HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) (9 page)

“Take it easy, Gunny. Keep the tinfoil hats in the closet.” Hank knew Gunny was a conspiracy buff. JFK, Area Fifty-one, the CIA. He had kooky theories for all of them. Hank usually found them amusing, but right now paranoia was the last thing they needed. “That kind of talk will cause a panic.”

“What about this so-called American Constitutional Front? I combed through every update and report we got from the FBI, DHS, and every other agency and there’s nothin’ in any of ‘em. Do they expect us to believe this group can come out of nowhere to kill the President, take out the Capitol and conduct nation-wide attacks overnight? I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but I know bullshit when I smell it.” He growled, “My bet is that the American Constitutional Front doesn’t even exist.”

Hank interjected, “People are looking to us for leadership. Our words carry more weight than usual right now. We have to be careful. So keep the conspiracies to yourself, okay?”

Gunny grumbled, “Okay.”

“Good.” A brown paper sack sat on Hank’s desk. It was the meal Betty packed for him. “Hungry?”

Gunny replied, “I could eat.”

Hank tossed the sack to Gunny. “Betty made it. I hope you like meatloaf.”

Gunny smiled. “Bless her heart.” He grabbed a plastic fork and took a bite. The food was cold, but the old marine didn’t care. “How’d a sorry sack like you ever land a wife like her?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

Hank pulled a map from a drawer and laid it out on his desk. “Knoxville’s a shit storm and it’s blowing our way. I’ll go in the morning to link up with the sheriff in Jefferson County. We’ll have to work together to get through this.”

“Let me do it,” Gunny said.

“Not with that leg. I’ll go.” Hank reached into his pocket, his fingers finding a crumpled piece of paper. “I’ve got another errand to run while I’m out.”

“The boy.”

Hank nodded. “The guys that hit us tonight have his parents. The kid made it sound like they’ve got a major operation going. That’s another good reason to visit our neighbors. We may need Jefferson County’s help dealing with them.”

“Interstate’s shut down. Even if you can get on it, there’s the IED’s to worry about.”

“I’ll use the back roads.”

“Hank, you sure this is a good idea?”

“Not really.” Hank returned his attention to the map. “Tonight was just the beginning. More bandits are sure to come. We have to keep them out.” He pointed to the map. “There are seven main routes into the county. Each has at least one bridge.” He grabbed an ink pen from his shirt pocket and circled a bridge on each of the seven roads. “Put a road block at each of these locations and keep radio contact with them. Nobody gets in.”

“That’s gonna take a lot of men. We’ll be stretched thin.”

“I’ll swear in plenty volunteer deputies in the next day or two. We’ll have to hold out till then. I want every scrap of food and every bottle of medicine consolidated at the Food City here next to the courthouse. Do the same with generators, blankets, coats, kerosene, water, and anything else we might need this winter. We have to protect what supplies we have left and there’s no way to do that if they’re spread all over town.”

Hank thought for a moment. “Also, shut down all the gas stations. I’m commandeering every drop for emergency use only. And call the Director of Schools. Class is cancelled until further notice.”

“You got it, Hank.”

Hank yawned. “Big day tomorrow. Go home and get some rest.”

“Nah.” Gunny declined. “You get on home. You got a family. I just got my dogs.” Gunny’s wife died of cancer fifteen years before. “Bein’ here beats sittin’ at home starin’ at the walls.”

“Okay. I have to take Betty to dialysis in a few hours anyway.”

Gunny had that look again.

“What is it?” Hank asked.

“Shuttin’ everything down. You’re doin’ the right thing, Hank, but…”

“But what?”

“The mayor ain’t gonna like this. Not one bit.”

“Leave him to me.”

*****

Hank pulled into the driveway of his twenty acre farm as the first hint of light found the horizon. For a moment he was a boy walking these fields with his grandfather again. His ‘papaw’ built this house after returning home from World War Two. All he wanted was to raise a family and spend his life in peace. This land had been in his family since before the United States existed. Hank thought of the joys and sorrows his family had known here over the generations. An old wound reopened in his heart and memories of dark days came spilling out. The pain was an old one, so familiar that he couldn’t recall being without it. It was heavy and worn, but had edges sharp as any razor.

