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

by Zack Finley

  "Or stumbled on some trigger-happy inmates camped on the river road," I said.

  "Were there still people at that farm?" Chuck asked.

  "I think so, but I never saw them. Smoke from the chimney was the closest I got to seeing anyone until your patrol got me," John said.

  Chuck shrugged but otherwise ignored John's dig. "We talked with that group days after the grid went down. They demanded we leave and told us not to come back. I don't know about their attitude now."

  "You might consider some type of arrangement with the campers at Storm Creek Lake. Before the inmates took over, they had a solid start on survival. They might be open to trade or some other form of cooperation," I said to Chuck.

  "I'll talk with my group, but no promises."

  "It will be hard for you to hold this farm against intruders after the spring planting. Even with a great bunker someplace, your crops, fields, and livestock are vulnerable. In colonial days, our ancestors banded together for mutual aid. You should consider something like that. We are trying it at home in Tennessee. We've talked to a lot of people around the country and around the world via HAM radio, and this crash was worldwide. Help isn't coming," I said. "and too many people would rather take than plant."

  Ben cleared his throat to shift attention back to today's mission. "That is all I need, Jeremy. Let's take John back to our base."

  I thanked Chuck for the intel and shook his hand, saying, "I wish you and your family the best."

  Ben picked up our map and at Chuck's nod picked up John's gear. We trotted back to rejoin Mike, then returned to base.

  My team kept busy while we were gone. Seven ninjas angled neatly in a row in the clearing in front of our boats, two with trailers attached. One trailer held the M240b nestled in a thick wool blanket amongst its ammo containers. It exuded a strong aroma of gun oil. The other trailer was still empty.

  Razor and Kurt prepped the bottles for their Molotov cocktail project. Razor sliced off wicks from a pile of nearby rags while Kurt poked them into each of the 18 bottles with a stick. A red gas can with a big black X marked on it sat on the ground nearby. The flexible snout of a metal funnel snaked through the gas can handle. A plastic crate sat nearby to hold their finished product.

  We introduced John before going on board the Cumberland, leaving Razor and Kurt to finish making their weapons.

  When we saw Craig was asleep in the galley, we diverted to the wheelhouse where Allie was keeping watch.

  "What are you going to do with these boats once we cross the Mississippi?" John asked, his voice cracking as his eyes flicked first to me and then to Ben. His body was stiff and brittle.

  "We are going to take everyone upriver to where we left our rides," Allie answered.

  John snapped his eyes in her direction. "Andy never said anything about that."

  "We were worried about the kids and the wounded not making it cross country," I said. "So, we borrowed some big boats."

  "Andy never said you lived near the river," John said or asked, it wasn't clear.

  I didn't understand what set John off, but we needed his help, and he was only 16 or 17 years old. "We drove across Tennessee to the Mississippi River, where we picked up this boat. On our way past Memphis, pirates attacked us, and we took the other boat away from them. It got shot up a little, but it has heat. It will give everyone a little more room for the ride back up river, or we can split up if we need to."

  I paused to see if John relaxed any, but he still looked tense and uneasy. "Now, tell us every detail you observed about the compound where your group is staying. We want all of Andy's people out of there and aboard these boats, headed somewhere. If some of you only want a lift across the river, no skin off my teeth. Whatever you want, we are taking Andy and his immediate family all the way home to Breckinridge Valley. Can we agree to pull everyone out, first, and then you can worry about who comes further with us?"

  "After you brief us on the compound layout, we'll go down to the galley and make some mac and cheese. Then you can shower and wash your clothes. One of the guys can lend you something to wear until yours are dry," Allie said, in a calm and reassuring voice.

  "This boat has a shower and laundry?" John asked.

  "Flush toilets and a microwave, too," Allie said.

  John stared at her, his mouth agape. "On a boat?" His voice cracked again.

  "It is a big boat," Allie reassured him. "It doesn't go very fast, but it has all the comforts of home."

  "Allie can give you a tour, later," I interrupted. "We need some information about the compound that I didn't want to share with Chuck. While he might be a fine human being, he is a stranger, and we probably don't share the same objectives. How did you escape from the compound?"

  "The group that jumped us hate to walk, they are mostly city guys who stick to their vehicles. That was how we got away after the attack with so many kids and wounded," John said. "Once the bad guys caught up and blocked the compound’s gate, we were stuck. Especially after Dwayne's family refused to give us back our guns to fight them off." John exuded outrage and frustration.

  He took a deep breath and continued, "After Andy and Sgt. Grady realized we were stuck, they needed someone to leave a message at the point. Dwayne volunteered, but his uncle told him he was responsible for us and forced him to stay. That same uncle picked me because I looked too young to cause trouble. Grady and Andy tried to argue, but that uncle said it was me or nobody."

  "How did you leave?" Ben asked.

