Resurrecting Home Page 8

  The sound of the shots caused alarm, increasing the intensity of the fighting. Jamie was now on her back with Singer on top of her. Tabor and Ed had one soldier on the ground, trying desperately to strip his weapon. Mike and Ted leapt into the fray, making their way toward that scuffle. Ted shot Ed in the neck with his Taser, dropping him to the ground. Coming in at a run, Mike kicked Tabor in the face, a crushing blow that threw him onto his back, unconscious.

  Singer was delivering a fusillade of closed-fist hammer blows to Jamie’s face. Jamie was trying to fend them off but darkness was closing in around her. She couldn’t get her weapon up because Singer was sitting on it. As a last resort she reached for the knife attached to her body armor. It had been a gift from her dad, a nice Bark River Recon. Many a deer and hog had been skinned with it. As she drew the knife there was a sudden pause in the assault. Jamie didn’t know that Ian and stepped in and grabbed Singer by the hair, wrenching her head back. Seizing the opportunity, Jamie thrust the blade as hard as she could with her right hand into Singer’s ribs.

  Singer let out a yelp, looking down at Jamie with wide eyes. Jaime pulled the blade out and thrust it into her ribs again. Singer was pulled off by Ian as Jamie lay there trying to catch her breath. Her face was on fire and she could taste the blood running down the back of her throat from what she was certain was a broken nose. She coughed and a splatter of blood covered her chin.

  Ian rolled Singer over and quickly cuffed her. Once secure he dropped down beside Jamie, cradling her head. Then he saw the knife and the blood.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Ian reassured her, then called out, “Doc!”

  She didn’t reply to say she wasn’t hurt—even the effort of breathing hurt. Doc was quickly at her side, checking her over. Seeing the knife on the ground, he started looking for wounds, but only found fresh blood.

  “Jamie, have you been stabbed? Are you cut?” he asked as he undid her armor.

  Rolling her head to the side she spat a slug of blood into the sand. In a garbled voice she replied, “It’s not me, it’s her. I stuck that bitch.”

  Doc stepped over to Singer and rolled her over, but it was obvious she was dead. Doc left her and returned to Jamie who was now trying to sit up. He started wiping the blood from her face, but Jamie pushed his hands away. “I’m fine, Doc, let me just sit up.”

  “You think you’re fine, let’s get you up.”

  While Doc worked on Jamie, the rest of the prisoners were being secured, the fight having been quickly put down. Tabor and Ed were lying facedown in the sand, side by side. Mike and Ted jerked them to their feet. Sarge led them at gunpoint to the door of the bus. As Tabor approached the door, he asked with a heavy voice, “Where are we going?” His upper lip was split in two just right of center, which gave him a grotesque look.

  “When the bus stops you’ll know,” Sarge replied with a smile.

  “What do you people think you’re doing? What do you think you’re going to accomplish?”

  “You had these people living like prisoners. You should be ashamed of yourselves, acting as if you were higher than God. I guess if you think you’re the solution to cleaning up this mess we’re in, then maybe the government isn’t the answer to everything. What’d you guys think you were going to do, lock everyone up? You can’t cage the entire country.”

  “This ain’t over yet. I’ll be seeing you again,” Tabor spat.

  Sarge smiled. “Every boy needs a dream, and I hate to squash dreams, but I’ll make an exception for you. This is over, Sport, and somehow I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again.” Tabor glared back in response. Sarge looked at Ian. “This one here needs some cuffs.”

  After Tabor was cuffed and led on the bus, two Guardsmen brought Niigata over. As Ian was cuffing Niigata, Sarge looked at him. “So what’s your story? What’d you think you were going to accomplish?”

  With great effort Shane managed to walk over to the bus, and instead answered Sarge’s question. “He’s their interrogator. And he’s a piece of shit too.”

  Sarge looked at him. “Well then, looks like you’re getting on the bus too.”

