Liberators Page 12

  Once they were passing farm country again Joshua said, “I feel pretty good to drive. Obviously we all heard what the sheriff’s deputy said about stopping on the side of the road, so I think we need to head west and south as fast as we can.” Malorie had stashed a couple of 5-hour ENERGY drinks in the glove box before they left Kearneysville that morning, and she offered one to Joshua, who accepted it. “Normally I don’t drink these, but this is not a normal day—thank you.”

  “I don’t think that we will see or even hear about normal for quite some time yet,” Malorie said. “Okay, look for a right-hand turn coming up.”

  Megan, who was confined to the backseat, was starting to feel carsick. She opened the window a crack and tried to sing songs with the boys to take her mind off it. There were noticeably fewer cars on the back roads, and most of the houses that they passed by still had power. The moon was full and the air brisk as Joshua piloted the Jeep down the West Virginia back roads.

  In Hamlin, West Virginia, there was a full-blown riot erupting at a local gas station. As Joshua looked to find an alternate route around the bad situation, he noted aloud that it was good that there were still cops responding to the scene. “I wish that I could think of an expedient way to cover those gas cans we have hanging off the back of the Jeep; they would make us a huge target if the wrong crowd spots them.” Malorie asked if her sleeping bag would help, and Megan said that it would irreversibly smell like fuel forever.

  The Jeep cleared Hamlin and Malorie was just briefing Joshua of his left turn onto Route 10 in West Hamlin when he interrupted her and said, “Whoa, there are road flares up ahead—everybody stay buckled up in case we need to turn around quickly or make an evasive maneuver off of the pavement. We don’t know who the friendlies are here, and we don’t want to drive into a trap.”

  There were houses on each side of the road with lights on inside, and just past the bridge in the town a delivery truck from the local lumberyard was blocking the roadway. Flanking the road on either side were a dozen or so men with hunting rifles and shotguns. Joshua didn’t see any presence of the law there, but this didn’t appear to be an officially sanctioned checkpoint. Joshua rolled the Jeep to a stop about 250 meters ahead of the action and left only the parking lights on. “Malorie, jump in the driver’s seat and keep the Jeep running. Keep one hand on your shotgun and one on the wheel. Be prepared to get out of here in case I don’t come back.”

  “Where are you going?” Megan asked from the backseat.

  “I’m not going to drive us into a trap—we need information at arm’s length. You staying here with the car while I walk up won’t be as threatening to them, and I have no idea how triggering happy anyone is up there. If I’m detained and don’t come back in thirty minutes, please leave and find another way around. I love you!” Joshua was moving quickly because the situation could change just as fast, and he didn’t want to expose everyone by driving up into the fatal funnel. As the door closed, Megan cried out, “I love you, too!” She hugged the boys and rolled down both windows while loosening the bungee cord that retained her shotgun.

  Joshua walked deliberately in the direction of the checkpoint and interlaced his fingers behind his head when he was a hundred meters out. The air was definitely cold, but he had kept his NSA Police service jacket unzipped so that they could see he was carrying a pistol. He hoped that the embroidered badge on his left jacket breast would at least give him some opportunity to speak with the person in charge. Malorie couldn’t hear what was going on, but she could see three men approach Joshua as he neared the checkpoint, their weapons generally aimed at him. Joshua stopped and Malorie could tell that he was trying to say something. The three men escorted Joshua around the back of the truck and out of sight.

  The next fifteen minutes were very tense, and Megan showed it on her countenance. Two of the three men who led Joshua out of sight rejoined the rest of the men at the checkpoint; no one seemed to be giving away anything by their conduct about what could be happening on the other side of the lumber truck.

  What Malorie and Megan couldn’t have known was that Joshua was being a very cool customer. When approached by the three men with guns, Joshua said, “My family and I in that Jeep request safe passage through your town to Route 10 South. We’re on our way to see my brother in Kentucky. May I speak with whomever is in charge?”

