Long Road to Survival: The Prepper Series

by Lee Bradford

  Buck racked the shotgun, aimed it at Daryl’s face and fired just as Paul screamed for him to stop.

  Paul’s hands covered his face in horror at the sight of what remained of the dead man’s head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “You gotta grow a pair, Paul. That civilized world you keep clinging to ain’t nothing but a fart in the wind right now. Take a second to imagine what either of these two gangsta wannabes woulda done to Autumn and Susan if they’d gotten there first. And every time you feel your heart growing soft, just conjure up that image in your mind once again.”

  Paul shook his head. Somehow killing the man at the gas station hadn’t been nearly as hard.

  “You didn’t get a chance to talk to him,” that little voice whispered. “Once you get a name that human part of you takes over and makes the act of killing so much harder.”

  That was the narrow tightrope each of them was now teetering on. A tightrope that stretched high above a windy canyon. They were clinging to their humanity and Paul couldn’t help feeling that his own was on the verge of toppling over the side, lost forever in a darkened chasm.

  Chapter 29

  They quickly moved the bodies off the road, rolling them into the drainage ditch, but not before they collected the convicts’ weapons—a Beretta and a S&W 9mm. Apart from the walkie, the two men had little else of value.

  The urge to use the radio to taunt Finch and his men was strong, almost blinding, but they suppressed it. Sure, it might give them a sliver of delicious satisfaction to unnerve the men who were racing to kill their family. But that would eliminate the element of surprise, one of the few advantages Paul and Buck had going for them.

  Afterward, Buck reversed the Hummer into position beside the Chevy so they could siphon gas from the car to the truck. In spite of it not being as fuel-efficient, they’d decided to continue on in the Hummer. Never mind that it was Buck’s prized possession, Paul knew well enough by now, but if the old man felt keeping it was an impediment to their progress, he’d have left it behind in a heartbeat. What it provided them with was an extra level of protection as well as the ability to push cars out of the way and go off-roading whenever necessary.

  The problem was that the tank on the Chevy was close to empty and she didn’t provide more than a few gallons of fuel. Added to that, only one of the jerry cans on the back contained any fuel. They would have enough to get them as far as Memphis, but not much further.

  After transferring their things to the Hummer, they took inventory of what was left from the supplies Buck had originally loaded into her. The bug-out bags were gone, although some of the items once packed inside lay strewn about in the back as though the gang members had pilfered them one by one, looking for anything useful. Two hazmat suits remained along with the Geiger counter. There was even a two-inch stack of twenties, fifties and hundred-dollar bills the gang must have robbed from anyone who crossed their path. But it was the next discovery which prompted Buck to let out a little whoop of delight: his AR-15 and a box containing nearly a hundred rounds.

  The inside of the Hummer was a testament to how sloppy these guys were. The front and back floorboards were covered with junk food wrappers. Most of it looked like the kind of stuff pillaged from convenience stores. Bags of chips, candy bars, empty soda cans. It was a wonder Jax and the rest of these thugs had any teeth left at all.

  And this was where Paul made a discovery of his own. Wedged between the passenger seat and the console was his Blackberry. Perhaps in the old days, the device might have sold on the street for a few hundred bucks, but right now they were near worthless. Paul brought it out of sleep mode and scanned the display, looking to see if he had a signal. Finding none, he slipped it back into his pocket, hoping at some point that might change.

  “Let’s get this out of the way fast then,” Buck said, handing Paul the Beretta 9mm. “Things are only gonna get hairier from here on in and I wanna make sure you can at least hit the broad side of a barn when the time comes.”

  Paul took the pistol and aimed it at the ground.

  “First things first, I want you to hit that road sign,” Buck told him.

  “The one that says fifty miles an hour?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Paul shrugged, raised the hand with the pistol and took a shot. It went wide.

  “First off, holding a gun ain’t like holding a guitar. Place your two hands on the grip, here and here. Your finger always stays off the trigger till you’re ready to apply lethal force. Face the target with your legs about shoulder width apart, and bring your gun foot back just a bit.”

  Paul did as Buck told him, holding the pistol with both hands.

  “Good, now bend your knees a touch more and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger. Don’t jam it like you seen in those movies. A gentle squeeze is all you need.”

  Paul fired the Beretta and the bullet hit, making a loud ding.

  “How’d that feel?”

  “Pretty good.” Paul glanced over at him. “Guess that makes me a lethal weapon like you, doesn’t it?”

  Buck frowned. “Don’t push your luck.”

  With precious seconds slipping by, the two quickly finished prepping the Hummer before they jumped back on the road. They hadn’t been travelling for more than a few minutes when Paul removed his shoes and felt his toes dip into a hole in the floorboard. Glancing down, he saw several holes at his feet. He pulled up the car mat and shook his head.

  “What is it?” Buck asked him.

  “I think they’re bullet holes,” Paul replied.

  Buck leaned over, taking his eyes off the road for a second. “Animals,” he spat. “Nothing but a two-bit pair of animals. If I’d known I would left him there to suffer.”

  Paul put the carpet back. “Taking a life can’t be as easy as you make it sound,” Paul said, still picturing the way Daryl’s head looked after Buck had opened it up with the shotgun.

