Ash: Rise of the Republic (7 page)

Robert Werner was asleep on the couch when I
got back. Gesturing me into the kitchen, Deb told me how he had
lashed out at Mrs. Borger when she had tried to clean his head
wound. He was now sedated him with a horse tranquilizer.

“There was nothing she could do for his ear,
but she sewed his scalp back on and shot him full of antibiotics.”
Deb told me, quietly.

“What are we going to do with him?” I
asked.

“He’s my responsibility” said Tracy. I
looked up to see her standing in the doorway, tears on her face. “I
shot him…”

I gave Deb a loaded look and headed back
outside, leaving her to comfort the poor girl. The ash was still
falling and I wanted to get the grave dug before it got any deeper
on the ground.

****

The next morning we met with the neighbors
again. I described our incident with Werner and everyone agreed
that the killing was in self-defense. No one knew the man well
enough to be his enemy, but at the same time no one was
particularly surprised by what he had done.

Everyone had brought a detailed inventory
with them. We decided that each household should keep three days of
supplies at all times, and that the surplus should be stored at the
meeting house. We elected a woman from the north side of the
neighborhood, Maddie Cartwright, to manage the supply inventory and
ration the food. We organized a team to build a small smokehouse to
attempt to preserve some of the frozen meat people had stored away,
in case the power failed.

The ash had been falling for nearly three
days at that point. It had drifted deep enough in some places to
completely cover the windows of our houses, and the road was
completely impassable to cars. We arranged a roof sweeping team to
prevent collapses – I don’t know how many thousands of people would
still be alive if more of the country had thought about that in
those early days.

We had tried clearing the road with my small
tractor the night before but the loader bucket was the wrong shape
for that kind of work. It would soon be extremely difficult to move
around the neighborhood, so Scott, the retired mechanic, suggested
we try to requisition the old bulldozer that had been sitting idle
in a pole barn across the highway for the last several years.

The meeting went on for another hour or so.
Water was going to be the next big issue to tackle. The power was
still on so the county pump stations were still working, but that
wouldn’t last forever, so we made plans to start digging a well. An
older woman who always kept a large vegetable garden in the summer
suggested a greenhouse using window panes from some of the houses.
One of our neighbors, Andy, was a lineman for the local electric
co-op. He offered to begin work on a wind generator using the bank
of batteries I had bought the first night. By the time we quit for
the day, everyone had something to work on.

We made a good start that second meeting. I
remember being surprised at how resourceful everyone was, and how
eager to cooperate. I became the leader of our small community
without even realizing it. The initiative I took in organizing the
first meeting left everyone looking to me when important decisions
or disputes came up. It was not a role I felt comfortable with, but
no one challenged me. They were scared, desperate for direction.
They needed to be distracted from the fact that their world was
crumbling around them. I kept them busy and gave them hope.

Over the next week, the various projects
began to take shape. Our supply team went to each house and
gathered up extra food and ammunition and stored it in the meeting
house. There were a few protests, but the thought of being left to
fend for themselves kept people from hoarding too much. Scott got
the old dozer running without much trouble, and we set up a work
rotation to keep the street clear.

The ash was still falling, but it had
diminished to a light dusting. By the end of that first week, we
had about four feet on the ground. Windblown drifts were up to the
roofs on some of the houses. Our sweeper team, three neighborhood
teenagers, went house to house with push-brooms and ladders,
clearing roofs. The sky was still a dark grey; the clouds were low
and boiling. It was noticeably colder, despite the fact that it was
still the end of July. Fearing a bitter winter, we took stock of
the warm clothing we had available and stored it with the rest of
the supplies in the meeting house for later distribution.

None of the families who were missing that
first night ever returned. That left us with eight empty homes. Our
supply team went through each of them, collecting, cataloging, and
storing everything. The houses themselves were locked up and the
windows boarded.

Every able-bodied person in the neighborhood
took a shift at the gate, two at a time. The construction crew
threw up a small shack to keep the guards out of the weather, but
it was a dull job. Even before the pillar there was little traffic
on the old country highway. After, there was none. Not a single
vehicle passed by that first week. We kept up the watch in the hope
that at the very least a sheriff’s deputy or a county utility
worker would come to check on us, but our civil infrastructure and
institutions seem to have disintegrated, or at least forgotten
about us.

Even though it had been a week since we had
seen any sign of life from the outside world, the power was still
on. Our lineman, Andy, pointed out that there had to be people at
the local power plant. There was no way it was still online without
someone being there to maintain it. Hoping we would find some
portion of civil authority still in charge, we arranged an
expedition to investigate.

Our corner of the county was served by a
relatively small gas fired power plant only a few miles away. It
stood on the bank of the small lake which had been constructed to
provide water for the boilers. The plan was simple: we would head
down the highway in the dozer, clearing the ash in the process. Two
pickup trucks would follow in support, three men in each. We loaded
up a few cases of canned food and bottled water in case the utility
workers were running low.

Deb and I volunteered to drive one of the
trucks, and Mike joined us as our third. Andy and two men from the
other side of the neighborhood, Doug and Joe, both former
roughnecks, would follow up in the second truck. Clint would drive
the dozer. We all armed ourselves thoroughly; I hadn’t forgotten
the madness we had run into that first night. We each had a
semi-automatic rifle or a shotgun, a pistol, and a good supply of
ammunition.

As we were preparing to leave, Tracy asked
if we would take Robert along. He had been living with us since his
father died. He hadn’t spoken a word the whole time. Most of his
time was spent glowering on the couch. The evil looks I caught from
him made me nervous. I was sure he hadn’t forgiven us for his
father’s death and I had misgivings about keeping the little jackal
so close by, but Tracy had insisted that she be allowed to care for
him. We were so busy that first week that I hadn’t thought much
about the kid. That would turn out to be a mistake.

