Liberators: A Novel of the Coming Global Collapse

14 MUTUAL SELF-INTEREST

As they prepared to take the exit off Highway 79, Joshua was processing a lot of different information. No matter what the situation was, he knew he had to find solutions that wouldn’t lead them into a trap. He didn’t want to put them in that position if it could be avoided, not because they were incapable of defending themselves, but the five of them likely couldn’t shoot, move, and communicate effectively if they became decisively engaged. “Looks like there’s a Speedway gas station over there. Let’s check that out. Malorie, be sure to look for a way out like a curb to clear or bushes to drive over for any line you pick to drive down. The last thing we want to do is drive into a shooting gallery that we can’t get out of.”

Megan, who had been passing out Goldfish crackers as a snack to the boys in the backseat, breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. “I’m glad that you said that, since I was thinking the same thing.”

Malorie carefully circled wide past the Speedway to survey the area. A large group of cars seemed to be forming at the McDonald’s and Bob Evans parking lots, with a few car horns sounding and people getting out of their vehicles to confront other drivers. The Speedway gas station had cones across the entrance, and a large piece of cardboard spray-painted with the words, NO POWER, NO GAS. Standing in the parking lot as an antilooting measure were five guys with long guns. Clearly, the expectation was that this situation could get ugly in a big hurry. Malorie drove past the gas station, turned the Jeep around, and pulled over. She then looked over her shoulder to address the group. “Seems like this whole area could get violent fast with the interstate shut down. No power, no food, no fuel—we need to figure something out quickly. I doubt most of these people in overloaded vehicles are as prepared as we are, but it’s only a matter of time before they figure that out.”

Joshua thought before he spoke and said, “That Speedway may still have gas to sell, but they aren’t selling it because they don’t have a way to get it out of the tanks in the ground. Lucky for them I’m with two very smart ladies who improvised a battery-operated pump for just such a situation. The question is, can we get close enough to ask them to allow us to pump fuel with our pump without seeming like a threat?”

“Joshua, if you walk up to them they are only going to see a fit guy with a holstered pistol and likely not hear what you have to say. If I walk up there with the pump in my hand and ask for the owner, they’ll be less likely to perceive a woman as a threat. I think that I have the best chance of us actually finding out,” Megan said. As she finished, a gray Chrysler sedan with the tell-tale lunging and sputtering sound of a car that is running out of fuel passed them and drifted to an odd angle as it coasted past them to the curb on the opposite side of the street.

“I can’t say that I like sending you, but those guys don’t seem like they want to get into any kind of a discussion about the gas, so I’ll stay back here with the .270 to cover you if need be.” Joshua swallowed hard. “Be careful. I noticed that there’s a guy with a black rifle up on the roof. I love you.”

Megan opened her door and then accessed the ammo can on the floorboard, removing the pump device that Malorie had fabricated for her. She then kissed the boys, said, “Mommy will be right back,” and closed the door. She looked into the passenger window and smiled at Joshua and Malorie, then approached the men with the pump device in plain view. After a short conversation with the first man holding a shotgun, he pointed her to another man standing between the plastic-wrapped overpriced bundles of firewood and the ice-chest freezer. Megan confidently approached him and explained the situation. From behind the wheel of the Jeep, Malorie could notice the situation change after Megan spoke to the second man; she could see her gesture toward the Jeep and see him nod in approval. Then he started to shout something to the other men standing in the nearest entrance, gesturing wildly with his one hand while holding a lever gun in the other.

Megan’s diplomacy had worked, and she waved to them in the Jeep, pointing to the cast-iron covers recessed into the cement in the rear of the Speedway parking lot. Joshua turned to the boys. “How are you guys doing back there?” An echoing “Good,” came in stereo from the backseat, and Malorie slowly maneuvered the Jeep toward the fuel-access holes in the rear of the parking lot. She parked the Jeep so that it was facing generally toward the road, but so that she could easily clear the curb and make an exit through the adjacent back lot if need be. Joshua got out of the Jeep and met Megan by the man near the firewood and ice-chest freezer, noticing that Megan was relaxed and the man was obviously very happy. The man by the freezer spoke first and said, “Your lady here is very smart. I have fuel to sell, but I can’t get to it. As you can see, the interstate is closed and things are going to get very ugly here soon.”

Joshua answered, “We did notice the situation is potentially volatile here.” He extended his hand. “My name is Joshua Kim.”

The man with the badly pitted lever gun offered his hand and said, “I’m Ganesh Sansudeen. If you can pump the fuel out with your device, I can sell it to you at fifteen dollars per gallon. Of course, if you were willing to offer the pump in partial payment, then we could negotiate for a lower rate, say ten dollars per gallon. This gives you fuel at a lower price and me the opportunity to sell gasoline, something that would help us greatly right now.”

Joshua sized up the offer and then prudently answered, “Ah, friend, you’re mistaken if you think that I’m in charge here. Frankly, it’s not my pump to sell. You’d have to ask this smart and beautiful woman right here. She’s the owner of the pump.”

