The Journal: Martial Law Read online

  “What are we going to do for medical?” John asked, concerned.

  “You’ll be sent another doctor when you settle in your new location. Don’t forget you still have Harris as your medic. I’ve already gone over this with Commander Coulter. I wanted to say goodbye to you personally though,” Dr. Williams said. “I know you were conscripted, John, I just wish everyone, including the volunteers, were as willing to work as you are. Good luck to you.” They shook hands again and the doctor grabbed his duffle and black bag, and headed toward one of the waiting buses.

  ***

  Eight trucks filled with supplies, food, and workers sat in a line along the narrow road that led to I-75. Behind the trucks were several campers, two school buses, a semi-truck with the disassembled tents, a diesel tanker, and a water truck.

  “What’s the holdup, Hank?” John asked. He put his self-contained motorhome in park and jumped down from the high cab.

  “We’re having some issues with a few reluctant refugees. They’ve got the bus driver in tears.” Hank frowned. “Would you switch places for a few hours so we can get out of here?”

  John sighed loudly. He found the driver standing outside the bus, and commotion going on inside.

  “Maryanne, I’m going to let you drive my motorhome. I don’t let just anyone do that, you know, however we need to get moving. I’ll handle this.”

  “Thank you, John.” She sniffled. “She’s worse than any child I had on my bus in the last ten years!”

  John swung himself up the narrow doorway into the bus and gazed over the crowd seated and standing. “Let’s quiet down so we can get moving,” he said loudly. No one listened except those closest to him. “I said SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!” he bellowed. The bus went quiet. As soon as he sat down in the driver’s seat a young female voice started up again.

  John walked down the aisle and found the young woman from earlier still standing and chatting away to someone on the other side of the bus.

  “I said sit down.”

  “I don’t have to do what you say. You’re a government worker, you work for me,” she said smugly. The dark roots of her bleached blonde hair added an air of amusement to her haughty demeanor. John took in her tanned skin, cutoff jeans, and dirty hot pink tank top.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Haley.”

  “Tell me, Haley, have you ever held a job?”

  “Well, no. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If you’ve never worked, you’ve never paid taxes, which means no one works for you because you don’t pay any wages. Now sit down and do what you’re told.” He turned away.

  “Are you trying to bully me, mister?”

  John stopped and turned back to her. “Bully? You haven’t seen anything yet, missy.”

  “You have to respect me!” she screeched.

  “I don’t have to do anything. Respect needs to be earned and you get it by giving it. Now, sit down and shut up, little girl.”

  “That’s sexist. You can’t do that, it’s illegal.” She jutted out her chin in defiance and crossed her arms over her chest.

  John looked down and chuckled. “You know we’re in the middle of a national disaster, right? And that we’re also in the middle of a swamp, right? A swamp filled with alligators and snakes—big snakes—and panthers. Your inflated sense of self-worth and that entitlement mentality doesn’t belong here. There are no ‘safe places’ for you to hide in so your feelings don’t get hurt. Now sit down and shut up, and if you’re lucky, little girl, I won’t throw your ass off the bus!”

  Stunned, she sat down, and he went back to the driver’s seat, put the big bus in gear and pulled out. Ten minutes later she started talking again.

  John slammed on the brakes and put the vehicle back into park. He stomped down the aisle and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the exit.

  “You can’t put me off the bus! I have rights!” Haley protested, dragging her feet.

  “No, you don’t,” John said calmly. He picked her up over his shoulder and carried her outside where he dropped her on the tarmac, closing the battered hydraulic door behind him as he sat down again. She pounded on the door and he ignored her, putting the yellow bus in gear and rejoining the convoy.

  He stopped the bus a half mile up the road and turned to his passengers.

  “Are there any questions?” He was met with silence. “Good. I see no reason you can’t talk quietly among yourselves, please keep it down though, I’m having a bad day.”

  ***

  “You did what?” Hank said, aghast.

  “Don’t worry, once we’re set up I’ll go back and find her. She needed a lesson she won’t forget.”

  “John, she’s a child.”

  “A child with a big mouth and a bad attitude and she needs to grow up.” John started to walk toward the mess tent to help set up. Hank grabbed his arm giving him a stern look and John sighed. “Alright, I’ll go find her,” he said resolutely.

  ***

  John settled into the comfortable, well broken in captain’s chair of his old motorhome and headed back south. The motorhome was small, sometimes cramped, however it was his for the duration and the privacy helped him get through the days—and nights. The convoy had moved sixty miles to the north in two hours. The loaded down transports were slowing them down. Even though the old engine protested, he kicked the speed up to fifty-five to cover the distance in half the time. He doubted the girl had walked very far.

  Precisely an hour later he could see her in the distance. He went a bit further, stopped the lumbering vehicle, and turned it to face north again. Sitting on the wide back bumper, he finished his morning coffee. When she was within a hundred yards, he got a bottle of water from the mini-refrigerator and waited.

