Surviving Home

by Angery American

  “No you stay here an’ stay inside today, okay?”

  That hurt look she does so well came across her face and she went back to picking at the eggs again.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sarge used a red LED to look at his map. It was the same one he had marked up the route that Thad, Morgan, and Jess would take to get home. He had picked out the LZ the day before when he had met with the pilots. It was a small lake and he remembered Morgan saying it was used as a mud bog. As dry as things had been, he knew it would be dry. Baptist Lake wasn’t far from Morgan’s place and Sarge wanted to get close.

  The lead Apache came on the radio. “Stalker One, Draco.”

  “Stalker One.”

  “Looks like the LZ is clear, stay to the west, the center of the LZ looks a little soft.”

  “Roger that Draco, Stalker Two will do a bump and go to drop these guys. We’ll just cut the sling once the load’s on the ground.”

  “Roger that Stalker, we’ll orbit the LZ.”

  The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Ten minutes, guys.”

  Sarge keyed the intercom. “Roger that, we’re ready. If that LZ looks iffy, just get us close and we’ll jump out.”

  “If you’re good with it, I am,” came the reply.

  Sarge looked around the dark cabin. He could just make out the eyes of each of his men through the camo paint. There was no real emotion on their faces; it was just another milk run to them, or at least that’s how it looked.

  “Two minutes,” the intercom cracked.

  The helo dropped and when they were about five feet off the ground, Mike shoved his pack out and jumped. The others followed.

  Stalker One immediately began to increase power and pull up and was soon moving out across the LZ. They looked up and could see Stalker Two coming in to the LZ. Ted reached into a cargo pocket and pulled out two cyalume sticks and cracked them as one. Stepping out into the LZ, he began to give the pilot some directions. Stalker Two came into a hover and began to slowly descend. As soon as the load was on the ground, Ted waved his arm in a cutting motion and the sling dropped from the belly of the Black Hawk.

  Ted and Doc immediately went to work disconnecting the web of straps. Mike and Sarge were keeping watch over the operation. Sarge’s radio crackled. “Draco One, Stumpknocker.”

  “Go for Stumpknocker.”

  “Good luck, guys. Call us if you need us to bail your ass out again.”

  “Thanks Draco One, we appreciate the help.”

  “Get up Av’ry!” Marvin shouted as he slapped the sleeping man in the side of the head.

  Avery bolted upright, rubbing the side of his bandaged head. “Shit, Marv, that hurt! Watch ma damn ear!”

  “You didn’t hear ‘em helocoptors?” Marvin asked as he pulled on his tactical vest.

  Avery jumped up from the couch he had been sleeping on. “Choppers, wur’?” he asked as he started to look for his own gear.

  “They was out thur sum’ers,” Marvin said, motioning with his chin as he clipped his pistol belt around his waist. “Hurry up an git yer shit together. I’ll git the boys.” Marvin hurried out of the room to get the rest of the troops together.

  “Wur’s my damn gun!” Avery shouted as Marvin closed the door. He stood in the middle of his small room in the trailer—one of several in what the guys called “the compound”—turning in circles and kicking crap out of the way. The floor of the room was buried in everything from empty beer cans and dirty clothes to Quarter Pounder® wrappers, even though there hadn’t been one of those made in many, many weeks.

  Marvin was the head of the North Lake County Militia. Prior to things going to hell they used to get together a couple of times a month to drink beer, tell lies and shoot shit. They were decidedly anti-government, and after the bottle had made the rounds of the old fire pit a couple of times, the usual venom about the Zionist government—the ZOG—would start. Even with all the alcohol-fueled hate speech, the only thing they ever killed was a case.

  With the collapse, the guys had gotten together quickly, preparing to fight off the impending invasion of federal storm troopers. What happened instead though even they wouldn’t have believed. After establishing themselves as the security force for the Kangaroo store and the old woman that ran it, they had met the first of the DHS security forces coming in to set up camp at the bombing range. Instead of the fight they had always seen coming, they had entered into a partnership. When they were safely couched in the confines of the compound they would laugh and howl at how they were getting over on the feds.

