Lone Star Odyssey- First Steps

by David Wilson

  “Ahh, is that how you knew I was around?” I ask. “Hell no, you made enough noise that I could hear you from the can when you broke out the window,” he laughed, “Your lucky it took me a couple minutes to finish up my business and get over here or you would never have had the chance to make it inside. So you can thank my overactive bladder for your life. Because I sure would have shot you and did in fact attempt to shoot you. As I was shooting at what I thought was your head.”

  “Well you can thank your bladder for me,” I laughed, “I don’t hold a thing against you for trying to shoot me when I came in, now if you’re thinking about trying it again, now I would have to take that you don’t like my bubbly personality and might have to try and foil your plan.”

  If you have never attempted to carry on a conversation with someone that is wearing a headlamp it is hard to do. Normally we always face one another when we talk to another person. If you’re both wearing headlamps then you keep blinding each other even using the red filters.

  After some pulling and pushing we finally got the two large heavy boxes stacked in front of the broken out window. I laughed when I saw what the boxes were or should I say had been, gas generators. Although given enough time, knowhow, and large quantities of the right gauge of copper wire you might be able to rewire the generator motor so that it would work. Don glanced at me and said, “You ok?” I smiled and said, “Yes, just found it ironic that we were using these big paperweights to the block the window.” Don glanced down at the boxes and immediately saw what I was talking about. “So you figure none of these will work?” Don ask. “I really don’t know, but it has been one of the major questions for years, will generators survive an EMP. Guess it just depends on the strength of the EMP. Considering how strong this one appeared to be, no I don’t think they will. I would think you would have to do a complete rebuild, including re-wrapping the motor, replacing any capacitor, maybe even have to replace the points and of course replace or bypass any electronics. Ya, pretty much a complete rebuild. Of course we won’t know for sure until we try one. Although I would have thought the trail cameras would have been fried also, so maybe they would work,” as I looked at Don questionably.

  “Na, you're probably right, the trail camera’s on the floor would not work, but I dug around in one of the shipping containers out in the warehouse. The containers are sitting on pallets so they were not touching the ground.” I nodded, shipping containers made pretty fair Faraday Cages if they were set up right or in this case, lucky and said as much. “So what else was in your Faraday Cage?” Don said, “You said you were a Marine, but you seem to know a lot about what is going on and what in the world is a Faraday Cage?”

  I laughed, “I don’t know all of the math behind the concept, but I do know the basics. Just about anything made of a conductive material, such as a metal trash can or a shipping container can be made into a Faraday cage. As long as the material inside is not touching the outer skin of the container, and the container is grounded, the electromagnetic field is canceled out somehow. As far as I’m concerned it’s fucking magic, but it works. What we don’t know is how it will affect modern things like LED bulbs, electronic scopes and anything with microchips. I do know that all the cell phones in this area were affected, along with the cars and computers and of course the whole electrical power grid. If this was an EMP than it really depends on what type of weapon was used and at what altitude the device was detonated at. I have seen different studies say different things but the most common was if a 200-250 megaton weapon was detonated over Kansas at a height of 225 to 250 miles than most of the United States would be affected. Leaving only Alaska and Hawaii with working electrical grids. You put that together with all of the other terrorist attacks that have taken place over the last couple of days, this was differently a man made attack. I don’t know by whom, or for what purpose. But as far as I can tell, they were at least fairly successful. I could go into greater detail but right now we don’t have a lot of time to waste standing around talking.”

  Holding my hands out to my sides I just shrugged and said, “Just a dumb old grunt trying to get back to my family in Texas.” Don huffed again, “Yea right and I’ve believe as much or as little of that as I want too, but I do have some land I want to sell you down in Florida too. So what were you doing up here in the Baltimore area?”