  “You made good time, Haley,” John said, handing her the bottle of cold water.

  She eagerly guzzled half the bottle. “I hate you.”

  John laughed. “Good. Are you ready to join the others?” She nodded solemnly. He opened the door and climbed in after her, engaging the new locks he had recently installed. “Sit,” he said, pointing to the tiny kitchen area. “And be quiet.” He opened the fridge again, handed her another bottle of water, and dropped a wrapped sandwich on the table in front of her. Back in the driver’s seat, John hit the button that locked both cab doors and headed north again. The world was not a safe place anymore.

  After Haley finished the dry baloney and cheese sandwich and the second bottle of water, she felt better.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she said tentatively.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Can I sit up there? Being in the back makes me carsick.”

  John thought for a moment, remembering Allexa had the same problem. “Okay.”

  Haley quickly moved to the front before John could change his mind. “Thank you. It’s why I talk so much. It keeps my mind off the motion.”

  John grunted.

  “Can I ask another question?”

  He glanced over at her. She was staring out the front, not looking at him. At least she asked instead of launching into a full verbal assault. “Sure,” he said, wondering if it was a good idea or not.

  Still keeping her eyes forward, Haley asked, “Why do you hate me, Mr. Tiggs?”

  “Oh, so you know who I am?”

  “Everyone in the camp knows who you are.”

  “Good. I don’t hate you, Haley. I’m afraid for you.”

  She studied his profile. “You’re afraid of me?”

  “No, I’m not afraid of you, Haley, I’m afraid for you,” he said. “You have a real sh…ah, crappy attitude and that could get you killed some day, and maybe others that are with you. You need to learn the facts of life real fast to survive.”

  She smiled coyly. “I know the facts of life.”

  �
�I don’t mean sex, Haley. I’m sure you know those facts quite well.”

  She frowned and thought Why does that sound like an insult?

  “The world isn’t the same and there are new facts to this life. Unfortunately they’re constantly changing and you need to change and adapt to the new rules,” John said, and although he was staring intently forward, his deep blue eyes kept flicking to the rear view and side mirrors. “And I think you’re about to get your second lesson. We’ve got company. Get in the back and stay away from the windows.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it!” John snapped. “When there is a potential problem and someone is trying to maybe save your life you don’t start asking questions! Now move!” As soon as she vacated the front seat and was safely on her way to the rear of the short camper, John removed the shotgun from its overhead rack and laid it across his lap, the polished barrel resting low on the edge of the open window. He believed in gun safety. He also believed there were times when seconds counted, and his guns were always loaded and a round chambered, ready.

  The roar of swamp buggies soon competed with the sounds of the lumbering diesel engine of the camper. There were four muddy buggies coming on fast in spite of their big balloon tires. John could see long black hair spinning in the wind around a dark face.

  One buggy pulled up parallel to John’s door, pointed a gun at him and yelled, “Pull over!”

  John hit the gas and shot forward. The memories of the Wheeler gang flooded his senses. Anger surged inside as he remembered the convicts that rode into Moose Creek on ATVs a year ago and took the lives of many, including Allexa’s brother and his wife. It was a dark time.

  The rider pulled up again and aimed the gun. John was ready. With his left hand holding the steering wheel tight, his right hand lifted the stock of the shotgun level and squeezed the trigger. The rider fell from the big wheeled ATV and the buggy flipped out of control, smashing into the one behind him. The remaining two riders swerved around the carnage and soon were on John’s tail again.

  “Haley! Get down on the floor!” John yelled over his shoulder. Moments later the back window shattered, showering the girl with bits of safety glass.

  John took his foot off the gas, hitting the brakes hard, and the two bikes lurched past him in surprise. They both made a fast U-turn and headed straight for the camper. John floored the gas pedal. At the last second, he turned the steering wheel into the one closest. Human nature being what it was, the driver tried avoiding the camper bearing down on him and drove off the road, flipping over into the watery ditch. The lone buggy decided not to pursue them.

  John drove for another fifteen minutes before slowing down and finally stopping.

  “You can come out now, Haley,” he said calmly.

  She inched her way forward. Her hands were shaking and John could see she was having trouble walking.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, concerned.

  “N-n-no,” she stammered. She sat hard in the seat she had occupied earlier. “What would have happened if they caught us?”

  “Likely they would have killed me, raped you a few times each, and then killed you.”

  “I promise, John. I promise.”

  He lifted a gray eyebrow. “Promise what?”

  “T-to d-d-do whatever you say without questioning. I promise.” At that, Haley started crying.

  John smiled. “You just got an A on your second lesson.” The remaining half hour drive was blissfully quiet.

  ***

  John pulled his rig into the Walstroms parking lot where the FEMA camp was still setting up. The activity was chaotic. He had dropped Haley off at the refugee tents and sought out Hank at his office camper.

  “I’m glad you found her,: Hank said, giving John a disapproving look. “It would have been hard to explain to the brass.”

  “We’re close to Lake City. I need to go there and get the back window replaced.”

