Apocalypse Law 3

by John Grit

  Nate rubbed his whiskered chin. “Okay, I’ll ask you flat out. What do you think?”

  Brian’s eyes rounded. “Uh, I don’t know. I need to think about it a few days.”

  Nate chuckled. “Some help you are.”

  “Well.” Brian threw his hands in the air. “You’ve had longer to think about it than me. You just brought it up.”

  Nate laughed. “Making decisions isn’t so easy, is it? And this isn’t the first time we talked about it”

  Brian rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it was. Besides, we need to know more about how things work in their group and ask a lot of questions before we decide. They may not want us anyway.”

  “We certainly need to learn how difficult it will be to leave when the time comes. I doubt such a relationship will be forever. Someday, we will want to come back to our farm.” Nate’s eyes lit up. “You’re thinking more like a man every day. Yes, we need more information before we can decide. The list of things to be worried about is long. Now you see what I meant by considering the pros and cons. This is a big decision.”

  “We need to spend more time with them to get to know what they’re like under stress, that’s for sure.” Brian looked down at the table.

  Nate looked at his son. God, he’s growing up fast. “I know I can count on you when it hits the fan. You have proven that to me many times.”

  Brian raised his eyes. He turned red, but he smiled.

  “I’m not sure exactly what kind of system of government they have there. It seems to be a commune, but with Mrs. MacKay as kind of a leader. Many of the people there are former employees, so she’s the boss.”

  “They call her Mrs. MacKay, even when she’s not around; that’s a good sign,” Brian said.

  “Yes it is. They respect the fact the farm is hers and accept her as their leader for that reason. She’s also a good farm foreman, and they know that. The thing is, she was a horse person, not a farmer of crops. She needs someone to help her. I would bet many of her former employees know a little about farming from working as migrant workers on vegetable farms, but they do need help if they’re going to produce enough food to feed them all.”

  “That means we will be bringing something to the table even without Mel’s supplies.” Brian thought for a second. “I don’t feel right about giving away his stuff.”

  “I agree.”

  “So when we go to get the waterwheel generator we might as well go with them to Mrs. MacKay’s farm and stay long enough to see if we might want to join them?”

