America: The Eagle has Fallen

by Gordon Ballantyne

  “OK?” I asked.

  “Look at it this way,” said the Major. “What did all your prepper fiction books and estimates say about a full United States grid down scenario?”

  “90% of the United States would perish,” I said with a sigh.

  “I’ll do you one better,” said the Major. “The official government estimate put together by people who actually study this shit say 92% of the population will perish in the event of a catastrophic grid down scenario. Washington has only lost 45% of its population thus far. I know winter is coming and the numbers are morbid but 92% is the measuring stick. It will come down to the will of the individual to survive. You and your team are trying to stack the deck in every conceivable way and doing incredible things the federal government didn’t even think of but in the end it rests on the people, not the government.”

  “Thanks Major,” I said. “I needed that. What do you have on tap for the day?”

  “I am going hunting with my son. We haven’t had a lot of time to spend together since I got back and I want to let him show me what he’s learned other than how to undo a bra strap.”

  I laughed. “Well then, I guess I have a day of unicorns, rainbows and nail painting.”

  “Enjoy them while they are young, it’s all downhill from here.” He laughed, walking back to get geared up for a day on the trap line and hunting.

  I saw Randy on the patio with Allison hovering by his side.

  “Hey,” I said to the two of them.

  “Hey, thanks for saving me yesterday,” Randy said with emotion. “Have you got a sec, I wanted your opinion on something?”

  “Sure, I absolutely think you should go ahead with the sex change operation and think Shirley is a wonderful name. Have you told everyone yet?”

  He laughed with a grimace. “You dick, don’t make me laugh, it hurts like hell. Allison and I want to get married next week and I was wondering if you’d be my best man?”

  “Congratulations you two. I am so happy for you. We would love to have Allison here with us even if she is making a bad decision.”

  “Well, we were thinking of moving into Amy’s house if that is OK with you. It’s just at the end of the driveway. I’ll keep doing what I’m doing around here but we would like a little space and make a real go at building a homestead and a family. Allison does great as a nurse with Doctor Reynolds and I would like to build some more gasifiers to sell at the market. I’d have to use your tools and shop for a while until I can build my own but I’ll pay you for the use of it.”

  “Randy,” I said looking him in the eye. “You took a bullet for me and my family. You are welcome to anything at the homestead and I’ll hope you would take your meals with us as Amy did. I think you will do her home proud but the neighbor is kind of an asshole and his wife is really nosy. Your dog, if you get one, better not shit on my lawn. I’d give you a hug if it didn’t hurt and give Allison one if it wouldn’t make you jealous.”

  “You’re an asshole,” he said, shaking his head with a smile.

  “I get that a lot. How about a hug for Allison and a handshake? You’d better not tell my wife about this or it will turn into an extravaganza with the Governor there and everything. She will cost you a fortune in food, the band, the photographer, the DJ, the florist. The list never ends. Marcus had the biggest smile on his face when I married Belle since I’m sure he was happy having her off his tab and onto mine.”

  The Sergeant came onto the porch dressed in hunting garb.

  “How they hanging Gunny?” I asked, shaking his hand.

  “Still to the left sir,” he said with a laugh. “I was wondering if you had a moment.”

  “For you Gunny, I have two.”

  “Well sir, we have put Bravo squad in the Black’s old house and I was wondering if you have any additional greenhouse material? We would also like to put up an observation post in the tree line between the properties so we can watch both and run some communication hard lines between the Black’s, here and Amy’s house. The crew needs more to do and idle hands are not a good thing. Building some better defenses would keep them from painting rocks and policing the area for cigarette butts.”

  “Mi casa is su casa Gunny. Have at it and my thanks. Just watch out for the General, all improvements must meet her stringent guidelines for quality and aesthetics.”

  “Yes sir, and thank you sir.”

