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On a Dark Horse	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Jericho Views: 1536 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Jericho is wholly owned by CBS and those affiliated with & responsible for the production and creation of the show. I make no profit from the use of said fandom, except warm-fuzzies from reviews.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Timestamp: Bombs + 4-4.5 (midnight-ish)
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
Jonah rubbed his eyes and looked around the radio room. Stevie was napping. After ten hours on the radio, Jonah'd taken over. Not that he'd had the opportunity to sleep, but instead had managed several different tasks and an argument with Aylah. Apparently, she was irritated with him for something she did.
"What the hell do you want?" Aylah snapped, moving a cutting torch from its old position to the perfect spot in the industrial garage. The mess had been even worse than she'd thought, but the tools were damned good and the supplies more than sufficient for surviving a small nuclear disaster.
Jonah was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her move everything in his garage from one place to another, for reasons that he didn't particularly care about. It galled him that she would walk in here, establish her place without a by-your-leave, and then start rearranging histools in his garage.
"Good afternoon, Aylah. It is so pleasant to hear you bitching at me," Jonah replied, his voice quiet. After patching a few things over with Green and managing to play nice with Gracie Lee and a few other fine, upstanding citizens of Jericho Township, he now had to put up with this. She was definitely not the harmonious, gentle lady.
"Get used to it," she grunted, heaving up a box of scrap metal and carting it to a table to be sorted.
Jonah straightened up and stalked toward her. When she turned around, he was firmly in her way.
"Move," she growled.
"What crawled up your ass and died?" he asked, not bothering to censor his initial reaction.
She stared at him, but didn't speak. The rage was back in her eyes--and he knew that look. She was more than tempted.
"Don't try it, girl. I'll break your arm before you finish the swing." From a gentle, pleasant night to this. Only Aylah. "You're pissed at me? Is that it?" Jonah smiled, and it wasn't a welcome sight, given the anger in his eyes. "You walk in here and demand a place--but you don't come in as part of the gang. No, you walk in with a different role. You put yourself in this position, little girl. If you want out, you know the price--you'll have to go to someone else or leave completely. Once in as a woman, you stay there. If you don't, I can't help you stay safe here."
"I know that," she snapped back, her voice hoarse with the effort to keep from yelling. "I am not required to like it."
"You only have to like it in bed." He caught Aylah's wrist as her open hand sped toward his face. "And every time I'm in the room." He squeezed her wrist until the bones ground together. "Every time I walk up to you." He crowded into her space, trapping her between his body and the large wood and steel table. "Every time I pull you close," he continued, pushing her arm behind her and suiting action to words. "Every time." This he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing the delicate shell, his breath ghosting over her skin.
Aylah stood stiff against him, her arms pinned behind her and against the table. Then she slumped and dropped her head to his shoulder. "I know. I know I did this. I know it's my fault that I'm stuck in your bed--and that you don't really want me there. I know, but I don't know another way." She felt his hands shift and move her back to look into her eyes. "Not here." The tired look in her eyes made Jonah relent, but just a bit. She still needed hope.
"Not for a long while, until they get to know you like I do."
Aylah flinched. "Jonah--"
"Not in every way," he kissed her neck. "Just to know that you are strong enough to stand alone and hold your own. That you have a place here, and it's not just in my bed." Blue eyes met and held grey. "I've already planted those seeds, but they're stubborn. Changes take time." Still pressing close to her, he skimmed one knuckle down her cheek. "And some changes never come at all."
A lot of the fight went out of Aylah then, but she was not about to capitulate. "Will they change enough?" She was asking for hope. Jonah was quiet for a long time. He didn't answer her, but he did tip her chin up and give her a long, slow kiss. Not much for words, even less for romance, this was Jonah's way of avoiding the question while keeping her on an edge between anger and calm.
She trusted him, so the kiss would help her calm down. She hated to be kissed or crowded or touched, much less restrained, so the rest of his actions would keep her just mad enough to forget where she was and what her role was for a while yet. The fact that she had enjoyed their night together, a memory from the kiss and the full-body contact, would remind her that being considered Jonah's woman wasn't all bad.
