Poor Madison was hit with some small blasts around the university and of course the Capitol building. Ms. Forward was gone.
Madison was about 30 minutes away and the twisting turning Hwy. 12 was looming in front of me.
Let’s see how this goes, I thought to myself as Cambridge disappeared in my rearview mirror.
7 Damn Pirates … Argh!
“Fuck me! Fuck me!” I screamed as I started taking fire about 10 minutes out of Cambridge. It started with a loud boom from a shotgun. I heard a hit the rear right quarter panel of my truck right after. Then all hell broke loose. It was the unmistakable crack of rifle shots multiple times and seeing the paint fly off my hood from the bullets skimming across it. There was also smaller arms fire coming from the North and South.
I instinctively hit the gas and reached back for my AR. Unfortunately for me and later for him, there was a pirate in the ditch with what looked like a Ruger 10-22 aimed right at me. He started to pound off rounds my way. One hit the tire I had secured on the front push-bar of my truck (I always had two spare tires and it looked cool in the front, kinda like I was on safari.) Most went in all different directions, but one grazed my windshield on the passenger side.
“Okay, asshole!” I pointed my truck at the lone gunman. It was over quick for him. What was left of him was between a big oak tree and the tire that was strapped to my front push-bar. My truck was now half in the ditch and the gunfire was getting closer. I slammed it in reverse but the tires were spinning. No time to play around with this. I had to get out and fight.
I bailed out of my truck with my AR in hand and took a quick look at my new hood ornament. Yup he’s deader than Elvis. I looked at the pile of mush that used to be a person. He reminded me of some of the grizzlier car accidents I investigated as a cop. It always amazed me how the human body can get twisted and contorted.
The gunfire sounded like a rifle of some kind and pistol rounds. It also sounded like it was getting closer. I went into some tall grass about 30 yards from my truck. I turned on my eotech and adjusted the brightness. I already had a round racked into the chamber and I took the safety off with a click of my thumb. I had decent concealment but my only cover was a dead tree I was half behind. It would have to do for now. I did have the higher ground and had a clear field of fire.
Judging by the crossfire they created and the poor shots they were, I was thinking they weren’t experienced soldiers. Not to mention they were wasting ammo and giving away their location by popping off rounds while looking for me. Amateurs to be sure, but I wasn’t foolish enough to let my guard down and underestimate my opponents.
I decided to let them come to me. I knew they would be interested in my truck and its contents. Two men eventually made their way to my truck. My rifle was at the low-ready and they were looking around the area by my truck. Funny, they didn’t look up at all. They were spread out and I wanted them to get close so I could kill them both quickly. I didn’t want to give them a chance to split up too far apart from each other. As soon as I started to shoot I would lose my advantage and it would be two against one. Or maybe they were smarter than I thought and there would be more waiting further away and this was just a small recon team.
They started to move closer towards my truck without clearing the area for me first. Those two are definitely amateurs, I thought as I moved my index finger to the trigger and started to slow down my breathing. My heart was beating hard and I did my best to slow it down.
One motioned the other one over to look inside my back window. They were now next to each other and it was time for me to take my shots. I went for the bigger one that also had an AR-15. His wasn’t as nice as mine. I don’t think he even had iron sights on his. The smaller guy had a semi-auto pistol in his hand.
Crack, crack, crack. I squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession and the big guy with the AR-15 crumbled to the ground. I aimed for his chest and put three rounds in there quickly. The smaller of the two ran away from me, but not after I got a chance to put one in his right shoulder.
Oh that’s just great, now I have to track one. I should have been able to take care of both of those assholes. I must be getting old. I carefully made my way down the hill after my prey. The rheumatoid arthritis in my body attacked my joints, including my fingers pretty bad. There were some days the swelling and pain made it almost impossible to pull the trigger. Not good for somebody who carried a gun for a living.
He was running fast at first, but he was losing blood and the adrenaline was starting to wear off. I metered around my truck and he was now staggering facing away from me. I steadied my rifle against the back of my truck and squeezed off two rounds that found their way in-between his shoulder blades. He crumpled to the ground with a soft thud.
I’m not much for shooting folks in the back, but I wasn’t going to give him a chance to turn and shoot or get back to wherever he was from and get reinforcements.
I approached the lifeless body and determined he wasn’t breathing. I slung my rifle and turned over the body. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I screamed. My body started to tremble uncontrollably. The face looking back at me was the face of a 16 or 17-year-old girl. She was just as deadly as a guy, but she was just a kid. Fucking pirates! Using kids and girls at that!
No time to feel bad, or feel anything else for that matter. I had to stay sharp and keep my wits about me. She could have friends nearby and the gunfire could have them heading this way. I gently covered her with some branches and walked away. I went back to my truck to check out the big guy. The guy with the AR-15 was about 50 with a grey beard and mustache. He had a tattered flannel shirt and dirty jeans. Most of his teeth were gone and he stunk. Damn hillbilly! I was still mad as hell about the kid. I grabbed this redneck and rolled him into the ditch face down. I took a quick second and stood over him and yelled, “Argh!” How do you like me now, pirate?
