Bittersweet Homecoming; Surviving the Black--Book 3 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  Grady handed me the map and ambled over to talk with Juanita.

  I turned to Tom, "Does Kurt want to stop by his house for anything?"

  "I'll ask. If we go, we'll take one of Grady's guys with us. I'll want to check Craig's leg and Ben's ribs first."

  I got in line for breakfast. A slab of corn mush covered by the diner’s choice of canned beef stew or chili. I picked chili. No coffee but it felt like the breakfast of champions.

  People were filling their personal bottles or canteens with water from one of the clean buckets. Others were dipping "dirty water" out of the lake to boil. Lois handed out vitamins, and others washed the dirty dishes in the lake.

  Rather than make suggestions, I watched the proceedings. Juanita put Mike, Tom, Craig, and Ben to work. The two infants, Grady, and I were the only people ambulatory without assignments. My mom and granny were going to love Juanita. They were kindred spirits.

  Joel and Allie slept like the dead in the back of the bus with all the kids told not to interrupt their sleep.

  I gathered wood for the rocket stoves. There were enough downed branches immediately around the parking lot to feed the flames. Our little stoves choked on anything over an inch thick, but one could always find suitable twigs in the woods. We could even split the bigger stuff with a hatchet or hunting knife if necessary.

  The refugees were fascinated by the little stoves. Once they understood what fuel to look for, we had a substantial pile of small branches stacked up beside Craig and Ben.

  Once the dishwashers returned from the lake, they dropped the dishes into a vat of boiling water. Someone brought a pair of tongs from the boats and used them to pull out the sterile dishes for use at the next meal. Once they removed the dishes and utensils, the pot returned to the stove. After three minutes at a rolling boil, they poured the rinse water through a boiled cloth into an empty drinking water bucket. The thought of drinking rinse water bothered me more than it should have.

  Kurt balked at returning to his old house. Instead, he helped keep the kids busy. The kids mostly looked after themselves. The oldest was very mature at 13, and the youngest two were rambunctious 3-year-olds. The kids worked their chores and played quietly, making it easy to forget their presence. While the middle age group had individual chores, the two oldest were full-time baby sitters for them all.

  Months of constant danger didn't just affect the adults. While I knew three were Andy's, I was starting to suspect the other four were orphans. The kids seemed to be everyone's while at the same time alone in the world. They never bothered the adults, except Lois and Juanita. Even Andy's kids showed little emotion towards him and vice versa. These kids were silent and kept mostly to themselves. A sad aspect of today's brutal world.

  From the way they eagerly accepted Kurt as one of them, I could tell they craved more attention. Something to address after we got back safely to the Valley. I tried to picture my brother Steve's girl, Ellie, in this situation, but it failed to materialize.

  American families crossing the far west on wagon trains knew that kind of life, not that many generations ago. We would survive it, too.

  Juanita was true to her word; she had the camp packed up within two hours.

  We put two ninjas in front. Mike volunteered as did one of Grady's men.

  I followed behind in a pickup with Grady navigating in the seat beside me. Allie and Joel slept. Grady, the scouts, drivers, and I reviewed the map during our break, so everyone was on the same page. Due to detours on the outbound trip to check on bridges, some of the route was new to us.

  Three of Grady's soldiers rode in the lead truck with Grady and me. Tom drove the next pickup truck; Jimmy drove the bus behind him. Jules drove the last pickup in the convoy.

  Every vehicle had at least one radio. The scouts would skirt any manned roadblocks, fighting only as a last result. If possible, they would escape, and we'd regroup and evaluate the best way to proceed. If ambushed and unable to escape, then the next two pickups would come to get them.

  If it looked like bullets would fly, the bus and Jules were to stop and protect the children and noncombatives.

  Convoys were vulnerable, but at least no one was using IEDs that we knew of.

  The area looked different during the daylight. More like home than the terrain we'd traveled through for days. It was hilly but lacked the steep ruggedness of eastern Kentucky.

  The convoy still had to avoid stalled cars parked haphazardly where they died, but it was easy enough. We slowed to a sedate pace after coming around too many curves right into a car parked in our lane. No collisions, but with an expected wait at the Cumberland River crossing, no reason to push it either.

  Most of the houses along TN 147 were away from the road. The buildings were tucked back into the trees or at the far edge of a clearing.

  I saw no signs of row or food crops, most of the cleared land seemed for hay or pasture. No cows or horses were visible in the pasture. Livestock was either in barns eating hay, or someone already ate them.

  The roads followed various streams, where the silt of ages laid down the best agricultural land in the region. These people might make it if they had enough seeds to start growing crops instead of pasture.

  Smoke from fireplaces and from new areas being cleared for farmland hung over the valley along TN 147. The stiff breeze at Kentucky Lake had eased. The puffs of wind remaining struggled to push the clinging smoke away. I suspected bonfires, or burning brush caused much of the smoke, but the dense trees blocked our view.

