Strengthen What Remains (Book 2): A Time to Endure (5 page)

“So,
the boy needs a father figure…some direction?”

 
“Maybe. Mom is a drunk.” He looked back at
the computer screen. “Zach’s first arrest was when he was nine years old. He
shoplifted shoes. Later that year, on Christmas Eve, he was arrested when he tried
to shoplift a dollhouse from a toy store on Main Street.” Hoover laughed. “The
kid may have more issues than I thought.” His eyes seemed to look far away. “I
remember that store. The old guy made the dollhouses, rocking horses, cars and
trucks himself—out of wood.” He shook his head. “Nobody does work like that
anymore.”

“Anyway,
about Zach, you think he’s just misguided?” Caden shrugged. “Maybe he needs
some direction.”

“I’d
advise you to stay away. If you haven’t noticed, the world is falling apart.
Like we were talking about, the money is near worthless, the stores are almost
empty and I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that we started a civil war last week.
I don’t have time to play daddy to a neglected kid.”

“No,
neither do I…but….”

Caden
looked left as he stepped from the sheriff’s office. Up the next street, beyond
the county office building, he saw part of the grocery store parking lot. He
didn’t often drive that way, but his conversation with Hoover made him want to
see what was happening. Glancing at his watch he decided he had time to visit
the shop, and set out on foot across the deserted intersection.

The
establishment had started as a local grocery, but it had been sold and
remodeled several times over the years. It was now the largest food store in
town.

The
last time he drove past the market it had been closed, and the glass broken
out. Grocery stores were early targets for looters, even one this close to the
sheriff’s office.

A
dozen cars dotted the lot, and most appeared to be makeshift homes. As Caden
walked diagonally across, teenagers played soccer in a corner of the nearly
empty expanse of asphalt.
There’s a park
a block away. Why don’t they play there?

The
store had more plywood than glass in the windows and doors. As he approached,
he still wasn’t sure the place was open. Tacked to the plywood were signs in
bold print, “No checks or credit.” Underneath someone had written, “Cash, gold
or silver only.”

The
automatic doors hadn’t budged and Caden was about to walk away when the sound
of a motor drew his attention to a security camera above and to his left. He
stared into the lens for a moment and then the doors lumbered open.

Just
inside a man with thin gray-hair sat in the corner against the wall on a green
plastic lawn chair. A pump shotgun rested on his lap, and he held a jury-rigged
switch connected to the door by wires. A nearby TV displayed the outside view
of the door, switched to the parking lot and then back.
  

The
eyes of the guard seemed to be on Caden’s butt as he passed. The thought was
disconcerting, however he quickly realized it was not his shapely backside the
guard eyed, but the holster on his hip. Then their eyes met and the guard nodded.

Caden’s
eyes lingered on the shotgun for a moment.
That’s
one way to stop theft.

The
coffee shop at the front was closed. A young cashier hovered around the only
store register in use. The others were blocked off with boxes and carts. Caden
continued down a thinly-stocked produce aisle. Potatoes, peas and iceberg
lettuce were available and a few things he didn’t recognize. He walked past one
item that looked like peas, but the sign read “Edamame.” Another looked like
onions, but was turnips. Farther along, the canned goods aisle appeared full,
but on closer inspection the cans had been pulled forward. The illusion of
plenty was a thin façade. Where normally there would be forty or fifty of an
item there was now a facing of ten.

Caden
searched out the items the sheriff had mentioned. He found the green beans first.
Hoover was wrong; they only cost $4.99 a
can.
He shook his head.
Maybe ‘only’
isn’t the right word to use.
Next he came to the corn and sighed. It was
$5.29 a can.

Shaking
his head, Caden turned the corner on the next aisle. He had passed fewer than
ten people since entering the store and two of them were employees. A woman
pushed a cart with a dozen items toward the register. Just behind her was a
man.
A bored husband, a
bodyguard, or both.

He
anticipated an empty meat counter, but when it came in view he saw beef, pork,
chicken, and local varieties of fish.
The
beef and pork are probably from the nearby packing plant. Does Zach supply the
fish?
He wondered if all the fresh food was local. It seemed likely during
the current chaos and upheaval. Signs along the top of the meat counter
declared “Ask for prices.” So he did.

“What
are you interested in?” The butcher inquired.

“That.”
He pointed to a whole chicken.

“Nine
dollars a pound.” The man lifted it from the display.

For chicken?
“Thanks,
but not today.”
What does a steak go for?
No, I don’t want to know.
Walking away he shook his head.
I’ve gained a new respect for livestock on
the farm.
    

