Blackout: Still Surviving

by Boyd Craven III

I nodded and then took off running. I heard paws pounding the gravel behind me and turned. “Raider, I told you to go back there. Stay!”

  Raider made a whining sound and then sat down in the driveway, and I started walking backward. He stayed in the driveway, worried, and I turned and then ran back up the hill. I know you're not supposed to leave a gun completely loaded, but I usually left the internal magazine full. I figured I'd replace the spring if it ever became an issue, but with an old bolt gun like I had, I could always feed the shells one at a time pretty quickly. I worked the bolt open and then made sure it was topped off and had one in the chamber.

  I'd brought along the extra box of shells, and they were heavy. I slid one end open after shouldering the gun with the old leather sling I'd inherited from Grandpa. The .30/06 shells were in a long plastic case. I started pulling them out and stuffing them in my pockets. If I couldn't persuade them to leave us alone with the five shots I had in the gun, I didn’t have a lot of faith in the other twenty I had stuffed in my pockets. The gun was banging against my kidney, making me regret bringing it. I was rushing across the street and up the road when I heard a rumble of an approaching motor. I just made it ten feet into the bush on the other side of the road when the red truck crested the hill and started to creep slowly toward the homestead. I inched back more into cover and was happy that my usual go-to-town clothes were also decent enough camouflage for this time a year. I had my usual button-up shirt in a light tan and a pair of blue jeans. It didn't sound like much, but when you're trying to blend in with green and yellow and brown of the leaves in the forest, you just needed something to break up your pattern.The brush was gonna do that for me perfectly and my blue jeans were dark enough not to really give me away. I crouched down low and waited.

  They were right, my grandpa and grandma. I couldn't just start shooting. Not without provocation. I watched as the red truck came to a stop fifty feet away from the edge the driveway. The driver’s side of the truck had a big dent with a long white streak of paint that had rubbed off of Lance's truck. The guy driving looked furious. He turned the truck off and got out, and then the passenger side door opened, and another man got out. Ryan.

  I waited to see if the third one was in there, but as the guy on the passenger side moved out of the way, I could see that at some point they'd stopped and shifted people around. I looked back down the road but didn't see Lance's truck anywhere. Maybe he’d sent them to come make a point. Cannon fodder. It was a cold thing for him to do, and I wasn’t sure what he expected. The man that Raider had chewed on reached inside the truck and pulled out a shotgun. I recognized him too; Aaron.

  Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don’t do it, I thought repeatedly.

  The driver reached in and pulled out a baseball bat. Then they started walking toward the homestead. I let them get about ten feet down the road, then I gently clicked the safety off the rifle and aimed at the back tailgate of the truck. It wasn't much of a trick shot, but because of the angle of the truck and how it was parked compared to where I was sitting slightly up the hill, I didn’t have a huge target. I wanted these guys gone, but I didn't want to disable their truck, not if I had a chance of getting out of this without bloodshed. My grandma and grandpa's words rang in my head, and I realized I wasn't as bloodthirsty as I actually made myself out to be sometimes. I wasn’t sure if I could live with myself if I had to kill these guys, the after effects would be significant. I didn't want to have to find out, so I got the rifle comfortably rested on my knees, slowly let out my breath, and waited for my heart to beat.

  Bump, bump.

  Click-boom!

  The shot rang out, and I don't know if I hit the truck or not, because I shifted my attention. The two men turned and looked behind them, their movements jerky with surprise, and the man with the shotgun turned my way and put the gun to his shoulder. I'd already been working the bolt, and it cycled a round back in. He let off a shot that hit the tall weeds a good twenty feet to my right. I aimed between his legs and then decided to aim a little bit lower just in case.

  I pulled the trigger and gravel and dirt exploded between the man's legs, and he jumped backward. The man that had gotten the bat from the driver’s side turned and ran back toward the truck. I put another round in the chamber, worked in the bolt like I'd done it thousands of times before, and saw the big man raise the shotgun up again. This time I centered my sights right on his chest.

  Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it.