  “Yes. We’ll leave the generator at our farm until we get back.” Nate stood and looked out a loophole to judge the time by the sun’s position in the sky. “Mel’s supplies are not really ours to give. He said we could take what we need, not hand it out to people he does not even know.” He turned back to Brian. “Grab your rifle. We’re going to the cave. We can give them some of our ammo and leave Mel’s stuff alone.”

  ~~~~

  Nate waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark cave’s interior. What little light there was came in through the open doorway. “Grab an empty pack and put some ammo in it to give to Gary. He’s been asking for some. Just take our ammo, not Mel’s.”

  Brian found a well-worn ALICE pack and slapped dust off of it.

  “Put in twenty rounds of buckshot,” Nate told him. “We don’t have much, and that’s about all we can spare. There’s plenty of 7.62 and 5.56, so put in two hundred rounds of each.”

  “Okay.” Brian opened a second military surplus ammunition can. “It’s going to add a lot of weight. Our packs and load-bearing harnesses are already heavy with our usual ammo load and more food than we usually take on a trip.”

  “We’re going to be carrying more than you think.” Nate searched through tools leaning against the cave wall. “Cold weather’s here early, and it looks like it’s here to stay for a while. We better take our sleeping bags and a heavy coat this time.”

  Brian nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we better.” He shoved two more boxes of rifle ammunition into the old pack. “My socks are all holey, and I don’t mean Godly. I wish I had some thicker ones for cold weather.”

  “There are some wool socks in the back end of the cave, where Mel put all of his extra clothing.” Nate found the tools he had been looking for. He carried a shovel and an ax out of the cave, left them leaning against a pine tree, and came back in to help Brian. “Let’s go back there and see what we can find.”

  “Okay. I’ve got the ammo packed.”

  Besides two pairs of wool socks and three more of thin nylon for both of them, they found nothing else that would fit. Everything was too large for Brian and too small for Nate.

  Outside the cave, Nate closed the heavy steel door and pushed the hidden bolts home. Brian put the padlocks in place.

  Nate pointed to a limestone rock. “Put the pack over there out of the way.” He waited for Brian to return. “Here.” He handed Brian the shovel. “Follow me. We have to plant some brush in front of the door and try to hide it.”

  “Are we going to try to hide the bunker too?” Brian asked.

  “Maybe we’ll put in a little camo,” Nate said.”

  Nate dug around several large bushes, saving as much of the roots as possible. Brian gathered leaves to cover the holes, so as not to leave them for anyone to find. Brian helped him carry them to the cave entrance. There, they dug holes and planted the bushes to hide the cave door.

  “Let’s get to the bunker.” Nate slung his rifle on his left shoulder and carried the tools. “Grab the pack, but keep your carbine in your hands and your eyes working.”

  They filled two five-gallon buckets with water from the hand pump in the bunker and carried them back to the cave and watered the bushes in an attempt to help them survive their transplant.

  “Chances are they will die, but that’s all we can do,” Nate said. “It would be better if they live, because when they turn brown it will be a dead giveaway to anyone looking for sign of artificial camouflage.”

  Brian did not say anything, but he had that look he often had whenever he learned something from his father.

  Nate noticed Brian’s interest. “When you cut green brush to camouflage, say a sniper hide, you have to replenish it with fresh brush every few days, or the dry, browning camo will give your position away faster than if you had not bothered to camouflage it at all. Here, I’m trying to transplant brush so they will live and stay green while we’re gone.”

  Brian nodded.

  Nate picked up a bucket. “Let’s get back to the bunker. We need to hit the sack early tonight.”

  They woke the next morning and dressed without benefit of any light. Nate wanted to protect their night vision. They sat in the dark and ate a cold breakfast of canned wild pork and biscuits. Just as the dark woods began to grey into false dawn, they locked the bunker door and headed for the farm, heavily loaded with supplies and extra ammunition.

  Chapter 11

  Nate stood just inside the woods line and glassed his farm with binoculars. “Looks like we got here before they did.”

  Brian swept the woods behind them, searching for signs of danger. “How does the place look, anyone tear the place up?”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been there since we left.” Nate lowered his binoculars. “Let’s ease around to the north and wait for them by the driveway.”

  Thirty minutes later, they found shade to make it more difficult for anyone to see them while they waited. “Take your pack off and sit down.” Nate pointed to a log. “You might as well relax.” He took his own pack off and repositioned where he could keep watch over the drive and his home.

  Brian sat down and arched his tired back. “You still thinking about joining them?”

