Our End Of The Lake: Surviving After The 2012 Solar Storm (Prepper Trilogy)

by Ron Foster

  3

  DISPLACED PREPPER

  I put the drinks and pitchers of ice water down on the table, and before I even take my seat, Blake has corralled all the shots of whiskey over to his side. “Last call trainee,” he says in my direction. “This is my whiskey. I am kicking you out of the bar.”

  “Do what!!?” I start to object before ‘the Look’ silences me.

  “You and Jack are going home. It’s best you play camel with that water, because it’s a hot day and you won’t see ice water again for a long, long time, if you catch my drift.”

  “Where’s your shit, David?” Jack asks.

  “What shit?” I reply, getting aggravated at my seniors and Blake snatching ‘my’ whiskey shot, which I was thinking I really needed about now.

  Blake chimes in with, “We already figured out you are a prepper and you rode over here with Jack. You SOL son. Yeah shit out of luck, except that monkey knot looking key ring full of doodads you got. I don’t think you were dumb enough to conceal carry your pistol to the interview or into this bar, so how far away are your preps, and where are you staying?”

  This is a smart man I am talking to, he is used to field soldiers having problems with life and helping them come up with a fix. Is there extra hope here? I consider why he asked before responding.

  “I am about 18 miles in the opposite direction of travel, my hotel is north and I am heading south.” Oh, oh, here comes that know-it-all finger wagging telling me to pause before speaking further I thought, ‘Asshole you want me to call you Drill sergeant, too?’ I am sort of thinking to myself before he begins his communication and my education into his worldly outlook on things.

  Blake said, “Look, Jack and I have talked about it and you got 4 options to consider. ‘Hell that’s news to me, I am all ears.’ First option is you can see Jack home; he has preps and will take you in. Second option is me, I am heading for the Governor’s offices and you can do what you trained to do in disaster response. Third is go off with Dumpie, he is heading south, but east of your location. And the fourth and final option is for you to go do what you got to do on your own.”

  After a moments hesitating on the pros and cons of the choices, I proposed to take Dump Truck along as far as the journey would allow, but I was adamant about heading all 180 plus miles home to Montgomery.

  What’s a displaced prepper to do?

  4

  PACK MULE INCOPORTATED

  I start thinking friggin bad decision to pick the Dump as a traveling companion, he has been bitching from the moment we left the bar. Yeah, he is a 380 pound monster, but he doesn’t have the sense God gave a goat about some things. Now don’t get me wrong there are certain advantages of wandering down the street in the middle of pandemonium with your own one man division beside you. That being said he would not shut up and let me think of what I needed to be doing next. He was naming off every appliance he could think of, wondering if they would still work when the power came back on; what he should do with them if it didn’t. Which ones might hypothetically could have started a fire when they got fried? Then he started running down the list of every, half cousin and relative he had in the county, etc., and what were they doing and saying about this or that appliance no longer working.

  I begin to finally like his big old country boy ass a bit better after he quieted down a bit and figured out that all his psycho babbling was his way of dealing with stress. We must have looked like a very odd pair wandering down the street and arguing like Abbott and Costello, but in the looks department we couldn’t have been any different. Dump was 25 and bald with the sleeve tattoo thing going on, and I was tall and thin with the silver gray hair carrying various parts of a three piece suit. I had been inquiring of passers by all the way down the street about who sells water and other goods in this desolate (lack of convenience stores) area of Atlanta. A lot of people took one look at Dump, saw their worst nightmare was standing before them that they hadn’t thought about yet, and realizing the position they were in now, actually changed sides of the road or didn’t answer at all and kept moving as quickly away as they could. We changed course twice to find some kind of store with bottled water, got off the main drag, and then I see a typical tiny India Indian run store and sure enough they are open! Yee ha!

  I explained to the Dump I got 50 bucks cash; he said he had 17 bucks and credit cards. “Get off asking me about credit card balances, Dumpie! Nobody will take them now anyway, and I have been hearing this same bitching about 2 miles now. I got them, you got them, we have walked pass about a hundred ATMs, they aren’t going to work, not ever again or not for a long time to come! Yea I know your boss was dumb enough to cause minor riots at the restaurant and bar to charge someone on a later day by writing card numbers down and you blocked the door with your big ass and I had to wait on you, but I have been telling you for at least 3miles now this city wont recover anytime soon or it will take at least 3 months if a localized thing, or maybe never because I am not sure yet what caused the EMP.” I suspected a CME though, a coronal mass ejection sort of like a giant solar flare. If that was the case then, it wasn’t just the US that had a problem, the lights were out throughout the world and we were back to the 1800s as far as technology went.

  The store was your typical office building type, about the size of newsstand with some coolers and a couple isles of snacks etc. I hadn’t told Dump truck about my leather money belt I had on with a few hundred cleverly concealed inside what looked like a normal belt. I had two packs of cigs on me and was strongly considering buying a carton when I came to my senses and said now’s the time to quit whether I want to or not. I am still buying one pack out of spite for the road though, my nerves are frazzled enough and I am going to enjoy my vice just for a little while longer.

