Uncertain Times: A Story of Survival

by Travis Wright

  Knowing her morning routine had started, Jim went to take a shower and don his work clothes. His shop, Jim’s Guns, Ammo and Tackle, was a few miles down the road from the house.

  In the kitchen, Jim stepped into the pantry. Pulling on a shelf, he accessed a hidden door off to the side that led down to Jim’s gun room. Opening the door, he picked up his old standby Springfield 1911 .45 ACP and holstered it.

  The gunroom was like a root cellar. A few friends helped Jim build it a few years ago, made of reinforced concrete and steel. The back deck covered the top, and not many people knew it was there. The average temperature in the room was 50 degrees year-round but varied slightly with the outside conditions. The room wasn’t built to live in, but could be if need be. It housed the family’s guns, ammo, valuables and a few years worth of extra food and other essentials.

  Cody, Jim’s youngest boy, walked down the stairs behind Jim. At only 10 years old, he’d nearly surpassed Jim’s height. Like the other kids, he’d received his lean frame from his mother, but his facial features were Jim’s.

  “Do you need any help?” Cody asked.

  “Not this morning, son,” Jim replied and gave the boy a quick hug, rubbing his knuckles on Cody’s head.

  “When can we go shooting again?” Cody asked, touching one of the rifles hanging on the nearest wall.

  “We’ll go soon enough. We have some salmon fishing to do as soon as the run comes up the river, and after that we can go to the range more often until moose season opens up.”

  “Can I shoot my AK-47 again? I really liked it last time.”

  “You sure can.”

  “Sweet, I can’t wait.”

  Cody’s young and lean frame had been considered weak by some, but he could shoot the AK pretty well.

  Jim had been slowly building each of the kid’s gun collections over the years. Each of them owned .22 rifles and handguns which they learned on and various other rifles and handguns. Some were for hunting; others were for protection and target shooting.

  “I’ll see you tonight. Now head on out so I can lock up,” Jim told him.

  They walked back upstairs and through the false wall of the pantry. Cody moved out of the way so his dad could lock the gun room and go to work.

  Jim opened his gun store a few years after moving to Alaska. His experience with firearms made the store a perfect fit for him. Mary helped run the store on occasion, especially at peak times. It didn’t bring in much money, barely enough to get by sometimes, but the store allowed him to enjoy the Last Frontier and still provide for the family.

  Jim grew up hunting and fishing in one of those little Oregon towns of which few had ever heard of. He remembered going blacktail deer hunting in his younger years with only a bolt action, single-shot .22 rifle with open sights. As long as he either shot a deer or made it home in time for supper, he didn’t get the belt.

  He and his friends would have shooting competitions in the backyard to see who could shoot a worm in half or shoot the empty .22 shell off a block of wood. Shooting birds out of the cherry trees out back and taking out the skunks, raccoons and opossums which terrorized the chickens at night provided plenty of practice with firearms.

  In Marine Corps boot camp, Jim received an expert badge during his shooting qualification, the first of many throughout his career.

  Jim was glad for his childhood, humble though it was, and knew that he’d worked for everything he had then and now. Every morning on the farm was the same — get up early, do all your chores before school and hope you had enough time to eat breakfast before the bus came.

  “You appreciate things more when you work and sweat for them,” he told his kids all the time. “These kids you hang out with from school, they don’t know what work is. If their parents just keep giving them money and electronics, they won’t know what to do in the real world when the time comes.”

  After graduating high school, Jim left the farm and joined the Marine Corps. During his eight years in infantry and reconnaissance units, Jim incorporated his work ethic from his upbringing into the discipline of the Marines. The result, an amazing ability to perform under pressure and he excelled in each task presented to him.

  After spending his time serving his country, Jim headed for the Last Frontier to make his way in the world. He lived in a few different places around Alaska until he settled on the Kenai Peninsula. The small community was the perfect fit for him. Too many people in one place made him anxious.

