Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent (20 page)

Mindy led them around a corner of the warehouse. Bishop could hear small scratches of movement all around them and assumed the other children were curious about what was going on, but still trying to remain out
of sight.

Mindy stopped, pointing down at an empty box about four feet high and lying on its side. Terri bent to the opening, the odor from the inside surprising her for a moment. She flicked on her flashlight and found another small girl inside.

“Trish, Trish, I found some people with medicine for your leg. They’re nice, Trish.”

The girl didn’t respond
, and Terri could see why. Right below the child’s knee was a swollen, red area that was clearly infected. The dirt and grime soiling the child’s skin made it difficult to judge how bad the injury was, but Terri could see enough to sense it was very serious.

“Trish, my name’s Terri
, and I’m going to help you out of the box. I won’t hurt you Trish; I just want to see your leg.”

The small body inside moved a little, more of a moan than any acknowledgement of Terri’s words. Gently grasping the ankle of the uninjured leg, Terri pulled Trish out of the box.

Movement from behind drew Bishop’s attention, causing him to spin around. Standing behind them was a handful of children, the oldest of which was a boy of about 11 or 12 years. The skinny pre-teen held a claw hammer in his hand, a Home Mart price sticker still visible on the handle.

“Stay away from her,” he hissed.

Bishop decided to intimidate the lad, “Chill out, young man. We’re not going to hurt anyone. We’re here to help you guys, so put down that hammer right now.”

It didn’t work. The boy charged Bishop, wildly swinging his weapon at Bishop’s head. Bishop easily sidestepped the attack, catching the boy’s arm mid-swing at the wrist. The hammer was twisted away without issue
, and then Bishop gently shoved the surprised kid backwards into his peers. Bishop tossed the hammer aside.

“Do something stupid like that again, and somebody will get hurt. Now cool your jets. We are here to help you.”

The gang of adolescents backed away from Bishop, not sure how to react.

Bishop stayed where he was and calmed his voice. “Look
, you guys, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I have a truck out front. The people back in town have food, shelter, and medicine. I want to take all of you back with us so you can find your parents and families.”

Terri interrupted Bishop, concern in her voice. “Bishop, this little girl is
in really bad shape. We have to get her back right away to see the doc. She’s not breathing very well.”

Bishop said, “Okay,” and then turned back to the group of kids. “Look, all of you had better come with us. We’ll take you back
to town in the truck. Go gather everyone up and meet us by the back door.”

The kids started mumbling among them
selves, not sure whether to trust the couple or not.

Mindy’s small voice sounded out. “They didn’t eat me. They are nice. I’m going with them.”

Her endorsement seemed to make it through to most of the kids and several left, walking toward the exit. Sure the confrontation was over, Bishop turned to the injured girl and scooped her into his arms. Looking around, he yelled out, “Come on, hurry up. Follow me to the truck.”

Terri and Mindy lagged a little behind, both trying to convince any stragglers.

A few minutes later, the couple led a virtual parade of ragtag, filthy children through the Home Mart and out to the pickup. Bishop opened the camper top and sat Trish inside. He then began lifting the smaller kids up into the bed while Terri climbed up, making it clear she was riding in the back.

A
short time later, Bishop drove off, 11 kids crowded into the bed of his truck.

As they approached the
church’s compound, Bishop honked the horn a few times to draw attention. Several people were outside on the grounds and began walking toward the entrance as Bishop pulled up. Deacon Brown appeared at the top of the steps, a questioning look on her face. “Bishop, what’s all the commotion about?”

“Hi, Diana
. I’ve got a surprise for you. Look what we found at the store.”

Bishop opened the camper shell and then the tailgate.

“Oh my goodness!” Diana exclaimed! “Where did you find them?”

The kids started piling out of the back, several of the church’s patrons now gathered around. One reunion was almost instantaneous. “Billy! Billy! I
s that you? Oh, thank the Lord! I thought you were . . . I thought you had . . . I had given up hope, Billy!”

“Grandma?” Billy rushed to the older lady, wrapping his arms tightly around the sobbing woman.

Two of the men immediately rushed Trish to the community’s makeshift infirmary, the rest of the children were greeted with a crush of concerned adults.

Terri began filling Diana in on the story while Bishop made sure the last of the children were receiving proper attention.

Relief came flooding over them, washing away the stress and emotion. Bishop embraced Terri, the couple sharing a moment. “We did a good thing today,” Bishop whispered.

“I wish the world didn’t need deeds like that.”

Alpha, Texas

December 26, 2015

The children rescued by Bishop and Terri accented a growing problem that had already manifested during Alpha’s short recovery—quality medical care. Despite better nutrition, security, and support, people, who had been barely surviving on their own, needed more skilled assistance than what the well-intended good Samaritans of the church could provide. The limited medical supplies available to the townsfolk didn’t enhance the situation at all.

