The Coming Storm: Liberators Part 7

"It would appear so! The church is not too far up here on your right after you cross the bridge. Will you be on your way, or can you all come inside the parsonage and stay a while?"

Megan spoke up. "We would love to stay, but I'm afraid we will only have time for a bathroom break and then we must be moving on."

They reached the parsonage, and Joshua stayed with the Jeep while Malorie and Megan followed Mrs. Townsend inside with the boys. At this point, it was becoming less strange for Malorie to carry her sidearm and slung weapon with her wherever she went, but carrying it into someone's house would likely always be strange.

Megan cycled the boys through the bathroom, and Malorie had a moment to speak with Pastor Townsend about the deteriorating situation in the apartment building next door. Beatrice emerged from her well-stocked pantry with some late-season cabbage and kale. She then asked if she could give the boys some cookies from the batch that she baked before she left to see her grandkids, to which Malorie smiled and answered, "We know better than to tell a grandparent what she can and cannot do with cookies."

Megan thanked the Townsends and left her sister to be the cool auntie and broker the cookie deal. She then went outside to relieve Joshua. Megan hugged Joshua while reflecting on the day's events. "It's already dark, and we only made it as far as Charleston-but given the current situation across the river we are very blessed to even have gotten this far."

Joshua replied, "Indeed, G.o.d has extended His grace to us in getting us here." Joshua looked her in those stunning blue eyes and said, "Watch your six out here, we'll be rolling very soon."

Joshua turned around to walk to the house with the empty water bottles in hand and Megan grabbed his sling across his back, spun him around, and kissed him, saying, "Hurry up in there. By the way, there's more where that came from."

16.

THUNDER BAY.

It's an edgy place. I mean, in the sense that it still hangs on out there like a rawhide flap of the old frontier, outposted from the swirl of mainstream America. The Upper Peninsula [of Michigan] is a hard place. A person has to want to hurt a lot to live there.

-John G. Mitch.e.l.l, Audubon magazine, November 1981 Sault Ste. Marie International Bridge Plaza-October, the First Year Once the Crunch started, Ray McGregor didn't waste any time leaving Michigan. He just settled up on the cost of the propane that he had used and said his good-byes to his hosts. Long experience with gooseneck trailers made hooking up his nineteen-foot Toy Hauler quick and easy. After testing his trailer lights, he was ready to roll. Even before he got on the highway, he turned on the pickup's radio. He immediately switched from his usual FM cla.s.sical music station to WKNW, at 1400 AM. There, he heard a litany of bad news. This was it: the Big One that he and Phil had long talked about. The major whammy. The Great Reset. The end of the world as we know it. Gtterdmmerung.

Ray's border crossing at Sault Ste. Marie International Bridge an hour and a half later was both slow and stressful. The b.u.mper sticker on the RV immediately ahead of him was emblazoned with SAY YA HAY TO THE UP. He had a lot of time to look at it. Longer than he liked, since he was anxious to cross the border. There were thirty or more trucks, campers, and RVs ahead of his, and none of the usual perfunctory "flash and wave-through" transits going on. As he waited in the queue of vehicles ahead, Ray tried repeatedly to call his parents at their ranch in Canada and his sister in Florida, using his TracFone cell phones. None of the calls were going through. The only good news was that the toll for his pickup with a two-axle trailer was still pegged at six dollars, despite the raging inflation.

The border crossing at the international bridge was unusual in that it had a separate lower plaza for trucks, RVs, and anyone towing a trailer. Nearly everyone was stopped and questioned at length, and pa.s.sports were closely scrutinized. Judging by the large number of vehicles directed to the return loop, it was obvious that the border was effectively closed to anyone except returning Canadians. The RV with Michigan plates ahead of him was allowed to pa.s.s, but he noticed that the man had pa.s.sed a mixed bundle of U.S. and Canadian pa.s.sports (of two noticeably different shades of blue) to the Border Services officer. Ray surmised that the man was a dual citizen or that he had a Canadian wife.

