rentals. They say too many planes are getting stolen on ‘no-return’ flights. One of the managers said to me that they’re getting told, like, ‘You can keep my security deposit, but you have to send somebody to pick the plane up, in Montana.’”
“How many planes are getting stolen?”
“Before they cut off the rentals, like 80 percent. Some charter pilots were also getting hijacked, so they also stopped doing any charters, too. So then I started calling FBOs and the general aviation airports up in Michigan. It’s the same thing up there. I can’t find a charter outfit to fly her down, not for any sum of money. What are we going to do?”
Ian thought for a moment, then said, “Don’t worry. My dad has several guns. He can handle any rioters that come down their block.”
On Friday, just after Ian got home from his class, they got a call from one of his parents’ neighbors in Plymouth, Michigan. Though she lived just across the street from the house, she was calling from Iowa. Sobbing, she said to Doyle, “Your dad shot two of the gang that were trying to kick in my front door. He saved my life, Ian. I am so thankful.” There was a long pause, and then she went on, “I don’t know how to say this, Ian. After your dad started shooting, they got really mad, and they surrounded your dad’s house and used those Molotov things, and they burned it down-right down to the basement. Nobody got out of the house.” She sobbed again, and then said, “Your daughter was in there. I’m so, so sorry!”
The next few days were very difficult for the Doyles. Ian took two days of emergency leave. Though they were grieving deeply, they still had current events on their minds. Over the weekend, the television news showed more and more American cities descending into chaos.
10. Initiative
“If man is not governed by God, he will be ruled by tyrants.”
As the frequency of gunfire and police car sirens in Radcliff increased, Sheila decided that it was time to relocate. With her husband dead, there was nothing to keep them there. Consulting with her grandmother, Sheila ruled out moving back to Louisiana, which was even more chaotic than Kentucky. Sheila mentioned Bradfordsville, Kentucky, a small town that they had seen just once. It was a one-hour-and-twenty-minute drive east of Radcliff. “Do you remember it? It was way off the interstates, and there was an old store building for lease there.”
“We have enough gas to get there?” Emily asked.
“Yeah, but not enough to drive back here if it doesn’t work out.”
Emily said softly, “Then let’s pray.”
They bowed their heads and prayed for ten minutes. Then they looked up at each other and smiled.
“You feel a conviction?” Sheila asked.
“
They called Tyree into the room and started packing the car immediately.
The drive to Bradfordsville was stressful. Tyree nervously held the shotgun all the way there.
They encountered two roadblocks, both manned by sheriff’s deputies. At the first, just outside Hodgenville, a brief radio call was made to check their license plate number. Sheila heard the deputy mention, “It’s just two women and a kid.” After a few anxious minutes of waiting, they were waved through.
The second roadblock was just west of Bradfordsville. This was strategically placed on a low bridge west of High View Drive, on State Highway 337. It consisted of six large trucks and truck trailers in a staggered formation, intended to slow the traffic to a slow, serpentine crawl. It was manned by a uniformed sheriff’s deputy and two private citizens who were wearing jeans and baseball caps. All three held identical rifles that Sheila didn’t recognize, but from their protruding magazines she knew that they were automatic or semiautomatic.
The deputy who approached Sheila’s car window asked suspiciously, “What is your business here?”
“I’m going to see the owner of a commercial building that I saw was up for lease.”
“Which one?”
“There wasn’t a sign. There was an old building next to it, as I recall, the Superior Food Market.”
“Well, they’re
“I intend to open a store in that smaller building, Lord willing.”
The deputy nodded and remarked, “Well, somebody oughtta get a store going again here or there’ll be folk starving.” After a beat he added, “It takes a lots of guts to open a business in times like these. You just keep yourself safe. You have any trouble, just ask for me, Deputy Dustin Hodges, okay?”
Sheila nodded and smiled.
Deputy Hodges gave a sweep of his hand and said, “God bless you, ma’am.”
As they proceeded to slowly drive through the remainder of the roadblock’s sharp S-turns, Emily quoted one of her favorite sayings, from the play
The old store building was on the main street running through Bradfordsville. It was sandwiched between the defunct Superior Foods and a gas station, also closed. At the gas station, a large hand-painted sign across the boarded front door proclaimed: “NO GAS.”
Sheila got out and examined the building. It was of the old false-front style and looked to have been built in the 1920s or even earlier. Peering through the dusty windows, Sheila could see a small sales floor ringed by a semicircle of glass cabinets. Behind was a doorway leading to a back room. There appeared to be an apartment upstairs.
A small hand-penned sign taped inside the window read: “For Sale or Lease, Contact Hollan Combs,” and gave an area code 270 phone number.
Sheila pulled out her notepad. On the inside of the front cover she saw something that her late mother had penned the year before she died of uterine cancer:
“A prudent
Sheila jotted down the name and phone number on a blank page.
She told Emily and Tyree to wait in the car. Then she strode toward the pay phone booth at the gas station.
Tyree protested: “Mom, the phones aren’t workin’. Not even the cell phone.”
“I know, I know.”
Thankfully, the plastic phone book holder still held a local phone book. Listed under
The house was just two blocks away. Again leaving her son and grandmother in the car, Sheila knocked on the door of a 1960s-style house. A weathered sign read: “Combs Soils Lab.”
The man who answered the door was in his seventies, gaunt, with thick black plastic-framed glasses. He carried a stubby Dan Wesson .357 revolver in an inside-the-waistband holster. He asked, “Can I hep you?”
“My name is Sheila Randall. I would like to lease that store building and apartment above it-next to the gas station. You own it, right?”
Combs seemed hesitant, “Well, there
“I propose five dollars a month.”
The old man laughed and slapped the side of his thigh. “You gotta be joking. Five dollars won’t even buy you
