by Steven Smith
The
Reversion
The
Reversion
Book I
Of
The Stonemont Series
Steven C. Smith
Copyright © 2017 by Steven C. Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Contact the author at: [email protected]
To my wife, Kelly, and our children, Aedan, Brody and Morgan, who have become almost as interested as I in developing and living a preparedness lifestyle. You are the loves of my life and the reasons for my efforts.
A Word of Recommendation
Steven “Craig” Smith is a masterful and eloquent story-teller. I was honored to read a “proof” copy of The Reversion: Book I of the Stonemont Series - a series which I am anxious to continue - and rarely have I so enjoyed a book.
“Craig” has an exciting and accurate knowledge of survival skills, combat skills and mind-set, weapons, military and police tactics, and of “the good, the bad and the ugly” of when things get “down and dirty”. He knows and writes about the real stuff – not the “bull-stuff”.
Only one problem – it kept me awake reading it, and I didn’t get much sleep until I finished it! When is number two coming out?
Jim “Ronin” Harrison
Montana, 2017
Called “one of the most dangerous men alive” by Bruce Lee, Jim Harrison is one of the true legends of martial arts, combatives and survivalism. Known for his notorious battles during the “Blood-n-Guts” era of American karate. he has been called the closest thing to a modern samurai the 20th century can produce.
He was 3-time U.S. Karate Champion, 3-time All-American Grand Champion, undefeated U.S. light heavyweight Kickboxing Champion, and coach to the undefeated U.S. Professional Team.
He has trained U.S. Army Special Forces, Rangers, SEALs, Marine Scout-Sniper/Recon and members of First Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta (Delta Force).
He has provided personal security for Chuck Norris, Linda (Mrs. Bruce) Lee and Prince Mikhail Matijasevic.
He was awarded a Ph.D. (Research, Analysis and Instruction) by Yudanshakai University, and was inducted into the International Karate Hall of Fame with Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee.
He is the founder of Bushidokan, Ronin Jutsu and Sakura Warrior Arts.
Forward
Among the many novels in the SHTF/TEOTWAWKI genre, The Reversion stands apart – and, perhaps, alone. This is not just because it is well written, not just because it tells a great story, and not just because its character development is exceptional - although those would be enough. The Reversion’s singularity lies in the lessons it teaches and the preparedness path it suggests.
One of the copy editors with whom I am acquainted said that The Reversion makes you laugh, cry, realize what is truly important, laugh and cry some more, and, finally, realize how thankful you should be for what you have (and that does not, necessarily, mean the creature comforts of today’s world). Another, an experienced prepper and disaster preparedness instructor, said he learned something new on almost every page, and a third said it had drastically changed how he thought about preparedness. Those are all true and important, but what truly sets it apart is something more – or, actually, several “somethings more”.
The Reversion does not follow the survival learning curve of the unprepared or minimally-prepared, as so many excellent books have already done so well. Rather, it is the story of a man who was prepared, and of how his preparation and foresight provided not only a safe haven for him and his family, but a re-start point for those who come together to survive the collapse of the world around them. As such, it is an unbelievably positive book about an unbelievably negative circumstance, and carries within it the lessons of preparedness and survival that every person should strive to learn.
Tightly woven into the story are threads of history, morality, politics, economics, philosophy and comparative justice – the kind America was founded on, the kind they had devolved to under the weight of an increasingly liberal and socialist society, and the kind that might re-establish a society reflective of America’s original ideals. As these threads are woven into the fabric of the larger story of survival, the realization emerges that a great catastrophe enabled the return of what makes us, as human beings, truly happy and fulfilled, and that, perhaps, only a great catastrophe could.
The Reversion, written by an expert in survival and preparedness with an interesting government and non-government background, is destined to be an instant classic in the preparedness/survival genre. More than a good story, it is a manual and a resource for all who are interested in these fields, and deserves to be kept on your desk or chair-side table where it can be read, re-read and referred to often. That’s where mine is, and I’m about to start reading it for the fourth time. And I can’t wait.
John Middleton
Somewhere in America
2017
“A prudent person foresees the danger ahead and takes precautions. The simpleton goes blindly on and suffers the consequences.”
Proverbs 27:12
1
Jim Wyatt stood in line reading the menu on the wall and enjoying the smell of barbecue. An iconic barbecue restaurant in a city known for barbecue, Joe's Kansas City sat on the border between the affluent Johnson County, Kansas to the south and the working-class Kansas City, Kansas to the north. A few blocks east, the “big” Kansas City began at the Missouri state line, where the large medical centers and transitional neighborhoods quickly gave way to the sprawling parks and glass skyscrapers of downtown, then spread out to decaying residential and industrial areas to the east. Thus situated, Joe's drew an eclectic crowd of barbecue zealots. Doctors, lawyers, mechanics, sheet metal workers, secretaries, cops and pretty much anyone who liked great barbecue flooded the place every lunchtime, filling the tables and forming a line that stretched out the door for the better part of two hours each day.
