To her right, Lauren palmed the first of the five, a stout survival knife, its full-tang blade safely shrouded in a black MOLLE sheath. She carefully slid it out to examine it, noting both the breadth and sharpness of its coated blade, along with the letters spelling out the word ROWEN etched near the hilt. She flipped the knife over, finding a company logo for Randall’s Adventure Training and Equipment Group3 and ESEE, seeing now that the knife model was an ESEE-5.
Lauren admired the knife. She’d never seen or held anything quite like it before. It was of similar length and slightly heavier than the KA-BAR with which Woo Tang had entrusted her in prior weeks. It was stoutly built and she imagined its usages were virtually limitless. “I think we stand to become good friends,” she said, sheathing the knife and setting it aside.
The second ‘C’ of the five was combustion, or fire-making gear. Lauren was already highly proficient at multiple fire-starting methods, and though it remained possible to use items found in nature to do so, it wasn’t always practical. Bearing this in mind, her father had left her a kit consisting of a six-inch ferrocerium rod4 and a ceramic striker5, a credit-card-sized plastic Fresnel lens6, and two mini Bic lighters. A tinder kit comprised of petroleum-jelly-dipped cotton balls, waxed wood, fatwood sticks and shavings, waxed and unwaxed jute twine, and a tea candle accompanied it. By using these items and building upon them with other fuels obtained in the field, a fire could be had just about anywhere and in any environment.
In terms of cover, a woodland camouflage Gore-Tex bivy7 lay nearby, rolled tightly in a cylinder, bound by a hook and loop strap. Cover, or shelter, can be re-created in nature. But doing so requires both time and effort, and in any survival situation, time is of the essence. As such, any outdoorsperson of merit knows well the import of toting shelter provisions. They can be used conditionally until a more permanent means is constructed from natural materials, or in conjunction with them.
Lauren ran her fingers along the material, recognizing it as a standard-issue bivy cover, a component of the MSS, the military’s modular sleep system. Her dad had purchased a number of them both online and in surplus stores, most of which had been previously issued. They were sturdy and both wind and waterproof. An inflatable sleeping pad lie beside it, rolled into a matching cylinder right next to a brand-spanking-new winter-weight down sleeping bag.
Lauren ogled the bag, on the verge of unpacking it, fluffing it up and sliding herself inside. At long last, she’d found a surrogate to her highly cherished Marmot Ion down sleeping bag after having been forced to leave it behind.
Alan, as it turned out, hadn’t skimped on the fourth or fifth ‘Cs’ either, but that didn’t exactly knock Lauren for six. She inferred that for obvious reasons, he’d chosen to omit the standard cookstove and iso-butane fuel cannisters. Gas was a consumable and therefore finite, making it impractical to carry in ample supply or rely on beyond the short term. Nature made available both the positions on which to cook food and bring water to a boil and the fuel necessary to make it happen.
Cooking pots and the like simply cannot be recreated using natural materials. Instead of standard single-purpose containers like the polyethylene water bottles he typically carried on backpacking trips, Alan had substituted stainless-steel single-wall Klean Kanteens8. They were multipurpose by construction and could be used for drinking or carrying water, boiling it, or even as a cooking vessel.
Lauren counted at least ten randomly branded hanks of paracord amongst the gear pile to round out the list, but there were also bails of jute and hemp twine, and tarred, braided nylon bank line intermixed within. Cordage was something else that could be re-created in nature, but since its uses were practically limitless, it never hurt to pack plenty of your own.
Setting all other items aside, Lauren pulled closer a uniquely designed ripstop nylon backpack that still had the retail tags dangling from it. It was an uncommon, checkerboard-patterned blend of black and gray, and the embroidered threading near the bottom bore the model Ohm 2.0 by ULA. It was an ultralight, no-frills, minimalist backpack, one that was rugged and built to last.
Lauren looked it over while removing the tags and recalling ULA stood for Ultralight Adventure Equipment9, a company based in Utah that her dad had mentioned before. He’d referred to it and a host of others as ‘cottage industry’, as they were located domestically and manufactured their products in-house, mostly by hand.
