Crawford Kilian - Tsunami - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

Allison’s group of friends had, not surprisingly, become the Leadership Committee: each had special areas of responsibility. That afternoon the Committee met in the ranch house living room. Rain pounded on the windows, and logs burned behind the glass doors of the fireplace. The curtains, as always, were drawn.

Allison outlined the meeting’s agenda and settled back to hear reports. They were much the same as last week’s: Hipolito Vasquez was keeping the cars and generator in shape, but worried about fuel supplies. Ted Loeffler was running all over Carmel Valley, coordinating civilian support for Mercer’s troops, and worried about fuel supplies. Bert D’Annunzio kept running patrols into the hills, searching for Frank Burk; he could use more people and vehicles. The women were spending less time in the greenhouse — food was not a real problem, since every household in the Carmel Valley contributed to the ranch’s support — and wished they could get out more.

“I hear you,” Allison said. “I think we may have a solution to the gas problem, and that might solve most of the other problems.”

“How?” asked Bert.

“The Sitka Carrier . If we can get some of that gas and oil out, we’ll be okay.”

He saw at once, by their guarded expressions, that the idea was too big for them. They were caught up in the immediate problems, too caught up to see the long-range solution. Okay, let it soak in for a while.

“What about this mutiny?” Ted asked, changing the subject. “Have you heard anything more, kemo sabe?”

“Mercer’s moving into Monterey tonight, with every man he’s got except for two squads here.”

The news startled everyone, as he’d known it would. Allison sketched out the reasoning behind the move and its expected benefits.

“We’ll have more administrative problems,” he said, “but more resources to solve them. And if we’re in control of Monterey harbour, we can get access to the Sitka Carrier .”

“We don’t have any ships, for God’s sake,” Bert objected. “There isn’t even a rowboat between here and Oregon.”

“Bullshit,” Allison grunted. “There’s half a dozen freighters down in Morro Bay, and I’ve heard of more up around San Francisco. We can get hold of a ship.”

“And how do we get the oil out?” Bert persisted.

“I’m not sure of the details yet. We’ll find some engineers.”

“If you think so, Bob Tony,” Ted Loeffler said. “I’ll start head-hunting whenever you give me the word.”

“Are we agreed?” asked Allison, glancing from face to face. “Okay, Ted. Start looking tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “Mercer should’ve had those squads here by now. Move to adjourn? Okay. Bert, you want to do a quick sweep around the place?”

Bert nodded and left. The others dispersed: to the kitchen, the generator shed, the bunkhouse. Allison went upstairs to the bedroom. Shauna sat in a bentwood rocker, staring out at the rain through a gap in the curtains.

“Hi,” he said, pulling off his shirt. She nodded. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and went into the bathroom. Setting the wind-up oven timer for three minutes, he showered and was out again before the timer could ring. Hot water was a scarce luxury. If only they had more fuel, more gas and diesel —

“Rain getting you down?” he asked quietly as he came back into the bedroom.

“No. I just needed some peace and quiet.”

“Get it while you can, kid. We have a new war tonight.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

He yanked fresh clothes out of a dresser. “Jesus Christ. Guys are going to die tonight to help keep us alive, and you don’t want to hear about it. What would you like to hear?”

“Don’t shout, Bob.”

“I’ll shout if I want to. Look, kid, I know where you’re coming from. It’s been heavy, sure. But, God, it could be so much worse. We’ve got Sarah, we’ve got our friends, a whole goddamn army, plenty of food. Up in San Francisco they’re starving to death. Kid, you can’t just fold up and quit. We’re getting through this. It’s going to get better, really better. Believe me.”

“Have you ever lied to me before?” she asked with a wan smile.

“Not in days.” He dropped his clothes on the floor and drew her out of the rocker; she let him carry her to the bed.

“I always forget how strong you are.”

“Not that strong. You’re just getting skinny.”

It was true: as he slid her jeans off and undid her blouse, he was struck by her thinness. Her figure hadn’t gone, but she seemed frailer. How long had it been since he’d paid any attention to her? Two weeks? A month? The work of running a private army was too much — he would have to cut back, spend more time with her. And Sarah. Allison knew he’d been neglecting her too.

“Pay attention,” Shauna hissed. “You’re a million miles away.”

He took the rebuke in good spirit and put more thought into his caresses.

“What’s this?” His hand paused on the nape of her neck; he pulled back her thick hair. “You’ve got a mole. How long has that been there?”

“Ow! That hurt. I don’t know. But it’s really tender.”

“Sorry. Listen, kid, we ought to get it looked at. I’ll dig up a doctor somewhere.”

“Forget it. It’ll go away.”

“Kid, something like that could be trouble.”

“Trouble? What are you saying? What kind of trouble? Does it show? Does it make me ugly?”

“Hey, hey, easy,” he murmured, running his hand down her side. “If it’s an infection, it could be a nuisance, that’s all. No big deal, kid.”

He worked harder to bring her to arousal and then to climax, wondering all the time how Mercer was doing.

The squads which Mercer had promised never showed up. Allison and Bert took shifts on sentry duty, patrolling the compound in the rain. Nothing happened. Before dawn, a private on a civilian motorcycle came up the road to report that Monterey had been secured. Three of Mercer’s men had been wounded; eighteen mutineers had been killed, and another twenty would be shot before noon.

Allison, Bert and Ted discussed the news over coffee in the kitchen.

“I feel like a mass murderer,” Ted murmured.

“Bullshit.” Bert shook his head. “Violence is a legitimate right of any government. Hell, it’s a government monopoly. And we’re the government.”

“Thirty-eight guys.”

“Ted—” Allison put a hand on his shoulder. “Some of those guys could’ve come up here and blown you and Suzi and Ken — away . Hey, get your priorities straight. We’re protecting our own, any way we can.”

“Yeah. Yeah… I just feel shitty about it.”

“We all feel shitty about it. I mean, who wants to kill people? But we’ve got a duty to our families, and Lamb’s crazy people, and the Carmel Valley people.”

“And now the Monterey people,” said Bert.

“Right on,” Allison agreed.

“Does it ever stop?” asked Ted. “Today Monterey, tomorrow the world.”

“Sure it stops,” snapped Allison. “It stops when we’re reasonably secure. Now that Monterey’s under control, we don’t have any major threats from the outside. We’ll take over Ord, just to save whatever we can, but that’s it. So can that shit about tomorrow the world.”

“Hey, kemo sabe, I’m your faithful companion, remember? You don’t need to bark at me.”

“Okay. Let’s forget it, right?” Allison felt angered by Ted’s conciliatory tone and blinking eyelids. What a time for him to go soft. “I’m going into Monterey to see what’s happening. Probably be back around sunup.”

The Range Rover’s tires hissed on the wet road. Allison looked at the gas gauge and silently swore to himself: he was burning gas and exposing himself to an attack by Frank Burk, just to get away from Ted. True, the guy was an organizational genius; they would have been lost without him. But he was coming apart at the seams. It was depressing and alarming; despite all that he and Ted had been through together in the last six or seven years, Allison realized that Ted would have to be exploited or dropped.