Long Road to Survival: The Prepper Series

by Lee Bradford

  “Neither did I,” Paul replied. “What do you think happened to Finch?”

  “You mean, do I think I killed him?”

  Paul shook his head. “To be honest, I’m not sure what I mean.”

  “All I can guarantee is he won’t be getting much use out of that eye anymore,” Buck said, proud of himself. “If we’d another few seconds alone, I woulda had time to slit his throat and finish that rapist for good.” Something in the direction of the gas station caught his attention. “Come on, let’s go. We’re not out of this yet.”

  The two men charged through the heavy brush until at last they reached a narrow paved road. No sooner had they done so than they spotted a woman driving a Ford pickup heading in their direction. Buck stood by the side of the road waving his bloody hands, trying frantically to get her to stop. Fear bloomed on her face as she drew closer and she laid on the horn as she swerved to avoid Buck. He threw his arms up in frustration as she sped by. “What is this world coming to? A time when our country is facing the greatest crisis of its history and people can’t stop to help those in need?”

  Paul shook his head in disbelief at the old man’s hypocrisy.

  Not a moment later, they caught the sound of another truck, this one coming fast. Both men turned and stared at the same time. The Hummer appeared, like some demonic mirage, and they were gripped by the surreal quality of watching their own vehicle hunt them down.

  “Quick,” Buck shouted. “We need to get off this road.”

  Just ahead was a residential street in a row of houses where they could hide. The two men scurried in that direction, Paul keeping the shotgun close at hand in case they’d been spotted. He knew well enough that even with the weapon in his hands and the pocketknife Buck was carrying they wouldn’t stand a chance. All they could do now was hide and pray that Finch’s men didn’t find them.

  Chapter 14

  Susan stood staring bleakly at the near empty cupboard in Autumn’s new Atlanta apartment. She was punishing herself for putting off the grocery run they’d planned earlier that morning. Indulging in some nice comfort food was the kind of luxury she tended to save for after the hard work was done. A carryover, perhaps, from growing up with a father whose main motivation in life seemed to be deferring pleasure for some time down the line. His interest in prepping, which had started about a decade ago, had quickly morphed from a passion to a full-blown obsession.

  She understood the difficulty in only going partway down that rabbit hole. Either you prepped or you didn’t. It was a complete lifestyle change in much the same way that some families decided to reduce their carbon footprint.

  There really wasn’t an aspect of one’s life that wasn’t touched by some aspect of prepping. When her father had begun building the bunker under his house, that was when she thought he’d gone too far. His lack of female companionship was the real culprit. Spending one’s life planning for the possible breakdown of society had to play havoc with a person’s stress levels. That nagging feeling that you never had enough, that there was always something you might have missed or overlooked. In this case, that was her and Autumn. She could just imagine how upset and afraid he would be arriving at the house to find no one there, no explanation from Paul that he’d jumped in the car and raced off to drive the hundreds of miles to get them.

  But in many ways, she’d been grateful these last ten years that her father’s obsession hadn’t begun when she was young. For all intents and purposes her family life had been normal. Buck was Buck. Gruff and hard to approach, but always loving. His tongue might be sharp, but underneath his calloused exterior was a soft bear of a man who would rip the shirt off his back in a snowstorm if it meant saving the life of someone he loved.

  She wondered where he was right now, what he was doing. But didn’t she already know the answer? He was holed up in his bunker, activating whatever plan he’d devised for the day when a devastating crisis hit the country.

  But that didn’t seem quite like him, did it? Sitting in that glorified rat’s nest under his house while the only remaining family he had was stranded far from home. No, more likely than not he would have come straight to the house. Hadn’t he told her once he’d created an evacuation plan for the three of them in case, as he liked to put it, the SHTF?

  That was when she’d asked: “What do you mean the three of us? What about Paul?”

  He’d waved the question away. “There’s only so much room.”

  “Yeah, well, whether you like it or not he’s my husband, Dad. So if there isn’t enough room, then make some. Or you can count us out.”

  Although that conversation had taken place several years ago, she’d never believed that the bunker would ever be completed, much less needed. Arguing for Paul’s inclusion had been done more on principle. She wasn’t going to let her father’s disapproval get between her and the man she loved.

  In many ways, the two men couldn’t be more different. Paul was creative, intellectual and didn’t shy away from talking about his feelings. Her father preferred action to talk and was suspicious of anything emotional. And more and more these days, his tendency towards suspicion had branched out towards all kinds of unusual theories about his neighbor Jarvis Taylor plotting to poison his soybean crops, or how the federal government was planning to confiscate people’s guns and stockpiling billions of rounds of ammunition in order to carry out their subjugation of the people.

  Susan thought all of that was really just a smokescreen for the fact that he missed his wife, her mother, Kay. And maybe part of him was also still grieving over the death of Susan’s first husband, Kevin. Killed in a road accident in Kuwait before Operation Desert Storm even began. Buck thought of him as the son he never had and in the same breath saw Paul as an imposter who could never hope to fill his glorious shoes.