  He met Mary not long after arriving to Soldotna. She’d grown up in Alaska and knew the town and its people well. It had been love at first sight, even after the alcohol wore off. Between the two of them, they were ready for anything.

  Jim picked up a bike from the end of the short driveway before getting into his truck, an older, faded-blue, extended-cab Chevy Silverado with rust near the bottom of the doors. Older vehicles tended to rust out because of the salt air near the coast. The kids continually asked him when he planned on buying a new truck.

  “This one still works,” Jim would reply. “Why should I get another one?”

  He backed out slowly and started down the road, sipping his coffee from a stainless steel mug as he drove through the subdivision. He could still hear sirens in the distance.

  “Where is everybody?” he said to himself as he reached for the radio knob. Only static could be heard on each channel he tried. As he turned onto the highway, Jim realized the traffic lights weren’t working either.

  Looking at the local shops as he drove down the road, he noted there weren’t many people out. The gas station on the left corner by his house looked vacant of life as well. Only the opposite side of the road had electricity, but that wasn’t too unusual. The electric company had issues sometimes, but would rectify the problem in short order, Jim figured.

  Jim turned down the road to his building. He could hear an alarm sounding. There were more vehicles than normal in the parking lot, too.

  “That better not be mine!” Jim said, pushing the gas.

  “Property is surely a right of mankind as real as liberty.”

  —John Adams

  Chapter Three

  Sure enough, the alarm had been his. There were people in the store as well as people carrying merchandise out in a hurry through one of the bay windows. Jim sped up to get there faster, but vehicles were already leaving the scene.

  Jim screeched to a halt outside the building, blocking as many vehicles as possible, got out of his truck and pulled his .45 from his leather hip holster. He was walking on broken glass from the window that had been smashed. The bars that covered the window had been pulled out by the winch on a Ford F-150 parked in front of the store. The chain they used still clung to the bars and to the hook on the winch cable.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Jim yelled while pointing his gun from one person to the next. The shrieking of the alarm could wake the dead. “Put it all down or I’ll open fire!”

  The people, realizing Jim meant business, dropped the guns and ammo they were holding. Jim entered the code on the panel by the front door to silence the alarm.

  “Now, will someone please tell me what the hell you’re doing in my store?” Jim demanded, with ringing ears, still pointing his .45 at them.

  “Haven’t you heard?” asked one of the men. Jim noted the man wore jungle-camouflaged pants, tan combat boots and a black T-shirt with a yellow arrow pointing to the left which read, “I’m with stupid”.

  “Heard what?” Jim countered, looking him up and down while shaking his head at the attire.

  “The government handed control of the military over to the United Nations this morning and they implemented martial law in the U. S.”

  “So, you figured you would just help yourself to my stuff, since the world as we know it is coming to an end, is that it?

  “Listen up, everyone,” Jim said, his mind working fast. “If this is true, then we are all in trouble. I say we find out all we can and then take action in an orderl
y fashion. Is local law enforcement on our side or theirs? When are troops coming to Alaska, or are they already here? We need to find out everything we can. If you need something, I’ll sell it to you. Otherwise, get the hell out.”

  “Money will be worth nothing to you if this is true!” said another man. Jim recognized him, but couldn’t remember his name. The man always sported a white Stetson and a Bolo tie.

  Jim glared and the man stumbled out the door while looking over his shoulder. The man unhooked the cable from the chain and bars, reeled up the winch, stepped into the Ford and drove off, narrowly missing Jim’s truck.

  Jim knew the man was right. Tensions had been rising worldwide for some time, and U.N. troops were always the ones sent in to quell the violence. But why here? The United States wasn’t in turmoil, stuck in some civil war. It wasn’t being invaded by a neighboring country. Everything was fine here, wasn’t it?

  “It’s going to be business as usual until I get some kind of confirmation about what’s going on. Now, for the last time, buy something or get the hell out of here.”

