by A J Newman
“Help me push the Jeep out of the way.”
The Jeep was easy to move, and she saw that a section of the floor had raised an inch. Her father bent over and easily lifted the hatch to reveal a set of stairs that descended below the garage. The room was almost as large as the hidden section of the above ground garage. It was a small apartment with shelves stacked with food, clothing and other supplies. There were several weapons in a rack on the wall.
“Dad, this is wonderful. We can survive and hide from the bad guys. Do you have any more ammo?”
“Darling I have another surprise for you,” he said as he opened the door to another hidden room.
“This is the Armory, and our friends in Israel helped me stock it in case they needed a safe house in this part of the USA. We have over 30 safe houses across the country."
Davi saw a rack full of M4s, Uzis, several long range sniper rifles and a section devoted to pistols of all types.
“I also have LAWs, hand grenades and thousands of rounds for every weapon. My little Davi can kill all of the bad guys.”
“I hope that they only cut the USA out of the world stage and choose not to attack further. I hope to be able to contact our intelligence group and get an update tonight. What communication equipment do you have?
“I have walkie talkies, shortwave, and CB radios. I too planned to contact our old friends. I don’t think North Korea or Iran will try to invade the USA; however, I wouldn’t put anything past the Russians, Mexicans or Chinese.”
“Dad, why would the Mexican government invade the USA?”
“They want the bottom half of the USA that used to belong to them and still contains a lot of oil and natural resources.”
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Chapter 5 - Hightailing it Home
Iowa
I thought I was in pretty good shape for the shape that I was in at 35 years old; 5’10” and 200 pounds. I had never been a fitness nut, but I ran, worked out on my Bowflex and took long hikes through the woods. I was into backpacking and camping, which fit right into my prepping interest. I wasn’t dead tired, and I have covered at least 20 miles since my car died. I planned to walk 20 miles the first day and try for a minimum of 20 miles a day afterward. That’s just two miles an hour. I thought I could walk for 14 hours and rest the remaining 1o hours, so I had more than enough time built into my plan. The 20 miles wasn’t too bad, but people asking for help or needing water had stopped me a couple of times. I politely helped one woman check her husband’s pulse, and he was dead. His pacemaker stopped when his car stopped. She cried and asked me to take them to the hospital. I told her that she could walk with me to Iowa City, but she wanted to stay with her husband until the police came. I told her they might not come and she sent me on my way.
I had just walked under the Highway 1 underpass when I heard several gunshots to the north of me. I ducked behind a support column and saw several men beating the tar out of a guy in a hotel parking lot. It was about a hundred yards away, so I kept walking on down Highway 80 minding my own business. I have to get home, I kept reminding myself, and I can’t get involved in other people’s misfortune. Had I stepped in back there I could have been shot myself, and I don’t even know whom the good or bad guy was. Keep my nose out of other people’s problems would be my motto from now on. I walked faster. From time to time, I heard gunshots in the distance and knew that in just 24 to 48 hours all hell would break loose.
I kept watch ahead and behind every few minutes with my field glasses. From time to time, I looked at what was going on in the homes and villages along the way. I saw stalled cars and people milling around. I saw a house burning and as the day wore on, saw more and more large fires. Once I saw a house burning in the distance. I walked under the Highway 38 underpass, scanned the highway ahead and saw two young women waving at me. I waved back and peered through the field glasses for any hidden dangers. Seeing none, I walked closer to them until I saw several bodies strewn around a pile of luggage and boxes. I walked closer and saw that four men and a woman had been shot and dumped on the side of the road. Both of the young girls had also been shot, but only received flesh wounds. One had a graze to her side and the other a wound to her thigh where the bullet had passed on through without hitting bone or major blood vessels.
They both were crying and blubbering so much I couldn’t understand a word they were saying.
“Ladies, please calm down. Neither of you has a serious injury, the bleeding has stopped, and you will be okay. Who shot ya’ll and why?”
“We were driving along, and several men blocked the road with stalled cars and demanded that we give them the bus. When Bob told them to get fucked, they started shooting at us. We stopped and surrendered, but they took four of our friends and shot the rest of us. I’m sure they thought we were dead.”
“Were you in that VW bus that passed me this morning?”
“Yes.”
“The four friends they took with them were young pretty women, weren’t they?”
“Yes. Oh, my. They took them to….. Oh shit.”
“Yep, that about sums it up. They are now sex slaves to some assholes at the end of the world.”
“You are so calm discussing our friends being kidnapped and probably raped by now.”
“I can’t go to pieces about something I can’t control or do anything about. I’m walking home and have 400 more miles to go, so ladies, I’m leaving. Good luck.”
“Wait, we need to go to a hospital and need your help. Geena can’t even walk. Please help us.”
“See that farmhouse over there. I’ll help you to it, and perhaps they can get you to a hospital.”
“Thanks.”
We both helped the girl called Geena to the farmhouse, which was about half a mile away. I had to stop and cut the fence along the highway with my Leatherman since she couldn’t climb the fence. We traveled closer to the house when a voice yelled, “Stop. What do you want?”