  They agreed they would work with the feds so long as the weapons, ammo and MREs kept coming. So long as the gov was willing to arm the militia, they would take everything they could get. That way, by the time the feds had been whittled down trying to deal with the civilian population, they would have the means to take the feds on and win.

  Avery walked out the back door of the house, dragging his web gear behind him as he tried to buckle his forty-four inch belt around his forty-six inch waist. To his surprise, there were only two other guys there with Marvin.

  “Wur is ever’one?” Avery asked as he hunched his shoulders and strained at the belt.

  “Them bastards is all hung over. It’s jus’ you, Willy, Ned an’ me.”

  Avery got the belt on and let out a long breath. “An you want fer us to look for them choppers?”

  Marvin said, “Of course you idjit, there ain’t no reason fer no helocoptors to be flying out here, it must have crashed, an if’n we get to it before the feds do, we can git whutever was on it.”

  “Oh,” Avery said, nodding his head.

  “Yeah, ‘oh,’ fat ass,” Marvin said.

  The men climbed onto their four-wheelers and took off with Marvin in the lead. He had heard the ships early that morning when he was pissing off the front porch. Each of the men were armed with a pistol and a primary weapon. As part of their relationship with the feds, they had acquired some H&K MP5 submachine guns. And the best part was, they were fully automatic. With them had come cases of ammo. Their side of the deal was simple: do whatever the feds asked.

  Up to this point that had been easy. FEMA and the DHS were trying to get people to leave their homes and go to the camps they were setting up, and some of them needed a little persuasion. That was where the militia came in. Unlike what many people thought, the government didn’t show up and drag you away. It was much easier to convince you to beg them to let you in. Until recently all they had to do was ride in and scare the shit outta folks, throw some Molotov cocktails around, maybe take a piece of ass if it was convenient, and the next day they would be lining up for the camp.

  A few days ago they had hit a neighborhood where things didn’t go according to plan. Sure, there was always a little shooting, but nothing like what they encountered there. The militia had lost men, a first. Then they were told to hit them again, but no one wanted to go back. So Avery drew the short straw and was sent back to keep up the heat.

  When he got back, he was bleeding from the head. Marvin’s wife cleaned it up enough to see that his left ear had been shot in two. It was still attached top and bottom, but the middle of it looked as if someone had took a melon-baller to it. But Avery was proud, said he knew he killed one and hit another. He said he saw one of them drop beside a big smoker, told everyone how them sons-a-bitches were smoking a whole pig. He also told them how good it smelled, what the food looked liked. Avery was a big man and, as he liked to tell the others, a big man’s gotta eat.

  Mike and Sarge were taking the straps off the buggies while Doc and Ted kept watch. Sarge was dropping the last strap into the trailer when his radio cracked, “Draco three, Stumpknocker.”

  Sarge turned from the buggy to look out across the dried up pond, keying his mic. “Go for Stumpknocker.”

&n
bsp; “Looks like you’ve got some fast movers heading your way from the east. They aren’t heading straight at you, but I think you’re their destination.”

  Sarge looked around. “Roger that Draco Three, thanks for the info.”

  “You want us to hang out, or to engage them?”

  “Negative, I think we can handle ‘em.”

  Sarge walked around the buggy and said, “Hey, Mike, you an Doc take your ride an’ head into the woods there. Stay outta sight, we got some company headin’ our way.”

  “Roger that, Sarge,” Mike said as he and Doc ran towards the smaller of the two buggies.

  Sarge took a seat in his ride and reached into the breast pocket of his blouse and drew out one of the Rocky Patels he had managed to hide from Faggione.

  “Sarge, you think we should be doing something?” Ted asked.

  Sarge took a cigar cutter and a lighter from his pocket, clipped the end and lit it. After taking a long drag from the oily cigar, he blew the smoke out and said, “Nope, just relax. Let’s see who’s comin’ for a visit.” He leaned his head back and took another long drag on the Rocky.

