Although it would have been handy to have Moss come along, John had left him back in Oneida to continue overseeing the city’s defenses. The ring of gabions that would provide cover and protection would take time. So too would the hundreds of sandbags they needed. In some cases, giant empty bags of dog food could provide a nice alternative. The bag itself was made from a sturdy material and once the end was tied off, they could be laid out as the bottom layer of a fortified wall or position. In other examples of improvised defenses, mini-gabions could be put together using garbage cans. For that purpose, members of Dan Niles’ crew were tasked with collecting as many garbage cans from the surrounding area as they could find so that Moss’ men could fill them with dirt. It didn’t look pretty, but these solutions did offer some level of cover from incoming shrapnel.
Once the convoy turned south onto Highway 75, there was a noticeable increase in ruined cars. A number of ghostly camps built in haste by refugees fleeing the city also lined the interstate. In some were clear signs that a battle had taken place, reminiscent of the first pioneers who headed west in long wagon trains, under constant threat from hostile Indians. Many of the improvised structures even formed a defensive circle, just like the wagons of old. In many ways, the country had taken a step back into a bygone century.
Beside him, Reese was driving the pickup, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette next to a crack in the window.
“You know those things are gonna kill you,” John said. “Maybe when we’re in Oak Ridge we should look for something less deadly.”
Reese let out a snort of laughter. “I think they’re starting to grow on me.”
To the left of John’s knee was his AR-15 and beside that Reese’s Remington 700. For his secondary, Reese was using a Colt 1911 with a “black army” finish. He patted the pistol grip when he noticed John admiring it. “Wanted a chrome finish, but glinting has a nasty habit of giving a sniper’s position away. Pretty, isn’t she?”
“One of the nicest, no doubt,” John agreed, thinking of the one he’d seen Diane carrying earlier. “I only wish they held more than seven or eight rounds.”
“Nah. Doesn’t matter when every one of yours will put a grown man on his rear end. You stack that kinda stopping power up against any 9mm, I dare you.”
“Then I take it you don’t think the military should have replaced it with the Beretta.”
Reese shook his head vigorously. “No, siree, I don’t. As far as I’m concerned that decision was based on the principle that throwing more lead downrange will always win a firefight. I’m willing to admit that in certain cases that’s true. But not when you compare the power differential between these two weapons.”
John nodded. “I think it might have also had something to do with standardizing the ammo soldiers were using.”
“Perhaps,” Reese admitted, “but there’s a reason so many special forces are still using it a hundred years on. This baby came with me to the Sahara when I joined the French Foreign Legion. Us snipers had to use the FR F2, but our secondary was up to us and I took my trusty .45. Best decision I made. She got me out of more than one close-quarters scrape.”
John was still eyeing the walnut grip and the black army finish. Outside, the convoy raced past rusted hulks and the bleached bones of the occasional skeleton, picked clean by crows and other scavengers. “I’m afraid it’s going to take more than stopping power to defeat the Chinese and their allies,” John said, almost to himself.
“Right now they beat us in the technology department,” Reese said. “And maybe in the manpower department.”
“Technology they stole from us,” John added bitterly.
“Maybe so,” Reese said, drawing heavily on his cigarette before shoving it through the crack in the window. “But I guess it’s a moot point.”
“Colonel Edgar mentioned that the Chinese, Russian and North Korean supply lines were stretched to the breaking point.”
“Not hard to imagine when you think about the ocean they’ve gotta cross and then the two-thousand-mile journey over land to the Mississippi. It’s a wonder they made it this far. You’re the history buff, John, but I seem to remember the Allies in World War II using England as a launching pad into northern France.”
John nodded. “So anyone playing havoc with those over-stretched supply lines could be a pain, is what you’re saying.”
“More than a pain. A royal pain, I’d say.” Reese lit a fresh cigarette. “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit to learn there were already dozens of groups stuck behind enemy lines who’d taken to the hills. With a little training and the proper leadership they could become an effective fighting force.”
“Which is why the enemy’s corralling captured Americans into labor camps.”
“Maybe by creating their own factories closer to the front they aim to ease the strain on their supply lines.”
Rubbing a growing headache from his right temple, John agreed. “That’s what the Germans did.”
“Yeah, the world condemns them, but then goes ahead and does the same thing as soon as the tables are turned. It’s a two-faced world we live in, that’s for sure.”
“Supply lines are definitely one of their weaknesses,” John said, thinking aloud again. “But they must have another. If we can find it, we might be able to push them back where they came from.”
Chapter 14
They slowed when they reached the outskirts of Oak Ridge. Just north of Knoxville, the city, which once boasted a population of nearly thirty thousand, was lucky to have a fraction of that number today. That wasn’t a problem for John, since collecting what they needed and being on their way was as close to a best-case scenario as he could hope for.
Along the road, the trees were starting to betray the first hint of fiery reds and oranges, a sight which used to remind him of long walks with Diane and the kids along wilderness trails followed by hot chocolate. Fall was no longer about beautiful scenery, it was a stark reminder that winter and the threat of starvation were always close at hand. Cruising down the turnpike, four pickup trucks trailing behind them, John wondered what the country would look like in spring, once hunger and cold had thinned the population out even more. The United States was quickly becoming a gigantic ghost town, perhaps one that future generations would marvel at the way tourists skulked around the ruins of ancient Rome, amazed by the ingenuity and aghast that a civilization so powerful could crumble into dust.
“We’re nearly there,” Reese said in a low voice.
When the EMP struck, it had been early in the morning on a weekday. Lucky for them, that meant the parking lot at the Home Depot was empty. Not that it meant there was no one inside, but at least it would make parking the pickups near the entrance that much easier.
They circled around once, and when they were sure the area was clear, they backed each of the pickups by the front door. This way, whatever they were able to scavenge could be loaded up easily. Parking nose out also meant they could peel away in a hurry if they needed to.
“I hope you brought some cash,” Reese joked, killing the engine. “’Cause I don’t think they take Visa or MasterCard.”
Both men took their weapons and got out, locking the vehicles behind them. They assembled beside the entrance. If anyone with bad intentions was inside, they wouldn’t be caught out in the open, waiting to get shot.
John went over the list of what Oneida needed. Each two-man team would be responsible for specific items. PVC piping, fifty-five-gallon drums, components for the windmill and as many nails, screws and power tools as they could find.