With A Whimper
by
oldmudrat
Posted at www.storiesonline.net 
September 14, 2005

Chapter 7

Date: February 28, 2016

"I'll try not to disappoint you," I said. "I don't know where this is going, but I do want you with me for the ride."

"And that is where we will leave it for now," she said. "We like each other, seem to get along, and are good together in bed.  Let's just take it one day at a time."

Well, at least now I knew how she felt.  Didn’t I?  My own feelings were somewhat tangled except for one point.  I did like Kathy.  We had known each other off and on for three or four years. She was no Jules, but she was a good person.  That was what I thought anyway. 

 I didn’t know her THAT well.  I had met her through Doc Caldwell during the many times I would shadow him.  He would be doing his job, making rounds in the hospital, delivering babies, operating and just hanging out with the folks at the hospital.  I don’t think he had a life outside his patients.  

Anyway, that is how I met Kathy.  Nothing really clicked between us before.  Maybe it was just the circumstances this time around.  But... 

I mentally shook my head to stop that train of thought.  Too damn much thinking, I told myself.

“One day at a time,” I said.  “O.K.”  I gave her hand one last squeeze and stood.  “For today I want to look around the house.  Granddad left something here before... well, before what ever happened to him happened.  Apparently I supposed to know where to look, but I have no idea where or what he was talking about.  So, I’m going to look around and see what I find.”

Kathy took the dirty bowls and glasses to the kitchen sink, placing them with the empty cans.  

As she started washing up, she said, “I’ll finish up the inventory after I clean up.  By the way, I found a couple of empty boxes in the utility room and I’m using them for cans and bottles.  I don’t think we should throw anything out.”  She held up an empty ravioli can, now clean.  “They’re not making any more of these now, you know.”  She placed the can on the drying rack to join the others from last night.

“Good idea.  I hadn’t thought of that.  I don’t know what we will use them for, but you never can tell.”

“I’m sure something will come to mind.”

----------------------------------------------------------------- 

I wandered the house and found myself in Granddad’s office.  This was the sleeping area in the original cabin.  About thirty feet square.   Along the walls were bookcases with full shelves.  Loose papers were stuck between many of the books.   A massive walnut desk was in the center of the room. One wall had an antique railroad stove with the flue disappearing through the wall.  There was plenty of clearance around the stove to avoid fire.  Kerosene lanterns were positioned to supplement the modern electric light fixtures.  Granddad’s radio equipment covered one table.  A couple of tables, a couch, several chairs and lamps, throw rugs on the wooden floor and a liquor cabinet completed the room’s furnishings.  

The room could have belonged in another century if it wasn’t for the radio gear and the computer and large screen TV.  Two years ago, Granddad had bought one of the new ultra-thin systems.  The screen was one of those new three-millimeter thin flexible models.  Usually it was mounted on the wall opposite the desk.  But now I could see that it was rolled into a tube setting on the desk.

Granddad usually had a pile of papers, books, this and that on the desk.  It was not that way now.  The rolled-up TV screen was on one side of the desk.  Four pens were also on the desk, positioned in such a way as to point to an antique desk clock.  A leather bound journal was leaning against the desk clock.

I sat at the desk and turned on the computer.  The indicator lights on the cigar-box sized unit came alive as the system booted.  There was a blur of light beams as the holographic display and keyboard came on-line.  

The system’s voice was a sexy alto that brought to mind hot tropical nights and promises of wonders to come. “Identification required”.  I placed my right thumb onto the biometric slot.  Less than a second was required for the system to accept my thumbprint.

“Welcome, James Thomas Greer.  Starting system upload.”   The familiar Windows HOLO Edition - not so affectionately known as Windows HELL Edition --  logo appeared with a status bar active along the bottom of the display

The 3-D display soon showed the system icons floating in the air.   I glanced over the contents and file labels.  There were less of them than I remembered.  Granddad must have changed the system since my last visit.  I poked the icon labeled ‘read me first’.

A separate hologram video display started.  It was Granddad, apparently seated at this desk.  The file date, displayed along the bottom of the frame, was one week previously.  February 22, 2016.  He looked healthy, although with a couple of day’s beard growth.  He was wearing his habitual white shirt and denim coveralls.  

He began talking.

