“This day keeps getting better and better,” she murmured and went out to the living room as Blake’s part of the broadcast just got finished up.
They’d turned the frequency back over to those who listened to talk about the government, conspiracies and things that would really have sounded crazy to Sandra, if she hadn’t just gotten off the radio with somebody close to what was actually going on.
“You good?” Sandra asked Blake.
“Yeah, we’re all set here. Want to go see if Chris is done with school?” Blake asked, stretching.
“You betcha,” she poked him in the side and laughed when he squirmed out of the way for a second one, “but we have to talk.”
Chapter Four
The Homestead, Kentucky
Sandra filled Blake in, and he took it all in, nodding. It was what he’d been expecting, apparently.
“You do what you have to do,” Blake told her, kissing the tip of her nose.
“Well, I was planning on it, but we may have to do more than anti-personnel traps now, and not all of it from the Homestead property,” she told him.
“You’re the expert on that, I’m just a simple country boy,” Blake grinned.
“Dammit, no you’re not. You’re a survivor, an organizer. There’s nothing simple about what you do, except that you prefer the quiet of the woods to the usual mess the rest of us put up with,” Sandra said, exasperated.
“I don’t know about all of that. You and your father, the Cayhills… you all are more responsible for how we’ve turned out than just me.”
“Blake, you’re ducking the issue. We need to figure out if these guys hit us, do we hit them back?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You take out a Special Forces squad, do they send in armor? You take out the armor, do they send in aerial? There’s an escalation about to happen and I don’t know how far it’ll go. The Governor seems to be acting with Presidential authority, and the troops seem to be listening to it for now. Him coming out here was probably supposed to wow us that the big dog in the state thought it was a good idea to visit with us, but I don’t know…”
“You’re worried about a civil war?” Blake asked her, pulling her close into his arms.
“Yeah,” Sandra said.
“I don’t recognize a government that would take food or livestock from people who are already starving. That just doesn’t make sense to me. There’s food they could grow, wild edibles to forage…”
“I know, but not everyone is you,” Sandra said.
“I’m just a simple country boy….”
Sandra turned and kissed him deeply, “No, you’re my husband and I love you.”
“I love you too,” he told her.
“So let me get my dad and Sgt. Smith in on this, but I have a plan,” she said grinning.
“You always do. You’re like the guy from the A team who always has a plan,” Blake said.
“I’m just glad you didn’t say I was Mr. T,” she slapped at his arm as they walked back towards the barn to collect the kiddo.
“No, because then I’d be Murdock.”
* * *
“I see two transports, full. Over,” Corinne’s voice came to Sandra over the scrambled frequency.
“What are they doing? Over.”
“Offloading. About twenty in each… Oh shit, they’re going to assault us, aren’t they?” Corrinne asked.
“Looks like it. Daddy, hit the first transport as soon as it’s empty.” Sandra said.
Blake was listening in over the radio. The plan was pretty much brilliant, in his opinion. The only way to approach the Homestead through the woods was the same way the Slavers had. There was a small valley that ran between them and, if you didn’t know someone was there, they could move pretty much unseen. If you already knew they were coming, you could create a kill box with both sides of high ground manned by Sandra and Sgt. Smith’s men and women. They had a few scenarios planned out, but sending twenty to forty armed men made the most sense.
“Go,” Sandra said.
Blake heard the deep thunk sound and a whistling sound, and then another and another. The first round was HE and the next rounds were going to be AP rounds. When Sandra and Duncan explained what an AP round was, he shuddered. He never wanted to be under barrage by anything remotely like that. None of it really, if he had his choice, but he didn’t know how the governor would react.
“Forces fleeing into forest,” Karen, one of the women rescued from the slavers and now a part of Sandra’s squad, reported.
“Ok, radio silence until we spring the trap.”
Blake waited; the silence was killing him. Chris walked out of the bedroom, but Blake waved him back in. Reluctantly, he went in and closed the door again. Just in case, he didn’t want the little man to hear something he shouldn’t, but all the kids were with adults or in a shelter until the situation was taken care of. It was something they all knew they were going to have to deal with, so the day before everyone had prepped, and scouted locations had been prepared ten miles in each direction to hopefully prevent the Governors’ men from dropping artillery on them.
He knew it was a possibility and there were bigger units than what they’d had at the Homestead, but there weren’t enough people to cover every road that could potentially lead to the Homestead. Careful planning and judicious use of educated guesses were used to come up with the plan.
“Closing the lid,” one of Sandra’s squad said, her voice so low Blake couldn’t make it out.
David and Patty just sat there, quietly, listening as well. It was a macabre event, listening to mass death about to occur, even if it was at the hands of their own military. The world had become a strange place indeed.
“Springing trap,” Sgt. Smith said.
Even without the radio, the gunfire could be heard up at the main house and Blake went and opened the front door of the house and looked out, praying his wife was away from the mess. She’d promised to stay out of the action, but she was a warrior. He knew she wouldn’t be able to for long.
