by Pat Riot
Rob soon arrived at the bridge that took 3rd over the storm runoff canal. He paused and tried to decide what to do. He could take the small service road that ran next to the canal, but he would be next to a lot of backyards the rest of the way up the small canyon and he figured people would be more likely to shoot first and ask questions later if they thought he was trying to sneak around their backyard. And being on the service road would severely restrict his movement if he was confronted with violence as he would have the rushing canal on one side and fenced in backyards on the other. Or he could continue north on 3rd, taking the sharp turn up the north wall of the small canyon. That way would take him into more populated neighborhoods, and possibly more issues to deal with.
After a couple minutes of debate Rob decided to take the canal. California, which is what he would take north from the canyon, was only half a mile due east, and with the rain he was hopeful he could make it through without being spotted. He turned east once more and started trekking through the mud of the service road, keeping an eye out for anyone that decided they didn’t want him walking near their backyards. Rob could see the canal had several feet of fast moving water in it. That was some storm, I’ve never seen the water level this high. Definitely can’t escape that way if something happens. Rob could see the clouds were still thick and black, heavy with rain, and the rain that had turned into mist and back into a steady rain didn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon. Probably going to rain for the next few days. Hopefully not like it did earlier before I make it home.
Rob was only about fifty feet from 3rd when he heard another motor. Sounds like another dirt bike. A quick look around revealed nowhere for Rob to hide. On his left was a six-foot wooden fence surrounding a backyard and on the right was the raging storm canal. His only option was to hunker down and hope for the best. Rob drew his gun in case he needed it, turned back towards 3rd, and then crouched down next to the wooden fence to reduce his profile.
The engine grew steadily louder before it suddenly appeared. It looked like the same rider Rob had seen earlier, wearing all black and riding a red and white dirt bike, but this time they weren’t alone. There was another bike behind the first, this one blue and white, but with the rider also wearing all black. They were moving fast, coming down 3rd from the top of the north ridge of the canyon. They better slow down or they’ll never make the turn at the bottom, especially with all this water on the road.
Rob’s prediction proved correct. The first bike, the red and white one, didn’t slow enough to negotiate the sharp turn and the rider ended up dropping the bike and bailing off. The bike slid off the road and into the dirt shoulder before colliding with a wooden mailbox and stopping, with the rider sliding into the suddenly stopped bike. The rider on the second bike, the blue and white one, could see what happened to the first bike and slowed just enough and was able to barely keep control of the dirt bike.
The downed rider got up with some difficulty and Rob could see them limping. They walked in a circle for a minute trying to walk off the injury before going back to the dirt bike to assess the damage. By this time the second rider was off their bike and running up to the first. Rob could see a quick discussion being held, and while he couldn’t hear what was being said it was easy to see the second rider was trying to assess injuries on the first rider, but the first rider was insisting they were okay.
After a few seconds of arguing both turned their attention to the dirt bike. With a little difficulty they righted the bike and checked it over, looking for any obvious damage. Once the riders were satisfied with their check the uninjured one got onto the bike and tried to start it. It took several tries, and what sounded like more than a few curse words, before the bike suddenly started. The engine sputtered several times before suddenly roaring to life, but even then, it sounded off to Rob, like it wasn’t running quite right. The rider on the damaged bike pointed to their own bike, obviously telling the injured rider to get on the blue and white dirt bike. At first there was resistance, but after several more points and a raised voice from the uninjured rider, the injured rider limped over and climbed onto the undamaged dirt bike. After several tries the bike finally started and both riders rode away, this time at a much slower speed, south on 3rd.
That’s interesting, thought Rob as he checked his watch. 7:19 pm. Due to the cloud cover it was already darker than the last two nights, especially with the clouds blocking out the aurora that shined and turned night into twilight. I wonder what they’re doing. Scouting for new places to loot? Scouting for mobs that are moving towards their houses? Just out joy riding and risking their lives in the process? With no way to answer the questions, Rob stood up, happy to have not been spotted, and started walking east again. He was one third of the way to California St when he heard a voice. “Hey, what are you doing? Best not be tryin’ to get in my yard.”
Rob turned to find the source of the voice. An older black man, probably in his seventies, and holding a gun and flashlight was standing on his back porch glaring at Rob. The house was set at the bottom of the canyon walls with the front driveway making the steep climb up to the street on the opposite side of the house where Rob now stood. “Just walking through sir.” Rob tried to sound as respectful as possible.
“Walking where?” the man asked, voice ripe with suspicion.
“Home, up off California and E.” Rob gave one of the major intersections near his house.
“You sure you ain’t back here looking for places to loot?” he asked sharply.
“No sir. I’ve walked all the way from Riverside, just trying to get home to my family.”
“Riverside? Shit that’s a long ways. Everywhere else you see like this too? Without power I mean,” the man asked.
“Everywhere I’ve been through its been the same. No power, no working cars, nothing,” Rob replied.
“Shit,” the man thought for a minute. “Okay, I guess you’re good to go. Just keep walking though. I might be old, but I can still drive a tack at twenty-five yards with my 1911 here, even in the dark” the man said while giving his gun a little shake at his side.
