The Systemic Series - Box Set

by K. W. Callahan

  “I didn’t want Claire giving me grief about smoking these around the kids back at camp, so I’ve been holding off. Anybody else want one?” I offered the pack around.

  Brian was the only one who joined me – so much for my male bonding idea.

  We continued our walking in silence. I found myself enjoying the contradiction of the fresh country air mixed with the nicotine-filled, chemical-laden cigarette smoke.

  After about 40 minutes, Steve said, “We’re getting close.”

  “Just be ready,” I said, letting my rifle slide around in front of me.

  After several more minutes of walking, we could see the tall sign of a gas station ahead of us.

  “Will, why don’t you take Steve and head across to the other side of the road so we’re more spread out?” I said.

  “Good thinking,” he agreed.

  We stopped and scanned the area and then covered the two men as they made a quick run across to the other side of the road.

  I felt comfortable having Will split from the group since, having grown up together as boys, and participating in faux attack scenarios when playing army scouts out in the yard, we had a general idea of how each other thought and would react in these types of situations.

  We moved forward at a steady but more cautious pace from this point on, and as we neared the gas station, which was on my side of the road, we continued to hug the protective cover of the forest.

  There were still no signs of life on the main road into town and we didn’t detect any at the gas station either. I could now see the gas station’s attached diner, which also appeared unoccupied. From what I could tell, there were no vehicles in the parking lot and no lights on inside the structure.

  On either side of the road ahead of us, about 100 yards past the gas station and diner, a handful of homes were sprinkled.

  I looked over at Will. I could see him taking quick glances back and forth between my group and the town as we moved forward. I waited until he looked back over at me and I raised a hand for him to stop and held up a finger indicating that he should give me a minute. Then I halted my own group right before we hit the dirt and gravel clearing that comprised the gas station/diner’s parking lot.

  We crouched down behind a clump of advertising signs clustered beside the road. I waited as Will and Steve took up positions from which to cover us.

  I turned back to Dad and Brian, “I’m going to check this place out. It looks abandoned, but I’m going to see if there’s anything inside we could use.”

  “I don’t like this, John,” Dad said. “We have enough supplies. We don’t need anything right now. So why chance it?”

  “We have a whole camp to support now,” I said. “And we’ll be running out of stuff fast if we don’t maintain our supply levels. Who knows how long we’re going to be out here. We need to take advantage of whatever we can whenever we can. Don’t argue with me on this, Dad.”

  He didn’t say another word, just nodding that he understood.

  “I’m coming with you,” Brian said as I prepared to move.

  I thought about it for a minute and then said, “Okay, just be careful.”

  I didn’t like the idea of Brian coming along since it put him in danger, but after hearing his story about the drive down, it sounded like he could handle himself pretty well in a tight situation, and if this was going to be our new life, he needed to start learning how to survive and pull his weight. Therefore, after listening for any approaching traffic and making one last scan of the area for potential threats, we made a crouched run across the parking area to the rear of the gas station/diner.

  The first thing we did was inspect the back doors of the building, both of which were locked. We slid our way cautiously around the side of the building, guns at the ready, keeping our eyes on scan mode for anything that looked out of place as we moved.

  The large plate-glass windows at the front of both buildings had been smashed and made for easy access.

  We entered the gas station first. It was dark inside. Thankfully, I had brought along a flashlight in the slight chance that we got caught out in the dark. Pulling it from my pack, I clicked it on.

  Scanning the interior of the building, I quickly recognized that others had made quick work of the food and snacks that had once lined the gas station’s shelves. Some opened, spilled, and smashed containers were the only visible remnants of the treats that had once been sold here.

  We moved to the back of the store where the walls were lined with refrigeration units. At the bottom of one were a few unopened cans of diet iced tea.

  I nodded at Brian and then tilted my head toward the bottles.

  Taking the hint, he opened the refrigerator door, scooped up the drinks and put them inside his pack.

  Meanwhile, I moved to the front of the store. The cash register sat open, emptied of its contents. I made a quick search of the surrounding shelves. In the process, I unearthed a few packages of menthol cigarettes, a couple packs of matches, some unopened breath mints, and two cigarette lighters, all of which went into my pack. A partially open door marked “Office” led from one side of the counter area. A quick kick opened the door all the way open and I shined my flashlight inside.

  The space was small, just big enough for a desk, a chair, a computer, and a three-drawer file cabinet. The desk was littered with papers, open food containers, chip bags, candy bar wrappers, and soda cans. Cockroaches scurried around the trash under the beam of my flashlight. I walked over to the small file cabinet and pulled out the first drawer. It was all file folders and paperwork. I pulled them out and tossed them on the floor leaving the drawer completely empty. I closed it and pulled out the second drawer with similar result. The bottom drawer however, wasn’t as full. I made quick work of the file folders occupying the front of the drawer, sending them cascading onto the floor. Then I saw what I’d been hoping for. In the back of the drawer was a small revolver, a box of ammo beside it, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and a container of spiced beef jerky sticks – gas station attendant staples.