  “Nothing more than an inconvenience,” Niigata replied, then looked at Shane. “I’m sure everything will work out, one way or another.”

  Shane spat into Niigata’s face, he smiled. “And here I thought you and I were friends.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t kill you,” Shane replied.

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that easy.”

  Sarge raised his pistol and put it against Niigata’s temple. “Wanna bet?”

  Niigata glanced sideways but said nothing.

  “Lower the pistol, this is done!” Sheffield ordered.

  Sarge raised the muzzle. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “So it would seem,” Niigata replied.

  “Get them on the bus,” Sheffield ordered.

  Once the bus was loaded, Sheffield walked up to the officer in charge of the security detail. “Thanks for taking them off my hands.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. Now I’ve got to deal with them. They should feel at home once we get them there,” he replied with a smile.

  Sheffield smiled. “Better you than me. How many of them are there in Frostproof?”

  “Oh, there’s a ton. They’ve been consolidating from all the camps. Originally, they were holding them at MacDill, but now that we’ve taken over the camp in Frostproof, they’re shipping them all there. It’s one of those FEMA camps that everyone used to say didn’t exist. You know, I used to hear about those things, and I was one of the people always saying it was all bullshit”—he shook his head—“but I can assure you it’s all true.”

  “What’s the plan for them?” Sheffield asked.

  “Shit, like I’d know. You’re a captain and you’re asking me?”

  Sheffield laughed. “Guess you’ve got a point. Thanks for taking care of this situation. And thanks for the supplies you brought.”

  “Well, I was told to tell you there won’t be any more.”

  “I appreciate it anyway, thanks.”

  The officer stepped up on the side of the Hummer. Giving a loud whistle, he twirled his hand in the air to signal the convoy to pull out. Everyone watched as the buses and Hummers drove toward the gate.

  “Damn. I’m glad they’re gone. That was a shit show,” Livingston said, giving voice to what everyone else was thinking.

  “We’re going to take Jamie to the clinic to check her out,” Doc said as Ian helped her get in a Hummer.

  “She all right?” Sheffield asked.

  “Yeah, she just took a bit of a beatin’,” Doc replied.

  Sheffield looked over at Singer’s body. “Who shot her?”

  “No one. Jamie stuck a blade in her.”

  “I know I heard a shot,” Sheffield replied.

  “I shot one of them ‘civilians’ that was rushing in to help them,” Sarge said.

  “What? What civilians?” Livingston asked.

  “Remember them ones that was getting close to the bus, you told them to back up?” Livingston nodded. “When the fight started they tried to rush in, so I put a round into one of them. You didn’t even see them, did you?” Sarge replied.

  Sheffield looked around. “Where’s the body, the guy you shot?”

  “One of his buddies helped carry him off,” Sarge replied.

  Sheffield turned to Livingston. “Get a detail together to find them.”

  Livingston nodded. “Hey, Perez! Get some guys and find the civilian who’s been shot.”

  Perez nodded and waved at a couple of the Guardsmen. Mike and Ted walked past Sarge, telling him they were going to the clinic to check on Jamie.

  Sheffield turned to face Sarge. Jabbing his finger at him, he shouted, “I told you no shooting!”

  “Did you even see those guys coming in? Why didn’t you know one of them was DHS? He was hiding here right in the midst of you people and you had no idea,” Sarge shot back
.

  “A gun isn’t the answer to every problem.”

  “Quite to the contrary, Captain, it’s been my experience that pulling a trigger usually takes care of the problem, permanently.”

  Sheffield shook his head in disgust.

  “With the threat gone, what’s your plan for shutting everything down?” Sarge asked, trying to change the topic.

  “I’ve got orders to move back to the armory, so that’s what we’re going to do,” Sheffield replied.

  “What about for releasing the civilians? What’s your plan for them?”

  Sheffield looked at the camp. “We’ll do it in waves. You know my feelings on the issue. Try to be as humane as possible. I don’t think now is the time for us to be abandoning people. If there ever was a time for us to be assisting the citizens of this country, it’s now.”

