Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9)

by A. American

  Unlike the old world, to put calories in required putting calories out. But then, that’s the way the natural system works. We perverted that, making it too easy to input calories. We created calorie-dense foods when at the same time we were reducing the need to expend them in every facet of life. And that is why we became so unhealthy.

  Between Williston and Ocala, the rain stopped and for an instant, the sun peaked through the clouds. I leaned forward to feel it on my face. To look up and see the sun. It made me smile and brought me out of the funk I was wallowing in. It was kind of funny. When the sun was overhead and baking you, you wished for it to abate. For some clouds to move in and offer some relief. But go without it for a day or so, and you longed for its return, knowing full well it was going to make you uncomfortable again.

  Alright, everyone. Ocala is coming up, and with this break in the rain, things could get western. Keep your eyes open, Sarge called on the radio.

  I saw Dalton pop up out of the turret of the Hummer and man the machinegun. This would be the biggest town we drove through. Of course, Tallahassee was bigger, but we never left the interstate. We’d be driving right through the heart of Ocala’s south side. Not the best part of town, even in good times.

  The rain picked back up as we crossed under I-75. I smiled to myself, watching Dalton as the rain pelted him. He didn’t appear to take any notice and continued to scan the sides of the road. Since I wasn’t in a position to shoot back if anything happened, I paid attention to the town itself.

  Interesting things happen to an urban area once man no longer rules over it. Grass grows in the cracks of the road and sidewalks. Weeds take over everything. They climb buildings, utility poles and anything their tendrils can reach. Seeing grass pushing its way up through the road in large clumps was the most interesting to me, as it was just so improbable in normal times.

  But there were other things that showed the presence of people if you looked carefully. Worn paths through lots that were otherwise weed-choked. Lines of drift changed from roads to the shortest distance between two points. As a result, you could tell where people were moving. Even in parking lots and roads, the paths used would be clear of debris. In that light, signs of life were everywhere, though subtle.

  It made me wonder how many people were still living in urban areas after all this time. They’d certainly lost their appeal at this point. The entire reason to live in them was ease of life, proximity to work and shopping, and where entertainment opportunities were plentiful. Maybe not so much for Ocala, but cities in general. But all that was gone now. Food had to be grown or hunted, and that required open land. Not to mention, municipal water supplies were a thing of the past. And most cities, in their infinite wisdom, had banned the drilling of private wells. Can’t allow people to have even a modicum of self-sufficiency.

  In the end, Ocala was like every other urban center we passed. Nearly abandoned and virtually destroyed. In the early days after the Event, some people went on an orgy of looting and senseless destruction. That eventually morphed into the desire to simply survive, which sent people into every structure in search of sustenance. This led to further destruction, either from the search itself or possibly in frustration at coming up empty-handed.

  In the end, it turned into a long car ride. There were no issues driving through Ocala and we were soon on the other side, headed into the forest once again. And it would be here that we would see the most people. We encountered several people on the road pushing carts or pulling wagons loaded with unidentifiable plant matter or covered loads. They would always move to the side of the road as we approached and watch as we passed with a look of shock or wonder. Some were afraid and took to the woods at our approach.

  As the Ocklawaha bridge came into view, I saw Sarge brake. This was the same river I swam to avoid a Stryker company set up on top. And now, I had one following me over it. Granted, I didn’t use this bridge on my trek.

  What’s up?” Mike called.

  There’s something sitting on top of the bridge, Sarge called back. Mikey, come around and ease up there and have a look.

  I heard the big armored vehicle’s turbine engine spin up as it lurched past me. I leaned forward, trying to see what the old man saw, but could only make out a faint blob. Whatever it was, Dalton was certainly watching it closely. Looking around at the sides of the road, I realized this would be a good spot for an ambush, and I pulled my carbine closer.

  Nearly all modern military trucks were sufficiently armored against small arms. So, I felt I was safe in the cab. But one can never be too careful at such moments.

  Do not use that main gun unless it’s armor! Sarge barked into the radio.

  Ah, come on! Mike shouted back.

  Don’t worry, boss. He’s driving. I’m on the coax and Doc is on the deuce, Ted said.

  Good. Don’t let him near anything with a trigger, Sarge replied. It takes three men to run that bucket. Make sure he stays on the steering wheel.

  I can do the work of three men! Mike replied.

  Yeah, you can. Sarge replied, Moe, Larry and Curly. You could hear the laughter on the radio. Hell, I was laughing in my truck.

  I’m sure Mike wanted to say something else. But before he could, the fifty-cal manned by Doc started firing on the bridge. It was quickly joined by the coax that fired 7.62 rounds. From where I sat, I watched as tracer rounds skipped off the bridge and whatever else they were hitting. But it was over quickly and everything went quiet except for the engine of my truck rumbling beneath me.

  What the hell was it? Sarge asked.

  It used to be a truck. They had a roadblock set up. They actually took a shot at us. Can you believe that?” Ted replied.

  Did you get ‘em all?

  Couple of them. Others went over the bridge into the river.

