Prepper's Crucible (Omnibus, Volumes 1-3): A Post Apocalyptic Tale (Preppers Crucible)

by Bobby Andrews

  “Cory told me about your discussion of boredom here. I think you guys are right. It seems like things are getting a little tense from time to time. We need to address it. It’s happening to me too. I haven’t snapped at anyone yet, but I sure feel like it once in a while.”

  “I thought we could meet in the ops center when Bear leaves and discuss it as a group.”

  “Well, it’s a start, but you can’t fix a problem that you can’t identify.”

  “I think we need to start letting folks go to town. We can’t stay hunkered down here forever, and it would help everyone. I know it helps me to leave the ranch. Don’t get me wrong. I love the place, but there is something about being out that makes me feel much better.”

  “I know I would love to go. I miss those concerts on the square we used to go to. That was so much fun.”

  “It was,” Don paused. “I also have to talk about the security around here. I’ve let it get too lax.”

  “I noticed. So have others. Mary and I talked about it yesterday. I didn’t bring it up because I wanted you to reach your own conclusion. When somebody tells you that you’re doing something wrong, you immediately start to argue. When you reach the conclusion yourself, you take it to heart and start doing it right. If I pointed it out to you, it just would’ve taken longer for you to come around.”

  “I feel like I dropped the ball.” Don looked away as he said it.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You don’t need to apologize either. Just fix it. That’s what people want, not an apology.”

  “Fair enough. But next time you notice me getting lax, please tell me. I have to know you got my back.”

  “Deal,” she replied. She walked over and kissed his cheek. “You want to start carrying the AR again when you’re outdoors? That’s what Mary noticed.”

  “Okay. You want to talk about the morale issue and I’ll take security?”

  “Sure.”

  The meeting got off to poor start that afternoon. When Kate broached the subject of how people were becoming testy and somewhat curt with one another, a three-minute round of apologies followed. After everyone apologized to everyone else, Kate held up both hands and said, “look, that’s enough. We’re all friends here and we really don’t have to apologize to anybody. We all have bad days, but the fact is most days are good. The reason is that we all love one another, and we work well together. So, let’s just try to enjoy each other’s company and make allowances for one another. It is no different than a brother and sister who argue once in a while.” Everyone exchanged hugs and the mood seemed to lighten.

  Don went next, describing his failings without apology and promising to do better. He described how the group had let the relaxed mood slip into complacency, and the danger of it taking root and creating problems they could easily avoid. Don told them they would begin taking turns going to town in small groups to look for supplies. He told them of his conversation with the sheriff, and that dollars would still be accepted in many places. He went on to say it was important that they spend the rest of their cash before supplies became even more difficult to find.

  “Who’s going in tomorrow?”

  “Well, I guess one of us from here has to go on each trip. I don’t want people stopping folks they don’t recognize and asking questions. Plus, if anything happens, we locals know alternative routes back to the ranch. So, unless anyone objects, I think Ben and Cory should go in tomorrow with either Bud and Mary, or Ed and Ann. Whoever doesn’t go tomorrow can go with Kate and I the following day. Is that okay?” Don asked.

  “Works for me,” Cory said. Everyone agreed to the order of the visits to town, and the group broke up to make dinner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The following morning, Kate walked out of the house, steaming coffee mug in hand, to find Cory and Bud gearing up. The picnic table was covered with ARs, pistols and holsters, tactical vests, radios, and spare magazines. As Bud donned his vest, he turned and said, “did you sleep well?”

  “Like a baby. Julie had the ops center last night so I got a full night’s sleep.”

  “Where’s Don?”

  “He’s doing his run. He should be back in a few minutes. I’m glad he’s running again. After he came back from the trip to the cave, he got religion. He’s a lot easier to be around when he runs. Guess it burns off the excess energy.”

  “Yeah, I need to start running with him again. I’m really out of shape now. Too much good food and laying around.” Bud turned to watch Don run into the yard, stop and take several deep breaths, and then approach the porch.

  “You guys getting ready to leave?”

  “Yeah,” Cory replied. “Just getting geared up.”

  “Looks like you have everything,” Don said, after glancing at the table.

  “We’re good to go,” Bud said. Mary and Julie emerged from the house, and both shrugged into their vests and strapped on their holsters, then each picked up an AR. “You guys ready?” Julie asked. Both men nodded and they placed their ARs, barrel down, between the front and back seats, placed spare mags in their vests, and got into the Jeep for the trip to town.

  “Stay frosty out there,” Don said. He fist-bumped Cory through the driver’s side window and walked away.

  “That’s funny,” Bud said.

  “What?” Mary replied.

  “It’s just that a few days ago he would have done everything but give us a rectal exam before he let us go to town.”

  “Things change and he’s trying to change with them. Believe me he’s worried, but he knows you guys can take care of yourselves and he trusts you to get back safely,” Kate said, leaning in the Jeep window. “Be careful out there.” Kate handed Julie a wad of hundred dollar bills and said, “if you find anything useful, buy it if they will take cash.” She walked away from the Jeep and the group set off for town.

