The Fall of America:: Premonition of Death (Fall of America 1)

by W. R. Benton

  "W...water?" I asked, and then closed my eyes as I lowered my hammering head.

  "Here's a sip, but take just a little at first." I heard Sandra say. "You were injured by flying debris, and I was worried about you."

  I felt the cool water on my parched throat and enjoyed it more than any cold beer or soft drink I'd ever tasted. After a moment or two I asked, "Do you have anything for pain? My head is killing me."

  I sat up for the medication and felt like my head was split wide-open. She handed me two white pills, which I washed down with another sip of water. I felt a bout of dizziness, but fought it off.

  "You'll be okay in a day or two, but the headaches could last a while. I have no way of telling if you suffered a concussion or not, but I don't think you did."

  "How's the house? I remember us being under the table during the storm and then nothing."

  "We lost the roof on the house and about half of the structure. Tom is upstairs now attempting to save what he can."

  "What about the bodies from the fight?"

  "He pulled them off about a half a mile this morning, right after the storm stopped, and left them there. He's a good man and took charge when he saw you were out of it."

  "We were trained by the army to do just that, take over if one of us fell. Any idea if the storm took our storeroom?" I asked as I eased myself down onto the blanket.

  "Storeroom is okay, but our bedroom, the guest room and bathroom are pretty much gone."

  I gave a light chuckle, which immediately brought pain to my head, and said, "The bathroom hasn't worked in over two years and as for guests, lately we've shot more than we've put up for the night. We'll sleep down here or in the living room."

  "I think we should sleep here and let them have the living room. I'm not sure the house is structurally sound enough for anyone to use the upstairs bedroom any longer."

  I shrugged my shoulders, felt the pain pill starting to work and drifted off to sleep while Sandra was talking about the barn.

  When I next awoke, Tom was sitting beside me cleaning his deer rifle. It was dark and a small candle was burning on a box in the middle of the room. I raised my head and I could see what appeared to be both women sleeping up against the far wall. My head felt better, but I needed another pill.

  Tom, who must have seen my movements, asked, "Are you doing better this evening?"

  "Some, but I need another pain pill."

  Reaching in to his shirt pocket, he pulled out a pill and handed it to me along with a partially filled cup of water.

  "Sandra gave me the pill and water before she went to sleep. She gave me instructions to give the pill to you if you came around on my shift."

  I swallowed, nodded in understanding, and then asked, "Did the storm hurt us much?"

  "The house is a mess, and things are scattered for a quarter mile or better all around us. We didn't lose any food or water, but the big gas storage tank you had is history. When I checked it out, all that remained was a concrete slab."

  "There is still some gas in my shed and about 30 gallons in the barn, but that's it. That storage tank was there well over ten years and now it's gone in one night."

  "The power of a storm like we had is awesome and most people are not aware of the force or the destruction they can cause a place. Not that it matters, but you've trees down in the yard, telephone poles down out along the road, and I didn't find a single shingle from your roof. Right now I have tarps covering the open side of your house until we can board it up."

  "Has anyone been snooping around?"

  "Not since the storm, or I would have seen the prints in the mud. I think everyone in the area is recovering from the storm, but I know who attacked us."

  "Patton?"

  "No doubt at all it was him. Do you remember a skinny guy riding with them that looked pretty sharp and knew how to handle his rifle?"

  "I saw the man and if shooting started, he'd have been the first one I'd have killed?"

  "He was one of the dead I pulled out of the yard --- he'd stepped on a toe popper. The buckshot blew most of his foot off, but some of the pellets must have severed a main artery in his leg, because he'd bled to death. He'd placed his belt on the leg as a tourniquet, right above his ankle, so I don't think he knew he was bleeding higher up."

  "We've both seen it before. I treated a man once that had a bullet wound to his right arm, high near the shoulder, and I looked for an exit hole as well. Of all places, I found it on his lower back, near the spine. The round had hit the bone of his shoulder and then moved down his back to exit there."

  "Did he live?"

