here's a story by a friend from another forum. it gives some excellent ideas of situations we could all face as well as ways to handle them.

posted with permission of the author, all rights reserved by him.


The Long Road Home
by Puternut
------------------
Prelude

Truckers are the lifeblood of our nation, hauling freight to places that have no other means of receiving supplies.

The Iraq War, high fuel prices, and recent retaliatory terrorist acts, including the dirty bomb attacks in California and New York, as well as other attempts, had panicked the Nation, unraveling the thin layer of civility society had.

Panic buying soon stripped shelves of food, which led to the recent glut of truck high- jacking. Law enforcement, overwhelmed with the terrorism, violence and unrest, could not deal with highjacking's also, so that convoys once again became the only way to travel. The final runs off the main highways were fraught with danger for the single truckers, but premium pay and a desperate need for food and supplies in smaller markets made many willing to take the risk.

Things seemed to be going down hill fast. The Government PR broadcast assured everyone life would soon return to normal but one just had to look around with open eyes to see through their smoke screen. Fewer drivers were willing to make the runs each week, but the money was good and Steve knew they could use it to fine tune their emergency preparations.

The long runs from his home in Florida to the small communities in North Carolina, sitting behind the wheel of a Mack, gave Steve too much time to think. All the recent highjackings and the break down of law in this country had his wife afraid every time he cranked the big diesel up. He had figured this would be his last trip, things had gotten just to dangerous. He was constantly rehashing his emergency plans and worrying about his family. His wife had refused to stay with family when he started his runs. She would say that it was HER home and nothing would make her leave. She was a strong willed woman that he loved very much and a very protective mother. All he could do was prepare her as best he could and make it back safe each time. Therefore partly to calm her fears and partly to satisfy the need to prepare his Grandfather had instilled in him, Steve made alternate plans in case driving back was no longer an option.

Plans he would soon need....
(posted 02-28-03 12:11am)
=================
Chap 1 - the trip begins

Was it only yesterday it had happened? The slow sharp curve outside New Bern,NC,the red strobes of gunfire. The loud bangs of ruptured tires and sudden loss of control, the impact with the trees. And finally the sharp, burning pain and blackness from the grazing round across the forehead...

Steve awoke to the stinging smell of rich black smoke. Both trailers had been unhooked and driven away and a flare was tossed into the rapidly draining fuel to erase all evidence.
Struggling out the partially opened door Steve barely had time to grab his vest, backpack and Rossi 357 lever action before the flames got too hot to cross. The gun lacked the allure of an "Assault Rifle" but also lacked the stigma, besides it was able to handle .38 special as well as the more powerful .357 magnum.

Half running, half staggering into the dark, wooded roadside Steve looked for a place to hide. Falling over a hidden stump Steve crawled into the thick underbrush, lay down, closed his eyes against the sharp, pounding pain and confusion in his head, then passed out.

His next conscience thought was of the pending dawn and fear of discovery. The previous hours were just fragments of dark images, frightening sounds and sharp smells.

A sudden throbbing pain in his head reminded him of his wound. Thinking that he might have a concussion, and thankful he had somehow remembered his survival vest and bug out bag, he opened the first aid pouch and washed down a couple of Ibuprofen. He wished he had brought something stronger but drugs and driving big rigs don't match.

Trying to control his panic, but feeling a sudden urgency to get as far away from the area as possible, Steve got slowly to his feet, swaying with each pulse of pain in his head. Donning the vest and bag, after checking that the rifle was loaded and a round chambered, he slowly started walking, gathering speed as the pain reliever started working.

After a few hours of careful traveling, staying within the confines of the shadows and wooded areas Steve decided to stop. He would have liked to keep going, to try to cover as much ground as possible but he recognized the need to rest, recover, and plan his next few days. Steve found an area with a slight depression surrounded by dense underbrush. Removing his Swiss Alpine poncho from his bag, as well as a survival blanket, and with the help of his Cold Steel Bushman he soon had a temporary shelter to lay under. A thick layer of leaves covered by a large trash bag was a welcomed addition as a mattress and once covered by the survival blanket he gave in and let the rapidly approaching exhaustion wrap its arms of darkness around him.

The day was almost over when he next woke. Rested, but still with a throbbing head, he took stock of his supplies. He had enough supplies in his vest and bag for a week of careful eating. The 1 liter "Big Mouth" bottles of rice, oatmeal, dehydrated beans(1) and corn meal coupled with 4 MRE's, 4 packs of Ramen noodles, a few more power bars and some beef jerky were nothing fancy but it would keep him alive. He had scoured the online forums when he recognized the need for carrying a few supplies when he traveled. He had started carrying everything on all the lists but soon realized no one could carry or even need all that. After a few "camping" trips he had pared it down to what he could carry in his photographers vest and a small backpack. Now he would see if Uncle Sam's training combined with his preparations would get him home to his family.

Steve didn't feel hungry but knew he had to keep his strength up. He began by digging a hole and adding a little dry grass and some small twigs for a fire. He placed a bag of Ramen noodles in a canteen cup to heat and, While waiting, used his emergency mirror to check out the wound. Finding a 2 inch furrow across his right brow he first gently cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe, then placed a gauze bandage over it.

Slowly sipping the strong chicken flavored noodles and enjoying the warmth and comfort they gave, Steve focused his thoughts on his wife, the twins and his future.

Weather was the unknown. Winter was pretty much over but El Nino was doing some mighty strange things. If it stayed mild he should be able to reach his cache in Myrtle Beach,SC just fine.

Otherwise he was in for a long week!

1 Dehydrated Beans - http://www.u-s-foods.com/ourproductspage.htm

(posted 2-28-03 12:05pm)
==========================
Chap 2 - Home

Susan was worried. No, she was down right scared! Steve normally called every night when he was on the road. Last night he had missed his nightly check in, as he jokingly called them, and she still had not heard from him. Her husband had told her not to be concerned unless he missed three or more since anything could happen such as a cell tower problem or just being in a "dead" coverage zone.

Get a grip girl, she scolded herself! He had promised he would return no matter what,he expected her to believe in him totally and she would. She got up off the couch, dried her eyes and forced herself to get her day started.

She had planned to transplant the tomatoes today from the greenhouse to the garden as soon as her housework was done and now she was behind. She decided the garden would come first and the housework could wait until the twins came home and Chrissie could help.She would not break down now, the family was depending on her. That would wait until Steve came home she promised herself!

The warm sun cascading on her back was like a benediction as she knelt there, planting the seedlings in the rich composted soil. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand, gently placing each plant in its place and soon lost track of time. She may have been born a "City" girl but being around Steve's family and living here had changed her in ways her childhood friends would not understand. She loved the quiet relaxed routine and the simple pleasures her new life brought.

Simba, their Rottwieler, alerted Susan a stranger was arriving. Susan's first chilling thought was how stupid she was, not having brought her pistol as Steve had tried to drill into her. With life turned upside down she had better start remembering, if she got the chance.

Then she heard Chrissie yelling at her twin brother and she knew all was right on the homestead. Funny how kids can turn life around so many ways. She thought back to the day she and Steve had brought them home from the adoption agency. Only 4 years old and already labeled problem children. Two years of love and a firm old fashioned hand changed that. By the time they started school they could laugh and smile like the other children. Six more years of love and time well spent taking them hunting, fishing, along with doing the myriad other things families do together, and they were normal as any other pre-teen.

Lisa and the twins saw her as she came around the side of the house and turned her way.
Chrissie was complaining about Chris rubbing her head and messing up her hair, and he was teasing her about a new boy in her class. Lisa was the wife of one of the dispatchers for the trucking company Steve worked for, not really a friend, but she always seemed to know what was going on before the wives did. Most of the wives called it the trucker's grapevine.

After telling the twins to calm down and get started on their schoolwork, she asked Lisa inside. Waiting until the kids had run into the house, Lisa gave her the news. Steve's truck had not arrived at the unloading dock and another driver on his return trip had spotted the burned out shell of a truck like Steve's a few miles away. The news gripped Susan's heart like an eagle grips its prey, but she fought her terror down. She asked Lisa if his backpack and rifle were found. Lisa said not much more information was
available but since most driver's carried firearms other driver's tended to check for them if a truck was found. Neither Steve nor his equipment had been aboard when it burned.

Susan let out the breath she had been holding. He's alive, I know he is! She assured Lisa she would be ok and that her husband would make it back. Lisa was not convinced Susan understood what she was telling her, but Susan's convictions would not be waived. Thanking Lisa for bringing the kids home and for her information Susan walked inside to face the twins.

Chris and Chrissie may have been only 12 years old but they quickly guessed something was wrong. To their questioning look Susan told them the news. Chris got up and in a way only a young person can, looked her in the eyes and said "Don't worry Mom, Dad will make it back. He promised to let me shoot his new Garand and he has never lied to me." Wrapping both her arms around them she thanked GOD for sending her strength in the shape of the twins.
(posted 03-04-03 6:15pm)
---------------
Chapter 3 - The First Mile

Steve awoke to the sound of distant gunfire. Shaking the morning fog from his head, he lay there clutching his rifle trying to discern if the sounds were real or a dream from his past. He had not had nightmares since about 6 months after he got out of the Army. No, there they were again. Just a few distant reports from the direction of the highway, but at least he knew he wasn't having flashbacks. Things must be getting worse, or ammo was on sale somewhere. He guessed he had better get used to the sound.

It was time to get started. His Grandfather always said the first mile is the hardest because you must commit to a course of action, everything after that is just following thru and tweaking. Steve had wanted to follow I-95 back, but the gunfire had changed that. He got out his map and traced a parallel route along US 17 thru the Croatan National Forest. US 17 ran past Myrtle Beach and by staying between it and the Intracostal he could reach his cache easier. He would also avoid the more populated areas around the I-95 route. He was betting he could maintain a 16 mile per day pace, he then should reach his cache in 7 or 8 days. If he could avoid any trouble.

A quick, hearty breakfast of oatmeal with a strawberry jelly packet squeezed in and he was ready to pack up. Water would be the first thing he needed, his supply was almost gone. He carried 1 liter in his vest and 2 liters in his pack, that was about all that was reasonable for a lightweight pack. He did have his Katadyn mini filter if he found a water source and did not want to use his bottle of Iodine crystals. Hopefully he could find an empty house or business, and fill his bottles without getting shot.

Rolling up his poncho and placing it along with the bag and blanket in his backpack, Steve rechecked his route using his GPS and compass. He had kept the GPS in his vest along with his compass because it could pinpoint his location and track his travel. He trusted the compass more for constant use, it didn't use batteries,and he had become proficient with it under his grandfather's tutelage. He carried two, primary in his vest, backup in an outer backpack pocket. He wished he had been able to grab his cell phone to call Susan, but it had been charging in the truck, had fallen onto the floor somewhere, and he hadn't had time to retrieve it before exiting the cab.

He first had to work his way thru the forested area he was in until he could find a water source. According to the map and his GPS he was about 16 miles from Havelock, NC. He should be able to walk "as the crow flys" through the woods. He did have to skirt around a new subdivision coming out of the forest, but it was mainly woods and lowlands till then. Afterwards the area was mostly rural until near Havelock. He would stay west of the town, trying to avoid the more populated areas, knowing it was safer to stay out of sight as much as possible. Glad the mosquitoes were not yet totally active, he started off.

The green forest just awakening from it's winter slumber had a calming, almost tranquil effect after awhile. The soothing sounds of the wildlife made life seem normal, like he was hunting back home. It was easy to forget that America was tearing itself apart just a few miles away.

The first day passed as he planned. With a stop to fix a simple lunch, rest his feet, and fill his water bottles from a pond. The mini filter worked fine, if a little slow, still it gave him a chance to rest and take care of his feet. He was glad Susan had bought these Danner Acadia boots for Christmas, they were a little expensive when compared to what most truckers wore, but worth every penny now. A dusting from the small bottle of "Gold Bond" type powder, a fresh pair of socks and clipping his worn socks to his backpack, he was ready once again.

He made good time traveling game trails that lead in his direction, only having to break trail once himself going around a large pond.

Coming to the edge of the forest, he came upon overgrown and weed choked farmland. Where in normal times the owner would be busy planting, he saw no tractors, no farmer, nothing but dried stalks from a past harvest and the ever present brambles. Taking his folding binoculars out of his vest pocket, he slowly scanned the area. Spotting a dilapidated farmhouse, he could see the front door hanging by one hinge, the side door laying in the dusty, grey dirt. He could tell no one had lived in it for awhile. Hoping to find a useable well or stock tank for water, he walked toward the house. Feeling decidedly uneasy, without knowing why, Steve thought about the owners. Had another hard working farmer been forced to sell his heritage?

His Grandfather had once told him that America was formed from the sweat and blood of many different people, all working together, to become Americans. But now no one wanted to be an American, they were all trying to maintain their "Identity", whatever that was. If they wanted to be like they were, they should have stayed where they were to begin with, he would say. The country was becoming so unstable it would come apart given a little push. The wise old man had not wanted to see that happen and he would not. Just three short years ago he had passed away in his sleep. Steve really missed him, but his quiet talks and loving ways had left an impression on his grandson that no amount of schooling could ever erase.

Chap 4 - Pets

The sudden stillness brought Steve back to full awareness. What had he missed? Mentally slapping himself for daydreaming he slowly turned, trying to feel the danger that had alerted birds and insects. A low snarling growl brought his attention to his left. Partially concealed by a patch of dried corn stalks, a large' black German shepherd ready to pounce, another two-toned shepherd close by. A skinny,brown Doberman, and two dirty looking mongrels, further away, trying to encircle him. How could he have let his attention stray? He was not hunting, this was survival and he was now the hunted!

The food shortage had caused many people to turn their pets loose to fend for themselves. Not realizing that sickness or starvation would be most of their fate they ran them off to avoid feeding them. Some dogs reverted back to their pack instinct, joined others scavenging, attacking wildlife and even lone humans.

Knowing he had to act decisively, Steve quickly brought up his rifle and fired as the lead shepherd attacked. Steve did not remember each shot as soldiers in his old unit had bragged, all he remembered was the lessons that a member of the "Cowford regulators", the Jacksonville Cowboy Shooters club, had tried to teach him. He did not get to participate as much since he started driving, but the twins enjoyed dressing up and "playing cowboys and hookers" as Chris liked to say (when his mother and sister wasn't around, of course). The old shooter could make his lever action talk, watching him, his quick,fluid movements looked slow until you checked the clock. Those lessons saved his life this day. As he fired he kept hearing acquire, squeeze, stroke, acquire, squeeze, stroke. The Rossi had been rough when he first got it, stiff to cycle, but an afternoon of careful polishing the inner workings and using valve grinding compound on the hammer to smooth the contact point with the bolt improved things nicely. Adding the Weaver peep sight really helped aiming too.

The two shepherds went down first, the powerful 158 grain Remington hollow points backed by a stiff charge of H-110, seeking out fur and flesh like a missile seeking it's target. A yellow mongrel was next to fill the sights of the Rossi. The renegade dog turned just as he fired, and took the bullet in a hindquarter instead of his heart. Steve turned to meet the dobie's charge, having only seconds to avoid sharp yellow teeth, he delivered a rifle butt to the streamlined head. The wood butt stock staggered the beast washing both eyes in blood. A last hurried shot at the second mongrel narrowly missed, but convinced the dog to give up his plans for an easy meal and gave the dobie a chance to escape this suddenly dangerous prey. Steve looked for his next attacker but realized it was over. Their leader and his girlfriend dead and two others wounded, the remaining dogs slinked away.

Reloading the Rossi in case they tried again, the adrenaline rapidly draining from his supercharged body, Steve got the shakes. Not the large full body shakes, just little internal tremors thru out his body. It had always been this way. A danger signal to his adrenal glands, the rush of his body going into overdrive with every sense in high gear, then, afterwards the heavy let down like a heroin junky coming off a high. That weak feeling and metallic taste in his mouth that could not be washed away, always followed the rock steady, cold, fearless feeling he got when danger was imminent. Jekel and Hyde his buddies had joked, one minute, John Wayne, tough and fearless, the next, Roger Rabbit, queasy and shaking.

Turning, Steve jogged away, fearing a new attack if he stayed, but more afraid of turning an ankle or worse if he ran in the fading light, he headed toward the house to rest and recharge. Stealing a glance at his watch, had it really only been five minutes? It felt like the whole fight had lasted 30 minutes or more. Strange how time had slowed from the first growl, to the last yelp.

Slowing to a walk as he neared the house, Steve cautiously checked it out. Keeping alert for the dogs or other danger he circled the old weather beaten clapboard sided farmhouse. It's front windows shattered, the rusty porch roof sagging, it still offered a place of refuge. Picking a back room with an exit, he cleaned a spot for his bed using a left behind piece of rotting curtain. He sat down and leaning back against a wall momentarily closing his eyes against the strain of the day.

Taking out his small, white LED, infinity flashlight(1) he checked his map. He liked the little light and had carried it in his pocket since he had bought it last year. It only used a single AA cell but put out enough light to travel by. He would soon be entering an area that was more populated. Farms like this one had been converted to subdivisions, small plots of land with quickly built homes costing many times more than the original farm. He could not find a way avoid them but could stay on the fringe following what looked, on the map, to be a large drainage canal.

After traveling through the forest he thought now might be a good time to clean up. Taking out a light weight pair of grey sweat pants, matching sweatshirt and a pair of grey socks he undressed. Using a baby wipe and a small amount of the alcohol he carried mainly as fuel for his alcohol burner, Steve washed all his "dirty boy parts", checked for ticks or other unwanted guests, and changed. In an emergency he would be harder to spot in the darkness, moving in the grey sweats, than in his jeans and chambray shirt. Changing the bandage on his head he first used a little antibiotic ointment from his first aid kit. Feeling refreshed and assured he had not picked up any insect hitchhikers it was time for dinner.

Deciding to eat lite he took out his second power bar and a piece of jerky for dinner. Eating the scrumptious fare, followed by a multivitamin, he opened his poncho. Rolled up in it, used his pack as a pillow and closed his eyes. Maybe tomorrow would be a less exciting day.

1- http://www.paddling.net/Reviews/show....html?prod=744

(posted 3/12/3 12:47p)
=================
Chap 5 - A new day

Steve awoke quietly but instantly, his days in a recon unit coming back to him. His training, long thought forgotten, but only buried by a more peaceful existence, resurrected in him an awareness unneeded in the previously "modern" America. Now however he needed every advantage to make it back home. That was one more reason he had prepared a major cache near the point halfway between his furthermost stop and home. And why he had carried his vest and backpack ever since he had started driving, adding the firearm when things got really crazy.

He once again rolled up his poncho, placed it on his pack and got ready for breakfast. Grabbing his binoculars from his vest, he checked out the area. Moving slowly from one dust filled room to another, he scanned the area for anything out of place. After determining he was alone on the old farm, he carried his pack into the living room beside the old fireplace. He might not want to take a chance on a large fire in that chimney, but it would handle an alcohol stove just fine. Again oatmeal would be his breakfast, but he decided a packet of honey from a fast food chicken place, would make it "finger licking" good. Smiling at his weak try at humor, Steve realized he felt good. His headache and all apparent symptoms of his head injury were gone. In spite of his situation, his many aches and pains from the increased exercise, he knew he could make it. He had more equipment and supplies than most people, but more importantly he had the head knowledge to use it or do without it, if he had to. And he had an extremely sexy woman waiting for him at home.
Easy Steve, he told himself, better not follow that train of thought too far. He still had a long way to go yet.

Placing his Trangia stove(1) on the ledge of the fireplace, he poured a small amount of fuel into the burner and put a canteen cup of water over the almost invisible flame to boil. As soon as it was heated he dropped a coffee bag from his vest into it to steep and replaced it with his second cup carried in his backpack to heat water for the oatmeal. To save time later tonight he took out a Ziplock bag and added a measure of Instant Dehydrated Black Beans from the 1 liter bottle along with some minute rice from another. Later tonight he could heat it quickly in a cup with water, since they both cooked in about the same time, for his supper. For lunch, since he would be traveling in more populated areas, he would have one of his MREs.

Removing the bag from his coffee he added a sugar packet, stirred the brew with his finger to check the temperature, and had his first "normal" moment since the highjacking. Amazing what a cup of Joe does for your well being, he thought. He could drink it with cream and sugar or just sugar but never could stomach it black like some of the "tougher" acting drivers. Each to his own, he carried both sugar and the "blue stuff" to handle his needs.

After eating the oatmeal and finishing his coffee he packed up. He had noticed an old pitcher pump standing beside a rust streaked stock tank during his earlier area check. He wanted a closer look at it. If the leather had not dried out too much, he might be able to fill up his bottles and clean up better than he had last night.

Once again Steve checked the area out using his binoculars, this time during a slow patrol around the outside of the house. Wanting to make sure he was alone while inspecting, and hopefully using, the pump.

Slowly working the handle of the old pump, feeling the slide of the dry leathers on the bore of the
pump, Steve felt it may work if he could get the leather to soak up enough water to seal. Pouring a small amount of his remaining water around the top, then giving the leather a moment to soak, he started to pump. Slowly at first, then faster as he poured additional fluid into the cylinder. Feeling the increased drag as the pump caught he pumped even faster, at last a stream of life-giving water rushed out of the spout into the old trough. Pumping until he felt he had fresh water in the well casing he dunked his whole head under the spout. Memories of being a kid again at his grandfathers house flooded his thoughts.

Pushing the past once again behind a locked mental door, Steve refilled his water bottles after he had filled his internal reservoir. The clear cool water refreshed him in a way nothing else could. Removing the sweats, feeling a little bit conspicuous, he took a washcloth and hotel size bar of soap he had previously removed from a vest pocket and bathed paying special care to the healing wound on his head.

Drying with the small hand towel from his pack he dressed once again in his jeans and shirt.

Taking the time to wash his socks as well as his underwear he imagined the sight if the owners had come home earlier. A buck nekked man, rifle close by, pumping water like crazy over a soap foamed head. Yea that would be a sight all right.

Steve once more thought about the downside of being alone, that of having no one to cover your back while you took care of the necessities of life, or acted stupid, whatever was the case.


(1)Trangia stove - http://ultralight-hiking.com/stoves-trangia.html
(posted 03-18-03 1:35pm)
==========================
Chapter 6 - Bomb

Dressed, fed, and repacked, it was time to bid the old house goodbye. It was like an old friend, bringing comfort and a measure of security as well as rekindling memories from days long past.

More alert than he had been, Steve started walking. He planned to follow the fence line, or what remained of it, till the property ended. Staying in whatever cover he could find until he reached the start of the canal.
He would then travel along the canal as much as possible, avoiding the residents of the area.
------------------------------------------------

Al Ja'rea checked the bomb once again. Fifteen pounds of smuggled C4 set to deliver a cargo of three pounds of
radioactive particles into the air once detonated. Hundreds would die and a large area contaminated. The material still made him nervous even though he had been assured he was in no danger as long as the lead casing remained intact. Ja'rea was impatient to join Allah, but had to wait until the wind met the requirements given him. It must be fast enough to spread the radiation, but not high enough to scatter it ineffectually, and in the right direction to blow the particles across the selected area when he pressed the trigger.

Smuggled into America inside a cargo container, along with its normal contents, the bomb components had been assembled and mounted to the vest he was wearing. Given to him two weeks ago, he had been in place here four days waiting on the weather, but today would be the day to once again sting "The Great Satan" and enter into the waiting arms of Allah and His houris.

Today he would strike back against the Marines that had attacked his homeland. He would penetrate Camp Lejeune as far as possible then detonate the bomb. Even if he was stopped at the front gate this bomb would do it's job. The knowledge that no one is safe anymore, not even the military, would push America a little further into chaos.

He had been told to choose the secondary gate during the morning rush. Even with the fuel restrictions being implemented and the slow unraveling of modern society, government employees still needed to get to work.

The ideal wind would carry the radiation across the main barrack area, half the training facilities and the civilian admin area if he placed himself correctly. He did not need to enter the base just be at the secondary gate when he pressed the button in his pocket.

The explosion rocked the gate, immediately killing 6 gate guards and 2 female clerks on their way to work. The radioactive particles would kill many more over the next few months, and cut short the lives of many others. But more importantly, create a panic that would cause more deaths and, fueled by a willing press, bring them one step closer to anarchy.

------------------------------------------------

Steve crossed through the first two subdivisions without any trouble. It took longer than he had planned but
many houses were empty, their occupants moving to stay with other family members or friends to save money and for mutual protection. He stopped for lunch inside a partially destroyed shell taking care to avoid any signs he was there.

He decided to heat water for the beans now rather than save them for dinner. He was in a secure place even if it wasn't exactly a safe place. The water was soon ready and after a 5min boil the beans and rice also were ready. He had made it with a little extra water so he could almost drink it, but he used his spork(1). He had filed teeth in a Lexan spoon replicating what some fast food places used, but in a sturdier instrument. Refueled and repacked, he once again headed south.

He passed signs of violence more than once but didn't take the time to check out the burned or vandalized houses, wrecked cars, or the bodies he noticed. But from the crudely painted symbols he saw on walls and doors, more than terrorists had been involved. He guessed every hate group had decided this was a good time to exact their revenge upon whoever they thought might be to blame.

Increasing his awareness another notch (if that was possible now) he slowly continued on, trying to stay in cover where possible. In the short time he had been out of touch things had escalated. He wished he had been able to add a small radio to his kit but he kept trying to get the weight down and had not found one that he liked. When I get back I have to add it to my list, he thought. Still he remembered the one in his cache, maybe then he could catch up with the world.

He was past the middle of the last group of houses when he heard it, multiple shots coming from in front of him and directly in his way, at least three or four guns. One a shotgun from the sound, the others pistols or low power rifles.

He had three choices. Stay there, not a good option due to limited cover and no secure place to wait. Retreat and find a different path, no good either as that would take too long and might not be any better. His last option was to continue on and hope he could avoid the situation. Yea right, he thought with a mental grin, not with his luck. Still it was his best choice.

Passing between the canal and three yards of privacy fence enabled Steve to travel a little faster than before. As he passed the last fence he came to a smaller drainage ditch feeding the larger canal. The ditch ran through a public picnic area complete with ball fields and a small fishing pond. Both sides of the area had been left in a natural state to give a sense of privacy both to the area as well as the neighbors. It also gave him concealment approaching the gunfight. He thought of it that way since the shots kept coming at irregular intervals.

Crossing the picnic area quickly, he found the trees on the far side were on a hill about 10 feet above the lots before him. In a cul de sac had stood five houses, now only two remained. Three had been burned, roofs falling in, walls collapsed. All had swastikas crudely painted on the various walls still standing. One of the remaining houses was now under attack and from the looks of the attackers they were not from the termite company.

Scouting out the situation, Steve determined there were four MZB's in front and two in back. All had pistols, one sounded like a .357 magnum, most were semiautos, probably 9mm's, but one had a "Dirty Harry" style .44 magnum. It must be a status symbol for the only time Steve saw him fire it he quickly put it down, shaking his wrist and grimacing, his buddies laughing at his discomfort. Two of the MZB's had rifles and one had a pump shotgun. Two others were walking towards a van parked in the middle of the road.

Steve figured it was none of his business if the world wanted to kill itself, he had a family to care for.
Just as he was ready to pull back he heard a scream from inside the van. Putting his binoculars back to his eyes, he saw the two hard cases and a female through the open side door and she was not enjoying the party.

Looking closer at the girl Steve's blood turned to ice. She could not have been much older than Chrissy, about 13 or so, and what they were doing to her not even an adult female should be forced to accept.

Granddad had said to ignore evil was to condone it, and this was an evil he could no longer ignore. Maybe at that moment he became as feral as the dogs earlier had been, or maybe something long ago buried by man's evolution resurfaced, all he knew was that somebody was going to pay.

Settling back into his vantage spot Steve prepared to bring religion into the unknowing lives of the neo-nazi's.

Laying in the cool moist leaves, Steve brought the Rossi to his shoulder once more, calculating the distance with the calmness of a windless day, he sighted through the peep sight. The bad guy was facing away from him, all attention on the house, but that would shortly change. he remembered a line in a Matt Helm book he had once read. The one where Matt Helm shoots a bad guy in the back. Then says that blood is 98.6 degrees front or back, and no such thing as cold blooded, so why should he give the man he is going to kill a chance. Steve took a deep breath, released some, then slowly caressed the trigger.

1 Spork http://members.tripod.com/~sporkk/
(posted 03/21/03 09:00p)

Chap 7 - Hellfire

The shot surprised Steve like it was supposed to, the Rossi pushing back into his shoulder. To say the tough guy on the receiving end was surprised would be a severe understatement. One minute he was getting close to having one more Jewish girl to enjoy for awhile, after killing her husband and new baby, the next he loses all feeling below the neck as the hollow point enters just below his collar bone, severing his spine. Darkness rapidly engulfed him as he tried to call for his Mama. The second gang banger started to turn as the lead slug exploded his heart sending him into eternity to accept the ultimate responsibility for his meager, useless life. Neither gang member had had time to figure out what was happening much less return fire or call for help. Two shots, two kills, the Rossi was doing all he asked as long as he did his part.

Steve pushed up from the ground, and carefully moved toward the front yard, his firing position already picked out from his earlier recon. As he gracefully slid into firing position, he quickly scanned the front for additional targets. He noticed the two van partyers moving his way after hearing shots from someone besides their partners. Realizing something was amiss the pair left the van and headed toward the backyard, trying to pull up their pants, run, look, and hold a pistol. Part of Steve's brain chuckled at the absurdity of their moves even as he stroked the trigger again, sending a 158gr life changer into the first. Aiming low on purpose, the slug entered party man number one's (as Steve thought of him) stomach, expanding into a perfect 60 caliber. Maybe the shocking, intense pain he would suffer until he died would even the ledger books of life a little. Turning his attention and sights to party man number two, Steve once again caressed the trigger of the Rossi. Number two no longer had to be concerned about his pants or his manhood, aimed even lower, the slug entered the pubic area performing an instant sex change and dropped the youth in his tracks.

Two more down, Steve turned just in time to see a third assailant take a shotgun blast to the head as he forgot to keep it down while watching his buddies get their last, fatal lesson of this new life. Steve's fifth round caught another Nazi lover in mid thought, trying to comprehend what had gone wrong. Their plan had always worked before, what was happening now? He never was a fast thinker, now as the slug bore through his skull, turning his brain to mush, he no longer had to worry about it. The final pair had had enough, they both jumped up and tried to reach the van, firing wildly over their shoulders. Another blast of bird shot wounded one, as the range from the house increased the spread of the shot. Steve's shot arrived half a second later, killing the last, wildly firing, gang member as he reached the van, balancing the ledger a little more. Thankful the gang had not been combat trained soldiers, Steve reloaded the Rossi from his shrinking box of spare rounds. He had figured 30 rounds of 357mag and 20 rounds of 38spl would be enough, but after his last two battles he would be glad to reach his cache.

Visually reconning the area one last time before leaving cover, he checked each body over, making sure they no longer presented a threat. He then watchfully walked towards the only MZB to survive. At least for now. Steve removed all weapons within reach, and searched the moaning gang member carefully for hidden weapons, finding a small, cheap Raven 25 auto, and a folding knife. The boy had taken the bird shot in his shoulder and back, but the wounds were not fatal, just very painful. Very much a shock to someone used to dishing out pain, not receiving it. Taking a short piece of 550 cord from his vest he tied the gang member's hands, not being careful how tight he tied them, and headed for the van, ignoring the boy's yelling and threats. Again moving slowly so he didn't get shot by mistake from the house he checked on the girl. She was dirty and showed the bruises and wounds from her ordeal. She was alive and very frightened from the look on her face, her eyes distant and unfocused. Gently cutting her bound hands free, he covered her nudity with a dirty frayed blanket from the back. Softly talking to her as he performed each step she slowly relaxed. Realizing she was not the spoils of war but had been freed from her captors, she started to sob,folding herself into a fetal position. For the first time Steve felt helpless. He had often held Chrissy when she needed a strong shoulder to cry on, but she had not been abused and tortured by a heartless gang of animals. He was afraid if he tried to comfort her she would misunderstand his actions.

Reacting quickly to the sound of approaching footsteps, reaching for the Rossi, he turned to see the homeowner cautiously walking toward him. Steve lowered the still warm barrel of the rifle and removed his right hand off the gun to indicate he was a friend, the man did the same. Walking at a more normal pace now, he held out his hand to shake. Grasping his hand Steve could feel the tremors in his body, but his grip was strong. Once again Steve's own tremors started up, but he fought back the lurching from his bowels, his anger, still fueled by the girl's ordeal, overcame his normal reaction to adrenal overload. It would not do to start upchucking now. Seeing the peaceful exchange between the two men as silence replaced the recent gunfire a woman came out of the house carrying a small child protectively in her arms. Noticing the scared, sobbing young girl in the van as she neared the pair she instantly took charge as only a woman can do. Handing the child to her shocked husband, she pushed both men away from the rusting van. Reaching into the van, gently taking her hand, she slowly coaxed the girl from her fetal embrace and pulled her from the van. Wrapping the blanket around the her, the young mother half carried, half guided the girl towards the house and away from the vivid memories of her ordeal.

The young man introduced himself as Abraham Mendlebaum, the woman who took charge as Miriam his wife, and the baby as Joshua. He gave Steve an edited version of their story. In the last two months violence against the predominantly Jewish neighborhood had escalated. Finally three of the families in this cul de sac had moved, leaving him and the far household. Yesterday the other family had been attacked at night, before anyone could react they had killed everyone but the girl named Sarah. They had been taking turns molesting and torturing her since then. Abraham had been the only one in the neighborhood with a gun. Because he liked to skeet shoot he had two over/under 12 gauge shotguns and he had just loaded 300 shells in preparation for an upcoming match. The guns had saved their lives. When the gang attacked them they had been packing his Ford Bronco. He had bought it on a whim from a Marine transferring to Germany from the nearby Marine Base. It had a turbocharged diesel that the young marine had added propane injection to, as well as a few other extra's young men like. Most of all he had like the idea of the dual fuel tanks for the extra range it gave him.

