by Doug Kelly
“Sounds scary, mister…?” Dylan said, as he paused to finally get their driver’s name.
“Call me Chet,” he said, shaking Dylan’s hand.
“Did they see you two?” Dylan asked.
Lee replied, “Nope, we were behind this tree.” Lee looked around. ”Let’s get out of here.”
All five men gathered at the truck. The brothers also explained to Kevin and Richard about the carjacking they had seen. Chet directed his brother to push the seat forward, get the rifle out, and be ready to use it. Lee slid the deer rifle out of the camouflage case that his brother had hidden behind the truck’s seat. The dark brown walnut stock of the rifle was polished and shiny. The dark wood complimented the hue of the gunmetal. The rifle looked like a work of art. Lee firmly gripped the rifle in his hands and nodded, thankful to have the weapon with him. He grabbed the cold metal of the rifle’s barrel, felt it warm to his touch, and said, “There will be no more carjackers today.” As the brothers settled into the cab of the truck, Dylan, Kevin, and Richard climbed into the truck’s bed.
“Dylan,” Richard said, as he tried to shift his weight on the suitcase to get a comfortable position, “your plan better work.”
“Or what?” Dylan asked, tilting his forehead toward Richard and lifting an eyebrow.
Richard replied, revealing a hint of fear in his voice. “If we can’t obtain the equipment to get on the river, we’re as good as dead. Chet’s not going to drive me to St. Louis.” Richard paused. “Dylan, I don’t want to die.”
Dylan thought for a moment before replying. “I’m not going to die. I’m a survivor. Nothing is going to get between me and my family—” Dylan said, as he was cut off by the jolt of the old truck engaging into first gear.
The truck sluggishly accelerated out of the hotel parking lot and onto the adjacent road. The men observed their surroundings in silence. Some cars were still in the correct lane in the street, while others appeared to have been pushed to the side. It was strange to see so many stalled cars on the road. On this late morning, people were walking down the sidewalks or using bicycles to get around. A few of the people appeared to be greatly fatigued from having to walk, red faced and panting from lack of exercise. Dylan suspected that some of them had been stranded on the highway and were now walking into town looking for help.
Chet cautiously approached a four-way stop next to a convenience store. There was a sign in the store’s front window written in capital letters, CASH ONLY. Chet’s truck was getting attention from a small group of men near the convenience store parking lot. As Chet passed the intersection, the men stepped into the street, blocking the path of the truck. A man stepped forward from the group and positioned himself closer to Chet’s truck. He was a bearded man with long hair and dark sunglasses, wearing worn jeans, a dirty shirt, and leather vest. His leather boots had capped metal toes. Those boots would be perfect to kick with in a fight. Chet stopped the truck to maintain his distance from the men. Dylan pointed to a tire iron and baseball bat near the tailgate of the truck and nodded to Kevin, knowing that they could not expect Richard to join the fight.
The man in the street took another step toward the truck, raised his right arm and extending a finger directly at Chet and yelled, “Hey, who do you think you are? Why are you so special? This thing is a piece of shit! I have a nice ride. You should be the one walking.” His cheek was full of tobacco and he spit the dark juice onto the asphalt as if he was marking his territory.
Dylan looked into the cab of the truck from the rear window. He saw that Lee had the rifle level with the dashboard and the barrel pointed toward the door. Lee’s hand was on the door handle and he was primed for action. The men in the street could not see the rifle that Lee had ready for them.
Dylan stood in the bed of the truck and said loudly, “We don’t want any trouble. We’re just moving through—”
The bearded man interrupted Dylan, angrily yelling, “Shut your mouth! If I want any shit out of you, I’ll squeeze your head!”
Dylan quickly turned to the rear of the truck and stepped toward the tailgate. He jumped out of the truck, landing solidly on both feet and reached back into the truck bed to grab the baseball bat. He did not want to fight, but he knew this needed to end, and would not tolerate any delays in his plan. As Dylan walked to the front of the truck toward the lunatic, he quickly glanced up at Kevin and shrugged his shoulders. Kevin nodded to Dylan in a way that meant, “I am glad you are doing that and not me.” Richard cowered in the truck’s bed, just as Dylan had expected.
