Patriots Awakening

by R. M. Strauhs

  Nancy started laughing and looked at the other two women and whispered. “Don’t know about you two, but I’ve been enjoying the vibration myself.” All three women laughed hysterically.

  “Want to let us in on the joke?” Paul asked.

  That made the women laugh all the harder.

  Joe chuckled, “I don’t think the girls want pillows.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here, folks. Time’s wasting.” Fred had a hard time getting it out, all the men were laughing so hard.

  A small town came into view a few miles away, and Fred stopped the convoy. “I don’t want to go cross country with a Gold Wing. It’s made for the highway, but we don’t know who might be behind a door with an automatic rifle. Let’s skirt the town.” The going was rough, so they had to go slow, but soon the town was left behind, and they were back on the highway.

  A couple hours later, Fred yelled, “Hit the ditch!” A pickup came racing toward them. The group broke and divided left and right off each side of the road. Everyone jumped off their bikes and hit the ground with firearms in their hands. The driver and passenger of the truck opened fire on them from both sides of the pickup. The truck passed through and turned around to come back for another go at them. This time, Fred started firing the M 16 into the cab and didn’t stop until the magazine was empty. The truck swerved, ran off the road, and crashed into a tree. The men eased toward the truck and found the occupants dead.

  “Everyone okay?” Joe yelled, surveying the group.

  “Hell, no! Come get this Goddamned bike off me,” Lloyd yelled from a ditch. They rushed to help him and found his fatigues half ripped to shreds and his leg burned bad from the exhaust. “Son-of-a-bitch! That hurts like hell,” he yelled when they pulled the bike off him.

  “Now folks, you see what happens to an inexperienced rider going seventy miles an hour across a ditch,” Joe laughed.

  “Fuck you, Joe. I’d been a lot happier driving a tank, but I wasn’t given a choice.”

  “Yeah, a few of those would have been nice, Lloyd, but I didn’t have the budget or the chance to swipe any. You’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull or break a bone. Could have been a lot worse,” Fred spat out.

