"So," I asked, "was the 30-30 your only rifle?"
"Yes, it was."
"Wait here a minute, please," I high-tailed it to the barn and back.
Mr. Cotter smiled when I handed him the long-barreled 30-30 and a box of cartridges from our gear. "This will do nicely. Thanks, Wayne." The gun fit the saddle scabbard like it was made for it. "I was going to borrow a rifle from one of the neighbors."
"Keep it. It is yours," I said.
Before evening, Mr. Cotter rode in with two older men. They all had the same hard, weather-beaten look, so I assumed they were ranchers. After the horses were rubbed down, fed, and put away, Mr. Cotter did the introductions. The rancher's names were Rodriguez and Walters.
Mr. Walters, a tall rangy man, dug into his saddlebags. He handed a few items to me. "I think these will fit you, though the jeans may be a might short. These were my boy's. He was about your size."
"Was?" I asked.
"We lost him in the Gulf War."
"I am sorry to hear that." And I was sorry. I didn't like the fact that our leaders seemed to think that they could use our soldiers to fight foreign wars for the profit of a few. Cap said, since there was no threat to the US here at home, we had no legal right to enter these wars. I wasn't a lawyer, but I agreed with Cap that our resources would have been better used here at home to build prosperity. I often wondered what great things all of the soldiers who died would have done had they lived.
"Thank you very much!" My suit pants had seen better days. It was a lightweight suit and the pants were torn in several places, as was my once white shirt, which, of course, had a bullet hole and blood stains at the shoulder, which only added to the mess.
Myra, with Julie's help, dressed my shoulder soon after I arrived, and both declared it to be healing well. Myra said the mountain air had a lot to do with that. She also said if I had been in the city, it would have been infected by now. She was probably right.
The jeans fit well, and were only an inch too short. The shirt was a bit too large around my waist and a bit tight over my shoulders. It was a checkered red flannel. Julie told me that, for the first time since we met, I looked human.
The next morning five more grizzled old men rode in on horseback. All but one were armed, and there was a set, determined look on their faces. Mr. Cotter again made the introductions and we all crowded into the kitchen for a strategy session.
"Did you bring the arsenic?" Mr. Cotter asked. There were a series of nods around the kitchen.
"I brought the strychnine too. I reckon these folks be the same as wolves."
"Not real Americans, that's for sure. Real Americans don't stomp on other people's rights."
"Just a bunch of thugs, uniforms or not. One of my ranch hands rode up into the pass looking for strays a few days ago. He said the soldiers were killing anyone they saw on the road. He watched as some poor folks in an old car were shot to pieces. They didn't even warn them."
"Where is your man?" I asked.
"At the ranch. They got a bullet in him too."
"Is he going to make it?"
"Not sure. Hope so, but likely not."
After an hour or so of general discussion, we began working out the details of the campaign. The soldiers would be back soon enough for the cattle, if they did what they said they would anyway.
The old cowboys all rode out together. In a few hours they were back with three steers. The afternoon was an old time gabfest, if you could call anything those laconic ranchers said gab.
First thing the next morning five of the men began butchering the three steers. I could tell they were experienced. They were quick, efficient, and worked well together, the result perhaps of years of annual barbecues, or the like. In less than four hours, they had the beef skinned and cut up into chunks that looked like what you would buy in a butcher shop.
Then they mixed the arsenic and strychnine into solution and began injecting each chunk of meat. They were very thorough. This was one group of old men that I did not want to piss off. It was also a lesson for the road; a road home that had darker potential than I ever could have imagined.
By the time the soldiers arrived the next day, we were well hidden. There were ten rifles covering them. If the uniformed idiot's even looked like they were going to try something, they would be dead in short order, 50-caliber machine gun or not. Instead they took the meat while laughing at how cowardly the old man was to butcher it for them too.
When they were out of sight, the old men reappeared one by one. Not a word was said as the preparations for the next stage of the operation began.
It was past midnight the next evening when nine horses with muffled shoes rode into the soldier's camp. We encountered one lone soldier, who dropped his weapon when he saw the rifles pointed at him. All through the camp were dead or dying men. Apparently the poison had done its job. It is a horrible and painful way to die. Not one expression of sorrow crossed a single hard-lined face as the old men walked among the dead and dying. No effort was made to make the dying comfortable.
We loaded the vehicles with anything useful from the camp, and all guns and ammunition were taken as well. The remaining poisoned beef was buried. Someone unrolled a sign and nailed it to two posts. It read: Don't Mess With Real Americans.
I took the single prisoner aside. "Don't like beef, huh?"
"No, I am a vegetarian."
"Who are you people?"
"We are feds."
"What kind of feds?"
"None of your business."
"Quit bullshitting me. Who are you?"
He said, "You don't have any authority..."
"Listen kid. Tell me the truth or I will let these old men pound it out of you. They are the ones that put poison in the meat."
"OK, OK. We raided the National Guard armory in Belen. Jerry..."
"Who is Jerry?"
"He was our leader. He is dead now."
"Yeah, poison will do that to you!"
"You got that right," Mr. Cotter said. "Boy, who are you people?"
