Lamp Black: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 2) (39 page)

“Yes. Well no, it’s not for me, it’s for Pete. But if you could get it started that would be great.” John grabbed a bag of coffee from the freezer and put it on the counter next to Marissa. “Thanks Marissa, and when Paul comes out just let him know I’m in the garage.”

“I will, and you’re welcome. And John, please stop thanking me for everything. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

“I’ll try, but it’s in my nature,” he answered with a smile of his own. “I’ll be right back.” John went to the garage and pulled up the large two-car garage door with the manual release handle. Pete had finished backing his truck down the driveway and was standing patiently next to Paul’s van. He walked up to the door as soon as it was up.

“I see you’ve been moving about a bit too,” said Pete, as he pointed to the Suburban. “There’s no ash piled on your rig, and a lot of tracks in and out of your driveway.”

Bonnie climbed out of the truck and approached John with open arms. “Hi John, it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Bonnie. I’m glad you’re here. Jenna will be very glad to know you’re OK. Please . . . go in and make yourself at home.”

When Bonnie released John, Pete approached and embraced John in their former military fashion. It wasn’t all sloppy or mushy, just a hand clasp followed by a moderate chest bump and a quick, but firm, pat on the back. John was first to speak after breaking the hug. “Man it’s really good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, brother. I didn’t think we’d make it. Everything’s a real mess right now,” replied Pete.

“I admit, I’m truly surprised to see you. I thought you would have gone to Fort Hood,” said John.

“I tried,” said Pete, and he turned to look at his truck. “Is everything safe around here?”

“Safe enough for the moment,” answered John, “but we have some catching up to do. Your truck will be fine for now.” John lowered the garage door and turned to lead Pete into the kitchen. “Let’s go get some breakfast, and I have some people I want you to meet. One of whom is busy making your coffee right now,” said John.

“Well, if she makes coffee better than you, we’ll be friends for sure,” replied Pete.

Though John wasn’t a coffee drinker, he liked the smell of it. And since most of his extended family drank coffee, he usually always kept some in the house. It pleased him beyond all measure to see Pete and Bonnie sitting at his kitchen table, enjoying a fresh cup of hot coffee.

As soon as everyone warmed up to the new faces, they enjoyed the last of Jenna’s fresh eggs that had been scrambled and rolled up in Marissa’s tortillas to make breakfast tacos. As simple as they were, John couldn’t remember eating a better tasting meal. John ate more than his share, and complemented Marissa several times. Pete and Bonnie also enjoyed the food, and they too expressed their appreciation several times, but John was very eager to hear about their trip, and he could barely contain himself. After several attempts to get them to talk about it, John pleaded, “Please, tell me about your trip before I die of old age.”

Pete laughed and said, “It’s a long story, John. We’ve been on the road for three days, and a lot has happened along the way.”

“Three days?” cried John, “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s less than two-hundred miles.”

“I know,” said Pete, “but the roads are a mess. And that’s not counting the better part of one day trying to get on post.”

“So you did try to get on Fort Hood?”

“That I did, but let me tell you it was a mistake,” said Pete, as he took the last bite of his breakfast taco and sipped coffee from his mug. John waited for him to finish chewing. Pete narrowed his eyes and shook his head when he said, “Fort Hood is not the place to go if you want to maintain your individual freedoms.”

“What do you mean?” asked John.

“What I mean is, they were letting people on post if they had valid DOD stickers on their windshield, but they were confiscating all weapons, ammunition, spare fuel, and food,” answered Pete.

John whistled softly and shook his head. “Sanctuary with a price. It doesn’t surprise me though.”

“Right after I talked with you on the phone, when was that, last week sometime, I think? Anyway, I went shopping and bought food, and a bunch of other stuff. I continued to hope you were wrong, John. That you were wrong about everything.” Pete took Bonnie’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “Even when we heard about the eruption we continued to wait. We really didn’t think the ash . . .”

“We?” asked Bonnie.

Pete nodded and continued, “I . . . I didn’t think the ash would reach us. Once again, you were right. When the ash started to fall we packed up the truck and headed to Fort Hood. I figured it was the best place to go, that they would be the best organized to handle the disaster, the best prepared and capable of handling a large influx of displaced active and retired military personnel.”

“I take it they weren’t as ready as you thought,” asked John.

“No, they were ready, more than ready. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say they were even expecting it.”

“That’s interesting,” said John. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew about the eruption before it happened. Why do you think they were ready? You and I both know it wouldn’t take them long to establish elevated perimeter security measures . . . at least around the cantonment area,” replied John.

“It was more than just security,” answered Pete, “it was the way they were logistically supported. Teams were up and running way too fast for my experience. And they were collecting and sorting all privately owned weapons and ammunition that entered the post. There was also teams collecting and sorting all the spare containers of fuel and motor oil, and even more teams collecting and sorting all the food. It was happening at all the open gates.”

John silently considered Pete’s words. He wasn’t surprised. Fort Hood was, after all, federal property, and they could do pretty much whatever they wanted, especially during periods of heightened security, but confiscating everyone’s personal property seemed a little extreme. “They were doing that at all the gates,” he asked, “even with the active duty personnel?”

“Roger that,” said Pete.

“Can you give me your entire story? From the time you left home and arrived at the gate?” asked John.

Pete cleared his throat and said, “I can,” and shifted in the kitchen chair as if trying to assume a more comfortable position before beginning a long drive. “I never actually entered the fort,” he began. “I turned around at the gate. But let me finish my story and I’ll answer your questions as I go.” He paused a moment, as if considering what details to include, and said, “From my house I crossed over Belton Dam and headed west. I wanted to enter the post from the East Range Road gate entrance. You know the one?”