Pointing the bat at the man, Dylan said, firmly, “Listen, asshole, like I said, we don’t want any trouble. Step back from my good friend’s truck and we’ll be on our way.”
The man moved his right foot back and turned his left shoulder toward Dylan, narrowing his profile. Quickly, the man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade with his right hand. He pointed the blade at Dylan and said with gritted teeth, “I am going to stick that bat up your ass sideways.” Then he stepped toward Dylan.
At that moment, Dylan heard the loud report of a rifle discharging. He had not noticed the bald man with a pistol behind the group, but Lee did. By the time the bald man had pulled the pistol from under his shirt and begun to point it toward Dylan, Lee had the rifle on center mass of his target. Lee pulled the trigger and the bald man collapsed, falling backward. The pistol landed near its owner’s warm corpse. As the bearded outlaw turned toward Lee, the bat Dylan had already begun to swing met him directly in the face. On impact, Dylan felt the man’s skull collapse and sunglasses disintegrate simultaneously. Lee stepped forward to get the fallen pistol and moved the barrel of the rifle from side to side at the group of men in the street. Dylan bent over to get the switchblade, but he knew that what he really needed was the pistol.
While Lee was still stepping backwards to the truck, Dylan had already jumped back into the truck bed and dropped the bat where he found it. The men in the street parted into two groups and moved away. Lee sat back down in the truck and held the pistol out the window, ready for action. As the truck began to move forward again, Richard said to Dylan, “Hey, I didn’t know you liked to play baseball.”
“Maybe you can play next time.”
“No, thanks.”
It did not take long to drive across the small town and find the ramp to the interstate going north. This highway took them to an access point for the headwaters of the Missouri River and, according to Dylan’s plan, equipment for the long journey home. As they traveled to their destination on the highway, they passed many stalled cars. People were walking on the highway, most waving for the vehicle to pull over. The men drove onward without slowing. Dylan could see how these roads were going to become very dangerous. He knew traps would be set and people would be killed in the struggle for survival. He felt confident that his decision to use the river was the right one.
He remembered the sign on the convenience store that they recently passed, warning of cash-only transactions, and became slightly nervous. They wanted to get the equipment with credit cards because what they needed to survive would cost more than the cash they had with them. Dylan’s plan to get equipment was based upon the assumption most people had, that the power would be on again soon. Get the seller to capture the information from their cards and complete the sales transaction when the lights come back on. He hoped the suits added to their respectability, which would help insure that their credit cards were accepted.
The truck was going fast enough that the three men in the back crouched down as low as possible to avoid the annoyance of the wind trying to knock them over. At highway speed, the turbulent wind passed over the cab of the truck and whipped around the men’s heads, creating enough noise to discourage talking to one another.
Dylan saw the sign for their exit and knocked on top of the truck’s cab as a reminder. Chet had already seen the sign and started slowing down to pull over. According to the map, the access road was parallel to a small lake
connected to the headwaters. The store where they planned to get their equipment was on this road and near the lake’s shoreline. The brochure for this facility described it as a family operation. Dylan assumed that the owner lived nearby and would be resourceful enough to make it to work even under the current circumstances.
The sky was clear and they guessed by the position of the sun that it was about noon. The waters of the lake were calm and devoid of boats. They noticed one person casting a fly rod. Dylan was not a fisherman, but already knew how important that would become in order for them to get food to stay alive. The store and marina area became visible in the distance and they noticed a pickup similar in age to what they were in. It was parked in front of the store. Kevin and Richard were still kneeling with their backs turned away from the front of the truck. Dylan’s eyes squinted in disbelief. The store was open! Dylan saw the bright neon light in the store’s front window blinking, OPEN.