Stevie had walked up as Jonah pulled her close, watched as she stayed stiff, then moulded herself to Jonah's body. He saw her speaking to Jonah, Jonah's replies and gentle touches, and hated to interrupt, but he had an important communication from D'Shea's group. The men in D'Shea's group had just taken a small highwaymen's camp and retrieved a semi of food and medical supplies. They were waiting for instructions from Jonah on how to secure the stash and get it back to the business.
"Boss?" Stevie said, his hesitation everything Jonah did not want to deal with right now. "D'Shea found somethin'. He needs to talk to ya. If that's okay."
Jonah looked into Aylah's eyes, mentally cursing D'Shea, the highways, and the bombs.
"This isn't finished." A promise, but a hiatus. At Aylah's nod, he released her, turned, and strode quickly to the radio room. This had better not be a crisis.
*****
Heather watched the clock and groaned. Eleven-oh-five. At night. She needed to sleep, because she was supposed to teach tomorrow. Or at least babysit for hours on end. And she couldn't sleep because she wanted, needed, to know what was going on out there. Instead of doing something sensible, like drink some brandy and go out like a light, she crawled out of bed and headed for her work closet. Not her school closet. Her garage closet. She had a nice, bright, battery operated worklight. She'd spend an hour working on Charlotte and then go to bed.
At dawn, she was still working, but the ignition was reliable now. And the engine had stopped smoking. Mostly.
*****
Aylah tossed and turned in bed, alone. She hadn't stayed with Jonah out here in years. Not since she'd dropped in from college and spent a random week or month at a time with him. And here she was, knowing where she was, and discovering that he was a habit. She wanted Jonah beside her while she stayed here.
There wasn't any logic to it. But she couldn't sleep in his bed without him. He'd drummed that into her head. Any woman had to stay with her man--it was the best and safest for all involved. Mostly, any woman would be safe without an escort, what few women went out to the office, but the men would end up fighting over something that ultimately didn't matter, usually a comment or insult to another of the guys, and he'd have to break it up. Then, he'd be in a foul mood and everyone would suffer.
Nothing for it. She got up, slipped one of his long-sleeved button-downs on, her jeans, and her boots. A glance at her watch told her it was almost 3 a.m. She shook her head and walked down to the radio room. If he wasn't going to sleep right now, the least she could do was keep him company.
*****
Johnston sighed as Gail sat up beside him.
"Did you hear that?" she asked, listening carefully for the sounds of the house they knew so well.
"Yes. It was Jake's window. He's going out that way to keep from opening the door. Damn it, Gail, go back to sleep."
"But where is he going, Johnston?" she demanded, as if expecting her husband to be psychic. If he were awake enough to actually consider it a minute, he'd probably have the answer.
"Well, wherever it is, he'll have to walk." Johnston said, even as the engine of his truck roared to life. "Or hotwire my truck again."
"Johnston." He knew that voice. After forty years, he didn't have to look at her to know her lips were pressed tight together and her eyes were narrowing.
"Yes, dear," he said, coughing a little as he sat up and moved to get up and dressed.
"Wait," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "You're still fighting off that cold. I guess it can wait until he comes dragging in tomorrow morning."
"You're too kind, Gail," he murmured, swinging his legs back up into bed and laying back down. "Now would you please go back to sleep?"
The disgruntled little half-sighed growl at his side assured Johnston Green that all was quite normal in his house. And he was going to hear all about it in the morning. Later that morning. Not much later, though. It was well after two.
No doubt about it. Jake was home.
*****
Jake looked at the familiar chainlink fence and padlocked gate. He pulled a key from his pocket as he hopped out of his dad's truck, the truck he'd judiciously borrowed for the trip out here. If the key still fit…it did. Jake opened the gate wide enough to admit the truck, then got out, closed and locked the gate behind him.
A familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway, one arm propped high on the sill, facing the drive. He was glad to see that pose. He clenched his jaw and dove into denial.
The office. Secret rendezvous. Silence.
Jonah.
God help him, but this was all too much like forever ago.
*****
A young teenaged boy walked down the tracks, flashlight shining like a sun. When he came across the wrecked car, he nodded, noting the train was still there--and mostly on the tracks. He looked through the boxcars, and, when he found the one filled with foodstuffs, he smiled.
Now…how to get this back to town?
