Breckinridge Valley: Surviving the Black--Book 1 of a Post-Apocalyptical series

by Zack Finley

  We split into three groups, each responsible for a building. We needed to take out the lone sentry before we could move into place. Several members of the team carried suppressed pistols for the job. Buzzer won the lottery, and he began slithering to get a sure shot.

  Once the sentry dropped, the rest of us were set to move. We were ready with three sopping wet tee shirts poised to stuff into the stovepipes.

  A barely audible pop heralded the demise of the sentry. The rest of us then moved into position and waited for the smoke to build up inside the buildings.

  And waited. Just as I was beginning to doubt the effectiveness of the plan, a door opened in one of the newer buildings. Three men exited the building coughing. Two carried automatic rifles and were hit immediately. The third man appeared unarmed. He was yanked to the side of the building and zip-tied with his shirt stuffed in his mouth as a gag. The dead men were dragged away from the smoking doorway. Their guns were stacked to the side.

  I concluded everyone was too busy coughing to notice the sound because the remaining people who exited the building were unaware of our presence. No one else who exited was armed. There were two women in the building but no youngsters. We removed the wet shirt from the stove pipe and retrieved three more assault rifles from inside the building.

  While we were dealing with building one, people began exiting the building next door. Nobody in building two thought to bring a rifle and they were cuffed and stuffed. Three women but no kids. We recovered eight assault weapons from inside the filthy shed.

  We removed two-thirds of the threat without raising the alarm, but the heavy weapons were still in play.

  Two of my guys were interrogating prisoners, hoping to gain some insight into the remaining numbers.

  Construction on the command building was even shoddier than the other two buildings. You could see this by the plumes of smoke seeping out of the various joints. The other buildings leaked, but not like this one.

  I felt my impatience building as time ticked away. I kept reminding myself that it was a good plan and storming the building was a bad idea.

  A man stumbled out the front door coughing and shouting, “I’ll check it out.” He barely made it off the steps when he was dragged down and gagged. One of our guys nudged the door closed.

  Matt, who’d been interrogating the prisoners, slipped in beside me as we waited for more action.

  “They think there may be 15 shooters in this building. Every man is long-term Militia. Several women, none of them are known shooters. No kids. All of the heavy weapons are stored in the house plus all the food and other supplies. Our prisoners haven’t eaten much lately. They were counting on the middle school raid for groceries,” said Matt. “The captives aren’t much of a threat at this point. Most want to go find their families.”

  “Were the women being mistreated?” I asked.

  “Hard to say. They weren’t being held against their will. I think they were treated rougher than they expected, but it is hard to tell,” Matt said.

  “The guys in the building are hardcore, be prepared for grenades and heavy weapons. Assume they are armed. Back away from the building, at this point, I don’t want to take any chances. Let’s try to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible,” I sent over the radios.

  I was happy to see the guys pushed several of the cars into position to provide some cover for this final assault. Those with silenced pistols were given the first crack at shooting anyone leaving the building.

  We waited.

  The next guy who exited was coughing and cursing as he left the building. He was down before he reached the bottom step. He was quickly dragged to the side of the building. We decided to leave the door open, it allowed us to judge the level of smokiness inside.

  Thick smoke was billowing out of the doorway. I was surprised people remained in the building.

  We took out three more men before it dawned on those inside that something was amiss.

  I was almost expecting the grenade when it came. Everyone ducked behind cover, and I gave Craig the green light to fire at will, anticipating a rush for the door.

  The explosion peppered the cars with shrapnel, but none of my guys was hit.

  I really wasn’t surprised when the men I left to watch the back of the building reported that some of the tangoes were sneaking out through a trap door.

  I barely heard the shots from the back of the house, when I got the word that threat was resolved.

  Now it was just wait-and-see. I suspected some of those inside wore gas masks and could wait quite a while, but waiting was hard when you were surrounded by an unknown force. Minutes feel like hours. At some point, the psychological factors can overwhelm you. During times like this unit cohesion and morale make the difference. I was counting on it. These guys were wannabees.

  “We’ll give you the keys to the cars, and you can leave,” a man shouted from inside the building. “We won’t follow you, take your rifles with you, just leave us alone.”

  At first, I was confused by the offer, but then it occurred to me he thought we were his own troops rebelling against him.

  His shout was followed by two sets of car keys landing in the mud near the front door.

  “Come out, or we burn the building down,” I shouted back. “Either way works for us.”

  I asked Craig to make a few holes in the building. He complied.

  After the reverberations died down, I tried again, “We don’t even have to burn down the building, all we have to do is shoot it up. Come out with your hands above your head.”