He
continued along the back toward the far wall where he saw a small, in store,
branch bank. A man with salt-and-pepper hair counted out a large stack of bills
for an older woman.

When
she walked away, stuffing the money in her purse, the banker looked at Caden,
“Can I help you?”

Caden
shook his head and then reconsidered. After introducing himself he added, “I’m
checking prices and trying to understand how the local economy is functioning.”

The
man scowled. “Not well. The woman who was at the counter when you walked
up…she’s fairly well situated, but she’s withdrawing savings to buy a few days
of food. What happens when her savings run out?”

Caden
nodded. “Hopefully we can get enough aid to hold us over until more can be
grown locally.”

“If
we don’t….” He was silent for a moment. “As far as I can tell no one received
Social Security payments this month. Those checks were meager to begin with.
Now….”

He
shook his head. “If inflation continues at the current rate many of the elderly
will soon be homeless and hungry even if Social Security resumes
payments.”
 
 

Under
the current circumstances Caden couldn’t imagine Hoover evicting little old
ladies, but in other places it probably would happen. He looked around, but didn’t
see a single customer. “You would think more people would be buying all the
food they could.”

“Most
people don’t have the cash to buy here. The place with the most economic
activity is the market in Library Park.”

“Yes,
I’ve been there.”
And I’ll go there when
I leave here.

The
banker continued. “In the past wealth was how many dollars you had, but it
doesn’t take much to destroy confidence in a currency. During the terrorist
attacks people quickly learned that all the cash they had couldn’t buy them the
gas or food they needed. Those things disappeared from store shelves, and the
owners were stuck with paper money, but nothing to eat.
 

“Since
the attacks people spend their dollars quickly for useful or practical things
they may need or to use in trade. They still save, but now it’s tangible items
or gold and silver, not paper money. That lack of confidence and need for real
wealth is being seen as inflation.” The banker shook his head. “I’ve read about
it in the history books and seen it in third world countries, but I never
thought I’d see a currency collapse in the United States.”

“If
the value of paper money has collapsed, why does the store still accept it?”

“As
it says on all bills, ‘
This
note is legal tender for
all debts, public and private.’ The store pays its taxes, lease, electric bill
and employees with checks drawn on cash. The bank pays the sublease to the
store with a check backed by cash. But everyone is trying to unload the dollars
as fast as possible because they are losing value daily.”

As
he walked toward the exit, the older woman stood at the checkout handing over a
wad of bills for two bags of groceries. He had no solution for her or the
growing number of hungry people and that realization felt like a huge weight
pressing down on him.

Caden
nodded to the guard at the door and the old man shifted the gun to one side and
flipped the switch. The doors creaked and groaned open. As Caden walked from
the store, he realized the soccer game had paused.

The
teens eyed him carefully.

Caden
rested his hand on the holster and stared at the boys for a moment. Then with
his eyes forward, but using his peripheral vision to watch them, he walked
across the parking lot and on toward his car.

His
thoughts had already turned to his upcoming wedding when he heard the scream.
He turned around, but could see only a slice of the store parking lot.

Caden
ran three steps toward the store when the boom of shotgun filled the air.

He
pulled his pistol and ran faster.

Now
he could see the teens running with the old lady’s grocery bags. One was torn
spilling cans, but the boys that followed quickly scooped them up and sprinted
away behind the others.

The
guard stood in the entryway of the store sweeping his shotgun from side to
side.

The
woman leaned against a car with one hand on her chest.

Caden
and the guard reached her at about the same moment. Both asked if she was okay.

Still
leaning on the car and looking down, she didn’t answer.

“I
shot over their heads. Perhaps I should have aimed lower,” the guard growled.

Caden,
his eyes fixed on the woman, didn’t answer. “Are you okay?”

Hand
still clutching her chest, she stared at him with wide frightened eyes. Then
she fell to the pavement.

Bent
in half with one arm twisted underneath and the other out to the side, the
elderly woman lay motionless.

“Call
911!” Caden ordered as he knelt beside her. He gently shook her. “Are you all
right?”
Stupid question.
He laid her
flat, checked for breathing and a pulse, but found neither and began CPR.
 

Movement
caught Caden’s eye. A deputy ran toward them speaking into his shoulder radio.
The officer took over breathing while Caden performed chest compressions.

Several
minutes ticked by in surreal slow motion. By the time the wail of a siren was
heard drops of sweat rolled down Caden’s face and dripped on the old woman’s
blouse.