Then she recalled the ULA pack he’d purchased and had taken along on their last backpacking trip together, one that had quickly become his favorite. It was slightly larger than this one, but the overall design looked remarkably similar. Lauren remembered how skeptical he’d been. It was unlike any pack of big-name manufacturers he’d ever owned, but after loading it up and putting it to the test, the pack had made him a believer. Empty, it weighed virtually nothing; full of gear, it was bulky while remaining incredibly easy to carry and gentle on the shoulders, lower back, and hips. And, much to his amazement, it was remarkably quiet, no squeaking or hissing like most all of his other backpacks.
Lauren guessed he had purchased this one for her and had brought it here for her use not long after. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?” she asked aloud. “My dad, the master planner. I just wish you would’ve done a better job planning to get home.” She exhaled and reclined onto the floor, stretching her arms above her head. “And I wish you were here now. You’re probably the only person in the world who could talk me out of this.”
An unexpected knock on the door spawned a raucous bark from Cyrus. He ran to it with his tail wagging and scratched at it, acting as if he knew who was on the other side.
“It must be a friendly,” Lauren said quietly, then sat up. “Come in.”
The handle twisted and Bernie opened the door, slipping his head through the crack. “Excuse me, Lauren.” He smiled at her, then at Cyrus, whose tail wagged furiously at the sight of his owner. “Hey, pooch. I was wondering where you got off to. Usually, he’s running around the house terrorizing everyone. He isn’t pestering you, is he?”
Lauren shook her head. “No, not at all. He’s just keeping me company.”
Bernie took a step inside as Cyrus ran to him. “He’s gotten awful close to you, hasn’t he?” He took the dog’s paw and glared. “Traitor. Can’t say as I blame him, dogs know character, and you’ve got yourself a good one going for you. But they’re also empathic and have a special way of knowing when someone they’re fond of is feeling blue. You…doing all right?”
Lauren chuckled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Maybe a little more homesick than usual.”
“I imagine that’s to be expected. I’ll try not to take offense.” He gestured with his head to the mess on the floor. “Did you dig all that stuff up from the barn?”
Lauren nodded. “Most of it.”
“Looks like a good assortment of loot. Your old man leave you anything decent?”
“No complaints thus far.” She reached for a three-ring binder. “Dad had a notebook similar to this one in his gun safe at home. We got it out a few days after the blackout.” Lauren opened it and flipped through the first few laminated pages. “But this one, near as I can tell, is unique. It has a section that wasn’t in the one we had.”
“That so?” Bernie prompted. “What about?”
“There’s maps, itineraries, lists of names and addresses, even a page of coordinates entitled ‘Resupply’. Probably his plans for getting back home, a copy of them, anyway.” Lauren folded the notebook closed. “I’ve been reluctant to delve into it.”
Bernie moved in closer, his curiosity on display. “Think you might find something in there you won’t like?”
She didn’t answer him.
“Lauren, not everything always works out the way we plan or want it to,” Bernie said. “That’s a fact of life, dear. And that isn’t going to change in your lifetime, I can pretty much guarantee. By my best guesstimate, your dad left that there notebook here so someone else out there would know what he wa
s up to.”
“I get that,” Lauren said. “And it makes sense, but why here and not for us? Mom, Grace, and I never knew anything, almost as if that portion of his plan was omitted by design.”
“Eh…I’m thinking there might be a plainer explanation.”
“Such as?”
Bernie tilted his head. “Such as he might’ve just plum ran out of time, sweetheart. It’s easy knowing the right things to do and the right times to do them after the fact. That’s the science of hindsight. Your dad’s a smart fella, but no one besides the big man upstairs can predict what’s going to come to pass. Guys like your dad are always planning things out. Maybe he intended to do more and just never had the chance.