  The truth was her father had never really given Paul a fair shake. For all of her husband’s soft, artistic exterior, he was her rock and at times could be just as stubborn and opinionated as her father. Paul was an unusual mix of what a man was supposed to be along with what a man could be—a friend as well as a lover and father to their child.

  Slowly she came back to the present, frightening and uncertain. Paul had told her to sit tight, that he was on his way. But how long would that take, especially given the state of things? Not surprisingly, the only food in Autumn’s apartment was a nearly empty box of Wheat Thins, some granola cereal, a touch of skim milk and one single serving of plain yogurt. Yuck.

  No, this wouldn’t do, not when they might be stuck here for the next few days. Thanks to a few tricks she’d learned from her father over the years, they’d already filled as many buckets and containers as they could with water. Even though the power had gone out, the taps were still running, although she couldn’t say how much longer that would last.

  The streets outside had also become quiet since the police and National Guard had managed to disperse most of the protesters. Either that, or they’d simply moved forward with their plan to march on the Mayor’s office. Not that that would do them any good.

  Still, two women heading out alone to find food was not a terribly safe situation. Autumn was in her bedroom taking a nap, which would give Susan a window of opportunity to go down the hall and see if any of her new neighbors would be willing to make a donation. They didn’t need a lot. Just enough to last them a few more days. Hopefully not more.

  The set of kitchen knives they’d purchased for the apartment were incredibly sharp and each came in their own plastic sheath. Susan took the longest one and slid it under the back of her waistband.

  You never knew whether the person on the other side of that door would turn out to be helpful or psychotic. The knife was her insurance against the latter.

  Chapter 15

  Paul and Buck knocked on three doors before they found someone who would finally open. Maybe the neighbors had heard the sound of gunfire and were fearful. Or maybe knowledge of the nuclear bombs had triggered the desire to hunker down a
nd wait for the government to signal an “all clear.” By now even Paul had to admit any sort of government assistance wasn’t very likely. It seemed that with every passing hour he was starting to sound more and more like Buck, a thought which both surprised and concerned him.

  The house which finally opened for them was a quaint two-story grey structure with a wide wraparound balcony. A beat-up red pickup sat parked in the gravel driveway and sticking out the side of the slightly angled roof was a satellite dish. It was an old woman who answered and she seemed startled to see two men standing there, one of them burly and mean-looking.

  Buck was the first to speak. “Listen, ma’am, we’re sorry to disturb you, but we could really use your phone.”

  “Who is it, Teresa?” a man’s voice asked from somewhere inside.

  Teresa turned back and shouted, “Two men and they say they need the telephone.”

  “Phone’s out,” the man replied. “Same as everyone else’s.”

  “The truth is,” Paul cut in, taking a gamble, “we were attacked by a group of armed convicts and we need somewhere to hide.”

  “We’re not hiding,” Buck said proudly.

  Outside, the sound of the Hummer made Paul’s heart begin racing in his chest.

  “I’m not so sure,” she said, her husband emerging for the first time.

  “I swear we don’t mean any harm,” Paul told them.

  The truck was about to draw even with the street and once it did, the two men would be spotted for sure.

  “You boys armed?” the man asked.

  Paul nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve got a shotgun, but I can empty all the shells out if you like.”

  Behind him, Buck didn’t say a word. More likely than not he hated the idea of begging strangers for help, even if that might save their lives.

  “All right, come on in,” the man said. “I’m sure if the two of you meant us any harm we would have already seen it.”

  They entered as quickly as they could, Paul wiping his feet on the rug by the front door and then leaning the shotgun against a nook in the wall. Meanwhile, Buck closed the door, peering out at the street through one of the tiny square window panes.

  “You see them?” Paul asked.

  “They just rolled by real slow-like,” Buck whispered. He snapped the ball cap off his head and pushed his hair back before sliding the cap back on.

  The man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Travis Wright. This here’s my wife Teresa. Why don’t you two gentlemen come inside?”

  They did as Travis suggested.

  “I’m sorry to put you folks through this,” Paul offered, looking down at the tremble in his own hands. “We pulled into the Phillips 66 over by the interstate and got held at gunpoint.”

  “Oh, my,” Teresa said, cupping her mouth, the skin on the back of her hand wrinkled and dotted with liver spots.

  “Took everything we had,” Buck added. “My Hummer, all our gear, supplies, even our weapons.”

  “You kept your shotgun,” Travis noted, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Paul nodded. “We took it from one of them.” Then his eyes fell to the floor as the full implication of what he’d done hit him.

  “It was them or us,” Buck said. “I know it’s hard to see that right now, but both of us did what we could.”

  “What you boys need is to get a hold of the sheriff,” Teresa said, her head tilted up at her husband who was standing behind her.

  Travis was tall and lanky with short-cropped grey hair and square spectacles. He looked like he’d once been a bank teller or a clerk of some kind. Rubbing his chin, he descended into deep contemplation.

  Paul nodded at the suggestion of calling the sheriff. “That was what we had in mind, but the phones aren’t working.”

  “And it’s far too dangerous to head there on foot,” Buck added, leaning forward as he sat on the couch, his large forearms resting against his knees.

