The Jared Chronicles | Book 3 | Chains of Tyranny

by Tippins, Rick

  Calvin’s gaze turned to Jared, his brows still standing at attention. Jared turned away, knowing full well what the questioning look Calvin was giving him was meant to do—embarrass him—and he wasn’t going to give Calvin the satisfaction of seeing it on his face.

  Stephani stepped in, saving Jared any further discomfort. “It’s our choice. Shannon and I talked about it after you all went to bed last night, and we can’t just split up, not knowing if we would ever see Jared or John again.”

  Calvin’s eyebrows descended as he laid his leathery hands on the tabletop. “I can’t go with you, but I can help you before you go. I’ve been thinking about the future and what lies in store for all of us, and I just don’t see anything getting back to what we all used to call normal in our lifetime.”

  No one spoke as Calvin stared down briefly at his hands before continuing. “We’ve been dragging that damn car around like it’s the most precious thing in the world when in reality we should have been hoarding gear for the horses and learning everything there is to know about keeping and riding them. Gas is going to spoil over time, and with no one manufacturing any new gas…” Calvin raised his hands, palms up, then dropped them back to the table. “I don’t care how great a car runs now, with no fuel, it’s worthless. Horses and livestock are the future, and the sooner we all admit that, the better off we will be.”

  Jared pondered the older man’s proclamation for a moment, then asked, “Okay, we already have been riding and keeping the horses. What more do you think we need to do?”

  “Well, for starters, you need to get Essie riding and doing it well. You all need to become much better riders too. I mean you need to become one with these animals. You need to be able to sit in the saddle at a full sprint, not a canter, and guide the animal with your legs.”

  “Can we learn to shoot from the horses?” Shannon asked tentatively.

  Calvin lifted his head to stare at the ceiling for a moment before responding, “You can, but not like we all saw in the movies. That is all bullshit. There were people who competed on horseback, shooting balloons at rodeos before the event, but they didn’t use bullets. They had pistols loaded with fairly large amounts of black powder that acted almost like a shotgun. It was all close-range stuff too. The only weapon I think I would ever fire off the back of a horse and expect real results would be a shotgun with a lighter load, maybe number 4 shot.”

  All three younger people at the table stared back at Calvin, their expression devoid of understanding. Shannon was about to ask the older man what he was talking about when Stephani beat her to it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean shotgun shells come in many different variations. Each shell is designed specifically for a certain mission. They contain and therefore fire a bunch of smaller BB-type projectiles with each shot, so it’s easier to hit a bird in flight, which is what they’re mostly used for. The different-sized BBs are numbered, and I think a number 4 shot would be best suited for what we’re talking about. Now, keep in mind this shotgun theory of mine is mere conjecture, but since I am an expert on horses, I’d say conjecture on this matter carries a little more weight than if it was coming from one of you all—and I mean that respectfully,” Calvin finished, grinning wickedly.

  It was determined Jared would not leave that day, but instead wait a couple of days to familiarize himself with the horses better. This included Calvin building a leather holster for a shotgun and attaching it to the left side of Jared’s saddle. Calvin got the leather from Quinten, who kept several rolls of leather hide in the barn from cattle he’d slaughtered over the years. Once he’d fashioned the holster, Calvin mounted it pointing to the rear and at a slight angle so the butt of the weapon could be easily accessed by the rider reaching over with a right hand and drawing the weapon across the horse’s neck.

  In a case where Jared was forced to shoot from the back of his horse, he could draw the shotgun, point it in the general direction of the threat, and let loose a volley of pellets.

  The rig was more designed as a suppression weapon than one to actually end a threat. If Jared could get someone’s head down long enough to escape, then the setup would have served its purpose. Jared practiced dry firing the shotgun from his horse’s back and found he was ill prepared to use the weapon if his mount was doing anything other than standing perfectly still. Calvin warned that the horse almost certainly had never heard a shotgun fired by a rider and would probably spook in some manner if Jared let loose with the weapon. Based on the shortage of shotgun shells, Jared wasn’t able to test this theory.