“Look, I don’t want to bug you anymore about it unless you want me to. If so, great. Gather up what you got there and bring it downstairs, and we’ll go over it together. I’ll try to recall the things he told me, and maybe we’ll make some sense out of it.” He chuckled. “No guarantees, mind you…not with this old-timer’s of mine. But the better half’s sweet tea tends to get my noggin moving. I might even steal you a glass to season the pot.”
Lauren sighed and took a softer line. “I think I’d like that. But I’m feeling a little burned out today. Would tomorrow morning work for you?”
“Certainly,” said Bernie. “Bright and early suit you?”
Lauren nodded.
“Okeydokey. I’ll leave you to it, then…but, how about a glass of tea directly, at any rate?”
“Tea sounds delightful.”
“Coming right up,” Bernie said. “Be back in a minute. Come on, Cyrus. Let’s leave the young lady to herself.”
Chapter 9
After having taken their leave of Lazarus and his comm shack, Dave and Woo Tang encountered Sanchez and Santa near a saggy, corroded barbed-wire fence marking the property line on their return trip to the farm.
After hurdling the fence and kicking the snow about, Dave rubbed his hands to warm them. “What brings you ladies out this far?”
“Felt like going for a walk,” replied Sanchez. “I’ve been slacking on the cardio something fierce lately.”
“Exercise does a body good, even second-rate ones,” Santa added. “Also, we wanted to get a better picture of the AO as it stands. The surveillance posts are in place…fire watchers are designated, and rotating patrols have been arranged for the duration of our stay, per your instructions, LT. NVDs are charged, operational and distributed, and we’re doing fairly well on ammo. We got enough eyes to see what’s coming and enough firepower to put it down for good if it does.”
Sanchez nodded agreeance. “Everybody is asses and elbows, the way you like it.”
“I’m captivated,” Dave said, his chest expanding. “Guesstimated perimeter defense strength?”
Santa shrugged slightly. “It’s a big damn perimeter. And the hills around these parts are as sheer as the ones we saw near Tora Bora. We got a few of the Sons working with us, though. And that’s good ’cause we don’t have shit for personnel. Still, I’d rate our defenses somewhere between Ferrigno and that mountain fella, though Riki-tik Martin here might regale us with his assessments.”
“Riki-tik Martin? Really?” Sanchez discreetly gestured to some nearby mountaintops. “My guys are hoofing it to some dicey spots in those hills as we speak. Places I would choose myself to take potshots at some unsuspecting tangos. So far, negative contacts and zero evidence of hostile activity. Coast is clear to this point, LT.”
Dave sent a look of approval. “Outstanding.”
“Anything else of note to report?” Woo Tang asked.
Both men seemed hesitant, neither tendering a reply.
“Fine business,” muttered Dave. “Carry on, then.”
Dave went to move past, but Sanchez slid over to obstruct him. “LT, it’s a little off-topic, but we do have something to report.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. So…Santa and I had a brief Orchid sighting a few mikes back. I think she was on her way to the farm…the old man’s brown dog was shadowing her…and she looked awfully pissed.”
“Mm-hmm. If she looked that way, then I suspect she most likely is.”
Sanchez hesitated and shared a look with Santa. “You have any notion as to why?”
Dave pushed out a breath. “I might.”
“Feel like divulging it? So we can all be on the same page?” Santa asked. “She blew by us in quite a hissy. Looked to me like a storm was brewing, like one of them bad ones with golf-ball-sized hail, lots of lightning and shit. The kind that’ll put a hurtin’ to your house if you don’t batten down the hatches.”
Dave folded his arms and sulked, opting to take his time to respond. “She got off the horn with Neo a little while ago. He passed along to her some particularly personal intel regarding a family member, whom she was then able to speak with directly. Shortly thereafter, our young miss Janey made it clear that she aspires for nothing more than to galivant home on the double. And I subsequently informed her that doing so was out of the question.”
One of Santa’s brows lifted. “You did what?”
“I told her no. As in one big, corpulent negative.”
“Why?” Santa probed.
