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**eeyore** · 12-06-2010, 09:41 AM

Thanks for doing that

**Christian for Israel** · 12-06-2010, 12:09 PM

Chap 4 - Pets

The sudden stillness brought Steve back to full awareness. What had he missed? Mentally slapping himself for daydreaming he slowly turned, trying to feel the danger that had alerted birds and insects. A low snarling growl brought his attention to his left. Partially concealed by a patch of dried corn stalks, a large' black German shepherd ready to pounce, another two-toned shepherd close by. A skinny,brown Doberman, and two dirty looking mongrels, further away, trying to encircle him. How could he have let his attention stray? He was not hunting, this was survival and he was now the hunted!

The food shortage had caused many people to turn their pets loose to fend for themselves. Not realizing that sickness or starvation would be most of their fate they ran them off to avoid feeding them. Some dogs reverted back to their pack instinct, joined others scavenging, attacking wildlife and even lone humans.

Knowing he had to act decisively, Steve quickly brought up his rifle and fired as the lead shepherd attacked. Steve did not remember each shot as soldiers in his old unit had bragged, all he remembered was the lessons that a member of the "Cowford regulators", the Jacksonville Cowboy Shooters club, had tried to teach him. He did not get to participate as much since he started driving, but the twins enjoyed dressing up and "playing cowboys and hookers" as Chris liked to say (when his mother and sister wasn't around, of course). The old shooter could make his lever action talk, watching him, his quick,fluid movements looked slow until you checked the clock. Those lessons saved his life this day. As he fired he kept hearing acquire, squeeze, stroke, acquire, squeeze, stroke. The Rossi had been rough when he first got it, stiff to cycle, but an afternoon of careful polishing the inner workings and using valve grinding compound on the hammer to smooth the contact point with the bolt improved things nicely. Adding the Weaver peep sight really helped aiming too.

The two shepherds went down first, the powerful 158 grain Remington hollow points backed by a stiff charge of H-110, seeking out fur and flesh like a missile seeking it's target. A yellow mongrel was next to fill the sights of the Rossi. The renegade dog turned just as he fired, and took the bullet in a hindquarter instead of his heart. Steve turned to meet the dobie's charge, having only seconds to avoid sharp yellow teeth, he delivered a rifle butt to the streamlined head. The wood butt stock staggered the beast washing both eyes in blood. A last hurried shot at the second mongrel narrowly missed, but convinced the dog to give up his plans for an easy meal and gave the dobie a chance to escape this suddenly dangerous prey. Steve looked for his next attacker but realized it was over. Their leader and his girlfriend dead and two others wounded, the remaining dogs slinked away.

Reloading the Rossi in case they tried again, the adrenaline rapidly draining from his supercharged body, Steve got the shakes. Not the large full body shakes, just little internal tremors thru out his body. It had always been this way. A danger signal to his adrenal glands, the rush of his body going into overdrive with every sense in high gear, then, afterwards the heavy let down like a heroin junky coming off a high. That weak feeling and metallic taste in his mouth that could not be washed away, always followed the rock steady, cold, fearless feeling he got when danger was imminent. Jekel and Hyde his buddies had joked, one minute, John Wayne, tough and fearless, the next, Roger Rabbit, queasy and shaking.

Turning, Steve jogged away, fearing a new attack if he stayed, but more afraid of turning an ankle or worse if he ran in the fading light, he headed toward the house to rest and recharge. Stealing a glance at his watch, had it really only been five minutes? It felt like the whole fight had lasted 30 minutes or more. Strange how time had slowed from the first growl, to the last yelp.

Slowing to a walk as he neared the house, Steve cautiously checked it out. Keeping alert for the dogs or other danger he circled the old weather beaten clapboard sided farmhouse. It's front windows shattered, the rusty porch roof sagging, it still offered a place of refuge. Picking a back room with an exit, he cleaned a spot for his bed using a left behind piece of rotting curtain. He sat down and leaning back against a wall momentarily closing his eyes against the strain of the day.

Taking out his small, white LED, infinity flashlight(1) he checked his map. He liked the little light and had carried it in his pocket since he had bought it last year. It only used a single AA cell but put out enough light to travel by. He would soon be entering an area that was more populated. Farms like this one had been converted to subdivisions, small plots of land with quickly built homes costing many times more than the original farm. He could not find a way avoid them but could stay on the fringe following what looked, on the map, to be a large drainage canal.

After traveling through the forest he thought now might be a good time to clean up. Taking out a light weight pair of grey sweat pants, matching sweatshirt and a pair of grey socks he undressed. Using a baby wipe and a small amount of the alcohol he carried mainly as fuel for his alcohol burner, Steve washed all his "dirty boy parts", checked for ticks or other unwanted guests, and changed. In an emergency he would be harder to spot in the darkness, moving in the grey sweats, than in his jeans and chambray shirt. Changing the bandage on his head he first used a little antibiotic ointment from his first aid kit. Feeling refreshed and assured he had not picked up any insect hitchhikers it was time for dinner.

Deciding to eat lite he took out his second power bar and a piece of jerky for dinner. Eating the scrumptious fare, followed by a multivitamin, he opened his poncho. Rolled up in it, used his pack as a pillow and closed his eyes. Maybe tomorrow would be a less exciting day.

1- http://www.paddling.net/Reviews/show....html?prod=744

(posted 3/12/3 12:47p)
=================
Chap 5 - A new day

Steve awoke quietly but instantly, his days in a recon unit coming back to him. His training, long thought forgotten, but only buried by a more peaceful existence, resurrected in him an awareness unneeded in the previously "modern" America. Now however he needed every advantage to make it back home. That was one more reason he had prepared a major cache near the point halfway between his furthermost stop and home. And why he had carried his vest and backpack ever since he had started driving, adding the firearm when things got really crazy.

He once again rolled up his poncho, placed it on his pack and got ready for breakfast. Grabbing his binoculars from his vest, he checked out the area. Moving slowly from one dust filled room to another, he scanned the area for anything out of place. After determining he was alone on the old farm, he carried his pack into the living room beside the old fireplace. He might not want to take a chance on a large fire in that chimney, but it would handle an alcohol stove just fine. Again oatmeal would be his breakfast, but he decided a packet of honey from a fast food chicken place, would make it "finger licking" good. Smiling at his weak try at humor, Steve realized he felt good. His headache and all apparent symptoms of his head injury were gone. In spite of his situation, his many aches and pains from the increased exercise, he knew he could make it. He had more equipment and supplies than most people, but more importantly he had the head knowledge to use it or do without it, if he had to. And he had an extremely sexy woman waiting for him at home.
Easy Steve, he told himself, better not follow that train of thought too far. He still had a long way to go yet.

Placing his Trangia stove(1) on the ledge of the fireplace, he poured a small amount of fuel into the burner and put a canteen cup of water over the almost invisible flame to boil. As soon as it was heated he dropped a coffee bag from his vest into it to steep and replaced it with his second cup carried in his backpack to heat water for the oatmeal. To save time later tonight he took out a Ziplock bag and added a measure of Instant Dehydrated Black Beans from the 1 liter bottle along with some minute rice from another. Later tonight he could heat it quickly in a cup with water, since they both cooked in about the same time, for his supper. For lunch, since he would be traveling in more populated areas, he would have one of his MREs.

Removing the bag from his coffee he added a sugar packet, stirred the brew with his finger to check the temperature, and had his first "normal" moment since the highjacking. Amazing what a cup of Joe does for your well being, he thought. He could drink it with cream and sugar or just sugar but never could stomach it black like some of the "tougher" acting drivers. Each to his own, he carried both sugar and the "blue stuff" to handle his needs.

After eating the oatmeal and finishing his coffee he packed up. He had noticed an old pitcher pump standing beside a rust streaked stock tank during his earlier area check. He wanted a closer look at it. If the leather had not dried out too much, he might be able to fill up his bottles and clean up better than he had last night.

Once again Steve checked the area out using his binoculars, this time during a slow patrol around the outside of the house. Wanting to make sure he was alone while inspecting, and hopefully using, the pump.

Slowly working the handle of the old pump, feeling the slide of the dry leathers on the bore of the
pump, Steve felt it may work if he could get the leather to soak up enough water to seal. Pouring a small amount of his remaining water around the top, then giving the leather a moment to soak, he started to pump. Slowly at first, then faster as he poured additional fluid into the cylinder. Feeling the increased drag as the pump caught he pumped even faster, at last a stream of life-giving water rushed out of the spout into the old trough. Pumping until he felt he had fresh water in the well casing he dunked his whole head under the spout. Memories of being a kid again at his grandfathers house flooded his thoughts.

Pushing the past once again behind a locked mental door, Steve refilled his water bottles after he had filled his internal reservoir. The clear cool water refreshed him in a way nothing else could. Removing the sweats, feeling a little bit conspicuous, he took a washcloth and hotel size bar of soap he had previously removed from a vest pocket and bathed paying special care to the healing wound on his head.

Drying with the small hand towel from his pack he dressed once again in his jeans and shirt.

Taking the time to wash his socks as well as his underwear he imagined the sight if the owners had come home earlier. A buck nekked man, rifle close by, pumping water like crazy over a soap foamed head. Yea that would be a sight all right.

Steve once more thought about the downside of being alone, that of having no one to cover your back while you took care of the necessities of life, or acted stupid, whatever was the case.

(1)Trangia stove - http://ultralight-hiking.com/stoves-trangia.html
(posted 03-18-03 1:35pm)
==========================
Chapter 6 - Bomb

Dressed, fed, and repacked, it was time to bid the old house goodbye. It was like an old friend, bringing comfort and a measure of security as well as rekindling memories from days long past.

More alert than he had been, Steve started walking. He planned to follow the fence line, or what remained of it, till the property ended. Staying in whatever cover he could find until he reached the start of the canal.
He would then travel along the canal as much as possible, avoiding the residents of the area.
------------------------------------------------

Al Ja'rea checked the bomb once again. Fifteen pounds of smuggled C4 set to deliver a cargo of three pounds of
radioactive particles into the air once detonated. Hundreds would die and a large area contaminated. The material still made him nervous even though he had been assured he was in no danger as long as the lead casing remained intact. Ja'rea was impatient to join Allah, but had to wait until the wind met the requirements given him. It must be fast enough to spread the radiation, but not high enough to scatter it ineffectually, and in the right direction to blow the particles across the selected area when he pressed the trigger.

Smuggled into America inside a cargo container, along with its normal contents, the bomb components had been assembled and mounted to the vest he was wearing. Given to him two weeks ago, he had been in place here four days waiting on the weather, but today would be the day to once again sting "The Great Satan" and enter into the waiting arms of Allah and His houris.

Today he would strike back against the Marines that had attacked his homeland. He would penetrate Camp Lejeune as far as possible then detonate the bomb. Even if he was stopped at the front gate this bomb would do it's job. The knowledge that no one is safe anymore, not even the military, would push America a little further into chaos.

He had been told to choose the secondary gate during the morning rush. Even with the fuel restrictions being implemented and the slow unraveling of modern society, government employees still needed to get to work.

The ideal wind would carry the radiation across the main barrack area, half the training facilities and the civilian admin area if he placed himself correctly. He did not need to enter the base just be at the secondary gate when he pressed the button in his pocket.

The explosion rocked the gate, immediately killing 6 gate guards and 2 female clerks on their way to work. The radioactive particles would kill many more over the next few months, and cut short the lives of many others. But more importantly, create a panic that would cause more deaths and, fueled by a willing press, bring them one step closer to anarchy.

------------------------------------------------

Steve crossed through the first two subdivisions without any trouble. It took longer than he had planned but
many houses were empty, their occupants moving to stay with other family members or friends to save money and for mutual protection. He stopped for lunch inside a partially destroyed shell taking care to avoid any signs he was there.

He decided to heat water for the beans now rather than save them for dinner. He was in a secure place even if it wasn't exactly a safe place. The water was soon ready and after a 5min boil the beans and rice also were ready. He had made it with a little extra water so he could almost drink it, but he used his spork(1). He had filed teeth in a Lexan spoon replicating what some fast food places used, but in a sturdier instrument. Refueled and repacked, he once again headed south.

He passed signs of violence more than once but didn't take the time to check out the burned or vandalized houses, wrecked cars, or the bodies he noticed. But from the crudely painted symbols he saw on walls and doors, more than terrorists had been involved. He guessed every hate group had decided this was a good time to exact their revenge upon whoever they thought might be to blame.

Increasing his awareness another notch (if that was possible now) he slowly continued on, trying to stay in cover where possible. In the short time he had been out of touch things had escalated. He wished he had been able to add a small radio to his kit but he kept trying to get the weight down and had not found one that he liked. When I get back I have to add it to my list, he thought. Still he remembered the one in his cache, maybe then he could catch up with the world.

He was past the middle of the last group of houses when he heard it, multiple shots coming from in front of him and directly in his way, at least three or four guns. One a shotgun from the sound, the others pistols or low power rifles.

He had three choices. Stay there, not a good option due to limited cover and no secure place to wait. Retreat and find a different path, no good either as that would take too long and might not be any better. His last option was to continue on and hope he could avoid the situation. Yea right, he thought with a mental grin, not with his luck. Still it was his best choice.

Passing between the canal and three yards of privacy fence enabled Steve to travel a little faster than before. As he passed the last fence he came to a smaller drainage ditch feeding the larger canal. The ditch ran through a public picnic area complete with ball fields and a small fishing pond. Both sides of the area had been left in a natural state to give a sense of privacy both to the area as well as the neighbors. It also gave him concealment approaching the gunfight. He thought of it that way since the shots kept coming at irregular intervals.

Crossing the picnic area quickly, he found the trees on the far side were on a hill about 10 feet above the lots before him. In a cul de sac had stood five houses, now only two remained. Three had been burned, roofs falling in, walls collapsed. All had swastikas crudely painted on the various walls still standing. One of the remaining houses was now under attack and from the looks of the attackers they were not from the termite company.

Scouting out the situation, Steve determined there were four MZB's in front and two in back. All had pistols, one sounded like a .357 magnum, most were semiautos, probably 9mm’s, but one had a "Dirty Harry" style .44 magnum. It must be a status symbol for the only time Steve saw him fire it he quickly put it down, shaking his wrist and grimacing, his buddies laughing at his discomfort. Two of the MZB's had rifles and one had a pump shotgun. Two others were walking towards a van parked in the middle of the road.

Steve figured it was none of his business if the world wanted to kill itself, he had a family to care for.
Just as he was ready to pull back he heard a scream from inside the van. Putting his binoculars back to his eyes, he saw the two hard cases and a female through the open side door and she was not enjoying the party.

Looking closer at the girl Steve's blood turned to ice. She could not have been much older than Chrissy, about 13 or so, and what they were doing to her not even an adult female should be forced to accept.

Granddad had said to ignore evil was to condone it, and this was an evil he could no longer ignore. Maybe at that moment he became as feral as the dogs earlier had been, or maybe something long ago buried by man's evolution resurfaced, all he knew was that somebody was going to pay.

Settling back into his vantage spot Steve prepared to bring religion into the unknowing lives of the neo-nazi's.

Laying in the cool moist leaves, Steve brought the Rossi to his shoulder once more, calculating the distance with the calmness of a windless day, he sighted through the peep sight. The bad guy was facing away from him, all attention on the house, but that would shortly change. he remembered a line in a Matt Helm book he had once read. The one where Matt Helm shoots a bad guy in the back. Then says that blood is 98.6 degrees front or back, and no such thing as cold blooded, so why should he give the man he is going to kill a chance. Steve took a deep breath, released some, then slowly caressed the trigger.

1 Spork http://members.tripod.com/~sporkk/
(posted 03/21/03 09:00p)

**Christian for Israel** · 12-08-2010, 11:28 AM

Chap 7 - Hellfire

The shot surprised Steve like it was supposed to, the Rossi pushing back into his shoulder. To say the tough guy on the receiving end was surprised would be a severe understatement. One minute he was getting close to having one more Jewish girl to enjoy for awhile, after killing her husband and new baby, the next he loses all feeling below the neck as the hollow point enters just below his collar bone, severing his spine. Darkness rapidly engulfed him as he tried to call for his Mama. The second gang banger started to turn as the lead slug exploded his heart sending him into eternity to accept the ultimate responsibility for his meager, useless life. Neither gang member had had time to figure out what was happening much less return fire or call for help. Two shots, two kills, the Rossi was doing all he asked as long as he did his part.

Steve pushed up from the ground, and carefully moved toward the front yard, his firing position already picked out from his earlier recon. As he gracefully slid into firing position, he quickly scanned the front for additional targets. He noticed the two van partyers moving his way after hearing shots from someone besides their partners. Realizing something was amiss the pair left the van and headed toward the backyard, trying to pull up their pants, run, look, and hold a pistol. Part of Steve's brain chuckled at the absurdity of their moves even as he stroked the trigger again, sending a 158gr life changer into the first. Aiming low on purpose, the slug entered party man number one's (as Steve thought of him) stomach, expanding into a perfect 60 caliber. Maybe the shocking, intense pain he would suffer until he died would even the ledger books of life a little. Turning his attention and sights to party man number two, Steve once again caressed the trigger of the Rossi. Number two no longer had to be concerned about his pants or his manhood, aimed even lower, the slug entered the pubic area performing an instant sex change and dropped the youth in his tracks.

Two more down, Steve turned just in time to see a third assailant take a shotgun blast to the head as he forgot to keep it down while watching his buddies get their last, fatal lesson of this new life. Steve's fifth round caught another Nazi lover in mid thought, trying to comprehend what had gone wrong. Their plan had always worked before, what was happening now? He never was a fast thinker, now as the slug bore through his skull, turning his brain to mush, he no longer had to worry about it. The final pair had had enough, they both jumped up and tried to reach the van, firing wildly over their shoulders. Another blast of bird shot wounded one, as the range from the house increased the spread of the shot. Steve's shot arrived half a second later, killing the last, wildly firing, gang member as he reached the van, balancing the ledger a little more. Thankful the gang had not been combat trained soldiers, Steve reloaded the Rossi from his shrinking box of spare rounds. He had figured 30 rounds of 357mag and 20 rounds of 38spl would be enough, but after his last two battles he would be glad to reach his cache.

Visually reconning the area one last time before leaving cover, he checked each body over, making sure they no longer presented a threat. He then watchfully walked towards the only MZB to survive. At least for now. Steve removed all weapons within reach, and searched the moaning gang member carefully for hidden weapons, finding a small, cheap Raven 25 auto, and a folding knife. The boy had taken the bird shot in his shoulder and back, but the wounds were not fatal, just very painful. Very much a shock to someone used to dishing out pain, not receiving it. Taking a short piece of 550 cord from his vest he tied the gang member's hands, not being careful how tight he tied them, and headed for the van, ignoring the boy's yelling and threats. Again moving slowly so he didn't get shot by mistake from the house he checked on the girl. She was dirty and showed the bruises and wounds from her ordeal. She was alive and very frightened from the look on her face, her eyes distant and unfocused. Gently cutting her bound hands free, he covered her nudity with a dirty frayed blanket from the back. Softly talking to her as he performed each step she slowly relaxed. Realizing she was not the spoils of war but had been freed from her captors, she started to sob,folding herself into a fetal position. For the first time Steve felt helpless. He had often held Chrissy when she needed a strong shoulder to cry on, but she had not been abused and tortured by a heartless gang of animals. He was afraid if he tried to comfort her she would misunderstand his actions.