I policed up my casings from up top by the tree and by my truck. I didn’t need anybody figuring out it was my gun that did the killing today. Not that I wasn’t justified in my action, because I was. I just didn’t need any complications.
I did a quick perimeter check and found the guy with the shotgun on his back with the top part of his head missing. The guy with the AR-15 shot him in the crossfire. He had an old Remington pump shotgun by his side. I let him and his old rusty shotgun be. No time to mess with him.
I made my way back to my truck and walked around it quickly inspecting it. There were bb holes in the rear quarter where the shotgun hit it. Stupid son of a bitch, he was using bird shot. I shook my head. Lucky day for me and my 4-Runner.
I observed the rest of the hits on the hood from the AR-15 and the broken glass on the windshield from the guy with the .22. I was lucky that there was no real damage to my truck and I was able to maneuver it out of the ditch when I put it in 4-wheel drive.
I drove off looking in the rear view mirror and kept thinking of the kid. I had to keep sharp though, keeping a close eye out on the horizon. Madison was getting close now. Time to take it down a notch and keep cool. There was a chance I would be interacting with border guards. No need to be all panicky.
8 Madison Part 1
The familiar beltline highway loomed ahead of me and I couldn’t have been happier. I managed to get a hold of Ben and told him about my experience with the pirates. I of course, wanted this report to be anonymous. I couldn’t afford to be tied down with red tape. I also told him about the kid. I still felt terrible about this, but I’m glad I was alive and she wasn’t if I had to choose. Ben told me I wasn’t the first one to have run-ins with this group. He said he would contact the feds and have them take care of it.
Ben had done his fair share of killing also. You never get used to it, you just have to deal with it. He knew I was upset and gave reassuring words of comfort.
The guard shack was up ahead and I was behind a Subaru. There were two soldiers working at the shack. Both were very military looking and didn
’t crack a smile. They had the driver get out of the vehicle and they searched the Subaru. Ah for fuck’s sakes! They’re going to go through my shit too, I thought to myself as the guards waved me to the spot they were standing next to.
“Turn off your engine sir,” the soldier on my side said sternly. I immediately gave him my police ID and civilian driver’s license. His partner was on the passenger side started looking inside my truck. He was also looking at the broken part of the windshield and the paint scrapes from where the Pirates rounds grazed my hood.
The guard on my side took my IDs and scanned them on the electronic portable device he had in his hand. He handed them back to me and asked, “What is your business in Madison today sir?”
“I’m here to visit a sick friend,” I said as my palms were sweating puddles and my heart was beating out of my shirt. I’ve been in sticky situations before and was good at hiding my emotions. This time was no different and the guard give me back my IDs and waive me through.
I started out my trusty 4-Runner and slowly proceeded down the street towards Frank’s house. 10 minutes went by and I was in front of Frank’s house.
You couldn’t miss Frank’s house. It was a bright pink Adobe with a stucco exterior and a flat rubber roof. It was one-of-a-kind just like Frank. He an old Chevy 4 x 4 that was parked in his gravel driveway. Oh yeah, you’re the only gravel driveway on the block also. It was steep and full of holes so you actually needed a 4 x 4 to get up at.
I walked up the treacherous side stairs to the front of his house and wrapped on his door hard.” State your business!” I heard of the muffled voice coming from inside the house. It was unmistakably Frank’s voice.
“I’m here selling Girl Scout cookies would you like some?” I asked and my best Girl Scout voice.
“Sean, you fucker! Get your Mick ass in here!” I walked in any quickly close the door behind me. He took off the breathing mask he had on and gave me a big hug.
“So I see you’re still worried about the air.”
“Alpha said it’s perfectly fine now,” I said with a good dash of sarcasm in my voice.
“You can believe them if you want to, but I feel better having the mask on when I open or close the door,” Frank said with equal parts of sarcasm and negativity.
Frank invited me in and I took a seat on his 70’s retro couch and he went into the kitchen and got us a couple of beers. “You know I don’t let just anybody drink my beer,” he said as he popped open a couple of Miller Lites. Certainly not my favorite, but I appreciated the cold beverage. Frank had electricity and that meant cold beverages. Yay us!
He sat down in the recliner next to me and went on to explain how he was in a government shelter for the first three months of the war. The government called them “communes.” They were actually underground bunkers. Frank was an Editor by trade and Alpha saw his potential usefulness, so off to the bunker he went. Didn’t have much choice. It gave them a nice feel of harmony and peace while the world was busy blowing itself up. This of course was Madison and there were plenty of hippies that loved the idea of a commune. His pod had about 50 people crammed in it. They survived on canned food and protein bars. “There was no such thing as a warm meal for us,” Frank said as he squirmed around in his chair.
“The stench from the portable johns and garbage was the worst part of all this.” I never took off my surgical mask, except to eat and drink. Frank also shared stories of the dead or near dead being taken out of the pod. Unfortunately, sometimes it would take days before they could get the dead out. “I’ll never forget that smell,” he said has he put his head down in his hands.
“What really bothered me, was when they took out the old and sick and you never saw them again,” Frank said while staring right through me shaking his head.