  Without testing the horse’s reaction to having a shotgun fired a mere two feet from its head, Calvin told Jared to try to shoot one-handed if he could so he could hold on to the saddle with the other hand. Jared considered abandoning the entire concept, but decided in today’s environment, there wasn’t always time to test and evaluate every new thing he came across.

  Some things Jared would have to test in the field, forgoing the luxury of a controlled examination. He would ride and practice drawing and pointing the weapon as he went. When he felt comfortable with doing it at a walk, he would have his horse trot and repeat his drills until he was able to do it at a full run. If for some reason the shotgun system didn’t work out, Jared would discard the idea. This was how things were, and Jared was forced to accept it.

  Four days following Calvin’s shotgun talk, Jared, Shannon, Essie and Stephani were ready to leave. They would not be taking Barry’s motorcycle or the VW Beetle. They would ride the horses, which were able to follow roads or strike out across the open country. Jared planned on a mostly open country route toward Stockton. Jared maintained ownership of several maps and felt he could use prominent terrain features to guide the group in the general direction of the airport successfully.

  All Jared really had to do was head east until they reached Highway 5, then turn left and follow the highway north until the group found a large airport located on their right-hand side. The map suggested the airport was approximately one mile east of Highway 5. Additionally, Jared saw the exit for the airport was either French Camp Road or Arch Airport Road. Jared knew there would be decisions to be made in regard to which side of the highway they approached the airport from, but wasn’t going to worry about that until the time came.

  The morning Jared and his three companions saddled up, Devon and Crank were nowhere to be seen. Jared didn’t give it a second thought other than to ask Calvin to saddle Devon’s horse, which Jared took by the reins, tethering them to his own horse. The boy and the dog would show up somewhere out along their route, at which time Jared would turn the animal over to the teen.

  The Thacker family remained on their porch as Barry and Calvin shook hands and said their goodbyes to the departing party. Carlos nodded courteously, but stayed back a bit, while Salvador clung to his father’s leg.

  “Bye, Salvy,” Essie said from atop Shannon’s horse.

  Everyone looked at the girl while Jared wondered if she’d cultivated more of a relationship with Salvador than he’d realized. Salvador gave a tentative wave, but remained silent, refraining from any further interaction with Essie as Jared turned and gently nudged his heels into the horse’s sides, guiding the animal around and up the drive with the reins. The two women followed suit, and off they went with Stephani towing a fifth animal Calvin had rigged as a packhorse.

  Chapter 9

  The Black Hawk sat on the tarmac, engines roaring at flight RPMs as Josh, along with the twelve Navy SEALs, ran from the hangar and climbed aboard. The inside of the aircraft was cramped and smelled of jet fuel and hydraulic fluid. The large bird went light on its wheels and then rose into a hover, the pilot immediately pushing the helicopter into forward flight across a taxiway toward runway 29 left. The lumbering aircraft gained forward airspeed as the pilot finessed the giant machine into flight.

  Within a few minutes, Josh and the SEALs were finished jockeying for whatever real estate they were able to stake out for t
hemselves and sat back for the short ride to the little ranch. Josh’s plan was to disembark the craft five kilometers from the ranch house, then move overland to the objective. He briefly fostered the idea of flying straight in and making contact like the last time, but decided he couldn’t risk getting one of them shot. The group probably wasn’t happy with the kidnapping of John, so Josh and the Navy swim team would put in some leg work.

  The pilot kept the helicopter low and fast through the hilly terrain, ensuring the people at the ranch would have no clue they were about to be contacted. Josh stared out the side of the aircraft, and at times all he could see was the side of a hill. The pilot would fly up a draw and clear the top with only a few feet to spare before free-falling the lumbering Black Hawk down the opposite side as he followed the terrain while staying mostly on course toward their chosen drop-off point.