Tracy was worried that he didn’t feel
welcomed by our small community. She thought his sour attitude was
a result of feeling shunned and unimportant. She wanted us to take
him on the expedition so that he might feel useful. Deb and I had
our misgivings, but we reluctantly agreed.

****

We set out early on the eighth day. The morning was
the usual dark, ominous grey. Diffuse sunlight barely filtered
through the bloated clouds. Ash was falling gently, white as fresh
snow in our headlights. It had piled high on the road but the old
dozer cut a path wide enough for our trucks to move in single file
behind it. A mile out, we stopped at a run-down mobile home not far
off the road. There was light coming from one of the windows. We
stopped to offer the occupants refuge in our community.

There was no response to our knocking, so we
circled the house to check the windows. As I passed under a high
bathroom window, the putrid scent of decay wafted down to me.
Already suspecting what we would find inside, we forced the door
and warily stepped inside to investigate. A corpse sat on the
couch, headless, a shotgun between its knees and a gruesome stain
on the wall behind. Our sudden intrusion startled a swarm of flies,
but they soon settled back down in the gore. I moved to the
bathroom, gagging at the viscous stench that grew more aggressive
as I neared the open door. The bloated bodies of two children, a
boy and a girl no more than ten years old, floated in the tub, face
down. We all rushed outside in shock. I left my breakfast in a
steaming puddle next to the front steps.

‘They’ve probably only been dead for a
couple days!’ Deb’s voice was wavering and tears were beginning to
well up. ‘If we had found them sooner…They were only a mile
away!’

We were all surprised at the despair that
was evident in the ghastly scene. That a man would drown his
children and take his own life after only a few days of hardship
was difficult to believe. It would turn out to be a common sight
over the next few years. Plenty of people thought the world was
ending back then. Most were helped along by booze or drugs or
religion. Whatever their particular poison was, it usually ended
the same way, especially for the loners.

Our good spirits subdued, we set off again
toward the power plant. We stopped at several more houses on the
way, but all of them were abandoned and looted. Each time we
stopped we found a splintered door, scattered belongings, and empty
pantries. Several had blood stains and bullet holes. Each stop left
us more anxious. We started holding our rifles a little closer to
our shoulders, our fingers closer to the triggers.

As we neared the power plant, the signs of
violence increased. Most of the houses we passed were just burned
shells, a few were still smoking. Dozens of boot prints and shell
casings could still be seen around the ransacked homes. It was
starting to become clear that there was a large, violent group of
looters operating nearby.

The plant itself was surrounded by a tall
chain link fence topped with razor wire. The entrance road was
blocked by a large gate. A small concrete gatehouse stood on one
side. A figure was visible looking out at us through the front
window with binoculars. Someone had already cleared much of the ash
from the road, so I edged ahead of the dozer and rolled forward to
make contact. As we pulled up, a uniformed man stepped out, leveled
a rifle at us, and motioned for us to stop.

He slipped out through the gate and moved
warily over to my window, rifle still raised.

“I’ve got a sniper covering you, all I need
to do is signal and you’re dead, so don’t make any sudden
movements.” He was unshaven. His face was drawn with weariness,
grime blackened his skin. “We don’t have anything here, we’re just
trying to keep the power on. State your business or head back where
you came from.”

“We live down the road, we thought there
might be some kind of government presence here at the plant.” I
kept my hands visible and spoke in a calm voice. “We’re set up
pretty well up there, we thought we might be able to help out. This
is my wife, Deb, my neighbor, Mike, and a kid we’ve been caring
for, Robert.” Deb and Mike waved politely, Werner scowled. “We
brought some food and water if you need it. Are you a cop? We
haven’t seen any law enforcement since this started.”

The man visibly relaxed, clearly surprised
to meet someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

“No, I’m plant security. There’s a Sheriff’s
Deputy here, but he was shot in the neck two days ago, I don’t
think he’s gonna make it. From what I’ve heard, all the cops are
tied up dealing with looters in town. It’s bad there, people are
dying. The roads are all bogged down with this shit, and most of
the manpower is either out of commission or deserted. City services
have pretty much been suspended: no ambulances, no fire department,
no cops.

“We figure we’ll keep the lights on as long
as we can, but that might not be much longer. There’s a big band of
looters that’s been rolling through here. Bunch of scumbags, they
burned my house down. They went through a bunch of places and took
everything, including the people. They’re holed up in a big house a
couple miles north. They’ve come up to the gate a couple times. My
buddy up there killed two of them the second time they came around.
He’s a hell of a shot.

“There’s not much left to take around here.”
He waved at the small cluster of houses we had driven through.
“It’s only a matter of time before they come back, but I think we
can handle em. They really beefed up plant security after 9-11; all
that federal money bought us some pretty nice toys.” He hefted his
rifle.

“Yeah, we saw some of their work. Is there
anything we can do to help? Most of us are handy with a rifle,
although we didn’t bring much ammo.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t let you
in. You seem like nice folks but I don’t really know you, I hope
you understand. This place is too important. Honestly you folks
ought to head back home and fortify. Those assholes could just as
easily come after you. It looks like you plowed a path straight to
your door too.” He pointed at the trench we had carved with the
bulldozer.

A knot developed in my throat when he
pointed this out. I thought about all those kicked in doors and
bullet holes. Our little community would be a prime target for a
strong group of looters. I hoped it wasn’t already too late.

“You’re right.” I threw the truck into
reverse. “We’d better head back. Here is my cell number if the
phones ever start working again. We’ll leave this food with you,
I’m sure you could use it. If you ever need anything, we’re just
down the road.” I gave him directions to the neighborhood and
backed up to the second truck to fill the others in.