  Alright then, let’s move out folks. We’re too close to home to stop now.

  I’ll lead the way, Mike replied.

  You couldn’t lead yourself to a blowjob in a whorehouse with hundred-dollar bills stapled to your forehead. Get that thing out of my way!

  Mike drove the Stryker to the other side of the bridge and pulled it off to the edge of the road so we could all pass. As I went over the bridge, I looked at the handy work they had left behind. There was a Toyota pick-up sitting at the peak of the bridge. A bad idea in military terms. Doc had done a hell of a job on it with the fifty. There was no glass left in it and the front fender was shot up. There was no way it would ever run again.

  There were two men lying dead on the pavement where they’d taken cover behind the truck. An AK clone of some sort lay beside one of them. The other had a scoped bolt-action rifle. There were a few spent casings scattered around them. An utterly futile attempt against the Stryker. What would possess someone to take a shot at something like that with a damn rifle?

  A sense of relief washed over me once on the other side of the bridge. Like some barrier had been crossed and I was now safe. Not that we’d encountered any danger on the entire trip. I couldn’t count what just happened as danger to us. I put the rifle back in the middle seat and relaxed.

  As we passed through the Mill Dam area, I saw Dalton duck in the turret. When he came back up, he immediately began firing at the sides of the road.

  Someone must have just volunteered for the Darwin award and taken a pot shot at Dalton. “Keep your eyes open”, Sarge called out.

  I didn’t see anything and doubted Dalton had either. But he was certainly giving the vegetation at either side of the road hell because of it. I could imagine some redneck sitting under an oak tree seeing our convoy coming and, out of boredom, taking a crack at it. Just for shits and giggles. He was probably lying behind that tree now, laughing his ass off. But then too, ammo was a precious commodity today and one was not wanting to waste it for entertainment.

  Dalton e
ventually stopped shooting as we continued eastward. Seeing a sign for Juniper Springs, I wondered if those dirty hippies were still there. It would really be an awesome place to stay. All the pure fresh water you’d ever need. Great woods that have never been hunted. Fish, gators, turtles and waterfowl in the river. A land of plenty. Made me want to go in and see. It’d be a great place from which to base operations. And it was for that very reason that I was sure it had to be occupied.

  I soon got my answer when the entrance to the park came into view. A large truck, an old military deuce and a half sat blocking it. Several men in various patterns of camo boldly stepped out from behind it and stood watching us as we passed. They talked animatedly amongst themselves. Dalton kept his weapon trained on them and I looked in the rearview mirror to see the big gun on the Stryker moving around on them as well.

  “Keep an eye on these clowns”, Sarge barked into the radio.

  But they kept their weapons slung, making no threatening show. Though, when I passed, they did point excitedly at the tanker. It made me uneasy. Even if they did nothing, now.

  “That was one clannish looking crew”, Jamie called over the radio.

  “I was thinking the same thing”, Sarge replied. “They was so inbred, they might as well be a sandwich”.

  It made me laugh. And he was right. They looked as though their family tree had a transformer hanging from the top of it. They would certainly be a group to keep an eye on. And my tension was ratcheted up when Ian called over the radio.

  “A motorcycle just came out of Juniper Springs and is following us. He’s staying pretty far back. But he’s definitely following us.”

  “My guess is they’re interested in the fuel.” Sarge said. “When we make the turn onto nineteen, I’m going to pull off into the woods as soon as I can and me and Dalton will waylay his ass and figure out what he’s up to. The rest of you keep going. Just keep it slow in case we need backup.”

  “Roger that, boss”, Ted replied.

  And that’s just what happened. When we turned onto nineteen, Sarge swerved the Hummer off the road and into the light brush off the shoulder. He pulled into it, knocking it over before backing out, turning around and backing into the hole he created. I laughed at the thought of the ticket he’d be facing in the old days.

  We slowed down, but kept moving enough to be making a little distance. It didn’t take long before I saw the motorcycle make the turn onto nineteen. The rider was obviously surprised by how close he was to the convoy. He slowed down, which gave Sarge the opportunity he needed. The Hummer raced out of the brush. The rider looked over and saw it, but when he tried to speed out of the way, he lost traction on the wet road.

  The truck slammed into the bike, sending the rider sprawling to the ground. I stopped the truck and walked back towards them, watching as Dalton scrambled out of the truck and pounced on the man. I could hear shouting but couldn’t tell what was being said. Dalton grabbed something from the man and tossed it into the road. Then I watched as a rifle was likewise sent skittering across the asphalt.

  When I got to them, Dalton was holding the man down in the road and Sarge was squatted next to him, talking.

  “…..to see where you were going is all,” the man moaned.

  “You said that already,” Sarge replied. “But I asked you why?”

  To emphasize the question, Dalton applied a little tension to the man’s arm. He cried out in pain and said, “We were just curious who you were is all!”

  Sarge ran his hand over the back of his neck. “You know. It ain’t too neighborly to be following someone like that. Personally, I think you wanted to know where that tanker was going. I saw that deuce you had. Probably needs fuel I would imagine.” He tapped the young man on the head and asked, “You were looking to try and score some fuel.”

