Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) A American (fun to read .TXT) 📖

Sarge looked around and said, “Well, now that the good Sheriff is here, we can go.” He got off his stool and walked around the island to where Miss Kay was making herself busy. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. It was the first public expression from either of them, and it felt kind of weird. Like when you were a kid and saw your parents kissing. But no one said anything. Because, while it was a little strange to us, it was also a good thing. A change was coming over our little community. A good change.

We all climbed into the Hummer with Ted at the wheel. Mike wanted to drive, but Sarge put the kibosh on that idea. Saying he wanted to enjoy his coffee, not wear it. We rode in silence as rain beat down. Apparently, windshield wipers were an afterthought in these military trucks. While they technically functioned, they did little to keep the windshield clean.

The markets in both Altoona and Umatilla were deserted. The roads were totally empty, except for us. Since the roads saw so little traffic, usually just one of our vehicles and the occasional bicycle, the water was pooling up heavily in places. In others, heavy streams of water flowed along the edge. At times, depending on the grade of the road, these flows would cross the road to the other side. The Hummer splashed through these, sending sheets of water into the air.

We pulled through the barricade at the edge of town. The men standing watch there had no appreciable shelter and simply stood in the rain, wearing ponchos or Gortex jackets. They looked miserable.

“Why haven’t they built something to shelter them up here? They stand in the sun and they stand there in the rain.” Mike commented.

“Conditions are what you make them,” I replied as I watched one of the guardsmen watch us pass, a rivulet of rainwater running off the front of his Kevlar helmet.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Mike acknowledged.

“Their leadership lacks creativity,” Sarge said. “As a result, they do too. Poor bastards.” Sarge looked over his shoulder at me and asked, “What are you going to tell him?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t really thought of it yet.”

“You better well hurry up and figure it out!”

“Quit yer bitchin’. I’ll figure it out.”

We pulled through the back gate of a nearly vacant armory. Sarge turned in his seat and looked at Mike. “Go find the best trucks. We’re not taking any broke down shit and I ain’t letting him decide what we’re taking.”

Mike nodded and Ted said he’d help. Jamie also volunteered for the job and the three of them got out and headed to where the trucks were parked. Sarge and I went inside. We found Sheffield and Livingston leaned over a radio in their comm shack. Someone was giving a report.

Just seems odd for these civilians to be moving in this weather. Something is pushing them out.

Sheffield keyed his mic and asked, “Have you made contact with any of them?”

Negative. We’ve just been observing.

“Alright. Don’t contact them. Wait and see what’s behind them.”

Roger that.

Sheffield laid the mic on the table and turned around. “What’s that all about?” Sarge asked.

“Our pickets are seeing a bunch of folks on the road. Kind of weird for them to be moving in this weather,” Sheffield replied.

“Where at?” Sarge asked.

“Up on the 441, just east of Mount Dora,” Livingston replied. “We moved them out there to give us some warning if something were headed this way.”

“Well, let us know if something comes up.”

“What are you guys doing up here on a day like this?” Sheffield asked.

“The Sheriff here needs something,” Sarge replied and looked over his shoulder at me. Sheffield looked at me expectantly.

“I need a couple of trucks and trailers and a few of your people for a few days. We’ve got a little issue I want to address up our way,” I said.

“What is it?” Livingston asked.

“This may be a good thing for all of us. There’s a group of bandits holed up out in the woods. They’ve got vehicles and a rather large stash of fuel from what I understand. They raid people’s houses and waylay them on the road. I want to take them out. Whatever supplies they have, I’ll bring up here for the folks in town. The fuel too.” It was a total lie, but it sounded good.

“What do you need?” Livingston asked.

“I need one MRAP, one five-ton truck and a trailer for each. We’re going to haul our small buggies in the trailers to the AO to save on fuel and such. The MRAP will be used in the assault and the trailers are for whatever we find.”

“Wouldn’t just the truck be enough?” Sheffield asked.

I lied some more, telling him we’d already done a recon on the place and saw large fuel tanks. Sarge helped me embellish the details to the point Sheffield and Livingston were excited at the possibility of all the loot they’d get. When we were done, they were offering to go on the raid with us.

“No, this is just a law enforcement issue. Wouldn’t be right for you guys to be involved.”

“I’ll go get you a couple of trucks,” Livingston said.

“Just round up a half dozen of your people. We’re going to use them for security for the trucks, since they are yours,” Sarge said. Laying on the ass-kissing pretty heavy. I was happy he did it with a straight face.

“Alright. You know which trucks to get?”

Sarge nodded and waved him off. “Oh yeah. We’ll get with your motor pool NCO and get it sorted.”

Livingston nodded and headed off to volunteer some of their people. Sarge and I left the building and went to find the guys. They already had the trucks ready to go, with the trailers connected. The two big vehicles sat idling with Mike behind the wheel of one and Jamie in the other. Some of the Guardsmen were busy filling three fifty-five-gallon drums in