The Directives (26 page)

When he had planted both feet firmly back on the ground, he stepped toward Grim and proclaimed, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

“Really? No lights or anything?”

“You are welcome to try your hand with the thermal unit, but I detected neither hide nor hair nor any light source with the NVD.”

“Where did they go?” Grim asked, not really expecting Bishop to know. “It’s only been dark two hours. Do you think everybody hit the hay early?”

Bishop considered his response for a second. “Could be. I think it’s a little weird for there not to be a single light, but it could be. We’ll find out in the morning.”

Two hours later, Cory returned with an ear-to-ear grin spread across his face. “Every silo I tested contained good product inside. I can’t tell if the structures are nearly empty, full to the top or somewhere in between, but I do know that what is inside can offer enough food to make a substantial dent in our famine issue. No sign of any rot, mold, or fermentation.”

“That’s great news!” Bishop responded with an excited whisper. “Maybe this wasn’t a wasted trip after all.”

Grim chimed in, “Let’s move the truck up here. There are a couple of little nooks we can fit it into that are very defendable. It doesn’t look like the locals come this way often.”

Scratching his chin, Bishop nodded. “Well, that
would
send a message, but I’m not sure if it’s the right one. On the other hand, we need to complete a full inventory of this facility, and that’s obviously going to take a few days. We could improve security if we weren’t shuffling back and forth.”

Grim motioned toward an area between two buildings, probably once dedicated to the employee of the month’s reserved parking space. “If we back the truck in there, we could spend more time performing inventory and less time guarding our supplies.”

Bishop scouted the spot and liked the setup. One man on top of the nearby building could cover an extensive area and provide security.

“We’ll head back, break down camp, and drive in tonight. I want to be in a position to observe the residential section of town at first light. We have to establish contact with the residents. I don’t want them thinking we’re just going to abscond with all their grain and not provide anything in return.”

Grim grunted, “Is it really their grain? That sign over there says it belongs to Mid-South Mills, Incorporated.”

It was a question that constantly tested the Alliance leadership. Who owned what? Who had the rights to property, equipment, stores, and supplies? Without banks, corporate governance, or rule of law, it was an extremely difficult question.

At first, the old adage of “Possession is 9/10s of the law,” was the rule of thumb. This especially held true with foodstuffs, medical supplies, and fuel.

But now that a recovery was in process, what about abandoned industrial plants and equipment? What about the motorhomes Terri and the council members used to tour the territory? Those had been discovered on a sales lot, the facility’s owner, lien holder, or titles nowhere to be found.

Even in Alpha, where empty homes had been allocated to immigrants, there had been problems. Bishop knew of three or four cases where the original owner had suddenly reappeared, shocked to find occupants residing in the family homestead.

Diana had been forced to create a special review panel to settle such situations, as well as disputes that arose over pre-collapse versus post-collapse ownership. Homes were an easily resolved matter, most cases involving relocation of the new family and letting the original homeowner retake possession.

But what about equipment? Bishop recalled one dispute over a tractor. Pre-collapse, one of the valley ranchers had taken his implement into Alpha to be repaired. Post-collapse, with food production being a priority, Diana had allowed the distribution of farm equipment as needed. The repaired unit, sitting on the lot, had been taken by a neighboring rancher. A dispute soon arose.

Bishop turned to Grim and offered an option. “Maybe we should print off some business cards and put on a suit and tie. We could go to the townsfolk and claim to be executives from Mid-South Mills Incorporated, here to take possession of our property.”

Grim nodded, “And how would they prove or know any different? It’s no bigger lie than your telling that kid you are a Texas Ranger.”

Bishop smiled, nodding at Grim’s carbine, load-gear, armor, and thermal imager. “You do fit the executive prototype, my friend. I’m sure all the bean counters at Mid-South aspire to dress like that.”

Scrutinizing Bishop’s garb in turn, Grim smirked. “I’m sure a lot of Texas Rangers dress like
that
.”

“No doubt the community has grown accustomed to thinking this grain is theirs. For all we know, those silos may contain their primary source of food. None of this will be easy, I am sure. Let’s move out and get the truck back here.”

Two hours later, Riley experienced a sound not heard for over a year, the running engine of a pickup. The team hustled to set up security, unpack gear, and generally make themselves at home. They found the grain elevator’s office complex inhabited by spiders, rats and a thriving roach population. The interior just wasn’t inviting, smelling and feeling like an Egyptian tomb.

T
hey all set up their sleeping arrangements outside, with Bishop choosing his net while Kevin, Cory, and Grim elected to use sleeping bags in the pickup’s bed.

After settling in, Bishop pointed to his watch. “Come on, Grim. It’s time to observe the good people of Riley awaken.”

“What are they doing?” Shane asked Jimmy.

“It looks like they’re moving in. What are we going to do? They’re almost on top of us,” sounded the worried voice.