  Sarge tapped his cigar, watching as the thick solid ash cracked, then fell to the ground. He looked over the side of the buggy to see it still mostly in one piece, then looked at the expensive cigar and smiled. Not because of the ash, but the thought that there would never be another one made, and there he was, literally burning something that was priceless and irreplaceable. Ted was looking in every direction for the enemy.

  “Chill out, Teddy, you’re making me nervous,” Sarge said.

  “I don’t like being out in the open like this, just waiting for someone to ride up on me,” Ted said.

  “Don’t worry, it ain’t anyone to be worried about,” Sarge said. He keyed the mic on his radio. “Mikey, you guys set up?”

  “Roger that, Sarge, we got a couple of SAWs set up. I’m at you’re your four o’clock and Doc is around your seven o’clock. We got you covered,” Mike said.

  Sarge looked at Ted and said, “See, nothing to be worried about.”

  When they heard the engines, Ted’s back stiffened. Sarge rested his elbow on the top of the seat and propped his head up. The four ATVs came into the clearing from Sarge’s nine o’clock, not exactly where he thought they would, but good enough.

  Marvin knew kinda where he had heard the choppers. He lead them in the general direction, hoping he would find it. Avery was bringing up the rear and when they stopped at a branching trail he asked Marv why they weren’t seeing any smoke or fire if the choppers crashed. Marv told him, again, just how damn stupid he was, and fat, and so Avery wasn’t exactly in the best of moods as he followed along eating the dirt and dust from the three machines in front of him.

  Marvin pulled into the clearing that used to be Baptist Lake because it was the biggest clearing in the area. As he passed through the trees into the clearing, Avery didn’t immediately see the buggy and the two men with it, but Marv did. He stopped as soon as he cleared the trees.

  Ned and Willy rode up beside him. Willy was smoothing his long goatee, a perpetual unconscious habit. It was about six inches long and had earned him the nickname Goat.

  “Watch’cha think Marv?” Willy asked, tugging at his beard.

  “Fancy ass buggy. I think I want it.”

  “They look kinda like soldiers,” Ned said.

  “Soldiers my ass. Where the hell soldiers gonna come from. Ned, you stay here with fat ass. Goat come with me.”

  Marv and Goat slowly rode towards the two men. Marv was watching the one standing up. From the way he stood there, Marv was of the opinion that the man thought he was a real bad ass. Well, he was about to find out differently. The second man was sitting in the buggy, the buggy that would soon be Marv’s. The man raised his hand and waved. Marv didn’t wave back.

  “There’s one still inside the tree line,” Mike called over the radio.

  Sarge raised his right hand to signal to Mike he heard him. Two of the men approached. The third stayed back by the trees and the fourth was still inside the trees. The two men rolled up and stopped twenty feet from him. Sarge sat there relaxed, making a show of just how relaxed he was. The men shut down their rides and sat there. Sarge smiled and nodded to them, stuck his cigar between his teeth and stepped out of the buggy and crossed his arms, not in a threatening manner, but in amusement.

  The two men sat there looking at him, trying to mean-mug him. Ted just stood there looking back, no expression, no emotion, all business. Ted wouldn’t say anything before Sarge did, and Sarge damn sure wouldn’t say anything. The other guy would have to break first.

  So the four men stood there staring at one another with no one saying anything. Sarge smoked his Rocky and the two men on the four-wheelers sat there looking at one another, then back at Sarge. With his arms still crossed, Sarge pulled the cigar from his mouth, leaned forward a bit and spit a small piece of tobacco out, then took another long drag, squinting one eye as he did. Ted stood there rubbing his thumb on the safety of his carbine. The very tip of his index finger rested on the front edge of the trigger guard. It would happen so fast they wouldn’t even be able to react.

