by JK Franks
As the other three sipped on beer, they watched the color drain from the big man’s face. Fifteen minutes later he looked up from the screen. “You weren’t fucking with us.” Motioning for the server, he ordered a double whiskey.
Jack then took the tablet, with Bartos looking on. Todd and Scott continued talking while the others caught up. “What do we do now?” Bartos asked.
Scott shrugged, “I’m not sure.” It appeared to him that their home would be left to fend for itself for the next few years. If they became valuable to the rest of the country, they might get some extra assistance and protection, but they’d almost certainly have to fight to get to that point.
“Our isolation works for us here, but it also means we may have trouble trading or getting what we need. That means we have to protect what we have from looters, pirates, gangs—and right now those damn convicts roaming the highways. We also have to be thinking more long-term. Not just how to survive the next few months. We need to be able to get power back on by ourselves. Become self-sustaining and establish trade partners with other survivor groups. The research in the documents indicates that a self-sustainable group of around thirty individuals has the best odds of surviving. Individuals will be picked off too easily, and larger groups are harder to feed and less mobile.”
Todd shook his head, “Scott, this town is over six hundred people. Myself, Jack, Bartos, even you are invested in this place. Do we just build ourselves a commune and let Harris Springs burn? We have to try and survive as a town.” His words were almost pleading. Any doubt about the situation being dire had now vanished from the group.
“I’m sorry, Todd. I like these people, but I’m not sure that’s feasible. Many will likely die regardless. Some have already. A lot of the others will sit back in denial, waiting for help to come. They’ll die waiting for a government to feed and clothe them and to reassure them everything’s alright. If the projections are correct, then in less than two months, Harris Springs will be a very different place, and we’ll have around half the population it has today. Will the mayor or town council see this coming? Will the state be able to help? Hell, what could the four of us even do?”
Bartos looked up from reading, apparently listening to the conversation as well. “Don’t forget, guys, we’ll probably be busy trying to survive. Gathering food, staying warm, maybe fighting off bad guys… That doesn’t leave a lot of time or energy for plowing and planting farms, building electrical plants or establishing a more viable community. Might be better to take a ‘pee-roy’ and go hide out in the bayou.” Scott knew he was talking about the small canoes some of the locals used that were actually called Pirogu,s.
Preacher Jack set the tablet down on the table, looking up with a similar expression to the one Todd had earlier. “Guys, this is going to get mighty dark and desperate before the good Lord feels we’ve been tested enough.”
Todd pulled the tablet over and asked, "Scott would you be willing to let me hang onto this for a couple of hours? I’d like to take a look at more of your intel and talk with my wife. I could drop it back off to you later today if you care to share where you live.”
Bartos smiled and said, “I know where he lives, it came to me last night. I think I met this guy’s brother a few years ago. Looked just like him, well…except for being bigger, smarter and better looking with brown hair. Actually, he looked nothing like you, Scott, were you adopted?"
“Funny, asshole,” laughed Scott. “Bobby said to tell you hi. He also said you’d be a solid friend to have, especially if I needed help finding an open bar.” Laughing, Scott looked over at Todd and told him the address. He did add that he had removed his mailbox last night. “So just look for the address number on the gate—Tell you what, if you want, bring your wife by, and I’ll cook us some dinner. I have some food that needs to be eaten in the next few days. Bring these clowns, too if you want. I do need to discuss something else with you all.”
"Yeah, you mentioned that in your message. What’s up?” asked Todd.
Scott looked around the table. “Look, I know you guys barely know me, and…well, this is hard to even bring up, but I may need to do a favor for my brother, Bobby, and…” Man, this is harder than I’d thought it would be.
“Spit it out, dude,” the preacher encouraged.
“Well, if I have to do the favor I—I’m going to need some help. He and his wife are stranded up in Little Rock, but his daughter is studying pre-med courses over at FSU. No one has heard from her since this shit went down. I offered to go and check on her, maybe bring her back here. He said no, to give it a few more days, but the more I think about it, the more I think waiting will just be worse. I’m planning on heading over early next week. That is if no one hears from her by then. Honestly—and yes, this sounds as chicken-shit as it is— I’d rather not go alone."
Todd looked over smiling and said no worries; he would be glad to come. And he and his wife, Liz, would love to come by later for dinner. They could discuss it more then. The Preacher declined the dinner invite as he had a weeknight service and expected it to be packed. Bartos said dinner parties weren’t his thing, but if he was over that way later, he might stop by mainly to see how the cottage had turned out.
“Thanks, guys,” Scott said. “My brother also informed me I needed to be better armed. After seeing those released prisoners on the road, I think I better make that a priority.” Bartos nodded. Scott continued, “I have some cash if you could spend it wisely for me?”
“Sure, man, what do you want? I can get it if I don’t already have it."
“Bobby said to get a tactical rifle—a Bushmaster, M4 or similar—a 12- gauge Mossberg Riot gun, a smaller concealed carry pistol with a holster and a few cases of ammo for each if possible.”
