“Alright, here’s what we’ll do. You send your raiders to hit the distribution center and get us some food. Have ‘em look for anything usable, but bring back as much as they can. If there’s enough there, we’ll send a larger party back with more vehicles and load up. Before your team heads out for food, I’ll take Hoss and we’ll look for weapons. Sound good?”
“Well…” Bernie thought. “It’s better than sending all of you out at once…”
“I know, it’ll leave the complex a little exposed for a while, but we’ll only be short myself and Hoss. When we get back, your team goes out. But they’ve got the gate repaired and better than it was before. Short of someone crashing a tank through the walls, no one is getting in for the time being. Even if someone were to set the gate on fire—the big wooden beams would take hours to burn and we’ve got that big pond there to put out any fires with,” he said, thinking back to the Battle and blurry images he saw of people carrying buckets up from the pond to douse the Molotov cocktail fires that had spread through the front of the complex.
“If’n your gone…all o’ ya, I mean…if’n you ain’t gone more’n an hour or three…well, might be it’d work,” Bernie said, nodding his head and planting a look of grim determination on his wrinkled face.
Erik clapped him on the back. “Good. You see to your raiders and I’ll get mine. Sound good?”
Bernie grinned. “Good enough for guv’ment work, son.”
BRIN HUGGED ERIK tightly in the parking lot behind their apartment, not caring if Hoss watched or not. “You better come back, or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself—and if you’re already dead, I’ll resurrect you and kill you again,” she whispered nervously in his ear, trying to sound calm and sarcastic.
Erik returned the hug and tried not to wince over his bruised shoulder. The warm body squeezing his was all that he could see of his old life—he hadn’t heard from his parents or friends or anyone up north since the power went out.
Those were the worries he had been trying to force from his mind while he concentrating on survival and protecting his wife. But he knew at least Brin would be safe until he returned. Hopefully in just a few hours. He untangled his reluctant bride and took a breath to calm his mind.
“Here you go, Hoss,” Erik said, handing the large biker his Viking sword. It had been cleaned, polished and sharpened after the Battle, during which its previous user had died. Hoss hefted the weapon like a knife in his massive hand.
“Ain’t got much use for a pig-sticker, Erik…I got this,” he said, holding up the sawed off 12-gauge he used so well during the Battle. “Got a handful of spare rounds in the saddlebags on my bike. Besides, I don’t know how to use one of those things like you do. I saw you during the fight—you were like a meat grinder. I’d probably cut my own damn foot off.”
“Well, think of it this way. If you’re on the bike and out of ammo—God forbid,” he said, hoping to sooth Brin a little. “You hit someone with that sword going thirty miles an hour and you’ll cut ‘em in half at the waist.” Erik raised an eyebrow. “And besides, it’s easy to use…just stick ‘em with the point.”
Hoss laughed and admired the gleaming blade. “Hmmm…that might be kinda cool to see. Okay,” he grunted, his mind made up. “I’ll take it.” He bent down and strapped the scabbard to the side of the motorcycle, so that it would be within easy reach if he needed to draw it while riding.
“Here’s some extra water and food, too.” The food was U.S. Coast Guard approved survival rations, in a freeze dried brick that Erik pulled from his bug-out-bag. “Thirty-six hundred calories and they won’t make you thirsty. Plus they taste somewhat like a coconut flavored shortbread. All in all not bad, lasts for years, even in extreme heat and they’re cheap,” Erik explained.
The rest of the contents of the bag, weeded out for weight, included parachute cord, matches, a flashlight, and many of the lightweight and handy items a hiker might need to stay alive and comfortable for a few days before being rescued. Erik had packed, repacked and packed again that same bag hundreds of times since September 11, 2001, practicing over and over again what to do if he were forced to evacuate his apartment up north in the event of a terrorist attack or other disaster. Now he was finally using it.
“We’re not staying out that long, are we?” Hoss asked while watching Erik heft the medium sized backpack and put it in the SUV.
“No, but this is just in case. If all goes well, we won’t need any of this stuff, but why take a chance?”