I shared my story of my boring and sometimes stressful existence in my basement. I also told him about the stranger who attacked me by my back door. I warned him make sure you know who is other side of the door before you open it. Frank nodded his head yes.
“I never open that door unless I know who’s on the other side,” Frank said while pointing at the double barrel coach shotgun I gave him as a birthday present a few years ago that was propped up next to the door.
I told Frank that I was here on a trial run to see how safe travel was. I told him that I haven’t heard from Colin and little Sean since the war started. I gave him some flyers and he agreed to put them up in the local grocery stores around what was left of the campus.
Frank reassured me that my boys were still alive, even though he really didn’t know. He was doing what a good friend should, he gave me hope. I told Frank about the Pirates on my way to Madison.
“What the hell is this world turning into?” He made his way to the fridge to get us another cold one.
“If I have another one you’re going to have a house guest,” I said as I dangled my keys in my hand.
“Of course you’re going to stay! It will be dark soon and I will not have you dodging Pirates in the middle of the night. That would just be stupid.” He gave me another beer.
Before I had another beer, Frank and I went out to my 4-Runner and emptied out the important contents. We brought all of my goodies inside where they would be safe.
I wasn’t planning on spending the night at Frank’s house when I started out my trek. But I didn’t plan on getting into a gun battle with land Pirates today either.
9 Madison Part 2
It was morning and the sun was peeking through the mini-blinds in Frank’s living room. Time to get my ass up. I looked at my hands and they were swollen and in a considerable amount of pain. My back was killing me and I had to stand up and stretch. Fucking arthritis! I gingerly sat back down.
“Feeling a little fuzzy this morning Sean?” Frank asked as he was walking a can of Pepsi towards me. He sat down in his chair with a cup of tea for himself.
“How much did I have to drink last night?” I asked as I looked at all the empties on his kitchen countertop.
“You don’t want to know,” Frank said with a smile on his face.
That would explain why I feel so shitty. That was stupid of me to do that last night, but I needed the stress relief. Frank asked me what was on my agenda for the rest of the day. I told him that I would be putting up flyers in the area where Collin had his apartment. I was also going to visit his apartment. This would be the first time I checked out his place since he went missing. Frank offered to go with me but I thought it would be best if I did this by myself. It still wasn’t one hundred percent safe out there and Frank was still worried about the air quality.
“I’m going to travel light my friend. Do you mind if I keep most of my stuff in your house?” I asked as I put the empty can of Pepsi on the counter next to all the empty cans of beer. I couldn’t afford to get anything taken out of my truck. I was going to stay in the city where there is a heavy police/military presence. The only weapons I would take would be my Ka-Bar and my Walther PP-K in an ankle holster.
Madison was weird about open carry of weapons, or concealed for that matter. It should have been no problem since I was an ex-police officer. I’ve heard stories of Madison police confiscating weapons even if you had the correct credentials. I couldn’t afford to take any chances with that. I shook Frank’s hand and thanked him again and headed to my truck.
“I’ll see you tonight pal,” I said as I got into my truck. Frank waved good bye and I could see a hint of a smile from under his mask.
Madison was a tough town to get around in because of all the one-way streets. Now some of the streets were rubble so that made things even more interesting. I was happy I had a four-wheel-drive vehicle. But even a four-wheel-drive couldn’t get through some of the streets. Besides, this was not a new truck and I had to take good care of her.
It was time to get out on foot so I parked my truck about a half a block from a police substation. I went inside the substation and told them I was an ex
-cop and explained I was there to put up fliers for my missing kids. I asked if they could keep an eye on my truck for me. The cop at the counter said she “couldn’t be bothered with babysitting a truck.”
So much for professional courtesy. Yet she did tell me to be careful because there were reports of street robberies in the area.
There wasn’t a lot of pedestrian traffic in this area and I made it to two local grocery stores. They had message boards like the ones back home for missing persons. I put up the flyers I made with Collin and Sean’s information and pictures. I stepped back and took a look, but it always choked me up a bit to see them up there.
I made my way to Collins apartment which was a four unit building close by. I had a friend with the local police check to see if Collin was there as soon as he could after it was safe to go out. Officer Nick O’Brien was a good friend. I had met him during some multi-jurisdictional training from a few years back. He was half Italian, half Irish, and 100% fun. Nick also spent some time in the army before he was a cop. He was evasive when I asked what he did while he was in. My guess was he was in an intelligence or something along those lines. I was also in something I really couldn’t talk about so we stayed away from the subject. We stomped many a brain cell together after training at night. “No luck,” is what Nick said when I contacted him a while ago. There was no sign of Collin. I thanked him for trying and asked if he could keep checking for me. I received a couple of similar reports from him and he stopped emailing me. I still don’t know what happened to him.
There was significant damage to the outside of the building but it was still standing. The red door was still intact and most of the green paint was still sticking on what was left of the structure. Colin had the apartment just inside the front door to the left. I remember like it was yesterday when I helped him move-in with little Sean’s help. He didn’t have much stuff but it was still a pain in the ass. It was a bitter sweet day my boy was grown-up and going to college.
Mad City: Book One of the Sean Walsh Post Apocalyptic Series Page 4