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

by JEFF MOTES

  My watch says it’s 12:30. The GPS shows I’ve gone about fifteen miles since this morning. Putting the GPS back in my right shirt pocket, I pull my iPhone from my left shirt pocket and turn it on. There is have no cell service. No surprise. I set the alarm for thirty minutes and the volume at mid-level, pull my cap over my eyes, and take a nap.

  ***

  I wake to the sound of a buzzing car horn. Reaching for the phone I turn the alarm off, powering it down, and put it back in my pocket. It dawns on me that I forgot to reload the magazine. Digging into my pack I retrieve three 135 gr. Hornady Critical Duty 9mm rounds, then add them to the magazine in my pocket. Holstering the pistol, I check my watch: 1:10. Time to get moving, but first I pull a roll of TP from my pack. The call of nature.

  ***

  I’m back on the bike, at the end of the dirt road, and getting ready to hit the highway when I hear an engine. From the sound of it, it’s not a four-wheeler. Coming fast from the north is an old beat up rusty blue Chevrolet truck. Actually, it’s more rust than blue, maybe a late 70’s model. As it approaches, the passenger hangs out the window and hurls a beer bottle at me, missing by several feet, then curses loudly. The truck slows, then turns around for another pass. I turn the bike and head back down the dirt road into the field. There’s no time to retrieve my carbine. The truck pulls into the dirt road and screeches to a halt. I hear cussing and arguing, then the driver backs out and heads south. Sitting on my bike, I strain to listen. After not hearing anything for about thirty minutes, I ease out to the road. It’s clear.

  Having to worry about these idiots is just dandy. Pedaling south, I’m constantly looking all around and listening for the truck. I don’t hear or see anything. About two hours later a wrecked four-wheeler appears on the side of the road. It’s one of the ones I saw earlier. There is a body on the ground. After checking the surrounding area for any threats, I approach cautiously. It’s one of the teenage boys. He’s dead. He has a bullet hole in his chest. I wonder if it was those idiots in the truck that did this. What about the other kids, where are they? There is no clue. I check the kid for ID.

  “Allen Helms,” I say quietly when I find it, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you.”

  The four-wheeler has been damaged beyond my ability to repair. I get back on the road, being more wary than before. After another two hours, I start searching for a place to spend the night. I’ve passed a few houses along the way and don’t want to spend the night anywhere near one of them. A little before dusk I spot an old hay barn on the side of a field. Checking to make sure the coast is clear, I pedal to the barn. After clearing the barn for any threats, I pull the bike in and close the sagging door. This is going to be my hotel for the night.

  Chapter 16

  John

  Introspection

  Day 1

  I back the bike and trailer between two round hay bales. There is a slight musty smell to the air. This hay must be left over from last year. Hopefully it won’t give me a sinus headache. I don’t need one of those. I get my pack and ground pad then look for a good spot to bed down. There’s a place where a hay bale must have busted, as lots of loose hay is on the ground. I roll my mat, pad, and sleeping bag out on top of the loose hay. Trying to keep weight and bulk to a minimum in my pack, I purchased a thin down-filled sleeping bag rated for 20F. It is small and weighs very little, and offers very little padding. While there is still some light filtering in through the cracks of the barn, I assemble the components of the carbine. In addition to the suppressor, red dot, and IR laser, I also attach a high output flashlight. The flashlight is mounted under the barrel on a picatinny rail below the red dot sight. All these items are mounted in the same spot every time. There will be no guessing where each component is should things get tense. All can be activated with my fingers while holding the forend, except for the red dot.

  Everything is attached to the carbine using quick detach, QD mounts. The whole idea behind this carbine is to keep it compact, readily accessible, and quickly rigged with essential components. While the IR laser is invisible to bare eyes, it works well with the NVD. With the NVD on, I put the laser on the target. No one without an NVD will be able see it. Will and I have done a few night exercises at the range with the weapon. With the NVD, IR laser, and suppressor, the carbine makes a fairly stealthy nighttime weapon. I chamber a round and verify the safety, then lean it against the wall next to my sleeping bag. I pull out the NVD, attach it to the head gear, and lay it next to the carbine.

  I’m hungry, and I would like something hot to eat but don’t want to build a fire in a hay barn. Taking the Esbit stove from my pack, I heat a cup of water using another fuel tab. Tonight will be rehydrated freeze dried Mountain House chicken and rice. It’s pretty tasty. I have three double-serving packs in my bag. A good thing about freeze dried foods is they are lightweight and tasty. They don’t prepare as fast as an MRE, but they are lighter, though they do require water to prepare. Within a few minutes the water is hot. I open the chicken and rice package, remove the oxygen absorber pack, and add the hot water. After stirring it well and sealing it back up, I let it sit for about fifteen minutes while the water is absorbed into the food. While waiting, I pull a washcloth and soap from my hygiene kit, then wash my face, neck, and arms.

  When the chicken and rice is ready, I eat. It’s good, considering the little I’ve had today. Warm food is always better than cold food. Except, of course, for ice cream. I drink another bottle of water while eating. There are two plastic bottles and two 32 oz. stainless bottles filled with water remaining. Something is going to have to be done about water tomorrow. Before closing my pack for the night, I place the morning breakfast materials at the top. Coffee and oatmeal. Peaches and cream again.

