The Plan: How the Bug Out! War Began

by Boren, Robert

  “That’s what I thought at first,” Clem said. “There was something really strange about these two.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

  “Linda, the wife,” Clem said. “She looked totally shell-shocked. Right on the verge of a breakdown. She finally went into their coach to get away from the conversation.”

  “Maybe she was sick of her husband’s BS,” John said.

  “That’s not the vibe I got,” Clem said, a grim look on his face. “She clung to him as if he was her only protector during most of the conversation. Only left when she got too scared. There was no contempt or embarrassment there. She looked like she worshiped this guy, and believed everything he was saying.”

  “I thought she looked depressed, or maybe tipping into dementia,” Harry said. “Hank acted over-protective too, as one would act with a spouse that was sick.”

  “What was the gist of this guy’s story?” John asked.

  “Basically, that there’s an invasion coming, and that people better get away from the border,” Sid said. “Sounded like a story from one of those survivalist web sites.”

  Two women walked over, both in their mid-sixties. One had silver hair and a little too much makeup, smartly dressed. The other had dark hair, braided, with a younger look to her. Sid stood up and took the hand of the dark-haired woman.

  “Yvonne,” he said, pulling her next to him.

  “Are you guys done with that stupid conversation?” She sat next to him.

  “Just about,” he said. “We were filling in John and Sarah.”

  “Oh,” Yvonne said. “Hi, Sarah. Hi, John.”

  “Hi,” Sarah said. John nodded.

  The other woman sat next to Harry, settling close to him.

  “Hey, honey,” Harry said. “Glad you’re back.”

  “You sure you’re done talking about that idiot?” she asked.

  “Yes, Nancy, we’re done.”

  “Hi, Nancy,” Sarah said.

  “John’s not drinking tonight?” she asked.

  “Nope,” Sarah said.

  “Good,” Nancy said. John shot her a glance, a thin smile on his face. He put his hand on Sarah’s thigh and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You guys see all the extra coaches?” John asked.

  “Yeah, kinda weird,” Yvonne said. “Wonder what’s going on?”

  “We were wondering the same thing,” Sarah said.

  “Maybe a new festival?” Nancy asked. “If so I’d like to go, depending on what it is. This place is a tad too isolated.”

  “I thought you loved living here,” Harry said.

  “Oh, I do, sweetie, but it’s still nice to hit the town every once in a while,” she said.

  “Hey, look at the TV screen!” Sid said, pointing.

  “My God, is that an airliner?” Clem asked. There was a burning plane lying on the end of a runway, fire fighters hitting it with foam.

  “Turn that up,” Sarah said. John grabbed the remote off the corner of the stage and turned up the volume.

  “The FAA has not confirmed that this plane was shot down as it was attempting takeoff, but eyewitness accounts say a rocket flashed up and hit its left wing, bringing the plane to the ground, where it exploded into flames. The FAA has confirmed that nobody survived the incident.”

  “What airport is that?” Yvonne asked.

  “Look at the banner under the video,” Sid said. “Lindbergh Field, San Diego.”

  ***

  Robbie Johnson sat at his laptop while the microwave zapped dinner, his large, trim frame hunched over too far to be comfortable, longish sable brown hair hanging over both sides of his face. He was angrily typing a message on yet another conspiracy message board, missing letters and slamming the backspace key to fix them on the fly. It was getting too dark. He reached over and switched on his desk lamp. There was a loud knock on the door.

  “Dammit,” he said, getting up and rushing to the window. His friend Gil was standing next to the door with a Winchester 30-30 rifle in his hands, looking around nervously. Robbie opened the door and he slipped in quickly.

  “Are you nuts?” Robbie asked him. “You can’t carry rifles around, man. The cops will lock you up.”

  “What cops?” Gil said, setting the rifle down next to the door. He dropped onto the couch, wiping sweat off his forehead and pushing his black hair back on his head. “Cops are afraid now, man. They’re staying out of the way.”

  “One of those gang-bangers is gonna take that rifle away from you and shove it up your ass,” Robbie told him. The microwave dinged. “There’s my dinner.”

