Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (62 page)

Jacob Dahlen, one of his history students lucky enough to survive the flu, ran up from town in his ground-eating cross-country runner's gait.
 
Denny wondered how the boy had enough energy to run at all—the kid had been nothing more than skin and bones
before
the flu.

“Mr. Tecumseh!” he shouted right next to Denny.
 

Denny grimaced as the burial crew gathered around and waited for the lanky teenager to catch his breath.
 
“Take it easy, Jake.”
 
The burial party looked on in silence, glancing at each other with the same question:
Now what?

“Strangers…not from town…we don’t know them—”

“That’s what strangers are, yes…” said Denny.

“Said they were here to see Mr. Anderton…they were friends.
 
They’re looking for you.”

Denny shielded his eyes from the setting sun and peered west, toward City Hall.
 
Parked in front of the squat building sat six rugged-looking trucks and one camper.
 
A knot of people swarmed around them.
 
Whoever they were, they came in force.
 
“Were they armed?”

The wide-eyed look on Jake’s face told him everything he needed to know, but the boy sputtered on anyway: “Y-yes…lots of…” he sucked in wind and continued, “lots of guns.
 
People are nervous.”

Denny picked up the pace and sent Jake to spread the word for people to stay clear until they knew what was going on.
 
The last thing he wanted to see was some sort of gunfight on Main Street.
 
There’d been enough death for one day.

“You Tecumseh?” asked a tall, skinny man as Denny approached.
 
He word aviator sunglasses and sported a neatly trimmed beard.

Denny looked him over.
 
The man wore what looked like SWAT team tactical gear.
 
Head to toe, he was covered in pockets and bristled with weapons, yet exuded a calm confidence that set Denny on edge at once.
 
Whoever he was, the man acted like he was in charge.
 

“Yes.”
 
Denny took a look around.
 
The collection of vehicles looked more like a camping expedition.
 
He saw a few Ford F-150s, a black Suburban, and a Winnebago that looked like it’d seen better days twenty years ago.
 
The men all dressed in gear that looked similar but some wore camo—some black and a few tan—like the man who addressed Denny.
 

“Who are you?”

“Name's Crenshaw,” he said, extending a gloved hand.
 
Denny shook it, noticing the man never released his other hand from the rifle held across his chest.
 
“John Anderton’s been an acquaintance of ours…ever since The Pandemic.
 
He talked about you all the time.
 
I can see why.”

Denny looked more closely at the newcomers.
 
They lowered their guard and began to coalesce near Crenshaw.
 
A few leaned against their vehicles and smiled at the locals.

“Are you with the army?” asked a woman from the burial party.

Crenshaw smiled.
 
“No ma’am.
 
Just private citizens who heard the call for help.
 
We came up from Rexburg and Pocatello when John called out the cavalry.
 
Where is he anyway?”

Denny’s face fell.
 
Everyone had heard about the example Townsen made of his neighbors when they’d been tricked into revealing their hidden location.
 
Another two victims of Townsen’s madness—another two deaths laid at Denny’s feet.
 
He looked up at Crenshaw.
 
The man slowly removed his sunglasses.
 
He turned away and cursed under his breath.
 

“How?”

Denny explained.
 
He told them how John and Ruth had hidden in the rubble of their house, helping him through the long weeks of Townsen’s reign.
 
He told them how he’d convinced John to be a radio relay for the resistance movement, how Townsen had tricked him into opening up the Bunker.
 
His voice choked as he explained how Townsen had killed them both as an example.
 

Crenshaw looked at the ground.
 
“We’re too late then.”
 
He kicked at a rock.
 
“I haven’t seen John in years—he was a good man.
 
Ruth was always kind to my family.”
 
He looked at Denny.
 
“John…he said a lot of kind things about you.
 
He really liked you.”

Denny felt his throat constrict as he whispered, “He was my friend.”

Crenshaw moved forward and put a large gloved hand on Denny’s shoulder.
 
“What happened isn’t your fault.
 
John knew the risks—so did Ruth.
 
He never did anything without making sure she was onboard with it.”
 
He glanced at City Hall.
 
“Some of your neighbors have told us about you taking out that Townsen bastard.
 
He would have found them sooner or later with the toys those traitors brought.”

“Traitors,” Denny mumbled.
 
Everyone was a traitor to some cause at some point.
 
He shook his head at the senselessness of it all.
 
“It was all about politics.
 
And power.”

Crenshaw sighed.
 
“That’s human nature in a nutshell, friend.”

A knot of people emerged from the firehouse, across the street.
 
The group made a beeline for Denny and Crenshaw, their faces grim.
 
Crenshaw narrowed his eyes, replaced his glasses, and turned to face the delegation of townspeople.

Denny recognized the man at the front of the group, limping from the wounds he suffered at the cabin.
 
Deputy Griswold stopped and looked around at the men with Crenshaw.
 

“Deputy Griswold, this is…” Denny began.
 
“I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name.”

"Jubal.
 
Jubal Crenshaw.
 
Nice to meet you, Deputy,” he said, shaking hands.
 

“Can I ask what you’re doing here, Mr. Crenshaw?”

“Well, Deputy, me and the boys got the word from John Anderton that you needed help.
 
We brought it.
 
Unfortunately,” he said sadly, “looks like we brought it a little too late.”

“Well, we appreciate any help you and your men can provide, but what we really need is food and medical supplies.
 
Salmon Falls has been through some tough times lately.”

Crenshaw nodded toward the RV.
 