Of course. Jonah's guys. With a smug little smile, he turned and headed back down the tracks, taking a left three turns before town. This way would get him to Jonah's all the faster.
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
Aylah, Jake, Jonah, and Dale stood in the cold night air, staring at the trainwreck. It was true. It was hypnotic. Entrancing. They almost couldn't look away. Jake had driven the small moving truck out, Jonah and Aylah had relaxed in the cab, anticipating a pleasant hour's work heaving palettes of food and other products from the train into the semi. This would be a quick trip. Tomorrow, when they guys got back, they'd bring the rest of the transport fleet and several armed citizens out to guard them. Jonah figured it'd be best to let Johnston choose the citizens to stand guard. He actually kept in touch with the veterans. Jonah avoided anything like that. He had enough bad memories without adding "buddies".
"We'll load up the truck. You know commercial driving?" At Dale's negative, Jonah nodded. "Then Jake will drive it into town for you. You'll drive Johnston's truck--and Jake, go home and sleep after you leave the food. Gracie's right?" Jonah swept a hand over his face, ignoring what he knew would be Dale's affirmative. He was feeling every one of his years. Was he really that close to sixty? Damn, where did the time go? "Let's make this quick."
Within minutes, the loading ramp was snugged into place in the boxcar entry and the four began dragging supplies into the empty semi. It didn't take long before there was barely room for the two pairs of handtrucks. Jake drove the truck back to the compound to drop off Jonah and Aylah and let Dale get Johnston's truck.
Jonah and Aylah stumbled into his room and promptly collapsed. Stevie had been rested enough to take the radio until later in the morning. Jake took his dad's truck home, climbed back in through his window, and staggered to bed, wondering what dumb-assed impulse had him dragging out at unholy-a.m. just to go see a bad memory.
Dale hummed happily as he wore himself out stocking Gracie's store again. If he got tired enough, he could forget his mother's last words. Maybe this would do it for tonight. Or, after working all through the day, too, tomorrow night. He wasn't very picky.
The metallic thud of the cans on the shelves, the repetition of something he'd done for so long, was somehow comforting in the endless hours before dawn.
*****
By mid-afternoon, Jonah's men returned to Town Hall to give Johnston the summary of the roads and conditions. The trip north had yielded an abandoned passenger plane on the Tacoma Bridge. In the distance, a few miles further out, there was another plane that hadn't been so lucky. Mitch had radioed back the information and they'd started a check of the back roads, coming up empty and suggesting the planes be disassembled and the materials stored until they could be used.
D'Shea's group hadn't had anything as interesting to report, but they mentioned the semi of supplies they'd brought back to Jonah's and Johnston had agreed to let them keep everything but the medical supplies. The supplies would ensure the men didn't need anything from town for at least three weeks, depending upon the influx of people to the transport offices. Medical supplies were needed more at the clinic, and Jonah had agreed. Only one person from Jonah's crew had objected to the largesse.
"Shut up, Mitchell. They're trained, you're not, and we keep a good kit." Jonah noticed the brunette, Heather, was back. So was Jake. Heather had taken notes while the men spoke; Jake had flagged the map. Johnston had listened and asked damn good questions. Jake's expression had turned thoughtful when the downed planes were mentioned. Made sense. The boy was a pilot, after all.
"We really should take possession of the planes," Jake said into a lull. A sharp glance from his father and a speculative glance from his former mentor compelled him to continue. "The electronics--if they were in the air when the bombs went off, they're no good. An after-effect of the bombs." Jake fumbled for words. Heather nodded encouragement to him. He watched her as he tried again. "The passengers won't be back, and the ones that were on the wrecked plane, well, they should be buried. Luggage, baggage, various materials shipped through the airlines--all of those can be used here. Some of the people from the Tacoma wreck might even show up here in town a little later. Personal stuff--store it somewhere. We've got empty spaces in town. The things that aren't personal, we've got people that need it here." He shook his head once in frustration.
"Got a point, Johnston," Jonah said, becoming the lightning rod for the elder Green's displeasure. "Besides, the metal, parts, and so on could come in handy. What's a plane usually made of--aluminum?" This last was directed back at Jake.