They were headed to Miriam's family in Tennessee, since they had the room and property to handle the whole family if needed. He had finally been able to convince his wife of the danger they were in, and their need to leave, after days of trying. The gang had apparently saved them for last because he was farthermost away from the entrance and had burglar bars on all windows and doors. From what Steve could see the two going to the van had been getting torches to try to burn the family out. They had stopped for a little additional fun, while their partners kept the homeowners busy, before carrying out their task. One more difference between a trained army and a gang.

Steve checked each gang member to make sure he was talking with his maker, retrieving all weapons, ammo or cash they had. Steve never could understand how the movies always depicted the good guys killing the bad guys and then leaving their weapons or supplies laying around for anyone to pick up. He recovered 2 9mm Glocks, a Smith and Wesson 9mm, a Ruger GP100 in 357mag, and of all things a small NAA 22mag revolver(1), as well as the 44mag. In addition he recovered a Mossburg 12 gauge pump, a 9mm camp carbine, and a .30 M1 carbine. It was hard to believe such a widely varied arsenal would have been bought legally, so must have come from theft or past victims. He collected about $300 in cash from the bodies and their van as well as at least two boxes of ammunition for each gun except the 22mag which had only 10 extra loose rounds and the Raven which had no extra ammo. He decided to keep both Glocks, but only two loaded mags, since to carry any additional ammo would add unneeded weight and Abraham might need them more than him. The other mags he emptied and stored along with the second Glock in his backpack. He also decided to refill his store of 357mag shells and to keep the 22mag for a hideout gun. The other weapons and ammunition he would give to Abraham as they would be better than the skeet guns he had. The Raven he stripped and threw away, as unworthy to keep.

Miriam stepped out onto the porch and called for Abraham. After a short, whispered, but intense marital discussion, Abraham returned. Miriam had asked Abraham to spare the boy's life, even after all he had done. Steve said he didn't agree, but he would honor their wishes and think of something else appropriate. He told Abraham to go assure his wife while he stayed to clean up the mess. He first headed out to the wounded teen. Steve had never enjoyed killing, not even when hunting or during combat, but some people just did not deserve to live. He smiled internally at a remembered joke about the gene pool sometimes needing a little chlorine and Steve guessed he had just been the pool boy here today.

The injured gang banger had been yelling, cussing and in general making a large fuss about his rights, his need for a doctor, and how they were going to be sued. Steve pulled him to his feet by his jacket collar and slapped him twice just to get his attention.

The boy's eyes got real wide once he could refocus, this was not how it was supposed to work. Where were the police, the ambulance or the FBI even? He had rights didn't he? One more slap did the trick, Steve had his full attention now. Still undecided about how to handle the boy, since they could not take prisoners, the only other choice would be to let him go. Steve still felt the gang banger needed a lesson, a lesson that he would never forget.

Steve advised the boy of his dilemma, on the one hand, a simple bullet in the head solved his problem, but he had been asked not to do this, against his wishes. On the other hand, he could not just let the youth go after all he had participated in. So he thought of another way. Removing the cord from around the boys wrists with the Buck folder from his belt, Steve placed the muzzle of one of the Glocks against the boys head. The youth started to shake, sure that this stranger would pull the trigger, and then began to beg for his life. Steve had another idea, one that would satisfy Abraham and his wife, and teach the scared youth a lesson in humiliation and pain. First he told the youth to strip. Not comprehending Steve's sudden unusual request the teen continued his blubbering even louder. Steve delivered another thought clearing backhand to the hood and repeated his command. The boy then slowly removed his dirty, torn, but expensive clothes. Trying to cover his manhood and keep his back to the van the humiliated gang member became scared for another reason. If Steve could have gotten Sarah's face out of his mind he would have laughed at the Gang member's concern. Steve once more slapped the youth, spun him around and rapidly placed the nude youth's hands on the van and with a sudden motion neatly snapped the bone in the boy's trigger finger. Howling in pain, swaying unsteadily on his feet, his nudity forgotten, the boy looked like he could pass out or throw up with equal ease. Now, even assuming he properly set his finger, he would never be able to fire a shot again without remembering this day. Steve then simply in a quiet, deadly voice told the boy to start running. If he slowed down within sight he was a dead man, if he stopped within range he was a dead man, and if he was ever seen again he was a dead man. The only surviving member of a once "invincible" gang, realizing he had met the top wolf in the forest and survived, started running with a staggering odd gait, both praying that he could get out of sight before that wolf changed his mind, and wondering what time services started Sunday mourning.

Dragging each body from wherever it had fallen, Steve threw each carelessly into the van that would become their funeral pyre. He kept careful watch for law enforcement or lawless elements that might have been drawn to the sound of a gun battle. In normal times the recent gunfire would have had every law enforcement available headed this way by now, but the eerie silence was very telling. He wondered just how long the remaining bits and pieces of civility would remain.

1 NAA minimag http://www.naaminis.com/magnum.html
(posted 3-25-03 10:48pm)
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Chap 8 - New Plans


The smell of food cooking as he entered the house reminded him it was close to dinner time. Miriam noticed his entry and apologized for her house as if everything was normal. It is hard to be normal with seven dead bodies in front of your house awaiting cremation, but Steve imagined she needed the illusion to keep herself together after the shock of recent events. She said that she had calmed Sarah down enough to get her washed up, get a small amount of food into her and get her to lay down. Sarah would need to talk to someone about her ordeal, but for now sleep would do her good.

Abraham walked down the hall from the baby's room finally getting him calmed down, the almost constant gunfire for so long had him in a frightful mood. Steve wanted to check out the near-by houses with Abraham, to look for anything that might be useful, before it got too dark to see. He also wanted Abraham to ask his wife for a list of anything Sarah might need from her house. He wasn't about to let either woman into that house knowing the death and destruction he would find, but he knew Sarah would need her own clothes.

Abraham returned, after a muted conversation with his wife, with a long list. Seeing Steve's look at the length he shrugged his shoulder and said that universal apology, "Women". Steve smiled a knowing grin and said they would do what they could.

They decided to start the grisly task of going through Sarah's house first. The front door had been blasted off its hinges, and with no weapons to defend themselves, Sarah's family had been easy prey. The father had been killed first, his body still in the living room, at baseball bat near by, not a lot to ward off the evil invading his home. The son was killed trying to protect his Mother and Sister, his young body in the hall. The Mother's nude body left where she died in her bed, Sarah taken for the gang's later enjoyment. Once more Steve had to control his emotions, but you could only kill someone once (heaven help the gang member he had let go if he saw him again!), so he redirected his anger into action.

Steve and Abraham reverently carried the father's body to the bedroom and laid it beside his wife, next placing the son beside his Father. If only they had bought a gun they might still be alive and Sarah would have avoided the scars she would carry for the rest of her life. Leaving Abraham to collect the items on the list his wife had given him, Steve investigated the kitchen. Abraham would need food if his family were to survive. Taking the all can goods he could find, as well as the non-perishable item, such as flour, corn meal, and noodles, Steve also picked up a small lightweight pot. It was bigger than his canteen cups and would work better for cooking without adding much weight. All these he set outside the back door to be picked up later. Next he checked out the small shed located in back of the house. Besides the normal lawn and garden tools he found a small garden tractor. Spotting two fuel cans, a half full 1 gal can, probably for the weedeater, and an empty 5 gal can, probably for the tractor. Steve drained the tractor tank of the small amount of gas it contained into the smaller can by cutting the fuel line, placing the cut end into the tank and opening the shutoff valve. He had decided to burn the house and bodies as a way to preserve the family's dignity and control disease since they could not bury them. How to handle dead bodies was not something often discussed on the forums, and he had not put much thought into it either. Taking the two cans he placed the full one by the backdoor, the empty 5gal can he carried to Abraham's house to fill with fuel oil from the storage tanks for use in Abraham's Bronco.

Abraham was almost finished with the list when Steve walked back inside. Abraham had been embarrassed at having to locate the feminine items his wife had listed, so Steve helped him out, having both a wife and a daughter had made him more used to the female need's. Steve then helped him pack the items in a couple of suitcases then checked the closets and drawers for anything that might make Sarah's new life better. Spotting a stuffed bear on her bed, Steve added it to the stack along with her pillows and a few pictures off the wall. Little things maybe, but they might make the future easier to handle for her. A few more preparations and it was time to leave the house and get some fresh air, the odor of death had become almost too much to ignore in just the last few minutes.

They carried the items back to Abe's house and laid them on the sofa where they could be gone over by his wife and maybe Sarah. On the way back out Abraham picked up a spotlight and gave Steve a large multi-cell flashlight so they could inspect the storage building every house had. Steve questioned Abraham about his neighbors as they walked.

Abraham told Steve they had been in the area about 5 years and all his neighbors were also Jewish, at least by birth if not religion. Three of the families had left about a month ago before the most serious trouble had started. At first it had been signs on the front lawn or random spray painted slogans on walls. Then about a week ago the violence had started when the police had become so overwhelmed by the escalating unrest and the terrorist acts. When they found the families gone they had, one by one, torched the houses.

Abraham and Miriam had been packing to leave when the gang showed up next door, he had wanted to leave earlier but Miriam had insisted they stay as she believed the authorities would solve the problem for them. By the time he had convinced her they had to leave for their child, if nothing else, the gang showed up. The gang picked the closer house, quickly broke in and overwhelmed Sarah's defenseless family. Abraham's tone became solemn and his feature's tightened as he relived the events, wondering if he could have done anything to change them. Steve placed his hand on Abe's shoulder and told him that the family made their choice when they refused to arm themselves. We are responsible for our own first, then if our neighbors are willing to defend themselves we are obligated to bind together to resist those that would threaten our lives and freedoms. If someone will not defend their own family we have no responsibility to defend them either.

Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulder, Abe straightened his frame and thanked Steve for helping him come to grips with this disaster. Steve suggested taking all the empty fuel cans and filling them with fuel oil from the oil heat tanks as backup in case he needed extra for his trip. Also any tools, garden implements, or supplies his neighbors might have left that he could use, he could leave a detailed list if he thought they might be back. Abe shook his head and said they had told him they would not be back and that he could have anything they left.

Two big discoveries modified both their future plans. The first was a small trailer that would enable Abraham's family to carry many more extra's than they had first planned, this would make their future more comfortable . The other was a sandstone colored 17ft canoe a neighbor used for fishing. The owner had a small trolling motor with a large deep-cycle battery he had left on a trickle charger.

Abe had told Steve he would have to cross a nearby river and then travel past Camp Lejeune. With the highest security alert possible in effect that would be a major undertaking without traveling miles out of his way.
If he could get to the Intercostal waterway he could travel faster and quieter than walking, only having to avoid sporadic Coast Guard patrols. Abe told him they would gladly take him to the river, taking the back roads would be safer and the river would be only about a quarter mile side trip. Besides thanks to Steve's help, they were still alive and had extra fuel, it was the least they could do.

Taking the canoe, two paddles and the small trolling motor, they had just placed it upon the trailer along with the other items Abe wanted, when Miriam called them for dinner. Steve removed the trolling motor battery from its charger and placed it on the trailer. Together the trolling motor and battery would increase his ability to travel quickly and quietly. Finished with three of the storage sheds they pulled the trailer along with it's bounty as they answered the dinner bell.

After a simple dinner of canned beef stew, rice and bread they returned to the task of inspecting the last two storage sheds and packing for their departure the next day. Two more empty 2.5gal fuel cans brought the total fuel storage to 15gal, these would add much to the Bronco's range if needed. A 1gal can of kerosene for a space heater and an empty 5gal water can would also come in handy for the family. Two small 5w solar battery chargers were an unusual find but Steve added it to his small pile. The chargers would not charge the trolling motor battery very fast, but might add some range, besides he had the room now for a few extra's since he had the canoe, and would not be carrying anything on his back.

Finished with their scrounging, they returned to the house bringing their bounty with them. Steve had picked up a wrench from one of the sheds which he now used to remove the feed line from Abraham's fuel oil tank. Steve had been surprised that they still used fuel oil, but Abraham told him the builder had gotten a good deal on the high efficiency furnaces so most of the home owners had them. Using the cans, they first filled the Bronco's empty auxiliary fuel tank. Abraham had recently filled the main tank, but normally kept the second tank empty. The men then filled the empty fuel cans once again from the bulk tanks and stored them in the trailer. Steve wanted to keep the extra fuel cans out of the vehicle for the safety and comfort of the passengers. The spare cans would add a lot of range to the internal tanks if needed and the 5gal water can would give extra security since they would not have to stop for water, something Abraham had not considered. After filling and stowing the tanks Steve checked the Bronco, making sure it was mechanically ready to travel and checked what had been packed so far. He recommended a few changes to what was already there and helped Abe finish packing the rest of the goods they would take with them.

Abe also brought him up to date on how the world was doing. He had earlier explained about the bomb that had gone off at Camp Lejeune and the heightened security around the base, he now told Steve that the Federal Government had authorized each state to implement Marshall Law to gain control of the lawlessness. DC, Virginia, California and a few other's had quickly done so with North Carolina, Georgia and Florida soon to follow. So far South Carolina had not announced its plans, but all the states were expected to have Marshall Law in effect within a month. This would make travel more difficult and a lone person would look very suspicious near any government area. Unfortunately Steve had to pass at least two bases, and that is why the canoe would improve his chance to pass undetected, he hoped. If Marshall Law was implemented things could get tough in a hurry, a single traveler could travel faster but would also be more suspicious. Beside how would the population react to such restrictions? Would the more militant groups come out against the Government? Steve once more wished he had stayed home this time and not made that last run.

With the truck and trailer packed, a full stomach and a feeling of satisfaction that comes from helping right a wrong Steve lay down on the couch, closed his eyes and fell into a combat sleep, not awake but not deeply asleep either.
----------------------------

Susan could not explain why she had felt so nervous earlier, only that she no longer felt that way. Chrissy had been ignoring her father's absence, maybe because Chris still maintained complete faith in his father's ability to return home safe. He had been a big morale booster to her, and had stepped into his father's shoes (temporally according to him), making sure they were taken care of. He had even spent his spare time in his father's reloading room doing who knew what. Susan knew Steve had made preparations for emergencies when he was on the road, but she never had asked exactly what they were. Maybe Chris knew more about those plans and that is why he was so positive, she would have to ask him tomorrow.

(posted 3-31-3 09:29am)
======================
Chap 9 - Good byes

Morning came too early for Steve. After a breakfast of eggs recovered from Sarah's house and hash brown potatoes, everyone prepared to depart. Abraham and his wife checking and rechecking the things they had packed and what they had to leave behind. Finally the time had come to leave. Miriam stood in front of the house with tears running down her face, her home soon to be left behind. Abraham backed the Bronco out of the garage and, with Steve's help, hooked the trailer onto the ball, connected the tail light wire's and safety chains. Seeing the look on Miriam's face Steve reminded her that everything is only material except family, and to count her blessings. Holding her head up and forcing a smile she agreed and got in the idling SUV with Sarah and the baby. Once again making sure the canoe was properly tied down, Steve prepared himself for the next chore.

Steve walked over to Sarah's house as Abraham drove the Bronco to the start of the cul de sac to await Steve's return. He entered the house after covering his mouth and nose with his camo bandanna, not looking forward to what he knew he would see and smell. Steeling himself, he picked up a couple of jars of fuel oil wrapped in rags he had stored beside the back door.

The previous night he had also placed 4 glass jars filled with gas on the bedroom floor around the bodies. Now he planned to light the rags, and toss the homemade Molotov cocktails into the bedroom breaking the jars and incinerating the bodies. The house was far enough away from other flammable items not to cause a problem when it caught fire. Steve found himself walking softly and praying quietly as he lit the rags. Standing as far away as possible, he tossed the fragile flaming jars into the room, any of the prepositioned jars not broken by his thrown jar would later break from the heat. Backing swiftly away from the sudden blast of heat and fire he left the house to handle the next not so unpleasant task.

Steve picked up two more large jars of fuel oil, another *** wrapped jar, and a pipe as he neared the van. Breaking a side window, he carefully dumped the two jars of fuel oil into the van, making sure not to get any on him. Next, backing away a safe distance, he lit and then tossed the fire bomb through the window into the van. The cocktail broke and ignited the fuel oil spreading fire over the bodies. Steve ran to the SUV and as it pulled away he could not help but look back at the burning house and remembering the tragic loss of life.

Nothing was said until they reached the river. Together, Abraham and Steve unloaded the canoe and carried it to the river. Then they carried the motor, battery, and the other item's Steve had found and placed them into the canoe, including a foam life jacket. Steve clamped the trolling motor on the front of the canoe, placing the foot control near the middle within reach of his paddling area, and connecting the motor's power leads to the battery. Next he loaded his backpack, the two paddles, and a few other supplies Miriam insisted he take. He also added a fishing rod he had found along with a few lures, it might help pass the time if he had to hideout, or even get him dinner. It would also be a type of camouflage since Steve noticed several people fishing close to shore.

With everything unloaded and packed in the canoe there was nothing left but goodbye. Shaking Abraham's hand he turned to Miriam to say goodbye. He was surprised by the sisterly kiss and hug she gave him. He waved goodbye to Sarah still in the Bronco. Steve said goodbye once more and turned toward the river. He heard a sob and Sarah ran to him, throwing her arms quickly around him in a hug, and just as quickly ran back to Miriam. He flashed a smile toward the Mendlebaum's, maybe this would be the start of her healing.

The SUV drove off leaving Steve to his thoughts, as he untied the canoe and sat down. He had been up early this morning getting ready for this day, he had wanted some time alone to pray and prepare for the gruesome task of burning the bodies. He had also checked his maps, mapping his new route which he verified with Abraham after he got up. Steve checked his position once again with the GPS. He had once thought the GPS system would be useless, but he realized few people had the ability to destroy the GPS satellites directly and GPS jammers would only be useful in a localized area. The war had shown the jammers were not totally effective anyway, having little effect on the GPS guided bombs, so he had added a GPS to his load out and was glad he did. He pushed the canoe off and started paddling.

Steve was betting the river would be safe to travel if he exercised reasonable caution. He was not yet near the base and the river was still traveled by fishermen, even if the pleasure boaters stayed away. He expected trouble once he was on the Intercostal Waterway, with the Coast Guard or elements from the base. He would try to travel during the night hours, sleeping, eating, and recharging the trolling motor battery from the solar panels as much as possible during the daylight.

-------------------------------------

Abraham thought about the man they had just dropped off. He'd had no reason to get involved in their fight other than his own internal feeling about right and wrong. He had been direct, decisive, and deadly, yet he had been honorable and a gentleman. Probably not the kind of person he would have invited over for dinner if the world had not fallen apart. Still the stranger had put his life at risk just to try and right the wrongs, and he had given in to Miriam's request of leniency to the hood, even though Abraham knew it had been against his wishes. His knowledge and advice had added much to their ability to survive and make the trip to Tennessee in comfort and safety.

Abraham reached for Miriam's hand and squeezed it, then said a quite prayer for Steve's safe return to his family.
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Chris had taken trips with his father during the summer and had been on the trip when his dad had set up his main cache. Chris had listened, as only a young man will, as his Father explained about setting up a cache. He had rented a small storage shed from one of the many storage companies that seem to crop up everywhere. His dad had specified a unit on the back end that could be observed from off site. Steve had said if he needed to use it, he wanted to be able to insure it was still intact, and if need be he could cut the fence, and open the metal door without anyone knowing he was there. It would also be harder to trap him in the shed if he was not hemmed in by a unit across from his. Chris had listened for many a mile as Steve had passed along his experience's as well as his Grandfather's knowledge. Chris had enjoyed those times when his dad would tell him war stories about being a Recon scout, on his motorcycle, in Desert Storm or when Steve would recall his grandfather's stories of being a Navy seal.

Chris knew his father would return, but one thing his father had drilled into him was to never depend on any one thing or person, but to take charge of your own destiny. Taking his father's instruction to heart, he took the old Garand his dad had recently obtained from the OCMP along with two bandoleer's of Danish ammo to the barn and hid them. He also loaded the Makarov his parents had given him last Christmas, placing it in his shoulder holster to carry whenever he was at home.

He also loaded other guns, and after telling his mother and sister, placed them in their ready positions already indicated on a chart his dad had made. With the chart, each family member knew the location, in each room, of the gun and it's ammunition.

He also had been reloading every piece of brass he could find, it helped him remain close to his Dad. Some of their closest times had been right here in this room over the handle of a reloader. His dad had kept detailed notes of the load each gun liked, and since he'd been helping Steve reload since he could pull the handle of the Dillon, he knew what needed to be done. Now if only his dad would hurry home.
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Steve made the intercostal without incident, the water not changing much from the natural river to the man enhanced waterway. He had not paddled a canoe in a long time and it took some getting used to. He hoped his arms would handle the new exercise without cramping. He had war gamed his GOOD(1) plan many ways but for some reason had not thought about using a canoe on the Intercostal Waterway.

Following his map and GPS he eased along the waterway, smoothly paddling through the calm brown water. The trees came right up to the water's edge, broken only by a few small stopping places cut into the woods. Then when you got used to this it would open up into small inlets, grass flats, and mud, to be followed again by the trees.

After paddling along in the dirty brown water with a bright azure sky for a few hours, things began to change. Steve noticed the water was beginning to chop as the winds changed. Weather could soon be a problem, clouds were rapidly filling the sky with charcoal grey, and it was getting darker with every stroke of his paddle. He had hoped to be much closer to the base when he stopped, the recent attacks on the base had made the Marines VERY jumpy. He wasn't about to give them a reason to delay him, and he couldn't fire back, could he?

Steve hoped passing the base could be done without alerting every ticked off Marine on the base but his maps were not detailed enough to allow him to understand what lay ahead. The canoe was faster but he could not help second guessing himself and wondering if he had made a mistake.

The sky continued to darken, so much that he held off stopping for lunch, hoping to travel farther before the rain's came. If it was only a light rain he figured the canoe would handle it fine, but if a serious storm approached he needed to be off the water in shelter. The last thing he needed was to get hypothermia, which could happen even in moderate temperatures if one got wet.

Finally he could no longer ignore the dark grey, billowing clouds. The taste of moisture was very present in the cooling air. It was only 2pm, but it seemed like 8pm.

Coming upon a low lying area within the long green tube of vines and trees he had been traveling in, Steve pulled the canoe ashore. Dragging the canoe further onto the bank, he took a minute to catch his breath and look around. Abraham had told him that after the bomb exploded the responding Chem teams had been fired upon, losing their expensive equipment and many men. Most of the reporters had been almost hysterical in their reporting of the "facts" as they saw them. People were seeing terrorists behind every tree, unfortunately they sometimes were right. The marines had spilled across the area, like a swarm of disturbed yellow jackets, armed and angry. Five of the terrorists were soon located at a safe house, over come with superior firepower and "killed" while trying to escape. The leader had escaped, leaving his crew to face the marines and was still at large. Rumors of more terrorists abounded, but no hard evidence. The government had offered a reward of 250 gallons of fuel to anyone that captured a terrorist or provided evidence of their whereabouts. This had caused a bounty hunter effect across the landscape with many innocent people of Arab descent being harassed and in one case even killed. Still the Chem team had not been killed for no reason, but since no one could figure out what that reason might be, most assumed there would be another attack.

Steve located a defensible area and began to prepare a modified debris hut(2). He located a small tree for a ridge pole and his Cold Steel Bushman again made short work of chopping it down. As the framework was finished a light misting rain began to fall. Steve quickly overlay the frame with his plastic sheeting to waterproof it, covering it with leaves, branches and other items from the forest floor. Now he would be warm and dry in a camouflaged home. He put on his poncho as the intensity of the rain increased.

Steve pulled his canoe beside the hut turning it on it's side so it would not fill with water. The trolling motor and its battery, safe inside its battery box, he placed under the canoe to keep them somewhat dry.

Since Steve might be here a while and since he was alone in "enemy" territory, he decided to set trip wires. Using his mint green dental floss, he ran a line ankle high from one tree to another, criss crossing and encircling his hut. It took most of the roll but the floss was almost invisible in the dark and would give him an early warning system if someone tried to creep up on him. It might not fool an experienced recon team, but if a trained team was after him he would not stand a chance, regardless of how Rambo had done it. A lone man was better unseen and unheard unless the odds and surprise were on his side.

1- GOOD: Get Out of Dodge
2- Debris hut: http://www.i4at.org/lib2/debris.htm also http://www.ancientskillsschool.com/debris_hut.htm

chapter 10 - Country Justice

Steve hardly had finished with the trip lines when "the bottom" fell out of the sky. What down south was called a "frog strangler".

Steve crawled into the debris hut, removed his poncho, and relished the dry interior. He had often practiced building these huts when hunting with Chris. Chris was a willing student and soon began building his own whenever they went out, actually preferring them to a tent. He had learned the technique in survival training, though it seemed odd to take training in Jungle Survival in Puerto Rico and spend most of his career in a desert environment. But since only time can take knowledge away from you, he practiced as much as time allowed the things he had been taught by experts.

Pulling his backpack up to his head he removed an MRE and finally had "lunch" even though it was now about 5pm. His vest became a pillow as he snuggled down into his bed of heavy duty garbage bags filled with leaves. Steve placed one of his Glocks within easy reach since his Rossi was a little long to use in a hurry. Deciding he was behind in his Bible reading he dug out his New Testament from the pack and using his LED light in the early darkness began to read to the sound of intense rainfall.

A large heavy thud, followed by a muffled curse awoke Steve. He must have fallen asleep as soon as he had turned off the light. Steve reacted to the sounds, grabbing the Glock and sliding out of the hut into the still falling rain, before his conscious mind had fully become aware he was moving. By the time the first rain drops hit his eye lids he was alert and moving fast.

Steve spotted a struggling, mud covered, figure in the dim light just a few feet away, "Don't move", Steve hissed in a command voice he had heard many times before during his service years. The figure instantly froze,
his entangled feet no longer his main concern, "Who, Who are you" he asked.

"I'm the one you were trying to sneak up on", Steve said, "Now what can I do for you"

The stranger could not believe what he had just heard. No one had ever been able to catch him sneaking up on them, it had become a game within his family. He was the best hunter they had, never failing to bring home something to feed the family with. He had figured this might be another one of those terrorist people that had killed Sue Ann with that bomb when she was going to work at the base the other day. Mom took it hard to loose her oldest daughter and the boys were not going to let no Arab ba&^@rds get away with that!

Steve slowly pulled his AA flashlight, he had started carrying around his neck, free. Holding it away from his body, covering the lens with two fingers, he shined it on the wet, muddy man. His blue jeans and cotton shirt indicated he was not a marine, and he sure wasn't a terrorist from the way he talked and looked. A local probably, but what he was doing out here in this rain Steve could not imagine.

"Get up, Slowwwwly" Steve said "One wrong move and you become a strainer for all this falling water."

The man inched up and carefully untangled his feet from the dental trip wire Steve had set.

"Ya gonna kill me now?", the man asked.

"I guess that depends on what you were trying to do and why", Steve said as he motioned the man toward his hut. The hut wasn't big enough for two, Steve had not planned on a party, but he could retrieve his poncho and at least he could keep any more rain off his now thoroughly soaked frame.

Unsnapping the poncho and pulling it around him so the Glock never waivered from it's target, Steve tossed his last trash bag to the stranger.

"Hold that over you, it will keep most of the rain off and give your hands something to do while we talk."

Slowly picking the bag up the stranger spread it over his head letting the rain slide off the slick plastic and drip behind his back.

"What's your name?" Steve asked

"Willy." the stranger replied

"Ok, Willy, what's your story?"

Willy told Steve the story about his sister getting killed in the initial explosion at Camp Lejeune. She had been the first immediate family member to get a good paying job (the rest of the family were fishermen) and now it had gotten her killed. The family had decided to start looking for the terrorist, not for the reward, but because you don't mess with their family and get away with it. They were a simple, hard working family that never had anything they didn't work everyday for.

"I caught one of them terrorist fellow's trying to slip around the ocean side of the base when everyone was searching the other side. I saw his picture posted on the base when I made a delivery of fresh fish to the mess hall. Them Arab's might be slick in the desert, but they ain't nothing in the woods. He was slipping in the mud, slapping at bugs and cussing the whole USA. I snuck close and waited for him to walk by. I taped him up and brought him home for some country justice, not none of that city stuff with slick lawyers and bought judges."

"What happened to the terrorist, was he killed?" ,Steve wanted to know what type of family the man came from.

"Well, Daddy tied him up real good in the barn and questioned him for awhile," Willy said, "but it was them castrating pliers my brother held that finally made him answer our questions."

"The terrorist kept yelling about how we were gonna feel the wrath of Allah, and how the whores at the gate was just the first of many to be killed in their Jihad"

Willy paused to catch his breath, once Steve got him talking he couldn't seem to stop.

"Now don't nobody call Sue Ann no whore, she was a good Christian girl, and daddy told him so. Daddy also said that he was guilty by his own mouth and would suffer for his crime like the Good Book said, An eye for an eye."

Willy paused once again.

"What happened to the terrorist, Willy?" Steve said again

Willy kinda grinned and said "When Mama heard what he had called her sweet girl she went into the kitchen and got some good old lard. She painted it on him with a bristle brush, and forced some into his mouth and a few other places he didn't like. He tried to fight, took four of us to hold him still. I didn't understand why he fought so hard until my brother explained that Arab's don't like pigs and feel if they eat, even touch pork or anything from a pig they will not go to their heaven. I thought that was a funny way to get to hell but them Arabs are odd anyway. Then we took him fishing."

Steve couldn't believe he'd heard right "Fishing, you mean with a pole"

Again Willy grinned and said "Naa, We took him about two miles out in the ocean and cut a finger. He was bleeding real good. Daddy held his hand over the water, said he didn't want to mess his boat up. That Arab didn't have any idea what was happening but with a mouth full of lard and a *** over his mouth he wasn't saying much, even though he sure wanted to. Wasn't no time before there were sharks everywhere. Seems that with all that lard on he musta slipped. At least he was good for something, sharks got to eat to"

Steve sat back to think about that story. He had spent some time with an Uncle in South Carolina that shark fished for money, even had a scientist from Miami go out with him to study the sharks he caught. His Uncle had been a hard working, but honest man, shrimping, shad fishing, or doing whatever he had to for his family to survive. One of his rules had been family takes care of family, no matter how little you had if family had less they were welcome to share yours. Steve felt Willy was telling him the truth, but how could this help him?

"You can put your arms down if you want to, Willie. I believe you."Steve said "I'm not a terrorist, I don't kill for fun. I'm just a trucker without a truck trying to get back home."

At the mention of being a trucker Willie's demeanor changed, he seemed to become more interested in Steve than before, but not in a hostile way.

"A trucker?" said Willie " Ya mean one of them big rigs?"

"Yea, I drove a Mack. Why?" Steve replied

A sudden crack of ionized air, followed by a torrent of heavy raindrops interrupted the conversation. Willie turned to leave still holding the plastic over his head. Turning back he looked at Steve.

"I'll come back when this here rain stops, don't ya leave now until then" He said. Willie turned once again and disappeared into the downpour.

Steve returned to his still dry hut to wait out the storm. Before entering the hut he removed his wet clothes under the poncho, wringing the excess water from them so they could dry. He removed his washcloth once again and took advantage of the falling water to clean the mud and dirt off his body. Again in his sweats,dry and comfortable inside the hut, Steve pondered Willie's parting remark.

He could not figure out why Willie would want him to stay here until he returned. He wondered if this could be some kind of trap, but didn't think so. Steve was sure he was just what he seemed. Willie might be great in the woods, he was just a country boy not a shifty crook. He might stab you, but never in the back. Steve snacked on his leftover MRE desert and put the problem on the backburner of his mind. When breakfast was finished he contemplated making a cup of coffee but decided to try and sleep instead. If Willie returned Steve would find out why he was wanted here, otherwise Steve would be gone. Wishing he had remembered to get the softer lifejacket from the canoe, Steve lay back on his pack, letting the constant drone of the now steady rain, muted by the thick covering of the debris hut, lull him gently back asleep.
(posted 4-13-03 10:53)
===============

Chap 11 - Willie

Steve awoke a few hours later refreshed, but somewhat sore from the unaccustomed paddling. The sky was still battleship gray but the rain had rapidly diminished to a light feathery mist. He grimaced at his still wet shoes and dug out his camp shoes. He should have thought about them last night, then his boots would not be wet and muddy now. The sandals were one more addition to his GOOD bag he had debated on, finally deciding on a pair of Teva sandals. The extra weight was worth the security of a second pair of shoes. They were useful for situations just like this, as well as giving his feet a chance to air out when he removed his boots. He would not want to travel long distances in them, but barefoot over this terrain would not be much fun, and could have deadly consequences.

Steve used his poncho to erect a small drying tent for his clothes, placing his alcohol burner under it so his clothes would dry, but careful so they would not burn. He then looked for a place to hide and watch his camp. He didn't think Willie would cross him but he wasn't going to take a chance either.

Steve found a suitable place nearby in a patch of briars. Carefully moving the briars around he had a blind that would protect him from approach in any direction except the front, and he would be watching that.

Once again he had a cold breakfast and watched the area as the misting rain stopped all together. Soon a slight movement drew his eyes. Willie was good, but Steve knew a few point men that could give him a lesson or two. Steve had a quick thought about one they had called "Tonto". Tonto was a Seminole Indian that had seemed to pass through a swamp without a ripple and disappear in a jungle of two small trees.

Willie halted at the edge of the camp and waited, watching for anything out of place. Satisfied everything was normal he approached the hut. He must have thought Steve was still inside, for after checking the dryer, he tossed a rock.

