Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga

by Timothy Van Sickel

  "I'm coming with you," she says. "The kids are up there, I'm coming with you."

  I grab her by the shoulders, firmly but not hard. "You need to stay here. If there is a problem, this is where we'll come. I think it's just stragglers. No shots have been fired. Ken is up there, he won’t let anything bad happen to the kids, Okay?" She calms down a bit, and nods her approval.

  I grab my AR15, check the load and stick two spare clips in my shorts pocket as I head out the door. I've got to make a standard load vest, I think, as I start up the short lane to the farmhouse. The bell ringing has slowed to a once every fifteen seconds clang, and I can hear some loud back and fourth conversation that does not sound threatening. I come around the side of the old farmhouse, gun at half ready, and eye up the situation.

  Ken is on the porch, kneeling behind the railing, 30.06 tight to his shoulder. He is calmly telling a guy in an old farm truck to stand with his hands up next to his truck, and to wait. Larson rings the bell once more. I glance at the house, and see Janie standing in the doorway with an AR15.

  "Stand down everyone," I yell. "Stand down. It's all good! That's Thad our neighboring farmer. It's all good."

  "Mark, Mark, am I glad to see you!" Thad exclaims as he runs towards us. "I got problems, and I need your help." He is panting as I meet him on the old lane.

  "My milker is down! Well, the generator that runs the milker is down. Things were tight last month and I didn’t refill my spare gas cans. The generator ran out of gas. We finished off last night's milking by hand, but we need to get my generator running or that milk will go sour and those cows will go dry. I don’t want to be intruding, but I need some gas. You got to help me out, buddy, I'm against the wall here. Can you help me out?”

  "Larson," I holler, "Get on up here. We need your help." Larson scurries up. I have him take Thad's two five gallon cans back to our gas pump by the old barn and fill them up.

  "We can fill up those two cans, Thad, which may last you a few days, but we need a long term solution. Did you get to town and pick up your wife the other day?"

  "Sure did, Mark," Thad replies. "We brought Momma home cause things were so bad at the home. But I don't think we can take care of Momma. She needs meds, and oxygen that we don’t have. Terri's all torn up about it. I told her what you said about us being attacked. She don't believe it. Now we can't even milk the cows. Crap, Mark, shit's gone to hell! But you are right, brother, we need a plan, or I'm gonna lose some cows."

  "These cans will get you through for a bit, Thad. And there are abandoned cars and trucks out there that you can siphon off. You got to keep that dairy herd going, Thad. Those cows are more important than you know. I'm gonna want to get a few of them cows from you, to mate with my bulls. We got to keep the herd going, the old fashioned way. So we'll do what we can to help you out."

  "I appreciate the gas for the generator," says Thad, shaking my hand. "I think things will come back around to normal real quick tho', buddy, but if you need a couple of cows, maybe we can work something out." Larson returns, lugging the two five gallon cans, and we load them in Thad's old truck. With a thank you, he heads off down the drive to the main road, no more than a neighbor helping a neighbor in his mind. I hope he starts to realize that it’s more than that now.

  I look to the east, with Larson at my side. The slight glow of the sunrise is turning the sky to various shades of pinks, yellows, purples and oranges.

  "What do you see there, Larson?" I ask, as we both gaze at the splendid colors vividly spreading before us.

  "Sunrise, Pap, A new day," Larson replies.

  "You are exactly right, my young friend. And look at how beautiful it is. God is still with us, he would not give us such a beautiful sight, such encouragement. Larson, we have a lot to do, let's get to doing it, okay?"

  Larson looks at me a little sideways, like he thinks I may be a crazy old man. But there is also respect in the sideways glance, like maybe he thinks I know what I'm doing. I hope I know what I'm doing.

  With the noise of the clanging bell, the rushing about, and all the other commotion, the whole compound is starting to stir. It's country wake-up time by now anyways, animals need fed! The chicken and ducks are starting to show a bit of attitude, expecting food. The pigs and beaf cows are starting to mill around their feed troughs, expecting something good.

