Frank looked thoughtful. “That explains a lot. But you should know that you may not be able to enter town soon. If you’re going to be on your own, you’re not going to have the town to lean on. We can’t have people using our resources and not joining our team and becoming part of our rebuilding work.” He turned to the militia man in charge. “Let him go and see that he leaves town. If he comes in again, arrest him.”
They released Jason and escorted him west out of town. When the militia departed, he circled back to the south to arrive and arrived at home much later that night.
Jason knew it was only a matter of time before the militia showed up at his house. He guessed he would he be forced to give up his food and his weapons; forced to move into town, to ‘donate’ his resources and be stripped of everything for self-sufficiency. He would become a ward of the government with this new system, under the control of those few in power. He wanted no part of it.
What to do? The choice was to either submit to the dictatorship of martial law in town and be stripped of his independence…or…head out into the deep forest, on his own, alone. Jason was comfortable in the woods, but living alone? And how would he get through the winters? Would there be anyone out there who would accept him into their household? He thought about his own situation and decided it would not be likely. Most people were probably just hanging on, even in the countryside, and they would be suspicious of strangers, having had to rely on themselves to defend against any gangs.
After a few more run-ins with wandering scavengers, Jason knew he had to leave. Word was going to spread that he had supplies. The stories would get passed around, growing as they circulated and soon the authorities would focus on him. He would put his trust in his own survival skills. He would head north, into the Appalachia Mountains, away from cities and the corruption that came with them. With his food supplies, his camping gear and weapons, Jason figured he could find a remote place to hole up until this catastrophe passed. And if it didn’t, he would at least be safe, if alone, in the mountain woods. While confident of his skills in the woods, a kernel of doubt still remained in the back of his mind about being so alone.
With his decision made, he set about building a travois. He made a modern version of the old Indian device, working day and night, racing against the day when the militia would show up. The travois would allow him to carry a large store of supplies until he could set up a new living situation.
Chapter 5
One morning in late February, Jason stepped out of his front door. He breathed in the crisp air; clear, still without the rich smell of spring to come. He walked over to the garage and opened the door. Then he brought out his travois loaded with two large packs. He had a third backpack that he shouldered himself. Setting everything down in the driveway, he paused and stood looking at his house; his and Maggie’s. His mind raced over the memories of their time together. There was so much joy and laughter. The house had been filled with it. Now it was only memories and emptiness.
He stopped himself from locking the door. I’m not coming back. There’s no need to keep anyone out. He was leaving behind his possessions, things from a world now passed. A wave of sadness swept over him flowing deep into his bones. He shuddered, trying to shake it off. Maggie’s gone. Life as I have known it is gone. I love this house but there’s only memories here now. It’s time to leave. He turned away with a sigh. Got to look forward. Then he shouldered his backpack, hitched up his travois and headed down the driveway.
He had packed his camping gear and all the food rations he could fit on the travois. For weapons he chose the Ruger .223 rifle, his 9mm pistol and his hunting bow and arrows. He included the bow because it was stealthy and the ammunition was reusable. A survival knife, a multi-purpose tool and small camp ax rounded out the hardware. He packed as much ammunition as he could carry, which increased the weight of his rig dramatically. Weighed down with 50 pounds of backpack and 120 pounds on the travois, he was not going to move fast, but as he got the hang of controlling the load, he managed slow but steady progress.
His plan for getting to the forests was to go around the center of town on his way north. He knew he couldn’t go straight through town. He would be stopped, disarmed and stripped of supplies. Three miles down the hill, his street connected to a county road running east and west. He planned to hike east for ten miles, avoiding local neighborhoods. He was familiar with the county roads and planned to go east far enough to avoid the denser parts of town before turning north. Within two hours he crested a rise in the road and saw a small, ragged group on the road heading towards him.
Uh oh! Too late to hide. Keeping his eyes on the approaching group, he stepped to the side of the road, unhooked his travois, slid off his back pack and slid everything into the ditch on the side of the road. Then with the Ruger held at ready, but not pointed at anyone, he watched as the group approached. They were looking intently at him as they came closer. When they were thirty yards away, one of them motioned to the others and they began to fan out.
Jason called out, “Stop! I’ll let you pass, but I’m going to shoot if you spread out. I won’t let you circle me.” He pulled back the charging lever on the Ruger. He couldn’t tell who was armed and what weapons they had, but he hoped his rifle presented a significant threat. The group paused and Jason took advantage of the indecision.
“If you try to spread out, I’m going to shoot, starting with you in the blue jacket.” He addressed the one who gave the gesture to fan out, thinking he might be the leader. “You’ll be the first to die.”
“We’re not looking for trouble,” the blue jacket called back.
“If that’s true, get back together. I’ll step to the side, then you can walk past on the other side of the road.”
“How do we know you won’t attack us?”
“You don’t have anything I want. I’m on my own journey and I don’t have any interest in you.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out of town. On my own.”