Reacting quickly to the sound of approaching footsteps, reaching for the Rossi, he turned to see the homeowner cautiously walking toward him. Steve lowered the still warm barrel of the rifle and removed his right hand off the gun to indicate he was a friend, the man did the same. Walking at a more normal pace now, he held out his hand to shake. Grasping his hand Steve could feel the tremors in his body, but his grip was strong. Once again Steve's own tremors started up, but he fought back the lurching from his bowels, his anger, still fueled by the girl's ordeal, overcame his normal reaction to adrenal overload. It would not do to start upchucking now. Seeing the peaceful exchange between the two men as silence replaced the recent gunfire a woman came out of the house carrying a small child protectively in her arms. Noticing the scared, sobbing young girl in the van as she neared the pair she instantly took charge as only a woman can do. Handing the child to her shocked husband, she pushed both men away from the rusting van. Reaching into the van, gently taking her hand, she slowly coaxed the girl from her fetal embrace and pulled her from the van. Wrapping the blanket around the her, the young mother half carried, half guided the girl towards the house and away from the vivid memories of her ordeal.

The young man introduced himself as Abraham Mendlebaum, the woman who took charge as Miriam his wife, and the baby as Joshua. He gave Steve an edited version of their story. In the last two months violence against the predominantly Jewish neighborhood had escalated. Finally three of the families in this cul de sac had moved, leaving him and the far household. Yesterday the other family had been attacked at night, before anyone could react they had killed everyone but the girl named Sarah. They had been taking turns molesting and torturing her since then. Abraham had been the only one in the neighborhood with a gun. Because he liked to skeet shoot he had two over/under 12 gauge shotguns and he had just loaded 300 shells in preparation for an upcoming match. The guns had saved their lives. When the gang attacked them they had been packing his Ford Bronco. He had bought it on a whim from a Marine transferring to Germany from the nearby Marine Base. It had a turbocharged diesel that the young marine had added propane injection to, as well as a few other extra's young men like. Most of all he had like the idea of the dual fuel tanks for the extra range it gave him.

They were headed to Miriam's family in Tennessee, since they had the room and property to handle the whole family if needed. He had finally been able to convince his wife of the danger they were in, and their need to leave, after days of trying. The gang had apparently saved them for last because he was farthermost away from the entrance and had burglar bars on all windows and doors. From what Steve could see the two going to the van had been getting torches to try to burn the family out. They had stopped for a little additional fun, while their partners kept the homeowners busy, before carrying out their task. One more difference between a trained army and a gang.

Steve checked each gang member to make sure he was talking with his maker, retrieving all weapons, ammo or cash they had. Steve never could understand how the movies always depicted the good guys killing the bad guys and then leaving their weapons or supplies laying around for anyone to pick up. He recovered 2 9mm Glocks, a Smith and Wesson 9mm, a Ruger GP100 in 357mag, and of all things a small NAA 22mag revolver(1), as well as the 44mag. In addition he recovered a Mossburg 12 gauge pump, a 9mm camp carbine, and a .30 M1 carbine. It was hard to believe such a widely varied arsenal would have been bought legally, so must have come from theft or past victims. He collected about $300 in cash from the bodies and their van as well as at least two boxes of ammunition for each gun except the 22mag which had only 10 extra loose rounds and the Raven which had no extra ammo. He decided to keep both Glocks, but only two loaded mags, since to carry any additional ammo would add unneeded weight and Abraham might need them more than him. The other mags he emptied and stored along with the second Glock in his backpack. He also decided to refill his store of 357mag shells and to keep the 22mag for a hideout gun. The other weapons and ammunition he would give to Abraham as they would be better than the skeet guns he had. The Raven he stripped and threw away, as unworthy to keep.

Miriam stepped out onto the porch and called for Abraham. After a short, whispered, but intense marital discussion, Abraham returned. Miriam had asked Abraham to spare the boy's life, even after all he had done. Steve said he didn't agree, but he would honor their wishes and think of something else appropriate. He told Abraham to go assure his wife while he stayed to clean up the mess. He first headed out to the wounded teen. Steve had never enjoyed killing, not even when hunting or during combat, but some people just did not deserve to live. He smiled internally at a remembered joke about the gene pool sometimes needing a little chlorine and Steve guessed he had just been the pool boy here today.

The injured gang banger had been yelling, cussing and in general making a large fuss about his rights, his need for a doctor, and how they were going to be sued. Steve pulled him to his feet by his jacket collar and slapped him twice just to get his attention.

The boy's eyes got real wide once he could refocus, this was not how it was supposed to work. Where were the police, the ambulance or the FBI even? He had rights didn't he? One more slap did the trick, Steve had his full attention now. Still undecided about how to handle the boy, since they could not take prisoners, the only other choice would be to let him go. Steve still felt the gang banger needed a lesson, a lesson that he would never forget.

Steve advised the boy of his dilemma, on the one hand, a simple bullet in the head solved his problem, but he had been asked not to do this, against his wishes. On the other hand, he could not just let the youth go after all he had participated in. So he thought of another way. Removing the cord from around the boys wrists with the Buck folder from his belt, Steve placed the muzzle of one of the Glocks against the boys head. The youth started to shake, sure that this stranger would pull the trigger, and then began to beg for his life. Steve had another idea, one that would satisfy Abraham and his wife, and teach the scared youth a lesson in humiliation and pain. First he told the youth to strip. Not comprehending Steve's sudden unusual request the teen continued his blubbering even louder. Steve delivered another thought clearing backhand to the hood and repeated his command. The boy then slowly removed his dirty, torn, but expensive clothes. Trying to cover his manhood and keep his back to the van the humiliated gang member became scared for another reason. If Steve could have gotten Sarah's face out of his mind he would have laughed at the Gang member's concern. Steve once more slapped the youth, spun him around and rapidly placed the nude youth's hands on the van and with a sudden motion neatly snapped the bone in the boy's trigger finger. Howling in pain, swaying unsteadily on his feet, his nudity forgotten, the boy looked like he could pass out or throw up with equal ease. Now, even assuming he properly set his finger, he would never be able to fire a shot again without remembering this day. Steve then simply in a quiet, deadly voice told the boy to start running. If he slowed down within sight he was a dead man, if he stopped within range he was a dead man, and if he was ever seen again he was a dead man. The only surviving member of a once "invincible" gang, realizing he had met the top wolf in the forest and survived, started running with a staggering odd gait, both praying that he could get out of sight before that wolf changed his mind, and wondering what time services started Sunday mourning.

Dragging each body from wherever it had fallen, Steve threw each carelessly into the van that would become their funeral pyre. He kept careful watch for law enforcement or lawless elements that might have been drawn to the sound of a gun battle. In normal times the recent gunfire would have had every law enforcement available headed this way by now, but the eerie silence was very telling. He wondered just how long the remaining bits and pieces of civility would remain.

1 NAA minimag http://www.naaminis.com/magnum.html
(posted 3-25-03 10:48pm)
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Chap 8 - New Plans

The smell of food cooking as he entered the house reminded him it was close to dinner time. Miriam noticed his entry and apologized for her house as if everything was normal. It is hard to be normal with seven dead bodies in front of your house awaiting cremation, but Steve imagined she needed the illusion to keep herself together after the shock of recent events. She said that she had calmed Sarah down enough to get her washed up, get a small amount of food into her and get her to lay down. Sarah would need to talk to someone about her ordeal, but for now sleep would do her good.

Abraham walked down the hall from the baby's room finally getting him calmed down, the almost constant gunfire for so long had him in a frightful mood. Steve wanted to check out the near-by houses with Abraham, to look for anything that might be useful, before it got too dark to see. He also wanted Abraham to ask his wife for a list of anything Sarah might need from her house. He wasn't about to let either woman into that house knowing the death and destruction he would find, but he knew Sarah would need her own clothes.

Abraham returned, after a muted conversation with his wife, with a long list. Seeing Steve's look at the length he shrugged his shoulder and said that universal apology, "Women". Steve smiled a knowing grin and said they would do what they could.

They decided to start the grisly task of going through Sarah's house first. The front door had been blasted off its hinges, and with no weapons to defend themselves, Sarah's family had been easy prey. The father had been killed first, his body still in the living room, at baseball bat near by, not a lot to ward off the evil invading his home. The son was killed trying to protect his Mother and Sister, his young body in the hall. The Mother's nude body left where she died in her bed, Sarah taken for the gang's later enjoyment. Once more Steve had to control his emotions, but you could only kill someone once (heaven help the gang member he had let go if he saw him again!), so he redirected his anger into action.

Steve and Abraham reverently carried the father's body to the bedroom and laid it beside his wife, next placing the son beside his Father. If only they had bought a gun they might still be alive and Sarah would have avoided the scars she would carry for the rest of her life. Leaving Abraham to collect the items on the list his wife had given him, Steve investigated the kitchen. Abraham would need food if his family were to survive. Taking the all can goods he could find, as well as the non-perishable item, such as flour, corn meal, and noodles, Steve also picked up a small lightweight pot. It was bigger than his canteen cups and would work better for cooking without adding much weight. All these he set outside the back door to be picked up later. Next he checked out the small shed located in back of the house. Besides the normal lawn and garden tools he found a small garden tractor. Spotting two fuel cans, a half full 1 gal can, probably for the weedeater, and an empty 5 gal can, probably for the tractor. Steve drained the tractor tank of the small amount of gas it contained into the smaller can by cutting the fuel line, placing the cut end into the tank and opening the shutoff valve. He had decided to burn the house and bodies as a way to preserve the family's dignity and control disease since they could not bury them. How to handle dead bodies was not something often discussed on the forums, and he had not put much thought into it either. Taking the two cans he placed the full one by the backdoor, the empty 5gal can he carried to Abraham's house to fill with fuel oil from the storage tanks for use in Abraham's Bronco.

Abraham was almost finished with the list when Steve walked back inside. Abraham had been embarrassed at having to locate the feminine items his wife had listed, so Steve helped him out, having both a wife and a daughter had made him more used to the female need's. Steve then helped him pack the items in a couple of suitcases then checked the closets and drawers for anything that might make Sarah's new life better. Spotting a stuffed bear on her bed, Steve added it to the stack along with her pillows and a few pictures off the wall. Little things maybe, but they might make the future easier to handle for her. A few more preparations and it was time to leave the house and get some fresh air, the odor of death had become almost too much to ignore in just the last few minutes.

They carried the items back to Abe's house and laid them on the sofa where they could be gone over by his wife and maybe Sarah. On the way back out Abraham picked up a spotlight and gave Steve a large multi-cell flashlight so they could inspect the storage building every house had. Steve questioned Abraham about his neighbors as they walked.

Abraham told Steve they had been in the area about 5 years and all his neighbors were also Jewish, at least by birth if not religion. Three of the families had left about a month ago before the most serious trouble had started. At first it had been signs on the front lawn or random spray painted slogans on walls. Then about a week ago the violence had started when the police had become so overwhelmed by the escalating unrest and the terrorist acts. When they found the families gone they had, one by one, torched the houses.

Abraham and Miriam had been packing to leave when the gang showed up next door, he had wanted to leave earlier but Miriam had insisted they stay as she believed the authorities would solve the problem for them. By the time he had convinced her they had to leave for their child, if nothing else, the gang showed up. The gang picked the closer house, quickly broke in and overwhelmed Sarah's defenseless family. Abraham's tone became solemn and his feature's tightened as he relived the events, wondering if he could have done anything to change them. Steve placed his hand on Abe's shoulder and told him that the family made their choice when they refused to arm themselves. We are responsible for our own first, then if our neighbors are willing to defend themselves we are obligated to bind together to resist those that would threaten our lives and freedoms. If someone will not defend their own family we have no responsibility to defend them either.

Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulder, Abe straightened his frame and thanked Steve for helping him come to grips with this disaster. Steve suggested taking all the empty fuel cans and filling them with fuel oil from the oil heat tanks as backup in case he needed extra for his trip. Also any tools, garden implements, or supplies his neighbors might have left that he could use, he could leave a detailed list if he thought they might be back. Abe shook his head and said they had told him they would not be back and that he could have anything they left.

Two big discoveries modified both their future plans. The first was a small trailer that would enable Abraham's family to carry many more extra's than they had first planned, this would make their future more comfortable . The other was a sandstone colored 17ft canoe a neighbor used for fishing. The owner had a small trolling motor with a large deep-cycle battery he had left on a trickle charger.

Abe had told Steve he would have to cross a nearby river and then travel past Camp Lejeune. With the highest security alert possible in effect that would be a major undertaking without traveling miles out of his way.
If he could get to the Intercostal waterway he could travel faster and quieter than walking, only having to avoid sporadic Coast Guard patrols. Abe told him they would gladly take him to the river, taking the back roads would be safer and the river would be only about a quarter mile side trip. Besides thanks to Steve's help, they were still alive and had extra fuel, it was the least they could do.

Taking the canoe, two paddles and the small trolling motor, they had just placed it upon the trailer along with the other items Abe wanted, when Miriam called them for dinner. Steve removed the trolling motor battery from its charger and placed it on the trailer. Together the trolling motor and battery would increase his ability to travel quickly and quietly. Finished with three of the storage sheds they pulled the trailer along with it's bounty as they answered the dinner bell.

After a simple dinner of canned beef stew, rice and bread they returned to the task of inspecting the last two storage sheds and packing for their departure the next day. Two more empty 2.5gal fuel cans brought the total fuel storage to 15gal, these would add much to the Bronco's range if needed. A 1gal can of kerosene for a space heater and an empty 5gal water can would also come in handy for the family. Two small 5w solar battery chargers were an unusual find but Steve added it to his small pile. The chargers would not charge the trolling motor battery very fast, but might add some range, besides he had the room now for a few extra's since he had the canoe, and would not be carrying anything on his back.

Finished with their scrounging, they returned to the house bringing their bounty with them. Steve had picked up a wrench from one of the sheds which he now used to remove the feed line from Abraham's fuel oil tank. Steve had been surprised that they still used fuel oil, but Abraham told him the builder had gotten a good deal on the high efficiency furnaces so most of the home owners had them. Using the cans, they first filled the Bronco's empty auxiliary fuel tank. Abraham had recently filled the main tank, but normally kept the second tank empty. The men then filled the empty fuel cans once again from the bulk tanks and stored them in the trailer. Steve wanted to keep the extra fuel cans out of the vehicle for the safety and comfort of the passengers. The spare cans would add a lot of range to the internal tanks if needed and the 5gal water can would give extra security since they would not have to stop for water, something Abraham had not considered. After filling and stowing the tanks Steve checked the Bronco, making sure it was mechanically ready to travel and checked what had been packed so far. He recommended a few changes to what was already there and helped Abe finish packing the rest of the goods they would take with them.

Abe also brought him up to date on how the world was doing. He had earlier explained about the bomb that had gone off at Camp Lejeune and the heightened security around the base, he now told Steve that the Federal Government had authorized each state to implement Marshall Law to gain control of the lawlessness. DC, Virginia, California and a few other's had quickly done so with North Carolina, Georgia and Florida soon to follow. So far South Carolina had not announced its plans, but all the states were expected to have Marshall Law in effect within a month. This would make travel more difficult and a lone person would look very suspicious near any government area. Unfortunately Steve had to pass at least two bases, and that is why the canoe would improve his chance to pass undetected, he hoped. If Marshall Law was implemented things could get tough in a hurry, a single traveler could travel faster but would also be more suspicious. Beside how would the population react to such restrictions? Would the more militant groups come out against the Government? Steve once more wished he had stayed home this time and not made that last run.

With the truck and trailer packed, a full stomach and a feeling of satisfaction that comes from helping right a wrong Steve lay down on the couch, closed his eyes and fell into a combat sleep, not awake but not deeply asleep either.
----------------------------

Susan could not explain why she had felt so nervous earlier, only that she no longer felt that way. Chrissy had been ignoring her father's absence, maybe because Chris still maintained complete faith in his father's ability to return home safe. He had been a big morale booster to her, and had stepped into his father's shoes (temporally according to him), making sure they were taken care of. He had even spent his spare time in his father's reloading room doing who knew what. Susan knew Steve had made preparations for emergencies when he was on the road, but she never had asked exactly what they were. Maybe Chris knew more about those plans and that is why he was so positive, she would have to ask him tomorrow.

(posted 3-31-3 09:29am)
======================

**Christian for Israel** · 12-08-2010, 11:29 AM

Chap 9 - Good byes

Morning came too early for Steve. After a breakfast of eggs recovered from Sarah's house and hash brown potatoes, everyone prepared to depart. Abraham and his wife checking and rechecking the things they had packed and what they had to leave behind. Finally the time had come to leave. Miriam stood in front of the house with tears running down her face, her home soon to be left behind. Abraham backed the Bronco out of the garage and, with Steve's help, hooked the trailer onto the ball, connected the tail light wire's and safety chains. Seeing the look on Miriam's face Steve reminded her that everything is only material except family, and to count her blessings. Holding her head up and forcing a smile she agreed and got in the idling SUV with Sarah and the baby. Once again making sure the canoe was properly tied down, Steve prepared himself for the next chore.

Steve walked over to Sarah's house as Abraham drove the Bronco to the start of the cul de sac to await Steve's return. He entered the house after covering his mouth and nose with his camo bandanna, not looking forward to what he knew he would see and smell. Steeling himself, he picked up a couple of jars of fuel oil wrapped in rags he had stored beside the back door.

The previous night he had also placed 4 glass jars filled with gas on the bedroom floor around the bodies. Now he planned to light the rags, and toss the homemade Molotov ****tails into the bedroom breaking the jars and incinerating the bodies. The house was far enough away from other flammable items not to cause a problem when it caught fire. Steve found himself walking softly and praying quietly as he lit the rags. Standing as far away as possible, he tossed the fragile flaming jars into the room, any of the prepositioned jars not broken by his thrown jar would later break from the heat. Backing swiftly away from the sudden blast of heat and fire he left the house to handle the next not so unpleasant task.

Steve picked up two more large jars of fuel oil, another rag wrapped jar, and a pipe as he neared the van. Breaking a side window, he carefully dumped the two jars of fuel oil into the van, making sure not to get any on him. Next, backing away a safe distance, he lit and then tossed the fire bomb through the window into the van. The ****tail broke and ignited the fuel oil spreading fire over the bodies. Steve ran to the SUV and as it pulled away he could not help but look back at the burning house and remembering the tragic loss of life.

Nothing was said until they reached the river. Together, Abraham and Steve unloaded the canoe and carried it to the river. Then they carried the motor, battery, and the other item's Steve had found and placed them into the canoe, including a foam life jacket. Steve clamped the trolling motor on the front of the canoe, placing the foot control near the middle within reach of his paddling area, and connecting the motor's power leads to the battery. Next he loaded his backpack, the two paddles, and a few other supplies Miriam insisted he take. He also added a fishing rod he had found along with a few lures, it might help pass the time if he had to hideout, or even get him dinner. It would also be a type of camouflage since Steve noticed several people fishing close to shore.

With everything unloaded and packed in the canoe there was nothing left but goodbye. Shaking Abraham's hand he turned to Miriam to say goodbye. He was surprised by the sisterly kiss and hug she gave him. He waved goodbye to Sarah still in the Bronco. Steve said goodbye once more and turned toward the river. He heard a sob and Sarah ran to him, throwing her arms quickly around him in a hug, and just as quickly ran back to Miriam. He flashed a smile toward the Mendlebaum's, maybe this would be the start of her healing.