A series of signs posted by Canada Border Services Agency/Agence des Services Frontaliers du Canada, reading "Border Crossing Ahead," warned: ALL VEHICLES SUBJECT TO SEARCH and a more friendly: HAVE YOUR Pa.s.sPORT READY. When he reached the head of the queue, a young Border Services officer spent a long time looking through the pages of Ray's pa.s.sport and scanning it. Ray had been accustomed to border checks taking less than two minutes. The officer quizzed Ray about firearms and Tasers, twice. In recent years, they had begun asking about the amount of cash he was carrying "in excess of one thousand dollars," but with the recent ma.s.s inflation, that question would have seemed laughable to most cross-border travelers.

When the questioning turned to his final destination, the officer seemed more relaxed and conversational. But then he asked a question that took Ray by surprise: "Do you have sufficient printed currency to buy fuel to reach your destination?" Ray promptly answered "Yes," but he realized how quickly the concept of cash had been inverted at the border, with the advent of the Crunch. Just a few months earlier, the officer would have been suspicious if Ray was carrying several thousand dollars. Now the officer needed a.s.surances that Ray had a large enough wad of cash to see him home without being stranded. (Gas stations had suspended taking any payments with credit cards.) The officer thumbed through the back of the pa.s.sport, examining the entry and exit stamps. "It looks like you've been spending much more time in the States than you have in Canada, for the past two years."

Ray nodded, "Yeah. I've been researching a book on World War II aviators-doing a lot of interviews. I didn't bother with a work visa. As you can see, I've never exceeded six months for any stay."

This was the first time that Ray had ever had his vehicle thoroughly searched. Shining his flashlight around the interior of the trailer and seeing the chain saws and woodsplitter, the Border Services officer said, "You said that you were writing a book."

"Well I didn't say that a publisher was paying me to write a book. I've been writing it freelance, and I've got to eat, so I cut firewood."

"I see. Well, have a safe trip home to BC. Be very cautious, and keep your tank full. Gas is becoming hard to find."

Just north of the Canadian side of the city on Highway 17 (the Trans-Canada Highway) Ray crossed the boundary of Lake Superior Provincial Park. Watching the kilometer markers closely, he stopped at a pullout just past kilometer post 27. The spot was deserted, with only the occasional car pa.s.sing by.

He pulled a folding entrenching tool out from behind his seat and his GPS receiver out of the glove box, and stowed both of them in a rucksack. After locking up his pickup and checking the tires on both the pickup and the trailer-as was his habit each time he stopped on long trips-he walked into the woods following a deer trail. About 120 yards in, he came to a large and familiar stump that had a distinctive protruding splinter that was left standing straight up where the first cut had met the felling cut. Backing up to the stump, he took nine paces south. This brought his feet directly in front of a pie-pan-diameter flat rock-one of just a few rocks that were within view, and the only one of its size. Flipping it over, he began to dig. Just a few inches down, his entrenching tool struck something that made a hollow sound. He pulled a plastic-wrapped ammo can out of the hole. Originally designed to hold flares, the twenty-inch-long steel can had been repainted with brown Rustoleum paint.

Peeling off the plastic, Ray was pleased to see that the can had acquired just a bit of surface rust in the fourteen months that had pa.s.sed since he'd last inspected it. Opening the can, he found a plastic bag containing $640 in Canadian dollars. Beneath that was a translucent white plastic tube containing seventeen one-ounce silver Canadian Maple Leaf coins.

Wrapped in an oily rag and several layers of plastic bags was an Inglis Mk I* Hi-Power 9mm pistol. The gun's utilitarian gray phosphate finish was in fine shape, with no sign of corrosion.

He spent several minutes loading all of the magazines for the pistol with hollowpoint ammunition. He put all but one of them in their pouches. The last magazine-a twenty-rounder-was inserted into the pistol's grip. He loaded the chamber and, pointing the pistol into the woods, he gently lowered its rowell hammer (since it lacked a modern dec.o.c.king lever) to quarter c.o.c.k. He wrapped the pistol up again in the oily rag and tucked it in the large right outer pocket of his jacket. In the opposite pocket, he put a magazine pouch that held three loaded thirteen-round magazines. All of the other items went back into the ammo can, which he resealed. He tossed the plastic wrapping in the hole but kicked in just enough dirt to cover the plastic. He didn't bother to completely refill or camouflage the hole, because he didn't intend to return to it.

