. Today, with your help, I think we can complete this mission. Let's get to it."

  Chapter 6

  Elliott had slept in the living room on the couch so he could keep the stove stoked through the night. He only got up once to add another couple of pieces of wood. He was used to sleeping in his bedroom in much cooler air than he got in the living room by the stove. He woke just before dawn, stuffed up. That told him the kettle he kept on the stove must be empty. He got up, folded his blankets over into a pile, and slipped his pants on. He had slept in his long underwear, so he didn't grab his shirt. Using a hot pad he kept by the stove for that purpose, he picked the kettle up and headed for the kitchen to fill it.

  He opened the tap of the jug on the counter. The water seemed to be coming out slower than the day before. Best get these empty jugs filled up first thing this morning, he thought. He knew the more people they had there the more water they were going to go through. It would definitely be a daily chore now to bring water to the house. After filling the kettle, he grabbed the coffee pot off the stove and filled it as well. He got both pots back on the wood stove, slipped into his boots and coat and quietly stepped out onto the back porch.

  The sky was just starting to lighten as he peered around the back yard while he emptied his bladder. He didn't know what he was looking for, just anything out of place. It all looked the same as it had the day before. He could hear the chickens in the coop starting to rustle a bit, but for the most part it was completely quiet. He was still trying to get used to the lack of sound that was the world without electricity. He used to be able to hear the big rigs on the highway from his place. Now, all he heard was nature waking up from the cold night's sleep. A bird chirping in the apple tree by the barn; a dog barking that sounded closer than he knew it was; a rooster crowing from an even greater distance. He didn't have a rooster and that was why. Although now, he thought he might ought to track down the owner of that one and see about getting his hands on one. Chickens being food that makes food, you want to be able to make more chickens. He would add that to the list.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize anyone else was awake until he heard the door open. Ethan stepped out of the house.

  "Morning, Dad. You're up early."

  "So are you. This is actually about normal for me. Seems I sleep less and less all the time. Maybe it's cuz I know my time on this earth is getting shorter and I don't want to miss anything. Why are you up so early?"

  "Same reason as you. I have fewer days every time I wake up." He pulled a rolled joint out of his shirt pocket. Holding it up for Elliott to see, he asked, "Is this okay? It helps with the pain. I've got a prescription for it."

  Elliott shrugged. "It don't matter to me. I knew you did it when you were a kid. You've got it legal now. If it helps, sure. Just don't do it around the boys. I don't think Carly would like that."

  Ethan nodded and lit the joint. He inhaled deeply and held it in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out. He seemed to relax a bit as he stood there with his eyes closed. "Yeah, but this is nothing like that stuff I smoked in school. That was like oregano compared to this pot. It doesn't take much at all to feel the effect. Good thing, I guess, since I probably won't be getting any more now."

  Elliott wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Good Lord — it smells like a skunk has been through here."

  Ethan chuckled. "Yeah, that's a sign of high-quality weed. The medical strains are great."

  "Well, next time do it further away from the house. I don't want that smell getting inside." Elliott waved his hands in front of him as he headed for the door. "Coffee should be ready in a few minutes. Throw some of those ashes in that bucket out after you pee so that doesn't smell either. Apparently, this new life is going to stink."

  Ethan licked his fingers and snuffed out the joint. He put it back in his pocket and unzipped his fly. Mumbling under his breath, he said, "It already does."

  By the time the boys got up, Elliott had whipped up a batch of gravy, fresh biscuits, and scrambled a skillet of eggs. He filled them in on the activities for the day while they ate.

  "First thing we need to do is fill the water jugs we emptied yesterday. We need to get in the habit of doing that every morning. Next, we feed the chickens and gather the eggs. Then we'll go out to the barn. I'm gonna teach you boys how to milk a goat."

  Cameron looked at his grandfather wide-eyed. "I'm not sure I'm old enough for that, Pap. I mean, handling a female's … um … you know ..."

  Elliott cackled as Ethan and Aaron burst out laughing. "Not even close to the same thing, Cam. I guarantee if you handled a woman's breasts the way you have to handle goat udders to get milk, you'd probably get a black eye or worse."