Hank found Betty watching television on the living room sofa with Maggie asleep across her lap. All stations were the same. It seemed every city was in chaos. Mobs rioted, looted, and committed unspeakable acts as the police and National Guard stood helplessly by, too few to stop them.

Hank asked, “Have you slept?”

Betty shook her head. “I can’t turn it off. They might show something from Nashville.” They hadn’t heard from their son, Cole, since it all hit the fan. “Part of me hopes they do. Another prays they don’t.”

Aerial footage from Los Angeles revealed a city in flames. People were pulled from their cars and savagely beaten or shot. Scores of looters ransacked stores. One helicopter filming a shootout with police got too close to the action and was shot out of the sky. Hank and Betty watched it go down on live TV. Another news chopper caught it all on camera.

Hank sat next to Betty. His stomach turned as a crowd rushed the crash site, pulled the crew from the wreckage, and dragged their bodies through the street. He remembered seeing identical footage of an American helicopter pilot’s remains being defiled in the streets of Somalia decades earlier.

Betty pulled Hanks arms around her and Maggie. “Those poor people.”

Hank thought again of Cole. He could only imagine what it was like in Nashville.

“It’s time to go,” Hanks said, “If you don’t get there on time, they’ll give your dialysis slot to someone else.”

Betty turned the T.V. off.

Hank gently picked Maggie up without waking her. “She’ll have to stay with you,” he said, “County schools are closed.”

He drove Betty to the dialysis clinic across the street from the empty high school and walked her to the door, Maggie still sleeping in his arms.

“I won’t be home very much until this is over. You’ll be caring for Maggie alone.”

“We’ll be fine. Don’t give it another thought.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop that. Don’t apologize for doing your job. We’re in this together.” Betty took the sleeping child from Hank’s arms. “Just make it back home to us. That’s all that matters.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Betty kissed Hank’s cheek. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always.”

*****

Two hours later, Hank sat in the courthouse conference room with the County Mayor, Finbarr Duncan.

The mayor was livid. “Who the hell do you think you are? You have no authority to shut this county down.”

“Mayor, we don’t know how long this state of emergency will last. With air, road, and rail travel halted, we’re on our own. We won’t get any more food, gas, or anything else until it’s over. We have to be proactive.”

Finbarr responded. “If it goes long enough to cause a problem, the government will resupply us.”

“A lot of people in New Orleans would disagree. Remember the mess the Feds made of Katrina. Their response to Hurricane Sandy wasn’t much better. We have to act now to avoid shortages later.”

“I order you to open the stores and schools back up.”

“We must have a plan for conserving food, gas, and medicine.  Rationing will prevent hoarding and panicking. We can stretch our supplies a lot further if we need to.”

“
If
we need to. Do you hear yourself? If! You’re creating shortages where none exist. You’re going to
cause
a panic instead of preventing one. Our job is to give people hope.”

“We all hope for the best, Finbarr, but
our
job is to plan for the worst.” Hank sighed. In truth, the mayor was powerless to stop him if he pushed the issue, but a pissing contest between the two of them was the last thing the county needed right now. He decided diplomacy was the best policy for now. “Grocery stores only keep a three day supply. Gas stations vary, but most of them will be dry by then. How about if we leave one place open and limit fuel purchases to ten gallons and food to ten items? That should preserve our supplies and keep people reasonably happy.”

Finbarr pondered the suggestion a long moment and finally said, “Okay. I don’t like it, but we’ll try it.”

“Thanks. We’re doing the right thing, Fin.”

Finbarr brooded. “If this goes wrong, it’ll be on your head, not mine.”

“So be it.”

“Don’t forget, Hank. The next election is only eighteen months away.”

“I can always count on you to remind me, Mayor.”

Hank sighed, searching for the words to tell Finbarr the unthinkable. “There’s one more thing.”

“Which is?”

“When did Chloe get out of rehab?”

“A few days ago. Don’t worry. She’s my daughter. I’ll make sure she doesn’t violate parole.”

“The CVS was robbed last night. Four people were killed.”

Finbarr’s face flushed. “What are you getting at?”

“She was in on it.”

Finbarr shot out of his seat, his finger in Hank’s chest. “That’s impossible!”

“I just watched the security video. It’s her. She shot Bill and two others dead.”