The SUV drove off leaving Steve to his thoughts, as he untied the canoe and sat down. He had been up early this morning getting ready for this day, he had wanted some time alone to pray and prepare for the gruesome task of burning the bodies. He had also checked his maps, mapping his new route which he verified with Abraham after he got up. Steve checked his position once again with the GPS. He had once thought the GPS system would be useless, but he realized few people had the ability to destroy the GPS satellites directly and GPS jammers would only be useful in a localized area. The war had shown the jammers were not totally effective anyway, having little effect on the GPS guided bombs, so he had added a GPS to his load out and was glad he did. He pushed the canoe off and started paddling.

Steve was betting the river would be safe to travel if he exercised reasonable caution. He was not yet near the base and the river was still traveled by fishermen, even if the pleasure boaters stayed away. He expected trouble once he was on the Intercostal Waterway, with the Coast Guard or elements from the base. He would try to travel during the night hours, sleeping, eating, and recharging the trolling motor battery from the solar panels as much as possible during the daylight.

-------------------------------------

Abraham thought about the man they had just dropped off. He'd had no reason to get involved in their fight other than his own internal feeling about right and wrong. He had been direct, decisive, and deadly, yet he had been honorable and a gentleman. Probably not the kind of person he would have invited over for dinner if the world had not fallen apart. Still the stranger had put his life at risk just to try and right the wrongs, and he had given in to Miriam's request of leniency to the hood, even though Abraham knew it had been against his wishes. His knowledge and advice had added much to their ability to survive and make the trip to Tennessee in comfort and safety.

Abraham reached for Miriam's hand and squeezed it, then said a quite prayer for Steve's safe return to his family.
-------------------------------------
Chris had taken trips with his father during the summer and had been on the trip when his dad had set up his main cache. Chris had listened, as only a young man will, as his Father explained about setting up a cache. He had rented a small storage shed from one of the many storage companies that seem to crop up everywhere. His dad had specified a unit on the back end that could be observed from off site. Steve had said if he needed to use it, he wanted to be able to insure it was still intact, and if need be he could cut the fence, and open the metal door without anyone knowing he was there. It would also be harder to trap him in the shed if he was not hemmed in by a unit across from his. Chris had listened for many a mile as Steve had passed along his experience's as well as his Grandfather's knowledge. Chris had enjoyed those times when his dad would tell him war stories about being a Recon scout, on his motorcycle, in Desert Storm or when Steve would recall his grandfather's stories of being a Navy seal.

Chris knew his father would return, but one thing his father had drilled into him was to never depend on any one thing or person, but to take charge of your own destiny. Taking his father's instruction to heart, he took the old Garand his dad had recently obtained from the OCMP along with two bandoleer's of Danish ammo to the barn and hid them. He also loaded the Makarov his parents had given him last Christmas, placing it in his shoulder holster to carry whenever he was at home.

He also loaded other guns, and after telling his mother and sister, placed them in their ready positions already indicated on a chart his dad had made. With the chart, each family member knew the location, in each room, of the gun and it's ammunition.

He also had been reloading every piece of brass he could find, it helped him remain close to his Dad. Some of their closest times had been right here in this room over the handle of a reloader. His dad had kept detailed notes of the load each gun liked, and since he'd been helping Steve reload since he could pull the handle of the Dillon, he knew what needed to be done. Now if only his dad would hurry home.
-------------------------------------

Steve made the intercostal without incident, the water not changing much from the natural river to the man enhanced waterway. He had not paddled a canoe in a long time and it took some getting used to. He hoped his arms would handle the new exercise without cramping. He had war gamed his GOOD(1) plan many ways but for some reason had not thought about using a canoe on the Intercostal Waterway.

Following his map and GPS he eased along the waterway, smoothly paddling through the calm brown water. The trees came right up to the water's edge, broken only by a few small stopping places cut into the woods. Then when you got used to this it would open up into small inlets, grass flats, and mud, to be followed again by the trees.

After paddling along in the dirty brown water with a bright azure sky for a few hours, things began to change. Steve noticed the water was beginning to chop as the winds changed. Weather could soon be a problem, clouds were rapidly filling the sky with charcoal grey, and it was getting darker with every stroke of his paddle. He had hoped to be much closer to the base when he stopped, the recent attacks on the base had made the Marines VERY jumpy. He wasn't about to give them a reason to delay him, and he couldn't fire back, could he?

Steve hoped passing the base could be done without alerting every ticked off Marine on the base but his maps were not detailed enough to allow him to understand what lay ahead. The canoe was faster but he could not help second guessing himself and wondering if he had made a mistake.

The sky continued to darken, so much that he held off stopping for lunch, hoping to travel farther before the rain's came. If it was only a light rain he figured the canoe would handle it fine, but if a serious storm approached he needed to be off the water in shelter. The last thing he needed was to get hypothermia, which could happen even in moderate temperatures if one got wet.

Finally he could no longer ignore the dark grey, billowing clouds. The taste of moisture was very present in the cooling air. It was only 2pm, but it seemed like 8pm.

Coming upon a low lying area within the long green tube of vines and trees he had been traveling in, Steve pulled the canoe ashore. Dragging the canoe further onto the bank, he took a minute to catch his breath and look around. Abraham had told him that after the bomb exploded the responding Chem teams had been fired upon, losing their expensive equipment and many men. Most of the reporters had been almost hysterical in their reporting of the "facts" as they saw them. People were seeing terrorists behind every tree, unfortunately they sometimes were right. The marines had spilled across the area, like a swarm of disturbed yellow jackets, armed and angry. Five of the terrorists were soon located at a safe house, over come with superior firepower and "killed" while trying to escape. The leader had escaped, leaving his crew to face the marines and was still at large. Rumors of more terrorists abounded, but no hard evidence. The government had offered a reward of 250 gallons of fuel to anyone that captured a terrorist or provided evidence of their whereabouts. This had caused a bounty hunter effect across the landscape with many innocent people of Arab descent being harassed and in one case even killed. Still the Chem team had not been killed for no reason, but since no one could figure out what that reason might be, most assumed there would be another attack.

Steve located a defensible area and began to prepare a modified debris hut(2). He located a small tree for a ridge pole and his Cold Steel Bushman again made short work of chopping it down. As the framework was finished a light misting rain began to fall. Steve quickly overlay the frame with his plastic sheeting to waterproof it, covering it with leaves, branches and other items from the forest floor. Now he would be warm and dry in a camouflaged home. He put on his poncho as the intensity of the rain increased.

Steve pulled his canoe beside the hut turning it on it's side so it would not fill with water. The trolling motor and its battery, safe inside its battery box, he placed under the canoe to keep them somewhat dry.

Since Steve might be here a while and since he was alone in "enemy" territory, he decided to set trip wires. Using his mint green dental floss, he ran a line ankle high from one tree to another, criss crossing and encircling his hut. It took most of the roll but the floss was almost invisible in the dark and would give him an early warning system if someone tried to creep up on him. It might not fool an experienced recon team, but if a trained team was after him he would not stand a chance, regardless of how Rambo had done it. A lone man was better unseen and unheard unless the odds and surprise were on his side.

1- GOOD: Get Out of Dodge
2- Debris hut: http://www.i4at.org/lib2/debris.htm also http://www.ancientskillsschool.com/debris_hut.htm

chapter 10 - Country Justice

Steve hardly had finished with the trip lines when "the bottom" fell out of the sky. What down south was called a "frog strangler".

Steve crawled into the debris hut, removed his poncho, and relished the dry interior. He had often practiced building these huts when hunting with Chris. Chris was a willing student and soon began building his own whenever they went out, actually preferring them to a tent. He had learned the technique in survival training, though it seemed odd to take training in Jungle Survival in Puerto Rico and spend most of his career in a desert environment. But since only time can take knowledge away from you, he practiced as much as time allowed the things he had been taught by experts.

Pulling his backpack up to his head he removed an MRE and finally had "lunch" even though it was now about 5pm. His vest became a pillow as he snuggled down into his bed of heavy duty garbage bags filled with leaves. Steve placed one of his Glocks within easy reach since his Rossi was a little long to use in a hurry. Deciding he was behind in his Bible reading he dug out his New Testament from the pack and using his LED light in the early darkness began to read to the sound of intense rainfall.

A large heavy thud, followed by a muffled curse awoke Steve. He must have fallen asleep as soon as he had turned off the light. Steve reacted to the sounds, grabbing the Glock and sliding out of the hut into the still falling rain, before his conscious mind had fully become aware he was moving. By the time the first rain drops hit his eye lids he was alert and moving fast.

Steve spotted a struggling, mud covered, figure in the dim light just a few feet away, "Don't move", Steve hissed in a command voice he had heard many times before during his service years. The figure instantly froze,
his entangled feet no longer his main concern, "Who, Who are you" he asked.

"I'm the one you were trying to sneak up on", Steve said, "Now what can I do for you"

The stranger could not believe what he had just heard. No one had ever been able to catch him sneaking up on them, it had become a game within his family. He was the best hunter they had, never failing to bring home something to feed the family with. He had figured this might be another one of those terrorist people that had killed Sue Ann with that bomb when she was going to work at the base the other day. Mom took it hard to loose her oldest daughter and the boys were not going to let no Arab ba&^@rds get away with that!

Steve slowly pulled his AA flashlight, he had started carrying around his neck, free. Holding it away from his body, covering the lens with two fingers, he shined it on the wet, muddy man. His blue jeans and cotton shirt indicated he was not a marine, and he sure wasn't a terrorist from the way he talked and looked. A local probably, but what he was doing out here in this rain Steve could not imagine.

"Get up, Slowwwwly" Steve said "One wrong move and you become a strainer for all this falling water."

The man inched up and carefully untangled his feet from the dental trip wire Steve had set.

"Ya gonna kill me now?", the man asked.

"I guess that depends on what you were trying to do and why", Steve said as he motioned the man toward his hut. The hut wasn't big enough for two, Steve had not planned on a party, but he could retrieve his poncho and at least he could keep any more rain off his now thoroughly soaked frame.

Unsnapping the poncho and pulling it around him so the Glock never waivered from it's target, Steve tossed his last trash bag to the stranger.

"Hold that over you, it will keep most of the rain off and give your hands something to do while we talk."

Slowly picking the bag up the stranger spread it over his head letting the rain slide off the slick plastic and drip behind his back.

"What's your name?" Steve asked

"Willy." the stranger replied

"Ok, Willy, what's your story?"

Willy told Steve the story about his sister getting killed in the initial explosion at Camp Lejeune. She had been the first immediate family member to get a good paying job (the rest of the family were fishermen) and now it had gotten her killed. The family had decided to start looking for the terrorist, not for the reward, but because you don't mess with their family and get away with it. They were a simple, hard working family that never had anything they didn't work everyday for.

"I caught one of them terrorist fellow's trying to slip around the ocean side of the base when everyone was searching the other side. I saw his picture posted on the base when I made a delivery of fresh fish to the mess hall. Them Arab's might be slick in the desert, but they ain't nothing in the woods. He was slipping in the mud, slapping at bugs and cussing the whole USA. I snuck close and waited for him to walk by. I taped him up and brought him home for some country justice, not none of that city stuff with slick lawyers and bought judges."

"What happened to the terrorist, was he killed?" ,Steve wanted to know what type of family the man came from.

"Well, Daddy tied him up real good in the barn and questioned him for awhile," Willy said, "but it was them castrating pliers my brother held that finally made him answer our questions."

"The terrorist kept yelling about how we were gonna feel the wrath of Allah, and how the whores at the gate was just the first of many to be killed in their Jihad"

Willy paused to catch his breath, once Steve got him talking he couldn't seem to stop.

"Now don't nobody call Sue Ann no whore, she was a good Christian girl, and daddy told him so. Daddy also said that he was guilty by his own mouth and would suffer for his crime like the Good Book said, An eye for an eye."

Willy paused once again.

"What happened to the terrorist, Willy?" Steve said again

Willy kinda grinned and said "When Mama heard what he had called her sweet girl she went into the kitchen and got some good old lard. She painted it on him with a bristle brush, and forced some into his mouth and a few other places he didn't like. He tried to fight, took four of us to hold him still. I didn't understand why he fought so hard until my brother explained that Arab's don't like pigs and feel if they eat, even touch pork or anything from a pig they will not go to their heaven. I thought that was a funny way to get to hell but them Arabs are odd anyway. Then we took him fishing."

Steve couldn't believe he'd heard right "Fishing, you mean with a pole"

Again Willy grinned and said "Naa, We took him about two miles out in the ocean and cut a finger. He was bleeding real good. Daddy held his hand over the water, said he didn't want to mess his boat up. That Arab didn't have any idea what was happening but with a mouth full of lard and a rag over his mouth he wasn't saying much, even though he sure wanted to. Wasn't no time before there were sharks everywhere. Seems that with all that lard on he musta slipped. At least he was good for something, sharks got to eat to"

Steve sat back to think about that story. He had spent some time with an Uncle in South Carolina that shark fished for money, even had a scientist from Miami go out with him to study the sharks he caught. His Uncle had been a hard working, but honest man, shrimping, shad fishing, or doing whatever he had to for his family to survive. One of his rules had been family takes care of family, no matter how little you had if family had less they were welcome to share yours. Steve felt Willy was telling him the truth, but how could this help him?

"You can put your arms down if you want to, Willie. I believe you."Steve said "I'm not a terrorist, I don't kill for fun. I'm just a trucker without a truck trying to get back home."

At the mention of being a trucker Willie's demeanor changed, he seemed to become more interested in Steve than before, but not in a hostile way.

"A trucker?" said Willie " Ya mean one of them big rigs?"

"Yea, I drove a Mack. Why?" Steve replied

A sudden crack of ionized air, followed by a torrent of heavy raindrops interrupted the conversation. Willie turned to leave still holding the plastic over his head. Turning back he looked at Steve.

"I'll come back when this here rain stops, don't ya leave now until then" He said. Willie turned once again and disappeared into the downpour.

Steve returned to his still dry hut to wait out the storm. Before entering the hut he removed his wet clothes under the poncho, wringing the excess water from them so they could dry. He removed his washcloth once again and took advantage of the falling water to clean the mud and dirt off his body. Again in his sweats,dry and comfortable inside the hut, Steve pondered Willie's parting remark.

He could not figure out why Willie would want him to stay here until he returned. He wondered if this could be some kind of trap, but didn't think so. Steve was sure he was just what he seemed. Willie might be great in the woods, he was just a country boy not a shifty crook. He might stab you, but never in the back. Steve snacked on his leftover MRE desert and put the problem on the backburner of his mind. When breakfast was finished he contemplated making a cup of coffee but decided to try and sleep instead. If Willie returned Steve would find out why he was wanted here, otherwise Steve would be gone. Wishing he had remembered to get the softer lifejacket from the canoe, Steve lay back on his pack, letting the constant drone of the now steady rain, muted by the thick covering of the debris hut, lull him gently back asleep.
(posted 4-13-03 10:53)
===============

**Christian for Israel** · 12-09-2010, 01:10 AM

Chap 11 - Willie

Steve awoke a few hours later refreshed, but somewhat sore from the unaccustomed paddling. The sky was still battleship gray but the rain had rapidly diminished to a light feathery mist. He grimaced at his still wet shoes and dug out his camp shoes. He should have thought about them last night, then his boots would not be wet and muddy now. The sandals were one more addition to his GOOD bag he had debated on, finally deciding on a pair of Teva sandals. The extra weight was worth the security of a second pair of shoes. They were useful for situations just like this, as well as giving his feet a chance to air out when he removed his boots. He would not want to travel long distances in them, but barefoot over this terrain would not be much fun, and could have deadly consequences.

Steve used his poncho to erect a small drying tent for his clothes, placing his alcohol burner under it so his clothes would dry, but careful so they would not burn. He then looked for a place to hide and watch his camp. He didn't think Willie would cross him but he wasn't going to take a chance either.

Steve found a suitable place nearby in a patch of briars. Carefully moving the briars around he had a blind that would protect him from approach in any direction except the front, and he would be watching that.

Once again he had a cold breakfast and watched the area as the misting rain stopped all together. Soon a slight movement drew his eyes. Willie was good, but Steve knew a few point men that could give him a lesson or two. Steve had a quick thought about one they had called "Tonto". Tonto was a Seminole Indian that had seemed to pass through a swamp without a ripple and disappear in a jungle of two small trees.

Willie halted at the edge of the camp and waited, watching for anything out of place. Satisfied everything was normal he approached the hut. He must have thought Steve was still inside, for after checking the dryer, he tossed a rock.

Steve carefully watched both Willie and the surrounding area, ensuring no one else was around, before making his presence known. His gray sweats blended with the low light levels of the blind and the gray sky well enough that he had not been spotted sitting still inside the briars. Taking a small pinecone he tossed it at Willie's feet, once again surprising the hunter. Steve chuckled, if Willie had known how often he had messed up when he had first joined the recon group and been "corrected" by the more experienced members, he would not have been so surprised. Steve still remembered the day when Tonto had exclaimed that the new white man would kill them all if he didn't square up soon and the whole squad had agreed. Steve had recognized his own faults, even though he had grown up hunting and thought he was pretty stealthy, he could not match these guys that had learned their trade in a lead filled environment. Humbled that day, he had asked the others to show him the tricks and techniques he needed to survive and to become a scout worthy of their company. Once they had seen he meant to learn, and he would accept their criticisms (and harassment!), they took him under their wings. He had trained hard, listening, watching and practicing the things they showed him. He had accepted their corrections without complaint and soon they had become a close bunch, always-rated number one or two within their division. Steve had never become as good as Tonto or the Bushman but he felt he could give the others a hard run for third place.

To Willie's credit he hadn't jumped when the pinecone had bounced off his foot, He just jerked his head around to look for the source. Steve slowly lifted himself out of the blind, smiling at the look on Willie's face.

"Don't look like you trust me none." Willie said as Steve walked closer.

"Times like these do not make trust easy, Willie" Steve said "You can never let your guard down because someone is always there to take what you have."

"Well anyway we better go. Pa will be wondering where I lit off to if'n I don't get home soon." Willie said.

"Willie, why should I go with you? I can make it by myself" Steve said.

"Well to begin with, you wouldn't get by them there Marines. They got two guard stations between here and the other side. They know me since I bring fresh fish to their mess hall and to a few I bring special presents." Willie said.

"What kind of present, not dope?" Steve asked.

"Na, just some of Grandpa's moonshine. He makes it the old fashion way. He don't use none of them radiators that kill you. Been drinkin it fer years, even use it in medicine my Ma makes. Good fer ya" Willie said.

"Can we get by them without trouble?" Steve asked

"Well I notice you carry a lever rifle, not one of them fancy A-salt rifles that make the gunmen nervous. Shouldn't be no problem, we just make you my cousin from up yonder way I came to bring home. You fit that part, beside I got a package for that there gunny that takes care of them guards." Willie said as he flashed a smile.

Steve packed his gear, after dressing in his damp travel clothes, and together they dragged the canoe into the water. Willie walked back into the brush and retrieved his pack. He had a large, well-used Alice pack that seemed quite full, Steve wondered how Willie could carry it. Steve noticed Willie admiring the canoe as he walked back and placed his pack into it.

"What do you think about my ride?" Steve asked as they pushed off.

"It sure is fancy; I ain't never had a small boat like this one. Just the boats the family uses to fish with." Willie replied.