John nodded and said, “I do.” It was fifteen miles of two-lane road that turned and bounced through cattle country over Army Corps of Engineer land. The gate was the eastern most entrance onto the fort. Just north of the road sat Belton Lake, also an Army Corps of
Engineer project, so practically all the roads around the lake belonged to the army. The army also maintained more than three-quarters of the lake-front property, which included all but a small portion of the north-east side of the lake - on the opposite side of the damn - where Pete and Bonnie owned their home. The dam itself was earthen, but capped with an impressive concrete crossing that rose more than fifty feet above the waterline. John wanted to ask about the water in the lake, but decided it could wait. He already knew the water was polluted with ash.

“I figured the east gate would be less busy than the main gate, or the commissary gate,” continued Pete, “so we headed there along the range road. Just before the last turn to the gate, I saw the first set of brake lights. I pulled in behind the last vehicle and stopped. The ash was falling, but it was light, like dust, so I wrapped a bandanna over my face and got out. I wanted to see what was going on at the gate before I got close, so I asked Bonnie to move the truck forward, but to leave enough room to turn out if we decided to leave.” Pete looked at Bonnie and winked. John saw that Bonnie apparently didn’t share Pete’s enthusiasm about the entire event. She furrowed her brow in reply, but eventually winked back.

“Anyway, I walked toward the gate . . . and passed about thirty vehicles in the line. Almost all of them were loaded down with family, and an assortment of personal gear. When I was about five vehicles from the gate I saw an MP talking to a driver. I know he was an MP because he had a brassard on his tactical vest. He was also wearing his full tactical kit, like we did in Iraq . . . body armor and everything. And a protective mask, which I thought was a little excessive, but you know how the army is. I never did like those things. You know how they limit your visibility and hearing,” replied Pete, with a sideways glance at John.

Pete sipped from his coffee mug and returned it to the table. He wrapped both hands around it as if he didn’t want it to slide away. “Thanks again for the coffee, Marissa. I really needed it. Now, where
was I? Oh yeah. So I slowly approached the MP, being sure he saw and heard me before I got close. I didn’t want to spook him. Anyway, there was something familiar about the MP, so I pulled down my bandanna so he could see my face. I tried to get a read on his name tag, but he recognized me first and called out my name. After a friendly greeting, we walked a short distance away and talked.”

Paul joined them at the table again, after having left to address the needs of one of his children, and said, “Sorry. What’d I miss?”

“I’ll catch you up later. Go ahead, Pete,” said John.

Pete resumed his report. “Well, in a nutshell, the MP told me that the entire post was at a modified threat-condition level four lockdown. He said only vehicles with valid Department of Defense stickers and identification cards were allowed on the post, and then only after they submitted to a complete individual and vehicle search. He said no one was being allowed to leave the post. Oh, and in addition to the permanent barriers, there were armored vehicles at every gate. He also said line-units were building and manning fighting positions, and conducting regular patrols along the entire perimeter of the cantonment area. The post was sealed up tighter than a drum, and it was at the highest security level he had ever seen, even higher than after nine-eleven. He said people were only allowed to enter the post when they surrendered their personal stuff. I told him I didn’t believe him, but he said I could go talk to Colonel Stevens myself.”

“Stevens . . . from division staff, Stevens?” asked John, unable to contain himself. “The one who did that investigation on you in Afghanistan?”

“The one and only,” replied Pete.

John knew Stevens well. He was the consummate military bureaucrat, infamous for successfully avoiding personal risk, and known for bogging down reports with the removal of details that he thought were too controversial, or reflected poorly on the division’s Provost Marshal’s Office. But most importantly, the man was a liar, or at least someone who loved to lie. He was a desk jockey, someone who never
commanded troops, so to put him in charge of a gate detail was saying something about the desperation of the disaster response on Fort Hood. MP or not, John figured the army must be really short of good personnel to put Stevens in charge of anything.

“I’m guessing you didn’t go talk to Stevens,” asked John.

“You got that right,” replied Pete. “He probably would have had me arrested just for the hell of it,” added Pete.

“So that’s why you didn’t try to get on post,” asked Jenna, “because some jerk was in charge at your gate?”

“Oh no, that’s not the reason. I didn’t like the idea of them taking my food and fuel,” answered Pete. “I understand them wanting to take my weapons and ammo, but why my food and fuel? The army has always been paranoid about controlling Soldiers’ privately owned weapons,” Pete paused to take another sip of his coffee, “but food and fuel? It’s funny when you think about it. I mean you have Soldiers carry their weapons with them all day, every day, when they’re deployed, but when they’re home they’re treated like children. If you’re caught bringing an unregistered weapon on post you can lose it, and face jail time.”

“Why is that?” asked Paul.

“The post is Federal property,” replied John, “so they can pretty much do whatever they want, all in the name of security, of course. Most people don’t realize that Soldiers follow a much stricter set of rules and laws than ordinary citizens.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about that,” replied Paul.

“So, Pete. What happened after you talked with the MP?” asked John.

“Well, we talked a bit longer. I was trying to get as much information out of him as possible, you know, to understand what was happening on post without talking to that prick, Stevens.”

Bonnie reached over and slapped Pete’s arm, “Pete, don’t talk like that!”

“You’re right, my apologies to all. Anyway, I still wasn’t ready to leave. I thought the conditions were draconian, but still somewhat
reasonable given the unique circumstances of the disaster. There was something appealing about being on post, of being surrounded by armed soldiers and having food and water at my disposal. I also figured my retired rank would afford me some benefit, but the longer I talked to the MP the more I began to realize that the conditions of security would also make me a prisoner, with or without electricity,” added Pete.