  After a second, he lowered the shotgun and turned and fled. The motor roared, and the white truck spun around in a big circle, but I did see that the back of the tailgate had its metal punched outward as it was driving away from me. My shot had gone through where I'd aimed at the inside of the tailgate. I fumbled in my pocket for some shells, and I reloaded the gun. I moved to another hundred yards down the road, catching a glimpse as they fled the hilly area. Since I was on the high spot, I could only catch sight of them as they crested the top of the hills. I sat and waited and listened. I could hear Raider barking furiously somewhere, and I just hoped Grandpa and Grandma had kept him close to them. He didn't know anything about guns, at least not as long as he'd been around me.

  I stayed sitting that way for close to an hour. I knew Grandpa knew the sound of my rifle, and he hadn't come out to investigate. I hoped I wasn't worrying them none.

  The bugs got to me first. They got to my exposed skin, the areas the mosquitos could, where the sweat hadn’t crusted into a salty layer. I swatted at them absentmindedly until I heard the rumble of a motor. I stood up for a second, letting the blood come back into my legs, and stepped from foot to foot. Judging by the sound, I had another fifteen seconds before I could see the vehicle, so I got as ready as I could. I took the rifle off its sling, making sure my arms were limber enough, before sitting down again, the rifle propped up on my knees.

  I held my breath and aimed at a spot in the middle of the road, right where I anticipated the cab of Lance’s truck to pop up. I knew the gun was almost as ready as I was, so I slowly clicked off the safety. Anticipation and fear, both in equal amounts, hit my bloodstream, and my focus seemed to narrow. I focused on that one stretch of the road and the rise and fall of the sound of the motor as it climbed the hills. I held my finger next to the trigger guard and started breathing slower, trying to listen to my heartbeat.

  Bump, bump. Bump, bump. A flash of light from exposed chrome. No sight picture. Bump, bump. Small shallow breath. Bump, bump. My finger touched the trigger lightly, almost lovingly caressing it. Six pounds of pressure and 165 grains of copper jacketed lead would go at almost three times the speed of sound. Bump, bump. Breathe… and now…

  My heart stuttered, and suddenly my breath was gone. I almost fell forward, and I had been so focused on the shot, that when I saw the vehicle, I was pulling slack on the trigger in before I realized it was Lester’s Suburban, followed by a sheriff’s patrol car.

  “Don’t panic,” I said to myself, my hands shaking as I put the safety back on.

  I didn’t want to walk out into the road with them coming, not with my rifle. Should I hide it? Walk out with it? Had Aaron and Ryan turned me in? Lance? Why were the police following Lester? A thousand dark thoughts went through my head. A mosquito landed on the side of my ear, and I slapped at it absentmindedly and watched as both vehicles pulled into the driveway, one after another.

  I swallowed my fear. They were already there. Could it be bad news? I slung the rifle off my shoulder and brushed my backside off and started walking. I took my time, listening to the now still day. I could hear when the motors turned off and the slam of three car doors. Three? Great, a pair of deputies or the sheriff himself with Lester? I was going to jail. With the grid down, phones down… I started walking faster.

  16

  I walked up to a surreal episode that could have been right out of a book. The sheriff, a man named William Jackson, or Willy, was sitting on the rickety railing of the porch while Deputy Rolsto
n sat in one of the three chairs. Next to him was Jessica, in my seat. Grandpa and Grandma were both leaning against the rail. Everyone was laughing as Grandma had a familiar looking thermos out, pouring its contents into small cups.

  “There he is,” Grandpa said, and in the house, I could hear Raider go insane.

  Until that point, he’d been quiet, but Grandpa looked at me guiltily and turned the knob. I started to give a little wave, but a furry missile erupted from the doorway, and I was almost knocked over when he ran into me and started licking at my hands, then jumped up and licked my face.

  “Blech!” I said, spitting and pushing him back. “Down, boy.”

  “Hey, everyone,” I said, wiping my mouth free from dog slobber.

  Raider was still dancing around happily, barking and rubbing his head against me, licking any exposed skin.