Steve carefully watched both Willie and the surrounding area, ensuring no one else was around, before making his presence known. His gray sweats blended with the low light levels of the blind and the gray sky well enough that he had not been spotted sitting still inside the briars. Taking a small pinecone he tossed it at Willie's feet, once again surprising the hunter. Steve chuckled, if Willie had known how often he had messed up when he had first joined the recon group and been "corrected" by the more experienced members, he would not have been so surprised. Steve still remembered the day when Tonto had exclaimed that the new white man would kill them all if he didn't square up soon and the whole squad had agreed. Steve had recognized his own faults, even though he had grown up hunting and thought he was pretty stealthy, he could not match these guys that had learned their trade in a lead filled environment. Humbled that day, he had asked the others to show him the tricks and techniques he needed to survive and to become a scout worthy of their company. Once they had seen he meant to learn, and he would accept their criticisms (and harassment!), they took him under their wings. He had trained hard, listening, watching and practicing the things they showed him. He had accepted their corrections without complaint and soon they had become a close bunch, always-rated number one or two within their division. Steve had never become as good as Tonto or the Bushman but he felt he could give the others a hard run for third place.

To Willie's credit he hadn't jumped when the pinecone had bounced off his foot, He just jerked his head around to look for the source. Steve slowly lifted himself out of the blind, smiling at the look on Willie's face.

"Don't look like you trust me none." Willie said as Steve walked closer.

"Times like these do not make trust easy, Willie" Steve said "You can never let your guard down because someone is always there to take what you have."

"Well anyway we better go. Pa will be wondering where I lit off to if'n I don't get home soon." Willie said.

"Willie, why should I go with you? I can make it by myself" Steve said.

"Well to begin with, you wouldn't get by them there Marines. They got two guard stations between here and the other side. They know me since I bring fresh fish to their mess hall and to a few I bring special presents." Willie said.

"What kind of present, not dope?" Steve asked.

"Na, just some of Grandpa's moonshine. He makes it the old fashion way. He don't use none of them radiators that kill you. Been drinkin it fer years, even use it in medicine my Ma makes. Good fer ya" Willie said.

"Can we get by them without trouble?" Steve asked

"Well I notice you carry a lever rifle, not one of them fancy A-salt rifles that make the gunmen nervous. Shouldn't be no problem, we just make you my cousin from up yonder way I came to bring home. You fit that part, beside I got a package for that there gunny that takes care of them guards." Willie said as he flashed a smile.

Steve packed his gear, after dressing in his damp travel clothes, and together they dragged the canoe into the water. Willie walked back into the brush and retrieved his pack. He had a large, well-used Alice pack that seemed quite full, Steve wondered how Willie could carry it. Steve noticed Willie admiring the canoe as he walked back and placed his pack into it.

"What do you think about my ride?" Steve asked as they pushed off.

"It sure is fancy; I ain't never had a small boat like this one. Just the boats the family uses to fish with." Willie replied.

Using the extra paddle Steve had found with the canoe, Willie began paddling. Steve had to slow him down some and show him the proper way to paddle a canoe. The way he was paddling would tire him out within 5 miles.

Willie seemed pleased with his new found paddling skill and they began to rapidly cover ground toward the first guard station.

Two hours later they came to the start of the base and soon were approaching the Marine guard post. A sign directed them toward a small floating dock projecting out into the water, watched over by a MK19 40mm Grenade launcher located higher on the bank. Steve noticed another marine with a SAW a little further away. Continuing without stopping was not a healthy option.

Willie slowly raised his hand still gripping the paddle and called out to the marines.

"Hey Corporal Davis, its Willie, where's Gunny?" Willie shouted " I got somethin fer him"

"Willie, who you got there with you? You always been alone." The young corporal asked

"This here's ma cousin Steve, I come to get him fer my Pa and bring him back with me" Willie said. "Things gettin too bad up north for him and we could use some more help with our place"

"Well alright, but have him stay in the canoe where we can watch him." "Mack, go round up Gunny" Corporal Davis yelled back behind him.

10 long minutes passed before Steve heard a HumVee stop somewhere behind and slightly above the guard station. A man that was every DI/Gunny rolled into one appeared. His walk and demeanor let everyone know he was not someone to be messed with. Steve had expected to see someone looking like an alkie, but this marine was definitely squared away. His quiet voice surprised Steve when he walked up to the murky water's edge.

"So your Willie's cousin, eh" the Gunny asked.

"Yes Sir" Steve barked in his best parade ground voice. Steve had found it was best to make sure Gunnies like this one knew you knew who was in charge.

The gunny smiled in a way that let Steve know he was not fooled one bit. "When was you in, Son" he asked Steve

"Desert Storm. Recon, Sir" Steve replied toning his voice down a little.

"Recon, eh. Heard you boys had a rough time for awhile. I was a gunner on a HumVee then, still wet behind the ears. Kinda like these kids here." He said with a sweep of his hand. "Come on up and join us while I have a talk with Willie boy".

Steve found he liked the gunny, but most of them were pretty likable marines IF you did what you were told.

Willie reached into the canoe, opened his pack and retrieved a wrapped brown grocery sack. Handing it to the gunny he said "Grandpa sez that was one of his best batches, ought ta work real good for ya"

Seeing the look on Steve's face the gunny smiled and said "this isn't for normal drinking, I got into herbal medicines when I was stationed in the Philippines. Use this shine to dissolve some of my medicinal herbs in. Been trying to teach these hardheads about using nature, might save their lives one day if a medic or doctor isn't around.

Steve told the gunny he sounded a lot like Gunny Black in his old platoon always wanting HIS men to know more than the rest. He said knowledge, not things, would keep you alive.

"Gunny Black? Short, wiry Afro-American?" Gunny asked "Always had a stogie in his mouth but never lit it"

"You know him?" Steve asked incredibly.

"H#$$ Yes I know him or knew him. He was stationed with me at Paris Island trying to make muck into marines. Taught me a lot about handling the kids. He came by here last year, saying goodbye to some of the guys. Said he had cancer and didn't have long to live, but wanted to make sure HIS Marine Corps was in good hands. We knew he just wanted to say goodbye one last time, so we gave him a big going away party, Marine style. Before he left I gave him a bottle of my special herbal painkiller to help with the future. Heard he passed last month." The gunny said.

Steve found it hard to believe Gunny Black was gone and that the Gunny here knew him. Small world it seemed. Gunny invited them for an MRE breakfast. They sat and remembered Gunny Black and told war stories for the younger soldiers. Steve also learned more about the local situation and about the problems across the country. The grapevine of Gunnies was still in force and the Gunny knew more about the terrorist strikes than the Media was allowed to publish. The reporters had not been allowed to cover the strikes at every base, or the attempted sabotage of several Nuclear reactors. One of the major dams had been damaged but according to Gunny's sources the militia had stopped at least two attacks on major targets. Something the Government was reluctant to let out for fear of vigilantism. Locally things were going downhill fast. Fewer Police showed up each day, preferring to stay home and protect their own families. The Marines had patrols out around the base to protect against further terrorist attacks, and while they also tried to police the area they could not be everywhere. Several firefights had already erupted between gangs and the patrols, so far the Marines had only a couple wounded but the gangs had faired much worse. They had not yet learned the Marines carried REAL assault rifles. Some of the local militia had approached the Marines about assisting in keeping order but the base commander officially said NO. Of course on a lower level their help was accepted, and codes had even been set up to keep the Marines and Militia from having "friendly fire" incidents.

The time spent here with the Gunny and his marines may have delayed Steve's travel but it brought back the many times Steve had spent with his buddies during Desert Storm. The closeness of men bound together by hardship, death, and danger forged something within that Steve had never been able to put into words. In Desert Storm, Steve's group lost a friend they called "Bullseye". He had been killed, trying to protect a child caught in the middle of a firefight. They had finished their job, brought the body back and sent his spirit on to its reward with raised glasses and a toast to a fallen brother and the child he saved. Seems like whenever adversity strikes God always brings a little sun to light the way. Steve had not talked with most of the team since he had gotten out, but he knew he could call them today and they would still be there to cover his back.

Soon the time came to return to the real world. Steve said goodbye to the Gunny and the others and pushed off once again. The Gunny would radio ahead to the second check point so they would not be stopped again.

Steve had to smile though, before they had left the Gunny had told him if Willie was his cousin he was Saddam Hussein. The gunny had not asked any questions, he had just wanted to let Steve know never try to fool a Gunny!
(posted 04-19-03)
===============
Chap 12 Family

In the interest of time Steve decided to use the trolling motor to speed their travel up. Willie seemed in a hurry to get home suddenly, and Steve's muscles didn't mind a rest from paddling. The motor pulled them through the tranquil brown water at a slightly faster pace than they had made by paddling.

The trip along the 14 miles of the base's oceanfront took about an hour. They passed the second checkpoint with only a wave to the Marines on duty. The Gunny had mentioned that the Marines had extended their protection radius outward from the base 30 miles now since some of the Marine families had been targeted by the terrorists. It had been a shame about the young daughter of Gunny Sutton, but it sounded like he upheld the Marine Corps tradition of payback for a fallen comrade just fine.

By mid afternoon they were close to the point Willie wanted to go ashore. They stopped within the shade of a grand old oak tree, its gnarly branches extending out over the dark water, already covered with a blanket of leaves and moss. After hiding the canoe in a sheltered and concealed spot, they opened two of the MRE's Gunny had given them before they left. Steve's Beef Stew wasn't gourmet fare but after heating was better than some of the food he had paid top dollar for in fancy restaurants.

Steve decided to travel light, so he left his pack with the canoe after transferring a few items to his vest. Carrying only the vest and his rifle he followed Willie, carefully watching the surrounding area for anything out of place. Steve was not about to get caught off guard again, if he could in anyway help it. Twice he had to slow Willie down; Willie was in too much of a hurry to get home and kept forgetting how dangerous the world was now.

It took about three hours to reach Willie's home. It was another humble, clapboard house with at least three additions added on to the original section. A large yard with chicken coops, duck pens, and even a pigpen with a sow and several piglets. A large rough wood barn overlooked the animal pens like a castle overlooking its peasant homes. Behind the barn Steve could see rows of plantings and someone plowing with a plodding gray mule.

At their approach the house suddenly bristled with gun barrels. Willie realized that they were expecting one person but two were approaching the house. He stopped, lifted his hands to wave and called out to the house.

"Hey Ya'll, it's me, Willie. Can't you tell? This here is ma friend Steve." Willie yelled. "Now put down them there guns and come on out here."

--------------------------

Susan was uneasy. She had felt this way since the day after Steve was late coming home. She felt she was being watched but could not see any evidence that she really was. It was just that whenever she was outside she felt eyes on her, she had even caught Chris staring into the woods a few times like he felt it also. She was starting to let her concern for Steve become more than she could handle. If not for her children and her church she would have lost it days ago. Chris had filled in for his father admirably, using the tractor to prepare the garden, and getting the seeds into the ground. It's hard to imagine she thought, here I am a trained nurse digging in the ground, planting and worrying about this garden. It was good therapy but she still was hanging on by a thread.

---------------------------

"Big Gun" wasn't happy; he was besieged by every biting bug in the world, walking in the wet early morning mist breathing in the musty smell of these North Florida woods. He had power, money, and in his mind, the respect of his whole gang. His gang had carved out a niche in Jacksonville, drugs, women, guns, what ever anyone needed he supplied, and was looking to expand, when the world fell apart. With the police busy protecting their own families no one could stop his rise except the rival gangs. Food was a problem though. All the stores had run out of food soon after the attacks had begun. Deliveries got fewer and fewer as the food supply system ground to a stop. The food warehouses had been brought under Marshall law first for "protection" by the government, food that would be delivered only to certain people and certain places, usually to "important" government bureaucrats and as an incentive to move to temporary relocation centers. Most people had run out of food about the same time as the stores, they had not paid attention to the warnings believing the government would be there to "take care" of them. Starvation was becoming common place and fights over what food there was had become epidemic. To keep being "The Man" he had to find another source of food. He "knew" the country folks in the smaller outlying towns kept stocks of food, so he decided a visit was in order to spread their wealth around. Maybe he could find one of them Mormon families, they were supposed to have lots of foods stored up. He would be a big hero then, maybe get some of the boys from the other gangs to join him once he showed them he had the "juice". Let the other's starve some, then he would own the entire city. But first he had to feed his group. The idea that the country folk might not want to share their food wasn't something he gave any thought to. If they didn't volunteer the food he would just take it like he had everything else since he was 10 years old. His boys would easily overpower them country bumpkins he thought. Besides wasn't that the same thing the government was doing?

He had heard about a couple of farms that helped a local food bank out every year, they must have plenty of food for them to give so much away. That's why he was here sneaking through these god forsaken woods (at least he thought he was sneaking, him in his gold necklace and rings), slapping mosquitoes and wondering when Bigfoot would appear. He hated the forest and everything associated with the country, he felt at home in the streets but out here he felt out of control, and he did not like that feeling one bit. His lieutenants had suggested sending some of the boys to check out the area first, but he liked to keep in touch he said. Really he had heard this farm had a couple of good looking females and the husband was out of town. He figured they might "need" a little manly companionship, maybe be convinced to join his harem. The boy could join his gang or be a target for the nickel plated, stag handled, 45 colt that had given "Big Gun" his nickname. The thought of a fresh, young, unwilling virgin underneath him made him forget for a moment where he was and brought a big smile to his pock marked face.


The smile was short lived though, one minute he was on top of the world, the next it was on him. At least that was what he felt happened. He had brought three of his best boyz with him, more than enough for two females and a teenage boy he thought. Two had been in front of him and one behind, but now here he was alone, somehow, not one of his boyz could be seen or heard, with a large, sharp, blade at his throat. A very scary dude held the knife with very serious eyes in gray coveralls with one of them swat hoods over his face. The man was dangerously scary and "Big Gun" had only the eyes to tell him that. In a low but powerful whisper that echo' d through the leaders head, the scary man said simply that the farm was off limits. It was to be left totally alone. If one person or one animal were harmed "Big Gun" would never live to see the next sun rise and would beg to die before it arose. The big man got real close to "Big Gun", real close, and in that same frightening voice asked if he understood. "Big Gun" understood alright, the farm was to be left alone. He was so scared he pee' d his pants and would have promised his first born to the man if he would just let him live. The stranger eased the knife from his throat and suddenly twitched the blade, removing the lower portion of Big Gun's left ear lobe. Just a reminder the stranger said, in case you might forget. "Big Gun" grabbed his ear to stop the pain and the blood, blinking the salty sweat from his eyes, afraid the stranger would kill him next, but the stranger was gone, vanished. One second he was there, large and menacing, the next just a figment in the shadows. If not for the blood running down his ear and the rapidly spreading stain in the front of his pants, "Big Gun" would have thought he was having a bad flashback.

"Big Gun" returned to his big Ford Expedition to find all of his boyz sitting in the SUV, hands duct tapped together and with duct tape over their mouths. He had splashed in a small stream to hide the yellowing stain across his pants and now only looked wet and pi$$#d. Forgetting his recent scare he cruelly jerked the tape off their mouths while proclaiming to the world their collective parents were not married and why was he stuck with such a collection of fairies. They each tried to explain about the men in the gray suits, appearing out of the shadows, taking them one by one without a word or a struggle. On minute they were walking through the dark tripping over every little branch and watching for snakes, the next taped and carried over a strong shoulder back to the SUV. It was all a big mystery and "Big Gun" was not about to try and explain it, or admit he had experienced the shadow men himself. Was there only one or were there more he didn't know. Why had they been there, who were they, and why had they left them alive? He only would say he had turned around to find everyone gone, and stumbled into a stream, getting wet and cutting his ear on the way back to the car. Since he was surrounded by idiots and pu$$&#$, they would return home for now. "Big Gun" would not tell a soul about the shadow man, but he would stay away from the farm, at least for now. Next time he would come in guns blazing with all the boyz ready to party, let the shadows try to stop them then!

====================

After leaving Steve at the river's edge, Abraham headed the big Ford back along the subdivision. He passed burnt houses, shot up cars, and even saw a few bodies along the way. He could not help but think that except for Steve's help, they would have been found the same way. What few stations he could find still broadcasting gave a gloomy outlook with every news cast, seems some of the terrorists had been stopped but some also had completed their task. Marshall Law with a curfew would be implemented in three days. The population was being asked to stay at home or go to one of the rescue centers that were being set up. Those sounded to much like government control centers to Abe, no way was he going to put his life or the life of his family in the hands of the government, they could not stop the terrorists to start with how could they protect him? Soon they were on the main highway headed west, avoiding the normal roadside stations and stores set up to overcharge weary travelers. Not even stopping for the fellow waving his arms for help, he would only stop someplace he felt offered safety to his precious cargo.

Soon finding such an area he pulled the Bronco off the highway into a secluded spot to refuel. Just off the road behind a stand of trees with easy access in and out. Keeping the engine running, since a diesel uses little fuel idling, he wanted to be able to leave immediately if trouble started. Miriam awkwardly stood watch with the unaccustomed rifle in her hands. They were still babes in a hostile world, but at least these babes now had teeth giving them a fighting chance. Steve had not been able to teach them everything they needed to know in just one short easy lesson, he had just given them some basic gun handling tips and how to set up watches when they needed to stop. He had also given them a desire to survive and, as a last resort, to fight if need be. Abe had decided to stop and refuel from his extra fuel supply when the main tank was empty and it was time to switch over to the reserve tank. It removed weight and a fire danger from the trailer, let him refuel on his terms and not have to worry about running out of fuel if he had to evade or was forced to take a longer route. It also gave them a chance to eat and rest from the stress of driving in a hostile environment.

The task soon completed he assumed the watch while Miriam fixed something for them to eat. Abe decided he liked the way she looked with a pistol strapped around her cute little waist. Taking one of the little FRS type radio's they had bought last year when they went on vacation Abe moved to a better vantage spot to watch over his extended family. He had enough fuel to complete the drive and should arrive at their destination late tonight if all went well. Miriam interrupted his thoughts with a message on the radio warning him that Sara was bringing him lunch, the girl seemed to be slowly coming out of her shell with each mile they had traveled. Maybe she would make a full recovery sooner than they expected, He hoped so.

CHAP 13 - Cached

As Steve and Willie paddled the canoe thru the narrow, muddy tidal canals towards Murrells Inlet, SC, Steve thought back on the last 24 hours. He had been introduced to Willie's Family, one by one, more than he could remember. Except for the one they called Grandpa, Steve had been expecting to see someone older than the gentleman he had been introduced to. Grandpa was Willie's uncle who had recently retired from the Army. He had been the oldest in his class in boot camp by a few months so everyone started calling him grandpa, It kinda stuck with him thru out his career, and even his family called him Grandpa. He had traveled around the world never settling down with a family so had returned to live with his brother. He was the one that had set up the defenses and helped made sure everyone was ready if danger appeared.

Steve's question about why Willie had reacted to his being a trucker was also answered. Seems sometime in the past a trucker had stopped a couple of jacked up trucks full of intoxicated college boys who were harassing the girls coming back from town. The trucks kept trying to trap the girl's car between them so they could stop for a little "fun". Seeing the reckless attempts by the boys the trucker had pulled up beside the pickups, and deciding to have some fun of his own, moved the big rig into the spot occupied by the trucks forcing them off the road. All the boys ended up trapped in a mud bog after going thru a fence along side the road. The trucker had honked his horn and disappeared not giving the girls a chance to thank him. Ever since the family had felt sense of debt to truckers and now felt they would have a chance to repay that debt.

The family's main source of income was the sea. They shrimp' d or fished for shad, shark, or for whatever was in season. They had supplied the nearby base with fresh fish for some time and had received extra fuel as a "government supplier". They would gladly drop Steve off on the south end of Myrtle Beach when they went out the next day. The Coast Guard knew the boat and rarely stopped them even in these tumultuous times.

Steve decided the best way was to cross the grass covered tidal basin during the evening high tide, easing through the various canals until he reached the shore. Willie would then take the canoe, as a gift, back to the shrimp boat erasing any evidence anyone had came ashore. His cache was really in Murrells Inlet, a small town just south of Myrtle Beach, but most people did not know where that was so he just said Myrtle Beach as a reference.

They had one tense moment when a Coast Guard patrol boat had crossed close by, binoculars glinting as the crew had checked them out. The family waved and must have been recognized because the cutter continued on.

Steve had left the battery, motor and one of the solar panels with the family to save weight since they would not be needed. He kept one of the panels for future use. They left the mothership as the tide began to change, paddling easily in the gently, rolling seas. They had been about a mile offshore and soon crossed that into the opening of the first canal. Fighting the gnats and the mosquitoes they slowly moved closer toward the shore looking for an opening that would take Steve close to his cache.

It had taken two hours to make the journey, arriving right at dark; they eased up to a darkened restaurant built right to the edge of a canal. Steve gathered his pack and vest, bidding his partner a fond farewell. Willie had assured him he could find the boat again. His years on the water, along with a compass would get him close enough to use the CB and a spotting light to connect up with the boat.

Crossing the railing around the outer deck, still holding tables as if waiting for the evening crowd to appear, Steve silently moved further into the shadows. Checking his GPS once more he oriented himself, he had taken a reading at the U-Store-It so he would be able to find it if he was in a situation just like this. He had picked this storage site because it was surrounded by trees and high growth, not yet encroached by other businesses, to make it easier to approach, easier to enter and easier to watch, ensuring his cache had not been tampered with. He also wanted a storage area surrounded by a chain link fence, since that was easier to get through than a wrought iron fence.

Now that he had determined his route, figuring he was about three miles away, Steve left the comforting shadows and headed southwest. He crossed US-17, known around here as the Georgetown highway, looking for McDowell St. Normally US-17 would be flowing with traffic, even at this time of year, but Steve had not seen one car since he started. He also saw few lights, just a couple of dim flickers in the distance. He had heard before he left the boat that some of the power stations had been damaged, forcing the remaining generators to work at full capacity, still, rolling blackouts had become a fact of life.

He could hear loud noises in the dark, glass breaking, steel on steel, as if a gang was having a fight or a mob moving through a neighborhood? He kept vigilant as he moved toward the storage site, he wanted to avoid a let down this close to his goal.

Steve found McDowell Street soon after crossing US-17, continuing on carefully he stayed off the road as much as possible. Fortunately the street had only a few businesses close to the main highway with a stand of woods between them and the storage area. Steve had rented a small 5ft by 10ft shed located at the back of the site. The fence had been stretched by cars turning around and pushing against the fence. Steve planned to pull the fence together along a support allowing him to unbend a strand of the fence at the top and bottom, with his Gerber multi-tool. He would then simply unweave it a couple of feet creating an opening big enough to slid through. It would be easy to reweave the fence, hiding his entrance on the way in and his exit when he left.

Approaching the storage units Steve slowly moved along the fence line toward the rear. He inched along maintaining noise discipline checking the storage facility out. A few units had been hurriedly opened and emptied, probably by the owners, their doors still rolled up. It took Steve twenty minutes to arrive at his destination, separated from his cache only by a chain link fence. Staying in the darkness, watching and listening for anything abnormal Steve waited another half-hour before opening the fence. He approached the fence where the grass and weeds had been allowed to grow close to the fence. Standing close he reached up on the fence where each strand bent back over the other and carefully straightened one strand. Keeping his eyes and ears working overtime he followed the same strand down to the bottom of the fence and repeated the action, removing the bend freeing the strand. Using three pieces of wire carried just for this reason he tied one end to the fence at the nearby support pole and running the free end through the fence a few links over pulled the fence together. He repeated this for the remaining two pieces of wire. He now had a loose section of fence that allowed him to unwind the strand he had straightened out from the rest. Once more he carefully scanned the darkened area, the quarter moon providing only a feeble taste of light. He slid through the opening he had created, after removing the bottom and middle wires he had used to hold the fence together, the fence stayed loose enough without the two wires to rewound the strand back through the fence sealing the opening once again. Steve did not bend the ends of the fence back and he left the upper wire in place to keep the fence from tightening up his entrance. In a hurry he could simply unwind the strand and leave through the opening but it still was almost invisible to a glance.

Now that he was inside the compound he felt the need to hurry, though his recon had indicated no one was about. He quickly stepped up to unit C-45 and dialed the combination on the heavy industrial quality lock.
Steve slid the door up, even though he had greased the door it still sounded like a mechanical monster was dying in the silence of the night. He quickly entered and lowered the noise machine securing it from the inside with a bolt he had attached to the inside. The bolt slid into the side frame securing the door, holding the door about three quarters of an inch above the concrete. The bolt would not allow the outside lock to be used insuring he could not be locked in from the outside. A piece of carpet attached to the inside of the door ensured no light escaped to reveal his presence.

He had kept the storage for a couple of years now, improving it each time he stopped by for his biyearly visits. He had installed a bed built of plywood and a piece of foam recovered from a mattress they had replaced last year. He had a porta-potty and about 25 gallons of water stored in 3-liter soft drink bottles.
He had several numbered plastic bins stacked inside with a current inventory of each in plastic sheet protectors in a book on top. All the comforts of home he thought. He located the battery powered lantern he kept near the door and turned the switch to low, bathing the inside with a soft white light from the single florescent tube. Had he turned the switch to high both tubes would light, but the light was far to bright and harsh with both tubes lit inside the small storage unit. Using the low setting gave plenty of light and a longer burn time. He stripped off his dirty clothes, only good for the disposal now he thought, in preparation for a good cleaning and medical inspection. He inflated a small children's inflatable wading pool to use as a bath tub/shower. With a couple bottles of water (cold!), he gave himself a luxurious bath, complete with soap, shampoo and nail cleaning. It might be excessive but it sure felt nice and gave his morale a boost.

For the first time since this whole thing started he felt the tension unwind. Funny how he had not noticed how tight he was until now, the relaxed feeling made the effort he had put into the cache all worthwhile. Clean once again he used a mirror he had mounted on a sidewall to shave and to inspect himself for anything needing medical attention. He found a few ticks that he removed using a Pro-Tick Remedy tool(1).

He opened box number one (his clothes box) and removed a pair of sweats and a pair of cotton socks for the night. He pulled out a sheet and a blanket for his bed. He had one more thing to do before he could retire for the night. Opening box number two (his electronics box) he removed a spare cell phone and a Zinc-Air battery. Opening the package he inserted the battery onto the phone. Within seconds he turned on the phone and had full power. Turning the lantern off he opened the door enough to get a signal from a nearby tower. At least they had battery or generators to keep the cell site operating during the blackouts, but he wondered how much longer they would be working with the world falling apart more each day. Taking the phone he dialed the number he had looked forward to dialing since arriving at the cache.
++++++++++++++++++++
The phone ringing startled Susan from her thoughts of Steve, her duties and the family's future if he didn't return. They had been losing dial tone more and more as the Phone Company tried to lower its energy consumption. It had been hard at first since the phone had always been a lifeline but as she realized they needed to become much more independent from the world the phone became less important. Still a call late at night usually was bad news. At the first hello she felt her knees get weak at the sound of Steve's voice. He sounded so tired and so wonderful at the same time. She had to work to keep her feminine side under control and give him a chance to talk.
++++++++++++++++++++
He knew it was late but he needed to hear his wife's voice and knew she needed to hear from him. When she answered the call his spirits rose from just a simple Hello. He told her he loved her and had made it to his cache giving her the location. He didn't know how long it would take him to reach home but he hoped to be home within a week. He could tell she wanted to cry and ask a hundred questions, but he was proud of the woman he married as she controlled herself and allowed him to say the things that needed to be said in case the connection was lost. He asked about the family and was amazed at how Chris had taken over in his absence.
Knowing they might be disconnected at any time he asked about her. Still fighting her emotions she gave him a quick run down of things local and asked if she needed to do anything else. He had just had the main propane tanks filled as well as the diesel tanks so he told her to open the green book he kept in the desk and find the check list he had made. Using that she could inventory the farm and get an idea what was needed. Maybe she could still get some of the things before everything was sold out.

The phone took that moment to break the connection; one look at the strength meter showed no signal. Guess the tower had finally shut down or maybe it was a planned thing since it was now 11pm.

He closed the door, securing it once again. Turning on the lamp again he removed the battery from the phone and replaced it in its airtight pouch. It would shut down the reaction preserving the battery for later.
Setting his rifle beside the homemade bed he lay down and slept a deep relaxed sleep for the first time in days.
++++++++++++++++++
Before she could say goodbye the phone clicked off, she tried her phone and got dial tone, so it must be on his end. She waits a while for him to call back, but soon realizes he couldn't or he would have called back immediately. Still that call renewed her hope and regenerated her like no vitamin or doctor's shot could do. Susan went into the bedroom and pulled back the covers of their bed. For the first time in a long time she went to sleep with a smile on her face.

(1)Ticks: http://www.biosci.ohio-state.edu/~acarolog/tickgone.htm & http://www.lyme.org/ticks/removal.html

(2)Zinc-Air battery: http://www.accessorydistribution.com/upto16hourta2.html
(POSTED 051203 05:55pm)
=========================================
CHAP 14 - Misery

"Aaaah, what a way to wake up" thought Steve as he crawled out of bed and headed for the porta-potty, while holding his stomach. At least it had waited until he was somewhat safe. The previous days of stress, different food, and continual, unaccustomed, exercise had finally caught up to him. Cramps and diarrhea were not things to look forward to upon waking, he thought. Pressing the button to light his watch he saw it was only 3am, 4 hours sleep, "why do these thing always wake you up in the middle of the night?" He thought as another wave swept over him.

His stomach finally slowed its gurgling, the cramps residing into the background ready to return at anytime, after what seemed like an eternity. Slowly getting up, ready to sit again if he needed to, he turned and washed his hands in a small camp sink he had found at a garage sale. He had bought it for $3.00 and it was a perfect fit for his cache with its internal water supply and small pump. He picked up another type of light that worked well for times when you need a soft low light, his Krill Lamp (1). OK, so I'm a flashlight junkie, he thought. Turning on the lamp, its soft, blue light leading the way, Steve reached for his weapon of choice, Pepto-Bismol, chemical warfare for when the enemy attacks, he thought with a wry grin. The cache contained a small, but complete medical kit since he had to plan for any eventuality. If the Pepto didn't fix the trouble he would move up to the Imodium AD. Concerned that he might become dehydrated he reached for a bottle of water and opened his food box. He removed a pack of powdered Gatorade (lime) and dumped most of it into the bottle. Each pouch would make a gallon (US for our metric readers) so he only needed 3/4 of the pouch. He slowly sipped the mix, trying not to trigger another bout of intestinal distress. Slowly he eased back onto the bed and closed his eyes.

When his eyes opened once again, he sat up and once again had a bout of cramping."This is getting old already" he thought as he reached the toilet in time. Time for the Imodium. He had decided to lay up for the day and recover his strength as well as gather up the supplies he would be taking with him. He wanted to make sure he did not have a "bug" that would hinder his trip and at least here he was somewhat protected.

He lay back down on the bed, but this time reached under the bed and carefully felt for the hidden slot in the bed frame. He had routed out a slim slot just big enough for a key holder, after inserting the holder he then covered the opening with wood putty mixed with some of the sawdust. The result was an almost undetectable hiding place for the keys to the metal cabinet at the back of the storage unit. Scraping away the putty with a key until the holder fell into his hand Steve rolled back over. Tightening his stomach was not a good thing so he tried to relax and let the Imodium work. After a few minutes he stood up a made his way to the box in the back corner after he turned the florescent lamp on.

Opening the key case, Steve removed one of the keys and inserted it into the metal box a friend had welded up for him. He had carefully drilled holes in the floor and inserted bolts that he then set in concrete. The box fit over the bolts and a small steel plate with four nuts married the box to the floor. He opened the box and removed the SKS from inside. The Rossi was more PC, but he figured he might need more firepower in the coming days. He stripped the storage bag off the rifle and checked it over. Still in as good a shape as the day he left it here. Removing a cleaning kit stored inside and a bottle of "Ed's Red"(2) cleaner he began to clean the rifle. When the SKS was finished he picked up the faithful Rossi and gave it a well deserved cleaning. Next he inspected the Glocks, cleaned them as well as unloading the clips for a through cleaning. Satisfied the Glocks were in good shape; he then reloaded the four mags with the hollow points he had removed.

Once he was finished with the cleaning he returned to the safe and removed a 10-pocket chest bandoleer. He had stored it full, with 200rds of surplus, steel-cored, 7.62x39 already in stripper clips, and now placed it within easy reach. Next he removed a single loaded clip, charged the SKS and then released the bolt chambering the first round. Another 100rds also in stripper clips housed in a cloth bandoleer completed his new arsenal. Feeling better armed, but not better, he once more opened box number 2 and removed a small short-wave radio. He had stored the more expensive lithium AA batteries with the electronics because they had both a longer shelf life and higher capacity than even alkaline. Inserting two batteries into the receiver he lay back on the bed and felt along the wall for the jack that led to the wire antenna he had strung along the outside roof line of the units. Plugging in the antenna, he turned the radio on and sipping more of the Gatorade, searched for the latest news.

The news he heard was not good. Terrorists had struck a number of bases, airports, and power generating stations and even two oil refineries. Random sniping, similar to the Washington snipers had affected transportation. Apparently the terrorists had paid attention to the ease with which the snipers had moved around and how much terror they had caused for very little expense or danger to themselves. Four passenger planes loaded with civilians had been blown up with stinger missiles smuggled in from Afghanistan. And if imported terrorists were not enough, the domestic variety in the form of gangs and rouge militias had been having a party, too.

Food supplies as well as fuel, medicine, and the other items Americans are so dependent upon to maintain there standard of life was in very short supply. A black market was quickly expanding to fill the deficeincy, IF you had the cash. Hijackings, murder, rape; every form of lawlessness had increased beyond predictions. Martial Law was being implemented throughout the northern states. California and Massachusetts had been first; their crime rate was not even being measured anymore, since they had more gun laws, fewer guns meant more criminal opportunity. The southern states as well as most western states had resisted implementing Marshall Law but Florida and Texas had closed the borders to normal travel trying to get a handle on their problems. Texas was being invaded from the south by Mexicans crossing the border in even larger numbers and Florida's southern area, particularly Miami, was the scene of almost constant riots, the Haitians, Cubans, and Guatemalans demanding their government subsidies. What little the government was doing seemed to be all wrong. They were "protecting" all food warehouses and distribution centers as well as all fuel supplies. They said protect, but they were using food and fuel as a means of population control. One week's supplies were sold to each household, if you made it to the store on time, and if you followed their instructions, which might include relocation (for your protection of course).