  When the helicopter cleared a hilltop and plummeted down the back side, all the occupants would achieve near weightlessness. This was not a ride Josh or any of the SEALs were able to catch a quick nap on. When the pilot’s voice crackled in Josh’s headset, letting him know they were five minutes out, Josh crawled to the open door and began scanning the ground ahead. He was both excited by the prospect of battle and relieved the tumultuous ride was about to end. Although Josh was a veteran to helicopter rides, most had taken place in the Middle East, which meant the rides were usually straight and level flights, not the e-ticket amusement-park-style flying this pilot was imparting on his passengers.

  Five minutes later, Josh and twelve SEALs sat quietly in a security circle as the Black Hawk disappeared in the distance. Josh and the SEALs moved less than a hundred yards from the LZ and secured an area in the dappled shade of an old oak tree, where they spent less than ten minutes while the men tested communications gear and ensured they were all on the correct frequencies. Josh performed a quick gear inventory, making certain he had everything he needed in the event this turned into an overnight outing.

  After all the men completed their personal and organizational checks, one of the SEALs took point, with Josh behind him, acting as the team’s navigator. The terrain was steep-sloped hills with dry grass that was difficult to maintain solid footing on. If the men weren’t near one of the scrub oaks that littered the California hills, they were in the open. Josh planned on doing a short reconnoiter in order to evaluate what they were dealing with and then operate according to that information. Using the natural hilly terrain to their advantage, Josh and the Navy boys arrived without incident.

  The SEALs’ team leader, Captian Kemper, immediately assigned four of his men to overwatch positions, then sat and waited as the two sniper teams left, seeking suitable positions to get eyes, and/or guns if needed, on the house. Josh lay flat on his belly, peering through a pair of binoculars at the house below. Nothing moved, and for all intents and purposes, the entire property seemed abandoned. Before the operation Josh had studied the overhead pictures of the ranch house, which didn’t match what he was seeing today.

  Kemper lay next to Josh, his eyes jammed against a pair of his own binoculars.

  “I think they bugged the fuck out,” Josh whispered.

  Kemper only grunted in agreement as he continued scanning the property below.

  Josh got to a knee and brought the optic back to his eyes. He searched the countryside in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree arch, analyzing everything that came into his field of view for a clue as to what had happened to the ranch’s former occupants.

  “Let your overwatch know we are moving on the house,” Josh said tersely. “Have half your boys work their way around to the creek side, and the rest of us can move into place to the rear of the house.”

  Kemper nodded and whispered into his radio as he also got to one knee.

  It took the teams an hour to move into place, during which time no one saw even the faintest sign of life on the ranch property. Silently the two teams slipped noiselessly from their hiding spots and moved smoothly across the rough ground toward the little ranch house. The weather had grown colder, making the men’s exhalations visible as they crept into position. Josh’s team would breach the house and clear the interior while the team coming from the creek was charged with locking down the immediate area outside and around the structure.

  The first SEAL to the back door checked the doorframe for any sign the entry point was booby-trapped, but found nothing. Next the SEAL checked the door handle and found the portal unlocked. With a quick shove, the SEAL pushed the door inward while stepping inside the rear of the structure. The SEAL didn’t overpenetrate the room as he entered, instead moving slightly inward and then to his left as he searched the darkened interior for anything that might need to be shot, punched or stabbed.

  The second SEAL slid easily into the room after the first SEAL, also assessing the interior before gliding forward like a noiseless apparition. The men moved slowly forward into the next room as surplus members of their team filled the room they were leaving. The SEALs could smell the scent of humans, the smell of a house recently lived in. No one spoke as the SEALs, along with Josh, swept methodically through the ranch house. There was no need to rush the search. They weren’t there to save a hostage, they were there to secure the premises along with any of its residents.

