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finish the details in the morning. That’s when they would take the heavy tarps that covered the lumber on the flatbed. They would cover the opening at the top of the compound with the tarps, cutting holes for each of the six exhaust pipes to peek through.
         They would take the plywood they’d pilfered from the lumber trailer and lean it up against the bottoms of the trailers, all the way around the compound. They had enough half inch plywood to place it five sheets thick. Two and a half inches would be thick enough to absorb high velocity bullets, and would be too heavy for someone to crawl under the trailer and just push over. However, they could easily lay the sheets down one at a time whenever they needed to leave the compound for any reason.
         Lastly, they needed to set up the equipment they’d taken from the truck stop. A portable pump and two hundred feet of fuel line. They’d run the line to one of the tankers in the north field, and would crank up the pump any time they needed more fuel for their rigs.
         Four portable diesel generators would provide power for the floodlights, which would run 24/7 in the darkened compound.
         Lastly, they set up a good sized campfire in the center of the compound that they’d keep burning for the next seven years, or as long as it took, until they could break out of their self-imposed prison. To keep the fire burning, they’d start with the lumber from the flatbed. Then they’d burn anything in the trailers they didn’t think they’d need.
         They’d offered Lenny, the yard man, the option of staying in the compound with them. But he declined. John, the truck stop manager, had hooked Lenny up by letting him set up home in a stock room. He had a bed and a couch in there, as well as a space heater, TV, DVD player and microwave. To power everything, he had a good sized generator that vented to the outside of the building. When he was finished with it, it wasn’t much different than a college dorm room.
         He’d scrounge food and other supplies from the trailers left at the truck stop. He’d melt snow and boil the water to drink. And Lenny had a secret he didn’t tell the others. In the back of the yard sat a nondescript twenty five foot trailer full of cigarettes and booze. It was headed to a chain of liquor stores in San Antonio when the trucker decided he’d rather spend his last few days with his family instead. So he dropped it in the yard and told Lenny what was in it.
         “I won’t be back,” the trucker had said. “Help yourself to whatever is in the trailer.”
         Lenny had been an alcoholic all his life. And his mouth watered at the prospect of an unlimited supply of free booze.
         It wouldn’t be an easy life on any of them. But it was relatively safe. And home is what you make it, after all.
         By the time the sun set in the chocolate brown sky, the four in the compound were exhausted. But Marty was the leader. So he volunteered to take the first watch. He told Joe, “Go grab a few hours of sleep. Then you can relieve me for the rest of the night.”
         And as the other three cranked up their tractors and let them run through the night, Marty spent the night crawling back and forth around the compound, kneeling down to watch, from underneath the south trailers. Watching for any sign of movement that would indicate trouble.
         It was going to be a long seven years.
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
         It was Tuesday evening, and time for the weekly “tribal meeting.”
         The day the group had assembled in the abandoned salt mine to ride out the storm, they had met to decide their form of government. They fashioned it upon some of the Native American tribes. Every man and woman over the age of eighteen would have his or her say on key decisions that affected the group. Children would be expected to watch and learn, but to stay silent. Each adult who had