Three miles southeast of the center of downtown Cincinnati, Lunken Field was a small municipal airport that in times past served the needs of local corporate air fleets and private aviators. When Frank had lived in Cincinnati, he'd gone to Lunken on a few occasions, mostly with a folding chair to watch 'Aviation Days.' Classic warbirds, jets, helicopters and more would arrive for the air show. Occasionally a B-17 would show up and visitors could pay for a brief ride in the massive four engine bomber.
More distinguished guests than Frank had been to the airport before, of course. Back in '07 then President Bush had visited to help raise funds for a local congressman; the next year John McCain and Sarah Palin had used one of the hangers to address a crowd of supporters. In 1964 Lunken had seen prestigious visitors of a more musical (and less conservative) bent when the Beatles had arrived there for a concert at Cincinnati Gardens. In 2015, the most recent year Frank could firmly remember, Lunken had served 29,000 passengers going to spots throughout the midwest and the east.
Aircraft no longer flew out of Lunken. No visitors arrived in two engine puddle jumpers or private jets. Now it was a tent city for refugees streaming to Cincinnati, one of the last safe havens east of the Mississippi River, a processing center before the displaced were sent further west.
Frank was with them.
“I'm sorry sir, but you really can't keep that.”
Sighing heavily, Frank didn't look up from his seated position at the young Marine standing near by. He'd unloaded his belongings (which were lighter than when he'd started his journey back in West Virginia) next to the large desert khaki tent he and the Murtons were going to share, and they were in a pile. In his hands was the Marlin lever action rifle Solomon Lancaster had occulted up for him, once upon a time.
A hodge podge of military units were responsible for protecting the refugees here at Lunken Field; Frank had seen Air Force security teams, a good number of Army troops, and Marines like the one talking to him now. Many of them were sweeping their way slowly through the camp built on the wide grassy plain surrounded by runways. They were confiscating weapons.
Most of the survivors gathering here were unarmed, many others simply handed over what few arms they had. After what Frank had seen, he was extremely loathe to turn his in.
“With respect, young fellah, I ain't too keen on givin' up my one means of defendin' m'self.”
In digital pattern camouflage of green, black and brown that looked like he'd been living in them (he probably was), the Marine nodded, a long suffering expression on his boyish face.
“Sir, I understand that, really I do. But we have our orders, and no civilians are to be under arms within the camp. Too much of a chance of an accident or some other problem—I'm sure you are a responsible man, sir, but the rules apply to everyone.”
Frank looked up with an arched eyebrow, hands resting on the Marlin lightly, and it was the Marine's turn to sigh.
“Hey, I'm just doing my job here. Besides sir, we've got a shit ton—pardon my language—of firepower on hand. You guys are safe with us.”
Whatever Frank was going to say next was cut off as an older man in a dark blue windbreaker came over through the lines of tents, the canvass structures rippling slightly in the chilly breeze. He had some kind of plastic badge clipped to his collar, and wore a pistol on a duty belt.
“Any trouble, corporal?” The newcomer smiled in a way that reminded Frank of a used car salesman.
Or maybe an Illuminati agent.
The Marine shook his head slowly at the man, then turned his gaze back to Frank as he spoke.
“Ah, no sir Mister Woods. I'm just explaining to this gentleman here that they're all perfectly safe, and he doesn't need that rifle any more.”
'Mister Woods' frowned ever so briefly, then the oily smile was back as he now faced Frank. Frank's eyes narrowed as he glared at the man.
“Citizen, the corporal here is right. You don't need that any more. I'm a representative of a government agency trained to deal with the current situation, and, hah, we're in overall command here. We have our instructions to make sure this camp is as safe as possible. Corporal, you told him this is just part of the rules, right?”
The Marine nodded slightly, still looking at Frank and not the government man.
“Yes...yes sir, I did.”
Woods clapped his hands together.
“See? There you go. It's part of the rules, and you really don't need it. If you want, citizen, I can bring over some paperwork so you can claim it again once this crisis is over?”
Woods smile started to slip a bit as Frank just glared at him, then snorted, handing the rifle to the corporal. He knew that just as with Parkersburg, this was a fight he wasn't going to win.
“Yeah, I reckon that might be a long time. This was...from a friend of mine. Jus'...jus' treat that with respect, young fellah.”
The corporal nodded and started to walk with the Marlin over to a nearby military truck that was filling up with small arms. Woods smiled again, looking pleased.
“That wasn't so bad, was it? Please, I understand you probably had a hard road just getting here. I'm sure it was awful. But you're here now, and with us managing the situation, you have nothing to worry about, Mister...?”
Woods had leaned in to offer a hand. Frank remained seated, getting a glimpse of the ID badge as he slowly took and shook the proffered hand.
On the badge was the acronym ONPSMI.
Frank had encountered them before, on Solomon Island. He'd seen how well they'd 'managed' the situation there.
“Jus'...call me Frank. And, yeah...I feel real safe now with you guys in charge. Oh yeah.”
Their column had arrived at dawn. Chu had driven the line of vehicles hard after spotting the same grotesque trophy poles that Frank and Brinks had. She hadn't wanted to waste another minute in the open with roughly forty soldiers protecting twice as many civilians, especially with their heavy weapons sitting back in Parkersburg.
No doubt being put to good use by the conde as he set up his little fiefdom.
Frank had been sleeping fitfully as they came to a stop at a check-point set on the two lane highway they had been driving on. Unbeknownst to him, the column had gone through several burned out and abandoned suburbs before coming here. Wooded hills that in peacetime were part of a park overlooked the check-point, and Frank gazed up at them through the armored glass of the MRAP once Brinks had nudged him awake.
