Bittersweet Homecoming; Surviving the Black--Book 3 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  Tom and Allie left to visit with Clyde.

  Mike, Razor, Ben, and Joel wouldn't leave on their scouting expeditions until after dark.

  After about an hour, Craig fell into a fitful sleep.

  While Craig slept, Kurt and Mike added padding to Craig's new walking sticks. Kurt cut two long crutches but left untrimmed ends planning to cut them to the appropriate length as soon as Craig could test drive them. He also cut a long cane planning to trim it when Craig was ready. I was impressed with the craftsmanship and for not thinking one size fits all.

  I went up to the wheelhouse on guard duty and sent everyone to rest while we waited for darkness. Tom and Allie were still out, giving me hope they'd return with actionable intel.

  While on duty, I traced three copies of the makeshift road map on printer paper from the Cumberland office to hand out to the different scouting teams. They looked primitive, but they provided a framework for everyone to communicate their findings. A scanner would have been sweet, but I wasn't that lucky.

  Joel turned off the Cumberland's engines soon after we tied up to the point. I could feel a mild vibration and faint, almost imagined, sound of the generator. The slap, slap sounds of small waves against our hull were the loudest sounds I detected.

  After finishing the crude maps, I spent most of my watch outside on the wheelhouse deck, listening for sounds of intruders, either on the road or from the water. During solo guard duty, imagination amplified sounds and increased the feeling of threat. One always had to weigh defusing one's imagination with the potential threat. After all, sometimes people really were after you.

  A faint scuff of gravel sent all the hair up on my neck and head. Just as I reacted, Tom radioed he and Allie were coming in. False alarm. I still needed to confirm they arrived clean, so my eyes remained glued to the road while they dragged their ninjas aboard to charge.

  "No shadows," I radioed. "All clear."

  Allie joined me in the wheelhouse first. "Tom is checking on Craig," she said. "He was asleep, but Tom wanted to verify the dressings weren't bloody." She leaned back in the other observer chair and began stretching her neck and back muscles.

  While we waited for Tom, I showed her my primitive maps. "Too bad they didn't have a scanner," Allie said. "The computer in the Cumberland's office works, but mostly contains porn and manuals.No maps or charts. I'm not sure anyone checked the Jersey Girl office for a scanner."

  We heard Tom trudging up the stairs to the wheelhouse, I got up and leaned against the window, leaving the chair beside Allie for him. I didn't want to sit in the helm chair since all three chairs faced forward. The setup was good for navigating not as good for face-to-face meetings, even though they frequently occurred in the wheelhouse.

  Tom raised an eyebrow at the empty chair but sat heavily anyway. Craig was not the only one who needed some sleep.

  "Anything?" I asked.

  "Maybe," Tom said. "Mostly rumors. The inmate gang we finished off this morning isn't the only one around. There is a much larger mob in Marianna. They run that town now. Those we killed were small fry. According to one of the hostages, the inmates at Storm Creek Lake wanted nothing to do with those in Marianna since they liked being the bosses. In Marianna, they would just be grunts. I tend to believe her; she was the one who lived with and ultimately shot the boss man."

  "I believe her, too," said Allie. "There is also a racial aspect to this. The inmates we killed were mostly African-American, and so were their hostages. She says the men in Marianna are mostly white, with the leaders being white nationalists. She worries we might be part of the larger inmate faction. This part of Arkansas had a much higher percentage of African-Americans than whites when the CME hit."

  "Clyde convinced them we weren't involved in the prison," Tom said. "They think we are stupid to come all this way to rescue someone, and our race doesn't help them trust us."

  "Yeah, Mecklin County is the opposite of ethnically diverse. Hell, the last census was 98 percent white. That is one of the reasons several Rangers I tried to recruit decided against joining us. Craig is the only African-American who stayed, and Pete is the only Hispanic," I said. "They worried about finding a wife or even a girlfriend within 500 miles."

  "No one camping at the lake is aware of any bunch of refugees arriving recently," Tom said, "white or black. Clyde thinks he ran into our preppers before the inmates came. He traded two five-gallon buckets of moonshine and a truckload of dried corn to them for some seeds, pigs, and chickens. The trade was arranged through a buddy, but Clyde doesn't know if the buddy is still around since it all happened before the inmates took over."

  "Why did Clyde think they were preppers?"

  "They were well armed, wouldn't give him a straight answer about where they lived, had brown paper bags of seeds, plus offered young pigs, and chickens to trade. He figured they had to be preppers to be willing to trade that kind of stuff," Tom said.

  "Does Clyde have any idea where the preppers are?"

  "He thinks they live somewhere on Crowley Ridge not far from Storm Creek Road. They finalized the transaction at the Phillips County landfill. Clyde says the animals came tied in gunny sacks but hadn't been in them for long."

  My map didn't even show a landfill. What I would give for just five minutes on Google.

  "I suspect Clyde will attempt to recontact his buddy, anyway; would he be willing to ask him how to contact the preppers?"

