Jack put down his teacup, and held out his hand, which Steve grasped. “God in heaven, I’m happy to see you and Peter again. We may walk out of here, and do some damage after all.” Jack reached over and shook Peter’s hand, after releasing Steve’s. I guess you’ve had all the adventure you needed, Peter.”
“You got that right,” Peter answered. “I figured we might be eating baked beans in the back yard for a couple of days after Y2K, but this damn war turned out to be more than I bargained for in the adventure category.”
“We do have some good news, rest-wise Jack,” Paul said. “Steve and Peter took out the helicopters, and we wiped out the bandits. It appears to be snowing like hell out there, so you and I can get some sleep before we move out, and try our base.”
“Sounds good to me, if you think it’s safe, but we’ll have to be ready if the weather breaks. I guess someone already reset our perimeter stuff, huh?”
“Peter and I set it up again, and added a little touch I thought you might just like,” Steve said. “You remember the movie Crocodile Dundee’, when those poachers were out shooting all the kangaroos, and Dundee propped one of the dead ‘Roos up, and took shots at them. Well, we propped up all the bodies out there, so they can’t go down, and stuck their weapons in their hands, rigged to fire with trip wires. When they figure that one out, the explosives are next. We’ll have plenty of warning, if we get approached by land.”
“I remember that part,” Jack replied. “It must have taken you guys a while to set that up.”
Jack stopped moving abruptly, and wrapped his arms across his chest. “Shit, no more of that, he hissed through gritted teeth. Maybe we better wrap my old pussy rib cage, before I pass out.”
Mitch and Paul helped Jack onto a chair, and took his shirt off. Jack looked down, and cringed. Mitch laughed. “I told you not to look down until we wrapped you. We put the kids on guard, so they wouldn’t get too close of a look. You can say hi to them properly later.”
Jack could see his entire chest and rib cage area looked like a thunderstorm of blues and grays. They brought over some soap, water, and towel. Mitch started to lather up a washcloth, when Jack grabbed it out of his hand. “Give me that you sadistic bastard. I want to be able to still breathe when I’m clean.”
Mitch shrugged while backing away. “Go ahead, but remember, we don’t have all night for you to dab at your little boo-boos.”
Everyone laughed at that except Jack, who had begun scrubbing his chest, and rib area, gingerly. The pain was excruciating, and his hand began to shake with the effort.
Steve laughed even harder. “God, what a cement head you are, Jack.”
“And then some,” Jack wheezed. After he finished, he toweled himself dry.
Mitch walked up with some Ben Gay ointment, and a surgical glove on, to apply it. Jack looked at him suspiciously. Mitch got a big dab of ointment on his gloved fingers and said, “relax Jack, it will all be over in no time flat. If you don’t cry, I promise to never call you an old pussy again.”
Mitch began spreading the ointment, as Jack gripped the sides of the chair, and gritted his teeth. He wondered if any of this would do him any good, when they had to move. He looked up momentarily, and saw his brother Paul, Steve, and Peter, had lined their chairs up so they could watch his torment. As he glanced their way, they waved at him comically.
“I’m glad I could be a diversion in your otherwise boring day,” Jack said through clenched teeth.
“This is better than a movie,” Steve quipped. “Remember the commiseration I got from this guy when I took a round in the shoulder Peter?”
Peter chuckled. “I think it went something like: It’s only a shoulder wound, you big baby’.”
“I was trying to take his mind off the pain,” Jack offered. “You knew that, right Steve?”
“Oh yeah,” Steve grinned in return, and waved his hand in front of him with a flourish. “Right back at you, Buddy.”
Chapter 7
The Introductions
“How do you guys know each other anyway?” Paul asked.
“Figures he wouldn’t even mention his best Bud’s name,” Steve replied.
“I couldn’t see the logic in speaking of the dead,” Jack replied, as Mitch taped the ace bandage in place. “That feels a lot better, Mitch.”
“We’re not dead Jack,” Peter chimed in.