Wyatt rarely ate here, not because he didn't like barbecue – he was a barbecue lover just like any other born-and-raised Kansas Citian - but because he didn't like to stand in the line. Today, however, he had come past before the rush started and took a chance. Finding himself only about a dozen people back from the order counter, he waited patiently, enjoying the aroma and watching the people around him. There was a certain energy about the place, and he realized that people always seemed happy when they came here, as if they were all part of a private club about to enjoy something special together. He didn't feel like part of the club, but he enjoyed the feeling around him anyway.
He was still studying the menu, trying to decide between a large beef sandwich and a rib platter, when the lights went out. He heard someone behind him make the obligatory “forgot to pay the light bill” comment, to which several people chuckled, but he kept looking at the menu, hoping it wouldn't be long before the interruption was fixed.
The restaurant had been a gas station before its transformation, and the large windows gave plenty of light for both patrons and those preparing the food to continue what they were doing, so it was a minute before he noticed the beginning of a murmur. Looking around, he saw a number of people looking at their phones and wondered if they were all reading some news alert.
“Damn thing won't even turn on,” said a voice behind.
“Neither will mine,” said another.
He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and found it blank and unresponsive. Looking out the plate glass windows, he saw no cars pulling into or out of the parking lot, which was odd, though an old pick-up truck drove by, its passing announced by its faulty muffler.
The murmur grew louder as people kept trying to bring their phones to life, and the line stopped as the cash registers and drink machines sat dark.
“What the hell is going on?” asked the man who had first noticed his phone had quit, to no one in particular.
Opinions came quickly.
“Transformer probably blew,” said one.
“Cell tower probably went out,” offered another.
“Aliens.”
“Just my luck.”
Wyatt stood there watching and listening, thinking to himself, when the manager came out and banged on the counter.
“Sorry folks. We're not sure what the deal is, but hopefully it'll get fixed pretty quick. Until then, our registers, drink machines and anything else electrical are out. That means we can't take credit or debit cards till the power comes back on. Sorry.” He looked over the crowd. “For those paying with cash, we can still serve orders with what's already made up.”
Several people in front of him and a large number behind him started to dwindle away, grumbling, which put Wyatt closer to ordering. He watched the growing irritation around him as he waited his turn, then, getting to the counter, adjusted his order in light of what he thought might be happening. “You have plenty of ribs?” he asked the manager.
The man nodded. “Yeah, we're good on meat through lunch. Fryer stuff will run out soon, though.”
“Okay, give me six slabs, four large beef sandwiches, a quart of beans and a quart of coleslaw.”
The man squinted at him. “You got cash, right?”
“Yep.”
Wyatt looked around the restaurant while he waited for his order. The people were getting more anxious as they talked to each other and several came in complaining that their cars wouldn't start. Time to get out of here, he thought.
“Here you go, buddy,” said the manager, handing him two bags, “Let's call it a hundred even.”
Wyatt nodded, counted out some bills and picked up the sacks. “Good luck,” he said, looking at the manager.
“Uh huh,” said the manager. “Next!”
Wyatt carried the bags out to his car and tried to start it, with no success. He had figured as much, but thought he ought to try anyway. He got out and opened the trunk.
The additional food was going to add quite a bit of weight, but he felt it would be worth it. He needed something to eat on his way home anyway, and the ribs would be a treat to his family tonight - if he made it home tonight.
Opening a small trunk locker, he pulled out an empty tactical pack into which he transferred the food and two water bottles from the case he always carried in the trunk. Another two bottles went into the side pockets of his cargo pants and two more into the side mesh pockets of his JIC, or “just-in-case” bag. He'd always been a big believer in having plenty of pockets.
Unzipping a side pouch of the pack, he withdrew a Smith & Wesson SD40 which he fastened butt-forward onto the left side of his belt in a nylon holster with an extra magazine pouch. The weight evened out the weight of the 1911 Government Model which he was already carrying on his right side, making him feel more balanced than usual. With one in each pipe and an extra magazine for each, that put forty-eight rounds ready to go.
His years in law enforcement and other things had taught him that it was better to carry several guns and need none than to carry one and need more. Today, two would have to do. Driving his Acura instead of his Excursion, he had not brought a rifle, which he now regretted. He looked around as he pulled his shirt over the guns, but saw that no one was paying any attention to him.
