Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (21 page)

McComb smiled. “And the beautiful part is, until we’re strong enough, no one’s the wiser. Where else would you expect cons to be but in a prison? We both been out to have a look, and you know I’m right. The law’s spread pretty thin, but there’s still a few around. We just stay low profile until we’re strong enough to take over.”

Snaggle nodded as realization dawned. “Okay,” he said, “but what about the mud people in max security? It’s gonna start stinkin’ even worse if they die and are lying around in all the heat. Nobody’s likely to want to hole up anywhere near there.”

“Move ‘em over to medium security and leave them to rot,” McComb said. “Do it now while they can still move on their own.”

“Why don’t we make them clean the place up before we move them out?”

McComb shook his head. “Most of them are too far gone, plus they know we ain’t gonna let ‘em go, so no telling what they might try. We’ll get more work out of fresh civilians. Besides, they’ll be easier to keep in line.”

Snaggle nodded. “I gotta hand it to you, Spike, that’s pretty smart.”

McComb smirked. “That’s why I’m the captain. Now what’s the final head count?”

“We got almost a hundred soldiers, and all of them are getting cleaned up like you said. Lucky one of the guys used to work in the barbershop, so the haircuts don’t look too bad. We pieced together about a dozen uniforms off the dead COs—the rest of the stuff was too bloody. We can also dress a few guys in civvies we took off bodies here in the admin complex—oh yeah, that reminds me, since we’re staying, what do you want to do with all the bodies? They’re gonna start stinking too.”

“Pile them up over in the admin area of medium security. We’ll bury them after we ‘recruit’ our workforce,” McComb said. “Then put together patrols to go out tonight and scavenge for food and supplies. Use the prison vans we found over in the motor pool. Is there enough gas?”

Snaggle nodded. “A couple of hundred gallons and most of the vehicles have some gas in the tanks. It won’t last long. And where they gonna find supplies? I figure most of the stores have been stripped by now, and the law is probably all over what’s left.”

“That’s why they’re going at night. Put two ‘COs’ per van, and the story if they’re stopped is they’re looking for an escaped prisoner. Have ‘em cruise residential areas, looking for lights or the sound of generators. Anybody with a generator like as not has both food and fuel. This is hurricane country, so I expect they’ll find more than a few. Bring anybody they find so there ain’t any witnesses left. We can use ‘em to start our workforce. Oh yeah, have them bring the generators too.”

Snaggle rose from his chair. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, remind the boys I get first shot at any women they bring back. It’s been a long season without rain.”

Chapter Thirteen

M/V
Pecos Trader

Gulf of Mexico

West of Dry Tortugas

Day 14, 6:00 a.m.

Hughes stood on the starboard bridge wing, staring down in the early morning light at Georgia Howell as she supervised the offloading of the Cuban patrol boat. He watched her raise her hand to signal Nunez in the cab of the hose-handling crane, and the boat descended further and settled gently on the calm blue sea. Hughes glanced to the lightening sky in the east and willed the mate to hurry.

“Second-guessing yourself?”

Hughes turned to see Matt Kinsey walking out the wheelhouse door.

“Not really,” Hughes said. “We couldn’t leave them floating around that close to Cuba. If they got picked up before we got out of range, we were screwed, and we sure as hell can’t take them with us. Short of shooting them, marooning them somewhere with a chance of making their way back to civilization seemed the only choice.”

“If there’s any civilization left,” Kinsey said.

“You know what I meant.”

“I know, just jerking your chain a bit, Cap,” Kinsey said and looked east toward Dry Tortugas. “Though I doubt our passengers will be excited about your choice of disembarkation ports.”

“Well, I’m pushing the envelope as it is, and this is as close to Key West is I’m willing to get,” Hughes said. “We’re leaving them food and water, and Dan broke up some old pallets and made them multiple paddles. They can land on Dry Tortugas and make their plan and then all they have to do is follow the rising sun to the Marquesas Keys and then island-hop up the keys until they get to Key West. They should be able to make it in three or four days, a week max.”

Kinsey nodded. “I’m sure dumping the useless outboards made the boat considerably lighter and easier to paddle.”

“That was the idea.” Hughes looked distracted. “My only real concern is if they make it to Key West and start raving to your Coastie buddies about the
Pecos Trader
. We’ve been lucky enough to slip past, and I’d just as soon our name didn’t come up again.”

“I don’t think you need to worry,” Kinsey said. “In normal times, four Cubans paddling into port in a disabled patrol craft with a tall tale would likely be front-page news, but today there’s so many things going down, I doubt it would even register.”

“That’s probably true,” Hughes said, “but all things considered, I could have really done without this whole experience.”

Kinsey grinned. “Look at the bright side, we got another machine gun, an RPG launcher and four grenades, three AKs and a pistol out of the deal, along with a lot of ammunition. The Cubans might be short on food, but they seem to have plenty of hardware.”

“There is that.” Hughes turned to look down at the deck. “Seems it’s time to wish our guests ‘bon voyage.’ Care to join me?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kinsey said.

