Surviving Home

by A. American

  “True, but we’re responsible for the situation here in Florida. Well, my Commanding Officer is. What he wants from you guys is harassing actions. He wants you guys to conduct guerrilla assaults against them at any opportunity.”

  Sarge stood there for a minute thinking, taking it in. He looked at Mike and Ted. They met his eyes and nodded. “Your call, boss,” Ted said. Mike gave a quick couple of nods of his head.

  Sarge looked back at Andy. “Hell, I ain’t even in the damn army anymore.”

  Andy smiled and said, “Then you can’t be charged with mutiny, can you?”

  Sarge laughed and said, “Not that it really matters.”

  Sarge asked Andy about support. If they were to conduct raids against the DHS, they would need more than a couple of carbines and one machine gun. Andy made Sarge’s day when he told him that they had a care package for him. It consisted of some demo and incendiary goodies, ammo and another M249. What really brought a smile to Sarge’s face was the four AT4s and the M203 and the 25 HE rounds for it.

  “Well, where the hell is it?” Sarge exclaimed.

  Andy said it was in the boat they had come in on and he told Chris and Travis to go bring it in. Sarge asked the others if they were hungry; he was always looking for a reason to cook.

  Andy said, “Hell, Sarge, I’m in the army, I’m always hungry.”

  Sarge went to his little kitchen and began to whip up a lunch of fried catfish, pinto beans and corn bread. Andy looked over at Sarge in his apron and dish towel draped over his shoulder.

  “Damn, Sarge, looks like you know your way around a kitchen.”

  Mike called out, “Yeah, he’ll make someone a fine wife one of these days.”

  Sarge slowly turned around. Ted made for the door. Sarge thumbed open his holster and drew the 1911, the very distinct sound of the hammer rolling back sounded like thunder in the cabin.

  Mike bolted upright and screamed, “Shit!” He shoved Andy ahead of him and ran like hell for the door. Ted was already outside on the deck. Doc had a “what the fuck?” look on his face as Mike and Andy nearly knocked him into the swamp. Clearing the door, Andy slammed it shut, leaning against it. His eyes were huge. “He wouldn’t really shoot you, would he?” he asked.

  “Probably not,” Ted said, and then to Mike, “Why do you always have to wind him up like that?”

  Mike grinned. “Think of it as a live-fire exercise.”

  Andy said, “I think DHS is gonna have more than it can handle.”

  “I shit you not,” Mike said.

  Chapter 4

  I sat on the porch enjoying a cup of coffee and the quiet of early morning. I used to sleep in, and I really enjoyed it, but since getting home I couldn’t seem to sleep past six. I was twirling the empty cup like a cowboy with a six-gun, one of the cups we had bought at Devils Tower, when I heard my gate rattle. I picked up the AR and walked down the steps.

  Mark was walking up the drive.

  “Morning, Mark, what’s up?”

  “Mornin’, Morgan, how’s it going?” he asked as he stuck out his hand.

  “Pretty good, how ’bout you?”

  “Good as can be expected I guess. I need a favor,” he said with a dour face.

  “What can I do?”

  “I need your Suburban. I need to go to Tavares and see the sheriff. We need some help out here and some direction on what to do. I have a feeling things are about to go to shit in a big way,” he said, his hands resting on his gun belt. He was wearing a pair of BDU pants and a sheriff’s office polo shirt with an SO jacket over it, the big gold star embroidered on it.

  “I’ll be happy to drive you anywhere you need to go. You’re the law and I’m glad you guys are out here, but I can’t give you my truck,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything, so I said, “If that’s a problem, we can settle it right now. The law’s confiscating vehicles in some of the places I been. You guys doing the same?” I unslung the carbine from my shoulder and flipped off the safety as I did.

  Mark said, “Put the rifle down, Morgan. I didn’t mean it that way. If you’ll take me where I need to go, then that’s fine. But you may be doing more running around than you plan on.”

