Once Upon an Apocalypse: Book 1 - The Journey Home - Revised Edition

by JEFF MOTES

  “Best of luck to you,” I say and go back inside. If this guy doesn’t get a bike today, he won’t be getting one, period.

  I lock the door, flip the latch, leave the curtain slightly open, and move a chair in front of the door. It’s time to get the day going. I grab some clean boxers and socks from the pack and head to the shower. The water is cold. I rush through, washing my hair. I put the same pants and shirt on from yesterday, then tuck my Glock and its IWB holster in my waistband. I run my fingers through my wet hair, combing it as best I can. I had a haircut right before coming to Leeds, so it ought to dry quickly.

  Needing more light I check through the window again, then open the curtain wider. The morning light floods in. Maybe a little breakfast is in order before planning the day. Taking the Esbit stove out of the pack, I place it and a fuel tab in the microwave and fill my stainless cup with tap water since I want to conserve my water supply. Placing the cup on the Esbit stove I light the fuel tab. While the water is heating, I pull one of the sustainment packs from my bag and retrieve a pack of instant coffee, creamer, and two oatmeal packs. There are two coffee cups from near the bathroom sink. I pour the oatmeal in one cup and the instant coffee and a creamer pack in the other. When the tab burns out, I remove the cup and pour half into the oatmeal mug and half into the coffee mug. I stir each with a spoon from my pack and sip the coffee while the oatmeal soaks. The coffee is warm but not hot. It certainly doesn’t taste like a brew, but it’s better than nothing. The oatmeal is ready, though a little dry. It needed more water, but I eat it like it is. Peaches and cream, not bad. Between bites, I retrieve an Emergen-C pack and a multi-vitamin. I mix the Emergen-C with a glass of tap water and use it to take the multi-vitamin. My diet is likely to be lean on essential vitamins for the next week or so. No need to stress my body over lack of proper nutrients. Cleaning everything up I put the cups on the bathroom counter and my equipment back in the pack.

  I pull out the road map and the handheld GPS, plotting a route to help minimize towns. First, I have to get through Leeds. I want to hit AL119 and take it down to Montevallo. The best thing to do right now is to get back on the interstate and take the next exit then work my way to AL119. I briefly think of taking more street roads to AL119, but decide I’d likely encounter larger groups of people in more confined spaces, which I hope to avoid as much as possible. Using a red pen, I trace the route on the map. This should make it easier to follow while on the road. With the GPS turned on, I hold my breath as it starts searching for satellites.

  Come on baby, come on.

  Finally, it picks up a GPS signal. What a relief! I program the route. The GPS figures 230 miles from my current location, though this route has me going through Montevallo, which I should probably avoid. It’ll be tomorrow before I can get there. Hopefully as I get closer I can find a route around. Based on 230 miles, if I can average a minimum of forty miles per day, I ought to be home in less than a week. I have enough food for nearly ten days, if I’m careful. It’ll speed my journey if I don’t have to hunt or scavenge for food. My water supply is only about two days’ worth. If I can find running water along the way, I can filter it for use. Finding water in Alabama shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve planned for a situation like this. My pack is filled with supplies to make this journey, and my plan is a good one. The key is the bike. The only way I can carry enough food to make it home is by using the bike. Without the bike, my trip would take much longer and my ability to carry food and water greatly reduced. Both scenarios would be bad. I can’t let anyone take my bike, period. It could very well mean the difference between life and death.

  Yesterday I discovered the IWB holster didn’t ride well while pedaling. I replace it with a side paddle holster made by Combat Arms. The paddle of the holster slips inside my waistband with the holster hanging on the outside of my pants. This won’t conceal the Glock very well, but it is an easy to use and secure holster. For now, I’ll put my shirttail over it. Later, once out of town, I’ll carry it open. For now, it’s probably best to keep it hidden as much as possible.

  I unload my carbine, removing the suppressor and red dot sight. I reinstall the thread protector, fold the carbine, and put it back in the pack, though not inside the nylon bag. I want quick access to it. Putting the suppressor and red dot in their carrier I lay them next to the carbine, then stow the NVD. It looks like I have everything. After zipping my pack I load it into the trailer, then push the bike and trailer out the door. The guy a few doors down is dragging on another cigarette. He nods a greeting as I mount the bike and head toward the road. It’s 8:30 a.m.