I replied, “These women have been shot and need help.”
“Who shot them?”
“Some bastards shot them and stole their van.”
“Damn, the same assholes came through here and killed Tom who tends the farm for my husband and me. My grandson and I killed two of them, and they ran over to the highway several hours ago. Come on in and let me look at the girls. My name is Paula, and I’m a retired nurse. This is my grandson, Jake.”
“This is Geena and Sally, I’m Zack.”
“Geena, let’s look at your leg first.”
Paula examined, cleaned and bandaged both wounds.
“You two are lucky. Both bullets could have killed you if they weren’t such bad shots. Zack, do you know what happened? We were going about our day when everything stopped working, and planes started falling out of the sky.”
“Ma'am, I believe that the USA has been attacked with nuclear electromagnetic pulse bombs. They fry all electronics and knock out the power grid.”
“How long will it take to get the power back up and working? What about the cars?”
“Assuming there is no invasion, it could take six months to a year to get the major cities power and two to five years to get the rest of the country back to normal.”
“Well, I guess we can make it that long.”
“Ma'am, I hate to bring bad news, but you only saw a small example of what will be happening all over the country.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stores are running out of food and will be empty by tomorrow. There are no trucks or trains to deliver food, gas, medicine or other much-needed supplies to the stores. People will riot and start killing each other for scraps of food.”
“Damn that’s scary. Well, we have food and will just stay out of the cities until those bastards starve to death. The emergency broadcast said to stay indoors until the DHS says it’s safe.”
“Ma'am, it’s not that easy. When they run out of food in the cities, they will loot warehouses, and when those are empty, they will leave
the cities and break into houses and farms to find food. Eventually, they will come here and take your food. The DHS will only try to keep order in the large cities. They can’t be everywhere.”
“You really think people will kill us for our food?”
“If your grandson hadn’t eaten in a week, what would you do to get food for him?”
“Yes, I would kill to feed my kids and grandkids.”
“I hate to say it, but the country just went back 150 years in one day. The America that you know has died. The new America is about surviving. It’s getting dark outside. Don’t light any candles or lights that would attract attention.”
“I’ll fix a good supper for you tonight, and then we can figure out what to do. I have a freezer that is full of meat that will spoil, so let’s eat like kings before it does.”
“Thanks. I will be leaving early in the morning. I have to get back to my family, and they are 400 miles south of here in Kentucky.”
Paula asked, “Sally, where were you two headed when the lights went out?”
“We were headed to a Grateful Dead concert in Cincinnati. Geena has relatives there. I guess that’s where we will go when Geena can walk.”
Paula and Sally started cooking while Paula’s grandson and I went outside to make sure no one was prowling around.
“Hey, what’s in all of these barns?”
“That barn’s where Papa stores his farm equipment and this one’s where he stores his antique tractors and farm equipment. He rebuilds them himself.”
“Let’s take a look.”
We entered the barns, and there were over twenty tractors from the turn of the century up to the late '40s.
“Do any of them run? Did your Papa drive any of them?"
“Yes, all but those in the very back of the shop run. He let me drive them, and we took them to tractor shows at the county fair.”
I looked them over and had a plan hatching in my mind. I was wondering what I’d have to do to get one of those tractors. It would be slower than a car, but even at 15 miles an hour, I could be home in a week or so.
Sally called us in to eat. The table was piled high with steaks, baked potatoes, freshly baked bread and tea.
“Paula, where is your husband? Will he be here tonight?"
“He drove over to Davenport early this morning and hasn’t made it home yet. I expect that he is walking home just as you are. It’s about 40 miles to the other side of Davenport where he went, and I’d guess it will take a couple of days to get back home.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him. I have to go to Davenport to cross the Mississippi before heading south.”
She pointed to a picture on the mantle and said, “That’s his picture.”
I took a good look and hoped he was still alive, then said, “Paula, did you know while your trucks and cars won’t run, those old tractors will.”
“Are you sure they will run. We didn’t try them. I just assumed all vehicles wouldn’t run.”
“I’d like to borrow one of them to take me home to Kentucky.”
“Frank would have a fit if he knew that I loaned a tractor to someone I just met, but I have a deal for you. You can take one of the tractors and enough fuel to go home if you let my grandson and me tag along on another tractor to find my husband in Davenport. He went to his sister’s home on the east side of Davenport, and I want to go get him.”
I was speechless. I had been racking my brain trying to think of a way to convince this woman to give me a tractor, and she solves the problem.
“Of course I will help you, and we can drop these two women off at the hospital when we get to Davenport.”
“Zack, let’s head out at dawn. I have a bad feeling after what you told me, and I want Frank home safe.”
“You should bring your guns, ammo, food, and water for a week. Stuff happens, and you have to be prepared. Bring your medical gear also.”
“I’ll start getting it ready now. Frank has several old wagons that will work nicely to haul us and the gear.”