  I flipped the safety on and slung the carbine. “I’m glad to help. You cover my back and I’ll cover yours.”

  He stood there for a moment, then nodded his head, stuck out his hand and said, “Deal.”

  We shook hands again, and then I had to ask, “What makes you think things are about to go to shit?”

  He went on to explain of the rumbling and grumblings coming from up and down the street. He had already had to get involved in a fistfight across the street from his house over a hen. Two men actually brawling in the yard over a chicken. Then there was the water issue. Without power, most folks couldn’t pump water. Some of them had generators and were using them sparingly to pump water. A couple of the idiots had run their generators in the early days almost continuously and were out of gas. He had complaints about gas thefts, livestock thefts and suspicious people sneaking around at night.

  “I haven’t seen or heard anything,” I said. I hadn’t heard any of this and I was surprised, but not too surprised. I had seen plenty of what desperate people were capable of on my walk home.

  “I need to talk to you about that too. You ain’t heard none of this ’cause no one talks to you. There are a bunch of folks around here who think you got more than your fair share.” He had a look of concern on his face.

  “What? What the fuck do these idiots think they’re going to do, try and take it?” I said.

  “There’s been talk,” he said.

  I looked at him and he just shrugged his shoulders. He told me that he had vetoed the idea, that he had told people we needed to work together and we couldn’t take anything from anyone. It had to be a community effort. I told him that I wasn’t going to give shit away unless I wanted to, and that no one except him and Danny had even talked to me about anything. I asked how he was doing food-wise.

  “Starting to get a lil’ thin at the house. That’s part of the reason I want to go see the sheriff. I haven’t asked for anything yet, and I want to see what they can help me out with. Anything I get, I will try and distribute fairly to as many as I can.” I could tell by the look on his face it was more than “a little thin” at the house.

  “Look, between you and me, and I mean that, I can help you a little,” I said.

  He gave me a quizzical look. “How?”

  “Wait here,” I told him and I went around back to my shop. Inside, I took a look at the buckets stacked against one wall. All of them were labeled on the outside in black Sharpie. I scanned the buckets and selected one from the stack. From the other side of the shop I took a package of five cans of Sam’s Club canned chicken and headed back out front.

  Mark was standing there when I returned. He looked at what I was carrying and asked, “What’s that?”

  “Well, the label on the outside pretty much tells you. In this little bucket you got ten pounds of rice, five pounds of beans and a few other goodies, plus the canned chicken here.” I set the chicken down on the bucket when I finished.

  He looked down at the bucket and the cans, and for a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he looked up at me. “I can’t take this. I mean, how much do you have?”

  “You can take it. I have some, but not as much as you’re thinking. Like I said before, you are the law, and I am willing to do anything I can to help you guys. But don’t get the idea that I have some mountain of food back there. I don’t, but I am willing to contribute to you. Take it,” I replied.

  Mark looked down at the bucket again. “I don’t know what to say. Thanks,” he said as he shook his head.

  “When do you want to go to Tavares?” I asked.

  “As soon as I can get Rick’s ass going. We’ll come down
as soon as we are ready.”

  Mark picked up his bucket and cans and turned to walk out. After a couple of steps he stopped and looked back, shook his head, turned and started toward the gate. I went inside to find Mel in the kitchen. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee, a terrycloth robe tied tight around her waist and a pair of slippers on her feet. As she was about to take a sip of the coffee I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her, slipping my right hand inside the robe.

  “It’s too early,” she said taking a sip of the coffee. “Where have you been?”

  “Mark came by. He wants me to take him to the sheriff’s office in Tavares in a little while,” I said.

  “In the Suburban? I was wondering how long before people started asking us to give them rides,” she said as she took another drink of her coffee.

  “Yeah, well, he is the law around here. I’ll help him out,” I said.

