Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (4 page)

Just at the edge of the camera angle another man in a dark
suit appeared, approached the president and whispered in his ear. The president
nodded several times while he listened, and then returned to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have time for one more question.”
Every reporter in the room shot to their feet waving their hands and papers,
calling out “Mr. President!”

“Howard.” The president nodded toward Howard Atkins-Rhone,
MSNBC’s long time political correspondent and personal friend of the president
himself.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” He stood and continued, “I have
information from reliable sources that approximately 6000 American troops have
been wounded so far in the Korean conflict, primarily during North Korea’s
initial assault. These men and women have been evacuated to American air bases
in Seoul, Tokyo, Hawaii, England and Spain. As per my sources, at least 3500 additional
American personnel stationed in Korea have also been, and I’m quoting here ‘Possibly
exposed to the as of yet unidentified bio-weapon.’  These same sources confirm
that several of the most gravely wounded have been transferred to medical
facilities here in the United States, specifically the CDC in Atlanta, as well
as unspecified military medical facilities in San Diego.”

“Yes Howard, as I’ve already pointed out, NATO troops
involved in the conflict have been evacuated to more advanced medical
facilities for treatment,” the president replied.

The MSNBC reporter continued, “Yes, Mr. President, but to
continue, these same sources have also reported an incredible spike in violence—perhaps
psychotic episodes is a better phrase—in the following locations.” All eyes
were on him as he continued. “Seoul, South Korea. Tokyo and Okinawa, Japan. London,
England. Guam, Honolulu; and Mr. President, even now our office is fielding
multiple reports of the same type of incidents in San Diego and Atlanta. To
further clarify, the reports that I have of the effects of this unknown
chemical or biological weapon—and these came from confidential sources on the
ground in Korea before international communications were cut—they have been
describing . . . and again, I’m quoting here, ‘an unquenchable thirst for
violence, inability to recognize friends, family or coworkers except as outlets
for insatiable rage, a seemingly inhuman resistance to damage and pain . . .’ the
list goes on and on. Mr. President, are you honestly telling me, this whole
room, indeed the millions and millions of people listening right now that the
locations where these outbreaks have been happening, the SAME locations where
the victims affected by this bio-weapon have been transferred to is a
coincidence?”

The president stared hard at the correspondents filling the
room. The proverbial “pin drop” would have sounded like thunder as they awaited
his answer.

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

The gathering exploded with shouts of “Mr. President, Mr.
President.” Reporters shot to their feet, wildly trying to get another question
in, but the dark blue suits converged around the president and efficiently
conveyed him out of the room. Repeated shouts into the microphone by the press
secretary finally calmed the crowd down enough for him to speak.

“Let me be one hundred percent crystal clear here. The
American people, our friends and allies across the world, indeed every
civilized nation on earth, desires a peaceful end to hostilities on the Korean
peninsula. Every asset and means at our disposal will be used to ensure that. Information
regarding the conflict, once verified for accuracy, will be posted on the
website; and let me address that for a few minutes. The only reason that
website is not available right now is because our technicians are working to
ensure that it will be able to handle the expected amount of traffic that we
anticipate. I have a preliminary list of what you can expect to see in the next
few hours when the web site goes active. Number one,” he said as he began
reading from a goldenrod colored folder, “as the President already stated, the
stock market will be frozen at current levels until emergency checks and
balances can be initiated. Number two, gasoline prices nationwide will be set
and kept at pre-conflict prices; please note there will be some fluctuation based
on local economy of course. Citizens are urged to report any vendor engaged in
price gouging of automobile fuel. Thirdly, upon recommendation of the FED, all
banking trans . . .
”

The computer display flickered, and then went back to the “Please
stand by” screen.

Both of us looked at the monitor, then at each other.

“This isn’t good, Eric,” he said.

“We need to change our plans, Uncle Andy,” I said.

“What about your plans? You’ve waited a long, long time for
this vacation.”