  “I ain’t killed a man since the war, you know,” Buck admitted, tugging down the brim of his cap to block the rising sun.

  Well, that’s comforting, Paul thought, but didn’t say. Might explain some of the pent-up anger brewing in the years since then. For some men, killing had a way of relaxing them. He wondered if the same was true for Buck.

  “Got drafted in sixty-nine,” Buck said after a moment. “Was a crazy time.” He looked over at Paul who shook his head.

  “I’m sure it was. I wasn’t born then.”

  Buck nodded and let out a little growl as if to say, “Damn right you weren’t.” “I was one of those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed believers, just like you. Short-cropped hair, believed nearly everything I was told and eager to kick some Commie butt. I fought for the cause, even after seeing good soldiers, friends of mine, die for what I thought was the greater good. I’m sure by now you’ve seen enough of those Vietnam War movies to get a taste for what was really going on. Military’s come a long way since then, I gotta give it to them. To be blunt, South East Asia wasn’t their finest hour. I finally had enough when my unit was sent into a suspected Viet Cong village with orders to raze it to the ground. They didn’t want any prisoners. It wasn’t about winning hearts and minds back then. It was about denying the enemy safe havens and taking the fight to the civilian population….”

  Buck was still talking about his days in Vietnam when Paul spotted a convoy moving on the interstate in the opposite direction. It was a strange mishmash of black SUVs, Humvees, eighteen-wheelers, and a flatbed truck. A corner of a tarp covering the flatbed hadn’t been properly secured and was flapping in the wind. Underneath were what looked like artifacts from the museum. Classical statues and stone tablets and who knew what else.

  “What do you think that’s all about?” Buck asked.

  “My guess is the government’s trying to save what’s left of civilization.”

  Buck looked at him quizzically. “What’s left?”

  “Yeah, you know paintings, historical treasures. That s
ort of thing.”

  The convoy roared by and Buck leaned forward to catch the tail end in his side mirror. “You know what that means, don’t you?” he said and it sounded like another one of his rhetorical questions.

  “I imagine it means a lot of things. The situation in the cities has probably deteriorated and the government wants to prevent looting of precious objects. They saw what happened in Baghdad after Saddam’s regime fell and I’m sure this is only the first of many such trips. Of course, we don’t know what they had in the belly of that eighteen-wheeler,” Paul went on. “But I’m sure important state and federal documents won’t be far behind.”

  “Well, as far as I see things,” Buck said with a touch of venom in his voice, “it means the government’s given up on the people. You can’t tell me this sort of thing isn’t going on all over the country right now. Don’t you think those men would be put to better use helping to restore law and order?”

  “Maybe,” Paul said. “But for all we know things have gotten too far out of hand.”

  Buck nodded. “The Feds are always looking out for number one. Which is why I asked you a second ago what you thought it meant. Those trucks ain’t going just anywhere. I’d be willing to bet a pretty penny they’re heading to some top-secret bunker.”

  Paul was about to contradict that view when he realized what the old man was saying made perfect sense. He’d read an article once about a top-secret bunker designed for Congress in the event of a nuclear holocaust. It was built in plain sight, right under people’s noses, and stayed a secret for decades before some reporter stumbled onto it and blew the whistle. If DC wasn’t a nuclear wasteland, then Paul was sure that that bunker and many others like it around the country were being filled with the chosen few. The lucky ones the government had deemed worthy to live and carry on. But even if the Feds labelled people like him and Buck a lost cause, Paul wasn’t going to lie down and die, even if the country came crumbling down around them.

  Chapter 30

  Crumbling was also on Susan’s mind as she slowly came awake in Autumn’s bedroom. Reaching over, she felt for her daughter and realized she was gone. The sheets on her side were still warm, which meant she couldn’t have been gone long. In her groggy state, Susan vaguely remembered Autumn saying something about going to the washroom to clean up. The water had stopped for good yesterday and they’d been reduced to using water filled in pots and buckets for both hygiene and hydration. On the couch in the living room Chet snored loudly.

  Susan was doing her best to stay strong for her daughter, trying to keep at bay her own doubts that Paul would ever make it to them. Chet’s presence helped some. He was little more than a college student, maybe nineteen or twenty, but already he’d helped keep them from being attacked by the two men who’d stalked and nearly killed them. Although she’d seen a glimmer of something in his eyes when the soldier from the National Guard had showed up to save the day. Was it suspicion or something else? Jealousy?

  Susan opened her eyes and checked her cellphone. The battery was down to about ten percent but more importantly she still had no signal. She’d seen half a bar appear late last night as she got ready for bed and had frantically dialed Paul’s phone, only to be sent directly to his voicemail. Technology had a wonderful way of simplifying our lives or making them a living Hell when they didn’t work.

  It was at about that same time that Susan thought she heard a strange noise. At first she assumed it was the steady rhythm of Chet’s snoring, but now, listening closely, she could hear that that had stopped altogether. No, this wasn’t snoring, this was something else. It was the muffled sound of a woman in distress.

