Mike was sitting on top of the stack of camo nets close to the cab, his right leg stuck out against the far side of the bed to brace himself. He shook his head. He had a big smile on his face, as much as he could smile with the wound. He looked like a kid who was enjoying the ride.
The trip to the little shack didn’t take long. When they got close Sarge called a stop and Ted pulled over to the side of the road. They got out and huddled around the map. “I was worried they saw you,” Mike said. “I was scared shitless.”
Doc was stretching his back. “They would have, but I climbed out and hid in the woods. They saw the boat and that had their interest. I didn’t know what to do, and then you guys opened up and the whole damn place went up.”
Mike asked, “Were there Coasties in that RIB?”
“All I saw were DHS guys. There may have been one operating it, but none on the deck.”
Mike shook his head. “Man, I hope not. My old man was in the Coast Guard.”
“You fire that rocket?”
“Yeah.”
“Hell of a shot,” Doc said.
Sarge stepped between them. “Story time’s over. Mike, you and Doc head through the bush here, take a due east heading. You’re looking for a little shack over there. Make sure there aren’t any surprises waiting for us. If you make contact, turn due south and we’ll pick you on the first dirt road you come to.”
“Anything to get out of that damn rattle trap,” Doc said, and then the two of them headed into the bush.
Sarge went to the passenger side. “Saddle up, Tonto, we gotta be ready if they need us,” he said over the bed.
“What do you mean ‘we,’ white man?” Ted said.
Sarge chuckled and they climbed in and waited.
Mike and Doc were both wearing NVGs and communicated with hand signals as they worked their way through the bush. They were approaching the shack from the east side, and when it came into sight they took a knee and waited, watching the shack for any movement, anything that indicated someone was there. They waited for twenty minutes without moving or saying anything. Finally, Mike looked over at Doc, raised his index finger and twirled it, then pointed to the south. Doc nodded and the two men stood up and moved out.
The shack sat in a small clearing, maybe half an acre. The two moved silently around the eastern edge, back in the tree line of the little clearing about fifteen yards. Coming to the southern edge of the clearing, they again stopped and took a knee to look and listen. They continued this process around the western and northern borders of the little clearing. Satisfied it was clear, the two men went across the road that passed just to the north and cleared it as well.
The two men moved back to the clearing, skirting the western edge and approached the small shack from that side. At the edge of the shack they paused again, listening. Mike was paying particular attention to the ground around the shack. Doc motioned and Mike followed him to the northern edge of the shed. They carefully checked that side then moved to the eastern side where they door was located. There were no windows in the shack, no way to look inside. Mike stepped around Doc at the door and checked it very carefully around its four sides. Finding nothing, the two of them prepared to open it. Mike positioned himself in front of the door with his carbine shouldered and at low ready. When he triggered the green laser on his weapon, Doc jerked the door open.
Mike stepped inside quickly, turning to the left, and Doc immediately followed him in and turned to the right. The shack was big, thirty by forty feet, a big set of double doors on the south side. It looked like it had been used to store equipment, but not recently. Mike found some old oil filters, big ones, piled in a corner but otherwise the place was empty save for black widows and a population of ant lions that must have numbered in the thousands. Mike told Doc to hang out while he went back and got the old man.
Mike went back through the woods to the truck. As he approached, he gave a little whistle. It was answered with another and he came out of the bush and walked up to Sarge’s side of the truck.
“Well?” Sarge asked as he came up.
“It’s clear boss, big place too. We can park the truck in it.”
“Well, let’s go see this palace.”
Mike jumped into the back of the truck again and Ted drove off towards the shack. As they pulled in, Doc came out to meet them. The four men went into the tin-clad shack to look it over. Just as Mike had said, the structure was big enough to drive the truck into and they agreed that for the night they would drive in. The next day they would again make a hide for it in the woods. Sarge didn’t like the idea of having the truck in there with them in case they were discovered. In the meantime they decided to set up camp for the night.
As they went back out to the truck a low whump drifted across the forest. “Looks like they found the party favors,” Mike said.
Ted just shrugged his shoulders and went to the truck to get his pack. Mike hopped into the truck and drove it around to the south side where Doc was opening the doors. Mike backed the truck until it was against the far side of the building before shutting it down. This way it gave them some room to get some speed if they needed to get the hell out of Dodge.
The rest of the evening was spent setting up camp for the night and prepping the comm gear. While they wouldn’t transmit tonight, Sarge wanted the gear ready for the morning. Mike volunteered to stand the first watch and went outside and moved off into the tree line. Inside, the rest of the guys sorted out their gear and broke out some MREs. Sarge dug around in the bed of the truck and all the gear they had thrown into it looking for his stove; he was out of coffee and getting damn irritable. Ted came over and liberated it from under the camo nets and handed it over. “Here, before you go completely insane.”
Sarge grabbed the stove and set it on the tailgate. “Believe me, you don’t want to see me without coffee.”
Ted leaned on the top of the bed. “You know that day’s coming, right?”
