Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (42 page)

She hugged him back then pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Well, you’re home now, so it’s all good.” She looked over to where Kinsey and his two men stood, staying politely out of the way while the family reconnected. “And where are my manners? Chief Kinsey, it’s past lunchtime and I expect you and your men could do with something to eat. We normally just have a cold lunch in this heat, if that’s okay. The girls and I will put together some sandwiches, and we’ve all the iced tea you can drink.”

“That sounds great, ma’am,” Kinsey said, “but don’t go to any trouble.”

“It’s the least I can do for y’all helping Jordan get home. We have plenty of food AND room, so y’all are free to stay as long as you like. As a matter of fact, given how things are, having some more men about would be reassuring.”

Kinsey said nothing but shot a knowing look at Hughes. Laura followed the silent exchange then focused on her husband.

“What was that look about?”

“Ah, Laura, I can’t stay. I’ve got
Pecos Trader
anchored in the river with a lot of folk on board I’m responsible for—”

“What do you mean you can’t stay, Jordan! You can’t leave us—”

“I have absolutely no intention of leaving you, honey. We came to get you and the girls and take you back to the ship. We have plenty of stores there, and it will be a safe place to stay until we figure out what we’re going to do.”

“What do you mean, what we’re going to do? We’re going to stay here, of course. We have plenty here, and with the garden and the generator keeping the freezer going and the pantry, we can just stay here until they get the power restored and things get back to normal.”

Hughes fell silent and exchanged another look with Kinsey.

“That’s just it, Laura, the power’s not coming back on, at least for a long, long time—years, not months. And things … things might never get back to normal, at least what we used to think of as normal.”

Laura shook her head. “We’ve been without power longer than this after hurricanes. It’s just going to take a while, that’s all.”

“No, babe,” Hughes said gently, “it’s not like that, because the power’s down everywhere, and there are no spares to fix the problem. I don’t fully understand it all myself, but I’ve seen enough to know we’re not recovering from this anytime soon. Have you seen any linemen working anywhere or picked up any television signal at all when you have the power on?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, I’m afraid it does. And it’s only been three weeks, so things are going to get a whole lot worse. We probably can’t imagine how bad it’s going to get. I need to know you and the girls are safe, or at least as safe as I can make you.”

Laura’s face hardened. “Jordan Hughes, counting the girls, my family has lived at Pecan Grove for six generations, and I’ll be damned if I’m abandoning it to let it be overrun by a bunch of looters! I’m staying right here!”

“Ah, Captain, I think me and the boys are going outside to do a security check on the perimeter while you folks discuss this,” Kinsey said, then exited the room when Hughes nodded.

Hughes turned back to his wife and gave an exasperated sigh before running his hands through his hair. “Honey, even if I could justify abandoning the ship and the people on it—”

“It’s a JOB, Jordan, it’s not some holy mission. And your family should come first!”

“You DO come first, which is why y’all need to come back to the ship. It’s safer there, and this place is practically impossible to defend, even if I stay—”

Laura glared at him. “We’ve done okay so far.”

Both the twins nodded emphatically. “Mom’s right, Dad,” Jana said. “When the fake cops came—”

“What fake cops? What are you talking about?”

Laura suddenly looked less sure of herself. “We … we had some trouble yesterday. Some men came, dressed like sheriff’s deputies, but I’m pretty sure they were convicts. They had a lot of tattoos.”

Shaken, Hughes dragged the story out of her, including the less than successful attempt at sinking the car.

When she finished, he sat shaking his head, stunned at how close his family had come to tragedy.

“That clinches it, Laura, we HAVE to leave now. If those guys radioed in your location before they rolled in here, or if any of their buddies knew where they were headed and come looking for them, this is the first place they’ll look. The pecan grove rising out of this flat pastureland draws in people like a magnet and you know it. If you won’t think of yourself, at least think of the girls.”

“Maybe that was just an isolated thing,” she said, uncertainty in her voice.

“No way,” Hughes responded. “We ran into fake cops in Port Arthur on our way in, also with skinhead tattoos—two times isn’t a coincidence. If they’re riding around unmolested in police uniforms and cruisers, I’m guessing it means there’s no one left to challenge them. They’ll be here sooner or later. You can count on it, and we can’t be here when they come.”