Using the extra paddle Steve had found with the canoe, Willie began paddling. Steve had to slow him down some and show him the proper way to paddle a canoe. The way he was paddling would tire him out within 5 miles.

Willie seemed pleased with his new found paddling skill and they began to rapidly cover ground toward the first guard station.

Two hours later they came to the start of the base and soon were approaching the Marine guard post. A sign directed them toward a small floating dock projecting out into the water, watched over by a MK19 40mm Grenade launcher located higher on the bank. Steve noticed another marine with a SAW a little further away. Continuing without stopping was not a healthy option.

Willie slowly raised his hand still gripping the paddle and called out to the marines.

"Hey Corporal Davis, its Willie, where's Gunny?" Willie shouted " I got somethin fer him"

"Willie, who you got there with you? You always been alone." The young corporal asked

"This here's ma cousin Steve, I come to get him fer my Pa and bring him back with me" Willie said. "Things gettin too bad up north for him and we could use some more help with our place"

"Well alright, but have him stay in the canoe where we can watch him." "Mack, go round up Gunny" Corporal Davis yelled back behind him.

10 long minutes passed before Steve heard a HumVee stop somewhere behind and slightly above the guard station. A man that was every DI/Gunny rolled into one appeared. His walk and demeanor let everyone know he was not someone to be messed with. Steve had expected to see someone looking like an alkie, but this marine was definitely squared away. His quiet voice surprised Steve when he walked up to the murky water's edge.

"So your Willie's cousin, eh" the Gunny asked.

"Yes Sir" Steve barked in his best parade ground voice. Steve had found it was best to make sure Gunnies like this one knew you knew who was in charge.

The gunny smiled in a way that let Steve know he was not fooled one bit. "When was you in, Son" he asked Steve

"Desert Storm. Recon, Sir" Steve replied toning his voice down a little.

"Recon, eh. Heard you boys had a rough time for awhile. I was a gunner on a HumVee then, still wet behind the ears. Kinda like these kids here." He said with a sweep of his hand. "Come on up and join us while I have a talk with Willie boy".

Steve found he liked the gunny, but most of them were pretty likable marines IF you did what you were told.

Willie reached into the canoe, opened his pack and retrieved a wrapped brown grocery sack. Handing it to the gunny he said "Grandpa sez that was one of his best batches, ought ta work real good for ya"

Seeing the look on Steve's face the gunny smiled and said "this isn't for normal drinking, I got into herbal medicines when I was stationed in the Philippines. Use this shine to dissolve some of my medicinal herbs in. Been trying to teach these hardheads about using nature, might save their lives one day if a medic or doctor isn't around.

Steve told the gunny he sounded a lot like Gunny Black in his old platoon always wanting HIS men to know more than the rest. He said knowledge, not things, would keep you alive.

"Gunny Black? Short, wiry Afro-American?" Gunny asked "Always had a stogie in his mouth but never lit it"

"You know him?" Steve asked incredibly.

"H#$$ Yes I know him or knew him. He was stationed with me at Paris Island trying to make muck into marines. Taught me a lot about handling the kids. He came by here last year, saying goodbye to some of the guys. Said he had cancer and didn't have long to live, but wanted to make sure HIS Marine Corps was in good hands. We knew he just wanted to say goodbye one last time, so we gave him a big going away party, Marine style. Before he left I gave him a bottle of my special herbal painkiller to help with the future. Heard he passed last month." The gunny said.

Steve found it hard to believe Gunny Black was gone and that the Gunny here knew him. Small world it seemed. Gunny invited them for an MRE breakfast. They sat and remembered Gunny Black and told war stories for the younger soldiers. Steve also learned more about the local situation and about the problems across the country. The grapevine of Gunnies was still in force and the Gunny knew more about the terrorist strikes than the Media was allowed to publish. The reporters had not been allowed to cover the strikes at every base, or the attempted sabotage of several Nuclear reactors. One of the major dams had been damaged but according to Gunny's sources the militia had stopped at least two attacks on major targets. Something the Government was reluctant to let out for fear of vigilantism. Locally things were going downhill fast. Fewer Police showed up each day, preferring to stay home and protect their own families. The Marines had patrols out around the base to protect against further terrorist attacks, and while they also tried to police the area they could not be everywhere. Several firefights had already erupted between gangs and the patrols, so far the Marines had only a couple wounded but the gangs had faired much worse. They had not yet learned the Marines carried REAL assault rifles. Some of the local militia had approached the Marines about assisting in keeping order but the base commander officially said NO. Of course on a lower level their help was accepted, and codes had even been set up to keep the Marines and Militia from having "friendly fire" incidents.

The time spent here with the Gunny and his marines may have delayed Steve's travel but it brought back the many times Steve had spent with his buddies during Desert Storm. The closeness of men bound together by hardship, death, and danger forged something within that Steve had never been able to put into words. In Desert Storm, Steve's group lost a friend they called "Bullseye". He had been killed, trying to protect a child caught in the middle of a firefight. They had finished their job, brought the body back and sent his spirit on to its reward with raised glasses and a toast to a fallen brother and the child he saved. Seems like whenever adversity strikes God always brings a little sun to light the way. Steve had not talked with most of the team since he had gotten out, but he knew he could call them today and they would still be there to cover his back.

Soon the time came to return to the real world. Steve said goodbye to the Gunny and the others and pushed off once again. The Gunny would radio ahead to the second check point so they would not be stopped again.

Steve had to smile though, before they had left the Gunny had told him if Willie was his cousin he was Saddam Hussein. The gunny had not asked any questions, he had just wanted to let Steve know never try to fool a Gunny!
(posted 04-19-03)
===============
Chap 12 Family

In the interest of time Steve decided to use the trolling motor to speed their travel up. Willie seemed in a hurry to get home suddenly, and Steve's muscles didn't mind a rest from paddling. The motor pulled them through the tranquil brown water at a slightly faster pace than they had made by paddling.

The trip along the 14 miles of the base's oceanfront took about an hour. They passed the second checkpoint with only a wave to the Marines on duty. The Gunny had mentioned that the Marines had extended their protection radius outward from the base 30 miles now since some of the Marine families had been targeted by the terrorists. It had been a shame about the young daughter of Gunny Sutton, but it sounded like he upheld the Marine Corps tradition of payback for a fallen comrade just fine.

By mid afternoon they were close to the point Willie wanted to go ashore. They stopped within the shade of a grand old oak tree, its gnarly branches extending out over the dark water, already covered with a blanket of leaves and moss. After hiding the canoe in a sheltered and concealed spot, they opened two of the MRE's Gunny had given them before they left. Steve's Beef Stew wasn't gourmet fare but after heating was better than some of the food he had paid top dollar for in fancy restaurants.

Steve decided to travel light, so he left his pack with the canoe after transferring a few items to his vest. Carrying only the vest and his rifle he followed Willie, carefully watching the surrounding area for anything out of place. Steve was not about to get caught off guard again, if he could in anyway help it. Twice he had to slow Willie down; Willie was in too much of a hurry to get home and kept forgetting how dangerous the world was now.

It took about three hours to reach Willie's home. It was another humble, clapboard house with at least three additions added on to the original section. A large yard with chicken coops, duck pens, and even a pigpen with a sow and several piglets. A large rough wood barn overlooked the animal pens like a castle overlooking its peasant homes. Behind the barn Steve could see rows of plantings and someone plowing with a plodding gray mule.

At their approach the house suddenly bristled with gun barrels. Willie realized that they were expecting one person but two were approaching the house. He stopped, lifted his hands to wave and called out to the house.

"Hey Ya'll, it's me, Willie. Can't you tell? This here is ma friend Steve." Willie yelled. "Now put down them there guns and come on out here."

--------------------------

Susan was uneasy. She had felt this way since the day after Steve was late coming home. She felt she was being watched but could not see any evidence that she really was. It was just that whenever she was outside she felt eyes on her, she had even caught Chris staring into the woods a few times like he felt it also. She was starting to let her concern for Steve become more than she could handle. If not for her children and her church she would have lost it days ago. Chris had filled in for his father admirably, using the tractor to prepare the garden, and getting the seeds into the ground. It's hard to imagine she thought, here I am a trained nurse digging in the ground, planting and worrying about this garden. It was good therapy but she still was hanging on by a thread.

---------------------------

"Big Gun" wasn't happy; he was besieged by every biting bug in the world, walking in the wet early morning mist breathing in the musty smell of these North Florida woods. He had power, money, and in his mind, the respect of his whole gang. His gang had carved out a niche in Jacksonville, drugs, women, guns, what ever anyone needed he supplied, and was looking to expand, when the world fell apart. With the police busy protecting their own families no one could stop his rise except the rival gangs. Food was a problem though. All the stores had run out of food soon after the attacks had begun. Deliveries got fewer and fewer as the food supply system ground to a stop. The food warehouses had been brought under Marshall law first for "protection" by the government, food that would be delivered only to certain people and certain places, usually to "important" government bureaucrats and as an incentive to move to temporary relocation centers. Most people had run out of food about the same time as the stores, they had not paid attention to the warnings believing the government would be there to "take care" of them. Starvation was becoming common place and fights over what food there was had become epidemic. To keep being "The Man" he had to find another source of food. He "knew" the country folks in the smaller outlying towns kept stocks of food, so he decided a visit was in order to spread their wealth around. Maybe he could find one of them Mormon families, they were supposed to have lots of foods stored up. He would be a big hero then, maybe get some of the boys from the other gangs to join him once he showed them he had the "juice". Let the other's starve some, then he would own the entire city. But first he had to feed his group. The idea that the country folk might not want to share their food wasn't something he gave any thought to. If they didn't volunteer the food he would just take it like he had everything else since he was 10 years old. His boys would easily overpower them country bumpkins he thought. Besides wasn't that the same thing the government was doing?

He had heard about a couple of farms that helped a local food bank out every year, they must have plenty of food for them to give so much away. That's why he was here sneaking through these god forsaken woods (at least he thought he was sneaking, him in his gold necklace and rings), slapping mosquitoes and wondering when Bigfoot would appear. He hated the forest and everything associated with the country, he felt at home in the streets but out here he felt out of control, and he did not like that feeling one bit. His lieutenants had suggested sending some of the boys to check out the area first, but he liked to keep in touch he said. Really he had heard this farm had a couple of good looking females and the husband was out of town. He figured they might "need" a little manly companionship, maybe be convinced to join his harem. The boy could join his gang or be a target for the nickel plated, stag handled, 45 colt that had given "Big Gun" his nickname. The thought of a fresh, young, unwilling virgin underneath him made him forget for a moment where he was and brought a big smile to his pock marked face.

The smile was short lived though, one minute he was on top of the world, the next it was on him. At least that was what he felt happened. He had brought three of his best boyz with him, more than enough for two females and a teenage boy he thought. Two had been in front of him and one behind, but now here he was alone, somehow, not one of his boyz could be seen or heard, with a large, sharp, blade at his throat. A very scary dude held the knife with very serious eyes in gray coveralls with one of them swat hoods over his face. The man was dangerously scary and "Big Gun" had only the eyes to tell him that. In a low but powerful whisper that echo' d through the leaders head, the scary man said simply that the farm was off limits. It was to be left totally alone. If one person or one animal were harmed "Big Gun" would never live to see the next sun rise and would beg to die before it arose. The big man got real close to "Big Gun", real close, and in that same frightening voice asked if he understood. "Big Gun" understood alright, the farm was to be left alone. He was so scared he pee' d his pants and would have promised his first born to the man if he would just let him live. The stranger eased the knife from his throat and suddenly twitched the blade, removing the lower portion of Big Gun's left ear lobe. Just a reminder the stranger said, in case you might forget. "Big Gun" grabbed his ear to stop the pain and the blood, blinking the salty sweat from his eyes, afraid the stranger would kill him next, but the stranger was gone, vanished. One second he was there, large and menacing, the next just a figment in the shadows. If not for the blood running down his ear and the rapidly spreading stain in the front of his pants, "Big Gun" would have thought he was having a bad flashback.

"Big Gun" returned to his big Ford Expedition to find all of his boyz sitting in the SUV, hands duct tapped together and with duct tape over their mouths. He had splashed in a small stream to hide the yellowing stain across his pants and now only looked wet and pi$$#d. Forgetting his recent scare he cruelly jerked the tape off their mouths while proclaiming to the world their collective parents were not married and why was he stuck with such a collection of fairies. They each tried to explain about the men in the gray suits, appearing out of the shadows, taking them one by one without a word or a struggle. On minute they were walking through the dark tripping over every little branch and watching for snakes, the next taped and carried over a strong shoulder back to the SUV. It was all a big mystery and "Big Gun" was not about to try and explain it, or admit he had experienced the shadow men himself. Was there only one or were there more he didn't know. Why had they been there, who were they, and why had they left them alive? He only would say he had turned around to find everyone gone, and stumbled into a stream, getting wet and cutting his ear on the way back to the car. Since he was surrounded by idiots and pu$$&#$, they would return home for now. "Big Gun" would not tell a soul about the shadow man, but he would stay away from the farm, at least for now. Next time he would come in guns blazing with all the boyz ready to party, let the shadows try to stop them then!

====================

After leaving Steve at the river's edge, Abraham headed the big Ford back along the subdivision. He passed burnt houses, shot up cars, and even saw a few bodies along the way. He could not help but think that except for Steve's help, they would have been found the same way. What few stations he could find still broadcasting gave a gloomy outlook with every news cast, seems some of the terrorists had been stopped but some also had completed their task. Marshall Law with a curfew would be implemented in three days. The population was being asked to stay at home or go to one of the rescue centers that were being set up. Those sounded to much like government control centers to Abe, no way was he going to put his life or the life of his family in the hands of the government, they could not stop the terrorists to start with how could they protect him? Soon they were on the main highway headed west, avoiding the normal roadside stations and stores set up to overcharge weary travelers. Not even stopping for the fellow waving his arms for help, he would only stop someplace he felt offered safety to his precious cargo.

Soon finding such an area he pulled the Bronco off the highway into a secluded spot to refuel. Just off the road behind a stand of trees with easy access in and out. Keeping the engine running, since a diesel uses little fuel idling, he wanted to be able to leave immediately if trouble started. Miriam awkwardly stood watch with the unaccustomed rifle in her hands. They were still babes in a hostile world, but at least these babes now had teeth giving them a fighting chance. Steve had not been able to teach them everything they needed to know in just one short easy lesson, he had just given them some basic gun handling tips and how to set up watches when they needed to stop. He had also given them a desire to survive and, as a last resort, to fight if need be. Abe had decided to stop and refuel from his extra fuel supply when the main tank was empty and it was time to switch over to the reserve tank. It removed weight and a fire danger from the trailer, let him refuel on his terms and not have to worry about running out of fuel if he had to evade or was forced to take a longer route. It also gave them a chance to eat and rest from the stress of driving in a hostile environment.

The task soon completed he assumed the watch while Miriam fixed something for them to eat. Abe decided he liked the way she looked with a pistol strapped around her cute little waist. Taking one of the little FRS type radio's they had bought last year when they went on vacation Abe moved to a better vantage spot to watch over his extended family. He had enough fuel to complete the drive and should arrive at their destination late tonight if all went well. Miriam interrupted his thoughts with a message on the radio warning him that Sara was bringing him lunch, the girl seemed to be slowly coming out of her shell with each mile they had traveled. Maybe she would make a full recovery sooner than they expected, He hoped so.

**Christian for Israel** · 12-09-2010, 01:38 AM

ok folks, tell me what you think so far.

**dmfield** · 12-09-2010, 03:02 AM

Good story. Looking forward to reading more.

**biathlon** · 12-09-2010, 12:00 PM

Good story sir. Glad I'm not the only one concerned about feral dogs.

Most of my congregation are "Reconstructionist" . Most of us are very well armed and practice a lot. John Rawles writes extensivly about the likely conditions east of the mississippi river and why not to even consider the east coast for a home. We attempt to educate our Jewish friends and relatives out there about the probability of the future,especially for New York but our voices usually fall on deaf ears. I am enjoying this group a lot .

**mrsmarine** · 12-10-2010, 12:25 AM

i'm an avid reader and I'm anxiously awaiting more

**Christian for Israel** · 12-10-2010, 02:43 AM

CHAP 13 - Cached

As Steve and Willie paddled the canoe thru the narrow, muddy tidal canals towards Murrells Inlet, SC, Steve thought back on the last 24 hours. He had been introduced to Willie's Family, one by one, more than he could remember. Except for the one they called Grandpa, Steve had been expecting to see someone older than the gentleman he had been introduced to. Grandpa was Willie's uncle who had recently retired from the Army. He had been the oldest in his class in boot camp by a few months so everyone started calling him grandpa, It kinda stuck with him thru out his career, and even his family called him Grandpa. He had traveled around the world never settling down with a family so had returned to live with his brother. He was the one that had set up the defenses and helped made sure everyone was ready if danger appeared.

Steve's question about why Willie had reacted to his being a trucker was also answered. Seems sometime in the past a trucker had stopped a couple of jacked up trucks full of intoxicated college boys who were harassing the girls coming back from town. The trucks kept trying to trap the girl's car between them so they could stop for a little "fun". Seeing the reckless attempts by the boys the trucker had pulled up beside the pickups, and deciding to have some fun of his own, moved the big rig into the spot occupied by the trucks forcing them off the road. All the boys ended up trapped in a mud bog after going thru a fence along side the road. The trucker had honked his horn and disappeared not giving the girls a chance to thank him. Ever since the family had felt sense of debt to truckers and now felt they would have a chance to repay that debt.

The family's main source of income was the sea. They shrimp' d or fished for shad, shark, or for whatever was in season. They had supplied the nearby base with fresh fish for some time and had received extra fuel as a "government supplier". They would gladly drop Steve off on the south end of Myrtle Beach when they went out the next day. The Coast Guard knew the boat and rarely stopped them even in these tumultuous times.

Steve decided the best way was to cross the grass covered tidal basin during the evening high tide, easing through the various canals until he reached the shore. Willie would then take the canoe, as a gift, back to the shrimp boat erasing any evidence anyone had came ashore. His cache was really in Murrells Inlet, a small town just south of Myrtle Beach, but most people did not know where that was so he just said Myrtle Beach as a reference.

They had one tense moment when a Coast Guard patrol boat had crossed close by, binoculars glinting as the crew had checked them out. The family waved and must have been recognized because the cutter continued on.

Steve had left the battery, motor and one of the solar panels with the family to save weight since they would not be needed. He kept one of the panels for future use. They left the mothership as the tide began to change, paddling easily in the gently, rolling seas. They had been about a mile offshore and soon crossed that into the opening of the first canal. Fighting the gnats and the mosquitoes they slowly moved closer toward the shore looking for an opening that would take Steve close to his cache.

It had taken two hours to make the journey, arriving right at dark; they eased up to a darkened restaurant built right to the edge of a canal. Steve gathered his pack and vest, bidding his partner a fond farewell. Willie had assured him he could find the boat again. His years on the water, along with a compass would get him close enough to use the CB and a spotting light to connect up with the boat.

Crossing the railing around the outer deck, still holding tables as if waiting for the evening crowd to appear, Steve silently moved further into the shadows. Checking his GPS once more he oriented himself, he had taken a reading at the U-Store-It so he would be able to find it if he was in a situation just like this. He had picked this storage site because it was surrounded by trees and high growth, not yet encroached by other businesses, to make it easier to approach, easier to enter and easier to watch, ensuring his cache had not been tampered with. He also wanted a storage area surrounded by a chain link fence, since that was easier to get through than a wrought iron fence.