  I bent over and gathered my day pack up and stuffed it back into the top of my ruck sack, “Don could we move over to the ammo area while we are talking, I really need to get what I need before the little zombies show up. I really admire your work ethic and that you are hanging around protecting the store but you do not have enough guns and ammo here to keep the people out when they show up, that is unless you are willing to kill kids and women to possible keep them out. But of course if you do manage to hold them off for long, they will just burn you out. You should take what you need and get the hell out of here. I figure you have less than twenty-four hours before people begin showing up, more than likely less than twelve hours.” Don nodded and I followed him back toward the hunting and gun area of the store. “What calibers do you need,” he ask. “First priority is 5.56 or .223 which ever you have in 65 grain, followed by 9mm jacketed hollow points, prefer the heaviest 9 mm jacketed hollow points you have that are not +P. I would love to pick up a Ruger .22/.45 with about 1000 rounds of CCI and three or four magazines for it if you have access to the guns,” I said.

  He paused and I could see him thinking it over, than his shoulders slumped and he nodded, “Sure why not, but I do want to make a copy of your credit card so I can charge your ass when the power comes back on.” I laughed and said, “No problem, I can even give you my Texas drivers license as a keepsake. But you know as well as I do that the power is not coming back on. But my licenses has all my current info on it and if I’m wrong and the lights come back on you can mail it back to me after you get paid for the stuff. Don nodded again and pointed to a row, “The 5.56 is down this row, I will get you a Ruger .22/.45 out of the safe. Anything else you want while I’m in there?” “Well now that you ask I would trade you a Beretta 92 and a Sig 226 for a Glock G34 MOS if you have one in stock.” “Let me see what I can do,” Don said and gestured back to the ammo, “Just keep a count of what you’re taking,” as he headed into the back area.

  I headed straight over to the M855 boxes. At 62 grains, the full medal jacketed bullets would do well with the M4. I ripped open my ruck and pulled out the M4, slapping it together took all of ten seconds, after doing a quick ops check I laid the M4 on the shelf to my front. Next I pulled out my chest rig and strapped it on. I reached in and snagged one of the loose P-Mags and quickly ripped open one twenty round box and began filling the magazine, finishing the first twenty I added nine more rounds from another box. I stuffed the magazine into my M4 and chambered a round, feeling better and more comfortable than at any point since waking up that morning. Laying the M4 back down, I started packing boxes of ammo into the outside pouches of my ruck. After getting six boxes into each outer pouch of the ruck, I began stuffing rounds into each of the magazines on my chest rig. This took about ten minutes working like a madman. Twenty-eight rounds into each of the eight magazines. Pulling the last extra P-Mag from my ruck I stuffed the rounds into it as if my life would depend on it. Glancing up I saw Don standing about five feet away just staring at me. He looked from me to the small mountain of empty boxes around my feet.

  “Sorry didn’t mean to interrupt.” he said, “you looked like a starving man at a buffet.” “Not a bad analogy,” I said, “I have felt naked since this happened with no ammo.” Don lifted his hands and I saw he had three pistol cases in his hands. I was curious, as I had only asked about two weapons. Don quickly filled me in, “I have one Glock 34 MOS Gen 4 and one in Gen 5, didn’t know which you would prefer and the Ruger .22 you ask for. You mentioned you had a Glock and figured you would prefer all the same Generation. Its here if you want them.” I smiled, “Thank you, I would.” I pulled out the two Si
g’s and the Beretta and handed them over with their magazines and said, “Just in case the lights do come back on, you might want to say you took those off some kids trying to break into the store during the blackout if anyone ever asks.”

