The slack line was put in the bottom of the bucket and when a they came to a drop line, the hook was hung from the edge of the bucket. Michael worked from left to right, or in a clockwise motion when he lined up the hooks. Right away Brett picked up on what he was doing, and knew that even though the line in the bucket might be a mess, it was the drop lines that would tangle everything horrible. He finally worked up the courage to ask, and Michael confirmed that was why he was doing it.
Michael silently cursed himself for not explaining everything out loud. Someday, this might be what the kids had to do to survive without him, or without John. Late at night when the kids were asleep, the two men would have frank discussions on what an EMP would do, how the society was supposed to break down according to some study the war college did forever ago. They knew it could happen, they knew that within the first year over 90% of the country would be dead, but they did nothing to protect the electronic infrastructure. Suddenly Americans were thrust into pre-industrial America without the knowledge or work ethic our forefathers had. So, forgetting to teach the kids why he put the hooks in the way he did, or pulled in the line might be one more tidbit of knowledge lost. He promised himself to be a better teacher.
He was on the twentieth hook when the next one in the line suddenly made the water erupt as a fat catfish splashed as he was dragged from the muddy bottom of the lake.
“Stinky fish!” Linny yelled, but she was excited and jumping up and down, while her little brother was smiling so big, his face was almost split in two.
Michael showed them how to pull the hook out and set down the bucket. He held the big catfish by the jaw and found a flat space on the bank. He showed them the spot on its head and then poked it with his fillet knife. The fish spasmed for a bit and then stopped moving. Michael pulled a burlap sack out of his daypack and handed it to Linny to hold open and dumped the dead fish in. She made a face, but the excitement was still there. About the halfway point Michael pointed out that the drop lines were a little longer. Because they were fishing a lake, it was deeper at that point. It was part guesswork, but it was the deeper lines that held the catfish. In all, they pulled three more fish before they made it back to the other side.
It was just enough food for the four of them for today, barely enough. The greasy fish had been a staple for over a week now once their store bought food ran out, and they were desperate to find something else. They had talked about sneaking back into town, but were worried about Officer Shepherd and the aftermath of the shooting. They’d even heard broadcasts when they first got the radio going. The National Guard was enforcing Martial Law, heavy curfews were in effect and some guys that John called Ham radio guys were talking about FEMA camps.
One guy in particular told them about his experiences. Sure, get on the bus, get some food when you get to the camp. What they hadn’t told him was that he had to give up all the food he already had, given up anything that resembled a weapon including box knives or pocket knives and families were split up. Husbands and wives were separated by sex and the kids all dormed together unless they were over 15. The men worked, the women washed and cooked and the kids were told to keep quiet. There was never enough food and to get extra food, or some of the MRE’s, the women and sometimes the kids would sell themselves to the soldiers for an extra ration. The HAM man had escaped with his wife and found his very old radio setup to spread the word.
That was the other reason Michael and John weren’t ready to head back yet, none of them wanted to end up in a FEMA camp. Sounded too much like concentration or forced labor camps for them, and so far they had food, just not a lot of variety. Michael showed the kids how to re-bait the hooks from a bag of offal from the night before, and they remade their journey to their starting point from earlier, tying off the trotline again. The pop bottles were in almost the same position, but the wind was blowing the line around.
“Better coverage,” Michael joked.
Bret was silent, his face scrunched up deep in thought.
“That’s so cool. So you are fishing almost half the lake at once and you don’t have to be there,” Linny said.
“Yeah. Since we’re all getting a little sick of catfish-“
“Stinky fish!” Bret interjected.
“Ok, since we’re all getting a little sick of stinky fish… I put out some lines on YO-YO reels that I hope will catch us some turtles, or even a big pike or something,” Michael told them, wishing he had the bouncing energy the ten year old girl had.
“What’s a YO-YO reel?” Bret asked.
“It’s kind of like a trotline, except it reels in when there’s any slack. And there’s usually only one hook.” Michael told him.
“Cool.” Both kids chorused which cracked him up.
Michael took them another ten minutes along the shoreline until they stopped. He showed them the silver reel. It looked a lot like a fly reel would, but a little different. Heavy cord tied the device to the tree, and when Michael pulled on the line, it came easily, so he showed the kids how if a fish pulled on the line, it’d set the hook and reel the fish into shallow water. The bait thieves had gotten to this one, so he re-baited the hook and pulled out twenty feet of line. He made sure to hold the end of the line by the sinker and not the hook, showing them this and gave it an underhanded toss, keeping one hand on the reel in case he threw it too hard, triggering it to retract.
“That’s awesome,” Linny said but Bret was lost in thought for a moment.
When he didn’t move or speak, even his sister stopped to make sure he was ok.
“Earth to Bret, Bret the brat, come in?” She teased, waving her hand in front of his face.
“Bret, you ok?” Michael asked, becoming concerned.
A change came over Bret’s face and he looked up at them and smiled.
“No, I mean, yes. I’m ok. Michael, do you have more of those YO-YO’s?” Bret asked.
