American Blackout (Book 2): Slaves Beneath The Stars Page 9

  “Who’s helping you maintain the planes, and where do you get your fuel?” Fritz asked, cutting through the small talk.

  “You see it right here,” Predator Jones said proudly. “Fuel is a buried tank at the east end of the field. Pump is camouflaged with bushes.”

  Cricket and Fritz looked and nodded at the mound of dead brush a quarter mile distant.

  Predator Jones got out of the jeep, and Fritz took a step toward the man and extended his hand. He shook Cricket’s next, and the men filed out. Jones leaned back and laughed when he heard the name Cricket, and slapped his thigh when she told them that Fritz was her husband.

  “Plenty of surprises here today, boys.” He looked at his men. “And they’re all good.”

  “Why were you folks chasing a bear?” Fritz asked.

  “Keeps getting in our supplies.”

  “Why not shoot him?”

  “She’s got cubs.” He worked his jaw, like he was getting ready to spit tobacco juice. Instead he spit out, “There’s enough suffering in the world. Besides, plenty of small game and lots of deer.”

  Cricket liked his confidence. He moved with a bird’s lightness, translating into a light touch with the Cub, or any airplane.

  Two of the men sauntered over to the Citabria and seemed to be having a friendly argument over the engine’s need for an overhaul. Predator Jones said, “Those two rascals are the best aircraft mechanics in the state. Never argue over women—probably never met any—just that damn plane. It’s, as you know, much faster than sweetheart here.” He pointed with his chin at the Cub.

  “Is this a flying club?” Fritz said.

  “I guess you could call it that,” Predator replied. “One that drops things on the bad guys.”

  “Big thanks,” he said earnestly.

  “Ditto,” Cricket added with a smile. “What was it you dropped?”

  “I used a grenade.”

  “Where did you get grenades?” Fritz had lost his good cheer. And Cricket knew why. Even good guys with military-grade weapons posed a real danger, if not immediately from inexperience, then later on when their camp was overrun and their weaponry stolen.

  A short fellow, mostly bald, with a good-size gut and years younger than Predator, said, “I’m Cub Bob. The other Bob with the full head of white hair is PJ Bob, and not simply PJ. Now, Pajama Bob’s okay, too.” He rapidly scratched the side of his nose with a bent forefinger. “Shortly after the lights went out, a gang out of Wheeling started terrorizing our town just a few miles south of here. I lost my entire family. We hunted down the scoundrels and prevented a lot more heartache.”

  The ordinary guy loses everything and has the guts to go on. Cricket could see Fritz lose his investigative mood for the moment. Her cheeks were hot and couldn’t be cooled by the tears that escaped.

  Cub Bob said, “Predator was already a loner. His wife died many years ago. Kids down south rarely visited. And both PJ Bob and Crazy Jack”—who was helping his pard take off the cowling—“lost family members.”

  “Makes you want a good piece of revenge,” Predator Jones said. “We’re all Air Force.”

  Fritz smiled at the news. “Captain Fritz Holaday, P-51 Wing out of Wright Patterson.”

  All the men tuned in, letting Predator speak for them.

  “We get the bastards that did this?”

  “We did. They’re practicing cuneiform writing on mud tablets as we speak. And there’ll be more surprises for them.”

  A “hallelujah” chorus rose from the four men, and Cricket joined in with a gorgeous smile and a thumbs-up, saying, “Not bad for the first female president in office for three months.”

  “Let’s hope she stays strong,” Cub Bob said.

  Predator Jones rushed his next question. “Every state as bad as ours?”

  “Yeah,” Fritz replied, “except for some areas of the Southwest and California that weren’t blacked out entirely by the EMP. They have a lot of people to feed, but they’re supposed to start sending trucks to the Midwest soon. Get us stocked up for the winter. It’s all hit-and-miss.”

  “How much of your equipment at Wright Patterson still works, besides World War Two fighters?” Predator Jones asked.