  I wanted loud so called for the MK17s to speak up saying, “Aim high and put holes in the walls and roof, I want them to think about the damage they will cause if we aim lower.”

  After a sharp barrage of shots, I yelled, “I don’t intend to waste more ammo with warning shots, come out or we’ll take you out.”

  I waited a few minutes and began a countdown. By the time I got to two, someone shouted they were coming out.

  “Leave all your weapons in the hut and come out with your hands above your heads,” I shouted. I also warned my team to be ready for a double-cross.

  I suspected the first two were being forced out of the hut at gunpoint, I wasn’t sure whether they feared their comrades or us more.

  I made them walk away from the stairs and lie down in the mud with their hands over their heads.

  “Is that everyone who wants to live?” I shouted. I restarted the countdown at five and quickly got down to “two” again when I heard a muffled shout.

  “I don’t intend to dick around anymore, come out or don’t, other than the expended ammo, I don’t really care. And I don’t really care about the ammo, this can be a training exercise,” I shouted.

  That started a series of filthy unkempt men to walk out the door with their hands up. None was eager to lie down on the muddy ground, but none balked. I was becoming concerned about the women when three females walked out with their hands up. They were indignant about being forced to lie down but complied. I was unsure about their status. Until I knew better, they were classified as enemies, not victims.

  Two men exited the hut after the women and took their place on the ground. I asked if there were anymore inside the building and the last man said “No.”

  Four of my guys slipped into the hut to confirm this.

  “Which of you is Josh?” I asked. None of those on the ground budged.

  A shot came from inside the hut followed immediately by a volley from our M4s.

  “Scott’s hit, tango is down,” came over the radio.

  “If any of you move, we will kill you all,” I shouted, signaling for the team to help corral the prisoners. Tom, our medic, was already running into the hut. I sent one man to bring up one of our trucks from where it was blocking the roadway.

  “Major, we need to get Scott to surgery, stat.”

  “Truck is on its way, do your best to stabilize him. FOB George has a large medical kit, will that
help?” I radioed. A second man sped off to get the second truck in a race to FOB George for the kit.

  “We’ll pick it up on the way by. Alert the doc, tell her we are on the way, with a sucking chest wound, no exit wound.”

  In minutes, Scott was bundled into the back of the pickup truck and was on his way to the valley.

  Scott’s teammates dragged the body of the man who shot him out of the hut and onto the ground. I assumed it was Josh Jennings.

  “Is there any reason we shouldn’t shoot you all?” I asked. “You knew he stayed behind.”

  I turned to my team and ordered, “Take anything of value.”

  I knew we couldn’t let any of the leadership go free, they would just create more chaos. If not here then somewhere else. Those who were recruited after the collapse could probably be released.

  Those from the command hut were bound and kept together. I needed someone who could confirm the Militia leadership. I suspected they weren’t confined to the cabin alone.

  Those captured from the first shed were starting to shiver. They might be ready to talk. I sent Buzzer and Matt to discern who ordered the attack on the middle school. In this new age, I considered that a capital offense.

  I was uneasy killing those not part of the leadership, I was certainly not going to incarcerate them. I wanted a way to show they didn’t deserve a second chance. But I wasn’t up to cutting off little fingers, hands, or ears as I saw overseas. At least not yet. This time we were left hoping these people would do better with their second chance. It would probably backfire on us, but I wasn’t ready to cross that line.

  We found thousands of rounds of ammo and stacks of automatic rifles still in their crates. They only had two LAWS left and a single mortar with a handful of rockets for it. There was an eclectic assortment of small arms that likely represented their armory before they received the large batch of AK-47s and AR-15s.

  Their stockpile of food was pitiful. Jennings clearly planned to loot others to survive. I suspected he over-recruited in the early days after the crash and then realized they expected to eat.

  Matt dragged two men from the second hut to be with the group from the command hut. He then helped the three women move to a neutral location.

  Buzzer came to discuss their findings with me.

  “All of the Militia leaders are in that group,” Buzzer said pointing at the men on the ground in front of the command hut. “The women were recent additions, I’m not sure whether they joined willingly or not. But they certainly didn’t have any leadership role. More like slaves.”

  “Okay, sit them all up to watch,” I said, pulling out my pistol.

  I stood in front of 10 men who were now sitting in the mud. “You have been judged guilty of attempted murder and mayhem. The penalty is death.” Ten shots from my Beretta and it was over. I replaced the clip and policed my brass.

  I then walked over to where the remnants of the Militia sat staring at me with fear in their eyes. Gone was any semblance of defiance although some seemed more resigned than fearful.