  “A phone won’t be necessary,” Travis said. “I’ve got a shortwave down in the basement attached to a car battery. Something of a hobby of mine and I know the sheriff’s got one too. Can’t say we’ll have much luck getting through, since I’m sure they’re a little overwhelmed at the moment, but it’s certainly worth a try.”

  “That’s great,” Buck replied, displaying a rare smile. “Why don’t you wait here, Paul, and keep an eye out.”

  Paul nodded absently. “Sure.” The weight of taking another man’s life didn’t seem to bother Buck all that much. Finch had been squealing like a stuck pig as the two of them had fled, so there wasn’t much chance that he’d died. But there was no telling what an infection would do if that wound went untreated.

  The man Paul had put down with the shotgun was another matter entirely. He wasn’t getting up, not ever again. Even Paul recognized that remorse was a strange feeling to have after gunning down a man who had had every intention of doing the same to him. Probably any court in the country would have absolved him of any guilt. But this wasn’t just about man’s laws—this was about a higher law. One he might have to violate again before their journey was done.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink?” Teresa asked him. By the look in her eye, it was clear that she could see he was suffering.

  “Maybe just a glass of water,” Paul told her. When she was gone to the kitchen, he got up and grabbed the shotgun he’d left in the corner, laying it on the floor by the couch. It was better that it be left out of sight, but within reach in case he needed it. With the tips of his fingers he nudged the curtain back and stared out the window. The overhang which covered the wraparound balcony limited his vision some.

  “Mrs. Wright,” he called into the kitchen. “You mind if I go upstairs and have a look out one of the bedroom windows?”

  She returned just then with a tall glass of water. “I guess that would be fine.”

  Paul smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t disturb anything. And I’ll be real quick.”

  He took the shotgun and shells with him as he bounded up the stairs two at a time until he reached the top riser. From there he made a left and let himself into the first bedroom he came to. The minute he did it felt as though he had taken a step backward in time. The corners of the wallpaper were fraying and covered with airplanes of all shapes and sizes. Next to him was a bunk bed, a red ladder leading up to the second level. A child’s desk sat against the far wall, filled with baseball trophies and MVP awards. In an eerie way, it resembled his own room as a child, and from what Paul could see, it hadn’t been touched in years.

  Then a picture on the wall put a face to the decor. A young boy, no older than ten, sporting a buzz cut and a gap-toothed smile. He was a handsome boy and Paul couldn’t help wondering what had become of him. Was he a lawyer or doctor now, living in Kansas City? And why did his parents have such a hard time letting go?

  He hadn’t had more than a second to give a cursory glance out the window before he heard Teresa behind him.

  “We don’t come in Samuel’s room anymore,” she said mournfully.

  Paul felt the muscles in his face slacken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “How could you? It’s been nearly forty years. Hard to imagine that much time going by without being able to speak to him. Well, that isn’t completely true, is it? I still hear him most days when I’m drifting off to sleep. His teeth were still coming in and he had this funny little lisp.” She looked up, her eyes red with tears.

  “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  “He was playing in the street with his friends. Fifteenth of July, nineteen seventy-five. I’ll never forget it. I’d called him to come home for dinner three times, but you know the way boys are. They always want one more second. The screeching tires outside made me drop his dinner plate. When I ran to the door, a group was gathering around a crumpled form lying on the ground. Even as the car sped away, the reality of what had happened didn’t register. No one was hurt but Samuel. Ambulance arrived a few minutes later, but there was
n’t any point. Our boy was already gone.” She smiled weakly. “He’s home with the angels now.”

  Buck appeared then. The heavy thread of emotion hanging in the room made him uncomfortable. “Police are on their way,” he said.

  Paul nodded.

  Buck’s gaze shifted to Teresa, who was staring out the window, her arms folded over her chest.

  “We’re heading to get my wife and daughter in Atlanta,” Paul told her.

  “Make sure you get them home,” Teresa replied, her eyes still fixed outside. “Safe and sound where no one can hurt them.”

  Chapter 16

  Back in Atlanta, Susan was in the hallway of Autumn’s new apartment, knocking on her neighbors’ doors. She wasn’t having much luck. Her daughter would have been beside herself if she knew Susan was going around asking for food. That adolescent obsession with image was still strong in her daughter despite the fact that the entire social edifice upon which it was built was quickly coming undone. College or not, Autumn was still a teenager and that was precisely why Susan had opted to ask for help while her daughter was asleep. The knife she’d brought along, still in the plastic sheath, was tucked under the waistband of her jeans.

  Finding no luck, Susan knocked on another door. As she did, she spotted a splash of sky-blue paint on her right hand from the work they’d done on Autumn’s bedroom this morning before the world went haywire. The thought of so many Americans vaporized in a searing flash was hard to even fathom.

  After a moment’s wait with no answer, Susan moved on. Many of these folks had likely been at work when it had happened. She didn’t want to imagine what the commute home would be like.

  After trying nearly a dozen apartments she finally got a glimmer of hope. Her knock didn’t result in an open door, but she did see the light from the peephole eclipsed by a curious eye.