  I gathered up the contents of the drawer making a quick check of the revolver in the process. It was loaded. I dumped the shells inside it out into my hand and tested the trigger. It was tight, but smooth. The accompanying box of ammo rattled when I picked it up, informing me that it wasn’t completely full, but I didn’t care. Something was better than nothing. I put the shells in my hand inside the box and tossed everything into my pack.

  Brian was still rummaging around out in the store area when I came out.

  “Find anything?” I asked.

  “Huh uh,” he shook his head.

  “Let’s check the diner,” I said.

  If I thought the gas station’s office was nasty, it paled in comparison to the diner’s kitchen prep area. Things had been pulled out of the refrigeration units – which were standing open and smelled like death – and lay all over the floor. Huge containers of mayonnaise, ketchup and mustard lay spilled and spoiled and made for treacherous travel as we tried to work our way around the slippery mess.

  “Uh…this is terrible,” Brian moaned, waving a hand in front of his nose.

  I made a quick inspection of the kitchen area cabinets, but they’d been picked clean.

  Amazingly, the dining area turned out to be a sort of “Purloined Letter” type scenario. The things out in plain sight like the ketchup bottles, salt and pepper shakers, and small containers of packaged crackers, jams, and jellies still sat on tables. It took us about a minute to dump them all into our packs.

  “See anything else?” I said.

  Brian did one last scan around the diner. He shook his head no, but then said, “Wait!”

  The diner’s walls were decorated with vintage 40s and 50s-era memorabilia. On a little shelf against one wall sat a metal cigarette case. He tossed it to me. “Keep your cigs from getting crushed,” he nodded.

  “Thanks,” I smiled, sticking the case in my front shirt pocket. “You’re alright,” I n
odded to him. “We’d better get back. The others are probably worried.”

  We made our way stealthily back to where Dad was still crouched waiting for us behind the advertising signs. Then we made a quick run across the road to meet up with Will and Steve.

  “Find anything good?” Will asked.

  “Not much,” I said. “Just a few things. I’ll show you when we get back.” I turned to Steve, “Okay, where’s this shooting site of yours?”

  Steve pointed to a road that broke to the right and up a hill, just past where the gas station/diner sat and before the cluster of homes began.

  “Used to be an old bank a few hundred yards up that way. All that’s left now is the foundation. Kind of creates a dugout into the hillside that should help muffle the gunfire.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “Any movement around town while we were inside?” I asked, turning to Will.

  “Nothing,” he shook his head. “This place looks dead…literally.”

  “Alright, let’s go,” I told the group.

  We cut our way across the road again and back behind the gas station/diner. It only took us a couple of minutes to get to the spot Steve had told us about. It was set back from the road maybe 30 feet and trees had grown up thick around it so that it was almost indiscernible from the road.

  We walked to the stone block foundation and set our packs down on its concrete floor that was largely obscured by leaves, twigs, limbs, moss, and other debris. The foundation’s walls rose gradually as they moved back on either side until they met with the rear wall about 75 feet away. This wall was also block stone and was bolstered by the hillside. It reached a height of maybe 20 feet. Below it were piles of old bottles and jars someone had dumped and that were mixed in with other forest debris and trash.

  I fished around among the trash for a minute and found about 20 unbroken bottles, setting them up in an evenly-spaced row near the back wall. Will and I spent the next five minutes reviewing proper handling techniques for the various guns in our possession. We then traded out guns with the more inexperienced and had each of them try their hand with a few rounds a piece. Then we all swapped and shot a few more rounds, and repeated the process until everyone had experienced all of the guns. While the others were shooting, I showed Will the handgun I’d found in the gas station.

  “Eh,” he gave me an Elvis-lipped sneer. “Not great, but it’d do the trick in a jam I guess,” he yelled over the gunfire going on around us.

  “Hey, the price was right,” I yelled back, loading the gun and firing off a couple rounds.

  Suddenly a bullet zipped into the concrete beside our feet. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Cease fire!” I called to our students. They were all facing toward the back wall and stopped firing to turn and give us confused looks.

  Another bullet smacked in against the back of the foundation, but the gunshot didn’t come from Brian, Steve or Dad; it came from somewhere behind us.

  Will and I both ducked down low and crouched beside the others who were all knelt or lying prone on the foundation’s floor.

  “Keep low!” I yelled. “It’s somebody else!”

  I grabbed my rifle from Brian as Will took his from Dad.

  “No shit!” Will said back. “And we’re stuck in this manmade rat trap with our backs literally to the wall!”

  Two more shots rang out and bullets impacted with the wall behind us as we all got down as low as we could on the concrete flooring.

  “No cover in here,” I said. “We need to get out, and fast! Can you tell where the shots are coming from?” I asked as Will put the butt of the assault rifle to his shoulder and looked through the scope.

  “Near the road,” he said. “Over to the right…by that big tree I think.”

  I shouldered my own gun and focused my eye so that I could look through the scope. Will was right; there was someone by the tree…at least one person. I quickly made a focused scan of the rest of the area, but couldn’t see anyone else so I scanned back to the big tree. I saw a flash and then heard the ensuing gunshot. The bullet went high, hitting the foundation well above us.