  “Those men were killed because they chose to attack others to steal food,” I said. “They should have hunted deer, rabbits, and squirrels in the woods nearby. The only way anyone will have enough to eat next year is if we all grow our own food. There are abandoned farms in the area. Some farms may be willing to give you a share of their crops for farming help. If you need seeds or tools, Huntsville folks may be willing to share. They are on CB channel 20 most every day at noon. If you are still around in the spring, we can probably provide some seeds to get you started.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” one of the men shouted.

  “We now have your pictures,” I said. “If we ever run into you doing something antisocial, we will kill you on the spot. While I will probably regret it, I’m going to leave you here. There isn’t enough food here for everyone to last the winter, so some of you should move on. I’m told several want to find your families. That is a good idea. Some don’t have anywhere else to go. We’ll leave all the food, a few weapons, and one vehicle. If you cause trouble for your neighbors, we’ll be back to burn you out.”

  We left them several .22s for hunting, three .38 revolvers for protection, a hunting bow with arrows, and an assortment of knives. No one was willing to leave them a deer rifle. We left them a box of .22 shells and a box of .38 ammo. The guns were unloaded, and we told them the ammo and the truck keys would be left in a box on the road.

  Buzzer suggested bringing one of the women with us and leaving her with the ammo and keys down the road.

  We mounted up, and Buzzer released one of the women to ride part way with us. About a half mile from the compound we dropped her off. I was in a hurry to get back and see how Scott was doing.

  I thought it was strange that I was a lot more concerned about leaving 15 men alive than I was about killing 10 men in cold blood.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 14

  When we got back to the valley, Scott was still in surgery. Supper was over, but we went to the cafeteria to scrounge something. Someone anticipated our arrival because hot soup, tortillas, and beans were waiting for us.

  My dad and Roger joined us for a briefing, while we ate. Tom sent word on the radio that Scott was out of surgery. Dr. Jerrod said he was in stable condition. She also conveyed that she didn’t need any Ranger help looking after him. I took the hint and told my men to stand down.

  I asked Tom to brief me when he could. I knew he assisted in the surgery and could provide details without distracting Dr. Jerrod.

  I was happy to leave the future of our Militia captives, Frank and Frosty, in Roger’s hands. I knew I didn’t want them walking freely around the valley, but I killed enough men today.

  The news via HAM radio continued to be bleak. Nothing so far from any government agency. I knew the military should still be operational and was surprised they remained silent. I really felt for the men and women serving overseas. It seemed unlikely they would ever get home.

  I wondered what the troops stationed around the country were doing now. The biggest army post in Tennessee was Fort Campbell. I didn’t know how much food or fuel they kept on the post. It might not be sufficient to keep the Army operational for an extended period. I suspected by spring they would have their hands' full planting crops and surviving. At least many of the officers and enlisted families lived on the post, so there was plenty of incentive to build for the future. A lot of retirees lived nearby. The area could become a significant enclave of future civilization. I couldn’t imagine any group dumb enough to attack it.

  I hoped its commander was a reasonable man who believed in his oath. While I respected most officers I met in the Army, there were a few bad apples in every crowd.

  Fort Campbell was too far away to provide any help for us. It was looking more and more like we were on our own.

  I suddenly had several unscheduled days in front of me. We budgeted five days for the Militia operation and were done in only one. I dragged my attention back to the discussion between Roger and my dad. It was about housing.

  “It’s time to open up the second stories of the valley houses,” my dad was saying.

  “Yeah, I don’t think we need to worry about nuclear protection,” Roger admitted. “I wanted to get the barracks up before the weather got too bad, but I think people will be more comfortable if we spread them out some more.”

  “I think we need a community center,” I said. “We’ve just started to get crowded, and I think we need some place to gather after a work shift. Otherwise, the only option is to stay in your bunk.”

  “The food court could be used for that. We can set up board games and have movie nights,” Roger said.

  “Ping pong would be fun. Maybe get some comfortable chairs and places to read. Set up a mini-library, hold classes. Something to relieve the stress of hard work,” I said. “If we can find a pool table, that might be worth acquiring. Maybe some people brought musical instruments. Or sugg
est a knitting sewing club.”

  “I’ll ask Claire who might be interested in organizing this,” my dad said. “None of us need the added assignment.”

  About that time Tom, our medic, jogged into the cafeteria. He spotted me and came right over.

  “Scott is holding up well,” Tom said. “The bullet caught the edge of his chest plate, so it didn’t cause as much damage as it could have. But it fragmented, and doc spent a lot of time pulling out bits and pieces. She’s worried about infection, but the operating room worked great. One of our new RNs and I assisted. Dr. Jerrod will be talking to you about more training for me down the road.”