Pedestals of Ash (22 page)

As he walked outside, seve
ral of his junior officers
huddled in a small group waiting on him. He appreciated the show of respect they had afforded by not interrupting his visit to the hospital. Even now, they held their ground and waited for their commander to approach. The 4/10 had been shredded as a unit. Most military experts agreed that any single organization should be considered “combat ineffective” after 30% losses. The 4/10 had suffered 70% killed or wounded. The percentage of vehicles destroyed or unserviceable was even greater. Still, the 4/10 had held against a superior force. That fact gave the colonel little consolation at this point. He had watched his command be torn apart in less than three hours
,
and holding the field at the end of the battle didn’t seem to mean that much right now.

Regardless, he considered himself a professional soldier and would carry on. The Independents had been marshaling a significant number of assets in New Orleans over the last few months. Originally comprised of small units that had joined the cause one or two at a time, the officers there had been working hard to organize and integrate these elements into a large, effective fighting force. According to the reports given to the colonel, the interstate between Shreveport and New Orleans w
as
filled with military vehicles heading north to join what was left of the 10
th
Mountain’s brigade. 

The first convoy of reinforcements had arrived a few hours ago
,
and every few minutes it seemed like another line of tanks,
trucks,
or
personal carriers pulled up
. School busses by the hundreds drove in, each discharging about 50 combat troops and their gear. The ruling council of the Independents had decided to leave Marcus in charge. That vote of confidence wasn’t important to him right now. His immediate priority was to integrate the newly arriving assets and position them as best he could. It was no secret that the other side was regrouping and being reinforced as well.

As he walked away from the medical facility, his officers gathered around him and politely took turns delivering the latest status reports and asking for orders. Marcus made his decisions quickly and without hesitation. By the time he reached his command post, all but of few of his officers had received their orders and peeled off from the group to execute them.

The colonel was handed yet another cup of coffee by someone
,
and without even thinking
,
held it
up to his lips. He strode purposefully
over to a makeshift table
,
constructed from two
sawhorses
and a piece of plywood. Spread out on the surface was a large map of the immediate area. After carefully glancing at the position of the newly arriving units, he couldn’t help himself and let out a long whistle.

Laid out before him was a force almost three times the size of the 4/10. He now had over 30 M1 tanks on the line and more arriving every hour. There were at least 100 additional armored vehicles in the area and over 10,000 infantry. That number was expected to double by morning.

Marcus shook his head and looked around at t
he countryside and thought,
Why here?
If the
Cav were
receiving even half of the assets he was, the next clash would result in tens of thousands dead. At some level, it didn’t make any sense t
o the colonel. If this fight
was taking place near
Washington D.C. or a major city, then it might seem justified. There was nothing of critical strategic value here except the approach to a few nuclear power plants and a big muddy river some miles away. Still, he was a professional and in command. He took another sip of his coffee and turned to find an aid
e
. He wanted to check on the pre
-
positioning of ammunition.
           

Bishop awoke about an hour before sunset. He was both concerned and curious about the noise, lights and booby-trap encountered the night before. After making a quick breakfast, he organized his gear and cleaned up his bivouac. Just as the ambient light was fading in the west, he began to climb up the ridge that had been the scene of the previous night’s encounter. He wanted to scout the area in the natural light as much as possible and be in a secure position as darkness closed in.

After carefully following the same path as the night before, Bishop found the new trip line. He was tempted to peek over the ridge more than once, but decided it was too risky
,
and resisted
h
is curious nature
until the light
completely faded. It would be a while before the moon rose
,
and that helped his cause even more.

He was about to move toward the ridge when the sound of an internal combustion engine floated across the rocks
,
and electric lights began producing an eerie glow over the surrounding area
.
Whatever was on the other side of that ridge was now in business
,
and Bishop moved carefully to see what all the fuss was about.

Afte
r eventually finding a good vantage
to peep over the crest, he froze for several seconds
,
taking i
n the sights below. There was an immense
building that would have covered se
veral football fields spread
across the desert floor. The entire length of one side consisted of massive, elevated
doors -
the kind used to unload semi-tractor trailers. Several of the bays were occupied by
trailers, still
backed up to the warehouse, no doubt to have cargo loaded or unloaded.

To the rear
of the giant structure was a paved parking area capable of holding a
t
least
50
semi-
trucks
. Twenty or more of the big rigs sat
there now.

Surrounding the building and parking area was a
10-foot high fence with serious-
looking strands of razor wire
,
angled outward along the top. The lights Bishop had been seeing were mounted
on high posts in the enclosure
every so often,
as well as at each corner of the building. The entire grounds of t
he structure were very well lit
, as was several hundred yards of the surrounding desert.

Bishop’s gaze finally made its way to the parking lot in the front of
the
complex
,
and what he saw there was really out of place. There wer
e at least 50
vehicles
parked
around what appeared to be the main entrance. Well over half of them were police cars. Bishop used his magnified optic to scan the different cruisers and saw the emblems of at least five different law enforcement agenci
es, a few associated with the st
at
e of Texas, and a few others
from nearby towns. There was even a SWAT van parked near the back of the lot.

While he was trying to figure it all out, movement caught his eye
, and he adjusted his rifle for a view of
the roof of the giant structure. There, concealed behind sandbagged emplacements
at each corner, were two-
man teams with long rifles and some ser
ious
-l
ooking scopes. These over
watch position
s were well hidden by the back
glow of the bright spotlights mounted on the building just below them.

