Strengthen What Remains (Book 2): A Time to Endure (4 page)

As he reached the far side of the road he saw the soldiers piling their
rifles and raising their hands in the air.

Tears of relief welled in Zach’s eyes.

Those with him smiled and several patted him on
the back, but he knew the truth. Again he had done nothing to help. He had
hidden behind a tree crying and never fired a shot.

I am a coward.

In
a fog of despair, Caden helped load the wounded in the back of a deuce and a
half and then in an ambulance that arrived on scene. When that was done he
carried the body of Captain Turner to the back of a pickup. He stared at the
body for a moment. “No, this isn’t right.”

“What?”
Maria asked cautiously.

“A
flag. He needs an American flag.”

Maria
ran off as Caden stared at the body.

A
moment later she returned and handed him the flag he wanted.

Caden
draped it over his fallen friend and tucked it under. When he was done, Maria
held his hand and all but led him to the backseat of the cab. There the two sat
silently together.

Turner
wasn’t the first friend to die in battle. Every time one of his men fell he
questioned his decisions and tactics, but Turner wasn’t one of his men. Caden’s
decisions and tactics had been sound and those good decisions cost Turner his
life.

Friend against friend.
Brother against brother. This hasn’t happened since the
Civil War.

Leading
a convoy of the living and the dead, the driver pulled away from the
battlefield at a solemn pace.

Is that what this is?
The first battle of the next civil war?
God, I pray that it
isn’t.

They
passed a grove of alder trees.
So, barren…so dead.

Maria
squeezed his hand.

How many of our own
people were killed or wounded?
He would need a report from Brooks as soon as
possible.
Letters need to be
written…families consoled.

He
looked at Maria’s hand, still clutching his, and then to her face. “You
shouldn’t have come.”

“Why?
I wanted to help.”

As
the truck rumbled along the driveway of the Westmore farm, he saw Hoover and
Brooks talking on the porch. Along the side of the road a lone young man with
red-hair walked with slumped shoulders. Slung across his back was an AR-15 and
he carried a hunting rifle. As they passed, Caden realized he had often seen
the lad fishing along the highway.
Did he
fight in the battle?
Caden shook his head.
So young.

The
driver pulled to a stop. A red-haired girl ran toward the young man, but
stopped several feet away. Tears left streaks along her face.

That young man is in
big trouble.

Caden
sighed and turned to Maria. “I’ve got to go. There could be more attacks.
Wounded need to be checked on.
Men redeployed.”

Maria
nodded. “I’ll help with the wounded.”

He
kissed her and stepped from the cab. Taking a deep breath, he stood tall,
assumed a more resolute countenance than he felt. Then he turned and marched
toward Hoover and Brooks and the troubles ahead.

The
sun was high, but Zach felt little of its warmth as he arrived back at the
Westmore farm. The prisoners had been marched away, the wounded taken to the
hospital. Zach was surrounded by the living. Many smiled. Some were solemn, but
he was numb.
 

His
sister ran toward him, but stopped abruptly about a yard away. Her eyes were
wide and her face streaked with tears. When Vicki spoke her voice was tinged
with anger. “I was scared when I couldn’t find you. Even more frightened when I
figured out you had gone to the battle.” She paused as tears welled in her
eyes. Her voice grew slow and sad. “Each body, every wounded man, I looked them
all in the face hoping that each one wasn’t you.” She turned and walked toward
home.

Zach
followed. “I’m sorry Sis. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean….”

She
turned and faced him, her voice shrill. “You’re right. You didn’t think.” Tears
came in a torrent. She ran ahead.

The
weight of his foolish decisions pressed down on Zach. Going with the men had
been a stupid decision. He was nothing more than a scared, moving target on the
battlefield, and he had frightened Vicki.

She
was yards away now, walking with anger-inspired speed.

Seeing
Trevor he handed the hunting rifle to him. Trevor gave him a funny look, but
Zach hurried after his sister.

They
walked nearly a mile before Zach caught up with her. “I’m really sorry.”

She
wiped her face, and nodded. “What are you going to do with the gun?”

“The
gun?” Zach looked down at the strap across his chest. He had been vaguely aware
that the assault rifle was still on his back, but he hadn’t thought about what
to do with it. It belonged to the old guy from the pickup, but he was dead.
Zach looked back in the direction of the Westmore farm, now hidden by trees, and
then to his sister. “I don’t know.”

“Do
you plan to keep it? Mom won’t let you.”

He
shrugged and as they continued to walk he pondered the possibility. Vicki was
right,
their mother would never agree to keep a firearm in
the house. “The world is going crazy and we need to protect ourselves. I’m not
going to tell her about the gun.”

