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Dark Sunrise, part 7 Cierra and the crew only felt slightly guilty as they dropped the bags of gold onto the manager's desk. They had wiped out most of the grocery store and were now heading down the street to ransack the department store. They still had 3 hours before the store management was likely to show up for work. JP had a sheepish look on her face and shrugged. "We're getting pretty good at this." Cierra had to agree. "Who would have thought we'd become scavengers?" "Not me but we have little choice. It's getting too late for the survivors to plant crops and build shelters. I've been thinking. We have farm animals but these people don't." "And where would we get them?" "There's gotta be stockyards but we'd have to deal with possible night hands who watch over everything." "Are they likely to be armed in this day and age?" "I doubt it. We'll have to cut their phone lines then move in and tie them up. We can grab some animals and feed." "JP, we can't bring them aboard the ships. Think of the problems on how to transport them." "Okay, how about this...we borrow trucks and trailers to bring them as close to the survivor camps as possible then transport them. We'd have to do that for every new camp." "Ugh, I feel tired just thinking about it." "You want them to starve this winter?" Cierra shot JP a dirty look that told her that she didn't fight fair. ****** The council members and the crew looked towards the shore in despair. There was no possible way to transport all those people at once. The camps were filled beyond capacity. Thousands of people were huddled together and all of them hoping that Cierra would somehow perform a miracle. "Oh my sweet Lord," Jenny moaned. "How are we going to move all these people? We'll be here for weeks for this camp alone," Cyd said to the others. Janice looked at Cierra, knowing what she'd say would sound cruel. "You'll have to pick and choose, Cierra. What we took will all be taken by this group and still not feed them all for the year. We still have fourteen more camps to deal with yet. Take 500 and the others will have to fend for themselves." "And condemn the rest." "No, not condemn. We keep saying this over and over. You can't save them all." Jeren spoke up. "It'll be a riot if you tell people they won't be allowed to come with us." Jenny agreed. "What if you did your third eye trick? We find sites where there's communities on the alternative world and drop them off there. We'll raid for supplies and just bring the stuff back with us. Then we won't have to haul it around at least." "That might work, hon," JP told her spouse. "We won't have enough gold to pay for it all," Cierra said guiltily. "Perhaps not but we'll leave some gold at all the locations. It's better than nothing," JP told Cierra. She knew her wife would feel guilty for stealing. "It's up to you, Cierra. We can be thieves or leave them behind to fend for themselves," Janice told her friend. Cierra stood there with her arms crossed while she thought it over. Finally, she spoke. "Let's get these people to safety." The next few weeks were hectic. They dropped off a few hundred people along the coast where a town or city existed on the other alternative world. The women broke into stores, leaving some gold but their gold was running out. Authorities were comparing notes and following the path of break-in's. The police thought perhaps it was a gang of those hippies stealing to support their group but they were unable to find a single witness as yet. No vehicles had been seen nor did they know exactly how the thieves got into the buildings. The doors were always locked, making the police scratch their heads in confusion. If the doors were locked, how was the merchandise taken out? The biggest roadblock to their investigations was the fact that merchants weren't forthcoming in reporting the break-in's in the first place. The gold left behind made them reluctant to press charges for trespassing. The only pattern they found was that they were slowly moving along the coast. The police mailed letters along the coast, wishing they had a more efficient way of communicating with other states. Then the reports stopped coming in. Did they disappear as mysteriously as they arrived? ******* The captain of one of the carriers spoke up. "Ma'am, what if we sold one of our planes or helicopters to a design firm? They'd pay a lot of money to improve their own designs." JP protested, "We can't do that. We'd be launching them into the computerized age a decade sooner." The captain thought about it. "We'll, how about selling them one of our Chinooks? They've been around for a long time. We can remove the digital instruments and put in older styles. The engine improvements alone would interest them and give you enough money to fund your raids." "Do you have a company in mind?" "In fact, I do." Four days later, the captain and a crew of soldiers in civilian clothing walked out of the office to one of the most prestigious design firms on the east coast. They each carried a briefcase filled with paper currency, the condition of the sale. No checks would be accepted. They had sold them one of the Navy Chinooks that had been stripped of all insignia and digital equipment. Cierra was waiting in the second helicopter and would transport them back to the Earth once they left sight of land. She planned on finding JP and taking a nice long nap before their raids later that night. She felt better knowing that they could pay for the items they took. It just wasn't in her nature to steal. She just hoped that their interference with this alternative world didn't cause any harm. ****** Elinor Masters noticed the small article in the Charleston newspaper and it triggered a vague memory. Wasn't there a series of