by Bobby Akart
“Alex and I used to enjoy watching Survivor on CBS,” said Madison, breaking the silence. “Jeff Probst would say that fire represents life, and when someone was voted off the island, their torch would be snuffed out. It was symbolic of their being removed from the remaining survivors.”
A few heads nodded and Madison, feeling philosophical, continued. “There was a time back in Nashville that I was prepared to give up. I almost asked Colton if we wouldn’t be better off in one of those FEMA camps. My breaking point was when the smoke filled the air from the fires burning to our west. I knew that it was a matter of time before we’d have to leave the home that we loved.”
She had the group’s attention now. Colton added, “A major substation had exploded due to the overwhelming power surge caused by the solar storm. There weren’t sufficient resources to put the resulting fires out and the dry, windy conditions at the time whipped the blazes into a frenzy.”
“One day, I reconciled that our home might be lost eventually,” continued Madison. “I gained strength from Colt and Alex. All of a sudden like, I hitched up my big-girl panties. I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.”
“I remember, Mom,” added Alex. She reached for a broken tree branch and stoked the fire, causing sparks to rise into the clear, cool night sky. “Daddy and I joined Mom for dinner and it looked like Thanksgiving, with grilled Spam, of course.”
The group laughed. Madison described the meal of grilled Spam topped with pineapple slices. She had wanted to make a nice meal before the family made a critical decision.
“Yeah, Mom simply said, ‘I think it’s time for us to leave,’” said Alex. “Daddy and I didn’t really argue. I guess, deep down, we knew it might happen eventually.”
“Is that when y’all decided to come down here?” asked Chase.
“Yes. We really didn’t have any other options. Along the way, we’d spot a place and consider it, but you didn’t know what might greet you at the end of those long country driveways.”
Jake stood and grabbed several logs for the fire, which was starting to die off. As he returned, he whispered to Chase, who immediately fetched some blankets from the house.
“I think I speak for everyone in saying we’re very lucky to have you all at Shiloh Ranch,” started Stubby. “You bring a lot to the table, and as circumstances continue to develop, I’m not sure we could’ve done it without you.”
“Thanks, Stubby,” said Madison. “You guys seem to be very well prepared. Did you scramble around like I did that last day, or have you always been ready for something like this?”
Stubby adjusted his hat and then turned up the collar on his coat as a cold breeze passed over them. “Madison, I’ve experienced a lot in my life. Did I ever tell you that I started out playing professional baseball?”
“No, really?” asked Alex as Chase wrapped a blanket around her. She smiled and thanked him.
“That’s right. I played a couple of years in the St. Louis Cardinals’ minor league organization after high school. That was a lot for a young man who was still wet behind the ears. Fortunately, Bessie saw what a wonderful catch I was and caught me at the altar one Saturday afternoon.”
Bessie began to laugh before slugging Stubby. “Keep it up, old man. If you don’t watch out, I’m gonna jerk a knot in your tail.”
“She means it too,” said Jake, laughing.
“Well, anyway, we got married and I gave baseball another year. Back then, they didn’t pay you a rookie salary in the six figures. In the minors, they paid you and you immediately spent it on room and board. You pretty much played for free just to have the opportunity.”
“Is that why you quit?” asked Madison.
“Not really. A lot of the fellas around here were joining the military to fight the Vietnam War. In a rural area like we’re in, there isn’t much opportunity for a young man growing up. You might get a job in the quarry, or you could run ’shine out of Mississippi. Mostly, I decided to join the Army because I needed a job, not necessarily out of a sense of patriotic duty.”
“Did you like it?” asked Alex.
Stubby laughed and leaned back on his tree stump, almost losing his balance. “I had these visions of wearing a uniform and shooting fancy guns, you know, mowing down the Viet Cong right and left. I’d seen too many war movies, I guess.”
“It wasn’t like that at all, was it, dear?” asked Bessie as she rubbed her husband’s shoulders. Madison was touched by the show of support and affection. She casually reached for Colton’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She wondered what their life would be like after fifty years of marriage.
