Matthew Mark - Dark Days Rough Roads

Dawn was a little more than an hour away; so still being dark outside, the only thing he could make out was the occasional beam from a flashlight in the windows. He couldn’t believe people were still there. What could they possibly do? Delay the inevitable; for some it was the only thing that came to mind. Good little sheeple staying in their barnyard.

The worst part was that he saw people working their way to the hospital. Normally a safe haven of sorts, it was the last place he would go. Of course having worked at one for quite a few years, he knew what it would turn into. It had given him the opportunity to gain some valuable skills though.

Right out of high school, Haliday had pulled a stint of active duty in the army as an MP and then pulled some reserve duty. He had put in seven years at a small time police department with a whopping 178 homes on a private lake with people too rich for their own good. Everyone there was part time so he had picked up the job at the hospital for benefits and a steady check.

Even though he had attended a fair amount of decent schools in the service and taken a few courses here and there for the small police department, the hospital had given him the chance to excel more than the others. He worked his way into becoming the training officer and picked up certifications to teach.

TASER, chemical deterrent—which was just pepper spray—and management of aggressive behavior including pressure point control techniques were some of the courses. He was by no means a walking bad ass, and didn’t portray himself as anything other than a regular old schmuck. He simply learned to be a teacher and what better way to keep your skills honed?

That wasn’t the clincher though. Training all the new hires and making sure they had uniforms and equipment gave him the chance to purchase items under the radar. Of course he paid for them, but it was easier to have items shipped directly to the hospital under his name than to try and explain the personal purchases.

He even volunteered to take care of the vehicle maintenance. Ordering an LED light bar with red/blue lights, TASERS or pepper spray and other equipment to a home address would have raised red flags big time. He got what he wanted, no questions asked, no worrying about what popped up on the door step or who would inquire about it.

Haliday was mostly riding the center turn lanes with the occasional zigzag when he had to slam on the breaks. He had to start paying more attention; this was the real thing now. A couple had run into the street in front of him waving their arms for him to stop. “Oh great,” he said to himself.

He hit them with the spotlight and quickly got out of the vehicle and as they approached he ordered them to stop. He wasn’t taking any chances and had drawn the 40 and took a bead on the guy. He darted his eyes back and forth and swept the area for other movement. Why the hell didn’t I wait until daylight, he thought to himself.

The couple had stopped dead in their tracks at the command and could see his profile with the gun drawn on them. “Hey mister, we ain’t criminals, we just need help. You are supposed to help us, you’re the police.” Haliday had analyzed them from the very first second. Early thirties, both white, ragged jeans and t-shirts, light jackets, maybe not outstanding citizens, but not trouble either.

Haliday responded and said, “What’s going on, what is it folks need?”

“We could use a ride home. We’ve been walking all night since we left our friend’s house in Rochester Hills. We only live in Warren.” They’d walked about 12-15 miles, and had maybe 6 to go. Haliday said, “Sorry folks, I’ve got a job to do and playing taxi right now is not on the top of my list. Now please move aside.”

The couple got upset and the woman replied to him and said, “It’s not like there’s cars to pull over or anything. What could be so important?” Haliday was ready for just this type of smart-ass attitude. “Look folks, the side of the truck says federal protective service. If we don’t make sure we secure all of the social security buildings, veteran’s clinics and federal buildings and property, we could be in a world of hurt. Hell, we don’t even know what happened yet.”

“I’d like to explain the importance of securing the information in these buildings, but I gotta go.” He then holstered his pistol and waited a moment. The couple started to move away and all he heard was mumbling. He jumped back in the truck, killed the spotlight and took off again. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he could feel the adrenaline rush. Nice and slow concentrated breaths to bring his heartbeat down and respirations back to normal.

Haliday pulled off the main road onto a side street and he slowed down and killed the lights on the truck. He knew this area very well, since his parents had lived here since ‘89. He crept along slowly, making sure no cars were stalled in the street. He didn’t use the lights because he didn’t want to draw attention to his parents’ house.

When he was about three houses away, he pulled up along the curb and turned the truck off. Anyone spotting it may tie it to the house he was parked in front of. Just a little deception. Glancing around, he didn’t see candles, flashlights or anyone moving. He grabbed his rifle, jumped out, locked the truck and bolted for their front door.

Reaching the porch he stood to the side of the door and tapped lightly on the door and waited. If there were any shots coming through the door he would be off to the side. He tapped a little harder and waited. At 75 and 73 years old, they moved a little slow and their hearing was not what it used to be.

He remembered, as a teen in high school, talking to friends in the front yard of his childhood home about buying beer for a party that night. When he walked around the back there was his dad sitting on the back porch. He looked at Roger and said, “I think you’re staying home tonight.” Never figured out how he heard that.

A muffled voice came through the door. “Who’s out there?” Haliday said, “Mom it’s me, Roger.”

“I don’t know any Roger,” was the response. Haliday answered back again and said, “But you know Ruger, right?” This was a little code they worked out to make sure she knew it was him. It was her favorite new prep item.

He heard a series of locks being opened and the door swung open wide. He stepped inside and gave her a hug and asked how his dad was doing. She called out, “Hey Rich, Roger’s here.”

“Ok Bev, I’ll be there in a minute.” Bev asked him what he thought happened. “I have no idea mom, not a clue. All I can say is it’s definitely hit the fan.” His dad came out and he gave him a quick hug as well.

Haliday looked around and saw some candles burning in the kitchen and in the living room. It reminded him; he told them to make sure they didn’t run the generator more than two hours a day, to stop after the third day until they could feel out the atmosphere of the neighborhood, to keep the doors and windows locked and not to let anyone in. They had placed a few boards over the windows to stop intruders, but not as elaborate as he had done.

Next on the agenda was making sure they were locked and loaded. His dad had an old H&R .22 revolver he had gotten back during the riots in Detroit in 1967 and his mom had a Ruger LC9 and S&W 40. The Smith was a Y2K purchase, the Ruger was recent. They couldn’t handle a shotgun, so he worked them up a lightweight AR15. Everything was loaded and good to go. Plenty of magazines were at the ready. Enough lead down range and they should be able to hit what they pointed the guns at. Both knew how to fire what was in the house.

There was no time for a lot of chit chat; he told them he was heading out to get Kayla and would try to swing back by on his way home. He was located about 10 miles north of them, practically in a straight line, so it was convenient. He told them to turn their ham radio on at 8:00 am and listen. Not to talk, but listen and answer only if he asked a question or unless it was very important.