  "And the fact that you didn't know that tells us everything about your experience with either one," Aaron teased.

  Cameron's face turned deep red. Ethan was still grinning as he said, "Don't worry about it, Cam. I was a late bloomer, too."

  Aaron snorted. "I guess you're talking about sex because it doesn't look like you ever did learn how to be a responsible adult."

  Elliott said quietly, "Aaron …"

  Ethan's face changed to one of shame laced with a bit of contempt. "Yep, I don't guess I ever did get that one down. New day dawning on yesterday's conversation, it would seem." He stood and gathered his plate and utensils. He hadn't eaten much so his plate was still half full. "Sorry, Dad, no offense to your cooking, I just don't have much of an appetite anymore. What do you want me to do with this?"

  Elliott had risen as well. "You can leave it on the counter. We'll give it to the chickens or the goat."

  Ethan nodded and walked to the sink. Elliott joined him. With the two men out of immediate earshot, Cameron punched his older brother in the arm. Hissing under his breath, he whispered, "Give it a rest, Aaron! Geez, he's dying! Is this how it's going to be the whole time, you picking at him?"

  Aaron glared at him. "You bet your ass. I've been waiting ten years to tell him off. This shit is just getting started."

  "Talk about being a hater," Cameron replied, staring back at him. "So, your mission is to make him miserable until the end of his life, literally. Is that it? You're upsetting Pap, too, in case you hadn't noticed."

  Aaron hesitated. He stared at the backs of the two men at the sink having their own quiet conversation; one he adored, the other he despised. Finally, he said, "Ethan deserves that and a lot worse. But I don't want to hurt Pap. Ever."

  "Then ease up, dude. That's his only kid. Besides, I'd kind of like to get to know him better and that ain't gonna happen if you're being a douche all the time."

  Aaron rolled his eyes at his brother. "Whatever. C'mon, let's get the water."

  They both got up and headed to the sink with their dishes. Elliott took them.

  "Y'all go ahead and get the water brought in. I'll take care of these. Ethan's helping."

  With a duet of "yes, sir", the boys headed down the hall to get dressed for the cold. Elliott turned back to the sink as Ethan watched them walk away.

  "Do you th
ink he'll let me in, Dad? I know I don't deserve it. I just don't have a lot of time left. I just want to get to know them before I …" Ethan didn't finish the thought.

  Without looking up from the dishes, Elliott replied, "I think he will. You may have to take a few more hits to your pride first. But he has a good heart. I believe he'll come around." Stopping his washing, he looked at his son. "I don't know that he'll ever forgive you — hell, I don't know if I will. You hurt a lot of people, Ethan. Ten years is a long time to disappear. It's a lot of time to make up for. Unfortunately, you're right, you don't have a lot of time left to do it in. I love you, son. I don't much like you, haven't for a while. But I reckon I'll get past that. I'm betting he will, too. Just be patient. Don't try to push him."

  Ethan sighed. "Well, at least Cameron is willing to give me a chance. Maybe I'll get to Aaron through him."

  Elliott drained the sink and dried his hands on a dish towel. Hanging it by the sink, he said, "Maybe. I gotta get out to the barn. You coming?"

  "Hell yeah. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

  Flossy bleated her indignation at Cameron's attempts to acquire milk from her. With her head secured in a stanchion on a raised milking station she couldn't get away, but she did try to kick him. He jumped back away from her as the other three laughed uproariously. He threw up his hands in exasperation.

  "Uncle! I give up! I can't get the milk, and now the goat hates me and is trying to kill me. Next!"

  Elliott tried to get control of himself as he walked over to the boy. "Come back, Cam. Let me show you again." He walked over to the goat and spoke to her in a quiet tone, gently running his hand down her side. At the sound of his familiar voice, they could see the goat visibly calming down. He picked up the bucket she had kicked away and set it down slowly beneath her. He continued to stroke her side and let his hand continue down to her udder. When she didn't flinch, he sat down beside her.