“You been in town?”
“Enough.”
“Things ain’t good there. They work you hard and don’t feed you much.”
“At least you get fed.”
“We’ve managed so far,” blue jacket responded.
“Long as you keep ahead of the police and militia.” Jason suddenly had a thought. “When you’re safely past me, I’ll tell you where you can find more food and clothing.”
“Where?”
“When you move past me in a tight group.”
The leader turned to the others and they held a whispered conversation. Blue jacket then turned back to Jason.
“You’re not just puttin’ us on, are you? You’re serious?” Hope resonated in his voice.
“You won’t know until you go to the place I’ll tell you about…it’s my home. It’s got supplies. I couldn’t take them all. There’s clothes and a working well, if you know how to use it. I figure it’s a good trade. You don’t try to overpower me, I don’t kill any of you and you get to use what I left behind.”
The group huddled for another whispered conversation.
“All right, we’ll go on by, but if you’re lying, we’ll hunt you down.”
“I’m not…and don’t try to come after me or follow, I’ll shoot without further warning.” Jason shouldered his rifle as the group filed past him. Some stared at him with a dull look in their eyes, others glared in resentment at him and his possessions.
When they were past, Jason gave them directions and watched them trudge off, the way he had come. When they were out of sight, he shouldered his pack, hitched himself to the travois and set off down the road. He walked late into the night pausing at times to watch the road behind him for any sign the group was following. The road remained empty. The group probably was feasting on what they had found. They could stay there for some time, but the militia would come eventually. He couldn’t help that. The group had to deal with them on their own. Later that night he worked his way
far off the road and set up a cold camp in a dense cover of trees.
Could he have shot them? Jason didn’t know the answer. He was glad his show of force had deterred the group. They had reacted the same way as other scavengers he confronted. Would his luck hold? Jason’s gut feeling was that if he encountered any of the local militia, his bluff would not work. He shivered at the thought as he lay wrapped in his sleeping bag and ground cloth.
After a fitful night’s sleep, waking at every sound, he started out again early in the morning. An hour down the road, he turned north. The road cut through the eastern suburbs of Hillsboro, but it led to the closest point where he could enter the National Forest. That would be his route north, further into the Appalachia Mountains. He walked more carefully now, stopping at every rise in the road to scan ahead with his binoculars. Twice he saw militia patrols ahead. He turned off the road to give them a wide berth, preferring a slower, more circuitous route to any encounters.
Around noon, he stopped and refilled his water bottle from a small creek, dropping in the purification tablets. Later in the afternoon, as he approached a rise in the road, he unhitched his travois, hid it with his pack in the bushes in front of a house and crawled to the top of the rise to check the road. He lay in the un-mowed grass with his body pressed down against the still-hard ground. Ahead the houses gave way to a small strip of stores. There they were, five armed men purposely checking all the stores in the center. These were not scavengers; they were armed and moved purposefully as if they had a job to complete. The stores had most of their windows broken out. Some had no doors. The men were focused on two of the stores that still seemed closed up, perhaps protecting something valuable. The doors were apparently strong having weathered the initial round of looting.
While Jason was studying them with his binoculars, trying to decide what to do, he suddenly noticed a sixth man scanning the area, also with binoculars. His slow swing stopped when he was pointed at Jason. Had he seen the glint of Jason’s binoculars? Suddenly the man jumped up, called to his companions and pointed towards Jason.
Jason quickly slithered back down the slope. He could hear them running towards him. Where to go? He couldn’t get away burdened with his pack and travois, so he left them hidden.
He had to lead them away from his gear, so he quickly ran east, through some of the yards, away from the road. He heard a shout as he bolted between houses. He was seen. Now he needed speed. He ran across the next street. On the other side there was an older house, the original property from which the small subdivision had been created. He sprinted for it. As he rounded the corner of the house he saw an old wooden shed in the back yard. The urge to hide was overwhelming. The shed door was ajar. There was a hasp with a lock left on the loop. Jason ran to the shed and, after closing the door, reached through a hole in the siding to slip the lock on the hasp.
He had just locked himself in. Panic rose. What had he done? He had hidden himself, but he had also trapped himself. They won’t think I’m in here if the door’s locked. If I’m quiet they’ll stop searching. Jason put his eye close to a small hole in the siding and looked out.
The men came around the side of the house and stopped running.
“I saw him cross the street, somewhere around here.” One of them said. “He can’t be far.” There was a wild energy in his voice.
“See any prints?”
“No, the ground’s too hard.”
“Why are we bothering?” another asked, puffing from the effort of their run.
“He was checking us out with binoculars. He wasn’t just another scavenger.”
“You think he’s got some supplies?”
“I don’t know what he’s got, or who he’s with. He may be part of a gang. He could be trouble. We need to find him.” This was the leader talking.
“I’ll check the house. See if he broke in.” Another said.
