by David Wilson
I have spent some time on in-line skates but growing up in the country never presented much of an opportunity to learn how to skateboard. I do remember one year my brother or cousin got one for Christmas. This is not one of the new modern skateboards; this one was about 6 inches wide with metal wheels. We were all at my Grandmothers and the only concrete was the sidewalk running from the front porch to driveway. It couldn’t have been over 35 or 40 feet of sidewalk ending in the gravel driveway. However there were posts on either side at the end, oh did I fail to mention they were brick columns really about 3 feet tall topped by cement Swan planters. The first trip down the sidewalk by one of my older cousins ended up with him flat on his back with one of Grandmother’s Swans neck and head in one hand and his other hand attempting stop the bleeding from the back of his head. Grandpa’s wood furnace took all of about two minutes to reduce it to a pile of ashes. That’s about the extent of my experience with skateboards. Obviously the kid and his friends had much more experience as the next kid landed on the hood when up and over the windshield across the cars top and barely glanced off the trunk and somehow landed graceful on the ground as he pumped his hands in the air as he circled back towards group. I really was impressed; it was something like you would see on TV. I’m pretty sure the owner would not have been impressed but given the events of last twenty-four hours I really couldn’t fault them. Not that they probably actually knew that the car was worthless at this point but I didn’t feel to bad, figure let them have what fun they can before reality sets in. But I did hope they moved on before long. There was only about an hour before it would be completely dark and I wanted to get a move on as soon as possible.
While the boys continue to trash their new jump ramp I climbed down and began to organize my gear for my own little excursion. From the ruck I pulled out my now empty daypack, a roll of duct tape, my new watch cap and my Petzl headlamp. I stuffed by Larue OBR hat into the top of my ruck and cinched the straps down tight. I already had on my military flight gloves and made a mental note to grab a couple more pair if I find any inside the store. I go nowhere without them. There are many brands that claim this and that about how good their gloves are, but for my money I have always liked the military flight gloves for shooting and all around wear. While they don’t stand up to hard manual labor that’s not what they were made for. They are like a second skin yet allows you the finger dexterity to do most things without having to take them off. I finished up the Power Bar and drank some water for my ruck bladder. While not tasting like spring water, it was drinkable and I didn’t have to worry about any problems with it. If time permitted I would refill with water from bottles inside the store prior to leaving. As I finish up again heard the clatter of an out-of-control skateboard hitting the ground and laughter from the group. Glancing up I saw another victim lying flat on the ground holding his arm. The other boys were gathered around pointing and gesturing at the boy on the ground. A couple of them went to help him up and I heard a yelp a pain. Laughter dropped off as quickly as it had begun and I thought to myself that the young lad just about picked the worst time in recent history to break or fracture his arm. With one of the other boys carrying the kid’s skateboard they all began moving towards the South. I glanced down at my watch and set back down to wait out the sun going down. Taking one more glance at the disappearing boys in the distance I thought about what my Grandfather would’ve said if he had observed the incident.
Summer 1970. My grandfather and I pulled in the small country store just outside of a small town in the Ozark’s. We had stopped so he could pick up some Good Money Twist Tobacco, which was his preferred chewing tobacco. I mentally urged him to be quick because I was excited as is my first time ever going with him to go bass fishing. As I sat in the truck while he was in store two teenage boys on bikes were approaching the store from town. They were moving along at a pretty good clip and turned in the store parking lot just as I heard the bell attached to store doors jingle as Grandpa exited the store. I glanced back around as I heard a short scream and the clatter of metal on gravel. I stared in amazement at the cloud of dust and the mess of tumbling bikes and boys emerging as a hot summer wind drove away the dust clouds from the scene of accident. By this time my Grandfather had reached the driver door and was opening it to get in. I said, “Wow did you see that?” He glanced at me then over to the two boys gingerly picking themselves up off ground. Both were bleeding for multiple scrapes and one had most of his ass hanging out where his pants were torn. He was the one in the most pain and was holding his right arm tightly to his body. The second boy was picking up their bikes and pushing them over to the side of the store. The storeowner was outside by this time yelling at them about how stupid they were. As we pulled out of the parking lot Grandpa cocked his head and looked at me and said, “Boy, you’re going to learn the most people are only good at one thing in life.” He paused in thought and of course being 10 years old and being impatient I ask what are most people good at. There was no humor in his voice and he rarely told jokes so I knew he was serious, he gave me the same look he had when he looked at the boys at the store and said, “Most people only are good at one thing and it’s turning perfectly good food into shit.” My smile quickly faded as I looked at him, he was completely serious. It was one of those moments between us like he was judging to see if I was one of those people.
