Surviving Home

by Angery American

  “No I wasn’t! I didn’t steal anything! They just jumped me!”

  “You did too! I saw you with two of ‘em in your hands. You callin’ me a liar?” the woman shouted.

  I could hear Mark’s mule coming down the road and looked up to see him turn into the drive.

  Mark pulled up looking frazzled. He looked like he wasn’t getting enough sleep and it was starting to wear on him. The robe-clad woman ran to him as he climbed out of the Mule. “He was stealing our chickens!”

  “No I wasn’t! They jumped me and started beating me! Get him off!” the kid on the ground cried.

  The cop in Mark was already in gear. “Then why you in their yard?” he asked with a sigh.

  The fat man glanced over at Mark. “Cause he was stealing our chickens.”

  The kid on the ground didn’t have anything to say; what could he say? He was caught in their yard at night with a chicken in each hand. Mark asked them what they wanted him to do about it. They looked at him kind of confused. “You’re the law, it’s your job. You need to do something about it. We can’t have people going around here stealing from us,” the man said, loosening his grip on the kid.

  “Well, what do you expect me to do? I can’t put him in jail,” Mark said, more than a little annoyance in his voice.

  The man straightened himself up and looked at Mark. The boy rolled hard to the side and out from under the man. In a flash he was trying to get his feet under him to run. The man lunged for him, missed and landed on the ground. His son leapt for the kid and in a twist any football player could appreciate, the kid rolled out of the tackle and was at a full run. The man looked at Mark and shouted, “Shoot him!”

  Mark just shook his head. “I’m not going to shoot someone for stealing a fucking chicken.”

  The big man stood up. “Then what damn good are ya if you aren’t going to protect us?”

  Mark just shook his head and walked over to the Mule. I looked at him as he passed me, but he didn’t even acknowledge I was standing there.

  The man and his wife watched Mark as he got back in the Mule. He said, “Next time I’ll shoot him myself!”

  Mark started the Mule. I walked over to him and rested a hand on top of the roll cage. “You look like shit.”

  He said, “Yeah, thanks.” He sat there for a minute staring off into the darkness and then said, “What do these fucking idiots want from me?”

  “They want what they always wanted: someone else to make decisions for them.”

  He hung his head and shook it slightly. “They wanted me to shoot that kid for stealing a fucking chicken.”

  “We need to come up with a way of dealing with little shit like this. If they had shot him I wouldn’t have blamed ‘em, but if people call for help or there’s some other petty crap, we need something a little less permanent than a firing squad,” I said.

  “What are we going to do, put a set of stocks in the village square?” Mark asked.

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. “That’s not a bad idea. Then the next time something like this happens we have a way to deal with it. I think you should do just that. I mean, think about—I don’t know, three hundred years ago. No small town had someone who could stand watch on a jail all day. But people who stole stuff, they were still part of the community. They were tied to the land, just like we are now. You couldn’t just pack up and get a job in the next town over. So they used peer pressure. Some dumb kid takes a chicken, he gets shamed in front of everyone he knows. Chances are he learns not to do it again.”

  Mark didn’t even look up as he put the Mule in gear. “Fine. I delegate it to you then.” And he drove away.

  Thad sat rocking his head on the wheel while the men outside shouted orders at him. He could hear them, but he just couldn’t face the fact that he had only made it this far. Turning his head to the side, he looked at the M4 lying on the seat. For a moment he thought of getting out with it and the shotty and just ending it right here, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Slowly and with great effort he reached over and opened the door. The voices ordered him out of the truck.

  “Put your hands up, turn away from me, get down on your knees, cross your feet, do not fucking move!”

  Thad followed the orders. He was thrown to the ground, a knee on his neck, and people were grabbing at him, yanking his arms, shouting orders that seemed to contradict one another: “Give me your hands!” “Don’t fucking move!” Well, which is it, Thad wondered.

  He was quickly searched. “Gun!” one of them called out. “Knife,” shouted another. “Look at the size of this fucking thing!”

  Thad was jerked up off the pavement and led towards the far end of the bridge. He heard the old Scout start up, then the lights went out, all of them. He was led in the dark, and no one talked to him, not that there was really much to say now. His hands were bound behind with those flexible cuffs. He heard the zziiiiippp as they tightened them on his wrists. He saw that one of them was wearing a vest with the word SHERIFF in big white letters.

  “You guys cops?” he asked.

  “Shut up and keep walking,” came the terse reply.

  At the other end of the bridge there were a number of people, almost all of them in uniform. Thad was led to a tent and forced into a chair sitting in front of a folding table. Other than him and the man standing by the door to the tent, it was empty save the Coleman lantern hanging from a hook on the pole that supported the top of the tent.

  He sat there for some time. He wasn’t too worried: after all, it was the sheriff that had him and not some band of thugs. After awhile a man came in and sat in the chair on the other side of table. With a thud, he dropped some of the gear from the Scout down in front of him. The man sat there looking at Thad, not saying a word. Thad stared back at him indifferently.