  I start pedaling back for the interstate.

  Chapter 14

  John

  Officer Brunson

  Day 1

  As I pass Ralph’s Bike Shop, I see Ralph standing in the open door. He waves and I wave back. He seemed like a nice guy. I hope he makes it. One thing I feel certain of, within two days he will either have sold all his bikes or somebody will steal all his bikes. It doesn't take long to make it to the on-ramp. The Love’s station near the on-ramp has lots of activity in the parking lot and around the entrance. As much as I would like to use my remaining money while it still has value, I can’t risk the stop. I can't risk the bike.

  The incline of the on-ramp forces me to change gears. Pedaling becomes easier though slower. This is going to be a workout. I wonder how sore I’m going to be tomorrow. My buns are going to be sore for sure. I make it to the top with the trailer in tow. This is going to be a tough ride home, but I thank God for providing the bike. There are lots of stalled cars. Most are off the roadway, though there are still some here and there where the drivers just let them stop in the road where they were driving. There are a couple of miles before the next exit. Although full speed is impossible because of stalled cars it the roadway, I’m able to move at a pretty good pace.

  I glance back every now and then to check if anyone is coming from behind me. So far, no problems. I guess there will be a day or two before things really go crazy. By then, I’ll hopefully be long gone from here. About fifty yards ahead, a man steps out from behind a stalled car and moves into the road waving his arms. He's not holding a gun so I consider speeding up and driving right past, but he does have one on his hip. He's also wearing a dark blue uniform with a badge on his chest. I stop the bike about twenty feet away. This isn't going to be good. My adrenaline spikes, and I force myself to calm down.

  The guy walks closer. “I'm sorry, but I've got to have your bike. Official business. Please get off.”

  He wants my bike! Does he have any idea what this bike means to me? My heart is racing now and I work harder at staying calm. I say as calmly as I can, “Officer, I just bought this bike yesterday. I've got to have it to get home.”

  He says, “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take your bike. You can go to the station and file some forms and they'll compensate you when things return to normal.”

  Yeah right.

  “Officer, there is a bike shop a mile or so back that way. Why not get one there?”

  A little agitated now, he says, “I don't have time for this crap.”

  That’s when I notice his badge says Gadsen Police Department. We're nowhere near Gadsen. Official Police business my ass. It doesn't matter either way. I’m not giving up my bike.

  He draws his Taser and says, “If you don't get off the bike, I'm going to tase you.”

  I quickly run through some scenarios on how to get out of this. One thing is certain, if I make the wrong move I’m going to get tased. If I get tased I’m going to lose my bike, trailer, and everything. At this range, the guy can't miss. Anger grows inside me as I force myself to remain calm. I raise my hands a little at my side and say, “Okay, officer.” I get off the bike. He's walked right up to me, keeping his Taser raised and aimed.

  “Can I keep my trailer?” I ask.

  “Yeah sure, but hurry up.” I turn my body as if to start unhitching the trailer. My gun hip is away from the offi
cer. He obviously hasn’t noticed the gun with my shirt covering it, otherwise he would have pulled his pistol instead of the Taser. He seems to have relaxed some and lowers the Taser slightly. In a flash, I draw my Glock just like I’ve practiced a thousand times before. I turn, bringing it up. The officer’s eyes widen and he raises his Taser. I step closer and with my left hand I grab his forearm pushing it to the left and away from my body. I hear the ‘ping’ of the Taser release as the probes pass by, only inches from my body. I raise my Glock further and stepping even closer, put the muzzle in the man’s neck. This all happens in a moment.

  Decisive, aggressive action is what Col. Jeff Cooper wrote about in his book, Principles of Personal Defense. He was right.

  With my Glock to his neck, the officer becomes motionless. “Please, don't kill me,” he begs.

  I don't say a word as I reach for and unholster his sidearm, putting it in my left rear pocket. “Drop the Taser,” I order him. It clangs on the roadway. “Raise your arms.” He complies.

