Blackout: Still Surviving

by Boyd Craven III

  I was so focused on that, that I’d tuned out the people around the campfires, a good hundred yards past me. A woman’s cry, not one of pleasure this time, was long and loud. It ended abruptly when a man started screaming for somebody to stop. I unslung the rifle and started moving slowly, still in the tree line and the shadows.

  I got closer and could make out the shapes and picked out faces after a few minutes, the lovers still making the truck rock the last time I looked back. I heard the man shout again and others started cheering, clapping, and shouting back at him. I moved to the edge of the tree line nearest the clearing and the parking lot. All I could see were silhouettes moving within the backdrop of several campfires. The murmur of the crowd had me looking around for a moment, and I realized I was seeing almost four dozen people here.

  Then somebody walked toward a figure that had been staggering, I assumed drunk, and shined a light on him. I mentally cursed as I recognized Curt Guthrie. The woman I heard had to have been Margie. The light was shone right on his face as a man closed the distance. He lowered the light just as he landed a sucker punch in Curt’s gut. He dropped to the ground, almost retching. The man who had hit him rubbed his wrist, and in a play of light, I saw it was my old pal, Aaron. His hand pained him after slugging Curt? Good.

  I hunkered down and put the rifle around my knees. I was at a good vantage point to watch them, even though every fiber of my being wanted to start shooting them out of the darkness. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out the old Maxim silencer Grandpa had gotten in trade forever ago. I threaded it on quietly as I watched, and my blood seethed.

  “…don’t care. Where is…” a screamed question that I could barely make out.

  Curt got from his hands and knees and stood up. He murmured something I couldn’t make out, and another voice started shouting.

  “Don’t tell me that. You’re a baker, we already found some of your stash. Where is the rest?”

  He said something else and Aaron’s hulking figure stepped forward, and a meaty right hand slammed into his head. He howled, holding his wrist again, but Curt slumped to the ground, knocked out. I lifted the rifle, murder in my heart, when I heard a motor sound in the distance. I wasn’t the only one, despite the mosh pit, concert volume of noise the assholes were making.

  Margie and Curt were here. Who else? My hands shook as I kept the rifle aimed at Aaron’s figure. Curt was already down, but if he started in again—

  I turned, as did the quieting crowd. A single headlight roared up, and I knew I was hosed. If another motorcycle was coming, they would come right past me, and my chances of being detected went through the roof. I worked on controlling my breathing and lowered the rifle, holding it sideways, so I wasn’t tempted to pull the trigger. Then I waited.

  A pickup truck pulled into the edge of illumination of Aaron’s flashlight. The other headlight had been shattered and the front bumper, grill, and hood looked like they had been damaged. It wasn’t the truck Aaron had been driving, I’d seen that back by Lance’s in the lineup of vehicles. Somebody let out a whoop, and the group of people converged on the truck. I tried to pick out what I was seeing, but people were reaching back into the bed of the truck and pulling stuff out. Some staggered, carrying whatever it was toward the waiting RVs and campers.

  I watched as the truck was unloaded and wondered for the millionth time if I was about to be found. Second on that was, what was going on with Curt and Margie? If I had to guess, they had snagged the bakers for supplies. Knowing Curt was one of a handful of preppers in the area, it was possible they’d been questioning him about food and if he had any more. The woman’s voice I’d heard earlier was Margie’s, it had to have been.

  I need to find help.

  I got to my feet slowly as the truck with the damage passed me, the light having fallen harmlessly over my head as I’d been kneeling. I heard its engine shut off and the light went out at the far end of the clearing hacked out by Lance’s people, or at least that’s who I assumed they were. I heard the truck’s doors slam, and a couple of men, by the sound of their voices, got out. They whooped in general, and as I moved further back into the trees and in the dark, I heard them stop talking, then bust up laughing. The sound of heavy springs compressing, letting out rusty squeaks, was almost drowned out by angry shouts from the couple inside the truck.