  “Either he’s a really bad shot, or he’s just trying to warn us away,” Will said.

  “Either way, we need to get the hell out of here because he apparently doesn’t want us around. Should we fire back?” I asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Will said.

  Suddenly there were shots from behind us. I looked back. Brian was up on one knee, his handgun out, returning fire. “If you’re not going to use those rifles, give them to someone who will,” he said, peeling off three more ear-shattering rounds.

  I looked at Will. He looked at me, raised his gun, and let loose on full automatic. Dad, Steve, and I all followed suit. It sounded like a war had erupted. Bullets were tearing the leaves off trees and tearing hunks off the big tree where our unknown assailant was apparently taking cover.

  Will was through his clip in about five seconds. Everyone else was quickly out of bullets too. My rifle was a semi-automatic, which meant that once I had it cocked, I could continue squeezing the trigger, peeling off a round at a time until my 30-round clip was emptied. I therefore conducted a more controlled shoot, slowly squeezing off about ten rounds, each about a second apart.

  “You guys reload,” I said. “Then try to make it out of here heading in the opposite direction of that tree. Angle your way back to the road. I’ll cover you, then once you get there, return the favor.”

  Everyone scrambled to reload their guns as I continued my regulated fire. Will finished first, simply exchanging clips. It took the others about 20 seconds longer, but it seemed like forever. No more gunfire was coming from behind the big tree, but I wasn’t going to chance it.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” came the responses.

  “On my mark,” I said. “Ready…set…go,” I marked the “go” by firing a round, then firing four more in rapid succession, and then two at a time every second until the group had cleared the foundation and was well on its way to the road. I slowly fired four more rounds and then waited a few seconds.

  As soon as I heard the first shot from near the road, I jumped to my feet. A bullet zipped into the wall opposite me and then another one hit a rock right in front of me. A plume of dust went up from the impact, particulates of rock shooting into my left eye, and I felt something heavy pound me in the chest, almost knocking me off balance. Half blinded, stunned, and choking on rock dust, I somehow started running, tearing my way through the trees for maybe 40 yards until I could see my compatriots ahead of me near the road, covering me with their gunfire. They were herded like cattle in a drainage ditch, all clustered around Will and firing away like maniacs. I was rubbing my eye, trying to clear it as I stumbled and threw myself into the ditch beside them.

  Thank god whoever was shooting at us didn’t have a grenade. They could have taken out the whole group right then and there we were so clustered together.

  “Steve, can you get us out of here and back to the main road?” I yelled, grabbing him by the shoulder to break him from his firing.

  He stood, “Follow me!” he yelled, jumping up and moving back down the drainage ditch, away from the fire and then ducking into the forest.

  I grabbed Dad, pushing him after Steve. “Follow Steve,” I yelled, and then I did the same with Brian and Will as I brought up the rear.

  Once we were maybe a quarter mile away, we stopped to regroup. My eye was red and itchy but otherwise okay. My chest ached and I rubbed it with a hand.

  “Ah,” I inhaled sharply, pulling my hand away to look at it. It was bleeding from a cut across my palm. “What the hell?” I said confused as to how the cut got there. I reached back to my chest, more carefully this time, and pulled the cigarette case that Brian had given me at the diner out of my shirt pocket. It was dented, and several shards of jagged metal protruded from where it had been impacted by a bullet.

  “So much for my new present,” I said, holding it up for Brian to s
ee.

  “No way!” he said in amazement. “That’s awesome! Dude, you’ve got a war trophy!”

  I passed it around for the others to see.

  “Guess those weren’t warning shots after all,” Dad said.

  “Well, at least not after we started shooting back,” Will added.

  “Who do you think it was?” asked Steve.

  “No idea,” I said. “Whoever it was, they didn’t want us around. Guess I can’t say I blame them. Looks like people are taking the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach these days.”

  “Probably somebody from the town who heard our gunfire,” said Brian.

  “Yeah, well, whoever it was, let’s not bring this up back at camp, okay?” I said. “I don’t think the women would be too pleased with us.”

  Everyone nodded their agreement.

  “Speaking of which, we’d better be getting back,” said Steve. “I think we’ve had enough target practice for today and certainly worn out our welcome in Avers.”

  “Nothing like trial by fire…literally,” Will agreed.

  “Anyone want a cigarette?” I offered.

  This time everyone joined me for a smoke.

  We also passed around the whiskey bottle I’d found in the gas station, finishing it on the way home.

  CHAPTER 11

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7th

  SOUTHERN ILLINOIS

  It was the one week anniversary of living in our new location, and today was inventory day.

  With there being twelve of us in camp now, I was really having to watch our supply consumption and keep an eye on what was going to whom and in what quantities.

  It had been determined yesterday that with the exception of Jason, since he was too young to understand, and Claire who needed to regulate her blood sugar levels, everyone would be limited to eating solely at mealtimes. We hoped that this would keep unsupervised snacking to a minimum and help preserve our supplies.