Desperate Times Three - Revolution Read online

  Desperate Times Three

  Revolution

  By

  Nicholas Antinozzi

  Published By: Nicholas Antinozzi

  Copyright © 2011 by Nicholas Antinozzi

  Cover Design by Steve Peterson

  Edited by Sue Rush McInnis

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  All rights reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dedicated to Theresa Antinozzi and Ann Linz-Olson; my Desperate Readers, who provided inspiration from the very beginning. Every writer should be so lucky to have people like these in their corner.

  Prologue

  They fled civilization on the blackest Friday the world had ever known—a determined group of survivors following the lead of their host couple, Ken and Patty Dahlgren, who had planned ahead and prepared for this worst-case scenario. They made their stand against the world barricaded inside a lake home, deep in the north woods of Minnesota. There were thirty-some members of their group in the beginning, but that number had dwindled to eight. They had fought against the desperate and unprepared who wanted to take what they had, and many had died along the way. Nearly two years later, the group was still waiting for someone to announce that the crisis had passed.

  Lowell Gnomes was another such survivor. Like a vast majority of the population, Gnomes had lost nearly everything since the crash. All that remained of his multibillion-dollar empire was a laptop computer, stacks of worthless stocks and bonds, and a ten-thousand-foot hole in the ground. This he shared with his longtime associate, Reuben Burl. Years ago he had purchased the mine and had it converted into a bomb shelter, never dreaming that the day would come where it would serve as his home.

  Like Ken Dahlgren, Gnomes had seen the crash coming, and he and Burl had vigilantly prepared for it. He just hadn’t quite prepared for everything, which was why he found himself living near the center of the earth. Still, he had one last card to play. All he needed was a chance to play it. That time had finally come.

  Lowell Gnomes, Washington insider and lobbyist extraordinaire, had painstakingly documented all of the dirty little secrets of his trade. Not only had he kept track of all of his own payoffs and under-the-table deals, but he’d also documented those of his lobbying friends. And Lowell Gnomes had a lot of friends, on both sides of the aisle. Very few men alive knew as much about the swollen underbelly of greed and graft that existed on Capitol Hill.

  A thin man in his seventies, Gnomes was white haired and wore a neatly trimmed beard, and people sometimes said he reminded them of George Carlin. Gnomes had been the link that connected Wall Street to Washington, a dirty little secret that managed to remain hidden from the public for decades while the American people were methodically robbed of everything they had worked their entire lives to earn. He had hated his life; indeed, he had spent the long months since the crash trying to repay his debt to society. But, like the great engines that had once driven the economy, even his repayment plan had failed.

  The only thing left to do was to get back into the game, and his laptop was his ticket out. And while he never mentioned the word blackmail, he let it be known to a few select business associates that he had kept records, something strictly forbidden in his trade. He reasoned that he merely wanted to get back to work, needed to get back to work, and that he was willing and able to do whatever it took to recoup his considerable losses. Unsurprisingly, offers began to pour in from around the country. With the recovery in its infancy, he and Burl would need to ride things out a while longer. He was assured that he’d be contacted when his people had work for him.

  And so Gnomes waited.

  Chapter 1

  The Savings and Loan Crisis of the 1980s was precipitated in 1982 by the Garn – St. Germain Institutions Act allowing S&Ls to make loans and to raise interest rates, at the same time removing the restrictions in place that blocked values to be artificially inflated. The S&Ls then borrowed out massive amounts of federally insured dollars on risky investments, bankrupting half of the S&Ls along with the FSLIC in just a few short years. The bailout was funded by American taxpayers. Sadly, we learned nothing from this dismal chapter in American history, and the cycle was doomed to repeat itself.

  How could this have happened, again?

  The weeks following the last attack were hard on the group. The arrival of Paula Peterson and her subsequent relationship with Doc had driven a wedge among all of them. Everyone in the group, except for Doc, could see that Paula was only using him as a way to get back inside the walls that surrounded their refuge. There was little doubt that Paula had been a traitor, but without absolute proof there was little to be done about it. Doc had fallen head over heels for the perky blonde, and they had somehow become a package deal. Bill developed a nasty infection in the stump of his missing leg, and Doc had to do emergency surgery to remove the infected tissue and exposed bone. Thankfully, Doc was able to keep Bill sedated with large doses of morphine, but Bill soon became addicted to the drug which caused more division as they discussed what they should do about it.

