Sharecropping The Apocalypse: A Prepper is Cast Adrift

by Ron Foster

  “That wasn’t funny David. What else you got in there? Hopefully no dynamite!” Julie said making her own more appropriate joke.

  “Ha! You have been listening! I can do something like fishing with grenades with MRE heaters and pop bottles but no I don’t have any explosives.” David said smiling and remembering how he had answered a question of hers once. “David what works best to hunt game with?” His answer was pretty simple. “Just get you a list of fish and game laws and whatever is illegal is what works best!” had been his serious but humorous reply.

  “Thanks for reminding me though of nefarious ways to catch things. How many of those cheap floating LED lanterns we got?” David asked.

  “The ones with those square batteries? We can spare a few. You going to use them for fishing?” Julie asked, thinking David might make a lighted fish buoy to use with a cast net.

  “No, that’s a thought though. Never tried that on freshwater fish, hum should work. No they are for doing the deer in the headlights routine or shining up some raccoons or possums in the trees.” David said opening a duffle bag to once again review the contents and try to figure out what else he might be able to add if he had it around the house and had enough to spare.

  4

  STRANDED

  The narrow paved road leading up to the parks pavilion climbed up a steep hill winding through the woods towards the facility’s entrance and restrooms. This was the official assembly area for the guests of this Corp of Engineers campground. To continue to call them guests of a federal reserve was a bad joke now as the residents of the campground usually referred to themselves with any number of more appropriate names like, survivor, refugee or even castaways. No matter what an outside observer might call the mix of people already waiting at the large wooden pavilion or trudging towards it for a meeting, they all shared the same plight of being stranded on the peninsula and surrounded by water. Having the water round no matter how murky or questionable it was, was regarded a blessing. Problem was it also kept them from accessing any food or escape to the mainland.

  The campground used to sit on a large wooded bluff situated between two dammed rivers that formed a lake but after a terrorist attack destroyed parts of the dams, the reservoir overflowed and the rivers returned to their natural courses. This event flooded much of the lower elevation land that was subject to the rivers whims before the dams had been built and currently held second growth pine plantations.

  No one really knew how much damage was caused by the attack upriver from them, because the roads leading out of the campgrounds and the dam crossings were now all submerged. Crick Miller (Crick as in Creek, you know kind of how some of us good old boys in Alabama and elsewhere pronounce the name of a small stream) remembered the night the seventy or so park guests heard two gigantic earth shaking explosions and then about an hour later were further jolted and confused by the sound of rushing water and cracking trees as the water that was formerly held back by dam flood gates was suddenly released in an onslaught spilling tons of earth, concrete and swirled debris and smashed boats by them in the river channel at the bottom of the bluff.

  Crick still couldn’t for the life of him ever forget the eerie but awesome specter of a huge white tug boat and a steely black coal barge being swept by his vantage point overlooking the lakes impoundment late one evening. The tug had all its bright running lights still on, the crew on the deck was hanging on for dear life dressed in their red life jackets and it’s captain was blaring its shrill horn in a panic of long and short roaring bursts. The boat was being dragged sideways by the twisted steel cables attaching it to the barge and it looked like it would have been swamped and sunk momentarily until all of the sudden a cable broke loose and the boat started to spin and flounder in the opposite direction while still being dragged by the ferocious current caused by the hydroelectric dam failure.

  Crick didn’t know if the courageous captain or crew ever regained control of their boat but the next morning when he and the other campsites awoke after a fearful night spent on higher ground for safety’s sake they saw a tragic sight. The disheveled and bedraggled campers came down slowly but methodically in a group to the main campgrounds to survey the carnage and gauge the flooding rivers rise or fall and after poking around his own trailer for a bit, he looked upstream from an observation deck and spied the coal barge about a mile down river, run hard aground on the opposite shore. All through the long dark night before this sighting, people had tuned to their radios listening for some news on what might have caused this catastrophe but heard nothing. The local radio stations were silent but the larger transmitters elsewhere only said two power stations had unexplained explosions and were being investigated by the authorities.

  Refugees are people who have crossed an international frontier and are at risk or have been victims of persecution in their country of origin. Internally displaced persons (IDPs), on the other hand, have not crossed an international frontier, but have, for whatever reason, also fled their homes. Folks stuck at Prepper Stock just decided to call themselves homeless for the moment.

  The next morning’s radio news was even sparser and much more disturbing. News of a cyber-attack of unknown origin had taken down the electrical grid on most of the eastern seaboard and California’s grid was faltering. That bad day had occurred three weeks ago and things had just gotten worse from then on. Tents were struck, trailers were hitched as everyone scurried to break camp and get the hell out of dodge and head home to ride the disaster out. Everyone knew why they didn’t have power at the campground and was nonplussed about it. After all, they were here to be camping anyway so most people barely missed it’s convenience. Not having water for the campgrounds restrooms and showers was missed rather quickly night one when the toilets didn’t flush. The explosions they all heard happened about 1:30 in the morning and had rousted everyone to action and bleary eyed sleepers and late night revelers both wandered from campsite to campsite checking on friends and questioning others as to what the hell had just happened.