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Don’t mind me. I already ate.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Robbie said as he walked into the kitchen of the tiny studio apartment.

  “Got any beer?”

  “Yeah, help yourself,” Robbie said. “But only one or two. I don’t want you firing that damn lever gun off in here.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Gil said, getting up. “Heard from Justin?”

  “Yeah, he’s coming over when he gets off work,” Robbie said as he grabbed his meal out of the microwave. “Hand me one of those brews.”

  Gil nodded and passed him a beer, then opened his. He glanced at the screen of the laptop. “You messing with the nutcases again?”

  Robbie laughed. “People got some strange-ass ideas out there.”

  There was the pop of gunfire in the distance.

  “Dammit,” Gil said. “It’s getting closer. Gardena got real bad last night, dude. So did Carson.”

  “North Torrance isn’t Gardena,” Robbie said.

  “Maybe we should split for a while,” Gil said.

  “Some of us have jobs. You know; we earn money at them.”

  “Shut up,” Gil said. “I’ll be back to work pretty soon.”

  “You don’t seem to be in much of a hurry,” Robbie said. There was a knock on the door. “That’s probably Justin.”

  “I’ll go check it out,” Gil said, walking to the window. He glanced out and then opened the door.

  “Hey, Justin,” Robbie said.

  “Hey, guys,” he said. Justin was a tall skinny blonde with a crooked smile and muscular arms. He had a paper bag in his hands.

  “What’s that?” Gil asked.

  “Chips, salsa, and beer,” he said. “Breakfast of champions.”

  “Oh, brother,” Robbie said.

  “Crap, what’s Gil’s pea-shooter doing over here?” Justin asked.

  “I didn’t feel safe,” Gil said. “So sue me.”

  “If the cops see you with that they’ll run you in,” Justin said, taking the bag to the kitchen counter. He emptied the contents, putting the beers in the fridge with the salsa. “Mind if I have one of yours while these get cold?”

  “Help yourself,” Robbie said.

  There was the sound of a window breaking outside, and a woman screamed.

  “Uh oh,” Gil said, walking towards his gun. “ That wasn’t in Gardena.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Robbie said, rushing to the back window. “I can’t see that far down.”

  Shouting drifted up towards them, and another scream. More breaking glass.

  “We should clear out of here,” Gil said.

  Robbie looked at him, then over at Justin. “And where do you suggest we go?”

  “West,” Gil said. “The trouble is all east and north.”

  There was a frantic knock at the door. “Guys, let me in.”

  “That’s Steve,” Robbie said. “Open the door.”

  Gill opened it and a red-haired young man rushed in, bowie knife in his hand.

  “You okay?” Robbie asked as he watched him slam the door and put the night lock on.

  “No,” he said. “I got chased down the street, and now there’s some gang-bangers messing with my car. If I didn’t have my knife under the seat, I’d probably be toast.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” Robbie asked. “I thought you were wor
king tonight.”

  “They shut down,” Steve said, trying to catch his breath. “We can’t stay here. There’s a frigging mob on its way into the neighborhood. We better leave now.”

  “Told you, man,” Justin said. “That lever gun loaded?”

  “Hell yeah,” Gil said. “Seven rounds. Got more in my pocket.”

  There was a crash outside, and the whoosh of a fire starting. “What the hell was that?” Steve asked.

  Robbie looked out the back window again. “Somebody torched a car, I suspect. That’s a big flame. Lighting the whole sky down there.”

  “Let’s go to your folks house,” Gil said. “They might be far enough west.”

  “North Redondo,” Robbie said. “Maybe. I’ll call them.” He punched their land line into his cellphone and put it to his ear. After waiting a few moments, he spoke. “Mom, Dad, this is Robbie. We have to leave our apartment. It’s getting bad here. We’re coming over there. Call me.”

  “Not home?” Gil asked.

  “Well, not answering anyway. I’ll try my dad’s cellphone.” He hit the contact and waited a few moments, then ended the call and put the phone in his pocket. “No answer. Let’s go. Want to take my car?”