  Everything seemed shipshape at the homestead so I continued up the drive to see Ginny and the folks at the cul-de-sac. The area seemed to get better and better every day I came to see it. The laundry was all done, the seating area was scrubbed clean and the showers were now wood sided with hot water piped from a communal wood stove into the shower heads. The gardens were all cleared with chickens rooting around the area looking for morsels and any grains or seeds left in the soil. Cords of wood were neatly stacked by the fire. I saw Ginny’s garage had been walled in with a double set of doors with a vestibule in between built to keep the heat from escaping. Ginny saw me through the window and gestured me to come in. The ladies were finishing cleaning up the breakfast meal and were working on preparing lunch.

  “Come in out of the rain dear,” she said as I entered the vestibule and entered the workshop.

  “How are you my love?” I asked, giving her a warm hug.

  “Wonderful dear. We’re going to have a wedding next Sunday. I am so excited for Allison and Randy. He actually came to ask my permission to marry her. He is so sweet and even hooked up one of his gas machines for me. We only turn the generator on in the afternoon for our sewing and to charge all the batteries. It makes a heck of a racket so we keep it off in the morning. I heard about the attack on your house. I am so sorry. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “I would love a cup. How is your son?” I asked.

  “Oh, he is very good to his family. He brings his earnings home to the family from the clinic. He is such a good provider but is very generous in what he charges, especially to those that can’t pay. Alisha is still quite taken by young Jacob and they are walking out together. He is such a gentleman and will be a very good husband and provider someday. My teenage grandson is finding his way and we hope Randy will take him on as an apprentice to learn a good trade. He is not bright like his father so my hopes of medicine are probably not in the cards. It is so hard for the kids to adapt since there are not as many opportunities as there once was. I remember when I was in school you were told what you were best suited for and that was the end of it.”

  “What did you do Ginny?” I asked.

  “I was a homemaker dear. Not one of those stay at home moms you have today, spending their days shuttling kids around and supervising the gardeners and house cleaners. We built a home for our kids to grow up in, our husbands to come home to and a community in which we wanted to live. Kids had chores and went to play with their friends until the street lights came on; everyone knew each other’s names. Before the fall everyone was too busy, too plugged in and jacked up on happy pills. Truth be told, I’m glad the lights went out. It has brought our family closer together and our community closer together. We have passed each other hundreds of times over the years, exchanged a wave and hurried to the next engagement. I never knew your name. Now I know your firecracker wife, your daughter who comes to visit and even your in-laws. I think everyone has a chance to be better off in the long run, having much more appreciation for the little things and be surrounded with love. Those are the things that are important in life, not material things. I’ve been on this earth for 80 years and know a thing or two about love and happiness.”

  “I hope everyone shares your optimism and point of view Ginny,” I said with a lump in my throat.

  “They might not now because they are still feeling sorry for themselves but they will by the end of winter, I guarantee it. Now, be off with yourself, I have work to do and if you ever wear your boots in my kitchen again I’ll give you a good hiding,” she said with a smile.

  “You’ve made my day G
inny,” I said.

  “Thank you for the visit, now take this tin to your wife for me. She can’t have the recipe and I better get that tin back. I also expect to see you two in the near future for dinner.”

  “Same to you Ginny,” I said giving her a kiss on her offered cheek.

  I headed down to Adam’s place to see how he was doing but found out from Miriam that he and his crew were out felling logs to chop up and bring to Arletta. Miriam said his crew was up to twenty cords of wood a day and looking at increasing his hauling capacity to keep up with demand. I walked back to the house and dropped off Ginny’s tin with my wife who was scrubbing the kitchen clean with Joy.

  “Did you get the recipe for this pound cake?” she asked me directly.

  “Ginny said you weren’t getting it and wants the tin back.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that. She keeps kicking my ass at the church tea service. I think she’s buying off the judges with some of her booze.”

  “Your grandma’s tarts are pretty darn good honey but I have to say, Ginny’s pound cake is a little slice of heaven.”