Chapter Four
With all my kit packed and ready to go I climbed back to my perch on top the root ball and continue to watch the area. Dark clouds had begun to move in and hopefully would bring some rain. I was ok with that as the temperature was mid 80s, the rain would help with the fires and help keep people inside. With the wind picking up from the South the strong odor of burning buildings carried on it. Watching the clouds build up I figured the rain would reach me in about 30 minutes or so. I would wait until the rain began to make my move to the storefront. With the smell of smoke I did add to my mental list to grab a couple boxes of N95 masks if I could find them. I could not recall ever seeing any in Bass Pro, but I’d only been in the Maryland store once so they might have them and I just didn’t see them. I also reminded myself that I needed to stock up on tampons and some feminine pads just in case. There are not many medical bandages that work nearly so well for gunshot wounds. Just one of those things you never want to use but if you ever need one, enough said.
I stood up and hopped down as the first raindrops hit. Shouldering my ruck I moved to the edge of the trees as the rain began coming down in hard-hitting sheets. Well I thought, I did want it to rain, as all the noise from the rain would cover any noise I was going to make. One more look around produced nothing of interest or any movement. With the rain pouring down I couldn’t have seen a semi truck coming from any further away than 15 or 20 feet so I took off for the front door at a slow shuffle. My desert LOWA’s boots quickly became waterlogged, and I decided right than that after the ammo and food, some waterproof boots were in order. Don’t get me wrong; my LOWA’s are the most comfortable pair of boots I have ever owned. I had never had a pair of LOWA’s till my boss over in Afghanistan, who was an SF type and really had his shit together, told me to order a pair after I was bitching about a new pair of boots I had just gotten from the PX. Now I was wishing I had ordered a pair of the waterproof LOWA’s but as it didn’t rain much in Afghanistan there wasn’t really a need for it than. Lot of good wishing does now. It only took me a couple of minutes to cross the parking lot from the trees. The front doors were pretty much as I remember them with two sets of double doors leading into an air trap followed by another two sets of double doors. As I didn’t want to breach two sets of doors I followed the front of the building around to the boat area. There the entire walls were made up of huge multi section roll up doors so the boats could be moved in and out of the show room. Luckily the area was covered and watching the area for a short time revealed no movement. The noise of the rain would cover about anything short of a gunshot, with that thought in mind my eyes fell on the l
andscaping surrounding the boats. I moved over to the area surrounding the nearest pond and picked up the top-landscaping block. Carrying it back to the roll up door, I dropped it and pulled out a roll of duct tape. I began taping up the second tier window of the rollup door. Tapping on the glass it didn’t appear to be made of break resistant laminated glass as far as I could tell. I hesitated and looked around again to check the area, seeing nothing but the rain pounding down, I picked up the landscaping stone and stepping back I shot-putted the stone into the taped window. The window bowed in but was strong enough to hold together. I picked up the stone again and taking a couple steps back I lunged forward throwing the stone as hard as I could. The entire pane caved in and popped out of the frame; so the glass had been made out of safety glass and the stone skidded across the slick concrete floor of the boat showroom making enough noise to wake the dead that is if they were inside the store. I quickly grabbed my backpack and stuffed it through the window and immediately followed it inside. It was dark as hell in here I thought. Grabbing my backpack I slid my arms into the straps and moved over to squat down by the back of a Boston whaler on display. I pulled out my Petzl headlamp and after making sure the red filter was in place I held it around the end of the boat shining it towards the closest aisle.
