Yellowstone: Fallout: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Yellowstone Series Book 3) Page 11

  Ashby’s excitement grew as the brick wall ended and the pavement turned toward the right. The rising sun reflected off the large ornate plaque featuring a polished brass lion’s head.

  Jake flexed his fingers on the steering wheel as he eased up to the black, wrought iron security gate that blocked the entrance to the neighborhood. Four men immediately took up positions behind parked vehicles which were pulled nose-to-nose behind the gates. They pointed their rifles at the Bounder’s windshield.

  Jake sighed. “Well, it appears the pot of gold may have been claimed already.”

  PART THREE

  Welcome Home?

  Chapter 22

  Fruitvale West

  Saratoga, California

  Life was a people business. No matter how isolated you chose to live, or how elusive you hoped to be, at some point during your day, you either interacted with another human being, or you had to rely upon them to do something that was essential or beneficial to you. When the other individual you encountered had something you wanted, they could deal with you in one of two ways. They could be accommodating by finding a way to help you meet your particular needs. Or, they could exercise what was known as peon power. Throughout history, a peon might refer to as someone who had little control over his plight. The peon was traditionally an unskilled, uneducated laborer assigned to do menial tasks that were necessary for society to function as a whole. However, from time-to-time, even the peon had the upper hand—that rare moment when he was able to exert some form of power, however slight, over his richer, more socially connected counterparts. To be sure, the peon was prepared to accommodate the seeker of assistance, but he’d make sure the end goal was difficult to attain.

  Jake shut off the motor. “Give me a minute. Is my mother’s email still in the glovebox?”

  Ashby opened it and retrieved the email, along with Jake’s identification. She also pulled out her paddle holster containing her sidearm.

  He took the hint. “I’ve got mine, but surely to God I want need it. From what I remember of this neighborhood, its full of limousine liberals who deplored the military and the 2nd amendment. I’m surprised they have weapons we can see now.”

  Ashby laughed as she slipped the holster into her waistband. “They’re probably BB-guns.”

  “No doubt,” Jake said with a chuckle. He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her shoulder before exiting the Bounder. As he walked toward the gate, a voice bellowed at him.

  “That’s close enough!”

  “Well, actually, it isn’t,” Jake said with confidence as he raised his hands into the air. “If I stand back here, you won’t be able to see my identification and confirm that I’m Jake Wheeler, son of Jacob and Victoria Wheeler, 19908 Bella Vista Avenue.”

  He continued walking forward and one of the men, a chiseled-jaw pretty boy, walked from around the SUV being used as a barricade. He kept his rifle pointed at Jake.

  “Keep the hands high into the air, pal!” He yelled louder than necessary. “You can approach the gate, but any sudden moves and this conversation is over. Are we clear?”

  Jake stifled a grin as he looked to the inlaid brick crosswalk that marked the transition from city street to affluent neighborhood. He didn’t see any blood stains from past encounters, not that he expected to. Jake wasn’t a student of psychology, but he knew how to read people. This guy was full of bluster. Probably, a lawyer.

  “Crystal clear,” he replied as he inched forward. Jake held his driver’s license in his left hand and his Yellowstone law enforcement ranger card, together with his mother’s email, in his right. The two strong-willed men met at the iron bars simultaneously.

  The AR-15 held by the man appeared to be straight off the shelf at Walmart. There were no rail accessories or optics. Jake also noticed the man was gripping the rifle’s handle like it was a joystick on a video game. He hadn’t been trained to keep his trigger finger extended over the trigger guard. If he was the head of the security detail, Fruitvale West would be in big trouble as the days went on.

  Jake lowered his arms so the man could see better. His eyes glanced back-and-forth from the two picture id’s to Jake’s face, and then past him to the motor home.

  “Who’s the woman?” he barked, still insisting upon exerting his authority.

  “She’s my friend, Dr. Ashby Donovan. She’s a scientist with NASA.”

  The man glanced back toward the other men guarding the gate. “Somebody needs to get Paulette or Joe.”

  “I’ll do it,” responded a younger man’s voice.

  The man turned his attention back to Jake. “You can put your arms down but don’t make a move for the pistol. I saw it the moment you walked up to the gate.”

  Jake snickered to himself. How could you miss the handle of a .45 sticking out from my hip, Mr. Observant? Sometimes, people don’t hit it off and this was one of those times. Perhaps, Jake’s attitude was poor. He and Ashby had been through so much since they left Yellowstone. They were simply looking for a place of respite. Pulling up to the gates of his familial home was supposed to provide them a sense of relief. Instead, he was greeted with hostility and the barrels of rifles.

  Now, despite the fact he proved he had a right to be there, some additional approvals had to be sought. He tried his best to follow the advice he gave Ashby prior to her meeting with Rick Younger—kill ‘em with kindness. When Ashby recounted her meeting with Younger, she admitted to Jake that she used his advice to keep her cool. Although, she did think to herself, or just kill him, it would be easier. Jake mused that her advice might have been better than his.

