Age of Survival Series | Book 2 | Age of Panic Read online

  As he gave the room a second look, he realized things could have been a lot worse. The table and chairs were good quality, not cheap folding furniture. High up on the wall opposite the door were two small windows that let in some diffuse daylight and provided a little bit of ventilation.

  “They got Pat’s boys locked up in another room across the hall,” one of the other men said. “I heard them and some of the cops talking already. I think Pat’s in her own room down here.”

  “Do you know if the town’s holding anybody else?” Jerry asked.

  “Couldn’t tell you. Haven’t seen or heard anything.”

  Frank Miller spoke up, “I suppose the smart thing would have been to separate us for questioning. At least get some statements from each of us individually before putting us all together.”

  “Don’t think they have the space to keep us apart, or the time to do any sort of interrogation,” the first man replied. “Only one with any solid police training is Schuster. Two of his regular deputies did some basic course at the local tech school; the other one is still an intern. The guys he deputized since the Event are mostly just his buddies that didn’t have anything more useful to do, or guys that saw a chance to put on a badge and play cop for a while.”

  Jerry eyed the man. “So, do we take advantage of the time to get our story straight? While Frank and I were being brought in, my brother said something about holding a hearing tomorrow morning to press charges. That’s a few hours yet.”

  “I say we didn’t do anything,” Miller chimed in. “We were pissed at Pat for the prices she was charging, just like everybody else in town, and when we heard there was a protest going on, we decided to join in. By the time we got there, a big crowd had already gathered and we just folded in.”

  “That’s not going to hold,” Jerry said. He pointed at the other men in the room. “You two damn near led the march to the store.”

  “I don’t think they’d get anybody to testify against us,” the first man said. “Everybody that was outside that store last night was there because they were pissed.”

  “They were there because we got them riled up. We put enough bugs in enough ears that the mayor was putzing around and not getting anything done, and that Dollar King was the biggest symptom of his weakness.”

  “The hell, Jerry,” Miller said. “What’s with you? I thought we were trying to get out of this mess. Sounds to me like you’re trying to confess to everything and more.”

  “I’m trying to be realistic. We’re going to look like idiots if our defense is to straight-up lie about things that half the damn town witnessed.” Jerry stood up and paced to the other side of the small room. “Besides, I’m an outsider here. People may stand up for you three, but if there’s some sense that somebody needs to go under the bus, it’s going to be me. I can’t rely on spouting bullshit and having a ton of witnesses swear it’s chocolate cake. I need a better defense.”

  While the other three men in the room nodded, considering his words, Jerry reflected on them as well. He’d never intended to get anybody killed, or get a whole lot of valuable food and supplies people desperately needed burned up. Things had spiraled out of hand, and his conscience was really starting to chew at him. He was torn between a need to duck out of blame for things he’d set in motion and a twinge that told him he should just own up and take responsibility.

  “Well. You got any ideas?” Miller asked him.

  Jerry shook his head.

  The first man glanced at Jerry. “Well, the fact is, you and Frank here didn’t show up until things were pretty heated. Nobody has to lie about that.” He indicated the other man in the room, who’d remained silent through all of this. “We were among the first to go to the store, but that’s because we’d been out with some other folks and we started talking about the situation and we all got riled up together.”

  “We can keep it straight between us,” Miller said to Jerry. “I mean, it’s true, right? You were at my place yesterday afternoon, keeping a low profile because you and Tom hate each other. We heard there was some commotion going on and went to go check it out. There’s not a single lie in that. If we just stick to those simple truths, your brother’s got nothing that can stick.”

  The silent man finally spoke up, voice gruff. “The mayor’s a rules guy. Army beat that into him. Straight-up truth is that none of us had guns out there yesterday, so they can’t pin any injuries or deaths on us. As for incitement to riot, yeah, we had some heated words, but did any of us, at any point, say burn the place down, or go get ’em, or hang the bastards or anything? We spoke up, and we spoke up loud. But we all stayed on the right side of the law. We complained, but we didn’t call anybody to any sort of action.”

  “He’s right. Tom’s a rules guy,” Miller said. “Not a one of us told anybody to actually do anything. Police never ordered us to disperse, so we didn’t disobey anything. They’ve got nothing.”

  Jerry paced the room again. “Thing is, two people died yesterday. A few more aren’t looking so hot. They had families and friends. Any one of them could be blaming us right now. I think you’re being way too optimistic that people will back any of us up that we just joined in on a spontaneous, leaderless rush on Dollar King to air some grievances that somehow got out of hand. None of us, not me, not you, should be so naïve as to think everybody will say it was nobody’s fault.”

  This got Miller and the other two visibly fretting, even more than he’d been himself. Jerry had walked into the room knowing he was an outsider in town. Sure, he had been raised there, and had friends he kept in touch with, but he was not truly a part of the town. He assumed there he was going to be found guilty of something. He assumed he could rely on nobody to lie for him or put themselves out for his defense.