"Yeah. Some other materials, mostly plastics and metals, but the skin is generally an aluminum or aluminum alloy. Some have lightweight steel frames. Components can be used for any number of things--"
Johnston raised a hand. "That's enough." He looked at Jonah and his son. It was almost a glare. "All right. Make it happen. Take the priests in town out to the wreck. The one that's in good condition…just make it happen."
"Guards, Johnston," Jonah said softly. "They'll need someone to watch their backs."
Johnston nodded. A few minutes followed where a detail would be sent to take the planes apart in as many large pieces as possible. He let Jonah take the lead on assigning various people to lead the packing effort and said he'd call for volunteers to help with the unloading and disassembling of the planes. The burials, they knew, would not be easy. That detail was to be left to the priests and preachers in town.
If Jonah had known, Aylah was still rearranging the garage, thinking about the train and the possibilities that it held. As it was, Jonah didn't know that and, after sending his men to work on collecting the odds and ends they'd found out on the highways, including the two planes and their contents, he spoke to Johnston privately. He ignored Jake and Heather, who had gone back to combining Jonah's information with their most recent photographs and the crews out working on the planes. The photographs had been taken only a few hours before. Jake was saying something about the planes to Heather, and she was listening carefully. He'd have to check on the points she raised about the planes with Old Man Adams. The man was a bit nuts and extremely cantankerous, but he was the best in town when it came to planes.
"There's a supply train wrecked over the trestle bridge, five miles or so. Technically it's within the town limits." That was where Jonah left it.
Johnston raised his eyebrows. "Steal from the railroad?" It was a difficult proposition to wrap his head around. Appropriating the planes that were in Jericho's extended, read: county, limits made sense because the cities where they had headquarters probably didn't exist anymore. Even if they did, the condition the planes were in would require more extensive work than could be justified anytime soon.
Trains were a different story altogether. The railroads tended to be particular about who got to play on their tracks. Granted, the town actually owned the land the tracks were on, but the tracks themselves belonged to the rail company.
"If it helps, two cars are partially derailed." The offering was tiny, but it just put the proposition on the less shady side of legality. If the train was even partially off-track, the entire thing could be claimed for the town. Jonah marvelled at the things that had stuck with him from Dr. Clarind's history class. Miss Maddie, also known as Dr. Clarind, would be pleased with him. Evidently, Jonah also recalled that little tidbit of history.
"Gradington vs. Union-Pacific? Mm." Johnston was quiet a moment. It was a Kansas statue. And if the train were just the teensiest bit on town property, they could, legally, claim the entire thing for the town. And given the state of emergency the nation was in--had to be in, since power was still down and communications were shot--he didn't think the railroad would complain too much. If the corporate offices still existed. Either way, Eric was a lawyer. "How heavy?"
"Full up. Didn't see any empties in the first five cars. The food was in the third, so we really didn't go much down the line. That's usually a good sign that it's on it's initial run."
"And you'd know." Johnston slapped his desk and nodded.
"Johnston, I've never tried to knock over a train," Jonah's voice was tired. Would the man never give it a rest? Didn't they have a truce?
"What?" Johnston blinked. "Of course you've never robbed a train. You'd still be in jail if you'd tried." He laughed suddenly. "Hell, Jonah. I meant the transport business. Speaking of which--what possessed you to name your business Quaker Transport?"
"Bought the name from a guy who'd owned a different transport company. The owner of Jericho-Atlas Transport was selling this branch after the bypass went through just up the way from Hayes. He said they just weren't doing enough to keep it going, but, when I was working at the mine, well…" He shrugged a bit and let the sentence trail off. Johnston well remembered the havoc Jonah's last weeks at the mine had caused the town. What gray hairs Jake hadn't given him, that episode had. The explanation, from Jonah, was as good as an apology.
Johnston nodded, accepting the information and the tacit apology. "All right. The planes will be useful, but if that train is packed to the gills, it's our priority. I'll pull together a group that's old enough to know how to guard something and young enough to stay awake. Take Jake, Heather, and your boys that aren't needed at the planes. If it's that well-loaded, you'll need all the vehicles you've got. Maybe more."
"Put out the word for pick-up truck drivers to join us. I've got more vehicles than drivers. And I'll want two to a cab, at least. One driver, one guard." He paused. "Em can drive. So can Mary Bailey."
