Contents

  1.  The jewelry run.

  2.  No bill like a no true bill.

  3.  What’s a CME?

  4.  You’re my lifeboat.

  5.  The list.

  6.  A small panic.

  7.  My brothers an idiot, then there’s me.

  8.  The roofs, the roofs, the roofs, are on fire.

  9.  That’s why they call it Hangtown.

10.  Folsom Prison laundry blues.

11.  Nutshot.

12.  The Coalition.

13.  This one’s lunch and that one’s dinner.

14.  Beating heads beats breaking rocks.

15.  Chicken thief.

16.  Here comes the neighborhood.

17.  Asshole reallocation.

18.  Eat the ugly ones first.

19.  Death and destruction.

20.  Bob’s famous last words.

21.  Like fish in a barrel.

22.  Global cooling is a bitch.

23.  The Alamo.

Chapter 1

The jewelry run 

Jerry told his partner Rosa “Thank God for criminals.” Rosa flashed Jerry a smile and they continued looking for a certain jewelry retailer.  They found the retailer in what turned out to be almost the exact middle of the mall.

The retailer was located at a prime spot for window shoppers.  Sunrise Mall’s promenade was shaped like a big “x” or “+” or for Christian types; a cross.  This jewelry retailer was one of the longtime renters of one of the coveted corners where the mall’s open areas intersected.  Every shopper who entered the mall by the Westside main entrance automatically walked within 30 feet of the store enroute to the main promenade.  Macy’s was the anchor retailer to the North and Sears was on the South.

The “x” or whatever section also had benches where weary shoppers could take a breather.  Unfortunately for the jewelry retailer a contingent of the local species of gangbanging A-holes also liked to hang out at the benches. 

The wannabee young thugs mostly ogled any and all jailbait females who happened to pass by.  They also liked to play grabass on a constant basis and were genuinely an annoying nuisance for the mall cops. 

Several times in the past year the night manager of this particular jewelry retailer requested the Segway riding mall cops send these little gangsters on their way.  On each occasion the bad seeds grumbled but left.   Holding up their pants with one hand they flashed gang signs and voiced vague threats into thin air as they sauntered slowly towards the mall exit. 

The night manager noticed that within a few days or a week the little monsters were back-- they always came back.  The mall cops were sympathetic of course but hanging out at the mall isn’t against the law. 

The jewelry store had regular sales with up to 70% savings, you’ve seen the signs.  During these sales the store increased inventory.  This is where Jerry and Rosa entered the picture.  Jerry and Rosa were retired cops. 

The sale was now over for the month at this store and Jerry and Rosa were doing a jewelry run.  A jewelry run is just that.  Licensed and legally armed security officers and or ex-cops pick up and “Run” locked cases of jewelry from one store to another. 

Jerry and Rosa arrived early and made a low key perusal of the immediate area.  They had been warned ahead of time about the local vermin but they were a no show tonight.

Jerry watched Rosa’s back while she made contact with the night manager.  Jerry and Rosa had worked together before and had arrived at this arraignment based on cop logic.  Jerry was best suited as covering officer because he was more of a gun guy.  Rosa was best suite as contact officer because she was a natural charmer.  Rosa approached the counter two minutes prior to the contracted pick-up time, I.D.-ed herself to the manager, and handed him the transfer paperwork.  The manager signed two forms and on cue a sales associate brought out three locked aluminum cases from behind the counter.  Each case was slightly rectangular with sturdy hinged handles on two sides.  Rosa grabbed a box in each hand and Jerry got the third using his off, non-gun hand. 

Jerry and Rosa were independent contractors for the Los Angeles based security company who currently held this contract.  The company transported jewelry for this and other national chains throughout California and the company called jewelry transfer boxes “Crates.”  The first time Jerry hefted one of these crates one handed he understood the nickname.  These cases were about the size of standard milk crates and damn they were heavy.  They were even heavier when filled with enough gold and platinum to choke a rapper. 

Jerry and Rosa loaded the crates into the back of Rosa’s Cadillac and headed to their delivery destination.  Their destination was another Zamfirs Jewelry in another local mall and Jerry and Rosa had to arrive at this store exactly on time.  They made it with about 30 seconds to spare.  The store along with the rest of the mall was closing for the night and the partners almost did a slide into home plate crates in hand as the receiving Zamfirs was lowering their security shutters.  The receiving manager signed for the cases and Jerry and Rosa had a good laugh about how close they cut this one.  Completed paperwork in hand they exited the mall with another jewelry run successfully completed. 

As Jerry drove Rosa back to her car she held up her fist and Jerry obligingly bumped it.  “Iceman, do you know what I like about you?”  “Very little” answered Jerry.  “We have a lot in common, you and me, Iceman.  You’re a retired broke dick and I have a broke hip.”  “Ha-ha,” answered Jerry dryly.  “You handle those 25 pound crates pretty well for having a broken hip” added Jerry.  “I’m all healed up now Iceman but that’s how I got my retirement disability you know.”  “I didn’t know that Rosa, how’d you manage to break your hip anyway?”  “Car accident Jerry.”  “Driving is the most dangerous thing police officers do” she added.  “Well, then I guess we’re lucky I’m driving, said Jerry.”  He gave Rosa a big smile so she knew he was kidding and quickly returned his attention to the road.  At this point in their conversation Jerry sensed this wasn’t the fondest of memories for Rosa.  “The accident wasn’t my fault, but I’m the one who gets to live with it.  Did you know my hip now tells me when a cold front is on the way?”  “That’s almost a superpower” Jerry chuckled.  “I do have superpower Iceman because I’m a superwoman.” Rosa replied.  Jerry agreed “You certainly are Rosa, you certainly are,” and he wasn’t kidding.  Rosa had a typical cop chick sense of humor and she didn’t call Jerry “Iceman” because he had ice water running through his veins or any such bull. “Iceman” was short for “Ice cream man”.  This was Rosa’s little joke on Jerry.

Almost one month later Jerry and Rosa returned to the Zamfirs Jewelry in Sunrise Mall for a return engagement.  Jerry and Rosa noticed immediately that a gaggle of the chalkboard jungle dropouts were in attendance at the benches.  Rosa told Jerry “Your turn,” and started to hand him the contact paperwork.  “Oh no” said Jerry.  “If something isn’t broken don’t fix it,” and shooed Rosa towards the counter with his weakside hand.  Anyone with a single drop of street smarts watching Jerry would have picked him out as a cop.  Lets see; older guy but in shape with short cop hair wearing tan 5.11 brand tactical cargo pants and a black windbreaker zipped up and covering his waist.  Jerry preferred “Tacticool” pants not for the fashion but for the pockets.  Anyone who cared to study Jerry would have noticed the bulge in Jerry’s pants.  You know the bulge I’m talking about.  Jerry’s bulge was exactly the size of a 15 round Glock model 22 magazine.  Jerry’s high speed pants had a velcro’d single magazine pocket built in at the left front thigh area.  Jerry’s pants showed other bulges which would have told a discerning scumbag Jerry was not to be messed with.  Jerry had a glass breaker head flashlight bulge and Jerry had a retirement badge case bulge.  Jerry also had a subtle swelling at his right hip.  Again, if anyone had been paying attention they would have noticed Jerry didn’t rock back on his heals like a bored married dude waiting for the wife.  Jerry used a bladed stance and scanned for threats. 

As it turned out ex-cop Jerry wasn’t the only person in the area paying attention.  Rosa would have been except she was busy doing the paperwork and flirting with a guy who sold diamonds for a living.  It was at this exact moment that 30 years of security guard/military/cop training and experience kicked in.

Jerry glanced towards the junior gangbanger contingent and saw they had suddenly beat feet from the area.  Cops and especially former cops don’t have spider sense.  They do have adrenaline glands and Jerry’s started pumping at level 11 a split-second before heaps of trouble hit the fan. 

Rosa had flashed the Zamfirs night manager her brightest come hither smile and even gave him the hair flip when she heard Jerry call out “Rosa” in that tone that speaks volumes to those who have previously been intimately involved with deadly situations.  Rosa turned and saw two gangster looking assholes striding purposefully towards her and the manager.  One of the two was wearing a hoodie and oversized sunglasses.  The other was attempting and failing to pull up his hoodie and he either forgot his glasses or thought letting witnesses get a good look at his face was no big deal.

Although Jerry reacted as fast as possible, he was way behind the reaction curve from the get go.  Both robbers had handguns already out and ready when Jerry saw them they opened fire first.  Life threatening situations sometimes cause a strange psychological reaction where people later perceive time as having moved in slow motion.  This is what Jerry experienced during the shootout. 

Jerry swept the hem of his windbreaker away from his holster and indexed his grip on his .40 mid-sized Glock.  The bullet time phenomenon caused Jerry to perceive his draw in slow motion.  At the time Jerry found this frustrating but the upside was he all the time in the world (it seemed) to carefully align the pistol’s sights and put the front sight circle squarely on the middle of the closest threat’s chest.  Jerry clearly saw his sights were dead on each time he squeezed the trigger and each trigger break produced a small puff of smoke. 