“She’ll
see it.”

“I’ll
hide it in the shed.”

When
they crossed the highway, the bodies of the two soldiers were gone. In silence
they collected their traps and the fish within. Zach struggled to find a way to
carry his share of the load with the rifle on his back. Satisfied he had
distributed the weight of the fish and traps evenly, he continued along the
stream with Vicki in the lead.

Climbing
the hill toward home, Vicki asked, “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

He
held the rifle as if to shoot it and gazed through the scope with a confident
air. “It’s easier than the bow.” He purposely avoided answering her question.
“Don’t tell Mom I went to the battle. It’ll just make her mad.”

“Yeah,
it would. Dad got killed and now you decide to be a war hero.”

 
The word hero brought the fear and panic of
hours ago back to mind. He felt his face flush. His eyes drifted toward the
ground.

Vicki
shook her head. “I won’t tell her.”

As
they approached the trailer Zach said, “Go on in. I’ll be along in a moment.”
He made a wide arc so as to remain hidden by the trees and brush. Stepping out
of the woods near the shed he sprinted to the door. Once inside he dropped the
traps near the entrance. His bow and quiver hung from the wall near the back
and that was where he went next. Moving boxes
aside,
he leaned the rifle into the corner and re-stacked the cartons around it.

Carrying
only his portion of the daily catch, he walked in the front door of the
trailer.

*
              
*
          
    
*

Caden
wondered if it was some form of cognitive dissonance. The Battle of Olympia, of
which the Hansen skirmish was a small part, was just days passed. Many had
died, including his friend Turner. But today, for the first time since the
battle, he was smiling. Beside Maria’s bed, he had left a tray with a cup of
coffee, a ring, and a note. The band was an old one, his grandmother’s, but it
was all he had. When she came down, Maria wore it. “Yes,” she said and kissed
him.

Driving
into Hansen, still lost in the glow of the morning memories, Caden noticed the
two red-haired teens only as he passed them. They were placing fish traps in
the stream near the highway. Impulsively he decided to stop and talk to them.
Out of habit he looked in his mirrors, but his was the only car on the road. He
considered stopping in the lane, but chose to pull to the shoulder.

He
stepped from the car and waved. The two youths set the traps aside and walked
toward the road. In normal times, fish traps were illegal, but these were not
normal times and no one seemed interested in bothering people as they attempted
to feed themselves.

Caden
walked back along the highway. Remembering the ceremony later in the day, he
tried not to get mud on his shoes and uniform as he started down the bank.

The
three met near the bottom.

The
young girl’s eyes seemed fixed on the military issue holster and pistol on
Caden’s hip. The boy followed his sister’s gaze, but quickly locked on Caden’s
eyes.

“My
family told me about your help earlier in the week before and during the
battle. That you told them about the soldiers that were shot…”

Zach
looked off to the side.

“…and
led them back to where it happened.”

“Yeah,
it was right over there. It feels strange being here now, so near the spot, but
we have to eat and this is a good location for the traps.”

Caden
looked at Zach, but the boy averted his eyes. “You’re brave,” he gestured
toward the fish traps, “and more resourceful than most.”

Zach
shook his head, but said nothing as his gaze slumped to the ground.

He
sensed that Zach wanted to say more, but the boy remained silent staring at the
earth. “Anyway, thank you for your help.” He climbed the bank to his car and
drove toward town.

His
first stop that morning was the sheriff’s office. As Caden walked in, Hoover sat
on the edge of his desk staring at pages held in his hand. At the edge of his
vision, Caden detected movement and turned. Dr. Scott looked up from a
collection of papers on a table before her.

Caden
wasn’t sure how long she had been a doctor in the community but, from his
perspective, she had always been there, always been a doctor and always had
gray hair. However, it was unusual to see the law-abiding doctor in the
sheriff’s office so, he asked, “What brings you here?”

“Pestilence—unfortunately.”

“What?”

The
doctor sighed and leaned back in her chair. “There’s a new strain of influenza with
a high mortality rate spreading in FEMA camps around what is left of L.A. and
San Diego.”

“Southern
California is a long way off.” Caden shrugged.

“Yes,
but flu has a habit of spreading.”

“Is
there a shot for this type?”

She
shrugged. “This strain is so new we don’t know how effective the current
vaccine will be.” Her eyes drifted to the floor. “I should have tried to get
more flu serum, but there are so many meds we need, so many shortages.”

“As
I remember flu hits the young and old really hard.” Caden recalled the last
time he’d seen Hoover’s mother in the hospital. He wanted to ask how she was
doing, but this didn’t seem like the time.

