Long Road to Survival: The Prepper Series

by Lee Bradford

  “I’ll bet those twenty thousand fans were just wondering when that drunk fool was gonna get off stage so the real concert could begin.”

  Paul cackled laughter. “I never thought of that, but you may be right.”

  “They woulda thrown tomatoes, but all they had on hand were panties and bras.”

  “Okay, now you’ve gone too far.”

  Now both men erupted into gut-splitting laughter.

  After a while, when the laughing had died down, Paul grew quiet. “You think they’re all right?” he asked Buck, knowing the old man couldn’t possibly have the answer to that question.

  “Susan’s no pushover,” Buck said, licking his fingers. “I can guarantee you that.”

  The urge to check his cellphone for a signal took hold of Paul and he shifted the food to his other hand as he dug into his pocket. The empty feeling made his heart skip a beat as he remembered he didn’t have the phone anymore. Those two criminals at the gas station had taken it. One of them had been named Daryl. The other he only knew as a skinny, toothless man who was probably in his thirties, but looked far older.

  That was when another thought occurred to Paul. He jabbed his hand in his other pocket, knowing the act was a futile one, but trying it all the same.

  “The note,” he said, fear clawing at his throat.

  Buck stopped what he was doing. “What is it now?”

  “The note I showed you in the car, before we stopped for gas. The one where I’d written down Autumn’s name and address.”

  Buck’s voice dropped an octave or two. “Yeah, what about it?”

  “I didn’t think too much of it at the time, because of the bullets and the killing, but one of them took it from me. They knew it was someone important, someone we were heading to see.”

  The muscles in Buck’s face fell flat. “And you can bet your sweet behind that when they can’t find us, they’ll head down there to grab the girls.”

  “God, I hope you’re wrong.” But even as Paul spoke the words, he knew deep down that Susan and Autumn were in even greater danger than before.

  Chapter 27

  With that unsettling realization, the two men gathered the last of the food they’d made and hopped back into the Chevy Celebrity. The plan was to drive through the night. They would even break Buck’s rule of conserving the canned food and eat while they drove where necessary.

  For a while, they made great time, slowing down here and there to avoid abandoned or crashed vehicles. Most of the wrecks they encountered were empty. In the few that were not, the driver was deceased. Buck said he knew a handful of first-aid techniques, not that any of those would have helped the unfortunate souls they’d found.

  More than once, Buck insisted that they be vigilant for stopped cars since they might be walking into an ambush. They’d already fallen victim to one such incident near Platte City and he swore it wouldn’t happen again.

  Paul had tried to explain that there was no way they could have known the station had been co-opted by a gang of escaped convicts from Fort Leavenworth prison. Still, the need to be careful remained.

  At night, the interstate was particularly eerie. For a stretch, the occasional car would travel alongside them, the occupants staring back, probably asking themselves the same thing Paul was.

  “Where are they heading to at this time of night? A cabin somewhere in the woods? Or are they off to rescue someone?”

  For the most part, Buck didn’t concern himself with the other travelers who crossed their path, other than to swear under his breath whenever they wandered into his lane or neglected to use their turning signals.

  There was a bizarre connection between people now, one born out of living through a tragic event. More and more, Paul could see it in the empty and shadowed faces looking back at him. Sure, they were doing what they could to protect the people around them. But Paul was also sure many more were wondering what lay in store for the country after it had been dealt such a terrible blow. The very fabric of civilized society was starting to crumble, a process that would only accelerate in the coming days. Without proper communication, it was hard for the average person to gauge the level of damage. How many cities had been destroyed? A handful? A dozen? Or could it be double that number?

  This was probably one of the major reasons he couldn’t get any cell reception. The moment the power went out, everyone had run for their landlines and cellphones. Paul knew that cell towers had batteries and generators that would last for hours, perhaps even days, in the event that the grid was taken down. He’d read an article back in 2012 about how after Hurricane Sandy a few million Americans along the eastern seaboard couldn’t turn their lights on, but still had access to spotty cell reception.

  He tried not to think about his Blackberry, taken by those thugs at the Phillips 66 when they robbed him and Buck of nearly everything they had, almost including their lives. Be that as it might, unless they came upon someone with a cell and it happened by chance to get a signal, there was no way he could get a hold of Susan.

  Not long after, as the two men barreled through the darkness, their headlights catching yellow lines flying by like blasts from a giant laser gun, Buck began to grumble.

  “I just hope those fat cats aren’t behind this,” he muttered.

  Paul paused and studied Buck’s face in the dim light. In spite of the clutch of white hair on his face, it was clear that he was clenching his jaw. “What are you talking about?”

  Buck glanced over and then back to the road. “Oh, never mind.”

  “You hope the fat cats aren’t behind what?” Paul asked, curious for the old man to make some sense.

  “This mess we’re in,” Buck shot back. “I was just saying that I hope this whole thing wasn’t some scheme cooked up by the bankers and the elites to usher in a New World Order.”

  “New World Order?” Paul had never heard the term used like that before.