Johnston only nodded. Jake took a deep breath and nodded, accepting the assignment. Heather, once again, piped up from the side.
"If it's a straight-up diesel semi, I can drive, too." All of the men turned and stared at the petite woman. "What? I spent summers hauling cars to dealerships in Georgia during college. It was good money and I wasn't stuck inside for days on end staring at a computer screen." Jake just continued looking at her.
"What about your cast?" the question came from Jake.
Heather shrugged. "Not like we'll be doing highway driving. Besides, it's on my left foot. Gas pedal is always more dangerous than a clutch, even a double-clutch. But if it makes you feel better, I'll take a smaller vehicle."
Jonah looked at the girl. Johnston pursed his lips and looked at his desk. Jake stared in mild astonishment. Heather just looked around at the men.
"What?" She was honestly confused. No one answered her immediately.
Jonah nodded, accepting the offer on face value. If she was exaggerating, if her cast proved to be a problem, he'd put her to work doing something that didn't involve hijacking tons of food and various other unknown materials. Maybe hijacking was too strong a word. This was, technically, legal after all.
"Aylah, too," Jonah added. She'd complain, but he wasn't going to let her slide. "Stevie's good with finding places for things." He couldn't write a packing slip or fill out an invoice, but he could pack a mansion in a shoebox. When it came to talents Jonah could use, that was more important than good bookkeeping. Besides, he did that part himself. Cut down on skimming.
Johnston was willing to accept it all and move on. Chances were he'd be finding out stranger talents than this. At least Heather was a teacher. Something about the shop elective being taught by a 'snip of a girl' came back to him from a concerned parent three years ago. After convincing the man to let it ride for a while, he hadn't heard anything else. He almost asked, but figured it could wait a while. Jericho only had one school, a K-12. If Heather was a teacher, even elementary, chances were she had at least some involvement with the older kids. If it turned out she couldn't drive, well, she could get some of those kids involved with being useful. It'd be a nice change from what was going on now.
"She mentioned rearranging things last night," Jake said, not thinking about what his father would presume from that statement. "Will she leave that long enough to help?"
Jonah just looked at him. That was a truly stupid question, coming from Jake.
"Must be a stupid question," Heather muttered in Jake's direction, earning a dirty look from him.
"Two hours," Jonah told Johnston, turning to leave. "Send them to Quaker Transport."
Johnston snorted. "Still can't get over that name, Jonah."
"Mild as mother's milk, Johnston," Jonah grinned, no little devilry in his eyes.
"Last time you said that I ended up drinking some 'shine that nearly turned me inside out. Couldn't taste or smell anything for a week," Johnston grumbled, his lips curving up in a reluctant smile. That had also been the time his father had found the two of them weaving their way back to the barn after midnight, not wanting to wake Johnston's rather puritanical mother. Given the way they were singing, and what they were singing, it was a miracle they hadn't done just that. E.J. Green had refrained from passing judgement and sentence on their idiocy. Waking up in a working barn with a hangover had been punishment enough. "Just--"
"I know. Keep it in the lines." Jonah grinned at Johnston. "Not as hard as you might think." With a two-fingered, semi-military salute, Jonah turned and strode for the door, his mind already on the problems at hand.
Jake and Heather stared at the older men. That sounded far too comfortable for the local outlaw and the fine, upstanding mayor.
Jake began to worry about the influence Jonah was having on his father. If Jonah could get his father to grin and reminisce, Johnston must be sicker than he thought. Either that, or…nahh. Couldn't be. Dad was just running an unusually high fever.
*****
At the track, while volunteers and a certain blonde conscript were getting instructions and truck assignments, Jonah's men had cracked open the first several cars. They were thrilled and dismayed to discover that they were going to need a lot more help. Even though Jonah said they were going to use every transport vehicle they had at the office and some people from town were bringing their pick-ups, it wouldn't be enough.
About two hours later, after the first three of big trucks had been loaded and sent to Main Street, Jonah and the rest of the volunteers arrived. Emily made it a point to work well away from her father and Jake. Instead, she worked with Heather, which Heather didn't quite understand, but was willing to accept. At least it was company. Female company. While Heather didn't mind hanging out with the guys, being one of only five women in a group of over 75 was unsettling. Especially when several of these men were supposed to be more on Santa's naughty list than the nice one.