  “If it were like Katrina, isolated in scope, then I would agree. But this is the entire country. It’s everyone, and the full might of the combined branches of all services couldn’t make a dent in this,” Sarge replied.

  “I hate to say it, Cap, but he’s right,” Livingston added.

  “It just feels to me like we’re running out on people,” Sheffield replied tiredly.

  “Then take comfort in the fact that it’s not your decision,” Livingston said.

  Sheffield looked at him. “And live with the fact that I’m essentially throwing people out to their deaths? It just doesn’t seem right to me. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  “Captain, be realistic. How long do you think you can take care of them if you try? How long can you feed them and your people? What if more people arrive and want to come in? You’re looking at a headache of management at the least, a full-blown crisis or mutiny if it continues. And those civilians before . . . You think they were aligned with DHS? Better to shut it down,” Sarge said.

  Sheffield shifted on his feet. “The decision has been made. We’re heading back into town.”

  “That’d be a good idea. Get you closer to the community, offer protection. There’s a lot of badness coming our way soon,” Sarge added.

  Sheffield raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Where you from, Cap’n?” Sarge drawled.

  “I’m from upstate New York, been down here for a couple of years. Why?”

  “Then you probably haven’t been able to experience the best of our hurricane season, my friend. Another couple of months it’s going to kick off, maybe we’ll get lucky, maybe we’ll get hit. Hell, in oh-four they played a game of piñata with us.”

  “The last thing we need is a damn hurricane,” Sheffield said, scratching his head. Even over the time period Sarge had known him, the captain looked like he had aged years. “We wouldn’t even have any warning, would we?” he said, sounding exhausted.

  “Not sure what kind of satellite resources the boys upstairs at MacDill have. They may be able to give us a warning, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Sheffield paced around. “You bring up some good points. I need to talk to Livingston about how this will all play out. We need to weigh out the needs of who is here versus the needs of the community. I don’t want to just abandon these folks. I want to give them as much of a chance as we can.”

  Sarge leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I didn’t say it would be easy, but you gotta watch out for your own hide, just take it from me.”

  As they were finishing up their chat, Livingston pulled up in front of the Hummer with Kay in tow. She looked up at Sarge. “Well, hi, Linus. Nice to see you again.”

  The old man smiled. “Good to see you too, Miss Kay.”

  She smiled and looked at Sheffield. “Captain, what can I do for you?”

  “First, some good news: the boys from the Frostproof camp came with some supplies. I want you to look it over and give me an idea of what it will do for us, how long it will last.”

  “Well, how many people do we have here now that the DHS are gone?” Kay asked.

  Sheffield looked at Livingston. “Last count was two hundred and seventeen civilians, but some leave every day, it seems, plus our people. We’re currently just shy of a hundred including dependents.”

  Kay looked at the stack of boxes. They had various labels on them: MOUNTAIN HOUSE, THRIVE, and several others. All contained cans of various freeze-dried foods.

  Kay squinted and let out a long exhale. “Even with this, we’re really going to be stretching it. There’s just so many mouths to feed,” Kay said. “I’m trying to do my best. I’ve already cut back to two meals a day, but I don’t know how long we can hold out with what’s on hand plus this. We might get two weeks if we’re feeding everyone.” She paused and timidly asked, “What’s the government doing with this stuff? It looks civilian.”

  “The DHS went on a spending spree a couple years ago, stocking up on freeze-dried food and ammo,” Sarge replied. “It was all over the place. I followed a lot of alternative news, but it got so bad it actually made it into the mainstream media, though they didn’t do much with it.”

  “Oh, I never heard about that. Why would they do that, though?” Kay asked.

  Sarge held his arms out and spun around. “Look around, what do you think?”

  Surprised, Kay asked, “You think they knew this was coming?”

  “Knew? Hell, I think they were in on it.”