  “What’s up with him?” Jessica stood and then took a sip of the lemonade Grandma had handed her.

  Her eyes went wide and she coughed, liquid coming out of her nose. Dave stood and pounded on her back.

  “I think he missed me, you ok?” I asked her, stopping in front of her before realizing the sheriff was just staring at me with a smile on his face.

  “I wasn’t expecting… wow, that’s good, strong but good!”

  “I really shouldn’t,” the sheriff said, and then downed half his Dixie cup, “but your grandma makes the best lemonade.”

  “That she does,” Grandpa piped up.

  Their guns weren’t nearby, but I saw both leaned against the house near the far corner. Raider ran between my legs, almost tangling me up, and I stumbled, hitting the railing next to Jessica, my head near hers. She laughed and took another sip while I got my feet under me.

  “Go chase Foghorn,” I told Raider who sat down and just stared at me, his head cocked to the side.

  “Seems awful glad to see you,” the sheriff said.

  This guy was an interesting character, and I remembered Dave saying that his boss had told him about me. How did the sheriff know? Was he a friend of Grandpa’s or Lester's? I hadn’t met him and was still coming to terms with the new guy knowing who I was, even though I liked him.

  “Yeah, I had a little bit of… excitement. Made him stay here with Grandpa and Grandma.”

  “Wouldn’t have to do with the three gunshots your grandpa heard?”

  Dammit. Wait, Grandpa told him?

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  “You don’t have to be so coy,” Grandma said. “I already told these boys it was something to do with that Warcastle kid.”

  “Well, ma’am, we already knew that,” Dave said, and his gaze turned to Jessica, but she hadn’t noticed; she was looking at me and taking a smaller sip.

  “So how much do you know about the feud between Lance and me?” I asked.

  “Feud? Really?” Jessica asked.

  “You didn’t know?” I asked her, hoping she wasn’t putting me on.

  “No, I mean, old school stuff but…”

  “Sheriff here is a good ‘un,” Lester said. “He better be, he’s my damn nephew.”

  “Your favorite nephew,” he said, knocking back the last of the lemonade.

  “One more?” Grandma asked.

  “Sure, but this fella looks like he’s parched and bloody.”

  I stepped back from the railing and looked at my arms. Both had blood smears from all the flying vampires that had snacked on me while I was waiting for something to happen. I ripped at an itchy spot and was about to say something when Grandma filled a cup and handed it over to me. I downed it. Nectar of the gods, infused with the best of Uncle Jessie’s Sour Mash flooded my tastes, and I finished it in one go. I handed the cup back to Grandma who filled it again. Grandpa made a disgusted sound, and I tipped my glass toward him, a grin on my face.

  “You’re lucky you aren’t about fifty years older,” Grandpa groused, “I’d kick your ass for sassing me like that.”

  “Are they always like this?” Deputy Rolston asked Jessica.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So what’s up, guys?” I asked after a minute.

  “Well, now…”

  Aaron and Ryan had nearly soiled themselves when the gunfire erupted, and Dave had took a hurried shot at the brush. Apparently, he’d thought I was further up the hill than I was and the shot was meant to scare me. When I put a shot between his legs, he knew I had him dialed in. In their hurry to get out of the area, sure I was going to snipe them, they had wrapped their truck around a telephone pole near town. Jessica had run across Dave while she was in town and had been the one to hear the crash. She’d come across two of Lance’s guys walking away from the truck, one with a gash in the temple. From her description, it sounded like Aaron, but I wasn’t for sure.

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” I muttered, and Raider chuffed in agreement.

  “She was looking for one of us, to report that Lance seemed pretty upset with you. I wonder why?” Dave said to nobody.

  “He wouldn’t sell to him,” Grandpa piped up.

  There it was. The cardinal rule had been broken, and by the man who’d taught me the rules of running shine.

  “Yeah, I hear he had some people from the ATF interested. Seems he sold drinks to a guy who knew about a distillery that was being set up but hadn’t started production. Yet there he is, selling its products.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “If it had gone into looking into things any more than that, I would have warned the both of you,” Sheriff Jackson said.