When Hughes and Kinsey arrived on the main deck, they found the Cubans lined up, hands still bound with duct tape. Georgia Howell was instructing Lieutenant Ramos as to his location and the easterly route necessary to reach the inhabited area of the Keys. The three enlisted Cubans were standing docilely, unsure what to expect and obviously frightened, but Ramos’s face was red with rage, in stark contrast to the white of the tape the second mate had used to stabilize his broken nose. When the Cuban saw Hughes approach, he turned and vented.

“This is an act of piracy, an outrage!” he hissed. “You cannot abandon us here. How do you expect us to return to Cuba?”

Hughes shrugged. “As someone said to me very recently, that is not my concern.”

“You will pay for this
Yanqui
!”

“I already have, Ramos,” Hughes said, “by taking the time to drop your sorry ass here instead of just casting you adrift. However, that’s still an option, so if you’d like to be dropped off in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico instead of spitting distance from land, just keep talking.”

The Cuban glared at Hughes but held his tongue, and Hughes motioned to the armed Coasties to escort the Cubans to the pilot ladder. At the top of the ladder, Georgia Howell produced a pocketknife and cut the duct tape from each man’s hands to allow him to descend to the waiting boat. Ramos was the last down, and as soon as he was aboard the small boat, Howell motioned for Kenny Nunez to cast the boat off and begin hauling the pilot ladder back on board.

Hughes walked to the ship’s side and stood beside Howell, staring down at the boat as it paddled away.

“Good riddance,” Howell said.

“I’ll second that,” Hughes said. “Did you give them plenty of stores?”

“Twenty gallons of water and two cases of Spam,” she replied.

Hughes burst out laughing. “Seriou—seriously?” he asked.

“Serves the bastard right for checking out my ass when he thought I wasn’t looking,” Howell said. “Now let’s get this ship to Texas.”

“I’m with you, Mate,” Hughes said, and they started for the bridge.

Mayport Naval Station

Jacksonville, Florida

Day 14, 6:00 a.m.

“How are the new guys?” Luke asked. “Jarheads, right?”

Washington nodded. “From Lejeune. Corley and Abrams are their names. Gibson knows them both and says they’re good troops.”

Luke grinned. “Corley and Abrams? Sounds like a friggin’ law firm.”

A smile flitted across Washington’s face, disappearing as quickly to be replaced by what was becoming a perpetual worried frown.

“So what’s the drill, LT,” he asked, “another ‘recon patrol? What are we supposed to steal today?”

“It’s a tough one,” Luke said. “Evidently my efforts to restrict our ‘acquisitions’ to things abandoned hasn’t gone unnoticed. Rorke came to me last night and ‘reminded’ me we’re to concentrate on food. He pointed out his other ‘recon teams’ were producing much more and he expected today’s mission into a new area to ‘yield significant results.’ All of which means we can no longer just go through the motions.”

Washington shook his head. “I … I don’t think I can steal food out of folks’ mouths.”

Luke sighed. “I don’t like it any better than you do, Sergeant, but if we don’t do it, someone else will, likely someone more aggressive about it than us. Besides, we both took an oath, and as screwed up as this is, we’re still following the orders of our lawfully appointed superiors. We don’t get to choose which orders we follow.” He relented a bit. “It’s not like we have a lot of options here, Washington.”

Washington looked unconvinced, but nodded. “Who you want to take?”

Luke considered a moment. “Long, Gibson, and the two new jarheads. And I suppose we need to take at least a couple of the others. I guess Grogan and one more. Which one do you want?”

Washington shrugged. “Six of one, they’re all assholes. Morton, I guess.”

“All right. We’ll roll out at oh eight hundred,” Luke said.

***

Luke stared out the window as the Humvee moved along US 17 North, aka Main Street North. There were cars stopped in the middle of the road where they ran out of gas, but the drivers of most had coasted to the right shoulder, no doubt sure they would come back ‘when things got back to normal’ to retrieve their vehicles. The two Humvees were traveling at a steady clip of thirty to thirty-five miles per hour, with two commandeered civilian pickups sandwiched between them, all maintaining their safety intervals to allow them reaction time if the driver ahead had to swerve around obstacles in the road.

He’d chosen US 17 in preference to I-95 a bit further to the west, because intelligence from chopper flyovers indicated I-95 was a parking lot, with refugees straggling its entire length, heading north. Luke wondered briefly what would happen when the northbound refugees met the no doubt equally desperate southbound horde from Savannah. By all accounts, the situation was dire, with bodies beside the interstate, bloating in the Florida sun. Impromptu refugee camps had sprung up around both abutments of the Nassau River bridge, where people too exhausted or discouraged to move on were fighting for the limited shade of scrubby trees and drinking the near brackish river water. It wasn’t something he was eager to see—each foray ‘outside the wire’ brought fresh scenes of horror.

Nor was this route free of horrors. His driver swerved around a late model BMW with both front doors open, blocking the view ahead, then swerved again to avoid the bodies of an elderly couple lying in the road, their mangled skulls leaving no doubt they’d met a violent end.

“Jesus!” Long said, instinctively slowing the vehicle. “Should I stop, LT?”