“But what about the food and supplies, and the garden, and the horses … someone has to feed the horses.”

“We have plenty of food and supplies on the ship, at least for now. We’ll gather up all the long-life supplies and make a hidden cache somewhere, just in case we ever have to leave the ship. We’ll shut down the generator and hide it as well, and take anything frozen or refrigerated to the ship. And we can turn the horses out in the pasture, there’s plenty of grazing here, and they can drink from the pond.”

Laura looked around the room, no doubt grieving for over a century of pictures and family heirlooms she would have to abandon. Finally she seemed to steel herself and nod.

“You’re right. Things can be replaced, but family can’t. All we need to survive is each other, because if we don’t have that, nothing else matters anyway. When do you want to leave?”

Hughes looked at his watch. “Sunset’s around eight, and I’d like to be back on board before full dark. I figure to leave an hour and a half travel time, just in case we run into trouble. That gives us five hours to pack and get out of here. Can you make that?”

Laura stood. “We can do anything we have to do, but we won’t be serving lunch. I’ll throw some cold cuts and fresh baked bread on the kitchen counter and people can help themselves when they take a break. Come on, girls, I want to get up in the attic and start dumping out some of the plastic storage tubs we have up there. We can use them to cache the nonperishable stuff. And if we have time, I want to hide family pictures and other stuff up there in the attic. If we take the rope off the pull-down stairway and pin it closed with a dozen wood screws, it might discourage looters, the lazy ones, anyway.”

“Good idea,” Hughes said, “I’ll go get the Coasties to help us.”

***

Four hours later, Hughes stood in the barn, surveying the large circular hay bales stacked against one wall. There was a carefully constructed gap in the stack, a bit over three feet wide and bridged over by an inch-thick sheet of plywood resting on top of the first tier of hay bales, a quickly constructed hiding place for not only their generator, but stacks of plastic tubs containing all their nonperishable food.

“Whadda ya think?” he asked.

Laura examined the hastily improvised cache with a critical eye, then nodded.

“I think it will work, and it’s a lot better than burying the stuff. Wet as the ground can get around here, I’d worry about the seal on the tubs anyway, and fresh dirt would probably be a dead giveaway. Those round bales weigh a thousand pounds each, and when you bury our cache under a couple of more rows of those, no one’s getting at it.”

“I agree, “Kinsey said, “though playing the devil’s advocate, what if someone just cranks up the tractor and starts moving bales. I know it’s unlikely, but still …”

Hughes stroked his chin, then nodded. “Good point. When I finish stacking the bales, I’ll pull all the tractor spark plugs and fuses and hide them under the loose hay up in the hay loft. I’d just as soon not make it easy for someone to steal the tractor anyway. And since that’s going to add a few minutes, I’d better get moving. Is everything else all ready, hon?”

“Just about,” Laura said. “We have a few more things to load; then I’ll feed the horses for the last time and turn them out to pasture. Maybe half an hour or forty-five minutes.”

Hughes nodded and crawled on the tractor, to run the hay spear into a big circular hay bale to begin covering their cache.

Boyd’s Bayou Bridge

Near Pecan Grove

Oleander, Texas

6:00 p.m.

“It’s their car all right, Snag,” said the man into the radio.

“Did the idiots just run off the road, or does it look like they got hit? Over.”

“Well, how the hell should I know? All we can see is the damned trunk lid. Over.”

“Are there skid marks? Is the guardrail busted? Does it look like they tried to stop? USE YOUR GODDAMNED EYES! Over.”

The man raised the radio again. “Ahh … none of that. Looks like it just rolled into the water. But like I said, we can’t see nothin’ but the trunk lid. If you want us to check it out better, we need a wrecker to pull the car out of the water. Over.”

“I ain’t wastin’ time and gas to send a wrecker out there. We’re losin’ daylight, and if we don’t get to the bottom of this quick, Spike’s gonna be pissed. Now one of y’all strip down and drag the bodies out. And do it fast. Do you copy? Over.”