While listening to ABC news on one station he heard what had to be the most ironic thing he had heard all day. Seems some of the Senators from California wanted all gun owners declared part of a Militia and be forced to protect important government employees. Yeah, like senators, Steve thought when he heard it. Seems they never learn. First they try to take all guns out of the hands of the public, then at the first crisis, they insist those very people they tried to disarm, be forced to use those guns to protect them.

What made his life and future travel plans the most difficult, however, was the curfews. South Carolina had a nighttime curfew, Georgia who was restricting all interstate travel also had a dusk to dawn curfew and Florida had closed its border to all but authorized entry. Just another walk in the park he thought.

Steve turned off the depressing news and relaxed, trying to ignore the rumbling in his gut. He dozed off and on, interrupted by a couple of "runs", most of the morning and early afternoon. Finally coming awake about 3pm, he didn't feel the intestinal earthquakes anymore, apparently under control of the OTC drugs he had taken earlier. He risked heating up some dry packaged chicken noodle soup he had in his food box and drinking the rest of the Gatorade he had mixed. Feeling slightly better, he decided to gather together the supplies he would need for the rest of the trip.

One thing the cache contained that he hoped would make his travels easier was the modified mountain bike. He had installed racks on the sides for panniers and a custom rack in the back for his Alice pack. On the frame he had a scabbard for the SKS and two water bottles with a rack on the front for a small pack. The bike would carry more weight than he could on his back, and carry it faster and further. After hearing that trains only ran under military control, were composed of more cars than normal, and most importantly, ran fewer runs, he felt his addition of rail riding gear (3) might turn out to be a good decision. He had chosen a bike most people his age called a woman's bike, but since railroad rails are 7inches high it would make it easier and safer if he had to stop suddenly. Hitting the bar tends to give a man a new definition of pain, not what he needed in "Indian" Territory.

On the front he carried a bag with two water bottles, a 12v-gel cell battery and his poncho. He connected the battery to the solar panel he had kept. He didn't want too much weight on the front, so the rest he placed on the back. He picked the Alice pack off a rack he had installed along the end of the unit and filled it with one pair of BDU's, one brown colored "Dickies brand" jump suit, as well as another pair of the all purpose gray sweats. His alcohol stove, refilled bottle of fuel, along with a variety of food, fire starting material, socks and the very useful 550 cord also went into the pack.

As Steve finished packing the Alice pack, he checked each item off his list. He had become a believer in lists once he got above thirty, and was reminded more than once by his ever faithful, humble spouse about some small item he had forgotten (usually after needing it or when more than 30 miles from home).

He emptied his photographers vest and transferred the items to his dependable suspender and web belt combo. He liked the vest for civil times as most people saw them as benign. He had tried the new Mollie vest but didn't like the heat buildup, or the fit, preferring the older Alice belt combo. He had replaced the Alice clips with Tie wraps to save weight and noise. Filling two of the newer soft 1qt. canteens, he had bought earlier this year, he placed them in their respective pouches and set the belt aside. With the pack and belt packed he turned to the panniers.

Two 3qt bottles in one side, along with his cooking kit and his floatation kit on the other side along with a few extra tools to complement the tool kit carried under the seat. An air pump clamped on the top down tube completed his preparations. All he needed was to fill the frame bottles and he was ready to travel. One bottle he filled with water the other with Gatorade.

Once more he rested and rechecked his list step by step, better to be sure now, than when he needed an item later. One item he almost forgot was his first-aid kit, it was more complete than what he had been carrying and clipped onto his pack.

Finished with his task he decided to risk a hearty meal. Choosing a package of chicken flavored noodles, as well as a soft package of chicken he prepared his meal. He poured water into a small can using the "country measure" method of pouring water, just pour until it "looked" like the right amount. Once it was boiling he opened both packages and dumped them both in the water. A few pinches of garlic and onion powder and diner was served. The chicken in a pouch was something he had added the last visit he had made to the cache. He had found the chicken next to the pouches of tuna; along side a similar type package of turkey.

The meal wasn't bad but he wished for some green chilies and cheddar cheese, the real stuff not that powdered kind. That would have made it perfect. Cleaning up he thought again of his family and wondered if he could get another call through.


1 Krill Lamp - http://outdoors.free.fr/s_article.php?id_article=73 or http://www.xenoline.com/krilllamps.html
2 Ed's Red - http://www.surplusrifle.com/reviews/edred/index.asp
3 Rail Bike - http://rrbike.freeservers.com/#Bentley_RAILBIKE_Plans or http://www.railriders.net/

(posted 051803 10:47pm)
==================================
Chap 15 - Granny

Steve awoke still disappointed he had not been able to get a call through. Maybe the cell site had discharged its batteries or run out of fuel for its generator or maybe it just died. Steve didn't know and now was not the time to worry about it. As much as the inner man wanted to stay here safe and protected the Husband/Father side could not. His sense of responsibility would not let him rest or be stopped until he was reunited with his family. Heaven help those who tried to stop him, criminal, terrorist, or government!

He was just glad he had not been woke up by his stomach alarm. It seemed the rest and medical attention had solved that problem at least. Steve slowly sat up, mindful of his sore stomach, rubbing the muscles trying to ease the aftereffects of his cramps. He stood up, still holding his stomach, walking barefoot across the cool concrete floor thinking he should have brought a rug or something to ward off the cold. Still in his shorts, he picked up a Bid lighter and lit his stove for a cup of morning coffee.

While waiting for the water to boil, he sorted through his supplies for breakfast. Finally deciding on a pack of blueberry Pop-tarts he opened the pack and rested each one by the stove to warm some. He also opened a pouch containing a coffee bag, not as good as fresh ground coffee but better than instant, and dropped it in his canteen cup.

Soon the water was ready. He removed the small pot and poured his cup full. Setting the pot aside, he placed the Pop-tarts over the burner to toast, trying to remove the slight doughy taste they had raw. He had eaten them raw but preferred them toasted until slightly dark; today he would settle for warm. After adding sugar to his cup he sipped the hot nectar, enjoying the feeling of normalcy the aromatic brew gave, while he removed his breakfast pastries from the heat. Placing the pot back on the fire, he added water back to the top. He would enjoy a hot water shave for the first time and maybe last time on this journey.

The pastries went down easy and along with the hot coffee seemed to ease the soreness in his stomach. Enjoying the mild, artificial, blueberry taste of the Pop-tart he turned his radio back on for the latest news.

This is WGTR 107.9 Gator Country with a report on the Presidents speech last night, Steve heard as he scanned the FM dial. He had missed the speech trying to reach home, he figured. The announcer read the highlights and then broke down the overall speech in the way reporters do, almost as if the common person could not understand a political speech, and maybe they couldn't.

The highlights seemed to be that FEMA and Homeland Security had been fully activated with full Presidential authority, including the power to execute any executive orders needed to pull the country back from the abyss it was headed into. The next three days would be a declared national holiday with only essential services exempted along with a nationwide curfew. A temporary ban on All firearms would be implemented; anyone caught with a firearm would be arrested on sight. Using a firearm in a crime carried a shoot on sight order for the police. The posse commitatus law was also suspended for the duration of the crisis with the military given full police powers, effective immediately. The Homeland Security Director as needed would announce further restrictions after the three-day holiday.

The announcer went on to say the democrats, liberal republicans as well as the ACLU and Handgun Control, lauded the restrictions. Only a few Congressmen and Senators had stood against the President, predicting the rules would have a reverse effect and further push the country into anarchy.

Great, thought Steve, were they singling him out to make life difficult? What more could go wrong. His breakfast now a hard lump in his stomach, his coffee, cooled to room temperature while he had listened to the news. Shaking his head in disgust, Steve prepared to start his trip.

Checking and repacking everything, until he was satisfied it would stay in place, and that he knew where everything was, in case he needed it in a hurry, Steve moved the bike by the door. Once again he turned to the gun cabinet, removed the Bulgarian Makarov from its wrapper and wiped it down. Making sure it would function; he loaded all five magazines with his reloads. Since factory defense loads were hard to come by, he had loaded up some, using cut down 9mm Luger cases and Hornady 90gr hollow points. The little gun would keep every one in the black at 25 yards if he did his part. Not bad for a military pistol with fixed sights, that cost less than $125.00.


Since he knew the Makarov would fire every time, he packed the Glocks up in his pack. He would test fire them when he made it home, until then the unproven pistols were a last ditch option.

He had shaved, cleaned up and dressed in a set of dark brown work clothes when he heard a distant crash and felt a slight vibration through the concrete floor. He hurriedly finished his preparations donned his web belt, holstered his Mak and grabbed his SKS.

He knelt down, and sliding a mechanics mirror under the door, checked both ways outside, before rolling the door open enough to exit. Quietly walking around to the corner, he looked back toward the entrance. Looking through his binoculars he could see a Ford F350 box truck had crashed through the main gate ripping it off its track and swinging it in toward the storage units. Five men looking between 18 and 25 years old, were pounding on the locks at two of the front units with a small sledgehammer. Steve could hear the sound of steel on steel as blow followed by blow descended upon the locks. He had hoped the sheds belonged to the men and they couldn't find the keys, but with a final blow one of the locks gave and the men ripped it off, raised the door, and preceded to rummage through the items inside. Carelessly throwing someone's personal possessions around, it was now obvious they were intent on looking into each shed, looking for anything they considered valuable. The men went unit by unit until they had opened about 10 along each side of the main entrance road. Steve could now hear the men as they grumbled about finding so little for their effort. Steve kept watching, hoping they would soon tire of their unproductive looting and leave, but they seemed intent on destroying each unit.

Steve was in a quandary, 5 armed men(he could see pistols on the men and one had a rifle) in this maze would be too risky. The men were so intent on their task and Steve so intent on watching the men, no one noticed the elderly woman approaching. When the rifle toting looter's head disappeared in a shower of red mist everyone noticed! Steve hit the ground and two of the men standing outside watching the other two ransack and plunder the unit, reached for their pistols. A second looter took another shotgun blast lower in the chest and also dropped to the ground never to move again. The second man must have taken a pellet or two cause he was yelling and cussing up a storm as he dragged himself into the shallow entryway of the next unit. Why she was taking out the men Steve didn't know but she was the lesser of two evils right now. Steve got up and ran around the far end of his row of units. Another 50 yards and he was in a position to fire directly into the storage unit the men were hold up in.

As Steve looked around the corner he could see the men in the shed, hiding behind some furniture. The woman would fire into the unit bouncing shot throughout the unit. From the looks of terror on the looter's faces she had been lucky with a few pellets. Every time they got the nerve to stick a gun out to shoot she would fire again driving the men back under cover. Still she could not have unlimited ammo, especially since shotgun ammo was so heavy. Steve sighted through the 4x scope mounted on the receiver cover along the rear of the SKS. Squeezing the trigger sent a 123gr missile through the men's cover like a hot knife through butter. The first round entered the largest of the men under his outstretched arm, slicing into his heart coming to rest against the lowest rib. The second man turned to meet the new threat and to his share of lead center of mass removing two vertebra as it passed through his chest.

Steve heard the shotgun answer his shots and saw that the last man had tried to stand and maybe surrender but the blast had ruined his day forever. The silence and powder smell hung in the air after the last man had fallen like fog across a pond on an early morning. The silence was interrupted by a rough voice calling out.

"Hey stranger" the voice said "Come out nice and slow, and lets talk"

Steve eased around the corner, watching each body as he passed making sure the dead did not come to life. He reached the end of the truck she had taken cover behind, and saw a little Afro-American grandmother holding a Remington semiautomatic 20gauge with the confidence of someone that had handled one many times before. Seeing his look she chuckled in the way the elderly do when they don't have their false teeth in.

"Looks like you ain't one of them bad guys, so relax" she said pointing toward the looters.

"They beat my grandson up pretty bad the other day. He's the only one I got left, and they beat him up for what he had in his pockets. Five dollars that's all they got. I have been waiting for the chance to get these no good lowlife's since then. Them going around beatin up people. Broke in a family's house last week, raped the women and killed the son and the dog. I tried to live and let live, but some folks don't deserve to live. Teach'um to mess with Granny's family! The Good Book says an eye for an eye" She slowly wound down, the anger in her eyes dimming at last.

Steve thought that with the way this adventure was going he would never get home, He had thought that if he was ever stranded, he would find a way to get to his cache and then simply ride home. But it had been one adventure after another. Maybe, if the world ever righted itself he could write a book, make millions...Yeah, right with his luck they would throw him in jail!

The old woman stuck out her hand and with amazing strength shook his hand.

"Marylin Monroe Betty Davis" she said as she shook his hand. Don't ask and most respectful folks just call me Granny Davis.

After seeing what she had just done to a few disrespectful men Steve said "Yes ma'am, Granny Davis it is. You can call me Steve"

"I won't ask you what you are doing here, but stealing ain't a good idea even in these troubled time. The Good Book ain't changed just because the world has, you know."

"Yes mam, I know" Steve said "I wasn't stealing, I rent one of the units in back, and I was just fixing to leave when the looter's showed up."

Eyeing Steve with a look God saved just for wise grandmother's She asked "have ya had breakfast yet?"

"I ate a couple Pop-tarts earlier" Steve replied

"That ain't no breakfast to start a long journey on young man, follow me. The least I can do for your help. You can meet ma Grandson, you'll like him" Granny Davis said as she turned to walk away.

"Wait a minute" Steve said "let me get my things and we will take the truck. Them boys sure won't be needing it where they're at"

Again she laughed "I surely do like your thinking, these old bones like riding more than walking any day."

Steve thought as he turned back toward his unit, "bet she could out walk me if she had a mind to."

Steve retrieved his bike and after one last check, closed and locked the door, and rode to the truck. He opened the back door carefully and noticed the back was about one third full but didn't take time to see what was inside. He just put his bike in the back(that was an effort in itself loaded down like it was) and helped Granny Davis into the cab.

Steve returned to the looters and checked each one, removing anything of value, and picking up their guns and ammo. Granny Davis might need something more than that scatter gun in the future. Finished with his chore Steve climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine for the short run to Granny's house.

Granny Davis explained how she had been waiting for the chance to remove the 5 men from God's earth. She had seen them harass and abuse others in the area. When she had spotted their truck slowly moving past, she had got the old shotgun out and followed them on foot, moving easily between houses as they circled the block. When they had turned into the drive of the Storage Co. she thought she would get her chance.

She got her chance, thought Steve as he pulled into the drive of a small country house.
"I still got a couple of eggs left from this mornings laying if'n you want some" She said as Steve helped her down.

Steve replied that eggs would be great if it did not short her any. She told him of the chickens, guineas, and rabbits she raised along with the garden. She said she had enough canned up to last until the garden came in plus some extra.

As Steve entered the house he noticed a man leaning against a door trying to hold a big 45colt revolver. Steve could tell he was hurting from the look on his face, from the look on Granny Davis when she noticed him, Steve knew this was the Grandson.

She introduced Steve as she gently fussed at the man, and with Steve's help led him back to bed. From the battered and puffy face and the way he moved the man had sustained a heavy beating.

While Steve was not a doctor, or even a qualified medic, he had taken the military courses for combat troops and the expanded course for Special Forces. He had also taken several Red Cross courses, and even a few college-nursing courses with his wife. The man had been introduced as Johnny, Steve asked him to lay back and relax while he got his first aid kit. Steve wrestled the bike back off the truck and parked it on the porch where he could keep an eye on it and removed the medical bag. One advantage with having a nurse for a wife was being able to get a more complete medical kit, of course there was also playing doctor with her, he thought with a mental smile.

After checking Johnny over Steve decide he could have been much worse. A few broken ribs that would heal, maybe a bruised kidney, a split lip and a very sore body, along with one swollen eye was the extent of his injuries. Steve wrapped his ribs to stabilize them and gave him a few of his darvosets for the pain. He took one of the pills immediately and soon was sleeping easily.

Granny Davis called him to a breakfast of eggs, biscuits and gravy with a little bacon in it. Steve ate with a smile on his face as each bite rolled over his taste buds. After wiping his plate with the last of his biscuit he got up, put his plate in the sink and gave Granny Davis a kiss on the check.

"Thanks for a great breakfast and a trip down memory lane" He said "Reminded me of my Grandmother's cooking" he added at the look on her face.

"Guess I had better be going, thanks again for the food" Steve said.


She thanked Steve again for his help earlier as well as for looking after her grandson. Steve handed her the keys to the storage unit since he didn't think he would need it again. Take whatever you can use he said. There wasn't much left but he had stored plenty of food in case he had someone with him when he stopped by. He has left about a third of it behind. He had also carried the guns he had picked up from the looters inside, maybe they would now be used for good he thought.

He told her he would back the truck around to the back and mentioned he had found a couple of generators inside the back when he had removed the bicycle. When Johnny was better maybe he could set them up for her, since the van was gasoline powered they could drain the tanks and use the fuel for the generators.

Granny Davis looked at him and said "you ain't bad for a white boy, ya know"

Coming from someone that had seen so much in a lifetime Steve figured that was about as great a compliment as she could give.

Smiling, he thanked her again, and walked to the truck. After backing it around to the back, he walked back to the front, gave the keys to Granny Davis along with another light peck on the cheek. Pushing off he started pedaling in the direction his map had indicated, heading for the distant railroad tracks.

Chap 16 - Homeward Bound

As Steve peddled away from Granny Davis he turned his thought toward his future. He had a few miles to go before he reached his destination. He had discovered an abandoned railroad on a map a couple of years ago, that investigation had shown him was still usable. He had at first wanted to get a motorcycle for his "GOOD" transportation. He could never resolve a safe means of storing fuel in his storage unit. He was afraid the summer temperature would cause fumes to escape and some idiot would drop a lit cigarette then whoosh his cache goes up in a fireball. All that ammo going off would make it interesting for any bystanders. No, he figured plan "B" would be better, so he bought a decent Mountain bike and equipped it with Airfree tires so he would not have to worry about flats. Then he had run across that site about rail bikes and had made up the rail guides soon after. Finding a suitable railroad path was his next hurdle. After spending the money on a few books he had located the unused railway between Conway, SC and Myrtle Beach, SC. If it was still passable end to end he could get to Georgetown, SC and then take the regular rail line to Charleston and on south to Florida.

Steve had a couple of things in his favor, first was the fact that from what he could find out from Granny Davis and his radio, most of the serious trouble was in the larger cities. The Homeland Security Director had placed all the alphabet agencies under his control. Teams of FBI, DEA and other agencies had been dispatched to the major trouble areas to "assist" the local departments and to act as an interface to the HLS. The problem was most local departments had an ingrained mistrust of those agencies in the first place, and second the teams were abusing their newfound power. The worst decision the HLS director made was using the BATF as his shock troops. Several clashes between them and the local populations had already resulted in bloodshed on both sides.

As long as he stayed near small towns and avoided the larger towns as much as possible he hoped to avert trouble with either the law, the military (which was being used to protect government installations and their immediate areas), or other groups looking for a fight.

One problem he had to face was the fact that the railway he planned to travel on had been abandoned years before and had not been maintained. It might be too choked with weed growth to allow easy passage. He had traveled along some of the rails, but not all, as time had not permitted. It was always something he needed to do, but had not made time. Still it was his safest and most direct route to Georgetown where he could pick up the active line. Since the trouble started trains had stopped their runs. Then the Government had stepped in and protected the trains with troops and had even started using a scout train with a couple of flat cars with older M48 and M551 tanks. The scout train would move just ahead of the heavy ladened main train ensuring its safety. Still, except for those trains, the rails were mostly empty. Apparently terrorists had used explosives to derail a couple of trains out west, causing a panic. People and businesses alike had tried to avoid the railroads, but too much was moved by the railway, as well as trucks, so the government had to act to ensure at least some supplies moved across the land.

It was late afternoon when Steve finally located the rails. He had placed the location in his GPS but still almost missed his entry point, it was so grown over. He carefully slid through the growth, looking for a clear area, pushing the laden bike. He struggled along for over a mile until he finally could see the track area clearing. From the looks of the area, strewn with empty bottles and other signs of youth, he had stumbled into a local party area. The results of multiple cars traveling along the unused tracks had kept the growth controlled. He doubted there would be a party tonight but still pulled back into the nearby woods to make camp. Moving through the brush had eaten up most of the daylight and Steve wanted plenty of light to get the bike set up. He wanted to have a full day to get used to traveling by rail bike.

The bike allowed him to carry much more than otherwise, but it could still be a handful moving along the less than level ground. He finally located a spot he thought ideal for a night camp. He first stretched a brown tarp, using the bike as one wall, down to the edge of a patch of heavy underbrush. The tarp would keep the dew off and protect him from any sudden shower or dropping sticky tree sap. A plastic ground cloth over which he laid his lightweight sleeping bag on top of a thermorest mattress. His shelter completed he next turned to fixing supper. He had not stopped for lunch, instead munching on a granola bar and some dried fruit. It curbed his hunger but his body needed calories if he wanted to continue his travels in top form. He had eaten a large breakfast , had a light lunch, so he decided to have a medium size supper.

"Let's see" he thought "Government gourmet or Charlie tuna?" Since he had hardly seen anyone throughout the day, and no one since turning onto the tracks, he decided to cook a hot meal. Using his stove he boiled a handful of Ramein noodles. Once soft he added some butter powder, cheddar cheese powder, a few spices, a little olive oil from a plastic bottle and a pouch of Charlie's buddies(tuna). It was amazingly good and a hot meal might be a rarity in the future.

His main meal over he cleaned up, returned the gear to its proper place in case he needed to leave in a hurry, and lay back on his bed. Turning on the short wave, he enjoyed a brownie from his storage while sipping from a cup of Crystal lite powdered lemonade.

Nothing he heard on the radio gave his morale a boost. Certain senators from Massachusetts and California were making statements that citizens should be willing to accept fewer freedoms, and of course fewer guns, for the safety of all. With the liberal press giving max air time to their statements and little to the opposing views. What started as a united country against terrorism had suddenly fragmented into anarchy. More business's were closing as workers were either afraid to travel or afraid to leave their families alone. Gangs were becoming more open and bold, crime more prevalent, as food become scarce and police more overworked. The terrorists now only showed when ever things seemed to be getting under control, doing just enough to keep the pot simmering. The borders were now being patrolled by the military with shoot on sight orders but the damage had been done. Enough terrorists had crossed over from Mexico to keep things stirred up until nothing could stop the fall. He turned off the radio, rechecked his SKS, and the Makarov, and made sure his web gear was close by, then finally closed his eyes. He mulled over what he had heard while the excited voices of reporters were replaced with nature's more calming night sounds. His subconscious picked up insects looking for a meal, frogs looking for a mate, even a few owls to make the night seem haunted.

Steve awoke with a start reaching for the comforting feel of the Makarov. One minute he was calmly listening to nature the next he was rudely awakened by the change from nature's night shift to its day shift. Steve continued to lay there until he was reassured by the sounds that everything was normal. Steve mentally prepared himself for the day, going over what he needed to do to prepare for the trip.

He sat up and reached for his web gear. He did not want to be without the basic support it contained for one moment. He plundered through his food bag and selected his morning breakfast and also transferred his lunch to his web gear. He planned to eat a good breakfast and a light lunch so he would not have to stop if things were going smoothly.

He finished his food, cleaned up his utensils, packed his bedding and rolled up the tarp. With his bike repacked and ready he pushed the bike to the edge of the tracks and checked the area from cover until he was sure he was alone. He next extended the rail supports and locked them in place. He had used a different outrigger wheel from the original design, deciding to use one he found on a different website, that was flanged. His test rides had been very encouraging, staying on track even when the rails had some growth over it.

Steve pushed the bike onto the rails, dropped the front rail guide, selected the proper gear and started off.
He was very tentative at first. He still found it hard to believe the bike would ride the rails and be guided without his steering the bike. But soon he was able to relax and spend more time watching his surroundings and less time watching the tracks. He had strapped on kneepads as well as elbow pads in case he was derailed, he had also selected one of the unisex bikes without the top rail of traditional "boy" bikes. Since the rails were 7 inches higher than the ground, if he was derailed or had some other trouble, he did not want to end up sliding over onto a top bar. He did not want to sing soprano for awhile either, been there done that, as had every male that has ever ridden a bike with a top bar.

The tracks meandered through the forest, passing on raised beds through the normal swamp and lowlands popular in the South, occasionally crossing a dirt road and once a four-lane blacktop. Each time he came to a road he stopped and made sure no one was around, otherwise he kept on pedaling watching for anything abnormal. He had passed a few houses back at the start but saw no one moving about.

Twice he got a harsh wake up call when something on the track derailed him, giving him a pounding as the bike bounced along the rail bed. The Airfree(1) tires took the beating without a problem, giving him one less thing to worry about. The tires gave a stiffer ride, but he would gladly sacrifice comfort for reliability, as long as the bike preformed. The money spent for a bike of better quality than the normal Wally world bikes was proving to be a great investment. The gears meshed smoothly and the seat cushioned the ride even with the hard tires. He did have to stop a few times to hack a path through areas that had given way to mother nature, his machete making short work of the briars and vines. He also got an adrenaline rush when he surprised an early morning cottonmouth sunning on the open roadbed. He raised his legs on instinct as soon as he saw movement and avoided the angry strike. When his heart slowed down to a more normal rate he took his first breath since the sighting. He also slowed down his pedaling, that had increased without his realizing it, and hoped the moisture on the seat was sweat from the extra effort.

Georgetown was about thirty miles from Murrells Inlet by road, but the tracks were a more direct route, chopping about 7 or 8 miles off the journey. He hoped that by steadily pedaling, with only occasional rest stops, he could make the trip by day's end. The old trestle over the river in Georgetown was long gone so he would have to cross over the main bridge. He planned to stop in time to observe the bridge while still daylight, and if all looked ok, cross during the night. If he could keep going without any major problems he would be on the south side of Georgetown by early morning. He would rest up tomorrow and then continue on tomorrow night. The rails paralleled the highway, about 75ft off the roadway, so he wanted to travel them during the night if possible.

The last few miles were the toughest, of course. Two more derailments and a wall of brush made him decide to abandon the rails. He folded the outriggers and pushed the bike through the brush and weeds after hacking a path through the heavier stuff. It seemed that this area had not been traveled in quite a while and nature had recovered her property. Steve finally broke out onto a small country dirt road, tired from the machete work, he decided to follow the road to the main highway. His GPS indicated he was only about 2 and three quarter miles from the bridge, so he was close enough to risk the highway. Of course the mileage was as the crow flies, and he first had to get to the highway. He was behind schedule, but couldn't see where he could have traveled any faster. "Plans always fall apart once you implement them", his old Gunny had said, and this one surely was even if only a little bit.

The old dirt road made a sharp turn to the right, around an old Oak tree, then back to the left ending at the blacktop of US-17. Stopping in a depression not far from the oak tree, Steve rested his weary legs and arms. Lunch had been a passing thought, and from the way his stomach was complaining that thought was loong past. Steve knew a man could go for weeks without food, but could not maintain the effort he was expending for long, without fuel. Now was the time Steve appreciated the alcohol burner, since it's flame was almost invisible and it had little smell. He carefully set up his poncho around the stove, blocking out any light that might escape from its flames, and heated some water. He refilled his water bottles from his main supply adding more Gatorade, along with a packet of lemon scarfed from another fast food joint. The lemon juice enhanced the flavor and the extra acid cut through his thirst better, he had found. He dropped a pouch of Thai Chicken into the water to heat and opened a pouch of spiced cinnamon apples. He had a few flameless heaters, but wanted to keep them for a time when a fire was totally out of the question.

Steve finished up his meal and policed his trash, storing it in a gallon size zip lock bag for later disposal, better to not leave any evidence he had been here if possible. He then decided to do something he had been lax in so far, take care of his teeth. Pulling out the toothbrush, he had shortened with a fine tooth saw and sanded, and a pill bottle of baking soda he brushed his teeth and felt much better. He had found out that everything a person could do to maintain a "normal" routine, even during times of hardship, improved morale and helped keep depression away.

Personal hygiene complete, he packed up, checked the ground for evidence of his passing, and started off once again. He pushed the bike to the main road and after checking for trouble headed for the bridge. Waterways would be his major obstacles, each bridge was a choke point that needed to be investigated before crossing, starting with this one.

Nearing the bridge he stashed the bike, carefully covering it with brush, and taking the SKS moved to a spot where he could observe the whole bridge. He glassed the bridge using his small folding binoculars noting nothing out of the ordinary, if absolutely no traffic or movement can be called normal. The last remnants of the sun still painted the skies dark umber as he returned to his bike. Deciding to wait on complete darkness, he sat back and enjoyed the last moments of the sun while he mentally traced the route he would take through the streets of Georgetown, to the rail line he wanted to use.

(1) Airfree Tires - http://www.airfreetires.com/
(Posted 06/04/03 10:25pm)
===========================
Chap 17 - Old Softy

When the last rays of light had been extinguished by the darkness, Steve prepared to travel. He first needed to stretch the muscles that had stiffened up while he had rested. He had almost fallen asleep thinking about his travel route. To distract him from his weariness he tuned his radio to 162.440mhz, the local weather frequency and listened as the mechanized voice recited the reports. Not the most entertaining thing to listen to, but he did find out a front was approaching and he could expect rain late tonight or tomorrow. While traveling on a bike in the rain was not the most enjoyable experience he could think of, he welcomed it. It would hopefully keep everyone indoors giving him a greater chance of passing through the night undetected or at least unmolested.

He wished he had been able to carry the radio in his BOB bag, even with its diminutive size and weight, but he knew the weight would add up in a hurry so he had stored it in his cache. It only received AM/FM and the weather channels since one with short wave was either too big or too expensive.

Rested and stretched, he started out. He had noted nothing out of the ordinary before, and if anything, even less was happening. Selecting a lower gear on the bike in anticipation of the climb up the bridge he started off. Being this exposed made him nervous, he kept checking his SKS in its perch on the handlebars, but he did not have a choice. Once he made the peak of the bridge he leaned forward letting the bike gather speed on the downhill run. Like a downhill racer readying for the jump into space he sailed on, looking for anything unusual, as well as a place to run if need be.

Letting the bike slow to a more sedate pace he continued on until he came to the Georgetown IceHouse. The site of the old place brought a feeling of deja vu. As a teen he had spent a few weeks each summer with an Aunt and Uncle on his mother's side here. The old IceHouse was almost a landmark at the junction of two main roads in the town. His Uncle, now retired and living in Jacksonville, had been one of the influences on his personality. The Uncle had taught him about guns, cars and the "things" a young man needed to know. They had become almost brothers instead of Uncle and nephew.

Cruising slowly by the Burger King he stayed in the shadows as much as possible. He continued past the Hess station following the back roads seeking the Andrews Highway (521). He would take Alt US17 cutting across until he picked up the southbound rails. They would take him through the middle of the Francis Marion National Forest. He would stay on the rails until Charleston, there he would have to follow 526 until he crossed the Ashley river. He could then pick up the rails and follow them until Savannah, Ga. Crossing the Ashley was what worried him, it was a natural choke point for anyone coming into Charleston and near the Air Force base. It was less of a problem since the Navy base had been closed a few years ago, but still a worry.

He had about a 20-mile ride ahead of him. He wanted to be near the track by morning. If he could find a spot to safely rest, he would lay up and travel tomorrow night. The homes around here were mostly tobacco farms, spread out over the countryside. Good, hard working people affected by the hardships less than their city brethren. Still he did not want to come to the attention of any of them. Most had grown up hunting, fishing and trapping and were pretty good shots.

It had been a long day and his endurance was not as great as he would like it to be, still he made it to the rail side with a couple of hours of darkness to spare. He thought about pressing on into the Forest, but decided to find a spot nearby. Fortunately civilization had not completely expanded to here. The area was mainly posted lands used by the paper mills to grow pine trees, and as leased hunting clubs. Since legal hunting season was over he figured he was reasonably safe back in the trees if he stayed away from any stands or corn piles used for baiting deer in South Carolina.

A lot of the ride had been in near darkness. He wished he had been able to save enough cash to buy night vision goggles, but they were an item way down his list of things to buy. He had mounted an LED light on the steering arm of the rail guide aimed down at the road. It cast a small beam but kept him from running off the road a few times. He had used the high intensity orange LED's from Radio Shack, mounting 6 of them across the mount and connecting them to his 12v gel cell battery which he would charge using the Solar charger he had keep from the canoe. If he needed more light he could turn on a 4 LED white beam or with a flick of a switch activate the Xenon filament lighting up the whole roadway, something he hoped he didn't have to do. If you can see, you can be seen!

Finding a spot to enter the Forest he pushed the bike into the woods. It felt good to get off the bike and stretch. He felt as if he could curl up around a log and fall sleep. But he had a few things to do first. Carefully shining his small White LED light he checked out the area, finding a secluded spot between two trees to camp. He stretched a length of paracord between the trees after threading it through the grommets of his brown tarp. The other end he secured to the ground with a few aluminum spikes. He hooked a couple of bungee straps from the side grommets down to the ground. The bungee's were easy to put on and easy to take off and would provide some give if the wind picked up, stopping the tarp from fluttering. The rain had been light but steady since he had started last night providing good cover but lousy travel conditions. He welcomed the chance to dry off and get out of the rain. Spreading his plastic ground cloth under the tarp, after removing any unwelcome sticks or rocks, he prepared his bed as usual. He removed his clothes, dried off with the brown towel he carried, cleaned up with a wipes and dressed in the forever handy grey sweats. He hung his clothes over the bike to air dry some, though with 100% humidity he figured they would still be wet tomorrow.

The rain had begun to fall harder now so he took a small piece of plastic and ran it under the back of the tarp. Using his small trowel and his bushman knife he dug a small depression under the plastic. As the rain ran down the tarp it was collected on the plastic and funneled into the hole. Using his waterfilter he pumped the water into each of his empty water bottles. Within a short time he had refilled his supply and dismantled his collection device. Though he was hungry the sound of the falling rain was lulling him to sleep. Snuggling into his bed he fell fast asleep listening to nature's sound machine.