  After propping the bike upright, Fred said, “Man, you did a job on it, buddy. It’s trashed. You’ll have to double with me. Let’s move out.

  ~~~

  A week later, Fred’s group found themselves half way to Sun Valley. The day was clear and bright, and they were tooling along just fine with Fred in the lead, and Lloyd riding on the seat behind him as they started across a bridge. All at once, Joe, who was still bringing up the rear, caught a reflection from the top of a hill, but before he could take action or yell out, Lloyd flew off the bike, and then they heard the crack of a shot.

  Happy-go-lucky Lloyd had been shot by a sniper. His body rolled across the pavement in front of Lucille’s bike. She was splattered with Lloyd’s blood. The brakes locked. She swerved, trying to miss where he lay in the middle of the road, but she whipped the front wheel too short. Her bike flipped, throwing her into the ditch, away from the shooter.

  Everyone was shaken and scared to death as they tried to stop their bikes, but a couple hit one another before they were able to pull off the side opposite the shooter where Lucille lay.

  Fred twisted the throttle wide open and managed to get across the bridge, pulling to a sliding halt behind a large boulder beside the highway.

  The group stayed down out of sight, and no more shots were fired. When Joe finally spotted Fred at the other end of the bridge, Fred signaled him to backtrack along the road on foot and head up the hill. As Joe worked his way along the side of the hill, Fred disappeared down toward the river. Some twenty minutes later, they met one another atop the rocky hill. The shooter was nowhere in sight.

  “Where in the hell did he go? I never heard a vehicle, did you?” Joe asked Fred in a whisper.

  Cautiously, the men began searching along the other side of the hill. Suddenly, a shot rang out and shrapnel rained off a rock face, hitting Joe’s arm. The wounds were superficial, but enough to turn his sleeve crimson with blood. Joe emptied the magazine, sweeping it across the hillside.

  Joe ducked down to slap another magazine into place, repeating another sweep of the area. No further shots came his way as he squatted behind cover for the next five minutes, his weapon reloaded with a full mag at the ready. Then, the damnedest thing . . . he heard drunken singing! Who the hell was this dumb fucker?

  A whistle from Fred sent him dodging between rocks and trees for cover, until he found Fred behind a large, jagged rock outcrop.

  Joe squatted down next to him and asked, “Did you hear that son-of-a-bitch singing? Sounds like a goddamned Saturday night drunk.”

  “Yeah, look, you cover me. I’m gonna find that bastard.”

  Fred ran in a crouch between hiding places and was soon out of sight. Joe laid his weapon across a rock, his finger on the trigger. It seemed far longer than the five minutes it actually was when Fred called out. “Joe! C’mon down! I got the bastard covered.”

  Fred stood over a doped up, filthy man hiding in a small crevasse between two large rocks. Fred kicked away the sniper rifle, which had been used to kill Lloyd, and pointed the M 16 at the man, who seemed oblivious to their presence.

  “Why the fuck did you shoot at us?” Joe asked.

  The man laughed almost hysterically, “I got the wrong one. I was aiming for the guy on front, not the guy hugging him.” He roared even louder. “I wanted to see a pile up, and I sure did. Is that a Gold Wing the leader had? Man, they’re nice. I wanted a bike, too, ‘cause I been walkin’ fer days and got goddamned tired of it. No fuckin’ right you have all them bikes, and my ass is on foot. Usta have a hog, myself. You think them Jap bikes are as good as a hog? Fuckin’ Japs fucked up our business over here.”

  “Where’d you get this gun?”

  Again, the man giggled. “Now, man, that was funny. This here guy had just killed an Elk. I watched him a while, then when I got my chance, I killed him. I took his gun and Elk, ‘cause all I had was a knife and no food. Seemed fair. Why should that fucker have it and me nothin’?”

  “Fair? You want fair? How’s about we think it’s fair you’re gonna get your fuckin’ head blown off with the gun you murdered a man for and that you just killed our friend with?”

  The drunk tried to get up and say something, but the blast from the rifle removed a major portion of his head, throwing his body backward.

  The sound of the rifle fire echoed through the hills, and Joe snapped. “Let’s check him and get outa here. That shot could be heard for miles.”

  The two men raced to the man’s body and searched him. They found ten rounds of ammo.

  ~~~

  Their fellow travelers, still hiding beside the highway, heard the shot and held their breath.

  “They’ll be here soon.” Ken told the group and especially to Lucille and her sons.

  While the two men had gone after the shooter, the group had some housekeeping to do. Lucille’s dumping of the bike had resulted in a lot of scratches, road burns, and bruises. One of the other women had helped her clean all the scratches, some of which were fairly deep and had wrapped bandages around one leg and both arms.

  A couple of the others’ had been tended, too. Most were abrasions they’d received when their bikes had collided. No one had any broken bones, which was a miracle.

  Lucille sat on the hillside near the edge of the highway, her sons on either side. All three, along with the others, peered towards the hill, watching for Joe or Fred to show themselves.

