There’s the love, John said to himself with a tinge of sarcasm. He politely pushed his way to the white board in the front of the room as men slapped him on the back and said things like, “attaboy!” and “welcome back!”
John took his position with all eyes on him as Ed rose up and shook his hand. The crowd grew raucous, and Ed raised his arms, signaling calm.
“People, please! I’m sure John here has quite a lot to discuss. As you know, he was gone for two days. Dr. Winsted checked him out and everything and found no signs of infection, so I’d like to officially welcome him back and ask that he tell his story.”
Ed motioned to John as the room applauded again. The ages of the men and women varied, from people in their thirties to those in their sixties. Two months without power or running water had its effects. The men were unshaven and their skin oily, while the women were plain-faced, without makeup, their hair wild and messy. John looked over the crowd, their eager faces exciting him. They would hang on to his every word, and he had to admit that he was going to draw pleasure from it.
“Thank you, thank you, everyone,” he began. The room suddenly got quieter. John grabbed a red dry-erase marker that had been placed near the white board and then continued. “I was out there for two days and covered an area of roughly five to ten miles. While that doesn’t sound like a long distance, keep in mind that I spent a lot of time investigating homes, trying to find others, and searching for supplies.”
John fidgeted some with the marker, looked down at the carpet, and took a deep breath. His eyes shot up, intense and narrowed, as he continued.
“On my journey, I saw misery and death. That much is undeniable. Most homes I came across were vacant, and it appears that most people have complied with the government’s mandate to report to official quarantine stations. Stores are closed and their shelves are emptied.”
The faces of the men and women in the crowd dropped. They were expecting a silver lining somewhere and were noticeably disappointed. However, John wasn’t finished.
“The dead lay in the streets like roadkill. I don’t know where everyone is at, but we can only assume. Most homes I came across had already been pillaged of supplies, and I did my best to stay off of main roads and not get too close to the city. Like here, there appears to be no power, and I can strongly say that I hold the government responsible. They shut off the power because they’re trying to discourage us from staying in our homes.”
The charge against the government was quite outlandish, ultimately nothing but rhetoric. But he was giving the people what he knew they wanted to hear.
“Through all of this, I came across one home. One home out of a hundred, that likely has all that we need. I can’t say for sure what they have, but I know that it’s big. I watched the house for a day and tried to see who lived there, but the windows were boarded, all but one, which I assume they’re using as some kind of lookout.
“Some of you may have heard of them on TV or somewhere else, but this, I believe, is the home of a prepper. Preppers are the kind of people who prepare for natural disasters. They have months, if not years of supplies they keep in waiting so that they can survive. Roughly five miles from here, you’ll find this house.”
John turned around and began to draw the diagram of Greg’s house on the white board. It was rough, but the basic layout was accurate. There was a garage to the left, and the front of the house with two windows extended to the right. He turned to the people and began to mark entry points with an X.
“You have the garage here. I heard people talking in there, a man and a woman. This is one possible entry point, and something tells me that they’ve got supplies in there, because there were two cars in the driveway. The front door, here, could be rigged with explosives for all we know. I saw trip wire in the yard, and who knows what other traps exist? These preppers are serious people, and they’ll stop at nothing to protect their supplies.”
The crowd followed along intently. Their collective envy of the prepper house was gradually building into resentment, just as John had planned.
“We have to hit this house hard. But this will not be without risk. While looking through the window, I was seen by a man. He came after me with a rifle, and it was a miracle that I got away.” A necessary exaggeration, he thought. “The occupants are obviously armed, so we have to be ready for that. We have to take them by surprise and overwhelm them.”
A frizzy-haired woman shouted out from the crowd, “Are you suggesting that we kill these people?”
John thought to himself then responded. “I’m suggesting that we do what’s necessary to get their supplies. If we can avoid it, sure. But I can guarantee you that preppers do not go down without a fight.”
The crowd grumbled in ambivalence.
“Is this house really worth all this? What did you see?” a bespectacled man asked.
“I saw enough to trust my instincts. This is the golden goose. There’s a good chance that there is only a man and a woman in the house, and I’d put my money on the fact that they’re hoarding enough supplies for this entire community. It’s not that far, and if we took a few vehicles we could easily get in there, get what we need, and get out.”
More murmurs and rumblings went through the crowd. Suddenly, Ed stood up to address them.
“People, let’s hear him out. John was on a mission to find us more supplies, and if you ask me, he did his job to a T. He found a house nearby, and now we’ve got to act.”
John cut in. “We’ll need every man in the community and every weapon we have.” He pointed to a bearded man wearing a blue jumpsuit in the front.
“Rick, you’ve still got that old junk Buick banger, right?”
“Yeah, don’t know if I can get it started though. Why?”
“Because we’re going to need it. I’ve got an idea.”
Ed continued. “It sounds to me that we’re really on to something here. And I say that we act fast.”
A woman stood up, objecting. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt or killed.”