  The middle-aged, stocky man in a flannel shirt with a vinyl puffy vest zipped halfway up said, “Right this way.” He reached out to grab Joshua’s right arm to escort him behind the truck after noticing Joshua’s pistol, keeping one hand on his rifle the whole time.

  Joshua glanced at the truck, and other than the name of the lumberyard on the door, the GVWR, and the DOT number, he saw only a small vinyl graphic indicating a local chapter of the Knights of Columbus affiliation. Behind the truck he could see a small vendor’s pop-up tent with three walls flapping in the breeze with the words KETTLE CORN written across the awning. Inside, a small group of older men stood around a kerosene heater trying to keep warm while a pair of Coleman camping lanterns illuminated the makeshift command post. Against the back wall was a table with a police scanner and a ham radio set being operated by an overweight woman. The man who had Joshua’s arm addressed one of the men in the tent. “Mayor Simons, this officer approached the checkpoint and asked to speak with you.”

  The mayor was wearing a long tan wool coat with a crucifix pin on the lapel, earmuffs, and a plaid scarf. He was stamping his feet to keep warm and around the outside of his coat on his waist was a thick leather belt and a full-flap cavalry-style holster with what appeared to be a large-frame Ruger Blackhawk revolver inside. The mayor removed his right mitten, tucked it under his left arm, extended his hand, and said, “Mayor Lamar Simons. What brings you to West Hamlin today?”

  “Mayor Simons, my family and I request safe passage through your town to take the junction south on Route 10. Sir, we are coming from Kearneysville, West Virginia, on our way to Kentucky to see my brother.”

  The mayor was distracted by an update from a fireman holding a Motorola radio in the tent, and turned to get a piece of paper off the desk behind him. “You may not know this, Officer, but the governor just declared martial law an hour ago. In his decree he gave local authorities”—the mayor was squinting to read the text—“the power to do what is ‘reasonably necessary’ to maintain law and order. Now, you no doubt came through Hamlin to get here; where were you before that?”

  “Mayor Simons, by God’s providence we were able to circumnavigate Charleston. No doubt you’ve been briefed on the events there today.”

  The mayor put his mitten back on his hand and stamped his feet as he talked. “Indeed, that’s quite a death toll already, and the West Virginia National Guard is going door to door trying to contain the escaped convicts. The governor has left Charleston and is running the state remotely from a mobile command post.”

  “Sir, I know that you have no way to tell our party apart from anyone else coming down this road—it appears that your town straddles a key junction on these secondary roads. We simply want to get to my brother’s house, near Danville, Kentucky.”

  “The Danville area, you said?” Joshua nodded. “Very well, how are you fixed for fuel?”

  Although the general situation seemed calm enough, Joshua sensed that there was a fishing expedition being launched here rather than a benevolent mayor offering him fuel. It had been only forty-eight hours since he spoke with Dustin on the phone about “haves and have-nots,” and Joshua realized that he needed to segue into another topic other than his resources. “We have a partial tank of fuel and empty cans on the back that we hope to be able to fill up at the next safe opportunity.”

  “Ah, that may be a while. By my order, none of the filling stations in town are selling any fuel—we need to ration what we have so that we don’t end up like Hamlin. I’m short on police right now because all of mine have been dispatched there to restore order.”

  Joshua chose his words c
arefully now. “I did see that as we passed by; your men were doing a fine job and, in my opinion, should be commended.”

  Mayor Simons smiled. “In addition to being the mayor, I also own the local lumberyard. It may be a while yet before we start making deliveries again, so until then my truck stays parked there to regulate traffic.” The fireman was speaking on his radio again, and the mayor was distracted by another aide in the tent. He took a six-inch-square piece of card stock off the table, picked up a pen, checked the time, and then signed the card. The mayor then held it by the corner and made a slight fanning motion as if he were cooling himself on a hot summer’s day. Joshua picked up on the theatrics. All cops talk to each other about their experiences, and when he was on his one deployment to Al Udeid Air Base with the Air Force Security Forces he got an earful about how business was done outside of the First World. Joshua knew he was about to get asked for a bribe. “Now, this will cover you through West Hamlin, but West Virginia is a sizable piece of real estate. I know every mayor in this area between here and Kentucky. What’s your plan to get past the other checkpoints if your luck runs out?”

