Surviving Home

by A. American

  “That’s all I can do.” The doc leaned back, letting out a breath.

  Reggie, sweat-soaked, looked at the sutures in his hand. The ring finger on his left hand was gone and a patch of raw red skin had been pulled tight over where the knuckle had been and stitched together. The pinky finger had a string of stitches running down the inside of it. It was swollen and sore as hell.

  “Thanks, Doc, I appreciate it.”

  “It’s not pretty, but it’s the best I can do.” He reached into his bag and pulled out two bottles, setting them on the table beside the couch. “This one’s an antibiotic; take it three times a day. This one is for pain; take it as needed, but be careful, it’s a heavy dose.”

  Reggie looked at the two bottles, then over at Thad. “You staying here tonight?”

  Thad nodded. Reggie reached over and picked up the bottle of pain-killers and spun the top off with one hand, shaking out two of the big pills. He quickly tossed them into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

  “I said be careful! That’s gonna make you a pile of mush!” the doc shouted.

  “Good,” Reggie said, then laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

  • • •

  Mike was sitting by the door, an elbow resting on his knee and his chin in his palm looking out as the blackness passed in a blur. Sarge reached over and punched him in the shoulder, knocking his elbow off his knee. Irritated, he looked back at the old man. Sarge tossed a set of earphones to him and motioned for him to put them on. Mike pulled them over his ears and immediately began to hear radio chatter.

  “. . . ger that, Stalker One, Bronco Three’s bringing up the rear.”

  Mike looked over and keyed the intercom. “That the same Bronco that saved our ass out in the swamp?”

  Sarge nodded his head and keyed his mic. “Doc, Morgan and some of his got wounded. Soon as we get there, you see to them pronto.”

  Doc nodded as he keyed his intercom. “What sort of wounds?”

  “One of his daughters has a gunshot wound to her calf; doesn’t sound too bad, but you need to look at it. The other is a little worse. Sounds like one of his boys had a couple of fingers shot off.”

  Ted was shaking his head. “Why didn’t he call for help sooner? If it’s that bad he should have been on the horn to us.”

  “He’s just fuckin’ thick-headed, I guess,” Sarge said.

  “What kind of trouble they got?” Mike asked.

  “He’s not sure. They were raided a couple of days ago and managed to fend those guys off, and yesterday they were ambushed. That’s when they suffered the casualties,” Sarge said.

  “Whoever they are, they’re some sorry sons-a-bitches for shootin’ a little girl,” Ted said.

  “Damn straight. Let’s go make dead out of ’em,” Sarge said.

  • • •

  I closed the door of the shop and stood there looking up at the sky. It was cold out and the stars were brilliant. I remember sitting out by the fire pit on nights like this and watching as the International Space Station passed overhead. It made me wonder if it was still up there, and if it was, how long they could last without support from Earth. Would they run out of food and starve, or run out of oxygen and suffocate first? Either way would be horrible.

  I went and checked on Lee Ann. She was sleeping soundly, so I added a log to the fireplace and, after a quick check of all the doors, went to bed. Mel was already sleeping when I got there. I didn’t disturb her as I took off all my hardware, leaning the rifle beside the bed and laying the pistol on the table. I climbed under the blankets and quickly went to sleep.

  The next morning I slept late. I woke up to an empty bed and light coming in through the blinds. For a moment I just lay there in a haze, much as I would on any other ordinary Sunday. I was absentmindedly watching a beam of light that cut through the blinds and landed on the wall opposite the bed. Little particles of dust floated on the light. Then suddenly I remembered—remembered that things were different. It wasn’t an ordinary Sunday. I jumped from the bed and grabbed the XD from the table. The door swung open and I raised the pistol. Taylor froze in the door, holding a cup of coffee.

  I looked at her, then at the pistol and slowly lowered it. “Sorry, baby, I overslept.”

  She surprised me with her lack of reaction to me pointing a gun at her. “It’s okay, Dad. Mom said to let you sleep. You want some coffee?”