“Suits.”
“Great.” Erik tightened the sheath on his K-Bar, strapped securely to his right thigh. His pistol was in its drop holster on his left thigh. The katana he placed on the passenger seat of Brin’s SUV. “Okay, we’re all gassed up, we got food and water, we got our weapons. All we need are the radios.”
Brin handed one to Erik and one to Hoss. “Here you go, boys. I set ‘em both on channel 4 and put them both on the same security code. I’ll have one here tuned to the same channel. Me and Alfonse will be listening. If there’s any trouble, say so, and we’ll send out the cavalry.” Both Hoss and Erik knew that meant the rest of the bikers would come roaring down the road to rescue them.
Erik gave his wife one last kiss before climbing into the driver’s seat of the big black SUV and starting it up. Hoss sat astride his bike and kick started the Harley to life with a thunderous roar.
“Let’s ride!” Hoss bellowed, giving the hog some gas and heading for the gate with Erik right behind him. Upon reaching the gate, Erik saw that the carpenters had been ready. They pulled the two cars out of the way and let the massive new gate stand on its own for the first time since the Battle. A team of men on the ground then swung the reinforced gate wide for the two raiders to leave the complex. Erik honked the horn as they turned onto the street and headed for the main drag through town.
They ignored the shallow graves where the gang-bangers from the Battle had been covered across the street under some trees. By the time they were at the north corner of the complex wall, the gate had already been secured behind them.
“Alright, man, where to?” asked Hoss’s voice coming out of Erik’s radio in the passenger seat. The background rumble of the motorcycle was incredibly loud but Hoss’s voice cut through it easily enough.
“Hit the intersection up ahead and go right. We’re gonna follow that road to the last intersection before the interstate overpass,” he replied. “We’ll check out the sporting goods store first.”
“You got it…” was the crackly reply. Hoss waved his right arm in a standard motorcycle ‘turn signal’ and pulled on to the main drag, heading east towards the interstate. Even through the nicely soundproofed SUV Erik could hear the roar of Hoss’s motorcycle as the biker gunned it.
A few tense minutes later, Erik and Hoss pulled up in front of the obviously ransacked sporting goods store. They had seen only a few people out and about on the way there—mostly dirty, hungry looking people who were drawn to the noise of a car and motorcycle.
There were a handful of abandoned cars along the sides of the road, many with windows shot out and a few with drivers still inside. Erik tried not to think about that…all those bodies, swollen and bloated in the summer heat.
Trash had piled up in front of many of the houses they passed, a sure sign that the people who still lived in town were cowering inside but tried to go about the normal routine. Obviously the trash men didn’t share that hope because it looked for all the world like no one had collected trash in about a month.
The strangest part to Erik, was how everything appeared to be deserted. He had expected to see more people milling about, rummaging through stores, looting, doing something. Evidently most people either fled, as the rumors had it, or went to the National Guard ‘safe zones’ like the radio had reported a few days before the Battle. Erik shook his head. The government asked people to go to the ‘safe zones’ and they did, just like good little sheep. He noticed that no one that had gone to one of the
‘safe zones’ ever came back. Something to check into with the other people in the neighborhood surrounding the complex when they got back.
Erik scanned the parking lot and saw no movement and only a few cars, parked haphazardly here and there. Most had bullet holes. “See any threats?” he asked, holding the radio tightly. He watched Hoss, just in front of his SUV look left and right and over his shoulder, straddling the motorcycle for extra height.
“Nope. Looks deserted, man,” came the static filled reply.
“Alright, let’s go around to the back and see if we can find a way in that won’t leave us so exposed,” Erik said, thinking that anyone watching the store would notice two new vehicles parked out front.
They worked their way through the trash and debris left in the road by looters and parked at the rear of the building. The fire door was slightly ajar. Erik said a silent prayer of thanks and put the SUV into park before turning it off. He gathered his radio and sword before exiting the vehicle. He put the backpack on, then strapped his katana to it vertically and settled all his gear for comfort.