With the information from Noah, Jonah's deputy in any regular or unusual business situation, Jonah realized that this simple snatch-and-grab was turning into a logistical nightmare. And that was just the food and general consumables. They hadn't gotten even a good start yet. The damned train was over a mile long, from Bailey Yard in Nebraska. When it came to shipping, most trains that came through Jericho nowadays were from Bailey Yard and heading to major areas, like Houston. The planes, from what he heard back from Billy over their tweaked CBs, were much easier, if time consuming to unload.
He sent word back with Stanley--nice guy, too damned friendly--that they were going to need a hell of a lot more people out here. Johnston wouldn't have to go far to get help. By now, someone would've run his mouth and gawkers would come out to watch. If they drove, he planned to put them to work. If not, he still planned to put them to work.
Jonah scanned the workers and his trucks and noticed that one of said trucks had pulled down out of the busy area and had parked well down the line. It was Aylah, of course, and she seemed to be checking out other cars. He knew better than to bother her now--especially when he had ordinary Jericho citizens helping to keep an eye on things. Even with Jake as the guard, he didn't need the fireworks that would go up if he confronted Aylah. Chances were they'd fight and the onlookers would end up hurting her or, God forbid, killing one of them--with the best of intentions, of course. He turned back to the group at the front of the train and stayed convenient for any and all questions or yelps for assistance and direction.
*****
Aylah studied the train. Three trucks had gone and come back, seven more were heading out, and another dozen were still being loaded. And it wasn't making much of a dent. This was going to take some serious time. Pretty much everyone was focused on the front end of the train. Aylah was not one for much company, especially when Jonah had rousted her out of finishing her comfortable rearranging and sorting of his garage with a short, hissed argument, so she was staying as far from everyone else as possible.
She knew Jonah had seen her, and she knew he wouldn't come down here just to yell at her again for doing what he wanted her to do--go through cars and find useful things. He wasn't stupid. She was doing what he'd asked--ordered--her to do. He'd take that for now, but later…later they'd finish the argument they hadn't had time to get started last night.
With a sigh, she opened the door to the last boxcar on the line. After that was a set of tankers--no need to open--and a series of flatbeds. She hoisted herself onto the car platform and stopped. Whitish bales of…was that cotton? Damn. An entire boxcar filled with cotton? Weren't these usually shipped in--yep. Open top to keep it from getting ruined during the haul. She wondered if it was still good after the rain, but figured that it was. Cotton was pretty sturdy stuff. Besides, this wasn't bright white, so it couldn't be processed. Okay. This one could wait a bit. Next car.
A dozen cars down the line, she'd found 5 cars filled with cotton bales, one car packed with bales of processed cloth, an entire boxcar of copper pipes, wires, etc., another of various metal ingots on the way to a series of processing plants in Oklahoma, a few cars packed with a variety of well-labelled and non-priority items, and then something that needed to be offloaded quickly.
She hopped off the line and started jogging toward Jonah. In the hour that she'd been exploring and calculating--copper can be melted and reused in so many ways, and the ingots were priceless for a town with no metals handy--Jonah had moved a small group down to the next set of cars. He was in conference with someone, but by the time she would reach him, that would be well over.
*****
"Boss!" Leon called to him, and Jonah turned to see the younger man waving him over to an open car. "We got somethin' here."
Jonah glanced back, but saw that his last set of instructions to the farmers and and town citizens had been followed. "What is it Leon?" He walked over to the car Leon indicated and looked inside. Various things his businesses would find useful--including 2 new cutting torches and several tanks of the various fuels the torches used.
"This is good, but you did not need me for this. Why did you--" Jonah's irritated question faded as Leon indicated the car that Noah was standing by with a jerk of his head. It was the next one down.
"In there. Wanted to keep it quiet." Leon said, glancing at the busy groups ahead of him. No one thought this was peculiar.
Jonah stalked over to the car, prepared to be severely irritated, when the branded crate in his line of sight made him pause. Colt. He looked around, saw other familiar names, too. Browning. Heckler and Koch. Winchester. "We popped a few open, just to check. Three state's worth of products--the works." He indicated a box with a distinctive label. Military, too. Sneaky bastards. "Still pissed, Boss?"