The gunfire petered out and Blake heard Sandra’s voice from the radio, “Mop Up. Save me one. Over.”
Single shots rang out. Mopping up usually involved a shot to the head before they considered somebody dead. By the sound of it, they’d be lucky to have found any, let alone one alive.
“Casualty report? Over,” Duncan asked.
“None from our side,” Sandra said back, “Other side looks to be total—“
“Sandra, I have one by the second troop transport. Must have hid under the truck when the AP rounds were going off, over.”
Blake smiled in relief. Nobody even got dinged or scratched from their side. He turned the volume down on the main unit for a moment and went and got Chris, who was looking at him angrily.
“I don’t like to be in here if I’m not in time out or sleeping,” Chris told him, his arms folded.
“There was a big fight and I was listening in making sure Mom didn’t get hurt,” Blake told him.
There was indecision in Chris’s eyes and Blake pulled him off the bed and held him. He grunted as a muscle threatened to cramp, but it didn’t. He was finally healing up the rest of the way.
“Let’s go and wait for her to come back,” he told the little man.
“Can we wait by the bunnies?” Chris asked, a smile cracking the edges of his face.
Blake thought about it. The rabbit colony pen wasn’t close to where he expected Sandra to come back in, but you could see when she did.
“Sure!”
He put Chris down and had to laugh as the young boy went running, carefree, towards the barn’s southern edge where the outdoor run had been constructed. It was one of the favored spots for the kids to play around. It had bugged them at first, a couple weeks before, when the older grow out rabbits had been removed and processed, but then there was always a new batch of babies, or kits, to love on.
Blake boosted Chris over the side and then
took a big step himself over. Immediately, white rabbits with brown/black markings on their nose, ears and feet hopped over to see what the human slaves had brought in terms of treats. Since Blake came empty handed, he just sat there next to Chris as Sheila, one of the breeding does, hopped over. She nudged Blake’s hand and he began petting her. Blake was half distracted looking out over the hill and Chris’s shrill laugh jerked his attention back.
Three of the babies had hopped over and one was on his lap, hind legs holding it up as the front legs reached towards his chin. It was licking Chris’s shirt and that had caused the giggles. Used to the loud outburst from kids, the rabbits weren’t concerned by Chris’s noise.
“We have to build that fodder setup that the new guys were telling us about,” Blake said to himself.
“For Door?” Chris asked.
“Fodder. Where we sprout the seeds and let it grow a little bit. I want to try it for wintertime if we can’t put up enough hay for the animals,” Blake told him.
“Sounds gross,” Chris said and then stood, the rabbits falling off his lap as he pointed.
Blake stood as well and, coming out of the woods, was about 1/3 of the group that had gone out. Leading it was Sandra and Duncan.
“Up?” Chris begged.
Blake boosted him up and over in time to see Lisa coming up. Her whole face lit up when she saw Chris, and she held out her hand.
“Grandma, let’s go get Mom!”
“Wait for me,” Blake told them, standing and stepping out of the run.
Together, the three of them walked down the hill, to see a stern-faced Duncan with an equally stoic Sandra.
“Hey, you guys ok?” I asked.
“They weren’t even real soldiers,” Sandra said after a minute. “It wasn’t war, it was a…” she paused as she saw Chris looking at her expectantly.
“Hey, Momma, what are we going to have for dinner tonight?” He asked.
Blake laughed, which just caused Lisa and Sandra something to give Blake ‘the look’. Normally that would have been enough to shake off any joking mood, but the tension had been so thick it was laugh or cry.
“Come on, we’ll go figure something out. Probably squirrel turds,” Sandra told him with a straight face.
“I thought you said Dad was the only one who was nuts?”
Duncan joined them and they all stood there as Lisa, Chris and Sandra walked up the hill.
“How bad was it?” Blake asked after a moment.
“Shooting fish in a barrel. The artillery scared them so bad after the first round…”
“Where’s everyone else?” Blake asked.
“Gathering equipment, supplies and towing the troop transport away with the first one. It’s pretty well shot from the AP rounds, but it’s drivable. We’re using that to tow the remains of the first. About half the folks are cleaning it up back there, hopefully so it doesn’t look like we bush whacked them like we did. I doubt there were any real soldiers in that bunch,” Duncan said and crossed himself.
“They were probably the same sort of merc’s that tried to show up last time.” Blake told him.
“Yeah, they looked like they were all dressed from Soldier Of Fortune Magazine.” Duncan admitted.
“I’m just worried what they’re going to try to do next,” Blake admitted.
“Me too kid, me too.”
* * *
Two days passed with no issues and no word from Silverman or the Governor. Blake went back to his usual morning routine of taking the kids into the woods. With fall almost upon them, the black walnuts would be ready or almost there. The trick was to beat the squirrels, as the critters would stash and bury every nut they could find. Each kid was given a sack to collect whatever it was they found. They’d all avoided going through the areas where the gun battle had been in for obvious reasons. The sun was out in full force and soon everyone was sweating.
“Why can’t we have regular school?” one of the teenaged girls griped.
