Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (13 page)

When they reached the parking lot, Mark abandoned his efforts to appear detached, and nodded in approval at the activity in and around the church’s parking lot. Everything on the property looked to be well-organized, and running with military exactness and discipline. There was not one idle person to be seen.

Several new canvas wall tents were being erected near several that were already set up and occupied; their sides rolled up to enjoy the weather. The interior of the exposed tents displayed neat and orderly rows of cots and personal storage containers. A bank of five porta-johns sat off to the side, under the shade of trees and upwind of the tents. A water buffalo, a large military-grade water trailer, was stationed at the opposite end of the parking lot. Mark saw two teenage girls filling about a dozen green plastic canteens.

Mark saw about twelve young children, between the ages of five and eleven, sitting on cots under the trees. They were apparently being taught something by two women, but Mark couldn’t tell what the subject was from the distance. The other kids, teenagers, were busy with a variety of mundane tasks around the camps, like picking up trash, moving and stacking firewood, or sweeping and hauling water.

The truck pulled into the lower parking lot, and Mark jumped on Ed’s side. He saw adults preparing food, splitting wood, pulling guard duty, or working on equipment. Mark had never seen such a busy and well-organized effort that involved so many civilians. He was impressed, and it must have shown because Mark caught Ed staring and said, “Something, ain’t it?”

Mark grunted and said, “I am impressed. Somebody really knows what they’re doing around here.”

Ed replied with a nod and even bigger grin, “Sheriff Green was a National Guard colonel . . . retired in oh-nine, or sometime around there. But yeah, he sure knows his business.”

Mark gestured to a forty-something man walking across the far end of the parking lot, toward a group of men gathered near the entrance. A tan and black AR15 hung from a sling over his shoulder, and the man’s tactical vest, one similar to the type Mark used in Iraq, was equipped with ammo pouches and a Camelback water system. The DCU patrol cap and dark Oakley’s hid most of the man’s face, but Mark didn’t need to see his face to know he was in charge.

“Is that the sheriff?” asked Mark.

“No. That’s Cooper,” replied Ed. “He’s Sheriff Green’s second in command, and head of security.”

“Uh huh,” replied Mark. “Head of security,” he echoed, and he watched the man interact with the other men. “What other positions need to be filled?”

“Why? You interested in work?” asked Ed.

“Maybe,” answered Mark. “It depends on the sheriff and what he expects from me.”

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Come on, let me give you the tour.”

“What about my gear?”

“No worries,” replied Ed. “It’ll be fine in the truck for now,” and he turned and began walking briskly away toward the church.

Fuller interrupted the conversation when he stepped out and said, “I ain’t guarding his stuff!” He then slammed the truck door hard enough to rock it, and leaned firmly against it as if daring either man to challenge him.

“Didn’t ask you to,” yelled Ed over his shoulder as he continued, unperturbed, up the walkway toward the church.

Fuller huffed loudly and crossed his arms, but he didn’t move away. Mark saw how he scowled at Ed, but Ed didn’t seem to care. When they
were out of ear-shot Mark dared comment, “That guy doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Fuller?” grunted Ed. “Yeah . . . he’s a bit touchy when things don’t go his way. But he knows his limits despite not being able to control his mouth.” Then, after a few more steps, Ed added, “And he doesn’t like authority.”

“Are you authority?” asked Mark as he walked next to Ed on the wide cement walkway.

“Not really, but the Sheriff does like having me handle the delicate stuff.”

“The delicate stuff . . . you mean like bringing me in without a fight?” asked Mark.

Ed stopped and turned to face Mark. And with a wide grin he said, “Yes. You can say that.”

“Why do you tolerate Fuller if he’s so difficult to work with?”

“He’s related to the sheriff in a way I don’t care to know. But if I had my way about it, Fuller would be pulling guard duty at Cabela’s,” replied Ed, as he crossed over the circular driveway that emerged from the tall portico, marking the church’s main entrance and vehicle drop-off point.