The first bad guy started to collapse and Jerry swung his weapon toward the second threat.  Jerry noted with almost third person detachment he wasn’t going to make it.  The weapon was moving too slowly – like his arms were made of lead.  Jerry saw that the remaining armed robber had already drawn down on him. “A revolver” thought Jerry, and look, the cylinder is turning.  Jerry kept fighting and finally his front sight settled on the robber’s chest. 

The remaining threat’s revolver jerked slightly downwards and the cylinder was turning again but hey, no muzzle flash, no muzzle blast, and no barking report.  Somehow Jerry had time to think: “He’s jerking the trigger.”  Jerry squeezed his trigger and kept firing until the slide locked back on his Glock. 

The shooter who had tried to murder Jerry pirouetted slowly to the floor and Jerry stood there for what he later recalled seemed like way, way, too long.  Reload stupid, thought Jerry.  “Rip” the Velcro lined flap on his mag pocket was so loud.  One time at range qualification Jerry had fumbled a mag change and had dropped a loaded magazine in the dirt at the worst possible time.  Jerry had resolved never to do that again.  The answer was in not baby feeding the Glock mag well.  Jerry clawed for his spare 15 round magazine and slammed it into the grip of his model 23 Glock.  Jerry tapped the bottom of the mag with his palm prior to hitting the slide release and scanned for new threats. 

Time returned to normal and Jerry couldn’t find anyone else trying to kill him.  While he checked on Rosa Jerry kept an eye on the two downed robbers.  In training long ago he had learned incapacitated and or dead people sometimes weren’t as dead as you might think and had a bad habit of continuing a fight you thought was over. 

Rosa was lying face down and was deathly still.  A pool of blood was spreading on the ceramic tiles under Rosa’s face.  Jerry also found blood on the back of Rosa’s head – bright red blood mixed with light brunette hair.  Pieces of safety glass glittered all around Rosa’s body.  Under the glaring store lights they sparkled like diamonds.  

Bad guy number two was on his side and wasn’t moving.  Bad guy number one was on his back and was loudly gasping for air.  Jerry studied him for a few seconds and thought grimly and with some little satisfaction it appeared this bad guy was on his way out. 

The night manager was proned out and playing dead behind what was left of the jewelry counter and was unharmed.  Two underlings of the manager who were also present during the attempted robbery and who had fled were later located and interviewed by responding homicide detectives. 

After he finished checking on Rosa, Jerry moved her head to the side to prevent her from drowning in her own blood.  Jerry was shocked at how warm her spilled blood was.  Jerry smelled blood in the air mixed with that familiar burned gunpowder smell.  What’s more there was a bluish gray haze in the store.  Jerry glanced up at the ceiling and saw fire extinguisher nozzles.  Jerry worried the smoke would set off the fire extinguisher system.  He looked again around and noticed empty shell casings from his Glock all over the floor.  Finally, Jerry put his Glock down out of sight and took out his badge case.  He was knelling by Rosa and holding his case open for all to see when the first of all the mall cops in the world arrived on the bloody scene.

Chapter 2

No bill like a no true bill

Jerry knew Rosa was dead way before the paramedics showed up.  Detectives Crivelli and Hicks had been taking a sworn statement on a gang related drive by in the South area when they got the call.  When C and H read the summery they were happy as little school girls.  “Security guard involved shooting, one guard and two suspects down.”  C and H realized the media would be all over this one and like all homicide detectives they loved seeing themselves on the nightly news.

During their drive to Sunrise Mall Crivelli tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie while Hicks slobbered spit on a fast food napkin and repeatedly dabbed at a stubborn dinner stain in his, not Crivelli’s, crotch area.  They had to look their best for the cameras.  Detectives Crivelli and Hicks were two peas in a pod.  Each was handsome, fit, and well dressed.  They were also frazzled looking and always appeared slightly out of breath.  Their job was extremely difficult and they always had more deadline work than time. 

When they arrived C and H saw a civilian wiping blood off himself with a spare pressure dressing or rag.  They ignored him for the moment and went through the numbers.  Number one; secure all weapons at the scene.  The detectives saw a crime scene investigator was taping off the area.  C and H approached the investigator to get the skinny on the scene.  The CSI tech greeted them with “hi C and H.”  Everyone who worked in or with the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department knew who C and H were.  An old-timer in the Investigations Division gave the pair their nickname when C and H still worked in Property Crimes.  As you might guess they got the nickname for their initials but this wasn’t the main reason.  The real reason everyone called them C and H was because they always played “good cop, good cop” with suspects.  They found long ago they caught more suspects with sugary charm and friendliness than by being badge heavy pricks.  

C and H found out from the CSI tech the scene contained two bodies and four handguns.  The guy wiping off blood was the surviving security guard.  The security guard wasn’t wearing a uniform which was strange.  One of the suspects was dead at the scene and his buddy was being loaded into an ambulance.  The deceased female at the scene was the other security guard.  Since his buddy was dead, attempted robber number two in the ambulance now became murder suspect number one.  C and H briefly spoke with one of the paramedics and found out the currently surviving armed robber had been riddled with bullets by one or both of the security guards.  Hicks asked the paramedic the condition of the suspect in the ambulance and she told Hicks she didn’t think the robber would survive his injuries.

C and H next approached the surviving guard.  “Hello sir, I’m Detective Hicks and this is my partner Detective Crivelli.”  “We’re with the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department Homicide Bureau.”  “You’re armed correct?” Detective Hicks asked Jerry.  “Oh ya” Jerry answered and woodenly pointed to his right hip.  Jerry had previously put away his badge and the detectives hadn’t I.D.-ed him yet.  A small and contrary part of Jerry’s brain thought it would be interesting to see how these guys would treat a security officer versus a retired cop.  Hicks asked Jerry pre-interview questions while Crivelli went back to their unmarked unit and retrieved an evidence collection box.  When he returned, Crivelli saw his partner and the security guard had relocated to a concrete bench somewhat away from the shooting scene.  Mall cops and deputies and CSI techs and paramedics were all over the place.  “Oh boy” thought Crivelli, “here come the cameras.” 

As Crivelli approached the pair, Hicks was holding up Jerry’s CA. Driver License and told his partner, “Detective Crivelli, this is Mr. Gerardo Garcia-Reyes.” “Pleased to meet you” said Crivelli.  With introductions over, Hicks gave jerry back his license and told him “I’m going to take your gun into evidence now, okay?”  Jerry felt spacey and sick to his stomach.  Jerry later decided he must have been in shock because he stood up and started reaching without thinking about what he had been doing.  Hicks put his hand over Jerry’s wrist “Whoa buddy, I have to get the weapon.”  Jerry held his hands out slightly to the side and Hicks brushed back Jerry’s windbreaker.  Hicks gingerly drew the weapon from Jerry’s inside the pants holster and Crivelli sotto voiced “Watch it, the magazines falling out.”  Hicks made a move to keep the mag from sliding out of the weapon and found it was in fact secure.  In his fog Jerry noticed this perplexed both detectives and thought wryly, “not gun guys.”  “My backup mag is 15 rounds, not 13”, Jerry told Detective Hicks. 

Jerry didn’t know it but detectives Crivelli and Hicks carried Glock model 23’s almost exactly like Jerry’s.  This is less a coincidence than you might think.  The number one uniformed law enforcement carry gun in the U.S. is the full sized Glock .40 model 22, with a 15 round magazine.  Many detectives, investigators, agents, and others who carried concealed are issued or choose the slightly smaller model 23.  The 23 comes standard with a 13 round mag.  A nice feature of the Glock system is the longer model 22 mag works great in the shorter grip model 23.  The only downside is the magazine pokes out a little bit. 

Detective Hicks hit the mag release on Jerry’s 23 and the loaded minus one round mag popped out into his hand.  Hicks next put the mag into a plastic evidence bag Crivelli obligingly held open.  Crivelli got a Sharpie from the evidence box and wrote time, date, and description data on the pre-labeled bag.  While his partner was writing, Hicks had retrieved another evidence bag and started lowering Jerry’s weapon into it.  Jerry quietly said, “round in the chamber.”  Crivelli gave Hicks that look married couples and longtime partners give each other when one of them fucks up, and said, “round in the chamber Hicks!” 