  I head to the old farmhouse, and see Rusty and Blake, semi-dressed, semi-awake. They have both been here on long weekends, and overnights in summers past. They both know what needs to be done on a normal country morning. "Y'all got some chores to do! Them animals won't shut up till you feed 'em. Y'all get at it, okay?"

  They nod at me, a little bleary eyed. Blake looks back, and asks if they should take their guns with them. Wow, I think, the thirteen year old already gets it. "I don’t remember giving you a gun to carry around, Blake," I say.

  "No, Pap, you didn't, but with all we heard about, don't ya think we ought to have a gun with us, in case something else bad happens?"

  "Yeah, Pap, what if one of the bandits comes up on us while we're feeding the pigs and cows. We need to be prepared," Rusty adds. He was armed with a 12 guage shotgun the day bedore. At fifteen, he has been trained with most of or hunting weapons. Blake has been trained too, but only with the smaller caliber weapons

  I can't argue with their statement, and getting these teenagers used to being armed, considering what I think may be ahead… "Okay, guys, follow me back to the new house," I say.

  Back at the house, I give Rusty a 12 gauge pump, making sure he knows the mechanics and reload procedure. Blake gets a 22 caliber squirrel gun, again only after he has shown he knows the rifle.

  "Keep the guns no more than an arm’s length away. Stay alert, okay?"

  "We'll be okay, Pap. We just want to be ready if some bad people show up. We'll be cool, Pap," says Rusty. "And I'll keep an eye on Blake, Pap, okay?"

  "Yeah, Rusty, you do that. And, Blake, no horsing around out there. You get them animals fed and then come back in for breakfast. And no pot shots with those guns, no target practice at tin cans. If we hear shootin’, we'll think it's trouble. Now get goin'."

  They head out to the barn to feed the animals. Young teenagers, armed and loaded, is this the new normal?

  Breakfast is a little subdued. Even with Kim and Linc on guard at the old farmhouse, it's still a large group of people who don’t normally eat breakfast together. After a traumatic couple of days, people are keeping their thoughts to themselves. Janie is the most active, trying to feed the three young ones, and keep them settled. Becca takes charge of little Sarah, easing Janie's load considerably.

  Britt and Larson start clearing the table, Ken somberly starts helping to clean up, too.

  "What's going to happen today, Pap?" Grace asks me.

  "That’s a good question, youngun. First, I think we need to have your momma and Grammy take a look at that arm of yours. How's it feelin' this morning?"

  "It hurts, Pap! I got shot ya know? And I ain't a youngun no more. I'm older than Rusty, and I can sit guard on the porch, too. I want to help."

  His off-handed but brutally honest answer brings a few laughs from around the table, including me. "Well, you're right. I guess you did get shot and you're dealing with it like a man, so I guess I ought not call you a youngun no more. But you lost some blood yesterday, and you still look a little pale. I think a day or two of rest are in order for you."

  "Aw, man, I'm okay, and I want to help."

  "No, your pap is right," states Becca. "You need to rest up a bit, youngun" she chides.

  Grace glares at her. But before he can say anything, Becca coos in a loving gramma way, "You will always be a youngun to me, Grace." She bends over and kisses him on the forehead. "Now let’s get a new bandage on that arm. Come on, Britt, we'll do it on the back porch were there's more light. Grab what we'll need from the bathroom."

  Young Mark, and James, Janie's two youngest boys, six and eight years old, have listened to this conversati
on, stunned, and wide eyed. "Grace got shot!" exclaims James. "How did that happen? Are you going to be a soldier like my dad?" he asks Grace.

  Janie chimes in. "There was a little accident when Pap was bringing them here yesterday, boys. Now how about we go outside and see if we can find duck eggs, okay? Come on, boys."

  As she takes Sarah from Becca. I notice she has her shoulder holster on. No wallflower, that Janie. Smart girl.

  Ken, Rusty, Blake and Larson are left in the kitchen with me. I get up to help finish cleaning up. I offer the last of the scrambled eggs to the other two boys, and they hastily finish them off.

  "You know those were farm eggs, not store eggs, don't you?"