Mark took in the large, three-story height of the box-shaped church building. It was covered in tan colored metal siding that made it look cheaper than it actually was. Several tall, clear windows added personality to the otherwise warehouse-like appeal of the church, but if Mark didn’t know better he’d swear all the money was spent on the property, and not the building. He figured the roof-mounted solar panels was the single most expensive feature of the entire structure.

Mark saw an armed guard, a woman, standing watch at the main entrance under the portico. She was young, and looked neither bored nor distracted with the rifle in her hands. The sight of yet another armed guard made Mark wonder just how many guards there were to support the church that was turned into a fortress compound. He almost asked Ed, but though better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was draw
attention to the fact that he noticed everything. Instead he asked, “You said something about, Cabela’s?”

“Yeah, we’re guarding the store, and about five other key stores and warehouses in the area,” replied Ed.

“Really,” replied Mark.

“Yup. The sheriff called up more than a hundred deputies, and organized security details for the stores after the first earthquake.”

“We barely felt any tremors in San Antonio,” said Mark. “How bad was it up here?”

“I’m not entirely sure about the damage, but we had a couple of really good shakes. A few of the older buildings in the downtown area collapsed. We also received reports that a couple of older overpasses in the city gave way, but as you can see from the skyline,” said Ed, with an extended arm, Austin’s still there.

Mark leaned against the side of the church building, more to enjoy the narrow strip of shade than to relax, and he listened intently as Ed pointed out the pertinent Austin landmarks before him. He followed Ed’s outstretched arm as he moved it along the horizon, describing the current trouble spots, and telling him how the chaos developed in and around the city.

In essence, Ed’s description went from quakes, to eruption, to ash, to power outage, to lack of food and water, and finally to chaos. It was nothing Mark didn’t already know. In fact, he believed everyone knew the sequence of events by now, and he wondered why Ed felt it necessary to explain everything to him. It wasn’t like he was from out of state or something. Though maybe not as harshly, San Antonio experienced the same events, and in the same order.

But while Ed rambled on, Mark’s mind drifted to the woman in his vision. He didn’t want a briefing, but he was open for any useful information that might help him find her. He also didn’t want to be rude, so he listened, commented when appropriate, and acted interested in Ed’s service as a tour guide. Truth be told, Mark already knew there was nothing more to be learned from the man.

Mark felt that Ed kind of took possession of him, as if he was some kind of stray dog. It was a sentiment Mark understood given his rogue status, and he likened it to allowing a stray dog into your house. The smart thing to do in such a case was to watch the animal and make sure it was house-broken, or at least that it wouldn’t chew anything up, before you turned your back on it. Mark decided that he liked the stray dog analogy, and he smiled warmly at Ed as the man continued with the lengthy briefing.

For the first time in more than a week, Mark allowed himself to relax and enjoy the feeling of peace and security of being in the compound. He wasn’t half as concerned about being caged as he thought he would be, and he wondered exactly what the boss, this Greg guy, needed from him.

When he first arrived on the hill, Mark caught many of the camp occupants, some of them armed and some not, staring at him with curiosity or apprehension. He assumed they didn’t see many strangers on the hill, at least not within the inner security belt of the compound around the church. But that didn’t make total sense to him because he was allowed to enter the compound without having to surrender his weapons or submit to a search. He didn’t know what to make of their security. It was heavy in some areas, and lax in others.

Without looking too obvious, Mark noted every feature and characteristic of the church compound as he continued the grand tour with Ed. Everything from the armed observation points and fortified bunker at the entrance road, to the roof-mounted solar panels and water collection barrels around the buildings, interested Mark from a tactical and survival perspective.

Once again he wondered why the owner would go to such extremes to equip the place. Maybe he was just a practical man? Whoever he was, he was definitely more aware than most about the possibility of the church needing to be prepared. Everything he saw on the hill looked well thought out and constructed, as if the church-on-the-hill would someday end up being just what it was at that moment, a fortified hilltop survival compound.

Mark took in the spectacular vista of Austin and its surrounding cityscape, but what really caught his attention was the activity going on in the creek below them. A large detail of men and women were busy damming the creek below. And yet in places, Mark saw multiple security checkpoints, ground clearing efforts, wood gathering, and camp building.