Detective Hicks mentally kicked himself for the mistake and racked the pistol’s slide to the rear.  As he did the chambered round ejected exactly like it was supposed to and clattered onto the mall’s polished marble floor.  “Hicks told Crivelli; “Opps, will you get that for me?”  Even though this was the worst day of his life Jerry had to smile.  C and H also got the empty 13 round mag Jerry had left at the scene and bagged it for evidence after they insured the CSI nerds had diagramed and videotaped it.  They didn’t even think about picking up all the expended cartridge cases; that was grunt work for the nerds.  Both detectives told Jerry they thought the extended backup magazine was a good idea.  Hicks told Jerry, “two extra shots can’t hurt.”  Crivelli solemnly stroked his chin for a moment and pointing a finger at his partner he added, “I agree.”  Having noticed a wedding ring Hicks told Jerry he should call his wife, or was it girlfriend? and explain what had happened and that he would be late.  Jerry didn’t catch it but this was a sneaky and completely legal bit of police work on C and H’s part.  As Jerry dialed his wife, Crivelli clicked on a tiny digital recorder he always kept handy and sidled up near Jerry to record the conversation.  “Put that on speaker please” said Hicks. 

C and H had obtained more than one damning spontaneous statement in the past using this ploy.  As Crivelli stood next to Jerry he did the lawman’s equivalent of a cat feigning disinterest in a bird until the bird got close enough for the cat to pounce.  Unfortunately for the detectives, Jerry didn’t go into details of the incident with his wife when she answered.  “There’s been a shooting blah blah, I’m okay blah blah; I’ll be home later blah blah.”

After Jerry hung up, Crivelli obtained additional identification info from him.  That’s when he and Hicks found out Jerry was a retired State of California Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control Agent.  C and H knew exactly who these guys were.  After each detective studied Jerry’s badge and retirement I.D. Crivelli stated; “I know what you guys do, you’re the guys who bust up college keggers.”  Jerry answered, “Yea, that and other stuff.”  Crivelli fairly beamed with pleasure – he knew what ABC Agents did.  After that it was like old home week between C and H and Jerry. 

Jerry had indeed been right.  The detectives treated him with marginally more respect after they found out he was a retired agent.  After a minute or so, it was back to work.  “You’ve taken subject interviews when you were an agent… right?” asked Crivelli.  “More suspect than subject, buy yes, Jerry answered.  “We need you to come to our office now and give us a statement regarding what happened tonight” said Crivelli. 

This is the point where many good guys in Jerry’s situation have sunk themselves but not Jerry.  He remembered he was currently shocky.  Jerry couldn’t and wouldn’t trust a single word he might say in the emotionally distraught state he was in.  He also remembered something a union rep told him only half in jest decades ago, concerning being questioned by the administration:  Admit nothing, deny everything, and demand proof.  In other words it would be better for Jerry if he kept his stupid Jerry mouth shut; at least for now. 

Jerry told C and H the part about his not trusting himself to give an accurate statement in his current distressed emotional state.  He kept the union advice to himself.  What the detectives and Jerry understood that your average ghetto rat or street monster never understood until they had been through the system is that these interviews/interrogations are always voluntary.  Detectives C and H wanted suspects to go with them to a nice audio and video covered interrogation room and tell their story three or four or five times as rattled and off balance as possible.  The prosecution would later use any “Inconsistent” statements as damning evidence at trial.  C and H really didn’t want to put a retired cop through the ringer and they were relived when Jerry declined to be interviewed.

Detectives C and H wisely decided it was a bad idea for Jerry to drive himself home.  Plus, that wasn’t possible anyway because Jerry and Rosa had used Rosa’s older but reliable Cadillac CTS for this jewelry run.  Jerry and Rosa had completed several runs during the past year or so to the five malls in the immediate Sacramento area and they preferred using the Cadi because its cave-like trunk was perfect for transporting crates. 

Hicks told Jerry; “Mr. Garcia, we’re going to inventory”, Hicks paused here to check his notes, “Ms. Castro’s vehicle and release it to her mother.”  “Can your wife come pick you up?”  While Hicks waited with Jerry for his wife to arrive they had time for some off the record small talk.  Hicks thought to himself, “Garcia really is shocky.  He looks like a zombie.  Maybe if I keep him talking he won’t collapse before his wife arrives.”  They were alone because Crivelli was busy getting a statement from the shaken but otherwise unhurt Zamfirs night manager.  Detective Hicks asked Jerry, “is this your first shootout?”  Jerry answered, “yes, how about you?”  Hicks gave Jerry a smile and told him, “I’ve investigated lots of shootings.”  When Jerry didn’t react to his attempt at humor, Hicks added, “Oh wait, I get it, have I ever shot at a suspect?”  Hicks exaggerated furrowing his brow and thinking about it for Jerry’s benefit before he answered; “No, but I’ve come real close.”  Hicks continued, “I bet I’ve been in two or three situations were I legally could have capped a suspect but I didn’t.”  Jerry spoke to Hicks or maybe to himself when he spoke softly, “they didn’t give me any choice.”  Hicks patted Jerry on the shoulder and said, “I believe you buddy.” 

Hicks paused for about 30 seconds before he threw a tiny verbal landmine at Jerry to see how he would react.  “You know Mr. Garcia, besides witness statements and the statement we need to get from you when you recover, and the statement we’ll get from the one suspect if he pulls through, the best witness will be that.”  Jerry followed where Hicks was pointing and saw several black domes in the ceiling around Zamfirs.  “Oh right”, said Jerry, “security video.”  “That’s right Jerry, the video will tell the tale.”  “One of the CSI techs is pulling the tape right now.”  Hicks noted Jerry didn’t freak out when he learned about the eye-in- the- sky.

Hicks and Jerry were quiet for some time and at one point Hicks had to direct a deputy to put up more crime scene tape to keep a TV news camera crew away from Jerry.  Publicity was cool-- but not when it interfered with the job.  Hicks directed Jerry behind a pillar to shield him from the sun bright spotlight attached to the camera.  Hicks debated with himself about closing down the entire mall concourse to exclude the media.  He ultimately decided the tape and tarps the CSI techs were putting up to screen the crime scene from onlookers would have to do. 

Jerry’s wife Sara finally arrived and Hicks gave her his card.  Next, Hicks acted out his most sincere good cop routine for Sara in an attempt to get her on his and Crivelli’s side.  “You know Mrs. Garcia; we really should interview your husband tonight.  However, he’s understandably upset and I’m sending him home for now.”  Sara smiled and shook her head.  “She’s buying it” thought Hicks.  “But, our interview of your husband will be an integral part of this investigation and it’s extremely important we get Gerardo’s side of this tragedy.”  “Within the next day or two please call me after 1500 hours, um, 3:00 PM and set up an appointment for Gerardo to come in.”  Sara promised she would as she gathered up Jerry and led him out of the mall exit furthest away from the gathering media. 

On the way home Sara quietly asked “What happened” and Jerry took a very long time before he answered.  Finally Jerry whispered “Rosa’s dead and I killed a bad guy, maybe two.”  It was a 45 minute drive home and Sara cried briefly.  Jerry busied himself wiping away her tears so they wouldn’t crash.  He also patted Sara’s knee and told her everything would be all right.  By doing so, he was also telling himself. 

Sara and Jerry arrived at their modest home in Shingle Springs in time for the 11:00 O’ Clock news.  Jerry had just enough time to get his record copy of the jewelry run and give his employer a heads up call.  He got their voice-mail and left the bare minimum information on the tape.  Jerry was aware the recording was bound to be subpoenaed if this thing went sideways. 

A “Shocking” attempted robbery and shootout between robbers and mall security guards was the lead story for all the local news channels.  Despite himself Jerry chuckled and told Sara “Here we go” as a channel 13 reporter told the TV audience, “two masked and armed men entered Sunrise Mall earlier tonight and attempted to rob Zamfirs Jewelry.”  The TV showed the reporter on the scene with the Zamfirs sign in the background.  “We don’t have confirmation but we were informed by sources on the scene that two mall security guards responded to either an alarm or the sound of gunshots and exchanged gunfire with the suspects.”  Jerry looked at Sara and stated, “well, that’s close.”  The reporter continued, “we have been informed by a Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department spokeswoman that both robbery suspects were grievously wounded and one security guard died here tonight of gunshot wounds.”  Jerry spoke half to Sara and half to the TV screen somewhat loudly: “Ya…grievously wounded as in I 5-X’d the one asshole in the heart/lung area and his buddy is.”  Sara saw Jerry wave his finger in a circling motion.  After a few seconds she got it: her husband was saying the second robber was circling the drain. 

Over the next three weeks the media refused to let the mall shootout story die; no pun intended.  The media found out exactly who Jerry was and his background.  Some pundits called Jerry a hero while others called him a reckless hired gun.  Print and TV news reporters darkened Jerry’s and Sara’s door many times and news services called their landline number constantly.  During this time the media also reported that one of the attempted robbers/murderers: 23 year old Clarence Wilkins was in a persistent comatose state and unlikely to recover. 