  The stores owner flinched as Dump blocked out the light coming in the door, but he soon affably regained his composure and began his mantra for the occasion. “Bad day, Bad day for everyone my friends, cash only, no power, cash only! You buying something today mister?” he inquired. The stores owner said all this with a thick accent and all in one breath about as fast as he could in a lilting sing song way.

  “No problem” I replied. The Dump had already agreed to let me do most of the shopping so he started moving quick towards the water and me towards the can goods. Six cans of tuna cleaned out the shelf, $3 a piece (damn the prices) two cans of Vienna sausages ($4.50) some crackers and hard candies, and my $6.50 pack of cigs I met dump at the register and he had 12 bottles of water at a $1.75 a piece. We got out the door with about 3 bucks change. This stuff was way to awkward to be toting around in thin plastic bags I thought and told dump put his bags on the park bench out in front of the store and I would see about repositioning our load.

  I was about to start cutting the sleeves off my jacket and rigging them up to make a sort of pack mule collar for my buddy to carry with my tie as a strap, when I spied what appeared to be a painter’s van at the corner of the road.

  Hang on a sec “Dump Truck” I will back in a minute. I was looking at all the people standing around or hurriedly passing by to see if anyone looked like a painter as I approached the vehicle.. The catastrophe had only hit a few hours ago and the owners of the van might still be in the area. I checked the backdoors of the van and was in luck, they were unlocked. I peered inside and saw stacks of tarps. Bingo, I grabbed two of the smallest and then crawled up into the van with several fervent looks around to see if anyone was taking particular notice of my actions. I moved some buckets out of my way and saw a couple of those cheap disposable plastic painters tarps you can buy at the dollar store that are small enough to put in your back pocket and snagged them and a piece of frayed nylon rope about 10ft. long.

  I popped out of the van and carried my loot back to Dump, who was looking bewildered and worried at my antics.

  “What are those for David?” he inquired. “I thought you might have been coming back with a 5gallon bucket or something to tote this shit in”
<
br />   “Live and learn my big friend, I am going to show you how to make a horseshoe pack out of these tarps” I replied.

  This pack is simple to make and use and relatively comfortable to carry over one shoulder. Lay available square-shaped material, such as poncho, blanket, or canvas, flat on the ground. Lay items on one edge of the material. Pad the hard items. Roll the material (with the items) toward the opposite edge and tie both ends securely. Add extra ties along the length of the bundle. You can drape the pack over one shoulder with a line connecting the two ends

  I folded my coat in one of the tarps and divided up our purchases between our two packs. I thought about making him carry it all, but if something happened to him or we got separated, I needed my half of what few supplies there were. We set off back on our journey looking a bit out of place with our paint spotted packs slung around us, but we didn’t care, we knew the road ahead was going to be long and the weight of some food and water no matter how we were carrying it was reassuring.

  “What cha in the mood to eat Dump Truck?” I said to the puffing sweating behemoth beside me.

  “What are you talking about, David?” he responded.

  “We going to hit a block of restaurants in the next mile or so” I offered.

  “Fat lot of good that will do us,” then he hesitated. “What do you have in mind?” he said with a conspiratorial look.

  “Well, the way I see it we are 5 or 6 hours into this thing. The recognition of the SHTF is now just dawning on the majority of the Sheeple, but look around the parasites are already gathering to plot and scheme some dastardly deeds”.

  “Yeah, I been noticing that last mile or two,” said Truck. “The homeless and the gang banger types are seeming to be coming out of the wood works and just waiting for nightfall or something else to happen”.

  “Exactly,” I responded. “Let’s take a break and I will tell you my plan.”

  5

  The Last Supper or Going Dumpster Diving

  “You see, Dumpster” I said.

  “Hey, don’t call me that!” he snarled back, but actually came off looking like a hurt little schoolboy much to his chagrin.

  “Ok, no problem, Dump. You see these restaurants up ahead are the ritzy type mostly and the patrons will be either gone or still having partying in the bars possibly.”

  “Yeah, so what? How does that help us get a meal?” he said, rubbing his noggin with a dinner plate sized hand.

  “Well,” I replied, “’Hard times make for hard decisions’.” .I advised. “A lot of food is going to get left on plates in the restaurants part eaten.”

  “Oh, hell no!” Dump objected.

  “That’s funny,” I said, “You don’t look like a picky eater.” I poked at him.

  “We got some food, we don’t have to do that crap.” whined Dump.

  “How far is it to just get to the edge of Atlanta from here?” I asked.

  He pondered for a minute, “Maybe 20-30 miles?”

  I said, “Yup, and we on the close end of this place to go south. It’s going to take us two or three days to just get to the first exit. Believe me, as unpalatable as snagging a half eaten steak that has been sitting on somebody’s plate for a few hours sounds, we need to eat while we can easily get it.”

  “Steak, huh? That doesn’t sound so bad now. I can deal with that.” he replied.

  “Speaking of night zombies, after we chow down we are going to jump the embankment down to the interstate. I don’t want to get caught in the downtown area when the sun goes down.”