  The man rocked back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and began to speak. “I’m Captain Taylor with the Lake County Sheriffs Department.” He said this as though Thad should know who he was. Getting no response, the man added, “And you are?”

  Thad sat there for a minute. “You can call me Thad.”

  Sitting back up and resting his elbows on the table, the man cupped his hands together beside his head, taking an exaggerated look at the items on the table. He looked up at Thad and spread his hands apart. “So, you wanna tell me where you got this stuff?”

  Lying on the table was the M4 and the tac vest he took from the security man, the DHS patch still on the front of it. Thad looked at it for a minute then asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, help me out here: where did you get a DHS rifle and tactical gear from? Are you a member of the DHS?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Captain Taylor sat there expecting more, but Thad didn’t say anything else. The captain spread his arms, raised his eyebrows and said, “And?”

  “And I took it off the man that killed my wife and son.”

  Captain Taylor sat up at that. “The man that killed your wife and son? The DHS killed your wife and son?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know this for certain? You were there when they did this and they didn’t kill you?”

  “No, I wasn’t there when they did it, but they told me they did.”

  “They? There were two of them, two DHS men?”

  “No, the other was a mailman.”

  Captain Taylor sat back, his eyes wide. He interlocked his fingers and put his hands on his head, “A mailman?”

  Thad nodded.

  “A mailman and a DHS agent killed your family?”

  Thad nodded again.

  Captain Taylor raised his hands over his head. “You gotta know this sounds a little crazy, Thad.” The Captain let out a little laugh. “That a mailman and DHS agent killed your family.” He dro
pped his hands into his lap and rocked the front legs of this chair off the ground. “Where’s this mailman and DHS agent now?”

  Thad turned his head to the side a little, looking up, making a show of thinking it over. “I would think they’s pig shit.”

  The Captain turned his head and leaned towards Thad a little. “Come again?”

  “By now they’re pig shit.”

  The Captain looked at him. “Pig shit. They’re pig shit now?” He paused for a moment looking down his nose at Thad. “You, you fed ‘em to the pigs. You fed a mailman and a DHS agent to the pigs,” he said, not a question but a statement.

  Thad just nodded his head slowly.

  “Thad, would you humor me for a minute? Would you just tell me exactly what happened?”

  Thad sat there, his hands still bound, and told the story exactly as it happened. He didn’t leave anything out. When he got to the part of dealing with the two men the captain had a look of horror on his face. Thad continued, laying the whole thing out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mike and Sarge stayed in their positions and watched as the three men slowly approached the clearing. There was enough light now that they could see the men without the aid of the NVGs. As they approached, the men stopped and took a knee. After a moment, the point man rose and stepped out. When he was about four feet out and twenty from Sarge, Sarge called out in a low voice, “Stump Knocker.” The man froze and the ones behind him fell prone to the ground. The point man was scanning the area looking for the source of the voice. After a moment, he answered, “Swamp Rat?”

  Sarge rose up from under the palms. The point man immediately saw him and raised a hand and Sarge responded likewise. The other two men in the element came into the clearing and joined them. Mike stayed in his position waiting for Sarge to signal him to come out. Two of the men moved to the edge of the clearing, and Mike watched as the man that had passed through the clearing earlier returned to the edge of it. With a security perimeter set up, the man with Sarge motioned for him to take a knee and did likewise.

  “First Sergeant Mitchell?” the man asked.

  “Correct.”

  “We called you guys out because they were about to bring the world down on you. The brass wants to bring you guys in. We’re preparing to make some moves and will need all the help we can get.”

  “We left some welcoming gifts for them, heard one of them go off. What the hell is going on?” Sarge asked.

  “From what the DOD has been able to determine, the solar flare was used as cover for an EMP strike. We’re not sure who did it, but the intel geeks are working on it and developing a theory.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “We’re not going into that right now. We just came to bring you guys out.”

  Sarge sat for a minute weighing his options, though this was really his only one.

  “What’s our exfil route?”

  “Our intended LZ is a regional airport in Steinhatchee.”

  “Steinhatchee, that’s over twenty miles away,” Sarge snorted.

  “I know, but we didn’t want to bring any assets in too close to the shitstorm you guys started.”

  Sarge smiled at him, the camo paint on his face cracking when he did. “Just following orders.”

  Mike rose from his position, causing the men on the perimeter to snap towards him with their weapons raised. Sarge said, “He’s with me.” The men looked over and lowered their weapons, though they kept them shouldered.

  Mike ran up to Sarge’s side. “We got trouble.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Ted’s got movement to the west, about two hundred yards away, we need to get back to them.”

  The other man asked, “How many?”

  “He’s not sure, fifteen to twenty.”

  “We’ll never get to them in time. They could try and get out, take the truck and run,” Sarge said, looking at Mike, who was listening to Ted on the ham handheld. Mike shook his head.

  “Stand by,” the other man said and began talking into a radio headset he was wearing.

  “Clementine, Stump Knocker, how copy?”