Steve awoke, in the late afternoon, with the ground shaking and a loud rumbling nearby. He quickly dressed in the slightly damp clothes, laced his boots on, and grabbed his web gear and SKS. Moving toward the sound, he kept a tree between him and the tracks. The front guard train had just passed, its front flat car holding an M551 Sheridan, and the flat car on the rear had a group of soldiers housed within a cargo container with a sandbagged 40mm grenade launched at the rear. The M551 might not be considered front line anymore but it's 152mm gun was more than enough to clear the tracks of trouble.

Steve watched as the lead train passed and the cargo train approached. The cargo train also had a flat car on the front, this one with an older M113 complete with 50cal. Four engines, followed by four tank cars and then container cars too many to count. Within the middle of the train another flat car, with its cargo container of troops, watched over the cargo. Steve had never witnessed a train as long as this one, it seemed to take all morning to pass, finally Steve saw a caboose attached supporting more antennas' than NORAD with another flat car supporting a Bradley. A lot of firepower to insure the supplies made it through. The sheep probably thought the government did it all for them, never realizing its only purpose was to give the people hope and allow the noose of control to pass uncontested over their heads.

Wow! Was all Steve could say. Bet few of those are attacked! He returned to his camp glad he was not ahead of that train. Even as large as it was it could not support many people and from what he had heard they only made about one run a week. Hauling food and supplies from one city to the next making a circular run dropping off cars and picking up cars as it went. Just enough government support trickling in to keep the masses under control. Even with the trains' runs food and medicine was in short supply. The ones that depended on maintenance medication to live slowly died as their life sustaining drugs ran out. Hunger killed more, and as more died and the infrastructure to handle the dead became overwhelmed. Disease killed even more. The fragile mirror of civilization shattered by just a few terrorist acts. A few dirty bombs to plant a radiation scare, then normal bombs exploding bridges, generating plants, oil refineries and Airports. Bombs that caused people to avoid the areas, even to help the injured due to the fear radiation may be present. Smallpox had been released in a few of the larger cities, Chicago, Detroit, LA, Dallas. Not many, since Smallpox was not available in sufficient quantity to the terrorist, but enough to overwhelm the medical support. As frightened people fled each city, they spread the disease further before the government could get the cities locked down.

While the normal radio stations broadcast the government's propaganda, a few pirate stations tried to spread the truth. Most people preferred to listen to the lies spread by their government, comforted by fiction rather than stirred by facts. The Republicans may have been in power, but the turmoil in the country caused them to act like politicians everywhere. They implemented the executive orders already on the books, ready to place the blame on past Presidents and Congressmen, rather than make decisions themselves.

Steve ate a heavy dinner of Instant Dehydrated Whole Bean's (1), Hot sauce and Minute Rice washed down with a cup of coffee. Dusk was approaching as he packed his gear and readied the bike for the trip. He inspected the bike over, checking tires, spokes and the tightness of the major bolts. Steve pushed the bike out to the tracks after verifying no one was around. Once again he extended the outrigger and set the bike on the track (2).

Steve started out slowly, working out the kinks. He would have preferred to have been around a fire having a second cup of coffee instead of pedaling down an active track. Who was he kidding, he would rather be in bed getting served breakfast by his wife, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to survive. The train was far enough ahead, he could not even feel the vibration of its passage in the tracks, now if it would just stay that way.

He made good time, the rain had passed on during the day leaving a humid blanket behind. Steve was sure he was within the National Forest by now, for he saw nothing but trees, brush, or swamp in the rising moonlight. He crossed over a few dirt crossroads and one single lane blacktop road but each was devoid of life as he passed by. He pedaled on through the night thankful for the misting fog that drifted over and around him as he passed by, It would mute his travel and hide his passage.

Around 1am, just as he decided he would stop for midrats, two glowing eyes appeared out of the night along with a rattle of brush. Steve reacted by instinct, ending up on the ground holding his SKS with no remembrance of doing it. The bushes kept rattling, the eyes appearing randomly, with a growling sort of whimper. Steve's pulse rate slowed as the danger signals diminished. He carefully got up ready to dive down if a threat appeared. Now standing fully upright, the danger signals gone, replaced with a curiosity, Steve pointed his flashlight toward the brush. The light, more powerful than the LED light he normally used, showed a scene that almost made him laugh with relief. The pack of wolves he had anticipated turned out to be a young dog caught in the briers. From his look he had been there for awhile, barely able to lunge, trying to escape.

Steve walked over to the bike, which had stayed on the track somehow, but had slowly stopped a short distance away. He took out his leather gloves and a pair of pruning shears. He liked the shears for trimming brush around his hunting stand and had packed them out of habit. Returning to the dog he surveyed the scene deciding how best to approach. Slowly reaching out he cut away some of the briars and vines. Now that he was closer he could tell the dog was exhausted and wary, watching his every move. Looks like an American mastiff (3) he thought, only about a year old. The dog had a collar, but no tag, that had become entangled in a strand of barbwire. With the brush cut away, Steve exchanged the shears for his Gerber multi-lock. Reaching very slowly toward the dog he prepared to cut away the wire. A weak growl warned Steve to be careful as he slipped the jaws around the wire near the collar. Squeezing the handles he snipped the wire but pulled it as he did so. The dog reacted to the pressure by snapping at him. Steve jerked his hand away by reaction, but was aware the dog had not really wanted to bite him.

"You flea bitten mangy hound, I'm trying to help you and you snap at me" exclaimed Steve "I ought to tie you back up myself"

One look at the fur around the collar told the story why. The hair around the area was scrapped away and the wire had bit into the flesh tearing it as the dog had struggled to be free. Gently pulling away the wire, Steve talked to the dog in a reassuring voice. The dog seemed to know Steve was trying to help but still growled his displeasure at times. Finally the dog was free but still seemed unsure. Steve gently lifted him up and carried him to a clear area. Here was as good a place to rest as any, he thought as he retrieved his bike and folded the outriggers. If the dog had an owner he wanted to return to, here was his chance Steve thought, but the dog was still in the same place when he returned.

He poured some water into a Ziplock bag and offered it to the dog placing it beside his mouth. The dog lapped the water like it was nectar from the gods. "Guess it's been awhile, eh boy" said Steve. He knew he should not have risked helping the animal, but he had always had a soft spot for dogs. Taking a pouch of tuna from his bag he opened it and placed it beside the dog. One simple sniff and then it was gone in a few licks. "I can see you love to eat boy, but my supplies are limited, so I guess that will have to do for now. Let's see if I can clean up your wounds." Steve unbuckled the collar and removed it with only one growl and a slight show of teeth from his new friend. Retrieving his first aid kit, Steve cleaned the wound, as well as a cut he found on the front leg, that had started to become infected. Once the wounds were cleaned and bandaged, Steve brushed away the dog's coat checking for other wounds and removing the briars that had stuck.

Finished with the dog, Steve heated a bigger meal than normal and shared with the pooch. "Well if you aren't leaving then I guess you need a name. Hmmm, how about Rommel? Yea, that seems to fit, so Rommel you'll be." 'Ok, now that you've adopted another stray what are you going to do with him?' Steve thought as he set the bike back on the track, but this time he added the cargo net he had made, onto the supports. It would handle the dog's weight but it was a good thing he was not full grown, his breed could top out at 100 pounds.

Steve carried the dog and placed him in the net where he settled in like he belonged, with one eye cocked as if to say, let's go, what are you waiting for?

Great, here he was a combat tested veterian. A rough, tough truck driving man.
Reduced to a chauffer by a 40 pound mutt. What's next, a nursemaid?

All the support he got from Rommel was a small bark, telling him to get moving.

Steve could tell the added weight was there, but not enough to bother him once he got used to it. Why could he not avoid helping everyone and mind his own business? Oh well at least the dog could pay his own way, his senses could detect trouble well before Steve's.


(1) Instant Dehydrated Whole Bean's - http://www.u-s-foods.com/ourproductspage.htm
(2) WARNING! Using active tracks is foolish except in emergencies or TEOTWAWKI situations.
(3) American mastiff - http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/americanmastiff.htm
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Chapter 18 - Dog Food or Rommel's Revenge

Steve pressed on. Mile after mile he peddled, watching each ambush spot, stopping to check each crossroad or open area he came to, Rommel looking at him as if to say "Why worry, I'm here". Steve knew the dog could detect problems well before him, but the dog was still an unproven partner. Just like a new firearm, you did not trust it until it had been proven. Besides Steve just liked to stay in a combat mode, he might become too trusting and relax at the wrong time.

One problem he needed to work out was food for Rommel. He had not planned on supporting a growing pup and his food would not maintain them both for long, he needed to find something that would feed Rommel. People food was in short supply but maybe animal food could be located. Feed stores were readily available in this part of the world, if he could only find one. Find one without being compromised, that is.

As daylight appeared Steve decided to stop. He had been peddling all night and had been gearing down the last couple of hours. He needed to stop before he came to a slow crawl. According to his GPS he was near the edge of the National Forest, getting closer to populated areas. He did not want to chance an encounter with the general public, so he decided to stay within the confines of the Forest.

He did not set up the tarp as usual, he wanted to keep a low profile. This close to any town might find hunters coming into the wood looking for food. It did not look like rain was in the forecast for a few days and without the tarp he could react faster if he was discovered. He did lay the tarp down as a ground cloth and place his bag on top of it. He could fold the tarp over him if needed, otherwise he would leave it to the side to allow any breeze to flow over him.

He watered Rommel, giving him his last bag of tuna and a couple of sticks of beef jerky. It might not fill him up, but he might stop licking his lips each time he looked at Steve. Once more Steve debated the wisdom of bringing the dog along, but once again knew he could not have left him.

"Guess I'm just an old softy." Said Steve as he rubbed Rommel's neck "I'll figure out something for you to eat, besides me"

The look Rommel just happened to give Steve was priceless, like saying "you better hurry up, half rations are getting old!"

Steve finished his preparations, cleaned up, and set down to a meal of Dinty Moore Turkey & Dressing. The American classics meal that only needed heating and needed no refrigeration. They were not as sturdy as MRE's but came close and were cheaper as well as easier to obtain. He simply spooned (sporked?) them into his canteen cup and heated the meal over his burner. Steve drank as much as possible trying to stay hydrated, even if water became hard to find he wanted to store it in his body, not in his canteens.

He checked Rommel's wounds, dressing them with ointment from his first aid kit. Rommel calmly waited through the exam without even a growl. The neck wound had scabbed over nicely and the leg wound was not as red as before.

"Guess your feeling better, right boy?" Steve asked.

Rommel licked him in the face in reply. Just having the dog made Steve feel less alone and nervous, even if he added to his problems.

Steve slipped into his bed and smiled as Rommel snuggled beside him. Steve told the dog goodnight, almost like a brother, and rubbed his neck one more time.

Dropping off to sleep at once, he slept like the dead, letting his subconscious and Rommel's senses protect them.

He awoke after 7 hours in another world. A world of peace, without the need for bullets or violence, and of freedom. He awoke into a world full of madness, but one in which he lived and intended to keep on living.


It was still light, his watch showed 4:12pm, as he opened his eyes. Steve spent the last hours of daylight checking his ride for troubles. All after emptying his bladder, of course. That was the downside to staying hydrated.

Steve removed the handy folding binoculars and moved toward the edge of the forest, which ended at a two lane country blacktop road. A small township, more like a self-supporting subdivision, lay before him. He could see a few houses in the distance, and a new gas station with its ever-present fast food add-on. Closer he could see a taxidermist waiting for a good ole boy's latest conquest, and next door right on the corner of two roads sat a Feed/Hardware store just waiting for a customer. Maybe his luck was changing, Steve thought. Now if the store was open, had what he needed, and he could get there and back without getting shot or arrested.

Backing away into the woods once again, Steve made his plans. He could wait until just before dark, then leaving his bike and the mutt here, ease down to the store to see if they had the answer to one of his problems.

Steve returned to camp to find Rommel with a "What's for dinner look."

"Looks as if you will have to wait a little longer to eat, Rommel" Steve said as he poured water for the dog.

As much as he wanted to, Steve knew he could not walk down to the store looking like Poncho Via after a hard days ride. He decided to carry his Makarov in his pocket and leave the rest hidden along with the bike. Rommel could watch over it until he returned. It was the least he could do in return for the risk Steve was taking. Anyway, this would be a way to pick up information on the area. The locals would have a better idea of the local countryside than anyone else.

As the shadows of daylight lengthened Steve tucked his shirt in and re-combed his hair. He added his Bushman knife as an afterthought since it was common around here to carry a working knife on your belt. Once again Steve debated the idea of going into a strange town almost unarmed. He would rather have carried his SKS and worn his combat harness, But once again he decided the town folks would be more receptive to a stranger if he was not dress to kill, literally. Prepared, if not ready, Steve carefully crossed the road and started for the Store. He wanted to reach it before it got dark but not in full daylight.

As he approached the store he could see the windows had been covered with plywood on the inside, giving a more normal appearance on the outside, but some protection for those on the inside. Steve cautiously ascended the steps cringing when the top step creaked loudly. Crossing to the door, he reached to open it, and found it already open. He could not see inside without fully opening the door, but he could not hear anything unusual or usual, for that matter. Steve called out as he stepped inside "Hello, anybody here?" His answer was the cool metal of a gun barrel pressed against his skull. The butterflies that suddenly hatched in his stomach were just the opening round, as his glands dumped copious amount of chemicals into his system.

A young, scared sounding voice yelled at him to move around the aisle, accented by an increase in pressure of the gun barrel. The voice didn't check him for weapons, so he was an amateur, thought Steve. But he didn't have a chance to pull his gun without Shaky(as Steve thought of him) pulling the trigger. Shaky pushed Steve around the corner where an older man and woman were kneeling. When Shaky told everyone to stand up, Steve could see they had been physically assaulted. The man had a bleeding nose and lip, the woman had a red mark, the kind a hand would leave, on her cheek. Steve never could tolerate those who abused the elderly, and had to fight to maintain control until he could find an opening to draw his gun. Shaky was yelling again demanding cash, food, and guns. Steve saw the man was very unkempt, with his pants hanging down his butt in the style of today's youth.

The man kept waving the gun around, threatening to shoot the woman if his demands were not met. The store-owner kept trying to tell the man that there was no money, as most everything now was barter. There was a little food in the back, but this was a hardware store not a grocery store. Seems the youth had made a mistake in his choice of stores, he should have tried the food store across the street. Guess he didn't want to have to walk any farther than he had too. Right in the middle of one of his tirades his voice suddenly stopped, as he froze in mid stream. Steve was perplexed for a moment since he had been watching the man's face hoping he would be able to make a move. Steve now heard Rommel growling, nothing like he had heard before, a low rumble originating deep in his chest. Like the rumble of a freight train passing by at speed. This was no threat, this was all business to Rommel. No wonder the man had frozen! With a rush Rommel launched at the man's unprotected back, all teeth and claws. The gun firing into the ceiling as Shaky dropped to the ground, curling into a fetal ball, trying to protect his body. All his squirming around caused his pants to completely finish what the man purposely started, sliding down to his thighs. This inadvertly exposed parts better left protected, especially when 40+ pounds of total fury are unleashed on you. Rommel wrapped his mouth around the man's exposed thigh brushing the twins. This caused such a terror that the man's screams reached a glass shattering frequency and crescendo. Steve called to Rommel, in a commanding voice, to release the man. Several times more Steve called, before Rommel's fury lessened. Steve could tell Rommel's anger went beyond protection, he genuinely hated either the man himself or the type of person the man represented. Maybe the type was the reason Steve found the dog in the first place. Either way, Steve did not approach the dog until he knew the dog was seeing him for who he was. Once his voice penetrated the dog's fury, Steve pulled Rommel away from the cowering figure. Steve now relaxed for the first time since he had stepped on the porch, and addressed the man.

"Fellow, you have the mouth of a very angry and hungry dog considering how much of you to have for dinner. What he almost had his mouth around is only a snack for him, but it is your whole life. If you hand the gun over real, real slow and stay very still I might, just might, be able to convince Rommel to let you go" Steve said as he held out his hand for the gun. "So what will it be, the gun or does Rommel have hor d'orves?"

"Take it, Take it, just keep him away from me" he sobbed

If it had not been for the abuse he had inflicted on the proprietor and his wife Steve would have almost felt sorry for him.

"Now you, you old flea taxi" Steve address the dog "I don't know whether to shoot you for getting me in this mess and then leaving the bike or kiss you for getting me out of trouble."

"Well let me help you make up your mind" said the woman as she gave Rommel the remains of a steak bone and scratched his ears. The crunch of the bone as Rommel's jaw started to work caused the man to whimper once again. This time before anyone could stop her the woman delivered a kick to Shaky that doubled him once again. Her husband grabbed her and held her until the sobs started and then subsided. Steve politely payed attention to Rommel, while watching Shaky recover from the kick, and ignoring the couple.

Once she had regained control, the husband introduced himself as Tim Stockman and his wife as Beth, with a firm handshake. What can we do for you Steve, now that things are somewhat normal.

"Well number one, do you have some duct tape?" asked Steve "We need to secure Shaky here until something can be done about him"

At Steve calling the thug Shaky the man laughed out loud, "No problem, I have some good stuff that will do the job" He said as he walked down a few aisle's and retrieved a roll.

Opening the roll Steve wrapped Shaky's hands and feet, as well as placing a piece over his mouth, more so to hush his cries than anything else. Steve did take the time to disinfect the bites the man had received, though he did not take much care not to hurt him.

Now that the man was secured, Steve could turn his thoughts to the main reason that he had came in the first place.

"Mr. Stockman, I need some dog food for Rommel hear. He's getting tired of eating lite." Steve asked reaching for his wallet.

Chap 19 - The Pruett's

Diane wished her mother would just shut up. Ever since they had left the motel all she could talk about was how if it wasn't for Tim the team never would have even made the playoffs. Why did they have to be seated at the third table when they should have sat at the head table, and did you see what the coach's wife was wearing? On and on she went, until Diane had heard enough!

Diane loved her mother, but she was so wrapped up in status, she didn't see what was going on around her. The life they had lived was being destroyed more every day. The Georgia and South Carolina interstate football playoffs had been scheduled just before the terrorists had started tearing America apart. They had all wanted to go home once the first problems had started, but the officials had assured everyone's safety so the games had continued. The banquet had been last night; fortunately the food had been bought in advance so no one went hungry. The small town on the outskirts of Charleston where the championship games had been played was isolated from the real world. Food was still available, with only fuel getting scarce and more expensive. The Mercedes had been fueled with diesel and they could make it home without refueling Dad said, so here they were listening to Mother's complaints.

Dad had wanted to leave early but Mom had taken so much time getting ready, had taken so much time eating and doing the other things she wanted to do before Dad could pack the car, that it had been late afternoon before they left. Mom had insisted she navigate, since men never have a since of direction. She got Dad lost twice before they found I-526 and made it through Charleston. Dad was now worried that they would be stopped before they got home to Savannah. He had been given a pass to cross the checkpoint on the Ashley River Bridge along I-575 but didn't know if it would allow them to pass any impromptu roadblocks.


Dad had once said Diane was 16 going on 21, Tim was 12 going on 18 and their mom was 36 going on 3. Their dad was a great father, spending as much time as he could with them, but 20 plus years of their mother had just worn him down. Rarely did he cross their mom except when it was about the kids. Diane thought back to the time she had wanted to take kickboxing after school instead of cheerleading, Dad had backed her up against her mother. Diane knew it had cost him, but kickboxing won. Her mom turning instead to Tim, and his interest in sports, to satisfy her need to be in the limelight. Diane loved her brother Tim. She could not show it much of course, he was her brother after all, but they were very close.

Soon after passing through Ravenel, South Carolina, they saw a truck on the side of the road with the hood up. One man under the hood and another flagging them down. Her dad had not planned on stopping, but her mom insisted they stop and help since "It was the Christian thing to do". He should have ignored her and kept going. Diane guessed he did not want to drive the rest of the way getting the silent treatment from her. Her dad pulled over and backed up to the truck. After telling the family to stay in the car, he got out to see what their trouble was. Her Dad talked with them a few minutes, then turned, popped the trunk, and bent over into it. Diane figured he was trying to get the toolbox buried under her mom's clothes, but the trunk lid blocked her view.

She had seen that the two men looked like a father and son. The younger one came up to her mother's window, tapped on it, and after her mother lowered it down thanked them for stopping. Diane had felt funny when he looked at her, almost as if he had been undressing her with his eyes. When the man left, she dismissed her feelings as nervousness. She saw the man whisper something to the older man just before the trunk lid rose and blocked her view.

They felt a heavy bump, and at the same time heard a much-muffled voice, almost a yell, from the rear of the car. Diane noticed it had gotten dark and no one else was around when suddenly the two men ran around to the windows, the older man trying to get the driver's door open and the younger pulling on her Mom's door. As the younger man started beating on the window, Diane realized he was trying to distract them while the older man used a key to open the other door. She leaned across the seat and held the door lock as hard as she could; barely keeping it locked against the pressure of the key as she also tried to press the electric lock switch down. The younger man no longer tried to keep them distracted but went around to help the elder open the lock.

Suddenly two things happened, the key broke off in the lock when the younger man took over turning the key and twisted too hard in his exuberance to open the door, and Tim jumped out of the car.

With football season over and baseball season starting, Tim had kept his favorite bat in the car. When he jumped out he carried it with him. His swing would have made his couch proud. He caught the younger man by surprise with a switch-hit homerun across the ribs. Before Tim could turn though the older man pulled a knife and cut Tim's arm forcing him to drop the bat. Tim was yelling for them to run, as well as in pain, when she jumped out of the car. Her lessons in Savate coming in handy as she taught the old man a quick lesson about liberated women. Both men were out of action for a few minutes, so she grabbed her brother and pulled her mother out of the car. Taking a second to grab her backpack from the backseat, she pulled them along as she ran for the railroad track and the woods beyond. She had seen her father lying on the ground in a puddle and somehow knew he was no longer living, but it had not really registered in her consciousness yet. All she knew was to run, to get away from the danger, to escape the men they had left behind.

They ran until they had crossed the tracks and pulled back into the woods, trying to hide. She had seen flashlights following the route they had taken, but soon the light went out as the men left. This was followed by a glow coming from the area where they had been attacked. She could make out flames now, probably from their car, she guessed. She went back to the spot she had left her mother and brother. Reaching for her backpack, she removed the flashlight and checked on her brother. Why she had taken the backpack was still a mystery to her, she had just grabbed it when they ran. She didn't have much that was any benefit to them, but the flashlight came in handy. She could see that Tim's arm was cut bad, he had remembered his Scout training and kept direct pressure on the arm stopping the flow of blood from the cut. When she had him slowly release the pressure it started bleeding again but did not show signs of anything major being cut. She took out one of her two bottles of Evian and cleaned the wound best she could and then made a bandage from one of her feminine napkins held in place with a piece of cloth torn from her shirt. She had felt a little embarrassed when she had torn the package open, but Tim was in too much pain to notice, besides, it was the only thing she had that could stop and contain the bleeding.

Her mother had been next to useless, she wanted to go back to the car and get their father, even when Diane told her what she had seen, her mother wanted to return to the car. Donna just ignored the past events, somehow pretending everything was normal. Only by using Tim's wound could Diane keep her mother from going back to the car. Donna held Tim's head, gently rocking him like he was a baby, tuning out the world around her.

Diane awoke to find her mother asleep with Tim asleep in her lap. Their clothes did not protect them from the ground much; she was damp and stiff from sleeping on it. She slowly got up and started walking, staying behind the tree line until she was even with the car. She crossed the tracks and slid through the high growth until she could see it clearly. The sight turned her insides into Jell-O. The Mercedes that her dad had taken such good care of was just a burned out shell. Apparently, the men had placed her father behind the wheel before burning it to make it look more natural. Everything they had was burned to a crisp or melted beyond use.

She heard a vehicle coming, and turned to see the same truck they had stopped for last night. She pulled back into the bushes, ran back across the tracks, and headed back into the woods. She was not a woodsman, or was that woods woman she thought with a grin, but she did know enough to not head directly back to her family. She took a round about route back to her mother, arriving just as she woke up. Tim was sitting up holding his arm in obvious pain. Diane reached into her small backpack and retrieved the little first aid kit her brother had made in one of his Scout classes. She had first thought it silly and did not want to carry it, but she could tell it meant a lot to him, so had tossed it into the backpack she used at school. After a time it had become so handy, she expanded it into a larger pouch that had once held makeup. She retrieved a couple of ibuprofen and gave it to Tim along with some of the water she had left from washing his wound out.

Diane felt the needed to move farther away from the area. She had heard the truck drive along the tracks stopping once or twice. She knew they were looking for them and didn't want to be around to be found.

She knelt down in front of her mother and relayed what she had seen, trying to get through the mental wall her mother had built. Donna just stared at her until she was finished. Diane then saw a tear slowly trickle down her mother's face.

Diane wanted to move but didn't think either her brother or her mother was capable of moving very far right now. She heard the truck once again, but this time it was traveling away from them. The sun was up, so maybe they were leaving. Diane decided to try to find a better place to rest that would give them protection from the elements, as well as better protection from those predators.

She asked her mother to watch over Tim, telling her she was going to look around. Her mother barely heard her, mumbling an acknowledgment as Diane turned to go. Tim, through pain filled eyes, looked at her with understanding and moved closer to his mom.

Diane felt so out of place, the camping trips she had taken with her father had not prepared her for this.
-----------------------------

Steve asked the storeowner again if he could handle the would be thief by himself. Once again, the owner assured him he could handle him until the sheriff could be reached. So bidding the owner and his wife farewell Steve hoisted the 50lb sack of dog food on his shoulder and carried the doggie bowl Mrs. Stockman had insisted he take. Mr. Stockman had also handed him a small box of doggie treats to take. How he was going to carry the weight Steve was not yet sure. He was afraid of over loading the bike with the added weight of the food and the dog. He would just have to load up and see how it went.

He hoped to get through Charleston tonight, but figured he would have to camp out on this side of the Ashley River and cross tomorrow. He did not want to be caught out in the open during daylight hours. Mr. Stockman had mentioned the old Navy base had been reopened in Charleston as a refugee camp, as well as a place to take troublemakers. If you could not show a reason to be in the area when you were stopped, you were taken to the refugee center for further processing.

Steve knew that once in the government's hands all his supplies would be confiscated. His guns would disappear and his food distributed around, probably into some bigwig's hands.

He arrived back at his bike without incident, happy to find everything still there. What a bonanza for someone to stumble over he thought. He donned his gear and rechecked the packing before pushing the bike out to the rails. Steve adjusted the bike to a more upright position taking a little more weight off the outrigger. He tied Rommel's food above the outrigger and settled Rommel into place. Once again, he started off, but this time a little more carefully than in the past, trying to detect any problems the bike may have with the added weight.

After he had traveled a couple of miles and had gotten up to a good traveling speed he started to relax. The bike seemed to be carrying the added weight just fine. He was glad for the large selection of gears though, it made starting the weight much easier.

They rode through the night making good time. The rail swung out to the North Charleston area and was devoid of life for most of the trip. As he neared the outer city limits, the rails passed closer to the populated areas. He rode through a couple of deserted business areas before swinging parallel to I-526. Rommel acted nervous but did not indicate any danger. Still Steve stayed on high alert until they were well past the business districts.

He next had to cross several swampy areas, as well as a number of smaller streams and rivers, including the Ashley River.

His first major decision came at the first rail bridge. He could make camp here or cross over to the next landmass and make camp there. The map showed the bridge passed over to a small island. On one hand, it would trap him if discovered, but on the other hand, it would narrow down access to his camp.

He decided to cross over and make camp. He wanted to get a feel for crossing a rail bridge on a small scale before attempting to cross the one over the Ashley River, which was quite long. From there he would have to leave the rails for a while as they passed close by the papermill and then headed to the old Navy base. That was some place he did not want to get near!

First light would be soon, so he had better get moving, he thought. His Grandfather had always told him he analyzed everything too much. The old gentleman had said once you decide what to do, just do it, too much thinking will cause you to hesitate or talk yourself into another path. A cloud passed over the moon about then and he started off.

The 5 minutes to cross seemed like a lifetime. Out in the open with no cover and no place to run or hide except into the thick, gooey mud. Each revolution of the pedal seemed to take double effort and the strain of checking the track and watching for danger was immense. Finally he passed into the brush that grew along the banks of the small island hiding him from any watchers that might have seen him.

He breathed in a large breath and slowly released it, letting the tension of the past few minutes ebb as his heart slowed down to a more normal jackhammer pace.

It had been an eventful night, but he had had enough. He found a small-secluded area to make camp that was far enough away from the tracks to make it hard to locate and high enough to stay dry. He carefully checked the area for snakes knowing water moccasins inhabited this area and loved spots like this near water and away from humans.

Satisfied the area was as secure as possible, he made his shelter. He fed Rommel, who gave him that "about time" look and prepared his own breakfast. This morning he would have an MRE heated with an MRE heater, the type that used a little water and through a chemical reaction generated enough heat to warm a meal.

Steve detected one problem with this site he had not figured into his calculations. The BUGS! Mosquitoes and No-seeums. He applied some repellant towelettes, though he hated the stuff. It was oily and made his skin feel warm, but it was better than being a full course meal for a family of 10,000 mosquitoes. He next pulled the lightweight hood he used for hunting over his head. Made of fine netting it helped keep the bugs from his head though the buzzing could be annoying.

He laid out his bedroll and snuggled into the bag. It was really too hot for the bag, but it would keep him isolated from the bugs. Maybe he could get a little sleep through all the buzzing. Rommel lay down nearby. "Good night Rommel" Steve said. Rommel's reply was to raise one eyebrow as if to say "Whatever, now go to sleep"

==============================
Chap 20 - A short walk and a long swim

Steve awoke to the buzz of mosquitoes fighting for the right to attack him first. Between the mosquitoes and the midday heat, he could not sleep. He wished he could just ride off but he would be way too noticeable riding across the bridges in the daylight. Still he couldn't sleep anymore, so he might as well get up.

Once he had packed his gear (he wanted to be ready to run, if he had the need, with all his supplies intact), he drank his fill from his water bottles and set out to refill his water supply. Taking out his Katadyn from his pack, he wrapped a coffee filter around the intake as a prefilter and carried it down to the waters edge. The water here should be slightly brackish, but still drinkable, once the filter had done its job.

Rommel was nowhere in sight, apparently off getting his exercise for the day or hunting. Steve didn't know, but figured the animal could take care of himself. Steve pumped his bottles full of water after sampling the product.

"Not too bad", He thought. The filter took out most of the objectionable taste and the salt was not noticeable to him. He wanted to keep his supply full, if he could find a water source, since he needed water for himself as well as Rommel, also.

Steve decided to do a little scouting ahead since he couldn't sleep. Maybe he could find any roadblocks now, instead of waiting until he ran into them on the bike. He kept the netting over his face to make the mosquitoes tolerable and to add to his camouflage. It cut down on his vision some but he figured the tradeoff was worth it. Adding a pair of thin gloves from his pack, he grabbed his SKS and headed to the rails.

Rommel showed up with a big grin on his face, soaking wet and picked that time to shake himself. Steve wanted to choke him for that little feat, as Rommel sat back with a "what'ya gonna do now" smile on his face. Steve scratched him on the back of his neck and promised to get him back for the mid-afternoon shower.

Once Steve had wiped his face on a sweat *** and wrung out his face netting, he started following the tracks toward the next bridge crossing.

Steve arrived at the start of the next bridge in just a few minutes. He found an observation point where the treeline ended and the mud and grass started. Carefully he parted the brush, and using his binoculars, looked for anything out of place. The railbridge crossed over another tidal flat, mostly slick gooey mud and green saw grass, interrupted by small streams of water, which rose and fell with the tides, before again ending on dry land. The tracks ran only another 250 yards or so before crossing the Ashley River over a drawbridge. Steve wished he could see that crossing, but it was too far from his vantage point. Steve gave thought to crossing the next bridge now to save time since he was already awake. Everything looked fine, no one could be seen anywhere, it would be easy to speed across the bridge and be ready to cross the main bridge after dark. Finally, his good judgement and internal paranoia overcame his natural impatience and he returned to camp to await the darkness. His Grandfather had once told him, while they had been hunting Whitetails, that his impatience would get him killed one day. He had tried hard since then to control it, usually succeeding, but once in a while it tried to overtake his good judgement.

Rommel had eased up beside him earlier, somehow sensing this was no time for play. He started backing away while growling that low warning growl Steve had come to know. Steve slowly looked around for the problem and then froze. A Cotton-mouth rattler was coiled up nearby, looking very unhappy at the intrusion of man and animal into his domain. Once his heart started beating again Steve eased back slowly, away from the very ticked off snake, leaving him to his territory. Steve was once again reminded that he had more than terrorists and the Government to concern himself with, he also had to keep an eye on Mother Nature.

Back at camp he pulled out a tube of "Squeez-n-go" portable pudding, chocolate brownie flavor, from a saddlebag for a snack. He decided to listen to the news to keep up on the latest events in case another new crisis had appeared. He heard nothing new, just more calls from the liberal side demanding greater protection and crackdowns on the terrorists and the general lawlessness that had taken America by storm, even if freedoms had to be sacrificed for that goal. Even with the Republicans in power, little airtime was given to opposing views.

Throwing Rommel a couple of doggie snacks that the store owner's wife had given him he settled back waiting on the cover of darkness. To pass the time he cleaned his Makarov and once he was convinced it was clean, started on the SKS.

=================

Diane was worried, almost frantic. She had tried to find help, but so far no one was willing to give help or get involved. She had worked up the courage to knock on a couple of homes. No one would answer the door even though she knew she was being watched. She had not seen a police car or even a car that she could recognize as belonging to any government official. Cars were few along the road and people were even fewer in this area. She had spotted some travelers walking along a nearby road, but as soon as she approached they immediately raised rifles and started looking around as if they expected to be attacked. She had backed off then and ran back into the woods. What happened to the friendly southern hospitality she had heard of all her life?