Dylan tapped the kneeling men with his foot and said, “Get up! Look, the lights are on!” Both men quickly stood to attention and immediately saw the flashing neon light and the fluorescent lighting inside the store. Speechless, they looked at each other in amazement at the site of electric lights. The truck slowly coasted to a stop at the side of the store. Chet turned off the ignition and the sound of an emergency generator from the back of the store became obvious to the men. The subtle hope that maybe, just maybe, the power was not out everywhere faded away and reality set in. Each man grabbed his possessions from the back of the truck and set them against the side of the store on a narrow sidewalk. Chet remained in the driver’s seat, and Dylan stepped up to the window.
“Chet, I can’t thank you enough for giving us a ride here,” Dylan said, as he shook Chet’s hand.
Chet replied, “No problem, glad to help. The only advice I can give you is to stay dry.”
“Hey, buddy, come around here,” Lee said, as he slapped the outside of his door with the palm of his hand.
Dylan went to the opposite side of the truck and reached through the truck’s open passenger window to shake Lee’s hand. Lee extended his arm and handed the pistol to Dylan. “You earned it,” Lee chuckled. “You have some big balls.”
Dylan accepted the pistol and thanked Lee profusely. He gripped the handle and extended his index finger to touch the safety, ensuring that it was in the correct position. The gun would be a nice insurance policy. Dylan turned to look around and see if anyone noticed him with the pistol. No one was around, just as he expected it would be. The pistol fit nicely in the deep front pocket of his dress pants.
Chet backed the truck away from the store, turned toward the highway, and drove away.
Dylan slapped Kevin and Richard on the back and said, “Men, let’s go shopping.”
Chapter Three
The store’s front door was open a few inches, held ajar by a rock on the floor. Dylan grasped the handle and shoved the door back. A cowbell attached to the door clanged loudly. The three men entered the store with Dylan in the lead, just as an older man, looking flustered and walking with a cane, emerged through the backroom door.
“Hey, there. Sorry the power is out. You’re my first customers today. I was beginning to think no one was going to show up.” The old man forced a smile. “It’s a nice day for fishin’ or what not…you don’t plan to fish in those suits, do ya?” He leaned forward and gripped the cane’s handle with both hands for balance.
“Oh, the suits,” Dylan replied, acting surprised. “We had a business meeting today. It was cut short, you know. Having no power created a small change of plans for us. So…here we are...ready to go fishing in Big Sky country and we want to get out on the water, too.”
“Okay, do you gentlemen need to rent a boat for the day?”
Richard interrupted and said, “I need a cigarette, I’ll be outside.”
Irritated, Dylan ignored Richard and faced the storeowner to speak. “We are interested in rafts, one for each of us. They need to be big enough for a man and plenty of camping equipment. We also want to move fast through the water. Do you have anything like that?”
The man rubbed the gray stubble on his face and thought for a brief moment as he looked in the direction of the rafts against the far wall. “Follow me, I’ll show you what you need.”
Using his cane, he directed them to the type of raft they needed. The man described the raft as having multiple air chambers. If one chamber was punctured, the others would remain inflated. There was plenty of room for a man and equipment, maybe even two men. Dylan saw that there were oarlocks for rowing and he knew that using the oarlocks would allow for greater speed on the water.
“Looks good to me,” said Dylan. “We need to catch some fish, too. Right, Kevin?”
Kevin nodded in agreement, adding, “But I don’t have the patience to fly fish for trout. What about bass, and maybe catfish, too?”
“That’s easy enough. I’ve got lures, trot line for catfish, whatever you need is on the wall next to us.” The man turned and looked at the backroom, like he had just remembered something. “Sounds like you know what you want. I’ll be back in a second.” The man disappeared into the backroom.
Dylan tapped on the glass window to get Richard’s attention. Richard flicked his cigarette butt onto the gravel of the parking lot and came back into the store. Dylan showed him the rafts and pointed out the fishing equipment. He told them they could throw a line into the water at night when they sleep or tie a line to the raft when they are on the water. This would be the most efficient way to fish. Dylan also thought it would be a good idea to get a plastic tarp for each man. They could use the tarp to shield themselves from rain and to sleep under at night.