“You know what’s going on out there?” a man said with a snide tone. “It’s everyone for themselves, and we’re shit out of options.”
Most of the crowd cheered in agreement.
John raised his voice to get their attention. “If we stick to a single strategy, we can’t lose. The occupants may be expecting us after seeing me at the window today, so we have to strike quickly.”
“I agree,” Ed said.
“So what the hell are we waiting for, people, let’s do this!” John said.
The crowd fervently cheered, and John knew that he had them. The prepper house was the answer to all of their troubles. And for John, it was perfect.
Standoff
Greg knew that he had a situation on his hands. Someone had seen into his home, right through the front window. Veronica had left the curtain open, and though a simple mistake, its repercussions could prove to be deadly. Greg paced around the living room, trying to think of a defensive plan. They’d already had one home invasion two months prior, and that was enough. Hunkering down was not without its problems. Once Veronica was up and out of bed, Greg handed her a freshly brewed coffee and explained what had happened.
She looked stricken. “Greg, I'm so sorry that I forgot to close the curtain last night,” she said, putting her face in her hands.
“It's okay, we all make mistakes. Happens to everyone.”
“But you said so yourself, preppers can't make mistakes.”
“That's beside the point. We have to be ready. I've got the trip wire set up outside, and we have to get our arsenal ready.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Just be ready when the time comes.”
“Are you sure about a threat? I mean, you said it was just one guy. Maybe you spooked him, and that's the end of it.”
“We can't take any chances after last time. If he had any good intentions, he wouldn't have run. I can almost guarantee that he'll be back
with others.”
Veronica moaned “What do they want with us this time? Why can't they just leave us alone?”
“They want what we have,” he said. “Whatever they can take, just like the others.”
Veronica was inclined to believe him.
Earlier that day, Greg had set his trip wire alarms throughout the front and back yards. Some of the alarms used blank .22 rounds ignited by a cotter pin that set off when the wire is tripped. Mini sentry traps were some of Greg's favorite kinds of alarm, their wires carefully concealed in the few remaining patches of grass in his yard. As he had done before, Greg rigged his remaining flares to the other traps.
The flares were set up against the small trees he had in planted in and around the back and front yard. Once the wire was tripped, the flares would ignite and make him aware of the intruder's location. He was expecting a night attack, if anything.
While prepping for a home invasion, Greg entered the room with his weapons and laid them on the coffee table in the living room. He noticed Veronica looking ahead with a distant stare.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She looked up suddenly. “Oh, I'm sorry, I was just thinking.”
Greg walked over and sat next to her. The house was dark, as it always was, and they did their best to keep it from getting too stuffy, hot, or uncomfortable. In addition to keeping the area sanitized, Greg had portable battery-operated fans in each room. Their conditions were manageable, but nothing suppressed their longing for normalcy.
Veronica, out of clean clothes, wasn’t looking forward to washing them out of a bucket, especially with their water reserve getting low. Greg explained that most of his preps were based on the needs of one person, but he was clear that he wouldn't have wanted things any differently.
“I enjoy your company here. I would probably have lost my mind by now doing this thing alone.”
Veronica brushed the dark hair from the side of her face and looked ahead. “I just don't want to be a burden to anyone. We've been exposed, someone knows we're here, and it's all my fault.”
Greg threw his hands up. “This again? I told you not to beat yourself up about it. I need you focused today.”
“I am focused,” she said defensively.
“OK, I believe you. We're going to be fine. Trip wires are set up, and we're armed and ready.”
Enthused, Greg took the empty coffee mugs back into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. He instinctively pulled the faucet handle above sink, causing a few dirty drops to cough out. “I don't know when I'll be able to break this habit,” he said.
Veronica could hear him messing with the sink. “I did that this morning in the bathroom. It's a hard habit to break.”
“Yeah, it's going to take a while.” Greg picked up the emergency radio on the counter and prepared to bring it into the living room. “We should listen to some news. Get some updates.”
He turned the radio on and heard only static.
“Funny,” Greg said. “It was working fine this morning. I didn't change the station or anything.”
He turned the crank lever to give the radio some juice, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. It wasn't the sign they were looking for. Things were getting worse, not better.
“Maybe they're just temporarily off the air,” Veronica said.
Greg held the portable radio up and turned the knob, trying to find the station. “These are emergency broadcasts, they're not supposed to go off the air for any reason.” Regardless, he couldn't find a station and set the radio down on the coffee table, frustrated. “Guess we're officially cut off now.”
“It might work later. Could be some interference.”
“Could be a million things, but we need to know what's going on.” He rose from the couch. “I'm going to find another radio. Can you please keep watch at the window?”
“Sure,” she said, standing. She picked up the rifle and a small pair of binoculars from the coffee table and walked to the window as Greg went off to his room. She opened the curtain and sat in one of the kitchen chairs that Greg had put there.
