Next World Series (Vol. 1): Families First

by Ewing, Lance K.

“We do have family in Colorado and we also have two fairly secluded bug-out locations to weather this disaster and start over.

  “Our neighborhood here, which we all love, will be reduced to violence and most likely ashes in two or three weeks. We are just too close to Dallas to mount a proper defense against looters, gangs and the mass of displaced refugees that will pass through here, headed for the surrounding county small towns, farms and ranches.

  “Any city man who has ever hunted or shot a gun will be bringing his family to the country when the city runs out of resources. With grocery stores looted in days, it won’t take long for a million starving people to end up on our doorstep. They will be desperate and will do anything to feed their families. We don’t want to be here when that happens.

  “I want Mike to speak for a few minutes about what he knows from listening to his radio yesterday and what it means to us.”

  Mike went on to relay what he had told us earlier.

  I continued: “Lonnie, Mike, Jake and I are going to go after more supplies this afternoon. We need some volunteers to help secure more provisions. Anyone willing to help?” I asked.

  Most of the men raised their hands.

  “Good. I’ll pick four for now” and selected the ones I wanted. We had a quick meeting and formulated a plan to get the items overlooked by most people in a crisis.

  Each of us grabbed a cart from the garage. We had eight men and only four carts. We split into two groups, one heading to the CVS pharmacy down the street and the other to the Lowe’s Hardware store, about two miles in the opposite direction.

  Lonnie and Mike split, with Lonnie going with me and two other guys to Lowe’s, and Mike with Jake and the two others to CVS.

  We all agreed that it would be good to have an officer with each group, in case we ran into law enforcement, but in civilian dress so as not to draw too much attention from everyone else.

  I was hoping that the Lowe’s wouldn’t be overrun yet and brought a crowbar and lock cutters just in case we were the first.

  As we passed the Market Street grocery store we had been to just two days before, it was a zoo. People were running around with half-full carts in the parking lot and throughout the store, from what we could see walking by. There were fistfights that we wanted no part of, and an occasional scream from inside the store. The jig was up and everyone now knew it.

  The trek to Lowe’s was only two miles but seemed like ten. We were all on full guard, covering all four directions of our periphery. We didn’t want any surprises.

  “Check that out,” announced one of the guys with us, as he pointed to the Best Buy store across the street.

  “Looks like New Orleans after the hurricane,” I interjected, having to laugh. There was a steady stream of people carrying out all types of electronics, mostly big-screen TVs.

  “I wonder how long it will take,” said Lonnie, “before they realize they should have been grabbing food?” “You will know,” I laughed, “when they try to sell you their new TV.” We all got a laugh out of that.

  We approached Lowe’s from the front, as we had done earlier with the grocery store. No use going through the back since the front windows were smashed and there were obviously people inside.

  “You’re sure about this?” Lonnie asked me in a serious tone. “I mean about it being long-term? There is a big difference between me looking the other way when you guys came out of the grocery store with full carts and me going into this store and being a part of it.”

  “I understand,” I told him, “and I can assure you that if you ever get your old job back, most people in this great country will be dead and everyone who survived will have done this and much worse to stay alive.”

  It took about ten minutes to get our game plan together, including trying to secure two more carts and the items we had discussed earlier—the propane tanks, heirloom seeds for us and hybrid to trade. We were on the lookout for batteries, nonelectric tools, and a variation of building supplies, including nails, bolts and screws. We all four had our pistols with us and Lonnie and I had his riot shotguns.

  “OK, guys. In and out in twenty minutes or less,” announced Lonnie. “And we stick together, no matter what.”

  It was decided we would go in with our weapons drawn, in a show of force while not pointing them in anyone’s general direction. I hoped this would not backfire on us, drawing the wrong type of attention.

  Approaching the front door, those coming out had no idea of what was really going on. There were regular carts and flat ones loaded with electric saws, air conditioners, barbecues, and even a couple of lawn mowers.

  To my surprise, the lock was still on the propane tank cage in the front of the store and it appeared to be full of tanks. “We will have to get these on the way out,” I said to the group, “or we will give a lot of folks ideas they clearly don’t have yet.”

  Once inside, we headed straight for the vegetable-seed displays. We all smiled when we saw the entire display was full of seeds. I wanted the heirloom variety for our group, since once planted you can harvest the seeds each year and replant them. There were also a lot of hybrid varieties. These were more resistant to pests and would be easy to grow, but you only get one season. These would be great for trade. In a couple months, seeds, bullets and meds would be like trading gold coins. We loaded an entire cart with vegetable and fruit seeds.

  Next we were on to the hand tools. We split up in this section, each of us having a mini list to accomplish. Mine had hammers, wood- and hacksaws, socket wrench sets and screwdrivers. I took as many as I could fit in my cart, knowing full well we could trade anything above what our group would need.