  I’d almost forgotten about them, and soon the four or five voices where screaming obscenities back and forth. A boom went off as somebody touched off a round, and I flattened myself to the ground.

  “Don’t you give me that…”

  “Freaking perverts,” a female voice screamed.

  “You ever pull a gun on me—”

  There was another loud boom, and a male voice started screaming in pain. I turned and looked, and saw a ton of people advancing at a dead run. Stay and hope they missed me in the woods, ten feet back from the clearing, or flee?

  “You want some too?” the woman shrieked. “You ever point a gun at us again—”

  Another shot went off, and this time she screamed, but in fear not agony. More gunshots rang out, and I decided getting out of there quickly was a better option than safely. Especially when more gunshots went off, and several trees took hits about twenty feet in front of me. I started crawling again, trying to stay quieter than the commotion, screams, cries of agony and defiant shrieks of the woman from the truck bed. It was so loud, I could have probably gotten up and run, but I didn’t because of the gunfire. I didn’t want to catch a stray.

  “What the ever-loving hell is going on here?” a voice roared, one I recognized: Lance’s.

  “Bastard perverts opened the back of the truck while Ryan and I were having some fun,” the woman’s voice said. “Stupid fucks jumped on the tailgate and then tried to get in.”

  “Who shot first?” Lance screamed back at her from what sounded like inches as both voices were close, too close.

  “I shot him when he wouldn’t stop trying to come in,” Ryan’s voice said. “Drunked up shithead.”

  “Anybody else hurt?” Aaron roared.

  I couldn’t hear the answer because the man who’d been shot started screaming as it sounded like people tried to move him. I made it past Aaron’s truck, then I got to my feet again and started jogging softly. I was getting hit with too many branches and making too much noise, so I slowed down my pace for ten minutes or so, watching and listening. The commotion stayed back at the camp. I decided to take a risk and got out onto the edge of the plowed area right over the caldera that made the Crater of Diamonds and started jogging the edge of the tree line.

  I heard a happy bark as I came down the driveway. Raider ran up, his tail making his entire butt wiggle in happiness. I had to grin at his antics, and he fought training and jumped up, putting his paws on my chest and looked at me, nearly eye level. The crazy dog had been growing up faster than I had noticed. He’d become such an integral part of my life now, it was like he was a friend, a kid, and a companion all rolled into one.

  “How you doing, buddy?” I asked him.

  He responded by licking my neck, making happy rumbling noises and whines. I rubbed his head and pushed him back gently. He turned and ran back for the porch. The sun was starting to come up, but there was a chill in the air that wasn’t uncommon even in the summer sometimes. I could see Grandma sitting in her chair, a percolator steaming on the table between her and Grandpa’s seat. Raider ran there first and flopped at her feet, rolling on his back.

  She chuckled and took a bite of something in one hand and gave him a quick petting. I walked up, taking the rifle off my back and leaned it against the house. I saw an extra mug there, waiting. I grabbed it and poured me a cup.

  “How did things go?” Grandma asked finally.

  I saw she’d been nibbling on a wedge of cornbread, a staple at our house. Simple to cook, fluffy, light with a sweet flavor from the natural sugars.

  “Not good,” I told her.

  “Your grandpa slept thr
ough the gunshots. You got any mending you need a hand with?” she asked me, looking at me critically as I straightened up and took a sip of the thick liquid energy.

  “No, that wasn’t me, but I heard and saw some of it,” I told her, noting the coffee wasn’t hot hot like she liked it, just really warm, which meant she’d been out here a while.

  “Somebody shooting up somebody?” she asked.

  “One of Lance’s boys was in the bed of a pickup truck with his girlfriend when a couple rowdy guys started messing with them and tried to get in the back…”

  “Lordy, I would have shot them too,” Grandma said and finished her cornbread off. “Want some?” she asked between bites.

  “I can get it,” I told her, moving toward the door.