Tim's arm was still very painful from the cut he had received. The wound was red, tender and kept oozing. She was afraid it would become infected if she could not find help soon.

She had seen the truck once more during the day but it did not come close to where they were. Still she wanted to move away from the area if she could get her Mom moving.

It took a while to convince her mother they should move. Donna kept insisting help would come. Finally after explaining how she had been rejected at every house she had been to and about the lack of a police presence, her mother agreed to move futhur towards Savannah. Diane took her spare shirt she kept in her backpack for times the air-conditioning was too cold and fashioned a sling for Tim's arm. It seemed to ease the pain some, or maybe walking took his mind off the pain.

She had managed to fill their few water bottles at one of the houses she had stopped at, so at least they had water. Food was the problem, as they had not eaten since early yesterday except for a couple of Snicker bars she had hidden in her pack.

They started out fine. Tim leading out, trying to be the Man, though Diane could see he was hurting. Their mother next and Diane last. After only about one half mile Donna started to complain. Her feet hurt, she was tired, hungry, you name it she complained about it. Diane was embarrassed to be called her daughter. What a pampered primadonna!

Donna traveled another quarter mile before she sat down and refused to move another foot. She made over Tim as if he was the reason she wanted to stop. He just rolled his eyes like most young people do and sat down. Diane was frustrated but she could not leave them alone so she sat down and tried to get her irritation under control.

Donna had spotted a building across the highway before she stopped. After 30 minutes or so she got up and started across the road. She said that "She" would get them some help. Diane guessed her mother thought herself important enough that everybody would fall over themselves to take care of her. Donna walked up to the door and started knocking. When no one immediately came to the door she started pounding on the door with her fist. Since no one came to the door then either, she must have thought no one was home so she started pulling on the door and trying to open it. After another bout of pounding on the door in frustration, she came back across the road and told her kids no one was home. Diane didn't mention the fact that she had seen the curtains move from the inside. Her mom returned to her seat like a queen to her throne to await someone else to care for her.

=================

The day wore on slowly for Steve. He managed to doze a few times before the sun finally descended into its sheath of darkness. Steve had packed the bike while some light remained, spending the time giving Rommel some attention. It tightened the bond between them, and gave Steve a distraction from his future worries.

Steve mounted the bike after placing it on the track. Rommel jumped into his accustomed spot. Steve had backed up some so that he would be up to speed when he crossed the treeline into the open. He wanted to cross the open area in as little time as possible.

For all his preparation and concern they crossed without incident. Steve slowed once he was on the other side, the next bridge was his biggest worry. Not only was it a drawbridge that could be open to allow boat traffic to pass, it was over the largest body of water and a natural spot for a checkpoint.

Steve dismounted the bike just before the bridge came into view. Leaving the bike on the rails ready to move he carefully slid toward the bridge staying in the shadows and darkness of the brush and trees that covered this small island.
He scanned the bridge and as much of the other side as he could see. Just as he decided everything was ok, a light flared on the other side followed by a small red glow. Even through the attempt to hide the flare Steve recognized a match and the glowing end of a cigarette. Great! Just what he needed, a checkpoint. He knew this would be the place if one were around. Well at least he had contingency plans for this type of problem, even if he was loath to use them.

He located a spot that led down to the water without crossing mud, as well as a spot on the other side offering the same benefits. Returning to the bike he folded the outrigger and pushed the bike toward the spot he had located. Still within the treeline he reached into the side of the bike and removed the large innertube he had brought for just this problem. He used a small CO2 cartridge adapter (1) to inflate the tube. The tube was large enough to need two cartridges and some more air from the small hand pump. Steve was glad he had accepted the small, added weight of the adapter as it helped speed the inflation process up. The rushing CO2 sounded like a jet on takeoff to him, as it flooded the tube with expanding CO2, but in reality probably could not be heard past a couple of yards away. With the tube fully inflated he used his 550 cord and a couple of bungy straps to secure his possessions to the tube. He tied a length of cord to the tube, rolled the rest into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket in case he was separated from the tube during transit.

He removed his boots and put his booties on. He eased out into the water, still deciding what to do about Rommel. That decision was made when Rommel calmly walked out into the river and started swimming out to the raft. He placed his forepaws on the tube and kept swimming. Steve was constantly amazed at the animal's intelligence. He could not have trained him any better.

The night was not as dark as he would have liked. If someone really looked, he and the dog would stand out as a dark splotch against the grey surface of the water. As the thought crossed his mind, he noticed the red glow walk out on the bridge and turn toward them. The red glow arched toward them as the cigarette was flipped into the river. Steve gave a sigh of relief when no alarm was given, and pushed the raft to a faster speed.

He could not help but think about that cottonmouth and the fact that this type of terrain was ideal for them. Pushing that thought deep inside his conscience, he figured he would deal with that, if and when it happened.

Steve steadily pushed his burden across the river, glad this was the narrow section and not the portion in town. That area would have been too wide to attempt this maneuver. He had not noticed much when he examined the river from the shore, but now that he was approaching mid-stream he noticed he was being pushed toward the ocean.

He had to do something now. If he waited much longer he would be pushed into the mud and grass. He did not want to have to fight his way through that to get to dry ground. Rommel was trying to climb onto the raft, and with a little help from Steve made it. Steve pushed off, letting out the cord as he went. Then he started swimming, fighting the current that had increased since he had started. If he could get out of the center channel he might have a chance of avoiding the mud.

Steve swam harder than he had ever swum, fighting the current every stroke of his arm. The dark, chocolate brown water seemed to fight him for each yard of progress, pulling him back into its watery grasp. Through all the effort he had to maintain noise control afraid those on the railbridge would hear his struggles.

Steve could feel the raft tugging at him through its lifeline. He didn't want to lose the raft and all his supplies, but he was soon getting to the point he would have to make a decision, whether to keep fighting or let his supplies go.

With his every fiber he fought, slowly making headway against the ever pulling current. So much was his concentration and fatigue, he didn't notice he had escaped the swifter current in the channel, and almost missed the root extending from the bank. As his hand brushed the root he almost withdrew it to make another stroke. Instead, he grabbed the slick root with his last remaining strength, holding on while he recovered enough to climb onto the bank.

Steve pulled the innertube back toward him and slowly crawled onto the muddy bank, glad to be alive. Rommel came over to lick at his face as if to say "We made it!"

Before he could rest, Steve knew he had to get his supplies back on dry land. He pulled the raft slowly toward him, careful now, to avoid snagging the innertube on anything that might puncture it. Finally the raft was pulled up the bank onto the soft ground, his supplies now safe.

Steve lay back, letting his tired arms relax. His body wanted to lay here, rest, and recover from the unexpected ordeal. He would not let his body over ride his mind. Once his breathing had returned to normal he pushing himself up to his feet, staggering a little as his exhausted muscles struggled to operate.

He unstrapped his bike and deflated the tube, rolling it back into a small bundle that would fit back into it's space. He changed out of his wet clothes, after ensuring Rommel was dry, first. Once he had his web gear on, and his rifle near, he felt better. He did take time to heat some water. Making a cup of Hot Chocolate, extra sweet, with a pack of powdered cream added to increase richness, flavor and calories. The hot sweet liquid warmed him up and gave his body fuel to burn. He knew his body would quickly consume the sugar, but he did not want to stop this close to the checkpoint to prepare food. He did add a couple of tablespoons of pinole(2) to the mixture to add carbs, until he could have a proper fueling for his body.

Temporally stoked, Steve packed up and eased the loaded bike through the
brush and trees, trying to maintain noise discipline.

(1) CO2 adapter - http://www.cycoactive.com/mc/sw.html
(2) Pinole - http://www.kurtsaxon.com/foods011.htm

POST 073003 11:02p
=====================
The Long Road Home Chap 21-29

Chapter 21

Steve's first thought was to hunt Rommel down and shoot him himself. Rommel was thrashing around, in the area between Steve's location and the Checkpoint, barking and generally making a fuss. Then Steve realized that Rommel, on purpose or not, was creating a diversion. His noise covered any Steve might make, masking Steve's trip through the brush. The dogs barking identified him to the men on the checkpoint as benign. Steve could hear the men calling to Rommel and laughing. He supposed the dog's antics were a welcome diversion for them on a long watch. At least they were not trained soldiers or they might not have been so friendly to the dog.

Now that he did not have to try quite so hard to avoid making any noise he made better time. He was soon far enough away from the checkpoint to return to the tracks. He slid the laden bike through the final few feet of underbrush, glad to be back on firm ground. The hard swim against the current and the walk through the brush and soft ground had taken a toll on him. "Guess I'm not as young as I used to be", he thought with a wistful smile.

Once again, he rolled the bike onto the right rail and placed the outrigger on the left locking the outrigger in place. He then checked his gear making sure nothing was loose. He mounted up and started peddling in easy smooth strokes; he wanted to give Rommel a chance to catch up, besides he was not ready for a marathon right now. He would have to leave the rails when they turned toward downtown Charleston a few miles, but he would enjoy riding the smooth rails while he could.

Rommel joined up with him soon after he had the bike ready for rail travel. Steve could have sworn the dog had a grin on his face when Rommel ran him down. Steve just applied a grin to match and stopped the bike then motioned for him to take his accustomed riding place.

They arrived at the spot Steve had picked to leave the tracks before they turned toward the coast. They would pick the tracks back up just after Ravenel, S.C, following US 17 south until then. Steve folded the outriggers and secured them in place since they would not be needed for awhile.

They were in a low-end business district sprinkled with dark warehouses, most no longer used, at least not for their original purpose. Steve was tired enough to want to rest for a short time, beside they needed to eat. He knew, from his previous trips along this route, the next to last warehouse was empty and offered a secure place to stop, so he pushed on toward it.

He carefully avoided the rubbish left along his route as he threaded his way along the deserted back street staying in the shadows as much as possible. He was nervous about being in the open but it could not be avoided. He did not take for granted his rest spot would be uninhabited, so he stopped among a pile of old pallets to hide his equipment. Taking his SKS and his web gear he began checking the area, first with his eyes and ears then by a careful recon.

He slowly moved through the shadows, using every bit of his hard won experience, looking for signs of occupation or danger. He moved toward the entrance he had found the trip he taken about 2 years earlier. This was one of two sites he had marked as a possible safe haven and the better of the two.

Pausing at the dark, dank entrance Steve stopped and took a breather. He was tired and knew he was not as sharp as he could be. He wanted to travel on further but knew he would be a danger to himself if he pushed to far to fast. Taking a breath he slowly pulled the rusting metal that made up the back portion of the warehouse. No matter how hard he tried to control the metal it still groaned as he opened the gap enough to pass through.

"Well since I just made enough noise to wake the dead, I guess I can risk a light," he thought. Steve turned on his Halogen beam, after covering the lens with his fingers to limit the beam exposure and closing one eye to maintain some night sight, he shined the narrow beam around. Nothing moved and nothing seemed out of place so he turned the light off and secured it back in its place.

Just as he decided the spot was safe and turned to retrieve his supplies he heard something, some noise that seemed out of place in a deserted warehouse at midnight. In max alert mode, he closed his eyes in the dark, searching through the night with his ears, searching for the source of the sound.

Before he could locate the source of the noise Steve felt Rommel brush by him. Steve opened his eyes and tried to grab the fast moving dog with no success. Rommel entered the darkness in a flash and was gone from sight. "That dog needs some serious training if he survives this trip," thought Steve.

He once again strained his ears looking for any abnormal sounds, hoping to locate the sound he had heard earlier or find what had attracted Rommel.

Suddenly Steve heard a growl from Rommel followed by a loud bang and then..... Nothing.


Diane was hungry. She was dirty and she was tired. Otherwise she was not in the best of moods. Apparently their mother intended to sit where they were until they died. Donna kept insisting they stay put because Tim needed to rest. Yea, right. Tim could probable stay ahead of them both, it was Donna that could not keep up.


Diane and her mother had never been real close and this was straining the few remaining threads of closeness they had. Diane made up her mind that she was going to survive. Even if it meant leaving Donna behind. If her mother wanted someone to baby her she would have to find someone else.
This was a New World and the past lifestyles were gone, probably for good.
If you wanted to survive you must change.

Diane wished she knew more about surviving in the wild, but as much as she loved her father, her protected her too much. Even when they went on hunting trips her father insisted on doing everything for her since she was a "girl". She tried to learn by watching but some thing's you need to do to learn.

Still she would survive, however she needed to change and whatever she needed to do, she would survive. She would try to help Tim and her mother if they wanted to make it, but she was determined to adapt to this new life.

With her mind made up she got up and went looking for help. She took their empty water bottles since they needed water first. Since the folks along the main road had not exhibited any desire to even talk she headed the opposite way. She crossed over a fence and walked through a pasture. She was worried about meeting an angry bull or something but she kept going anyway.

She crossed two more fences before she came to a farmhouse. A slim woman was feeding chickens in the back yard. The woman stopped as she drew closer and Diane noticed she was wearing a gun. The woman rested her hand on the butt of the gun as Diane neared and called for the young girl to stop. Diane was in no mood to back off but she also did not want to offend the first person she saw.

Diane stopped with her hands held in plain site. The woman slowly approached and asked her business there. Diane explained that number one she wanted to fill water bottles, number two she was looking for a little food and last she was looking for medicine for her brother's arm. The woman looked her over and than scanned the area. Seeing no one else she asked if Diane was willing to work for the items. Diane was ready and willing to do whatever it took to improve her situation and said so. With a small smile the lady handed the feed bucket to Diane and said, "We'll see, We will see".


Diane spent the next few hours feeding chickens and ducks, gathering eggs, and cleaning pens along with anything else the woman wanted. The chores were not demeaning just typical country labor. Even though Diane was hungry she kept at the work, actually enjoying the time. Whenever the woman had a new job for Diane to do she explained how she wanted it done. This ensured she did it right and also Diane learned a new skill.

After a few hours of honest work the woman approached Diane.

"Young lady, it is rare to find a teenager today willing to do honest work without complaining. You learn quickly, follow directions and work hard.
Follow me and you can clean up, you've earned your board today."

Diane followed the woman towards the bathroom where she was offered towels and a shower. Diane washed her underclothes in the shower with the intent of going without until they dried. Her dirty jeans would just have to wait. Though she did not relish the thought of putting the filthy clothes back on they were all she had.

Diane jumped at the knock on the door, but the woman was back. She told Diane to see if the dress would fit that she had placed on the door.

Diane carefully opened the door and reached for the dress, finding it on a hanger on a nail. The denim was worn but clean. It fit loose but still the clean material felt wonderful even without underclothes. Diane opened the door to find the woman waiting for her with a plastic bag in her hand for Diane to place her wet clothes in.

The woman explained the dress was left over from a visit by a niece. Since she was close to Diane's size she had hoped it would fit. Diane thanked the lady for the gift and turned to wash her jeans before she placed them in the plastic bag with the rest of her clothes.

Diane found the woman in the kitchen and asked if she could do anything else for her. The woman replied that the work was done, she was just waiting for her husband and Son to return. She pointed to another bag, this one with the food Diane had asked for along with a few bandages and a half-empty tube of antibiotic ointment. The site brought tears to Diane's eyes, so much had happened and now to find someone that would offer a helping hand almost pushed the young girl emotionally over the edge. Even though she had worked for it, the food gave her hope. She turned to thank the lady and found an older man standing beside the woman. She held out her hand to the stranger and received a firm yet gently shake. Diane then gave the woman a hug and a heartfelt thank you, then turned and walked out of the house.

Tired, but feeling good Diane headed back to her mom and brother. She had been gone most of the day and wanted to be back with them as soon as possible to share her bounty.

The trip back was made a little harder since she was wearing a dress and not much else. She had to be more careful crossing each fence and the dress did not flow through the underbrush as easily as her jeans. Still she soon neared the spot Donna had stopped at and refused to budge.


Diane knew this was the spot, She recognized the log her mother had sat down on after her short walk and the prints from Tim's shoes. The problem was, no one was home!

Chap 22 - Meeting

Part of Steve wanted to rush in and find Rommel. To see if he was alright and to wreak havoc on what or who might have brought him harm. But Steve's training was stronger and he maintained his vigilance, trying to discern what had caused the noise.

There! He heard it again and this time almost laughed out loud. For he heard the hiss of a very angry tomcat followed by a playful young dog. Steve eased into the shadows of the darkened warehouse and softly called to Rommel. Steve noticed the dust settling around a piece of steel sheeting. That was what had made the loud bang and brought Steve's heart into his throat. Steve had been so intent on finding danger he had let his imagination fill in the blanks when he had heard the steel fall.

Rommel paused in his pursuit of a dog's mortal enemy to return to Steve's side. From the look on his face Steve could almost hear his thoughts, wondering why this human had stopped him when he had almost triumphed.

Still looking around Steve once again decided this was a valid stopping spot and returned to gather his belongings.

Since the opening didn't open enough to allow Steve to bring the bike in the warehouse he pushed it behind a nearby dumpster. It would be almost invisible in the darkness, besides he would be leaving soon. He wanted to stop long enough to eat and clean up after his long swim.

Once again inside the abandoned warehouse Steve quietly but quickly moved some of the remaining sheeting to form a sort of lean-to. This would lower the chances of someone seeing his little stove while he heated water, and give him some protection if he was found.

Rommel looked longingly out at the empty warehouse, trying to find the bane of all dogs' existence, that cat. He stayed simply because food was more important than the cat. This time!


Steve removed his damp, muddy clothes. He used his baby wipes and washcloth to remove the accumulated sweat, dried river and grime. Spreading the clothes across the steel to dry as much as possible, he dressed in a pair of BDU pants and a grey T-shirt. Fresh socks and he was ready once again to travel.

His water was ready so he added a coffee packet along with sugar and creamer. He took a pint sized summer sausage and a small bag of GORP from his pack to feed his hunger with.

He poured Rommel a bowl from the bag of food he had gotten from the store and together they beat down their hunger pains in preparation for the rest of the night.


Diane heard a rustling as her mother stood up from the bushes she had been hiding behind. Her red face showed her anger as she marched over to Diane.

"Young lady, what did you think you were doing?"
"Going off for most of the day, leaving us to fend for ourselves!"
"Look at your brother, he is real sick and you just traipse off to who knows where with no concern for him!"
"Anything could have happened to us while you were out having "fun"".
"I heard a truck and just know those men had found us. I had to drag Tim all by myself into hiding!"

Diane could not believe her ears. Without giving her a chance to explain what she had done or what she brought back for "the family", her mother was trying to put her on a guilt trip. Blaming her for their situation instead of accepting the blame herself. Diane could feel the anger and frustration building up inside her. The effort to avoid striking out, either verbally or physically, was causing her lips to tremble against her clenched teeth and her insides to churn.

In order to maintain what little respect she had left for her Mother she simply slammed the food and medicine into Donna's hands then turned and walked away to be by herself.

How could on person be so naive and hardheaded! So stupid and single minded that they would not see "they" were the problem not others.

Diane found a secluded spot away from her mother near the railroad tracks and settled down. Her thoughts were in turmoil. Not yet an adult, matured by life and on her own, she still thought of her parents as her protectors. The position she was being forced into was foreign to her but she was determined to learn quickly. Her father was gone, killed by a situation her mother had forced him into, and her mother lived in another world. A world in which she was not to blame for anything and everyone looked out for her. What a crock!!

Diane stared at the stars so big and beautiful, so oblivious to her problems. At this low point in her young life she remembered a lesson her Sunday school teacher had told once. A story of two disciples locked in a dungeon in a hopeless situation. She closed her eyes and gave a silent prayer for deliverance from the situation or at least help through the trials.

----------------
Steve didn't consider himself a deliverer, no just a man on a mission. Kind of like the Blues Brothers movie he thought with a slight grin "A mission from God" as they were so fond of saying. Well his family was God given and he was on a mission to get back to them to assume his job as leader and protector so he guessed the saying fit.

All fed and cleaned Steve with his adopted pet (mutt was more like it he mumbled to no one in particular) set out to travel as many miles as they could before sunup. Since they had a ways to go before they once again met the rails Rommel would have to hoof it. Rommel didn't seem to mind it one bit, as he ran about, probably looking for his cat thought Steve. Steve packed more weight on the right side of the bike to offset the folded outriggers on the left side and headed on south.

Still following US17, staying in the shadows and the darkness they rode through South Charleston on to Ravenel. Both areas were blacked out except for a few dim yellow lights Steve opinioned came from kerosene lamps or candles. Most of these folks were not far removed from the lifestyles led by their parents and were much more prepared than their city brethren. At least in the short run they would be a little more uncomfortable and a little less friendly to strangers but life would go on as before.


Steve kept the small travel LED's off as he maneuvered through Ravenel. The town was quite even in normal times, more of a suburb of Charleston than a stand-alone town. Steve rode along US17, the darkness enveloping him as he traveled.

Soon they left Ravenel behind and would meet the rails just up the road. Steve figured they had about two hours before daybreak. He wanted to make camp just before sun-up to avoid contact with anyone getting up with the sun. Most of the people around here would be cautious but not overly hostile, but it only took one person to misinterpret your intentions to ruin your day or life. Best to avoid strangers as much as possible. The burned out hulk of a car they passed on the side of the road was mute testimony to what could happen to the careless traveler.


Bill could not believe their luck. He also could not believe those bit@#s had stayed around after his son had knifed the old man. They had chased after them right after that incident but had lost them in the trees and darkness. They next day they had returned to look for tracks but had been scared off by a passing deputy. Then late yesterday on a last look around they had spotted the older woman and the boy. He did not look in to good a shape, kinda feverish and sluggish, with a bandage on his arm. Guess his knife had made contact the other night. Jeff wanted to take them right then, but he decided to wait. He owed that little brat something and wanted to find them all together. He figured to have some fun with the women before removing the witnesses to the killing.

It should have been simple, just like the other two times they had pulled the breaking down trick. With the world falling apart the law wasn't as much a problem anymore. He could finally indulge his fantasies and his son was more than willing to go along.

The other cars had been easy, take out the men and have fun with the women before killing them. The last car with the two young twins had been a dream come true. They had lasted almost two weeks at the old cabin before Jeff had gotten carried away and killed them.

That kid and his bat had spoiled the scene and Jeff still was ticked about being bested by a girl. Bet she screams a long time before I'm finished with her, he thought with a wicked grin.

They had left the area once the older woman had spooked and pulled the boy further into the bushes. Her efforts were almost funny, born out of panic not planning. If they had wanted her then they could have easily taken her. They had left with the intentions to return later and catch them all together. Bill liked working at night better anyway. The darkness added to the victim's fear and made them more vulnerable.

Diane dried her tears and slowly got up. She had to face her mother now or turn around and abandon both her brother and Donna. That was something she was not yet ready or able to do. Donna was once again cradling Tim in her arms, the food had been eaten with no thought of saving any for later. Her mother had apparently used the antibiotic ointment on Tim's arm from the look of the tube lying on Tim's lap.

Donna did not even appear to recognize Diane's return, continuing to whisper childish things to the boy while stroking his forehead. Diane once again was reminded of how much of a fairy tale world her mother lived in and how ill equipped she was to live in this new era.


Had Diane been more attentive to her surrounding instead of her grief she might have heard the sound of silence as the night creatures recognized bigger predators were around and silenced themselves in hope the creature's would pass them by.

Bill and Jeff could have cared less about the insects. They had run moonshine and drugs before the crash, forest sounds and their meaning meant nothing to them. They were some of the few in the area that had never hunted much and hated the effort it took to live off the Forest, preferring an easier way to survive.

They had returned to watch the small clearing, waiting for the younger girl to join the other two. Jeff had spotted her as she slowly came back into the clearing and silently sat down on the far side away from the older woman. Diane
Didn't know it but by staying away from her mother she had made the two men's job a little harder as they now had to split up instead of attacking together.
Jeff noticed the younger girl had changed from her jeans into a loose fitting dress, in his warped mind he imagined that she had done it all for him. His twisted brain took it a step further, fantasizing she wore nothing underneath the dress, just for him.

Diane felt as much as heard or saw the man as he rushed out of the brush and smothered her. She didn't have time to cry out and was hampered both by sitting down and by the dress she was wearing and could not effectively defend herself, but she tried. She forgot all about not wearing underclothes as she kicked and fought the dark figure, yelling as the man defended himself.

Donna saw the figure run toward her, her brain unable to comprehend what was happening. The shadow punched Tim and pulled her up from her position only to throw her back down on the hard ground. The trauma and violence caused her to withdraw deep inside herself while the man ripped her blouse as he roughly mauled her breast.


Jeff slowly eased closer to the girl that had caused him to be ridiculed by his father about being whipped by a girl. Just thinking about assaulting the teenager in payback caused him to undergo a physical reaction in readiness.

He rushed out of the underbrush, jumping on top of her and grabbing her before she could cry out. He was not ready for the aggressiveness of her response. All the other girls had cried and begged him not to hurt them, this one almost ruined his chance of future offspring with her first kick. He turned almost by accident as the kick landed taking the blow on the inner thigh instead of the jewels. As they struggled he realized the girl truly did not have anything on under her dress, the feel of her unfettered breast against his arm gave him new strength to overpower the girl and deliver a sharp backhand that stunned the teenager causing her yelling to be abruptly cutoff.

Bill was disgusted. He hated it when they just rolled over without fighting him. He loved the fight, getting really turned on by the struggle, before taking away the females modesty and exerting his right, as conqueror, to the spoils. He heard Jeff fighting with the girl but knew the boy would take her, besides his lust for the woman caused him to ignore the struggles. He ripped the woman's blouse open, almost tearing her bra in his haste to satisfy his desires.

Jeff paused to catch his breath, lifting up the unconscious girl's dress to see heaven before him. Still living his fantasy he never heard the bullet that killed him.

Steve led Rommel through a small path finding the track on the other side. He extended the outrigger after setting the tires on the right rail. Rommel jumped up into his accustomed perch as Steve mounted the bike. Slowly peddling along Steve looked for an area to stopover for the day. He wanted some place that would give them cover and protection.

A strangled yell brought him instantly into alert mode. Rommel sat up with a deep warning growl verifying what Steve had heard.

Steve wanted to avoid confrontations but the sound seemed to come from directly in front of him. He did not want to become involved in a situation but if he did he wanted it to be on his terms.

Steve glided to a stop still listening for what had alerted him. Once again he heard a yell but this time one cut off abruptly. Steve grabbed his SKS and blended into the darkness of the woods.

He slowly worked his way toward the source of the noise, arriving to find two course men, two women and a young boy. The older of the two men was holding the older woman down, while the younger man sat holding the younger girl's dress up. The youth was not moving, whether injured, dead or unconscious Steve could not tell.

As Steve tried to make sense of the situation, and determine if he should intervene, his decision was made for him when the younger man started to unbuckle his pants.

The girl (for Steve could now see she was in her teens) started to groan. She suddenly screamed and tried to push away from the man but he pulled her closer and delivered a slap. Steve heard the blow as well as the command to "Shut up Bi&#h and take what's coming to you". The man removed a knife from its scabbard and raised it toward the girl.

Steve was raised to believe women were man's companions and helpers. Someone to protect and love. If a woman wanted to be the center of attention at a lust party that was her choice. But if she was forced, his Grandfather raised him to intervene if possible. Of course the first rule of survival is to survive yourself.

The slap and the knife were the final straw. Steve's Grandfather used to tell him that sometimes a woman or a child needed a little correction, always in love and never with violence. He had provided an example at Steve's expense several times but Steve knew the old man loved him and he loved his Grandfather in return.

If a man crossed that fine line between correction and abuse he was not a man, just an animal.

"Looks like hunting season just opened," thought Steve as he raised the SKS and sighted on the younger man.

The man never heard the roar of the SKS nor the crack of the bullet as it traveled toward him at 2400 feet per second. He certainly felt the 124-grain projectile as it slammed him carelessly aside in the millisecond before he died.
The bullet entered his chest from the left and ended up lodged under the right after passing through his heart. Steve didn't pause to examine the shot, as he knew a killing shot when he made it. He raised up to stop the older man who had paused in his rape of the older woman at the sound of the SKS.

The man tried to rise but a caress of the SKS's buttstock stopped him in the middle of his confusion.

Silence...It was always like this after a battle. The sudden violence, the noise and confusion, then silence as the survivors recovered, glad to be alive.
================================================== ===========

Chap 23 - The Truck Ride

Steve checked on the women first. The younger one seemed fine, though Steve could tell she was holding back the tears. She was gamely trying to hold on and not give in to the shock and trauma of the past few minutes.

The older woman was another story. Donna, as the younger girl introduced her, was obviously in shock. Steve knew he was not equipped to deal with this problem. She would have to work it out on her own.

Steve next checked on the boy. His arm had become badly infected and he was running a fever. As Steve checked the teen, he noticed the younger girl walk over to him. Steve glanced at her as she came close but figured she was interested in what he was doing or concerned for her brother. Steve concentrated on the task of fixing up Tim's arm and paid her no more attention. Before he knew, what was happening or could react she lifted his rifle from where he had laid it and pumped two shots into the older man.

The man had returned to consciousnous and was starting to quietly moan and move around. Steve had almost forgot about him as he had checked on the family, tending to their needs.

"Must be more tired than I thought," Steve mumbled to himself as he replaced the Makarov he had unconsciously drawn back into its holster.

Steve got up and moved carefully to Diane reaching for the SKS. Center of mass noticed a part of Steve's brain, surprised, as he took the gun from the girl's hand.
As the weight of the gun was removed from her hands the tears started flowing from her eyes, then a river of emotions poured out from her. Whether from
Killing another human being or just the overall events Steve didn't know.

Steve wrapped an arm around her, as he would his own daughter, giving her the security she sought. Steve felt helpless, he could handle bullies and rapists, but a crying female made him, like most men, feel helpless. She soon regained her composure, once again damming the emotions, and returned to her mother's side.

"That's one tough girl," thought Steve "but she will soon have to let all the emotions out or have long lasting problems."

Steve left to retrieve his bike, noting that Rommel was staying close to the boy's side.

"Well, it's another fine mess you've gotten me in Ollie," He thought, in his best Laurel and Hardy accent, as he walked away.

Once Steve had returned with his supplies, he went to the boy to clean away the infection. He first had to debride the wound to remove any foreign particles or damaged tissue. Then he would apply a good home remedy to keep the infection away and speed the healing process.

During the debriding process, the young teen moaned then cried out. Steve had tried to be gentle but the cut was deep and had not been cared for. Some type of ointment had been applied without really cleaning the wound.

Donna took that moment to snap out of her comatose state and lunging at Steve. She yelled at him to leave her boy alone, while swinging wildly toward him. Steve dropped what he had been doing to protect himself from this suddenly wild woman. Finally, he had no other choice but to go on the offence, grabbing the woman's arms mindless of hurting her, and shoving her down to a sitting position.
===============
Diane couldn't believe her mother. She caves in to her rapist, becoming docile and pliant, and then goes rampant attacking the man that rescued them.

As the man, he had introduced himself as Steve, gained control of Donna, Diane ran to help. Together they calmed her down with Diane staying by her side to make sure she stayed put.
================

Steve returned to the boy rubbing the scratch Donna had given him on his cheek. "That was close," He thought, "It could have been the eye". Steve had come close to using a backhand on the woman, just to protect himself from her attack, only the thought of her recent trauma had stopped him. He figured she was still in shock from the near rape and her son's cry had finally triggered her attack.

He finished debriding the wound and then filled it with raw honey he got in trade from a neighbor. The honey gave him a duel use substance, both a sweetener and antibacterial agent (1).

Steve covered the wound with a bandage and gave another of his limited antibiotic capsules to the boy. He then cleaned his own scratch noting it was a little deeper than he thought, he would have to watch it in case it became infected.

Finished with the teen he walked over to Diane to get their story.
==================
Big Gun was getting desperate. Food was getting harder to steal as supplies continued to dry up and people guarded their meager supplies more aggressively. Fuel was being rationed; you needed coupons to get each week allotment now, meaning they needed to cut down on their joy rides or find someone to print their own counterfeit coupons.

"That might be a new business venture for them" He mused.

Just setting around was getting old and boring to his band of punks. He had even heard from a trusted lieutenant that one member was planning a revolt. That traitor had screamed for a long time before he stopped being a member. Fear would only work for a short time Big Gun knew. After all, he had a tenth grade education, which was at least one year more than most of his band.

It was about time to take a trip to the country. He would take most of the boys this time, give them some fun, and let them work off all their energy. That would take their mind off his position and any desire to take it.

"At least for awhile," he thought.

Big Gun knew what he had to do; still he got a dark forbidding feeling whenever he thought about attacking that one farm. He had not been able to find out who or what those greymen were and that more than anything made him hesitant to move.
====================
Steve moved to check on Donna now that she had calmed down and recognized he wasn't going to hurt her son. As he came close she wrinkled her nose and said
"You stink".

"Excuse me?" Steve asked not sure what she meant.

"You smell. When was the last time you bathed?" she asked with a smirky attitude.

Steve had already had about enough of her and he had not known her 1-hour yet.
However, in deference to her trauma he decided to do the Christian thing and give her another chance.

He walked away, deciding she must be ok or Diane would have said something.

Diane walked with him and gave him a condensed version of the past three days.
When she was through Steve could not help but be amazed at the determination of the young girl and the ignorance of Donna. Donna must rate right at the top of the list of the "Who's who" of sheeple for her acts so far!

Steve, still shaking his head at the people that look at the world through rose colored glasses, and started to fix something for them to eat. He filled his canteen cup with water and added half a pack of chicken flavored Ramen noodles.
He thought this would be something Tim could try to eat. He needed to eat something to regain his strength, strength he would need to help his sister and mother through these times. Of course Diane had been doing pretty good so far, and if Donna would only open her eyes and pitch in they might make it.

The noodles were soon boiling. He took them off the fire and sat them aside to cool a bit before Diane could try to feed her brother. He made a small bowl from some tin foil he carried and poured the soup into it. It would cool faster and free up his cup for more cooking chores. He cooked more of his dehydrated beans and quick cooking rice for them to eat along with a few miscellaneous items from leftover MRE's.