  The men pulled Lloyd’s body from the roadway and laid it in the gully off to the side, covering him with rocks. Nothing else they could do, except say a prayer.

  ~~~

  “Not much farther to go,” Fred kept assuring the sore and injured group.

  Lucille’s ankle had been badly sprained in the fall, and Fred insisted she ride behind him from t
hen on. Her bike was pretty well banged up.

  “No son-of-a-bitch is gonna follow us on this bike.” Joe said as he cut the plug wires and stabbed the tires.

  Two days later, they were screwed for fuel. Unless they could find some, they would be afoot. It seemed their journey was destined to fail, when they came upon a gas station along the road, miles from anywhere. It was dark from the cloud cover that obscured the moon. They lay in a field about a hundred yards to the side of the station and watched the place for two hours without seeing a sign of life.

  Fred spoke quietly, “I’m going to go recon the place. Be back shortly.”

  Joe lay on the ground, his weapon pointed toward the station.

  Fifteen minutes later, Fred returned. “The place seems to be abandoned. Let’s ride the bikes on in and park them behind the building. Looks like whoever ran the place lived there, too. It might be a good place to catch a night’s sleep out of the weather.”

  The station’s large gas engine generator in a shed behind the main building had evidently supplied the station’s power. At first, it looked like a glimmer of hope, but closer inspection showed it had been wrecked . . . deliberately. The power cables were missing between the shed and the station, and the belts which turned the generator lay on the floor of the shed, cut into a dozen pieces. With the kind of luck they had experienced so far on this journey, it would have been too easy to fire up the generator to power the gas pumps. They’d have to figure a way to get fuel out of the underground tanks.

  While the men were outside trying to get gas, the women discovered the propane gas stove in the kitchen worked. Searching through the darkened room with flashlights, their hunt was at least partially successful.

  “Woo-hoo, I found food.” Betty said brandishing a gallon can of beef stew.

  Within minutes the group each had a small portion of hot stew in the dark café, and savored every bite of it.

  “A few bites was better than nothing,” one of the boys said as he opened his sleeping bag on the living room floor. They slept inside for the first time since leaving the cave.

  The next morning the twins searched every fast food machine for cup cakes or candy. Nothing had been left. Others looking for food had broken the machines wide open.

  “I’m hungry, and my belly hurts.” One twin told the other.

  “I just drink water and try to fill up,” he answered back.

  Using the hand pump on a well outside, everyone filled their water jugs, and then took the opportunity to wash up with a bar of soap found in an abandoned car. Feeling a bit refreshed brightened the group’s outlook.

  After Eric cleaned up, he scouted the area around the station. A short distance away and down in a gully, he saw the remains of what had been a man. “Sorry, buddy. Hell, I might be joining you shortly. I have no idea how long this trip’s gonna take or if we’ll make it at all. Fred hasn’t told us a damn thing, but the road signs indicate we’re near La Grande, Oregon.” Eric covered the remains with rocks.

  He thought back to the group and the journey . . . the nights had been cold and sometimes wet since they’d left the cave. They’d shivered under tarps to try to stay warm and dry. They could have killed deer or elk to eat, but that would have meant a loud blast from a gun and making a fire. They couldn’t chance that. Not one person complained or said a word about being sorry they were making this trip.

  Meanwhile, Joe solved the problem of how to get the fuel from the underground tank. He took the rotary hand pump, once used to pump bulk motor oil from an oil drum into a car’s crankcase and fitted a piece of water hose on the pipe end of the pump. With the hose dropped into the underground tank, they pumped gas into a bucket and then poured it into their gas tanks.

  With everything and everyone packed up and ready to continue their journey, Fred called out “Light ‘em up and move ‘em out, cowboys.” He climbed on his bike, pressed the starter button, and revved the engine. The small group was once more on its way.

  ~~~

  Back in Idaho, Sean wondered how Fred and his group were doing. A week had passed, and each day was one more day of danger Fred’s group had to face. Sean and his group of sixty-two had made up sleeping quarters for an additional fifteen.

  It was getting crowded in Sean’s dwelling, and so far, there had been three individuals causing trouble. He shook his head when he thought back over it. This overly endowed chick, married to his cousin Roland, decided to do the dirty with a single guy named, Greg. Roland caught them in the act in one of the bathrooms and simply pulled the 9 mm from his holster and blasted their naked asses.

  The law was to be upheld. Sean called the adults together, and they held a trial for Roland. He was judged by twelve of his peers and found not guilty due to temporary insanity.

  Sean’s camp was a series of floors below his home on the side of the mountain. It was well contained and could hold at least eighty people if they squeezed some. His camp was composed of him and his wife’s relatives and their closest friends. He housed thirty-five males and twenty-seven females. Forty-seven were fifteen years old and older, and he made sure they all could handle a weapon efficiently.

  Sean walked to the door of his combination steel and concrete home and looked through his binoculars at the site below. The city had become a ghost town. The riots, burning of buildings, hurricane winds, and the earthquake had pretty well done away with all the structures. Sean said a silent prayer for Fred and his group before returning inside. He strode to the control room to see if anyone had additional information to report.