"Noah, you unload keep this one quiet. Load it all on your truck and on Leon's. Take it to the office. Get our guys over here and tell them to keep moving." He thought furiously. "I want only two trucks working on this one in tandem. Get Stevie to use one of our warehouses for all of it." Every one of his men was needed--but he had to have someone on each end to take care of this one load. "Noah, you stay here and supervise. Leon, you're on the office end. Get everything unloaded, then you're done here until it's catalogued and…Hell. Cherrypick it." Noah nodded. He understood what to do. "Keep the exotics, enough ammo for…a year. Be generous. Take the rest to Johnston. I want an absolutely accurate inventory of everything we keep and everything we send." He turned to the younger, smiling Latino. "I don't care how long it takes you, Leon, but you're now in charge of the records." Cold blue eyes warned the cocky young man not to screw it up--or to cook the books on this one. Jonah smiled suddenly. "And I will be reviewing everything."
"Sure thing, Jonah." Leon's grin was gone. Noah hadn't bothered to try grinning at Jonah. They both knew what something like this meant. Three states was what the crates said. Munitions didn't go by train, not for small arms. Not usually. This had been intended for somewhere more important than the city gunsmith. Noah waited until a much more somber Leon was busy pulling his truck around.
"Important car, Jonah," Noah said. "Makes you wonder." About who was looking for this car and who was really going to get it. And who had shipped it. Not all of the contents had matched the labels on the crates.
"Indeed it does. Keep an eye peeled for anything else that's…odd." He had just turned and walked two cars away to check on a load that looked a bit heavy for Stanley's older pickup when Aylah met him.
"Got feed in one of the last boxcars. If you're done with the most essential stuff up here, then get some of these farmers down to carry these feedbags into town before it starts to go. If there's one car full of it--"
"There will be more." The midwest wasn't a farming community, it was the farming continuum for most of the nation. Of course there would be more. Jonah looked around. Thank God--there he was.
Titus Clarind. The man who could keep order among the people of Jericho almost as well as his sister, Miss Maddie. Johnston was good, but Titus was better--and Titus never ran for office; therefore, people listened to Titus even more when he spoke. Jonah knew why they were obeying him--fear. They'd obey Titus for another reason--worth. If Titus looked down on you, nobody would do anything else. He was damned lucky Titus thought there was something in him that kept him worthwhile.
"Brother Clarind," he said, a real smile on his face, "a welcome surprise and perfect timing." He extended his hand in greeting. Titus Clarind would accept nothing less than courtesy from another man. He would not tolerate 'mister' in front of his name, a mistake no one made more than once.
Titus raised a snowy eyebrow, his black eyes and weathered black skin making the gesture elegant.
"You in over your head, Prowse?" Titus' hand was thinner, but still strong. And he still called Jonah by his last name only. At least it wasn't Miss Maddie with her 'if it isn't that Prowse boy…look for that Green boy and wait for Trouble!'
"No, Brother Clarind, but there are going to be some happy farmers who need organization in a few minutes. There's at least one car of feed down the line. Aylah found it. She's not much on the animal supplies, but if she says it's getting ripe in that car…"
Titus smiled. "How's the girl doin'? Been a while since she's come back to visit us."
"Been a while here, too, but I'll see that she comes by. Meantimes, will you take over at the feed cars?"
Titus chuckled wickedly. "Meaning you can keep these boys in line, but a bunch of old hands are beyond you?"
"Old hands tend to do and ignore instructions, unless it's an old hand talking." Jonah grinned at the older man. He knew his limits, even if he did tend to leap over them when he felt the need. What had possessed him to bite off this trainwreck? Oh, right. Pride. Well, pride and the strange desire he had not to disappoint Johnston, which was as alien to him as the desire to dress up as Dolly Parton and prance around in stiletto heels. One good deed and down the rabbit hole he went.
"And you a lot of things, Prowse, but an old hand ain't one of 'em." Titus nodded and turned away, raising his voice in a farmer's field-holler. Neither one felt the need to say anything else about what Jonah needed and what Titus could do.