Once he had dinner done, he fixed Rommel a meal that the dog promptly dived into with gusto.

Diane finished up preparing the food, once she saw how simple it was, leaving Steve the odious task of cleaning up their campsite.

Steve fist checked the man he had killed, emptying his pockets and removing the knife sheath from the stiff corpse's belt. The man had twenty-eight dollars in his wallet that Steve kept along with a cheap Leatherman knockoff. Steve would give the bounty to the family since he had no need of the items. The knife and sheath would come in handy in the future since they had not even a pocketknife now. Seems Donna thought Tim would get hurt if he were allowed to have anything sharp. Once again Steve was reminded of how lucky he was to have a Grandfather that taught him the skills he needed to survive. He was also taught personal responsibility for his actions.

Steve drug the body off into the woods a ways and returned for the other body.
This one was not as stiff since his demise was more recent. He had a set of keys, probably to their vehicle, and thirty-four dollars on him. Steve removed a sheath for his knife from a front pocket, inserting the knife into it to add to the bounty for the family.

Once the bodies were removed Steve spread leaves over the blood and set up a lean-to away from the worst off it. He spent a little extra time making the lean-to bigger than he normally would to have space for the family. He picked up the still feverish boy and carried him to the shelter. He then sat down finally to eat. Diane had eaten as well as Donna and Tim. The boy had woke up enough to drink the broth and eat about half the noodles, it was a start to his recovery.

Diane had waited until he was almost finished with his chores to fix his food so it was still hot.

"She will make a fine wife one day," thought Steve as he gratefully accepted the hot food.

Steve's water supply would have to be replenished soon, as it was never designed for four people and a dog, but for now Steve needed to rest. He really noticed how tired he was once he stopped to eat.

He walked over to the shelter to find Donna already there, hovering over Tim like a Mother hen over a sick chick. As Steve prepared to lie down She spoke again in that insolent tone that he hated.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded as he lay down.

"Going to sleep" he responded, you should try it.

"You are not sleeping in the same place I am" She retorted.

Slowly rising up to a leaning position Steve looked her right in the eye. He had had enough for one day.

"Lady you have two choices, stay here in this shelter or move outside away from it. I on the other hand am staying right here and getting some sleep. Whether you like it or not those are you only choices!" Was his hot reply.

"Some gentleman you are" She angrily responded as she got up to leave.

"Never said I was a gentleman," Steve said as he lay back down, "Just a man"

Exhaustion overcame anger and he was soon asleep, Rommel and his SKS close by.

He awoke late in the afternoon, rested but still tired, he looked around.

He would sleep for a week once he made it home, he thought.

Diane was resting next to Tim and Donna was curled up on the far side.

"Guess she decided company was better than pride" he thought with a smile.

Steve got up and tended to his toilet functions, changed his socks after powdering his feet and boots, and decided to look for the truck before it got to dark to see.

He left his bike and gear, only taking his personal gear and his rifle. Rommel was up and ready to take a walk so he started off.

It didn't take long to find the old truck. It had been backed into the woods far enough back to be partially hidden from the dirt road it was on. Looked like an early 80's Chevy extended cab two-wheel drive. It looked rough but the engine ran smooth once Steve let it warm up. Steve noticed there was only about half a tank of gas but riding beat walking any day. He cleaned out the cab best he could, removing food wrappers, dirty clothes (some female), and empty beer and drink cans. Steve hated to litter, but didn't see any trash barrels near, so he just left it in a small pile.

The bed of the truck wasn't the cleanest place around but it would do. Steve tossed an old blanket in the bed after shaking out most of the dirt. It would be fine for Rommel, much better than the ground he had been sleeping on.

Steve turned the truck around and drove back to the tracks, turned right and slowly drove along the side until he was near their camp. He carefully turned the truck around and parked as far away from the rails as he could.

He returned to the camp to find Diane waiting for him. The obvious relief on her face visible even in the fading light.

"Did you think I ran out on you" He asked with a grin.

"I was wondering until I saw your bike still here" she said " but the sound of the truck brought back to many fears".

"Sorry about that, I should have mentioned where I was going" He replied "I am not used to having people depend on me this last week or so"

"Anyway lets get everyone up and into the truck. We will see how far we can get in it" Steve said "Hopefully we will make Savannah and you will be home."

Diane turned to let her mother know their plans as he pushed his bike to the truck. He lifted it up on the bed with a little effort and made sure it was secure. He opened one of his side bags and took out his remaining granola bars.
They would suffice as lunch for now.

On his return Donna was up and helping a now awake Tim up. Steve gathered up the items he had taken from the men, placed them in a large size Ziplock bag and handed them to Diane. He then lifted Tim up and carried him to the truck.

Donna wrinkled up her nose at the interior of the vehicle, but one look at Steve's face by the interior light and she "humuffed" then got into the back.
Steve helped Tim into the back were he curled up on the seat. Diane rode shotgun as Steve drove. Rommel jumped into the bed like he belonged there as Steve closed the tailgate.

Steve ruffled Rommel's fur as he walked by and received a "kiss" in return.
Wiping "doggie love" off his face Steve got in the truck and cranked it up.

He slowly drove back along the tracks until he came to the dirt road. He turned right and then left onto US-17 headed to Savannah.


(1) http://www.jr2.ox.ac.uk/bandolier/bo...at/honey2.html or http://www.findarticles.com/m1279/19.../article.jhtml

================================
Chapter 24 - A long ride

They had been riding a little over an hour now, making real good time. Steve had stayed on US-17 avoiding the temptation to take the faster I-95 route, preferring safety to speed. They still averaged 60 miles an hour since little traffic was on the road due to the fuel shortage, curfews, and overall danger.

Steve hoped no one was watching the side roads as much as the highways. He also hoped no helo's were up with FLIR or they were in trouble. So far they had escaped detection and had not seen anybody but two other cars that chanced the expressway. Steve's only problem was Donna.

First she complained about the room she had, so Diane moved forward some. Then she complained about the wind from the open windows blowing in her face, so Diane rolled the window up until Steve made her lower it some for cross ventilation. Donna wanted the air conditioning on, even when Steve tried to explain about saving fuel. She complained about taking US-17 instead of the faster I-95 route. She complained about..., well you get the picture!

Finally about 10 miles north of Savannah Steve had had enough. He pulled over to the side and turned off the engine. He got out of the truck, dropped the tailgate and lowered his bike to the rough pavement, Donna providing background noise. Rommel had jumped down to tend to some "doggie business' so Steve folded his blanket to take with him.

The whole time Donna is yapping. "What are we stopping for?" "Are we out of gas?" "What are you doing", "I told you we should have taken the highway!"

Steve had had it. Fighting terrorists was easier. How someone could be so ignorant and hardheaded was beyond Steve's imagination, but Donna was classic living proof of a sheeple. Steve was a Christian and tried to live by the Christian principles of helping your brother, but there were limits. Steve tried to help anyone he could "if" they were willing to help themselves. Donna had proved she just wanted a keeper, something Steve didn't have the time or inclination for.

Diane came up to him, apparently to ask him to stay, but one look at his determined face and she changed her mind. She just thanked him for his help and asked his advice on what to do next.

"Even at a young age a woman could tell what a man was thinking" he guessed.

He told her that, short of dropping her mother off somewhere deep in the woods, she should just head on home, unless they had some family nearby they could stay with. He hadn't meant to be short with Diane, but he was tired and sick of Donna's whining. He tried to rein in his irritation, but right now he just wanted to be alone with no one to worry about except Rommel.

Steve took a deep breath after seeing the look of hurt on her face. He then explained that the truck should have enough fuel for them to make it home, but not much more. He also gave her as much advice and information as he thought she could remember. Diane reached up and gave him a hug and kiss. She turned quickly and walked back to the truck.

Steve could still hear Donna complaining as they drove away.

"Well Rommel, it's just you and me again." Steve said as Rommel bumped against his leg looking for attention.

Steve started pushing the bike looking for a place to stop and rest. He had been on the move for well over a week and decided he needed to observe a Sunday. He had just had the short layover at his primary cache and been sick then. He thought he deserved a day of rest to regroup and recharge. He needed to locate the nearest set of tracks on his map and calculate the best travel path. Maybe even call his wife if the phone circuits were up.

He pushed the bike on, enjoying the silence of the night (especially after listening to Donna for the last few hours). He enjoyed looking at the nighttime sky, watching God's painting, ever changing yet always the same. Pushing the bike gave both Rommel and him a chance to stretch out the soreness and get back in the groove before trying to make time riding.

The bike was working out great on the rails but it was a handful to push with the outrigger's folded. He had started out with the load balanced but the unpacking and repackaging, as well as using consumables had changed that balance. It was now heavier on the outrigger side than the over, not a tremendous amount but enough to be noticeable when it leaned too far over toward him.

Steve and Rommel pushed on in silence, content to enjoy each other's company, with nature providing background to their thoughts. Steve's allowed himself to think of Home and his family, especially his wife, and Rommel whatever dogs "think" of, probably his next meal.

Steve turned off US-17 onto a dirt side road that led into the forest. He had spotted something that had possibilities. A large mound of dirt just behind a stand of trees might afford him a good stopping place. The spot looked like a contractor had started to build but then had abandoned the area, leaving behind mounds of dirt piled up when leveling the ground. Nature was well along in recovering what was rightfully her's as Steve explored the area.

Steve found a spot giving him access but also cover from the road. The bike was inanimate so would not generate heat to be spotted from the air. Rommel and him were another story. If he could dig into the bank of dirt he could fashion a small cave that would hide their heat signature by the mass of the earth. Since he planned to stay over until late tomorrow night it would be worth the effort.

Wishing he had brought an entrenching tool to use instead of his small trowel, he started digging. He used the trowel normally to dig a latrine to answer nature's call, but it would make do for digging.

The bank was solid enough to maintain its shape without collapsing but soft enough to allow digging without too much effort. After watching him dig for a few minutes Rommel decided he didn't want to participate in Steve's fun. He wandered off to do whatever dogs do when their human slaves will not play with them or feed them.

Steve spent two hours digging and sweating before he was satisfied with his cave. Deep enough to afford shelter but not deep enough for the roof to overcome the force that held it in check. It was not really high enough to sit up in but it would give him a safe hideout if he needed it. Steve moved some fallen branches over the entrance to hide it from a casual search. It would not stand up to a detailed search but he planned to avoid giving anyone a reason to search here in the first place.

Steve slid his plastic ground cloth into the small cave then he removed his packs and slid them into the side niche he had made just for them. The niche would keep them out of his way but close by if he needed them.

Rommel returned just in time for midrats (1), his timing perfect to avoid work.


Steve decided he had done as much as he could to make it a safe hideaway for now, so he prepared his meal. Making sure Rommel was fed first, and while watching him devour his food, Steve dug a small hole for his alcohol burner. He took out the small square of diamond mesh that had been forgotten until he had found it while repackaging his supplies. He had cut it to place over a hole for his cup to rest on while heating. It was much more stable than what he had been using and could be used to cook small pieces of food if he had the time and security.

"Must be getting old," he thought, "shouldn't be forgetting things like this."

Steve had thought about adding a Sterno stove to his pack to be used with his burner but kept putting it off. He had even bought one, just never got around to putting it in his cache.

Well you can't remember everything nor can you carry everything so he would just make do, he thought.

As he waited for the water to boil he turned on his GPS to allow it to sync. He had noticed how low his food supply was when he was packing. Feeding a dog and four adults had taxed his supplies beyond what he had planned for. He had enough food for two more meals after tonight. Rommel still had plenty of food but dog chow was not worth looking forward to, even if dogs seemed to relish it. The water started boiling so he took it off and dumped in his last Ramen noodle pack.

The GPS synced up, finding at least four satellites to draw from. Steve casually noticed he was 45 feet above sea level as he wrote down his coordinates on the small pad he habitually carried. He would transfer them to his map, then use them to calculate his route once he entered his cave. Steve had the coordinates to all of his small secondary caches coded on his map. There were two between here and home that were close enough to use to replenish his supplies, should he need to. It looked like the need was there so he would make his plans to stop by the closest one first.

He finished his meal and decided to call it a night. He decided he would sleep until he woke up naturally then spend the day checking his gear, making any repairs needed and clean his SKS. It had crossed a river and been carried through forest as well as riding on his handlebars. It had also been fired recently (had it only been yesterday?) so Steve wanted to give it a good cleaning.

Most importantly he needed to find a source of water. He was not on the route he had mapped out and so needed to find a source to draw from.

Steve cleaned up his site, packing up his burner as well as his grate and cup after giving them a good cleaning. The last thing he needed was another bout of gastrointestinal distress.

He snuggled down into his burrow then pulled his screen of brush over the opening. Even though he had made room for Rommel the pup was reluctant to join Steve, deciding to lay down at the entrance instead.

Steve checked the cell phone but could not get a signal. He realized he felt exhausted, mentally as well as physically. He settled in and closed his eyes.

(1) Midrats - Military term for midnight rations, a meal served around midnight for the afternoon and night shifts.

Chap 25 - Nightmares

Firefights, attempted rapes and death haunted Steve's sleep. Each nightmare revolved around Diane and her family. Steve finally got up after fighting those images for three hours. Rommel was off on his own leaving Steve to deal with them alone.

He kept going over the things he had done, and what he might have done different. The old truck was getting low on fuel, and with rationing, the chances of resupply were slim. He had learned of a number of deaths, of people trying to steal gas from someone's car, from listening to his radio. Donna was the kind of person that would never change. She had lost a husband and been almost raped, yet she still lived in another world from the one Steve traveled.

Steve had given Diane his best advice on what to do. He had also slipped her a 38spl revolver he had found, under the seat of the truck, along with a half a box of shells. He had told her to keep it hidden from her mother since she was the type to loathe guns even in these screwed up times. Steve supposed he could have been forceful with Donna but he would have had to tie her up and throw her in the back of the truck with a gag to quiet her.

The only time he had been physical with a female had been once when home from bootcamp. He had gone to a nightclub to listen to the band and enjoy his newfound adulthood. A woman, really just a girl, had started harassing him, demanding he buy her a drink, then belittling him when he refused. This was all new to him so before he made a mistake he decided to leave. The girl followed him out to his car followed by a group of onlookers. Just before he got to the door she grabbed his arm, digging in her fingernails. Before he could stop himself he delivered a backhand to her jaw opening his fist at the last moment. She was staggered backwards by the blow barely maintaining her feet. As Steve got in the car he saw her turn to a guy that had been nearby and point at him. To the guy's credit he just pushed her away and returned to the club with the rest of the group.

Steve's Grandfather had been a great shoulder to lean on when he returned home. He advised his Grandson on what was a different part of life than what he had experienced before. He told Steve that as long as a woman acts like a woman he had better treat them like one or he would answer to him. On the flip side, if a woman acted like a man then treat her like a man and it sounded like he had acted appropriately. Steve had avoided traps like that in the future, preferring to leave early instead of risking confrontation with a male friend who had too much to drink and too few brain cells working. That type of male only had one thing on his mind and thought standing up for a woman's "honor" would entitle him to future benefits. Most of the time the only benefits they would receive would be a painful education, if they were lucky, death if they chose the wrong person to stand up too.

Steve opened his pack and retrieved his small New Testament. It was light enough to read and since he was celebrating the Sabbath he decided that reading might be the best thing to settle him.

Rommel returned and looked both happy and hungry. Steve glanced at his watch and realized he had been reading and praying for over an hour. He also realized he was no longer melancholy, but felt mentally rested if still tired physically.

Steve thought this would be a good time to search for water especially since Rommel's fur was wet!

"Let's go boy," He said after fixing the dog his food and watching him empty the bowl just as fast, "Let's find some water."

Taking his web gear and his empty water bottles, as well as his rifle and his filter, he started off following Rommel.

Rommel had been with him as he had filled his bottles using the filter before. Steve guessed the dog somehow associated the bottles and filter with needing a water source and led him to a good size pond. Steve thanked his partner with a playful hug and a good chest scratch after carefully checking for company.

Rommel still wanted to play but Steve wanted to refill his supply as soon as possible, playtime could wait till later. He filled the first bottle then drank his fill before filling the others and refilling the one he had drank from.

His water supplies replenished he headed over to a group of cattails he had noticed while filling the bottles. He figured the shoots and flower's would be a good supplement to his meager food supplies (1).

"God supplies our needs," he thought to himself 'if we take time for him"

Steve returned to his small camp and started the shoots boiling. He would have liked to have a small fire to cook the flowers he had gathered. He would have used the small piece of aluminum foil he carried to wrap the flowers in. Adding in a little water before closing them and placing them on the coals would have steamed them just like corn on the cob.

Adding a little garlic and onion powder to the boiling mixture as well as a little salt for flavor soon gave him a nutritious meal.

"Could use a little butter," he thought "have to add some Butter Buds (2) to my kit next time the manure hits the rotary impeller"

Steve finished his meal, cleaned up and opened up his map of Georgia. Following the rail line he wanted with his finger he compared his GPS location with the coordinates at its nearest point to him. He had penned onto the map at various spots along the route home GPS coordinates to make it easy to judge distances and time.

He was about five miles away from the nearest rail line and calculated he was about two days from Brunswick, Ga. He would be about four or five days from home at this rate barring anymore trouble.

It was a little after 3 in the afternoon by the time he finished his plans.

"Guess I had better get a move on if I want to get the SKS cleaned," He thought.

He took out his cleaning kit from his pack and opened it up. It was a surplus East German cleaning kit originally for the AK (3), but worked great for any .30 caliber weapon.

He opened up the decontamination box he had stored it in and took out the pieces. He used the plastic decontamination box because it was slightly lighter and it had a watertight seal. It also allowed him to add a few additional supplies. It would keep water out, and if any fluid inside leaked it would hold it inside the box instead of leaking all over his supplies.

He dropped the pull-through weight down the barrel, after attaching the brush. He added a few drops of Hoppes(from the small bottle he had added to the kit) and pulled it through the barrel.

Steve continued cleaning the gun, enjoying the time and even the smell of the cleaning fluids. He was just finishing up the job, applying oil to the necessary spots when Rommel returned from another round of "spray the neighborhood". The dog snorted at the smell lingering from the cleaning task, and looked at Steve as if to say "OK bud finish up and get my dinner, oh and wash those smelly hands!"

Steve smiled at the dog's look and actions and stored the cleaning supplies back in their box. He washed his hands with liquid soap from a little bottle he carried, and retrieved the bag of dog food from his cave.

Steve filled Rommel's bowl full of the dry nuggets, and added a couple of doggie treats to reward the pup. Once Rommel had finished his meal Steve spent some time playing with the dog and just letting his mind idle. The constant strain of being on the move and in a combat state of mind was fatiguing and could lead to mistakes. That was the reason Steve took a day off, to refresh himself mentally and let his body recharge. While he played with Rommel he was also checking the dog's wounds. Rommel's wounds had healed over nicely no longer needing daily care. Steve was glad he could stop worrying about the dog getting an infection from the wounds. Regular eating and exercise had Rommel looking lean and healthy again. Steve was glad he had found the pup, both for the company he provided as well as the extra security he provided.


After playtime was over Rommel curled up and took a nap while Steve made his evening meal. The sun had started going down and as the evening shadows grew he sat back to enjoy the final moments of the day. Sipping his last cup of coffee he thought back over the events that had happened since his hijacking. He also thought back to the times he and his wife had spent sitting on the back porch watching the sun go down together, and allowed himself the luxury of missing her once again.


(1) Cattails - http://members.aol.com/keninga/cattail.htm or http://www.edibleplants.com/month/cattail.htm
(2) Butter Buds - http://www.butterbuds.com/
(3) Cleaning Kit - http://www.ishop.co.uk/ishop/800/shopscr435.html

posted 10-5-03 8pm
=================================

Chap 26 - On the road again

Steve tried to awaken from his slumber in response to Susan's sobs. He
didn't know why she was crying and couldn't wake up enough to ask. He just
rolled over and put his arm over her, feeling her fuzzy nightgown she wore
on their "off" nights. Had he been dreaming? Was getting highjack'd just a
bad nightmare in which he would wake up to find the world still normal?

As his arm fell across his shaking wife's body he awoke with a start.
Adrenaline glands once again a faucet for hormones supercharging every nerve
ending in his body.

It all came back in a rush, the highjack, the injury and the long trip home
to his family. And Rommel! It was not his wife's sobbing but Rommel's deep
internal growling, an almost sub-vocal warning, that woke him.

Something was wrong, he didn't know what yet, but the dog didn't like
whatever it was. How long he had been growling Steve didn't know, probably
only seconds, but Steve knew that he had taken too long to react. He had gone
to bed after letting the feeling for his family and his emotions escape from
the locked room he kept inside his head for them. He had fallen asleep with
them still running lose, a mistake he could not afford to make and stay
alive and free.

Steve let his ears search for clues as to what the danger was, while his eyes
took in environmental information that his brain processed at super speed. If
there was danger nearby, he needed to find it before it found him.

His eyes transmitted the signal that dusk had arrived, his skin sensors that
the air was cool and still. His ears picked up nature's silence as well as
man made vibrations nearby.


It seemed like hours to his hormone charged brain, but in fact had been mere
microseconds, before he mentally processed the information that identified
the problem. Two Hummer's and a Six by (1) had pulled off the road near his
hideaway. He recognized the sound of the truck engines from his time spent
in service. Way to much time spent in those type vehicles imprinted their
unique sound into his subconscious. The mental sound fingerprint was
recovered and compared by his organic computer faster than the best silicon
based system could ever hope to match. It made available type, location and
approximate number of vehicles to his conscious now that it was fully alert.

The next question was what were they doing here and why now? Had he somehow
been discovered? He mentally cursed himself for taking a day off and letting
down his guard even as another part of his subconscious recognized the need
to recharge after so long in "combat mode".

One thing he didn't know was how many, and that was something only his eyes
could tell him. They didn't seem to be searching for anything as they stayed
near the road. Steve felt Rommel's warning tremors through the arm he had
draped over the dog in his sleep. He patted the animal, reassuring him and
letting him know that his master was awake and back on the job.

Steve slithered out of his burrow, and using every skill and trick he had
ever learned while walking point, moved closer to the group. He soon found
an observation point that allowed him to see without being seen. He realized
he did not have to worry about the group discovering him. They would not
have heard a herd of buffalo running right through the middle of their camp.

In the failing light Steve counted 14 men, looking more like a green National
Guard group, than an experienced regular military squad. Steve was thankful
for that fact, since he would not think of moving unless he had to, if he
faced trained and alert troops.

They seemed to be setting up camp, but like Boy Scout's on a campout, not
military on a search and destroy mission. Steve noticed the Homeland
Security emblem on the side of their transportation alerting him to their
purpose. They must be out insuring the general population was obeying the
government's executive orders or possibly "showing the flag" to ensure the
locals their government was on the job. They were not expecting a trained
warrior to be nearby, just a docile population based on their actions so
far.

Apparently they were just here for the night, but he could not take the
chance. They might be preparing to set up a random checkpoint to stop people
from doing just what he had done the previous night, travel along this road
avoiding the expressway with its checkpoints.

Steve returned to his hideout after observing them finish their campout
preparations. He noticed they only had one man sloppily posted for a guard
and he was standing by the vehicle's watching the comedic efforts of the
others, not watching for approaching trouble.

Steve slid back into his hole and covered the opening with its brush screen.
He took his poncho and pushed it across the door to hide any light that
might escape, then carefully opened his map. He traced the dirt road they
were on looking for a back door since the group stood between him and his
planned route.

He could follow the same well used game trail to the pond he had drawn water
from, and possibly on beyond, since he had noticed it paralleling the water
source. He found that the road crossed over another two-lane blacktop road
about three miles further. He could travel along that until he could
intersect his chosen railway.

He once again left his cave and retrieved his bike from its hidden garage.
Pushing it quietly back to his supplies he quickly loaded the packs onboard.
Once he had everything packed he took a deep breath then rechecked each
tie-down and each pack making sure is was secure and that nothing was loose
or hanging down. It would not do to have a strap catch in a wheel or on some
bush giving him away.

Steve placed the sling of the camouflage painted, Vietnam era, plastic
stocked, SKS over his head before starting off. He wanted the rifle on his
person instead of its normal place on the bike in case he needed to leave

the bike in a hurry.

He pushed the bike carefully along the trail mindful of the brush along the
path. Rommel had gone on ahead, sensing his intention through some
instinct that Steve could only guess at. The dog was almost an extension of

Steve, sometimes acting on his own and sometimes as if his master had given
him orders. Never had Steve owned a dog that seemed to know exactly what was
expected of him, "well most of the time" Steve thought to himself, and he
had owned a few in his life.

The trail widened at the pond then narrowed back as it curved back away
toward the road. Steve and Rommel followed the trail until they were about
three-quarters of a mile away from the Government posse behind them.

Finding a less dense area Steve left the trail and crossed through until he
came to a shallow ditch. Pushing the bike at an angle he easily crossed the
dry sandy banks and turned left toward the blacktop a few miles ahead.

They soon arrived at the deserted road and after watching for a short while
he mounted the bike and headed for the distant rails. His path took him
farther away from a direct path, but it was safer to avoid the keystone cops
behind him, than risk a confrontation with them if discovered. Trying to take
on over two dozen armed men, no matter how ill trained they were, was pure
suicide. Better to run away and leave the one-man heroics to the armchair
commandos and their California "wanna be governor" leader.

Once on the hard surfaced road he mounted the bike. Riding was faster though
he wanted to ride at a pace that Rommel could keep up with. Since he had
repacked his supplies the bike rode much better and with less weight was
easier to peddle. Of course less weight meant his consumables were low.
Thankfully he had prepared several mini caches to fix that problem.

It seemed so odd in this day of modern electricity to find himself riding
along a country road with only the moon's glow to guide him. He could not
see any man made light anywhere around him. According to his short wave the
government had imposed additional restrictions on power and fuel. Their
reason was to curtail the ability of terrorist to move around the country
and make it easier for law enforcement to find them.

Steve doubted the new restriction would be any more effective than the
limits already imposed on a willing population who would give up any freedom
for the illusion of safety and one more government sponsored freebee. Of
course not everyone was willing to go along with the program. Crime was up,
especially highjacking's (as Steve had personable knowledge of), and theft
of food and fuel. The office of Homeland Security had expanded the
definition of terrorist to include normal criminals as well as those that
refused to give up their personal freedoms. Steve kept expecting to hear
everytime he turned the radio on, about open warfare between the "Militia"
and the government that tried to exercise greater power and more
restrictions each day.

"When would they learn," he thought. There would always be someone to stand
up for freedom and justice. Sounds corny and old fashioned, but it was still
true. Oppress the masses long enough and they will revolt. History had
proven that out many times over. Even modern methods of control could not
change that fact, only slow it down.

The Airfree (2) tires sang a song as they rode over the rough asphalt. He
had heard about them from a forum he frequented and tried them out at home,
before trusting them on his bugout steed. Not having to worry about getting
a flat tire, which always happened at the worst possible time, was a big
plus for him. He had ordered the higher rated tires for their lower rolling
resistance even at the expense of a harsher ride. Comfort had to take a back
seat to efficiency though he had countered that by buying a frame and seat
that would smooth out the bumps some.

Steve rode along the dark roadway, without even the dim LED driving lights
on, and Rommel trotting easily beside the bike he could not help humming
quietly the old Willie Nelson tune "on the road again".

(1) Six by Six wheel drive, two and one half ton cargo truck in wide
spread use in the military since WW II. Known as a deuce and a half, Six by
Six or just six by to the troops.
(2) Airfree Tires- http://www.airfreetires.com/
posted 10-10-3 0621p
========================
Chap 27 - The Cache

Big Gun was pleased. He had directed three attacks in and around the
Whitehouse, Fl area and planned to move the gang next toward the small town
of McClenny, Fl.

His boys had overwhelmed the homeowners with firepower and aggression, and had
lost only five, with three others wounded. In this semi rural area homes were on
bigger lots and were more isolated, which was perfect for his purposes as the
people had not networked or set up mutual assist groups, still believing the
sheriff would handle any trouble.

"At least not yet," he thought to himself "that would probably change as
soon as the word of his attacks got out".

That was the reason for moving his attacks around. He was too street smart to
linger long in one spot. Sooner or later, the people got tired of his gang
terrorizing them and fought back. Better to move on to a new town before too
many of his gang got themselves killed or wounded. That was bad for morale,
and for his leadership.

He still had his eye on a couple of prime farms, but his last trip into the
area had him still worried.

"Worried, Bullsh$#, scared sh#$less was more like it," he mumbled to
himself.

They had found a couple of houses with small stockpiles of food, though
those same houses were the ones that offered the most resistance. The ones
that had caused the deaths of his boyz, the ones whose residents had
suffered the most when finally overrun.


"Those had provided some fun for the group" he smiled at the thought "their
screams and pleading for mercy had offered relief from the pain of losing
members of the gang."

Still he felt a chill at the memory of cold eyes and hard steel that would
haunt him for the rest of his life, or until he looked into those same eyes
and saw them filled with pain when HE was holding the knife.

He laughed at that thought, helped by the crack cocaine coursing through his
system. He had rarely indulged, except to share a few hits with the gang
after each victory. But lately he found himself drawn more and more into the
fantasy world brought on by the illegal smoke.

They had slowly killed the one male that had fought them off for over an
hour. His wife begging and crying as they tortured him to death, then they
stripped her and tied her down as the gang members took her one by one. She
was a little to old for his taste, so he left them to it preferring to enjoy
the trip he was on by himself.

The block house had withstood the largely ineffectual fire from their
handguns for a long time (1). Stopping round after round from their 9mm's,
even though the light blue exterior was pockmarked and cracked. Only when
the boys had brought out their artillery in the form of stolen rifles had
they managed to penetrate the walls. Even then, they had taken losses, until a
bullet had finally reached the shooters inside.

The chemical high gave him a false boldness and he saw his victory over the
phantom in vivid details and the many ways he would take the younger female
from that one homestead after the battle.

+++++++++++++++++++++++
Susan was getting nervous again. Things were getting very tense as
government restrictions and lawlessness increased. Food for many people was
in short supply.

All of her neighbors were simple country folk, but had enough sense to learn
from their grandparents and stock up. Canning was a way of life as was
having a garden and hunting. All means of extending a paycheck and giving
one an increased independence from society. Each family donated what they
felt they could spare to the local church to help the less prepared families
in the congregation. Still it was hardly enough and many people were feeling
the effects of short rations.

Word of a gang terrorizing homes just a little farther toward Jacksonville
also did not help the mood of the community. She sure would be glad when her
man arrived home. He had not called since that first time, the towers must
be out of service when he tried, she assured herself. She would not allow
herself to imagine the thought that Steve would not make it home. He had
always been a pillar of strength, always trying to insure the family was
taken care of.

His preparations had sometimes come between them, especially at first when
they had just gotten married and she had wanted some of the things other
couples seemed to have, like trips to Disney and the Mountains. Finally she
had relented and just learned to live with it for the most part. Sometimes
his purchases had still infuriated her when she could not understand the
purpose and he could not explain it enough, like a few of his more expensive
gun toys as she called them.

Susan smiled as she thought how lucky she was now that Steve had been the
head of the family and stuck to his guns. He had firmly but lovingly kept
explaining his reasons and his thoughts until she calmed down and accepted
his guidance.

"He sure was right on this time," She thought with a grim smile. The inventory of the storeroom and pantry had surprised her. She had not expected to find the amounts of stored food that he had slowly amassed without her notice. His runs for extra cash just now making sense to her. When their daughter had given her the tally sheet and she had seen the amounts of wheat, corn, beans, and foodstuffs, not to mention spices and the other things needed to maintain life, she had broken down and cried. How could she had doubted Steve's dedication to the family? She had even accused him of having someone on the side when he had first started making extra long distance runs. Now she wished she could have him here to thank him and apologize for her stupidity!

The thoughts of how she would make it up to him when he arrived home flooded
her mind and brought a smile to her face as she waited for her man.
+++++++++++++++++++

Steve and Rommel lay in a depression watching the cache site. They had
traveled hard since finding the tracks, and once more were riding the rails.

Steve had almost ridden past the cache, and would have, if his GPS had not
alerted him. Setting the waypoint alarm had been a good thing. Steve was
tired. The long trip to the cache had meant pushing himself farther than he
would have liked to, but he wanted to reach the site today.

He had hidden this cache in an out of the way spot under a railway trestle
that had just been rebuilt the month before he hid the cache. Two 5-gallon
buckets capped with Gamma Lids (2) waited on him. Steve figured it would be
awhile before the trestle needed repair or maintenance and would not be the
first spot a treasure hunter would pick to search.

They arrived just before dawn after traveling all night, Steve wanted to be
in a position to watch the area a while before digging them up at dusk. He
had chosen the depression after searching through surrounding area and determined it was the perfect spot. It gave him cover and concealment while still giving him a
great view of the cache.

Rommel soon tired of the waiting game and took off to do important dog stuff
after giving Steve a look that said "I'm off to see the world you best be
here when I get back".

Sometimes Steve couldn't help but love that dog. He sure made the hardship
interesting.


Steve watched the site for awhile before falling asleep, curled up in his
sleeping bag, his head inside the mosquito head netting.

Steve awoke to Rommel's nudges, coming fully awake at the first touch. He
told the dog that he was gonna get shot sneaking up on him like that.

"Yea right, you couldn't hear me if I walked on rice paper" was the look he
got in return.

"Smart Alec" whispered Steve as he gave the dog a hug and a head scratch,
"Guess its time for dinner, right boy?"

Steve carefully retreated to the spot he had left the bike, away from the
cache. He lifted the brush he had used to cover the bike, after checking
for unwanted reptiles, and retrieved Rommel's food. Once Rommel was taken
care of, he ate the last of his ready food and returned to watch the cache
site.

Steve was willing to bet the cache had never been touched, but since he had
the time why not be sure?