robberies in California with the same MO? She picked up her phone and dialed the numbers to her friend in San Francisco. If anyone knew about the unusual crime scenes, he would. Forty minutes later she hung up the phone. That was so weird. Were the thieves following the coast? She decided to call around. Perhaps the port authorities would know more. ****** The reporter peeked into the eerily lit grocery store in West Onslow. She had tracked the incidents and predicted that either West Onslow or Surf City would be hit next. Since the robberies usually took place in smaller towns, she thought this seaside town would be more likely. Elinor stepped onto a pile of wooden pallets and stood on tiptoe to see into the dusty window that was located at the rear of the building. Inside she saw not a small group of people moving in the dark but at least fifty people were quietly and efficiently collecting cases of food stock. Many of the people inside didn't look like the typical vagabonds. They dressed neatly and had well groomed haircuts. So much for the hippy theory. She wondered why they were gathering so much food. Were they taking food to the communists? Elinor was at a loss. There were so many possibilities for these people. And why did they pay for their items? With their skills they could easily take the merchandise for nothing. The reporter lifted her camera after wiping a clean spot on the window. Maybe she could get some nice clear shots of the people inside. Elinor zoomed her camera towards individuals, snapping a photo occasionally but not until she spotted Cierra did she feel like she had something. Who was she? She had almost an aura about her. She used her lens to follow Cierra around the stockroom. She watched the mysterious woman walk up to a heavily loaded pallet and place her hand on it. Elinor was wondering what she was up to when she and the pallet vanished into thin air. "That's not possible!" she mumbled to herself, swinging the lens in a slow circle. She must have just shifted her camera and blinked, imagining what she saw. She was no where to be seen. Elinor lowered the camera and stared at the room below. Where was she? Then the reporter saw her with her bare eyes appear within a painted circle on the floor. "What is going on?" she whispered. Elinor looked around, wondering if she could somehow get inside. She had to find out what was going on. The blonde climbed down the stack of pallets to the asphalt and looked around. Near the corner of the building was what looked like an office. An inspection of the old dirty window showed that no burglar alarm was on it. Maybe she could force the window open. She retrieved a screwdriver from her glove box and wedged it under the window. She broke a few fingernails but considered the loss worth it when the lock suddenly released and the window began to lift. The window was stiff but she managed to get it high enough to crawl into the office. She tiptoed to the door and cracked it open, trying to listen to the conversations around her. She didn't catch much. They spoke mainly of transports. She closed the door and brought a wooden chair from behind the desk, positioning it so she could look out the window above the door. The reporter thought she'd be safe from being seen since the room was dark and the warehouse lights were dim. She watched them for quite a while, taking note of everything going on and snapping pictures. It wasn't until all the trespassers walked over to a tipping pallet that she got an idea. She snuck out of the office to where a load of empty barrels sat to be picked up by factories. She rolled one to the nearest half filled pallet and placed it onto it. She prayed no one turned around and spotted her as she lowered her slim body into the empty pickle barrel. The smell was strong but it couldn't be helped. She pulled the lid down. If she were lucky, no one would discover her presence and she could find out the real story behind the break-ins. She heard several crates and boxes being placed on the pallet where she hid, feeling the vibrations through the old wooden barrel. The lid was suddenly pressed down, blocking her source of fresh air. Elinor bit her lip, forcing herself not to yelp in panic. She reached for her purse in the dark, finding her screwdriver. She forced it under the lid and pulled. Thankfully the boxes over her weren't heavy and she had a sliver of space now to get air. "Okay, this one is ready, Cierra," she heard a male voice say from within her hiding spot. Elinor braced herself, unsure how they would move the pallet. Then a wave of dizziness hit her. "Okay, this one and that pallet over there goes to our ship. Those two over there go to Connie. Need any help, ensign?" "No, sir. I can handle it." Elinor stiffened. She wondered how she'd get out of the barrel. She hadn't thought of that before she got into it. Then the pallet lurched hard as something seemed to grab if from below and lift it higher. She let out a yelp but doubted anyone heard her over the sound of the engine of what had to be a forklift. She heard loud noises for quite a while then the unmistakable sensation of being on water. Several unlady-like curses escaped her. Now what did she do? She was trapped and unable to escape. Screaming would only let them find her. She had to calm down and think this through. Then the option was taken from her. She heard the pallet being unloaded as men grunted and lifted boxes from the pile. Any minute now they'd find her and they would probably kill her or worse. "Hey, this barrel says pickles but it isn't sloshing," a man said as he shifted her hiding place. "Well, open it up and see what's inside," an impatient voice commanded. Then bright lights hit her eyes, blinding her. "Oh boy. Someone contact Cierra. We have a problem." Next Chapter |