He told me how he had watched three Haitians try to kill a donkey with a machete. The donkey had brayed and screamed when they struck it with the big blade. They had the poor creature tied to a palm tree and it fought against the rope but couldn’t escape. He said he would never forget the look on that animal’s face, how big its eyes were, wide in abject terror. At that point it was the worst thing he had ever seen in his life. He couldn’t take it and used his Mosin—he nodded his chin at the rifle on his bike—to put the animal down. He said when he shot the damn donkey, the Haitian with the machete stopped with the blade poised over his head for another strike. The man was covered in blood from his face to feet. Hearing the shot and seeing the animal drop, they simply began to cut it up.
He finished up by saying, “Hell, I’m a hunter, but that was just awful.”
I pointed as the iPad and asked, “How?”
He smiled real big and waved me over to the bike. Opening one of the boxes, he pulled away the felt from the top to reveal a copper wire mesh. I guess the look on my face was enough of a question so he went on to explain how he had some of his stuff in a Faraday cage he built. When he had had to downsize to fit everything on the bike, he took it apart and lined the box on the bike with it. I shook my head, he was pretty sharp. “Hey, what’s your name?”
He stuck his hand out and replied, “Jeff. Jeff Collins.”
I introduced myself to him and asked about his trip up. He walked over to the bike and I followed him as he spoke. I was curious why he was no further from Miami than he was since I had walked from Tallahassee in far less time. He told me he wasn’t in a hurry, he didn’t have any family and wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. He was just cruising around, finding fuel where he could and getting a feel for things. He opened the box on the bike and put the iPad in and pulled out a big bag of Bazooka bubble gum, reached in and grabbed a handful and then offered it to me.
“I don’t want any, but can I take some for my kids?”
“Sure man, help yourself,” he replied as he unwrapped a piece and stuck in his mouth, then unfolded the little comic.
I reached in and grabbed a few pieces and stuck them in my pocket. He read the comic and laughed to himself then proceeded to open four more pieces and stuff them in his mouth as well. I laughed when he looked up with a mouthful of the hard squares, trying to get them all mashed up.
“Like bubble gum?” I asked.
He swatted at a gnat that was harassing his ear and replied, “You gotta enjoy the little things in life, especially nowadays.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
He swatted at the gnat again. “What the hell’s with these damn flies?” He said as he was trying to draw a bead on one in front of his face.
“Gotta love dog peter gnats.”
He stopped with his fist clenched tight in front of his face, an unsuccessful attempt at capturing the pest and looked at me with one eye half-squinted. “What’d you call em?”
Looking at him with that huge wad of chewing gum in his jaw he looked like the cartoon baseball player on the bag of Big League chew bubble gum.
“Dog peter gnats. Where do you usually see the damn things?”
He folded at the waist and began to laugh. He said, “That’s funny as hell. I’ve never heard that before.”
“There’s only one sure fire way to get rid of ‘em.”
He chewed the wad for a moment, then asked, “How?” with more than a hint of suspicion.
“Cut a hole in the seat of your pants. Buzzing around your face is only their second choice.”
The gnats were buzzing around his head when it rolled back and he began to laugh. I watched as one of the little bastards flew right up his left nostril, like a gold fish crumb caught in the suction of a Kirby vacuum.
What happened next startled me. He stopped in mid laugh and went to take a breath to try and snot-rocket the pest out, but the sound that came from his throat was like a half-full bathtub draining, when the little vortex of water forms and that deep-throated slurp comes up from the drain. That sound was followed immediately by the sound the little rubber stopper would make when, caught in that vortex, it found its way over the hole and plugged the flow of water.
Jeff reached up and grabbed his neck. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung agape. I looked at him for a second before I realized he couldn’t breathe; his face was growing progressively redder, and the veins in his neck and forehead bulged. I ran around him and tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him to no effect. I had my arms around his midsection, jerking upward against his sternum trying to dislodge the wad of gum in his throat. After a couple of attempts, his knees buckled and with all his weight on me, he slumped to the ground. He was still trying to get a breath, but it just wasn’t happening.
I knelt down and pounded on his back: nothing. After another brief moment, he fell to the side. Tears were dripping from his nose as he lay there on the road. Opening his mouth and holding his tongue down with my thumb, I stuck my right index finger into the back of his throat to try and get the pink mass out. All I managed was to pull a long sticky string out of his mouth. He was motionless by then. I tried a sternum rub to see if he would respond, but he was gone. I heard a scuffing sound and looked up to see Don hobbling over. He stopped at my side looking down at the body. “Why’d you kill ‘im?”
I looked up at the old man. “Look here, kickstand, you start any shit and you’re going straight to the glue factory,” he just shrugged his shoulders and stood there.
Mark walked over looking confused as hell. “What in the hell just happened?”
