by Ron Foster
It was the luck of the draw and how far off you were located from such conflagrations of smoke and despair that set the tone for your own beginning of these end times and Farley considered himself lucky that he and his preps hadn’t gotten burned up yet. Whenever the yahoos started burning down their neighborhoods with unattended or unsafe cooking fires or did something else really stupid like they always did burning this or that in protest that they weren’t getting their entitlements, the cities in America would soon be smoking hulks from the uncontrolled fires and the raging firestorms they would cause.
Farley couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that fact. Yes, he had heard of millions of acres burned in wild fires and he had heard of the great fires in history that had devastated cities like San Francisco but nothing like the grand scale of firestorms going on nationwide now.
San Francisco was toast by the way, as well as most of California was, devastated from the quakes. The sky’s horizon around him was a constant red-black as fires burned out of control miles away. Reports of this or that major cities fires or vast woodlands burning uncontrollably droned on and on in travel advisories and alerts on the emergency broadcast channels to the extent that he decided that hell was now just part of living and he didn’t have any fireproof suit to escape it.
He had him, his preps and what passed for a semi-reliable bug out mobile with a half tank of gas to get the hell out of dodge and go somewhere safer for the moment but he had no idea what he would face on his way or experience once he arrived. The main thing was he didn’t want to get caught somewhere out of gas and trying to out run a fire on foot so the plan was to travel as close to water as he could and hope he didn’t get turned around too many times.
Distant memories of traveling some roads and the possible hazards on them plagued him. His normal course of travel for going to the lake traveled right across a small reservoir dam. As far as Farley knew, Alabama had only been hit with some minor quakes and that road might be o.k. but on the other hand it worried him and he found a detour around it but that detour had its own detours and now he was pretty much disoriented and confused.
That he had his preps and mostly good health to depend on he counted as a blessing and didn’t spend much of anytime feeling sorry for himself. He was better off than a lot of folks he figured and spending his youth hunting and fishing would give him some advantages but not a lot in surviving now. The main thing he decided that was in his favor is that he had experience gained from age and patience from facing life’s adversity before and keeping a positive outlook. He had a plan, he had knowledge to see it through and if he just could get a bit of luck on his side then maybe he might just make it a few more winters. Despair was not normally a part of his vocabulary and he sure didn’t need to let his guard down and allow any thoughts of ever giving up creep in. Hell, he thought optimistically, this is the biggest adventure he would ever go on and he planned on making the best of it to the best of his ability.
He wasn’t being overly optimistic, nor was he kidding himself in any way about the hazards and dangers he would be soon facing, he knew it was going to be brutal. He knew he could well die before 2 weeks were even out but he was boyishly thrilled at the prospect of utilizing old skills and new knowledge to overcome what he foresaw as a future.
“Shout at the Devil, you old Farley, you! Time to piss on the fire, howl at the moon and get this show on down the road. Hot damn, time to get ready for tomorrow while living it today!” He said to himself before opening his last hot can of beer and starting to organize his pack one more time with a different outlook on coming back after the supplies he was leaving.
“Man, I am going to be stove up as hell by the time I just get to the lake trying to hump this little bit of equipment. I need to be moving slow, pacing myself and eating well to even get that next 8 or so miles under my belt so just that part will take me a few days and I will still be pushing it. Let’s see that first 10 miles I might be able to hike in a day, no, break it into two days and don’t kill myself while I am trying to get used to this existence. Take yourself two days buddy and break in the boots and the body.” Farley thought sagely to himself.
He was wearing his well worn-in construction style cowboy boots with a heavy open tread but that new pair of low quarter hiking boots would be better on slippery rocks, etc., down by the lake. He damn sure wasn’t going to try breaking them in on a road march but decided they would go along for the journey in his pack anyway. He had toted a second pair of military issue combat boots in his pack as required by military wisdom when he was in the Army and he had cursed the extra weight then but just about now it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Hell, at least he didn’t have to carry a pair of rubber snow boots to go over them also now. Another set of clothes and 2 pairs of extra underwear and socks, ah add another shirt, a beachy looking civilian one just for the hell of it. He might want to look spiffy someday or just do the blend in vacationer thing. Blue jeans and OD long sleeve shirts was his outdoor camping thing usually but he had CAMO BDU’s (Battle dress uniform) in his gear. He also had civilian camo or what he called his deer hunting suits to consider, hell I bet half the world will be wearing that crap these days.” Farley thought thinking about deer hunting season and the folks that wandered in his Barbecue Joint hang out at this time of the year made it look like a RealTree camo convention.
“Gray man hell, you prepper folks worried about appearances, you should blend in with what folks are wearing or combinations thereof. O.k., no sense me going around full battle rattle looking like I am in the militia, I guess, and standing out though. Bad enough I am going full web gear.” Farley thought thinking of his LBE or military load bearing equipment. He knew the value in that stuff no matter how heavy or awkward it could be.