  “Right here,” she said, pointing to a saucer that had a napkin over it.

  I pulled the napkin aside and saw a generous four-inch square wedge, already moistened with butter. That was something that was going to become a lost commodity for us. I picked it up and offered it to Grandma, “Want some?”

  “No, Wes, you go right on, I’ve had mine already.”

  “Where’s Grandpa?” I asked, then took a large bite.

  “Sleeping, he tried staying awake, but the pain pill knocked him out.”

  “Is the pain bad?” I asked her.

  “Lord no, he hasn’t taken one himself in a week; I dissolved it in his coffee then helped him shuffle to the couch. He was working himself into a fit about what you were doing.”

  “Well, I’m ok,” I told her, realizing Grandma had basically roofied Grandpa.

  I tried not to grin.

  “I knew you would be, but when I heard the shooting, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I knew you took Grandpa’s old hush puppy, so it wasn’t you shooting. I just couldn’t get it out of my head that you’d get shot, though.”

  “I’m ok, I promise. Curt and Margie Guthrie may not be, though.”

  “The bakers?” Grandma asked, sitting on the edge of her chair.

  I told her everything.

  21

  “Grandpa, I don’t want you coming with me,” I argued.

  “I know where they’re going to be,” he said gruffly.

  It was after lunchtime. I’d skipped eating lunch after my breakfast of coffee and cornbread and took a nap instead. I would be useless on as little sleep as I’d had and had taken the chair across from Grandpa. He’d let me sleep, even though I knew Grandma had filled him in while I was out cold.

  “Because you used to have drinking parties out there,” I told him.

  “Yes, and I think I know how to get you safely back there,” he shot back.

  “I don’t even know if the guard is gone yet,” I argued, “and it’s too far for me to walk to and have enough time to do anything.”

  “And if you go back to where I think you’re going, you might set off a tripwire and get your fool head blown off,” he said, his voice rising at the end there.

  Grandma scurried out of the house, her apron in her hand. Checking on the chickens again and avoiding our argument.

  “They have parked a good half hour walk from here,” I told him. “If we both go, it’ll leave Grandma vulnerable, and there’s plenty of guys who aren’t too happy with us.”

  “So leave the dog, he can’t come where we’re going anyway,” Grandpa shot back.

  “I… Why do you need to do this?” I asked him.

  “Because I’m getting older, and dammit, I know about the area you’re walking into. I’ve been holding my tongue in case I was wrong.”

  “What?” I asked him.

  “Your truck is known to Lance’s people, we’ll take my Buick.”

  “Grandpa!” I said in exasperation.

  “Get your stuff and get in the car if you’re going, I’ll explain on the way. And bring a bottle of your JD flavored corn liquor.”

  “I…” I stuttered then headed toward the kitchen and opened the pantry.

  The door closed behind me, and I grabbed two of the green glass wine bottles that I used to buy in bulk for our home liquor. I checked the corks to make sure I was getting the whiskey and not the rum experiments I’d been working on and turned. Raider was right behind me, and I slid to a stop.

  “Buddy, you’re going to stay here with Grandma and keep her safe.”

  He looked at me funny, cocking his head sideways.

  “Don’t do that to me, you’re going to stay here while I go on a drive with Grandpa.”

  He made a sneezing sound as if to tell me bullshit. I chuckled and closed the pantry door and left the house. Raider followed, but he sat on the porch. Grandpa was over talking to Grandma, so I decided to give them a minute. To make it look like we’d left, we’d parked Grandpa’s car and the tractor at the back of the twelve acres. I heard Grandma’s voice raise as they started to bicker, and Grandpa tossed me the keys as I walked past. It took me ten minutes to walk our fence line past the garden to what had been pasture at some point.