The response was immediate and I almost lost my left hand. The crack of a high powered rifle was deafening even in the big store as it whipped by my hand and punched a nice neat hole in the window pane just above the one I had smashed in. My mind registered the muzzle flash somewhere to my right and appeared to be elevated. Examining my hand to make sure I still had five fingers, I attempted to massage away the tingling from the near miss. After making sure my hand was intact and still functioning, I reached back and drew my Kimber. At least no one could come up behind me, that is unless someone came up from outside, now that was a comforting thought. Glancing back at the window I broke, I realized that I could not move from behind the boat without silhouetting myself against the backdrop of the windows. Whoever the shooter was they must not have been in place when I busted the window out or he would have nailed me coming in. So what to do now? The area I was in was backed by the dim light coming in from all of the windows and it would be extremely risky to attempt to make it the 70 or 80 feet to the beginning of the clothing section. Well when working from a position of weakness - bluff. I really think the moron who came up with that saying had never been in a no win situation but what the hell I couldn’t think of anything else and I damn sure did not want to get shot today. Slowly I loosen the straps of my pack and eased it to the floor. Making sure my lower body was behind the boat trailer’s double axle I called out in normal tone, “I’m hoping that is the normal way friends greet friends around here.” From the darkness came a chuckle, “Well I take it you’re still breathing. The real question is, are you leaking blood on my clean floors.” I chuckled back in reply, “No sir, no blood, but I will recommend not to taste any of the water on the floor because it is not all rain water.” This time when the response came, it clearly came from a different location. Maybe a little closer and at least a few feet higher up. “So what do you know a polite thief, I would suggest you get out the way you came in,” the voice said out of the darkness. “So I can leave? Does that mean you won’t shoot me the second I silhouette myself against the window?” I said. Again the location of the voice came from a slightly different angle, “I didn’t say that I merely made a suggestion is all.”
I really didn’t like the way this was going, as from the changing angle of the guy, it wouldn’t be long before he had me outflanked and I said as much, “Sir, I’d really appreciate if you would stop moving to my right. I’m not really in the mood to get shot tonight and all I wanted was a few supplies to help me on my way back to my family down in Texas. My triplets will be pissed as hell if I don’t make it back in time for Halloween.” The voice called back, “So I had you pegged for a no good southern from the time you began talking. What brings a reb this far north anyway?”
“What else, work,” I said, “and trust me, I’m not here because I want to be, plus the weather really sucks up here. Oh and by the way I’m only paying for the one window I broke, the other one is on you!” When no reply came I continued to hope that if I could keep this guy talking he would be less inclined to shoot me. I ask, “So who didn’t pay the electric bill, or couldn’t you find someone up here that knows how to write?” Still no response, but it did elicit a chuckle that sounded like it came from ground level and a lot closer. I stayed where I was behind the trailer wheels without moving, straining to hear the slightest sound. A slight squeak of a rubber sole shoe sounded about 25 - 30 feet away and from behind one of the larger pontoon boats. It was so dark in that area all I could make out was the upper outline of the boat.
The man finally spoke again, “Are you armed?” I thought about that for a couple seconds than replied, “Would you believe me if I said no.” “Not likely,” he called back. “Well in that case I’m armed and have a little experience from my 20 plus years in the Marine Corps.” This got another chuckle, “Just my luck, struck here without power and a damn jarhead breaks into my store.” “Hey I was not breaking in,” I replied, “I’m on a rescue mission, I heard there was a crazy old man in here that needed help.” The invisible man laughed out loud this time and added, “Not only a jarhead but a smart ass jarhead, it’s starting to look like it might be a waste of a perfectly good round of ammo, when all I have to do is give you a sharp object and you would more than likely cut yourself and bleed out.” Taking a guess I said, “That’s an awful long sentence with some big words for a squid, I’m impressed.”