“I am assuming that it is you, James.  This system is configured to not boot unless you pass initial identification.  It is good to know that you are alive.  I would have tried to contact you sooner... I should have done it anyway... but there are more important things I have to do and you are busy enough.  There is still a thing or two I have to do, but I want to get this file done while I have the time and energy.

“If you are watching this, then it is a safe bet that I am not around.  There is a chance that you will not see this.  You probably will, but...”  He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “... better prepared than not.  

“Time is short and I had better get on with it.  There is a lot that you did not know about me, James.  A lot I could never tell you.  I cannot even tell you now, even like this.  There is always the chance that it is not you listening.  

“I have done my best the last few months to prepare this home for you.  IF you have survived the Flu - you were still alive when I checked last week - then you are going to need a refuge.  A place to hold up until things settle..  It is not going to be easy.  I could have made it easy, but that is not the best thing in the long run.   Live or die, you are going to have to do it the hard way.  That is the only way it will mean a damn thing.  We are going through a bad time.  Only the strong, smart, and lucky will survive.  Hell, we  may all go the way of the dinosaurs and wooly mammoths.”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “It makes no difference to me now what happens here.  I will not be here, one way or the other.  

“This place is as ready as I could make it.  That is not saying you have everything you need to survive.  You have a long, hard row to hoe, James.  Gather the ones you trust around you.  You will need their help and they will need yours.  Pay attention to the place.  Look around and you will be surprised at what you may find.  Give your trust sparingly.  Defend your best chance to live against those who would take it from you.  I am talking about those who even now feel that the world owes them something.  Those who would rather take than give.  Even with ninety-nine per-cent of the world dead, you can be damn sure that there will be plenty of that kind of vermin around. 

“A couple of important points then I have got to get on with my work and I’m sure you have better things to do than sit there listening to me.  One, don’t be surprised by anything.  Two, I am leaving you something that could mean the difference in a future of just getting by and one giving you a real chance to keep a decent tech level in place.  You know where to look, I would imagine.  Three, always remember the most important part of Life and where I laid my cherished treasure.

The image of Daniel William Pitt glanced at his watch.  

“I wish you luck, James.  There is not much time for me now.  I have ‘miles to go and promises to keep before I sleep’.  I will see you again.  In this world or the next.  I love you, James, like my own son.  Remember that.”

His image disappeared and the computer displayed, System reboot. Format starting.	

There was nothing I could do to stop it.  

The file was gone and I feared that I had seen my Great-granddad’s image for the last time.

What did he mean?  There was that I would know ‘where to look’ mystery again?  I didn’t know where to look or what I was supposed to be looking.  Plus what was this about a treasure?  I will admit Granddad was much better off financially then he lead people to believe, but he had always told me that it was the results of prudent investments over the years.  Now that I think about it Granddad never really gave me any solid explanation of how he could afford the changes he had made to the farm.  He always changed the subject.  However, buried treasure was a long reach, even for Granddad.

The computer display had changed to ‘Loading From Server. Configuring New Command Authority.’ and a timer counted downward from forty seconds.

I finally reached the conclusion that Granddad had not wandered off, but he was dead.  His body was probably somewhere on the property.  He had died while completing whatever he was going to do after making the video and had not been able to make it back to the house.  I would probably come across his bones one day.  

I wondered why it didn’t bother me that much.  The only family member that I ever really loved and got along with was probably, almost certainly, dead.  Why did it not affect me more than giving me a vague feeling of loss and a wish I could see the old man just one more time? 

The computer display showed ‘System Reload Complete.  New Command Authority Protocols Engaged.  Level Two Security Protocols Engaged.’.

A bit disgusted with myself, I pushed the chair back and picked up Granddad’s journal.  Many, many times I had seen him writing in these journals.  He had done that for as long as I knew him and he once told me that he had started doing so after he resigned from the army.  He never let me read them.  It got to be a game between us.  I would sneak off and purloin one of the journals, but he would also find me before I could even open it.

Turning to the bookcases, I searched until I found a shelf of old journals.  These were only a fraction of those Granddad had completed.  I did not know where he stored the others.  There always seemed to be just that one shelf, even though the journals themselves varied from visit to visit.

Settling myself on the couch I began to read the first entry that was dated at the start of the year.

Most of Granddad’s writing concerned things that he had done on the farm, repairs he had made, new construction, seed and fields to be prepared for planting.  Several pages were dedicated for various expenses; each item was itemized and dates of delivery were noted.  There were many references to such-and-such item ‘completed processing’ on such-and-such date.  After each of these of entries there was also a note that the ‘sample chamber’ had been reloaded.  I had no idea what that meant.