  Looking around, Jim could see empty rifle places on the floor display racks as well as the pegboard on the wall. One of the display cases had been smashed and several pistols were missing as well. The store had been trashed, but he wouldn’t know exactly what was missing until he did an inventory.

  He opened his cellphone to call Mary and saw he had no service.

  Isn’t this great? he thought.

  Just as most of the, would-be thieves were leaving, a black Chevy Silverado sped into the parking lot out of control. Naturally, it turned out to be Danny. He happened to be one of Mary’s younger cousins from Ninilchik and Jim was convinced the boy had ADD, but had been told the tests doctors administered on him years before were inconclusive.

  He came to a screeching halt, jumped out of his truck in front of the building and ran into the gun store.

  “Jim, Jim!” Danny showed his normal excitement. “Did you hear the news, Jim?”

  Danny pushed his glasses up on his nose, his mouth hung open while waiting for a response.

  “Yes, Danny, now calm down. We need to find out as much information as we can. In the meantime, with the door and window smashed, we need to load the trucks with as much of the stores merchandise as we can. Do you have your gun on you?”

  “You know it.” Danny pulled up his shirt and flashed his Glock .40 S&W.

  “Does anyone want to buy anything?” The people who were left merely stared at Jim. “No? Ok, then, get out if you’re not buying, the store’s closed.”

  “Are you going to make them pay for the damage?” Danny asked looking around at the mess.

  “No. If their accusations happen to be true, money won’t be worth anything. And otherwise, that’s what insurance is for,” Jim responded reluctantly, taking pictures of the mess with the camera on his phone. He knew an angry response would only escalate the already volatile situation. Jim wanted to yell at the people who stayed, but what good would it do?

  As Jim and Danny loaded the trucks with most of the contents of his store, Jim wondered what he should do with the rest they couldn’t fit.

  “Danny, after we load the trucks, let’s take down the sign as a precaution and lets load up these boxes, too,” Jim said, pointing at a tall stack.

  “Aren’t those your federal forms?” asked Danny.

  “They sure are, and if it comes down to it, they’ll be great fire starter.”

  Danny smiled as he retrieved a ladder from the side of the building to take the sign down. He looked up as Mary drove into the parking lot minutes later.

  “Jim, you won’t believe what I saw in town!”

  “Let me guess, cops everywhere and military vehicles putting up road blocks?”

  “How did you know?” Mary asked.

  “Just a hunch. We better get home, get the kids and as many essentials as we can before we head south.”

  Mary didn’t question him, but she had a concerned look on her face.

  The three of them finished loading the remainder of the contents of the store in Mary’s truck and drove down the road to the house. Chaos erupted all around them. People were looting the local grocery store across the street, as well as the convenience stores right off the highway. Gunshots could be heard as they drove down the road.

  “You cannot enslave a free man; the most you can do is kill him.”

  —Robert Heinlein

  Chapter Four

  As they turned onto Jim and Mary’s street, they could see trucks and a group of people at the house. Jim sped up to see what they were doing. Whipping into the driveway, Jim could see it was his friends Matt, a corrections officer, and Rick, a diesel mechanic, and their families.

  “Everyone listen up!” Jim boomed as he made his way out of his truck. “We’re going to get a few more belongings and be on our way. Mary, make sure the other kids are still here.”

  “What’s going on?” Sally, Matt’s 6-year old daughter asked from the back of the group while twirling a finger in her curly blonde hair. She’d been visiting him from Idaho for a month.

  “We’re still not exactly sure, sweetie,” Mary said in a calm voice. “But, we’re going to go someplace safe until we know more.”

  “Rick, did Jessie and Eric make it?” Jim asked about Rick and Susan’s fraternal twins.

  “Jessie’s in the truck and she’s not happy, Eric’s inside with Tristan.”

  “Good, family is going to be the key if this turns out to be bad. Jessie will come around.”

  Jim, Mary and a few others walked inside to gather more essentials before they left. Jim told Danny to walk around to the back of the house to get Carl and his food.