Now that he had determined his route, figuring he was about three miles away, Steve left the comforting shadows and headed southwest. He crossed US-17, known around here as the Georgetown highway, looking for McDowell St. Normally US-17 would be flowing with traffic, even at this time of year, but Steve had not seen one car since he started. He also saw few lights, just a couple of dim flickers in the distance. He had heard before he left the boat that some of the power stations had been damaged, forcing the remaining generators to work at full capacity, still, rolling blackouts had become a fact of life.

He could hear loud noises in the dark, glass breaking, steel on steel, as if a gang was having a fight or a mob moving through a neighborhood? He kept vigilant as he moved toward the storage site, he wanted to avoid a let down this close to his goal.

Steve found McDowell Street soon after crossing US-17, continuing on carefully he stayed off the road as much as possible. Fortunately the street had only a few businesses close to the main highway with a stand of woods between them and the storage area. Steve had rented a small 5ft by 10ft shed located at the back of the site. The fence had been stretched by cars turning around and pushing against the fence. Steve planned to pull the fence together along a support allowing him to unbend a strand of the fence at the top and bottom, with his Gerber multi-tool. He would then simply unweave it a couple of feet creating an opening big enough to slid through. It would be easy to reweave the fence, hiding his entrance on the way in and his exit when he left.

Approaching the storage units Steve slowly moved along the fence line toward the rear. He inched along maintaining noise discipline checking the storage facility out. A few units had been hurriedly opened and emptied, probably by the owners, their doors still rolled up. It took Steve twenty minutes to arrive at his destination, separated from his cache only by a chain link fence. Staying in the darkness, watching and listening for anything abnormal Steve waited another half-hour before opening the fence. He approached the fence where the grass and weeds had been allowed to grow close to the fence. Standing close he reached up on the fence where each strand bent back over the other and carefully straightened one strand. Keeping his eyes and ears working overtime he followed the same strand down to the bottom of the fence and repeated the action, removing the bend freeing the strand. Using three pieces of wire carried just for this reason he tied one end to the fence at the nearby support pole and running the free end through the fence a few links over pulled the fence together. He repeated this for the remaining two pieces of wire. He now had a loose section of fence that allowed him to unwind the strand he had straightened out from the rest. Once more he carefully scanned the darkened area, the quarter moon providing only a feeble taste of light. He slid through the opening he had created, after removing the bottom and middle wires he had used to hold the fence together, the fence stayed loose enough without the two wires to rewound the strand back through the fence sealing the opening once again. Steve did not bend the ends of the fence back and he left the upper wire in place to keep the fence from tightening up his entrance. In a hurry he could simply unwind the strand and leave through the opening but it still was almost invisible to a glance.

Now that he was inside the compound he felt the need to hurry, though his recon had indicated no one was about. He quickly stepped up to unit C-45 and dialed the combination on the heavy industrial quality lock.
Steve slid the door up, even though he had greased the door it still sounded like a mechanical monster was dying in the silence of the night. He quickly entered and lowered the noise machine securing it from the inside with a bolt he had attached to the inside. The bolt slid into the side frame securing the door, holding the door about three quarters of an inch above the concrete. The bolt would not allow the outside lock to be used insuring he could not be locked in from the outside. A piece of carpet attached to the inside of the door ensured no light escaped to reveal his presence.

He had kept the storage for a couple of years now, improving it each time he stopped by for his biyearly visits. He had installed a bed built of plywood and a piece of foam recovered from a mattress they had replaced last year. He had a porta-potty and about 25 gallons of water stored in 3-liter soft drink bottles.
He had several numbered plastic bins stacked inside with a current inventory of each in plastic sheet protectors in a book on top. All the comforts of home he thought. He located the battery powered lantern he kept near the door and turned the switch to low, bathing the inside with a soft white light from the single florescent tube. Had he turned the switch to high both tubes would light, but the light was far to bright and harsh with both tubes lit inside the small storage unit. Using the low setting gave plenty of light and a longer burn time. He stripped off his dirty clothes, only good for the disposal now he thought, in preparation for a good cleaning and medical inspection. He inflated a small children's inflatable wading pool to use as a bath tub/shower. With a couple bottles of water (cold!), he gave himself a luxurious bath, complete with soap, shampoo and nail cleaning. It might be excessive but it sure felt nice and gave his morale a boost.

For the first time since this whole thing started he felt the tension unwind. Funny how he had not noticed how tight he was until now, the relaxed feeling made the effort he had put into the cache all worthwhile. Clean once again he used a mirror he had mounted on a sidewall to shave and to inspect himself for anything needing medical attention. He found a few ticks that he removed using a Pro-Tick Remedy tool(1).

He opened box number one (his clothes box) and removed a pair of sweats and a pair of cotton socks for the night. He pulled out a sheet and a blanket for his bed. He had one more thing to do before he could retire for the night. Opening box number two (his electronics box) he removed a spare cell phone and a Zinc-Air battery. Opening the package he inserted the battery onto the phone. Within seconds he turned on the phone and had full power. Turning the lantern off he opened the door enough to get a signal from a nearby tower. At least they had battery or generators to keep the cell site operating during the blackouts, but he wondered how much longer they would be working with the world falling apart more each day. Taking the phone he dialed the number he had looked forward to dialing since arriving at the cache.
++++++++++++++++++++
The phone ringing startled Susan from her thoughts of Steve, her duties and the family's future if he didn't return. They had been losing dial tone more and more as the Phone Company tried to lower its energy consumption. It had been hard at first since the phone had always been a lifeline but as she realized they needed to become much more independent from the world the phone became less important. Still a call late at night usually was bad news. At the first hello she felt her knees get weak at the sound of Steve's voice. He sounded so tired and so wonderful at the same time. She had to work to keep her feminine side under control and give him a chance to talk.
++++++++++++++++++++
He knew it was late but he needed to hear his wife's voice and knew she needed to hear from him. When she answered the call his spirits rose from just a simple Hello. He told her he loved her and had made it to his cache giving her the location. He didn't know how long it would take him to reach home but he hoped to be home within a week. He could tell she wanted to cry and ask a hundred questions, but he was proud of the woman he married as she controlled herself and allowed him to say the things that needed to be said in case the connection was lost. He asked about the family and was amazed at how Chris had taken over in his absence.
Knowing they might be disconnected at any time he asked about her. Still fighting her emotions she gave him a quick run down of things local and asked if she needed to do anything else. He had just had the main propane tanks filled as well as the diesel tanks so he told her to open the green book he kept in the desk and find the check list he had made. Using that she could inventory the farm and get an idea what was needed. Maybe she could still get some of the things before everything was sold out.

The phone took that moment to break the connection; one look at the strength meter showed no signal. Guess the tower had finally shut down or maybe it was a planned thing since it was now 11pm.

He closed the door, securing it once again. Turning on the lamp again he removed the battery from the phone and replaced it in its airtight pouch. It would shut down the reaction preserving the battery for later.
Setting his rifle beside the homemade bed he lay down and slept a deep relaxed sleep for the first time in days.
++++++++++++++++++
Before she could say goodbye the phone clicked off, she tried her phone and got dial tone, so it must be on his end. She waits a while for him to call back, but soon realizes he couldn’t or he would have called back immediately. Still that call renewed her hope and regenerated her like no vitamin or doctor's shot could do. Susan went into the bedroom and pulled back the covers of their bed. For the first time in a long time she went to sleep with a smile on her face.

(1)Ticks: http://www.biosci.ohio-state.edu/~acarolog/tickgone.htm & http://www.lyme.org/ticks/removal.html

(2)Zinc-Air battery: http://www.accessorydistribution.com/upto16hourta2.html
(POSTED 051203 05:55pm)
=========================================
CHAP 14 - Misery

"Aaaah, what a way to wake up" thought Steve as he crawled out of bed and headed for the porta-potty, while holding his stomach. At least it had waited until he was somewhat safe. The previous days of stress, different food, and continual, unaccustomed, exercise had finally caught up to him. Cramps and diarrhea were not things to look forward to upon waking, he thought. Pressing the button to light his watch he saw it was only 3am, 4 hours sleep, "why do these thing always wake you up in the middle of the night?" He thought as another wave swept over him.

His stomach finally slowed its gurgling, the cramps residing into the background ready to return at anytime, after what seemed like an eternity. Slowly getting up, ready to sit again if he needed to, he turned and washed his hands in a small camp sink he had found at a garage sale. He had bought it for $3.00 and it was a perfect fit for his cache with its internal water supply and small pump. He picked up another type of light that worked well for times when you need a soft low light, his Krill Lamp (1). OK, so I'm a flashlight junkie, he thought. Turning on the lamp, its soft, blue light leading the way, Steve reached for his weapon of choice, Pepto-Bismol, chemical warfare for when the enemy attacks, he thought with a wry grin. The cache contained a small, but complete medical kit since he had to plan for any eventuality. If the Pepto didn't fix the trouble he would move up to the Imodium AD. Concerned that he might become dehydrated he reached for a bottle of water and opened his food box. He removed a pack of powdered Gatorade (lime) and dumped most of it into the bottle. Each pouch would make a gallon (US for our metric readers) so he only needed 3/4 of the pouch. He slowly sipped the mix, trying not to trigger another bout of intestinal distress. Slowly he eased back onto the bed and closed his eyes.

When his eyes opened once again, he sat up and once again had a bout of cramping."This is getting old already" he thought as he reached the toilet in time. Time for the Imodium. He had decided to lay up for the day and recover his strength as well as gather up the supplies he would be taking with him. He wanted to make sure he did not have a "bug" that would hinder his trip and at least here he was somewhat protected.

He lay back down on the bed, but this time reached under the bed and carefully felt for the hidden slot in the bed frame. He had routed out a slim slot just big enough for a key holder, after inserting the holder he then covered the opening with wood putty mixed with some of the sawdust. The result was an almost undetectable hiding place for the keys to the metal cabinet at the back of the storage unit. Scraping away the putty with a key until the holder fell into his hand Steve rolled back over. Tightening his stomach was not a good thing so he tried to relax and let the Imodium work. After a few minutes he stood up a made his way to the box in the back corner after he turned the florescent lamp on.

Opening the key case, Steve removed one of the keys and inserted it into the metal box a friend had welded up for him. He had carefully drilled holes in the floor and inserted bolts that he then set in concrete. The box fit over the bolts and a small steel plate with four nuts married the box to the floor. He opened the box and removed the SKS from inside. The Rossi was more PC, but he figured he might need more firepower in the coming days. He stripped the storage bag off the rifle and checked it over. Still in as good a shape as the day he left it here. Removing a cleaning kit stored inside and a bottle of "Ed's Red"(2) cleaner he began to clean the rifle. When the SKS was finished he picked up the faithful Rossi and gave it a well deserved cleaning. Next he inspected the Glocks, cleaned them as well as unloading the clips for a through cleaning. Satisfied the Glocks were in good shape; he then reloaded the four mags with the hollow points he had removed.

Once he was finished with the cleaning he returned to the safe and removed a 10-pocket chest bandoleer. He had stored it full, with 200rds of surplus, steel-cored, 7.62x39 already in stripper clips, and now placed it within easy reach. Next he removed a single loaded clip, charged the SKS and then released the bolt chambering the first round. Another 100rds also in stripper clips housed in a cloth bandoleer completed his new arsenal. Feeling better armed, but not better, he once more opened box number 2 and removed a small short-wave radio. He had stored the more expensive lithium AA batteries with the electronics because they had both a longer shelf life and higher capacity than even alkaline. Inserting two batteries into the receiver he lay back on the bed and felt along the wall for the jack that led to the wire antenna he had strung along the outside roof line of the units. Plugging in the antenna, he turned the radio on and sipping more of the Gatorade, searched for the latest news.

The news he heard was not good. Terrorists had struck a number of bases, airports, and power generating stations and even two oil refineries. Random sniping, similar to the Washington snipers had affected transportation. Apparently the terrorists had paid attention to the ease with which the snipers had moved around and how much terror they had caused for very little expense or danger to themselves. Four passenger planes loaded with civilians had been blown up with stinger missiles smuggled in from Afghanistan. And if imported terrorists were not enough, the domestic variety in the form of gangs and rouge militias had been having a party, too.

Food supplies as well as fuel, medicine, and the other items Americans are so dependent upon to maintain there standard of life was in very short supply. A black market was quickly expanding to fill the deficeincy, IF you had the cash. Hijackings, murder, rape; every form of lawlessness had increased beyond predictions. Martial Law was being implemented throughout the northern states. California and Massachusetts had been first; their crime rate was not even being measured anymore, since they had more gun laws, fewer guns meant more criminal opportunity. The southern states as well as most western states had resisted implementing Marshall Law but Florida and Texas had closed the borders to normal travel trying to get a handle on their problems. Texas was being invaded from the south by Mexicans crossing the border in even larger numbers and Florida's southern area, particularly Miami, was the scene of almost constant riots, the Haitians, Cubans, and Guatemalans demanding their government subsidies. What little the government was doing seemed to be all wrong. They were "protecting" all food warehouses and distribution centers as well as all fuel supplies. They said protect, but they were using food and fuel as a means of population control. One week's supplies were sold to each household, if you made it to the store on time, and if you followed their instructions, which might include relocation (for your protection of course).

While listening to ABC news on one station he heard what had to be the most ironic thing he had heard all day. Seems some of the Senators from California wanted all gun owners declared part of a Militia and be forced to protect important government employees. Yeah, like senators, Steve thought when he heard it. Seems they never learn. First they try to take all guns out of the hands of the public, then at the first crisis, they insist those very people they tried to disarm, be forced to use those guns to protect them.

What made his life and future travel plans the most difficult, however, was the curfews. South Carolina had a nighttime curfew, Georgia who was restricting all interstate travel also had a dusk to dawn curfew and Florida had closed its border to all but authorized entry. Just another walk in the park he thought.

Steve turned off the depressing news and relaxed, trying to ignore the rumbling in his gut. He dozed off and on, interrupted by a couple of "runs", most of the morning and early afternoon. Finally coming awake about 3pm, he didn't feel the intestinal earthquakes anymore, apparently under control of the OTC drugs he had taken earlier. He risked heating up some dry packaged chicken noodle soup he had in his food box and drinking the rest of the Gatorade he had mixed. Feeling slightly better, he decided to gather together the supplies he would need for the rest of the trip.

One thing the cache contained that he hoped would make his travels easier was the modified mountain bike. He had installed racks on the sides for panniers and a custom rack in the back for his Alice pack. On the frame he had a scabbard for the SKS and two water bottles with a rack on the front for a small pack. The bike would carry more weight than he could on his back, and carry it faster and further. After hearing that trains only ran under military control, were composed of more cars than normal, and most importantly, ran fewer runs, he felt his addition of rail riding gear (3) might turn out to be a good decision. He had chosen a bike most people his age called a woman's bike, but since railroad rails are 7inches high it would make it easier and safer if he had to stop suddenly. Hitting the bar tends to give a man a new definition of pain, not what he needed in "Indian" Territory.

On the front he carried a bag with two water bottles, a 12v-gel cell battery and his poncho. He connected the battery to the solar panel he had kept. He didn't want too much weight on the front, so the rest he placed on the back. He picked the Alice pack off a rack he had installed along the end of the unit and filled it with one pair of BDU's, one brown colored "****ies brand" jump suit, as well as another pair of the all purpose gray sweats. His alcohol stove, refilled bottle of fuel, along with a variety of food, fire starting material, socks and the very useful 550 cord also went into the pack.

As Steve finished packing the Alice pack, he checked each item off his list. He had become a believer in lists once he got above thirty, and was reminded more than once by his ever faithful, humble spouse about some small item he had forgotten (usually after needing it or when more than 30 miles from home).

He emptied his photographers vest and transferred the items to his dependable suspender and web belt combo. He liked the vest for civil times as most people saw them as benign. He had tried the new Mollie vest but didn't like the heat buildup, or the fit, preferring the older Alice belt combo. He had replaced the Alice clips with Tie wraps to save weight and noise. Filling two of the newer soft 1qt. canteens, he had bought earlier this year, he placed them in their respective pouches and set the belt aside. With the pack and belt packed he turned to the panniers.

Two 3qt bottles in one side, along with his cooking kit and his floatation kit on the other side along with a few extra tools to complement the tool kit carried under the seat. An air pump clamped on the top down tube completed his preparations. All he needed was to fill the frame bottles and he was ready to travel. One bottle he filled with water the other with Gatorade.

Once more he rested and rechecked his list step by step, better to be sure now, than when he needed an item later. One item he almost forgot was his first-aid kit, it was more complete than what he had been carrying and clipped onto his pack.

Finished with his task he decided to risk a hearty meal. Choosing a package of chicken flavored noodles, as well as a soft package of chicken he prepared his meal. He poured water into a small can using the "country measure" method of pouring water, just pour until it "looked" like the right amount. Once it was boiling he opened both packages and dumped them both in the water. A few pinches of garlic and onion powder and diner was served. The chicken in a pouch was something he had added the last visit he had made to the cache. He had found the chicken next to the pouches of tuna; along side a similar type package of turkey.

The meal wasn't bad but he wished for some green chilies and cheddar cheese, the real stuff not that powdered kind. That would have made it perfect. Cleaning up he thought again of his family and wondered if he could get another call through.

1 Krill Lamp - http://outdoors.free.fr/s_article.php?id_article=73 or http://www.xenoline.com/krilllamps.html
2 Ed's Red - http://www.surplusrifle.com/reviews/edred/index.asp
3 Rail Bike - http://rrbike.freeservers.com/#Bentley_RAILBIKE_Plans or http://www.railriders.net/

(posted 051803 10:47pm)
==================================

**Christian for Israel** · 12-10-2010, 02:44 AM

Chap 15 - Granny

Steve awoke still disappointed he had not been able to get a call through. Maybe the cell site had discharged its batteries or run out of fuel for its generator or maybe it just died. Steve didn't know and now was not the time to worry about it. As much as the inner man wanted to stay here safe and protected the Husband/Father side could not. His sense of responsibility would not let him rest or be stopped until he was reunited with his family. Heaven help those who tried to stop him, criminal, terrorist, or government!

He was just glad he had not been woke up by his stomach alarm. It seemed the rest and medical attention had solved that problem at least. Steve slowly sat up, mindful of his sore stomach, rubbing the muscles trying to ease the aftereffects of his cramps. He stood up, still holding his stomach, walking barefoot across the cool concrete floor thinking he should have brought a rug or something to ward off the cold. Still in his shorts, he picked up a Bid lighter and lit his stove for a cup of morning coffee.

While waiting for the water to boil, he sorted through his supplies for breakfast. Finally deciding on a pack of blueberry Pop-tarts he opened the pack and rested each one by the stove to warm some. He also opened a pouch containing a coffee bag, not as good as fresh ground coffee but better than instant, and dropped it in his canteen cup.

Soon the water was ready. He removed the small pot and poured his cup full. Setting the pot aside, he placed the Pop-tarts over the burner to toast, trying to remove the slight doughy taste they had raw. He had eaten them raw but preferred them toasted until slightly dark; today he would settle for warm. After adding sugar to his cup he sipped the hot nectar, enjoying the feeling of normalcy the aromatic brew gave, while he removed his breakfast pastries from the heat. Placing the pot back on the fire, he added water back to the top. He would enjoy a hot water shave for the first time and maybe last time on this journey.