Leaving the bags in the opened trunk, he unlocked the passenger door and removed the registration and insurance cards from the glove box. It probably wasn't necessary, but trade craft died hard. He left the license plate on. If the power came back on, he'd come back and get the car. If it stayed off, it wouldn't matter. A couple of ball point pens and a Snickers bar went into his shirt pocket but he left the change in the ashtray. Locking the door, he returned to the trunk, pulled a boonie hat out of the pack and stuck it on his head. No reason to add sunburn to other problems.
He stood there for a minute, thinking and watching the crowd around the restaurant which was growing in both size and unease, then slung the pack onto his back, settled it on his shoulders, cinched the waist belt inside the butts of the pistols and fastened the chest strap. Next, he slipped his arms through the shoulder straps of the tactical pack, wearing it in front, and secured it with carabiners to the main pack. Rolling his shoulders back, he felt pretty well-balanced.
There was a school of thought that you should be able to run with your bag, but Wyatt figured that if you had to run very fast or very far you were counting on luck and hope that you were faster than anyone trying to catch you, and he'd rather have a few extra pounds that might keep him from having to rely on luck and hope. Slow and sure was how the tortoise had beat the hare, and it had always served him well.
Wyatt looked around the parking lot as more people began coming out of Joe's and milling around, being joined by others whose cars had stalled nearby and were walking toward the restaurant. Some were just irritated and confused, but he could tell that others were getting agitated and angry. Time to get going.
He closed the trunk and thought about his wife and kids. Kelly was smart and tough. He knew that she was either home or not far from it, since she hadn't told him she was going anywhere. Communication was an important part of their family life. If she was home, she'd wait for him to get there. If she was at the grocery store or Costco, she'd get herself and the kids home and wait for him. She had carried a Springfield XD .40 since he had taught her to shoot several years earlier, and she wasn't easily intimidated, so he wasn't worried. His immediate problem was just getting home.
He looked at his watch to find it had stopped at 11:08.
“What do you figure happened?”
Wyatt turned toward the voice and saw an older man in an old Ford pickup looking at him. The truck was running.
Wyatt thought he knew what may have happened, but didn't think it would be wise to start talking about it where others could hear. He shrugged. “I don't know. What do you think?”
The man looked at him slyly. “Well, seeing the way you're all geared up, I think I'm thinking the same as you. EMP.”
Wyatt turned to look at the crowd around the restaurant parking lot, relieved to see that no one was paying attention to them. “Yeah,” he nodded, turning back to the man, “that's what I'm thinking.”
The man squinted at the crowd. “How far do you have to go?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Not far. Twenty, twenty-five miles.”
The man nodded. “That's good.” He sat for a minute, looking at the growing crowd. “Well, I don't want to seem unfriendly, but since you look like you're set up all right, I've got a family about an hour north of here and I'd better get to them.” He looked over at the crowd again. “I figure it will be a while before all those fancied-up people realize their cell phones and auto clubs can't help them.”
Wyatt looked at the crowd, then back at the man. “Yeah, you’d better get out of here before they see your truck is running. And you’d better be careful. You've got some bad areas to get through. You have some protection?”
The man chuckled and held a shotgun up just high enough for Wyatt to see. “Yep, this and a bad attitude. Got me through a lot in life. Probably get me home.”
Wyatt stepped to the door of the truck and offered his hand to the man, who took it. “Thanks for stopping. You take care, and take care of the family. I have a feeling things are going to cha
nge in a big way, and not for the better.”
“Yep, I think so too.” The man looked out into the distance, then back at Wyatt. “You know, my family always thought I was crazy talking about this stuff. Wish I had been.”
Wyatt nodded. “Me too.”
“Well, good luck.”
“You too.” Wyatt slapped the roof of the pickup and stepped back to watch the man drive off.
He turned back toward the crowd and figured the time. It was late April and would start getting dusk around seven thirty and dark by eight. He wondered if he could get home before then. Then a thought occurred to him that there might be an easier way.
Walking two blocks east, he came to a thrift store he occasionally shopped at for old books. People were milling around the small strip mall in which it was located, especially around the liquor store and the Chinese restaurant. The restaurant seemed peaceful, but the liquor store was starting to have some problems with the day-drinkers showing up for their noon fix and getting slow, cash-only service. He walked over to a row of bicycles for sale, inspecting each one, and found a beat-up mountain bike with air in both tires. After a bit of haggling, the thrift shop manager accepted forty dollars cash and five minutes later he was pedaling south.
As he rode, Wyatt thought about the situation. From what he had read, the pattern of disruption would indicate an EMP, as opposed to a simple electrical disruption. Whether the cause was a nuclear strike or a coronal mass ejection didn't really matter at this point, though the differences had been debated in the preparedness circles for years, but this seemed to have the earmarks of a HEMP – a high altitude nuclear detonation causing an electromagnetic pulse. What mattered was that many of the things people relied on in their daily lives, in some cases for life itself, were simply not going to work for a while, perhaps a long while.