Jacqueline Druga - Fallout

“No. If I did I’d fix it myself. You ought to get to bed and rest.”

“I will as soon as my workers load on the bus. Might need you to take my quota if I don’t feel better tomorrow.”

Joe nodded. “I can do that. But maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I will in a couple days. Just want to avoid town.” Saul took a sip of his tea. “I didn’t want to miss the pierogi club tonight.”

“Say what?” Joe asked, shocked. “You too? What in the world? Is it just wartime social thing or are you really in the mood for pierogi. ’Cause I have a box of…”

“No, Joe.” Saul shook his head with a smile, paused, cringed, and touched his sores.

“Is there something more to this? If there is, it’s an open invitation to the firing squad.”

“I honestly don’t know. But… Go, okay? At the very least there’ll be homemade pierogi.”

Joe, gripping the back of a chair, merely grumbled an indecisive ‘hmm.’

Against his better judgement, Joe put on a nice button-down shirt, following the dress code in town since he was giving in and hitting the pierogi club. For Saul’s sake. Saul said he had to contribute an ingredient and Joe didn’t know what he would contribute. He figured shortening was a sure bet. He opened the pantry for his contribution and saw it hanging there. He hadn’t moved it at all, even all those years later since his wife’s passing. Her apron. Figuring ‘what the heck’ he brought that too, just in case there was a cooking dress code as well.

It was in the basement of St. Mathew’s Church, the same place they held the monthly bizarre and bake sale. The place of the fish fry’s and occasional spaghetti dinner.

There were at least a dozen cars in the church lot. Joe parked his truck and walked around to the side of the building to use the exterior stairwell to get below.

He had some ideas or possibly fantasies about what the pierogi club was all about, until he saw the Chinese soldier posted outside the door.

“Evening,” Joe said with a nod.

The soldier didn’t reply he just checked the items in Joe’s hand and lifted his eyes judgmentally over the apron.

“Don’t judge,” Joe said, “the color works for me.” He pushed the door open and walked inside.

The basement was a decent size and set up with a small entrance way and coat check in just before the hall. The kitchen was in the back.

He pushed through the entry swinging doors and stepped into the hall. There was a hum of soft voices, and then he saw the group of people, about twenty, standing around two tables joined width wise, and they were making dough.

By them, standing close was another armed Chinese soldier.

“Joe!” Mary Lou called out. “You made it!”

“I did.” Joe walked over to the table. “I’m filling in for Saul. He’s in the mood for pierogi.” Joe placed the can of shortening on the table. “I brought my contribution.”

Mary Lou smiled and lifted the lid. Her eyes reflected disappointment as she lifted the lid. “It’s… it’s shortening.”

“Yep, that’s what it says on the can.”

“Oh.” She placed it down. “Wash your hands, grab some gloves, we’ll make dough.”

“You know, I have to tell you,” Joe said, “I was wondering how you guys were able to have a pierogi club. I mean, I was worried they’d see this as an unlawful gathering, especially with the uh…” He looked at the soldier. “Take over and all.”

The soldier lifted his hand and waved it a little as he smirked. “Oh, no, dude, I’m good. You’re cool.”

When he spoke with no dialect, sounding like a pure southern Californian surfer guy, Joe nearly lost his balance.

Mary Lou whispered, “It’s Staff Sergeant Eddie Edmunds. Isn’t it brilliant? Bruce here recognized him right away.” She nodded to another man.

“Was his gym teacher all through elementary school,” Bruce said.

“How the heck do they not know?” Joe asked.

“I speak the language fluently,” Edmunds replied. “My dialect is sometimes off, so I keep what I say short and sweet. They don’t know. Everyone thinks I came from another unit. There are so many of these guys. It was easy to do.”

“Are there any more United States soldiers doing double agent duty?” Joe asked.

“Several, yes,” Edmunds said.

Joe looked down to the table. “This isn’t a pierogi club?”

“Oh, we make pierogi,” Mary Lou said. “It’s our feint. Edmunds covers, we find out everything from him. We produce pierogi, but we’re something more. This is a pocket of resistance.”

“Each pocket, in each town that has a takeover is meeting like this,” Bruce said softly. “It will be a coordinated plan, each town doing their part. Right now, Swall and this valley have about three thousand soldiers. Each set up in groups, battalions, so when you look at it, it’s not many, making it easy to do.”

“Not many making what easy to do?” Joe asked.

Bruce hesitated before answering, “To take out.”

Trying to speak quietly, Joe in shock squeaked out, “What? You mean…” His eye shifted and he paused when he saw a man working with dough. “Hey, wait a second… you work for me.”

The man nodded. “I do. My name is Josh.”

“What the hell is up with your guys? You act like zombies.”

“We have to. Each of us has a family member at a detention camp and they are holding that over our heads,” Josh answered.

“There is a sequence of events,” Mary Lou said. “All coordinated to let them know we mean business. If this works, we can take this country back. But everyone has to do their part, Joe. Everyone. You want your country back you have to do what it takes. And you are more vital than you think.”

“No.” Joe shook his head.

“Yes,” Mary Lou said. “They are storing your tomatoes, at the end of the week, those crates of tomatoes are going…”

Joe covered his ears and shook his head. “No. You hear me.” He whispered harshly. “No. I will not be a part.”

“What happened?” Mary Lou asked. “When you lost that weight did you lose your balls? Everyone said it. Fat Joe is gone. Yeah, he is. The Joe Garbino I knew stood up for what was right. He wasn’t scared, he fought. Fat Joe wouldn’t sit idly by doing what he was told. He probably would have been shot like Greg. But that Joe is gone.”

Joe grumbled. “He is not gone and my balls are just fine, thank you.”

“The only way we can do this is if everyone does their part.”

“There are so many of them.”

“But there are even more Americans,” Mary Lou said. “Think about it, Joe. Think about it. In the meantime, stick around, it will look suspicious if you leave. And…” She handed him the apron. “Make some pierogis.”

“I’ll be there,” Cal said. “I’m part of it.”

Cal walked a good distance, it was better that way.

“Caldwell, Ohio has only five roads that go into it,” Troy told him. “Each one is sealed, blocked off.”

Walking along Highway 77, Cal had seen the Caldwell sign earlier and knew he was close. He just didn’t know what would happen.

“They will ask you a lot of questions. Get in the state of mind you want to go home and will do whatever it takes,” Troy said. “Across the highway is a correctional institute. Rumor has it they killed all inmates and are using the property now as holding. We don’t know. Whatever the case, we want those people especially.”

“You want criminals to fight for you?”

“We want people.”