  Jim decided a long time ago it would be smarter to stockpile guns, ammo and food instead of gold and silver.

  “With ammo for your guns, you can take the gold and silver people have,” he would say, almost kidding. “With food already stockpiled, you won’t lose your life or waste precious time trying to get some at the grocery store when others are rioting for it.”

  Jim wasn’t fanatical, he was just practical, and his friends were like-minded.

  Growing up on a farm taught Jim preparedness for the future could mean the difference between life and death. So much in life depended on Mother Nature. A drought or a flood could ruin an entire season’s crops. Knowing what to do when the unexpected happened instilled in Jim a sense of self-reliance.

  Once they were done loading the vehicles with more guns, ammo and food Jim put his tactical vest on and hooked his MSAR 5.56mm rifle to it, clipped the buckles of his Safariland drop-leg holster for his .45 to his belt and thigh.

  The little bull-pup rifle happened to be perfect for driving down the road, attached to a vest with body armor. It stayed out of the way, but ready to go when he needed it. Jim customized his gear for fit, function and maneuverability. He’d helped several of his friends customize theirs, as well.

  “As a precaution, I suggest the rest of you put on vests and armor too,” Matt said to the group. “With the gunshots we’ve been hearing, it’d be a shame to get shot by some asshole who doesn’t know how to handle a weapon.”

  A few of the woman and older kids sported either handguns on their sides, rifles in their arms or both. The entire group of adults had been well trained with each one of their weapons and gear from having gone shooting together at the local range over the years. Everyone around town recognized Mary and some of the other wives and knew they knew how to handle themselves. It had always been an ordinary sight to see one of them dragging their kids around the grocery store with a handgun on their hip.

  Alaska’s an open and concealed-carry state and no permit is required for residents. Many people carry and its commonplace for even children, especially the ones in the group, to know how to handle guns.

  After picking a single rose from the flowerbed in front of the house, Mary took one last look at their house and yard before getting in the truck.
“I hope this is all going to be OK,” she said to Jim.

  “Everything will be fine, baby. Everyone, saddle up, lock and load,” Jim commanded before loading Carl in the back seat with the some of the kids and opening the driver door of his truck.

  “Does he have to sit back here? Why can’t he go in the bed?” Alexis asked.

  Jim gave Mary a hard look, so she responded, “the bed’s full and he’ll calm down soon enough.”

  “Why can’t I take my car? Tristan’s driving.”

  “Your car won’t make it to where we’re going and he’s driving your mom’s truck. Now sit back and enjoy the ride,” Jim told her.

  A tan Humvee suddenly raced toward the house. Some of the men jumped out and pointed their weapons at it.

  “Nobody shoot!” yelled Jim as he stepped back out of his truck. “It’s only Matthew.”

  Matthew stopped slightly short of the other trucks and jumped out.

  “Boy, what the hell are you doing?” asked Jim. “Do you want to get shot?”

  “I barely made it here — they’re everywhere!”

  Naythan turned toward the house as they started to talk to Matthew.

  “I know, which’s why we’re leaving. Are you ready? Do you have everything you need?” Jim asked him.

  “I was born ready!” Matthew responded with a slanted grin.

  As Naythan leaped out of his red Toyota Tacoma, steam rolled out from under the hood.

  “Matthew, can I ride with you?” Naythan asked. “I caught a round or two in the radiator blasting through a checkpoint.”

  “Get in.”

  “OK, everyone. Let’s go. Matthew, Naythan we’re on channel two.”

  “Thanks, Jim,” they both said as they climbed into the Hummer.

  Matthew was a young guy with a baby face, who was slightly overweight, but he loved guns and always wanted to go shooting. He would go into Jim’s store and order or buy items when he’d saved enough. In some ways, Matthew reminded Jim of himself, at his age.

  Naythan was a new friend to the group, but very well liked. He was short with dark hair and talked a lot. Jim had recently taken him under his wing after the boy lost his parents in a remote plane crash.