  The morphine caused Bill to be quiet, and all agreed that his silence was a good thing. Still, Ken opposed drugs and was outspoken on how he felt about Bill’s growing dependence. Cindy felt more or less the same way, adding that she was worried about her father’s internal organs. Doc and Julie both agreed that by keeping Bill sedated, they were buying time for him to adjust to his condition and to deal with the terrible pain he so often complained of. Paula, who seemed to be growing more comfortable each day, said that anything they could do to keep him quiet was worth it. She and Doc spent much of their time out on the porch, making out like a pair of love-struck teenagers while watching over their semi comatose patient.

  Patty began to have more bad days as she slowly began to slip away from them.

  Julie constantly reminded Jimmy to keep their baby a secret. “They will all find out soon enough,” she had said. “I want to keep this just between the two of us for just as long as we can.”

  Jimmy had no desire to share her pregnancy with the others. They had enough trouble without tossing a baby into the mix. The fact that Paula knew about his vasectomy only complicated matters. Jimmy began to loathe the sight of his former fiancée. The tension between her and Julie was so undeniable that Jimmy was sure that he could feel the temperature drop when the two women were in the same room.

  They had just finished lunch when it happened. The early spring had melted most of the snow from the road and in the clearings. The ice on the lake had already become dark, which Ken said was nearly a month earlier than normal. The day was warm and sunny, nearly fifty degrees, with steady gusts of wind blowing up from the south. Jimmy and Ken were out in the yard cutting a downed limb with a handsaw, while Julie sat with Patty out on the deck enjoying the sunshine. Patty was having a good day, and that translated into an optimistic mood for the rest of them.

  That was when Julie spotted the pair of subcompact cars. The hybrid cars were so quiet that they nearly sneaked by the compound without being noticed. Jimmy was furiously sawing away at the fat limb of the elm as the cars crawled past. Julie tried to catch their attention, but the men were focused on their work and unaware that they had company at the old lodge next door. Julie watched in amazement as the doors opened and regular people emerged. They carried no guns that she could see, and they appeared to be showered and dressed in fresh clothes. There were two couples, one considerably older than the other, and they didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

>   “What is it, dear?” Patty asked, setting her paperback down in her lap.

  “Oh, my God,” Julie said, pointing over the wall at the cars parked outside the lodge. “There are people over there.”

  Two children tumbled out of the backseat of one of the cars, their shrill voices carrying over the wall. Jimmy and Ken both froze. Patty stood and put her hand to her mouth. “Dear God,” she said. “Can it really be over?”

  They would watch these newcomers for nearly half an hour, whispering among themselves as to what their appearance might mean. Finally, it was decided that Jimmy and Julie should go out to meet them. Ken watched them through the scope of his hunting rifle from the upstairs bedroom window. He wasn’t about to start taking chances.

  Jimmy cleaned himself up the best that he could. He hadn’t shaved in nearly a week, and his clothes had seen better days. Julie looked much better, wearing clean jeans and a hoodie pullover. She had bathed that morning and wore her black hair pinned back behind her ears.

  The newcomers greeted them with warm smiles and handshakes. There wasn’t a trace of fear or apprehension in them as introductions were made.

  “Mark Dundlemore,” said the older man in a deep, but friendly voice. “This is my wife, Trish, our son, Max, and his charming wife, Katie. The two rug-rats are Emma and Bernice. We’re so glad to meet the both of you. There aren’t as many of us as there once was, am I right?”

  “I guess so,” said Jimmy, thinking about all of the people he had seen killed.

  “That’s very true,” said Julie, giving Jimmy’s hand a squeeze.