There was one entry for each day.  It may have been only a couple of lines, but Granddad had written something each and every day.  It took a couple of hours for me to read and re-read the entries from January 1, 2016, until his last entry dated February 24, 2016.  Four days ago.  

Granddad was alive four days ago, two days after he made the video.  Some time within the last four days Granddad had been a victim of the Flu, his age or an accident somewhere on the farm

Four days.  I had missed seeing him by that little time.  So close.  I mentally kicked myself for not coming home sooner.  

It was during this time of self pity that a small red light over the doorway into the hallway began flashing.  Each doorway in the house had such a light, as did each of the outbuildings.  

“Jimmy!” Kathy yelled from the kitchen.  “There is a red light flashing like crazy in here.”  She came hurrying down the hallway.  “What’s going on?”

I met her at the doorway.  

“We are having visitors, Kathy,” I said.  “It’s probably the others returning, but let’s not take any chances.”   I pointed into the living room.  “Behind the couch is a thirty-thirty Winchester rifle.  Can you handle one of those?”

“I deer hunted with one when I was a kid,” she answered and rushed to get it.  “I was in the army, remember?  They gave nurses weapons training, too.”  She picked up the rifle.  I saw her open the lever action, eject a cartridge, and close the lever seating a new cartridge into the barrel.  After lowering the hammer on the live round, she retrieved the ejected cartridge from the rug and pushed it into the loading slot.  “Now what?”

I pointed to the front window of the living room.  “That’s your post.  We have about ten minutes before whoever it is gets here.  I’m going upstairs and get my Glock, and then I will be across the hall here at the office’s front window.  Just keep an eye out.  I’ll be right back.”

Kathy nodded and kneeled by the window looking down the driveway, her weapon ready.

I made a mad dash to the bedroom upstairs and grabbed the pistol and an extra magazine.

Coming back down stairs I took the time to tell Kathy that if it was our returning friends for her not to shot them.  That got me a real sarcastic reply and a suggestion that I knew was physically impossible.  

The wait seemed to last forever before the first vehicle topped the hill and started down the driveway.  It was huge and not one that our friends had at the hospital.  As it got closer I recognized it as an army surplus M-813, 6X6 transport truck.  They had been phased out of active service five years ago.  At twenty-five feet in length, it could carry a payload of five tons.  

Oh, Shit, I thought. We’ve got problems now.  Just the two of us here.

Then from behind the M-813 Kathy’s Jeep pulled out and passed the truck.  I could now see an ambulance and a couple of loaded pickups top the hill and start down the drive.  

As they got closer I could see that Tim Wilson was driving the Jeep with Doc Caldwell in the passenger’s seat.  I did not recognize the driver of the M-813 as it pulled to a stop in front of the house.  It looked like he was wearing military garb though.  Not a good sign as far as I was concerned.  

The other pickups carried Sarah and Sam Miles and Jennifer Nolan and four other people.  There were three women and one child.  All of them looked like locals and had that haunted look about them that seemed to identify survivors these days.

I stood and walked into the hallway.  I told Kathy to keep her post.  I wasn’t sure about the military guy.

After things had really gotten out of control, the Army and the rest of the nation’s armed forces had pulled out of major cities.  They could not control the rioting.  Their own personnel were dropping like flies and command authority decided to pull any surviving military forces into secure areas.  The plan had been to re-emerge from those areas after the Flu had burned itself out.  

Well, the secure areas proved to be not so secure.  The military forces died just like everyone else.

I knew  –  in my head I knew --  that a military presence in the areas of the worst rioting would have changed little.  But I was still pissed-off that they left us on our own.

Holding the Glock behind my back I stepped onto the front porch.  By now everyone had gotten out of their vehicles and was walking to the house.  

The military guy was walking behind Doc and Tim.  Doc and Tim were keeping up a conversation, but I was not really listening.   I was watching the military man.  A captain, I could see his rank insignia.  He looked surprisingly healthy.  He had not missed too many meals and if he had been down with the Flu it had been several months ago.  The typical Flu survivor took many months to regain their pre-illness weight and appearance.  The uniform looked as if he had spent more than one night sleeping in them.   He had faded-blue eyes that expressed no emotion except a controlled alertness.  His eyes swept the house and made a quick glance to the barn.  He was scoping out the terrain and situation in my opinion.  He had no visible weapon, but he did keep his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Hey, Doc,” I said.  “I see you brought an ambulance.”