  “Yeah, thanks, sorry about that.”

  She smiled and walked toward me, offering the cup, “It’s okay. Things are different now. I get it.”

  I smiled and took the cup from her. I knew she would want to know if I liked it or not, so I took a quick sip. It was really good; she always made a good cup of coffee. “Mmm, that’s good. Go on, I’ll be out in a minute.”

  She smiled and said, “There’s eggs and biscuits for breakfast.”

  I took my time dressing. Mel had a plate sitting on the table for me, scrambled eggs and a biscuit. A can of Red Feather butter sat on the table, a rare and precious luxury. Before sitting down to the plate, I went to check on Lee Ann. She was still lying on the couch, playing on the iPad. If she was doing that, I thought she must be all right.

  “How you feeling this mornin’?”

  She didn’t even look up from whatever it was she was doing. “Better.”

  I rubbed her head and went back to the kitchen to eat. Little Bit was sitting at the table, pushing some eggs around her plate. Her elbow was sitting on the table and she rested her head on her knuckles.

  “You okay, rug rat?”

  “Yeah.”

  I reached over and slid her plate out from in front of her. “If you’re not goin’ to eat these, I will,” I said as I went to scoop some eggs off her plate.

  “Hey! Those are mine!” She reached out and pulled the plate back to her far side and making a show of shielding it from me.

  “Okay, guess I’ll have to eat mine. Hey, you want some butter on your biscuit?”

  She perked up a bit. “Sure. I wish we had some jelly.”

  I looked back at Mel, who was still at the stove. “Are we out of jelly?”

  “I haven’t gone out to the shed to look.”

  “Sit tight, I’ll go look,” I said to Little Bit.

  I knew I had a few jars of grape jelly put away. I found it behind the peanut butter. While I was looking, I noticed how thin things were getting on the shelves. There were still many buckets with various contents in them. We would have to start utilizing the stuff in them and get away from the fast and easy canned food.

  As I was heading out of the shed I reached over and tapped the mouse pad on the laptop. The screen came to life and I read: Friendlies inbound, 1200 hours tomorrow.

  I stood there reading those five words over and over. He was coming here? It was 8:37, three and a half hours till he or whoever got here. I went back inside and opened the jelly jar. Little Bit insisted on spreading her own jelly. I sat there eating the eggs without really noticing, thinking about what was going to happen that day. Running the scenarios through my head brought me around. I quickly finished the eggs, smeared some butter and jelly on the biscuit and headed for the bedroom.

  Sticking the biscuit in my mouth, I put the vest on, holstered the XD and slung my carbine. A quick check told me it was still chambered. I was eating the biscuit when I walked back into the kitchen.

  Mel looked at me as I came in and asked, “Where are you going?”

  “I got a message from a friend, sounds like they may be coming here. I need to get up to the roadblock.”

  “Who’s coming?” she asked, and then she looked confused. “How’d you get a message?”

  “Tell ya later, I gotta go.”

  Little Bit looked up from her plate. “Can I come?”

  “No, you stay here an’ stay inside today, okay?”


  That hurt look she does so well came across her face, and she went back to picking at the eggs again.

  Chapter 33

  Sarge used a red LED to look at his map. It was the same one he had marked up with the route that Thad, Morgan, and Jess would take to get home. He had picked out the LZ the day before when he had met with the pilots. It was a small lake, and he remembered Morgan saying it was used as a mud bog. Considering how the weather had been, he knew it would be dry. Baptist Lake wasn’t far from Morgan’s place, and Sarge wanted to get close.

  The lead Apache came on the radio. “Stalker One, Draco.”

  “Stalker One.”

  “Looks like the LZ is clear. Stay to the west; the center of the LZ looks a little soft.”

  “Roger that, Draco. Stalker Two will do a bump and go to drop these guys. We’ll just cut the sling once the load’s on the ground.”

  “Roger that, Stalker; we’ll orbit the LZ.”

  The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Ten minutes, guys.”