Abrams tanks and sandbagged positions squatted menacingly up on the heights, barely visible in the early morning light. Finally they'd been cleared, and a squad car from the members of the Cincinnati Police Department that had survived the chaos of the past few years lead the way to Lunken Field. At last they'd come to a halt, and Chu came by to announce the soldiers and civilians were parting ways.
“My orders were to get these people to Cincinnati, Mister Calhoun, and here we are,” Chu had said, looking like she might fall over at any minute as she leaned heavily against the RG33. Frank flashed a grin that became a grimace as his injured side twinged.
“That y'did, lieutenant. That y'did. And now?”
Chu shrugged tiredly, looking at the city skyline to the north.
“We've been told to head into the city while they find a spot for us to collapse. There's some kind of headquarters downtown and a messenger in a hummer is on the way to announce us. Would be nice if we could just use the damned radios. To be honest...I don't know if they're going to know what to do with us, sir. I imagine...everyone expected us to be dead.”
“But y'ain't,” grinned Frank tightly, offering the woman who had managed to lash together troops from half a dozen different commands to escort the motley bunch of civilians to Cincinnati a hand.
She took it, shaking it firmly.
“Nope. Nope, we're not. Mister Calhoun, it's been an honor. And get that wound looked at, okay? I didn't get you here just so you could die of infection.”
Frank had laughed, which of course brought more grimacing as the motion jostled his injury. Chu and her mish mash of vehicles and personnel had left them then, heading back towards the main roads and the city.
The refugees, including Frank, the Murtons and all the others they'd met since Parkersburg, were guided into the tent city that had once been an airport.
“Well Andre, it'll be just like Prosperity,” Jessica Murton had told her son, before realizing the full ramifications of what she had said. As the little boy's eyes widened, Issac had jumped in.
“Without the monsters, of course. Tent living without the monsters.”
It was only their second day in the camp when they had a near riot.
Frank had been tossing a football back and forth with Andre on one of the few open green spaces in the Lunken camp (the ball was a gift from the Pattersons to the youngest member of the Murton family) not already occupied by tents or Port-a-Johns. Andre had thrown an errant pass that bounced past Frank. Andre had shouted an apology as Frank had turned to go after it through the maze of green and khaki tents.
“S'all right, kid,” Frank had said back as he bent to pick it up—and then spotted the military personnel moving through the camp.
Accompanied by more government suits.
Motioning for Andre to stay where he was, Frank ambled in the direction of the wedge of troops. They were going tend to tent again. Another weapons sweep? As he got closer he could hear arguing, and one of the suits shouting to be heard.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please! We have supplies to make sure everyone's needs are met, you don't have to keep the extra food with you. You're not on the road alone any more! Hoarding food will just encourage bad feelings within the camp.”
“You've got to be shittin' me,” muttered Frank, squeezing the football. Now that spare weapons had been confiscated, they were back for the caches of food that many survivors had brought with them into the camp. As Frank shook his head in disbelief, the suit went on as a wall of survivors seemed to spring up around him and the troops, shaking their fists and shouting at him.
“This isn't up for negotiation! Again, we have more than enough for all! Newcomers hoarding supplies on their own is only going to upset those who have been here longer and already willingly gave theirs up!”
“Mister Frank, are they gonna take our food?”
Frank almost jumped as he realized Andre had followed him and was standing right next to him. Used to be he was hard to sneak up on. Now it seemed everyone could.
“Uh, I dunno Andre...I think we oughta head back to your folks.”
At that point someone in the throng tried to shove a man in an Army uniform who had a confiscated bag of foodstuffs in his hand. A woman in a similar uniform with a riot shield pushed the civilian back, and things started to turn ugly as soldiers and survivors began to press against each other like a rugby scrum.
Frank scooped up Andre as if he was a football himself and turned to make a break for it before something awful happened to the child when a new voice rang out, somehow above all the others.
“Everyone, stop! There's food to go around, and we accomplish nothing by fighting each other! Do we want to do the squidheads work for them? Or the raiders?”
Frank blinked in surprise as people slowly stopped pushing at each other, turning wherever they were to stare at the new speaker. Following their gaze, Frank could see that she was standing on top of one of the portable generators that helped run the floodlights that lit the camp at night.
In raggedy cargo shorts and a tie dye top, the dreadlocked young woman struck Frank as a hippie in search of a microbus. And in shorts? In this perpetual autumn? Her voice was clarion clear and arresting, however, and he found that his levels of agitation were dropping just listening to her. Shaking himself a bit, he could see now that everyone in ear shot was watching her.
“That's better,” she smiled back at them. “C'mon, everyone, I know this isn't all that fun—but I've been here for a few months, and they really do try to help us. Just give it a try, please? It's better than us being at each others throats, believe me.”
Muttering and grumbling to themselves, the crowd started to untense, withdrawing from the line of riot shields. Looking from one group to the other, Frank could see both sides seemed...surprised. A little confused. The suit in particular was staring at the young woman as if he'd never seen her before in his life.
Before he could do or say anything, however, a rawboned captain started giving out orders again, and the process of food collection began again. The survivors looked sullen, but obeyed this time. Frank looked back for the woman.
He saw her moving away with a Latino man that couldn't have been older than twenty-two, and unlike the crowd, he seemed very agitated. She gestured back to the crowd with one hand, and Frank could see her mouth the words “I was trying to help!”
Her other hand held a medallion tightly before slipping it back into a shorts pocket.
Oh, my. Frank squinted after them, already having decided the one was a mage of some kind and wondering what to do about this new knowledge when he heard a voice from under his arm.
“Uh, Mister Frank? Can you maybe put me down now?”