  “Oh, come on, Paul, after all the time we’ve spent together, you can’t be that naïve. You don’t actually think our government runs this country, do you?”

  Paul was quiet for a moment. “Uh, yeah, I guess I did. At least when there was a country to run. Does that makes me naïve?”

  “Look, if you can’t see the world the way it is, there ain’t much more I can say to help you.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion, Buck. It’s just that you’re stating something as a fact like everyone should take it on faith as the gospel. It sounds like you’re claiming some evil cabal of crusty white men in suits secretly controls the world.”

  “Ever heard of OPEC?”

  “Yeah, it was put in place to protect oil-producing nations who’d been raped and pillaged of their resources for years,” Paul shot back. “Imagine a foreign government had been pumping US wells dry. How would we like that?” It was beginning to seem as though the two of them could only get along when they avoided certain subjects. “You’re the one who brought up this New World Order stuff without offering any evidence to back it up. Please tell me you’re not going to start telling me that 9/11 was an inside job.”

  Buck changed lanes to avoid a slow-moving car. “Does that sound so crazy?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “You liberals live in a fantasy land.”

  Paul shook his head. “Who said I was a liberal?”

  “Well, you sure do sound like one sometimes.”

  “And if I’d served in the military you’d be singing my praises, the way you always talk about Kevin as though he was the greatest guy on earth.”

  “Don’t you disparage his name,” Buck hissed. “You ain’t half the man he was.”

  “Maybe not, but you might not know him as well as you think you do.”

  Buck snapped a look at Paul as though searching for a tell that he was bluffing. “What kinda nonsense are you on about now?”

  “Did you know he used to beat your daughter?”

  A long, pregnant silence filled the Chevy.

&nbs
p; “That’s bull.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Paul said. “That black eye Susan told you she got bringing a basket of laundry upstairs. Well, let’s just say she wasn’t being completely truthful.”

  “You’re saying she lied to me?”

  “Of course she lied. She knew you loved that boy like a son and knew even better what you’d do to him if you ever discovered the truth.”

  Buck was shaking his head.

  “Look, Buck, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, but you talked about not being blind to the truth and I agree with you. I also know nothing good ever comes from worshiping false idols. He and Susan were dumb kids who married young and didn’t have a clue what they were doing. I’m sure he loved your daughter. I won’t take that away from him. I just think he wasn’t the knight in shining armor you make him out to be.”

  Another long pause and Paul began to feel the creeping threads of guilt over what he’d said. It was the truth, sure, but tearing down a man’s heroes wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

  The two didn’t say a word for the next two hours. During that time, Paul tilted his head back and enjoyed the temporary ceasefire.

  Chapter 28

  The sun rose as they reached the outskirts of Jonesboro, Arkansas. Soft sunlight bathed the tops of the trees as well as the odd wrecked vehicle that dotted the interstate. Paul did a double-take as one of those wrecks drew closer. The vehicle was wide and yellow and looked an awful lot like Buck’s Hummer.

  Beside him, the old man saw it at about the same time and the expression on his face told Paul that he was wondering the same thing. It was only when they roared by at nearly seventy miles an hour that Paul saw two men standing beside the vehicle, peeing into the drainage ditch that ran beside the highway. Even from a side angle, Paul recognized one of them as the man who’d emptied his pockets, stealing his cellphone and the scrap of paper where he’d written Autumn’s address.

  If the rest of the gang was with them, neither Paul nor Buck had seen them. The stock of the shotgun was resting against Paul’s leg, the barrel nudged into the carpet beside his feet. He closed his fingers around its smooth finish. “Should we turn back?” Paul asked, his pulse beginning to race.

  Buck slowed the Chevy down to forty. He seemed to be contemplating the idea. Paul didn’t have the same tactical training as Buck, but even he wondered whether a frontal assault would only get them both killed.

  “I got an idea,” Buck said, sliding the car onto the shoulder where he stopped and removed the key. “Those two should be along here any moment. And my guess is they wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to rob a stranded motorist. Course this would work much better if you were a woman,” Buck said, looking Paul up and down. “And well endowed. But I’m afraid you’ll have to do.” After popping the hood, he quickly got out and braced it with the hood prop.

  Paul got out of the car with the shotgun and Buck took it from him, handing him the squirt gun instead. Paul glanced down at the child’s toy in his hand, disgusted.

  Buck motioned with the barrel of the gun toward the gully right next to them. “I’m gonna hide down there, about twenty feet ahead of the Chevy. You just stand here on the side of the road, waving your arms as they pass by. My guess is they’re gonna stop, but if they do, it won’t be to give you a hand. Soon as they do, that’s when you hightail it back to the Chevy and hunker down behind the engine block. Then you just let me do the rest.”

  “So you’re using me as bait,” Paul said, beginning to wonder whether a frontal assault was such a bad idea after all. Either Buck didn’t hear him, or didn’t care, because he was already down in the gully mucking through six inches of water as he moved into position.