  I’m tired. I frown as I discover something missing from my pack. A pillow! I’ll just have to use my pack for a pillow. It’s getting dark, so I turn on a battery powered glow stick, the kind that has multi-functions, like low glow, bright glow, strobe, and even a pen light. Set to low it gives only enough light to see right around my immediate area, but not enough to be seen through the cracks. I strip to my boxers and socks, crawl into the bag, and search for the soft spot on my pack. I should have made sure a pillow was in there. To the bottom rail of my Glock I attach the Streamlight TLR1 light and lay the Glock in the sleeping bag with me. Settling in, I make sure the NVD and carbine are within easy reach.

  Now it’s time to review the day and for a bit of introspection. It’s time to put into perspective my thoughts and actions and decide if I’ve have acted appropriately this day. What a day! I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’ve been training and preparing myself for tough situations all my life. It’s one of those things Dad ingrained into my mind.

  “Son,” Dad would often say, “think about the things that could happen, the likelihood that they will happen, how bad it will be if they do happen, then plan accordingly.” It’s only a personal application of SWOT analysis taught in business school. Contingency planning is something done in business all the time. Why those same people and countless others don’t apply those same concepts to personal planning is beyond me. Burying my head in a hole in the ground has never been my idea of a good plan. I’m a realist and a planner. I see what is in front of me and consider things that could happen, the likelihood that those things could happen, and the negative impact of those things. Then I develop a plan, taking all those things into consideration. I’ve watched the show Doomsday Preppers and while some are kind of interesting, most are extreme. A person doesn’t have to be a doomsday prepper to live a prepared life.

  That’s the key—living a prepared life. With only a few minor adjustments, people could do so much now to make things better when bad things do happen.

  This EMP event has not caught me completely unaware. I didn’t know it was coming yesterday. If I had, I would have just stayed home. I have a plan. I have the gear and supplies to make it home. It’s not by accident my pack was in my truc
k, it wasn’t by accident my Glock was on my hip, it wasn’t by accident food and water were in my pack and truck, it wasn’t by accident my sensitive electronics were protected by a Faraday cage, it wasn’t by accident I have clothes, cooking supplies, hygiene supplies, a carbine with suppressor and attachments, and it wasn’t by accident I had the money to buy a bike. I am prepared. Fortunately for me, very fortunate indeed, the bike shop at the interstate was owned by an individual and not some superstore. The superstores would have all been shut down because of no computers.

  The events of the day play through my mind. The guy at the motel, for instance, as unprepared as he could be. He had an idea what happened, but no clue as to its full implications. He’ll never see Meridian, Mississippi again. Will his family ever know what happened to him? Will they survive without him?

  I think about the encounter with Officer Brunson. He was a young man who was desperate, and a desperate man will do crazy and stupid things. He tried to use my respect for law enforcement to trick me into submission and steal my bike. Most people would have given it up. Would I, under similar circumstances, being desperate, do the same as he? I don’t know. I have gone to great lengths to prepare myself and make sure I don’t find myself in desperate situations. I have no intention of allowing anyone to turn me into a desperate person. The encounter could have been much more violent had I not taken decisive, aggressive, and prompt action. What if I had decided to carry my pistol open rather than concealed? I thought about it both ways before leaving the Family Inn. I chose to conceal it as best I could. Would things have been different if Officer Brunson had seen my pistol? Yes, they would have. Instead of pulling his Taser, he would have pulled his Glock and disarmed me, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have left my Glock on the ground for me to pick up and put back together. That thought alone confirms the provident hand that led me to try to conceal my pistol this morning. Divine protection was with me this day. What prompted me to give him the money? Did I have pity for his situation? Perhaps. But what prompted me to do it? I’m not sure, I only know something inside said “do it.” It was the right thing to do.

  I had compassion for Officer Brunson, yet killed the next guy that got on my bike. Did I really have to kill him? Yes. I only had a few moments to stop him before he was out of range. There was no choice. Why not Officer Brunson? It’s clear in my mind, if Officer Brunson had started off with my bike I would have shot him just the same. I wish I had not been forced to do it. What I did was the right thing to do, and if forced to, I will not hesitate to do it again.

  One thing that has caught me by surprise is how soon things have become violent. I wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon, and it’s only going to get worse. I was expecting at least for a day or two more, scenes like the kids and neighbors barbecuing in the neighborhood and playing. Yet at the same time, I was expecting to see more people scrambling for supplies. Maybe they were and I didn’t see them.

  Something about that neighborhood still bothers me. Shouldn’t those people have a little joy, considering the pain soon to come? Maybe, but there are going to be millions just like them who have no clue what is coming. Millions who will be dead within a month or two because most families have less than a week’s worth of food in their pantry and less than a week of stored water. How many will live through this? They’ll figure out how to get water from their toilet tank and hot water heater, but what are they going to do when that’s gone? Do they know where to find water? Do they know how to treat the water they do find? Considering most grocery stores only have about a three day supply of food on hand, how long before these families begin to starve? Will the government step in and save the day? If so, for how many? Can the government feed three hundred and fifty million people when nearly all food production, processing, and distribution have stopped? I don’t think so. The government is going to take care of itself first, then attempt to control everything else. That’s going to leave millions of people starving and desperate. Desperate people will do crazy and stupid and violent things.