  “What happened?”

  John explained the events, adding that he doubted Haley would be a problem for the rest of her stay.

  “There’s too much to do right now for you to leave. Board the window up with whatever you can find for now and you can go in a day or two.” Hank shuffled through some papers until he found the one he sought. “We have a new assignment, so don’t get comfortable. Once we deliver this batch of survivors to the nearest relocation center, we’re to head west to Tallahassee. It seems they’ve gone dark.”

  “Dark?”

  “As in no one has heard from that outpost for almost a week. We are never out of touch that long. It could be as simple as an equipment failure or as complicated as your imagination wants to make it.”

  “In that case, wouldn’t it be better to go in quiet?”

  Hank looked up from his paperwork. John was a good man to have on the team. Too bad he was conscripted and his six months were up soon. Hank reached for another file, the one marked Tiggs, John.

  “Do you want to take a team in?”

  “I think we can get more answers that way,” John replied. “Like you said, it could be equipment failure.”

  John knew how strict they’d been about staying in communication with each other, and if it were a radio malfunction, someone would have driven or walked to the nearest support unit to keep the high command informed.

  “There’s a problem with that, John, one I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Hank said, leaning back in his chair.

  “My record is clean, Hank,” John said, scowling. “I’ve done everything asked of me.”

  “Yes, you have, and more.” Hank leaned on his elbow and rubbed the stubble on his chin. They had left so early that morning he hadn’t had time to shave.

  “Then what is it?” John asked impatiently.

  “I need to give you more authority, a promotion of sorts.”

  John stood and paced the small area that was Hank’s office.

  “May I be totally honest with you?” Hank said. John nodded. “You’re one of the best men I’ve got. You’re a self-starter. You’re told what needs to be done and you figure out how to do it without having your hand held every step of the way. Sometimes your methods are a bit unconventional, but you’ve done a lot of good in the four months you’ve been with me. I can give you a promotion, and that means you can take these teams out without supervision. It also means you have to truly volunteer and sign up for another six months when your conscription has ended. And I can start paying you. It won’t be much though.”

  “Can you send my pay to my daughter in Indiana?”

  Hank nodded.

  “I’ll think about it,” John said, walking out the door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  John wandered through the camp. Many areas were still being set up, some were already occupied. The largest tent was the mess hall, and was always easy to find. Committing to a promotion, and possibly another six months, left him confused, bereft, and hungry.

  “Hey, Seth, can I get a sandwich or something?” John asked. The cook was still lining up the huge kettles he used to make the mass meals.

  “Sure. May I ask you what the hell did you do or say to that Haley girl?” Seth pulled a loaf of wheat bread out of the metal trash can he used to protect the scarce baked goods.

  “Why? What trouble is she causing now?” John asked while the man assembled an extra thick sandwich of meat, cheese, a rare piece of lettuce, and an even rarer slice of tomato.

  “No trouble. In fact she’s been wandering around trying to find things to do to help. I even overheard her apologizing to Maryanne for disrupting the bus this morning,” Seth replied.

  “Huh,” was all John said, and walked back to his camper smiling.

  ***

  “May I ask why you chose Sam over Kevin as your shotgun for this?” Hank asked when John returned an hour later. “You usually b
uddy-up with Kevin.”

  “Kevin is a good guy, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve been trying to give him some experience, but he constantly asks questions instead of just doing what he’s told. Sam, on the other hand, follows orders and even improvises, and that’s who I need with me for this.”.

  “Okay. So there’s no trouble with the crew, I’m going to send Kevin on one of the buses as security, before you leave.” Hank leaned back in his chair. “It’s already come down the grapevine that Haley Hanson wants to stay on as a volunteer. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Nope. If she does what she’s told I think she could be a good worker. Why do you ask?”

  “Because she’s already asked to be assigned to your team whenever possible.”

  John rolled his eyes.

  ***

  John and Sam sat in Hank’s office going over the maps and what little information there was about the FEMA outpost that was located five miles outside of Tallahassee, a hundred miles away.

  “I still say we’re better off taking one of the smaller vehicles,” John insisted. “We’ll get there quicker and if there are no problems, we get back quicker with no need to stay overnight. If there is a problem we can help with, they can put us up. Either way, one of the pickups looks more official than my motorhome.”

  “Good point. When do you leave?”

  “As soon as the buses are gone.”

  Sam and John stopped at the mess tent for a day’s worth of provisions and loaded them into the pickup, along with a case of bottled water and their sleeping bags.

  “I sure appreciate you asking for me to ride shotgun, John. Even if this turns out to be nothing, the trip will break up the monotony,” Sam said.

  “Just remember there’s a reason it’s called the shotgun seat. I’ll drive while you keep watch and have that shotgun ready at all times. I don’t like surprises.” John liked the widespread efficiency of a shotgun, but wished they had a more substantial weapon at their disposal. He saw the buses going north to Valdosta, and put the truck in gear and headed west on US-10.