“I’ve got a lot of time off,” I said. “This whole Korean
thing will probably cool off in a few days, and once it does I can use the rest
of my vacation time doing what I intended; but in the meantime let’s make sure
that you’re good to go here.”

“You haven’t slept yet,” Uncle Andy said. “Why don’t you lay
down and get a couple of hours of shut-eye?”

“No. I don’t think I could sleep now anyhow. Is your ass
awake enough to get a move on, or do you want to go back to bed for a few hours
while I look for another pair of adult diapers for you?”

Uncle Andy narrowed his eyes, clinched his lips and did his
best “Mr. Universe” pose as he replied, “I can still work circles around you,
boy,”

The truth is he probably can, I thought. Here was a guy,
career military, retired with thirty plus years in before the age of fifty-three.
And now, a little more than ten years further down the road, he still fast
walks with a heavy pack for exercise, splits all of his own firewood by hand,
and thinks nothing of paddling a ten mile circuit around a lake just for fun.

“I know you moved out here to be self sufficient . . . to get
away from everything and everyone. If I recall your quote correctly, you wanted
to spend your golden years in a location that has a ‘LPOB’ . . . a ‘Low Percentage
of Buttheads’. Well, here you are. You’re not in the middle of nowhere, but you
can see it from here. And you may be spending a lot of time here if the Korean
thing doesn’t go away soon. So while we still have the opportunity . . . what do
you need?  Do you need food?  Medicine?  Building materials, gas, spare parts .
. . You need to make a quick list of the most likely things that would cause
you to have to make a trip into the city, or at least to Sheldon’s,” I said.

“Eric,” Uncle Andy replied, “you know me. All of my life I’ve
been of the mindset to be ready for whatever life throws at me. Fires, floods,
tornadoes, I’ve been there. My tummy has been full, and I’ve gone hungry. I’ve
lived through peace and been in several wars. Ever since you were knee high to
a grasshopper I’ve tried to pass some of this knowledge and life experience on
to you, and I think we’re both better men because of it. You know I’ve always
taught you my philosophy of the ‘trusty trio’ . . . the three things you trust
in life. You trust a good friend, a good gun, and the Good Lord above. But any
man’s philosophy is just a bunch of empty words if they don’t practice what
they preach. In the easy times the smart man will save up for the lean times,
and then when the lean times come—and they will—you’ll be much better prepared.
You’ve heard this same speech from me countless times, and I know you’ve taken
it to heart. Why, I’d bet my left eye that somewhere in your truck is a fully
stocked three day ‘get out of dodge’ pack. And I know that in your basement at
home you’ve put back food, water and other items that may come in handy at some
point in the future. Well my boy, so have I. As a matter of fact, I was going
to give you a tour at some point while you were here; but for now let me end
this speech by answering your original question. I am good to go on everything
I can think of except a few fuel related components; and of course the main
need is fuel itself. I normally don’t let the levels get this low, but I’ve
been using a lot of it lately and I knew that you’d be here to help me make a
fuel run.”

I’ve got to admit I was a little taken aback from his speech,
not the contents but the duration. I think that’s the longest continual string
of words he had ever assembled in my presence. He’s always said that since he
didn’t talk too much, I was welcomed to use his leftover words each day, as
long as I used them in a place that he didn’t have to hear them.

“Listen,” I said, “how long is it going to take you to figure
out how much fuel you have right now, and how many trips it will take to top
you off based on the number of barrels you have available? And don’t forget
that you want to end up with your transfer barrels all filled as well.”

“Well,” Uncle Andy replied, “I imagine the smart thing to do
would be to empty the barrels of fuel that you brought so we have those
available to transport more. So . . . I guess I could be ready in two to three
hours, and that would include me loading all the barrels onto the trucks and
securing them so they don’t bounce around on our way to the station.”

“Make sure that you top off all, and I mean ALL fuel tanks
you have here . . . generators, chainsaws, your tractor, even your new little
Barbie backhoe,” I said, referring to his Terramite. “And make a list of those fuel
related items that you need—filters, stabilizer, carburetor cleaner, 2-cycle
oil, gas cans—and speaking of gas cans make sure you take those as well. And we
need to remember to take your propane tanks in to get filled.”