  "Clyde was cagey about the guy. He doesn't have any product to trade but if we gave him one of his five-gallon buckets back, he might," Tom said.

  "That is how I read the situation, too," Allie confirmed. "Clyde sees himself as a wheeler-dealer. He is grateful we removed the inmates but is concerned we might stick around."

  "Then he should be motivated to help us find Andy and get out of his hair," I said.

  Both Allie and Tom chuckled at that.

  "What is so funny about that?" I asked.

  "Clyde is bald as a billiard ball," Tom said, getting himself under control. "Getting out of his hair just struck me as funny."

  "But a good idea," Allie added. "I think that would be more incentive than five-gallons of moonshine. Maybe we could use the moonshine and some of the weapons or ammo we recovered to bribe Clyde's contact."

  "Worth pursuing," I said. "Are you up to going back now to talk with Clyde?"

  Tom pushed himself out of the chair and reached for the helmet and rifle when Allie spoke up. "Tom needs some rest. I got a nap, so I'm doing okay. I can go back to talk with Clyde."

  "Nobody is going out alone,” I said. Her comments made me look hard at Tom, and I saw what Allie was talking about. While I knew he could continue, there was no reason for him to push it further.

  "Sit down, Tom," I said. "Allie is right. You both need rest. I want you both to stand down for at least four hours. Clyde isn't going to look for his buddy tonight, even if you went back now.I'll brief Ben and Joel on the landfill connection before they leave to scout along Storm Creek Road."

  "Come on Tom, I'll sleep in the galley near Craig. That bench is pretty comfortable," Allie said, standing up and gathering her gear.

  Tom acted like he wanted to argue, but after a few ticks nodded and followed Allie out the door.

  Allie stopped me from making a serious error. I was grateful she spoke up. Her actions confirmed she was a confident member of the team who looked out for her teammates. Exhausted people made errors, myself included. I pushed us hard on the way here, and the pace increased once we arrived.

  Everyone needed a chance for a solid 8 hours of sleep and to catch their breath. Once they got back from tonight's missions.

  The temperature dropped quickly once the sun slipped behind the western ridge. Earlier today, especially in the sun, the weather was mild for January. Kurt offered to stand watch, and I accepted.

  Everyone gathered in the galley to eat and check on Craig. The only one missing was Tom. Everyone refilled their camelbacks from the two cooling pots of boiled wa
ter on the stove. We still dined on the canned goods from the bait house, although the selection was getting less appetizing by the day. I shared a box of macaroni and cheese with Ben made with powdered milk. While filling, without butter or milk, it as unpalatable. Ben mixed hot chocolate mix in with a cup of pasta water for his beverage.

  Craig and Allie shared another box. Ten more blue mac and cheese boxes remained in the opened plastic wrap left on the counter. I didn't even look at the mixed assortment of cans, especially if the guys considered the mac and cheese the best culinary option. At least the box of dried milk boosted the protein content.

  "Not quite how I remember this stuff," Craig said, raising his spoon. He was leaning against pillows while his left leg stretched out straight on the bench. His bandages were slightly discolored but not as bad as before.

  I pulled up a chair and sat at the table he shared with Allie. I wanted to ask how he felt, but the thrust of his jaw forced me to hold my tongue. I raised my voice to include the whole room. "Has Allie shared the intel she and Tom got from Clyde?"

  My question caused the rest of the team to move closer. "Clyde knows of a prepper family off Storm Creek Road a few minutes drive from the landfill. Ben and Joel, don't make contact. Locate the compound or identify places for future recon in depth.”

  “Razor and Mike we need to establish contact with the farmhouse those inmates were shooting at, If they didn’t answer our note, leave another one,” I said. Raising my voice to include everyone, “After tonight's recon missions, I want everyone to come back, take a shower, and sleep for a solid 8 hours. We will then use our intel to plot the next series of missions."

  No one objected to the stand down, confirming I made the right call. Allie offered to stand watch with Kurt and let me sleep. I finished my meal, cleaned my kit, took a quick shower, and crawled into bed.

  I woke at 01:00, after sleeping for about six hours. My body felt well-rested. I grabbed all my dirty clothes and put them into the washing machine, then went to relieve whoever was on duty.

  Allie was alone in the wheelhouse.

  "Did Kurt go to bed?" I asked.

  "Yes, a few hours ago.No one is back, yet. Tom is still asleep. All is quiet."

  "I've got the watch, shower and take a nap."

  "I think I will," Allie said. "I'm starting to feel confused about day and night. See you later this morning."

  "If you want to wash your clothes, toss mine in the drier, and I'll put yours in the drier once someone returns."

  "I forgot we had a laundry room. Clean clothes would be nice, I'll do that," Allie said, yawning as she left.

  I was alone in the quiet so long the radio in my ear startled me, "Ben to Jeremy, can you read?"

  "This is Jeremy," I radioed.

  "We've located a hostile force which has something under siege. I think we found your prepper compound," radioed Ben.