The man cursed under his breath before responding. “We copy, Snag. This is Unit Seven, out,” he said, then turned to his partner. “You heard him. Strip down and go check out the car.”

“He was talkin’ to you, not me. I ain’t going in there, it’s probably full of snakes and gators.”

“He told me, and now I’m telling you, strip down!”

“You’re not the boss just ‘cause you’re running the radio, Bolton. I say we flip for it, and if you don’t like that, you can just kiss my ass and do it yourself.”

Bolton considered for a moment, then reached for his door handle. “All right, let’s get out and flip. I’d rather take my chances with a snake than get Spike and Snag pissed at us.”

Five minutes later, Bolton’s head broke the murky water of the bayou, and he moved toward the bank, sputtering and cursing. “Ain’t a damn thing in the car, front or back.”

“Well, they gotta be somewhere. They couldn’t just fly off,” his partner called down from the bridge.

“Yeah, smartass, well, unless they’re in the trunk …” He paused as the logic of that possibility sank in. “Get the crowbar out of the back of the cruiser.”

The man did as requested and then scurried down the bank to the edge of the bayou to pass Bolton the crowbar. Bolton waded back over to the car and stood in waist-deep water, trying unsuccessfully to pry the trunk open before moving away to point at the trunk.

“Blow the hell out of the lock and latch area—empty your magazine—that should weaken it.”

His partner complied, and when the shooting stopped, Bolton waded back over with the crow bar and easily pried the trunk up to reveal the blood-soaked bodies of their former colleagues.

“Snag and Spike ain’t gonna like this,” Bolton said as he waded out of the water and started up the incline to their car, his partner close behind.

“This is Unit Seven to Central Dispatch, do you copy? Over,” he said into the mike.

“Seven, this is Dispatch. We copy. Over,” came Snag’s distinctive voice.

“Snag, we found Morgan’s and Juke’s bodies in the trunk of the cruiser. Somebody definitely took ‘em out. Over,” Bolton said.

A burst of obscenity came through the radio, followed by silence. Snag returned to the air a moment later.

“All right, we already got units working that way. We’ll have ‘em rally on you and start combing the area. I want to show them local yokels what happens when you mess with the law. Where are you exactly?”

Bolton looked at his partner and shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. The last good-size road we turned off of was Texas 124, but we been wandering around the back roads and they ain’t got no signs. I reckon we’re a good three or four miles off 124 now.”

“What’s a landmark on 124 where we could rally?”

Bolton thought a minute. “There’s some kind of old chemical plant or refinery. Looks like it was probably closed even before the blackout, but if you come down 124 from Beaumont, you can’t miss it. It’s on the right.”

“All right, I’ll have everyone rally there, work your way back there, but check out houses along the way. Somebody had to do them two in, and I’m bettin’ they ain’t far away. You turn anything up on the way to the rally point, sing out on the radio and we’ll figure out how to get to you. Understood? Over.”

“Understood. We’ll git ‘er done. This is Seven, out.”

Hughes’ Residence

Pecan Grove

Oleander, Texas

Day 17, 6:15 p.m.

“That it?” Kinsey asked, and both Jordan and Laura Hughes nodded.

“How you want to do this, Chief Kinsey?” Hughes asked.

“I think it’s best if you take your family in the SUV,” Kinsey said. “Then me and the boys will ride in the pickup, me driving and two in the bed with M4s. There’s still enough room to move around in the bed of the truck, and they can bring the M4s into play much more easily if we need ‘em. I figure the pickup can either run interference in front and they can shoot over the top of the cab, or they can be a rearguard and shoot behind us, depending on the situation.”

“Sounds good,” Hughes said, turning to his wife. “Hon, let’s get the girls in …”

Everyone looked up at the sound of an approaching car, and watched as a Beaumont PD cruiser cleared the edge of the pecan grove and started up the long drive. Then the driver apparently saw them and skidded to a stop, both occupants of the cop car staring at them in disbelief.

“More fake cops!” Hughes said. “Honey, get the girls and y’all get down behind the SUV, NOW!”

Laura moved to comply, and Kinsey turned to face the cop car, M4 raised. His men followed suit.