Hoss shut off his hog and coasted to a stop next to Brin’s SUV and dropped the kickstand. He pulled out some spare shells for the shotgun and dropped them in one of the many pockets on his worn black leather vest and pulled the Viking sword free of its scabbard. The biker was surprised there was no Hollywood-esque schinng of metal on metal. The wooden scabbard gave only a soft sigh as the blade was pulled free.
“Let’s rock,” he grinned. Looking over Erik, he whistled. “Damn, man, you look like Rambo—got yer sword, knife, gun and all that shit on your back…” the biker chuckled.
“Yeah, well you look like something the dingo dragged in from Mad Max—with your big-ass bike, the leather pants and vest, big ol’ shotgun and that Viking sword,” Erik retorted. Both men shared a quiet laugh, just what they needed to break the tension. They were about to enter the unknown.
“Okay Base, we’re here. Going inside to take a look, over,” Erik said into the radio.
“Roger that, Raiders…good luck. Out,” replied Ted’s voice. Erik could imaging Ted, Susan and Brin all huddled around the radio by the pool, listening for signs of trouble. He smiled.
Erik stepped over a fast food wrapper and peered into the darkened crack that represented the open fire door. Seeing nothing but a few empty boxes spilled on the ground, he turned back to Hoss.
“Okay, I’ll throw the door open, you cover it with the shotgun. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Erik pulled his pistol free, held it with both hands pointing down like Ted taught him, removed the safety and took a breath before kicking the door open with his foot. It was the first time he mentally thanked himself for remembering to put on his combat boots with the steel toes instead of the more lightweight and breathable tennis shoes he normally wore with shorts. He may have looked silly with shorts and combat boots, but he felt they would keep his feet safe and hold up better. Besides, he told himself trying to ignore the odor from his own body after a few days in Florida without a bath, fashion doesn’t exist anymore. No one has that kind of luxury anymore…
Hoss saw nothing inside and stepped through the door, scanning the room. Erik had to wait a few seconds for the big man to move out of his way so he could get in behind him. He held Hoss up for a few more seconds and explained to the biker the benefits of military-style entry tactics.
The small room they were in looked more like a garbage heap than anything else. Erik scanned the area with his flashlight, a medium sized Mag-Lite. There were massive heaps of empty boxes and shrink wrap piled halfway to the twenty foot high ceiling.
They saw a door directly across from them and moved cautiously forward. The door was shut but unlocked. As before, Erik opened the door quickly while Hoss covered. It was some kind of receiving area for freight. Dark, like the first room and cavernous. Hoss swept through the door and turned immediately to the right, allowing Erik to follow through and turn left, effectively covering the room in a quarter the amount of time it took Hoss by himself. They were greeted with silence and darkness. The two men quickly checked the place out with the flashlight, finding nothing but more trash and neatly piled empty boxes and packaging materials.
“This doesn’t look like looters work. I bet this shit has been here since the lights went out,” observed Hoss. “Everything is opened neatly, just the same way, with a knife. Looters don’t take the time with that.”
“Doesn’t even look like anyone’s been back here…” commented Erik as they slowly walked their way through the cave-like room. “I don’t see anything we can use…do you?”
“I’m sure we can find a use for all this shit if we tried…like the cardboard boxes, they might be good for storage or kindling…” replied Hoss, lifting a cut open plastic wrap with the tip of his sawed off shotgun. “This stuff…I don’t know.”
“Well, we’ll make a note of it and tell Bernie. Who knows what’s in these boxes,” Erik said, scanning the high ceiling in the room. “If he wants to come back and get it, it doesn’t look like anyone else has taken an interest in it. Looks like down that way might be the store rooms. Bernie can check it out. Come on, there’s the door out of here. Doesn’t have a handle…it just swings. Ready?” asked Erik in a hushed voice as he took his position next to the door, pistol ready.
“Go for it,” said Hoss, shotgun at his hip and pointed towards the door.