  Sheffield stared at the boxes, then rubbed his temples. Two weeks? This was so much more than he had bargained for. He was fine with taking care of his unit. He could depend on them, and for the most part they took orders and pitched in. But these civilians were a different story. There were just so many of them, and many offered little effort in the maintenance of their own lives. It made for a heavy burden.

  Sheffield rubbed his chin. “LT, join me in my office.”

  Sheffield fell into the chair behind the desk and let out a long breath. Livingston took a seat across from him. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I don’t know how to do this. I mean, how do we tell these people?”

  “I guess we just tell them like it is. They’ve got to move on. Tell them that right now we’re just not in a position to support them.”

  “Why did they send us in here to do this? What was the point of taking over the camp just to leave it?” Sheffield asked.

  Livingston laughed. “For the same reason we’d take cities in Iraq only to leave them. Remember, military intelligence is an oxymoron.”

  “I wish MacDill would give me more info. If I knew what was going on it would really help.”

  “All we can do is act on the orders we have, like it or not.”

  “Get all the squad leaders in here so we can brief them. They need to know what’s going on,” Sheffield said.

  Livingston nodded and left the office. Seeing him leave, Sarge stuck his head in the door. “What’s the plan, Captain?”

  Sheffield rubbed his face. This was really wearing on him. “We’re going to brief the squad leaders, give them time to get their people up to speed, then I’ll address the camp.”

  Sarge nodded. “Good deal. I know you don’t like it, but the sooner we deal with this the better.”

  Sheffield nodded. “Let’s go over to the conference room. They should start showing up pretty quick.”

  Once all the NCOs were accounted for, Sheffield stood up. “All right, listen up. Some things have changed and you guys need to be aware of them. We’re now in regular contact with command at MacDill in Tampa.” This wasn’t news to many of the assembled—the rumor mill was fast and efficient. “We’ve been ordered to close the camp. We’re relocating back to the armory, and before you ask, no, I don’t know why. In a little while, after you’ve had time to inform your people, I’ll address the camp and let the refugees know we’re leaving.”

  “Why’d we even bother with this, then?” Perez asked.

  “Because we had orders. Now we have new ones. I don’t make them up and I don’t know any more than I’ve just told you
. We were ordered back to the armory and are to await further orders.”

  A staff sergeant in the back of the room called out, “What are we supposed to do with all these people?”

  “As much as I hate to say this, it’s not our problem.” The statement stirred those assembled, and they began talking among themselves, Sheffield raised his voice and continued, “MacDill is of the opinion that these folks are in the same position as everyone else. Nowadays, everyone is essentially a refugee, and we are no longer in the refugee business. I don’t like it any more than you do, but we have orders and we will carry them out.” Sheffield paused, and there were no comments. “I’ll give you thirty minutes to let your people know before I address the refugees. Get to it.”

  The squad leaders quickly got to their feet and left the room. Sheffield looked over at Sarge, and the old man nodded his approval.

  “All right, LT, call them together for an address. We’re going to start putting them out. Let’s go through the gear we have and see how we can equip them. I don’t want to send them out with nothing.”

  “What about weapons? You know they’re going to ask,” Livingston asked.

  Sheffield looked at him. “Okay, but only what we retained from when the DHS did their sweeps of the civilians. No military-grade hardware. And do something with that body,” he added, referring to Singer’s corpse.

  “Roger that, boss,” Livingston replied and headed off to make an announcement to the camp.

  “Have you sent anyone out to the armory yet, to check on it?” Sarge asked.

  “No, we only got the orders this morning, but we need to. As soon as this address is over we’ll get a patrol down there.”

  * * *

  “You look like shit, Jamie.” Ian said with a smile. Doc had moved her back to the barracks and was examining her more closely there.

  Jamie turned her head. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut and her lip was likewise inflated. She did indeed look like shit.

  “Go to hell, Ian,” she said through gritted teeth.