Smokey and the other prisoners had raided the town’s pharmacies early on, carrying load after load of prescription drugs back to the county jail for
safekeeping. Any medications known to give the criminals a buzz had been used quickly, leaving a hodgepodge of other pills, syrups and crèmes. After the fall of the criminal element, most of the church’s caregivers didn’t know how to use, or even how to identify the remaining piles of medications.

The children recovered from the outskirts of town just added to the mounting problem. They suffered from scurvy, malnutrition, and various other conditions including head lice, ringworm, digestive problems, and topical infections. Everyone’s instinct was to immediately feed the little ones, but this quickly proved to be a mistake. Abused digestive systems reacted poorly to proper food
, and some of the children didn’t respond as anticipated.

Dental care was quickly becoming a nightmare in its own right.

Alpha was particularly hard hit. The berg’s hospital, really more of a large clinic, was located in the epicenter of the poisonous gas cloud. According to the few survivors, there had been a fire at the chemical plant prior to the explosion. Several first responders, including most of the town’s trained emergency medical technicians, had rushed to the scene and were killed instantly when the deadly vapors escaped.

In anticipation of numerous causalities from the fire, all of the local doctors and nurses had been paged that fateful morning; the hospital’s administrators issued an “
All hands on deck” request. All had been lost.

The child with the gangrenous leg forced the situation into the limelight—her treatment requiring a decision. Half of the caregivers believed the leg should be a
mputated, the other half wanted to begin a regimen of antibiotics.

“I’m not God!” Diana said in frustration to the gathered parishioners. “I won’t make life and death decisions. There has to be another way.”

The church elders didn’t respond, all of them staring at the carpet. 

Deacon Brown sighed, “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t raise my voice like that. I know this is difficult on all of us, but I’m not qualified to determine who receives care and who doesn’t. You’re coming to me and asking that I triage life and death. I simply can’t do that.”

“Deacon Brown,” offered one woman, “if you can’t, then who can?”

For what seemed like the hundredth time since this had all beg
un, Diana found herself wanting a doctor, or nurse, or someone with formal medical training. The limited resources available to them just weren’t enough.

“The only doctor we know of is in Meraton. He’s got his hands full already. There has to be another way.”

“Maybe he could visit us one or two days a week. Even that would be a big help. We could provide care if we just knew what to do or which medications to provide,” offered another.

Several heads nodded in agreement. One gentleman added, “If we
only had some idea how to use those pills were that we found at the jail . . . that could make a tremendous difference.”

Diana looked around and sighed. “How would we get the doctor here and back
? I’m sure he would agree to help us, but fuel is a big issue right now. We are using more and more each day, and the supply is not being replenished.”

Like so many of the problems facing the people of Alpha, no one could propose any
viable solution. Diana turned and looked at the image of Jesus Christ, portrayed in the church’s beautiful stained glass windows. “I could use some answers here, Lord,” she whispered under her breath.

“Let’s all think about this problem. Please let me know any ideas,” Diana sighed, the
familiar closure to the conversation becoming worn and tired.

The group began to disperse, most of them feeling the same frustration as their leader. Diana proceeded back to her office, weary of always having to put off critical issues. The medical treatment of Alpha’s citizens was one of the worst dilemmas because
more and more people were going to suffer and die until they decided on a plan of action.

Nick was behind the Deacon’s desk, working on his own set of quandaries. He looked up and could see the frustration on Diana’s face. “Another bad day at the office?”

His attempt at humor was met with a frown. “We’re losing here. I was just asked to make a decision about amputating a little girl’s leg. The people caring for her think they have identified strong enough antibiotics to fight her infection, but if they’re wrong
, we won’t know until it’s too late. On the other hand, if they cut off her leg, she may die of infection afterwards, regardless. How am I supposed to make those decisions, Nick?”

“Should we load her up and rush her to Meraton?”

“We should, but I’ve got half a dozen people in dire straits right now. So we load them all in a truck and rush them there? Who makes the decision on which people get to see the doctor? We can’t run everyone back and forth to Meraton all the time. We don’t have the gasoline, and pretty soon Meraton’s people will begin to question their resources being used for strangers.”

Alpha, Texas

December 27, 2015

Kevin was still asleep, performing that miracle of teenage years that allowed
adolescents to snooze for seemingly endless periods of time.
He’s growing again
, thought Nick,
and growing is hard work
.