  Joshua realized that this had gone from fishing expedition to full-on quid pro quo and that there was a huge power differential here. One angry word from the mayor and they would all be detained, stripped of their belongings, and thrown into jail; there wouldn’t be any habeas corpus anytime soon. Joshua remembered a missionary speaking about his ordeals in these bribe situations at his church in South America, where he had had little to leverage. Mayor Simons was understandably selling that which every government is in the business of selling: security. Joshua knew that he couldn’t blame him; if every person were to give up fuel instead of taking it, then the town would be on the plus side just for straddling the key road junction. Joshua knew he had to strike decisively, and there were no extra-credit points for honesty. “My brother Dustin is a Catholic priest and I asked him to pray to Saint Christopher to give us safe travel. As you know, Charleston is under siege right now, yet God miraculously provided a way around for us. Dustin also has been burning a candle and keeping vigil for us to Saint Alban as we are refugees on our sojourn here. I expect that you have little use for cash right now and I do not have much to offer; we’re merely trying to get through to Kentucky peacefully. I’ll ask my brother Dustin to pray to Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of merchants, to restore your lumberyard business tenfold. We place ourselves at your mercy, Mayor Simons. Surely the petitions of Saint Francis of Assisi are worth more than any material thing we have to offer you tonight.”

  The mayor handed the chit to Joshua and said, “Take this chit and give it to the guard at the gate when you approach with your vehicle. He’ll allow you to pass and radio the guard on the checkpoint at the south end of town. Move smartly because you don’t want them to start looking for you inside town limits—it won’t end well for you. I’ll have Captain Langus here coordinate with our radio operator to notify the other fire department captains in their respective command posts along your route to ensure that they know that you’re coming.”

  Joshua smiled and said, “Thank you, Mayor Simons. Peace be with you.”

  Mayor Simons smiled and replied, “And also with you.”

  Joshua was escorted by the man in the vinyl puffy vest back to the checkpoint. He wasted no time, jogging toward the Jeep. Another car was lined up at the checkpoint now and Joshua could sense the tension rising among the guards and people waiting in the car. Malorie had wisely stayed with the Jeep. Joshua got in and promised to fill them in later as he told Malorie to approach the checkpoint with caution. Malorie noticed the car ahead being turned around, and the driver was angry as he roared past them. She proceeded forward by letting the Jeep advance in second gear at idle. Joshua turned to Malorie and said, “Give this chit to the guard; it should get us through.”

  With only the parking lights on, Malorie rolled to a stop by the guard and handed him the chit. The guard looked at it and said, “Maryland plates? We are redirecting all vehicles with out-of-state plates.”

  Joshua said, “We spoke with Mayor Simons, he granted us safe passage through town. Since we have women and children here we’ll need to make a pit stop in town and Mayor Simons said that would be fine.”

  The guard looked incredulous and asked, “Mayor Simons said that?”

  Malorie gave the man an Academy Award–winning shrug and a sly smile. Joshua replied, “If that man over there with the tan coat and the pistol is Mayor Simons, then yes.”

  As if on cue Joshua waved to Mayor Simons, who waved back. The guard said, “Okay, then. I’ll take the chit and radio the checkpoint at the south end of town. You have thirty minutes to get there.”

  “Thank you,” Joshua said as he handed ten .357 rounds to the guard, “Please see that these get to Mayor Simons from us.”

  When they cleared the command tent and came to the left-hand turn to pick up Route 10 South, Megan and Malorie both let out an enormous laugh. “I’ve only seen that work in Dumb and Dumber! I had no idea it would work in real life!”