  “It already sounds like the natives are getting restless,” he replied, as gunfire echoed off in the not so far distance.

  “I am not so much worried about them at the moment. You notice how much more smoky and hazy it’s gotten?”

  Truck said, “Now that you mention it, yeah, it has and it’s not that same ozone smell of the transformers blowing either.”

  I started scanning around said, “It’s hard to see exactly what’s going on in the sky from under these skyscrapers.” and then I stopped mid track. Hartsfield Airport was sort of on the track we were headed and was probably a burning inferno by now.

  I explained to Dump that planes would have been falling out of the sky, running into each other on the tarmac etc., just like a lot of the wrecks we saw on the road we were traveling, because of the EMP. We might be heading into a hellfire and not even know it, if enough things get to burning a phenomenon called a fire wind is created and just like a forest fire, whoosh it’s on you before you know it.

  The Fate’s sure were having fun messing up my dinner plans today. Ok, time to regroup and do a risk assessment. I told The Dump that according to my educated risk assessment the chances of that whole huge airport eventually burning to the ground were more likely than not and we needed to skirt it best we could. The highway 85 running to our right was our best route to get away from the congested downtown area, but it might not be the best choice either.

  “Why is that?” Truck moaned, as the various complexities of our day were getting a bit much for him to wrap his head around.

  “You know how many 18 wheelers come through the highways here? No telling what they are carrying.” I replied.

  “You mean possible HazMat spills?” Dump asked.

  “You have been listening to Jack and Blake talking.” I said with a grin.

  “I do hear things you know.” he informed me.

  “Well, this section of the road might be ok.” I said. “See, part of what I was supposed to be helping with up here, was figuring out where all the off ramps for the Hazmat carrying trucks were in relation to residential areas and beefing up the emergency plans. The DOT is real particular on what can be hauled through the city and has to go around it on the outside loop highways most of the time.”

  “Yeah, I have seen the ‘hazardous material trucks must exit’ signs on the highway,” he said.

  “And did you?” I replied at him with a smirk.

  “Did I what?” he questioned.

  “Exit.” I said.

  “Ok, you asshole, I get it, Ha, Ha. No, I didn’t.” He begrudgingly replied.

  “Let’s start heading off to the right down one of these side streets towards the highway. We can go down an exit ramp or climb down the embankment maybe, but if I am remembering right it’s mostly fence and steep as hell to get down to the pavement,” I said. “You know before we get there you and I need to talk some more,” I said while looking at him seriously.

  “What, now David? I am starting to hate that look of yours. Every time you get it, I swear a black cloud starts rising up in back of you.”

  “Well, buddy, you’re right. I got a lot more doom and gloom to share with you.” I paused a moment to gather my thoughts. “Dump, we’ve been real lucky so far.” I said and before I could carry on.

  “Lucky? How? Getting a few cans of food and some water to wrap up in a smelly ass tarp?” he interrupted accusingly.

  “No,” I said in a calm soothing voice, “That not only was it lucky we were not in one of those car wrecks we have seen today, but we didn’t have to decide whether or not to stop and help someone who was hurt in one.” I let that sink in for a moment, before continuing. “Those cars on the interstate were traveling 55-70 mph when there engines shut off, there is going to be some horrible shit to see and possibly hear once we get down to it.” I grimly told him.

  “Man, we have died and gone to hell haven’t we?” Dump hung his head and stated solemnly.

  “We aren’t dead yet and we got more options than a lot poor Son of Bitches do. I was just warning you that it is going to be rough, and that you might need to harden your heart a bit.” I stood and said, “Come on, let’s get started, it ain’t getting any cooler standing baking in the sun here.”

  Dump started musing and said “David, do you know what a bitch is? I was going to take off today and get some work done in the garden.”

  “I sympathize with you,” I told him, “I been p
lanning for this the crap to hit the fan for years and all my prepper gear is scattered all over the place, just when I needed it most.”

  “What’s ‘prepper gear’?” Dump inquired.

  6

  I`M A PREPPER YOURE A PREPPER TO

  “Well, you are a bit young to remember Y2K I guess. Back then, they used to call folks like me survivalists. There are a lot of people now a days Google searching for definitions of a ‘Prepper’. The term "prepper" or "prepping" means a person or lifestyle that involves getting prepared for the worst while hoping for the best. A prepper is someone who is uncomfortable relying on others for the basics of survival and protection before and after a disaster.

  “The terms like "preparations", "how to be prepared", or maybe "preparing for what's to come have a lot to do with the threats this troubled society faces. The majority of preppers are what folks would deem "normal" average people. They just plan ahead and prepare. That means you and I are Preppers and the emergency or disaster supplies we need are called "Preps". The types of preparations needed are Survival Kits, Food Storage, and Emergency Supplies to get you through a disaster.

  “I had a bug out or get home bag stashed in my truck to help me through a disaster like this, but now I got to build me one as we go since I couldn’t retrieve mine. I am now the ultimate displaced prepper.” I tell Dump.