The day after: An apocalyptic morning (90 page)

              Jack's face lit up like a pinball machine. "Really?" he said excitedly. "You're not screwing with me?"

              "I'm not screwing with you," he assured him. "You've spent almost as much flight time in this thing as I have since we got it. I've seen you watching my every move whenever we've been up. You got the makings of a pilot my man and you'll be the first one. I promise."

              "Thanks, Skip," he said, barely able to contain himself. "When can we start? I mean, can you start showing me things now? While we're..."

              "Now," Skip interrupted before he could get too far along, "we each have a job to do. I have to fly and you have to observe. This is not the time for lessons to commence."

              "Oh... sure... I mean..."

              "It's okay," Skip told him. "Just keep an eye out down there like you're supposed to. I'm going to put you through an extensive ground school before you ever put your hands on these controls. We're gonna take it as slow as possible, all right?"

              "All right."

              "Now let's get back to work, shall we?"

              It took them almost four hours to get the truck safely home. Skip was forced to abandon them at one point so he could fly back to town and refuel (and the town - at first terrified to see the chopper return alone - was very grateful to hear that no avalanche had occurred). But finally they arrived, rumbling and clanking their way onto Interstate 80 and through the gap in the cliffs that served as their eastern chokepoint. They passed the warning signs that Skip had installed and then utilized the offramp that led to the town itself. Soon the truck was making its way through the residential streets inside the wall, belching out great black clouds of diesel exhaust.

              Skip continued to circle overhead until they were safely parked and then he settled in for a soft landing in his accustomed spot. By the time he and Jack made it over to the truck, three quarters of the townspeople were gathered around it, hugging and shaking the hands of the two men who had delivered it.

              Garden Hill now had a functioning fuel station. All they needed now was the fuel.

              They wasted no time. The men and women who were to be involved were hand picked by Skip and Christine (who knew the capabilities, strengths, and weaknesses of the newer guards better) at a community meeting that night after dinner and told to be ready to move out the next morning. More than one person stayed up late that night making in town preparations or learning specific tasks.

              The operation itself began at first light. Paula, armed with one of the M-16s and a radio keyed into the chopper's frequency, and four of the guard force, all of them armed with semi-automatic weapons, climbed into the helicopter. Skip lifted off, the empty 250-gallon transport tank slung beneath, and headed southwest for Cameron Park. He utilized the shortest route possible, going out over the canyon and following it to the point that he had familiar navigation references. He made sure that he stayed well clear of the Auburn area.

              Once at the Cameron Park Airport, he circled around a few times, keeping a sharp eye out for anything below that hadn't been there before. Beside him Paula did the same. Everything seemed as it should be so he drifted down and set the tank gently on the ground. He released the rope from the hook and then made one more pass around the area.

              "Lock and load, guys," Paula told her troops as he spun in for final approach. They jacked rounds into their chambers and stood by. Skip touched down near the hanger complexes to allow them to get quickly under cover if they came under fire. Though this seemed unlikely to happen since they had already made two trips here without encountering anyone, Skip insisted that they go into every situation like it was combat.

              "Go!" Paula yelled at her troops the instant the skids touched the ground. They were out the doors in less than ten seconds, lying on their bellies on the wet tarmac, all of them facing in different directions with overlapping fields of fire. No sooner were they down then Skip lifted back off, buffeting them violently with the downdraft from the rotor and soaking them thoroughly with rainwater.

              Skip circled around for a few minutes just south of the airport, both to keep an eye on the approaches and to be nearby in case an emergency evacuation was called for. Nothing untoward happened and a few minutes after being dropped off, Paula radioed up to him. "Area seems secure," she said. "We're going to deploy near the hangers until the next group arrives."

              "Copy," Skip said. "I'm heading back now. Remember the plan."

              "If we're attacked," Paula dutifully replied, "we'll make a fighting retreat and head into the hills for pick-up later."

              "You got it," he told her. "I'll see you in about forty minutes."

              Skip made two more trips before the first drop of fuel was even sucked from the tank. He brought one more group of five troops - Mick was in charge of this bunch - to help augment the protective force that was already there. He then went and picked up the actual work crew, which consisted of Jack and three of the other guards. They had the pump with them and they would be the ones that kept the transport tank filled. Skip had stayed up late with this bunch showing them how to do their jobs.

              The operation ran fairly efficiently for something that had been thrown together as quickly as it had.

              By the time Skip landed the pump crew, the combat crew had moved through the airport and secured it completely. They were now in defensive positions, watching for approaching intruders. The pump crew set up the pump, attaching it to the same maintenance truck that they had used during the first operation. Once the pump was powered, they refueled the helicopter, topping off its tank.

              "Okay," Skip said to them. "Let's get that tank full. We've got a lot of trips to make."

              It took just a hair over five minutes for the pump to fill the 250-gallon tank. Once it was full, they shut down the pump and the engine that powered it and reattached the rope to the belly of the chopper. Skip climbed in alone and fired up the engine, setting the rotor blades into motion. After a last check of his area he lifted off, slowly rising into the rainy sky until all of the slack in the carrying rope was gone.

              Lifting nearly two thousand pounds into the air by means of a hook and rope assembly was a very delicate piece of flying and something that helicopter pilots did not particularly like to do. It needed to be done slowly and carefully. Rising too fast ran the risk of snapping the rope or rupturing the container, an act that would almost certainly send the helicopter spinning out of control from the slingshot effect. Skip kept a delicate hand on his controls, slowly adding lift until the tank rose inch by inch from the ground. He could feel the tremendous weight beneath him in the sluggishness of the aircraft's reactions. Only when the tank was two hundred feet above the tarmac did he begin to turn to the northeast and move forward.