“Got a lot of both in there.
 
There’s more back home.
 
We didn’t send a lot because we thought you all would need…other kinds of help first,” Crenshaw said, gesturing at his rifle.
 
“Looks like you all took care of that problem, though,” he added with a nod toward Denny.

Griswold agreed, then turned to Denny.
 
“We’d…ah, we’d like to talk with you.”

“We?”

“Well, that is,
us
,” Griswold said, gesturing at the group from the fire station.
 
“A bunch of us have been talking it over, and we think it’s best if you took over as mayor.
 
Now before you say no, hear me out—”
 
Griswold said quickly.
 
“John Townsen had this place in a death grip for weeks until you showed up.
 
No one was organizing a resistance until you walked out of the mountains and gathered us at…”

“The cabin,” said Denny.

“Yeah.
 
That was a nightmare—but you convinced us to stand up for ourselves,” added the man next to Deputy Griswold.
 
Denny didn’t know his name, but he thought he recognized him as the local pharmacy manager.

Griswold nodded.
 
“On top of that, there’s a lot of people that wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t been bringing deer meat around.
 
And—”

Denny raised his hands.
 
“I don’t want the job.”

Crenshaw cleared his throat.
 
“I don’t mean to intrude in this, folks, but as an impartial outsider, Mr. Tecumseh—”

“Denny.”

“Fair enough.
 
As an outside observer, Denny, it seems to me that you not wanting the job is a good reason for you accept it.”

“You helped Salmon Falls from the beginning, Denny,” said a woman in the back of the group.
 
She pushed her way forward.
 
Mary Winselm looked exhausted but the strength behind her eyes was undeniable.
 

“My husband Mark died at that cabin," she said to Crenshaw.
 
"We went to that meeting because we believed in you," she said to Denny.
 
"And I still do.
 
My kids might not be here today if you hadn’t helped fight the Russians.
 
They burned our house down but you…”
 
a shaking hand went to her mouth and the people around her patted her shoulders.
 
She shrugged them off and nodded to herself.
 
“I trust you Denny.
 
Maybe more than I should given what we've all been through, but I trust you over anyone else to heal our town.”
 

A number of voices agreed.
 
Denny noticed that more and more people had gathered around now, drawn to the strangers and their vehicles.
 
Some chatted quietly with Crenshaw’s men.
 
Hands were shaken, greetings and introductions made.

“You should be the one to bring us back, Denny,” said Griswold.

"No," he replied, "you can’t just decide something like this—there has to be an election—” Denny offered, trying to find a way out.

“President Harris already set a date for special elections to replace everyone in Congress who passed from the flu or the fighting,” Crenshaw said.
 
“Enough of the country is back online—or will be soon enough, I guess.”

“When?” someone called out.

“Two weeks is what I heard,” Crenshaw said.

“That settles it.
 
In two weeks we’ll hold an election,” said Griswold.

A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd at the mention of elections.
 
The hope of normalcy flared—elections meant stability and some normalcy.
 
It meant a return to the world before the war, the flu, and the tyranny of Townsen’s rule.

“What about Barron’s advisers?” asked Denny.

“Who,
them?
” asked Griswold.
 
A smile spread across his creased face.

Denny looked to where he pointed and saw a group of armed locals surrounding a dozen men in matching jackets and sunglasses that looked none-too-pleased to be outnumbered.
 

“They ain’t going to cause any more trouble around here.
 
Just got to figure out what to do with ‘em.”

“There’s a good-sized National Guard patrol south of here.
 
They’re making their way north, checking in on all the smaller towns.
 
I can send some of my boys down there to let 'em know you got some
visitors
they might be interested in,” suggested Crenshaw.

“That's the best idea I’ve heard all day,” grinned Griswold.
 

“Tommy!
 
C’mere,” said Crenshaw as he turned from toward his friend.

“That doesn’t resolve anything,” Denny argued.
 
“I still don’t want to run for mayor.”

“Then run for Congress!” someone shouted.

“What?” asked Denny.
 
“You’re not listening I—”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Crenshaw said, rejoining the group.
 
“We’ve heard a lot over the HAM nets.
 
Lost a good number from the House back east, you know.”

Denny shook his head.
 
“I’m flattered, really, but I belong in Salmon Falls.”

“Oh, so now you're ready to be mayor?” asked Griswold.

“I didn't say that.”

“After today, I guarantee word’s going to spread about you," said Crenshaw.
 
“We heard about you through John.
 
He told everyone listening on the Net about what you were doing for Salmon Falls, about how bad off you folks were.
 
When word gets out about how you put a stop to Townsen…”
 

Denny glared at him.
 
“You are
not
helping.”

The man shrugged.
 
“Just sayin’.
 
You got a chance.”

Denny rubbed a dirty hand across his face.
 
Congress.
 
Politics.
 
All he really wanted to do was get some hot food, a shower, and lots of sleep.

“We’re going to need someone in D.C. to clean up the mess and make sure this kind of thing never happens again,” said Griswold quietly.

“Someone needs to be there who’s lived through it, to show—to make them see—” a voice called out.

"Do it for Salmon Falls,” someone else said.

“If you won’t be mayor and help heal the town, go to D.C. and be our voice—help heal the country,” said Mary Winselm.
 

Congress.
 
What would Red Eagle think?
 
Denny shook his head and looked at the sun as it crested the western mountains and through the valley into light shadow.
 

Could I really make a difference?

“Good!
 
You’re thinking about it,” said Griswold.