by A. American
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
HOME INVASION
A. AMERICAN
Home Invasion
Copyright © 2017 by Angery American Enterprises Inc. All rights reserved.
First Edition: April 2017
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of Angery American Enterprises Inc.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
PRELUDE
Finally, it looked like things were ready to start calming down. To start the long walk back to a normal life. Or at least what we all took for normal in the Before. Not that that was the end goal. It was just unrealistic to think we could get back to the same point. But something closer to a normal, calm life was the goal.
With the victory over the DHS now complete, Morgan’s greatest threat was vanquished. Or so he thought. The world he and his friends lived in was small in relative terms. For many in the new world, it consisted of wherever they could walk in a day. And for most, it was less than that. We were used to speedy transportation. To being able to hop in the car on a whim and travel many miles without a second thought. While Morgan was luckier than most, his world was still considerably smaller than it once was.
Having barely left the borders of Umatilla or Eustis, it was a mystery what was happening even in Orlando, let alone California or New York. The small radio was the only link to the outside world they had. And it opened the nation to them in the few broadcasts they picked up. News they had no idea of had found its way to them. And it was disturbing to say the least.
They may have bested the government in their immediate area, but across the country the war raged on. And now it appeared the President had called for help from our former adversaries, who were all too willing to help in our time of need. But what would that help look like? And who, in the end, were they really looking to help?
While this was certainly a paramount concern, Morgan had more immediate issues to deal with. The farm was well under way, but gardening without the aid of fertilizers and pest control was daunting at best. And it appeared that with their plot being the only one for miles, every bug in the state was alerted to the buffet.
If this were his only concern, as difficult as it was, it wouldn’t be so bad. But there was also the issue of governance. Morgan wasn’t a politician and didn’t want to be one. Nor was he a judge; and that particular issue was one he wanted to shed post haste. This latter duty was one of particular importance to him to delegate to others. But it required the right person. One with the temperament, personality and fortitude to do what must be done in such a situation.
While there were plenty of possibilities and even some volunteers, the right person for the job had yet to rise to the top. The ones that were most disturbing were those that wanted the position and the perceived power that came with it. These Morgan eyed with a great deal of suspicion. And none of them would be his choice.
The need for governance was another issue altogether. And here too there were issues again with those that wanted the position. One of those was becoming a real concern and would need to be dealt with soon. In one way or another. Earlier on, when he was trying to establish the rule of law, he had no issue with dealing with such problems in a less civilized manner.
And of course, there was always the unknown. As well as Mr. Murphy to keep an eye out for. Florida in the summer had its own issues to deal with. And now its full weight was upon them. Mother Nature could well decide at any moment to unleash her fury upon them with little or no warning at all. In the end, it came down to sheer chance and a whole lot of luck. There was no way to predict these things. Gone was the 24/7 weather coverage. The seven-day forecast was a thing of the past. Now, every day was a roll of the dice. And the house always wins.
CHAPTER 1
The summer heat wrapped its humid arms around us. The days were stifling and the nights offered limited relief. While the sun may not be overhead, the heat of the day was slowly released throughout the night. And God forbid it rained that day. The mosquito population meant doing anything outside near or shortly after sundown was an act of self-loathing. Every time I stood night watch at the bunker I’d say to myself, they can’t possibly get worse. And every day or night, as the case may be, they seemed to become even more prolific. It was maddening.
And so, I lay in the bed, soaked in sweat and trying to sleep. But this too was a futile effort. In the Before, I loved a cold room. I was one of those people that turned the air down as low as it would go in a hotel room. And that’s what I was thinking about now. Lying in one of those comfy beds, wrapped in a fluffy comforter that I so enjoyed about Hilton Hotels; and it cold enough to hang meat. But that was fantasy and useless.
Reaching over, I picked up my watch and checked the time, 3:47. Dropping it back to the nightstand, I hung my head off the side of the bed for a moment, taking in the breeze from the fan. A trickle of sweat ran down my neck and into my beard. I scratched at it and cussed the beard. It seemed everything was bugging me. Life was just out to get me.
Sensing the futility of trying to sleep, I got up and pulled on a pair of shorts and walked out to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I stuck my head in. It was so cool. Such a relief. But it wasn’t a solution; and admitting defeat, I took the glass water pitcher out and poured myself a glass before returning it to its shelf and closing the door.
Glass in hand, I walked out onto the front porch. The dogs weren’t there, and I guessed they were probably out hunting, or doing whatever dogs do in the night. Taking a seat on the bench, I stretched my feet out and leaned back. The air outside hung like a suffocating cloak. There would be no relief out here. Raising the glass, I ran it across my forehead and the beads of condensation ran off onto my face. Glancing up, I was able to make out that the needle on the large round thermometer was slightly past eighty degrees. At four in the morning!