  With his back toward me, and the gun still at his neck, I push him to a nearby car. I back away while holding the gun pointed at his head and say, “Cuff yourself to the door latch.”

  He does so then asks, “What are you going to do to me?”

  I respond by walking up and removing his can of Mace and tossing it aside, then I place the muzzle in his crotch, bending down to search for his backup weapon. It’s on the inside of his left ankle. Removing it, I straighten up and back away. Only then do I holster my Glock. A few people have started to gather.

  “This man just tried to steal my bike,” I say loudly. “Everyone stay back.”

  No one appears to be armed and none approach. I turn back in anger to the officer and say, “Why? Why were you going to steal my bike? You’re an officer from Gadsen. You've got no jurisdiction to take my bike. Why?”

  While saying this I unload his backup gun, a Glock 27 in 40 caliber. I release the magazine and eject the chambered round from the pistol, letting it fall to the roadway, then proceed to unload the rounds from the magazine, letting them fall to the ground before dropping the empty magazine. Pulling the slide back slightly, I push the take down bar downward and pull the trigger. With a slight push on the slide, both it and the barrel come off. I toss the frame to the ground, remove the spring and barrel from the slide, and drop them to the road as well.

  Tears are forming in the officer’s eyes. “My wife is at home, pregnant with our first child. She's due today. I was only trying to get to her. I'm sorry. I'm afraid for my wife!”

  I pull his duty weapon from my rear pocket. It's a Glock 22, a bigger brother to the Glock 27. I unload and disassemble it as well. “Well,” I glance at his nametag, “Officer Brunson, that's a moving story, if it's true. So, you wanted to steal my bike, not caring about me getting to my family. That's pathetic and it pisses me off. Toss me those two spare magazines.”

  He does and I unload them as the others.

  “What are you going to do to me?” he asks again.

  “I ought to get your cuff keys and toss them in the grass. How much money do you have?”

  He looks confused, then responds, “What? I have a hundred dollars in my billfold.”

  I pull the Merchants Bank envelope from my pocket and hand it to him. “Here is $200. Down the interstate at the next exit is a bike shop called Ralph’s. With this and the money you have you might be able to get a bike. When I’m out of sight, you can uncuff yourself. If you uncuff while I can see you, I will shoot you. You understand?”

  “Yes I understand. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I do,” I snap. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

  From behind I hear a sound and turn to look. A man has jumped on my bike and started off. I holler, “Stop!” He doesn’t. Without hesitation, I draw the Glock, line the bright orange Trijicon front sight with the fleeing man and fire three rapid shots. The first shot hits him in the tricep of his left arm, shattering the bone. The second enters his back, breaking ribs at his shoulder blade. The third shatters his T3 vertebra and severs his spinal cord. He slumps and he and the bike fall to the ground. I look around for more threats. Not seeing any, I run to my bike. I disentangle the man from it. Setting the bike back right, I check the trailer. Everything is still there. Looking around one more time, I see a stunned expression on everyone’s face. Holstering my Glock, I get on the bike and head off. I’m back on plan.

  I was wrong. It didn’t take a couple of days for things to go crazy. They’re crazy right now and I’m right in the middle of it!

  Chapter 15

  John

  On the Road

  Day 1

  Pedaling hard, I try to put distance between myself and the scene behind. I glance back. Officer Brunson is standing there, staring in my direction. Is he going to come after me? No, he wants to get home to his wife. Besides, he’s got to put his guns back together. Then what? Chase me down on foot? No. He's going to uncuff himself, put his guns back together, reload his magazines, then run down the interstate to get a bike. I’ll never see him again.

  What if this isn't an EMP? A civilization changing event? I gave him a Merchants Bank envelope. How hard would it be to tie that to the registration on my abandoned truck? I shot and probably killed a man. Over what? A bicycle? The realization of what I've done and the adrenaline crash have me shaking and nauseated. I’ve got to stop.

  I glance back again, half expecting to see Officer Brunson aiming his Glock at me. I can't even see him. He must be at least a mile away. The nausea is overtaking me and I stop the bike. I gulp a mouthful of water, swishing it around in my mouth. Afraid to swallow for fear of throwing up, I spit it out. My hands are shaking bad. I place the bottle back in its carrier. I’ve got to get out of here! I’ve got to get out of the city! I’ve got to go now!