  "Where is the force, and where are you?"

  "The tangoes are camped on the landfill, we are watching them from a distance. Their main camp is about half a mile from Storm Creek Road."

  "How many hostiles?"

  "Between 75 and 100 hostiles in the main camp. We don't have eyes on them all, most are asleep now," Ben radioed. "They have a smaller squad shooting sporadically at something we can't see. The number of shooters doesn't sound very large."

  "What do you recommend?"

  "We are in a good place to monitor the main body. The place is covered in dead looking vines. We are burrowed in well."

  "Can you safely put eyes on the place being attacked?"

  "Negative, not from this direction.Too many twitchy people between us and the place. We could pull back and try a different place. Also, there are a lot of dirt bike and ATV trails that lead south and southeast that might be a better route. I bet local kids used this site as an ATV playground. I cannot verify the tracks go anywhere, but I suspect they must."

  "You think we can infiltrate from the other direction to check out the place being attacked? Any chance to infiltrate through the woods?"

  "Negative on the woods, they are too thick. Best option is to find where one of these trails comes out," Ben radioed.

  "Pull out and return to base," I radioed.

  "Roger."

  "Base to Razor or Mike."

  "Mike here."

  "What is your 20?" I asked.

  "About halfway back."

  "Check your love letter and return to base," I radioed.

  "Roger."

  I made a quick tour of the deck, checked on Craig, and swapped clothes in the drier. I dropped my dry clothes on my bunk, all the while trying to decide the next step.

  Was Andy in the compound under siege? While I was convinced, he was there, the odds of sneaking 20 people out from under the attacker's noses sucked. Especially with wounded and children.Even if we could somehow encourage the others in the compound to let us waltz in and waltz out, leaving them to their fate. Even if Andy would agree to leave.

  Which had the worst odds? Rescuing Andy's bunch from the besieged compound or attacking 100 hostiles. That assumed Andy was even there.

  We had limited force multipliers, our machine gun with 2.5 boxes of ammo and about 20 grenades. If we surprised the hostiles while they were bunched up, that might be enough. Not a firm foundation to base an attack on. We could hope the compound prevailed, but the force size suggested attrition would wear the defenders down first.

  All four scouts returned by 04:00. Mike and Razor brought a note from the farmhouse thanking us for removing the nuisance and agreeing to a one-on-one meeting at noon. Neither representative was to carry a long gun. Razor said the proposed meeting site was between where the inmates shot from and the farmhouse. That way, both sides could cover their own guy.

  That was a positive development, though unlikely to help at this point. Still, it might be one less enemy, and they probably knew back ways into the landfill.

  Ben and Joel spent another hour sketching the placement of roads, high and low ground, and the enemy camp. They both thought we had a good, although not great, chance to cut down most of the enemy in a night attack. They recommended using the M240b and our stockpile of hand grenades, flashbangs, and tear gas. That assumed we attacked after most of the camp went to bed, and they remained bunched up.

  "There was some partying going on," Joel said. "But not as much as we saw last night. I don't think they have as much booze."

  "People walking around in the light of the campfires carried long guns, a few AK-47s but we couldn't tell the rest. Very few had holsters, but I bet they have pistols stuck in their belts," said Ben.

  "What kind of cover do they have?"

  "Their trucks, the trailers," Ben said. "They are in a small bowl, the place is covered with some brown vine, no trees or even significant stumps. We found an observation post in a vine-covered an old fence above the bowl. We crawled in, and that vine completely hid us from view. I doubt anyone walking by in the daytime could have seen us. Not that those vines can stop bullets."

  "I don't think the mob we observed has been camped there for long. From the lack of muddy ruts, they must have arrived before the rain, but I doubt much before that," Joel said. "They were twitchy, too. Like they expected an attack, although their guards were a joke."

  "What about the guards?"

  "They carried their rifles on their shoulders. I don't think they were drunk, but they spent a lot of time standing around the campfires.No NVGs I could see and only four guards for a camp that size. At first, I expected to spot some advance scouts hiding in the vines, but nothing after more than an hour. I saw no scouts or other guards on thermal scans."

  "How close can we approach to set up the M240b?"

  "There are a few spots on the ridge above where we watched from that would work," Ben said. "They were about 100 yards from the center of the group. The campsite is more spread out than I like but combined with grenades targeting the two ends, it would cause a lot of carnage. My main worry is we
need to split our forces to intercept their attack force when they come running back to defend their main body."

  "What about some Molotov cocktails? We can probably scrounge up at least 20 unbroken beer bottles from the clearing in front of our boats," I asked.

  "I bet those vines burn quickly, we need to make sure we don't get caught in a wildfire," Joel said. "With that caveat, the more mayhem, the merrier when you are this outnumbered, and we have those barrels of gas we picked up in Memphis."

  I sent them to rest. I had a lot to consider.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 4

  Morning dawned bright and clear, despite my wish for more cold rain or heavy snow. Tom joined me in the wheelhouse, looking showered, and more relaxed.