“The
very old, those with serious medical conditions, the particularly vulnerable,
most of them are already dead.”

Caden
glanced at the sheriff.
Nope,
not a good time to ask about your mother.
“What do you think we
should do?”

“That
was what we were discussing,” Hoover said. “We can’t block off the town again.
Some food and medicine is coming in and the mayor and county commissioners are
trying to get the economy up and running again.”

Scott
nodded. “Dr. Winfield went to the Longview camp yesterday….”

“Who?”
Caden asked.

“Winfield
from the camp that was just outside of town on the North Road. He agreed to
stay on at our hospital and has been a great help. Anyway he told me that there
are over a quarter of a million people in and around the site. They’re doing
their best, but it’s a breeding ground for infection. Dysentery and typhoid are
constant dangers.”

Even
the best of the camps Caden had seen were to be avoided. In every camp the
mixture of decay, body odor and human waste hung heavy in the air like some
toxic cologne of the Devil. Disease was always a worry. Caden shuddered
involuntarily.

“We
have checkpoints on the roads coming into town,” Caden said. “What if we train
the men to look for symptoms? If they show signs they don’t get in.”

“They
could still be carriers without showing signs.” The doctor shrugged. “But,
without an effective vaccine for this strain, that may be the best we can do.”

Hoover
nodded and walked over to a large map of the county. “The combination of Guard
checkpoints and police patrols keeps the state highway safe from the mountain
pass in the east to the freeway in the west. The North Road is clear to
Olympia. Our weak area is to the south. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
He looked at Caden. “Farms and homes are being raided south of here.” Hoover
pointed to several small towns. “Bandits have put up roadblocks to rob
travelers.” He pointed to spots along several highways. “I need your help
restoring law and order, and securing the roads.”

“With
the war preparations we’re stretched thin, but I’ll see what we can do,” Caden
said.

Hoover
shook his head. “I guess the terrorists won. People are hungry, scared and
fighting each other.”

“They
won the first battle, but if the terrorists ultimately defeat us it will be
because Durant assumed dictatorial powers and cut a deal with the Chinese.”

Hoover
remained silent.

“Are
you having second thoughts?” Caden asked.

“I
was angry the day of the battle. I wanted to stop the soldiers who shot our
people. But now I wonder if we can’t find a better way.”

“If
Durant allows the presidential election, removes restrictions on the press, and
recognizes the new congress, I’m sure there won’t be a war.”

“That’s
not going to happen.”

Caden
shrugged. “Then the country will continue to split and the economy collapse.”

The
doctor stood. “You two can talk about politics, I’ve got patients to take care
of.”

Hoover
nodded and the doctor turned and departed.

Hoover
returned his attention to Caden. “The economy is collapsing—there’s food in the
grocery store around the corner, but have you seen the prices?

Caden
shook his head.

“It
costs over five dollars for a can of corn or green beans. Trucks are moving,
commerce should be getting back to normal, but no one trusts the money. Most
say it’s worthless and won’t accept it as payment. Inflation is…well, out of
control.”

“My
dad never had much faith in paper money. I guess a lot of people agree with him
now. We may not be able to change the current situation but, hopefully, most
people were prepared for it and can endure until life gets better.”

“Aren’t
you the
philosopher.
” Hoover grinned.

Caden
smiled. “I’ll let you know if we can get patrols for those communities in the
south.” He turned to leave and then stopped. “There was a red-haired teen at
the battle with us. His first name is Zach….”

“Zachary
Brennon. Yeah what about him?”

“No
one in my family knew him. I guess I’m just curious. It’s remarkable that one
so young would help in such deadly serious actions.”

“He’s
a minor, but not all that young.” Hoover turned to his computer and typed with
two fingers. When the file appeared, he nodded. “Sixteen. He’s been arrested
four times.”

“Really?”
Caden’s eyes widened. “He didn’t seem like a bad kid.”

Hoover
shrugged as he looked at the file. “Misguided. Dad was killed ten, maybe
eleven, years ago.”

“Do
you know what happened?”

“I
remember some. It was a robbery.” Again, the sheriff typed with his index
fingers. He leaned closer to the screen and put on his glasses. “At the time
the family owned the convenience store beside the freeway, the one across from
the church.”

Images
flashed through Caden’s mind of Henry, the farmer from Oregon, camped in the
parking lot and the reunion with his father on the night of the gunfight across
the street at the church. “Yeah,” he said, “I know the place.”

“A
three-time loser crackhead entered demanding money. The Dad had a bat,
crackhead had a gun.” The sheriff shrugged. “We arrested the perp the next day.
He was so high he didn’t even try to run.”