His grandfather had left the Inglis Hi-Power mostly unchanged from its wartime service configuration, except that its lanyard ring had been removed, its magazine safety taken off to lighten the trigger pull, and it had been retrofitted with checked rubber Pachmayr grips. Along with it were seven thirteen-round magazines, three twenty-round magazines, several magazine pouches, and a wooden b.u.t.tstock with an attached leather holster. Both the gun and the magazines were unregistered and therefore considered contraband in Canada.

He reached Thunder Bay just after 2:00 P.M. By 2:10 he was parked across the street from the Royal Bank of Canada (RBC) branch on Hodder Avenue. The bank didn't close until 4:00 P.M., but there was a long line at the door. He switched into his other coat, which had a hood. After thirty-five chilly minutes he reached the door, where a security guard was enforcing a "one out, one in" policy to prevent overcrowding in the lobby.

Once he was finally inside, there was another long queue to reach the teller windows. His wait in that line lasted twenty minutes, where he overheard some irate customers attempting to withdraw more than the new thousand-dollar limit. "Today a thousand won't buy a shopping trolley full of groceries!" one man shouted.

When he finally reached a teller window, Ray first wrote a check for one thousand dollars, leaving just $126 remaining in his account. He was handed ten one-hundred-dollar Canadian bills. They were all the later post-2011 type, printed on a polymer paper. Then he exchanged the last of his U.S. currency into Canadian dollars. He was surprised to see that it now took nearly two U.S. dollars to buy one Canadian dollar.

Ray then asked to access his safe-deposit box. He was told that there would be at least a ten-minute wait, and that because of the current banking emergency, no bank accounts could be closed, and no deposit box rental agreements could be terminated. He explained, "I just need to get what's in my box."

At 3:30, after having his box rental card checked against his signature on his pa.s.sport, he was ushered into the vault room. He handed his key to the custodian, a pimply-faced young man who looked no more than twenty years old. After both his key and the custodian key were turned, the tray of Ray's oversize deposit box was pulled out.

The custodian asked, "Would you like a booth?"

"No." Ray unlatched the box and swung the lid open. Inside was a black Conn brand trumpet case and nothing else. Ray pulled out the case and gave a nod.

As he put the box back into its slot, the custodian quipped, "Must be a valuable instrument."

Ray nodded. "Yes, it's quite precious to me."

When he got back to the truck, Ray placed the trumpet case in the pa.s.senger seat and changed back to his other jacket. The weight of the pistol and the loaded magazines was comforting.

When he had driven ten miles out of Thunder Bay on Highway 17, Ray pulled the pickup and trailer onto the off ramp for a disused provincial highway rest stop, open only in summer months. He looked around and could see no traffic in either direction.

He snapped open the latches on the trumpet case and lifted the lid. The top of the case was crammed full of green plastic twelve-gauge 000 buckshot sh.e.l.ls. He began pulling these out and piling them on the truck seat. Beneath them were the two plastic-wrapped halves of a Winchester Model 12 takedown riot shotgun. The barrel had long before been shortened to nineteen inches. He pulled these halves out, and more shotsh.e.l.ls tumbled down into the bottom of the case. (He had filled every available s.p.a.ce in the case with extra sh.e.l.ls.) After taking another look up and down the road to ensure that he wasn't being observed, Ray removed the plastic wrapping and pulled the gun's magazine tube forward. He joined the two halves of the gun together and gave the fore end a half turn, connecting the barrel's and receiver's interrupted threads. Then he slid the magazine tube back into the receiver, gave it a twist, and popped the magazine retainer pin in place. The gun, now a.s.sembled, was a handy thirty-three inches long. Holding down the action release, he cycled the action three times to test it. It felt right, so he flipped the gun over and fully loaded the magazine, pumped the action, slid the safety b.u.t.ton to the right, and added one more sh.e.l.l to top off the magazine. He draped a poncho over the gun to keep it out of plain sight. Ray let out a sigh of contentment, now feeling properly armed for his road trip west.

Driving around the northern periphery of Lake Superior was uneventful, aside from seeing one spectacular wreck, the victim of a lake-effect snow flurry the previous day, which had brought visibility down to just a couple of car lengths. An Audi had smashed into a guardrail and flipped over. As Ray drove by, a tow truck driver was rigging a line to attempt to extricate the car. Two RCMP officers were standing by, holding C8 carbines. That struck him as odd. Why was there any need to have rifles out at the scene of a car wreck? Had there already been looting this far from Detroit?