  The four of us gathered near the middle of the store, with our lists complete. “Let’s make some room for the propane tanks on our way out,” I pointed out.

  I was interrupted by two men arguing while walking near us. One saying, “It’s just not right, man. We should do something to help those poor girls,” and the other saying, “We’re just outnumbered; there’s nothing we can do.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked them.

  “They have a couple of young girls in the back and I think they’re going to hurt them,” one of the men said.

  “How many men are there?”

  “About three or four, I think,” he said.

  There was a scream from the back of the store. There was no doubt it was one of the girls.

  “I can’t just let this happen,” stated Lonnie. “I know,” I replied. “Me neither.”

  “All right,” I told the two others with us, “we are going to use our carts as cover. All of us will go down adjacent aisles, pretending to look for supplies.

  “We will meet at the end of the aisle and catch them by surprise. Anyone having to fire needs a clear shot. I don’t want a girl or innocent person getting hit or any one of us. Got it?” All nodded yes, even Lonnie.

  “Are you going in as police?” I asked Lonnie.

  “I’ll try it, but in civilian clothes it will be tough. Be ready to engage if it comes down to it,” he added.

  Another scream came from the back of the store but it wasn’t the same girl.

  “Go! Go! Go!” I whispered to the others.

  We each took an aisle right next to each other. I had toilets and faucets. Not much to browse for here.

  All four of us made it to the end of the aisles about the same time. It didn’t matter, as it turns out, because the four men didn’t even see us. They had their backs turned and were trying to rip the clothes off of the two girls. The girls were both crying and saying, “Please stop! Please don’t do this!”

  We all four got low and drew our weapons. Lonnie gave a nod to the rest of us and in a booming voice said, “McKinney Police! Don’t move! Put your hands in the air!”

  The four men turned around quickly and raised their hands. “It’s just a misunderstanding,” said the first one. “We were just trying to help these girls get back home.”

  “Ladies,” L
onnie shouted, “come back behind us right now.”

  Two of the men blocked the girls, holding their arms out. “Not so fast,” said one. “You don’t look like a fucking pig cop. You all best go on about your business,” he warned, lifting his shirt to reveal a pistol on his left hip. I was already done with this guy and trained my pistol on his left hand as I remarked, “I see you’re a lefty.”

  “Who the fuck asked you?” he spat, just as I squeezed the trigger and put a 9mm hollow point through his left hand. He screamed, and one of the girls got past him and ran to us.

  The other three grabbed at their sides as I yelled “Duck!” to the second girl. She fell to the floor as we all four fired our pistols. The other man with his arms out, blocking the girls, was first struck in the groin. I wasn’t sure who fired that shot but it was a statement, for sure. I hit him in the forehead with the next shot, stifling his screams. The rest was chaos. One man was able to pull his weapon and fired two shots before we could drop him. The first went just over my head and the second hit Lonnie in the upper left shoulder with a thud and a spew of blood. He went down, holding his shoulder. “I’m hit,” he said. “Keep firing.”

  In an instant it was over. Four men lay motionless on the ground with multiple gunshot wounds. The only thing I could hear was the girl in front of us wailing. “Jeanine!” she screamed. “Jeannine!” She ran towards me and right past, reaching the girl behind us who was flat on the floor. “Oh my God! She’s dead!” she announced.

  My mind was racing… I only heard two shots in our direction and I could account for both.

  I checked the four men, making sure they were dead, before anything else.

  “Lonnie, where are you hit?” I asked.

  “I’m OK,” he replied. “He got me in the shoulder. Hurts like hell, though.”

  I turned to the girl. She was still motionless on the floor. I checked for breathing and a pulse. I found both. I couldn’t see any obvious gunshot wounds on her. “I think she passed out,” I offered. “She’s alive and breathing.”

  She opened her eyes and asked, “What happened?” “You’re OK, Ma’am. Everything is going to be OK now,” consoled Lonnie.

  I picked up the pistols from the dead men and checked for other magazines, finding one for each pistol.

  We found out the girls lived close to here and vowed to get them home to their parents.

  “All right, guys,” I announced. “Let’s find a first-aid kit and meet at the front of the store by the propane tanks.”

  We fanned out and headed to the front with the girls. “Got one,” shouted John, one of the men with us. We met outside, with more than a few people pointing toward us and whispering.

  “Lonnie, we need to get you patched up as best we can before we do anything else,” I said. We used the scissors in the first-aid kit to cut the sleeve off his shirt. I looked his shoulder over. “Good news, buddy. The wound is through and through.”

  I checked the clip from the pistol and saw the rounds were 9mm ball. “More good news,” I announced—got ball ammo. A hollow point would have made Swiss cheese out of your shoulder.” We wrapped the shoulder and stopped the bleeding.

  “Chris, take Lonnie home. Jim and I will catch up after we drop off the girls,” I asserted.