After a few seconds he responded, “I’m going to throw out a light, please step into the light and lay your weapons on the floor. Place your weapons, including any knives, on the floor with the muzzles pointed away from me. Kneel down and cross your ankles and place your hands on top of your head.” I snorted and replied, “Oh my god, not only a squid but a master at arms, really, kiss my ass. I don’t give up my weapons to no man. I’m just here to get some supplies so I can get home to my family in Texas. If I were you I would grab all I could and get the fuck out of here. This place is going to be ground zero for some of the worst looting this country has ever seen and no one person is going to hold them off. Once people realize that no help is coming and the lights are not coming back on, they will descend on this place like locust and take everything that is not nailed down. And once people get pissed when everything is stolen they will burn this place to the ground. Most out there still don’t know that it was an EMP or even what an EMP is and that we as a country are totally screwed. So what’s it going to be, do we talk or do we dance. Either way is good with me, but lets get on with it as my feet are wet and I want to get on some dry socks.”
“How do you know it was an EMP?”, the guy asked. “Think about it,” I said, “The only thing that could completely shut down watches, cell phones, pacemakers, the electrical grid, vehicles, planes, everything. Only an EMP could do that, oh I guess it could have been a massive solar storm, but I doubt it was, as someone would have spotted it before it hit the earth. And most planes and military equipment are built these days to withstand most solar events. At this point I don’t know who attacked us or the intent behind the attack. I don’t know if we retaliated and the whole world is this way or if only the East coast was hit. But if that was the case we would have seen the rest of the military responding to this. So yes, it was an EMP and things are going to be hell hereabouts within about another 48 hours. I want to be long gone by then. Where do you think people are going to head when there is no food or water at their homes? The locals are going to descend on this mall like a swarm of locust. The only real question is will they burn it first or loot it and burn it afterward. I don’t know about you my friend but I do not want to be here when the mobs arrive.”
“You don’t exactly paint a rosy future do you,” the man stated, “So what do we do now, I really don�
��t want to shoot you, blood is so damn hard to clean up and any amount bigger than a dime has to be considered hazmat so what do you propose, my friend?” I replied, “How about I leave you my USAA credit card and an IOU for all the gear. If the lights come back on, charge me the full price for all of it. How does that sound?” “Oh, the hell with it,” the man said and I saw movement to my front. At first I tensed ready to lunge to my left and begin firing, but instead a headlamp came on and began moving towards me.
The man said, “Give me a hand moving something in front of that broken window. We don’t want to give anyone any bad ideas.” Upping the safety on my Kimber I holstered it and slide my headlamp on and pushed the switch to turn on the light. I said, “You might want to use a red light when moving around in here, people will not be able to see it outside unless they are right at the windows. That white light can be seen across the parking lot.” The man laughed and turned to me sticking out his hand, “I’m Don Johnson, the manager of this fine store.” I reached out and took his hand, looking the man up and down. He had a good firm grip and appeared to be in his early 60’s. About 5’10”, with short cropped dark hair that was losing the battle to gray and not carrying much extra weight. I replied, “I thought you worked down in Miami, I’m Talon Clark and its good to meet you.” Don groaned loudly, “Wow I have never heard that one in what, oh, since sometime yesterday.” Letting go of my hand, he laid his Sig Sauer AR-15 on the boat trailer fender and walked over to the rear of the Boston Whaler. He turned and ask, “Well are you going to give me a hand or not?” I moved over to his side and he gestured at the large box sitting behind the boat, “Lets get this over to the window and stack another on top in front of that window. I will put another one of the motion activated trail cameras down here to the side of the boxes so we will know if the boxes move,” Don said.