When
the EMTs arrived, Caden stood and backed away. As he did, he saw Hoover
trotting across the parking lot.

Reaching
Caden the sheriff said, “The deputy reported Judge Hastings was down. What
happened?”

“She’s
a judge?

“Yes,
she was….”

“She
was mugged,”

Hoover
shook his head. “I’ll need a statement from you.”
           
“And then I think she had a
heart attack.”

The
sheriff’s expression slowly changed from sadness to anger. “She was the chief
judge until she retired a few years ago…”

The
EMTs lifted the body onto a gurney. There were no more attempts to revive her.

“…and
she was my friend.”

*
              
*
              
*

Caden’s
trip to the Library Park market was delayed until Monday, but even then he was
thinking about the death of Judge Hastings.
Conditions
in the FEMA camps are worse than here in Hansen. If kids attack people for food
here, what is happening in the camps? And will it spread to here?
 

The
number of sellers had grown, taking over a used car lot across the street. The
mixture of music, smoke, colorful tarps and rough wood stalls gave the place a
third-world bazaar look. The music seemed to be live, but he couldn’t see the
band as he entered the winding lanes covering the park.
 

Immediately on his left
was a large community bulletin board with a second, new board, beside it. In
the center of one was a notice of food aid distribution from the Salvation
Army. Sprinkled around it were announcements of church services, a public
meeting at Legion Hall, and another told of school opening, but asked students
to bring lunch until further notice. On his first trip to the market he had
seen a poster pleading for insulin. He didn’t see it this time and wondered if
the supply was better or the diabetics had died.

Farther
in the maze stalls sold everything that could be grown during a western
Washington winter including spinach, cauliflower and, he read the sign, kale.
Stacks of commercial and home canned food items stood at the next stall.
Chickens in cages cackled next to baskets full of eggs at the next. Beyond that
a man sold firewood.

He
was staring at jars of honey when he felt something pull at his holster.
Instinctively, he turned and grabbed at the puller. Just for a moment he held
the snout of a goat on a long tether.

The
animal jerked backwards uttering a loud, “baaa.”

Caden
shook his head and walked away. Several minutes later, the goat nibble all but
forgotten, his thoughts turned to the vibrancy of this market compared to the
emptiness of the grocery store. Dollars changed hands in both and prices were
as exorbitant here as the store. However, barter and trade were common in
Library Park and ammunition served as an alternate currency.
 

In
the distance, he spotted a sign reading, “Gold and Silver Exchange.” Nearing
the stall he saw a middle-aged man behind the counter buying precious metals
for large bundles of paper money.

As
he watched, several people brought rings, necklaces, and other jewelry in
exchange for cash. Caden assumed they were using it in the market or nearby
stores to buy food and other necessities. He grinned.
This guy is acting as a bank for the market.

Catching
a glimpse of something hanging from the man’s belt, Caden stepped across the
lane to a food stall. With the change of angle he saw a pistol and holster on
the old man’s hip. Caden grinned knowingly.
Of
course he would be armed.

 
Scanning the crowd, Caden also spotted a
nearby deputy chatting with a young woman.
 

“You
want anything?”

He
turned toward the voice. “What?”

The
woman behind the counter smiled, “You’ve been standing at my counter. I
wondered if you wanted anything.”

He
looked at several bundles of a leafy plant he recognized, but couldn’t name.
“What is this?”

“Chard
or Swiss Chard. I’ve been growing it for years. It’s a very nutritious
vegetable.”

He
listened as the woman extolled the history and virtues of various plants and
was almost convinced to buy when he realized he had no money.

As
Caden walked on he noticed two Hispanic men, ten yards away, watching him. They
turned when he spotted them, and whispered to each other. Then they moved several
yards farther down the walkway, but still glanced at both the money changer and
Caden. After a moment they spoke to each other and left.

They appeared to be
casing the stall, but they’d be crazy to try and rob the old man with so many
people around. Still, why were they looking at me?
He remembered he was in
uniform with a pistol on his belt.
That’s
plenty of reason to watch me. They were probably just looking like I was. Heck,
I even changed position to get a good view of his pistol.
Caden shook his head.
I’m being paranoid and maybe a bit racist.

Caden
continued in another direction until he spotted Zach about twenty yards ahead,
talking to a pretty blonde girl about his age. Her jeans and jacket were nicer
than the casual attire of most at the market.

On
the ground by Zach was a white bucket from which he retrieved a large trout.
The girl held out a plastic container and Zach slid in the fish. She kissed him
on the cheek and hurried away. The boy watched, until she disappeared around a
bend, then he lifted the bucket and walked slowly with his head down, toward
Caden.