  "Dwayne helped me make it through the thick trees, I had to wear a blindfold, but it was so dark it did not matter. I got disoriented, so I can't go back the same way. Once I was outside the compound, Dwayne took the blindfold and handed me my compass. I used my compass, which old Chuck didn't return to me by the way, to walk in as straight a line east as I could. Walking through the trees is very hard during the daytime, at night it really sucks. I got most of the cuts and bruises on my face during my trip, not my captivity. Chuck's men aren't mean, just racist assholes. They didn't try to learn much from me, they just kept saying I was lying."

  "So, you kept going east?" Ben prompted.

  "Only for an hour or so. Without any way to keep time, it is only a guess, my smartphone went a long time ago. Then I turned south until I hit the road. I don't know how far or how long I walked to reach that road. It might not even be the same road the compound is on. I eventually came out at the cemetery, and you know the rest."

  "What did you learn about Chuck's group?" I asked.

  "Less than 20 men, a handful of women and kids. Some are relatives and friends but most used to be hired hands. Everyone pulling guard duty sucks up to Chuck when he is around. Then they trash him to each other the rest of the time. I never saw any women, but I heard a lot of fantasies about them. Some of the hired men discussed changing those in charge."

  "I hope Chuck hangs on for another day," I said. "I don't want his problems to interfere with tonight's surprise.

  "Tonight?" John asked, his voice rising.

  "Of course," I said. "There was no reason to tell Chuck any of our plans."

  The tenseness in John's body uncoiled, leaving weak knees and relaxed shoulders. "I thought you were going to let them overrun my family. I didn't know how I was going to escape; you even kept my pistol, and you guys are armed to the teeth."

  "No, we wouldn't even wait until tonight if there were fewer of them," I said. "How were you supposed to get back inside, if you can't remember the route?"

  "Can I see my things?"

  Ben pulled the scant items, except for the pistol, from his coat. A folding knife, an empty metal canteen, wire for a snare, a well-worn fire striker, a fish hook and fishing line wrapped around a stick, and a discolored whistle.

  "The whistle. When I get near the place, I'm supposed to blow the whistle every 15 minutes or so to alert Bear. Even if Bear is tied up, he can get Dwayne's attention."

  "How will Bear help you find Dwayne?" Allie asked.

 
; "Dwayne promised to send Bear to find me once I started blowing the whistle. He warned it might take him a few minutes to sneak away and for me to be patient," John said. "Bear will follow the whistle, taking me back to Dwayne in no time. Bear is amazing, but this is the first time Dwayne let me use his whistle."

  "I assume Bear is some kind of dog?" I asked.

  "He is no regular dog, he's a Belgian Malinois."

  "Are you up to going back in tonight?" I asked.

  "Try and stop me." John began scooping his things into his pockets.

  I took that for a yes.

  Allie took John below to feed him and help him settle in. Ben cornered Allie privately before they left to remind her John was still an unknown and might pose a potential threat. Allie looked startled but nodded before she left.

  Ben and I drew up preliminary plans, setting 16:00 as the wake-up time. I assigned Ben and John to infiltrate the Johnson compound from the east. We debated about sending someone else, but Ben wanted to go, and he had excellent arguments for sending him.

  Once inside, Ben would liaison between our group and the compound. It didn't feel right to send John back in alone, even with a radio. With Ben on the inside, I expected our coordination would help eliminate the inmate force.

  Craig and Kurt would remain with the boats, both armed to repel boarders.

  That left Razor, Joel, Allie, Tom, Mike, and I for the main attack group targeting the convict camp. Razor was on the M240b. We'd distribute our grenades between the rest of the attack group with Mike and Joel handling the flanks. With the best throwing arms, they'd toss most of the Molotov cocktails.

  I just hoped we had enough magazines. Ammo cans of loose cartridges were nearly useless in a firefight. Ben suggested bringing several ammo cans anyway. We could refill magazines during lulls in the fighting or pull Allie off the line to refill them. Kurt could do the same for Craig.

  If we needed those loose cartridges, the plan had already gone to shit, so it was a reasonable backup.

  Ben left with a promise to eat and rest. He left me with John's pistol, a .38 revolver.

  Kurt brought me a bowl of mac and cheese. "Ben asked me to stand this watch and to send you to bed." Kurt shifted on his feet and refused to meet my eyes.

  I took the bowl. "Have you eaten?"

  "Yes, thank you. It feels wrong to eat when I'm not that hungry, but Tom tells me I won't get well if I don't."

  "Enjoy the mac and cheese while it is available. I suspect we will be tired of corn mush by the time we go back up the river."

  "I appreciate any food; it is so much better than being hungry," Kurt said.

  "So very true, we need to remember that. I leave you to your watch," I said, heading to the galley to wash my bowl and utensils. And to check on Craig. Then, I intended to rest my eyes if only for an hour.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 5

  Tom woke me at 16:30. When I arrived in the galley, everyone was already assembled, except Kurt. Ben briefed everyone on their roles before I arrived.