Making his way up the church stairs, Nick wandered to the kitchen area, but it was too early for breakfast. One of the kind women did manage a cup of instant coffee, complete with a dash of fresh cow’s milk. He checked the time again and wondered if Diana had risen yet
. Begging a second cup for the deacon, Nick made his way to the boss’ office. He found Diana asleep on her office couch as usual, a stack of papers and notes resting on her chest. Shaking his head, he longed for the day when she could work and sleep like a normal person.

Careful to be quiet and let the woman rest, Nick wandered into the reception area outside Diana’s office/bedroom
as of late. He was setting her coffee on an end table when an old magazine cover caught his attention.

During the Second Great Depression, the church had evidently been required to tighten its belt like everyone else. Picking up the slightly crumpled publication, he noted the issue was almost
three years old. Still, the picture on the cover intrigued him.

The magazine was titled
West Texas Lifestyles
, and the copy Nick held with such fascination was from May of 2013. On the cover was a picture of a barren, desert landscape with a mesa in the background. Sitting atop the flat half-mountain was a farm of giant windmills.

Nick flipped the dusty pages back to the cover story and anxiously began reading. Three pages later, he lowered the journal and
proclaimed, “That’s it! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Why didn’t you think of what? Do I smell coffee?” A sleepy looking Diana questioned from her doorway.

“Diana, where’s that engineer guy? You know, the one who retired from the electric company.”

“What? You mean Chancy?
Why do you want to talk to him? What’s going on, Nick?”

Nick unrolled the magazine and shoved the cover in Diana’s sleepy face. “This could be the answer to our problems, Diana. This could be what we’ve been looking for. It could change everything.”

Her vision still groggy and unable to focus quickly, Diana gave Nick an annoyed look and took the pages from his hand. She rubbed her eyes and then scanned the cover. It took her only a moment to connect the dots. She glanced up, now wide awake, and responded, “You don’t think . . . it couldn’t be that easy?”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be easy, but it’s the best solution I’ve seen or heard so far.”

Nick idled by, pacing only a little, as Diana read the article. Now and then she paused and commented, making statements like, “So, this windmill farm went live in 2013,” and “It can produce enough electricity to power 5,000 average homes.”

Finishing the article, Diana was excited, but more reserved than Nick. “Nick, nothing is that easy. Having electrical power would make such a difference, but I can’t get my hopes up just yet.”

“I know, I know. I probably shouldn’t get so excited either, but it gives us hope. We need to talk to Chancy.”

“Let me get cleaned up and sip some of that coffee. We’ll go talk to Chancy first thing.”

An hour later, Nick and Diana walked up the front steps at 204 Elm Street, the long-time residence of Mr. and Mrs. Chancy Morse. No one seemed to refer to Mr. Morse by his last name, and Diana had always followed the lead and referred to him as Mr. Chancy. The two-story clapboard home resembled dozens of others that lined Elm. A brick porch, complete with swing, fronted the dwelling. Other than an off-shade of pale yellow paint, there were few other defining features.

Diana rapped loudly on the screen door’s garden-green frame.

Alpha still wasn’t a completely docile community, and a challenge sounded from inside. “Who is it?”

Nick could
envision the older gentleman standing away from the door, shotgun in hand.

“Chancy, it’s Diana and Nick. We need to speak with you.”

The door opened a crack, and the visiting couple could see a swath of gray hair behind the opening. After confirming their identities, the noisy rattle of a chain sounded inside, and then Mr. Morse appeared in the threshold. “Well, good morning, Miss Brown, Nick. What brings you two over to Elm Street so early in the morning?”

“We want to talk to you about electrical power, Chancy. I hope we’ve not come at a bad time.”

Opening the screen door and waving the visitors inside, the old man didn’t wait to hear his guests out. “Now, Miss Brown, we’ve already been over this a dozen times. I’m sorry, but there’s just no way we can fire up that power plant over at Fort Stockdale by ourselves. Please believe me, ma’am, I would if I could.”

Diana smiled at Chancy’s legendary grumpiness. “We’re
not here to talk about that gas-fired plant, Chancy. We’re here to talk about this,” and she handed over the magazine.

Glanc
ing around the living room until he found his reading glasses, Mr. Morse began analyzing Diana’s offering.

“I remember reading about this. They started building these generators after I retired, but I was still very interested in them. Very complex engineering involved.”

Chancy continued reading, at last finishing the article and looking up. “So you’re wondering if these windmills can power our town?”

“Yes,” both Nick and Diana said at the same time.

“Technically, yes. According to this article, there’s more than enough power being generated to run Alpha, as well as three or four more cities of equal size. The problem would be routing the electricity to our regional grid. Most of the output from these wind farms was directed to the big metropolitan areas in East Texas, like Houston, Austin, and San Antonio.”