“What are you gonna be doing while I’m doing all of this
heavy lifting?”

“I’m going to see if I can get your solar system working
again,” I said. “And I might need your help to check some things with the meter
while I’m playing with the wires. And speaking of help, wait until I get there
to load the barrels on the trucks. It’ll be a lot faster and safer with both of
us.”

“I’m so proud, my little nephew Eric has grown into a take
charge kinda guy, no doubt directly related to a certain uncle who trained him
well. Why, I think I can feel a tear starting to well up,” Uncle Andy said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah old man,” I replied, “the only reason
you’ve ever felt moisture on that wrinkled old prune you call a face is because
you’re dumb enough to piss in the wind, now get to work before I arrest you.”

“Arrest me? . . . Well now Mr. Game Warden, sir, do you
remember that awesome venison jerky that you shoveled into your face until you
cleaned me out of it last time you were here?  I’ll have you know that it, in
fact, was not venison . . . it was moose—an untagged moose at that. Shot out of
season even, with high explosive armor piercing rounds . . . from a helicopter
. . . with a spotlight at night. Heck, as I even recall it was an albino moose.
So if you’re going to bust me, you might as well cuff yourself and take us both
to club fed.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I see, well I must admit that was
the best tasting poached albino moose jerky that I’ve ever had.”

“I want to take a look at your solar system,” I continued. “Where’s
your extension ladder?”

“Same place I’ve been keeping it for the last nine years,
hangin’ on the side of the fuel shed,” Uncle Andy replied.

“Alright, let’s get a move on.”

*click*

OK, let me bring you up to speed. Right now I’m in my truck,
following Uncle Andy down the dirt road. It took me about three seconds to fix
his solar problem; unfortunately it took me about an hour to find his solar
problem. The panels were putting out juice, but it wasn’t getting into the
charge controller. It turns out that when we fished the wires down through the
walls we must have rubbed part of the wire on a nail that was poking through
his paneling. Over time the wire must have worked itself bare rubbing against
the nail and ground itself out. At least that’s my guess. I’m not an
electrician. All I know is that once I replaced the wires going from the panels
to the charge controller everything seemed to work again, and when I looked at
the old wires I removed, I could see where the insulation had been rubbed off. I
didn’t want to take the time to mount the new panels; we’ll do that another day.
Uncle Andy used his 12 volt transfer pump to empty the barrels I brought with
me into his main tanks. He’s got a few hand operated fuel pumps that screw into
the 55 gallon drums, but the 12 volt one pumps faster I think. The way we
figure it, once we top off everything, both diesel and gas . . . well, the
bottom line is that he had eight 55 gallon barrels. He used four of them for
diesel and four for gas. Holy crap, that’s a lot of “fours” in a sentence. Anyhow,
I brought three more barrels with me, so that gives us a grand total of eleven barrels,
six of them for gas and five of them for diesel. Also, Uncle Andy’s truck has
an external transfer tank, basically a big square metal box that holds a little
over one hundred gallons of fuel—I think he bought it at Tractor Supply Company.
So, at an average weight of roughly seven pounds per gallon that gives us about
350 pounds loaded weight per barrel. Hauling all of the barrels between our two
trucks, it’s gonna take us a total of three trips. Three very heavily loaded
trips. Two trips to top off all fuel tanks here and a final trip to bring back
loaded fuel barrels—and propane tanks. Crap. I forgot about those. We’ll have
to pick them up for our final run. We’re heading down to Sheldon’s. I don’t
know why, call it a gut feeling, but I’ve got my duty holster strapped around
my thigh, and the CZ is resting there. Uncle Andy noticed it before we saddled
up, nodded, and patted the left side of his waist. I couldn’t tell from my
angle, but I’d bet my right nut that his little Colt Mustang 380 was riding
there.