“Sure, I brought three boxes of them.”
“Can I try something?” Bret asked, his voice pleading.
“Sure. You want the heavy line on one like I’m using for the turtles?” Michael asked.
“Yes, please.”
“You are so weird,” Linny told her little brother who promptly ignored her as Michael pulled one out of his day pack and handed it to him.
“I brought spares already rigged up, in case one was broke. I have three more to check. Want to keep going?” Michael asked, watching as Bret’s focus turned onto the shiny reel.
“Please,” Bret said.
There were no more turtles or fish that day and their walk back to the camp was happy and upbeat. Before they got to the cave’s entrance, Bret stopped them.
“Can I have a swivel and a leader please?” He asked.
“Sure,” Michael told him, puzzled at the request.
The line was already baited with a hook, but Bret took off into the brush by the cave. Two weeks ago, they never let the kids out of their sight, but neither of them had gotten lost and was becoming quite proficient in finding their way through the woods and home without disturbing the wildlife. Finally, they just told them to stay within yelling distance. It kept the older men sane, and neither of them could stand the constant questions forever. Linny, reluctantly followed her brother and Michael headed in to brush.
“Are the kids with you?” John called out from the darkness.
“No.” Michael said.
“Ok, come here, what do you think of this?” John asked him, handing him the headphones from the black boxes.
They ended up being part of a radio transceiver set. One was the power supply, the other was the radio itself, etc. John knew it wasn’t an old RS-1, but it was the closest thing he could think of. It had a hand crank to recharge or run the unit, and both of them spent over an hour each cranking the first night he put it together to see if the PSU would hold a charge. It had, and now they had a working radio of sorts.
Michael put on the headphones and listened. His face darkened and then he too
k them off and handed them back to John, who put the headphones on, but left one ear free.
“It sounds like there was a disagreement.” Michael said after a moment.
“Yeah, that was my take too, a National Guard unit is defecting. I just can’t tell who’s who? The Gerard guy sounds like he’s going to attack this house, but I have no idea why. For all I know… Wait…” a look of concentration came across John’s features and then he hurried to the crank. “No!”
Anger filtered through his voice as the PSU lost power. “No, no. I was just…”
“I’ll crank it John, you listen,” Michael said, gently nudging his friend’s father out of the way, starting to crank the handle. After a minute or two, he reached for another box and turned some dials. He smiled.
“Keep cranking Michael,” He said, and Michael just nodded.
Michael could hear the kids playing outside now, and the kids stayed out of the cave. It was a miracle but after an hour and two very sore arms, Michael was motioned to quit cranking.
“I think I’ve heard all I need to.”
“Good, my arms are cramping,” Michael griped.
“Let’s go check on the kids,” John suggested.
They both walked out into the warm air and sunshine and saw the kids playing with a bag of marbles, something John had taught them to play. Bret was shooting and Linny was almost bouncing into the dirt circle they had scraped from the forest floor. Both men looked at the kids, smiling at the fact they both were happy, probably happier than before the world ended. Michael was about to say something when a metallic ping got his attention and Bret was up like a shot and ran to the woods at a dead run. Linny was close on his heels. Michael and John ran after them, not knowing what was going on.
“Could that have been a gunshot? Silenced?” Michael panted aloud.
“No,” John replied and they both slowed as they came upon an improbably sight.
Bret was dancing around a rabbit that was suspended over three feet in the air. It had been snared by the wire leader and the YO-YO reel was high up in the air, tied to a tree limb. The rabbits movements had it moving all over, so John walked to it and grabbed it by the base of the skull and the hind legs and pulled, severing the rabbits spinal column before it could choke out. Michael stood in shock and found a rusty beer can that had shot off the line.
“Whoa,” John said pointing at the reel, “check out what the kid made.”
Michael took the improvised snare off the rabbit’s throat and pulled the line down to where the loop of wire was at ground level. What he’d missed at first was the hook, which was now tied at eye level, about two feet below the reel. Bret must have climbed up to set this thing and he found the beer can and hung it on the hook from the pull tab. An improvised dinner bell. Genius.
“Is this how it works?” He asked Bret.
“Yeah, I didn’t see it go off, but I did it, I fished for a rabbit and I got one. NO STINKY FISH!” He yelled in triumph, pumping his hands in the air.
They laughed so hard, there were tears running down their cheeks and even Linny joined in.
“No, we’re still cooking the fish, but I think we’re going to have some good eating tonight. Let’s go,” John told the kids and turned to make sure to point at the snare and then give Michael a thumbs up.
Michael shook his head no, he hadn’t taught him that!
+++++
When the kids were fed and asleep, John and Michael talked about the radio conversation he’d overheard. They hadn’t had a chance, but what Gerard and his men had planned made their blood run cold. They couldn’t understand why somebody from the same area and frequency as the Kentucky group was leading Gerard’s men to another group of potential victims.
“A trap! They are leading them into a trap!” Michael said after some thought.
“Sounds about right. That means the group who peeled off today and is calling for central command… Start cranking,” John said gruffly.