  Joshua, too, was chuckling, and said, “You don’t even know the half of it; wait until Father Dustin Hodges hears about this.”

  Megan’s face was perplexed. “You never mentioned that Dustin was a Catholic priest. I thought that he was a sheriff’s deputy.”

  “He is a sheriff’s deputy, but for our cover story Dustin had to be a Catholic priest in order for us to get through. I learned that technique from a missionary at my church. They never have much cash and can’t pay out bribes to those who ask for one—so they hand them a tract and play on their religious sympathies by insisting that it is worth more than money.”

  Jean said, “I’m hungry, Mama.”

  Malorie answered, “We all are, buddy. And like Joshua told the guard”—she promptly elbowed Joshua—“Auntie Malorie has to pee.”

  The disarray of Hamlin contrasted sharply to West Hamlin. They noticed a distinct calm in the town. The steps that its citizens had taken kept the riffraff out of the town but would likely seal in their own native population of ne’er-do-wells. A patrol of four men walked briskly down the street with rifles at relaxed port arms, and Megan noticed that there were no women and children out, never a good sign.

  Joshua suggested that they pull over at the local diner, and he stayed with the vehicle as the group went inside. The girls both had their pistols concealed and Joshua had them leave their carbines in the Jeep to avoid drawing attention. Joshua was never good at remaining idle and sorely wanted to take advantage of the stop to top off the tank, but he was sure that he was being watched.

  Megan, Malorie, Jean, and Leo returned and got into the Jeep. Joshua discreetly told them about the fuel situation and they all agreed. As Joshua was just ready to walk inside Megan said, “Hey, check to see if our cheeseburgers are ready—I ordered them to go.”

  Joshua smirked and said, “I guess that means I’m paying?”

  Megan answered, “Yes, that was about how I had it figured. If not, I’ll gladly let you listen to the revolt that you’ll have from the peasantry here in the backseat.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Joshua returned a few minutes later. He said that he was feeling awake and good to drive. There was something about having to talk your way past local corrupt politicians that markedly raised your blood pressure and adrenaline. Driving and eating takes a certain amount of skill. Driving a standard transmission, eating, and trying to not stand out as you pass through a well-organized town defense is something else entirely, and not for the faint of heart.

  18

  IN DEFENSE OF

  Something happens when an individual owns his home or business. He or she will always invest more sweat, longer hours and greater creativity to develop and care for something he owns than he will for any government-inspired project supposedly engineered for the greater social good. . . . The desire to improve oneself and one’s family’s lot, to make life better for one’
s children, to strive for a higher standard of living, is universal and God-given. It is honorable. It is not greed.

  —Rush Limbaugh, The Limbaugh Letter, 1993

  Southwest of West Hamlin, West Virginia—October, the First Year

  At subsequent checkpoints Joshua asked Malorie to do the talking, and she was able to get to the right person with a radio to confirm their bona fides. Mayor Simons wasn’t exaggerating when he said that he knew all of the other mayors between West Hamlin and Kentucky. By the time they got to Wayne, West Virginia, they had somehow earned the code name “Pope Mobile,” which one of the guards even wrote across the top of the windshield in yellow grease pencil to identify them. Functionally this moniker and Malorie’s batting eyelashes got them through the checkpoints, but Joshua knew that God would be the judge of his transgressions in the final accounting. The necessity of Joshua’s lie to Mayor Simons was the topic of rather heated discussion among the three adults when the boys napped. Malorie was grateful to be past that hurdle but was still perplexed and asked, “We prayed to God this morning at the homestead, which seems like a lifetime ago now, for His help to get us to Kentucky, and we have to break His law to jump through an administrative hoop?”

  Joshua wasn’t proud of what he had done, but there seemed to be little choice. “Okay, I can take your critique here—but what would you have done?”