  After leaving the ranch, Cory turned onto Williamson Valley Road, heading south, and proceeded to Iron Springs Road, where he turned east and continued their journey toward downtown Prescott. The trip was uneventful, and they passed other vehicles, ATVs, and even a horse-drawn cart. In each case, the occupants of the vehicles waved and smiled as they passed. As they neared the business district, they noticed groups of people congregated on street corners. Again, in each case, the people waved cheerfully at them as they passed.

  “This doesn’t exactly look like a zombie apocalypse,” Bud said from the back seat.

  “It sure doesn’t,” Julie replied.

  “It’s kind of funny that everything seems so normal here. I guess small towns have a way of pulling together. If you listen to the ham radio, and the transmissions we’re getting from the larger cities, it sounds like the end of the world. Here, everybody seems to be getting by. It’s sort of surprising to me,” Julie said.

  The group rode on in silence until they reached the city park on Montezuma Street. Cory pulled over and parked the Jeep on the side of the road to watch an old tractor in the process of turning the park into a giant garden. Townspeople followed the tractor carrying large garbage bags, picking up clumps of grass left in the wake of the plow. When each bag was full, they were placed in a neat row next to the road. Another group followed, carefully placing seeds in the freshly tilled earth and covering them with dirt. After a moment of watching, Cory engaged the transmission and they continued toward downtown Prescott.

  “I’ve been watching the street signs,” Mary said. “We’ve been on the same street for the last ten blocks. It was Iron Springs, and then the name changed to Whipple, then to Montezuma. What’s the deal?”

  “Probably to confuse the tourists,” Cory replied. “Get them lost so they have to buy lunch in town.”

  “Well, it’s working,” Mary replied. “I’m confused and getting hungry.” Bud chuckled.

  When they entered the town square, Mary noticed a majestic courthouse built entirely of granite set in the center of a park-like block. Three stories high, it was the dominant feature of the square and
was bordered by enormous elm trees. Tents surrounded the courthouse, and there was an orderly line in front of what looked to be an outdoor food court. Several grills sat behind a line of folding tables that contained various side dishes, paper plates, and cups. Each person in line handed a piece of paper to the servers, who handed them a plate of food and a cup of water.

  Uniformed National Guardsmen stood on each of the four corners of the square, with a Prescott police officer standing next to them. Their weapons were slung over their shoulders, and both the Guardsmen and the police officers seemed to be relaxed. A line of porta-potties stood on the east side of the square, and the north side of the square contained pop-up tents where people were apparently selling a variety of goods to other townspeople. The south side of the square had a line of men who were filling bottles with water taken from a fire hydrant; all wore tee shirts that said, “Prescott FD.”

  “The firefighting system here is based on gravity flow,” Cory explained to Bud, who looked puzzled by the flowing water. “It’s pumped up to tanks that sit in the highest part of town, and they obviously aren’t empty yet.”

  “Okay,” Bud replied.

  As they parked the Jeep on the west side of the square, they noticed an old school bus, parked on a side street, loaded with people. “That must be the folks who work on the farms and ranches going to work,” Cory said as he got out of the vehicle. “Come on, I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

  “Where’s your tip jar?” Bud joked.

  As the group assembled on the corner, Cory made a sweeping motion with his arm and said, “that’s Whiskey Row. People used to come here from all over the world to sit at the same bar where Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp used to drink. The bar in that large structure is close to 150 years old, and is the original bar from the day it was built. That building has burned down twice, and been completely restored to its original condition. It’s called the Palace, and it’s the oldest bar and restaurant in Arizona.”

  “Wyatt Earp was here?” Bud asked.

  “And his brother, Virgil. They were here because this was the territorial capital until it moved to Phoenix in 1889. They had to come here for trials and to do official business.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Mary asked.

  “It’s a proud town,” Cory replied. “Anyone who goes to high school here has to take a course on Prescott history.” He paused and then pointed up the hill to a large hotel with a sign that said, “Hassayampa Inn.”

  “That hotel was built by the townspeople in 1927. An architect from El Paso wanted the townspeople to design and build a hotel. So, local citizens bought shares in the project for one dollar a piece. And they built it. At the time, they felt like the town needed a nice hotel if it was to grow and develop. The name comes from the Apache language. It means the river that disappears. The Hassayampa River is north of town, and most of it is subterranean, so the name is appropriate.”

  “I’ve only been down here once to eat lunch and had no idea there was all this history here,” Mary said.

  “Don isn’t into being a tour guide,” Bud joked.

  “I guess not,” Cory said. “But he didn’t go to high school here either. So, how would he know?”

  “True.”

  Cory waved toward the courthouse, saying, “see that gazebo in front of the building?”

  “Sure,” Bud replied.

  “We used to have free concerts there, every weeknight during the summer,” Julia said, her voice wistful. “We really had it made here, our own little slice of heaven: good schools, clean air, and nice people. And, now it’s changed forever.”

  “It’ll come back,” Cory said. “Just look at how well the town is coping. These are hearty, self-sufficient people and we will bring things back to the way they were. Or at least close enough.”