Sarge was busy priming the stove and didn’t look up. “What day?”
“The day when there’s no more coffee.”
Sarge stopped in mid-stroke, his thumb still over the end of the plunger in the tank of the stove. He looked over at Ted with his teeth gritted. “You watch your mouth! Don’t start no shit, there won’t be no shit!”
Ted laughed and turned away. “I’m jus’ sayin’.”
I had to go Mark’s house after leaving Danny’s. It was on the way anyway so I stopped and dropped off the boxes. When I set them out at the little shed in his front yard, I opened them to take a look. There were two cans of beans and half a bag of flour and some hygiene products. In the second box there was a can of salt and a box of pepper. Seeing how little the guy had struck me. If these two boxes were any indication of how the others around there were doing, then people were about to get damn desperate. I admired Lance for never having said a word about how thin things were at home, but I knew most people weren’t as stoic.
Mark was still at the barricade when I pulled up on my way to get Don. I told him I had left the boxes in front of his shed. He gave me a look then said, “Thanks, I’ll have to get Marie over to open her lock.” He shook his head and said, “Putting two locks on there was a good idea at the time, but she is a real pain in the ass.”
“What do you have left in there?”
“Not much. We’re down to the mush that was in those humanitarian aid boxes. I guess it’ll keep you alive, but it tastes like shit.”
“What is it?” I asked and suppressed a smile.
He thought for a minute. “Kinda like plain oatmeal and Cream of Wheat. It’s hard to explain; the package has all the nutritional info on it, and it’s got everything in it, except for taste.”
I couldn’t hide my grin anymore. Mark noticed it and said, “What?”
“I was j
ust thinking of all those commercials we used to see on TV with some African kid with a bloated belly eating that stuff from a bowl with flies buzzing around it.”
“And you find that funny?”
“No, actually what I was thinking about was the South Park episode where they made fun of Sally Struthers. Remember how she used to always be on those commercials?”
At first he was mad, and then a big smile spread across his face. “What was that kid’s name, the little Ethiopian they brought over?”
I started to laugh and so did he. “I don’t remember his name, I just remember him chasing shit down trying to eat it and her fat ass eating everything that wasn’t nailed down.”
Dan looked over. “What’s so damn funny?”
Mark looked at him with tears in his eyes, “South Park.”
“South Park?” Dan asked.
“Never mind,” Mark said with a wave, still laughing.
We both recovered and talked for a minute about some things in the neighborhood, Miss Janice for one, and how we needed to check on her. He asked again about the raiders that were still lying in the road, if I was serious about not helping to bury them. I assured him I was, but that I would still help haul them off into the woods or the field across the road and dump them. The look on his face made it pretty clear that he wasn’t happy with my position. He said, “I’ll let you know when you get back.”
I drove out the barricade and headed down to the doc’s place. Parking in front of the office, I walked around back to the house. It was connected but the doc was usually in the house and not the office. I knocked on the door and a woman opened it. I introduced myself and told her I was there to pick up Don. She introduced herself as Nancy Peters, the doc’s wife, and invited me in. She told me Don was doing well and was more than ready to go home. I gave a little laugh and said I was sure he was. She led me out to the Florida room where Don was sitting in a wicker chair with his good leg up on a stool.
“Hey, old man, you ready to go?” I asked as I came in.
He looked up and said, “More than ready. What took so dang long?”
“If you were in a hurry, you coulda called a cab.”
Don laughed as the doc walked in. “Is this your ride?”
“Yeah, his chariot is outside,” I replied.
“Nancy, can you gather up Don’s things while I go over some things with—” the doc paused and looked at me. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Oh, I’m Morgan,” I said and stuck out my hand. He took it and we shook.
“Follow me, Morgan, I need to go over a few things for Don’s aftercare.”
We went out to his office where he pulled a few items from a cabinet and put them in a box. There were rolls of gauze, gauze pads and a bottle of antibiotics and some painkillers. He gave me a concerned look. “Don doesn’t like the painkillers, but take them with you; he may need them. Make sure he takes his antibiotics three times a day.”
“How about the wound? Does it still need cleaned, or is it closed up?”
“The staples are still in and yes it needs cleaned and the dressing changed once a day. I’m putting a bottle of Betadine in the box too.”
“You have any saline? I like to mix the two for wound irrigation.”
He looked up at me, a little surprised. “Yeah,” he said and he took a quart bottle from a shelf and dropped it in the box along with a big irrigation syringe.
“You have training?”
“Just OJT.”
“Well, if you need anything just let me know. If he develops a fever or anything, bring him in.”
We went back to the Florida room where Don was still sitting. There wasn’t a wheelchair for him, so he had to use a pair of crutches to get out to the truck. I helped Don in and put his crutches in the back along with the box Doc packed for us. Doc and Nancy were standing in the driveway waving as we pulled out. The ride back to our road was short, less than a mile, and Don sat quietly as we drove. When we passed a family walking down the side of the road pushing a shopping cart, he finally spoke up. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”
I looked at the family in the rearview mirror. They had moved to the side of the road when we passed them. “Things sure are different now.”