  The other three, he realized, were suddenly considering that they might be more likely than not to be locked up for a very long time. Their familiar landscape of who’d stand behind them and who’d stand against them had changed, and almost certainly not in their favor. They wouldn’t know who they could rely on until they were brought out and charges were filed or they were put on trial. He did not envy them.

  A silence settled over the room while all of this sank in. It ended abruptly with the sound of heavy diesel engines. All four men shot up and ran to the windows, finding them too high up for a good view. By pushing the table over, they were able to look out.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Miller said.

  “This can’t be good for us,” Jerry said, seeing more than a dozen uniformed men climbing out of two trucks. “I don’t like the idea we may be shipped off somewhere else.”

  “Then we really need to figure out how we’re getting out of this,” the more talkative of the two other men said.

  “Too many guns have suddenly shown up to make a break for it,” Miller said.

  “Then we’re back to a trial defense.”

  The four of them spent several precious minutes watching out the windows instead of getting to task. They could see and hear a little bit, but nothing solid. Eventually, it became clear that there would be nothing useful to learn. With a couple barked commands, the soldiers stood down, slung their rifles, and set to smoking and joking, gathering the attention of curious townsfolk.

  Jerry and his three cellmates finally put their heads together and started working over their story. They were deep enough into it that they were surprised when the door to their room opened. A tired-looking man stepped into the room, flanked by two of Schuster’s deputies. He looked over the four of them, pointed at Jerry, and said, “With me.”

  Jerry shortly found himself in a first-floor conference room, alone with the man who was silently appraising him. He resolved to just ride it out and offer up nothing. Just before Jerry broke, the man said, “Long way from home, huh?”

  “I am.”

  “I can tell you that there’s no chance of getting you back home to Chicago any time soon. Not like we’d do that with pending criminal charges. You’re more
likely to end up in the stockade down in McCoy.”

  “I’d prefer that not happen, Mister…” Jerry said.

  Prange introduced himself. “Out checking on the smaller communities in this part of the state, so we can prioritize our efforts in delivering aid or assisting local authorities in maintaining order. That’s what’s put you on my radar, Mr. Grossman.”

  Jerry frowned at the man.

  “It’s subtle, but the resemblance is there. Your brother’s pretty upset about your involvement in matters lately. Seems you are a pretty clear threat to stability in this town.”

  Jerry wanted to make his argument that his brother was too soft to lead under the circumstances but didn’t think it would carry well.

  Prange continued, “My timeline does accommodate me remaining in town through your hearing tomorrow morning.”

  Jerry caught him reflexively reaching for his pocket, then glancing up at an analog clock on the wall. It read 2:08. Jerry realized it was the first indication he’d gotten of what time the Event might have actually occurred. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “I’m gathering that this town doesn’t have any sort of detention capacity of its own. We’d be doing them a favor if we pulled you back to Black River or McCoy with us. Fortunately for you—or unfortunately—I don’t want to guess your feelings on the matter; we’re scheduled to be here for a few days. Looks like I can set up to use this town as my temporary headquarters while my men and I reach out to other communities in the area.”

  “I haven’t been formally charged with anything, much less convicted, Mr. Prange. I do have rights.” Jerry knew it was a gamble. He had no idea what kinds of Martial Law may be in effect outside of Bowman. He had to admit a certain, sudden appreciation for his brother’s reluctance to put his boot down on the town, now that he was on the ground looking up at the sole of a boot coming his way.

  “As you can imagine, we’re needing certain systems to work more efficiently than we’re used to letting them run. We don’t really have the luxury of letting justice drag its feet. Problems need to be resolved more swiftly and firmly for a while.”

  “Do I at least get a trial?” Jerry asked.

  “That’s up to you, to some extent,” Prange said. “That’s why I’m talking to you now, and I’ll have some words with your accomplices and the other people in holding, and then I’ll present the mayor with a proposal for how to best put yesterday’s unpleasantness to bed and keep it from waking up again. One might argue that getting you and your friends out of town would go a long way toward restoring and maintaining the peace.”

  Jerry had no idea what Prange was trying to say without saying. It certainly felt like a threat, but also an offer for relief in some way. Prange couldn’t possibly be shaking him down for a bribe—he knew Jerry was miles from home, so he likely didn’t have much of value. Was he looking for Jerry to turn on the others? What advantage could that possibly bring? Straight-up asking what was on the table seemed like a terrible idea. Not having any better idea, he neutrally said, “I am more than happy to do what I can to help you and my brother resolve this.”

  “Of course,” Prange said. “I’d like that as well. My job is primarily to bring stability to our communities out here. Dealing with law enforcement issues for those communities is a part of that job I wish I didn’t have to do. I’d prefer it if the town could handle this all on their own without needing me to intervene.”

  “Maybe I could have some words with my brother, see what we might be able to work out?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve got him pretty well occupied for a bit, and I think I’ve still got seven more people to interview about this yet?” Prange leaned back in his seat. “Deputy!” he called out.

  As the door opened, Prange leaned across the table toward Jerry. “I will say that I appreciate your willingness to work with me,” he said, just above a whisper.