  Blake stops with his last forkful poised in front of his mouth, and looks at me quizzically, a little squint eyed, then exaggeratedly gobbles them down. "It's okay, Pap. I guess we may not get store eggs for a while."

  I nod approvingly. "Blake, grab your 22, and go sit guard with Kim. Have Linc come up here so we can figure out what we need to get done today, and take this plate of food up for her, okay?"

  "Sure, Pap," he says as he wipes his mouth. He grabs the plate and his 22 as he heads out the door.

  "Ken, did you get a chance to come up with a guard duty roster?"

  "Yeah, Mark, I got it right here." I look it over. It will work, with a few tweaks so that some chores can get done.

  "I'll post this in my office. That’s where the security system is and that will end up being our command post. Hey, there's Linc." I pull a plate of bacon and eggs from the oven. "Eat up, my new friend, we got lots to do."

  The four of them are sitting at the large table as I pace in front of them and begin talking.

  "Linc, this is all going to be new to you, but Ken and the boys know a lot about what's up, what we got here. As you all have seen, it's bad out there, the grid is down, chaos is going to happen, has already started to happen. We are not going to let chaos happen here. We are going to be a safe haven, a place where chaos is turned back. A place where normalcy will get a kickstart. But we can't help anyone if we can’t help ourselves.

  "Okay, first thing is to protect this safe haven. The security system is shot, but the electric is up and running, so is the water. The Faraday cage worked, as far as I know, or we wouldn't have electric. So everything in the Faraday cage should be good, too."

  "Faraday cage?" Linc asks. "Metal enclosed box, grounded ten feet down? You got one of those? Really? I thought that was just theoretical stuff in books, and for the tinfoil hat conspiracy guys."

  I open a drawer, and pull out a roll of tin foil, as I start to answer. "We don’t really have a metal box, it's more of a metal shed." I rip off two sheets of foil from the roll. "We have back-up systems for most everything we may need." I begin to fold the sheet of foil. "There's a couple of old laptops in there, replacement cameras, a replacement controller for the cameras, some old monitors, an old dvd player or two. Even our old smart phones. If I could have afforded it, I would have put everything in there I needed to get my Dodge 2500 running, too." I place my pirate-style tinfoil hat on my head, and hand the other one to Linc. He looks at me a bit amused, and places the tinfoil pirate hat on his head. He smiles as he looks around at all of us smiling at him, nodding knowingly.

  "You have got to be kidding me!" Linc says, still grinning. "We stumbled onto a group of tinfoil hat-wearing, Bible thumping, heavily armed, farmers who want to save the world? I'll be damned!"

  "No, you have been blessed, Linc," my wife says as she enters the room. "And, Mark, you better unfold and wipe down that tin foil hat. I told you not to be doing that, that's a precious commodity you’re playing with now, and you truly look like a fool." She blows me a kiss as she heads towards the bathroom.

  "She took the words right out of my mouth, Linc. God put you here for a reason. I am sure you will be a blessing to us. But right now, we got to get the security system back up and running. Ken, you know where the cameras are, right?"

  "There's one on the front porch of the farmhouse looking down the lane, there's one looking at the chicken coop, and one on the barn looking at the meadow where the cows graze. The last one is down the little draw looking at the old logging road, right? That one will be a little hard to find."

  "Yep, but the one in the farmhouse is in the attic, and there are eight cameras in the cage, plus a controller, and about two thousand feet of co-ax wire with power cord, so we can set up a few more cameras. I want you to make sure we get those four cameras replaced, along with the controller and monitor. I am pretty sure that you can then run a line from here to the farmhouse, and get a laptop or monitor up there as a slave that will display everything that we see down here. That way we won’t need someone here, and up there all the time."

  "Aren’t you going to be here to help?"

  "No, I'm not. I'm going to Central City. I need to talk with Reverend Wysinger, and see what's going on. I'll take Larson with me."

  "The girls are also going to need a lot of help organizing everyone, and getting things unpacked and stored. You boys, er, excuse me. You young men, help them out with anything they need."

  Becca emerges from the hallway to the bathroom, "Remember, Grammy is the boss of Mark, which makes me the boss of you. Yes, I just said that, and I mean it," she says, heading back to the porch, with more antibiotic cream and tape.

