“Sometimes I get really worried, Mike. I worry about her.”
“I know. So do I.”
“I try to pray but sometimes I can’t.”
“I know. I’m the same way. Let’s put some music on.”
“Okay. Not too loud.”
“How about the Dylan?”
“Yeah. But skip the first cut, that dance tune.”
Mike put the Dylan CD in the player. As the acoustic guitars and harmonica tinkled from the speakers he pulled Marie close and kissed her. Her tongue went deep and soon they were making quiet, gentle love.
They had a good morning, up shortly after dawn, coffee, some oatmeal. Sitting and watching the day blossom as other campers drove by, waving from their windows. After Mike and Marie loaded up, Elly went inside the camper to sleep some more.
After a couple hours or so, Mike finally found a gas station that had gas; the price had tripled since the troubles began. He filled the tank. There was no telling when they’d get another chance. They drove for four hours and were discussing pulling over to eat, when they crested a hill and he spotted a roadblock a mile or so ahead.
Mike squinted as he studied the vehicle in the distance—a dark green truck, camouflage-painted, straddling the road.
“Should we turn around?” said Marie.
“Probably not. They see us now. The might follow us. Besides, we’re gonna have to use this road to get north.”
Mike drove on slowly. When he was about a city block away, two khaki-clad men left the trees and walked to stand in front of the truck. The younger one had a long gun with a wooden stock slung over his shoulder. Handsome, eighteen or so, he was Mediterranean-looking, with dark hair, wide-set blue eyes, and an honest, non-threatening face. The other, older man had a silver mustache and goatee, and black captain’s bars stitched into his camouflage cap. A pistol in a black leather holster hung from his hip.
Mike came to a stop about ten feet away. The two men came up to the driver’s side window, the young subordinate hanging back a respectful distance. Mike noticed four more soldiers in the shade of the tree on the left side of the road, all of them with smooth young faces. They watched with mild, bored interest. Mike hoped they were generic local militia, not Minute Men or RPP troops.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the captain said to Mike. He nodded at Marie. “I’m Captain Moore.”
“What’s going on?” said Mike.
Moore’s face was militarily-impassive. “We’re not letting anyone through for the next 24 hours. We have information about a force of RPP north of us, and a jump jet.”
Mike nodded. “Is there any other way up north?”
Moore frowned. “You’d have to go back the way you came, about eighty-five miles. There’s a forest service road there you could use to go around.”
Mike wasn’t thrilled about going back the way they’d come for eighty-five miles, then travelling a gravel or dirt road through the forest.
“You’re welcome to stay with us till we clear this up,” said Moore. “Shouldn’t be more than ten or twelve hours. We have some people checking things out. Should have a report soon.”
Mike turned to Marie. “What do you think?”
“It’s worth waiting,” she said, looking straight ahead, “probably.”
Mike turned to Moore. “Well, what outfit are you with?”
“Wisconsin Militia, second battalion, first regiment.”
It didn’t mean anything to Mike, but they didn’t seem threatening. “Okay. We’ll stay for a while.”
Moore nodded curtly and stepped back to speak with the young man who hovered nearby. They again approached the truck.
“You’ll have to step out to be searched, sir,” said Moore. “Sorry, but that’s SOP these days. Anyone in the back?”
“My daughter.”
“Okay. She’ll have to come out and ride with you all in the front.”
Mike frowned. They’d take his .38. But would they give it back?
Elly walked around to the front of the camper with the blue-eyed young soldier. Mike noted with relief that she wasn’t frightened. She was smiling as she and the youth watched him hand one of the other young soldiers his .38. The young man passed it to Captain Moore.
Moore opened the cylinder, then flipped it closed and carefully put it under his belt. “You’ll get it back when you leave.”
Mike said nothing. The man seemed honorable. He decided to trust him. What else could he do?
“Why are you carrying that?” said Marie.
“I’ll tell you later.”
The Captain gave some orders to the men by the tree line. He turned to Mike. “You can get back in.”
Mike, Marie and Elly climbed into the cab of the pickup. The young soldier climbed up onto the running board on Elly’s side.
Mike saw that Elly was quite taken with him, her face all lit up. “What’s your name,” she asked him.
“Gabriel Jilosian,” he said with a big smile. “My friends call me Gabe.”
“Sir?” said Captain Moore to Mike.
Mike turned to face the captain.
“Private Jilosian will show you the way into the camp.”
The young soldier looked at Mike and pointed north. “Sir, there’s a turnoff just two hundred feet up on the left.”
“Okay,” said Mike.
“What’s your name again?” Marie said to the soldier.
“Gabriel Jilosian. Call me Gabe.”
“Is that Greek?”
The young soldier shook his head and smiled. “Armenian.”
“Oh,” said Elly. “Are you from around here?”
“Actually, I’m from up near the border. But I’ve been down here for three months.”
Elly nodded in apparent fascination.
Mike kept the truck in first gear as they crept up the highway and then turned off the asphalt. The camper rocked gently as they lumbered slowly down a gravel road. Mike saw the flag flying from a flag-pole just above the trees. They drove a bit further and passed through a gate marked by head-high white posts on either side of the road. The camp was laid out in a large circle, with a mowed parade field and flag-pole in the center, and a dozen or so manufactured homes equally spaced all around. Camouflaged vehicles, mostly Toyota trucks, with a few ancient-looking Humvees, were parked here and there. As they drove past a double-wide modular building that appeared to be the headquarters, Mike’s nostrils picked up the scent of food. Camouflage tarps had been tacked to the roof of one side of the structure and pulled out about thirty feet, then lashed to aluminum tent poles, providing shelter from sun and rain. It was a mess hall of sorts, with picnic tables set up underneath. Mike saw an Asian man looking out of the pick-up window at them as they slowly drove past.
“Pull in here,” Gabe called into the window, indicating a square patch of gravel ahead on the right.
Mike turned in and parked.
Gabe jumped down. His feet crunched gravel as he came around to the driver’s side. He looked in the window at Mike. “You can stay the night in your rig.” He pointed in the direction of the double-wide they had just passed. “The chow hall serves dinner starting at five. Captain Moore wants to talk with you there in the morning at breakfast. He said he’d meet you there at eight.”
Mike nodded. “Okay.”
“Are you going to be there too?” said Elly.
Marie frowned as Mike said, “Don’t bother him, Elly. He has his assigned duties.”
Gabe couldn’t hide his interest. “I don’t know,” he said to Elly. He glanced somewhat apologetically at Mike and Marie. “It’s possible.” He looked back at Elly. “It depends on my schedule.”
“Okay,” said Mike. “We’ll probably see you around at some point.”
Gabe nodded, saying nothing.
“Well, wait,” said Marie. “Maybe you could have dinner with us?”