“How the hell would I know that? Anyway, it would have been bad for moral. The kids didn’t want to know about dead friends of mine out in the woods. If I had thought you guys were still alive, we would have hooked up long ago. What I can’t understand is why no one at our bases said anything to us.”
“Probably didn’t want us to get together, the pricks,” Steve stated.
“Or they don’t share anything with each other, because of security,” Jack said. “There might be a lot of us out here spread all over the place. I’d like to think people are organizing again, after the plague, with all the time that has passed.”
“Are you going to tell me how you know each other or not,” Paul asked again.
“Your brother took care of our cars at his shop for over twenty years before this shit all broke loose,” Steve answered. “He didn’t fuck up too much, so we thought we would keep our business in Oakland.”
“Oh, so kind of you to bring those beat up junkers into my shop,” Jack said. “I was getting ready to buy that damn Chevy of yours, just so I wouldn’t have to work on it again. God, I dreaded seeing that damn car. I finally sold you my shop Buick, so you would have a decent car.”
Steve and Peter both began laughing at Jack’s mention of the car he had sold them, which irritated Jack. “What the hell are you two hyenas laughing at? Hell, that Buick was the finest car I ever owned, and you were damn lucky I had it for sale when you lost your leg.”
Mitch and Paul both sat up straighter, and looked in amazement at their brother, and then at Steve. Steve smiled widely at their apparent shock.
“Show them Steve,” Jack said.
Steve pulled up his right pants leg, and showed them his prosthetic leg to the knee. The brothers stared at it openmouthed, until Steve let his clothing drop back into place.
“I don’t believe it,” Paul said, shaking his head. “You move as well as anybody with two real legs.”
“That’s nothing, Paul,” Jack interrupted. “Steve has had his back fixed and fused. He’s like the six million-dollar-man. Pain is his middle name, and seeing him out here hopping around in the snow, now reminds me Mitch was right. Compared to Steve, I am an old pussy.”
“Compared to him,” Mitch added, “we’re all pussies. You’re different though, Jack, because as you said: you’re an old one.”
“Steve’s also older than I am,” Jack said.
“How did you lose it Steve,” Paul asked. “Were you in Nam?”
“He was there alright,” Jack stated. “He was there before either of us Paul: in the Marines. I told him one time to tell his buddies at a Marine reunion that he lost the leg in urban warfare. That right Steve?”
“They all liked the term too,” Steve affirmed.
“What do you mean by urban warfare,” Mitch asked.
“He drove a Volkswagen, another piece of junk, to work…” Jack began.
“Which you could never fix,” Steve interjected.
“Yeah, me work on a fucking Volkswagen: I don’t think so,” Jack replied. Jack readjusted his shirt, and leaned back in his chair slowly. He smiled up at Sarah, who came over and handed him another cup of tea, before returning to her post. “Anyhow, he drove this junk VW down 38th Avenue, at about one or two AM, every day, to get to the Bart station. He worked in San Francisco, and took Bart across the bridge: Bart, being Bay Area Rapid Transit. This punk ass gang used to car-jack people in the early dawn, on the corner of 38th and East 14th.”
“Your shop was on 38th wasn’t it Jack,” Paul asked.
“Yeah, but I was located up the street about a mile. Anyway, Steve stop
ped at the light, and one guy walked out in front of the car, and two guys approached from each side. Steve picked up the Glock he had under the seat, and when they saw he had a gun, the assholes ran. Peter was with him that time, and he also was armed. Did he change his pattern, or go down another street? Hell no, good old Steve just kept riding right down the same old street, at the same old time, in the same old car.”
“No offense Steve,” Paul said, “but why didn’t you go down a different street?”
“Because if I did, then I might as well have started wearing a dress,” Steve answered matter-of-factly. “These fucking gangs started thinking they owned Oakland. Your brother had some run-ins with the pricks too.”