  I took the cases from him and set them on the ground, first I popped open the Gen 4 and racked the slide open and checked the barrel. Clean as a whistle. Reaching into my ruck I pulled out one of mine Glock magazines and ejected out the empty factory magazine. Double-checking the weapon was empty; I tried the trigger a couple of times. The factory trigger is ok in most Glocks, but I really do prefer the Zev Professional trigger. I would have to look and see if they carried Zev products. Slamming in one of the loaded magazines, I noticed there was still a little factory grease on the weapon. That would be fine until I had the time to give the new gun a cleaning. Pulling the slide to the rear, I racked a round into the chamber and laid it on the counter. I paused as I could hear Don a couple of rows over moving some boxes and muttering to himself. After listening for a few seconds I could not quite make out what he was saying but it sounded like he was not happy with or about something. I turned my attention to the second Glock pistol case. Opening the hard case I was greeted by a Gen 5 Glock 34 MOS that already had a RMR mounted on it. As I did with the other Glock, I completed a function check and shoved a loaded magazine into the mag well. About that time Don came around the corner with a pair of Blackhawk drop holsters in his hands. It was a matching pair, one right handed and one left. I grimaced a little, wearing two guns was a little over kill but carrying a pack didn’t leave a man many options for carrying a gun holster. Don just grinned and handed me the holsters. All I could do is grin back and nod my head. I noticed he had put on a pair of drop leg holsters and had the two Sig’s I had given him. We were both like a couple of kids in a candy store. I thanked the stars that I had my suspenders on or the weight of the two guns would have to heavy for my pants to stay up. Taking my war belt off I secured it into the top flap of my ruck sack. Taking the two rigs it only took a minute to get the adjusted and I then shoved my Glock 17 into the holster on my right leg and followed that with shoving the G-34 with the RMR into my left leg holster. Was it over kill, sure, but I remembered something that Kipling had written, “A man can never have too much whiskey, too many books, or too much ammunition”. I might not remember the exact quote word for word but his point is well taken. Settling the guns into place I walked over to the holster aisle and grabbed a set of suspenders for Don, he might not realize right now but he would thank me later.

  Don walked back towards the rear stockroom and I turned my attention to the Ruger case on the counter. I frowned a little when I opened the case but decided that this would do. It was a Ruger .22/45, but the color had thrown me for a few seconds. It was blue, not just “gun blued”, but bright blue, but as I only needed it to kill small game it didn’t really matter much. It was a six-inch barrel “lite” model with adjustable sights. I don’t think the rabbits or squirrels would mind what color it was. Don had already found an Uncle Mike’s soft nylon holster for it, along with a matching nylon magazine pouch and two spare magazines for the Ruger. I dropped the .22 into the holster and shoved the gun and magazine pouch into the top flap of my rucksack beside the spare Glock 34. Don handed me six boxes of Federal 147 Grain, Hi-Shok 9mm. I stepped over to the magazine rack and snagged the only three Glock mags left on the shelf. Tearing open the magazine packages, I loaded them up with 17 rounds each and dropped them into the top flap also. I dumped the remaining rounds of 9mm into a 40 ounce plastic water bottle I had picked up earlier and secured that into an outside pouch of my ruck.

  Turning to Don, “Sir, I don’t know how to thank you for all your help,” and offered my hand to the older man. Don stood there for a couple seconds and than took my hand and said, “Well actually I do need a small favor in return for all this.” I didn’t hesitate, “Sir if it is within my power to do, I really do owe you.” With that he grinned and said, “Well first lets get you into some dry clothes and get a cup of hot coffee and we can discuss what I’m thinking about.” I nodded and said, “Sounds good to me, just point out who you want killed because I have not had a cup all day,” but what I was really thinking was I just wanted to finish loading up and get as much distance from this store as I could before the mobs arrived. But I did owe this guy and would need to do what I could for him.

  True to his word after helping me find a pair of boots, a pair of Vasque GTX GoreTex waterproof hikers and a few pairs of my favorite Darn Tough boot socks, we were sitting in a couple of camp chairs holding what Don claimed to be a cup of coffee. Don had fired up one of the two burner Coleman camp stoves and put batteries into two LED camp lanterns. While I had been lacing up my new boots Don had gathered together several of the other items I had mentioned I still needed. As we talked I had basically dumped my rucksack out to repack. Don had offered and I gladly accepted to repack some of my ammo into MTM 100 round plastic boxes. This would greatly reduce the space needed for the ammo and protect the ammo better than the original cardboard boxes. Sitting and enjoying the coffee, I realized this was the first moment I had been able to sit and relax since waking up at 0500 this morning. After finishing up the coffee and the transfer of all of the 9mm rounds to the MTM boxes, I reached for the additional box Don had dropped off by my camp chair. My eyes widened when I opened the box, “Don, since when did Bass Pro begin carrying suppressors?” Don just look at me and shrugged. Pulling out the packing material, I closely examined the six inch suppressor. Yes, this could come in handy. The suppressor was a Gemtech Mist-22 made for the Ruger .22/45. The Ruger using this suppressor, along with sub-sonic .22 rounds would make no more noise than an air rifle. Getting up from my chair, I walked over to the ammo section and began looking for sub-sonic rounds for the .22. Finally finding several boxes of Federal 40 grain sub-sonic, I grabbed these along with a couple of hundred round boxes of CCI hi-velocity Stingers. Returning to my chair, I snagged another cup of the so-called coffee from the camp store. Sitting down I dug the .22/45 magazines from the top flap of my ruck and loaded the two magazines, one with sub-sonic and one with CCI’s. After completing the loading I packed the magazines, suppressor, and the remaining .22 rounds into the top flap.