Finbarr dropped back into his chair. “Get out.”

“I’m sorry, but I need you to tell me where she is.”

“Get out.”

“Fin. It’s for her own good.”

“Get the hell out of my office!”

Hank stood and walked to the door. “This’ll go better if you help. I promise you she’ll be treated fairly.”

Finbarr put his face in his hands and rasped, “Just go.”

Hank left, closing the door behind him as the mayor pounded his desk in futile frustration.

*****

The massive steel door groaned as Hank entered the jail an hour later. He walked to a dark cell at the end of the row.

“Wake up, Brandon,” Hank said to the teenager sleeping on the bunk as he opened the cell door.

The boy opened his eyes and sat up, wide eyed. “What do you want?” He tried to look brave.

Hank tossed a paper bag to Brandon. Its contents rattled when he caught it. The youth looked inside. It contained some of the medications from the list his father gave him.

“What’s this?”

“Hopefully, it’s enough to buy your parents back.”

The boy stood. “I’m ready.”

“Not so fast. I’m willing to bring them back here, but you’re still my prisoner. You still have to stand trial. Whether we find them or not, you’re coming right back here. Give me your word on that before you set foot outside this cell.”

“Okay. Deal. When do we leave?”

Hank tossed him a pair of handcuffs. “As soon as you put those on.”

Minutes later, they were headed west in Hank’s patrol car with Brandon in the back seat. Hank stuck to the back roads, staying clear of the interstate.

The roads were empty. The quiet was unnerving. Aside from the occasional plume of chimney smoke along the hills, there was no sign of life. It was as if the world had gone to sleep. Brandon sat mute, staring out the window as Hank scanned the radio dial for local stations, hoping for news, music, preaching, anything.  But all he found was the dull hiss of dead air.

He crossed the Jefferson County line and pulled off the interstate into an empty service station. The front window of the place was smashed and the interior was in disarray. The parking lot was abandoned.

Hank tried his police radio. “Any station this net. Any station this net. This is Sheriff Hank Sexton.”

No answer.

Hank pulled into the empty parking lot of the Jefferson County Justice Center.

“I’ll be right back.” Hank left Brandon in the car and approached the facility’s shattered glass door on foot. Broken shards crunched under Hank’s boots as he made his way in, the sound echoing in the empty space.

He drew his sidearm and crept past the vacant reception desk into the bowels of the building. Fluorescent bulbs hummed over unoccupied offices. Desks and chairs sat askew amid scattered papers.

Then he heard something. A clang of something metal hitting the floor. Hank inched toward the noise. It came from the arms room.

He was just around the corner now, close enough to hear whispered curses as equipment banged and clanked. Hank raised his pistol and eased sideways until the noisemaker came into view. It was a man in a deputy’s uniform. His back was to the door. He looked to be about thirty. He was stuffing firearms, magazines, and ammo into a large duffel bag.

“Hands up,” Hank said.

The man glanced over his shoulder and bolted his hands into the air, dropping the bag with a clatter. “Whoa! Take it easy.”

“Who are you?”

“Deputy Todd Ellison. Who the hell are you?”

Hank saw that the name on the uniform matched the one the man gave him. He lowered his weapon. “Sheriff Hank Sexton.”

“Sheriff Sexton? What are you doing here?”

“Trying to find your boss. You know where he is?”

“Yeah. He’s up on the interstate with eight deputies. Dead. They’re all dead.”

Hank noticed blood on the deputy’s uniform. It wasn’t his. “How?”

Ellison’s hands trembled as he put another M-9 pistol into his bag. “A gang of pickup trucks came through like bats out of Hell on the wrong side of the freeway. One of ‘em ran head-on into a family in a minivan. The rest crossed over the median and caused another wreck. Blocked all four lanes. More cars came. Everybody’s getting the hell outta Knoxville. It was so dark, they just kept piling up.”

The deputy found some extra magazines and grabbed those as well. “What was left of the guys from the trucks started shooting at us when we got there to work the accident. They caught us off-guard. We were outgunned. They tore us to pieces. Our guys were getting hit one after another. Then the sheriff went down right next to me. Shot through the lung. I couldn’t stop the blood. Nothing I could do but hold him.”