  “Don’t you worry, she wants us to go up for dinner next week and I’ll clean her clock at cards. She’ll be in so deep she’ll have to give it up.”

  I laughed as I started patching bullet holes and measuring windows for the scroungers to find. I have three partially constructed houses still up in Gig Harbor so I figure I can repurpose those. It almost felt like a typical Sunday afternoon if the world wasn’t falling apart and all.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of Chaos Theory.

  I Gotta Say Something

  There’s still a government. I don’t think this, or believe this, I know this.

  I know this because they want me. They want me badly. I didn’t kill anyone of great importance. I don’t possess nuclear launch codes or have a stocked underwater base. I haven’t come up with a cure or a vaccine.

  They don’t want me because of who I am. They want me because of what I am.

  I am the vaccine.

  Somebody needs to know this, so I’m putting it here.

  It was early on, back when people were still fighting instead of hiding. I was travelling on a prison bus in a caravan on the back roads of New Hampshire when we were attacked. We weren’t attacked by them, we were attacked by us. Another group of survivors with guns and vehicles who desperately wanted our guns and vehicles.

  Bullets flew and people died. The attackers fell back when they realized that we weren’t going to lie down and die so they could have our stuff. Some of us did lie down and die, but not on purpose. Didn’t stay down though. Got up in short order and tried to kill everyone, attacker and defender. We had good guns, which is why we were able to fight off the bad guys. We were prison guards, cops with their families, and the prison doctor. And prisoners. Fourteen inmates that the guards decided not to leave in cells when they bugged out. They didn’t take all of us, but they took the guys that they thought would help them and not kill their families.

  Yup, I was a prisoner. Three left of a four year stint. What I did isn’t important as it was a lifetime ago in another world.

  Three of our seven vehicles, including the bus, were rendered useless in the attack, but we were able to scavenge two of the attacker’s trucks. I was working on a Ford F150 extended cab, trying to see if I could save the radiator for a third vehicle, when a bloody hand snaked out from underneath the truck and grabbed my pant leg. I wasn’t expecting it, and as I said, it was early on, so I wasn’t used to things grabbing me.

  I looked down, and another hand grabbed my leg. The hands pulled, and rather than me sliding under the truck, the thing pulled itself out from under. Now, as I’m sure you know, these things are damn fast when they’re close to you, but this particular attack happened in slow motion. I remember it like it was yesterday instead of almost a year ago.

  The man, who had been peppered by small arms fire I would later find out, pulled his mouth to my leg. He didn’t just go for the bite, like they always do, but he actually reared back with his mouth open. I remember he reared because he hit the back of his noggin on the bumper of the F150, and it made a thud that I thought would have really hurt. I thought it was quite funny.

  Until he bit me.

  He shot his face forward and latched his jaws around my lower leg, and bit down. Hard. I was an inmate, and we had to wear denim jeans at all times, prison rules. This guy bit right through them and into my leg. Not the meaty part, but the front right, sort of between my shin and my calf. Either way it friggin hurt. I let out a yell and jerked back, but the dead SOB didn’t let go. He was on me like a snapping turtle, dug in like a tick. He must have had trouble with the jeans, because he didn’t just rip out a chunk like a bite out of a cheeseburger, he just kept gnawing, and I fell on my ass. One of the cops heard me yelling and ran over. He shot the guy in the back, but that didn’t do anything, so he pistol whipped him.

  The guy let go of me and I scuttled away like a crab. He started to crawl toward the cop and the cop ventilated his cranium. I remember that too because the dead guy’s head once again smacked into the bumper with the same thud.

  Everyone came running at that point. Whether it was to help, or just to see, I’ll never know. The cop reached his hand down to me to help me up, but drew it away quickly when he saw my bloody leg.

  Then he pointed the gun at me and screamed for the doc, who was standing right next to him. The doc put on some blue gloves and looked me over. I’ll never forget those gloves, or the look on his face when he looked me in the eyes. His face said it all, with sort of a sad revulsion, and helplessness.