  There wasn’t any fence now, but the old wooden and steel T posts made it a pretty obvious way to tell the difference. I walked this line, seeing where tire tracks had beat the ground flat over the years. The grass was still tall there, but the ground had been packed down. If the guard had searched the entire property, they would have found the tractor and Grandpa’s car, but they hadn’t bothered. Heck, we could have probably stashed my truck too. I heard a bark and turned to see Raider running to catch up with me.

  “You can’t come with me, boy,” I told Raider.

  He barked and raced ahead of me. I watched him really move. I didn’t think he’d ever really stretched his legs the way I saw him do it now. He was a streak of fur, running for the sheer joy of running fast. He got to the end of my sight, then turned and ran back my way, barking twice happily. I grinned and kept going. He slid to a stop next to me and then changed directions, jogging a little bit, waiting for me to catch up and then jogging.

  “I’ll give you a ride back to the house, but I want you with Grandma,” I told him, coming to a stop near Grandpa’s car.

  Raider barked and spun in an excited circle as I opened the door. He hopped in first and took his spot on the passenger seat, oblivious to the heat that was coming from the closed up vehicle. I got in and closed the door behind me gently, knowing that in a little while, the motor sounds would be echoing across the area. I knew I didn’t hear what went on at the Crater of Diamonds from our place, so I hoped Grandpa and I could make it out of the area without alerting them.

  The plan had been simple— we were going to try to find Jessica and her father first. I wasn’t 100% sure about Dave, or even where I could find him if he wasn’t at the sheriff’s office. I put the keys in and started it and rolled down the windows; the AC had gone out a long time ago. Raider stuck his head out of his as soon as he could, and I rolled back up to the house slowly, so I didn’t scrape the undercarriage or pull the muffler off on any uneven spots.

  Grandpa was walking in my direction, and I saw he had the .25/270 with him, can and all. I grinned, he’d gone back for it after convincing Grandma. That was fine, maybe that and the two bottles of my best shine would convince people to help us, though Grandpa had been extremely sketchy about who or what we were going to be asking Jessica’s people’s help for. I stopped to let him in. Raider hopped out and took off like a shot in the direction of the house.

  “You going to tell me what’s really going on?” I asked Grandpa as he gingerly closed the door.

  “Not till we get on the road,” he said, putting the rifle on the floor between us.

  “Why so secretive?” I asked him.

  “Because this one is more dangerous than running some shine, boy.”

  I shut up and drove. I could see Grandma in her chair on the front porch, Raider at her side, getting his ears rubbed in the way he loved. I waved, and he barked once happily.

  “She knows to head to the barn or further out back with the dog if somebody comes,” Grandpa sai
d gruffly.

  “Ok,” I said, realizing how worried he was about leaving her here. “She knows where the shotgun is?”

  “Of course she does,” he grunted. “We used to hide quarts of shine in that there wall when the old sheriff was still in office. Old bastard would get a bug up his ass, and every once in a while he’d show up, looking around ‘cuz he knew I was friendly with Lester.”

  I pulled onto the road and waited, Grandpa grunted and pointed the way he wanted me to go. The long way around. I turned, and we headed off.

  “So what’s so dangerous about heading where Jessica’s family was bugging out?”

  “Let me ask you a question: what do you know about the Gutheries, the Carpenters, and their friends they run around with?”

  “I know a couple of them are preppers?” I told him.

  “You know where Jessica moved when she left town here?” he asked me.

  “No?”

  “I heard tell it was Iowa. The bunker state,” Grandpa said. “But it was a couple other families that moved at the same time that has me thinking she’s tight with them. I never put it together, but they too moved back a couple few years back.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked him.

  “There’s been rumors off and on since your momma was living at home that there’s a strong militia out there. They do all kinds of military training and exercises, learn about tricks, traps, and that sort of stuff. Your lady friend went into the military, and she’s a dog handler. I know for a fact they had old school booby traps back there when I first moved to the area, and I don’t imagine things have changed much. If anything, I expect it to be even better defended,” he finished and then pointed out my next turn.