The pastries went down easy and along with the hot coffee seemed to ease the soreness in his stomach. Enjoying the mild, artificial, blueberry taste of the Pop-tart he turned his radio back on for the latest news.

This is WGTR 107.9 Gator Country with a report on the Presidents speech last night, Steve heard as he scanned the FM dial. He had missed the speech trying to reach home, he figured. The announcer read the highlights and then broke down the overall speech in the way reporters do, almost as if the common person could not understand a political speech, and maybe they couldn't.

The highlights seemed to be that FEMA and Homeland Security had been fully activated with full Presidential authority, including the power to execute any executive orders needed to pull the country back from the abyss it was headed into. The next three days would be a declared national holiday with only essential services exempted along with a nationwide curfew. A temporary ban on All firearms would be implemented; anyone caught with a firearm would be arrested on sight. Using a firearm in a crime carried a shoot on sight order for the police. The posse commitatus law was also suspended for the duration of the crisis with the military given full police powers, effective immediately. The Homeland Security Director as needed would announce further restrictions after the three-day holiday.

The announcer went on to say the democrats, liberal republicans as well as the ACLU and Handgun Control, lauded the restrictions. Only a few Congressmen and Senators had stood against the President, predicting the rules would have a reverse effect and further push the country into anarchy.

Great, thought Steve, were they singling him out to make life difficult? What more could go wrong. His breakfast now a hard lump in his stomach, his coffee, cooled to room temperature while he had listened to the news. Shaking his head in disgust, Steve prepared to start his trip.

Checking and repacking everything, until he was satisfied it would stay in place, and that he knew where everything was, in case he needed it in a hurry, Steve moved the bike by the door. Once again he turned to the gun cabinet, removed the Bulgarian Makarov from its wrapper and wiped it down. Making sure it would function; he loaded all five magazines with his reloads. Since factory defense loads were hard to come by, he had loaded up some, using cut down 9mm Luger cases and Hornady 90gr hollow points. The little gun would keep every one in the black at 25 yards if he did his part. Not bad for a military pistol with fixed sights, that cost less than $125.00.

Since he knew the Makarov would fire every time, he packed the Glocks up in his pack. He would test fire them when he made it home, until then the unproven pistols were a last ditch option.

He had shaved, cleaned up and dressed in a set of dark brown work clothes when he heard a distant crash and felt a slight vibration through the concrete floor. He hurriedly finished his preparations donned his web belt, holstered his Mak and grabbed his SKS.

He knelt down, and sliding a mechanics mirror under the door, checked both ways outside, before rolling the door open enough to exit. Quietly walking around to the corner, he looked back toward the entrance. Looking through his binoculars he could see a Ford F350 box truck had crashed through the main gate ripping it off its track and swinging it in toward the storage units. Five men looking between 18 and 25 years old, were pounding on the locks at two of the front units with a small sledgehammer. Steve could hear the sound of steel on steel as blow followed by blow descended upon the locks. He had hoped the sheds belonged to the men and they couldn't find the keys, but with a final blow one of the locks gave and the men ripped it off, raised the door, and preceded to rummage through the items inside. Carelessly throwing someone's personal possessions around, it was now obvious they were intent on looking into each shed, looking for anything they considered valuable. The men went unit by unit until they had opened about 10 along each side of the main entrance road. Steve could now hear the men as they grumbled about finding so little for their effort. Steve kept watching, hoping they would soon tire of their unproductive looting and leave, but they seemed intent on destroying each unit.

Steve was in a quandary, 5 armed men(he could see pistols on the men and one had a rifle) in this maze would be too risky. The men were so intent on their task and Steve so intent on watching the men, no one noticed the elderly woman approaching. When the rifle toting looter's head disappeared in a shower of red mist everyone noticed! Steve hit the ground and two of the men standing outside watching the other two ransack and plunder the unit, reached for their pistols. A second looter took another shotgun blast lower in the chest and also dropped to the ground never to move again. The second man must have taken a pellet or two cause he was yelling and cussing up a storm as he dragged himself into the shallow entryway of the next unit. Why she was taking out the men Steve didn't know but she was the lesser of two evils right now. Steve got up and ran around the far end of his row of units. Another 50 yards and he was in a position to fire directly into the storage unit the men were hold up in.

As Steve looked around the corner he could see the men in the shed, hiding behind some furniture. The woman would fire into the unit bouncing shot throughout the unit. From the looks of terror on the looter's faces she had been lucky with a few pellets. Every time they got the nerve to stick a gun out to shoot she would fire again driving the men back under cover. Still she could not have unlimited ammo, especially since shotgun ammo was so heavy. Steve sighted through the 4x scope mounted on the receiver cover along the rear of the SKS. Squeezing the trigger sent a 123gr missile through the men's cover like a hot knife through butter. The first round entered the largest of the men under his outstretched arm, slicing into his heart coming to rest against the lowest rib. The second man turned to meet the new threat and to his share of lead center of mass removing two vertebra as it passed through his chest.

Steve heard the shotgun answer his shots and saw that the last man had tried to stand and maybe surrender but the blast had ruined his day forever. The silence and powder smell hung in the air after the last man had fallen like fog across a pond on an early morning. The silence was interrupted by a rough voice calling out.

"Hey stranger" the voice said "Come out nice and slow, and lets talk"

Steve eased around the corner, watching each body as he passed making sure the dead did not come to life. He reached the end of the truck she had taken cover behind, and saw a little Afro-American grandmother holding a Remington semiautomatic 20gauge with the confidence of someone that had handled one many times before. Seeing his look she chuckled in the way the elderly do when they don't have their false teeth in.

"Looks like you ain't one of them bad guys, so relax" she said pointing toward the looters.

"They beat my grandson up pretty bad the other day. He's the only one I got left, and they beat him up for what he had in his pockets. Five dollars that's all they got. I have been waiting for the chance to get these no good lowlife's since then. Them going around beatin up people. Broke in a family's house last week, raped the women and killed the son and the dog. I tried to live and let live, but some folks don't deserve to live. Teach'um to mess with Granny's family! The Good Book says an eye for an eye" She slowly wound down, the anger in her eyes dimming at last.

Steve thought that with the way this adventure was going he would never get home, He had thought that if he was ever stranded, he would find a way to get to his cache and then simply ride home. But it had been one adventure after another. Maybe, if the world ever righted itself he could write a book, make millions...Yeah, right with his luck they would throw him in jail!

The old woman stuck out her hand and with amazing strength shook his hand.

"Marylin Monroe Betty Davis" she said as she shook his hand. Don't ask and most respectful folks just call me Granny Davis.

After seeing what she had just done to a few disrespectful men Steve said "Yes ma’am, Granny Davis it is. You can call me Steve"

"I won't ask you what you are doing here, but stealing ain't a good idea even in these troubled time. The Good Book ain't changed just because the world has, you know."

"Yes mam, I know" Steve said "I wasn't stealing, I rent one of the units in back, and I was just fixing to leave when the looter's showed up."

Eyeing Steve with a look God saved just for wise grandmother's She asked "have ya had breakfast yet?"

"I ate a couple Pop-tarts earlier" Steve replied

"That ain't no breakfast to start a long journey on young man, follow me. The least I can do for your help. You can meet ma Grandson, you'll like him" Granny Davis said as she turned to walk away.

"Wait a minute" Steve said "let me get my things and we will take the truck. Them boys sure won't be needing it where they're at"

Again she laughed "I surely do like your thinking, these old bones like riding more than walking any day."

Steve thought as he turned back toward his unit, "bet she could out walk me if she had a mind to."

Steve retrieved his bike and after one last check, closed and locked the door, and rode to the truck. He opened the back door carefully and noticed the back was about one third full but didn't take time to see what was inside. He just put his bike in the back(that was an effort in itself loaded down like it was) and helped Granny Davis into the cab.

Steve returned to the looters and checked each one, removing anything of value, and picking up their guns and ammo. Granny Davis might need something more than that scatter gun in the future. Finished with his chore Steve climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine for the short run to Granny's house.

Granny Davis explained how she had been waiting for the chance to remove the 5 men from God's earth. She had seen them harass and abuse others in the area. When she had spotted their truck slowly moving past, she had got the old shotgun out and followed them on foot, moving easily between houses as they circled the block. When they had turned into the drive of the Storage Co. she thought she would get her chance.

She got her chance, thought Steve as he pulled into the drive of a small country house.
"I still got a couple of eggs left from this mornings laying if'n you want some" She said as Steve helped her down.

Steve replied that eggs would be great if it did not short her any. She told him of the chickens, guineas, and rabbits she raised along with the garden. She said she had enough canned up to last until the garden came in plus some extra.

As Steve entered the house he noticed a man leaning against a door trying to hold a big 45colt revolver. Steve could tell he was hurting from the look on his face, from the look on Granny Davis when she noticed him, Steve knew this was the Grandson.

She introduced Steve as she gently fussed at the man, and with Steve's help led him back to bed. From the battered and puffy face and the way he moved the man had sustained a heavy beating.

While Steve was not a doctor, or even a qualified medic, he had taken the military courses for combat troops and the expanded course for Special Forces. He had also taken several Red Cross courses, and even a few college-nursing courses with his wife. The man had been introduced as Johnny, Steve asked him to lay back and relax while he got his first aid kit. Steve wrestled the bike back off the truck and parked it on the porch where he could keep an eye on it and removed the medical bag. One advantage with having a nurse for a wife was being able to get a more complete medical kit, of course there was also playing doctor with her, he thought with a mental smile.

After checking Johnny over Steve decide he could have been much worse. A few broken ribs that would heal, maybe a bruised kidney, a split lip and a very sore body, along with one swollen eye was the extent of his injuries. Steve wrapped his ribs to stabilize them and gave him a few of his darvosets for the pain. He took one of the pills immediately and soon was sleeping easily.

Granny Davis called him to a breakfast of eggs, biscuits and gravy with a little bacon in it. Steve ate with a smile on his face as each bite rolled over his taste buds. After wiping his plate with the last of his biscuit he got up, put his plate in the sink and gave Granny Davis a kiss on the check.

"Thanks for a great breakfast and a trip down memory lane" He said "Reminded me of my Grandmother's cooking" he added at the look on her face.

"Guess I had better be going, thanks again for the food" Steve said.

She thanked Steve again for his help earlier as well as for looking after her grandson. Steve handed her the keys to the storage unit since he didn't think he would need it again. Take whatever you can use he said. There wasn't much left but he had stored plenty of food in case he had someone with him when he stopped by. He has left about a third of it behind. He had also carried the guns he had picked up from the looters inside, maybe they would now be used for good he thought.

He told her he would back the truck around to the back and mentioned he had found a couple of generators inside the back when he had removed the bicycle. When Johnny was better maybe he could set them up for her, since the van was gasoline powered they could drain the tanks and use the fuel for the generators.

Granny Davis looked at him and said "you ain't bad for a white boy, ya know"

Coming from someone that had seen so much in a lifetime Steve figured that was about as great a compliment as she could give.

Smiling, he thanked her again, and walked to the truck. After backing it around to the back, he walked back to the front, gave the keys to Granny Davis along with another light peck on the cheek. Pushing off he started pedaling in the direction his map had indicated, heading for the distant railroad tracks.

**Christian for Israel** · 12-10-2010, 02:44 AM

Chap 16 - Homeward Bound

As Steve peddled away from Granny Davis he turned his thought toward his future. He had a few miles to go before he reached his destination. He had discovered an abandoned railroad on a map a couple of years ago, that investigation had shown him was still usable. He had at first wanted to get a motorcycle for his "GOOD" transportation. He could never resolve a safe means of storing fuel in his storage unit. He was afraid the summer temperature would cause fumes to escape and some idiot would drop a lit cigarette then whoosh his cache goes up in a fireball. All that ammo going off would make it interesting for any bystanders. No, he figured plan "B" would be better, so he bought a decent Mountain bike and equipped it with Airfree tires so he would not have to worry about flats. Then he had run across that site about rail bikes and had made up the rail guides soon after. Finding a suitable railroad path was his next hurdle. After spending the money on a few books he had located the unused railway between Conway, SC and Myrtle Beach, SC. If it was still passable end to end he could get to Georgetown, SC and then take the regular rail line to Charleston and on south to Florida.

Steve had a couple of things in his favor, first was the fact that from what he could find out from Granny Davis and his radio, most of the serious trouble was in the larger cities. The Homeland Security Director had placed all the alphabet agencies under his control. Teams of FBI, DEA and other agencies had been dispatched to the major trouble areas to "assist" the local departments and to act as an interface to the HLS. The problem was most local departments had an ingrained mistrust of those agencies in the first place, and second the teams were abusing their newfound power. The worst decision the HLS director made was using the BATF as his shock troops. Several clashes between them and the local populations had already resulted in bloodshed on both sides.

As long as he stayed near small towns and avoided the larger towns as much as possible he hoped to avert trouble with either the law, the military (which was being used to protect government installations and their immediate areas), or other groups looking for a fight.

One problem he had to face was the fact that the railway he planned to travel on had been abandoned years before and had not been maintained. It might be too choked with weed growth to allow easy passage. He had traveled along some of the rails, but not all, as time had not permitted. It was always something he needed to do, but had not made time. Still it was his safest and most direct route to Georgetown where he could pick up the active line. Since the trouble started trains had stopped their runs. Then the Government had stepped in and protected the trains with troops and had even started using a scout train with a couple of flat cars with older M48 and M551 tanks. The scout train would move just ahead of the heavy ladened main train ensuring its safety. Still, except for those trains, the rails were mostly empty. Apparently terrorists had used explosives to derail a couple of trains out west, causing a panic. People and businesses alike had tried to avoid the railroads, but too much was moved by the railway, as well as trucks, so the government had to act to ensure at least some supplies moved across the land.

It was late afternoon when Steve finally located the rails. He had placed the location in his GPS but still almost missed his entry point, it was so grown over. He carefully slid through the growth, looking for a clear area, pushing the laden bike. He struggled along for over a mile until he finally could see the track area clearing. From the looks of the area, strewn with empty bottles and other signs of youth, he had stumbled into a local party area. The results of multiple cars traveling along the unused tracks had kept the growth controlled. He doubted there would be a party tonight but still pulled back into the nearby woods to make camp. Moving through the brush had eaten up most of the daylight and Steve wanted plenty of light to get the bike set up. He wanted to have a full day to get used to traveling by rail bike.

The bike allowed him to carry much more than otherwise, but it could still be a handful moving along the less than level ground. He finally located a spot he thought ideal for a night camp. He first stretched a brown tarp, using the bike as one wall, down to the edge of a patch of heavy underbrush. The tarp would keep the dew off and protect him from any sudden shower or dropping sticky tree sap. A plastic ground cloth over which he laid his lightweight sleeping bag on top of a thermorest mattress. His shelter completed he next turned to fixing supper. He had not stopped for lunch, instead munching on a granola bar and some dried fruit. It curbed his hunger but his body needed calories if he wanted to continue his travels in top form. He had eaten a large breakfast , had a light lunch, so he decided to have a medium size supper.

"Let's see" he thought "Government gourmet or Charlie tuna?" Since he had hardly seen anyone throughout the day, and no one since turning onto the tracks, he decided to cook a hot meal. Using his stove he boiled a handful of Ramein noodles. Once soft he added some butter powder, cheddar cheese powder, a few spices, a little olive oil from a plastic bottle and a pouch of Charlie's buddies(tuna). It was amazingly good and a hot meal might be a rarity in the future.

His main meal over he cleaned up, returned the gear to its proper place in case he needed to leave in a hurry, and lay back on his bed. Turning on the short wave, he enjoyed a brownie from his storage while sipping from a cup of Crystal lite powdered lemonade.

Nothing he heard on the radio gave his morale a boost. Certain senators from Massachusetts and California were making statements that citizens should be willing to accept fewer freedoms, and of course fewer guns, for the safety of all. With the liberal press giving max air time to their statements and little to the opposing views. What started as a united country against terrorism had suddenly fragmented into anarchy. More business's were closing as workers were either afraid to travel or afraid to leave their families alone. Gangs were becoming more open and bold, crime more prevalent, as food become scarce and police more overworked. The terrorists now only showed when ever things seemed to be getting under control, doing just enough to keep the pot simmering. The borders were now being patrolled by the military with shoot on sight orders but the damage had been done. Enough terrorists had crossed over from Mexico to keep things stirred up until nothing could stop the fall. He turned off the radio, rechecked his SKS, and the Makarov, and made sure his web gear was close by, then finally closed his eyes. He mulled over what he had heard while the excited voices of reporters were replaced with nature's more calming night sounds. His subconscious picked up insects looking for a meal, frogs looking for a mate, even a few owls to make the night seem haunted.

Steve awoke with a start reaching for the comforting feel of the Makarov. One minute he was calmly listening to nature the next he was rudely awakened by the change from nature's night shift to its day shift. Steve continued to lay there until he was reassured by the sounds that everything was normal. Steve mentally prepared himself for the day, going over what he needed to do to prepare for the trip.

He sat up and reached for his web gear. He did not want to be without the basic support it contained for one moment. He plundered through his food bag and selected his morning breakfast and also transferred his lunch to his web gear. He planned to eat a good breakfast and a light lunch so he would not have to stop if things were going smoothly.

He finished his food, cleaned up his utensils, packed his bedding and rolled up the tarp. With his bike repacked and ready he pushed the bike to the edge of the tracks and checked the area from cover until he was sure he was alone. He next extended the rail supports and locked them in place. He had used a different outrigger wheel from the original design, deciding to use one he found on a different website, that was flanged. His test rides had been very encouraging, staying on track even when the rails had some growth over it.

Steve pushed the bike onto the rails, dropped the front rail guide, selected the proper gear and started off.
He was very tentative at first. He still found it hard to believe the bike would ride the rails and be guided without his steering the bike. But soon he was able to relax and spend more time watching his surroundings and less time watching the tracks. He had strapped on kneepads as well as elbow pads in case he was derailed, he had also selected one of the unisex bikes without the top rail of traditional "boy" bikes. Since the rails were 7 inches higher than the ground, if he was derailed or had some other trouble, he did not want to end up sliding over onto a top bar. He did not want to sing soprano for awhile either, been there done that, as had every male that has ever ridden a bike with a top bar.

The tracks meandered through the forest, passing on raised beds through the normal swamp and lowlands popular in the South, occasionally crossing a dirt road and once a four-lane blacktop. Each time he came to a road he stopped and made sure no one was around, otherwise he kept on pedaling watching for anything abnormal. He had passed a few houses back at the start but saw no one moving about.

Twice he got a harsh wake up call when something on the track derailed him, giving him a pounding as the bike bounced along the rail bed. The Airfree(1) tires took the beating without a problem, giving him one less thing to worry about. The tires gave a stiffer ride, but he would gladly sacrifice comfort for reliability, as long as the bike preformed. The money spent for a bike of better quality than the normal Wally world bikes was proving to be a great investment. The gears meshed smoothly and the seat cushioned the ride even with the hard tires. He did have to stop a few times to hack a path through areas that had given way to mother nature, his machete making short work of the briars and vines. He also got an adrenaline rush when he surprised an early morning cottonmouth sunning on the open roadbed. He raised his legs on instinct as soon as he saw movement and avoided the angry strike. When his heart slowed down to a more normal rate he took his first breath since the sighting. He also slowed down his pedaling, that had increased without his realizing it, and hoped the moisture on the seat was sweat from the extra effort.