  “We won’t be making that decision any time soon.” He glanced at his son and then continued to sweep the area with his eyes. “You be thinking about it. Over the next few days, we will get to know them a little better and see how they do things.
I figure we can stay with them a while a few times and learn more about their ways before deciding.”

  “Before you decide you’re going to talk with me first, aren’t you?”

  Nate turned to his son. “Of course. This is a big decision, and we need to consider all the angles first. There’s no hurry. Judging from our conversations about it, I don’t think either one of us has decided yet. That’s why I want you to keep it on your mind between now and then. If you do not want to join them, we won’t.”

  Brian’s eyes looked inward. “Okay.”

  Nate became more alert. “We have pickups coming.”

  Brian jumped to his feet, carbine in hand. “Is it them?”

  Nate nodded. “Ramiro is in the lead pickup.”

  Brian put his carbine down long enough to slip into his pack’s shoulder straps. Nate did the same as soon as Brian had his carbine in his hands again.

  Nate watched four pickups loaded with armed men stop between the house and barn. He scanned the far woods line with his binoculars, looking for anyone who might be waiting in ambush.

  Brian continued to scan the woods behind them. “You’re waiting to see if they are attacked before we show ourselves. That’s almost like using them for bait.”

  Nate’s eyes darted to his son. “Are you judging me? If they are attacked, we can help them from here a lot better than if we are in the kill zone with them. It’s not my fault they didn’t send scouts out on both sides of the farm before driving up like it’s normal times and there’s no danger.” He resumed scanning the woods. “Besides all of that, I will always value your life over any other, even our friends.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t judging you, Dad. I was just observing.”

  Nate let the binoculars hang from his neck and turned back to his son. “Keep doing that; it’s how you learn. What you said is basically correct, but I did not set them up as bait. They made mistakes, and I adjusted to that. We’ve been through this exact same thing before, and we were standing in about the same place, but you didn’t say anything then. You probably didn’t notice what was really going on. This time you did. It shows you’re learning. Remember what I said about you having only one life. Never forget that.”

  Two men carried something out of the back of the pickup closest to the barn and set it down in front of the barn door. Nate took one last look at the far woods line. “Let’s go. It appears safe. You stay back twenty feet and don’t come out of the woods until they have seen and recognized me.”

  “Right.” Brian held his carbine so the muzzle pointed skyward.

  Nate stepped out into the open, holding his rifle above his head with both hands. A man pointed toward Nate and yelled something. Several other men unslung their rifles and prepared for trouble, some got behind pickups for cover. Nate kept walking. Ramiro met him halfway and shook his hand. Brian stepped out of the woods and walked up to them, taking quick steps.

  Ramiro welcomed Brian. “I am happy to see you again also, my friend.” He shook Brian’s hand.

  “Yes sir.” Brian stepped back to let the men talk.

  Ramiro became serious. “We are all so saddened by the needless tragedy you have suffered. The news hit Kendell hard. He must have thought much of those lost.”

  “The boy didn’t know us long,” Nate said, “but he seems to care about people more than the average person. He went through hell for those children he’s been taking care of.”

  Ramiro nodded. “Kendell has already proven to be a great asset to the group.”

  “Well, let’s not stand here any longer,” Nate said. “There has been shooting along the river lately, and we are perfect targets out here in the open.”

  They joined the others in front of the barn. “Throw your packs in a truck,” Ramiro said, “then show us where you want the generator.”

  Nate and Brian looked the waterwheel generator over. Brian turned the wheel, moving a paddle a few inches. “You’re right, Dad. It will take a pretty big waterfall to spin this fast enough.”

  “They did a good job on it. Someone at the horse farm knows how to weld,” Nate said. “Brian and I are going to have to scrounge up a few car batteries and some heavy wire, also, some thin wire for lights.”

  Ramiro smiled. “We brought four batteries with us. We had only twenty feet of large gauge wire, though.”

  “It’s going to be fun carrying all this heavy stuff down to the river,” Brian mused. He glanced up at his father. “But I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Nate smiled. “No, of course not.” He turned to Ramiro. “We might as well put this back in the truck with the batteries, so we can drive as close to the river as possible and leave it all hid in the woods. It will be as safe there as in the barn, and rain will not hurt it.”

  A man helped Nate lift the generator into the back of a pickup. Nate and Brian rode in the back while the man drove down to the lower end of Nate’s field. They unloaded everything, hid it in brush, and rejoined the others.