  “That’s hit-and-miss, too. A lot of stuff decades ago was hardened for an EMP attack, but unfortunately most of the upgrades and replacement parts, the digital stuff of the last twenty years, wasn’t protected. A modern jet needs to have about 99.9 percent of its systems working in order to not fall out of the sky. An AC-130 gunship is being retrofitted with tube navigation and communications and other ‘steam-driven’ instruments. It should be the first rolling down the runway. I’ve got a few hundred hours flying that baby.”

  Mention of the gunship brought low whistles and a “Wee doggie” from the group.

  Fritz added, “There’s other bad actors: China, Russia, North Korea. Solar storm got them as well. If they feel they have a leg up on us…” Fritz let his statement twist in the wind. A sober moment with no solution. Predator Jones and his men remained quiet. Cricket often had talked to her husband about all the possible scenarios of another attack, a new enemy launching intercontinental ballistic missiles, but it was pointless. Daily survival and not forgetting who they were, and what they believed in, were all that mattered, were all that they could control.

  Predator Jones broke the silence. “You let us know where and how we can help. The Bobs were mechanics, later in the trades, handymen. Crazy Jack and I are retired cops. So when we went to stamp out those cruel men in our neck of the woods, we had some real military discipline tapped into our bones. That’s because the Air Force knocked a lot of the hillbilly out of us. Except Crazy Jack. You have somethin’ really crazy needs done, why, Jack’s your man. He’ll set off on a dark night talking in tongues with blood in his eyes.”

  Hidden by the engine, Jack raised his arm and waved at the attention.

  “Makes good pancakes, too,” Cub Bob added.

  Predator Jones said, “Anyway, we rubbed them all out within three days and got their weapons. But I’m concerned with today. Not the past. How can we help?”

  “Mr. Jones, you already have,” Cricket said. “I don’t think we could have outrun them or found cover. I should have known you were cops. You’re courageous as hell. My dad was a cop.”

  Predator Jones’ eyes brightened with approval. “Here I thought I was protecting a ’67 Barracuda, when I was really saving a cop’s daughter.”

  “You bet. I got my dad to pay a few more bucks and get the 383-cubic-inch. Three hundred thirty horses.” Whistles followed. “It’s an automatic. Not my choice. But during these end times, when I may have to shoot and drive, I appreciate the luxury.”

  “Where’s your camp?” Fritz asked.

  “We call it home, and it’s that way.” Predator Jones pointed a slender finger toward the densest part of the woods. “A mile yonder. All the tools as well. Now right inside the tree line is a camouflaged tent. Two of us stay here every night to protect our babies. Woe to the fool that plans on doing them harm.”

  Fritz, who had warmed up to the men, walked over to the Citabria to talk with Pajama Bob and Crazy Jack. Cricket knew from the sun that it was past noon and they needed to fly a while longer and ensure that the farm and their friends were safe.

  Cricket said, “Why don’t you drop in and visit sometime? Great bunch of folks.”

  “We can, as long as we’re back to recon an hour before bedtime. Make sure the scoundrels aren’t creeping up on us or the good folks in town.”

  “Makes sense.” Cricket studied the hard-surface runway. “How come the beautiful landing strip and taxiway and no buildings?”

  “Twenty years ago the Scientology people came here and put the runway and fuel tanks in. It’s not on any chart, although the military and air traffic control—when they used to have a job to go to—all knew about it. Those science people have a hunting lodge two miles away and wanted a nice runway for a midsize jet. The boys and I
hit that place right after the world went dark, a week before the EMP strike. Lots of food and booze. Shared it with the townsfolk. The judge was drunk a fortnight before his wife booted him out. All in all, the resources were used well. Oh, yeah, nice stock of armament. They must have been planning for the end of the world, too. We were in the catbird seat when the Eye-ranians nuked our atmosphere and shut down civilization.”

  Predator Jones paused and took in the sky, his companions, and his new friends. The creases in his face deepened.

  “You always prefer a natural disaster, like that storm from outer space. That we can handle. But man is sneaky and mean as a snake.”

