a large toggle marked “Ignition” and then pressed a round button marked “Starter.” The large diesel motor cranked over for a few seconds and started. It was running, but the motor was rough and producing a large cloud of black smoke.
Uday called down from the cab, “The ‘check engine’ lamp is on.”
Walter told the group, “You can tell the electrical system has been damaged but not the main engine controller or the truck would not have started.” He signaled Uday, who then turned off the key, and the truck engine shook to an abrupt stop.
Walter opened the crate, pulled out one of the sealed Mylar bags, and tore it open. Inside was another plastic wrapping, which covered a second Mylar bag. He tore both open and extracted a metal cased electrical module. Naseem and Uday opened the front hood, and Walter climbed up on a small stepladder and peered into the engine compartment. A few minutes later, Walter had the module changed out, and they started up the truck again.
This time, the truck started and ran smoothly. The exhaust no longer contained excess smoke. Walter spoke up. “It has worked, my brothers. Let us see how many more of the trucks we can fix. I have twelve of the replacement modules.”
Chapter 11
1315, Day 1, Goodsprings, Nevada
Lee and Jake rode into Goodsprings from the North. They looked around constantly for any sign of trouble. Neither man knew what to expect out here in a small town. The bypass road turned to the east, so they followed another paved road south into town. Lee knew they had to pass all the way through the old mining town and pick up the road continuing west toward Sandy Valley. When they turned left onto Spring Street, up ahead was a large group of people and some cars, trucks, and other assorted vehicles. Lee remembered from being here years ago the Pioneer Saloon was up ahead. Now he could see the one-hundred-year-old bar and café was a buzz of activity. Originally built around 1910 during the old mining days, it now had become an organized relief center. Lee and Jake saw several firemen and a policeman or sheriff out in front of the bar. After a short discussion, they decided to approach the bar. They rode their bikes near the front of the bar. They dismounted the bikes and walked over to a table by the front door. Several people sitting or standing around looked up and nodded at the newcomers.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Lee said to the officer.
“Hey, guys. Where have you two come from?” the sheriff replied.
“Vegas. We headed out early last night. I am Lee, and this is Jake. Jake is active duty at Irwin,” Lee explained.
Jake and Lee decided earlier not to discuss their experiences in Vegas, so Lee kept it simple.
The sheriff shook both Lee’s and Jake’s hand and introduced them to several others around the table. More handshakes followed.
“I am Carl Burrows, county sheriff’s office. I live here in Goodsprings. How was Vegas?” Carl said.
“It was starting to implode,” remarked Jake. “We made a trade for these bikes and got the heck out of there.”
Jake also ignored all the details of the shooting and how they actually got the bikes.
“What’s happening here?” Lee asked.
Carl explained, “The old Pioneer saloon is the perfect spot to set up a temporary shelter for all the refugees we are getting. Most of these folks were stranded on Interstate 15, which is seven miles south. The saloon owners have graciously opened it up for refugees. They are cooking up the perishable food for the stranded people. Most of the refrigerators and freezers are not working, so the food is going to spoil quickly anyway. We do have some small generators running a few of the coolers so we can stretch out the food as long as possible.”
Lee and Jake could see a large group of people in the patio area of the bar.
“Did these people walk here from the freeway?” Jake asked.
“Some, but we scrounged every running vehicle we could find. Volunteers are making trips back and forth to pick up stranded people,” Carl replied.
“That is great of you. You are the first people we have run into that are trying to help,” Lee said.
“So what is your plan now?” Carl asked.
“We are heading to Sandy Valley. A civilian worker from Irwin lives there. I am hoping he is there, and we can figure out a plan to get to Irwin,” Jake explained.
“What is your friend’s name?” Carl asked.
“Rick Hardwell,” Jake answered.
“I know Rick. He is a member of the VFW in Sandy Valley. I am also a member. I’m ex-army reserve. I did a tour in the first Gulf War,” Carl said.
“That is a weird coincidence.” Lee slid into the conversation.
“Not really. Only a couple of thousand people live in this area. Everybody knows everybody and well. Everybody knows everybody’s business too,” Carl said with a slight laugh. “We have a couple of high-power handhelds that are working between us and Sandy Valley.”
Carl was referring to a portable police radio. “One of my buddies is on the other end and he knows Rick also. Let me see if I can reach him.”
As Carl picked up the handheld radio and started to call out, Jake and Lee turned to look over the scene at the old tavern. About seventy-five people were milling around. It appeared locals were helping with the refugees. People were cooking food and handing it out. Others were lining up, folding chairs, cots, and patio lounges adding to the odd assortment of furniture already on the patio. Jake and Lee watched about a dozen people setting up tents in the field on the side of the saloon. They assumed this effort was to provide places to sleep for the refugees. The sad looking group of refugees were gladly sitting or lying down. Most looked tired and all looked worried and scared. The patio was filled with conversation. The crisis befalling the United States was the most common subject. Many were telling tales of experiences since the power and cars died.
Carl came, found Lee and Jake, and told them he had reached his friend in Sandy Valley. “My buddy Joel says that Rick was at Irwin when the power went out. His wife Lucy came by the Mormon Church that has become the refugee center. Sandy Valley does not have a direct paved road to the highway, so they are not getting many refugees yet. However, we plan to take some refugees there if we feel we are reaching our capacity. Anyway, Lucy told Joel that she was going to take their old VW dune buggy, which was running, and head to Irwin along the power lines. Apparently, she and Rick had made that run a few times just for fun. She knew the way and figured it was better to get to Irwin and be with Rick than stay at home alone. She guessed Rick was needed at Irwin and not coming home any time soon. She had packed up stuff and headed out about an hour ago.”
“Well, I guess we are about an hour late,” Jake commented to Carl. “Had we gotten here sooner, we might have hitched a ride.”
Jake then looked at Lee and said, “Well, I guess we will have to keep pedaling our asses all over town.”
“Oh well, I can sure use the exercise,” Lee said while laughing.
Jake said, “Hey, Carl, is there any hardware store where we might be able to buy or barter for some spare tubes for these bikes?”
“No,