He stepped up and knelt beside Jeff and put his index and middle finger to his throat. Looking up he said, “There’s still a pulse.” He stood up and straddled Jeff’s motionless body, raising his right foot. Mark stomped on his chest, planting his boot right on Jeff’s sternum. Jeff let out a coughing kind of sound and that big pink wad shot straight up into the air. Reflexively, Don stuck his hand out and the mass landed in his hand.
Jeff took in a deep breath and let out a long moan. “Oh, my fucking ribs,” he said as he wrapped his arms around his chest and rolled onto his side. “I think my ribs are broke,” he moaned.
Mark, Don and I stood there looking down at him for a minute, Jeff looked up and asked who hit him. Don pointed to Mark and replied, “He did, ‘cept he put the boot leather to ya.”
Jeff rolled onto his back and looked up at Mark. “You a cop? That’s police brutality, man.”
Mark smiled. “You’re welcome.”
I reached down and pulled Jeff to his feet. He was still holding his ribs and leaning forward slightly. Don held out the wad of gum. “Want this back?”
Jeff looked over, “Hell no I don’t want that shit. My throat is killing me.”
Don tossed the wad off into the palmettos at the side of the road.
“You gonna be alright?” I asked.
“I need a place to sit down for awhile.”
I told him to come with me. He was worried about his bike, but I assured him it would be safe there. We had to push it behind the barricade before he would agree. I loaded Jeff and Don up and headed for Don’s house. I managed to get Don delivered to his place, but helping him into the house was bit of a pain. He needed a ramp and added that to my mental list of things to do. I asked about their firewood situation and his wife said they were fine for now. I told them both if they needed anything to come and get me. They were both a little hard headed, saying they didn’t need any help and I said, “Well, if you do, you know where to find me.”
With Don finally home I took Jeff to my place. He wasn’t saying much and I couldn’t blame him for it. At the house I took him in and deposited him on the sofa. He protested at first, not wanting to burden me, but I told him not to worry about it, to take it easy for little while a
nd that he could stay the night and leave in the morning. I went to go see Mel in the kitchen and told her about our guest. By the time I got back to the living room, Jeff was sound asleep. I left him there and went back to the kitchen.
“He’s asleep,” I said as I came in.
“Is he armed?”
“Uh, yeah, he has a pistol that I know of.”
“And you bring him here, with our girls?” she said, leaning against the island with her arms crossed.
“Well, yeah. I don’t think he is going to be a problem. He seems like a pretty good guy.” I told her what had happened and she said she wouldn’t be comfortable until I had Jeff’s pistol. I nudged him and when he didn’t wake, I slipped it out of the holster and showed it to Mel.
“Good, now I don’t feel like I’ll be killed in my sleep. Now that that’s settled, why in the hell did you take her with you today to load up a dead body?”
“She wanted go. I told her what I was doing and she wanted to go. You think we can hide this sort of thing from them forever?”
“She’s seven, of course she wanted to go with you. The only dead people she has ever seen were on TV. She doesn’t understand it.”
“She has a better understanding of it now. Look, I knew she wasn’t ready for what she was going to see, but I would rather that first encounter be under a somewhat controlled situation than when we are running for our lives and she freezes when she sees a dead body. We’re all going to be seeing more of them.”
She stood there for a moment looking right through me. “Why are you so damn morbid? Why do think we’re going to go all Mad Max?”
I was stunned. “Have you looked around? Do you have any idea what is going on, how bad things are?”
“The power’s out, so what? It’s like the hurricanes a couple of years ago. It’s not that big a deal.”
That made me pause. All this time I had been worried that Mark and other folks weren’t really getting it and it had never occurred to me Mel wasn’t either. I said, “It’s not that big a deal? Are you out of your damn mind? We’re doing better than most because of what we put away, but for most folks out there the shit has hit the fan in a big way, and let me clue you into something, we’re going to be in the same boat as everyone else is soon enough. The food we have stored is going to run out, the fuel is going to run out, and we’ll be like everyone else: hungry and desperate.”
She said, “I don’t think it’s that bad. Is it?”
“After we buried Lance and his wife today, Mark went through their house. They had two—two—cans of food and a little flour, that was it. Everyone around here is probably in the same boat.”
Mel cocked her head. “Why did you have to bury his wife?”
“She wouldn’t come out. She called me a liar when I told her he was dead so I left his body in the yard and went to get Mark. When we got back, we found her dead in the house. She shot herself.”
Mel stood there silent for a moment and then said, “Oh.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thad loaded everything from the cache into the Scout. When he was done, he examined the rifle he had taken off the security man. It was an M4 with an ACOG sight and a light on the foregrip.
He had no experience with the weapon and started trying to figure out how it worked. He pressed the mag release and the magazine fell out and landed on the ground. He turned the weapon over and looked at the mag well. He reinserted the mag and tapped the bottom, then shook the weapon to make sure it was in tight. He pressed the release again, this time with his hand under it, catching it. After setting the mag on the hood he grabbed the charging handle and pulled it to the rear and the chambered round ejected. Thad picked up the round and put it back in the magazine. Once he had it back in, he put the mag back into the weapon and pulled the charging handle back and let it go. It closed with a solid slap.