  "There's also eight wireless mic radios and a Ham radio in the cage. I got them cheap, off the internet. They're still in boxes. See if you can get them up and working. The Ham radio may need some kind of antenna. We will need to scrounge around and find what we need to build it. There's batteries and battery rechargers in the cage, too. Basically, check through all that stuff, and see what's working.

  "Any questions guys?" I ask after finishing this ramble of things that need to be done.

  "I guess I don’t get to keep my tinfoil hat, huh? I think Kim would get a kick out of this!" Linc says, pointing at his new headgear. "I think it will help me let her know what kind of tinfoil hat-wearing freaks we have settled in with. I mean have been blessed by." We all laugh together at his good humor.

  "Go show your wife your poor taste in hats, and let her know what we're doing today." Linc heads out, with a goofy grin that only a fifty-something year old guy wearing a tinfoil hat can get away with.

  I glance over at Ken, as he watches this bit of silliness take place. I see a bit of a smile briefly cross his face. I silently thank God. We need Ken, we can't have him in a dark place.

  Ken stands as I walk over to him. "I'm trusting my world to you, son," I say as I extend my hand. He grasps my hand and I pull him into a brief bro hug. "You got this?" I ask as we break our short embrace. "I'll make sure Becca knows what's going on, too. She knows this farm inside and out. She'll make sure all the chores get done, especially with a few grandsons to help her. I need you to work on that camera system, and the other electronics, okay?"

  "I'm good, Mark," Ken responds. "I seen you working with the folks, they need a leader like you, you get to town, and help them out. We won’t survive out here if the rest of the town goes to crap. Go make sure they got a handle on things, we'll be okay here."

  I head out to the porch, where Britt and Becca are finishing up dressing Grace's arm, "So what’s your assessment?" I ask.

  "Well, there is no redness or excessive swelling that we can see, at least as far as we know, we've never dealt with a gun shot wound! But it's not infected, if that’s what you're asking. We gave him the last antibiotic pill, so that’s a bit of a worry." She stands, and looks directly at me. "Or are you asking about my assessment that you are going to town, leaving your family at a time like this? Shit just hit the fan and you're leaving your family! To go see if you can save the world! My assessment of that is not good. But I know that is what you are going to do. So go, we'll be okay." She turns away, crying. I turn her to me, and hug her tightly. At first she does not hug me back. But then she clings tightly. "Go! Do what you need to do, Mark, I know you
have to. I love you." She turns back to finishing the bandage, lightly sobbing. I turn and head to get ready to go to Central City.

  Chapter 23 Central City, Day 3, September 13. 2018

  Larson is riding shotgun in the old van. He has an AR15 in his hands and an old 1911 45 caliber in a shoulder holster. Spare clips for both are in an old fishing vest I suited him up with as a makeshift combat vest. He is on edge, and that is good. After what we both witnessed yesterday, we know these roads are dangerous. I am glad to see him alert and concerned.

  We pass Thad's farm and see his cows in the pasture. We see him out in a far field mowing hay. He must still have diesel. How long can the farmers keep producing? I think. How many farmers are going to start losing cows, and other livestock without transportation for feed. No refrigeration, no artificial insemination? What other parts of the food supply chain are going to break down with no modern technology? The cities are going to be hard hit because the food won’t be able to be delivered. Generally speaking, three days of food supply is all that the stores have. And that is already being fought over.

  Has the countryside become so reliant on modern technology that even farmers will have a hard time surviving? The big combines are all dead, electronics shot. Major swathes of cropland in the corn belt will go unharvested. The major food factories will be in trouble. The chicken farms, with hundreds of thousands of layers and meat birds, the pigs farms with automated feeding systems, all will be scrambling to keep just a portion of their flocks and herds. And how much of the country's crop is hybrid, unable to produce fertile seeds? Smaller farmers, like Thad, with older equipment, will become the nation's food source, those that survive. But does Thad grow heirloom crops? Will he have seed for next year? I am still pondering that question as we roll in sight of the Central City roadblock.