  Rocky Top had checked in on the short wave at least once daily. He and his girlfriend were still safe in the house with the radio. Others were venturing to use the short wave more and more. Sean’s list of nicknames of radio users was now up to twenty- five. Of course, the Special Forces group only listened in and prayed they’d soon hear that Fred had made it to Sean’s camp.

  ~~~

  Fred’s people were tired, cold, and hungry. They could find gas in the empty stations, but no food. They were a dirty, hungry bunch of travelers who couldn’t wait to get to hot showers and hot food.

  A half day’s ride from the filling station, they came upon an old Ford pickup parked on the highway. An elderly lady stood beside it crying. Fred and Joe stopped weapons at the ready, alert for a trap.

  “Oh, mister, mister . . . please, don’t shoot me. He’s . . . dying, and I don’t know what to do.” She pointed at the man slumped over the steering wheel. “I hoped we could make it to town and find a doctor, but he passed out. I can’t drive.” She burst into hard sobs and leaned on the truck for support.

  Fred slowly eased his way to the driver’s door, checking the back, while Joe covered the truck and the old woman. A fast jerk and the door opened. The old man didn’t move a muscle. Fred felt for a pulse in the man’s wrist, but there was none.

  “Looks like a heart attack, Ma’am. Sorry, but he’s gone,” he told the wife.

  She crumpled to the ground.

  Lucille hobbled to her and poured water from a canteen on her face, bringing her back. “It’s okay. We’ll help you. Where do you live?” Lucille asked softly.

  “I live back down the road a mile and over that ridge a piece,” she said, managing to choke the words out.

  “Okay, how about I drive your truck home for you. We can help you bury him.” Lucille was as gentle with the old lady as she would be with a newborn.

  The old lady only nodded and continued to sob.

  Fred and Joe moved the dead man’s body to the truck bed. “You sure you can drive with that foot?” Fred asked.

  “Yes, it’s my left one. I’ll be just fine. Help me climb in, and we’ll get off this highway.”

  ~~~

  Joe, Fred, and Peter set about building a coffin from the lumber found in the barn, and lined it with a quilt the old lady had given them. Eric, Ken, and Paul dug the grave near the grove of Birch trees where the wife had indicated she wanted him buried.

 
; In the house, the old woman told Lucille. “Cook anything you can find and help yourselves to anything else you want.” She then, went to lie down on her bed to rest and grieve for her husband of fifty-two years.

  The ladies immediately started thawing out the last five bags of frozen fish fillets they found in the freezer. They peeled a few potatoes and opened a quart jar each of green beans and corn. A couple cans of Pet Milk were used for the gravy. By the time the men finished covering the grave and were washed up, a hot feast was ready on the table.

  “Girls thank you. Best mashed potatoes, gravy, and cornbread I’ve ever had,” commented Ken in between bites. “Damned good fish, too.”

  After dinner, Lucille said, “Eva, time to wake up the lady so we can hold the funeral.”

  Eva rushed back from the room crying. “She’s dead. I found a couple of empty prescription bottles on the nightstand. I guess the poor old dear couldn’t face being alone.”

  ~~~

  That evening at sundown, Fred’s group built another coffin and buried the old lady next to her husband under the tree.

  After they returned to the house, Lucille asked, “Can’t we stay here a few days to rest and regain our strength?” She looked at Fred and then Joe. “There isn’t much food here, but we can stretch it maybe two or three days.”

  “Same thing I was thinking. We’re pretty well worn down. A few days here in a real home sounds great to me.” Fred grinned at his wife, then reached out and patted her bottom.

  The men then walked outside to make sure no one was snooping around. They came up with a rotation for lookouts.

  The farmhouse was large with four huge bedrooms upstairs and two down. There was a large living room, dining room, kitchen, and enclosed back porch. That night the old fashioned bathtub was in constant use until everyone had a good hot bath and head washing. Everyone got to sleep in a real bed, not bunks, or on the ground for the first time in weeks.