  Seeing signs of activity beyond just hunkering down gave me hope. One thing about this area had going for it was the high percentage of the homes with chimneys. They might be hungry, but they were probably warm.

  The town of Tennessee Ridge was more pasture than ridge. Newer all-electric homes squatted on old pasture land, abandoned for now. As we rumbled through town, we spotted people watching us from their windows. I expected to attract attention; I just didn't want to attract bullets.

  "How many of these people do you think have seeds for a garden?" Grady asked me.

  "Not many," I said. "There is no sign of last year’s gardens in the houses we've passed. A lot of lawn but no gardens. Even those planning a garden wouldn't buy seeds in the summer or fall to plant in the spring. Lack of seeds is a serious threat to many area’s survival, including this one."

  "About what I suspected," Grady said. "Did you know we have a strategic seed repository in Norway?"

  "I wish every town and city had one," I said. "Norway is too far away to do much good for our country. Maybe 100 years from now, our successors might find it useful."

  "My thoughts, too. I can't believe the Army didn't think of having seeds on hand as a contingency plan," Grady said.

  "Of all the prepper ideas, that is one of the cheapest," I said. "For less than $10 in mixed seeds, you can feed a neighborhood. Even hybrid ones would work for a while. True-type seeds cost a bit more, but only because there were so few people worried about feeding their families if shit happened. Most farmers are hurting now, too."

  "How so?" asked Grady.

  "Most farmers store seed like wheat or corn in commercial silos to use in the spring. Getting their seeds out of those facilities may not be easy. Some people will just want to eat it, not plant it," I said. "The Valley has our own silos, for those seeds. My mom is a seed hoarder, gathering seeds of all varieties for decades. Her obsession means the Valley is in good shape, seed wise. Setting aside seeds is probably one of the cheapest prep things we did. Of course, when Jules warned us about the CME, we emptied the stores. Most of what they stocked was left over from last spring."

  "Seed companies probably have warehouses full of seeds, but no one knows where," Grady said. "Finding and distributing those is something the Army could do."

  "They needed to start at least planning just after the CME," I said. "Some planting already started in the Valley. I don't know where the companies are, but I bet my mom does."

  "You
r mom sounds like a formidable woman," Grady said.

  "She is. She and Juanita are going to make an awesome team," I said. "My granny is no slouch, either. While I was recovering from getting shot, I helped them out. The pace they keep is exhausting. We brought more than 100 people in sooner than expected, then expanded to cover the town. That wasn't part of the plan. She tries to keep everyone working every day."

  "Wow," Grady said.

  I glanced over to make sure he wasn't making fun of my mom, but he seemed sincerely impressed.

  "Yeah, she wants as much done as possible to the infrastructure this winter. When it's time to plant, she wants everyone on that. If you want to learn about crop rotation and sequencing, plan to spend a week with my mom. Once our fields start producing, then it will be all about preserving the harvest to eat over the winter and spring," I said.

  "What about the rest of Huntsville?" he asked.

  "We are working with them. My mom made family packages of seeds to hand out in March for those registered with us," I said. "That has been part of the Mecklin Defender outreach."

  "Mecklin Defenders?" Grady asked.

  "It took a bit to get rid of the organized bad guys," I said. "Roger Carlton, Andy’s and Jules' dad, came up with a new name for our military branch. We try to keep the peace around Huntsville. Not part of our original plan, but it evolved.

  “The new plan requires everyone in our influence zone to feel safe. If they feel safe, they will plant crops and stay in their homes. We told everyone if they call, we will help. If they shoot at us, we will kill them. Roger thanks our badass reputation will keep us safe."

  "How do people know a Mecklin Defender from a raider?" Grady asked.

  "Purple. We wear purple helmet and arm swatches. Our vehicles have purple paint splashes. Our group is visiting every building in and around Huntsville. The objective is multi-layered, just like all Valley plans. The main one is to reconnect people. My guys are ambassadors, with body armor and weapons. When we find people, we invite them to take part in our network. As part of our network, they have access to a health clinic and some common supplies. We leave a solar powered radio for a group to share or in key locations. We invite them to check in on our daily broadcast or sooner if they spot something suspicious.

  "I assume you have seeds for those who weren't prepared?" Grady asked.

  "Yeah, right now, all we are offering are hybrids. My mom is working on expanding the heirloom seed availability. She is still encouraging them to treat each seed like diamonds and to gather seeds from this year's crop for the future. She hopes we can start supplementing their hybrid seeds with true-bearing seeds in a few years," I said.

  "Lots more complicated than I thought," Grady said.

  "We have a better supply of grain and corn seed," I said. "But if we save it for seed, then it won't be available for this year's table. Hungry people will want to eat next year's seed corn."

  “That all sounds very altruistic, I thought you said there were multiple objectives?” Grady asked.

  “Yeah, we either inventory or salvage everything we find in empty buildings,” I admitted. “We salvage all high-value items and anything we think might ruin before we get back to it. Some we put into community stores, and the rest comes to the Valley.”