  What caught Jimmy’s eye was how thin they all were. They looked healthy, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on a single one of them. Mark looked to be in his early fifties and wore more jewelry than Jimmy had ever owned in his entire life. Jimmy had him pegged as a car or insurance salesman. His lean face was pocked and craggy, as if he had fought an epic battle with chickenpox in his younger days. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair clipped short, and the wisp of a mustache hung above his lip. Trish Dundlemore was quite unremarkable, and Jimmy thought she had probably worked in a fabric store in her previous life. She was of average height and wore her dishwater-blonde hair in a style that likely hadn’t changed in four decades. She smiled a lot and spoke in one-word sentences.

  Max and Katie Dundlemore were roughly the same age as Jimmy and Julie. Max wore aviator sunglasses that partially hid a bad complexion he’d obviously inherited from his father. He wore a Nike jogging suit and smiled too much for Jimmy’s liking. Katie Dundlemore had the look of a trapped animal. She didn’t seem to fit with the group. The rug-rats, as Mark Dundlemore had so lovingly had called them, were her children from a previous marriage. Max quickly excused the both of them so they could gather up the kids and explore the property.

  They watched Katie and the kids walk down toward the lake, and Trish smiled uncomfortably.

  “They say the bird flu killed about two hundred thousand people here. Have you heard that?” Mark Dundlemore asked, hugging his trim wife as if she were his buddy. “I know the authorities are downplaying that number, but a lot of people didn’t make it; a seventh of the world’s population, gone, just like that. Of course, that’s depending on who you listen to. Hey, what’s the deal with your fence? That must’ve been a lot of work.”

  “The fence?” Jimmy asked, fighting to retain his composure. “Well… we’ve had some problems with the wolves. Haven’t we, Julie?”

  “Right… wolves,” Julie said.

  “Wolves?” asked Trish Dundlemore.

  “Oh, come now,” Mark said, dumping his wife and slogging an arm over Jimmy’s shoulder. “You’re not scaring us away, I like it up here. I’ve always liked it up here.”

  You wouldn’t have liked it much a few weeks ago, thought Jimmy, remembering the bloody battle with Jenkins and his ragtag army. “So, you’re buying the place?” Jimmy asked, nodding his head at the vacant resort.

  “Buying?” Dundlemore asked with a chuckle. “Why would I shell out good ameros for something I can homestead for free? We qualify. Has anyone occupied this lodge since you guys got up here? Speaking of that, how did you two get here so fast? I thought we’d have this place to ourselves.”

  “Inside connections,” said Julie, who looked like she was about to be sick. Jimmy couldn’t remember her ever looking so pale.

  “That’s right,” agreed Jimmy. “It’s all about who you know.”

  “Yes,” said Trish Dundlemore, crossing her arms and looking vaguely interested.

  “You’ve got that right, Johnny,” Dundlemore said, squeezing Jimmy’s shoulder with his bony hand.

  “Jimmy,” corrected Trish.

  “Right,” said Dundlemore. “Jimmy.”

  Julie left Jimmy with Mark and Trish, excusing herself to go fetch a light jacket. She jogged back to the gate and nearly ran right into Ken.

  “I think I recognize that asshole,” Ken said, narrowing his eyes as he looked over Julie’s shoulder. “He and his wife used to come up here every summer, and he’d get drunk and tell me how much he wanted to buy me out. Damn, it looks like he’s lost a hundred pounds. What the hell are they doing here?”

  Julie took a deep breath and quickly explained everything that she knew. Ken shook his head in disbelief when she quoted Dundlemore’s staggering numbers.

  “Those bastards,” Ken said. “What a coincidence to have a pandemic when the world is down on its knees. How convenient.”

  When Julie mentioned what Dundlemore had said about homesteading and ameros, Ken pounded a fist into his open hand. “Those son-of-a-bitchin’ politicians sold us out,” he growled.

  Julie nodded and also added that it would probably be a good idea to let Dundlemore think that they had only recently arrived. Julie suspected that was important.

  Ken remembered something about Mark Dundlemore and thought he might use it to his advantage. Dundlemore was a man who enjoyed his beer. Ken guessed right that Mark Dundlemore had been more or less sober for many months. When Ken arrived carrying a case of canned beer, Mark Dundlemore looked as if he had died and gone to heaven.