Before he even finished looking at those
locat
ions, more movement directed his attention to two men exiting a side door. These two fellows were wearing motorcycle helmets and mounted a pair of all-terrain vehicles parked nearby. After a couple of quick kicks to the starte
r, a mobile patrol headed toward
the west. Both men had AR15 rifles strapped to their backs.

As Bishop
’s eyes
followe
d the
riders, his scope scanned
past a large sign that had escaped
notice until now.
He immediately recognized the familiar
branding
on the sign
, solving a large piece of the puzzle before him
.
The words confirmed his conclusion, reading
“
Wal-Mart
Regional Distribution Center.”

Bishop slowly lowered his rifle and moved a few feet back down the ridge. He needed time to digest it all. He pulled out a small notebook and began drawing diagrams of what he had just seen. The exercise helped him commit detail to memory and to work through what it all meant.
His neurons were firing in all directions, in an attempt to wrap his head around the
unbelievable scale of the treasure trove of food, medicine, fuel, water
,
and other miscellaneous necessities
located on just
the other side of the ridge. As he sat drawing, he began doing a
mental,
virtual tour
of his last visit to
the big department store before the collapse. It had aisle after aisle of groceries and almost as many freezers. A large distribution center like the one below would have enough stock to supply several of those individual stores.

Bishop remembered walking by entire sections of clothing, furniture, and electronics. When his mind wandered to the pharmacy section, h
e
subconsciously scratched his head
,
thinking about the rows and rows of shampoo that had been stocked.
I bet they have my brand of toothpaste
, he thought.

As he recalled, the sporting goods section had been just
a
few aisles over
,
and the thought of those large glass cases of ammunition made him smile. At the time, he had smirked at the quality and prices. He wouldn’t now.

There had to be enough goods in that building to keep an entire town the size of Meraton supplied for months. Just one of those semi-trailers carried tons of food that would enable hundreds of people to gorge themselves for days. 

The complex was a natural fortress. No
doubt,
the designers and architects had chosen the location to service as many stores as possible. Bishop envisioned a map in some corporate office with pins depicting all of the stores in the
region and this tract of secluded
desert being right in the middle. Since it was so remote, security must have been a priority when the site was being designed. In addition to the fence, Bishop guessed the doors and
structure were built with
would-be
burglar
s
in mind. There was probably a sophisticated video system and perhaps even remote sensors built into the surrounding grounds or fence. During th
e last few years of the S
econd Great D
epression, so much wealth concentrated into a single location would have been a target for thieves.

So what were all the cops do
ing there? Had some wise, quick-
reacting county manager decided to seize the building in order to provide care for the citizens? Had some government agency taken control in order to distribute the goods to the people?

While the thought was a pos
itive one, Bishop didn’t think that was the case
.
If
a government agency
were truly in charge, the sentries
would have the manpower and support to hold the building without early warning systems.
Why the booby traps and trip wires then?
If
a local agency or officials
had commandeered the compound
, that might explain the situation – but why had they sent a team when Bishop tri
pped the flare? Why hadn’t they
identified themselves
right away
when they were looking for him?

The police cars explained why one man had called the other “
Sarge
” the previous night. They weren’t military – it was a police sergeant. Why the heavily armed mobile patrol?

Bishop quickly realized he wasn’t going to get any answers by sitting around
daydreaming
. He needed more information before he took his next step
,
and that me
ant observation. That also required
being careful, as the SWAT truck
indicated
some
high-tech sniper and surveillance
capabilities might be searching for trespassers.

Sheriff
Watts strolled through the hallway leading from the offices at the front of the building to the main storage facilities. His men had named their new home “Wallyworld,” and that was good enough for him. He glanced at the pictures hanging from the walls, their perfectly even spacing agreeing with his general philosophy of an orderly existence
.
A dedicated officer of the law for most of his adult life, he had won the last three county elections unopposed. He was an honest man who performed the duties of his office with a fair hand and positive attitude. He had never taken a bribe or anything else that he hadn’t earned – at least not until the
events of
the
last few months.

When everything had started falling a
part, things had changed. The
deputies
’ paychecks
bounced
,
leaving their children hungry and their families stressed.
The mechanics who worked on his patrol cars refused to perform repairs
,
and the civilian staff that supported the jail started calling in sick. The lawman couldn’t b
lame them – no matter how much folks believed in the importance of their jobs, they just couldn’t afford to work
without pay.

But that was just the beginning of his change of heart.
Watching good, solid
,
law-abiding
citizens he had known for
years
start fist
fights at the local bank when it ran short of cash
,
degraded the
s
heriff
’s outlook on
life
. Having those same upstanding members of the community
turn on his men when they attempted to calm the situation made things worse. He had personally served eviction papers on at least two dozen families in the last few months.
Many of these people were friends
he had known since elementar
y school. For three years, one of the families sat
beside his in the res
erved section of the Cougars’
stadium, as they both cheered their sons to a stat
e
championship.
He could have handled all of that in stride
,
but for one key event that pushed him to the other side of the law.

The
s
heriff
’s only so
n had joined the department
a few short months before. An athletic
,
good-natured
kid with sandy
,
blonde hair and a clear complexion, Deputy Watts was sort of a local celebrity
,
having been the star of the
local
high school football team
.
Unlike so many of the popular athletes of the day, Tony Watts Jr. didn’t let his popularity go to his head. He was always polite to everyone around town and was never known to leverage his father’s powerful position.
He worked his way through college
flipping burgers on the weekends
and working construction in the summers. H
aving just graduated magna cum laude last June with a
degree in Criminal Ju
stice, Tony Jr. hoped
to follow in his father’s footsteps.