The debate escalated after an unknown source leaked one of the mall security camera tapes to the press.  The leaked video was shot from a camera angle behind the robbers.  The video did not show weapons in the robber’s hands.  It did clearly show Jerry drawing and gunning down the robbers in less than six seconds.  The video showed the Zamfirs night manager diving to the floor and a display case shattering.  The video also showed Rosa collapsed at the same moment the robbers fell.  For whatever reason; chance or malice, the leaked tape showed Jerry in a negative light. 

To the uninformed, unwashed, anti-law enforcement masses the video showed Jerry shooting two hoodie wearing young men for no obvious reason.  From this video view it wouldn’t take much of an imagination for a viewer to conclude Jerry shot the jewelry counter and Rosa as well as the two young men. 

Many viewers of this tape believed it was impossible for Jerry to have fired 14 shots so quickly.  Many YouTube commenters wrote that Jerry had to have used an illegal machinegun.  Others opined Jerry executed the slain “Youths” merely because they “Looked suspicious.” 

Sara noticed Jerry became very depressed after the attack and urged him to see someone about it.  She also urged him to contact Detective Hicks.  Jerry didn’t do either.  Detective Hicks had called Jerry less than a week after the shooting and reminded him to come in for his interview.  He called again a week later and a week after that.  Sara got kinda miffed at Jerry but he reminded her, “Sara, those detectives are nice guys but don’t forget, they have a job to do and their job is catching criminals.  I’m not going to let them grill me if I don’t have to.”  

A few days later, Jerry received a certified letter from the Court.  Bearing in mind recent events Jerry and Sara knew this couldn’t be good news.  Sara opened the letter and scanned it while Jerry nervously stood by.  Sara told Jerry, “honey, the Sacramento County Grand Jury is ordering you to appear, lets see, Sara checked a nearby charity calendar, on Thursday at 1:00 PM just over two weeks from now.”  “Oh great,” said Jerry.  “Well, they can’t indict me for defending myself, buy they can exonerate me.”  “To exonerate you they’d have to put you on trial right?” “No babe, from what I understand the Grand Jury reviews evidence of suspected crimes and returns findings of a True Bill or a No True Bill.  The first finding means a person is indicted and tried.  The second, or No True Bill, means the Grand Jury didn’t find probable cause to believe the person had committed an offense.  A No True Bill is in effect, an exoneration.”  “All right” said Sara, “can’t the stupid Grand Jury just ignore this all together?  It’s obvious to most people those men robbed the store and you defended yourself.”  Jerry scrunched up his lips and thought about Sara’s question.  “I get what you’re asking honey and my opinion is yes, they could ignore it except for one thing.”  “And what would that be,” asked Sara.  “Controversy.  There’s lots of public opinion concerning my alleged actions, especially because of that goddamned leaked security video.  Like it or not my case is high profile and the Grand Jury is drawn to high profile cases like flies to… you know.” 

Deep in thought, Jerry stared at the summons from the Grand Jury.  “Maybe I should meet with those detective after all.”  Three days later, Jerry and Sara sat across from Detectives Crivelli and Hicks in a regular conference room at the Sheriff’s Centralized Investigations Division office near American River College.  Jerry had told C and H he would only speak if their was no Miranda, no video, no tape recorder, and no notes.  The detectives balked at first of course but relented.  An informal meeting that might lead to a formal interview was better than nothing. 

During the meeting Jerry showed the detectives the Grand Jury Summons and Detective Hicks said, “oh sure, we know all about this, in fact Detective Crivelli and I have already testified before the Jury regarding your case.”  Jerry deadpanned for Hicks and said: “I’m sure you only had good things to say about me.”  Crivelli chimed in with, “we’re not allowed to say, but yes.”  Detective Hicks continued, “It wasn’t all hugs, Mr. Garcia.  We had to tell the Grand Jury you refused to be interviewed by us.”  Sara asked Hicks; “Can you tell us why the Grand Jury is so interested in this case?”  “Sure, no problem” said Hicks.  We understand the Office of the District Attorney requested the Grand Jury review this case.  Now they did that so no one can claim any bias was involved if and when the Jury decides to not indict your husband.”  “Bias?” asked Sara.  “Yes” stated Hicks, “possible bias because your husband is a retired State of California peace officer who used to work in and around Sacramento County.  You see Mrs. Garcia, or may I call you Sara?” asked the always charming Hicks. “I’m okay with Sara.”  “Thank you Sara,” Hicks continued.  “The Grand Jury is made up from regular citizens.  They’re always completely neutral and unbiased.  They don’t care that Jerry used to be a cop.  All they care about are elements to crimes like armed robbery and murder.”  Sara asked, “can they charge my husband with murder?”  Using an actor’s dramatic pause Hicks waited some seconds before he answered.  “Wellll, Sara, they can but that’s extremely unlikely in our opinion.”  

Hicks glanced over at his partner and smiled.  This was a non-verbal wrestling style “Tag in” for Crivelli.  “Mr. Garcia, is it okay if I speak freely in front of your wife, I mean Sara?”  Jerry didn’t pause and answered, “sure, why not?”  “Alright then” said Crivelli.  “Detective Hicks and I reviewed all the security tapes.  Suspect Thompson fired at and fatally injured Ms. Castro before she or Jerry drew their weapons.  Ms. Castro never had a chance to draw her handgun and defend herself.  Suspect Thompson fired six shots at her and struck her with three of the bullets.  One of those bullets hit her in the head.”  Sara swayed slightly at this and paled.  All three men looked at her with concern and Sara became aware she had become the center of attention.  “I’m fine, go on.”  Crivelli cleared his throat and continued.  “Suspect Wilkins tried to shoot Jerry with an old, cheaply made, and reported stolen revolver, which fortunately for Jerry was missing its firing pin.  Our firearms experts reviewed the videos and saw Wilkins pull the trigger at least two times before Jerry fired back.”

Crivelli glanced at a report and continued, “Jerry fired four BB bullets at Wilkins and six BB bullets plus four aluminum bullets at Thompson.  I should also add Jerry didn’t miss even once.”  Detective Hicks got a puzzled look and asked, “Jerry, we really need to ask you about these funny bullets you shot into Wilkins and Thompson.  The firearms experts found the BB bullets were a cup like um,” Crivelli saved Hicks at this point.  Reviewing another report page Crivelli read; “a copper jacket filled with number six lead shot in a resin matrix.”  “Right, right,” said Hicks.  “The BB bullets had lead pellets in them.  Did you make these yourself Jerry?”  As Hicks asked the question Crivelli smiled involuntarily and thought to himself; “with any luck this dumbass meeting will turn into an interview or even better.”  “MagSafe ammunition” answered Jerry.  “I think they call the loading I used “Defenders”, but don’t hold me to that.”  “Do you mind if I write that down?” asked Hicks.  “Yes I do, no notes, remember?”  Hicks looked hurt, but not too hurt.  “MagSafe Deformers huh?” said Crivelli.  “Defenders,” corrected Jerry.  “I didn’t make them, I bought them.  As I understand it they’re designed to stop inside a person instead of going through and endangering innocent bystanders.” 

Hicks asked, “the BB’s were inside the bullets you fired, right? Jerry?”  Jerry looked at Hicks like Hicks was retarded and then paused.  “Okay, I get it” said Jerry.  “You’re playing dumb… exactly like I used to do when I was the person asking the questions.  Don’t bother” said Jerry, “I don’t mind discussing bullets with you.  MagSafes are similar to Glaser Safety Slug ammunition.  The thing is I couldn’t find Safety Slugs because of nationwide ammunition shortage.  I did find MagSafes so I bought em.  Both these rounds consist of lead pellets in an empty copper jacket.  The bullets are designed to minimally penetrate a suspect before the bullet fragments.”  At this point Sara was figuring out a way to get Jerry to shut up.  Jerry loved his guns and could talk about guns and bullets all day long.

Detective Hicks continued; “what about the aluminum bullets, Jerry?”  The medical examiner found four aluminum bullets in Dwain Thompson.”  Jerry looked off into space for some time and Detective Crivelli attempted to get him to focus.  “Jerry.”  Crivelli had been wrong about Jerry.  He had been thinking, not day dreaming.  Jerry looked fixedly at Crivelli and asked; “did Thompson have a record?”  Crivelli chuckled so hard Hicks had to answer for him.  “Well Jerry, I can’t go into specifics here you understand, but yes, Mr. Thompson had an impressive record of apprehension and prosecution, especially for being such a young asswipe.”  Crivelli had recovered from his fit and said, “J.D., no swearing in front of the lady.”  Hicks gave Crivelli and then Sara his most contrite look and was right back on track.  “Jerry, tell us about these aluminum bullets, okay?”

Jerry cleared up some minor points regarding the ammunition he used during the shooting and wrapped up the meeting when C and H tried to delve into non-bullet related investigative areas.  Sara took Jerry’s arm and Detective Crivelli escorted them from the building.  When Crivelli returned to Hicks, “C” shook his head sadly and “H” raised his arms in frustration.  Crivelli said, “well, that was a waste of an hour.” 