  “I’m not leaving mine here,” Gil said.

  “Me neither,” Justin said.

  “I don’t want to leave mine,” Steve said, “but those gang bangers were surrounding it, and its way down the street. Can I ride with you, man?”

  Robbie nodded yes. “Let’s take the beer and the food with us.” He shut down his laptop, and then grabbed some grocery bags from the pantry and loaded the food and beer.

  “Good idea,” Justin said. He helped.

  “Where’s your car?” Gil asked. “In the garage?”

  “Yeah,” Robbie said. “Where’s yours?”

  “In the guest spot,” Gil said.

  “Mine’s right in front of your building,” Justin said.

  Robbie put his laptop into the case. “Grab one of the food bags, Steve. The rest of you go downstairs. I’ll meet you there. You all know how to get to my folk’s house, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s off Artesia,” Gil said.

  “I remember,” Justin said.

  “Let’s try to stay together,” Robbie said. “Just pull into the driveway after me.”

  “Okay, man,” Gil said. He picked up his rifle and opened the door, peering out. “Coast is clear.”

  “Good,” Robbie said, picking up the laptop case. Steve picked up the bags of food, and they all slipped out the door. Robbie stopped to lock it up, and then they rushed along the second story walkway and down to the driveway and the garages below, shadowy in the dim light of the street lamps.

  “I’ll keep watch while you pull out,” Gil said, his rifle at the ready. He stood just out of sight of the street, at the front edge of the building.

  “Yeah, I’ll keep watch too,” Justin said, watching as the garage door opened.

  Robbie and Steve threw the bags and the laptop into the trunk and got into the car. They backed out and headed down the driveway.

  “Oh, crap,” Steve said. Gil was in the middle of the driveway, aiming the rifle down Yukon Street to the left. Robbie pulled out far enough to see a mob of about twenty young men standing, watching Gil.

  “Better stop, ese,” one of the gang members shouted, moving forward.

  “Get back, dude,” Gil said. “I mean it.”

  “Let’s get him,” another of the gang said. “He won’t really shoot. Look at him shaking.”

  Gil pulled the trigger, aiming a little high, the blast from the 30-30 echoing between the apartment buildings. The gang members ran away.

  “C’mon, let’s go before they come back,” Justin shouted.

  “Hey, they left my car,” Steve said. “I’m gonna go get it.”

  “Okay, but hurry,” Robbie said. “I’ll wait until you get it started, just in case.” Steve sprinted left down Yukon to his car and got in. He started it and drove up to Robbie’s building.

  “Let’s go!” Robbie said. He turned right onto Yukon and punched it.

  Gil nodded and jumped into his car, turning right onto the street. Justin followed, then Steve.

  Robbie turned right on 168th Street, then left on Ainsworth, taking that to Artesia. Gunfire erupted to the east as he waited at the stop sign to turn west. He could see fires burning along Artesia to the east. Westbound traffic was heavy. He took the right turn, the others following him through, just in front of another clump of cars. They went under the 405 Freeway and crossed Prairie. There were crowds of people ahead, surrounding the intersection at Hawthorne Blvd.

  Robbie’s phone rang. He answered it.

  “Yeah, Steve?”

  “Just got a text from my sister. She said to stay away from the Galleria.”

  “I see, bunch of people flooding onto Hawthorne from the parking lot. Follow me. We’ll make a U-turn and then take Prairie to 190th Street.”

  “Got it,” Steve said.

  He set his phone down and made the U-turn, then made a right on Prairie and gunned it. He passed 182nd and was nearing 190th when he saw another gang, hanging out in the big park to the left. One of the gang members pointed at them, and then rocks and bottles flew. Don’t stop. He made a fast right turn against the light, oncoming traffic honking as he floored his small Honda. He checked the rear-view mirror and saw his friends getting through their turn. They raced west until they were stopped at the big intersection with Hawthorne.

  Robbie’s phone rang again.

  “Yeah, Steve?”

  “Some jerk broke my passenger side window back there,” he said, sounding out of breath. “We aren’t gonna turn right on Inglewood Avenue, are we?”