  Marv sat there watching the old man. That’s how he thought of him. He was wearing a camo uniform and had a nice .45 in his holster. He looked just as cocky as the other dude did. The way he was smoking that damn ceegar really pissed him off too. Looking at the other man, he could tell he was itching for a fight. Goat glanced nervously at Marv. He wished someone would say something, he didn’t like the silence one damn bit. When Marv saw the old man spit, he waited a second before hocking up a loogie and spitting it out between him and the old guy.

  The old guy looked down at the phlegm, then back up and smiled through his clenched teeth. He reached up and took the , cigar from his teeth blowing out a cloud of smoke as he did.

  “Who are you guys?” Marv asked. the question actually startled Goat, who jumped a little.

  “We’re just a couple of guys in the woods,” he answered with a smile.

  “Well, this mornin’ I heard a couple of choppers. Y’all seen any choppers?” Marv asked.

  The old one looked over at his younger buddy. “You hear any choppers?”

  “No,” the young guy answered. His eyes never drifted from the two men.

  The guy bugged Marv. “You got a problem man?”

  The guy didn’t answer.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout him. He ain’t a mornin’ person if ya know what I mean,” the old man replied.

  Marv sat there looking at the younger one—he thought of him as Junior—for a second.

  “An who might you fellas be?” Old Guy asked.

  “Ma name’s Marvin an’ I’m the head of the North Lake County Militia.”

  “Militia, what are you guys doing around here then?” Old Guy asked.

  “We’re responsible for the security ‘round here, an’ since we don’t know you fellas, yer gonna need to come with us.” Marv watched the old man for any reaction. “An’ we need yer guns too.”

  Old Guy made an exaggerated surprise face. “Oh, so you boys are the law then?”

  “Yep,” Marv said.

  “Says who?” Old Guy asked.

  “Says the DHS-” Goat was saying before Marv cut him off.

  “Says me!” Marv snapped.

  “An’ here I thought we would become friends, but I ain’t feelin’ the love. You feelin’ the love?” Old Guy asked Junior without looking at him.

  “Nope.”

  Marv’s hands were still on the handlebars of his ATV, but he’d had enough. It was time these shitheads saw the light. He let go of the handlebars and went to lean back. His rifle was lying in his lap. Before his hands even left the grips, Junior had the safety off his carbine.
/>   “I wouldn’t do that, friend. You boys just need to be on your way an’ leave us the hell alone,” Old Guy said.

  Marv was pissed. This was not the way things were supposed to go. “I have more men. You think you’re gonna get out of here? I already sent men to fetch the DHS, and your ass’ll be sorry when they get here.” When Goat heard Marv say he had sent men to get the DHS goons, he showed his hand by looking over at Marv.

  “You do have other men, that part is true, but there ain’t no one else coming.” Old Guy paused for a moment and looked at Goat. “Is there?”

  “Keep yer mouth shut, Goat,” Marv said.

  “Goat!” Old Guy shouted in amusement. “Where’s the rest of it? I see the ass on yer chin.” He laughed.

  Goat didn’t say shit. He was scared, these were nothing like the people they usually dealt with. They were hard and he had no doubt they were ready to kill.

  “Tell your other men to come on so we can all get to know one another,” Old Guy said.

  “I got men in the woods, they’ll cut you down!” Marv shouted.

  Old Guy grinned and keyed his mic. “Round ‘em up, Mikey.”

  Goat was surprised and Marv was furious. He looked back over his shoulder at Ned just as another man walked out of the woods with a damn machine gun pointed at him. He watched as Ned put his hands up and climbed off the ATV and was forced to kneel down.

  Avery was sitting in the woods watching. He couldn’t hear anything, but everything looked alright. It looked like they were just talking. Then he saw the other man come out of the woods with that big ass gun. His heart leapt into his throat, and he fumbled with the key trying to start his old Honda. His hands were shaking so bad, as bad as the other day when that bullet had sliced his ear.

  He didn’t hear anything, but he damn sure felt the cold. At the moment it was so cold it was as if it was burning his skin, just below that same ear.