  LowBuck had been up at settlers’ camp having himself a well-deserved drink with Pop and his crew who were supervising the all-night vigil of cooking a whole hog by slowly feeding seasoned hardwood split logs into a stainless steel commercial smoker. His wife, Cat, had gone back to their campsite previously to go to bed earlier and let LowBuck play with his buddies and get herself some much needed rest.

  LowBuck heard the explosions echoing off the lake and being misguided from the woods playing with the sounds couldn’t quite place from which direction they came from.

  “Ramro! What the hell was that? Where in the world did that sound come from?” LowBuck said looking in the direction of the shoreline campsites where his wife lay sleeping.

  “Man I have got no freaking idea what that was. Gave me a hell of a start I thought I saw a big blue white flash off to our right but we were all staring into that cooker with our flashlights blazing at and admiring that hog when it happened. Let me turn this lantern off and see if we can see any fire.” Ramro said after he turned off the Coleman lamp and then eight or so people tried to scrutinize the dark woods with night blindness as their eyes tried to adjust to and make out objects in the darkness.

  “I can’t see a damn thing.” LowBuck grumbled as various voices declared their assent and lack of vision in this pitch black woods.

  “I am going to go check on my wife and make sure that she is alright.” LowBuck said turning on his flashlight and blinding everyone after they stood listening and trying to get their night vision working.

  “I got to go see about and check on mine also.” Ramro said, helping LowBuck round up the small blue and white cooler they were sharing and the rest of the adult beverage supplies.

  “It could have been a couple of them gas wells you seen coming in from the main road or it might be something to do with the dam`s electrical substation.” Morgan said walking over to the pair.

  “I didn’t know what those things were pumping. Looks like th
ose rigs you see in Texas pumping oil, so they’re for natural gas then?” Ramro asked clutching the cooler and a brown paper bag.

  “Yea, those things are all over the place around here. I never heard of one blowing up or a gas fire before, but I would say that is a likely possibility or could be something happened over by the main dam.” Morgan said clutching his own bar supplies.

  “Where is Crick at?” LowBuck asked about Morgan’s sidekick and long-term friend.

  “I don’t know off hand. Him and BcTruck were talking about those rocket stoves of his when I left the campsite to come down here for a bit and see what was happening. He said he was going to be coming down here most likely about now but as you know he ain`t here.’ Morgan said as Modoc and SoCal joined the conversation with Pops and, RCchop following them over.

  “So Morgan, you think that loud noise was caused by a couple of gas well pumps going off?” SoCal asked trying to fathom what the risk of them setting national forests on fire was.

  “I said that was one possibility. Those explosions were not like any I have ever heard before, dang sure were loud enough. They were like Da Dump, one went off to our right and a second or two after the first I heard one off to our left. There are two power stations in both directions but there is also those rocker pumps pumping gas everywhere and on whose ever land has a lease. Those big bangs sounded pretty damn close though but the woods and lake can amplify or muffle things. I will tell you one thing; it was a hell of a lot louder set of booms than a couple big transformers make normally blowing out in a thunderstorm.” Morgan said taking a nervous sip from a red solo cup while fidgeting with his unlit flashlight and grocery bag in his other hand trying to decide whether to put it down or not.

  Morgan and Crick were everyone’s go to guys for all things concerning local information. The pair had grown up together and still lived in the general area so their advice was sought after by all, regarding where liquor and grocery stores were, road access, camp rules etc.

  “I know that you and Crick got your shit together but did you all actually physically inspect all those ammo cans you got stacked up at your camp?” SoCal said flashing his Hollywood smile at Morgan.

  “What do you mean? Oh, I got it. Funny, no it wasn’t us that made anything go boom. I mean all me and Crick did was just enjoy buying a government military surplus deal on a pallet of cans was all. Empty ammo cans for caches or stashes was the order of the day. Those things are dear in price if you try buying them one at a time,” Morgan said for SoCals edification.

  “Tell me about it brother. Government castoffs ain`t what they used to be price wise. By the way, I am still laughing like hell you got that Taj Mahal of a trailer you are staying in propped up by 50 cal ammo cans.” Socal said laughing and reviving the mental picture he got when first observing things.

  “Hey, they are great items and most preppers don’t really know how functional or versatile and durable they are without a demonstration.” Morgan said grinning.

  “Well, you got me sold on durability, I never seen that done before. I just remembered that you had a stack of 120 millimeter mortar cans off to the side and I considered you might have had an oversight.” SoCal said, not sure if LowBuck knew he was just joking about the possibility of loose mortar rounds going off.

  “I got to go check on the wife, I am sure your government surplus booty is ok. Those inspectors for that crap got checklists out the wazoo to assure its safety before you buy and I was just joking that a round might of went off. Still and all though those inspectors are human and can still make mistakes.”

  “Are you all about ready?” Morgan asked.

  ” Downhill always beats uphill, let’s get going and go check on folks.” LowBuck said leading the way back down the trail to their prepper community campsites.