  Picking my coffee cup up and taking a sip I grimaced at the strong bitter taste. I turned at the sound of a laugh to see Don chuckling to himself as he watched me. “What’s the matter Jarhead, can’t handle real coffee?” I grimaced again and said, “I’ll let you know the second I find a real cup of coffee.” My next dilemma was picking though the assortment of Mountain House Freeze Dried meals. Finally deciding on sticking with what I knew I would eat, I picked out all the Lasagna, Chili Mac and Biscuits & Gravy bags I could find. Grabbing a stuff sack I carefully packed the Mountain House into the compression bag and cinched the bag down. I would save these for when nothing else was available. At this point it wasn’t about the what it was, it was about the space and weight of each item.

  Picking up my now empty daypack, I roamed the aisles to see what else I could find that I would need. Much to my surprise I found several steel traps and snare sets. Leaving the heavy steel traps I grabbed all the snare sets they had and one spool of wire. I smiled to myself; this really was a good sign. Now I needed to get some good cutting tools and water filters. Moving over to the knife section it only took me a few seconds to find and claim a new CRKT Ken Orion Foresight pocket folder. As far as I’m concerned this is one of the best all around folders and is a steal for the price, than laughed at myself, yes free was a pretty good price. While on the large size, if you can only have one knife, this is the one you want. Heavy duty, easy to sharpen and it holds a great edge. I also picked up a K-Bar for an all around utility knife, a Sven 15-inch folding camp saw and a Lansky Knife sharpener. Moving over to the water filters section, I picked up a new one hundred ounce Camel Bak, two in-line Sawyer Mini Water Filter Systems and one Katadyn Hiker Pro Water filter. Taking one of the in-line Sawyer
Mini Water filters out of its packaging, I separated the filter and the backwash tools. The backwash tools I placed in a Ziploc baggy and stored in the top flap of the rucksack. Drawing my new CRKT pocket folder knife, I cut the drinking tube from my Camel Bak about six inches from the bladder. Inserting the in-line filter, I now had a means of directly filtering water from my Camel Bak. I would try and not do that but it was better to have the capability than to take the chance of picking up a bug from dirty water. For my primary water filter I picked up one of the new 2-liter Platypus Gravity Works filter and grabbed two 40-ounce stainless steel Klean canteens. These are great for boiling water in and are one of the few water containers that can be safely sanitized after having dirty water in.

  Being satisfied with my water situation and leaving Don messing around fixing some food, I walked over to the gun counter and grabbed a can of CLP and a bore snake in each of the calibers I have. Unpacking the 9mm caliber bore snake, I ran the snake though each of my Glocks a couple of times for good measure and then wiped each down with CLP. I reminded myself that I should clean my M4 after things settle down tonight. Finding a small cleaning kit I added the bore snakes and CLP to the kit and sat it aside. I was feeling pretty good about things and was beginning to wonder about the favor Don had been talking about earlier. Picking up my cleaning kit, I walked over to the clothing section and selected a couple more pairs of Darn Tough boot socks, a good set of Redhead 3D camouflage, a Redhead Bone Dry CWS jacket, two pair of Merino long johns, and several pairs of ExOfficio underwear. Hauling all the stuff back to my ruck I stripped all the tags and packaging off of everything and stuffed the clothing into another waterproof stuff sack. Filling good about the equipment I had picked up to go along with the equipment I had traveled with, I sat and did another mental inventory of everything. Jumping up I strolled over to the camping section and grabbed a new Therm-a-rest sleeping pad. Just as I was finding a home for the sleeping pad on my ruck, Don called out to me, “Dave, get your butt back here and give me a hand with this stuff.”