"We are..." he looked around, "were, the Muertos."
"That is an Albuquerque gang, right?"
"Yeah."
"Why did you come here?"
"Because we are a small gang and the other gangs would have killed us. Jerry said we needed a new territory."
Mr. Cotter looked at me. "What do you want to do with him?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders. "OK, I will take care of him. He can work at the ranch."
"I thought you might kill him."
"I will if he doesn't work out." The boy cringed. Both the boy and I could tell that Mr. Cotter meant exactly what he said.
Chapter 7
Wayne
Julie, Yeti, and I left at first light four days later. Mr. Cotter asked us to stay on at the ranch. If it weren't for Lucy and Ben, I would have been sorely tempted. We now had four horses, three of which were loaded with proper packsaddles. Julie rode the other horse. The three packhorses were loaded with our gear, including several rifles and some ammunition that were our share of spoils from the pass. I also managed to trade a few cigarettes to Mr. Walters for some more clothes that fit me. I was still wearing the wingtips. Mr. Cotter said it was unlikely there was another a pair of shoes my size in the entire county.
Cap said that anyone who differs sufficiently from normal in any aspect, too tall, too short, too fat, too skinny, too dumb, too smart, etc., is handicapped. I don't think I understood him before, but now I was beginning to. I ordered my shoes and clothing online for years, but now, with no Internet, finding clothes and shoes in my size was going to be difficult for quite some time to come. I guessed I would have to turn myself into a boot-maker at some point just to keep from going barefoot. I might even have to learn to sew before I got home, if I didn't want to show up naked.
In a few years, I suspected cottage industries would be thriving all across the country. Factory-made clothes and shoes would be hard to find by then. Instead, nearly everything would
be locally custom-made for the user.
I figured I needed to be thinking of what I would do to contribute to the rebirth. Right now I wasn't sure, but maybe I would be able to fall back on my carpentry skills, albeit with non-electric hand tools. Oh well, time would tell.
The going wasn't difficult. Julie led the way on horseback with a pair of binoculars and an old paper atlas. Yeti was slimming down noticeably now and walked with an easier stride than before.
My shoulder was healing nicely, but it would be a couple of weeks before I could start using it normally. At least that was what I hoped.
We moved along at a slow, steady pace. Twice we passed abandoned cars on the road. I wondered where the occupants had gone. I hoped they made it, but I suspected we might find a few bodies along the road. This part of New Mexico is a harsh land.
Except for the fact that we saw man-made trash here and there, the high desert seemed to be reverting before our eyes. Twice we saw coyotes walk across the road in front of us. Neither time did they shy away. The rattlesnakes we encountered seemed more belligerent than usual, as if to tell us that the desert now belonged to them, and we were just interlopers. Once we even saw a cougar. It stalked us along the roadside for a while until Yeti threw a rock and cracked it on the head. The cougar shook its head and trotted off, seemingly unfazed, now less afraid of man than before. I did not think I would be surprised if an Apache appeared. I decided we better take more precautions to guard our horses at night.
After another four miles we came upon a man sitting on a pack by the roadside. He had a rifle in his lap. I motioned for Julie and Yeti to hold back, and I rode Julie's horse up to him. A fully automatic M16 variant lay across my saddle. Seemingly unplanned, the muzzle covered the man as I approached to within twenty feet.
"Seen you coming. Thought we might talk a bit."
"Ok, talk," I said. "Are you alone?"
"Yes," The man said, "But you would be smart to not believe a stranger, just like I have a few doubts about you folks."
"I think we are of like minds," I said. "Where are you headed?"
"Belen. That's where I live. I am a truck driver. My rig quit the other side of Mountainair. I don't know why, but nothing seems to be working. The folks in Mountainair have no electricity and nobody has a car or truck that will run. Dangedest thing I ever seen!"
I told him about EMPs and what I thought happened. He listened intently.
"Sounds kind of like the country is screwed."
"That might be an understatement," I said. Then I asked him about what he had seen on his journey and told him about our experiences so he would know a little bit of what to expect on his walk home. "Do you need anything?" I asked.
"Well, I could use some water and a few shells for this thing," he raised the 30-30 on his lap slightly.
"You out of cartridges?"
"Yeah, this thing is empty. Just like it was when I found it in an abandoned house."
I pointed up the road to the top of the next hill. "I will leave you a few rounds and some water beside the road at the top of that hill. Wait a while until we have had time to move along before you come after them."
"I'll do that," the man smiled. "I have nothing to give you in trade though."
"The information about the road ahead is enough this time," I said.
"OK, Trader," he laughed.
"See you later, Driver," I replied and led our little band past the man sitting on the side of the road. At the top of the hill, I dug out a box of 30-30 shells and a gallon jug of water. These I set beside the road and waved at the man below. He waved back and we started on our journey once more.
I was relieved to get some information about the road ahead. The driver had no trouble along the way. I assumed he had just been lucky and we might too.
When we made camp early that evening, I got the map and drew on it the details the driver mentioned. As usual, we were camped some distance from the highway and were well hidden.