  Ramiro was sitting on an open tailgate. He motioned for Nate to sit beside him. Brian sat on the ground under a nearby tree, his carbine across his lap. “We were hoping you would join us on a trip north of here.” Ramiro’s feet did not reach the ground. He swung them back and forth in the air as he spoke. “The town fifteen miles north of Mrs. MacKay’s farm may still offer scavenging possibilities. We need fuel, especially LP and diesel. We also need wire and more twelve volt light bulbs, so we can wire the house. There are many other items, too many to name.”

  “I guess you have scavenged all the light bulbs, batteries, and other items you can from the abandoned vehicles around here,” Nate said.

  “Yes,” Ramiro said, “we took anything of use.” He shifted his sitting position to face Nate more squarely. “Before the plague, there were several distribution centers just outside of town, warehouses full of food and merchandize.”

  Nate cleared his throat. “I thought of that too. But I’m sure those warehouses were emptied within weeks. Any that have not been picked clean are probably being held by armed men, waiting to kill anyone who shows up.”

  “I want to be clear: we do not want to go on a raiding party. The idea is to collect what has been left by the dead, not to take from the living. The warehouses may be empty, they may be held by others, but one of them may be sitting full of needful things with no one to protest us taking what will go to waste anyway. On the way, we can stop at homes and offer help to the living and collect what has been left to waste by the dead.”

  “All right.” Nate rubbed his whiskered chin in thought. “You know, the Guard may have taken over those warehouses and distributed the merchandise.”

  “I think we would have heard about such things, if that were the case. We have been listening to the short wave radio since the power grid went down and have heard nothing about the military handing out food anywhere in this county.”

  “The government fell flat on its face at all levels. You can’t blame them though; they lost people so fast they were short-handed in no time.” Nate’s eyes focused on Brian, who was close enough to hear. “If we go, my son stays by my side, and I have total authority over him and his safety.”

  Ramiro nodded. “Of course. You are his father.”

  Nate continued. “And, if at any time, I do not agree with what’s happening or I think things are getting too dangerous for Brian, I reserve the right to depart your group. If we have to walk all the way home, so be it.”

  “Agreed.” Ramiro revealed white teeth under his thick mustache. “But I am certain you will find us to be a careful people. We do not want to put your son in danger either, not to mention our own lives.”

  Nate nodded. “I am not a bad judge of character, and I think you are not the kind to go animal, and that goes for the others in your group, but in case I have miscalculated, let it be known right here and now, I have no interest in harming innocent people and will not tolerate it in my presence.”

  Ramiro slid off the tailgat
e and stood. He held his right hand out. “Good. Then we are in agreement on several matters.” Nate stood and shook his hand. “If there is nothing else,” Ramiro said, “let us go back to Mrs. MacKay’s farm and prepare for the long trip. We will be taking every running truck we have, including two flatbeds.”

  “Oh?” Nate motioned for Brian to come closer. “I hope we are successful, and manage to overload those trucks.”

  Ramiro raised his eyebrows, his smile stretched across his face. “We are all hungry and losing weight, and I see you are in need of a new pair of boots. Yes, hope for success, but prayer is more powerful than hope.”

  Nate got in the back of the truck and pulled Brian up with one hand. The heavy load they carried made getting up on the tailgate a chore for someone like Brian with short legs. “We will see,” Nate said, and sat down next to Brian.

  Two minutes later, the caravan of pickups headed up Nate’s drive. They turned north when they reached the dirt road.

  They stopped at several homes along the road, finding them looted and ransacked. It appeared the owners had all died in the plague or from starvation or violence not long after. They found no bodies fresh enough to have been victims of the bands of brigands that Nate, Brian, and their friends had fought many weeks before. The looters had left nothing of value to them. Nate did find an old garden tiller in a shed behind one home, but they had no usable gas for it. Brian looked it over. “I guess those lazy thieves had no use for farming equipment.” He looked up at his father. “We should remember this tiller, in case we find a kit in town to switch the engine over to LP.”

  “Small chance of that,” Nate said, “but we will keep our eyes open for small engine repair shops. Places like that might have such carburetor kits. We could also use them for gas-powered tractors and pickups. If we are able to scrounge up propane gas, converting gasoline engines would be a great help.”

  “Should be some LP not taken yet, the carburetor kits, probably not so easy to find.” Brian said.

  They went back to the trucks and waited for the others to finish searching. In a few minutes, they were on the move again, heading for Mrs. MacKay’s farm. They passed a few more homes, but Ramiro did not stop. It was getting late, and all the homes along the dirt road were likely to have been looted by the gang of raiders before the National Guard killed or captured them.