Fight Like a Man: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 1)

by L. L. Akers

  Paul, the neighborhood lawyer, yelled over the crowd, “Why would we do that? We won’t know when it’s on then, and we’ll just have to turn it back on again when the power comes back on.”

  Jake could see no one else knew where he was going with this. He gave an internal sigh—at least he hoped it was internal—at the lack of basic understanding of how city waste and water worked. “If you don’t turn it off at the road, when the pipes at the water plant clog up because the shit-choppers stop chopping, all that shitty water is gonna reverse and come back this way. Your toilets, your sinks, your tubs…will all be overflowing with sewage. Soon, you won’t be able to live with the stink, assuming you could stop the waves of waste flowing across your floors. Just turn them off.”

  He looked back over the crowd for any further arguments. That’s what he thought. Everyone was a big man until faced with shit. Literally.

  “Once your lines are shut down, you can’t use your toilets, not even if you add your own water. So, you’ll need to dig your own hole in the ground and make an outhouse. Get a five-gallon bucket and cut the bottom out, put it over the hole. You can probably take your toilet seat off and use it on the bucket rim for comfort. Or you could also use cut-down pool noodles, the Styrofoam floatie-kind, if you have them.

  But if the power stays out too long, I’d suggest a community latrine—actually two. One for the ladies, and one for the men. Dig a long, narrow, ditch-like pit, maybe twenty feet long. If you want to make it comfortable for those that aren’t used to squatting, then find some two by four lumber and build a sturdy narrow bench over it. Hang a coffee can on a tree or a post to keep your toilet paper dry and bugs out of it. Lots of people around here probably have lime for their yards; you can sprinkle that over the sh—er—waste, when it gets too smelly. You can nail or staple some sheets or something up for a privacy screen. If you don’t have lime, you can sprinkle the ashes from a fireplace, or fire pit on it to help with the smell—and the flies.”

  Curt, the HOA president, nudged the HOA secretary, Christie. “You getting all this?”

  She nodded as she continued to furiously scribble on a notepad.

  Jake had their full attention now. Most of this was common sense and he felt sure there was someone in this community who knew all this and much more. They just hadn’t spoke up yet.

  “I’m not saying this is gonna last a long while, but like my brother-in-law says, better to be prepared. With that in mind, don’t put your latrines near any gardens anyone might have, or might put in the future. Make sure the latrine is downhill from the gardens, or potential garden spots, and especially from any water source, if you find one.”

  He doubted that would happen. He wasn’t aware of any creek or pond nearby.

  “You need to start rationing water and food now. This neighborhood has enough people in it to either trade with each other, or simply band together and work as one big team. We have a doctor here. You never know when you or families may need one. Put him in charge of health and accidents. Pitch in to give him some supplies. I doubt the hospitals are open.”

  Jake looked around at the crowd, trying to remember what everyone else did for a living. He felt confident there were skills here that could help, but he just couldn’t remember them right now. If this kept on though, they’d discover who could do what eventually. Until then, everyone just needed to pitch in.

  “You’ve got strong men and boys. Some can do the latrine digging and someone’s gonna have to re-cover them up when they get too full and dig another. Going to need a lot of cooks for this many people, too, if you band together as a community, which I think you should if the power is not on in a week.

  If that happens, y’all need to designate one family that you trust to hold and inventory all the food. Someone else can work with them to plan meals for the community. Help each other. Form teams. Food team to cook. Laundry team. Firewood chopping team. Water treatment and carry team—you can use pool shock or chlorine to treat water for drinking or cooking with. Or Bleach. Or you can boil it.

  If you all work together and share the food and water, I’d make it a rule that if you don’t work, you don’t eat. Because you’re going to find there’s work to do all the time. Unless you’re physically unable to work at all. And the doctor needs to be the final word on that. I think most everyone can do something, though. Also, one of the most important things that needs to be done right now is to designate a security team. If all hell is breaking loose in town, it’ll be coming this way soon. Y’all asked for my opinion and I’m going to tell you, Tucker is your guy for that. Not only is he a martial arts specialist, but he’s smart, he knows how to shoot and fight, and he has his own guns. Let him pick his own team. Let him train them. If you want to keep what food you have, and keep this community safe, then give all your guns and ammo to the team to protect you.

  If the power comes back on, everyone agrees to give it all back and go back to their regular lives. I truly hope it goes that way soon. Until then, maybe put someone in charge of all the teams. Or put together a board to share that responsibility, a small group that can vote on big issues.”

  Curt stepped up in front of the crowd. “As the HOA president, I’ll be in charge. I’ll be sending the secretary and a team of a few people with carts to collect all the food to bring to one location.”

  The group went wild and tempers flared again.

  Jake cleared his throat and waved them silent. “With all due respect, Curt. This isn’t an HOA situation. This is a real-life situation. If you’re put in charge, I think you should be voted into that position fairly. In a democratic way. Every house gets one vote.”

  Curt grit his teeth and glared at first Jake, and then Tucker. “Look how that worked out for our country, huh?”

  Tucker tried to hide a grin. Curt hated President Trump, and several of the guys had tortured him by sneaking Trump for President signs in his yard at night for a solid year before Trump was elected. Jake had been a part of it; all in good fun.