“What do you mean, why?” Dave yapped. “You already know why, or should, at the very least. There are about a hundred levelheaded reasons why a trip like that makes zero sense and would be borderline foolhardy at this juncture.”
Sanchez cocked his head. “And I’m betting not any one of those reasons matter to her.”
“It doesn’t matter what matters to her,” Dave said. “My reasoning is sound. And the last time I checked, she wasn’t the one in command.”
“LT, no one is challenging that,” Sanchez said. “But how did she react to hearing what you said?”
“She was…” Dave trailed off, sighing. “Disappointed.”
Santa sniggered. “Yeah, she looked it.”
“Well, I am very sorry to hear that. I truly am. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”
“LT, wait. Another question,” Sanchez said. “Other than stewing in disappointment, what do you think is going on in her mind right now? I mean…what do you think she’s doing presently in response to what you said to her?”
“Sanchez, I don’t know,” Dave growled. “I mean, I really don’t have the faintest clue. Why?”
“LT, come on, man, think it through. She isn’t one of us. I mean, she is, but at the same time, she isn’t. She fits in here and meshes with us because of our history and because we all love her.” Sanchez paused to gather his thoughts. “But she’s far from being a Marine. She’s not a soldier or an operator. She doesn’t know a CO and she doesn’t comprehend the chain of command. She was never trained to obey orders without question. She—”
“Okay, stop. Halt chatter.” Dave held up a hand. “Check your fire, taco…are you high? Did your cock holster resign from audible range? You are by and far the most insubordinate of any subordinate I have ever had under my charge. Your own comprehension of the chain of command is nigh on equivalent to my understanding of the latest pre-collapse federal tax code. Exactly what point are you endeavoring to get across to me?”
Sanchez rubbed his chin. “Eh, maybe I’m using bad examples.”
“Nah, I think the examples are on point,” jeered Santa. “It’s the delivery that’s lacking, or maybe the deliveryman.”
“Chinga tu madre, Santa.”
“Only if it’s your madre,” Santa countered with a grin. “Love me some Latina girls.”
“Mi mamá está muerta. She’s dead, cabrón.”
“So’s mine. What makes you special?”
Sanchez humbly tilted his head. “Shit, I never knew that. Knee-jerk reactions, you know? I’m sorry, man.”
“Me too, brother.”
The two men fist-bumped and shared a moment.
Dave scoffed at them both. “Oh, that’s real darlin’. Do you two sissies intend to finish this
inconsequential circle jerk sometime before the second coming? I’d really like to get on with my day.”
Santa offered his apologies while thumbing his beard.
“Sorry, LT,” Sanchez said. “Look, I’m trying hard to say something, and I guess I haven’t had time to think it through. The original idea or plan was for us to teach her things…but I feel like somehow we’ve all learned things from her at the same time. She’s helped us see from a young person’s perspective, only she’s not just a typical young person. She’s built differently. The girl never gives up, LT. What kind of teenager does what she does and keeps the kind of company she keeps?”
“The kid’s lost a lot, Dave,” Santa added. “But she takes a beating and keeps coming back for more. Now, far be it from me to tell you how to run your unit, but if Miss Jane is looking for a way of getting home with something substantial weighing on her heart, I suggest we find a way to accommodate her. ’Cause getting in her way is only going to make her do something you don’t want her to.”
“And that’s something none of us want to see,” Sanchez appended.
“You two think she’s going to head off on her own? On foot? Through those hills in the snow for a hundred miles with a pack strapped to her back?” Dave harrumphed. “No way. She’s deliberate, no doubt. And maybe somewhat irrational. But not nearly enough to do something like that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I used to think about her too,” said Sanchez. “Until I saw her run down a mountain in the middle of a firefight to save two kids from getting killed in spite of herself.”
“And let’s not forget the home-run swing she put on that dude in New Creek,” added Santa. “If it weren’t for that, we might be talking to a soft taco right about now.”
Sanchez elbowed the bearded one. “That’s fucked up, Santa.”
Santa patted his shoulder. “Quit. You know I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“Whatever, pinche.”
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