  22

  A Stay of Execution

  Hank sat in one of his Adirondack chairs and wore a loose blue Hawaiian shirt to give the dressing some room. His wool winter jacket was draped over his shoulders to keep him warm; it was mid-November. Fritz tossed a small log in the stone fireplace and did his best to explain the characters they had met to Ethan and Caleb.

  “You think he’s really crazy?” Caleb asked, looking nervous.

  “Cal, ‘Crazy Jack’ is just a name, a nickname people get when they grow up,” Ethan said.

  “Sometimes it’s earned.” Hank laughed. “Great Jehovah, look at that animal! There he goes.” Hank was pointing at the field, and Stan the cat was jumping up, playing with something invisible. He darted through the grass, only to spring back into the air.

  “Grandpa Holaday, have you ever held Stan the cat?” Lee Ann drew close to Hank.

  “No,” he said. “Never sat in my lap; never even touched him. Didn’t have to. We have a connection. We understand each other.” Hank grinned, and Lee Ann was satisfied with the explanation. She and everybody watched the Don Quixote of cats battle imaginary foes and hunt exotic animals for its dinner before running deeper into the field and disappearing.

  Standing behind Hank, Cricket leaned over him and zipped up his jacket and planted a kiss on his cheek. Grinning, looking up at Cricket, he belted out, “She’s India!” a Hankism used for beautiful women after he met a stunning woman from Calcutta through his church when his kids were still very young.

  “Thanks for the honor, Hank,” Cricket smiled. “You’ll really appreciate our new friends. My husband was leery of Predator Jones and His Old Coot Band at first, but I loved them from the start. They can wrench and play music. And they’re excited about our singing nun.” She swung around as Fritz passed and pulled him close for a kiss. She hung on to her husband, who grinned that Jimmy Stewart smile of his when he was all boy, all man in one package.

  The grilled chicken smelled delicious, though Lily had complained of having no appetite after partaking in the killing, defeathering, and cleaning chores earlier in the day.

  Cricket suggested that Lily meditate on the eastern row of trees burned gold by the sun to aid in transcending the dark work of chicken preparation. Lily shrugged, saying the sun had started the whole mess of the world’s going dark and its power probably would set the woods on fire. Cricket laughed, having expected a more positive reaction, and Lily did, too.

  Hank said, “You think those fellas will fly in, introduce themselves?”

  “Sooner than later,” Fritz said, helping Sister raise the grate higher above the bed of coals.

  “They know where we live,” Cricket chimed in. “Predator Jones flew over on Halloween. He said it wasn’t smart to fly the Cub at night, but with a full moon and a few well-placed lanterns, he did just fine landing atop that mountain.”

  For a few seconds, everyone’s face looked red-gold from the setting sun. For Cricket it felt like a blessing, seeing the beautiful color everywhere. She watched Sister take the chicken off the grill and place it on a large blue platter that Lee Ann held. Sister Marie turned toward Cricket and gave her that smile that said everything right now, at this very moment, was perfect.

  “The Old Coot Band could be worked into your patrols,” Hank said. “The more eyes, the better. Boy, they’ll have a lot to discuss with our mechanics, too. And Sister Marie is getting her own backup band.”

  Fritz replied, “Right, and when they’re not busy performing, they can design a mount for our two-way radio in the Mustang—”

  “And one in the Cub,” Cricket said.

  Fritz, his face colored by either the sun or embarrassment, said, “Can’t wait to tell Command that Predator Jones and His Old Coot Band are now flying auxiliary for the Air Force.”

  Later that evening, Cricket visited Black Rose and Dante, believing they deserved a treat as well. With a flat hand, palm up, she fed them wild carrots that the mechanics had gathered. They were quarter horses, both fourteen years old. Dante was a true chestnut color without a single black hair. Black Rose was more charcoal gray with age, sporting a white star on her forehead.

  Cricket turned at the sound of footsteps and eyed the giggling Lee Ann, who asked: “I thought you didn’t like horses?” Lee Ann went immediately to Dante and stroked the side of his head.

  “I don’t. But I woke up today with a soft spot for these two. Don’t tell anyone.” Actually, Cricket had awoken with a soft spot for her old life and the people she loved and had lost—her parents, Uncle Tommy, her life as a twenty-two-year-old hairdresser curious about everything.