“Bessie’s heard all these stories many times over the years. After boot camp, I was assigned to the 3rd Ranger Battalion at Fort Benning. I was hell-bent on becoming a Ranger, and after sixty days of the most physically demanding work in my life, I was officially an Army Ranger and on a plane for Cambodia.”
“Is that what you expected?” asked Madison.
“The destination, yes. The conditions on the ground and in the minds of my fellow Rangers was very different from what I expected. Cambodia was brutal. It was a soppin’ wet hell-hole of a jungle with the VC hiding behind every palm tree. They were brutal fighters and our guys were not really up to the task.”
Stubby seemed to become uncomfortable with the conversation and Madison wondered how her question had led them down this path. It was clear that the horrors of war were always on Stubby’s mind so that every event in life circled back to those dark days.
Stubby continued. “The 3rd Rangers and two other Ranger battalions participated in Operation Fishhook and Operation Parrot’s Beak. During this period in the war, Washington began to make battlefield decisions based upon political pressures at home. We’d be deployed on these operations only to be pulled back as the fight would begin. Soon, the orders received from command required us to break away and avoid shooting back in order to conserve our forces. The problem was the Viet Cong didn’t get the same orders. During Fishhook, we had a fierce firefight with the North Vietnamese that only ended because we lit up the jungle with napalm. We lost two-thirds of our unit.”
Stubby hung his head. Bessie comforted him as he gathered the strength to continue.
“Stubby was awarded a Silver Star for what he did that day,” said Bessie.
The group sat silently for a moment as Stubby gathered himself. When he regained his composure, he looked each of them in the eye. “We weren’t mentally prepared to fight. And by we I mean from the White House all the way down to those of us soaking our boots in the Cambodian swamps. After that day over forty years ago, I made a pledge to myself and Bessie that I’d never approach any challenge unprepared or uncommitted. I love my life, and I love my wife. I’ll be darned if I let anything cut our time together short. As I watched the napalm scorch the earth, that’s when the fire of survival began to burn in me.”
Chapter 18
1:00 p.m., October 10
Horse Barn
Shiloh Ranch
Alex followed Javy’s instructions with Snowflake by gradually fading out the pressure she used with her hand commands on the reins and increasing the leg pressure to perform basic tasks such as stopping, moving backward and forward, and changing the pace of his gait. Through practice together, Snowflake was now responding to Alex’s commands to change her speed from a walk to a trot and a full-speed gallop. Stubby called the training—extinguishing—the process fading out hand commands in favor of a more forceful leg command.
“Good girl,” whispered Alex into Snowflake’s ear as she rewarded her with a piece of apple picked from the orchard near the front gate. “I think you and I make a great team, Snowflake.” Snowflake agreed with a long, proud whinny to her fellow horses. As the sole Appaloosa on the farm, Snowflake probably felt special already. With Alex on her back, the difference was noticeable.
“Nobody has bonded with her except you, Alex,” said Stubby as he scruffed Snowflake�
��s forehead with his fingertips. “Continue practicing this every day. As your scavenging runs with Chase increase, you’ll find your hands full more often than you realize. Simple tasks like opening and closing gates can be done with leg commands. A well-trained horse is an incredible asset in the situation we’re in.”
Alex dismounted and rubbed Snowflake’s muzzle and the horse immediately responded happily. “You mentioned some other things we need to teach her. What are they?”
“You’ve done most of the common tasks already. We’ve taught her not to get spooked around flapping objects by riding her when the wind is blowing tarps, flags, and sheets. She’s comfortable trusting you to lead her through flowing creeks. You’ve got her dragging objects and leading another horse, which, believe it or not, can be a challenge.”
Alex dusted off her jeans and added a few other common tasks she’d accomplished. “I’ve taught her to be comfortable with me mounting on both sides and carrying two riders. I think it’s time for the final two difficult tasks.”