  Someone in the crowd yelled out, “I think Jake should be in charge.”

  Several people audibly agreed.

  Jake shook his head. “Thank you, but I can’t. My wife isn’t home. She’s out of town. When she comes home, she’ll be going to her sister’s house first. That’s where I’m headed later. I may be back soon, but I don’t want that responsibility. There’s people here who are probably more than qualified to manage everything. I’d suggest you all sit down and decide what teams you need. Then take volunteers. Have the volunteers sign up and list any experience they have. If you’ve got a stay-at-home mom who’s volunteered in the school cafeteria, or maybe even a caterer, they’ve got experience cooking for crowds. And someone here might be over inventory at their company. They’d be your food and supply manager. Any law enforcement here? Retired military? They’d be an asset to the security team. Use your assets.”

  “Any other advice?” Tucker asked.

  Jake looked up into the air, thinking. “Empty your freezers and refrigerators now. First thing. Cook all the meat before it goes bad. You can cook it on the grill or over a fire, or some people might have camp-stoves. Cook it to eat just what you need. For the rest, you can smoke it, or dehydrate it to make jerky that will keep longer. You can also salt the pork and fish if you have enough salt—that’ll keep your meat good for a really long time, and don’t forget to use the salt you have on hand from your water softener systems.”

  He looked around the group for the few elderly couples that lived there. They didn’t socialize much but they were old enough that they might know a few things about long-term food preparation from watching their parents or grandparents.

  “There’s hunters in here, and elderly, which probably know how to salt meat for keeping long-term. Salt as much as you can to save it in case of hard times. Ration it. If you have vegetables that are going to go bad, collect all the canning jars you can find from the neighborhood. You’ll need lids and rings too. The meat can als
o be canned but it needs to be pressure-canned. If you have someone who knows how to safely ‘can’ the food for long-term storage, you can put all that up for later, just in case. Try to save the seeds from your veggies and produce if they’re heirloom to plant for more food. No one knows how long this will last. If you’re not sure what seeds to save, save them all. Nominate a garden specialist and have them take a look at what you got.

  If this keeps on, pick one good community gathering spot. Somewhere that has shade and plenty of space, and maybe near one of the swimming pools. Drag as many tables and chairs there as you can. Make it your community center. You’ll probably need three fires going all the time. Have someone rig some racks to hang the pots. One fire to constantly boil water for cooking and drinking. One fire for actually cooking over, and one fire for a laundry pot or hot water for sponge-baths for the kids.”

  A moan rolled through the crowd as people realized showers or full baths with hot water would be rare and a good bit of trouble for the near future.

  Jake was tapped out. He couldn’t think of anything else to suggest.

  “I’ve got to roll. I want to see my wife, and I aim to be there before she is. I wish you all luck and please, don’t fight each other anymore. Act like grown-ups, at least in front of the kids.”

  The next ten minutes was filled with the families that considered Jake and Gabby friends saying good bye and good luck to him. Soon, several people had sat down in a large circle, surrounded by the other neighbors standing behind them, and were writing down ideas that were being thrown at them for the different teams. Everyone seemed to be getting along fine.

  So far.

  Jake was ready to go.

  Tucker shook his hand. “Thanks, man. That was really helpful. I think we just needed someone everyone would listen to, to settle things down and get us started with a plan. I know there’s a lot of people who know this stuff but they’re afraid to speak up, or if they do speak up, Curt is going to argue with them. I’m glad you put him in his place.”

  Jake shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to do that. I was just stating a fact. This isn’t HOA business. First step for y’all is going to be to nominate someone to be in charge and vote on that. After that, everything’s on that guy. Or lady. Or board, I guess. Now, can I get that four-wheeler?”

  Jake grabbed his bag off the bike, and they walked as quickly as Jake could manage to Tucker’s second garage at the back of his lot. On the way there, Tucker told Jake what all he and his family had on hand. It was plenty to last a few weeks, maybe a month.

  The way he was talking, Jake wasn’t sure he would share with the neighborhood. Why should he? Some people probably had nothing. But Jake was leaving that up to them. He’d done his part, they could work out the details from here.

  When they reached the garage, Tucker’s wife, Katie, came out and gave Jake a big hug and told him to give one to Gabby for her. They stepped in, and Jake was surprised to see their kids, all at some level of teen or tween, sorting food into small meal groups and writing stuff down. They laughed at a joke Jake had missed, picking at one another. There were two boys, and two girls. Tucker had a houseful. And it was always a happy house. Jake smiled at the sibling camaraderie.

  “How soon you need this back? It’d be great if you let me drive it to the homestead, too.”

  Tucker didn’t seem very happy about that and hesitated to answer.

  “Wait, how ‘bout this?” Jake dug in his pocket and pulled out his house keys. He handed them to Tucker. “If you trust me with your four-wheeler, I’ll trust you with my house. If I’m not back here in one week, with your four-wheeler intact, you and Katie are welcome to any food or supplies you find at our house. Is that fair?”