Jason watched through his peep hole. The men had a wild look in their eyes, inflamed by the excitement of the chase. They were fierce looking. There would be no negotiating if they found him. He shrank back to the darkest corner of the shed, listening to the discussion going on outside. He heard someone approach the shed.
“I wonder if he’s in here.” The speaker tried the lock on the door.
“It’s locked, ain’t it?” the leader called out.
“Yeah, but something’s not right. He just didn’t disappear. We saw him come this way and now…no sign of him.” He began a careful walk around the shed, like a dog hunting for a scent. Jason was sweating in spite of the cold day. He muffled his breathing in his arm, forcing himself to breathe slowly though his body was screaming for more oxygen. As the man came by the wall near Jason, he held his breath. Once past, Jason opened his mouth and slowly breathed into his sleeve again.
“Gone to ground,” another chimed in.
“The house is closed; he didn’t go in.”
“He’s either in one of these houses, or he got to that patch of woods.” The leader pointed to a small patch of woods at the back of the large lot the old house sat on. “From there he could sneak off in any direction.”
“I didn’t hear him going through the woods.” The man near the shed declared.
“How the hell would you with all the talking we’ve been doing?”
“And who’s to blame for that?”
“Stuff it. If push comes to shove, I’ll make you take the blame for it.”
“So what do we do now?” asked the man who was short on breath and not looking for more running.
“Check the two houses next to this one; if he’s not in them, we go back, finish what we were doing and head back downtown.”
The group dispersed to search the nearby houses. Jason lay back and took large gulps of air, like a man coming up from near drowning. His heart raced, his head pounded. He just lay there, exhausted from the chase and the fear that flooded him. Long after the men left, long after the sun went down, Jason finally stirred.
He wondered about his resolve. He had killed in the army over in Iraq. But civilians…he wasn’t sure. These people would kill me in a moment for my supplies. He thought about the wild look in their eyes as they came around the corner of the house, a blood lust that spoke of no mercy. Remember that look, he admonished himself as he set about prying open some boards to free himself from the shed. The next night, he had his answer as he went through the underpass.
The morning light had grown stronger while Jason was lost in reverie. A stray breeze stirred the woods and startled him out of his thoughts. He sighed deeply from the roots of his body as the memory of the previous night’s confrontation in the underpass came rushing back to him. Slowly he stood up and moved to the edge of the woods to peer back down at the highway with its litter of abandoned cars and trucks. There were no people. The emptiness, the deadness of it saddened him. Were the men he shot last night in the underpass dead or alive? He would never know. He knew he should go. It might not be safe to be here, even up on the ridge, if the militia found the men he had shot.
Heading into the mountains was going to be a lonely adventure, but he had no partner. He had to go it alone. Who knew how many people he would see after this? He turned his gaze from the roadway and went back to his gear. He drank some more water and ate a cold MRE. Then he slowly strapped on his gear and without looking back started his lumbering climb into the mountains.
Chapter 6
Jason hiked north. The remote country lay in that direction. He headed for the areas of the forest that had not been logged in a hundred years and were dominated by large climax trees, leaving the undergrowth open and easy to navigate. He tried to stick to established trails which provided easier travel, however to the north, the terrain got steeper, tougher. There were fewer farms; the forest taking over more the land. He was looking for that country.
The second day, following a well worn trail, he came around a bend and there sat half a dozen people. He stopped, cursing himself under his breath for being careles
s. No one moved. The group stared at Jason as if he were an alien from space. He stood and stared back. Don’t threaten them. They were young. Some of them were armed. They were a mix of men and women. They didn’t have much gear with them, only an assortment of book bags and backpacks. Some of them had on hiking boots and some had running shoes. They didn’t look ready for the wilderness.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jason finally said. They just looked at him. He unhooked his travois without taking his eyes off the group. Next he slid his backpack off. His 9mm was in a holster at his side.
One of the men responded, “You did.” He stared at Jason. They outnumbered him. No one moved.
“Where are you headed?” one in the group finally asked.
“Where are you headed?” Jason countered.
“We’re just trying to find a place where we won’t be bothered by the militia telling us what we can and can’t do.”
“Where do you think that will be?”
“Somewhere away from Hillsboro we figure.”
“Was it hard to get out of town?”
“We all got out okay. We met up after leaving town.”
“Better watch out for gangs. They’ll take all your supplies.”
“That’s why we’re in the woods.”
“Are you going to try to rob us?” another asked.
“No. I’m not interested in robbing anyone.”
“Looks like you’re pretty well equipped,” someone else said.
“I planned it that way. I’m also ready to defend what I have.”
One of young men edged closer to his backpack propped against a rock.
“I wouldn’t reach into your pack. It’s liable to get you shot,” Jason stated. His hand edged closer to the pistol on his belt.
“You going to try to shoot all of us?” the young man replied.
“If I need to.”
After the Fall: Jason's Tale Page 4