Thad put the rifle to his shoulder and looked through the sight. He aimed at a live oak about twenty yards from him and squeezed the trigger. It was stiff and wouldn’t move. Thad lowered the rifle and looked it over. Finding the safety, he flipped it up and once again put it against his shoulder. Pressing the switch for the light, he squeezed the trigger, and this time the weapon barked and kicked slightly against his shoulder. He settled the rifle and fired a couple more rounds at the tree. It didn’t look like he had hit it, but walking up he could see the small holes in the bark. Thad flipped the safety back to the safe position. Feeling a little more comfortable with the rifle, Thad put it back in the truck and climbed in.
Leaving the farm for the last time, he drove by the burning barn and headed towards his house. Thad pulled up in front of his house and sat there looking at it. After a moment, he got out of the truck, went to the back and took out a blue plastic jug. He let himself in and left the key in the lock.
He poured the kerosene out on the floor of his bedroom and lit it. He went to Tony’s room where he did the same thing. He poured the rest of the kerosene on the sofa and lit it as well. With the flames building, he walked out on the front porch and stood there for a minute, stuffing his hands into the pockets on his coat. He rolled his shoulders against the chill in the air and took in the scene from his front porch for the last time. His hand found Little Tony’s toy in his coat pocket and he clutched it, thinking about the Transformers movie he had watched with Tony, the part where the bad guys had burned the Transformer’s home world and the good guys had to go on the run.
Thad climbed back into the truck, started it and sat there for minute. He backed the truck out into the road and paused again. After a moment he turned the truck north on Swift Mud Road and started to drive. As he drove, Thad thought about where he was going, where he could go. He knew Sarge had left his place. Then he had a thought and stopped the truck in the road. Reaching into the back seat, he pulled his pack to the front. He dug around in the pack and finally came out with a piece of paper. He sat there looking at it, rubbing it between his fingers. Finally, he laid it on the seat beside him and took out his atlas, something he was thankful he had managed to salvage from the old truck.
Once he knew where he was going there was nothing left to do but get started. It was a long way and he was not looking forward to the drive, but he wanted to get away, and he never wanted to see Land O Lakes again. It was late and Thad didn’t expect to see anyone out, but he didn’t really care either way.
He made his way to I-75. He drove until he reached the exit for Lake Panasoffkee and got off. The exit ramp dead-ended into another road and Thad needed to take a right. As he approached the T in the road ahead of him, Thad saw a makeshift roadblock. The area around it was dark, and as the headlights swung around to light up the area it appeared to be empty. Nonetheless, he reached over and picked up the old coach gun and laid it in his lap.
Thad went off the left side of the road and was passing the barricade when he saw the tent. As he looked at it, a head popped out of it. Much to his relief, the man didn’t come any further.
After making his turn he reached the intersection of CR 470. This road would take him through a couple of small towns. One large intersection up ahead was his only real concern; it crossed 301 and was the one place where he would certainly encounter people. Once past that he would go through Yalaha then Howie in the Hills. There he would turn onto 19 and face his next major obstacle, the bridge over Lake Harris. This one worried him the most, as any detour around it would add many miles to the trip through heavily populated areas.
Thad kept his eyes on the road, occasionally scanning the sides of the road for anything that looked out of place. He was at ease as he drove. The road he was on would end ahead and he would have to make a left to continue through Sumterville. Up ahead he could make out what could only be the overpass on the Turnpike; this could be an issue, but he hoped not. Once again he laid the old shotgun in his lap and moved the Scout to the cente
r of the road. There was no trouble and when he reached Howie in the Hills he knew the bridge over Harris was coming up.
Just outside of the town proper he turned onto Highway 19. That side of the lake was mostly orange groves, the trees stripped of any leftover fruit. As he approached the bridge, Thad slowed the Scout to a stop and strained to look out across it. It was impossible to see across, but from his side everything looked peaceful enough. Putting the truck in gear, he started onto the bridge. He was going slowly as the thought of the Scout careening off the bridge into the alligator-infested lake below sent chills up his spine. As he drove, he looked out into the lake, and save the occasional reflection of the moon off the lake it looked like a bottomless abyss.
Halfway across the bridge he was looking out into the water when he was blinded by light. Snapping his head around, he saw two sets of lights high off the ground, each of them with four blindingly bright lights. Thad slammed on the brakes and put the Scout into reverse, and an amplified voice came at him from the opposite bank, but with the windows up he couldn’t make out what it said. Thad stretched his right arm out across the passenger seat and looked back to back off the bridge, but his heart sank when two sets of lights began to accelerate from the opposite end towards him. He stopped the truck and looked forward again, silhouetted in the light coming from the other end he could see men walking towards him, armed men. He looked in the rearview again and saw that men were climbing out of some sort of ATVs, and they too were armed.
Surviving Home Page 22