  John carried an AK47 like he knew how to use it. Ben helped John wrap his extra magazines in paper towels to keep them from rattling. John then stuffed the magazines into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. I handed John his pistol, which he stuck in his pants. I might raise an eyebrow, but I refused to second guess Ben's assessment of the teen.

  The seven parked ninjas looked sleek and dangerous, still parked in a line in front of the boats. Kurt confirmed each was fully charged. Pull-behind trailers attached to two of the ninjas. The trailers were black but looked more suburban than dangerous, especially with the tops popped open.

  Ben and John rode away on a single ninja. They wanted to enter the woods at dark, so needed to leave first. Ben and I agreed that while we preferred to coordinate our attacks with those in the compound, our fallback was to attack at 21:00.

  We helped Craig into the stokes stretcher and carried him out to the front deck of the Cumberland. Someone had already put mattresses on the deck, up against the bulkhead. It was high enough off the bank to target boarders. We even set up a place beside him for Kurt to rest.

  Tom checked Craig's dressing and declared the move a success. Craig arrayed his weaponry and equipment beside him for easy access. Kurt helped him rig up his radio before we left.

  The Molotov cocktails nestled in a plastic crate and a cardboard box. Razor and Kurt wrapped each bottle individually with leftover wicking to reduce noise and keep them from breaking. The boxes rode in the ninja trailer with the extra cans of ammo.

  The second trailer carried the M240b machine gun and its ammo plus a satchel full of fragmentation, smoke, and tear gas grenades. Each of us carried our personal arsenal, but we brought extras, just in case.

  We mounted up as the sun set over Crowley Ridge. Two ninjas led off, followed by the two ninjas with trailers and two pickup trucks. Each truck carried a ninja in the back. We decided parking the pickups closer to the action would facilitate Andy's evacuation.

  To avoid Clyde at the moonshine still site, we turned right onto the riverfront levee road and eventually left onto Big Spring Road. The detour only cost us about 10 minutes and seemed worth it. The trailers handled the rough road without turning over or blowing up, we scored that as a success.

  The patrol made the turn onto Storm Creek Road just after full dark, when we switched to NVGs. Back on pavement, Joel led the way, having scouted the landfill only last night. At Joel's recommendation, we parked the pickups about a mile from our turnoff.

  We turned the six ninjas left on the road that skirted the north side of the landfill. Joel didn't think it connected directly with the landfill, but it was so close he thought it would make a great objective rally point (ORP). Ben and Joel believed it led directly to the prepper compound.

  The wind shifted sometime during the day and was now coming more from the south. This meant we began smelling the inmates' campfires before we spotted any smoke in the dark. Once we smelled the campfires, everyone pulled the ninjas into cover. We sent Joel and Razor ahead to verify the enemy camp location.

  They returned in 20 minutes.

  "They are in the same place as last night," Joel said. "I can't tell if there are more of them or not. We should move the ninjas about 500 yards down this road and establish that as our ORP. That will leave us about 100 yards to carry our gear to a good ambush site through the trees."

  "Okay, let's mount up."

  This time we rode single file with Joel leading and Razor last in line.

  The road was a mix of gravel, dirt, and mud, not treacherous if you avoided the mud puddles. That was easier for the ninjas without the trailers.

  Joel flagged us to stop, and we stashed the ninjas in some brush along the north side of the road. After removing our gear, everyone helped cover the ninja pile with a camouflaged cover.

  Razor grabbed the M240b and the tripod, and I followed with the two and a half cans of belted ammo for it. I would be to Razor's right, and my prime job was to keep him in action. In between helping, I'd be shooting and tossing grenades, too. Once Razor ran out of ammo for our machine gun, he'd switch to his M4. I hoped by then the battle was over and the mop-up underway.

  Allie grabbed the satchel of grenades and a full ammo can. Tom took the other ammo can, leaving Joel and Mike with individual boxes of Molotov cocktails.

  I didn't know if going single file through the forest was better than having us all make our way solo. Solo seemed better, particularly after the fifth branch thwacked me in the face from Razor's passing. With my arms full of ammo cans, I got the full treatment. I doubted Razor, who was carrying nearly 50 pounds of machine gun and tripod was doing much better. The steep grade didn't help matters, either.

  I made a mental note to add more forest infiltration training to our training regimen. Having only Ben and Craig able to move silently through the woods was a serious limitation.

  Razor waved us down as he approached the top of the ridge. The trees extended abou
t 15 feet down the other side before ending abruptly in a weathered dozer line. In the dark, I couldn't decide whether this was an old or new part of the landfill.

  Our targets parked in a rough rectangle with the nearest trailer only 50 yards below us. We needed to shift about 50 feet to our left to be dead center, which Razor was already doing. He wanted that M240b as close to the middle as possible.

  I regretted not getting eyes on the target during daylight. In the greenish glow of my NVGs, it was hard to make sense of the camp. I counted 15 trailers and at least that many trucks parked haphazardly below us. Nothing was in neat and tidy rows, so the encampment spread out farther than it should. At least eight dome tents clustered at the eastern edge of the camp.