Luke shook his head. “They’re beyond help, and unfortunately I suspect that’s a sight we’ll be seeing a lot more of. But call back and advise the others to watch it when they pass the BMW.”

Long complied and Luke studied the passing landscape, mostly pine forest on the left with scattered residential neighborhoods on the right. His orders were to bypass them all and go straight north to the town of Yulee, turning east there on A1A toward Amelia Island and Fernandina Beach. Rorke seemed to think the A1A corridor was far enough from Jacksonville proper to hold ‘greater promise,’ and Luke was instructed to find and work the most promising subdivisions while identifying others for attention by additional ‘recon teams.’ It hadn’t escaped his notice the area was also far enough away from any FEMA command presence for Rorke’s ‘off the book’ operations to go largely unnoticed. FEMA would likely turn a blind eye in any event, but Luke sensed Rorke was being careful to avoid anything that might create a conflict with his benefactors.

***

Thirty minutes later they were headed east on A1A when they reached a commercial retail area on the left, a long row of fast-food outlets and chain restaurants lining the road in front of expansive parking lots serving big-box stores of various types. Luke spotted the sign for a Publix supermarket and directed Long to pull into the parking lot. It was a long shot at this point, but if they could scrape together a reasonable yield from the supermarket, they might minimize the civilian contact he was dreading. The rest of the little convoy followed his vehicle into the deserted parking lot and came to rest in front of the supermarket.

“Long, get up on the Ma Deuce and keep your eyes open,” Luke said. “I don’t think we should have any problems, but let’s be careful.”

“Roger that, LT,” Long said, as Luke dismounted.

Washington walked up as Luke was getting out of the Humvee, a look of doubt on his face.

“I know, I know,” Luke said. “It’s probably stripped, but it doesn’t hurt to look. Take two guys and do a quick recon. If the shelves are bare, check to see if there’s anything left in back.”

“Roger that,” Washington said, then yelled, “Gibson, Abrams, you’re with me. Move your asses.”

The three men disappeared into the building and came out a few minutes later. Washington emerged last and gave Luke a shake of his head as he approached.

“Damn, it stinks in there,” Washington said.

“Rotten meat and fish?” Luke asked.

“Among other things. It’s bad in there, LT—three bodies, two women and a man. Looks like the women were shot and the man’s head was beat in with a can of creamed corn. The can busted and it’s lying there in his blood.”

Luke suppressed a shudder. “I don’t suppose there was any food?”

“Not a crumb anywhere—unless you count the creamed corn,” Washington said.

“All right, I guess we have to do this. Leave Long on the Ma Deuce and get everyone else down here so we can go over the op.”

Washington nodded and began shouting orders and the men gathered around Luke.

“All right, given all the commercial development, I’m thinking there are plenty of subdivisions nearby. We’re going to head south at the last intersection we went through and find the first one. I’ll drive one Humvee with Long up top and Sergeant Washington will drive the second one with Gibson on the Ma Deuce there. We’ll stay in reserve to respond with overwhelming force if need be. I doubt we need it, but better safe than sorry.”

There were nods of agreement as Luke continued. “Grogan, I want you and Morton in one pickup and Corley and Abrams in the other. You guys will be going door-to-door in pairs to collect, one street at a time. Washington’s Humvee will take a position at the entrance to the street being worked by Grogan and Morton, and Long and I will support Corley and Abrams. If either group runs into a big problem, specifically armed resistance, I want BOTH Humvees to respond, and the collection team that’s temporarily unsupported is just to hold in place. Is that clear?”

Again there were nods before Luke continued, “Now get this straight, we’re not going in and stripping these people of all their food. I want you to go door-to-door, identify yourselves as members of the FEMA Special Reaction Force and politely but firmly inform residents there is a mandatory food collection operation in process. Tell them though we are authorized to seize all food and fuel, we will only requisition fifty percent of their stores at this time, assuming they cooperate. Tell them they have ten minutes to collect their contribution and bring it curbside to load into the pickup, then move on to the next house. Inform them if we believe they’re holding back, we will enter their homes to verify the amounts. Further inform them if verification shows they failed to deliver fifty percent of their stores, we will take it all. You are to stay together and you are NOT to threaten them, harm them in any way beyond the warning I have indicated, or enter their houses. Is that clear?”

“That’s bullshit,” Grogan said. “This ain’t a food drive. They’ll just give as little as they think they can get away with and it’ll all be crappy stuff. This ain’t what Colonel Rorke wants and you know it, Kinsey.”

Washington moved towards Grogan, but Luke waved him off. “We may get less than half of what they have,” Luke said, “but I’m betting there are plenty of houses and we’ll get enough to fill these two pickups before the day is out, and without harming anyone or leaving them completely without food. Since that’s all we can carry anyway, that seems like a win for all concerned or, at least, less of a loss.” Luke’s voice hardened, “And that PRIVATE Grogan, is the first and last time I ever intend to explain an order to you. And you will address me as sir or lieutenant, or Lieutenant Kinsey, or even LT, but if you ever disrespect me again, it will be the last time you disrespect anyone. Is that clear?”