  Rushing through a building takedown produced far more casualties than slow and deliberate searching techniques did; therefore before the operation, both Josh and Kemper had agreed to take it nice and slow. Other than the occasional creak from one of the floorboards, there was no other indication the ranch house was full of gun-wielding commandos. Once the entire residence had been searched in a cursory fashion, Kemper ordered the team to hold in an interlocking position. No one man was left by himself. Each team member had eyes on at least one other team member, creating a chain between the SEALs. If one of the guys was ambushed, someone would see it and raise the alarm and, in turn, bring hell down on any aggressor.

  Once Kemper’s SEALs locked the house down, he called in the team from the outside so they could finish up with a detailed search of the structure’s interior. While all this was going on, the four SEALs on overwatch ensured the two teams working in and around the ranch house weren’t surprised by an opposing force from the outside. It was a well-choreographed ballet of men and guns. The detailed search took less than fifteen minutes, at which time Josh and Kemper met out in front of the house.

  Kemper sent several two-man teams to scout the area, including the creek, for signs of the former occupants. Half an hour later all the SEALs were back with nothing to report other than they’d found signs that the people living at the ranch appeared to have broken camp and left. Many of the water lines were gone along with the solar panels and the two large batteries that had been the people’s source of power. Inside the house, Josh found a blank area next to the kitchen counter, where he could only guess a refrigerator had stood.

  Josh turned to Kemper. “I guess they have power, took the fridge and all the panels. Probably took the PVC to duplicate what they built here once they get to wherever the hell they’re going.”

  Kemper surveyed the property as he chewed on the inside of his mouth, saying nothing. When Kemper didn’t comment on Josh’s assessment, Josh huffed and grabbed the push-to-talk button on his ballistic plate carrier.

  “Firefly two niner, this is Raider three actual. We are green for extraction. Over.” Josh pivoted away from Kemper to face the ranch house as the pilot’s voice sounded faint in each man’s earpiece, acknowledging the aircraft was inbound.

  Josh stood staring at the small house for a few seconds before he spoke. “Burn it—burn it to the ground.”

  Kemper cocked his head as Josh turned away from the house and caught the SEAL’s disapproving stare.

  “Why? People are dying out here from lack of food, water and shelter, and you want to burn the place? What the fuck, bro?” Kemper said, shaking his head in disagreement.

  Josh studied the man for a split second before walking ba
ck to the house, entering through the front door, and heading straight to the rear of the structure. Josh took out a Zippo lighter he’d converted to butane and began lighting anything that looked like it would burn easily. Curtains along with scraps of paper, a cardboard box, and then he moved into the hallway, where he found nothing to light. In the first bedroom, Josh found several discarded books and notepads.

  “Jackpot,” he muttered as he tore pages from one of the books and threw them in the closet.

  When the closet floor was several inches deep in book pages, Josh lit the pile and repeated the process in the remaining bedrooms. By the time he reached the front of the house, where the living room and kitchen were, flames licked the outside of the ranch house through open windows, catching the wood siding of the structure on fire and furthering the spread of the growing inferno. Josh tore up the remaining books and notepads, dropping the shredded pages beneath the curtains before using his rifle butt to smash out the living room windows, which were oddly covered in butcher’s paper.

  Once Josh lit the tattered pages and stepped out onto the porch, half the house was ablaze. Josh quickly realized he was alone in the front yard as he spotted Kemper and his SEALs walking up the hill, headed toward the extraction LZ. Josh took another look at the firestorm he’d just created before its searing heat drove him to follow the SEALs away from the doomed little ranch house. Fuck ’em, Josh thought. If people aren’t going to help rebuild the country, then they can huddle in the freezing cold.

  Deep down, Josh knew all too well that based on the number of houses and buildings in Northern California coupled with the number of deaths he knew had already occurred, there would be no more Bay Area housing shortages for generations to come. What the man hadn’t come to grips with was the fact that although he was enjoying a fairly comfortable life at the present time, the disaster caused by the solar flare and subsequent EMP war was closing in on him and the rest of the people calling themselves the government.