  “No!” The man replied. Then Dalton torqued his arm again and he cried out, “Maybe! Maybe!”

  Sarge patted his shoulder and replied, “That’s what I thought.” Then he looked at Dalton and said, “Let him up.” Dalton released him, and he rolled onto his back, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he worked his arm back and forth.

  “What do you want to do with him?” Dalton asked.

  Sarge looked down the road as he stood up. “He’s no threat to us. Let him go. But make sure that bike don’t run. I don’t want him getting back to his people real fast.”

  “Aw come on. Don’t mess up my bike,” the man pleaded.

  Sarge keyed his radio, “Mikey, come down here and run this motorcycle over.”

  “With pleasure!” Mike replied.

  I walked over and picked up the rifle Dalton had tossed away, as well as what turned out to be a Baofeng radio. It was on and I turned it off. “Dalton, did he make a call on this radio?”

  He shook his head. “No. He was too busy for that.”

  The rifle was a nice SKS. I opened the box magazine on the bottom and dropped the rounds out of it before closing it and cycling the action to get the chambered round out. Slinging it over my shoulder, I said, “If you want your rifle and radio back, it’ll be at the police department in Eustis. You can come there and try to convince me you weren’t up to no good.”

  “Don’t take my rifle. That ain’t right. I didn’t do anything to you,” he complained.

  “Maybe not,” Sarge replied. “But I got a feeling that was the idea. You can walk back and let your people know, we know what you’re up to.”

  “We’ll be distributing some food in town,” I said. “You’re welcome to come in for some of it.” He looked up at me, confusion painted on his face. “We’re here to help people,” I pointed to the truck and trailer. “We went and got all that to help people. Your folks are welcome to come and get some.”

  The Stryker came rolling past us. Dalton had pulled the motorcycle out to the far travel lane and Mike never slowed down as he ran over it. Braking, he reversed the huge beast back over it. The man on the ground shook his head, witnessing the destruction of something he couldn’t replace.

  “Why’d you do that? You offer me food, then crush my bike?”

  “I ain’t having you follow us to where we’re going. You’re welcomed to come to town. But not my house,” Sarge replied.

  The man looked down the road at the tanker. “So, you’re taking all the fuel to your house, huh? Gonna share the food, but not the fuel.”

  Sarge looked up at Dalton, squinting against the spitting rain. “Told you it was about the fuel.”

  “So, it would appear.”

  “Look here, sport. That fuel belongs to the Army. Now, if you want to tangle assholes with that, then go for it.”

  The man looked at the Stryker. “You guys are with the Army?”

  Sarge looked at me and shook his head before answering him. “Are you always this fucking stupid? Or is today a special occasion? Of course, we are! You can’t buy those things at Walmart, shithead!”

  Dalton reached down and pulled the man to his feet. “Time for you to kick rocks, bud.”

  The man paused for a moment, looking around. Dalton drew his pistol to encourage him and the man raised his hands and started walking away. Sarge looked at me and said, “You guys go on to the ranch. We’ll catch up. I’m just going to give this shitbird a minute to get gone.”

  I nodded and headed back to the truck. Climbing up into the cab, I released the airbrake and put the truck in gear. Looking back, I saw Ian was right behind me and the Stryker was rolling to catch up. Home was less than a half hour away and I couldn’t wait to get there. I wanted a nap. I wanted to see Mel and the girls. I wanted to get home, again. It was kind of funny to be returning along this same route again. At least this time I was driving.

  I looked over at the Pittman Center as I passed it. A smile started to spread across my face as I saw my road ahead.
It only grew wider the closer I got. Before I knew it, I was turning onto it. The tanker was huge, and it could easily become stuck back in our neighborhood. I could only think of one way to park it, so I could get it out.

  Waving at the smiling Guardsmen as I passed the bunker, I stopped the truck and backed into the road Sarge and Thad lived on. Getting the trailer onto the road, I backed down it for a way before pulling forward and parking it on the right side of the road. That way, it would be easy to turn left and leave when the time came. The airbrakes applied with a hiss and I shut it down.

  As I got out, a couple of the Guardsmen that were manning the bunker walked over. They were eyeing the truck up and down. “Where did you get this?” One of them asked.

  “Eglin,” I replied.

  Wallner, one of the Guardsmen, whistled, “Damn, that’s a long way.”

  “Yeah,” his partner replied. “And, so you know, Sheffield is pissed. He came by to check on us, and when he found out you guys were gone, he got really torqued off. Told us to leave, but we told him we were staying.”

  Wallner laughed. “Yeah. We eat way better here.”

  “If you guys think this truck is the shit,” I turned and pointed down the road, “Check this out.” I could hear the Stryker; and in a moment, it turned onto our road.

  “Holy shit!” Wallner exclaimed. “How the hell did you get that?”

  I shrugged, “I don’t know. Something the old man did.”

  The truck Jamie was driving was right behind the armored vehicle and turned onto our road as well. The Guardsmen were getting excited now.