  "He lived, but lost the use of his left arm, or had when I saw him last. I learned later he was sent to Walter Reed, so they could get him into rehab to try to save the use of his arm. I lost touch with him after that."

  The pounding in my head lessened, so I tried to stand. I wobbled and my legs felt weak as I stood and then walked to the window and looked out. The night was dark, the moon not out yet, and stars twinkled high overhead. It looked like the same sky I used to view as a child and it was, except we'd changed on earth. I saw no movement, returned to Tom, and sat in a chair.

  "What now?"

  Tom chuckled and said, "I have no idea, but let's get through this night and see how you are in the morning. I think we should clear your yard of debris first, because I like to keep a clean view, if possible."

  "I've a chainsaw in the shed, so clearing the yard won't be that hard. I think while we're doing that we need to place some range markers out."

  "It'd help a great deal. We can place some rocks out and paint them different colors for the range. I figure most of our fighting will be within 200 yards, so I'd suggest that be our last marker."

  "Forty yard spacing?"

  "That'd work for me."

  I thought for a few moments and then asked, "How did you get those dead horses pulled away?"

  "I used your tractor and the smell was terrible."

  "I'd imagine it was. Did you take them to where you'd placed the bodies?"

  "Yep, and then I rode by and looked for Patton's body, only it was gone."

  "His old man must have come for it." I replied, and then added, "If you're tired, I can stand guard for a while."

  "I'm tired, except you'll not stand guard for at least two more days. You know as well as I do that head injuries can be tricky, so we'll wait to see how you do. I'd imagine you've had some dizzy spells since the injury, or vision problems."

  "A bit of both, to be honest."

  "We'll wait then. I don't want to have to sleep with one eye open, wondering if you're doing the job or not."

  I didn't like it, but nodded my understanding.

  My stomach gave a loud rumble and Tom asked, "Are you well enough to eat something?"

  "Depends on what you have."

  "I've some vegetable soup, peanut butter, and dehydrated milk."

  "Sounds good," I replied, "and a lot more appetizing than a MRE, huh?"

  MRE was a military acronym for Meals Ready to Eat and while they looked horrible, the taste was surprisingly good if heated. A single meal packed a lot of calories, too, close to 1200, which a fighting man needed, and while individual meals varied in taste, most were acceptable hot. The problem many of us had with MRE's was when we had to eat them cold, because they gave most soldiers indigestion. A lion's share of the meals I'd eaten were old, really old. I'd gotten out before the chemical heaters were added to the newer meals, so I ate more than just a few meals cold.

  Tom left and put my meal together, and returning, he placed it on the table near me. As I started eating, he said, "I didn't mind MRE's much, except they stop me up like a cork. I could eat two or three and not have a bowel movement for four or five days."

  I glanced at him and said, "That's because they're low in fiber. From what I understood, which may be wrong, the military designed them that way to keep soldiers from having to run to the bushes every day."

  "Well, they work
ed on me for sure. I guess it would be hard to fight a war if the soldiers and Marines were running to the bushes all the time, huh?"

  I smiled, "Now that you mention it, I don't remember ever feeling the need for a bush in the sandbox. I only found out about the fiber from Sandra, who was a nurse in the reserve. I always assumed it was because I was uptight or scared most of the time."

  "I think it was a mixture of both, poor fiber and fear that kept me from going regular. There I was, all decked out in desert camouflage, and do you honestly think I'm going to squat and show my big shiny ass out in the open? I'd have had every sniper within five miles aiming at my rump."

  I laughed and it felt good, so I said, "Can't show off a purple heart to the butt my friend."

  Then, at my own words, I grew serious and thought, most of our armed forces have left and hopefully most made it home to family and friends. I wouldn't put it passed the Chinese or Russians to invade now that most of us are starving or dead. Lord, it'd be the perfect time to do the job too, because we've crumbled as a nation. Who knows, they may have been invaded and we just don't know it yet.

  "Why so serious all of a sudden?" Tom asked.