“Noise and fire,” added Stubby. “In the old westerns, you’d see the cowboy sending his horse at full gallop across the prairie, firing his revolver next to the horse’s ears. That’s not realistic. Nothing spooks a horse like a loud, sudden noise and fire.”
“Will it be hard to train her around fire?” asked Alex.
“Fire is a horse’s natural enemy,” replied Stubby. “Having her hang out with us last night during our campfire was a start. I don’t want to set too many fires intentionally for this purpose because the smoke can draw unnecessary attention to the ranch, but every time we cook over an open pit or burn trash, we’ll include her. She’ll eventually get used to it.”
Snowflake pushed her muzzle into Alex’s shoulder and seemed to smile.
“She knows we’re talking about her,” quipped Alex.
“Maybe.” Stubby laughed. “Horses are considered social creatures but more so toward each other. The debate about whether horses have feelings toward their rider is second only to the intense debate as to which gun is better, an AR-15 or an AK-47.”
“AR-15,” stated Alex dryly.
“Have you ever shot an AK-47?”
“No,” she replied. “But it doesn’t matter. AR-15 is the best.”
“All-righty then,” said Stubby. “AR-15 wins again. This leads us to how to turn Snowflake into a mounted shooting horse. It’s not impossible to teach your horse to accept having firearms fired from the saddle.”
“Where do we start?” asked Alex.
“With you, actually,” replied Stubby. “You’re gonna find it extremely difficult to shoot your beloved AR-15 while riding Snowflake. You’ll fire wildly and might even hit a target that you didn’t intend to shoot. For that reason, I’m going to suggest that you practice with your sidearm.”
“Okay,” said Alex. She patted the PT111 in her saddle holster. Everyone carried a long rifle and pistol at all times.
Stubby continued. “The other factor is noise. Your AR-15 has a muzzle brake attached, which helps with the recoil of the weapon, but it also has a tendency to direct sound and pressure waves back towards you. This will be harder on Snowflake’s ears. Over time, we might get lucky and find a suppressor for your gun, but in the meantime, practice using your handgun.”
They began walking toward the barn together, where Javy was preparing to feed hay to the horses in their stalls. He took the reins from Alex and got Snowflake settled in with the others. Stubby advised Javy of the plan and then he led Alex out of the barn. He grabbed Mrs. Keef’s Marlin .22-caliber rifle off the wall as they left.
“We’re gonna work this into our training regimen for Snowflake and all of the horses,” explained Stubby. “We have plenty of spare .22 rounds, so we’ll use them for this purpose.”
When they were roughly fifty yards from the barn, Stubby aimed into a dirt mound ahead of them and fired a single shot. He whispered a count of one, two, three and then fired again. The horses appeared to be a little agitated, but Stubby said he’d seen worse.
He repeated the process until he’d emptied the Marlin of its fourteen rounds. The whole process took less than two minutes. Javy walked out of the barn toward them.
“How’d they react?” asked Stubby.
“Okay,” replied Javy. “After six rounds, they ate and didn’t care.”
Stubby smiled and handed Javy the spent rifle. “Let’s continue this with every feeding daily. We want to do this every day so the horses begin to associate the gunfire with food. When they remain relaxed and keep their heads in the feed, then we can move on to the next step.
“In a couple of days, we’ll move closer to the barn and shoot from a location where Snowflake can see you,” Stubby continued. “Eventually, if she barely glances in your direction while the feeding and firing process takes place, we’ll be ready to start mounted and dismounted training.”
Javy turned and left for the barn. Stubby placed his arm around the taller Alex’s shoulders and led her toward the house.
“You’re a fast learner, Alex, and I suspect Snowflake is as well. In the next few days, we’ll have you practicing dry-fire routines with her. You’ll show her the weapon and allow her to sniff it. Over a week or so, in the same way you desensitized her to sheets blowing in the wind and crossing creeks, you’ll have her comfortable with carrying you during a gunfight.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Stubby stopped dead in his tracks and looked Alex in the eye. “Does it?”