Since retreating from the chapel, Shane had spied the newcomers head directly to the entrance of the catacombs. He and the sentries had remained hidden, observing the strangers fiddle with the silos and wander here and there. Shane had passed the word for everyone to remain quiet and stay deep within the underground system. All fires were to be extinguished.

A couple of times, he thought they had been discovered. The guy pulli
ng samples had stopped and stared directly at one of the entrances, but then nothing happened.

Temporary relief had come when the strangers had hiked out. He had even exited the tunnels, following behind them until they reached the city limit. But then the pickup truck had returned, shattering any thoughts of being able to return home in the morning.

When the outsiders had started setting up camp, Shane knew they were in trouble.

“We have to wait them out,” he told Jimmy. “They are outfitted with better weapons and have more ammunition than we do. They would slaughter us.”

“I don’t like this, Shane,” Jimmy replied. “We don’t have enough water to stay down here very long. And where they are parked, we can’t come above ground without attracting their attention. We really are a bunch of rats now. Trapped rats.”

Reaching out to touch the boy’s shoulder, Shane tried to reassure him. “They’ll leave before long. There’s no reason for them to stay unless they’re the biggest corn eaters in history. They’ll either catch the sickness or head out. Go tell the older kids – everyone is to hide, conserve water, and stay quiet.”

Jimmy nodded and then backed down the steps into the tunnel. After he was a safe distance away from the entry, he pulled out a plastic lighter and ignited a torch. The warm red glow improved his attitude. It was amazing how fire always seemed to do that.

The kids had learned the hard way to use chalk to mark the paths. Since the younger ones couldn’t read, they had drawn pi
ctures on the doors; the sun and arrows indicating which of the corridors led to the surface.

In addition to marking the emergency exits, they had given certain tunnels names. There was Cat, Dog, Fish, and Skunk, each of the underground “streets” identified via a picture of its namesake.

Cat and Dog were sleeping areas. Fish indicated the location where the cooking was done. Skunk was the bathroom, where the children were instructed to bury their work in the sand floor. It reeked of human waste, but was the only solution they could fashion.

Jimm
y knew that most of the younger kids would be asleep by now. The older rats would be hanging out in Fish, either waiting on their turn at guard duty, or getting a snack.

As he entered the tunnel, there was enough candlelight for him to extinguish the torch and conserve it for later. He ducked low and came into one of the hundreds of “rooms” scattered throughout the complex. Inside were a few of the older kids, lounging around a cardboard box that housed a lone checkerboard. A stack of feedbags, an old scruffy-looking lawn chair, and an upside-down bucket served as seating.

“Hey, Jimmy, what’s up? Are the strangers still outside?” Candy asked.

His stress melted away, replaced by wonderment at how the candlelight danced in her eyes. Finally realizing he was staring, unresponsive, and looking stupid, he mumbled, “Yes, and they’ve set up camp.”

Forcing his eyes away to look at the others, he managed to relay Shane’s orders for quiet and conservation.

Candy could tell he was worried. They all were. “Any idea how long these strangers are going to stay?”

“No way to tell. Shane knows we don’t have much water down here. We need to be extra, extra careful with it.”

Someone asked, “What do they want, Jimmy? Why are they here?”

“We don’t know, but Shane thinks they’ll leave soon. You guys make sure the little rats stay quiet. If there’s nobody around, and nothing worth looting, then the outsiders will move on. If they don’t leave on their own, then we’ll have to fight them.”

Candy shook her head, the thought of more shooting and killing wrinkling her brow. “Tell Shane I’ve got a little one with a bad cough. She needs sunshine and fresh air. We got two others with diarrhea, and they need to drink lots.”

Jimmy nodded, wondering if the general dislike of the catacombs had anything to do with the runny butt. “I know you and the others will take good care of them, Candy. We’ll do our best, but I wouldn’t count on us getting out of here anytime soon.”

Bishop glanced over his shoulder at the sun and then back at Grim. They had taken up positions on the roof of what had been a dry cleaner, the single story building providing an excellent view of a significant portion of Riley’s residential area.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing,” Grim whispered. “Either these people are sleeping in, or there’s not a soul in this town. I don’t get it.”

Bishop was puzzled as well. “We know there are at least… what… six or eight people living here. We’ve met four of them face-to-face. Where did they go?”

“Maybe your little Texas Ranger fantasy scared them off, and they hightailed it to grandma’s house.”

Bishop grunted, “Could be. I’m sure your threatening to slice off that boy’s head had nothing to do with it.”

“Either there’s no one here, or they know we’re up here and are hiding. One way or the other, I need to stretch and move my legs. I’m afraid this situation is going to require a little house-to-house search action.”

Bishop lowered his head, the thought having already occurred to him. “You’re right. God, this is going to suck.”

There was nothing worse than going into a neighborhood and searching for people. Bishop had done it before with Terri in New Mexico, and it was a nail biting, ball of stress. Any rifle from any window could ruin your day. The locals knew the terrain, including every bit of good cover and hidden crannies. The Texan wasn’t looking forward to the task at hand.