“My shop was in the demilitarized zone,” Jack added, “but Steve and Peter lived in the combat zone. I didn’t see him for a while, which was unusual; because he used to stop occasionally, whether he needed to or not. He drove up one day, and he was limping with a special sandal on his foot. I asked him if he had stubbed his toe, and he tells me he took a round through the top of his foot: same location, same time, same car, and Steve driving by himself with the Glock on the seat next to him. Three guys approached the same as before, only the one coming up on Steve’s side started to reach for a gun, under his shirt. Steve grabbed the Glock, and stepped out of the car. He took a round through the foot, and blew the guy away. He took out the guy on the other side, and then nailed the one in front of the VW. The cops took their time getting there, and then arrested Steve, of course. He lost his job, because of the time he had to spend in court. He lost a countless amount of money in medical bills. Two of the assholes died, and the third ended up paralyzed: that was the good news. Later on, I got a call from Peter, about whether I had the Buick still for sale. He explained Steve’s foot became infected, and they had to take it off at the knee. Peter tells me Steve almost died in the hospital of the infection, and he needed a car he could get around in.”
“Six months later, Steve’s walking around, and playing basketball. He even shows up at the shop in his VW a couple of times, and can actually drive a stick. I went home, and told Joyce I thought I would be dead in the same circumstances, but Steve took the whole damn thing in stride. When all hell broke loose, while the kids were back in Ohio, and Joyce died, I thought of Steve. He and Peter had gone up to the mountains on one of those survivalist things. The crud died out pretty fast, after it started; and I thought maybe they were still alive, knowing him.”
“Considering the alternative after my accident,” Steve said, “I really had nothing else to do. I wanted to live, partly for my family, but partly because I didn’t want to give those bastards the satisfaction of dying. I thought the group I belonged to could handle it if anything bad went down. After Y2K really didn’t plunge everything into darkness, they kind of lost their way, like they were disappointed. In fact, the get together up in the mountains took place because most of these clowns were so disillusioned. When we heard about the bug bombs, and then the infiltration from down South, these guys went wacko. No one talked about armed resistance, or seeing if we could help out. All they wanted to do was hide, which was the right thing to do at first. After the plague died out, and we heard calls on the radio for able-bodied men to congregate at certain spots, everyone thought it was a trap. Peter and I volunteered to go down, and see what was happening. There were so many dead, we almost gave it up and left. When we went by your brother’s shop, someone was moving around in the office. I stopped to go and put a bullet into whoever it was, but then Wolf started barking, and Jack popped his head up. He looked right at us, as if he didn’t recognize us. He looked like hell.”
“Joyce had died in my arms, and her sister told me everyone we knew died back in Ohio,” Jack went on. “Then communications went down, and I closed the house up, and moved to the shop; where I could put a few things together, and take off in the old Ford Truck I had stored up there. I had a bitch of a time getting to the shop. I had been thinking about Steve and Peter, and then there they were. I freaked a little. I let them in. We compared notes, and decided to stay together for a time, until we found out how things were. They knew more about meeting points than I did. We made our way to the meeting place, but no one else did. A couple of cops were there, trying to enlist aid for the streets, but they didn’t know about the infiltration of troops coming up from South of the Border, or where the plague had come from.”
“After hearing that, I suggested we break in somewhere, and get some real weapons. As it turned out, we didn’t need to, because the street battles started soon after. Many of the infiltrators from China, Cuba, South America and Mexico surfaced, in mass, with weapons, and plenty of ammo. We ambushed a couple of trucks, carrying the arrogant pricks, and hit the jackpot. They were loaded with everything, including rocket launchers.”
“We also knew who to blame for what was going down,” Peter broke in. “The plague took care of millions, and the shock took out thousands more. These guys hiding right in our midst really caused some damage. They had their targets, and they were hitting them, one after another, without any resistance, other than a guy with a shotgun once in a while. We hit and moved, and had our own guerrilla war going. Anyone with a gun was welcome, and we collected a growing crew. Jack was crazier than my Dad. He soldiered point in everything like he didn’t care about anything. When we bushwhacked a truck in the city, he would map it out, lead it, and execute everyone in it afterwards. The Army finally showed up, and wanted to run the show.”