  Infected.

  He stood and whispered to the cop, who nodded with the same look on his face. I glanced around at the people who were standing and looking down at me. Mothers, wives, kids, cops, and my former room-mates. Most of them had the same look, but others had looks of relief. I don’t know if the relief was because I was a prison inmate and I was going to die, or that there was one less mouth to feed. Didn’t matter, I was dead and everybody knew it.

  I finally pulled my pant leg up and looked at my wound. There was a semi-circular bite pattern that was already beginning to bruise. And blood. There was some blood, but not much. The dead guy had most definitely broken the skin though.

  It’s amazing how you can try to rationalize yourself out of your own doom. I thought that it was only a tiny bite, barely broke the skin. Maybe the jeans prevented any of the dead guy’s death from getting in me. Maybe he wasn’t even infected with the same stuff, but this was something different. A hundred other get out of jail free cards ran through my mind in the space of a nanosecond, but what brought me back to reality was the gun pointed at my face.

  The cop told me I was infected. I sat there and came up with the only thing I could think of to prevent that inevitable lead headache. I told the cop I could fix the truck.

  And I did. I fixed the hell out of it.

  When that baby was purring like a cream-fed kitten, the cop, who no longer had his gun drawn, told me to come with him. He and this other guy, and inmate called Dave, or Don, or Dan… began with a D but I can’t remember now, they brought me behind this little shed thing that reminded me of an outhouse. I remember it had this gray antenna and some solar panels on it. I can’t remember that convict’s name, but I can damn well remember those blue solar panels with the white spots on them. They took me behind the little structure, and the cop tells me that the best thing for everybody would be to shoot me. Nobody gets better, it’s a bad way to die, and I would be adding to the enemy. Blah blah blah.

  I told him I wanted every damn second, and he said he understood, but I couldn’t come with them. I was infected after all, and more than a liability, a potential catastrophe. Me, a catastrophe because I got too close to a dead guy. It was unfair, but I did the only thing I could: I acquiesced. I told them to leave me. The cop, who incidentally I had never seen prior to the morning we bugged out o
f the prison, gave me some food and water, and said thanks and that he was sorry.

  Another guard, I had saved his kid earlier from one of those things when we stopped for a piss break, said he would leave a gun and some ammo on the road a half mile up after they left. He didn’t trust me enough to give me the weapon now as I might shoot somebody. I was a con, and don’t think it didn’t occur to me. I thanked him and the convoy left me standing on the solid yellow line in the center of the road in southern New Hampshire.

  I saw the guard’s pickup stop a bit down the road, so I went to see if he left me a gun. He did. An old fashioned wheel gun with half a box of .38 shells. There were twenty six rounds. Twenty six rounds between me and probably two hundred million dead people wanting to taste my important bits.

  It didn’t take them long to find me either.

  Hungry Hippos

  I still haven’t found out why some of them can run, or can’t, depending on how you look at it. The Runners are still alive, the slow ones aren’t. That’s all I know. That’s all anyone knows. Except they’re fast. Everybody knows that.

  Damn fast.

  Did I mention that I waved as the convoy pulled away, leaving me to die, quite literally, in the middle of the road? Nobody waved back.

  So with gun in hand, I followed the convoy at a modest three miles per hour or so. Within two hours, my leg hurt so badly I wanted to cut it off. Ten steps later I had to sit down.

  It was unseasonably warm for November in New England. I remember that too. I also remember a couple of vehicles drove past me as I sat there agonizing in the New Hampshire sun, but nobody stopped. Better for them that they didn’t I guess. I was wondering how long I was going to hang out there before I got sick when nausea hit me like a major league fastball and I started to puke. It didn’t creep up on me, it grabbed my insides and kicked the hell out of them until my coffee and ramen noodles had been deposited on the median strip of the highway. The noodles looked like worms in the vomit, so that got me to keep with the void diet and I kept going.