  The silent standoff between the two men continued as they waited for Paulette or Joe, whomever they were, to arrive. Clearly, the neighborhood had established a hierarchy, a chain of command. The guy who continued to glare at Jake was not high enough to grant entry on his own, but he certainly was the keeper of the gate.

  Jake tried to make small talk to ease the tensions. “What’s your name?”

  “Kendall Kennedy. No relation.”

  Jake tilted his head in confusion. “Relation?” he asked inquisitively.

  “You know, to the Kennedy political family.”

  Jake was immediately glad Ashby wasn’t by his side. The two of them would not have been able to keep it together. “Oh, good to know. Are you a politician?”

  “Was. I was the City Attorney and then sat on Saratoga’s City Council. I chose not to run for reelection.”

  Well, I pegged this one.

  “Well, Kendall. How’s Sara—.”

  “Ken. I go by Ken.”

  This guy is a real douchebag.

  “Okay, Ken. How are things going around here since the eruption? Obviously, armed guards are necessary.”

  “Absolutely, and because of my service to the city, I was appointed head of security. Looting has been a real problem around the city and my role here is very important.”

  I’m sure it is.

  Jake smiled and nodded, inwardly concentrating on the approaching golf cart to prevent an outburst of laughter.

  Chapter 23

  Fruitvale West

  Saratoga, California

  The golf cart pulled to a stop behind the protective barrier of the parked vehicles. After a brief delay, a smallish woman slipped between the bumpers carrying two clipboards. She pulled the front of her sweater together and marched toward Jake.

  “What’s the situation, Ken?” she asked without looking at Jake.

  “This man appears to be the Wheeler’s son, although I’m not familiar with the family tree.”

  She handed the two clipboards to Kennedy and then turned to a young woman who began to flip through pages of a three-ring binder. She apparently found what she was looking for as indicated by her index finger tapping on the interior of the binder. Paulette took it from her.

  “Mr. Wheeler, I presume?” she said, looking at Jake for the first time.

  Jake gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

  “I d
on’t see your name on the Wheeler’s approved visitor’s list.”

  “I’m not a visitor, I’m their son.”

  “I understand, but there is a son listed here and the name doesn’t match yours.”

  Jake was getting frustrated, and his tone reflected it. “Ma’am. That’s my younger brother. I moved away from home many years ago and have been working at Yellowstone since. I haven’t been back here since my family moved to New York full time. Surely there’s somebody around here who remembers me.”

  “Well, young man, there’s no need to get huffy with me. Regardless, we have procedures which have been implemented in light of the circumstances. We cannot allow just any form of relative or miscreants enter Fruitvale West without proper vetting procedures and approvals.”

  “That’s my house!” Jake raised his voice a little too much, creating immediate concern among the guards who raised their rifles.

  “Actually, it is not. It belongs to your father. Now, if we can reach him at the New York number I have here, this will all be cleared up post haste.”

  “They left for New Zealand several days ago,” said Jake. “I have my mother’s cell phone number on this email. Jake reached for his pocket prompting an immediate response from Kennedy.”

  “Don’t do it!” Kennedy shouted at Jake.

  “I’m just getting —.”

  “Yeah, right. From the same pocket where your gun happens to be,” growled Kennedy.

  “Listen, you people need to calm down.” Jake was incredulous. “I was raised in that house. We’ve come along away and been through a lot of pain to get here. You people need to let us in.”

  Paulette retrieved the clipboards and pushed them through the iron bars. “Calm down, Mr. Wheeler, or you’ll be on your way. I told you. We have processes and procedures here. One of the most important of which, is the admission and vetting process. Now, because your identification appears genuine, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Take these application forms.”

  “Applications?” questioned Jake as he accepted the clipboards.

  “Yes, they are self-explanatory. Once you’ve filled them out, please return them to Ken along with your photo id’s. This afternoon, our executive committee meets and will review your request for admission. However, you must understand we have certain requirements.”

  Jake flipped through the first few pages. The paperwork was a standard employment application followed by a photocopy of a medical and psychological questionnaire. He couldn’t help but shake his head from side-to-side at the absurdity of it all.

  Kennedy picked up on Jakes’s reaction. “Do you have a problem with our forms, pal? I’d be glad to take them back and send you packin’.”

  “No problem, pal,” Jake said with emphasis added.

  Paulette continued. “As I was saying, we have certain requirements. Fruitvale West has always been communal in nature. What is good for one is good for all. Share and share alike is our basic premise of governance.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Jake.

  She stood a little taller than her five-foot two-inch frame as she explained. “We live in a different kind of world now. One, in which we need to pool our resources to survive. Our executive committee runs a tight ship and we make sure that our resources aren’t squandered or hoarded by a few. That said, any supplies, be they food, medical, or sundry, must necessarily be turned over to our communal property director. She will log in your contribution and you will be provided suitable meals based upon your height, weight, and health history.

  “Further, I see that you have a weapon. You may keep it, but you will not be allowed to keep excessive ammunition within your home. Again, like foodstuffs, the community as a whole may need these bullets for equal distribution to our security teams. In addition, you are only allowed one weapon per household member. If you are called upon to work perimeter security, or tasked to perform external operations, then you will be issued a weapon and ammunition from our armory.

