Martial Law (21 page)

Steven laughed. “Yeah, it may take a year or more to repair the entire grid. I wonder who gets first dibs on restoration.”

“There’s no doubt that someone will make a fortune deciding that,” replied Katie. “We are a nation totally dependent on electricity and advanced communications. This collapse of the grid is going to be brutal on the country.”

“Especially on those who haven’t prepared,” added Steven. He looked around the countryside and realized they were approaching Lancaster County—home of the second-largest Amish population in the world.

There were nearly three hundred thousand Amish in America, the majority of which resided in Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Ohio. This area, known as the Pennsylvania Dutch countryside, was revered for its relaxed, slower-paced lifestyle. Most Americans had limited knowledge of the Amish religion but were very much aware of the Amish limited use of electricity.

Amish did not use electricity due to their religious belief that too much reliance on worldly influences tied them too closely to the secular world. However, the Amish approach to power was somewhat complicated. Almost all Amish forwent power from the public grid, but the use of batteries, liquid propane, and diesel generators, for example, had become accepted. Many states required the Amish to illuminate their horse-drawn buggies that dotted the landscape of the Amish communities. In Pennsylvania, battery-operated lights were deemed acceptable. But in Nebraska, the much more conservative Amish used kerosene lamps hung on the side of the carriage.

Steven slowed as he passed a black Amish buggy carrying two men. The wooden wheels bounced on every crack in the road, but they carried on at somewhere between five and eight miles per hour. The large quarter horse seemed to nod his head as Steven passed—
show off
.

“These guys don’t give a rat’s ass about electricity,” remarked Steven.

“They are entirely self-reliant. I’ve studied the Amish, as well as the Mennonites and the Latter Day Saints—LDS. Each of these religions practices self-reliance and preparedness. I’ve never been religious, but now I have to wonder if they had it right all along.”

As they passed the rows of corn, Steven wondered if the average American was capable of going back to this nation’s roots. They’d been thrust into the nineteenth century and were now on the same level as the Amish.
Can a typical family adapt to growing their food, hunting their meat, or healing their sick without the aid of doctors or pharmacies?

“US 222 takes us straight to Allentown,” said Katie, looking at the map book. “Take the right fork up ahead.”

As they drove along without incident, Steven checked the fuel gauge from time to time. They would run out of gas on the other side of Allentown. At some point, they would have to turn north to avoid New York City, and gas would become a priority again. Fuel was a problem, but it was manageable. Steven was glad the human element hadn’t reared its ugly head—
yet
.

“If the satphone is charged, try to touch base with Sarge and Julia.”

“I will. The cell phone is totally worthless at this point. Sirius/XM is the same story.”

Katie placed the call and got through to Julia. They both expressed surprise at the relative calm on both ends. Julia confirmed the status of the nationwide power outage, adding the caveat about the Texas grid being untouched by the attack. Katie assured them not to worry, but that it would most likely be Monday night when they arrived in Boston. Katie promised to call at the same time Monday morning to give them an update.

“Everything cool?” asked Steven.

“Oh yeah. Julia is getting 100 Beacon ready for guests.”

“Oh, of course—our friends and
benefactors
,” Steven added sarcastically.

“They’ve been good to us, Steven. It’s our job to protect them.”

“I know. But as I’ve said before, Mr. Morgan sent me on some dubious missions. I always question his motives, but somehow the results work out.”

“That’s why you’re a soldier, G.I. Joe.”

“Very funny, Katie. We’ve learned in the military that the generals, and the politicians who pull their strings, are aware of the bigger picture. We’re supposed to focus on our jobs. But I still get curious about the intent.”

Katie ran her fingers through his hair, which needed to be cut. “We’ve analyzed the aftermath of your missions for the last year or so. Haven’t we always concluded that the ends justified the means?”

“Yes,” replied Steven, with a shrug.

“Then let’s continue to trust in Mr. Morgan and the rest of
our friends
to make the right choices for our country, and us.”

Steven slowed as they approached the intersection of Interstate 78. “Look over there, Katie, we must be getting closer to home!” They both laughed. The Samuel Adams Brewery rested quietly to their left.