His field gear for this day was a pared down version of what he used to wear in the military and it was not something he could easily put in his pack or forget about its advantage in weight distribution when worn on the body. He had read a book way back when, called the Rural Ranger, that described a rig that he had taken mental notes on and he had customized them to meet his own needs that could sustain him all by itself if he lost his main pack or if he was just doing a lightweight day hike somewhere.
He had the normal web pistol belt with suspenders as the base to build off of. The thick nylon belt splayed the clip on his little pistol holster if he decided to wear it that way but he usually just left it in his pocket or on his regular pants leather belt holding up his jeans anyway. Main reason he wore it there was that he dumped the web gear every chance he got when resting or doing camp chores because of its weight and even though it was old style Army and open in construction, it was still hot to wear.
He had two one-quart canteen pouches on it. One pouch held water the other carried survival tabs which in a pinch could provide him with two weeks’ worth of food. On the back of his belt he had a military poncho rolled and folded over for ready access secured with the old military boot blousing rubbers he used to wear in the service to hike his highly starched pants up over his jump boots in the old uniform of the day.
A butt pack was affixed to his rig; however, it was empty for now and probably would remain so. Weight was his enemy and every single ounce added counted, o.k., just for the hell of it he would add a couple entrée only MRE’s to it for mental comfort but that was it!
Damn, sure won’t be comfortable a mile or two down the road bouncing against his ass but he could take solace in eating it and lightening his load. Next was his ammo pouch which contained a plastic box of 100 rounds of CCI mini mag 22 and 50 rounds of .380 and an extra clip for the rifle and his pistol.
He had an AK magazine pouch with a carefully assembled survival kit in it that broke his heart to remove but he had his roly bag one in his pack. He did take a few items out of it and added them to his survival vest that he customarily wore at times and winced at the thought that thing was even too hot to put on today and would ride in or o
n his pack also for deployment later.
He had his battle bandage in a compass case on his suspenders and managed to stick in it some extra water purification tabs and a few extra fish hooks. A beautiful Stag handled knife set on his side topped off the ensemble but he attached an empty M16 magazine to the belt anyway in case he wanted to reconfigure and add more items later.
“Food, food, glorious food, just what in the hell is it that I am going to carry with me?” Farley said to himself thinking of all that wealth he was leaving behind. I could sit around here and eat like hell first but that is just delaying the inevitable. Speaking of which…” Farley thought and stuffed two small rolls of the cardboard-removed camping kind of toilet paper into his formerly empty magazine pouch on his belt.
“This sucks, I got winter clothes, a rocket stove, lanterns, gardening equipment and a ton of other shit that is just going to get left right here by the wayside waiting on me to get back or get stolen. Maybe I ought to just go scout my area a bit and set up my new home right here where I washed up at?” Farley fumed to himself.
He could go scout the area better and have a better camp than he could hope for as far as supplies went or he could go on this crazy road march to hell and play survivor man when he got wherever he ended up at. No telling if he was on the right track to find that old cottage anyway. If he screwed up and took the wrong roads etc., it wasn’t like driving 15 minutes in a car either way could get him un-lost and correct any mistake he made in direction. Covering those distances on foot took days and what if he had overshot the place to begin with? One tired, trail-worn, sweaty old man in the big scheme of things wouldn’t matter to anybody except to make them worried that he was up to no good as he trudged down the road and if folks didn’t set the dogs on him, then some stupid ass kid playing zombie killer like one of the mindless videos they liked might just take a shot at him thinking he wanted the food that might be in this old dudes’ pack.
“You better think about that aspect, Farley, kids and folks in general ain`t what they used to be. The internet gamers that enjoyed whacking everybody and everything in their little made up post apocalyptic worlds had no idea how to interact with new modern day survivors let alone take care of themselves and that made them very dangerous. Shit, it’s been 10 weeks or better since this crap hit, how many starving dogs we got on the loose now besides them addle-headed zombie apocalypse believers?”
“I best cut me a staff before I leave here. I could shoot any dogs that might attack me but on the other hand, you got to remember that this is the country and everyone just lets them run loose in normal times and I am used to dealing with that.
You talk to the dogs nicely, you holler at them, you give their territory in front of a house as wide of a berth as you can while talking about them and watching them. You tell them no, you stay on your way so they know you’re leaving and not threatening the family they might be protecting, etc. Hey zombie boys, can you walk the country roads and get along with the dogs in the best of times?” No, this was some serious shit to have to think on and Farley didn’t like any of it.
“Damn crazy men and women getting off their mental medications or becoming paranoid was also a consideration. So was the number of so called sane people that would be over reacting to any perceived threat being real or otherwise. Maybe he should go night hunter mode?” Farley thought wondering how dark these woods would get shortly and knowing he probably wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face most likely.