“Yeah.  It was the easiest way to carry the med supplies I wanted.”

By now they were only a few steps from the front porch.

“Who’s the army weenie, Doc?”  I asked.   I motioned them to stop.  “Captain, mind taking your hands from your pockets.  No offense meant, but I don’t know you.”

The Captain stopped.  He ran his gaze over me.  I could tell that he had also noticed Kathy at the window with a rifle pointed at his head.  From this range there was not much chance that she would miss.

“Whoa, there, Doctor Greer,” the Captain said pulling his hands from the pockets.  “I’m just a soldier without a country looking for a place to land.”  With slow, deliberate movements he pulled his jacket off and dropped it to the ground.  Then he made a slow circle, turning to show that he had no weapons visible.  

I motioned for Doc, Tim and the others to come on up.  The Captain took a step forward, until I glared at him.  He was left standing there out in the open.  

“Who’s in the eight-thirteen?”

“The what?” Doc said.

“The big truck, Doc.  Who’s in there?  How many soldiers did the Captain bring with him?”

“No one, Jimmy,” Doc said.  “This is Captain Peter Hill, formerly U.S. Army Corps of Engineers Reserve.”

“How did you find him?”

Captain Hill had a patient look about him now.  You know the kind a parent gets when dealing with a stubborn child as he waits for the tantrum to subside.

“He pulled into the hospital yesterday, while we were out here.  Peter is from here, Jimmy.  I delivered him myself years ago.  His parents were good people  -- dead now, of course.”

“Yeah.”

“I vouch for him, Jimmy,” Doc said.  When I did nothing but look at Captain Hill, Doc repeated, “Jimmy, I vouch for him.  He brings news.   You should at least hear his story.”

“O.K., Doc.  If you say so.”  I motioned Captain Hill to come on up to the porch. 

Hill picked up his jacket and, carrying it over his arm, he walked over.

I slipped the Glock into the rear waistband of my jeans.  “Again, I mean no offense, Captain Hill; but I’m gonna have to pat you down.”

Hill nodded, spread his legs and held his arms out.  “I would be disappointed if you didn’t, Doctor Greer.  Have at it.”

So, I patted him down.  Arms, neck, torso, legs, boot tops, even ran a hand over the Captain’s groin feeling for a weapon.

I held my hand out.  “Your beret, Captain.  Please.”

Hill handed it over.  When I was satisfied that there were no hidden weapons, I handed the beret back to Hill.  He fitted to on his head at a rakish angle.  

“Am I safe, Doctor Greer?” Hill asked.

“Oh, I doubt that you are safe, Captain.  I cannot find any weapons though.”

Hill smiled knowingly.  Looking at the window where a gun barrel was pointed at his stomach, he said, “I’m safe enough, but I’m no fool either, Doctor Greer.”

“Well.  Come on in, everybody,” I said.  

The others did just that.  I held Hill back and he and I entered last.  

Kathy stood in the living room door still holding her rifle.  

“Kathy, meet Captain Peter Hill,” I said.

“Captain.”

“Ma’am,” Hill said with a slight bow.  “A pleasure, I’m sure.  Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

The others had kept on walking back to the kitchen as we stood in the hallway talking.

“No invitation has been issued yet, Captain Hill,” I said.  “A meal and a cup of instant coffee is the most I’m offering right now and a chance to tell your story.  What’s in the eight-thirteen, Captain?”

“Mostly food, water, and camp supplies, Doctor Greer,” Hill said.  His tone carried a great weariness with the questioning.  “Some weapons and ammo, but mostly food and water.”

“Well, come on back to the kitchen and we will get you that coffee,” I said.

Kathy eased the rifle’s hammer down and followed us.

To Be Continued . . . 

Note to Readers:
Chapter 7 was edited by Oldfart and Patrick.  Their work, help, and suggestions are greatly appreciated.  Any errors are my own and I proudly claim them!  Chapter 8 is complete and will follow with a couple of days.  Chapter 9 is almost half complete.  Right now I am hoping to finish this story in about 20 chapters.

Thank you for reading.  Thank you for your emails.  Thank you for your suggestions.  

oldmudrat