  5

  Peter and Larry pulled their bikes off the pavement well short of the homestead’s driveway. The land sloped sharply up from the road along this stretch, except in one place where there was a deep, shallow groove in the ridgeline.

  “Careful of the branches,” Peter said as Larry followed him down a little dip and between a couple of trees. “We need to leave as little sign that we’re coming through here as possible.”

  “I know.”

  “Sorry,” Peter said, having heard more than a little annoyance in Larry’s voice. Of course his friend was considering that. He’d been present for the discussions about camouflaging any approaches to the property.

  “You don’t need to micromanage.”

  “We’re going to have to tighten up on a lot of things. You know that, Larry.”

  “I get it. Just, save it for the things where we need to learn something new or do something different. Don’t get in everybody’s business about everything. You’re being like you were when you first made captain of the team. You and Coach didn’t look at the things we were all doing right, and give us credit for all that, then hit hard on the places we were falling short. You guys just rode everybody’s asses about everything all the time.”

  Peter stopped and turned around. “Yeah. Coach is kind of a dick that way, and I picked it up from him. You all straightened me out, though.” There were days when he thought he could still feel the ache in his shoulder from one of the really rough hits he took during practice as a warning to chill out. “I haven’t been that bad lately, have I?”

  “You’re definitely going that way.”

  “Have I been driving the others batty yet?” Peter asked.

  “Not bad enough that they’ve said anything to me, but it is almost funny how good you are at not noticing my mom or Sally eyerolling you when you start over-explaining things to them.”

  “Well, thanks for the gentle course correction.”

  Larry took a step forward and clapped him on the shoulder that had been dislocated the first time he needed such a correction. “I’m giving you a hard time, but I don’t envy you. Never have, for the way you keep magically ending up in charge of things.”

  “It’s not magic. I’m just really bad at un-volunteering myself when people are looking around for somebody to tell them what to do.”

  “Well, my mom’s not going to sit around and wait when it comes time to start hiding the driveway. She’ll take charge and put your ass to work.”

  “Don’t I know,” Peter said. He’d picked up some pocket money here and there by helping Irene on some of her landscaping projects. She worked harder than just about anybody else he knew, and didn’t tolerate anybody who didn’t at least try to keep up with her.

  As the two approached the house, Peter took a turkey call from his pocket and made an intentionally inaccurate series of cackles with it. He kept his ears peeled until he got a similarly odd call in return. Sign and countersign given, he and Larry continued up toward the house.

  The yard was empty; no patrol was out roving the grounds to greet them. As they’d planned, the folks remaining at the homestead were all inside looking outward.

  As soon as Peter and Larry got inside, their mothers were right into the kitchen to greet them.

  “You’re a lot earlier than I expected,” Nancy said.

  Peter looked at his watch. It was almost noon, well before he’d promised to be home. “Well, given a choice between sticking around down there for school lunch or getting some home cooking, what would you do?”

  Nancy laughed and hugged him. “Let me see what I can put together while you tell us what’s going on.”

  Peter told them about the trip down to Bowman, with Larry adding in details here and there. When they mentioned how long it seemed to take the convoy to get into town, Nancy interrupted. “We heard them down on the highway about the same time you two left, but they ended up on Grand View. You know how the shape of the valley funnels sound from there to us. Don’t know if they stopped for a while or went all the way to the end and back, but they were up there for a bit.” />
  “That damn intersection must have tripped them up,” Larry said.

  Peter knew exactly what he meant. Grand View met the highway at a Y intersection instead of a T, and coming from the east, the curve in the road right there made it feel like Grand View was the main fork, with the highway being the side road. “Well, it gave us a good chance to get some fresh news before the trucks arrived and became the center of attention.”

  “Anything interesting?” Bill Roth asked.

  Peter took a deep breath in. “Yeah.” He looked at his mother. “We got a little more info on the guys that have been on the property, actually.”

  Nancy visibly shuddered at the mention.

  Peter suddenly remembered that one of the three men was still on the property, waiting to be taken off it and put in the ground. “I know,” he said. “It helps a little to know what it’s all about. It wasn’t random, that first day. They had come here specifically.”

  “Why?” Nancy asked.

  “One of the guys is Tom Grossman’s brother, Jerry,” Peter said. “When their parents died, Jerry really thought he’d inherit this land, but Tom did, and then he sold it to you and Dad. Apparently, Jerry’s always kept up on what we were doing out here, hoping we’d move on someday so he could be first in line to buy it.”

  When he finished speaking, he saw a hollow look on his mother’s face. “It wasn’t random bad luck. They came here because they thought we might have things they wanted,” she said.

  “Pretty much,” Peter said, reaching over from his chair to take her hand.

  “Excuse us, please,” Nancy said, accepting her son’s hand. The two of them walked out to Art’s grave. The rest of the homestead went outside as well, unobtrusively, and took up positions out on the corners of the cleared yard. They kept their eyes outward, both to give Peter and Nancy some privacy as they mourned their loss in light of the new information they had about why he’d died, and also to make sure they stayed safe while they did so.