  “Stump Knocker, Clementine, loud and clear.”

  “Clementine, we have foot mobile hostiles closing in on Dallas, requesting air support.”

  “Stump Knocker, wait one.”

  The three men sat in silence waiting for a reply.

  The voice in headset crackled, “Stump Knocker, Draco three-one is inbound, coordinate on Tac 7, out.”

  The man reached back and pulled the radio from its pouch on his back and changed the frequency. Keying the mic, he called, “Stump Knocker, Draco three-one.”

  “Draco-three one, Stump Knocker.”

  “We have estimated fifteen to twenty foot mobile hostiles closing in on Dallas, can you verify?”

  “Stump Knocker, Draco three-one will be feet dry in two mics and on station at Dallas in five, how copy?”

  “Roger that, Draco three-one.”

  The man looked at Sarge. “We’ll have an A-10 over them in five minutes. He was loitering just offshore and is inbound now. Tell your guys to sit tight.”

  Mike relayed the info to Ted and after another brief pause the headset the other man was wearing crackled to life. “Stump Knocker, Stump Knocker, Draco three-one.”

  “Go for Stump Knocker.”

  “Stump Knocker, I count two-two, repeat twenty-two armed hostiles closing on Dallas from the southwest. There are vehicles on a dirt road about two clicks out.”

  “Roger that Draco, wait one.”

  “Tell your guys to get flat. How close are they now?”

  Mike called Ted on the radio and asked, then looked at the man and said, “One hundred fifty and closing.”

  The man shook his head. “They’re too close for heavy ordnance, he’ll have to use his guns.”

  Into the mic, he said, “Draco, you’re cleared guns hot, danger close, I repeat, you’re cleared guns hot danger close, make your run north to south.”

  “Roger that Stump Knocker, inbound guns hot, danger close from the north.”

  After a couple of minutes the men in the little clearing could hear the whine as the A-10 lined up for its run, it was passing right over their heads as it started its run.

  Ted and Doc were under the truck in the barn. They were sweating bullets and they just knew they were about to either be killed or captured. They had been told to get down, that close air support was inbound, but they could hardly believe it and were waiting for what came next. After what seemed like an eternity, the building shook and dust fell from the joists. They could hear fragments hitting the tin building, peppering the side, zipping through the thin metal.

  Then came the sound: it was like someone was tearing a hole in the fabric of time. Then came the noise from the plane as it pulled out of its dive and climbed.

  In the clearing, the men sat motionless as the growl reached them, lower, but just as intense.

  “Stump Knocker, Draco three one, the hostiles that are left are fleeing west.”

  “Roger that Draco, standby,” the soldier replied. He told Mike to call the guys and tell them to get moving, to take the truck and head out to the east. Mike called them and Doc was in the driver’s seat and starting the truck before Ted even got out from under it. Outside, they could hear moans, voices pleading for help. Ted ran over and threw the door open and Doc gunned the old truck through it. Ted jumped into the passenger side as it came out and Doc swung the truck around and headed to the north.

  Mike reported their guys were clear of the area and the other man called Draco three-one and told him that the friendlies were out of the area and that he was clear to engage any target of opportunity. While Mike was talking to Ted on the radio, they could hear the
sound of the A-10 working the target over. Sarge shook his head. “I feel for those poor bastards,” he said as he looked up at the operator.

  “Where are they?” Sarge asked Mike.

  Mike said, “They’re on their way, on that road over there,” he pointed to the east. The sound of the Warthog was still in the air, the big 30mm gun firing in short bursts, the high pitched whine of the engines as the pilot dove and pulled out.

  Sarge looked at the other man. “Let’s—” and he paused for a minute. “What the hell is your name?”

  “Captain Lewis.”

  “Well, Captain Lewis, when they get here let’s use the truck to get to Steinhatchee.”

  “I’m going to get us a closer LZ now, hang on a sec.” The captain tuned his radio. “Stump Knocker, Raven two-two; Stump Knocker, Raven two-two.”

  Before Raven could reply, another voice came over the radio. “Stump Knocker, Draco three-one. I’ve got eyes on two inbound helos. I’m bingo fuel and buggin’ out.”

  Mike looked at Sarge, then at Captain Lewis. “What the fuck are we going to do now?”

  Captain Lewis pressed his headset against an ear and held up a finger, listening. “Raven two-two, Stump Knocker.”

  “Raven we’ve got inbound hostile helos, requesting immediate extraction at LZ Tiger.”

  “Roger that, Stump Knocker, Raven’s inbound to Tiger, Bronco three is providing cover. Do you need them to assist with the helos?”

  “Roger that, if they’re available.”

  “Stump Knocker, Bronco three.” Yet another came over the radio.

  “Go for Stump Knocker, Bronco three.”

  “We’re inbound, ten mics out.”

  Mike called Ted and told him there were two birds inbound and to hurry the hell up. Ted asked where they were, he needed an exact location. Mike told him they would move out to the road and to just keep coming.