  "I was wondering why the Chinese or Russians haven't invaded us yet. You couldn't ask for a better time, and we'd only be able to make a token resistance."

  "They may have, but if so, they're not around central Mississippi yet. I think they'd hit the large cities like New York, Washington, San Francisco, and then take their time moving against the rest of the country."

  "Well, we may be fighting among ourselves these days, but it might take an invasion to bring us all back together again as a nation."

  Shaking his head, Tom replied, "I haven't seen anything in the air in over two years except birds. Except, that means very little, as you know. What worries me is our usual grapevine of communications has stopped."

  "Too many deaths to keep it open, I guess. You have to remember, we're rich when compared to most folks, many of which are living on dogs, cats, and rats. I thank God everyday that I had enough sense to prepare our supplies."

  Tom moved back to the window and then said, "You finish that food and then get some more sleep. Hopefully you'll soon be back on your feet."

  I raised the bowl of soup and finished it off. After I stood, I said, "I'm done. When you get a chance let Sandra know I'm fine and remind her that I love her, okay?"

  "Will do, buddy, now get some sleep."

  *****

  Two days later, I was up moving around just after sun up and as I looked at the devastation of my home, it tore my heart out. One whole side looked as if a giant hand had reached down and ripped it apart. While I had some plywood in the barn, I didn't have enough to cover even half of the missing roof. After meandering around the place for a while, I went into the basement and called a group meeting.

  I decided to tell them exactly what I had in mind, "I don't think this place is structurally sound, and we need to move to the barn. I think one big gust of wind and we'll spend days digging out."

  "It's due to turn cold in less than a month, so do you think we can survive in the barn?" Sue asked.

  Sandra laughed and said, "Sue, our horses live in there, so we'll be warm enough. It won't be as warm as this place, because it's not insulated as well, but we'll not freeze to death."

  Tom said, "We can move the wood stove into the barn, except we'll have to be extra careful of fire. With all the hay stored in there, it'd go up like a match."

  "We can clear an area around the stove, so that won't be much of a real problem. Do we take or leave the food in the house?" Sandra asked.

  "We take everything. Now, I'm thinking we can place our forward listening post in here and it'll be warm enough."

  "The only problem I see," Tom spoke, and I could tell he was picking his words carefully, "our line of fire to the road will be blocked by the house. Do you have any idea how many feet it is to the house from the barn?"

  "I'd guess about 200 feet, why?

  "I'm thinking, and I may be wrong, but it seems if anyone attacked us from the road, they'd naturally use this place as cover, right?"

  "Sure, they'd move in close and likely place some men inside too. Come on, spit out what you have in mind," I said, growing frustrated.

  "I'll remove one of the napalm bombs this afternoon and place it in the center of this place. Once attackers are crawling all over the ruins, we set it off and we'll clear 'em out fast enough. This place is far enough from the barn that we won't burn up when we torch it."

  "That's pretty devious, so let's do it, except we'll use some of the gas from the barn. We'll run out of gas soon enough, so using some to protect us is a good investment. "

  "While you two rig the house, we'll start moving the supplies. I'll get the wheelbarrow from the barn, and the job won't take us long."

  *****

  Tom and I spent most of the day removing downed trees in my yard, to clear a field of fire, and placed a new napalm bomb in the exact center of my home. I had mixed emotions placing the explosive, with half of me understanding the need and, the other half still determined to save what was mine. I finally allowed commons sense to rule and the bomb was placed.

  We'd just ran the wires outside the structure when I heard a scream and then a shot. It sounded like a large caliber pistol, but I was unsure.

  "The barn, but let's not rush into this, because we don't know what's happened." Tom said, "You cover me until I get to the door, then go around to the back door. You enter; let's say in five minutes, okay?"

  I looked at my watch and nodded.

  "I'm going now," Tom said and took off running for the corner of the barn.

  I pulled the pistol I'd taken from Patton, because I could shoot more accurately with it than my shotgun and didn't want to hit a woman. The shotgun I slung over my shoulder on the sling and as soon as Tom was in position, I took off running for the back door.