“Does it what?”
“Does being in a gunfight sound good to you?”
“Well, um, no. I mean …”
“Gunfights are not glamorous, Alex. People get hurt and die. It’s not something anyone should look forward to.” Stubby didn’t appear to be angry with Alex, but rather he was concerned.
Alex was ashamed at her poor choice of words and looked at the ground while she was admonished by Stubby. “I know that.” She finally spoke in her defense as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’ve killed someone. I’ve shot at others several times. Stubby, I can’t think about the fact that I’m taking another human’s life or I won’t be able to do it. I just want to be ready so they don’t kill me.”
Stubby gave her a hug like he would his granddaughter if he had one. Alex broke down her façade for the first time since her arrival at Shiloh Ranch. The two shared a bonding moment that would give Alex the strength to survive in the weeks to come.
Chapter 19
4:00 p.m., October 12
Wyatt Farm
Shiloh
The smell of fresh bread hovered through the air as Bessie and Maria showed Madison the art of survival bread making. Hot loaves adorned the picnic table outside the pavilion, where Alex and Chase took turns cutting off a hunk and dipping it into fresh farm butter.
“That’s bannock bread, Alex,” said Bessie from behind the open fire. She was holding a heavy cast-iron skillet to flip over another loaf. “The Scots began making bannock a thousand years ago and it’s one of the easiest campfire breads to make. Really, the only trick is to make sure you don’t burn it.”
It was time for Madison to give it a try. She mixed two cups of flour with a couple of teaspoons baking powder. Two tablespoons of shortening and water allowed her to create a smooth consistency.
“We use pork fat from the hogs we hunt to oil the cast-iron pan,” said Bessie. Maria held the frying pan as Madison poured the mixture into the sizzling skillet. Maria placed the skillet on the grates and everyone watched for the next few minutes as the bread browned.
“Wow, this is heavy,” said Madison as she flipped the bannock bread over the first time.
“You guys use every part of the hog, don’t you?” asked Alex.
“Pretty much,” replied Bessie. “Everything has a use, including the charcoal created by these fires. We use it as an additive to the compost and the livestock feed if they’re having digestive problems.”
“It also has medicinal value,”
added Emily. “Activated charcoal is used for things like food poisoning, bee stings, and relieving trapped gas.”
“Great,” said Alex. She turned her attention back to Bessie, who was flipping the bannock bread in the skillet.
“If it flips nice and clean, it’s almost ready and you can remove it from the heat,” said Bessie. “It’s a fairly simple recipe and cooking process. We also use the same recipe to make bread on a stick. We wrap the dough around a small tree branch and cook it the same way except we add sugar in the mixture, and afterward we might add a little salt. It makes for a pretty good pretzel-style treat.”
Alex took a bite of the bread on a stick. It was incredible.
“The last thing we’ll make are some hoe cakes,” continued Bessie.
“What?” asked Alex as Chase snickered. She gave him the look, admonishing him for making fun of her.
“Hoe cakes in the real world are simply known as cornbread.” Bessie laughed. “You see, back in the pioneer days, garden tools served multiple purposes. A cast-iron hoe could be used to bake cornbread.”
“Oh, I see,” said Alex. “You said hoe.”
Bessie retrieved a wooden-handle hoe that had been parked by the fire in the center of the pavilion. The hot iron was smoking then began to sizzle as Maria dropped a thick clump of the mixture of cornmeal, flour, buttermilk and eggs onto the tool.
“You can also use an axe,” said Bessie.
Pop—pop—pop!
“Did you hear that?” asked Chase.
“What?” asked Alex.
“It sounded like gunshots coming from the Wyatts’ place.”
“It might’ve been the fire. I didn’t hear—”
“No, swear, I heard it,” he shot back.
Pop—pop—pop!
BOOM! BOOM!
Pop—pop—pop—pop!
“No doubt about it,” said Chase. “C’mon, Alex!”