Free The Flu 2: Healing by Jacqueline Druga Page B

found wasn’t much, but it was a tip of a shoe imprint. A Denny Dynamite shoe print.
    Clenching his fist in gratitude, Mick could clearly see other footprints through the foliage. They crunched the leaves, splashed in the mud. They weren’t big, they weren’t man size. He didn’t see any more of Tigger’s footprints, but Mick figured that if they were running, then Chris was carrying Tigger.
    By what he saw, Mick felt in his heart that the boys had taken off, they were on foot, and they were running.
    They weren’t that far ahead of him, and now he had a direction and a lead. He followed it.
     
    * * *
     
    Briggs made his second pass of the day into the small town of Damon. While he was able to receive radio signals at his base, Jon Wentworth was in Damon and that was who he needed to see.
    Briggs arrived in town. He didn’t drive; gas conservation was vital. He rode horseback. He didn’t need security, or a team. That was why he was confused by the intimidation that people projected. They merely nodded as he rode in and stepped from his way. Not that there were many Damon townspeople remaining, and a lot of those in town were part of his team.
    That would change. Damon, surrounded securely by a small mountain range, would serve as the capital in the newly governed post-flu world.
    Briggs tied his horse to the bicycle stand in front of the former Walgreen’s. The store had been emptied and organized, the windows painted black, and people were carrying items into the store.
    On the pole outside was a hand written flyer: “Register at the municipal building for distribution and work.”
    Those flyers were posted everywhere. They were stockpiling things nicely and a surviving economics professor from a local college was coming with a list of jobs that needed to be filled, and planning for future tasks. But the system was simple. All hours worked earned rations for the week. Everyone received the same rations, even Briggs himself. Extras like alcohol were given on a first come first serve basis, weekly. That was the plan. Of course, they were still in the early stages.
    Jon Wentworth wasn’t an economist, politician, or farmer. He was an everyday guy who had worked for a wireless telephone company as a tower technician.
    Briggs liked him. He was a reasonable man. Jon helped with radios and that was how Briggs learned of his skills.
    Jon now sat inside the former McDonald’s, sipping on a coffee when Briggs entered. Jon stood.
    Briggs joined him at the booth. “How’s it going?”
    “Pretty good.” The table was covered with papers. “I made radio contact and we should be getting towers one and three up. Those were your bounce points. Those were why we lost phones. It’ll give limited coverage to the New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio areas, but enough for now.”
    “Excellent job. Any idea why they went down?”
    “Tower three was damaged. We don’t know how that happened, possibly a storm.” Jon shrugged. “But once we get that up, I can network with the satellite to try to reach out to people all at once.”
    “You mean like those annoying little advertising text messages?” Briggs asked.
    Jon nodded. “I need to find people to expand the network.”
    “Well, we only need to concern ourselves about our farmland right now for spring. I need that. We need that. We need to link up communities for this to work.”
    “And what if they don’t want to link?” Jon asked.
    “They must. If they don’t, we’ll have pockets of resistance. Really. Let’s say … Damon doesn’t want to participate.” Briggs shook his head. “Okay, we exclude them, they run out of food. They can’t really farm here except private gardens. So …they go after food. Where? They’ll have to take from others.” Briggs looked at the young man. “You don’t seem convinced.”
    “It’s just that … people want to do their own thing. You’ll have that to deal with.”
    “We will, but unless they are one hundred percent