  It only took a minute or so to get into position, so I stood by the door attempting to get my breath. My head was starting to ache, and I knew when this was all said and done I'd need a pain pill. I kept glancing at my watch and the seconds took minutes to tick off. Finally, exactly at five minutes, I opened the door and entered my tack room. I heard both Sue and Sandra talking, so I listened. I stayed in the darkness of the barn, but slowly moved forward. A big man was standing over both women and held a pistol in his right hand. Sandra and Sue were on the floor.

  Finally, a male voice I didn't know said, "You two shut your mouths. Mister Patton told me to bring him a prisoner or two and guess what? You're my "

  Before he could finish, the front door slung open and in stepped Tom as if he owned the place. He held his .45 in his extended arms and was in a combat stance.

  It was my chance, while the man was concentrating on Tom, to get a shot off. I raised my pistol in both hands, sighted the man in and took a deep breath. As I released my breath, I slowly began to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly the gun jumped in my hand. My target fell hard against a wall and then collapsed on the floor screaming. Suddenly his screaming ceased.

  Tom motioned me forward and we both approached the man cautiously with weapons ready. I knew if the man moved, I'd shoot and so would Tom, without a doubt. I stopped beside the man and saw his hands were clean, so I knelt on his back with my right knee and reached for a pulse on his neck.

  "He alive?"

  "Strong pulse, so he's not going to die anytime soon. I caught him a bit high in the shoulder, but I'm sure his collar bone is jacked up."

  "What pistol are you using?"

  "The only one I had on me, the one I took off of Patton's son."

  Bending over, Tom picked up the man's pistol, which was a 44 magnum, and threw it to me. As I caught it, he said, "Keep this, I'm sure it shoots straighter than what you have."

  "Over on my work bench you'll find some rope, Tom. Bring it to me."

  As soon as the man was tied securely, I turned to the women, stood and asked,
"Are you two okay?"

  "We're both fine, but Sandra took a round through her left arm when the man rushed the barn."

  I moved to her side and she gave me a faint smile as she said, "It's nothing, just a flesh wound, and it only grazed my arm."

  "Doctor it up now." I ordered and then continued, "Once you're taken care of, take a look at the 'Hulk' over there."

  Tom had pulled his knife and cut the man's shirt off, which allowed me to see pieces of bone and shirt near the exit wound. Most folks don't realize that when a bullet passes through a person, dirt, cloth, and bone are pushed through the trail of the bullet. This dirt and other debris is what cause most infections. He tossed me three loaded cylinders for the man's pistol, which I pocketed quickly. I had some .44 magnum ammo in storage, but not a great quantity.

  "My boy is bleeding pretty badly. Do we have a compress bandage?"

  "There are some large sanitary pads in the medical supplies."

  "Uh, it's his shoulder that's passing blood, not the other end," Tom said, and I could see his face was red.

  Laughing, Sandra replied, "They'll work as well if not better, because they're designed for blood. They're a lot cheaper, so we have a few cases of 'em."

  "Our medic in the army carried dozens of them for compress bandages. He said they were easier to use," I said and grinned, because I loved to teach new things to my buddy.

  "Well," Tom said smiling, "I don't think our victim cares much what we use."

  Sue, who'd been fairly quiet asked, "Did you change your mind about taking prisoners?"

  "Nope, not at all."

  Tom stopped and turned. Once he met my eyes he said, "I won't stop the bleeding if we're just going to kill him later."

  "No, doctor him up for now, because I have some questions to ask him. If he gives me honest answers he'll live, if not he'll die."

  "I want nothing to do with torture, and I said that from the start."

  "I'll do the job, but we need to know where Patton is living, how many men he has, and what his plans are. I think it may be time to pay a visit to him and put an end to this shit. If this man answers my questions, there won't be any torture."

  As he opened a package of sanitary napkins, Tom said, "I watched an Iraqi killed by torture once, and I can still hear his screams some nights. I want nothin' to do with this, understood?"