  Sarge keyed the intercom. “Roger that, we’re ready. If that LZ looks iffy, just get us close and we’ll jump out.”

  “If you’re good with it, I am,” came the reply.

  Sarge looked around the dark cabin. He could just make out the eyes of each of his men through the camo paint. There was no real emotion on their faces; it was just another milk run to them, or at least that’s how it looked.

  “Two minutes,” the intercom cracked.

  The helo dropped and when they were about five feet off the ground, Mike shoved his pack out and jumped. The others followed.

  Stalker One immediately began to increase power and pull up and was soon moving out across the LZ. They looked up and could see Stalker Two coming into the LZ. Ted reached into a cargo pocket and pulled out two cyalume sticks and cracked them as one. Stepping out into the LZ, he began to give the pilot some directions. Stalker Two came into a hover and began to slowly descend. As soon as the load was on the ground, Ted waved his arm in a cutting motion and the sling dropped from the belly of the Black Hawk.

  Ted and Doc immediately went to work disconnecting the web of straps. Mike and Sarge were keeping watch over the operation. Sarge’s radio crackled. “Draco One, Stump Knocker.”

  “Go for Stump Knocker.”

  “Good luck, guys. Call us if you need us to bail your ass out again.”

  “Thanks, Draco One, we appreciate the help.”

  • • •

  “Get up, Av’ry!” Marvin shouted as he slapped the sleeping man in the side of the head.

  Avery bolted upright, rubbing the side of his bandaged head. “Shit, Marv, that hurt! Watch ma damn ear!”

  “You didn’t hear ’em helocoptors?” Marvin asked as he pulled on his tactical vest.

  Avery jumped up from the couch he had been sleeping on. “Choppers, wur?” he asked as he started to look for his own gear.

  “They was out thur sum’ers,” Marvin said, motioning with his chin as he clipped his pistol belt around his waist. “Hurry up an’ git yer shit together. I’ll git the boys.” Marvin hurried out of the room to get the rest of the troops together.

  “Wur’s my damn gun?” Avery shouted as Marvin closed the door. He stood in the middle of his small room in the trailer—one of several in what the guys called “the compound”—turning in circles and kicking crap out of the way. The floor of the room was buried in everything from empty beer cans and dirty clothes to Quarter Pounder wrappers, even though there hadn’t been one of those made in many, many weeks.

  Marvin was the head of the North Lake County Militia. Prior to things going to hell, they used to get together a couple of times a month to drink beer, tell lies and shoot shit. They were decidedly antigovernment, and after the bottle had made the rounds of the old fire pit a couple of times, the usual venom about the Zionist government—the ZOG—would start. Even with all the alcohol-fueled hate speech, the only thing they ever killed was a case.

  With the collapse, the guys had gotten together quickly, preparing to fight off the impending invasion of federal storm troopers. What happened instead, though, even they wouldn’t have believed. After establishing themselves as the security force for the Kangaroo store and the old woman who ran it, they had met the first of the DHS security forces coming in to set up camp at the bombing range. Instead of the fight they had always seen coming, they had entered into a partnership. When they were safely couched in the confines of the compound they would laugh and howl at how they were getting over on the feds.

  They agreed they would work with the feds so long as the weapons, ammo and MREs kept coming. So long as the government was willing to arm the militia, they would take everything they could get. That way, by the time the feds had been whittled down trying to deal with the civilian population, they would have the means to take the feds on and win.

  Avery walked out the back door of the house, dragging his web gear behind him as he tried to buckle his forty-four-inch belt around his forty-six-inch waist. To his surprise, there were only two other guys there with Marvin.

  “Wur is ever’one?” Avery asked as he hunched his shoulders and strained at the belt.

  “Them bastards is all hung over. It’s jus’ you, Willy, Ned an’ me.”

  Avery got the belt on and let out a long breath. “An’ you want fer us to look for them choppers?”

  Marvin said, “Of course, you idjit, there ain’t no reason fer no helocoptors to be flying out here. It must have crashed, an’ if’n we get to it before the feds do, we can git whutever was on it.”