Georgetown was about thirty miles from Murrells Inlet by road, but the tracks were a more direct route, chopping about 7 or 8 miles off the journey. He hoped that by steadily pedaling, with only occasional rest stops, he could make the trip by day's end. The old trestle over the river in Georgetown was long gone so he would have to cross over the main bridge. He planned to stop in time to observe the bridge while still daylight, and if all looked ok, cross during the night. If he could keep going without any major problems he would be on the south side of Georgetown by early morning. He would rest up tomorrow and then continue on tomorrow night. The rails paralleled the highway, about 75ft off the roadway, so he wanted to travel them during the night if possible.

The last few miles were the toughest, of course. Two more derailments and a wall of brush made him decide to abandon the rails. He folded the outriggers and pushed the bike through the brush and weeds after hacking a path through the heavier stuff. It seemed that this area had not been traveled in quite a while and nature had recovered her property. Steve finally broke out onto a small country dirt road, tired from the machete work, he decided to follow the road to the main highway. His GPS indicated he was only about 2 and three quarter miles from the bridge, so he was close enough to risk the highway. Of course the mileage was as the crow flies, and he first had to get to the highway. He was behind schedule, but couldn't see where he could have traveled any faster. "Plans always fall apart once you implement them", his old Gunny had said, and this one surely was even if only a little bit.

The old dirt road made a sharp turn to the right, around an old Oak tree, then back to the left ending at the blacktop of US-17. Stopping in a depression not far from the oak tree, Steve rested his weary legs and arms. Lunch had been a passing thought, and from the way his stomach was complaining that thought was loong past. Steve knew a man could go for weeks without food, but could not maintain the effort he was expending for long, without fuel. Now was the time Steve appreciated the alcohol burner, since it's flame was almost invisible and it had little smell. He carefully set up his poncho around the stove, blocking out any light that might escape from its flames, and heated some water. He refilled his water bottles from his main supply adding more Gatorade, along with a packet of lemon scarfed from another fast food joint. The lemon juice enhanced the flavor and the extra acid cut through his thirst better, he had found. He dropped a pouch of Thai Chicken into the water to heat and opened a pouch of spiced cinnamon apples. He had a few flameless heaters, but wanted to keep them for a time when a fire was totally out of the question.

Steve finished up his meal and policed his trash, storing it in a gallon size zip lock bag for later disposal, better to not leave any evidence he had been here if possible. He then decided to do something he had been lax in so far, take care of his teeth. Pulling out the toothbrush, he had shortened with a fine tooth saw and sanded, and a pill bottle of baking soda he brushed his teeth and felt much better. He had found out that everything a person could do to maintain a "normal" routine, even during times of hardship, improved morale and helped keep depression away.

Personal hygiene complete, he packed up, checked the ground for evidence of his passing, and started off once again. He pushed the bike to the main road and after checking for trouble headed for the bridge. Waterways would be his major obstacles, each bridge was a choke point that needed to be investigated before crossing, starting with this one.

Nearing the bridge he stashed the bike, carefully covering it with brush, and taking the SKS moved to a spot where he could observe the whole bridge. He glassed the bridge using his small folding binoculars noting nothing out of the ordinary, if absolutely no traffic or movement can be called normal. The last remnants of the sun still painted the skies dark umber as he returned to his bike. Deciding to wait on complete darkness, he sat back and enjoyed the last moments of the sun while he mentally traced the route he would take through the streets of Georgetown, to the rail line he wanted to use.

(1) Airfree Tires - http://www.airfreetires.com/
(Posted 06/04/03 10:25pm)

**Christian for Israel** · 12-10-2010, 02:45 AM

Chap 17 - Old Softy

When the last rays of light had been extinguished by the darkness, Steve prepared to travel. He first needed to stretch the muscles that had stiffened up while he had rested. He had almost fallen asleep thinking about his travel route. To distract him from his weariness he tuned his radio to 162.440mhz, the local weather frequency and listened as the mechanized voice recited the reports. Not the most entertaining thing to listen to, but he did find out a front was approaching and he could expect rain late tonight or tomorrow. While traveling on a bike in the rain was not the most enjoyable experience he could think of, he welcomed it. It would hopefully keep everyone indoors giving him a greater chance of passing through the night undetected or at least unmolested.

He wished he had been able to carry the radio in his BOB bag, even with its diminutive size and weight, but he knew the weight would add up in a hurry so he had stored it in his cache. It only received AM/FM and the weather channels since one with short wave was either too big or too expensive.

Rested and stretched, he started out. He had noted nothing out of the ordinary before, and if anything, even less was happening. Selecting a lower gear on the bike in anticipation of the climb up the bridge he started off. Being this exposed made him nervous, he kept checking his SKS in its perch on the handlebars, but he did not have a choice. Once he made the peak of the bridge he leaned forward letting the bike gather speed on the downhill run. Like a downhill racer readying for the jump into space he sailed on, looking for anything unusual, as well as a place to run if need be.

Letting the bike slow to a more sedate pace he continued on until he came to the Georgetown IceHouse. The site of the old place brought a feeling of deja vu. As a teen he had spent a few weeks each summer with an Aunt and Uncle on his mother's side here. The old IceHouse was almost a landmark at the junction of two main roads in the town. His Uncle, now retired and living in Jacksonville, had been one of the influences on his personality. The Uncle had taught him about guns, cars and the "things" a young man needed to know. They had become almost brothers instead of Uncle and nephew.

Cruising slowly by the Burger King he stayed in the shadows as much as possible. He continued past the Hess station following the back roads seeking the Andrews Highway (521). He would take Alt US17 cutting across until he picked up the southbound rails. They would take him through the middle of the Francis Marion National Forest. He would stay on the rails until Charleston, there he would have to follow 526 until he crossed the Ashley river. He could then pick up the rails and follow them until Savannah, Ga. Crossing the Ashley was what worried him, it was a natural choke point for anyone coming into Charleston and near the Air Force base. It was less of a problem since the Navy base had been closed a few years ago, but still a worry.

He had about a 20-mile ride ahead of him. He wanted to be near the track by morning. If he could find a spot to safely rest, he would lay up and travel tomorrow night. The homes around here were mostly tobacco farms, spread out over the countryside. Good, hard working people affected by the hardships less than their city brethren. Still he did not want to come to the attention of any of them. Most had grown up hunting, fishing and trapping and were pretty good shots.

It had been a long day and his endurance was not as great as he would like it to be, still he made it to the rail side with a couple of hours of darkness to spare. He thought about pressing on into the Forest, but decided to find a spot nearby. Fortunately civilization had not completely expanded to here. The area was mainly posted lands used by the paper mills to grow pine trees, and as leased hunting clubs. Since legal hunting season was over he figured he was reasonably safe back in the trees if he stayed away from any stands or corn piles used for baiting deer in South Carolina.

A lot of the ride had been in near darkness. He wished he had been able to save enough cash to buy night vision goggles, but they were an item way down his list of things to buy. He had mounted an LED light on the steering arm of the rail guide aimed down at the road. It cast a small beam but kept him from running off the road a few times. He had used the high intensity orange LED's from Radio Shack, mounting 6 of them across the mount and connecting them to his 12v gel cell battery which he would charge using the Solar charger he had keep from the canoe. If he needed more light he could turn on a 4 LED white beam or with a flick of a switch activate the Xenon filament lighting up the whole roadway, something he hoped he didn't have to do. If you can see, you can be seen!

Finding a spot to enter the Forest he pushed the bike into the woods. It felt good to get off the bike and stretch. He felt as if he could curl up around a log and fall sleep. But he had a few things to do first. Carefully shining his small White LED light he checked out the area, finding a secluded spot between two trees to camp. He stretched a length of paracord between the trees after threading it through the grommets of his brown tarp. The other end he secured to the ground with a few aluminum spikes. He hooked a couple of bungee straps from the side grommets down to the ground. The bungee's were easy to put on and easy to take off and would provide some give if the wind picked up, stopping the tarp from fluttering. The rain had been light but steady since he had started last night providing good cover but lousy travel conditions. He welcomed the chance to dry off and get out of the rain. Spreading his plastic ground cloth under the tarp, after removing any unwelcome sticks or rocks, he prepared his bed as usual. He removed his clothes, dried off with the brown towel he carried, cleaned up with a wipes and dressed in the forever handy grey sweats. He hung his clothes over the bike to air dry some, though with 100% humidity he figured they would still be wet tomorrow.

The rain had begun to fall harder now so he took a small piece of plastic and ran it under the back of the tarp. Using his small trowel and his bushman knife he dug a small depression under the plastic. As the rain ran down the tarp it was collected on the plastic and funneled into the hole. Using his waterfilter he pumped the water into each of his empty water bottles. Within a short time he had refilled his supply and dismantled his collection device. Though he was hungry the sound of the falling rain was lulling him to sleep. Snuggling into his bed he fell fast asleep listening to nature's sound machine.

Steve awoke, in the late afternoon, with the ground shaking and a loud rumbling nearby. He quickly dressed in the slightly damp clothes, laced his boots on, and grabbed his web gear and SKS. Moving toward the sound, he kept a tree between him and the tracks. The front guard train had just passed, its front flat car holding an M551 Sheridan, and the flat car on the rear had a group of soldiers housed within a cargo container with a sandbagged 40mm grenade launched at the rear. The M551 might not be considered front line anymore but it's 152mm gun was more than enough to clear the tracks of trouble.

Steve watched as the lead train passed and the cargo train approached. The cargo train also had a flat car on the front, this one with an older M113 complete with 50cal. Four engines, followed by four tank cars and then container cars too many to count. Within the middle of the train another flat car, with its cargo container of troops, watched over the cargo. Steve had never witnessed a train as long as this one, it seemed to take all morning to pass, finally Steve saw a caboose attached supporting more antennas' than NORAD with another flat car supporting a Bradley. A lot of firepower to insure the supplies made it through. The sheep probably thought the government did it all for them, never realizing its only purpose was to give the people hope and allow the noose of control to pass uncontested over their heads.

Wow! Was all Steve could say. Bet few of those are attacked! He returned to his camp glad he was not ahead of that train. Even as large as it was it could not support many people and from what he had heard they only made about one run a week. Hauling food and supplies from one city to the next making a circular run dropping off cars and picking up cars as it went. Just enough government support trickling in to keep the masses under control. Even with the trains' runs food and medicine was in short supply. The ones that depended on maintenance medication to live slowly died as their life sustaining drugs ran out. Hunger killed more, and as more died and the infrastructure to handle the dead became overwhelmed. Disease killed even more. The fragile mirror of civilization shattered by just a few terrorist acts. A few dirty bombs to plant a radiation scare, then normal bombs exploding bridges, generating plants, oil refineries and Airports. Bombs that caused people to avoid the areas, even to help the injured due to the fear radiation may be present. Smallpox had been released in a few of the larger cities, Chicago, Detroit, LA, Dallas. Not many, since Smallpox was not available in sufficient quantity to the terrorist, but enough to overwhelm the medical support. As frightened people fled each city, they spread the disease further before the government could get the cities locked down.

While the normal radio stations broadcast the government's propaganda, a few pirate stations tried to spread the truth. Most people preferred to listen to the lies spread by their government, comforted by fiction rather than stirred by facts. The Republicans may have been in power, but the turmoil in the country caused them to act like politicians everywhere. They implemented the executive orders already on the books, ready to place the blame on past Presidents and Congressmen, rather than make decisions themselves.

Steve ate a heavy dinner of Instant Dehydrated Whole Bean's (1), Hot sauce and Minute Rice washed down with a cup of coffee. Dusk was approaching as he packed his gear and readied the bike for the trip. He inspected the bike over, checking tires, spokes and the tightness of the major bolts. Steve pushed the bike out to the tracks after verifying no one was around. Once again he extended the outrigger and set the bike on the track (2).

Steve started out slowly, working out the kinks. He would have preferred to have been around a fire having a second cup of coffee instead of pedaling down an active track. Who was he kidding, he would rather be in bed getting served breakfast by his wife, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to survive. The train was far enough ahead, he could not even feel the vibration of its passage in the tracks, now if it would just stay that way.

He made good time, the rain had passed on during the day leaving a humid blanket behind. Steve was sure he was within the National Forest by now, for he saw nothing but trees, brush, or swamp in the rising moonlight. He crossed over a few dirt crossroads and one single lane blacktop road but each was devoid of life as he passed by. He pedaled on through the night thankful for the misting fog that drifted over and around him as he passed by, It would mute his travel and hide his passage.

Around 1am, just as he decided he would stop for midrats, two glowing eyes appeared out of the night along with a rattle of brush. Steve reacted by instinct, ending up on the ground holding his SKS with no remembrance of doing it. The bushes kept rattling, the eyes appearing randomly, with a growling sort of whimper. Steve's pulse rate slowed as the danger signals diminished. He carefully got up ready to dive down if a threat appeared. Now standing fully upright, the danger signals gone, replaced with a curiosity, Steve pointed his flashlight toward the brush. The light, more powerful than the LED light he normally used, showed a scene that almost made him laugh with relief. The pack of wolves he had anticipated turned out to be a young dog caught in the briers. From his look he had been there for awhile, barely able to lunge, trying to escape.

Steve walked over to the bike, which had stayed on the track somehow, but had slowly stopped a short distance away. He took out his leather gloves and a pair of pruning shears. He liked the shears for trimming brush around his hunting stand and had packed them out of habit. Returning to the dog he surveyed the scene deciding how best to approach. Slowly reaching out he cut away some of the briars and vines. Now that he was closer he could tell the dog was exhausted and wary, watching his every move. Looks like an American mastiff (3) he thought, only about a year old. The dog had a collar, but no tag, that had become entangled in a strand of barbwire. With the brush cut away, Steve exchanged the shears for his Gerber multi-lock. Reaching very slowly toward the dog he prepared to cut away the wire. A weak growl warned Steve to be careful as he slipped the jaws around the wire near the collar. Squeezing the handles he snipped the wire but pulled it as he did so. The dog reacted to the pressure by snapping at him. Steve jerked his hand away by reaction, but was aware the dog had not really wanted to bite him.

"You flea bitten mangy hound, I'm trying to help you and you snap at me" exclaimed Steve "I ought to tie you back up myself"

One look at the fur around the collar told the story why. The hair around the area was scrapped away and the wire had bit into the flesh tearing it as the dog had struggled to be free. Gently pulling away the wire, Steve talked to the dog in a reassuring voice. The dog seemed to know Steve was trying to help but still growled his displeasure at times. Finally the dog was free but still seemed unsure. Steve gently lifted him up and carried him to a clear area. Here was as good a place to rest as any, he thought as he retrieved his bike and folded the outriggers. If the dog had an owner he wanted to return to, here was his chance Steve thought, but the dog was still in the same place when he returned.

He poured some water into a Ziplock bag and offered it to the dog placing it beside his mouth. The dog lapped the water like it was nectar from the gods. “Guess it's been awhile, eh boy” said Steve. He knew he should not have risked helping the animal, but he had always had a soft spot for dogs. Taking a pouch of tuna from his bag he opened it and placed it beside the dog. One simple sniff and then it was gone in a few licks. “I can see you love to eat boy, but my supplies are limited, so I guess that will have to do for now. Let's see if I can clean up your wounds.” Steve unbuckled the collar and removed it with only one growl and a slight show of teeth from his new friend. Retrieving his first aid kit, Steve cleaned the wound, as well as a cut he found on the front leg, that had started to become infected. Once the wounds were cleaned and bandaged, Steve brushed away the dog's coat checking for other wounds and removing the briars that had stuck.

Finished with the dog, Steve heated a bigger meal than normal and shared with the pooch. “Well if you aren't leaving then I guess you need a name. Hmmm, how about Rommel? Yea, that seems to fit, so Rommel you'll be.” ‘Ok, now that you've adopted another stray what are you going to do with him?’ Steve thought as he set the bike back on the track, but this time he added the cargo net he had made, onto the supports. It would handle the dog's weight but it was a good thing he was not full grown, his breed could top out at 100 pounds.

Steve carried the dog and placed him in the net where he settled in like he belonged, with one eye ****ed as if to say, let's go, what are you waiting for?

Great, here he was a combat tested veterian. A rough, tough truck driving man.
Reduced to a chauffer by a 40 pound mutt. What's next, a nursemaid?

All the support he got from Rommel was a small bark, telling him to get moving.

Steve could tell the added weight was there, but not enough to bother him once he got used to it. Why could he not avoid helping everyone and mind his own business? Oh well at least the dog could pay his own way, his senses could detect trouble well before Steve's.

(1) Instant Dehydrated Whole Bean's - http://www.u-s-foods.com/ourproductspage.htm
(2) WARNING! Using active tracks is foolish except in emergencies or TEOTWAWKI situations.
(3) American mastiff - http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/americanmastiff.htm

Chapter 18 - Dog Food or Rommel's Revenge

Steve pressed on. Mile after mile he peddled, watching each ambush spot, stopping to check each crossroad or open area he came to, Rommel looking at him as if to say "Why worry, I'm here". Steve knew the dog could detect problems well before him, but the dog was still an unproven partner. Just like a new firearm, you did not trust it until it had been proven. Besides Steve just liked to stay in a combat mode, he might become too trusting and relax at the wrong time.

One problem he needed to work out was food for Rommel. He had not planned on supporting a growing pup and his food would not maintain them both for long, he needed to find something that would feed Rommel. People food was in short supply but maybe animal food could be located. Feed stores were readily available in this part of the world, if he could only find one. Find one without being compromised, that is.

As daylight appeared Steve decided to stop. He had been peddling all night and had been gearing down the last couple of hours. He needed to stop before he came to a slow crawl. According to his GPS he was near the edge of the National Forest, getting closer to populated areas. He did not want to chance an encounter with the general public, so he decided to stay within the confines of the Forest.

He did not set up the tarp as usual, he wanted to keep a low profile. This close to any town might find hunters coming into the wood looking for food. It did not look like rain was in the forecast for a few days and without the tarp he could react faster if he was discovered. He did lay the tarp down as a ground cloth and place his bag on top of it. He could fold the tarp over him if needed, otherwise he would leave it to the side to allow any breeze to flow over him.

He watered Rommel, giving him his last bag of tuna and a couple of sticks of beef jerky. It might not fill him up, but he might stop licking his lips each time he looked at Steve. Once more Steve debated the wisdom of bringing the dog along, but once again knew he could not have left him.

"Guess I'm just an old softy." Said Steve as he rubbed Rommel's neck "I'll figure out something for you to eat, besides me"

The look Rommel just happened to give Steve was priceless, like saying "you better hurry up, half rations are getting old!"

Steve finished his preparations, cleaned up, and set down to a meal of Dinty Moore Turkey & Dressing. The American classics meal that only needed heating and needed no refrigeration. They were not as sturdy as MRE's but came close and were cheaper as well as easier to obtain. He simply spooned (sporked?) them into his canteen cup and heated the meal over his burner. Steve drank as much as possible trying to stay hydrated, even if water became hard to find he wanted to store it in his body, not in his canteens.

He checked Rommel's wounds, dressing them with ointment from his first aid kit. Rommel calmly waited through the exam without even a growl. The neck wound had scabbed over nicely and the leg wound was not as red as before.

"Guess your feeling better, right boy?" Steve asked.

Rommel licked him in the face in reply. Just having the dog made Steve feel less alone and nervous, even if he added to his problems.