  Tucker shook his head. “Naw, man. We’re not gonna take your stuff. You’ll get it back to me. My family is here, safe with me. I’m happy to help you get to yours.” Tucker nodded firmly and tried to give Jake his keys back.

  Jake refused to take the keys and instead started up the four-wheeler. “Hang onto those for me. The offer stands. At the very least, sneak in when no one is looking and get the freezer foods later today. I haven’t opened the door at all, some of it’ll still be good if you do it right away. No use in wasting it.”

  He stuck out his hand and Tucker grasped it firmly, and then pulled Jake into a one-armed hug. “You take care of yourself, Jake. Thanks again for getting us started, and if you can come back and help me herd these cats, please do.”

  Jake quickly returned the hug with a pat on Tucker’s back, and pulled back. “You take care of Katie and the kids—and my bike—and keep the cats of Tullymore safe. I’ll see ya later.”

  “Hey, you got a gun?”

  “Yeah, got one in my bag right here.”

  “How ‘bout you carry it on you. Things are already bad, man.”

  Jake dug through the bag and found the gun. He carefully stuck it behind him in his waistband and pulled his shirt over it, but not before Tucker saw his stomach.

  “Looks like you maybe you do need to ride that bike. Got a few extra pounds there, buddy.”

  Tucker was full of shit. While he was in much better shape, Jake was no slouch. They worked out together every few weeks and Tucker was constantly badgering him to do more, just to heckle him.

  “You worry about your own girlish figure,” Jake answered, and laughed. He hopped on the 4-wheeler and threw a hand up behind him, giving a quick wave goodbye.

  But if he’d had known then the shape Tucker would be in when they next met, he’d have held that last hug with his friend a bit longer and tighter.

  13

  Graysie

  Graysie huddled on her bed and opened the backpack her father had packed for her. The security guard had practically thrown it at her in his hurry to get away from the horrifying wave of menstruating young women.

  Her roommate, Becky, had disappeared again, luckily before the guard had brought her bag. She was glad to have the privacy. Whatever she found, she wasn’t sharing with Becky.

  The first thing she saw was an envelope with her name written in cursive across the front. She pulled out the two-page letter, and seeing it was also written in cursive, she leaned back on her pillows to read. Seeing her father’s handwriting—they called it their secret code, as schools had stopped teaching it and most of her friends couldn’t read or write cursive—squeezed her heart. She felt a lump building in her throat. She wished he could swoop in and take her home. They’d argued for so long about her not wanting to spend her weekends at the farm. She’d wanted to stay in Columbia, with her friends as much as she could. Now she wished she could take it all back. She’d give anything to be at the farm right this minute.

  The letter read:

  Graysie,

  If you’re reading this letter, one of two things have happened. Either 1) You’ve been partying all night and have the munchies, and you are looking for a quick snack, or 2) You’re in a serious situation and you need to get home. If it is number one, I’d ask that just this once, you listen to your stupid ‘ole dad and put this letter away, close the bag, and put it back in your car. Don’t even peek. There’s nothing in here you need right now, but everything that you might really need later. Please, do as I ask, this one time without question. Put it away.

  If it’s number two, flip the page and read on.

  Graysie turned the paper over.

  Okay, so you’re in a situation. I’m glad you remembered the bag. If you’re still reading, I’m assuming you’re at college, or somewhere else away from home. Your number one priority is to get home. Hear me? Get home, quick. You can do this. You’re a strong girl, you have your mother’s stubborn Irish streak to go along with those red curls and green eyes. I can’t say enough how sorry I am that we lost your mother at Hurricane Katrina. Even though I have Olivia now, my heart still bleeds for your mom. I loved—still love—her very much. She was your mom… but she was my wife.

  I imagine you’re getting angry now, as you do
each time I bring her up. I wish you’d let it go. It is true, I could’ve saved her, but I would have lost you. It was her wish that I went for you first. You won’t let me talk about this to you, and I don’t know if you truly remember, but you’d already gone under twice. I was closer to your mom, but you were in the most trouble. She begged me to go to you. I did it for both of us. I tried to get back to her after I had you to safety, but she was already gone. I followed her wishes, and I truly feel that now she’s watching over you. Watching over both of us. The things I’ve done at the farm, to be prepared for any other disaster, are for you. I won’t let you down again. But first things first, I need you here, where I can take care of you.

  Graysie swiped at her wet eyes. It was true. She had blamed her dad for not saving their mom. She’d couldn’t remember much of anything from that fateful day, but she’d been forced to listen to the story repeatedly. She knew he could only save one of them.

  She swallowed hard and vowed to finally let it go and stop holding it against him. He was her father. He did the best he could, and losing mom was just as hard on him as it was on her. She’d been a real ass to him.

  The three most important things you’ll need are water, food, and protection. I’ve taken care of the first two in this bag. The third thing can be found in your dorm. (I hope you’re in your dorm when you read this) You’ll be surprised to know when I was putting your bed together I did more than turn some screws. Lay down on the floor and crawl underneath your bed. Look in the far, far corner. Be careful with what you find!

  Graysie threw the letter down and jumped to the floor, lying on her stomach and scooting under. She pushed aside bins of shoes and several old notebooks and looked at the bottom of the mattress.