by A. P. Texan
Victorious in his search and with tape in hand he moves out of the garage and back to the door of the house. Ripping off strips of tape, he completely covers one of the nine small panes of glass with two layers of the tape and presses on them to make sure they are solidly adhered to the glass with the tape overlapping onto the surrounding panes this will prevent the broken glass from hitting the floor inside the house and the two layers will muffle the sound of him striking the glass. With a quick tap of the glass from the “pistol brace” of the Sig, he hears the faintest crack from the glass. One more quick tap and he feels the duct tape give way. Slinging the weapon to his back; he pulls out mora off his belt and cuts the tape away from the top of the pane of glass then being careful not to cut himself begins to pull downward pulling both the tape and broken glass away from the door. When he is done there is a hole large enough for him to reach in and unlatch the door.
He walks back over to the patio table slings the pack over one shoulder and steps into the house. As soon as he steps inside, he knows he won't be sleeping in here comfortably. The house has obviously been closed up for the last nine days, if not longer and the stale air is humid and musty. He can’t open up the house to air out, as the neighbors would immediately know something was wrong and come to investigate. However, since this house has been shut up there should still be plenty of food in the cabinets, and other things around the house he might find useful on the road. Especially since he will now have a bicycle to ride and wagon to pull his gear.
0600 22 September 2021
The Farm
A good night’s sleep combined with muscle relaxers and some pain pills, seemed to really help me out. I manage to get out of bed with only a mild amount of discomfort in most of my body. However, my lower back still feels destroyed from the beating the mountain of a man put on me. I’m also having trouble lifting my arms without my chest, shoulders and triceps spasming; the result of doing a push up with a three or four-hundred-pound monster on my back. Luckily though, I can walk and move around on my own. A couple more days and I should be back to one hundred percent or at least close to it.
I move to where my gear and clothes are being stored in an early twentieth century wardrobe. That was in the cabin when we cleaned it out and begin to pull on a pair of jeans, a plaid button-down shirt and my Justin Waterproof Ropers; to this ensemble I add my favorite hat a DD12 trucker hat in tan with a brown mesh and DD12 embroidered on the front in a dark brown color. This is my working around the farm attire. And it feels nice to not be wearing more tactical clothing.
Next stop is the outdoor kitchen, we have it set up where somebody already has a rocket stove fired up and water heating for coffee. I scoop some coffee into my French press, well if we are being honest, it is the groups French press, and then pour the steaming water over the grounds letting them steep for a few minutes before pressing the middle down and making a nice semi strong cup of coffee; I pour into one of the many tumblers lined up on a makeshift shelf of cinder blocks and some old wooden planks. I walk slowly, taking my time soaking in the atmosphere of clean air and nature. It has always been nice coming out to the farm but now with absolutely zero man made noise or lighting it is really peaceful. As I sit down in what has become my rocking chair on the front porch and light up a cigarette, the sun is just starting to break the eastern horizon and I find it absolutely mesmerizing. With the caffeine and nicotine starting to hit my system; I begin to feel energized and ready to take on the day. Then it happened. Getting up from my spot on the porch, I make a beeline to the side of the house and take care of one of the most important parts of any man’s morning ritual. The other portion of this will happen in another hour or two after a couple more cups of coffee but that is something that needs not to be discussed.
Returning to my spot on the porch, I sip some more on my coffee and hear the door open behind me. I turn to see Sandy, my raven-haired Latin beauty, walking out on the porch.
“Good morning, My Love” I say as she approaches.
“Good morning, Mi Amor. How are you feeling?”
“Honestly, much better. The combination of muscle relaxers, your massage, and sleep did me well. Most of my body only has mild discomfort, my lower back however, still feels like it had a tree fall on it, and I have trouble using my arms without spasms. But all in all, I feel much better than yesterday. A few more days of not overdoing it and I think I’ll be fine.”
“Good, I was worried about you” she says, as she walks behind me wraps her arms around me and kisses my neck.
The rest of the day goes fairly smooth, other than everyone else is working while I sit on my hind end watching. That is until about 1700 hours. Most of the work is done for the day and everyone is sitting around enjoying dinner, when I hear a familiar voice yell “DADDY!”
I spin around in my seat wrenching my back but barely feeling the pain and see my oldest daughter running up the gravel road towards me. Jumping out of my seat, tears already streaming down my face; I take off in a run to meet her. Just as we are almost together, she takes a flying leap into my arms. At this point several things happen simultaneously. I have an emotional breakdown like I’ve never had before, I start crying like a newborn baby tears streaming down my cheeks, my damaged back and weakened arms give out sending us both to the ground hard and despite the pain in my body; I hold her tight and just cry. We lay there for what seems forever. By the time I let her go, everyone from the barn has circled around us. Mom is crying, Sandy is crying, Savannah and Isabella are crying. We are a giant emotional ball of tears. My family is finally together, all in the same place and all safe. The only variables now are the whereabouts of Eddie, Roger, and Sandy’s boys.