  It was a community, a community of like, minded souls that had gathered under his banner and YouTube channel of what was referred by one and all as Prepper Stock 2014. This was the biggest congregation of preppers in one location under that black and yellow banner that had occurred to date and everyone was having great fun.

  Preppers had streamed in to Alabama to attend the gathering from as far as northern California and as close as across the river for folks like Crick and Morgan. It had been a magical and mystical assemblage of like minds that couldn’t be more different in geographic, racial, economic or otherwise ties. Many hours and days had passed for those who had counted the months to attend this prestigious celebration of preparedness from the last great meet up. Many of the participants had been on the LowBuck bandwagon from day one and could say they had attended every Prepper Stock to date from the first originating one.

  Many folks like LowBuck’s friend David couldn’t afford to go to every one of the Prepper Stock assemblies due to mileage but had evidenced support in a myriad of other ways to the events they missed in presence but not in spirit. David had pledged what little bit of treasure he had as well as his full faith and support to Lowbuck from the first conception of the event by the man over the years. David wrote about him and shared supporters the same as if they were both neighbors working on a block party but their allegiance to each other went much farther than that.

  Times had changed for everyone in the ever evolving internet and changing prepper community to the point of who used to be on top of YouTube channels had faded away and the books David had written including them as characters were passé to a new generation. Didn’t matter too much on the surface to LowBuck and David that fame was but a fleeting image. Neither had joined the prepper community or advocated for Tea Party views because they had some prior views that their acceptance as a voice of the community could do anything other than inform and help prepare others. You know what preppers are? They all start humble with but one hope. Every single blogger, youtuber, author, follower, subscriber, participant etc. had only one goal in life that they somehow grew into. We all agonized, we all questioned ourselves and dealt with the same rejections to a preparedness message we were not quite sure why we were so vociferously declaring.

  The other blocks of campsites next to the prepper community were sparsely occupied by the regular RV type travelers and campers. The lights were on their camps also and people looked anxiously out into the night towards the lakes shore.

  LowBuck and Ramro checked on their wives and then they all gathered on a campsites deck looking over the moon lit lake. They stood talking about what might have occurred and it took them a bit to notice that the dam lights off in the distance were no longer visible.

  “I guess something happened to that power station over there…” LowBuck began before the dull roar of rushing water gave them all cause for alarm.

  “That doesn’t sound good, look over there at the shoreline! They must have opened the floodgates.” Ramro declared as water started to wildly splash and lap the shore.

  “Hey what’s up guys?” Crick said as he and Morgan joined he group.

  “Ramro said they must have released the floodgates.” Cat said staring out at the dimly moon lit turbulent waters.

  “I dunno, I been around when they have done that before and it don’t sound nothing like that. They usually also sound a warning siren.” Crick said studying the turbulent churning waters.

  5

  CALLED TO ORDER

  LowBuck looked around at the assembled crowd and told Crick they might as well get the meeting started for today as it looked like everyone that was coming was now here. Earlier today he, Crick and Morgan made the rounds to all the campsites and left word they were having assembly at 2 Pm today. Assembly was called pretty regularly as desperation and realizations became apparent from their plight of being stranded on what was now essentially an island.

  There were no real cadre or leadership designations amongst the community. The preppers had organized themselves into “solution groups” to think tank out or implement measures to try to survive this disaster as best they could. Groups were pretty much organized around skill set
s and natural leaders or highly skilled individuals naturally filled necessary spokesperson roles or task foreman jobs.

  LowBuck, as the organizer and originator of Prepper Stock, basically retained his role to act as chairman for all meetings and general organization. There were tons of things that needed organizing and discussion. The community had to be mobilized to address the issues of sanitation, food procurement, how the hell to get off this island, etc.

  Previous assemblies had been held for all sorts of things. The community needed to assess who had fishing equipment and who didn’t. Who had trapping and snaring knowledge, who was marksman enough to think they could possibly take a deer with a pistol, did anyone have any better idea to collect water than to try and fill a container after navigating the steep slopes down to the river.

  A myriad of things all the sudden needed to be discussed and haggled over. Fishing sucked because all the campground fishing piers had been washed away and the water had only now calmed down. Deciding how 50 or so individuals should confine their foraging and hunting areas soon became apparent. Getting the agreements from the 20 or so non-prepper campers required some parlaying and diplomacy.

  At first everyone was very helpful and much more sharing with each other. As time progressed, people changed and became less helpful and more resentful. Sharing survival skills like edible plant identification became something to regret because now everyone competed for the same sparse resources. An empty trap or a sprung snare allowed creeping suspicion and jealously to cause discord and false accusations to surface.

  When the disaster had hit three weeks ago, the community was on its last day of Prepper Stock and the preppers had only whatever left over food they had brought for the event and their 72 hour kits to nourish themselves with. Everyone ate well that first day of the disaster as Pop Preppers’ smoked hog was shared around. Half of the hog and all of the bones, fat, skin etc. was saved in ice chests and shared out over the next couple days and a watery bone soup was cooked up in one of Crick’s steel 120mm ammo cans because no other pot could be had that was big enough for the last community supper.