The drive west through Winnipeg, Regina, and Calgary was tiring but relatively uneventful. The news on the radio was disturbing. The looting was getting worse, and more widespread. Most of it was in the U.S. and in the eastern provinces, but there were also disturbances in Edmonton and Calgary. For Ray, worst of all was the uncertainty about whether he'd be able to buy gasoline. The prospect of being stranded left him feeling tense. Where he was able to buy gas, he made sure that both his truck's tank and all of his six gas cans were completely full. He also topped off his motorcycle's gas tank and even the pair of two-gallon plastic gas cans for his chain saw. One service station charged thirty-five dollars per gallon, which he considered larcenous. But he paid the price without comment. His cash was rapidly dwindling.

After leaving Thunder Bay, he drove another three hundred miles, carefully choosing a camping spot where he'd be able to turn around with the trailer, but where the pickup and trailer were not visible from the highway. Rather than sleeping in the trailer, he slept back in the woods with both the shotgun and pistol in his heavy sleeping bag. The truck and trailer were just barely visible to him. He reasoned that if anyone spotted the truck and trailer, they probably wouldn't spot where he was sleeping.

He drove almost twelve hundred miles the next day. He repeated the same process for camping the next night and again he got only six hours of sleep. That left nearly a thousand miles for the final day of his drive.

Nearing Kamloops, he came upon four burned-out vehicles by the side of the road-two vans and two SUVs-that were so thoroughly shot full of holes that they had obviously been in a recent gun battle. There were no bodies and just a few badly burned remnants of baggage, so he a.s.sumed that the RCMP had hauled away the corpses. He didn't come to a full stop to take a close look, but the charred vehicles gave mute testimony to what had happened. The lack of crime scene tape left him troubled. He wondered out loud, "Have things changed that quickly?"

His final stop for gas was at 100 Mile House. He didn't have enough cash for all of it, but the attendant seemed content with taking eight silver dimes for the last four gallons of gasoline.

Although FM radio reception got increasingly spotty as he headed west, he was able to catch some news reports. Most of the large cities in the United States were in absolute chaos, and the collapse of the three U.S. power grids was antic.i.p.ated by one expert. The key issue, he said, was the level of staffing at power plants. So many employees were in fear of leaving their homes because of the rioting that there wouldn't be enough staff to keep the nuclear power plants running within a few days. And the supply of coal at the coal-fired plants was reaching critical levels because the nation's rail network was imperiled by the widespread rioting.

17.

DEEDS, NOT WORDS.

But there will be no justice, there will be no government of the people, by the people, and for the people, as long as the government and its officials permit bribery in any form.

-John Jay Hooker St. Albans, West Virginia-October, the First Year Malorie had sat in the pa.s.senger seat, leaving the driver's seat open for Joshua to drive. She secured her folding-stock M1 Carbine and began finding the best westerly route out of town. Megan was buckling up the boys in the back, making conversation with them about their cookie fortune. While both Jean and Leo had been real troupers the whole day, she knew that this was major upheaval for them. Megan stroked their hair and gently applied the long-practiced craft of maternal interrogation to ensure that both boys were indeed okay.

Joshua said his good-byes and thank-yous to the Townsends, as they briskly closed the door, a distinctive sound of breaking gla.s.s ringing out from the apartment building behind the church. Joshua picked up a trot across the lawn and with one smooth motion climbed into the seat, secured his long rifle, started the Jeep, shifted into gear, and was off in the direction that Malorie was pointing. Malorie gave him immediate right and left directions as she correlated the map to the unfamiliar terrain they were driving through. Everyone could noticeably feel the difference in tension from being in the city to being on country roads.

Once they were pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sage 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, earm.u.f.fs, 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 pa.s.sage 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 G.o.d's providence we were able to circ.u.mnavigate 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 carefully now. "I did see that as we pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sisi, the patron saint of merchants, to restore your lumberyard business tenfold. We place ourselves at your mercy, Mayor Simons. Surely the pet.i.tions of Saint Francis of a.s.sisi 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sage 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 Awardwinning 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.