“Not quite home, but a taste of home. Boy, could I use a taste of a Sam Adams!”

“No drinking and driving, sir.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” asked Steven as a Camaro swung around them, almost clipping their fender, and roared toward the interstate on-ramp. Steven blared the horn and applied his middle finger for emphasis. “Asshole!”

“Wow, that was close. Do you think he was late for work?”

“Screw him. So I hop on I-78?” asked Steven.

“Yes, and we take it around the Allentown-Bethlehem metropolis.”

Steven drove a short distance, but the exit ramp to I-78 was blocked by a stalled eighteen-wheeler and a bread truck. “Now what?”

Katie thumbed through the map and replied, “Maybe we could go ahead and turn north now. The Pennsylvania Turnpike will take us to Scranton, and then we could avoid any traffic coming out of New York.”

Steven stayed in the right lane and took the ramp. They passed the Camaro that cut them off earlier.

“Hey, asshole!” said Steven as he gave the driver a long glare. He slowed the Highlander as they approached a line of cars passing through the toll lanes.

“Surely they’re not collecting money, right?”

“No kidding,” started Steven. “I guess the state never stops collecting money from—”

Suddenly, the rear window of the Highlander exploded, sending pieces of glass into the backseat. A gunshot rang out as a bullet flew between them and blew out the windshield.

“Holy fuck!” screamed Steven. “Get down!” Katie sank below the seat and drew her weapon. Steven pulled out his as well.

“Who is it?” Katie yelled as Steven veered the Highlander toward the concrete barriers lining the toll lanes. Another shot struck the side of the truck.

“The Camaro. Two guys, firing out the window. Hold on!”

Steven tried to navigate the truck through a gap in the barriers. More shots were fired, and one struck Steven in the right shoulder. Another hit his seatback and lodged in his back. The impact of the bullets slammed him against the steering wheel. He screamed in pain but kept driving into the grass. The Highlander came to a stop sideways in a ditch along a fence row. Steven slumped over the steering wheel—his head bleeding from embedded glass. His shirt was soaked in blood.

“Steven. Steven! Are you all right?” Katie was frantic. More bullets riddled the driver’s side of the truck. She rolled out of the passenger door and took a position at the rear fender. Two men were approaching the truck, and she fired at them. One went down instantly. The other turned to run.

Katie returned to the truck to see about Steven. He was alive.

“Fuck me,” he groaned his typical
Stevenism
.

“Where are you shot?”

“Back and right shoulder.” He wiped the blood off his face and looked out his window. “They’re coming back, Katie.”

Katie looked up as two of the men approached the truck with guns drawn. The third man, only wounded, was making his way to his feet.

“Come on, we have to go. Can you crawl across the armrest?”

“Yeah.” She helped Steven out of the front seat, and they crossed through the ditch into the trees.

“Wait here,” instructed Katie as she ran back towards the truck. She fired in the direction of the assailants to slow their progress toward them. She reached into the back of the hatch and grabbed a bag before turning back towards Steven. Two more warning shots gave her the time she needed to bound through the ditch into the woods. Steven lay motionless in a pile of blood-soaked leaves.

Chapter 41

Sunday, September 4, 2016

4:01 p.m.

Allentown, PA

Katie held Steven’s wounds to reduce the bleeding and did her best to keep him calm. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, he tried to muster the strength to go after his attackers. She kept him quiet and still. Fortunately, the shooters didn’t pursue them into the woods, electing instead to loot her truck.

After they had left, Katie assessed Steven’s wounds. It was dangerous to return to the truck with the shooters approaching, but Katie had the presence of mind to grab her medical bag from the backseat. The contents of the bag and Katie’s self-training would save Steven’s life.

She quickly picked the bits of shattered glass out of his face and forehead with a sterile forceps. She cleaned the facial lacerations with Betadine using Steripad wipes. She avoided using hydrogen peroxide, which could cause damage to the skin. Together with the use of triple antibiotic ointment, she cleaned the wounds and bandaged his face where necessary.