*click*

OK journal, recorder, electronic memory lane . . . I don’t
know what to call you. Anyway, we’re on the way back with our first load. My
uncle prepays for fuel every year, and that’s probably a good thing, because
there were lines of cars at the pumps. It turned out that Walter’s credit card
machine had been down since yesterday, and even the little ATM machine inside
the front door wouldn’t dispense any money. All it gives is a “temporary error”
message. Top that off with the fact that Walter has never taken a check, ever. Even
from Uncle Andy. It’s strictly cash or credit. And since the credit option is
gone, that leaves cash only. I have a grand total of about forty-seven bucks
with me, and that wouldn’t even fill half of my truck’s gas tank. I highly
suspect that Uncle Andy has substantially more squirreled away in his mattress
or stuffed in an old taxidermy deer head somewhere. Walter came out, posted
some signs to the effect that he could only take cash, and spent a few minutes
apologizing to the other people in line. Once that was squared away we made it
to the pumps pretty quick. When Walter saw me he hustled over, gave me a
combination handshake and half hug, and said, “Eric my boy, I am damn glad to
see you.”

I started to ask why, but he cut me off before my first word.
“Because not only are you a fine, upstanding man in your own right, but let me
tell you—your uncle has been driving me bat shit for the last two months. Maybe
now he’ll stop pestering me and turn some of his hyperactive, attention deficit
disorder company toward you.”

I cut loose with a few deep laughs, already both dreading and
anticipating the start of renewed assaults. I didn’t have long to wait. My
uncle approached the two of us, smiling to beat all and whistling a lively tune.
He stopped about five feet away, looked Walter square in the eyes and said,
“Well Eric, it looks like you’ve found the man whose birth certificate is an
apology letter from the condom factory.”

Walter widened his eyes like he was seeing Uncle Andy for the
first time and said, “Ho there . . . look who dropped out of the sky like a
runny turd from a tall cow.”

I shook my head and groaned at the two of them as they grasped
calloused hands in greeting. I guess I should tell you about Walter. He’s been
my uncle’s best friend since before I was born. Long before I was born. They
grew up in the same town, dated a lot of the same girls, and even enlisted on
the same day. My uncle went Air Force and Walter went Navy. Wherever you find
one of them, you’ll normally find the other. Probably up to some mischief. Standing
side by side, they both seem to be chiseled out of the same stock. There’s a
lot more that I could say about Walter and my uncle, but like I said, this
recorder can only hold 700 hours. So where was I?  Oh yeah, we’re heading back
to the cabin with our first load of fuel. Two more trips and we should have
Uncle Andy stocked up with enough to last quite a while. I still can’t get any
radio stations on the FM band. The few that I can pick up on AM fade away too
quickly for me to gather any new information.

*click*

All right, second trip underway. We drove straight up to the
fuel shed after the first trip and used the transfer pump to empty the barrels
into his main tanks. One more trip  . . . well this one I mean, will top off
his main tanks. I actually think that we won’t need to take all the barrels on
the third trip. I’m pretty sure at least one or two will still be full after
his main tanks are filled to the top. I also think I’m being too wordy. I have
a tendency to do that, especially when I’m a little keyed up. I don’t know why
. . . OK, actually I do. I’m a little nervous. Like I’m the last one to pick up
on a secret. Something is happening . . . I can feel it in the air. I mean
seriously . . . our country has been through a lot of crap before, like the
U.S. always defaulting to being the global policeman. Half of the world wants
to be like us, the other half wants to kill us . . . give us your tired your
sick your poor . . . got a dictator that’s pissing you off, give us a call
we’ll take care of it . . . stock market crashes, universal healthcare
fiascoes, the list goes on and on. But this feels different. Something in my
gut . . . I don’t know, but it seems to make my hackles rise. And speaking of
hackles raised, Max is looking at me, probably wondering why I didn’t give him
another Slim Jim when we were at Sheldon’s. Crap, now that I think about it the
last time either of us ate was the infamous powdered doughnuts and Slim Jim
buffet. I’m gonna stop recording for now. I’ve got some thinking to do.