Two weeks later, Sara went with Jerry to the Sacramento County Superior Court and found the appointed room on the third floor.  It wasn’t a courtroom.  Jerry had previously testified before the Grand Jury years ago before he retired and had told Sara to expect something private and informal.  Sara checked Jerry’s suit and made sure his tie clip was straight.  A non-uniformed bailiff or maybe a secretary let Jerry into what turned out to be a medium sized conference room at the appointed time.  Sara of course had to wait outside.  Jerry noted this room was larger than but not as nice as the detective’s conference room had been.  For one thing this room didn’t have a conference table.  It did have a podium where Jerry presumed he would stand while he testified.  The only other noteworthy item in the room were chairs.  The average person would expect these would be expensive antique leather chairs; chairs worthy of the esteemed derrières of the members of the Grand Jury.  However, the average person would be wrong.  Instead, Jerry found those metal tube and plastic stacking chairs you see at all government buildings.  Jerry also noticed the chairs didn’t even match, but were a hodgepodge of different ones bought over many years.

Jerry was directed to one of the shabbier chairs near the podium and the bailiff/secretary, called in the members of the jury.  They filed in and if Jerry didn’t know from past experience he would have thought these were 15 or so bored prospective jurors.  They were all middle age or older but this was no star chamber.  The Grand Jury was a mixture of regular people except all of them were uniformly successful and responsible residents of Sacramento County.  Jerry also noticed that in his suit he was the best dressed person in the room. 

A cowboy Grand Juror was the foreman or whatever they called it.  Jerry thought to himself maybe he wasn’t a real cowboy but he had the shirt and the belt buckle.  The cowboy had Jerry raise his hand and do the swearing/affirming in routine.  After that was done he had Jerry recount the jewelry run in minute detail.  Jerry left out nothing and referred several times to a set of notes he had completed for his own personal use less than 24 hours after the shooting.  One of the jurors asked Jerry about his bullets.  Oh Christ thought Jerry, again with the bullets.  What the juror asked was how and why Jerry fired two types of bullets at the suspects.

Luckily for Jerry he was too professional as well as nervous to roll his eyes at the jury member or to be sarcastic.  Instead, he carefully and slowly explained that the first ten bullets he fired were the so called “BB” MagSafe rounds because he only had ten of them.  Jerry explained they are expensive specialized defensive cartridges and they come ten to the pack.  Jerry also stated he filled out his magazine with four SureStop brand aluminum cartridges so he would have a full magazine.  He added that both rounds were designed to expand completely inside a suspect instead of going through and endangering innocent bystanders.  This was essentially the same thing he had told Detectives Crivelli and Hicks and was a bit of ass covering by Jerry. 

This juror was also perplexed that Jerry’s backup magazine contained yet a third type of cartridge.  Jerry explained these were conventional lead hollow-point bullets.  Jerry testified that these were the same type cartridges issued by most police departments.  They could go through a suspect but Jerry explained he hoped this common type cartridge would be effective if his special low penetration bullets failed to stop a deadly threat.  Jerry thought or at least hoped the juror was satisfied with his explanation.

Cowboy Grand Juror told Jerry they had reviewed all the Zamfirs security tapes.  Cowboy had another juror pull out a laptop and they showed Jerry a tape that showed the shooting from Jerry’s angle.  Jerry asked the Grand Juror to replay the video and counted seconds off from his draw to his last shot.  Even Jerry could hardly believe how fast the shooting started and ended.  He also told the jury members about his perceived slow motion and silence during the shooting. 

Eventually, the Grand Jury thanked Jerry for appearing and he was out the door in time for Sara and him to beat rush hour traffic up the hill to Shingle Springs.  Jerry didn’t drive much since the shooting.  Sara noted Jerry had been sweating like a little puerco when he took off his jacket before he climbed into the passenger seat of her Xterra.  “How’d it go” she asked.  “I think it went well.  They seemed to be on my side and they didn’t exactly give me the third degree.”  Sara smiled and gave Jerry a loving and playful punch to the shoulder as she headed towards the freeway.  Maybe this horrible situation would work out after all.

Not too many days later Jerry and Sara were watching the evening news.  The lead talking head anchor introduced special correspondent junior plastic news boy who revealed, as he put it, a startling astronomic occurrence.  “Astronomers reported today we as a planet dodged a cosmic bullet recently.  Leading experts observed a record coronal mass ejection, or CME, from our Sun less than two days ago.  The general consensus in the helio astronomy community is if the ejecta had impacted Earth we would have possibly experienced pronounced disruptions of our electrical and telecommunications infrastructure.”  Plastic boy soothed any ruffled feathers he created with his report when he explained the CME had occurred away from the Earth.  Sara paid zero attention to the report.  Jerry, who was a bit of a nerd Science Channel watcher paid only slightly more attention.  “Whoopty doo” Jerry said out loud back at the TV; “we dodged a bullet.” 

Days rolled on and Jerry waited like an expectant father for the Grand Jury’s decision.  As Jerry wrung his hands and paced around the house, all Sara did was take care of everything else in the household.  Sara paid the bills and feed the animals and watered the garden and did the grocery shopping.  She also waited patently for Jerry to recover from his recent emotional problems. 

The next hurtle Jerry faced was Rosa’s funeral.  The medical examiner had held it up until now because of the investigation.  Jerry didn’t want to go but knew he had to.  It would have been disrespectful to Rosa if he had done his Cowardly Lion routine.  Jerry wore his basic black Grand Jury suit and Sara wore black with gray.  The media was there (of course) in full 8th circle of Hell mode.  They pushed and prodded each other jockeying for the most favorable position to catch Jerry grieving.  Was that a tear?  As far as the media was concerned the climax of the whole ratings grabbing event came when killer Jerry Garcia himself spoke.  Jerry walked to the podium like a condemned man walked to the light green painted chamber.  Jerry had always been terribly frightened of public speaking.  Jerry had an ongoing dialog in his head the whole way.  “I’d rather be shot at than do this.  Look at that podium, two microphones.  Do they really need two?”  It got worse when Jerry turned around and faced the audience.  A group of strangers opened fire at him.  Jerry saw multiple flashes and knew he wouldn’t be able to react fast enough this time.  Jerry clutched at the podium with a death grip; he would die standing up, retaining a modicum of dignity.  He waited for the dozen or so bullets to strike.  Wait a minute, those were camera flashes.  Instead of going for his 9mm, Jerry went for his 3x5 card.  Jerry had learned this in his Army Officer’s Basic Course long ago.  The class was titled; How to present a briefing.  As he retrieved the card from his inside suit pocket, Jerry checked the audience.  That was a mistake.  “My God, that’s a lot of people.”  Besides the media in all its unpleasant forms there were Castro family members, friends of Rosa, Jerry supporters and haters, and law enforcement agency representatives.  Jerry began softly.  Rosa Castro was my friend and partner.  Those of you in law enforcement understand how important partners are and how deep the relationship can become.  (Jerry had added the “Of you” wording on the fly after spotting LE officers in the audience.  They hadn’t taught that in his old “Briefing” block of instruction)  On that tragic day it was Rosa who was lead officer.  She unflinchingly faced two armed robbers and bravely stood her ground while I provided cover from a protected position.  I had time to react only because Rosa gave me that time.  On that tragic day Rosa Castro courageously saved my life and the lives of many others.  She is our hero and we will not forget her valor.  To the members of the Castro family I offer my deepest condolences.  Thank you.  Jerry put his card back in his pocket and rejoined Sara in the audience.  Most of the onlookers later reported Jerry was choked up with emotion.  His voice had broken, and he appeared distressed.  Less than a week later a popular tabloid newspaper printed a third page story : Self defense icon Jerry Garcia and slain partner Rosa Castro; more than friends? 

For some time Sara had been fielding daily calls from their granddaughter Teresa.  During the past several months Teresa’s life had turned into a big turdwich and she needed a fresh start with grandma and grandpa’s help.  Teresa was 20 and had not enjoyed an easy life.  It started with a sociopath deadbeat dad and alcoholic mother.  Teresa had gotten herself knocked up at 19 and the daddy was an 18 year old man cub named Darren.  Darren’s parents were divorced and his mother was a perennial welfare queen:  reach the end of benefits, have a baby, reach the end of benefits, repeat.  The young couple was wed in Palm Springs CA. at a country club Darren’s grandmother managed.  She also got him a job as an assistant handyman. 

Darren and Teresa’s marriage had a rocky start because Darren’s job paid squat and Teresa couldn’t work because of the baby.  The financial situation of the young couple got much worse when Darren was fired for fist fighting with another country club worker.  Months passed and Darren either couldn’t or wouldn’t find a job.  The family went on welfare and was evicted from two rented mobile homes in less than a year.  Incredibly, they managed to rent a house near Desert Hot Springs with no credit and no down payment.  Using the family gift for gab and bullshit the two convinced the owner they would be able to pay more rent than he was asking within 60 days.  A year and a half into the marriage Darren was playing Xbox, smoking dope, and hanging out with his slacker boy racer friends all of the time and working none of the time.  He had become the world’s worst house husband while Teresa earned minimum wage working fast food. 