It took John a few tries, but he finally got a response from the Kentucky group. He briefly told them what he knew, how he knew it and gave them the same information repeatedly. Whoever this David person was, he knew radio gear, but he lacked the same encoding equipment that the guard unit was using. John pleaded with them not to fire on the two squad mortar teams until he could make contact with them. He was told to wait one.
David got some lady on the radio. She sounded young, almost pixie voiced, but her voice; young sounding and had a strength and confidence that had John smiling.
“You ever serve?”
“Two tours, Iraq and Afghanistan. I just retarded. I’m Sandra by the way.”
“What’s your last name, ma’am, you sound awful familiar to me now that we’ve been talking.”
“I just got married, I’m Sandra Jackson, now.”
“I’m John, ok, let me talk to them boys and I’ll get right back to you,” John took the headphones off and looked at Michael.
“How are we for charge?” He asked Michael.
“Good, but I’m cramping, make it fast.”
John made two calls, one long one to the mortar squads who had left Gerard’s platoon, and then one to the homestead group, telling them to switch to a different frequency so they could coordinate with the unit.
“Here, I’ll take over boy, I want to listen to the fireworks and my arms are fresh,” John said, and Michael gratefully flopped on the ground, shaking his arms out.
“Who was that lady, the one you said you thought you knew?”
“Sounds like her, but if she is who I think she is…” John’s words trailed off and he smiled.
“Yeah, is she pretty?”
“She’s pretty deadly,” he said after a pause, “one of the finest hand to hand trainers the Army’s ever produced and one of the best special operators they had. She’s almost good enough to be a Seal,” he said with a grin. “I kind feel sorry for whoever she married. If it’s her, she could whoop his ass. Worked with her in Afghanistan about four years ago before I got out of the Navy.”
“What did she mean when she said she was retarded.”
“Retired. I think she recognized my voice too, that’s squid talk. She knew I was in the Navy.”
“What were you doing in Afghanistan? I thought Navy people were all ships and submarines.” Michael said, trying to change the subject.
“You know what, for being that dumb, you get a turn at this crank when my arms tire out. This is getting good!” John joked and they both fell silent. After a while, John pulled one earphone aside and held it away from his ear so Michael could listen in.
Soon, fire and brimstone would rain down upon the wicked. Soon.
Chapter 8 –
Sandra smiled, replacing the Mic. Her conversation with Sgt. Smith was surprisingly short and they both agreed upon a quick change to the battle plan. He asked for one hour to set up, which was quite a lot, considering the raid on the house could be happening at any time. They reluctantly agreed because they couldn’t get eyes too close to what was going to happen. She gave the coms gear back to David, as he was better with it overall and walked to the table where Blake was sitting with his leg out stiffly in front of him.
“What do you think?” He asked her, “Are they on the up and up?”
“From everything I’ve heard, yes. They don’t know where our guys are, but if they hit Ken’s house with the big stuff…”
“While he’s inside…” Blake said with a smile.
“Too bad, that, I’m going to make you pay,” Ken said, stepping out of the shadows, a wicked knife in his hand.
The knife was pressed to the base of Sandra’s throat and Blake and David froze. Footsteps could be heard running up the stairs as Lisa had been changing to help with potential triage and stopped dead as her daughter in law was held at knifepoint.
“What, who?” Lisa said, knowing almost immediately by the hideous open wounds on the man’s face.
+++++
What remained of Ger
ard’s platoon was pissed. They were communicating on an open channel for ease and letting their boss know he’d been had. They’d tossed the entire compound and all they found were the corpses in the smokehouse and a half mummified girl upstairs covered in bandages. They did find a lot of supplies and had started to load them as a consolation prize, but there were no women here. Gerard was losing face and losing his cool in front of his men and he was walking to the communications to get David on the horn when several whistling sounds could be heard. His blood ran cold and he had just enough time to dive under the deuce and a half, hiding under the engine as the artillery rained down. The shots were spaced apart, but it became apparent that the two squads were using both 105mm howitzers.
The overpressure was too much and Gerard opened his mouth to equalize things when a round hit the truck, just over his hiding place. He never felt himself pulverized into the rich loamy soil of the driveways shoulder. It was much worse for the men in the compound. The ones not killed outright in the first forty seconds stood in horror, screaming one long note, only to pause to take a breath and scream some more. Some held their hands over their ears, some just curled into a ball, but there was no place to hide from death, it had been let out of its cage.
Squad three, what was left and watching the rear of the compound was spared by the barrage. They tore out of there and down the road where Bobby and Duncan set off the first set of charges from over a hundred meters away. The timing was almost perfect, and when the steel drum blew two hundred pounds of rock and chain, the civilian trucks were almost obliterated completely. They waited for the smoke to clear, and then radioed the other two guys manning barrels down the road to keep watch, but they think they got them all.
“I think I used too much ANFO,” Duncan said to Bobby, as half the hillside slid down after the explosion, covering everything with dust and dirt.
Tears Of The World: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 4) Page 6