He found two other emergency radios in his prep closet and brought them out to try to get a signal. Veronica noticed his distracted effort in trying to get them to work. She could hear him getting more irritated by the moment.
She turned back to the window and to her right. Suddenly, far down the street, she could see something moving fast.
As the rumbling of engines approached, she could hardly breathe. In haste, she held the binoculars to her eyes and looked in disbelief. It was a large truck, something that belonged in a Monster Truck Derby. There were cars riding behind it, driving with the same ferocity. They were getting dangerously close to the house.
“Greg!” she shouted. “There’s people coming!”
He immediately ran from the kitchen to the window, nearly pushing Veronica out of the way.
“Here, give me the rifle,” he said. She moved out of the way and handed him the weapon.
The large truck circled around the cul-de-sac, drove right up into his yard, up the side of the driveway, and then stopped. Three other cars, not much farther behind, parked on the side of the street near Greg's house. People moved quickly out of their cars and advanced before Greg could even pull the window up. There was a lot of movement—thirty or more of them, most of whom were armed. It was too much for one person. He couldn't possibly shoot them all.
“What are they doing?” Veronica asked, standing behind him while clutching her pistol.
Some men jumped out of the back of the truck and pulled a large, thick chain out with them. It had a hook on each end. They hitched one hook to the back of the truck and ran the other end through the large handle on the garage door, looping it around several times and then locking it together with the second hook.
“They're trying to get in the garage,” Greg said, steadying his rifle. There were so many people running around, he didn't know who to shoot first.
“I don't know what they think they're doing. They're just going to end up yanking the handle off.” Then it occurred to Greg that the handle also held the door’s locking mechanism in it. Once they ripped it off, it wouldn't take long for them to pry the door open and roll it up.
“It's time,” Greg said to Veronica. “Take your position and watch my six.”
She was in a daze, shocked that people, once again, were trying to get in the house. What were they going to do to her and Greg once they got in?
Greg snapped his fingers to get her attention. “Hey! Stay with me here, Veronica. We're going to have to fight them off.”
She nodded and ran to the far corner of the room, near the kitchen where bookshelves had been arranged in a square to offer her concealment and cover. From there she had a good view of the back door and the kitchen window in case anyone tried to get in. She knelt down behind the shelves, holding the pistol as her legs shook.
The loud engine of the truck roared, and Greg popped his first shot off, striking one man directly in the head. The man's body slumped over and hit the ground as the side of his head opened. The mass of intruders nearby scattered. A few of them panicked and ran directly through the front yard, setting off the sentry traps with loud pops, further confusing them. They quickly and desperately took cover and returned fire, hitting Greg’s lookout window.
He ducked for cover just as the shots went through the glass. With a stack of loaded magazines next to him, he rose and took another shot at the back of the truck's rear window, shattering it to pieces. He was trying to aim for the driver. All the commotion was happening to the far right of the house, near the driveway and garage, and Greg had trouble seeing where many of them had run off.
For good measure, he shot at the men who had stumbled into his yard and set off the trip wire alarms. He hit one unusually large man directly in the chest and a short, older man in the leg. They dropped to the ground screaming for help.
He took three more shots at the driver's side
door and window, taking out the remainder of the glass and leaving bullet holes in the truck's body. The terrified driver was hunched down and trying to take cover. If Greg had one mission, it was to prevent the truck from moving.
The man Greg had shot in the leg was trying to crawl away, writhing in agony. He had been neutralized, and Greg didn't see the point of wasting a bullet to take him out. However, there were more people moving around and taking positions behind vehicles and trees than he could keep up with. Their strategy baffled him.
They looked disorganized. Some took cover, and others ran out in the open. Some ran away completely. He took out anyone in his line of fire, and his body count neared ten. Empty shell casings hit the floor and rolled across the hardwood. Veronica was still at her position, covering her ears with every shot Greg took. It seemed he was fending them off just fine. She wanted so much for everything to be over, as terror gripped her heart and rumbled deep within her gut. It was a fear of death.
The truck's loud engine continued idling as Greg emptied his magazine and slapped another one in. He could hear the voices of the men shouting to each other. Someone was trying to take control of the situation and keep the men from running away.
Who are these people? Greg thought. They looked like normal, everyday people wearing plain street clothes. Some of them were even wearing Dockers. Their voices called to each other from the sides of the cars they were hiding behind.
“Where are the shots coming from?”
“Where do you think they're coming from? Front window!”
“One of you guys need to fire back.”
“Where's Hector?”
“He's shot. I think he's dead!”
“Tell Rick to floor it.”
“Rick! Floor that thing, pull that damn door off.”
The driver, Rick, sat up, summoning every last ounce of courage left in him, and shifted the gears of the truck and pressed on the gas pedal. He shot back in reverse and smashed directly into the garage as Greg fired upon it. A loud, deafening crash shook the house and caused Veronica to scream. Greg scored a head shot just a second too late as the truck backed into the garage door at full speed, crushing it open.
End Days Super Boxset Page 92