“Guys were getting a little goofy with being on the move all the time, and all the combat, but they were hanging in there,” Steve added. “We were all glad to see the Army show up. They passed out communications gear, and looked over our stores of supplies, and filled in what they could. They needed people in the mountains, because the cargo trucks were starting to run up from the South unopposed. In larger and larger numbers, they split off, going East and West at Route 80. Jack volunteered immediately. Peter and I tagged along. The Army was happy, because they had expected to lay waste to the city to get it back. Their computer sims had anticipated the infiltrators, after the fact. They had predicted infiltration units in control all along the coast. I guess their computers had a low opinion of an armed civilian force. They also thought our legal immigrants, and naturalized citizens, would just join right in on the other side. They got a big shock when they not only joined us; but infiltrated, and helped sabotage enemy units.”
Jack got up and stretched slowly, while everyone quieted. He flexed his arms, and grabbed his cup. “I’m going to get another cup of tea, and say hello to the kids. I should find out if I can walk without falling down. Steve will fill you in on my antics, whether I like it or not; but remember this, he was crazier than I ever thought of being before this shit ever even happened.”
Steve watched Jack walk to where they had the kettle of water simmering on the propane stove. He looked around, and smiled. “Bullshit. Jack was nuttier than a jar of moldy Planter’s Peanuts.”
The brothers and Peter laughed. Jack looked back frowning, and Steve gave him a little wave. “Anyway, we outfitted for the mountains, and took off in one of their all-terrain vehicles. Jack brought the old Ford along with his tools, and more ammo. Wolf had been with us the whole time, but city fighting really didn’t lend itself to Wolf’s talents. No one ever made it past him, when we were holed up for any length of time. He loved the base camp we set up, and took to circling it without being trained. Peter and I left to try and find our group. We found them a few weeks later, but they wanted nothing to do with the fighting. They had their families with them, and wanted to stay where they were. I told them if we lost it all, they’d get hunted down like dogs, but they didn’t care. We left them a radio, and took off with Jack, who was taking care of Wolf. The dog had been creased in a firefight the week before, and was just getting back on his paws. Jack had been radioing intel to our contact, and they gave us the order to do as much damage as humanly possible, until they said to st
op.”
“We started hitting everything coming down the road, and as I said, Jack got real wild. If not for the dog, he would have been dead. He took chances I never thought anyone would live to tell about. We amassed a major supply of weapons, and goods. With the ability to call in air strikes, we pretty much shut down their supply line in the area. They tried flying in with gun-ships back then, and got their butts blown to hell and back. Our jets were coming back on line, and we had surface to air stuff too. We kept on the move, after we started hitting them more often.”
“Steve,” Paul interjected. “Did they really throw you in jail for doing those guys who tried to car-jack you?”
“They tried to put me away for good; and between the lawyers and the medical bills, they managed to take everything but my sense of humor. I still had Peter to help - otherwise, I probably would have said fuck it. Which brings me to why we needed to get away from your brother. I still had Peter to look after, and life expectancy with Jack started taking a down turn. I guess things back east weren’t much better for you guys. How the hell did you all get back together?”
“Sarah and Jake were visiting Jack’s wife’s parents, and they were bored to tears, so Paul and I volunteered to take all the kids up camping in a place called Cook’s Forest in Pennsylvania. We rented a cabin for a couple of weeks, and left everyone else down in the flatlands,” Mitch explained. “Our wives didn’t want to come, as usual. The terrorists moved through every major airport, including Cleveland. Everyone we knew died.”
“The boom box we had taken with us took six D batteries to run without power. We stayed up there, because the emergency broadcasting told us not to return until they found out what happened. We listened in shifts, turning on the radio ten minutes an hour. Thank God Paul and I brought our 22 cal. rifles with us for plinking. Even with rationing, and raiding the local stores, we needed to hunt and gather to stay alive. Luckily the wells were all good, and the lake was high. We filled the tank in our station wagon two days before; and not having gone anywhere, we had plenty of fuel to get out of there when we heard the all clear.”
American Survival (DeLeo's Action Thriller Singles Book 5) Page 7