  Less than three minutes later, the Hummer appeared in the distance, first looking like little more than a toy car. That was when Paul’s heart really started to hammer against his ribcage. His mind raced with the possibility that the convicts might simply use him as drive-by target practice, the way kids in the fifties used to hammer mailboxes with baseball bats from a moving car.

  They were about fifty meters away when Paul began waving his arms, positioning himself toward the front of the Chevy. This way if there was any indication of a drive-by, he could dive into the drainage ditch before he got shot.

  To his surprise the Hummer began to slow down and the driver—the man named Daryl who had stolen his things—said something to his companion. Although Paul couldn’t hear what was said, the sneering expression on their faces spoke volumes.

  The Hummer pulled in front of the Chevy and both men got out. For a moment, Paul could only see Daryl, who had the grip of a pistol sticking out from the waistband of his pants. Paul really hoped that Buck’s plan, whatever it was, worked.

  “Got yourself some car trouble?” the convict with a pistol asked him.

  Both men had drawn about even with the back of the Hummer when Paul got a better look at the second convict. He had a shock of deep red hair and pale skin which made him look more like a high-school kid than a cold-blooded killer.

  The smug look on Daryl’s face turned to shock.

  “Hey, I know you,” he started to say when the air was rocked by the deafening sound of a shotgun blast. The red-haired convict’s chest exploded in a crimson mist, his body thrown face first into the gravel.

  Daryl’s eyes grew wide with shock and terror as he went for his pistol. For a split second, Paul contemplated reaching for the squirt gun filled with urine, but quickly realized he’d be dead long before he got a chance to blind his opponent.

  He scrambled for the driver’s side door of the Chevy, his chest heaving with fear. Three shots rang out. The first ricocheted off the asphalt six feet in front of him. The second grazed the left side of his skull, tearing a gash near his temple. The third was a different sound altogether—the thunderous boom from Buck’s shotgun. Paul turned back in time to hear his assailant yelp with pain as he tumbled to the ground, a sizable chunk torn out of the left side of his hip. The pistol flew from his hand and skittered several feet away.

  “You killed Huckleberry,” was the first thing Daryl screamed, clutching his hip while blood oozed out between his fingers.

  “You stole my truck,” Buck replied. “I’d like to say that we’re even, but I got a gut feeling we haven’t even started.”

  Paul ran over and grabbed the man’s pistol.

  “Where you headed, Daryl?” Buck asked matter-of-factly.

  Daryl winced from the pain. Already he was beginning to look pale as the life force slowly drained out of him. He looked like he really didn’t want to answer the question.

  “I saw your friends weren’t in the Hummer,” Buck stated, “which means they’re either somewhere behind us or somewhere ahead. So I’ll ask you again, where were you guys headed to?”

  “Just give me something for the pain. It hurts so much. Give me something for the pain and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “I’m not in the habit of negotiating with criminals,” Buck said. “But I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You tell me what I want to know, as quickly as you can, and I’ll give you something for the pain.”

  “There should be some morphine in the back of the Hummer,” Paul said. “Unless you boys took everything we had.”

  Buck stood expressionless over the wounded Daryl, waiting for his answer.

  Daryl took a final glance down at the bloody mess which used to be his hip and gave in. “A-Atlanta,” he stuttered. “We couldn’t find the two of you and so Finch decided he would take the next best thing.”

  The only visible area of Buck’s face not covered by that thick white beard reddened with anger. Paul was also fuming, but to him a far better solution was to get back on the road as soon as possible and leave this guy here to die.

  “Finch?” Buck said. “He the one I stabbed in the eye?”

  Daryl nodded. “I’ve never seen anyone double-cross Finch without regretting it. He’s got a real stubborn streak
in him.”

  Paul pointed a thumb at the old man. “He doesn’t know Buck very well then. You spend a couple of days with this guy and you’ll see what I mean.”

  “So where are they?” Buck asked, and just as he did the crackle from a radio sounded from somewhere nearby. The two men searched around before they discovered the noise was coming from a walkie-talkie attached to the redhead, Huckleberry.

  “D-man, stop messing around and answer me.”

  “How many of you are in Finch’s gang?” Buck demanded, snatching the walkie from Huck’s belt.

  “Us and four others. Come on, man. I’ve told you everything I know. Get me some help.”

  “Name them.”

  “Shouldn’t we get him something first?” Paul suggested.

  “Shut up,” Buck barked. “Name them!”

  “Finch, Sweets, Jax, and PJ.”

  “Who’s the skinny one with the bad teeth?” Paul asked.

  Daryl’s head fell back against the pavement. “Jax.”

  “So are they ahead or behind us?”

  “They’re close to Memphis,” Daryl said in a whisper now.

  The two men exchanged a look. That meant they were about an hour ahead.

  Daryl’s face was as white as a bed sheet.

  “I think we need to help him,” Paul said.

  “What are we gonna do?” Buck asked incredulously. “Bring him to a doctor?”

  “What about the morphine? At least to take the pain away.”