“I got no doubt about that. Thank you for not shooting first. Good luck to you sir,” Rob said with a wave and respectful nod.
“And to you, young man,” the man nodded back.
Rob made it to the end of the service road and could see California where it swept up the canyon walls and headed north. This street was much wider than any of the other roads that travelled through the canyon. While the other roads were at most one lane in each direction with a line in the middle, California had two wide lanes in each direction with room to park against each curb.
At the top of the ridge where California turned north there was another roadblock, this time utilizing not just cars, but several wooden barriers that were built in place across the roadway. This one kept people from coming south into the canyon area. Probably part of the same group with the roadblock over on Avenue G. They probably have one on the other side of the canyon keeping people from coming north on California from the south side of the city. There was no way to go around, it was either backtrack or go through. Well, they’re keeping people out, not in, right? Rob could also see that the handful of people manning the roadblock weren’t very disciplined. They were all talking, two were outright laughing loudly, and at least half had their flashlights continuously on, giving away their positions, destroying their night vision, and wasting battery power.
Rob moved up into the street and approached the roadblock from behind. He coughed a few times to make sure he had their attention, so he wouldn’t startle them as he walked up. Someone coming up from the “wrong” side of the roadblock got a reaction. “What the hell?” a short thin white man in his fifties carrying an AR-15 said, bewilderment in his voice. “Where did you come from? You aren’t from our neighborhood.”
“You’re right, I’m not. I’m just walking through trying to get home,” Rob replied.
“Did they let you through on t
he other side? They aren’t supposed to do that.” The bewilderment had been replaced by something akin to irritation.
Rob shook his head, “No, they didn’t let me through. You guys have a weak spot.”
“What do you mean, weak spot?” the man asked, clearly offended Rob would have the gall to question his neighborhood’s security arrangement.
“You know that dirt service road that runs next to the storm canal?” Rob got a nod. “It runs all the way through to the far end near Calimesa. It’s wide open, no one covering it. I came up from 3rd.”
“3rd Street?” Rob nodded and could see the man’s mind racing before he realized what Rob was saying. “Oh man, that is not good. Roger is not going to be happy that was overlooked.” He turned to a young teenager in his group. “Go tell Roger about the service road, he needs to address it right away.” The teen didn’t reply but jumped onto his bike and pedaled away as fast as he could. They are using them as runners. That’s pretty damn smart. Good way to pass info as quick as possible when needed, Rob thought. The man continued, “Well, I guess you are good to pass through. I’m supposed to keep people out, nothing about keeping people in.”
“Hey before I go, have you seen those dirt bikes riding through the canyon?” Rob was hoping to get any information he could.
“Yeah, what about ‘em?” the man asked suspiciously.
“I’ve seen them twice, once down at the bottom of Avenue G when I first turned off Calimesa Blvd, and the second just a little bit ago. One wrecked coming down 3rd headed south. There was another one and they were able to get the first one up and continue on. The bike sounded a little damaged but was rideable, and they took off. I’m just wondering who they were. They a threat? They just with you guys scouting around? Just trying to figure out what I might have to deal with in the future.”
“Okay, I guess that makes sense. We don’t know who they are. Every day they ride by the barricades a couple times. At first, I thought they were scouting our setup here, but we haven’t had any issues with them, so I’m not sure. Now I kinda think they’re just kids out joy riding, but who knows?” the man shrugged.
“Okay, thanks for the info. I’ll head out then,” Rob said as he gave the man a nod and passed through the barrier. The man didn’t respond so Rob just walked away and approached the intersection of California and Wildwood Canyon Road.
On the northeast corner of the intersection was a gas station. Rob could see two people sitting on lawn chairs in front of the doors. He immediately recognized them as the owners of the business. Joe Campbell and his son Joe Campbell Jr, who went by his initials, JC. Rob only knew them in passing from stopping there for gas a few times per month, but they were always friendly, both always had big smiles and were always in a good mood. JC was a spitting image of his father, white around five-foot seven and one hundred eighty pounds, brown hair and green eyes, and save for Joe’s older looks, they could have been brothers.
After checking his watch, 8:01 pm, Rob decided to stop and say hello. He was so close to home it was a hard decision to make, but knew a friendly visit now could pay off in the long run. As Rob approached, walking through the parking lot and passing the gas pumps, he noticed both men had Ruger Mini-30 rifles, one propped against the wall next to Joe and one laying across JC’s lap.
Rob greeted them when he was close enough to be heard without raising his voice, “Hey Joe, JC, how you guys doing?”
JC responded with a nod, Joe responded with a question, “Hey, Rick, right?”
Rob smiled, not at all offended by the mistake. “Rob.”
“Sorry about that, Rob,” Joe said as he stood and shook Rob’s hand with his usual smile.
“No worries. I’m surprised you were that close. I know you got a lot of customers and remembering us all would be quite the feat,” Rob said. “So, how’s it going around here?”