“Well, this is important too. Maybe as much as math and reading.” Blake told her.
“Why though? You guys always have food. There’s still a ton of it stored in the barn.”
“What do we do when that runs out?” Blake asked.
“We go to the… Ok, ok. So why is this important?” she asked.
“Truth is, what happens if something happens to me, or the other grownups, or you get lost out here on your own? What happens when the food in the barn is gone? Part of what I’m teaching you is to survive and thrive. Gathering nuts is going to help us a ton in the winter time, trust me! Besides, it keeps you out of Duncan’s hair… or lack thereof,” Blake said with a grin.
“I did hear that,” Duncan said from the back of the group.
“Sorry Dad,” Blake said, grinning.
“So someday, what we’re learning is going to make us like Behr Grylls?” a younger boy asked.
“Who’s that?” Blake asked.
“He’s Survivor Man, or someone like him,” the boy answered sheepishly.
“I think I saw that on YouTube,” Blake muttered and they all chuckled.
It took them two hours, but they filled every bag with nuts or berries. The late mulberries were sweet and tart. According to Melissa’s father Curt, it could be made into an excellent wine. Since booze, beer and wine had all disappeared fast, they were considering starting to make their own. It would be six months to a year before they found out if it was any good, but they could always use the rest of the berries that weren’t juiced for jams, pies and jellies.
The kids ate berries and grazed on the wild strawberries that grew on the hills in open places. It was peaceful and, as they walked, Blake pointed out the game trails and explained trapping techniques. They were able to collect a couple of rabbits from the snares they’d already put out and those would go towards dinner too, but they’d been hoping for something else. They had enough rabbit.
“I want to try for a few more hogs soon,” Blake told Duncan as they broke the woods and the kids ran towards the barn.
“Fire up that smoker of yours again?” Duncan asked.
“I do love some bacon. Honestly though, we need to get some more salt soon. We’re running low and when we run out of processed foods…”
“Oh, we’ll find some,” Duncan said, “Loads of houses down here used a water softener. Rock salt is cheaper than water softener salt, so we can probably find it by the ton somewhere. Build you that salt box you’ve been talking about.”
“Yeah, if we only had enough salt.” Blake groused.
“Blake, Dad, can you drop the kids off and meet me down by the end of the trail? The guy we captured is ready to talk in exchange for us cutting him loose.” Sandra’s voice said.
“Sure, give us a little bit,” Duncan said into his handset.
“Never ends, does it?” Blake asked his father in law.
“No, it never does. Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
Michael & King –
Two days on the road had left Michael sore and wishing they‘d taken one of the trucks. Sleeping on the ground was something that he hadn’t missed when he had gotten imprisoned in the FEMA camp. If anything, that was the only comfort they’d had there. Instead, they had some thin foam sleeping pads rolled up with their packs that seemed to weigh even more as the day wore on.
“Good spot for water,” King pointed to a bridge crossing the road.
Beneath it, a stream ran. Michael didn’t say much, he was already exhausted. They dropped their packs and pulled out their canteens and water bottles. King had insisted on bringing some Katadyn life straws, but they didn’t want to put non-potable water in their containers unless they had to. They knew the bleach trick, and even had some purification tablets that John had given them but, for the time being, they were going to use the hand pump filter.
“Your turn,” Michael said, smiling for once.
“Naw, it isn’t. No worries, I got you little man,” King said smiling.
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King ran the hand pump, one tube running into the fast moving stream, away from the sediment, and the other ready to pour out the filtered water. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but pumping nonstop was another thing to make one sore if you weren’t used to it. Even after a whole summer living in the rough, Michael wasn’t used to it, but it was better than drinking the chemical water.
King dropped the filter and pulled his handgun as a canoe came into sight under the bridge. Silent, it had floated under without making a sound and an old man paddled with a shotgun across his lap.
“Morning boys,” the old man said.
“Hey,” Michael said, grabbing the filter unit out of the water.
“Morning,” King said.
“Fishing’s pretty good today huh?” the old man said, aiming the boat towards the shoreline where they were standing.
“Be ready,” King whispered, which made Michael worried.
King never whispered. He was loud, intimidating and raw power. The overly cautious part of him had put Michael on edge. He couldn’t go for his rifle without alerting the old man, but his hand wasn’t too far from his .45. He kept his gun hand free and walked to the edge where the canoe was grounding itself against the rocky shoreline. That earned him a frown from King, but Michael was worried about being bunched up too tight with that shotgun the old man had. This way if things went south he’d have to pick which way to fire first and that would definitely result in bad things happening.
“Here, kid, hold this for me, will you?” the old man said, handing the shotgun towards Michael, butt end first.
King tensed and then relaxed as Michael took the gun. Immediately, he broke open the old double barrel and held it over his shoulder, letting his free hand steady the canoe as the man stepped out.
“I’m Carl, just fishing today. Went upstream and caught me a couple catfish and some largemouth. You guys camping through here?”
“No sir,” Michael said, “We’re traveling and stopped for some water.”
Cries Of The World Page 4