This is madness! I thought. How did people live without air conditioning! Then I thought about it. It wasn’t necessary for survival. People lived all over the world in places hotter than this without it. But then, in many of those places the nighttime temps could drop to near freezing. Not here in Florida though. The nights could be just as uncomfortable as the days. The only relief being that giant ball of fire wasn’t overhead to scorch you as well.
Draining the glass, I got up and went back inside. I may as well try and rest, even if I didn’t sleep. There was a lot of work to do tomorrow or later today; as was the case. So I returned to bed to lie there, thinking of the wonder of central air conditioning and if there was any way I could resurrect it.
One of the things that this new life brought us was a tremendous improvement to our senses. At least as I saw it. I could smell better than before. I could hear better, though only in certain ranges, as I already had a serious case of tinnitus. And as was the case now, I could see better. Not in the manner of more acute vision. Age played too big a role in that. But in sensing changes to light. I woke up, having drifted off into a delirious sleep at some point, when the rising sun began to lighten the sky, brightening the room ever so s
lightly.
Sitting up, I peeled the sheet from my legs and got up and went to the bathroom. I’ve always been a hot-shower guy; the hotter, the better. But now, the lack of a water heater was of no concern whatsoever. I turned on the water and climbed into the shower to soak myself in the seventy-two-degree water. That was one good thing about the well. The water was the same temp year-round. After washing off the funk from a fitful night’s sleep, I came out and dressed in a clean pair of shorts and t-shirt.
I’d taken to wearing shorts recently as it was just too damn hot to wear long pants. Between the plate carrier I now wore in place of my vest and all the associated hardware, I sweated like a whore in church. Of course, Sarge gave me hell for it. Telling me if we got into a scrape of any kind I’d be scraped to shit. I told him I was willing to roll the dice.
Returning to the fridge, I poured myself a glass of tea and went back out to the porch again. The dogs were there this time, fast sleep. Apparently, whatever they were up to last night wore them out. They didn’t even look up when I came out the door. I pushed Meathead out of the way with my foot so I could have a place for my feet. He groaned, but didn’t stir.
This was my morning ritual. To come out and sit on the porch with my tea before anyone else was up. It was my time. And while it would have been a good time to think about the day ahead, I didn’t. I’d made the conscious decision not to. Instead, I sat on the porch and watched as my yard came to life.
Since Little Bit had stopped shooting them, I’d discovered where all the squirrels lived, and watched as they would wake to a new day. Some of them were very much creatures of habit like me. One fat male would emerge from his nest in a large oak and sit on a limb for some time. He would just sit there, occasionally scratching or otherwise grooming himself. But for the most part, he simply sat there. Others would come out with a mission in mind and get to work immediately. I could relate to that fat old male limb rat. I felt he and I were a kindred soul. But I also knew come the fall, he would wind up in the stew pot. After all, I knew where he’d be every morning.
With my tea done, I went back into the house. I had established a habit of making a round through the house to check on everyone. I’d open the girls’ door and peak in on them, then go back to my room and give Mel a kiss before heading out for the day. When I kissed Mel, she stirred, kicking the sheet off her legs.
“Turn the fan this way,” she mumbled.
I smiled, patted her ass and turned the fan. Picking up my carbine and pistol, I went out to the living room and put on all the junk I carried. We hadn’t needed this crap in a while now. Not since the issue at the Elk’s Camp was resolved. But Sarge insisted we wear it whenever we left the hood, as we now called our little place.
Sitting down, I pulled on a pair of socks and my Merrill hikers. I’d started wearing them again in place of the boots for the same reason as the shorts. That and they were way, way more comfortable. Finally dressed, I pulled my hat down over my head, let out a breath and headed out the door.
Thad was kneeling in the yard, petting Little Sister. Like me, he’d changed his wardrobe as well, taking to wearing a wife-beater in place of the long-sleeve Dickies shirts he favored. But that was as far as he was willing to go. Shorts were an anathema to the man. Saying, only reason to wear short pants is if you is going swimmin’. And there ain’t no reason to go swimmin’!
He looked up when I came out and smiled. “I love these dogs.”
I snorted. “Take them home with you. They’re useless.”
Rising to his feet, he said, “You ready to go? I want to get this out of the way before it gets too hot.”
“Yeah. We need to stop by the plant on the way in. See how things are going. Terry and Baker said they might be ready to try a soft start on the plant today.”
Thad’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That would be some good news.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You have no idea how much work that will create.”
We walked towards the old Suburban. I was amazed the old thing was still running. As we approached it, I stopped, holding my arm out to stop Thad. He looked at me and asked, “What?” I pointed at the truck. Sitting in the driver’s seat was Dalton. He grinned at us with something of a cross between the Joker and Jack from the Shinning.
Thad saw him and started laughing. Shaking his head, he said, “Ain’t right. He jus’ ain’t right.”