              The trip back to Garden Hill took nearly forty minutes since Skip was not able to fly terribly fast with the additional weight and drag. Once over the town he descended carefully right over the top of the community center. Paul had built a platform on the peak of the roof, right near the edge, that the transport tank could be set on. Without the electric pump to facilitate moving the fuel from one container to another, they were forced to rely on good old gravity. Paul, up on the roof with Maggie to assist him, used a radio to talk to Skip and guide his movements, telling him to "go back" or "go forward" or "bring it down". Though he was being blasted by the downdraft and pelted with small bits of debris and though he could hardly hear his own voice as it came out of his mouth, Paul's voice was transmitted clearly enough to Skip in the cockpit. This first docking took a few minutes to accomplish, requiring three aborts before the tank was finally resting where it was supposed to.

              "It's in place," Paul told him.

              "Copy in place," Skip replied. Slowly, carefully, he descended a little more, gradually and gently transferring the weight of the tank from the hook on the helicopter to the structure on the ground. Once Paul was able to confirm slack in the carrying rope, he pulled the lever and released it.

              "Good set down," Paul said as the rope fell to the roof. As the helicopter rose up and circled around to land, he turned to his two helpers. "Let's get it transferred."

              Ted, the plumber, with the help of Steve Kensington, the pool-man/mechanic, had installed a nozzle capable of taking standard two and a half-inch fire hose onto the transport tank. Paul utilized this nozzle now by leaning out and coupling a fifty-foot length of hose to it. The hose ran straight down to the water tanker, which was parked directly below, the other end connected, via a series of coupling rings, to the four-inch supply nozzle on the top of the tank.

              "All ready?" Paul yelled down to the two women below who were handling that end of the operation.

              "All ready," they yelled back up.

              "On its way then," he said, opening the nozzle.

              It took almost ten minutes for the fuel to run out of the transport tank and into the storage tank. As soon as it was empty Paul and Maggie used the rope to lower the tank back to the ground. Skip and two helpers took it from there, dragging it back over to the chopper and reattaching it to the hook. Three minutes later the engine was spinning up.

              As he lifted into the air, Skip checked his watch. The first emptying cycle had taken twenty-eight minutes to accomplish. He hoped they would be able to cut that down to twenty by the end of the day.

              He touched back down in Cameron Park at 10:30, just over two hours from the time the first drop of fuel was pumped. The first task was to refuel the helicopter for the next trip and then the next load of fuel was pumped from the storage tank into the transport tank. By 10:50 he was back in the air.

              In all, by working non-stop without lunch and with only minimal bathroom breaks, they were able to transport five loads of fuel - 1250 gallons - from Cameron Park to Garden Hill that day. Skip landed with the empty tank at Cameron Park at 4:30, the cargo compartment of the chopper laden with sleeping bags and cans of food. The security and pumping troops quickly unloaded these and carried them over to the hanger where they would be spending the night.

              Skip had wanted to spend the night at the airport with them, arguing that it would save time the next day if he didn't have to make a dry run from Garden Hill to start operations. Paul had utilized the veto power that came with being the only remaining committee member and ordered him to return home with the helicopter at the end of the day's operations. "We simply can't risk you and that machine like that," he'd explained. "I know you want to be with your troops, but the best place for that chopper at night is where it's safest, and where its safest is back here."

              Though Skip wasn't happy with this ruling, he nevertheless agreed to abide by it.

              "Be careful out here tonight," he told Paula and Jack, who were in charge of the group.

              "We will," Paula promised. "If there's any trouble we'll just pull back and contact you by radio in the morning. Don't worry about us."

              He smiled. "It's my job to worry about you," he told her.

              They shared a brief kiss and then Skip climbed into the helicopter. We went through the start-up procedure and three minutes later was lifting off. By the time he made it back to Garden Hill it was nearly dark.

              Though he was quite exhausted from a day spent nearly constantly behind the controls of the helicopter, Skip was not too tired to respond to Christine that night in bed when she expressed an interest in lovemaking. They enjoyed a long, slow, very heated session that ended with both of them sweating profusely and out of breath.

              "I think I'm starting to see a little swelling in your belly," Skip said afterwards, as they lay cuddled together atop the covers, the light from a single candle providing scant illumination. He was running his hand softly over her damp stomach where, just above her pubic hair, the slightest bulging of her uterus was starting to make itself known.

              "I'm going to be a fat pig in a few months," she said sourly, her own hand toying with the hair on his chest.

              "You're going to be beautiful," Skip told her. "Pregnant women are hot."

              "You must be kidding," she said in disbelief.

              "Not at all. When does a woman look more feminine after all? Just ask Jack how hot pregnant women are."

              "If you don't mind," she said, "I'd just assume leave my brother out of the discussion. The mental image of him having sex is something I'd rather not think about."

              He laughed a little, kissing her forehead. "Well I assure you," he told her. "I'll still boff you when you swell up; often and well."

              "I'll hold you to that," she said, giving him a kiss of her own.

              They lay together in silence for a little bit as the sweat dried from their skin and then, when they started to shiver, they blew out the candle and climbed under the covers. Skip didn't toss or turn, he didn't speak or make any noise, but Christine still knew that he was not asleep and she also knew why.