Damn, he couldn’t even remember what phase the moon was in let alone think about walking up on a rattlesnake crossing the road in the dark. Do what comes naturally and what you know, Farley, and hopefully nature will eventually take over and teach you what she wants you to do. He considered many things in a whir of memories and once again began envisioning how long it would take him to shrug off his civilized manners and learn the way of the woods and jungle again.
Farley was tired, he had spent the night before in fitful late night sleep only to rise at first crack of dawn to begin his perilous bug out. Every turn, every creeping through darkened stop lights had played on his nerves and psyche as he white knuckled the steering wheel in bad areas. What fate had in store for him tomorrow he didn’t know, it felt like the dawn before another battle and he reminded himself to get his mind and any doubts or jitters under control before needing all his wits about him to see him through another day safely.
At least there were no mortars, missiles or artillery to face in the morning. No hidden machinegun nests to overcome but he needed to keep the threat of snipers in mind. Snipers were something that nobody ever got used to but he reminded himself you never hear the round that hits you.
“Enough with the war stories, Farley, you got a new battle ground and no team of brothers to assist you now. Ha, you always did want to try your hand at playing Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett and now by special arrangement you’re going to have to learn how to play with the Indians.” He thought bemused.
Farley was part Native American himself and the thought of him referring to the savages he might encounter as such irked him but he still talked and thought a bit like the Hollywood black and white westerns he grew up with to describe a frontiersman point of view.
“At least those old pioneers didn’t have to deal with feral dogs that had no fear of humans. I would take a bear or a pack of wolves over them domesticated dogs gone wild.” Farley thought, wondering how long it would be before all those strays everyone was probably letting loose on the world because they couldn’t feed them started packing up and getting a taste for human flesh from either the dead on the roads or their own hunting skills, he thought with a shudder.
“Wasn’t that time of the apocalypse yet mate, things were still kind of normal but with a disaster twist. Wasn’t that what he kept reminding himself? Ok, survival rifle remains packed, gun in normal but awkward ready position and I will keep one of those “whopper choppers” I got handy instead of carrying a staff.” Farley decided. A staff was sensible and wouldn’t give folks the cringes at him toting it versus that apocalyptic axe thing he was deciding on but on the other hand a long stick wasn’t as good for digging up tubers or looking Billy bad ass with walking up on somebody, even in a non-threatening manner.
It was our late great President Roosevelt that said “speak softly and carry a big stick” but Farley didn’t want to have to carry a staff and an axe on this first leg of his road trip. He considered carefully that he had seen many edible plants on the side of the road where he was at and it was going to be a long walk to where he was going.
Acclimating his body to consuming wild foods he would begin doing tomorrow because they were not as digestible to his city living body. Many plants and herbs possess characteristics that either aid or detract from the digestion. Many people might even be allergic to some of them. Farley figured that small doses of the wild foods that to his trained eye might be found in patches here and there abundantly could be introduced to his diet very slowly and also extend his long term storage food.
Now then, which ‘Whopper Chopper’ to take? Dang, that’s a hard question to answer. He liked the utility of the survival model Little Trucker multi tool axe but he also liked the reach of its full scale older brother. He had trapping, shelter building and defense in mind so he settled on the Big Boy, remembering just how mean a live bobcat could be in a snare that needed dispatching and all he had was a short stick to try to whop it with. Having settled on what he would carry on his person as for walking around gear, he cast his eyes towards his pack. What kind of food do I have in there anyway, he said to himself thinking that it’s contents of 72 hours worth of meals didn’t make too much sense because it was going to take him three days just to reach his destination and so he needed even more.
“Crap!” He thought. “Might as well get up now and go get more chow. I have been half ass thinking about it for some time now. MOUNTAIN HOUSE SEAFOOD CHOWDER! I am going to carry a whole damn can of that stuff
with me! It doesn’t weigh much and I can get a bunch of meals out of it and hell, that’s my favorite comfort food! I ain`t keen to think the lid will stay on it toting’ it around in my pack so I better stick it in a big zip lock or something so it doesn’t matter if it comes loose.” Farley thought as he exited the van and started digging through his stash for the umpteenth time today.
“What about that idea I had of eating up some of my storage before I left here?” Farley said to himself with a grin thinking to himself after all that a bowl of chowder would be pretty great to celebrate his success in getting to this side of the post apocalyptic world and hugged a can of it like a Teddy bear. Farley really likes that stuff.
I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring but I’ll be eating pretty well for a little bit. Now then, canned goods: that stuff weighs heavy but I didn’t buy any of the camping size portions of the dehydrated food, so canned stuff that doesn’t require water also has its plusses.
Farley was from the era of the military that started out on C rations. Daily rations of tin can food packed military style. This modern day version he created for himself with cans of chicken or turkey or what not were adequate but he forlornly remembered his favorite C-rat pork slices that you could no longer get in any form or fashion.