“What day is it, Thad?” I asked.
He shrugged, then laughed. “I have no idea.” Then, thinking for a minute said, “Damn! I don’t know what day it is!”
Dalton stuck his head out the window and shouted, “It’s Tuesday, you cheeky bastards! Now get in!”
Thad’s enthusiasm quickly faded. “Is he driving?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at him. As I opened the passenger door and tossed the keys to Dalton, I replied, “Sure. Life’s an adventure.”
Dalton quickly started the truck and revved the engine a little. He worked his hands, gripping the wheel, then shouted, “Let’s go, man!”
Thad dropped his head and climbed into the backseat. In that famous cockney voice, Dalton asked, “And where to this morning, Capt’n?”
Sitting back and putting my foot on the dash, I said, “The plant, Jeeves. And take us by the park this morning.”
Smiling a twisted smile, he replied, “Of course, sir!” Then he dropped the truck into reverse and stomped the gas.
Now, there are a lot of trees in my yard. And this crazy fool never looked away as he executed a near perfect J turn, at speed! I was thankful when he dropped it into drive and floored it once again. We shot out my driveway, sliding sideways onto the dirt road. He raced down the road towards the bunker. I can’t be certain, but I swore I heard Thad saying the Rosary or some sort of prayer from the backseat.
As we approached the bunker, I was surprised to see no one there. I was getting concerned as we slid to a stop beside it. Mike and Ted popped their heads over the top from the far side, weapons shouldered. They looked around for a moment as the dust from Dalton’s wild ride was still hanging in the air. “What the hell’s going on?” Ted asked with a look of concern.
I leaned back and pointed at Dalton. “Any other stupid questions?”
Mike dropped his carbine to hang from its sling. “You’re a braver man than me! No way in hell I’d ride with his crazy ass.”
With a lisp, Dalton asked, “But would you ride me?”
Ted snorted and laughed. “Like a rented mule!”
Straightening up, Dalton replied, “Ok, just checking.”
“We’ll be back in a little while.” I said, then added. “Have to go by the plant and then to the farm to see what it looks like this morning.”
Ted leaned over the top of the bunker and replied, “We’ll be here.”
We left them and headed to town. As we approached Altoona, Thad suggested we stop at the Kangaroo. “Good idea,” I replied. “Give us a chance to wave the flag.”
The little market, as we called it, came to life early each day. And things were actually improving to a degree, if you judged it by the offerings that were appearing. Milk, cheese, eggs, fish and the occasional meat products of various sources were now becoming common. There was even one older lady doing a bang-up business in chickens. She sold both adult birds and chicks. It had been a hobby of hers in the Before, that she’d turned into a productive enterprise.
We wandered around the tables and small booths that some of the more industrious folks had put together from what they could find. I stopped at one booth in particular. It was one of the most ingenious and sought-after services offered. One that I would have never thought of. And yet it was now one of the busiest services available. A cobbler. Kelly Christopher was a big guy with a white goatee. He didn’t know anything about working on shoes, but necessity is the mother of invention.
When his boots wore out, he repaired them by resoling them with a slab of a tire. It wasn’t long before he was repairing all manne
r of shoes. I was very happy to see this, as it was something I’d worried about. When you go to walking everywhere, footwear becomes very important. And at the moment, we had a distinct lack of shoe stores. But having someone around that could resurrect a worn pair was just about as good. The sad part is most shoes today aren’t made to be repaired. Like most everything else in our world, they were designed to be disposable.
“Morning, Kelly,” I said as I stepped up in front of his booth.
He looked up from the extremely worn engineer-style boot he was working on. “Morning, Morgan. How’s the law and order business?”
I laughed, “Same as always. Only thing more reliable would be an undertaker.”
Kelly pointed the small hammer he was using at me. “Now there’s a business idea.”
I shook my head. “Nah. I hear backyard burials are all the rage today.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is. Hey, check this out.” He reached back to the small bench in the rear of his booth and picked up a pair of gray canvas shoes and handed them to me. “What do you think of these?”
I looked them over. They were made from a heavy canvas and soled with a piece of heavy Berber carpet. “They look really nice. Like something some green weeny would have paid a lot of money for back in the day. But I don’t think that carpet will last long.”
He stuck his foot out to show the pair he was wearing. On his foot, they looked like moccasins. “I thought that too. But I’ve been wearing these for a week.” He turned his foot up to inspect the sole. “They’re holding up pretty good though. The key is trimming the edge to keep it from fraying.”
Inspecting the trimming, I said, “Well I’ll be damned. Not bad. What kind of canvas is this?”
Kelly smiled. “It’s my boat cover. And the carpet came from the Florida room. Cost me nothing to make. I’ll trade these to folks that don’t have much, you know. They’re better than nothing.”