  “Community stores?” Grady asked.

  “One of the benefits of being part of our network is access to the materials our sheriff stockpiled soon after the crash. As we mount salvage operations around the area, we add material to those stockpiles. Some in the Valley want to keep everything we salvage for ourselves. Others think it leaves us too vulnerable to resentment. The compromise is we place most first-tier salvage into common storage. First-tier is the stuff people need to survive the first year after SHTF, minus food,” I said.

  Our discussion unleashed a torrent of questions from the three men riding in the back seat. It made me wonder whether Grady already knew the answers to his questions but wanted to get his guys thinking about the future. Someday I planned to ask him, but it wouldn't be before we were safe at home in the Valley.

  Chapter 13

  My worries about dashing through Erin, Houston County's county seat, on Main Street proved unfounded. TN 49 formed its Main Street, and the road was clear. Someone pushed the abandoned cars to the curb, with westbound facing vehicles parked on both sides of the street.

  We passed the brick, concrete, and glass building housing the Houston County Courthouse, right on Main Street. It looked abandoned, although all the windows seemed intact. Some of the stores in the mini-mall across from it weren't so lucky. Looters smashed some and burned others completely to the ground. The town was fortunate the blazes spared much of the mini-mall.

  The community would miss the supplies from those trashed locations. The hill to the hospital was only about 10 feet higher than Main Street, but a wall of limestone sculpted out of the hillside blocked our view of it. We didn't detour to check it out and drove on. It was 10:15 and had traveled 20 miles since the ferry.

  By 10:30, we drove through the eastern edge of Cumberland City. The drive seemed to take so much longer outbound. We had less than 30 miles to the Zinc Plant Bridge. Did we really want to wait 10 or more hours to attempt the crossing?

  Grady and I picked the park just south of the crossing for our destination and radioed everyone to inform them. The stopped in front of the park’s entrance going outbound. A locked gate on the entrance announced its closure. The lock wouldn't stop us.

  Clouds now blocked the sun, but the overcast brought slightly warmer temperatures. Any precipitation last night would have fallen as snow or sleet. If the temperatures continued to mellow, today it would be rain. Cold, miserable rain, but in most ways better than snow. We pulled in to the turnoff for the park at around 11:30. Mike unlocked the gate unlocked and held it open for us to drive through.

  He would close the gate but not lock it, allowing us to leave in a hurry if needed. I let Juanita and Grady organize the camp. They arrayed the trucks pointed outward and the bus with the door side toward the back of the trucks. Someone pulled tarps and ropes out right away to set up the stoves, expecting the rains to come.

  I fetched small branches for fuel as others pulled them stoves out and set up pots.

  The sprinkles started only minutes after we got to the park and intensified gradually. We decided on three sentries. Grady and I ordered those needed on tonight’s raid to get some sleep, including Grady and me. Five men slept in the trucks, and the rest of us bunked in the bus.

  Tom, Andy, and one of Grady's men took the first watch.

  The sound of raindrops hitting the roof of the bus was surprisingly soothing, making it easy to block out other sounds and fall asleep. That plus exhaustion.

  It was still light and raining heavily when the sounds of AK 47s firing woke me up. I grabbed my rifle and my helmet and had the emergency door open on the back of the bus in seconds.

  "Keep the kids down," I shouted to Lois as I scrambled over other adults struggling to make sense of what had happened. Joel and Allie were on it, they hopped out the back, in full battle rattle, heading toward the sound of firing. I still had a radio from this morning's drive.

  "What is the sit rep?" I radioed.

  "An unknown number of hostiles at tree line on the northeast side," radioed Tom. "Moving to intercept."

  Grady was already deploying his forces to defend the bus. He stayed with that group and sent four soldiers and Dwayne toward Tom. Mike, Craig, and Ben were only a few yards behind Allie, Joel, and me.

  The radio situation sucked.

  "At least 10 shooters in the trees. Two friendlies down," Tom radioed.

  "We have 11 coming in behind you. Where do you need us?"

  "Craig, can you go high?"

  "Roger that, I'll mount a truck."

  "Ben should go with him," Tom said. "He is outgunned here, but can make sure no one sneaks up on Craig."

  I sent Ben to support Craig. Craig had the only radio in
that team.

  By now Grady's guys and Dwayne were hugging the pavement with rifles aiming into the woods. We could see our two downed men sprawled on the dead grass near the trees. I did a radio check and learned two of them had radios. I told them to send me anyone wearing armor but for the rest to remain in cover.

  That left it to us to get between them and the attacker. We were on the river side tree line with Tom. I could only see three tangoes. They were all downhill at about the same elevation, but Tom assured me the others were near them.

  No one was shooting, either they couldn't see us or they were just waiting to see what we would do. Time for grenades.

  I grabbed a grenade from my plate carrier, pulled the pin, and together, three of us lobbed grenades. I told the other three to open fire as soon as the grenades went off. I intended to use the confusion for three of us to take the ground between our downed men and the attackers.