  “Wait, you’re a moonshiner?” Jessica asked suddenly.

  “Um… well, yeah. I think what’s in your glass came from one of my last runs?” I asked Grandpa, who just nodded.

  She took another long sip, trying not to cough. Grandma had mixed this batch stronger than the one she’d made me the day I’d fought the fire. Still, it wasn’t too much, and you could just get a hint of the corn in the sweet mixture.

  “This doesn’t taste like paint thinner,” she said finally, smacking her lips.

  “That’s because we take that out at the start. That way it doesn’t poison you or give the whiskey off flavors.”

  “And you guys are ok with this?” she asked Lester’s favorite nephew and Deputy Rolston.

  “Well, as long as it stayed small and discreet,” William Jackson said. “It’s been an American tradition. Did you know George Washington himself ran a still?”

  “I didn’t… he did?” she asked.

  “It isn’t that common nowadays, but it’s only illegal because sometimes yahoos who do it, do so with dangerous materials. The government can’t tax it properly if you had a unit you could plug in your kitchen and in five hours get enough liquor to keep a man in drink for a month.”

  Jessica’s mouth fell open.

  “Nobody is going to plug anything in, not any time soon,” Dave said softly, and all eyes turned to him, the sheriff nodding his head in agreement.

  “What do you mean?” Les asked him, beating my grandpa to the punch who still had his mouth open, only to abruptly shut it.

  “Boss here let me drive to the state police post. Only the desk Sargent was on duty there, the cars having been sent to the bigger cities. Apparently, somebody got in touch with the governor, and this outage seems to be pretty much everywhere.”

  “You mean just this part of the state?” Grandma asked.

  “No, I mean, as far as they know. Everywhere. Beyond Arkansas. Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, New Mexico for sure.”

  “I thought Texas had their own grid?” Grandpa asked.

  “They do,” Jackson answered. “But the solar storm really played havoc with things. Stuff that was supposed to be shielded sometimes blew. Stuff that wasn’t supposed to be safe ended up being safe. In a lot of places, the power plants are operating but the transformers are down, or they are overloading things. Hell, I don’t know exactly, I’m not an expert on it, but he told me that the parts needed to fix things could take som
e time.”

  “How much time?” I asked softly.

  “Now, that there is the question,” Deputy Rolston said.

  “Generators seem to work,” I said suddenly.

  “Cars too,” Jessica said. “Only reason I was walking was because gas in town is up to six dollars a gallon now.”

  “Eight,” Rolston corrected.

  Damn!

  “So I’m guessing there’s more good news?” Grandpa asked.

  Lester looked over at him and shook his head no. “Sounds like the governor has declared a state of emergency. Might be seeing some guard boys by the sound of it. No idea why things are quiet here. If they can get the word out that is, seems they’re having a hard time getting people on the horn.”

  “When is that gonna happen?” Grandma asked.

  “Who knows?” Lester shot back. “But in the meantime, I figured I’d ask y'all if you still did your gardening?”

  “You know we do,” Grandpa answered him.

  “Good, was wondering if I could work out a horse trade sometime.”

  “Depends on what you’re trading,” Grandpa shot back.

  I knew he was talking about the excess that Grandma used to sell at the market, but as she’d got older and when I went away to college, we’d got out of the habit of planting a ton of extras. We’d have to fix that, and soon; especially as I was beginning to realize that we were genuinely hosed. This wasn’t an EMP or a zombie apocalypse, but it was something in the middle. Some things worked, but without the juice to power things, the situation might spiral out of control.

  “We’ll see. I need to get running y’all,” Les said.

  “We do as well. I want to make sure that those boys made it to the clinic. I think I might have to talk to them about the dents in the truck, plus the most recent one where they hit a pole. Civil infraction right there. Reckless driving,” Dave said with a grin.

  “I’d appreciate that,” I told them and Raider made a grumbling sound from his chest and rubbed his head against my leg.