  “The hell you will,” said Lonnie. “I’m not dying and we don’t need to be splitting up right now. Let’s get these propane tanks and get these girls home.”

  The bolt cutters we brought made short work of the lock on the propane cage. There were a few empties in it but also seven full tanks that we loaded into the cart. After a bit of rearranging of the carts, we tied two together, front-to-back. We would take turns with these, since Lonnie would not be able to push one himself.

  The girls got us back to their neighborhood and to Jeannine’s parents’ house. We explained to her dad what happened and he was distraught, as was to be expected. “I just didn’t think it was this bad,” he stated.

  “How are you set for guns?” I asked him. “Not good, I’m afraid. Things got bad when the price of oil dropped last year and I got laid off the oil rig out in the Gulf. I had to sell my guns off one by one to pay our bills. I sold my last one two weeks ago.”

  I pulled out two of the pistols from the guys who tried to hurt his daughter and handed them to him with all of the extra loaded magazines.

  “Can you get her home OK?” I asked, gesturing to the other girl whose name I hadn’t gotten in all the chaos.

  “Sure. She lives just down the block.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “We have to get this guy back home and patched up. Get together with a few neighbors you trust and get out of town as quickly as possible. This power outage and all the bad that comes with it will be long-term.”

  “Thank you,” he said, “for saving them from those men. May God bless you and your families.”

  “I wonder how Mike and his guys are doing?” asked Lonnie out loud. “Ah shit,” I replied. “I forgot I have two walkie-talkies from one of my faraday bags but I haven’t even thought to use them.”

  “Let’s make a quick stop by CVS on the way back and see if they’re still there,” suggested Lonnie.

  We came up on the store parking lot and I could see Mike and the two others with two full carts. Mike had his gun out and was pointing it at two men on the ground. As we approached, Lonnie shouted, “Hey Mikey! I see you’ve made some friends.”

  “I see you did, too,” said Mike, pointing at Lonnie’s gauze-wrapped shoulder.

  “Yeah, but yours are still breathing,” I interjected. “Awe,” it’s nothing,” replied Mike. “We were just talking—right gentleman?” “Yes, yes, Sir,” came two terrified voices from the ground in front of him.

  “They were just about to apologize for being assholes. Am I right, guys?”

  “Yes, Sir. We are truly sorry.”

  “All right. Get up and don’t let me see you again around here,” barked Mike. They ran off and Mike added, “Well, that was fun. How’s your shoulder, Lonnie?”

  “I’ll be all right,” he claimed. “Just a lucky shot through and through. The guy shooting didn’t fare so well, though.”

  “Tell me you scored some coffee,” I said to Mike. “Yep,” he replied—“all they had.”

  Mike and his guys had full carts, so we all headed back home together.

  Lonnie’s wife, Jane, was clearly concerned when we walked in the front door. She was crying and kept asking if he would be OK. “I’m going to be fine, Honey, he assured her. “The funny thing,” he continued, “is that, after twenty years on the force with no injuries, I just go a few days in the new world and end up shot.” “I don’t think that’s funny at all,” Jane insisted. “Me neither,” Joy agreed.

  “Listen,” I interjected. “Let’s get Nancy to take a look at him and get him patched up. He needs to get some rest.”

  Nancy took him to the office to assess his wound. Jake was in the backyard with Danny. I put an arm around his shoulder and whispered we were able to save two girls today, about Samantha’s age. “God is still here and is looking out for us.” “Thank you, brother,” he replied. “You don’t know what it means to me to hear that.”

  “Hey, Danny. What’s up?” I asked, upbeat and smiling. “Not much. Just hanging around with Daddy. Where did you guys go?” he asked.

  “We just went to a couple of stores and got a bunch of supplies,” I added, with a nod to Jake. “With another run or two,” I said, looking at Jake, “we could open up our own cart shop!” We both laughed at this and Danny joined in.

  “Let me check on my boys and I’ll fill you in later,” I told him.

  Everyone wanted to know what happened, and I let Mike and Chris tell the stories.

  I went into my bedroom with Joy, Jax, Hudson and Hendrix and just talked about superheroes and funny cartoons. I needed to be a dad and husband for a little while, and nothing else.

  “Daddy,” said Jax. “Veronica and Suzie have brown skin, like our Kin
dergarten teacher, and we have peach skin.” “Yes, son, that’s right,” I replied.

  “Veronica told us she was from Africa America, Daddy. Where is that?”

  “I think she may have said ‘African American’ and it just means that some of her family were originally from Africa. There are African Americans, Asian Americans, and Hispanic Americans, like Officer Lonnie.”

  “So what kind of Americans are we?” asked Hudson. “That’s a good question,” I agreed. “We have family from Ireland and England, so I guess we would be European Americans.”

  “That’s really confusing,” replied Jax, “because we all live in America now.”

  “I know, son, but it looks like you’re going to have new sisters. We need to take great care of them. They lost their Mommy and Daddy.”