  “Lily and I spent over an hour riding yesterday with Oakley and Forrest. They like horses. And Dante and Black Rose are very friendly. Cricket, you should try riding.”

  “I did. When I was your age. I stopped after my mom died.”

  “Your mom liked horses?”

  “A lot. She was a real horsewoman.” Cricket’s stomach weakened, and she changed the subject. “Hey, how’s memorizing the opening of the Declaration of Independence going?”

  “Really good. Almost every day I have one of the boys or my sister test me. I don’t get tired of reading it or thinking about it.”

  “The best stuff in life is like that.”

  “I have a question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Will someday, because the world is so different and everything, and with people doing a lot of bad things, too, will we have to have a new Declaration of Independence?”

  “Wow, you are thinking a lot. I have to toss it back to you, Lee Ann. What’s your gut tell you?”

  “My intuition?”

  “Yeah—intuition, gut, instinct.”

  Tears started to roll down the child’s cheeks. “It’s so beautiful, I want to keep it forever. My parents and I once sat and listened to a famous person on TV read it. I was really young and I couldn’t understand it the way I’m starting to now with you and Sister’s help, but I loved the words. When I looked up I saw that my dad was crying, so I guess I’m crying for him, too.”

  Cricket hugged the girl, and for a while they both stood in silence. Cricket rocked the child to a lullaby her mom was singing from long ago, for both of them.

  Lee Ann looked up. “I’ve got another question.”

  “I don’t think I can handle another one.” Cricket held on to the girl, ready to become a crying mess herself.

  “Can you be sad in heaven?” Lee Ann said.

  “Are we back to horses?”

  “Well, both our moms are in heaven. I was just wondering when your mom watches… maybe your mom is sad that you don’t ride anymore?”

  Cricket let Black Rose finish the carrots in her palm and then brushed her hands off on her jeans. The zest was gone from her voice. But she looked lovingly upon Lee Ann, fluffing her hair with both hands, holding out a strand, examining the ends, coming up with an idea for a new style. “We have our freedom. We make choices. Both our moms know that.”

  Lee Ann nodded sadly and checked that the curry comb and hoof pick were back with the rest of the grooming tools in a small wooden box against the wall. As she busied herself with the motions of life, Lee Ann’s tears quickly dried. Cricket knew the child was an old soul, hearing about the old truths of life.

  That night Fritz and Cricket took
the first watch. A heavy overcast obscured the moon, and Cricket thought of the dark-matter conversation she had overheard after dinner. Claubauf had entertained the boys talking about a substance thought to be everywhere and invisible, making up ninety-five percent of all matter, leaving light, the earth, stars, and planets with only a tiny share of the universe. Ethan had asked if the dark matter was evil, and this made Claubauf laugh, followed by a forced laugh from Caleb, proudly siding with the scientist over his backward, older brother.

  Fritz and Cricket were able to see the cut trail well enough and save their flashlights. They kept along the tree line until the northern woods and had started back to the house when Doctor Claubauf approached. Cricket couldn’t tell at first, but he appeared to be smiling. But it wasn’t a smile. It was the smirk the doctor always wore. She had never noticed it until now. This grin had cut through the darkness: a smirk for all seasons.

  “Ed Cline thinks he’s found the minister’s killer. They want to hang him. I got the man a stay of execution. But they want to hear from someone official. Fritz, you’re Air Force, and the closest judge is in Marietta, and probably drunk and dead asleep. It’s crazy, but we’ve got to make our case tonight. That minister was Ed’s brother.”

  Part III

  JUSTICE AND FOOLS

  23

  Cowards

  Big Phil had to stop one of the slavers from taking a shot at the P-51 that day, explaining between sighs that they needed to remain invisible and not draw attention to themselves. Phil casually mentioned that maybe the man needed a review of the basics from Ajax himself. Phil was busting his balls and had no intention of bringing the matter up with Ajax—no harm, no foul. But the man fretted nonstop and soon started crying.