  “Oh,” Avery said, nodding his head.

  “Yeah, ‘oh,’ fatass,” Marvin said.

  The men climbed onto their four-wheelers and took off with Marvin in the lead. He had heard the ships early that morning when he was pissing off the front porch. Each of the men were armed with a pistol and a primary weapon. As part of their relationship with the feds, they had acquired some H&K MP5 submachine guns. And the best part was, they were fully automatic. With them had come cases of ammo. Their side of the deal was simple: do whatever the feds asked.

  Up to this point that had been easy. FEMA and the DHS were trying to get people to leave their homes and go to the camps they were setting up, and some of them needed a little persuasion. That was where the militia came in. Unlike what many people thought, the government didn’t show up and drag you away. It was much easier to convince you to beg them to let you in. Until recently, all they had to do was ride in and scare the shit outta folks, throw some Molotov cocktails around, maybe take a piece of ass if it was convenient, and the next day they would be lining up for the camp.

  A few days ago they had hit a neighborhood where things didn’t go according to plan. Sure, there was always a little shooting, but nothing like what they encountered there. The militia had lost men, a first. Then they were told to hit them again, but no one wanted to go back. So Avery drew the short straw and was sent back to keep up the heat.

  When he got back, he was bleeding from the head. Marvin’s wife cleaned it up enough to see that his left ear had been shot in two. It was still attached top and bottom, but the middle of it looked as if someone had taken a melon baller to it. But Avery was proud, said he knew he killed one and hit another. He said he saw one of them drop beside a big smoker, told everyone how them sons-a-bitches were smoking a whole pig. He also told them how good it smelled, what the food looked liked. Avery was a big man and, as he liked to tell the others, a big man’s gotta eat.

  • • •

  Mike and Sarge were taking the straps off the buggies while Doc and Ted kept watch. Sarge was dropping the last strap into the trailer when his radio cracked, “Draco Three, Stump Knocker.”

  Sarge turned from the buggy to look out across the dried-up pond, keying his mic. “Go for Stump Knocker.”

  “Looks like you’ve got some fas
t movers heading your way from the east. They aren’t heading straight at you, but I think you’re their destination.”

  Sarge looked around. “Roger that, Draco Three, thanks for the info.”

  “You want us to hang out, or to engage them?”

  “Negative, I think we can handle ’em.”

  Sarge walked around the buggy and said, “Hey, Mike, you an’ Doc take your ride an’ head into the woods there. Stay outta sight, we got some company headin’ our way.”

  “Roger that, Sarge,” Mike said as he and Doc ran toward the smaller of the two buggies.

  Sarge took a seat in his ride, reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and drew out one of the Rocky Patels he had managed to hide from Faggione.

  “Sarge, you think we should be doing something?” Ted asked.

  Sarge took a cigar cutter and a lighter from his pocket, clipped the end and lit it. After taking a long drag from the oily cigar, he blew the smoke out and said, “Nope, just relax. Let’s see who’s comin’ for a visit.” He leaned his head back and took another long drag on the Rocky.

  Sarge tapped his cigar, watching as the thick solid ash cracked then fell to the ground. He looked over the side of the buggy to see it still mostly in one piece, then looked at the expensive cigar and smiled. Not because of the ash, but the thought that there would never be another one made, and there he was, literally burning something that was priceless and irreplaceable. Ted was looking in every direction for the enemy.

  “Chill out, Teddy, you’re making me nervous,” Sarge said.

  “I don’t like being out in the open like this, just waiting for someone to ride up on me,” Ted said.

  “Don’t worry; it ain’t anyone to be worried about,” Sarge said. He keyed the mic on his radio. “Mikey, you guys set up?”

  “Roger that, Sarge, we got a couple of SAWs set up. I’m at your four o’clock and Doc is around your seven o’clock. We got you covered,” Mike said.

  Sarge looked at Ted and said, “See, nothing to be worried about.”