I am finally able to release her from my bear hug and we both start to get to our feet. As I get to one knee a massive spasm hits my damaged lower back and I almost fall back down; as I wince through the intense pain. Jeremiah seeing this immediately jumps in to give me a hand to my feet.
“Thanks, I had a run in with a grizzly bear yesterday and I’m still recovering.” I say as I take his hand.
“Wait, you what?” Stephanie asks curiously.
“Not a real grizzly Mija, they were attacked by a group of bikers yesterday and one of them gave your dad a pretty good beating. But in the end, your dad and the rest came out on top.” Sandy explains.
“He might have given me a beating, but he isn’t living anymore and I’m here telling the story”
Mom speaks up from the crowd, “Come on everybody let’s get these two up to the barn and settled in; I’m sure they could use a hot meal, a change of clothes, and a bath.”
“OH MY GOD, Grandma that sounds fantastic. Especially the hot food and clean clothes. Oh, I almost forgot. Aunt Cynthia can you look at Jeremiah’s arm he got a pretty nasty cut a few days back. I’ve been trying to take care of it but on the road, it’s been tough”
“Of course, Elizabeth give me a hand. Jeremiah let’s get you patched up.”
As we are all walking back to the barn, I speak up while still wiping tears from my eyes. “So, you guys remember the story of the prodigal son? When he returned his dad ordered a feast to include the slaughtering of the fatted calf. Well, I don’t think we are in an area to realistically kill one of the calves at the moment however, I bet we got a hog we can throw on the smoker in the morning.”
“Chase, that sounds like an excellent plan. With everything that we have been going through, a day of rest and relaxation, with some good BBQ sound like a plan. How about you and I head down to the pen tonight and slaughter one. We can dress it out tonight, hang it overnight and throw it on first thing in the morning.” Calvin replies.
“Sounds good. I’ll grab the tractor and chains and I’ll meet you down there” I say
When we reach the barn, Calvin loads up in one of the side-by-sides, as I go around back to grab the tractor. It's close to dusk by this point, so I turn on the large LED lights and pull around to the front, where I am met by Bob with the
chains in his hands. As I lower the big bucket attached to the front, he drops the chains in and gives me a thumbs up. Shifting back into gear I turn and head to where we set up the pig pen.
When I arrive, I see Calvin is already there and sighting down the barrel of a 10/22 rifle. Just as I pull up, I hear the sharp crack of the .22long rifle and see a pig about 150 pounds, drop where it stood.
“Nice shot.” I say, while I’m climbing out of the enclosed cab of the tractor.
“Thanks, I thought that looked like a good size to feed us all and hopefully there won’t be much, if any leftovers.”
“Well, if there are any, we can probably hang it in the smokehouse to cure and it will be good for a week or two.” I reply.
“Agreed, let’s get him hung and cleaned. Might as well do it here; we can toss the guts and everything else back into the pen and won’t have to worry about cleaning up.”
With the tractor’s lights illuminating the pen, we both go in and grab the downed swine. Calvin grabs the hindquarters and I grab the front. We pull it over to where we can get hooks into the lower hindquarters and then attach the connected chains to opposite sides of the bucket of the tractor and then lift it to where the snout is hovering just above ground level, blood still oozing out of the 22-caliber hole just behind the right ear.
It takes a couple hours, but after sticking the pig and letting it bleed out, skinning, and gutting it, we start the trip back up to the barn. Once we get to the barn, Calvin goes back in and gets a long roll of cheese cloth and begins to thoroughly wrap the carcass in several layers and then sprays the cheese cloth with a hose connected to the well pump. This he explains will one, keep the insects at bay and two, the evaporation of the water from the cheese cloth, combined with the cooling nights will help keep the meat while it hangs overnight.
That night none of us go to bed early, although Mom and Carrie do head back to the house with Dad; his oxygen bottle nearing empty and his strength and energy waning. Sitting around the fire; Stephanie and Jeremiah tell us of their journey. When she begins to tell the story of the attack by the meth addicts, she looks down and a darkness overtakes her countenance.
“Sugar Bear look at me,” I say. Sugar Bear being my name for her since she was a baby. “There is nothing to be ashamed of or feel sorry about or even think less of yourself or Jeremiah. These are not normal times, which means sometimes we must also act abnormally. If you knew the things that some of us have had to do to survive up to this point. Your brother and I have had to kill more people than either of us care to count, but the point is all of us are here and relatively unharmed.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She says, as she walks over and gives me a big hug and then plops down in my lap, like she is five, not twenty-one. I know, no matter what is going on outside the confines of this small family farm in North Texas, no matter what level of chaos is wreaking havoc on society, that right now, in this moment even if only for a fleeting second, that MY WORLD IS PERFECT.
Chapter 6 The Invasion
Then End is simply a New Beginning
0600 2 March 2022
The Farm
It has now been almost six months since the event that has changed our world. Our family is finally all together, Roger made it home to Cynthia and their girls shortly before Thanksgiving. When he arrived, he was on death’s doorstep, a gunshot wound to his left shoulder that had gotten infected and he had no real way of treating it on the road. Delirium from the fever was just starting to set in when he stumbled up the gravel road and collapsed just before he reached the barn. Cynthia and Elizabeth set to work getting him cleaned up and all his wounds dressed and some strong antibiotics in his system.