Erik shoved the door and rolled away as the door swished open. Hoss saw nothing and before the door could swish back he stepped through and moved to the right. Erik followed and cut to the left. By the slight echo their footfalls were making, both men realized they were in a sizeable room. A dim light in the distance ahead of them let them know they were actually in the store.
“There’s the front of the store,” whispered Erik. “Listen, you can hear the seagulls out in the parking lot.”
“Shit, man, I don’t think there’s anyone in here,” mumbled Hoss. It almost sounded like he was disappointed. The shotgun came up to rest on his shoulder but he was still wary.
Erik cautiously moved around the corner of a tipped over universal home gym. “Well, someone’s been here. This place looks like a bomb went off.” He scanned the store and his heart sank. Trash was everywhere. It seemed that a few of the giant dividing walls used to separate the sections of the store had been toppled. Merchandise, most of it either damaged or partially opened, lay strewn everywhere. As they worked their way around the store they passed through several areas where it appeared someone had lit fires.
“Would you look at this shit?” asked Hoss, incredulous. The camping section was stripped bare of tents and sleeping bags, as they expected, but most of the camping equipment was still there. Camp stoves, lanterns, fuel, light-sticks, dehydrated foods and countless other goods were merely scattered across the floor. The dehydrated foods seemed to have been ripped open in frustration as some of the stuff was on the floor and other packages were still sealed.
“Some fool thought he could eat this stuff without water, I guess,” Erik said, examining a bag of pasta and sauce that had chew marks on the foil wrapping. Other packages were sliced open with knives, but the food was still there, spilled out and wasted.
Hoss let out a howl, “Damn, that stinks! I don’t think there were only people here…big pile of dog shit over here under the coolers. That’s just nasty, man.”
Erik laughed and grabbed a few packages at random and put them in his backpack. “Look at all the great stuff they left behind!” Erik said, eyes a-sparkle at all the loot on the floor and still on the ransacked shelves. “We can use most of this…”
“Remember we came here for guns, man…”
“Right,” Erik said, shaking his head. “We can load all this stuff in Brin’s car after we’re done looking. Let’s keep moving.”
The entire shoe section was stripped bare. There were even a few shell casings and some spots of blood near the Nike displays. Old tennis shoes, we
ll worn and filthy, were tossed here and there. The shoes were liberated first it seemed.
“Dumbasses…why would you steal tennis shoes when all hell was breaking loose in the world? Some people are so fucking stupid!” muttered Erik.
Hoss chuckled, the noise echoing in the empty building. “Look, they even took all the rollerblade gear.”
As they moved closer to the front of the ransacked store, Erik switched off the flashlight to preserve the batteries. The sunlight flooding in through the broken windows and smashed down doors was more than enough by which to see. They quickly noticed that the clothing section—workout shorts, replica jerseys from hockey, baseball, and football teams, sweatsuits, etc., all of it was pretty much gone. Some clothing items were on the floor where they had been trampled by many feet. Water stains from the frequent rains had ruined what clothing was left on the racks.
“Looters have no brains, I swear,” said Erik, clucking his tongue over the wasted clothing. Why people would steal sweatshirts and pants in south Florida in the middle of August was beyond him.
They quickly moved through the store, passing the exercise equipment and weight sets, the golf department, basketball section—totally bare—baseball and other sports until they reached the outdoorsman’s section.
“Here’s pay dirt,” said Hoss. “Let’s put the light on…”
Erik flipped on the Mag-Lite again as they moved in, quickly checking the rows of partially looted merchandise. Most of the hunting gear was still in place. Camouflaged jackets, pants, shorts, shirts, gloves, everything—it was all there. The traditional woodlands cammo gear was okay. The urban patterns, the grays and blacks, were partially missing. Moving on, the two men came to the gun case.
“Shit…that’s what I thought.” Erik said, looking at the smashed display. All the rifles and shotguns were missing. The flashlight lit up the counter where bits of glass were still twinkling in the light. Emptied boxes of shotgun shells of all sizes were strewn on the floor and counter. A few shells were laying around, dropped by the looters. While Erik was examining the display cases, Hoss moved around the counter.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 40