  Those kids earlier on their four-wheelers, out having fun, and then the evil side of people, no longer bridled by law enforcement, raises its ugly head, stamping out a young life. Those idiots I encountered on the road probably killed that kid and took the others to do who knows what with. Those idiots aren’t just idiots, they are evil. I hope I don’t encounter them or others like them again, yet something inside says I will.

  My thoughts turn to Will. He’s been part of our planning for a long time. He and Kathy helped me develop many of our plans.

  Oh, Kathy, sweet Kathy, how I wish you were still here.

  I push the sad thoughts of my wife’s death away. I can’t go there. Will should be okay. He has supplies, equipment, energy sources, and weapons available to him. We, along with some family and friends, have developed small scale farming on our respective properties, the fruits of which should be able to supply our food needs, as well as provide some to barter with or give to others. Yes, Will is going to be okay. If he’s figured out what has happened, and he’s pretty smart, he will probably try to get his girlfriend Lizzy and her mother Jill to come out to stay for a while. He asked me about it when he and Lizzy became something a little more than close friends. I agreed, but only under the condition he tell her nothing about it, unless some major catastrophe occurred. I think of Jill, Lizzy’s mom. I knew her back in high school. She is a good person. Kind of tomboyish, but cute. Actually she is very pretty. She would have made someone a fine wife. Somehow she got involved with that dumbass, Clyde Baker. I never figured that one out.

  It’s only about fifteen miles from our small community to Jackson, where Lizzy lives. In Repose, we have a couple of vehicles as well as other mobile equipment that will likely work. In our home library there is a manual Kathy and I put together called EMP Event-Plans and Actions. Will should be able to use that, along with the plans we’ve made with family and friends. This event hasn’t caught us completely unprepared. That action plan, along with several other event-specific plans, were developed years ago and updated as our situation changed. He’s been trained how to defend himself with a firearm. He’s had hand-to-hand self-defense training. Family and friends are nearby; they are part of the plan. He is confident and has a strong mind and determination. Yes, my son will be fine.

  I consider the Bible, the Book of Revelation, and end time events and prophecies. Some of the teachings of Chuck Missler, Perry Stone, Jack Van Impe, and our former pastor, Scott Myers come to mind. Is this event part of that? Is this the event that takes America off the world scene? Or is this just another event soon to be a part of history? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is this: I’m still here, on Earth, and as long as God leaves me here, I’m going to do the best I can with the best I have to live and help those around me live. Events up to this point are clear: God’s hand of providence has been upon me.

  As Daniel Boone once said, “Know you’re right and move ahead. Let the consequences take care of themselves.” That’s exactly what I plan on doing.

  For now, my body and mind need to rest. I turn off the glow stick. The sounds of the crickets and grasshoppers fade away.

  Chapter 17

  John

  Plan for the Day

  Day 2

  It’s 5:00 a.m. and I’m awake. The dim pre-dawn light weakly invades the barn. It’s still too dark to move around. I lay here for a little longer. The night air was a bit chilly. I won’t be sleeping bare chested tonight, that’s for sure. If I were home, I would already be up and moving around. First order of business would be to brew the coffee and shower. After getting dressed, I’d have the first cup of coffee on the front porch swing. Early mornings have always been my favorite time of day. Seeing the day come to life and hearing the birds sing have always made me feel good. In the spring, the early morning colors go from gray to vivid green, with a spattering here and there of other colors as the day breaks. Kathy used to sit with me and enjoy these mornings. It seems so
long ago, yet sometimes it seems like yesterday. She’s been gone for more than two years now. It was tough, really tough right after she passed. Truthfully, the void still hasn’t been filled. Perhaps it never will be.

  Finishing my first cup, I would go inside to Will’s room and ruffle his hair. On those mornings when he didn’t want to get up there were always the ice cubes. They worked every time. Usually, that’s around 5:45. If time permits, I would have one more cup before leaving for work. Either way, I take a cup with me. Since Will got his driver’s license, he’s been driving himself to school, freeing up about a half hour every morning for me.

  But I’m not home and won’t be home for at least several more days. There won’t be any pizza to take home for supper either. How long will it be before I can have another hot pepperoni and sausage pizza? Maybe longer than my remaining lifetime. For now, more pressing things are at hand. My neck is stiff. When I roll out of the sleeping bag the soreness in my legs protests. It’s nothing compared to the pain in my rear end! This is going to be a tough day.

  I turn the glow stick on low and start to stretch. It’s the only way my legs are going to function properly. The stretches hurt, yet the pain eases off some, as my limbs loosen up.

  Moving to the corner of the barn, I see no grass, but I water it anyway. Time for the coffee. I have the Esbit stove prepared in short order. While the water is heating, I munch on some granola. This morning I’ll finish off the last two plastic bottles of water. All that will be left are the two stainless steel bottles. Water is a high priority this morning.