Steve dozed until late afternoon when he decided he had waited long enough.
Carefully taking a circuitous route he slowly moved through the soft mud on
the banks of the sickly green covered water that stood underneath the dark
dank bridge. The banks were overgrown much more now, than when he had
buried the cache, with cattails and other low wetland plants, making the
trip much harder and slower. Reaching the black timbers of the bridge he
carefully ducked under while watching out for brown recluses or black widows,
as well as undesirable reptiles.

He had chosen to wear only his web gear, and to carry his rifle and small

trowel, leaving the rest of his gear with the bike under Rommel's care.

Kneeling in the moist dirt he inspected the area for tampering and finding
none that stood out, started to dig.

He first measured three feet down from the left rail and two feet in from
the crossbeam. He dug into the bank until he came to a sealed plastic
bundle. He quickly unwrapped the package and tore open the inner
vacuum-sealed pouch to retrieve a small trifold shovel. It was not his first
choice as a digging instrument, but it was compact and cheap enough to throw
away.

He rechecked his coded notes and started measuring again. Steve dug down
until he reached the first bucket, brushed the dirt away then unscrewed the
lid, though with considerable effort. Reaching into the bucket he removed the
canvas bundle from the interior and looped its strap over his head. Steve
had bought a red Gamma lid for the bucket whose contents contained the
firearm in case he forgot, the other lid was grey. It was a minor thing but
he had tried to simplify the cache as much as possible. He knew that he
might not be able to dig up the buckets for one reason or the other, and by
using a simple system of measures to locate the cache and color coding the
buckets, whoever he sent could quickly find the correct container.

One last time he measured, this time from the right rail, and dug down to
the second bucket. He had separated the container's hoping that if one was
discovered the other would be missed, fortunately they were both intact and
undisturbed. He quickly worked the second canvas bundle of goodies out of
its snug tomb then screwed the lid back. Having secured both bundles, he
worked to refill the holes with the dirt he had removed. Since he was
reasonably sure he was alone, he took the time to make the area look as
natural as possible. He packed and graded the black dirt, scattered leaves
and other refuse around making it look as pristine as he had found it. It
wouldn't do for a military inspector to think the trestle had been mined
because he was careless. They might start looking for someone to blame and
Steve didn't want to be the one they found.

Steve cautiously emerged from under the Rail Bridge carrying his two bundles
over his shoulder by their straps. This was the most vulnerable time and he
had to be careful not to let down his guard.

He had sewn the two carry bags out of heavy canvas, adding a surplus zipper
and a canvas strap to simplify removing the contents out of the buckets and
to make transporting easier, then coated them with a waterproofing compound.
It was a lot faster to reach in and remove the bags than trying to dig up
the whole bucket or trying to carry individual items and the straps made
carrying the gear much easier. When Steve prepared the cache he didn't know
if he would have his bike and packs when he needed to dig it up, so he had
planned accordingly.

He had used an indelible marker on each strap, marking one with the number
one and the other with a large "2". He knew that first one had the small
Rossi .38spl in case he needed a firearm quickly. He had planned the cache's
contents with the thought in mind that he might have nothing at all when he
retrieved them. He tried to include a diversity of items he might need to
survive, regardless of the season, weather, or political atmosphere. He had
thought long and hard about including a firearm, constantly weighing the
pros and cons. He finally decided on a small revolver that could be left
loaded and ready to fire. Steve had hoped to find a stainless pistol but
could not find one in the price range he wanted to spend. The Rossi was a
dependable weapon and by vacuum sealing the pistol, after placing it into a
Rust Inhibiting bag (3), along with two ammo wallets made them as moisture
proof as possible.

Rather than going through the contents now, like a kid at Christmas, he
decided to travel as far as possible tonight, then examine the bags in the
morning. He didn't need anything in the bags at this time, and could afford
the wait even though he wanted to plunder its contents.

Retrieving his bike he looped the carry straps over the handlebars making
sure the bags were secure. Rommel was glad to see him, but after giving him a
quick head rub, Steve started pushing the bike through the heavy brush and
vines. Reaching the rails once again, he placed the railbike on the narrow
metal road towards home.

The miles along the tracks passed slowly for Steve as he let his thoughts
wander back to home and his family. Loosing his concentration as he thought
of Susan, he almost missed the tree that had fallen down across the tracks.

Steve braked the bike quickly down to a stop as the danger signal from his
eyes bullied its way through the comfort of his wife's arms and demanded he
take notice. He once again mentally slapped himself alert, grabbed his
rifle and dove to the ground, expecting a trap.

When nothing happened except for that stupid grin on Rommel's face, Steve got
up off the ground and brushed off his clothes.

Rommel looked at him as if to say "What were you doing? If it had been
anything important I would have let you know, now let's get going I'm getting
hungry." With that the dog jumped down from his throne and went to water the
grass and to check out his kingdom again.

Steve looked at the tree, which would not have slowed up a train, but barred
his path home, and decided to leave it alone and to go around the area. He
folded the outriggers once more and looked for a route around the obstacle.
The undergrowth was thick in this area and had grown up close to the railbed
making passage difficult. Once he had pushed through the heavier brush
growing along the tracks and had passed the first line of towering pine
trees, the undergrowth thinned some, allowing him to finally turn left and
circle around the fallen tree.

He soon had the bike back on the track with nothing more than some lost time
and a handful of green brush and reddish thorny vines stuck in the bike
frame. He had a few scratches, as well, from some of the thicker thorn covered
vines that would need attention later. Rommel showed up just as he stepped
through the frame and sat on the seat, somehow knowing when Steve was ready
to pedal off.

Steve spent the rest of the night concentrating on the job at hand,
determined to maintain the vigilance needed to avoid mistakes that could be
fatal.


(1) Penetration test - http://www.canmasonry.com/project.pdf
(2) Gamma Lids - http://waltonfeed.com/gamaseal.html
(3) The Inhibitor - http://kleenbore.bizland.com/store/product401.html

Chap 28 - The Fall

Steve could not remember what had happened for a moment. One second he was
riding along watching the forest and surrounding area's for any signs of
trouble and the next he was waking up with Rommel licking his face. He
looked up from where he had fallen face down on the streambed and saw his
bike lying on its side with the outrigger pointing up like the single horn
on the fabled unicorn.

Then he remembered. He had tried so hard to avoid making a mistake that he
had made one. The right hand rail (the one the bike rode on) had a small
unobtrusive obstruction on it, probably dropped from a passing train. It was
lying across the track with one edge wedged against a cross-tie. A train
engine would not even notice it, but a rail-bike would not be so lucky. The
obstruction had derailed the bike and sent him flying over the handlebars.
His shin had struck the headstock hard, very hard. He had then tumbled down
the embankment toward the muddy, scum covered water flowing under the small
bridge. The bike had come to a stop in the soft dirt beyond the rocky
rail-bed. From what he could see, the bike was not harmed, which was some good
news in light of the circumstances.

Steve pushed up and immediately sat back down as pain rolled over him like
waves pushed ashore by a class 5 hurricane. His lower leg throbbed
for attention now that he was awake and alert. The sudden burst of pain brought
a cry on anguish from his lips as he struggled to come to grips with this
new problem.

He needed to get his bike into a safe hiding place before a train came by or
a local resident out for some off-season hunting discovered him. Steve first
slid back beside a thin sapling and gingerly rolled up his pant leg and
looked at the scraped and bruised skin below. Not seeing anything sticking
out that should not be he tried once more to stand using the sapling as a crutch.
Steve tried to ignore the nausea that rolled through his stomach along
with each heartbeat and pulled himself erect. He slowly put his weight
onto the leg, very slowly. Sweating from the exertion and pain, he
managed to fully stand without holding on to the tree.

"Now to try to walk." He said through tightly clenched teeth.

Steve took his first hobbling step and almost fell once again onto the
mucky, scum covered stream bank due to the white-hot blast of pain that shot
up from the leg.

"Well, Injured or not I'm all I've got, so tough it up big boy," Thought Steve
as he started his halting journey to retrieve his bike and supplies.

Determined to get to the bike he took another step, each one an effort
paramount to climbing the steps in the Empire State Building. Finally
reaching his first goal he looked down to find his initial observation about the
bikes condition had been correct. Though the paint was scratched and dirt
had filled every crevice and opening, it looked in good shape. Buying a good
strong bike and the airless tires, even though expensive, was a blessing to
him now. He would have to clean the SKS. Though it had remained with the
bike it looked like it had most of Georgia clinging to it.

Steve took a moment to catch his breath and to mentally prepare himself for
the next task. He looked at the bike and the surrounding area and planned
his moves. Bracing against the expected pain in his leg he slowly reached
for the outrigger and pulled it down while trying to ignore his discomfort.
The bike rotated upright on its tires while dropping a large amount of
unwanted debris from the frame and packs.

Holding on to the bike, he released the pins keeping the outrigger in place
and folded it along side the bike. The concern and determination had enabled
him to sublimate the pain into the background, but it threatened to surface
again, as he pushed the bike into the undergrowth looking for a campsite. The brush
and undergrowth seemed like miles of tangle foot wire that threatened to trip
him with each step he took, as he looked for a overnight stopping spot.

He finally located a suitable location some 50 yards into the woods, not
perfect but he had reached the limit of his pain tolerance and needed to
stop, regardless. With his bike safe at hand he sank wearily down favoring
his injured shin. Steve reached up to the handlebars and removed the two
bags from the cache that somehow had remained attached, though twisted around the front tubing.

He had read somewhere that the most prevalent injuries are sprains and cuts,
so he had prepared heavily for those events. From canvas bag number one he
removed the drawstring bag that held his first aid kit. He located the cold
pack and an "Ace" bandage.

His shin had become a steady source of irritation now that he had stopped,
begging for his attention. He opened a small bottle of Ibuprofen and
swallowed three tablets to ease the pain. He then wrapped one layer of the
bandage around the injury. He then ruptured the inner bag of the cold pack
per the directions printed on it and shook the whole pack until he could
feel the cold seeping out. He placed the bag over his injured shin and
wrapped it with the rest of the bandage to hold it in place.

Resting for a moment while the pain pills took effect he evaluated his
position, mentally slapping his face for being here in the first place.
His campsite could have been better, but it had bushes and briars blocking
access on two sides. One side had a downed pine tree across it but the
fourth side was open.

Through all the effort of the past few minutes, Rommel had remained nearby
watching with a look of concern as Steve stumbled through the forest. Rommel
now lay close by, alert to any danger that might threaten his master.

Steve removed his ponchos and ground cloth from their storage location and
opened them up. He spread the ground cloth beneath him with only a small
gasp of pain when he lifted his leg to pull the plastic underneath it. He

prepared his poncho like a lean-to, using spikes as tent pegs on the lower
end and 550 cord around the fallen tree to secure the top. Steve pulled the
bike closer to the open side and covered it with the remaining poncho. It
would camouflage the bike and offer some protection on that side.

The icepack and the pain pills had dulled the throbbing pain in the leg to
a tolerable level, but the effort to establish the camp had about done Steve
in. He lay back and called Rommel to him. The dog got up and slowly walked
over to him and lay back down. Steve looked Rommel over in case the pup had
received any injuries when the bike slid off the rail and rolled. Finding
the animal ok Steve gave him a good rub down and chest scratch, which put
both of them in a better mood and offered a distraction from the throbbing
discomfort in his leg.

"Ok, now let's see what's for dinner," Steve said to Rommel. He removed
Rommel's bowl from its saddlebag and drug the food bag over to his position.
He filled the bowl with food and water then lay back to watch the food
disposal work.

Shaking his head and grinning at Rommel, Steve open his cache bags and
checked the contents.

From the canvas bag with the number one on its sling, Steve removed the
vacuum-sealed inner bags, along with items that had not needed sealing due
to size or already being sealed. He spread the various items before him and
removed the inventory cards from their Ziploc bag. He had wanted a means to
remind him of the total contents and to remember what each pouch contained.
The old-fashioned IBM cards filled the bill nicely.

Since he did not feel like cooking a meal, he looked for the bag marked with
an "A" in red. This was his emergency meal pack. He had made it with the
thought that he might be on the run and needing nourishment fast and
remain mobile. He had included a small pack of vitamins, a "power bar", a
"Slim Jim" stick (for fat and salt), and a can of chocolate "Boost" drink.
The can added weight but was intended to be used first, and then discarded.
He opened the can of Boost and sipped the cool contents.

"Not too bad," he thought. A welcome change from the water he had been drinking.
He opened the other food items, placed them beside him and said grace.

With his hunger taken care of, he continued with his inventory of bag number one.
He moved the cache items into his other packs as he checked off each one.

1-first aid pouch, already opened
1- .38spl loaded
50rds - .357 ammo (for rifle)
2-ammo wallets with 12rds each
1-tan "jump" suit
2-pair cotton socks
1-pair polypropylene socks
1-light weight flannel "sweat suit" dark blue
1-pair canvas hiking shoes (fit better in the bucket than boots)
1-fire starting kit (candle, matches, flint bar)
1-small flashlight with lithium batteries
1-mini bushman knife in sharpsquirrel kydex sheath
1- Water pouch
4- Coast Guard water pouches
1- Gal. Size Ziploc bag
1- Bottle polarpure
1- Canteen cup

1 - 6x6 heavy plastic (black)
25 - Foot 550 cord
1- Food pouch
5- MRE entrees
2- Sardines (for oil & meat)
1- Tube peanut butter
1- Pack "hardtack" crackers
1 - Hygiene pouch (soap, toothbrush, washcloth, baby wipes, foot powder, etc.)


Steve would save checking the other bag for later as he had almost forgot the SKS needed cleaning.

He opened his cleaning kit and, after brushing off all the dirt he could, proceeded to clean the internal parts. He opened the chamber now that the dirt was mostly gone and ejected the round. He then emptied the nine other ready rounds from the gun. He field stripped the rifle, then cleaned each piece with care. His life might depend upon how clean the gun was so he did not want to short change himself. He cleaned the barrel last, then after wiping each part with his oily ***, reassembled the SKS. He dropped in a new 10 round stripper clip full of ammo and once more the SKS was ready for use.

After repacking his cleaning kit and cleaning his hands, as best he could, he lay back once again to rest.

The bike was ok but the million-dollar question was, was he? The ice pack had warmed up to the point of being useless so he unwrapped the leg and removed the bag. He decided to leave the compression bandage off for a while to allow circulation through it. The ice bag had slowed the swelling down and helped control the pain though it still hurt like heck. He could see the indention where he had smacked it on the bike as he was launched over the handlebars.

"Must have looked real graceful there," He thought "Just like a circus clown."

Steve decided to take another set of OTC pain reliever and get some sleep. He would inventory the other bag when he woke up. It was weighted heavier on food supplies than bag number one and would enable him to complete his journey home without worrying about food.

He decided to change clothes since he felt he had been in his current ones for a month. Once again, his lower leg asserted itself by starting to throb when he tried to slide the pants leg off. He waited for the new dosage of painkiller to take effect then completed the job.

Since water was nearby, he thought he might as well clean up some. He soaped up his washcloth and proceeded to remove the filth and grime that will accumulate when you plow up ground with your body.


Finally clean, he opened the pouch with his jump suit and shook it out. Vacuum packing it compressed it into a small easily stored form but allowed it to return to normal size with a shake. Clean and dressed once again he felt like a new man excepting the aching shinbone, of course. He elevated the leg and got as comfortable as possible, he hoped he would be able to travel tonight but it would depend on the leg.

Steve woke up both hungry and with an aching leg. Fortunately, the leg seemed to be hurting less now that he had slept. It was stiff from being elevated but he was pretty sure it had sustained no permanent damage. He listened to his radio while he prepared his food using the earpiece to keep the noise down. Until he had more confidence in his ability to move he wanted to remain as hidden as possible.

The normal broadcast gave out a picture of improving conditions and a government that had everything in control. The shortwave broadcast he listened to gave out a different side to the news. They told of riots in the major cities that had almost overwhelmed law enforcement. Crime had risen sharply everywhere, so much that no one was keeping records anymore. It had become everyone for himself.

Steve felt a greater urgency than ever to get back home to his family. He hoped by now that his wife had discovered the extent of his preparations and was coping until he made it home.

==============
Chap 29 - The Stranger

Steve had finished his inventory and re-packing it had been a welcome distraction from the discomfort of his leg. The leg had developed a knot the size of a hen's egg and was very tender. Even the touch of his pants' fabric was enough to be felt.
Steve was just thankful that he had not broken his leg in the fall. That could have been fatal; at least it would have delayed his travel well past his available food supply.

Rommel had decided to roam off and chase little animals that just wanted to be left alone, leaving Steve by himself. Steve felt he could afford to rest another day before starting. Maybe the leg would be less sensitive by then and more easily stand the stress of pedaling. He made himself comfortable and enjoyed his first cup of coffee in 2 days. The hot brew (with cream and sugar!) seemed to relax him, even though it might have just been a mental thing.

++++++++++++

Susan had to force herself to stop checking the window every 5 minutes looking for her husband. She knew he was the most self-reliant man she had ever met and had made preparations to improve his chances should something happen, while he was away.

"Some over her objections," she thought with regret, remembering one of her more vocal times.

One of the things she loved about Steve was the way he allowed her to be an equal partner in the marriage and to assist in the decision making process. She had helped them avoid some costly mistakes in the past, but once in a while she bumped the invisible line Steve drew and the "MAN" came out in him. She used all the weapons available to a woman to "convince" Steve she was right.

"A few times she won," she thought, remembering the surrender and the time after. However, when Steve had his mind made up no amount of female firepower could penetrate his defenses nor would the lack of soft, personal attention change his decision. He had even remarked once, during a particular hot contest of wills, that she would get hungry and starve long before he got tired of sleeping on the couch!

Now she realized how right he had been to prepare for life's downside, even when she saw only how good life was. Once more, she found herself staring out the window looking for her husband.

+++++++++++

The cracking of a dry stick and the rustling of leaves alerted Steve to company.
Lifting his SKS and flipping the safety off at the same time, he prepared for the worst. Steve wished Rommel had been here to give him a little more warning, but he would be as prepared as possible in any event. He slid around to face the sound, ignoring the renewed pain in his leg, while at the same time watching the other areas in case this was just a distraction from the real attack. So focused on an attack he almost missed the sudden voice that rang out from the forest.

"Hello the camp," called a youthful voice.

"Sounds like he has watched too many westerns," thought Steve as he tried to turn down the chemicals running freely through his veins.

"Hello the camp," once again came the voice.

Steve could not detect any others around unless they were "REAL" good so he answered the voice.

"What can I do for you?" Steve said.

"May I come forward?" rang out a polite male voice.

Steve smiled at the manners the voice exhibited, but then in light of the current tensions he supposed he would be just as polite, if the situation was reversed. Weapons, and the willingness to use them, brought out the best, as well as the worst, in folks.

"Come ahead," Steve answered still pointing the rifle towards the voice.

A young, good-looking man about 20 or so stood up next to a tree some distance away.

"He hasn't had much military training, maybe some hunting experience," thought Steve as he watched the youth walk slowly towards him. The young man walked warily but without really seeing like someone with "Bush" time hunting men would have.

Steve did not feel any danger from the boy (for that's how Steve felt about him) as he watched him approach. The only weapon he could see was a hunting style knife on the boys left side. The fellow had on new looking blue jeans with a light green T-shirt and military style boots. He had a GI watch cap over his head but carried nothing else.

"I smelled your coffee and thought I might get a cup," the boy said.

Steve added a mental checkmark to his mistake column. He had forgotten how far smells travel especially, in still air.

"I'm getting too old for this crap," thought Steve "I've gotten mentally soft since getting out of the service. I can't keep making mistakes and getting away with it. One of these days it will catch up with me if I don't watch out."

Those armchair commandos he had read comments from on the forums that thought the end of the world was going to consist of one firefight after the other wouldn't survive 15 minutes if that happened.

Wishing he were at home on the couch sipping a cup of his wife's spiced hot chocolate with her in his arms, instead of playing army in the woods Steve lowered the rifle and shifted back to his original spot.

"Have a seat," Steve said as he motioned the boy in.

The young man, surprised at having a rifle pointed towards him as he had approached, now seemed to relax once he realized he would not be shot.

"Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee?" asked the boy.

Steve pulled his second cup out of his pack and after filling it with water, placed it on his stove over the burner to heat. The boy, who had introduced himself as Tim, watched every move Steve made with interest, paying close attention to Steve's stove setup.

Tim watched the water heat like an alcoholic watched a beer being poured. Steve opened a pouch of instant coffee and stirred it into the boiling water.

"How do you like it?" asked Steve.

Tim glanced at Steve to see if he was kidding about having the accessories to go with the dark brew. Deciding Steve was serious, he said," two sugars if you have them."

Steve reached in his bag and opened the sugar container again. Pouring what he figured was about two teaspoons of the crystals into the cup, he offered it to Tim.

Tim stirred the mixture with his finger, quickly dipping it in and swirling it around, then removing it before the hot coffee burned it. The boy closed his eyes as he sipped the coffee, inhaling the fumes like a precious perfume.

Taking a guess Steve asked the boy, "How long since you ate?"

The question startled the boy from his admiration of Steve's coffee making skills and brought him back to the present.

"I ate breakfast earlier this morning," Tim said "but I can't expect to take any further advantage of you"

Well, at least the boy is not one of those that expect to be given everything even if they did nothing to earn it, Steve thought as he reached once again into his bag and removed one of his energy bars and offered it to the boy.

They youth slowly reached for the bar and opened it then took a bite, slowly chewing each piece. Steve removed his small pot and poured water into it to heat, then removed the container of minute rice and the container of instant bean flakes from his bag. When the water was hot, he poured enough rice into the pot to feed them both and a little extra for a hungry kid, then added some bean flakes, salt, and a beef bouillon cube. A "Slim Jim" stick cut into pieces completed the culinary concoction that was to become their late dinner.

Steve might not have eaten had he been by himself, but he did not want the boy to feel like he was imposing. The boy had obviously been brought up right and seemed to be a friendly sort. Maybe Steve just wanted the company, but he was already warming to the boy.

A sudden jump by the boy startled Steve but then he had to stifle a laugh when he noticed that Rommel had made his appearance. The dog had "cold nosed" the boy's neck to get his scent and startled the youth.

"Rommel, you mutt, you are gonna get shot if you keep sneaking up on people like that," Steve said.

Rommel just looked at Tim and then gave a sniff as if to say "Dinner ready yet?"

"Tim meet Rommel, Rommel meet Tim," Steve introduced the dog like family since he had become like one to Steve.

The dog walked back over to Tim and looked him in the eye. Since the boy was sitting on the ground that was not hard to do and made Rommel look very intimidating. The expression on Tim's face was priceless, almost as if he was expecting to BE dinner instead of eating dinner.

The moment must have been funny to Rommel also because after staring the boy down the pup reached out and licked the youth square in the mouth. Steve almost lost it then, Tim had flinched back expecting to be bitten. Before he could retreat from the dog, that wet tongue had kissed him across the lips.

Seeing the merriment on Steve's face Tim finally realized he had been "had" by a dog and started smiling also. Surer of himself now he reached over and gave the dog a good rubdown. Rommel stood there as if he had planned everything to get just such treatment. Finally, the dog moved back over to Steve and lay down to await his food also.

Before the food burned, Steve removed it from the fire and, after removing a Frisbee from his pack, dished about 55 percent of the pot's contents out onto the toy for the boy. Steve had read about using the Frisbee for a dish/bowl in a hiking forum and had liked the idea so much, he had included one in his cache. They were light, quiet, and had cupped sides to hold soups or stews and could be used to hold food gathered along the way.

Steve removed one of his lexan spoons and offered the mixture to the boy. Tim took the plate after thanking Steve for his generous offer then bowed his head and gave thanks. Steve was taken off guard by the simple act of praying over the food. Few people today are thankful enough to God to thank him for anything, much less to do so in public around a stranger. Seeing the look on Steve's face, Tim explained that he had been raised in church all his life. Though he had not been able to attend church much lately, he tried never to forget to thank God for his blessings.

Between spoonfuls of Steve's mixture Tim told Steve his story. The boy had been a junior at the Citadel in Charleston when the problems started. Everything had been normal at the school until food supplies had become scarce and when the power had become so erratic that classes could not continue, most of the students tried to find a way home or to a home of a friend.

Tim's Dad was a "preparedness freak" as Tim called him. After getting out of the service having been a Lurp in Vietnam, he had purchased a small farm near Ocala, Florida. He had wanted a place that would supply his family with whatever they might need in the future, and be close to his family in Orlando. Tim had grown up listening to his Dad's stores of action and danger in 'Nam as his dad called it. The story telling had become a means of therapy for his dad and had brought the two of them close together. Tim had decided to attend the Citadel after graduation, but his dad's affinity for survival had not passed to Tim. At least not at that time. The boy now wished he had paid more attention to his own personal preparedness and less to the desires of everyday life.

Steve asked Tim how he came to be here today, expecting to hear he had walked or been dropped off. Instead, Tim said that he had a 250cc Yamaha Bike that had been a graduation present from his dad. With the traffic, fuel cost and the parking at school it had been an inspired gift. Tim also suspected it was a backdoor survival gift from his old man. Talking about the bike reminded Tim that he needed to return to his small camp a little ways off. Steve, suspecting Tim was poorly equipped for the trip home, and since they were heading in the same direction, invited Tim to join him.

After some discussion, with Tim trying hard to act reluctant to impose, but obviously desiring very much to tag along, Tim left to retrieve his items. Rommel tagged along for company, giving Steve his blessing that the decision to ask Tim to join them was correct.

Soon Rommel returned running point for Tim who was pushing his Motor-bike. Steve wasn't sure what he had been expecting, maybe one of those flashy streamlined missiles he had seen pass him while driving a big rig. What he saw was an older bike painted in a subdued tan color, nothing flashy just very practical, the color at home in the city or as a pseudo-camouflage.

Noticing Steve's appraisal of his ride Tim started to explain about the bike's origin. Tim seemed to want to explain everything in detail without being asked, maybe he was just nervous. His dad had given him the bike upon graduation, but it had not been new, rather it had been his father's.
His dad had had it completely overhauled using the best parts available and improving anything that could be improved. It was not the best at street or off-road but it was good at both. Tim had not been enthusiastic about the color but like any teenager just having a means of transportation all his own, especially one without any payments was enough. His dad's preparation's made over three years before now came in handy on Tim's trip home.

Steve noted that the fuel tank looked larger than normal, to which Tim agreed it was, by 8 tenths of a gallon. That might not seem like much for a car, but for a bike might be 30 or 40 miles more range. Steve also noticed that instead of saddle bags the bike sported custom made racks, much more practical for carrying supplies. Tim had an extra fuel can stored in one side and a small book bag size pack in the other. A second bag was strapped to the back of the seat.

====================================

Chap 30 - A new partner


Tim stopped the bike on the side of camp that was most open and removed a bag from the back of the seat. He then laid the bike on it's side, resting on the side rack and the 10 liter (1) can it held. Steve noticed that both sides had cans, one side had a can with a blue painted top and the other had a dark red top. Each can was about half the size of the normal American fuel carrier but about perfect for a bike of the size of Tim's. Steve guessed one held spare fuel and the other water and Tim verified the guess when asked about it.

"They were Dad's idea and came with the bike along with the racks to hold them," Tim stated "If the main tank is close to full the bike has the range to get me home"

"Of course the main tank was about empty and I had used the fuel from the spare tank earlier this month before I decided to leave. A friend, who had nowhere else to go, had been invited to stay with another guy who lived near the college. Since the friend had no pressing need for the fuel in his tank he had offered to fill the main tank on the bike by siphoning fuel from his little Toyota. "

Tim said he was not sure what he was going to do when he ran out of fuel since he had been buying fuel through the school and had not picked up a ration card. No one at school thought thing's would get so out of hand and few had made many preparations.

Steve listened as Tim related his story. The boy had made himself comfortable while telling his tale, giving Rommel a rub down while talking. Rommel loved the attention, and Tim apparently needed a distraction while he told his story.

Steve knew he could not be the Good Samaritan to every stray he came across. He just did not have the supplies or time to nursemaid everyone. Still something about the kid struck a cord. Maybe it was the boy's refreshing honesty or maybe he just reminded Steve of himself at that age, young, foolish, and ill prepared for life.

"Besides fuel, how are you fixed for supplies?" asked Steve when Tim slowed down his storytelling.

Tim dropped his head, a little embarrassed at being caught so ill prepared, especially after his father had been such a preparedness preacher.

"Well I have plenty of water for now, but I will have to find drinking water along the way. As I said, I ran out of food this morning since the only thing I could find when I left was a couple of summer sausages, some cheese, two boxes of crackers and two large cans of sardines."

"I picked up a small pot and a plastic measuring cup from the cafeteria to use for cooking along with a few pieces of silverware." Tim continued "I have a bed roll made from three blankets and two sheets with a plastic table cloth for a ground cover."

"Since guns were forbidden at school that was not an option, but I keep a hunting knife on the bike so I'm not totally helpless. I had planned to rely on speed to avoid any confrontation I might come across."

Steve brought the conversation back to food since Tim had not brought enough to carry him through. "What were you planning to do about food?" he asked.

Tim looked at him and again displayed the frank honesty Steve had seen from him so far. "I remember dad saying you can go up to three weeks without eating and I had planned to be there well before that." Tim smiled "course hunger is not the most enjoyable feeling I have experienced, but without a choice in the matter I planned to just deal with it."

The response brought a smile from Steve who remembered a few times going on a mission with minimal food so he could bring extra ammunition. Not fun, but ammo is better than food in a firefight!

"How did you end up here off the beaten path?" Steve asked.

"The expressway is faster, but more dangerous and the possibility of roadblocks greater. I had to avoid two attempted hijacking's in the first fifty miles, after that I started following the back roads until I came to the railroad. I thought the rails might be safer if I can avoid any hobo jungles along the way" Tim said. "Now you have heard my story what about you?" "What's your tale of woe?"

Steve gave Tim an edited version of how he came to be there. Tim's eyes got quite large with each event as Steve told them. He was being overwhelmed. He had not expected to run a gauntlet to get home, when Steve told him about the states closing their borders Tim's shoulders seemed to slump, like a great load had been placed on them.

"How am I going to get home if I can't cross into Florida!" the youth exclaimed

"Simple' Steve said as Tim just stared amazed at Steve's casual and simple statement. "I plan to cross where no one is watching"

Tim started to tell him he was crazy, Steve could see it in his eyes. But then, just as he started to vocalize his misgivings about Steve's sanity the light came on. Tim "got" it. Closing a border is just a matter of blocking a few roads to most people, they would never think of traveling any other way. But to someone with the desire and need, the border is made up of many places to cross, and they all can't be watched at the same time, even in this day of electronic surveillance. You just have to look for those spots and the right time to cross.

While Steve had been talking he had opened up his supplies. He had poured some of the food supplies he had retrieved from his cache into his original, but now empty, food bottles. The boy had listened to Steve's story but had also watched intently as Steve poured rice, oats, corn meal, and beans into their bottles. Steve added a pouch of Tuna as well as two meat sticks to the pile. He added a bottle of water purifying tablets and then placed them into one of the two bags he had retrieved from his buckets. He then added the one item that can be worth its weight in gold, a small roll of Toilet Paper! Steve had taken three half rolls and removed the inner cardboard liner. He had then flatened the rolls and placed them into a large Ziplock bag.
He was giving Tim one of those rolls. It would make his journey much more plesant!

Steve finished his story and his repacking about the same time. He then slid around where he could reach down into the left side of his bike. He retrieved one of his two Glocks and both of the mags he had taken, what seemed like eons ago, when he had left Abraham and his family. Steve added that to the bag along with a few other items that he could spare and Tim might need. Steve closed the flap over the now full bag and offered it to Tim.

Tim had watched Steve load the bags with various foodstuffs and had watched him as he removed the Glock, as well as other items, then place them into the bag. He just never expected it to be given to him.

A thought taken from a popular commercial crossed Steve's mind as Tim slowly reached for the bag. Price for a bag of miscellaneous items, minimal. Look on Tim's face, Priceless!

"I..I..I don't know what to say" stammered Tim "I can't take this."

"Why not?" asked Steve eyes twinkling, "It's not enough?"

"Oh no!" exclaimed Tim "that's not it at all!" "You just met me and yet you are offering me things you might need."

"Look son. First off, I never give away anything I might need to survive. Second, when you have the proper knowledge you can survive with fewer modern supplies. Someone who has no idea of how our ancestors survived without modern conveniences, needs way more "convience" items just to survive one day. You might need the items in that bag before you get home, I won't.

Tim removed the Glock and it's holster and set them by his right thigh. He removed the magazines, then the bag of dull, tarnished brass 9mm hollow points like they were precious gold instead.

As Tim pressed the bullets into the magazines Steve asked "Do you know anything about the Glock?"

"Yes Sir, sure do" came Time's reply. "The Glock is my dad's weapon of choice. I grew up firing the Glock in all its variations."

The youth finished loading the mags and pushed one into its nesting place within the grip. Jacking the first hollowpoint into the chamber he stood and placed the holster on the side opposite his knife then dropped the pistol into it and placed the retention strap over it.

Steve didn't think he could have wiped the grin off Tim's face with a steel pad. He looked like an 8-year-old on Christmas morning that finds everything on his list under the tree.

"I haven't done anything to deserve the generosity, but I am really thankful. How can I repay you?"

Tim, I gave you those things free and clear. I don't expect payment for them or expect you to feel you "owe" me anything. Sometimes a person has to follow his gut when dealing with people. Mine tells me you're a fine young man that just needed to pay more attention to his old man. When you get home I would suggest learning everything from him you can, it might keep you alive in the future.

Tim kneeled down and rolled out his bedroll after spreading out his ground cloth. He placed the bag he had removed from the bike at the head of the roll as a pillow and sat down making sure his new bag of treasure was close by.

"You know," he began "This is the first time since I started out that I really feel I will make it home in one piece. I can't thank you enough for your help."

Looking over at Steve, Tim continued, "I was wondering, how are you going to ride that bike with that goose egg on your leg?"

Steve looked over at the boy and said "that's something I want to talk to you about."


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