“Just tell me what to get and I’ll put it by the checkout,” Richard said.
“Follow me and take what I do,” said Dylan. “Let’s make three piles, one for each of us.”
Dylan glanced around the store. He knew this might be his last opportunity to acquire supplies before people began to realize how bad it was and how much worse it would become. He estimated that it could take a few months to make it back to Kansas City, so it was critical that they get as many supplies as possible. Dylan knew that Kevin did not live as far away, but he lived with his wife in a large apartment building in the downtown area of Omaha. As he thought about where Kevin and his wife lived, he remembered what the colonel had told him that morning. The urban areas would transcend into war zones as soon as people began to starve.
Dylan lived in suburbia, but not far enough from the city to please himself. He knew there was a chance for bad things to happen in his neighborhood, but at least he lived on the edge of his town and many miles from a big urban area. He did derive some solace from the realization that his home was actually closer to some small farms and open fields than to the concrete jungle of an urban downtown. He lived in a new subdivision that was not nearly complete. He picked the lot for his house specifically because it was next to a large county park and a small creek that flowed into a nearby lake. Having this location kept the neighbors a little further away, which was what Dylan intended. It would take a little longer for chaos to make its way to his front door. Richard lived in a downtown St. Louis condominium. Dylan knew there was no hope for Richard continuing to live there, but he had not told him that yet.
On the other side of the farthest aisle, Dylan saw some equipment he should have already thought about, and realizing that there are more things they needed to get, he started by selecting a small hatchet. They would need this for firewood. There was a water filter to purify water for drinking, definitely a must. He selected three of those. Behind a glass case, he saw a large survival knife. He had the man’s switchblade from earlier in the day, but that would not be sufficient. Dylan needed a sturdy fixed blade knife and this one looked like the kind of knife that would help him survive in the wild, the kind of wild the world was turning into. His hand tapped the bulge in his right pocket and Dylan whispered to himself, “9mm cartridges and
as many as I can get.”
Dylan did not hear the store’s owner walk up behind him. He was disgusted and embarrassed at himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. Being tired and hungry could not be an excuse. He knew his survival would depend upon alertness and that he would be tested many times in the future.
“It’s a nice one, the best I’ve got,” the storeowner said, nodding toward the knife.
“This knife looks solid, very sturdy,” Dylan replied, as he admired the blade. “I’ll take it, and we plan to do some target shooting, too. I have a 9mm pistol. Are those 9mm cartridges?” He pointed toward the locked display case.
“That they are. How many do you need?”
“I’ll take what’s on that shelf. We don’t get to shoot much, so we’re going to make up for that.”
The old man began to perform a calculation in his mind. He looked at the boxes of cartridges and then tilted his head upward, looking at the ceiling. “That would be ten boxes at fifty cartridges to a box.” He tapped his head and said, “That’s 500 rounds.” The storeowner held his arm parallel to the floor, close to his body, and stacked the boxes of ammunition on his forearm. Then he gently bumped his cane on Dylan’s leg and asked in a serious tone, “Do you really want that much?”
“Yes, sir. And the knife.”
The storeowner took his position behind the cash register and explained again that the power was out. Then the owner said what Dylan had feared, “Cash only.”
Dylan began to feel a knot tighten in his stomach. He knew he needed the equipment on the floor to get him back home to his family. He felt his pulse climb, along with his blood pressure, and started to feel a sense of desperation overcome his cool temperament. He forced himself to remain calm, however, and said with resolve what he had already rehearsed in his mind on the way to this store, “Yes, the power is out. That’s why we’re here now and not later in the week. We’re going to take this unexpected chance to meet Montana’s outdoors sooner than we anticipated. As you know, the ATMs are down and that puts us in a bind. What I’m asking you to do is take this opportunity to help us. I’m sure the credit card companies have given you guidance for situations like this.”