“I think we should have a guard posted through the night. We should break it into two-hour shifts, so everyone gets some sleep.”
They all agreed and quickly put a schedule together. Paula said, “I’ll get Frank's 12 gauge pump and load it with 00 buckshot for the guard.”
I added, “I'll show the girls how to use the shotgun and give everyone a few pointers on what to watch for. I’ll also put trip wires around the farm with some bells or tin cans to give us an early warning.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll let the beagles out of the pens to be guard dogs tonight.”
I looked at my watch and saw it was a little before 10:00 and got the portable ham radio out of my BOB, climbed to the top of the barn, turned it on and listened. There was a lot of chatter about the attack, but most of it was confusing and not too helpful. The radio is line of sight, so it only carries 10-15 miles unless you are high above the ground.
I keyed the mic and said, “This is Zack 321, pass on to Mike123 that I am okay and headed home.”
I received several replies they would pass my message on to Mike123.One man asked for my exact location, and I didn’t answer.
“Zack321, this is Pistol Pete, where are you? We need help.”
“Sorry, Pistol Pete, but I’m on the road and can’t lend assistance. Good luck.”
I slept on the front porch with an old double barrel shotgun so I could respond quickly if needed. The night was uneventful; however, I woke to hear gunfire in the distance several times. I had the last watch just before daybreak and woke the others as the sun peeked over the horizon.
The tractors started without any issues. Jake hitched the wagons to them, and the women loaded them with the supplies. Both tractors ran on diesel fuel. I found six five-gallon cans and filled them from Frank’s 100-gallon tank. Paula gave everyone a small bottle of milk and two ham sandwiches, and we were ready to leave.
Paula gave Jake, Sally, and Geena their choice of a shotgun or 9mm pistol. She showed how to use them and gave them a couple of boxes of ammunition.
Paula said, “I hope and pray that we don’t have any problems, but I don’t want to have a bunch of criminals kill us all for a damned tractor. Ladies, shoot to kill if you pull that trigger. No warning shots. Jake, you drive the lead tractor so Zack can keep an eye out for Papa. I gave Geena a pair of binoculars to watch the road, and I’ll drive the other tractor.”
I never thought two tractors could stir so much interest along our drive to Davenport. We barely made it to the highway before a family wanted us to take them west. I told them we were headed east and couldn’t help them. The man got angry and threatened me, but backed down when Paula leveled her shotgun at him and said, “Look, man, get away from us and start walking home before you get hurt.”
I kept watch ahead, and while I saw no obvious threats, it became clear to me that every living human could become a threat if they were starving or wanted to take our food, guns or tractors from us. I saw a large group of people milling around a tour bus on the eastbound lane and waved at Paula to let her know that we were moving to the other side before the people saw us. The people saw us and started waving to come over to them. We ignored them and stayed in the westbound lane. When they saw we weren’t joining them, several ran over to greet us.
“Hey, we need you to give us all a ride into Davenport so we can get a ride to St Louis.”
I replied, “I’m sorry, but we don’t have room for you, and you could have been there yesterday if you had started walking when your bus stalled.”
One large man came over and said, “Look, buddy, you can give us a ride, or we’ll take those tractors from you.”
He pulled a small pistol from under his shirt and raised it towards me. I pulled faster, drew my 1911 and shot him twice in the chest. He dropped like a sack full of hammers, and the others backed away. One woman ran up and tried to revive him.
“You killed my boyfriend, you bastard.”
Two men dragged the lady back towards the bus as she screamed at me, “I’ll get you. You don’t know who you are fucking with. My dad’s a senator, and he will make you pay for this.”
We kept going towards Davenport while ignoring or waving guns at the desperate people trying to force us to give them food, water or a ride. No one liked ignoring these needy people, but we couldn’t help them all and focused on getting further east.
Just before 9:00 a.m., Jake turned towards me, pointed and said, “There is a sign for the hospital.”
I turned off Highway 80 and followed the signs to the hospital. A few people came out and asked us if we had seen FEMA or DHS, but no one tried to stop us. I saw the hospital and drove the tractor up to the emergency room entrance where a nurse was performing triage on a crowd of mad people.
I heard a nurse say, “If you have a cold, allergies or just feel bad, go home. We are only treating broken bones, gunshot wounds and the very sick. We only have two doctors, and they are leaving tomorrow to go home to their own families.”
A woman in the crowd replied, “They can’t leave. They have to take care of us. The law says so.”
The nurse ignored the woman and after two hours finally made it to Sally and Geena. She examined their wounds, gave them each a bottle of antibiotics and told them to change the bandages frequently and seek medical attention if the wounds get worse. The girls thanked her and we were on our way again.
“It’s only the second day, and the hospitals are shutting down, and people are beginning to get mean and nasty. Imagine what they will be like in a week,” I said as we pulled away.
A man ran up and yelled, “Where are you going? I need a ride.”
Before I could answer, Paula, replied, “Sorry we aren’t taking on riders.”
“Look bitch I need a ride.”