“Not too bad considering. So far we haven’t had any widespread rioting or looting. Everything we have heard of is small time stuff, small groups hitting one or two houses on a street then leaving. Most of the smaller stores in town haven’t been hit as most are being protected by their owners, like me and JC here,” Joe waved his hand towards his son before continuing. “The big grocery stores have all been emptied out though. I think Yucaipa is doing a little better than most of the surrounding areas. At least that’s what I gather from the ham radio.”
The mention of the radio got Rob excited and his questions came out in a rush “You have a ham?” Joe nodded. “What have you been hearing? What’s it like in the cities? Is the blackout widespread? Or just southern California? Or the whole country or world? You hear anything about the military or government trying to help out? What about news from Arizona? How about-”
“Hold up, hold up. Slow it down speed racer,” Joe interrupted, laughing.
“Sorry,” Rob said, chuckling but a little embarrassed. “I felt like a kid in a candy store for a second. I was at work in Riverside when the EMP hit. I walked through Moreno Valley, San Tim and Live Oak, then up Avenue G to here. I met a few people, but no one has heard anything from anywhere else, except for the emergency message the feds were broadcasting.”
“Damn, that’s a hike,” Joe said with a touch of admiration in his voice. “I’m surprised you made it that far without being ambushed. I power up the ham every six or eight hours and listen, but there is so much being transmitted it’s hard to make out what’s going on. The little I’ve been able to gather is that the entire world was hit, nowhere was spared. The big cities are complete chaos, gangs and whatnot taking over. No word from the government other than that emergency broadcast, but if you ask me I wouldn’t hold my breath on any assistance from them. That’s the short of the long of what I’ve heard. I did hear that several dozen planes all along the final approach into Palm Springs, Ontario, and LAX all went down and caused some serious damage to places in the Low Desert, the Inland Empire, and into LA.” The areas Joe mentioned were regions within southern California, each encompassing numerous cities and population centers.
Rob took a moment to process what Joe said, then asked, “Nothing from Arizona? My family lives in Sierra Vista, down past Tucson near the border.” Rob didn’t really expect any news but asked anyway.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Joe said shaking his head. “Like I said, the airwaves have been cluttered with stuff. It’s hard to figure it all out. But if I do hear anything I’ll be sure to let you know if I see you again.”
“I appreciate that man, thanks,” Rob said. “Hey, you guys still taking cash for supplies?”
Joe shared a conspiratorial smile with JC before saying to Rob, “Me and you both know cash is completely useless in our new society here.”
“Preppers?” Rob asked him, asking Joe straight out if he was one of the few in America who prepared for end of the world type scenarios.
“Something like that. And if I had to bet, I’d say you are set up yourself,” Joe said while pointing at Rob’s chest.
“Something like that,” Rob confirmed without saying too much. “So, what will you take for payment now?”
Joe’s answer was predictable, “Food, ammo, some jewelry maybe. Anything that has real world value.”
“Yeah that makes sense. Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you have a working ham? Wouldn’t the EMP fry it, especially since it was hooked up to an antenna?” Rob was genuinely puzzled.
“Oh yeah. And it certainly did. It even melted the wire running from the antenna to the ham. Fried the radio itself too. We had a spare ham ready to go for a situation like this. Running a new wire and putting up a new antenna was the easy part,” Joe answered, obviously proud of their preparations.
“What was the hard part?” Rob wanted to know.
“Not really the hard part but getting power to it. Right now, we’re using a generator. Hopefully we can convert that to solar at some point. Gas is going to go bad at some point, and there will be no one left to refine more. At least not in my life
time. And maybe not even in yours and JC’s lifetime.”
“Yeah that’s true I guess.” Rob decided he had spent enough time there. “Thanks for the chat Joe. I’m gonna take off, I gotta get home.” Rob stuck out his hand and shook Joe’s hand.
“Thanks for stopping by, it’s good to see friendly faces. If you need anything, me and JC will be here,” Joe said while waving his hand towards his son.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you guys around,” Rob said. He gave JC a wave then turned and walked back through the parking lot.
As he approached the street he tried to decide which route to take while he checked his surroundings. I can go straight through on California, but there are those two trailer parks on the left that are always having issues with all the drug dealers and stuff. Or I can cut up to Bryant and go around. Less houses that way but it will add on a little time. Rob decided to take Bryant Street. He was anxious to get home but wanted to get home in one piece, so he turned and headed east once more, this time on Wildwood Canyon. He made it to Bryant, passing several houses and empty cars stopped into the roadway without incident, then turned left on Bryant to head north.
The first street Rob reached was Sunlight Drive, a T-intersection that went to his right, and checked the street. He was glad he did. Five houses up Sunlight from the intersection was a group of nine or ten people all in their twenties and all carrying flashlights and weapons. Mostly bats and poles, but Rob thought he could see a couple guns as well, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. He stopped and watched discreetly as the group walked up to the house. They didn’t bother to knock, just kicked open the front door and rushed in, with several going around the back. Holy shit, it’s a group of looters, and not even a mile from my house.