He stared out the window in silence for a moment. “Just think of all the lost knowledge, things that everyone used to know how to do that now no one knows anymore.”
“It’s all still out there, in books. We’ll just have to learn it all again.” I looked over at him and smiled.
He was still looking out the window. “What good is an old one-legged man going to be? I can’t even collect firewood to heat my home or shoot limb rats for food.”
“You can still shoot limb rats. Phyllis will just have to go get them for you. As for firewood, I’ll keep you stocked, and there is one thing you can do that is very important.”
Don looked over at me, trying not to look too interested in what I had to say.
“You have your ham rig, right? You need to spend your time listening and making notes. We need to know what is out there and what is coming our way. You can do that, can’t you?”
“I guess even with only one leg I can do that.”
“I know it doesn’t look too good today, but think about the future. You can still stand guard at the barricade, can’t you? If you’re doing that, it means some of the younger guys will be freed up to plant when spring comes, stuff like that. Hell, at some point we’re gonna need a school, and a teacher. Maybe you’ll do that. Point is, we don’t know everything we’re gonna need, but we know that we’re gonna need everyone. You hear me?”
He looked over and nodded. “I hear you.”
I smiled, he smiled back at me and asked me to stop at the barricade. Mark came up to the truck when I stopped. He said, “How ya feelin, Don?”
“Pretty good for someone who lost half a leg. I wanted to say thank you to you and Morgan. You guys saved my life.”
“Shoot, all I did was drive you down to the old sawbones.” Mark pointed at me and said, “He’s the one that really saved your hide.”
“It was just some first aid. I couldn’t let you lay there and bleed out.”
“Well, it saved my ass.” Don said.
Dan called out, “There’s a motorcycle coming.”
I stepped out of the Suburban, put the sling of my carbine over my head and walked out to the road. The scooter was coming out of Altoona and was loud as hell. I’ve always heard bikers say that loud pipes save lives, but damn. The bike slowed as it got closer and coasted to a stop in the road in front of the barricade. The man sitting on it was wearing a pair of clean jeans and a leather jacket. His boots looked like Hi-Tecs or something like them. There was a rough-looking scabbard strapped to the right side of the bike with a rifle butt jutting out of it.
He sat on the bike for a moment then put the kickstand down and stepped off. He was wearing a helmet, one of the little skullcap kind, and took it off. “You guys have any clean water?” he called out.
I was standing in front of the barricade with my carbine at low ready. He wasn’t holding a firearm and was standing there with his hands on his hips. After a moment I told him we did and waved him over to the barricade and the keg kept behind it. He opened one of the hard boxes on the side of the bike and pulled out a couple of one-liter water bottles. When he was about half way to the barricade, I asked him if he had any other weapons on him. He said that he did and opened his jacket to show a Glock in a high-ride holster on his belt.
“Is that the only one?” I asked him.
He smiled and replied, “No, there’s another one on the bike too.”
“Just keep it in the holster and we’ll be fine,” I replied.
He held his hands up in mock surrender. “No problem, man,
all I want is some water. Besides, from the looks of you guys, I don’t have enough gun.”
He went over to the keg and filled his bottles. Mark came up to me as he was filling them and said he didn’t like the looks of him. I told him his cop was sticking out and laughed when he looked down at his zipper. That got me a hearty “fuck you.” As biker dude was screwing the cap on the second bottle I walked over to him and asked where he was coming from. He told me he had been down in Miami, but he was from Phoenix. He had come down to pick up the bike he was riding, bought online from an old Cuban dude and had come down with his truck and a trailer to pick it up when things “went to shit,” as he put it.
“How’s Miami?” I asked.
He just laughed. “Worse than ever, if you can imagine. Liberty City was on fire when I pulled out, Alpha 66 was trying to put together a navy so they could invade Cuba, and the Cubans and Haitians were in the business of wholesale murder of one another.” He said to hang on and went to his bike and came back with a black case. When he opened it I suddenly thought I was dealing with someone a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He pulled an iPad out of the case. I kind of raised my eyebrows at him and he just smiled and hit the power button. To my complete astonishment, the damn thing came on. He winked and said, “Check this out.”
He played a video taken with the iPad. It was the skyline of Miami and it was burning. The view panned down and there were bodies on the road. The vantage point appeared to be from across a large canal and from at least the second floor of a building. I watched the video in total amazement as the thick black smoke billowed into the sky, and the crackle of gunfire could be heard in the background. He explained that what we were seeing was Overtown in Miami. He had been on the roof of a building watching the chaos. Miami was a cesspool, mounds of uncollected garbage were piled everywhere. Many of the residents of the city and suburbs of Miami came from third world countries, and when the power failed and the country started to slide backwards they naturally went back to what they knew. Sewage was simply dumped into the street along with the carcasses of animals killed for food. The latter included everything from cats and dogs to chickens and iguanas.
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