  “No, let’s go all the way to Rindge,” Robbie said. “Inglewood is too close to the Galleria.”

  “Good,” he said. “Think your folk’s place is far enough away?”

  “No,” Robbie said. “But any port in the storm tonight. It’s defendable.”

  The light changed. Robbie ended the call and drove forward, feeling better as soon as he got across.

  They made all the lights on the way down to Rindge Lane and turned right, entering dense middle class housing with its one-way streets, numerous stop signs, and tight parking. It was quiet and peaceful in there, but nobody had their porch lights on. It took several minutes to get through all the stop signs to Grant Avenue. They waited for the light, then drove across, making a turn on a one-way street and following it down through more stop signs. The condo was several blocks down on the right. Robbie turned into the long driveway, going past the garage doors of the front and middle units. He stopped. His friends pulled in behind him, Steve hanging slightly into the street.

  “I’m gonna check to see if they’re home,” Robbie said. “If they aren’t, I’ll pull this in the garage, and you guys can pull-in far enough to be out of the way of the other garages.”

  “Sound’s good,” Gil said.

  “Hurry, my ass is hanging out,” Steve said.

  Robbie nodded, unlocked the front door, and went inside. It was quiet. Lucy, his parent’s Jack Russell Terrier wasn’t there. Neither was Mr. Wonderful the cat. He raced down the hall to the garage door and unlocked the bolt. The Jeep was missing. The garage door rolled up after he pressed the button on the door jamb. When it was up far enough he got into his Honda and drove it inside. The others pulled forward, taking the guest parking spot and the driveway past the middle unit’s garage.

  “They’re out of town,” Robbie said as he switched on the porch light.

  “Hey, stagger the cars in the driveway so people can’t run in here,” Steve said.

  “Good idea,” Robbie said. Steve and Gil adjusted their cars. Justin pulled his car up further in the guest parking space to prevent somebody from opening the gate into the tiny backyard. They met inside the garage.

  “How do you know they’re out of town?” Gil asked.

  “The dog and the cat
are both gone,” he said. “They’ve probably gone to the motor home. They took the Jeep Liberty. And look at the back door there.”

  Steve walked to the back of the garage as Robbie closed the main door. “Holy crap. Nobody’s coming through there. Not even with one of those cop battering rams.” He pointed to the four-by-four wedged between the work bench and the door.

  “Simple but effective,” Gil said, laughing.

  “I’ll help you with your stuff,” Justin said.

  “Me too,” Steve said. Robbie nodded and opened the trunk. They picked up the bags and the laptop and left the garage, going down the hallway to the stairs by the front door. Robbie hit the lights and they walked up into the living area.

  “We might not want to hang out here too long,” Gil said, clutching his rifle as he looked out the sliding glass door to the balcony. “Your folks split for a reason, dude.”

  “Yeah, probably,” Robbie said, staring up at the wall. “That’s new.” He pointed to a video camera.

  “There was one in the garage, too,” Steve said. “And outside, pointing at the front door.”

  Robbie laughed. “Didn’t even notice. Let’s get the food and beer in the fridge, and check things out. I’ll bet I can access those cameras from my dad’s PC.”

  Chapter 22 – Bug Out! California - The Range

  “Trevor, you ready yet?” Seth asked. “It’s a long drive.” He was standing next to his late-model Toyota Four-Runner as the sun came up. He was just twenty-one, dark brown hair and eyebrows, medium build. He had an innocent look, with a clean complexion and a delicate mouth and nose, finished off by striking steel-gray eyes.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Trevor said, rushing out to the Four-Runner with his rifle case and a metal ammo box. “We got plenty of time.” He opened the rear gate and placed his rifle next to Seth’s, then shut it and went to the passenger side door, slipping his large, stout frame inside. Trevor was a redhead with freckles and mealy features. He wasn’t handsome like Seth, but he made up for it with a witty and forceful personality and an athletic build. “Who else is going?”

  “Angel and Matt,” Seth said. “Maybe Matt’s younger brother.” He pulled away from the curve, driving down the tree-lined south Torrance street.