Several of the older farmers and farmhands turned to watch Titus walking their way. Jonah watched as Titus got closer to the group and heard a faint call that, somehow, the men understood. Titus and the majority of the farmers broke off from the paper supplies and books as Jonah watched. As soon as Jonah turned to follow the progress of the trucks returning from their trip to town, someone shouted his name. He looked around and prepared to address the next crisis.
"Jonah! Toby's pinned between a wheel and the platform and we can't move the truck to get to him. He's bleeding bad--" The words were lost as Jonah bolted toward the knot of men crouched under one of the cars.
*****
In town, Johnston grabbed Bonnie and his secretary.
"Ladies, I need some help. We've got more coming in than we expected. Bonnie, please go down to the school and talk to the principal. Tell her I need every high school student, eighth grader, and upper-grade teacher she's got to do inventory. Then you need to go meet Mary. Did Stanley show you how to drive the moving truck?" Bonnie signed that he did, not wanting to interrupt vocally. She could tell when the Mayor had something in mind. "Good. You'll be driving in her place for the rest of the haul. Tell her to meet with Bethanne at the stores where we're putting the haul." Bonnie nodded and went on her errand.
Johnston turned to his secretary, fifteen years of familiarity leaving him comfortable with designating her as his second regarding the supply runs.
"Bethanne, I need you to go find that IRS agent Stanley was complaining about and get her down here. She's going to be useful, whether she likes it or not. If she doesn't, tell her to pay her hotel bill, in cash and book her flight back to D.C. Then I want Mary Bailey down there, too. She's been driving for Jonah, and she'll have an idea how many loads have come in here and how many have gone to the office. I know Jonah's taking some non-perishables to his place. He's also got an inventory he's promised me." He could see the objection on her lips and held up a hand to forestall her. "I'll handle Jonah--besides, we wouldn't have this much coming in without his help." She couldn't debate that without sounding like a complete witch, so she stayed quiet. "You and Mary will be second in authority to the IRS woman. Direct the teachers to different areas, according to their fields of knowledge. The teachers will be handling their students--get them to take the best for each subject as their helpers, and those that are generally lousy or lazy students can be the movers and do the heavy lifting. Use the laptops we have here for Town Hall. We have enough for you three and the teachers--we've only got a dozen or so teaching the older grades. You remember the inventory we've had to do here the past year?" Bethanne Sartain groaned. "Same thing, only more stuff and you get lots more help."
"You want model numbers, skews, and ISBNs on the books, too?" Bethanne was hoping he'd say no.
"On everything that has a model number, skew, or ISBN. Any books, of course, go to the library for them to catalogue. Anything electronic--store it in the fallout shelter under Town Hall. Medical supplies go to the clinic--get Gail to pull someone for inventory there. Otherwise, use your best judgement. We're using the empty storefronts on Main first. Mary will know which ones. If those fill up, then we'll go to the warehouses on Elm. It should be a while yet before we get that far, though."
"Gotcha." Bethanne sighed. "Who's going to supply dinner?" It was getting late enough that they would need the roadwork lights out there soon. It was certainly too close to supper to refuse to feed everyone, and coordinating anything with the rest of the town was going to take a lot longer than could be considered efficient.
"Drop by Davey's on the way to Bailey's. Ask him to cater--he uses gas, not electricity, so he can still operate. Tell him to prep for 100, real numbers to follow. Town'll reimburse in goods or cash--his choice." Johnston pulled on his coat and picked up his radio. Damn thing was almost out of charge, but Eric had just come in with a message about a wreck on Jubilee Road, and that meant somebody had to drive the ambulance. At least the ambulance had a good radio in it. "Oh, and Bethanne? See to it that he gets an order for those out at the train and planes. Both of those are going to be working 24 hours a day in shifts, if I know Jonah."
Johnston smiled his thanks and turned to scurry for the ambulance, missing the raised eyebrows of the fortyish woman who hadn't grown up in Jerhicho.
If Johnston knew Jonah? Bethanne snorted. Well, if the mayor insisted, he'd get it--he'd just better want what he got.
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
A/N: The Kansas state statutes mentioned here and the court case(s) are complete B.S. invented by me. But they sound like something that would be in legal books somewhere. :-)
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On a Dark Horse