After a week he began to come around and then when he was healthy, he told us of his journey. What a journey it was, but that is a story all to itself and one for another time.
Life on the farm has become routine. Feed the animals, collect eggs, turn the soil for the garden, etc. We are also about to plant the garden; we have decided to let the starter plants in the barn stay in their containers for a couple more weeks before we put them in the ground. North Texas can have a late season freeze in early March and we don’t want to lose everything before we even get started.
Right now, we have ten tomato plants, three okra, four pepper, six potato and ten sweet pepper plants; all started in little containers. Once we start putting that all in the ground, we also intend to plant two rows of corn.
What we are hopeful for, is this will give us enough for our meals as well as be able to can some and put them away for winter.
I am perched in my deer blind looking out over the south pasture watching for game to add to the smokehouse when I hear automatic gunfire, and I don’t just mean a few rounds. I am talking hundreds of rounds coming from multiple weapons, much like a firefight. The shots grab my attention for a few reasons, one: nobody wastes ammo these days; as it is now irreplaceable, two: nobody around here that we know of has automatic weapons (besides us and we keep that little secret to ourselves), and three: it sounded close. Not super close but within a mile or two and for automatic fire that’s too close for comfort.
Putting away all my gear; I jump on the radio and head straight to the barn to see if anyone else heard it or may have seen something.
“Did anyone else hear that or see anything?” I say into my radio, as I start a slow jog back to the barn.
“Heard it but didn’t see anything”, Nick replies, his voice coming in clear through my radio earpiece.
“Okay I’m headed back, everybody keep your eyes open for anything weird or out of the ordinary; I don’t like having that kind of shooting this close. Be there in a few minutes. I’m passing pond one now, out.”
Within a few minutes, I have traveled the few hundred yards between the south pasture and the barn and see most everyone standing around outside and looking off to the north west and talking.
I was just about to ask what we were looking at, when I looked off that direction and notice a large column of smoke rising above the trees. I apparently hadn’t noticed it before, because the south pasture sits at a lower elevation, a few hundred yards away and behind the barn.
“Oh Jeeeesus, that’s not good.” I say as I approach the group. “Isn’t that going towards town?”
“That’s not going towards town, that is town.” Calvin says, a gloom look on his face.
“Oh crap!” is the only thing I can say in response.
About five miles northwest of the farm is the small town of Pilgrimage. The story is the town started as a covered wagon stop over for covered wagons moving west. It sits near a hard-bottom low water crossing of a decent sized tributary of the Trinity River. Anyways, it really isn’t much of a town and my guess hasn’t really changed much in the last hundred and fifty years. A cluster of houses around a feed store, a family-owned old country general store and a café. The owner of the feed store has done what he could to keep it open, trading the local farmers for what feed and seed he had in stock. In addition, he had an old flatbed Ford from the sixties that he and his sons managed to get running and they have been making trips to a granary; where they have done business for the last twenty years. The men that operate the business saw an opportunity to better themselves, when this crisis started and kept operating the silos and trading for whatever they could. This has allowed local farmers and ranchers to keep their places going through the winter. If the town is burning, that could be devastating to the locals.
“Nick, Charles, Robert let’s go, kit up and be prepared to fight, meet at the Humvee in two.” I holler out.
“I’m going” Roger says, pushing himself off of the door frame of the barn where he had been leaning.
“Sorry Roger, not this time.” I say in response, as I go by him on my way to the cabin to kit up. It has been three months since he arrived at the farm, but I still don’t think he is completely up for trips outside the wire.
“He is right sweety, you still need to regain som
e more strength before you’re ready. Remember it was just a few months ago you were almost dead.” Cynthia says to him as she ushers him back inside.
Two minutes later the four of us are climbing into the Humvee; tossing our go bags in the back and leaving the farm to go investigate the situation.
“Charles, stop the truck outside of town. Go around behind Mr. Evans garage; we will walk in from there. Nick, I want you on high ground see what you can find and get us some eyes.” I say to everyone giving out instructions. “Charles, Robert, and I will walk in intervals and stay on the radios. Let’s find out what is going on here.”
Soon we are pulling up behind the garage and making our way into town. Nick splits off and heads towards the small water tower near the railroad tracks that bisect the downtown area.
“Something isn’t right here.” Charles says over the radio.
“Where is everyone?” Robert responds.
Pilgrimage isn’t very populous at the best of times but the fact that we haven’t seen a single one of the three hundred or so residents has all of us a little on edge. We cross over another street and are now close enough to the “downtown” area to see where the smoke is coming from. We immediately take cover behind an ornamental hedge surrounding a quaint little country home.
The crossroads that marks the center of town is a mess. I can only compare it to what a war zone might look like. Three of the four corners are in full blaze. The feed store, café and store are all fully involved and probably couldn’t be saved even if the fire department was operational. In the streets, scattered around, are what appear to be bodies.