The bullet wounds were more complicated than the facial lacerations. A .45 caliber slug was embedded in Steven’s back. Fortunately, it was slowed by the impact against the window and its route through his driver’s seatback. It was visible and not deeply embedded, which would have required a surgeon—
if there was such a thing anymore
. Contrary to popular opinion, typically formed by movies, not all bullets needed to be removed. It made for high drama on the big screen, but was not always necessary in practice. In the case of Steven’s back, the bullet was visibly bulging just under the skin and causing him pain.

Katie pulled another sterilized forceps out of her medical bag. She told Steven to bite a broken tree branch while she separated the skin. She was able to remove the slug with the other forceps. She bandaged up that wound and turned her attention to his shoulder.

Again, luck was on their side, to an extent. The entry wound was small in comparison to the hole left by the .45 round. It was possible Steven was only shot with an ordinary .22-caliber bullet. It carried only a couple of hundred foot-pounds of energy compared to the .45-caliber round that impacted its target at nearly five hundred foot-pounds.

Katie’s first thought was relief that he was shot in the shoulder and not near his vital organs. But she also knew the shoulder was a dangerous place to get shot. It contained vital arteries that fed the arm and parts of the back. There was also a significant nerve bundle that controlled arm function. Again, it wasn’t like the movies where the hero takes a bullet to the arm and still manages to hold onto the airplane wing during takeoff.

Katie cleaned the entry and exit wounds thoroughly and then bandaged him up. She pulled a bottle of electrolyte water out of her medical bag and gave Steven several Advil. She also started a dose of Fish Mox—a standard form of amoxicillin used to treat bacteria in fish, but commonly used by preppers to stock their medical cabinets.

After another gulp of the electrolyte water, Steven was becoming more lucid. “So, Doc Holliday, am I gonna live?”

“Maybe,” replied Katie as she suddenly became overwhelmed with emotion. She began to cry and muttered, “But only if you pay my bill.”

Steven reached out with his left arm to hold her. He winced in pain, but Katie took advantage of the comfort.

“Let me find my credit card,” he groaned.

“I love you, Steven,” Katie was crying now. “I thought you were—dying. You just slumped over the wheel. Blood was everywhere.” Katie’s sobs were mixed with sniffles.

Steven chuckled and then coughed. “I’m not going anywhere, Katie O’Shea—except to Boston. I love you too.”

Katie looked into Steven’s eyes and knew he was going to be okay. She wiped her tears away and sat up to look around. It was getting dark.

“We have to find a place to rest for the night. Do you think you can walk?”

“Yes, but we also need another car. I guess that yours is trashed.”

She stood up and brushed herself off. “They took everything, Steven, except the medical bag I grabbed.”

“Glad you did, Doc. You saved my life with it.”

Katie wanted to start crying again, but Steven lifted himself to his feet with the assistance of several curse words in a variety of languages, it seemed.

“Let’s make our way through the woods and see about some shelter. Then we’ll talk about a car.” She helped him as they walked down a deer path and crossed a road that contained only sporadic traffic. They were certain the attackers were long gone, but Katie kept her weapon ready. She had one full magazine left and several rounds in her gun. Steven never got to fire a shot, so he had two full mags, and his 9mm was full.

“Now we’re talkin’,” said Steven as he gestured to a Land Rover dealership. “I think we should car shop first.” He picked up the pace down a side street toward the back of the Land Rover of Allentown dealership.

“They have Jaguars too!” exclaimed Katie. They found a spot to sit and observe the car dealership from across the street. Whether to break in and steal a car was not an issue for them. They lived in a world without rule of law. Neither law enforcement nor helpful citizen came to their assistance while they were under attack at the toll booth. Survival was their number one priority, and transportation was the first order of business.

Katie stood up and checked her weapon. She turned to Steven and double-checked his bandages. “Cop a squat while I walk around the building. Let me make sure no rent-a-cops are hanging around.”

“Come and get me before you go in, okay?”

“Of course,” Katie replied. “This is our first major purchase as a couple.”