The situation came to a head as it were when Teresa found out Darren had been spending what little cash the family had on Craigslist call girls.  At the same time their landlord checked on the property and found a big ass weed patch growing in the backyard.  He promptly started the eviction process for this plus non-payment of rent.  Amazingly, Teresa hadn’t known about the pot patch.  Teresa had an altercation with Darren over these latest betrayals and Darren left the residence to stay with his gram-gram. Things might have started looking up for Teresa and her toddler but incredibility her situation got worse.  Soon after father of the year’s departure from the household Teresa woke up in the middle of the night to two strangers standing over her.  The nice young men explained they were Darren’s dope slinging partners and they wanted their cut.  More than one young wife in this situation has found herself raped and beaten to death, or vise versa.  Using that family gift for gab mentioned earlier Teresa managed to talk them down.  Teresa struck a deal with the dopers and they returned in the morning and gathered up every bit of ropy ditch weed from the backyard. 

At the end of her financial and emotional tether Teresa called Sara and asked if she could stay with her and Jerry in Shingle Springs until she could get her own place.  Since the poor girl had no where else to go besides a shelter, Sara and Jerry decided to help her out.  They sent Teresa just shy of $300.00 for airfare plus miscellaneous expenses and she and baby Aniseed showed up at Sacramento Airport with only the clothes and or Pampers on their backs and or butts.  When the girl’s flight landed Sara and Jerry were at the airport to pick them up.  Sara was her bubbly self and Jerry was just Jerry.  As Teresa descended the airport escalator with Aniseed on her hip Jerry picked them out only because he profiled them.  Jerry thought to himself, we’re in trouble now as he took in the full effect of Teresa.  She had raven black hair, black eyeliner, black lipstick, and yes, black nail polish.  She also went with the black on black ensemble.  Teresa was goth.  Aniseed wasn’t wearing black Pampers and that was at least something, thought Jerry. 

Teresa and her toddler moved into the guest bedroom and Sara and jerry learned all about welfare in the people’s paradise of Commiefornia.  Jerry knew something about welfare already because when he was 12 his mom had gone on it for three months while Jerry’s future step-father kicked alcohol addiction in a Veterans Administration hospital in Palo Alto.  Those were the days when the County mailed welfare mothers a booklet every couple weeks or whatever.  Jerry never found out or cared.  The booklet was filled with Monopoly money looking bills Jerry’s mom tore out and gave to the grocery store checker.  Jerry was the only child at home by then and his mom made him help with grocery shopping.  Jerry never forgot how humiliated he was as his mom paid for their food with this fake charity money.  The negative experience taught Jerry a valuable lesson about being poor.  It taught him that being poor and reliant on government charity really sucked.  Jerry decided right there at age 12 he would do his best to ensure he never became a bum.

On the other hand, Jerry’s revulsion concerning government assistance didn’t extend to his benefiting from it second-hand from Teresa.  It wasn’t lost on Jerry this made him a hypocrite.  Sara had grown up way poorer than Jerry could ever imagine.  She was okay with government help to partially defer her and Jerry’s substantial outlay of cash they spent helping Teresa and Annie.  After Teresa moved in she had to transfer her welfare case from Riverside to El Dorado County.  The transfer took about two weeks and the grandparents paid for everything mommy and her toddler needed to start from scratch before the welfare money started.  During those first two weeks Sara and Jerry spent money like it was water.  Highchair, stroller, baby clothes, black Teresa clothes, Pampers, a gallon of milk  every two days, extra food, the list went on.  Also, Teresa didn’t have car insurance so Jerry and Sara had to drive her everywhere.  To her credit Teresa was a hard working goth girl and took care of the needed paperwork at the Department of Human Assistance (DHA) plus went on job interviews.  With these expenses and all the driving around Sara and Jerry’s savings dipped as fast as the gas gauge in Sara’s Xterra.  

It took many phone calls to Riverside and three visits to the DHA for Teresa to get her benefits transferred.  Before Jerry could say cha-ching the benefits started trickling in.  Oh sweet and anonymous charity, where have you been all my life?  Jerry didn’t like welfare but he was impressed by the depth and breadth of it.  The crowning jewel of welfare is the credit card looking Electronic Benefit Transfer (EBT) card, or so called “dignity” card.  The term always made Jerry chuckle, 1984 is here.  Jerry had heard about these things but the shiny new one Teresa got in the mail was the first one Jerry or Sara had seen up close.  The CA. card had a Big Sur looking Pacific Coast motif and damned if it didn’t look exactly like a normal credit card.  Written on the top was “Golden State Advantage.”  No more degrading Monopoly money thought Jerry.  As Jerry looked at the card he told Teresa, “this truly is an age of public assistance.” 

Teresa told Sara and Jerry the State loaded $350.00 in food money and $75.00 of what welfare calls Cash Assistance to buy non-food items per month onto the card.  This money only rolls over to another month if the card has less than $100.00 on it so Jerry and Sara figured they might as well use it.  Because of Aniseed bless her baby heart; Teresa also got Women, Infants, and Children, (WIC) benefits.  She received WIC checks for more food:  Milk, juice, bread, cheese, fruits and vegetables, basically any staple.  Teresa also got free healthcare from Kaiser.  Jerry and Sara also had Kaiser except they had to work a lifetime to earn the Kaiser level of care. 

There’s a downside to government charity, the downside is control.  Teresa explained that welfare isn’t free shit all the time with no restrictions; not anymore at least with welfare reform measures.  The State required Teresa participate in Welfare to Work.  This involved her looking for work, going to college, actually working, or a combination.  If she attended junior college classes or worked, the State would give her a small monthly gas card plus checks to pay for work clothes/uniforms.  Teresa also told Sara and Jerry about the “Extended Opportunity Programs and Services.” (EOPS)  This is a State of CA. program from communist heaven.  EOPS would pay for Teresa’s community college fees and books as long as she maintained at least a 2.5 (C+) grade point average.  Another program aligned with EOPS is the Cooperative Agencies Resources for Education program.  (CARE)  This one would pay Teresa $650.00 per month to pay for child daycare as long as she met EOPS requirements.  Teresa also stated the People’s Paradise considers single mothers under the age of 21 teen parents, and they receive the highest level of benefits.  When Sara and Jerry heard about all this their collective jaws dropped.  No wonder the State was always broke. 

Sara reminded Jerry of a story she had told him some years ago when she attended community college.  “Remember I told you about the two lines at the bookstore” said Sara.  Jerry didn’t remember of course.  “The bookstore had the short “cash” line I was in and the looong “voucher” line everyone else was in.  Now I know what that was.” 

Teresa’s benefits started arriving and this somewhat alleviated Sara and Jerry’s financial strain.  Even better or possibly not, Jerry received another letter from the Grand Jury.  Jerry held the letter without opening it for an unnaturally long time.  This letter might exonerate Jerry or it might tell him he was about to be indicted.  “I’m too nervous” said Jerry, “you open it honey.”  Sara gave Jerry an understanding look and gently took the envelope.  Sara opened it and read it through while Jerry did a tension induced Indian rain dance.  “Alright I found the important part” said Sara.  “The Grand Jury shall recommend no punitive action be sought against you in this matter.”  Jerry found he had been holding his breath and he literally blew a sigh of relief.

Of course the media found out about the Sacramento Grand Jury’s decision and this set off another round of Jerry the monster vs. Jerry the hero debate in the press. 

Chapter 3

What’s a CME?

Things were looking up for the extended Garcia-Reyes family; for a while.  Before you can say “Litigation” Jerry received another official looking letter.  This letter was from a Robert Lydell, Esquire.  Jerry had secretly been dreading a letter like this.  He knew from past professional experience that law enforcement officers, and private citizens like Jerry are routinely sued civilly after a shooting.  It doesn’t matter if a criminal court finds no fault because the level of proof for a civil suit is dramatically less than the level of proof required for criminal prosecution.  Jerry knew lawyers circled around families who had lost a family member to a shooting as long as there was the possibility of squeezing some money from the survivors.  The ambulance chasers never bothered with gangbanger on gangbanger attacks because even lawyers can’t get blood from stones.  Jerry, on the other hand, had a very covetable house and retirement income.  The local litigious legal sharks salivated at the prospect of getting a piece of Jerry’s assets for themselves and their aggrieved plaintiffs. 

Jerry read this letter himself and Sara did the rain dance.  “Okay sweetheart here it is.  I’m being sued civilly for violating Mr. Clarence Wilkin’s civil rights, plus pain and suffering, loss of consortium, ongoing medical costs, and loss of future income.”  “His family is asking for 3.5 million dollars in economic and general damages plus 1.5 million in punitive damages.”  All Sara could say was, “you are fucking kidding me.” 