Steve slipped into his bed and smiled as Rommel snuggled beside him. Steve told the dog goodnight, almost like a brother, and rubbed his neck one more time.

Dropping off to sleep at once, he slept like the dead, letting his subconscious and Rommel's senses protect them.

He awoke after 7 hours in another world. A world of peace, without the need for bullets or violence, and of freedom. He awoke into a world full of madness, but one in which he lived and intended to keep on living.

It was still light, his watch showed 4:12pm, as he opened his eyes. Steve spent the last hours of daylight checking his ride for troubles. All after emptying his bladder, of course. That was the downside to staying hydrated.

Steve removed the handy folding binoculars and moved toward the edge of the forest, which ended at a two lane country blacktop road. A small township, more like a self-supporting subdivision, lay before him. He could see a few houses in the distance, and a new gas station with its ever-present fast food add-on. Closer he could see a taxidermist waiting for a good ole boy's latest conquest, and next door right on the corner of two roads sat a Feed/Hardware store just waiting for a customer. Maybe his luck was changing, Steve thought. Now if the store was open, had what he needed, and he could get there and back without getting shot or arrested.

Backing away into the woods once again, Steve made his plans. He could wait until just before dark, then leaving his bike and the mutt here, ease down to the store to see if they had the answer to one of his problems.

Steve returned to camp to find Rommel with a "What's for dinner look."

"Looks as if you will have to wait a little longer to eat, Rommel" Steve said as he poured water for the dog.

As much as he wanted to, Steve knew he could not walk down to the store looking like Poncho Via after a hard days ride. He decided to carry his Makarov in his pocket and leave the rest hidden along with the bike. Rommel could watch over it until he returned. It was the least he could do in return for the risk Steve was taking. Anyway, this would be a way to pick up information on the area. The locals would have a better idea of the local countryside than anyone else.

As the shadows of daylight lengthened Steve tucked his shirt in and re-combed his hair. He added his Bushman knife as an afterthought since it was common around here to carry a working knife on your belt. Once again Steve debated the idea of going into a strange town almost unarmed. He would rather have carried his SKS and worn his combat harness, But once again he decided the town folks would be more receptive to a stranger if he was not dress to kill, literally. Prepared, if not ready, Steve carefully crossed the road and started for the Store. He wanted to reach it before it got dark but not in full daylight.

As he approached the store he could see the windows had been covered with plywood on the inside, giving a more normal appearance on the outside, but some protection for those on the inside. Steve cautiously ascended the steps cringing when the top step creaked loudly. Crossing to the door, he reached to open it, and found it already open. He could not see inside without fully opening the door, but he could not hear anything unusual or usual, for that matter. Steve called out as he stepped inside "Hello, anybody here?" His answer was the cool metal of a gun barrel pressed against his skull. The butterflies that suddenly hatched in his stomach were just the opening round, as his glands dumped copious amount of chemicals into his system.

A young, scared sounding voice yelled at him to move around the aisle, accented by an increase in pressure of the gun barrel. The voice didn't check him for weapons, so he was an amateur, thought Steve. But he didn't have a chance to pull his gun without Shaky(as Steve thought of him) pulling the trigger. Shaky pushed Steve around the corner where an older man and woman were kneeling. When Shaky told everyone to stand up, Steve could see they had been physically assaulted. The man had a bleeding nose and lip, the woman had a red mark, the kind a hand would leave, on her cheek. Steve never could tolerate those who abused the elderly, and had to fight to maintain control until he could find an opening to draw his gun. Shaky was yelling again demanding cash, food, and guns. Steve saw the man was very unkempt, with his pants hanging down his butt in the style of today's youth.

The man kept waving the gun around, threatening to shoot the woman if his demands were not met. The store-owner kept trying to tell the man that there was no money, as most everything now was barter. There was a little food in the back, but this was a hardware store not a grocery store. Seems the youth had made a mistake in his choice of stores, he should have tried the food store across the street. Guess he didn't want to have to walk any farther than he had too. Right in the middle of one of his tirades his voice suddenly stopped, as he froze in mid stream. Steve was perplexed for a moment since he had been watching the man's face hoping he would be able to make a move. Steve now heard Rommel growling, nothing like he had heard before, a low rumble originating deep in his chest. Like the rumble of a freight train passing by at speed. This was no threat, this was all business to Rommel. No wonder the man had frozen! With a rush Rommel launched at the man's unprotected back, all teeth and claws. The gun firing into the ceiling as Shaky dropped to the ground, curling into a fetal ball, trying to protect his body. All his squirming around caused his pants to completely finish what the man purposely started, sliding down to his thighs. This inadvertly exposed parts better left protected, especially when 40+ pounds of total fury are unleashed on you. Rommel wrapped his mouth around the man's exposed thigh brushing the twins. This caused such a terror that the man's screams reached a glass shattering frequency and crescendo. Steve called to Rommel, in a commanding voice, to release the man. Several times more Steve called, before Rommel's fury lessened. Steve could tell Rommel's anger went beyond protection, he genuinely hated either the man himself or the type of person the man represented. Maybe the type was the reason Steve found the dog in the first place. Either way, Steve did not approach the dog until he knew the dog was seeing him for who he was. Once his voice penetrated the dog's fury, Steve pulled Rommel away from the cowering figure. Steve now relaxed for the first time since he had stepped on the porch, and addressed the man.

"Fellow, you have the mouth of a very angry and hungry dog considering how much of you to have for dinner. What he almost had his mouth around is only a snack for him, but it is your whole life. If you hand the gun over real, real slow and stay very still I might, just might, be able to convince Rommel to let you go" Steve said as he held out his hand for the gun. "So what will it be, the gun or does Rommel have hor d'orves?"

"Take it, Take it, just keep him away from me" he sobbed

If it had not been for the abuse he had inflicted on the proprietor and his wife Steve would have almost felt sorry for him.

"Now you, you old flea taxi" Steve address the dog "I don't know whether to shoot you for getting me in this mess and then leaving the bike or kiss you for getting me out of trouble."

"Well let me help you make up your mind" said the woman as she gave Rommel the remains of a steak bone and scratched his ears. The crunch of the bone as Rommel's jaw started to work caused the man to whimper once again. This time before anyone could stop her the woman delivered a kick to Shaky that doubled him once again. Her husband grabbed her and held her until the sobs started and then subsided. Steve politely payed attention to Rommel, while watching Shaky recover from the kick, and ignoring the couple.

Once she had regained control, the husband introduced himself as Tim Stockman and his wife as Beth, with a firm handshake. What can we do for you Steve, now that things are somewhat normal.

"Well number one, do you have some duct tape?" asked Steve "We need to secure Shaky here until something can be done about him"

At Steve calling the thug Shaky the man laughed out loud, "No problem, I have some good stuff that will do the job" He said as he walked down a few aisle's and retrieved a roll.

Opening the roll Steve wrapped Shaky's hands and feet, as well as placing a piece over his mouth, more so to hush his cries than anything else. Steve did take the time to disinfect the bites the man had received, though he did not take much care not to hurt him.

Now that the man was secured, Steve could turn his thoughts to the main reason that he had came in the first place.

"Mr. Stockman, I need some dog food for Rommel hear. He's getting tired of eating lite." Steve asked reaching for his wallet.

**Christian for Israel** · 12-11-2010, 03:29 PM

Chap 19 - The Pruett's

Diane wished her mother would just shut up. Ever since they had left the motel all she could talk about was how if it wasn't for Tim the team never would have even made the playoffs. Why did they have to be seated at the third table when they should have sat at the head table, and did you see what the coach's wife was wearing? On and on she went, until Diane had heard enough!

Diane loved her mother, but she was so wrapped up in status, she didn't see what was going on around her. The life they had lived was being destroyed more every day. The Georgia and South Carolina interstate football playoffs had been scheduled just before the terrorists had started tearing America apart. They had all wanted to go home once the first problems had started, but the officials had assured everyone's safety so the games had continued. The banquet had been last night; fortunately the food had been bought in advance so no one went hungry. The small town on the outskirts of Charleston where the championship games had been played was isolated from the real world. Food was still available, with only fuel getting scarce and more expensive. The Mercedes had been fueled with diesel and they could make it home without refueling Dad said, so here they were listening to Mother's complaints.

Dad had wanted to leave early but Mom had taken so much time getting ready, had taken so much time eating and doing the other things she wanted to do before Dad could pack the car, that it had been late afternoon before they left. Mom had insisted she navigate, since men never have a since of direction. She got Dad lost twice before they found I-526 and made it through Charleston. Dad was now worried that they would be stopped before they got home to Savannah. He had been given a pass to cross the checkpoint on the Ashley River Bridge along I-575 but didn't know if it would allow them to pass any impromptu roadblocks.

Dad had once said Diane was 16 going on 21, Tim was 12 going on 18 and their mom was 36 going on 3. Their dad was a great father, spending as much time as he could with them, but 20 plus years of their mother had just worn him down. Rarely did he cross their mom except when it was about the kids. Diane thought back to the time she had wanted to take kickboxing after school instead of cheerleading, Dad had backed her up against her mother. Diane knew it had cost him, but kickboxing won. Her mom turning instead to Tim, and his interest in sports, to satisfy her need to be in the limelight. Diane loved her brother Tim. She could not show it much of course, he was her brother after all, but they were very close.

Soon after passing through Ravenel, South Carolina, they saw a truck on the side of the road with the hood up. One man under the hood and another flagging them down. Her dad had not planned on stopping, but her mom insisted they stop and help since "It was the Christian thing to do". He should have ignored her and kept going. Diane guessed he did not want to drive the rest of the way getting the silent treatment from her. Her dad pulled over and backed up to the truck. After telling the family to stay in the car, he got out to see what their trouble was. Her Dad talked with them a few minutes, then turned, popped the trunk, and bent over into it. Diane figured he was trying to get the toolbox buried under her mom's clothes, but the trunk lid blocked her view.

She had seen that the two men looked like a father and son. The younger one came up to her mother's window, tapped on it, and after her mother lowered it down thanked them for stopping. Diane had felt funny when he looked at her, almost as if he had been undressing her with his eyes. When the man left, she dismissed her feelings as nervousness. She saw the man whisper something to the older man just before the trunk lid rose and blocked her view.

They felt a heavy bump, and at the same time heard a much-muffled voice, almost a yell, from the rear of the car. Diane noticed it had gotten dark and no one else was around when suddenly the two men ran around to the windows, the older man trying to get the driver's door open and the younger pulling on her Mom's door. As the younger man started beating on the window, Diane realized he was trying to distract them while the older man used a key to open the other door. She leaned across the seat and held the door lock as hard as she could; barely keeping it locked against the pressure of the key as she also tried to press the electric lock switch down. The younger man no longer tried to keep them distracted but went around to help the elder open the lock.

Suddenly two things happened, the key broke off in the lock when the younger man took over turning the key and twisted too hard in his exuberance to open the door, and Tim jumped out of the car.

With football season over and baseball season starting, Tim had kept his favorite bat in the car. When he jumped out he carried it with him. His swing would have made his couch proud. He caught the younger man by surprise with a switch-hit homerun across the ribs. Before Tim could turn though the older man pulled a knife and cut Tim's arm forcing him to drop the bat. Tim was yelling for them to run, as well as in pain, when she jumped out of the car. Her lessons in Savate coming in handy as she taught the old man a quick lesson about liberated women. Both men were out of action for a few minutes, so she grabbed her brother and pulled her mother out of the car. Taking a second to grab her backpack from the backseat, she pulled them along as she ran for the railroad track and the woods beyond. She had seen her father lying on the ground in a puddle and somehow knew he was no longer living, but it had not really registered in her consciousness yet. All she knew was to run, to get away from the danger, to escape the men they had left behind.

They ran until they had crossed the tracks and pulled back into the woods, trying to hide. She had seen flashlights following the route they had taken, but soon the light went out as the men left. This was followed by a glow coming from the area where they had been attacked. She could make out flames now, probably from their car, she guessed. She went back to the spot she had left her mother and brother. Reaching for her backpack, she removed the flashlight and checked on her brother. Why she had taken the backpack was still a mystery to her, she had just grabbed it when they ran. She didn't have much that was any benefit to them, but the flashlight came in handy. She could see that Tim's arm was cut bad, he had remembered his Scout training and kept direct pressure on the arm stopping the flow of blood from the cut. When she had him slowly release the pressure it started bleeding again but did not show signs of anything major being cut. She took out one of her two bottles of Evian and cleaned the wound best she could and then made a bandage from one of her feminine napkins held in place with a piece of cloth torn from her shirt. She had felt a little embarrassed when she had torn the package open, but Tim was in too much pain to notice, besides, it was the only thing she had that could stop and contain the bleeding.

Her mother had been next to useless, she wanted to go back to the car and get their father, even when Diane told her what she had seen, her mother wanted to return to the car. Donna just ignored the past events, somehow pretending everything was normal. Only by using Tim's wound could Diane keep her mother from going back to the car. Donna held Tim's head, gently rocking him like he was a baby, tuning out the world around her.

Diane awoke to find her mother asleep with Tim asleep in her lap. Their clothes did not protect them from the ground much; she was damp and stiff from sleeping on it. She slowly got up and started walking, staying behind the tree line until she was even with the car. She crossed the tracks and slid through the high growth until she could see it clearly. The sight turned her insides into Jell-O. The Mercedes that her dad had taken such good care of was just a burned out shell. Apparently, the men had placed her father behind the wheel before burning it to make it look more natural. Everything they had was burned to a crisp or melted beyond use.

She heard a vehicle coming, and turned to see the same truck they had stopped for last night. She pulled back into the bushes, ran back across the tracks, and headed back into the woods. She was not a woodsman, or was that woods woman she thought with a grin, but she did know enough to not head directly back to her family. She took a round about route back to her mother, arriving just as she woke up. Tim was sitting up holding his arm in obvious pain. Diane reached into her small backpack and retrieved the little first aid kit her brother had made in one of his Scout classes. She had first thought it silly and did not want to carry it, but she could tell it meant a lot to him, so had tossed it into the backpack she used at school. After a time it had become so handy, she expanded it into a larger pouch that had once held makeup. She retrieved a couple of ibuprofen and gave it to Tim along with some of the water she had left from washing his wound out.

Diane felt the needed to move farther away from the area. She had heard the truck drive along the tracks stopping once or twice. She knew they were looking for them and didn't want to be around to be found.

She knelt down in front of her mother and relayed what she had seen, trying to get through the mental wall her mother had built. Donna just stared at her until she was finished. Diane then saw a tear slowly trickle down her mother's face.

Diane wanted to move but didn't think either her brother or her mother was capable of moving very far right now. She heard the truck once again, but this time it was traveling away from them. The sun was up, so maybe they were leaving. Diane decided to try to find a better place to rest that would give them protection from the elements, as well as better protection from those predators.

She asked her mother to watch over Tim, telling her she was going to look around. Her mother barely heard her, mumbling an acknowledgment as Diane turned to go. Tim, through pain filled eyes, looked at her with understanding and moved closer to his mom.

Diane felt so out of place, the camping trips she had taken with her father had not prepared her for this.
-----------------------------

Steve asked the storeowner again if he could handle the would be thief by himself. Once again, the owner assured him he could handle him until the sheriff could be reached. So bidding the owner and his wife farewell Steve hoisted the 50lb sack of dog food on his shoulder and carried the doggie bowl Mrs. Stockman had insisted he take. Mr. Stockman had also handed him a small box of doggie treats to take. How he was going to carry the weight Steve was not yet sure. He was afraid of over loading the bike with the added weight of the food and the dog. He would just have to load up and see how it went.

He hoped to get through Charleston tonight, but figured he would have to camp out on this side of the Ashley River and cross tomorrow. He did not want to be caught out in the open during daylight hours. Mr. Stockman had mentioned the old Navy base had been reopened in Charleston as a refugee camp, as well as a place to take troublemakers. If you could not show a reason to be in the area when you were stopped, you were taken to the refugee center for further processing.

Steve knew that once in the government's hands all his supplies would be confiscated. His guns would disappear and his food distributed around, probably into some bigwig's hands.

He arrived back at his bike without incident, happy to find everything still there. What a bonanza for someone to stumble over he thought. He donned his gear and rechecked the packing before pushing the bike out to the rails. Steve adjusted the bike to a more upright position taking a little more weight off the outrigger. He tied Rommel's food above the outrigger and settled Rommel into place. Once again, he started off, but this time a little more carefully than in the past, trying to detect any problems the bike may have with the added weight.

After he had traveled a couple of miles and had gotten up to a good traveling speed he started to relax. The bike seemed to be carrying the added weight just fine. He was glad for the large selection of gears though, it made starting the weight much easier.

They rode through the night making good time. The rail swung out to the North Charleston area and was devoid of life for most of the trip. As he neared the outer city limits, the rails passed closer to the populated areas. He rode through a couple of deserted business areas before swinging parallel to I-526. Rommel acted nervous but did not indicate any danger. Still Steve stayed on high alert until they were well past the business districts.

He next had to cross several swampy areas, as well as a number of smaller streams and rivers, including the Ashley River.

His first major decision came at the first rail bridge. He could make camp here or cross over to the next landmass and make camp there. The map showed the bridge passed over to a small island. On one hand, it would trap him if discovered, but on the other hand, it would narrow down access to his camp.

He decided to cross over and make camp. He wanted to get a feel for crossing a rail bridge on a small scale before attempting to cross the one over the Ashley River, which was quite long. From there he would have to leave the rails for a while as they passed close by the papermill and then headed to the old Navy base. That was some place he did not want to get near!

First light would be soon, so he had better get moving, he thought. His Grandfather had always told him he analyzed everything too much. The old gentleman had said once you decide what to do, just do it, too much thinking will cause you to hesitate or talk yourself into another path. A cloud passed over the moon about then and he started off.

The 5 minutes to cross seemed like a lifetime. Out in the open with no cover and no place to run or hide except into the thick, gooey mud. Each revolution of the pedal seemed to take double effort and the strain of checking the track and watching for danger was immense. Finally he passed into the brush that grew along the banks of the small island hiding him from any watchers that might have seen him.

He breathed in a large breath and slowly released it, letting the tension of the past few minutes ebb as his heart slowed down to a more normal jackhammer pace.

It had been an eventful night, but he had had enough. He found a small-secluded area to make camp that was far enough away from the tracks to make it hard to locate and high enough to stay dry. He carefully checked the area for snakes knowing water moccasins inhabited this area and loved spots like this near water and away from humans.

Satisfied the area was as secure as possible, he made his shelter. He fed Rommel, who gave him that "about time" look and prepared his own breakfast. This morning he would have an MRE heated with an MRE heater, the type that used a little water and through a chemical reaction generated enough heat to warm a meal.

Steve detected one problem with this site he had not figured into his calculations. The BUGS! Mosquitoes and No-seeums. He applied some repellant towelettes, though he hated the stuff. It was oily and made his skin feel warm, but it was better than being a full course meal for a family of 10,000 mosquitoes. He next pulled the lightweight hood he used for hunting over his head. Made of fine netting it helped keep the bugs from his head though the buzzing could be annoying.

He laid out his bedroll and snuggled into the bag. It was really too hot for the bag, but it would keep him isolated from the bugs. Maybe he could get a little sleep through all the buzzing. Rommel lay down nearby. "Good night Rommel" Steve said. Rommel's reply was to raise one eyebrow as if to say "Whatever, now go to sleep"

==============================

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