Scratching behind his ear, Bartos said, “That won’t be a problem, should be able to have it before you head out to Tallahassee.” Scott handed the man several thousand dollars in cash. "Man, you can be my Pa-ran. Carrying that much cash.”
That was a new one for Scott. “A what?”
"Pa-ran…a Godfather, man,” Bartos answered, laying on an artificially heavy Cajun accent.
Todd slipped the tablet in his pack and got up with a wink. “You heading home after this?”
Nodding, Scott said he had planned to. Todd walked behind the bar to the back. He came back out a few minutes later followed by a young Hispanic guy who was carrying two commercial size bags of ice. Todd had what appeared to be a plastic bag with a medium sized frozen fish. Todd got the keys from Scott and had the man put the ice and the fish in his Jeep at the curb.
“What was that for?” Scott asked.
“Well, our little Cajun friend here managed to repair the cooling system on the walk-ins and freezers. Somehow, he switched them off of the electrical refrigerants systems to propane, which the town has a good supply of. The three of us also caught all the fish they are serving here today, and they’re storing the rest of the catch for me on ice. The meals and ice are how they’re repaying us.”
“But I had nothing to do with any of that,” Scott protested.
Clasping a big hand on Scott’s shoulder, Todd said, “You’re one of us. Probably the most important one of us. If anyone is going to keep us alive, it will likely be you. Believe me, we’re going to take really, really good care of you.”
Scott dropped his head. "Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m not the guy you hope I am… but I’m truly glad for friends like you. I’ll do my best to help us all.”
Todd smiled, “One thing—don’t cook the fish for dinner, something else please. That snapper is just for you."
“Deal,” said Scott. He had something else in mind anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Scott stopped by the burgeoning farmers’ market in the parking lot, and several of the farmers seemed to remember him. A couple even said they’d put a few special things aside for him. Scott didn’t need much but bought something from every truck. He was truly pleased to s
ee several more cured and country hams hanging on hooks. He bought them all, knowing they would store for a very long time. He headed over to the jewelry and pawn shops where he made some good cash deals for gold and silver as well as other items that would hold value.
Getting home, he put most of the valuable ice in the freezer, which would help maintain the cold a little longer, and moved several items from the refrigerator to the large freezer. He added some good Belgian beers and a couple of bottles of wine to chill. The remainder of the ice went into the smaller freezer along with the perishables like eggs, mayo, cheese and such. He would have to remember to take them out if the power came back on, but the smaller space was still cooler and would be easier to keep cold with the small container of ice.
He’d flipped the plastic up from the windows earlier in the day, and now he opened the back and front doors, letting in a brisk ocean breeze. It wasn’t exactly cool, but it was manageable. Scott prepped the items he was going to cook later and put four nice steaks in a light homemade marinade made with soy, garlic, olive oil, herbs and a dash of sugar and balsamic.
Much of the afternoon was spent organizing the new gear he had and repacking the go-bags. These were larger versions of the EDC bag with more substantial gear. Ideally, you could live out of one for at least three days. He practiced with one of the water filtration straws, going down to the black river behind the house and using the straw to filter a small container of drinkable water. He spat the first swallow out, thinking it tasted pretty much like how a fart smelled. Assuming the straw had taken out the nasties that could kill him, though, he drank the rest. Better to know how to use all this stuff now. He needed to be able to trust the gear; his life might well depend on it. No one said he had to enjoy the stuff.
He was thinking about the steaks as he loaded several more cases of MREs into the trailer. He had that trailer nearly full of gear, water, spare clothes and food. It was nearly a duplicate of what he had inside the cottage. Scott was not planning on taking it to Tallahassee, so he pulled the trailer further out of sight behind the cottage. He covered it with an old brown tarp and laid several downed tree limbs against it. Once he’d decided on a secure bug-out location, he would take it there to unload.
Late in the afternoon, he heard music start playing from inside. It was Joe Bonamassa’s “Driving Toward Daylight” album. It was one of Scott's favorites and oddly appropriate. He had queued the album on his turntable earlier. If the power comes back on, that’s what I wanna hear.
It took a few more minutes to fully assimilate the fact that the power was back on. It had not been on at all for the last few days. He went inside, turned the AC on full and put in a load of clothes, some dirty and some of the new stuff that needed a wash cycle to be comfortable. Scott then moved items from the freezers back to the refrigerator so they wouldn’t freeze solid. He had an hour before Todd and Liz arrived. That gave him a little time to check some things out. He already had all of his rechargeable items plugged in. He opened the laptop and powered up. As had become his habit, he flipped the TV on and cycled it quickly, seeing no new broadcast. He muted it, preferring to hear the lively strings of Bonamassa's guitar licks.
Scott had tried Bobby unsuccessfully several times today. At first, he only called when he assumed the power was on, provided it was on the same rotation it had been earlier. He’d also tried several other times just in case. Bartos had told him that the cell towers had backup generators, usually propane powered. They could keep working quite a while in a grid-down situation. Seeing that, according to the rolling blackout schedule in Little Rock, his brother’s power should be up now as well, he clicked on the “Remote Support” app and keyed in his brother's computer address. It didn’t connect. He triggered it again and switched over to check email. None. Work server: unavailable. He tried several of the news sites he’d bookmarked previously. A couple of them came up, so he triggered his clipper app to harvest and download all data from any new links.