Sara had to sit down and for once Jerry got to care for her.  He brought her a glass of wine and Sara gradually calmed down.  Teresa came into the room with Annie and stood by like it was a funeral.  “She’s dressed for it” thought Jerry.  “Wilkins, which one is that?” asked Sara.  Jerry responded, “Clarence Wilkins is the one in a coma.”  “Will the company you were working for get us a lawyer?”  “Forget it” said Jerry.  “I was an independent contractor, so no benefits, and no free lawyer for me.” 

Jerry and Sara never found out but Lydell and Associates had also approached the family of deceased armed robber/murderer Dwain Thompson.  Luckily, the family declined to join in any civil action against Jerry.  “Alright baby, I know you don’t like them but it’s time we discussed getting a lawyer to speak for us.”  Jerry grumbled but had to agree.

Jerry and Sara searched online for cop lawyers and found one.  A cop lawyer is either a former cop who became a lawyer, (okay move to hire) or a lawyer who often defends sued cops. (better move to hire) The negative aspect of cop lawyers is they’re used to being paid by the cities, counties, etc. who employ law enforcement officers.  These tax supported entities have unlimited f-u money to defend sued cops.  Cop lawyer’s fees often reflect this bottomless pool of public funds.  Jerry and Sara found this out the hard way.  They found a lawyer through Jerry’s former peace officer association and met with him and her for a consultation about a week later.  It was pretty cool Jerry got two lawyers for the price of one but the pair wanted $150.00 per hour with a $5,000.00 retainer to start.  Jerry and Sara had to get a loan using home equity to pay the retainer. 

The press was all over this latest development in the Jerry show thanks to a Lydell and Associates press release.  This set off a third round of mostly public outrage against Jerry with some quieter voices supporting him.

A local newspaper columnist wrote an expose’ and reported Jerry shot the two young men (as he called them) with hypersonic fragmenting aluminum slugs.  The columnist had more to say about these magic bullets.  “These lead free projectiles travel at two times the speed of sound and are easily missed by airport metal detectors.”  This columnist and the media in general would have loved to brand Jerry as an out of control vigilante.  Unfortunately for them the comparison fell flat because the men he shot were armed with firearms and were clearly committing multiple violent felonies when Jerry defended himself.  This didn’t stop some media sources from ignoring the facts and painting Jerry as a closet racist.

Robert Houghton was the founder and director of the Equality Protection Improvement Council, or E.P.I.C., of El Dorado County.  Mr. Houghton was a well known El Dorado County civil rights activist and organizer.  His ancestry was Maidu Indian and English/Irish.  Robert wasn’t born on the local Miwok/Maidu, reservation, but his mother had been.  In a county containing 90% white people, Robert had devoted his personal law practice towards protecting the remaining 10% from abuse.  The abusers in Robert’s opinion were Placerville P.D., the Sheriff’s Department, and the California Highway Patrol.  Robert was not a trust fund baby and spent over 100K a year protecting the weak and the downtrodden from assault under color of authority and similar crimes routinely committed by the local good ol’ boys.  E.P.I.C. was a tax exempt corporation and survived quite handedly on charitable contributions.  The board of directors of the nearby Indian casino secretly knew E.P.I.C. was a sham.  However, for public relations reasons they didn’t dare refuse to support it to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars per year.

As Robert sat in his worn leather chain behind his antique desk at his office in Placerville, he discussed the Jerry Garcia problem with Vice Director Tess Saunders.  “What’s your advice about how we handle this Garcia character, Tess?”

“Well, he executed those robbers in Sacramento County, not our county.”

“Yes, but he lives in our county, and that makes him our problem.”

“Good point” said Tess, “and he’s a retired State law enforcement agent.”

“Another case of a bully boy with a badge who thinks he can shoot down poor folks.”

“Well, we could sue em except someone else already is.” 

“What we can do, and what we will do, is protest,” said Robert.

E.P.I.C. protesters darkened Jerry and Sara’s door just a few days after the media broke the story of the civil lawsuit.  Robert had hired most of the protesters from the parking lot of the local Home Depot at 100 bucks per head per day.  These paid protesters were supplemented by volunteer E.P.I.C. supporters and interns.  Houghton always had lots of free interns who received community college service credit in exchange for E.P.I.C. work.  As a side benefit Houghton bedded as many of the nubile and naive college girls as he could get his hands on. 

It came as a pleasant surprise to Jerry when he saw there were actually two protest camps.  The pro-Jerry camp held “Free Jerry” and “Viva Gerardo” signs.  The Jerry is a racist murderer camp complements of E.P.I.C. held less encouraging signs.  The media outwardly at least solemnly took in the spectacle.  Activist Houghton understood all too well that news cameras are drawn to picket carrying protestors like kids are drawn to the circus.  Jerry and Sara and Teresa hid indoors and anxiously waited to see which group would outlast the other.  They were understandably dismayed when the pro-Jerry camp dissipated after only two days.  The paid anti-Jerry group held on long after and settled on a small right of way strip between the public road and the Garcia’s property line.  Unbeknownst to both camps, one of the protesters was a member of the street gang Wilkins and Thompson had run with.  He had left his baggy, flashy, retarded, gang attire at home; all the better to blend in with the local straights with their stupid political agenda.  The only agenda the gang member followed was revenge. 

On day three of the house protest Sara and Teresa left to do some grocery shopping and found someone had flattened all the tires on Sara’s Xterra.  Jerry ran outside to survey the damage and was assailed with a barrage of boos.  “Son of a bitch” thought Jerry.  Obviously, these people didn’t know he had a weapon in the house that had enough firepower to mow them all down two times over before he would have to reload.  Jerry fantasized about doing just that, he could use his .233 and do a My-Lai massacre on this group of miscreants.  

Luckily for all concerned Jerry was a good guy.  Good guys never act out a violent fantasy nor do they hurt innocent people no matter how deluded those people are.  Deadly force was another matter.  If the protesters lit torches and stormed the Bastille, Jerry would unleash unholy hell on them.  Jerry smiled at the thought, another fantasy.  One thing really bothered Jerry’s former cop brain.  Jerry doubted the protesters were the vandals.  The protesters had been pulling up stakes at sunset and returning the next day well after sunrise.  Whomever slashed Sara’s tires did so in the dead of night.

Over the next few days unknown person(s) spray paint graffitied the garage door and set a small fire at a blind corner of the house.  This being a brick facade house the attempted arsonist didn’t do much damage and the fire had gone out by itself.  When Sara saw the scorch marks she freaked.  “Jerry, if the fire had caught in the eves we would have lost the house.”  The fire also worried Teresa big time.  She tried to be brave but the safety of Annie overrode everything else. 

For Sara, the fire was the last straw and she made a decision Jerry agreed was reasonable but expensive.  Sara broke the news to Jerry during dinner.  “I hate to run away but Teresa and I have to keep Annie safe, you understand, right honey?”  Jerry didn’t understand but pretended he did.  Jerry gave Sara and Teresa what he hoped was a reassuring smile and Sara continued.  “I’ve found a small furnished duplex closer to Placerville.  We only plan to stay there until the media and protesters decide to go away.  We might have to go into debt a little more during the move but Teresa’s welfare money will pay for some of it.”

Jerry knew Teresa’s welfare wouldn’t help much but he didn’t want to argue with Sara.  His home had become a target and removing Sara, Teresa, and Annie, temporarily only made sense.  The ladies moved to their new digs in the dead of night while Jerry stayed behind to guard the house.  Before they left, Jerry gave Sara his twelve shot Grendel .380 pistol to carry in her purse for self defense.  Illegal yes, because Sara didn’t have a concealed carry permit.  Jerry and Sara figured any local jury wouldn’t hassle a grandmother protecting herself and a single mother with toddler in tow if it came to that.

Since the shooting Jerry had been having regular nightmares where he relived it and lost the fight.  Sometimes his weapon wasn’t loaded; sometimes his bullets hit the suspects but did no damage.  Jerry always woke up sweating with his heart pounding.  He also started getting stomach problems.  He had never been what you might call delicate and all of a sudden Jerry was waking up at 3:00 or 5:00 AM with horrible stomach pains.  They were so bad they made Jerry moan… in a bad way.  Jerry also didn’t want to go outside.  Sara didn’t understand.  “Is it the news crews and the protestors?” she asked.  “You can go out after dark.”  Jerry couldn’t bring himself to admit to Sara that he felt people were staring at him.  One time in a crowded store Jerry felt his chest tighten and his heart started to pound.  “Here it comes” thought Jerry, the heart attack I’ve been waiting for.  After a while Jerry figured out his attack was more panic and less heart.  “I’m really losing it” thought Jerry; “I’m having a panic attack in Wal-Mart.”