“Is that a clubhouse?” asked Mark, interrupting Ed long enough to point toward a large structure sitting by itself in the middle of a once proud eighteen-hole golf course.

“Yeah. That’s the Onion Creek Country Club,” replied Ed. “I’ve never been there myself, but I heard it was nice. Now it’s the neighborhood food kitchen and operations center.”

“Is it affiliated with this compound?” Mark asked, with a head nod to the church behind him.

Ed grunted and said, “You can say that. The Sheriff is in contact with their community leader, but there’s been some friction. The Sheriff levies a fee for security when they need it, and they don’t like it.”

Mark grunted and said, “Looks more like a refugee center to me.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. It’s just for the people in the neighborhood . . . they’re not accepting any outsiders. If you’ll look over there . . . and there,” said Ed, as he pointed out two locations, “There’s only two points into the neighborhood. And they’re both heavily guarded. They enjoy the benefit of our security outside the neighborhood though, and that comes with a price. Sheriff Green’s protection detail is hard to fill, and they have a lot of men just sitting around, doing nothing,” finished Ed.

“Who’s running the show down there?” asked Mark.

“A retired air force general.”

“An air force general?” asked Mark.

“Yeah. Apparently the neighborhood was built to cater to the Bergstrom Air Force Base crowd back in the eighties when the base was still running. There’s something like a thousand homes down there, and a handful of the owners retired and stayed. I hear even the HOA president is a former air force general or something,” finished Ed.

“When did Bergstrom close?”

“Around 93. And when it did, the City of Austin acquired the airstrip and turned it into their new international airport.”

Mark could see the top portion of the main Austin-Bergstrom International Airport control tower from where he stood, but the former military runway remained hidden from view below the horizon. He wondered how the airfield handled the earthquakes, but didn’t ask. It didn’t really matter anyway. With the ash lingering in the upper atmosphere, it would be months before jets would fly safely again.

He then realized he hadn’t heard a plane flying since the disaster started, and he wondered what it meant for the small, single-engine aircraft. If he could commandeer a small plane, he would be able to reach John’s place in no time. Mark didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before.

A shout caught their attention, and both men looked at the activity in the creek below. Someone dropped a rock on their foot, and he was screaming in pain. “What’s the medical situation around here?” asked Mark.

“The closest hospital is about five miles south of us, but it might as well be on another planet. Our scouts reported that it’s barely staffed, and that it’s was heavily damaged by looting. But the worst part is the abandoned sick. They were supposedly left unattended, and many died within days. It’s more a death house than anything. I don’t want to go anywhere near that place.”

“What do you guys do for local needs, you know, first aid and healing?” asked Mark, as he watched the two men carry the injured guy up the bank and lay him under a tree. As soon as the injured man was settled, one of the other men jumped on a bicycle and peddled off toward the clubhouse.

“We have a competent physician’s assistant and registered nurse with us here on the hill, but they work at a make-shift clinic in the neighborhood. That’s probably where that guy is riding to now . . . to get help,” answered Ed.

With interest in the dam building and the injury expired, Mark pointed to the Home Depot off to the north, and then to a shopping center on the other side of I-35 to the northwest, “Is Green controlling the hardware and food stores over there as well?”

“You mean
Sheriff
Green,” corrected Ed, with emphasis on the word, sheriff, “Yes, he secured the Home Depot, and the Sam’s Club over there in the shopping center. But that’s about it, really. It takes a lot of men, I mean deputies, to guard those places. Most of the stores survived the initial stage of greed-looting.”

“Greed looting?” asked Mark.

“Yeah, people trying to take things they don’t really need, or things they think they’ll need when the power comes back on. You know . . . like TVs, stereos, computers, and that kind of stuff.”

“And Cabela’s?” added Mark.

Ed turned and pointed to the south and said, “Right. It’s just over that way a bit. You can just make out the top of the water tower over there . . . just above the tops of those trees.”