As
Zach approached, Caden asked, “Is she a friend of yours?”

Startled,
the boy’s head shot up. “Oh, hi…ah, yeah…just a girl from school.” His face
grew redder with each word.

Caden
turned and walked with the boy. “I thought you would be fishing.”

Zach shook his head.
“After we set the traps we leave them and I come here to help.”

Ahead Zach’s sister
stood at a stall. A red-haired woman worked beside her. Behind them, sitting in
a lawn chair, was a potbellied man with black hair, and a flashy Hawaiian-style
shirt. He wondered if the mom had remarried or if the man was just a friend.
Perhaps there is a man that can provide some
guidance and direction for Zach
. Glancing at his watch he asked, “Isn’t the
school open?”
 

The young man grinned.
“Yeah, but right now eating is more important.”

Caden wondered what his
mother thought of that plan. He pointed and asked, “Is that your mom and dad?”

The boy’s face
darkened. “Yeah that’s my mom, but he’s not my father. His name is Bo. Dad had
red hair, like my mom…like Vicki.” And then almost in a whisper he added, “Like
me.”

Zach did not elaborate
and Caden still didn’t know what role Bo filled in the family, but decided not
to ask. He said goodbye and turned back the way he came.

As he left the market
he still wanted to help Zach, but didn’t know how. He wanted to help the
community, but he had no answers to the vexing problems of the town. He stopped
and looked back. This was the one place in town that had the hustle and bustle
that was common before the attacks. Their resourcefulness gave him hope.

*
              
*
              
*

At
the end of a long day, Caden entered the armory conference room with the duty
roster in one hand and the Governor’s Martial law edict in the other. On the
large center table was a copy of the Seattle Times. It was the first newspaper
he had seen since returning to the state. The headline shouted Hunger in Metro
Area. Setting down what had been important, he picked up the Times. The lead
story detailed food shortages in Tacoma and the fringes of the Seattle red
zone. Also above the fold was the announcement that they were now publishing
from temporary offices in Olympia. He glanced over articles about riots and
looting.
I guess this is the new normal.

When
Brooks walked in, Caden paused his reading. “I forgot to mention yesterday that
the sheriff wants help patrolling the towns south of Hansen.”
 

Brooks
walked over to a map of southwest Washington on the wall.

On
page five of the six-page paper was a small article that quoted an Oregon
investment banker: “The Chinese government had been selling dollars for a week
before the first terror attack and dumped two trillion in United States
treasury bonds on the market the morning of the Washington D.C. attack.”

He
was no economist, but Caden was sure that such an act would crush the value of
the dollar. If the report was true, China knew of the attacks before they
occurred, and perhaps planned them, and Durant had to know at least that much.

“We
have one patrol south of town, but I don’t see how we can send more,” Brooks
said. “We’re already covering over 2,000 square miles. The Tacoma police want
us to move our checkpoint on North Road closer to them and now Hoover wants us to
patrol farther south? We’re stretched beyond thin.”
  

Setting
the paper down, Caden looked at the map. “We need more people.”

“The
army could help?”

He
shook his head. “Not unless President Durant decides to restore the
Constitution. Every unit at the Joint Base will soon be heading east.” Thinking
about what would happen when those soldiers met units loyal to Durant caused
him to shudder.

“If
we had money we could recruit people.”

“We
have money, it’s just not worth much, but we also have food and a warm place to
sleep.” He looked squarely at Brooks. “Start signing people up.”

The
XO sighed. “I guess we could recruit from the FEMA camps. They can’t be feeding
them all that well.”

Caden
thought for a moment. Getting people, even just a few, out of the camps before
conditions got worse, was a good idea. “Go ahead, but recruit locals first and
then people from the camp.” He picked up his coffee cup from the table and
drank the last of the lukewarm brew. Stepping to the side of his desk, he
looked at the dark window reflecting his image. “What time is it?”

“18:30.”

He
dropped the papers. “I’m going home before Maria hunts me down. We’re supposed
to go over wedding plans tonight.”

“I’ll
see you at dinner.”

“What?”

“Lisa
said your parents want to get to know me better. They invited me over.”

Caden
laughed. “Be afraid, be very afraid.”

“Of
your parents?”

Stepping
through the door he said, “Of my little sister. She has plans for you.” As he
walked down the hall his phone rang.
Maria
is hunting for me.
Then he looked at the caller ID.
The sheriff?
Quickly he answered the phone.

“Caden,
there’s been an attack.”