  Mark had parked his four-wheeler out at the gate. After closing it he put the bucket on the back and secured it with a bungee cord. He was holding the cans of chicken cradled against his chest as he backed the big Honda out onto the street. When he turned to head down the road, Pat came tooling up on her bike. He wasn’t interested in wasting time with her, so he gave her a nod and headed down the road. All the while her eyes were glued to the cans in his arm and the bucket on the rear, the Sharpie writing clearly visible to her.

  Mark and Rick came back about eight thirty. I had loaded the truck with some bottled water, some MREs and a first aid kit. I also threw some tools in the back. I was laying a come-along in the back when the guys pulled up on their ATVs. Mark looked into the rear of the old Chevy and asked, “What’s all this for?”

  “You guys haven’t been out much since all this happened, have you?” I asked in return.

  “The sheriff’s office brought us home in a Humvee not long after, but no, not since then,” Rick answered.

  “I had a nice long walk to see how things are going. So forgive me if I am a little paranoid,” I said.

  “Whatever floats your boat,” Mark said.

  I went in the house and came out with a Mystery Ranch three-day assault pack, kissed Mel good-bye and told her I’d be back when I got back. As I was heading for the door, Taylor came running up and said, “Can I come, Dad?” She always wanted to come along, didn’t matter where I was going. Kinda cool actually that my sixteen-year-old daughter wanted to hang out with me, but this wasn’t a trip for her.

  “Sorry, kiddo, not this time. We need to see how things are going before I take you guys out,” I said to her. She looked dejected, but she understood.

  Back outside, Mark was in the passenger seat and Rick was in the back. I started up the old Suburban and put all the windows down, even the rear glass; if we need to shoot at anyone, I really didn’t want to take out any glass. Mark had an AR and Rick had a Remington 870. Both of them wore the same uniform: tactical pants and SO polo shirt and coat. Looking over at Mark, I said, “Here goes nothing.” He nodded and we headed out the drive. I stopped at the gate and Rick closed it, much to the disappointment of Meathead, who thought he was going for a ride.

  I got around the roadblock and we waved to the two guys manning it. They waved back and I hung a left onto Highway 19, heading south. Having been on the barricade on our street several times, I was well aware of the level of traffic on the road. Lots of folks on foot, bikes, lawn tractors, big tractors, and my personal favorite, go-carts. Someone in the area was doing a booming business in old go-carts. There was the typical number of ATVs and dirt bikes. Passing through Altoona, the parking lot of the Kangaroo store was full of people. It had become a sort of market. If you had something to trade or needed something, it was the place you came to.

  Passing through Umatilla, I noticed that the feed store was still doing a pretty good business, with a heavy security presence. I saw at least five men with long guns, one on the roof with a scoped rifle. It looked as though Howard, of Howard’s Feed, wasn’t taking any chances. At the intersection of highways 19 and 450, there was an Umatilla PD cop that waved me to a stop, using his shotgun to get the point across. I looked over at Mark, who said, “What a fucktard.” There was no real respect for the Umatilla PD. Several little scandals in the recent past had almost resulted in the disbanding of the department.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Mark said.

  • • •

  Pat was pumping her legs for all they were worth. She knew what she had seen, and by God she was going to do something about it. If the sheriff’s department had food to hand out, then she was going to get her fair share. That damn Mark thinks he’s all high and mighty now that things have gone to hell, she thought. She was going to show him just how wrong he was. And that Morgan, she never liked that smartass anyway. Smartass and a hoarder to boot.

  • • •

  As I pulled up to the Umatilla officer, he lowered his shotgun a bit but still had it ready to bring up. He stepped up to my door and, seeing all the hardware in the truck, he jumped back and raised the shotgun again. “Let me see your hands, all of you!” he shouted.

  “Dumbass,” Mark said as he pulled his wallet out and flipped it open. He stuck the badge contained in it out in front of me so the officer could see it.

  The officer lowered his riot gun. “Sorry, deputy, I didn’t see you.”

  Mark got out and walked around to my side of the Suburban. He recognized the officer as the officer recognized him. “How’s it going, Walt?” Mark said.