The remote support icon was flashing in his taskbar. Bringing it up, he could see it had finally connected to Bobby’s PC and was waiting for a password. He entered it from memory, and his desktop was replaced by a mirror image of Bobby’s screen. He checked for keyboard activity and saw no one was using the PC. He then turned on Bobby’s webcam and saw his still familiar but empty living room. He assumed none of them were near the computer right now. He had no easy way to get their attention. He was going to play some music or a sound when he saw a pair of headphones on the desk. He realized no one could likely hear anything he did. He finally opened up Microsoft Word and typed in large font “Hi Bro!” Then he clicked print. No errors popped up, so the printer must be on. He had pulled this trick on Bobby and Jess before as they couldn’t always tell when he had logged in and fixed something.
He saw a folder on Bobby’s desktop labeled “Scott Look Here.” He opened it up and saw a letter from Bobby as well as a better map of the FSU campus. He downloaded everything in the folder, including a document called “Survival Rules.” He then created a folder on his brother’s desktop called “Bobby Look Here.” Into this Scott uploaded the most vital pieces of information he had collected. He would have done it all, but it would have taken more time than he thought he would have. This is a clumsy way to communicate, but better than nothing.
Just then he saw Jess walk in front of the camera and sit down and turn the on TV. He could see most of the TV screen although the angle was bad. As she flipped channels, it looked like she was getting about the same broadcast as him. She did stop on what appeared to be a local Little Rock station, though, showing various demonstrations and street scenes. From what he could see it looked chaotic, with looters and gangs throwing bottles and storefronts smashed in or on fire. Jess put her face in her hands, and Scott thought she must be crying. He didn’t like being a voyeur, but he also felt that nothing he could say would help, even if she could hear him. He knew she was thinking more about Kaylie than herself.
As his upload continued, he jumped back to his screen and read the letter from his brother. It was not long but very straightforward. They had still not heard from Kaylie. If Scott felt he could do so safely, would he please attempt to go and get her?
Do not let her come home, take her back to the beach house, please. It’s not safe here, and we may be bugging out soon. We’ll find a way to let you know where we are.
The upload completed and just as soon the Internet cut out. Thankfully, the power was still on, at least for now. Scott looked over the other information he had gotten from Bobby’s computer. It was very thorough: maps, suggested routes, Kaylie’s address and several of her friends’ addresses and phone numbers. It even included a scan of Kaylie's student ID. Also, his big brother had included a general survival guide containing everything from suggested planting times for the coastal zone, seasonal weather data and much more than he could digest right now. He pulled up another document called Survival Rules and started reading.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SURVIVAL RULES
Scott,
You are not a very trusting man, which may serve you well now. You are, however, a very giving man, and unfortunately, this could get you killed. Trust and generosity should be metered out carefully in this new world. Every person you meet could potentially kill you. You won’t like it, but to survive you must always have a plan to kill them first. The following is a set of rules I have refined over the years. They may not be enough to help you survive, but they will help. I love you brother. It may not be possible to get Kaylie back to us, so don’t even try right now. I know you will do your best to keep her safe and be the parent she will need in the days to come.
Take Care and Thank You.
Love, Bobby and Jess
The Rules:
Be Smart—Think First, Act Second—but Do Act.
You can’t be smart for someone else. Expect and accept the stupidity of others even when it’s suicidal for them—just move on. Ineptitude, like inaction,
will usually be fatal.
Always have your weapons and your gear close. You must be able to reach them immediately when needed.
Priorities are water, shelter then food.
Never show weakness. The weak will be preyed upon by the strong.
Always cheat; always win. The only unfair fight is the one you lose.
Do not share with others unless they are doing so with you.
Solve your own problems.
Don’t let others know what you have or where you have it kept.
Maintain situational awareness: head on a swivel, check your six. Always know what you are walking into and away from.
Travel light. Hide your supplies in multiple locations. Assume some will be stolen, probably by people you know and trust.
Have a way to get to your primary bug-out location(s) from wherever you may be.
Have multiple bug-out locations pre-selected.
Your gear is precious, but continually learn new skills so you can live without it.
Do not put yourself at risk for others. You getting dead helps no one.
Trust no one fully. Those you let close can cause you the most pain.
Be ready to defend yourself and your property without mercy. In the absence of justice, the lawless will rule, but brute strength and intelligence can prevail.
Don’t stick your dick in crazy, no matter how hot they are. If you cannot distinguish crazy from sane (SCOTT - YOU CAN’T) avoid them all.
Don’t quit. That will be the easy way out. Be strong enough to keep going, keep living.
Have a back-up plan, because the first one probably won't work. Know when to run. Always having an exit strategy will better your odds.
Don’t lose your humanity in the face of all this. Many others will be good, helpful and essential to your survival.