Megan thought about the situation and the “savings” on fuel now versus what they might need to do in another situation tomorrow. “Mr. Sansudeen, I can appreciate your offer and it’s a fair one on all accounts. However, we’re traveling much farther west, our route is uncertain, civil order is deteriorating, and we can’t say what the power situation will be at any other gas station on our way. This pump is our only means to access fuel in tanks below ground. Yet, I think that perhaps we can agree to do something to help the situation in your favor. I assume that you’re running a cash-only business here today?”

Ganesh looked at her intently. “You are correct, ma’am.”

Joshua was transfixed watching his fiancée negotiate this situation. It was clear that Megan was bargaining from a position of power. “Then we can pour fuel into our Jeep from the fuel jugs we have with us, then refill those jugs and be able to meter with a high degree of certainty how much fuel we are buying from you today. In trade, I cannot exchange my pump, but I would be happy to rent it to you so that you can fill your vehicle and then any jugs that you have available on hand. This would give you the opportunity to sell fixed quantities of gasoline to stranded travelers at a price that you set—fifteen dollars a gallon seems reasonable given how hard the commodity is to come by right now. In exchange for using my pump, we would be buying the fuel we take at nine dollars per gallon. Do we have a deal?”

Joshua showed his loyalty to Megan by maintaining a poker face as Ganesh stroked his chin and turned the offer over in his head. “We have a deal. How long are the leads on your pump?”

Megan had already thought of this and quickly responded, “Long enough to reach that pickup truck over there so as to not present the risk of starting a fire with fumes and an errant spark.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Please fuel your Jeep from the cans that you have with you, as you said, then replenish the fuel that you need. I see that you have three five-gallon cans with you. As a separate agreement, would you sell me one of those empty jugs for thirty-five dollars? That’s four gallons of fuel in trade for an empty jug. You see, I have thousands of gallons of fuel, but no way to get to it right now and precious few jugs to sell it in. Although, after seeing your pump, I intend to have one of my guys start building one right away if we’re able to do so.”

“Four gallons of fuel for an empty gas can?” Megan asked out loud to be sure that she understood, and Ganesh nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, we can agree on that.”

Both Megan and Joshua shook hands with Ganesh. “Nice negotiating, there!” Joshua said as they walked away from Ganesh to the Jeep.

Joshua posted himself with his .270 rifle behind a small berm on the back edge of the parking lot. He had heard a lot of activity coming from the general direction of the McDonald’s and Bob Evans across the street, and he wanted to identify threats before they became too proximal. Two of the men posted close to the road were turning away people regularly now, but Joshua wondered for how long people would take a polite “no” for an answer. With this many people stranded, someone was bound to get stupid. Having seen the whole transaction between his boss and Megan, one of the men employed by the gas station came over to Joshua.

Joshua knew that he would be coming to ask him what he was doing, so in the interest of brevity Joshua said, “I’m just here for overwatch while they fuel up the Jeep. We should be gone soon.”

The man was in his midtwenties, with a short-cropped haircut and a good physique. He said, “Going where, exactly? Since you have Maryland plates I take it that you’re not from here and that you probably haven’t heard why the interstate is closed?”

Joshua had been moving from crisis to crisis since they exited the interstate, negotiated for fuel, and got themselves generally sorted out. He had uncharacteristically not thought of the next step from here. “You are correct, sir.” Joshua remembered his manners and extended his right hand, “My name is Joshua Kim and I’m in need of information, please. We’re headed west to Kentucky, if at all possible.”

“Derrick Klaus. Nice to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Joshua did not want to lose tactical awareness, so he posted himself with a 120-degree difference in field of view so that between the two of them they could at least keep an eye on the developing situation. “All of this chaos is nationwide, but the biggest news here in Charleston is the prison break last night,” Klaus explained.

“Whoa, that’s a big variable. How far from here?”

“It was the Mount Olive Correctional Complex, West Virginia’s only maximum-security prison. It is less than forty miles from Charleston heading south and east as the crow flies. Although the prison houses less than a thousand inmates, they’re the worst of the worst. The whole thing was clearly planned and likely an inside job. I would love to tell you that those thugs were on foot, but a group of them stole three buses, killed a bunch of guards, and likely had an arms cache supplied to them as well. All of that was reported across the ham network, not the news channels, mind you. They were not intent on raping and pillaging the common folk yet; instead they made a beeline for the state capitol building. By the time the authorities knew what was going on, they had two hundred violent criminals descending upon Charleston. The governor and the legislature fled and there simply weren’t enough good guys with guns to quell the rebellion. Geography is your biggest obstacle right now, Joshua. The interstate freeways are blocked, and you’re unfortunately on the wrong side of Charleston to be trying to flee westward.”

“How long until your situation here becomes untenable?” Joshua asked.

Derrick never lost his cool; Joshua guessed he had some kind of military experience keeping him focused through all of this as he continued to scan his sector. “I think that we’ll have a full-blown riot situation here in about ninety minutes or less, and I’m not expecting that there are any cops left to dispatch to this place.”

To punctuate Derrick’s comments a close gunshot was heard, followed by screaming from the other side of the Bob Evans. Joshua was following the briefing the best that he could, but realizing that they would need to leave soon, he asked, “Are we without any options?”