  “Oh, pretty good. You know we’re supposed to confiscate running vehicles?” Walt said.

  Mark just looked over his shoulder. “Well, I beat you to this one.”

  Walt looked at the truck, then at me. “He one of yours, why ain’t he in uniform?”

  “You let me worry about him. We’ll be on our way now. I have to go see the sheriff,” Mark said.

  “Oh, okay. Hey, if you get any news from up there, stop by and let me in on it, would ya?” Walt asked Mark as he headed around to the passenger side.

  Mark winked at him and with a little nod added. “Count on it.”

  Once he was back in, we took off again. He wasn’t impressed with the UPD, and as far as Mark was concerned, any info we got from the SO was privy to members of the department only. If someone wanted the UPD to know about it, then someone else could tell them.

  We continued down 19 headed toward Eustis. I was interested in seeing what the guard armory there was up to. As 19 approaches Eustis city limits, the road splits into two one-way sections separated by about a block. We were on the southbound side heading into town. Right before the split, there is a lake on one side and a canal running to Lake Eustis on the other. It was a perfect bottleneck and the Eustis PD and the guard were using it to full effect.

  We were waved to a stop at the business end of several weapons. There were two Humvees, one on either side of the road. The one on the east side had an MK19 mounted on it; the other had a Ma Deuce mounted on the turret. Mark opened the door and started to step out and he was greeted with a chorus of shouts and commands. With one leg on the ground and the other still inside, he opened his jacket to show the embroidered star on his shirt and shouted, “I’m with the sheriff’s department!”

  A couple of guys in full battle dress cautiously approached, weapons shouldered and at the ready. As they got closer, one of them shouted, “Everyone out! Hands where we can see ’em!”

  Mark looked over at me and said, “Move slow.” I nodded and opened my door.

  Mark continued to step out with his hands up. I followed suit, as did Rick. One of the two men approaching us called out over his shoulder, “Weapons!”

  We were ordered in no uncertain terms not to move a muscle or we would be shot. I looked over at Mark and said, “What the fuck did you get me into?” He just looked over at me.

  As the two guys got close enough, Mark said
again, “I’m a sergeant with the SO.”

  The one on his side of the truck asked for his ID, which he produced, then they asked for Rick’s, which he produced, then they asked for mine, at which I handed him my driver’s license. The guy took it and looked at it for a minute, then asked for my department ID.

  “I don’t have one,” I replied.

  “Only law enforcement is supposed to be armed. No civilians are to be armed. Keep your hands up,” he said as if he were reciting it from a script.

  Mark looked over and said that I had been deputized after things went to shit. This confused the two for a moment until a voice from behind them called out, “Hey, Morgan!”

  I looked past him to see my friend Vance walking up. He looked so out of place amidst all the hardware around us. He was wearing a revolver in a nice leather holster and carrying a lever gun with a matching bandolier for the ammo for it. He walked right up to me, past the guardsmen standing in front of me, and stuck out his hand. The guardsmen stepped aside and we shook.

  “Holy shit, Vance, how the hell are ya?” I said.

  “Doing all right,” he said.

  With his appearance, the tension died down somewhat. We walked up to the roadblock as we talked. I asked what he was doing in town as his place was a pretty good ways out. He told me that they had come to the Eustis PD, where his wife, Jenny, worked. They had run out of fuel for their generator, and water was an issue. Since the PD was right beside the armory, they figured it would be a better place to be. Turned out for him, he was right. The guard and the PD were working together to keep things peaceful in town and so far it was working out.

  He asked how my family and I were and I gave him the CliffsNotes version of what had happened to me. He was a good friend and I was glad to know he was all right, not to mention that he was in with the guard unit here. He told me the guard muster had been less than 50 percent, but they were straggling in, usually after all their supplies at home ran out. Then they showed up with all their families and friends. The guard was only allowing immediate family into the armory and that had caused a little trouble but was being dealt with as it came up.