  “So, before we proceed further, will you be in agreement to comply with these basic rules for admittance?”

  Jake hoped there wasn’t smoke coming out of his ears and the rage building up within him didn’t show on his face. His mind raced as he recalled Ashby’s discussion of how she felt in the moment of anger the other night when she was prepared to shoot the Davenport father and sons. He wanted to spin on a dime, retrieve his M-16, and clear a path to drive the Bounder through.

  Then, Jake Wheeler’s wheels began to turn in his mind. There were plenty of ways to circumvent the Fruitvale West policies and procedures. It may have been a while since he’d lived there, but this was still his neighborhood, one that he’d explored as a kid on his bicycle and that he traversed at night as a high schooler after sneaking out of his bedroom window.

  “Sure, I can deal with that,” he announced matter-of-factly. “We’ll fill these forms out and then what?”

  Paulette nodded and replied. “We’ll review your applications this afternoon and put it to a vote of the executive committee. You should be able to return by four o’clock to learn of our decision.”

  Without further ado, Paulette turned and left.

  Jake began walking back to the motor home and ignored Kennedy who shouted after him. “Chop-chop, Wheeler. We’ll be allowing vehicles out at eight a.m. sharp and your blocking the way. In fact, I’d suggest you move over by the elementary school where there is plenty of parking.”

  “You’re the man,” Jake mumbled under his breath as he entered the Bounder and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Chapter 24

  Fruitvale West

  Saratoga, California

  “What was that all about?” Ashby asked as he she met him at the door. She had the foresight to have a bottle of water for Jake because he looked heated as he returned.

  “These people are delusional. If we had a better place to go, I’d fire this thing up and leave now.”

  “Screw them. We’ll find a place, Jake. You seem really pissed off and after what we’ve been through, we don’t need the aggravation.”

  Jake exhaled and traded the clipboards for the water. He drained half the bottle before he came up for more air.

  “It’ll work out,” he said breathlessly.

  Ashby had been flipping through the pages of the clipboards. “This is an employment application. And then some doctor gave them his medical history forms. They wanna know if I am, or plan to be, pregnant. Are they out of their minds?”

  Jake began laughing heartily and led Ashby to the bench seat of the living area. He patted the seat and motioned for her. He could see the blood boiling inside of her and there was no need to fuel each other’s fire. “Come here.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “No. This is stupid. Let’s just go.”

  “Ashby, please. Besides, you don’t even know the half of it.” Jake patted the seat again and she slowly made her way to sit by him.

  “There’s more?” she asked, turning to face him.

  Jake looked around the Bounder at everything they’d accumulated. “Yes. They want us to turn over all of our supplies, weapons, ammo. Everything except one gun per person.”

  Ashby stared at Jake for a few seconds. Then she started laughing. It wasn’t a hearty, ha-ha-that-joke-was-funny laugh. Ashby’s laugh was somewhat demented as if she was turning into something evil.

  “Screw this. We’re leaving!” She threw the clipboards toward the opening in the motor home’s door but missed the mark. She stomped toward the driver’s seat and slid behind the wheel. Then, out of frustration, she demanded, “Where are the keys?”

  “In my pocket,” replied Jake calmly. “It’s a habit. Listen, Ashby. Please trust me on this. We’ll work this out. I have an idea.”

  “Give me the keys, Jake Wheeler. I’ll be glad to discuss it with you while we drive toward Mexico.”

  Jake laughed and came to her side. He playfully wrenched her death grip from the steering whe
el and pulled her out of the seat. Then he wrapped her in his arms.

  “We’re gonna stay and make them think they we’re complying with their demands, but of course we won’t be.”

  “How do we avoid giving away all of our stuff? Those vultures will be shaking us down as soon as we roll through their gate.”

  “First, let’s give them their stupid paperwork and we’ll find a place where we can talk. They won’t give us an answer until four this afternoon anyway.”

  “Jeez, are they gonna do an FBI background check?”

  Jake chuckled as he grabbed two ink pens out of the glovebox. He settled Ashby back on the bench seat and put her stack of papers back on the clipboard.

  “No. They have an executive committee that needs to approve our entry. Let them do their thing. While they are, we’ll do ours.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You’ll see. Now, let’s fill this out and get started. What I have in mind may take a while.”

  Ashby relaxed somewhat and the two of them began to fill out the applications and questionnaires. The process actually lightened the mood as they made fun of the absurd questions. The part that generated the snarkiest humor between them was the mental wellness assessment.

  Jake began to laugh and he looked over to gauge Ashby’s progress. She’d just finished the medical history form and was now on the emotional assessment form originally created by Adventist Health.

  “What now?” she asked.

  Jake pointed to her page with his pen. “Check this question out. Are you in a peaceful state of mind?” Jake thought the question would make Ashby laugh but instead it seemed to anger her more.

  “Yeah, I’ll be at peace when I get to knock them all out!”

  “Did you check the box admitting your anger management issues?’

  “Shut up, Wheeler,” she shot back. “Did you check the box that asked if you have any guns in your home?”