“I grew up around here, and the problem is that your Jeep is not amphibious. To get anywhere in West Virginia, you’ll need to eventually cross water. If you head south and east toward Montgomery, West Virginia, then you’re cut off from a viable route west anytime soon. I’ve been keeping tabs on the ham network through my friend Lou, who relays a summary to me every half hour or so. Lou is working up the road at the church with a community-organized roadblock. When the interstate was blocked, we didn’t want people pouring into our neighborhoods, looking like refugees but intent on pillaging the good people that I grew up with.”

Derrick pointed without looking to his right across Joshua’s rifle. “If you head up Frame Road there, you’ll run into the roadblock and not be able to get any farther west. However, if you like, I can radio to Lou and tell him to let the guards know your party is coming. They can let you through, and from there you can make your way to the Raymond City/Dunbar area. If that bridge isn’t closed, then you might still be able to cross the river and then beat feet west and south from there to get to Kentucky.”

Joshua assessed the whole situation before accepting Derrick’s help.

“Now for your test of character and goodwill.” Joshua looked puzzled. “Did you notice the Chrysler that sputtered to a stop past you where you were parked initially?” Joshua nodded. “That old lady is stuck; no fuel and no way to get it. I know that she lives over in the Raymond City area. The route west across the back roads is pretty complicated if you don’t know it—but she does and could give you turn-by-turn directions. This isn’t a must, but if I were you, I’d be sowing some good karma right now and take her with you to Raymond City. It’s your choice and your risk to take her or not take her and lose precious time before that bridge potentially closes. I think that your ladies over there have that fueling mission wrapped up, so it’s time to react most rick tick. I’ll call Lou while you load up.”

Joshua thanked Derrick and went over to the Jeep to brief Megan and Malorie on their options and the recent developments in Charleston. The sisters agreed that taking the grandmother was a good move. “I have to think that God would honor that,” Megan said. “She can sit back here with one of the boys on her lap while you and Malorie continue to drive and keep your eyes open. I have a feeling that things are not going to calm down until we are well out of Charleston. I’ll go talk to her; Joshua, you pay and ask Derrick how we signal the guys at the checkpoint.”

Joshua hustled across the parking lot and thought, “She thinks of everything!” Derrick was walking toward him with the radio up to his mouth. Joshua said, “Derrick, I cannot thank you enough. My fiancée went to get the woman in the Chrysler; we can get her to Raymond City. What is our signal to Lou?”

“Good on ya, not everyone would have done that for her. Lou said to get a yellow plastic WET FLOOR sign and attach it to your front brush guard. That way they can wave you through from afar. The roadblock is layered, so to get past the first two points, then to the serpentine section, you have to advance to be recognized. Those boys up there are good shots, so proceed with caution. God bless.”

Joshua thanked Derrick again and paid Ganesh in cash for the fuel, thanking him once more. He asked for a WET FLOOR sign for the checkpoint and Ganesh appeared back out in a moment with it and some duct tape. Joshua paid him an extra ten dollars for the sign and then got into the driver’s side of the Jeep. Malorie was partially standing in the Jeep, with one leg out, using the door for makeshift cover as much as possible in case she had to react quickly. The boys had been hunkered down in the bushes, but as Megan crossed the parking lot with her arm linked with the older woman’s, Malorie called them, “Viens ici!” They were all loaded up as the last strip of duct tape was applied to the WET FLOOR sign. The Jeep pulled out of the parking lot, turned right, and then left up Frame Road. A short round of introductions and pleasantries were exchanged with Mrs. Townsend, their new passenger.

Joshua downshifted into second gear and slowly approached the first barrier, an old Pontiac station wagon from an era when Americans built cars that measured sheet metal in acres. The young man situated behind the engine block saw the WET FLOOR sign as a signal and waved them through, speaking into his radio.

Joshua slowly cleared the second barrier and was again waved ahead, then crept through the serpentine section up the hill toward Sandy Grove Missionary Baptist Church, where he was greeted by a young, overweight man holding an Icom radio. Malorie rolled down the window and the man said, “Hey, you must be Joshua; I’m Lou. I see that you took the extra passenger.” Leaning over to talk to Mrs. Townsend, he said, “Ma’am, how are you?”

Mrs. Townsend answered, “I’ve been better, but thank you for all of your help. I was visiting my grandchildren in Sutton; now all I want is to get home. I haven’t been able to get hold of my husband, Dale. The kids all insist that I carry this stupid cell phone, and it hasn’t worked since about noon today.”

“We noticed the same thing, but us hams are prepared for that!” Lou held up his Icom radio and then continued, “We are getting reports that the roads from here to Dunbar are passable, no significant reports of civil unrest. Keep that WET FLOOR sign on your brush guard; I can relay to other hams farther down to look out for you.”

Joshua said, “Will do.”

“How are you fixed for water?” Lou asked.

“We’re good on water, food, and also fuel, thanks to some prudent planning by my sister back there,” Malorie said.

“Once you cross the river you should be okay. Godspeed.” He tapped the hood of the Jeep like some sergeant in a war movie, and they were once again making progress westward.