  Panic starts rising inside me. Panic can get me killed. I force myself to calm down. I didn’t kill that man over a bicycle. I killed him over my own life and that of my son. There was no other choice. If I had hesitated at all, he would have been beyond my skill to stop him. I would be stranded without a ride, without food, without water, and without my essential gear and supplies. No, I didn’t kill him over a bicycle. He tried to kill me by taking the only things that would keep me alive.

  There’s no more time for introspection. Right now, I’ve got to get back on plan. Nothing has changed. I need to keep my mind focused on what’s at hand, worry about the rest later.

  I whisper, “Lord help me,” and pedal down the interstate.

  ***

  Nearing the exit I want to take, I see smoke over the city. There must be fires burning. The newer fire trucks with their computers and electronic controls probably won’t work. If they were able to get a pumper out to the scene, they would probably deplete the city’s stored water, quickly making a bad situation worse even sooner. I take the off-ramp and see another crowded trucker service station. I don’t stop. A few folks look my way, but no one attempts to interfere. I start recalling my planned route.

  Take the next right, then a mile further, take a left through a residential area. Clinton Drive will lead to AL119, and from there I’ll be out of the city and on toward Montevallo.

  There are two police officers at the intersection. They look at me and inside I tense. The one on the right nods and I return his gesture as I continue making the right turn.

  Shortly, I turn onto Clinton Drive. There are houses on both sides of the street. People are milling about and kids are playing in yards and on the street. It’s like a typical weekend morning. Things seem normal. It’s the first normal I’ve seen since yesterday. Too bad it’s not going to last. These people don’t have a clue as to what’s coming their way. They should be out trying to buy supplies or secure a means of transportation. Hopefully, they’ve thought enough to catch containers of water. Do they realize this is not a typical power outage? Phones don’t work, the power is out, cars don’t work, and the internet is dow
n. How long will it be before it sinks in to the average person that the world as we knew it is gone?

  Tough times are going to bring out the best and sometimes the worst in people, like what I experienced this morning. I refuse to let my mind go there for now. Kids playing some kind of ball game in the street part ways, making room for me to pass. A little further, a little girl is out riding her bike. She waves as I pass. Smiling, I wave back. She falls in behind me, following and trying to keep up. She falls behind and soon gives up. This is a nice, peaceful neighborhood. Lots of oak trees shading the street. Things are going to be changing though, real soon. It’s fortunate, if fortunate can be used, that this event occurred in early spring. At least folks will have a chance to plant a garden, if they can find seed and tools for tilling the ground.

  I turn onto AL119, feeling a little better and continue south, crossing the Leeds city limits. Soon the area is more rural and I allow myself to relax a little. Few people are on the road. Then I hear an engine running, maybe two. From a dirt road, two four-wheelers shoot out. Teenage boys are at the helm, with girls sitting behind them. They hit the pavement and turn south, laughing as they speed away. I look for a place to stop for lunch. Finally, there is a stretch with no one in either direction. I turn onto a dirt road leading into a pasture. Trees are on either side for a ways, then after about a hundred yards, the pasture opens up. I pedal close to the fence line, stop, and pull the bike into the thick brush, look all around and listen. Not seeing or hearing anything, I retrieve my pack, a couple of bottles of water, and sit against a pecan tree facing the highway. The lower brush around the tree should obscure me from eyes from the highway.

  I’m not queasy anymore since I have forced myself not to think of the earlier events. I pull a single-serving pack of Spam, MRE bread, and a squeeze packet of mayo, slice the bread open, and put the Spam inside. Spreading on the mayo, I make myself a sandwich and bite in. Not too bad for a hungry man. Opening a bottle of water, I take a long drink. I should have been drinking more water, but my stomach wouldn’t allow it. From my pack, I pull a bottle of Milo water flavor. Coconut/pineapple is my favorite and I squeeze a little into the water bottle and drink it down. Opening a second bottle I add a little to it. I finish my sandwich, pull a Walmart bag from my pack, and pick up the trash.