  “I don’t remember your name,” Dundlemore said. “But give me a few cold ones and it’ll come to me! How the hell are you? Trish, you remember…”

  “Ken,” Trish said.

  “That’s right, Ken! And you’re married to…”

  “Patty,” said Trish.

  “I told you to wait,” scolded Dundlemore. “Don’t make me look like a blathering idiot, Trish. I don’t like that!”

  Ken was already cracking open a beer and handing it to Dundlemore. “I’ve got a couple more cases in the garage, in case you’re interested. How are you, Mark? It’s good to see you. You too, Trish; you look great.”

  Jimmy could see the strain on Ken’s face as he fought to keep the smile on his face and not to punch Mark Dundlemore in the nose.

  “Damn right she does. Look at her—she’s lost seventy pounds. She’s pretty hot for an old nag,” How long has it been, Ken?” Dundlemore asked, taking the offered beer and downing it in one steady pull. “Ah… damn that tasted good! Hand me another one of those bad boys.”

  “I don’t know,” Ken said, handing over another can, “a couple years. What are you hearing out there? That damn flu was pretty bad, huh?”

  Dundlemore popped the top and drank again, except this time he didn’t quite finish the can. “If you call over a billion deaths pretty damn bad, then yeah,” he said, finishing the second beer and tossed the empty can to the ground. “How did you get your hands on beer? How many ameros did that set you back?”

  “Come on, Mark,” Ken said. “You know how hard it is to find alcohol.”

  “Do I ever. I’d give my left nut for a case of scotch.”

  “Mark!” scolded Trish.

  “Trish, I’m warning you…”

  Ken shut him down. “Mark, we don’t speak like that in the presence of ladies. You know the rules. I’d hate to have to cut
you off.”

  “Right,” said Dundlemore, holding his hand out for another beer. “I’m sorry, ladies. Where are my manners? Look, thanks for the beer. With any luck, we should be getting a delivery either today or tomorrow. I’ve got some connections, and things are returning closer to normal every day, whatever normal is. At least that’s what people keep telling me.”

  Jimmy noticed that Doc and Paula had joined them, but they stood a respectable distance away. Cindy was also on her way down to meet the newcomers. Jimmy hoped that this wouldn’t foil Ken’s plan to get information out of Dundlemore. He need not have worried, as Mark Dundlemore quickly finished his third beer and nearly begged for a fourth.

  Chapter 2

  “If the laws in force hinder you, this will be no problem, as we will draw up new laws.” ~ Benito Mussolini

  The fire burned bright under the setting sun, and the beer flowed as freely as it ever had since they had arrived nearly two years ago. Even Doc, who rarely drank, had put away a six-pack as Mark Dundlemore filled them in on what had happened since the collapse. The younger Dundlemore family and all of the women were up at the house, where Patty insisted that the entire clan spend the night. This left the four men sitting around the fire, and to Jimmy it nearly seemed like the good old days, back before everything had gone to hell. Everything seemed almost normal, until Ken pried more information out of Mark.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this shit,” Dundlemore said, slurring his words ever so slightly. “You guys were in the camps. You know the score. We got screwed, man. We got screwed and tattooed, and there ain’t a damn thing we can do about it. Wall Street stuck a goddamn vacuum hose into our goddamn banks and sucked out all the goddamn money. Of course, they say it didn’t happen like that.

  “How are people finding work?” Doc asked, scratching his freshly-trimmed and colored beard.

  “Finding work?” Drunken Dundlemore asked. “You’re kidding, right? You know that the Mexicans got hit hardest by the flu, don’t ya? I heard that Mexico City is one big ghost town. You know what I say? I say it serves those taco benders right for crossing our borders. Oh, there’s plenty of work out there. Besides, weren’t you guys offered to keep the jobs you had at the camps? We were. What a load of crap, work as a slave for two goddamn years and then they expect you to stick around when the walls come down? That may have worked after the Civil War, but we know better, don’t we?”