  Bud turned to watch the firefighters fill water bottles and stared at them for a moment and then a look of revelation crossed his expression. “Wait,” Bud said. “Isn’t this the place where all those firefighters lost their lives?”

  “Yes,” Cory replied. “This town will never forget those nineteen men who lost their lives. It’s the worst tragedy this town ever experienced. It was called the Yarnell Hill Fire. June 30th, 2013, is a day nobody here will ever forget.” His eyes welled with tears as he spoke and he wiped them away with his shirtsleeve.

  “It must take a special kind of courage to go toe-to-toe with a wildfire,” Bud said. “I don’t know if I could do it. Knowing that any day could be the day you lose. And, you only have to lose once to lose everything. That takes cojones bigger than mine.” When he looked over, he saw that Julie’s hands were folded and she was whispering a prayer.

  “Her brother was one of the firefighters,” Cory explained.

  “God! I am so sorry I brought it up,” Bud apologized. “I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay,” Julie sniffed. “I have come to grips with it. I just miss him so much.” She unfolded her hands and continued, “we came here to see what we could buy, so let’s go over to the market and see what they have.” Cory put his arm around her and held her tight for a moment.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Cory said softly. As they approached the outdoor market, Julie was surprised to see a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, and meat for sale. The food vendors were clumped together and separated from those selling hard goods, by two police officers. Both stood with weapons dangling from slings on their shoulders.

  “Before we buy anything, let’s see what’s for sale in case we have to prioritize our purchases,” Mary said.

  “Good idea,” Julie replied.

  “We probably should buy some food,” Cory said. “It’s something Don would do just to hide the fact that we already have a lot of it.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea,” Bud replied. “Let’s go ahead and look around.” The group walked to the end of the tents and slowly meandered their way back to the food vendors.

  “Did you see anything we should buy?” Cory asked.

  “I saw a grain grinder back at the first stall. We don’t have one at the farm, and when we can plant corn and wheat next year that would save a lot of work.”

  “I saw quite a bit of ammo,” Bud said. “Looks like mostly .223 and .308. We could use some of that.”

  “I wouldn’t mind picking up some of those canning jars we saw,” Julie added.

  “Okay, you guys go make the purchases. I’m going to talk to the police officers and see what they know.” Cory walked over to where the officers stood as Julie handed wads of bills to the others.

  “Hello officers,” Cory said as he approached. The smaller of the two men moved his hand until it rested at the top of his holster. “Relax,” Cory said as he spread his hands away from his body. “I’m badged too.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his Park Ranger badge. Showing it to the officers, he asked, “do you guys know if that officer who was shot at the drugstore is okay?”

  “Why do you want to know?” The larger man asked.

  “A friend of mine took him to the hospital and he’s worried about him.”

  “You mean Don?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he’s still in the hospital, but he’s recovering. Tell Don that he has our gratitude forever.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Don is a hero around here. First damn time anybody risked their life to help one of us. You tell him if he needs anything from us, all he has to do is ask. We would’ve thanked him ourselves, but we’re so short-handed right now nobody has time to go find him and give him a proper thank you.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Cory replied.

  “Thanks.”

  “Can you guys tell me what is going on in town?”

  The smaller officer, now more relaxed, replied, “things are a lot better than they were. We still get gunfire at night and the occasional burglary; but, for the most part, it’s under control. I understand it’s still the Wild West outside of town
.”

  “You getting that from the sheriff?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s my brother-in-law,” Cory said.

  “Well, pleased to meet you.” The three exchanged handshakes and fell into a comfortable silence for a moment.

  “You guys getting any word from outside of Prescott?”

  “We have radio communications with the surrounding towns’ police forces,” the larger man said. “And, we’re getting stragglers from the valley coming in, but they don’t have anything good to say about what’s going on in Phoenix. They’re arriving in ATVs, old cars, even on horseback. For now, we’re feeding them, but I don’t think we can make it through the winter without some help from somewhere. We have a good supply of meat from the ranches, but once the fall harvest is over, and the food trucks are all looted, we’re pretty much up the creek without a paddle. We might have to start making some pretty unpleasant choices.” His long face assumed a grim expression as he spoke.

  Cory looked around the plaza again before speaking. “Who organized all this?”

  “The city manager—after the mayor died, he took over. He got all the restaurant owners to donate the food in their walk-ins. When that ran out, he organized the trips to the food trucks and got the surrounding farmers and ranchers to use people here as field labor. Once everyone figured out that they didn’t need to steal food to feed their families, things calmed down and we all started pulling in the same direction.”

  “What happened to the mayor?”

  “He was shot in his house. They killed his wife too.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Not a clue, and with no forensics labs working, we’ll probably never find out.”

  “Well, I didn’t vote for him. He was a bit of a leftie for my taste. But, I sure am saddened by his death. I always thought of him as a decent, well-intentioned guy who did his best. I suppose I should get back with my people and do some shopping. It’s been a pleasure.” Cory shook hands with both men.