Gone were the days of motels and restaurants. Life was hard again; much like it had been for our ancestors. And yet there was a serenity that was sorely missing before the End of the World. Now there were few distractions to get in the way of focused thought, and few reasons to hurry. I thought of Lucy and Ben and how I longed to see them; how I would hold them in my arms again. But rushing home now was a sure way to get dead quickly.
Caution and well-planned boldness were the rule of the day now. But the planning part was more difficult than before the End of the World. Then we had the Internet with an incomprehensible amount of information at our fingertips. Before the EMP, that easily available information had little value. Now, after the End of the World, information was almost priceless because it was so much more difficult to obtain.
The driver called me Trader. That was interesting because it fit well into my plans for the long journey home. I sat awake long into the night thinking about what had value now and what did not. Mostly I thought about what would have value when the die-off ceased and men once more brought civilization of sorts to their small towns. I was not sure the big cities would survive.
It was obvious that many of the people who survived would be smart, capable, adaptable, and very resilient. These were the people I would be trading with as my caravan crossed the country. They would be a canny lot, these survivors. I would need to be even cannier to get home to my loved ones with my trade goods and my life.
I spent hours thinking about how the recovery might evolve after the die off. But it was ways of acquiring information about what lay ahead that consumed me most. Cap would have called it intel.
Intel was what I needed and I had best figure out how to have that intel come to me before I might need it. It was a difficult topic for a former carpenter and a mediocre salesman, but I dug into it as a dog guards a bone. Some of what Cap taught me was useful, but not very much. Mostly this was something I needed to figure out for myself based on my own observations of human nature.
"It is time for your watch," Julie said, "and I don't think you have even slept yet?"
"No, I haven't."
"Why? Are you worried?"
"No, I have been planning for the future; for what I need to do to get home to Lucy and Ben in Indiana." As I spoke I noticed a quizzical expression with a hint of loss on Julie's face, but it was only for a moment.
"I will see if Yeti can stand your watch. I will be right back." Julie returned in a minute or two. Yeti agreed to stand watch. I could see Yeti was shaping up into what appeared to be an exceptional young man. By the time he reached maturity, if that is possible after the End of the World, he would be taller and stronger than I was, and undoubtedly smarter; a son to make a man proud. I didn't think I would ever understand why he was a throwaway.
Julie settled down next to me in front of the fire and spread a blanket over both of us. She did that sometimes. She said it allowed us to talk more quietly and that it was safer to be quiet. She was right, but it seemed to me that I enjoyed our conversations and the feel of her next to me more than I should.
Julie and I talked about my plans for a while. She had some good ideas and seemed as interested as I was in the plans, even though I thought she would undoubtedly stay on at her father's ranch. Finally she fell silent and dozed off with her head against my left shoulder.
I was also trying to figure out how to avoid violence on my way east. My right shoulder, still sore, but healing well, reminded me that a single mistake could be the end for me or any, or all, of my companions. I wanted to trade my way home, to help people along the way by bringing them some of what they needed. I wanted to move through the land in peace.
I knew there would be brigands ahead who must be dealt with and I knew I had the fortitude to do what must be done. I wanted to see the rebirth of our land; a land occupied by a peaceful, industrious people, of whom I hoped to be one. In time, I hoped it would be so. The future of my son, well sons, depended upon it, as did the future of everyone's children.
&n
bsp; I wasn't worried about the electric grid coming back on line. From what Cap told me, and what I read, it would most likely be years, and could be many years before the grid could be restored, if it even happened at all. Especially after the two EMP strikes we saw—and there may have been even more strikes. Someone wanted the USA ended, and it seemed they succeeded. Yet I was confident that what was to come would grow into something good and the hard times would end sooner or later. We were a creative, resilient, and imaginative people, who, once repressive government controls were gone, would flourish once more.
I sat quietly, still thinking about what needed to be done. Then I fell asleep too. I awoke to the smell of beans and bacon cooking over the fire. Julie was still asleep against my shoulder. Yeti was cooking over a small fire. It smelled good.
I nudged Julie with my shoulder and she woke quickly and alertly. After the End of the World, there was no time for staying in that comfortable half asleep/half awake cocoon that so many people used to relish every morning before their coffee.
"Well, it is about time that you woke up, Mom and Dad." Yeti said with a sly grin. It was the first time Yeti had called either of us that. I could see how desperately the boy wanted and needed a family. I hoped I could give him that. I rose, helped Julie up, and stepped closer to the fire. Yeti stood as well.
I put my hand on Yeti's shoulder and said, "Thanks Son." Julie just hugged him. She didn't see the tears streaming down his face and I pretended not to.
Once we were on our way again, I began going over what the driver told me about Mountainair. It was a town with a population of 1,100 or maybe 1,200, as best Driver remembered from the sign at the edge of town, and only occupied about a square mile. Julie confirmed this.
It never ceased to amaze me how people here in New Mexico tended to cluster closely together. The houses were often on tiny lots where neighbors could almost touch the house next door from their own window. I wondered if it was a remnant of pueblo mentality or if developers were just cheap scoundrels.
EMP 1500 MILES FROM HOME Page 10