  Susan jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room, half expecting to find the front door to the apartment ajar. But it wasn’t. She scanned over toward the couch and saw a pile of crumpled sheets, but no Chet. Then she heard the noise again, this time from the bathroom, and with stark horror immediately became aware of what was happening.

  Susan rushed in. Chet had Autumn bent over the sink, pushing her down with his left hand, while with his right he was trying to pull down her pyjama bottoms. Susan fell on top of him right away, pounding on his back with everything she had. Chet swung his fist back into Susan’s face, knocking her backwards against the far wall. An explosion of stars burst before her eyes as the world threatened to go black. In that split second of time she had seen Chet’s soulless eyes and she knew the two of them were about to die.

  His hand was covering Autumn’s mouth and she bit his fingers and tried to kick him with her powerful legs. He squealed in pain and grabbed a handful of her hair, using it to bash her head against the sink. Gripped by terror, Susan stumbled out of the bathroom and went for the knife that was under her pillow.

  Autumn continued crying out for help as Susan raced back in and raised the knife over her head. Somehow, as quickly as things were happening, she still had time to remember something Buck had told her years ago. A knife in the back could be blocked by the ribcage and if you wanted it to go all the way in you had to turn the blade at an angle. Without thinking, she did just that and jammed it down into his back, plunging it as far as it would go. He let out a strange, sickly sort of moan as his body went limp and slid to the ground.

  Turning, Autumn looked down at Chet’s dead body and covered her mouth with her hands before she let out a silent scream. Susan whisked her from the bathroom before making a final check that Chet was no longer living. They hugged each other tightly after that, both of them still in shock. But Susan knew that the worst was yet to come. Warranted as she felt in killing Chet, she now had a dead body lying on the floor of the bathroom. With no cops to call and a police force stretched so thin they probably wouldn’t respond even if she could get through, Susan wondered how much longer they’d be able to stay in the apartment.

  Chapter 31

  Paul and Buck both watched the fuel gauge on the Hummer as the needle sank past the letter E. Thirty minutes earlier, as they’d sped toward Memphis, a warning had come over the walkie-talkie that the streets in the city proper were gridlocked.

  Like the other radio traffic from Finch’s men they’d been listening in on, Buck and Paul had fought the urge to answer back. As far as the gang was concerned, Daryl and Huckleberry were having radio trouble, but weren’t far behind, and that was exactly what they wanted them to believe. From what they could gather, the gang was driving in two separate vehicles, stopping every now and then to steal fuel and kill anyone who stood in their way. But entering a big city had come with a warning from Finch to behave themselves until they worked their way through. He promised that once they got to Atlanta, they would have all the fun they could handle.

  Hearing that had made Paul’s jaw clench. Buck’s foot pressed down harder on the accelerator.

  The news about traffic conditions in Memphis also had one additional effect. It prompted Paul and Buck to go around the city instead of through it. Buck was convinced in the long run that it would save them time and maybe even shoot them out ahead of Finch and his men.

  But as the six-litre engine had continued to gulp down the last of the gas tank’s reserves, they still hadn’t come across an operational gas station or an abandoned car that hadn’t already been emptied.

  Before long one of their biggest fears came true. The Hummer gave a final sputter as it ran out of gas and slowed to a crawl. That last push allowed Buck to guide it onto the shoulder where it finally died.

  Paul got out and stood by the side of the highway. There wasn’t much traffic in either direction. Seemed most folks were either heading north or south on their way out of town or scrambling from store to store to secure whatever supplies hadn’t already been taken.

  Buck got out, plucked the cap off his head and slapped the end against the side of his pants. The shotgun was resting on the front seat, ready for action if anyone came looking for trouble.

  Just then a car roared by honking as Buck waved his arms for them to stop. Then another sped b
y in the opposite direction.

  “Any ideas?” Paul asked. “Maybe if we each take a gas can we can walk till we find somewhere to scavenge some fuel.”

  There weren’t many options. With Finch and his men already ahead of them, they couldn’t afford to wait for a Good Samaritan. Paul went around to the back of the Hummer and was in the process of removing two of the gas cans when a car pulled off the highway and stopped behind them.

  The car itself was a candy-apple-red 1964 Chevy Impala lowrider, the kind that looked far more at home in the gang-infested streets of South Central L.A., and the figures sitting inside did nothing to dispel that notion. Each of the Impala’s doors opened at once as four Hispanic men exited the vehicle. From Paul’s vantage point he could see the two closest to him had pistols. One on the right had a hunting rifle and the last man had a baseball bat.

  The semi-automatic Beretta 9mm Paul had taken from Daryl was tucked into the waistband of his pants and he reached for it at about the same time that Buck appeared next him wielding the shotgun.

  “Having car trouble?” one of the strangers asked.

  Buck gripped the shotgun a little tighter. “That’s close enough. The last time someone stopped to give us a hand, things got real ugly.”

  The four Hispanic men became tense.

  Paul was trying to read the situation. Had these guys stopped to rob them or offer them help?

  “Listen,” Paul said. “We aren’t looking for any trouble. We just need some gas.”

  One of the men pointed down the road with his pistol. “There’s a station, maybe ten miles down the road,” he said. His skin was darker than the others and he was by far the oldest.