Right after Sara and the children moved to the duplex, the evening news reported our Sun was treating us to another spectacular CME event.  The newscaster emphasized that the ejecta completely missed our earth exactly like the prior event.  She added that there was absolutely no possibility this CME could disrupt Earth’s electromagnetic field.  Jerry didn’t catch this broadcast and knew nothing about this second CME until his brother called about a week later.

Jerry’s brother Manny lived in the small retirement town of Paradise about a hundred miles north of Shingle Springs.  Manny was ten years older than Jerry and the brothers were cordial but not really close.  For sure the age gap had a lot to do with it.  When Manny called, Jerry figured this was going to be a “hang in there brother, they can’t touch you when you’re right” call.  Jerry was initially confused when Manny started talking about science stuff.  “Bro, did you get the latest news on the CME’s?”  “What’s a CME” asked Jerry. 

Manny told Jerry he would swing by the next day and talk with him in person and Jerry had quipped only half joking; “that’s not a problem since I’m under virtual house arrest.”

When Manny showed mid-morning, Jerry noted his brother looked a little grim.  “Protesters got ya down or is it having an infamous brother?”  “These protesters are f-ing cretins and I’m guessing you’d be more infamous if you had actually done something immoral or illegal.”  Manny went on, “Jerry, you have to understand there’s always a segment of the media as well as race baiters who’ll try to find fault with any shooting incident involving a “victim” race and law enforcement.”  “I’m not in law enforcement anymore,” Jerry stated.  “You know what I mean, Jerry.”  

Jerry led Manny to the living room.  While Manny plopped down on the couch, Jerry placed an unopened but cold can in front of him and a glass with ice.  Manny was a somewhat detail oriented retired USAF Major and had his habits.  In all his visits to the Garcia household he never asked for any drink except the one Jerry thoughtfully had ready just for him: full bore Coke in a can.  Jerry and Sara only drank diet but Jerry kept a six pack stored in the pantry at all times exclusively for Manny’s rare visits.

“Anyway, what I’m here to explain, as you so flippantly put it, isn’t a small thing like protesters.”  “Right,” said Jerry, “the CM thing.”  “What I’m worried about Jerry is the potential end of the world.”  Jerry couldn’t help himself; he laughed so hard in his brother’s face and for so long, tears started flowing and it became embarrassing.  Manny stoically waited for Jerry to regain his composure.  As Jerry was wiping his eyes he saw Manny hadn’t been laughing along with him.  He wasn’t even smiling.  “You’re not serious Manny, come on now buddy.”  Jerry reached his arm towards his brother’s shoulder and added, “you’ve been watching way too much of that crazy prepper show on TV right?” 

If not for the fact Manny loved his brother and was very fond of Sara he would have got up, walked out the door, and left Jerry to his well deserved fate.  “Listen brother, you know my hobby correct?”  “Yes” said Jerry, “you’re into astronomy.”  “Well Jerry, astronomers watch planets, and moons, and what else Jerry?  “I don’t know bro, your anus?”  “You’re showing your ignorance little brother, Uranus is a planet, but in your case it’s also a hole in a horse’s ass.”  “Okay, said Jerry,” and he laughed, “you got me there.”  “Come on Jerry, you know the answer, what else do amateur astronomers study?” “Alright,” said newly serious Jerry as he pantomimed sitting up straight so he could answer Manny like a proper schoolboy.  “Astronomers study stars and I guess comets and meteors.”  “Very good bro … and what is the star closest to Earth?”  Jerry smiled, “alright Manny, I know this one, “It’s Proxima Centauri.”  “Wow Jerry, excellent, you are correct.”  Jerry smiled again and puffed out his chest.  Knowing such an obscure fact when Jerry’s hobbies involved items that go bang and not the Big Bang, was quite a coup.  While Jerry was bright, Manny had always been brighter.  Jerry was nerdish, but Manny was ubernerdy.  During their childhood Jerry always played soldier, or hide and seek with his friends.  At the same time much older Manuel was building his own computer or doing something for the science fair. 

“One thing Jerry,” continued Manny, “that was a trick question.” “What?”  “You forgot about the other star that’s really the closest to Earth, we call it our Sun, or Sol, in Latin.”  Jerry was now eight years old again.  “You bastard, that wasn’t a trick question but you did trick me.”  “Whichever answer I gave, you would have said I was wrong.”  “On the contrary, both answers are considered correct in polite company.” “Oh … well.  Wait a minute” added Jerry, “something just occurred to me.”  “And that would be?”  “Do you actually do a lot of studying of the Sun with you’re telescope there blinky?”  “Actually Jerry, I’ve been making exhaustive observations of our Sun lately through my large diameter scope using a high tech gadget I like to call a filter.” 

Jerry had lost yet another in a long line of discussions/arguments with his big bro.  “I got it” said Jerry.  “You mentioned a CM something when you called and the CM has something to do with the Sun.”  If Jerry was a schoolboy, Manny was the scholarly professor.  “Our Sun dominates our existence and is the basic energy source for all life on Earth.  Without our Sun our planet would be a lifeless snowball even with its’ warm molten core.  The Sun’s mass is about 1/3 of a million times more than that of Earth.  The Sun also accounts for about 99% of the total mass of our solar system.” 

“Okay” said Jerry, it’s really, really big and gives us heat.”  “Yes brother.  Most of the Sun is hydrogen and of course it’s burning.  Our Sun is in fact a huge fusion reactor.  It gives us life but it’s also capable of burning away all of our modern technology.”  “I guess,” said Jerry.  Jerry frowned.  “I guess what you’re telling me is true but isn’t it also true that the burning away thing you mentioned isn’t likely?”  Manny gathered his thoughts for round two of his end of the world briefing and gazed off into space for a short time.  “Let me tell you tell you about the Solar Storm of 1859.” 

Manny hit all the high points:  Huge sunspot observed in September 1859, some people reported the Sun looked substantially brighter, amateur astronomer Richard Carrington first documented a solar flare, followed by the ejecta impacting and disrupting the Earth’s magnetic field a few days later.  Manny continued; “The induced electro-magnetic energy burned out telegraphs worldwide and some telegraph sets caught on fire.  Telegraphs were about the only sensitive electronic devices the world had in 1859, and come to think of it, they weren’t all that delicate.  If a CME as large as the 1859 event happened today, all of our electricity delivery grids would be utterly destroyed; along with I’m guessing most or even all unshielded electronic devices.”  Jerry got up from the couch and brought a full bore Coke back from the kitchen along with a refill for Manny.  Jerry drank his straight from the can and noticed the cloying sweetness compared to diet.  This was the closest thing Jerry currently had to a stiff drink in the house, and he needed it. 

Once Jerry had settled, Manny continued.  “To answer your question concerning how often a 1859 class CME event is likely to happen, the answer is about once every 500 years.  This is according to radioactive elements found in ice cores.”  “Alright” said Jerry, “let me think about this a minute.”  Manny could see Jerry doing the math in his head. Jerry looked up and to his left as he thought it through.  “Okay,” 1859 to now is just over 150 years, not 500, so statistically aren’t we safe?” 

Manny smiled at Jerry as he would a small child.  “Well bro, 500 years is only an average.”  Jerry, I have a hobby contact who’s a member of the M.S.U. Solar Physics Group.  She says there’s a good chance our electrical grid worldwide is going to get fried by Ol’ Sol sometime between 54 and 60 days from today.” 

Jerry stared at Manny and Manny thought; “at least he’s not laughing.”  “M.S.U.?” said Jerry.  “Um, Mississippi State or Missouri?”  Manny answered; “M.S.U. in this case is Montana State.”  “Manuel, if this is true how come only you and your girlfriend hobby contact knows about it?”  “She’s obviously not my girlfriend little brother and the truth is lots of people already know about a third CME as a possibility.” 

“I have another question” said Jerry.  “Of course you do, ask away.”  “You mentioned a third CME.  We had one in 1958” … “1859 corrected Manny.”  We might have a third one, so when was the second one?”  As soon as Manny determined Jerry wasn’t kidding it was his turn to laugh.  “I’ve completely confused you at this point haven’t I Jerry.”  Manny went on, “where have you been lately Gerardo?  We’ve had two X category CME’s during the past two months.  The second followed the first by 57 days.  They were so large they made the evening news.  As worrisome and not so well known, they occurred on the same plane as Earth’s orbit.  Our Sun emits mostly smaller CME’s every few days and sometimes several a day and they rarely interact with Earth.  The 1859 event was what we now call “X” category although theoretically a larger “Z” category is possible.”  “Z for zombie right bro?”  “That’s right Gerardo, Z for zombie.”  “As I was saying, the 1859 CME was noteworthy because it was huge and the ejecta impacted Earth.”  “Okay, Manny, I have yet another question.”  “Why is a third large CME a possibility and if it happens, who cares?”  Manny suddenly reached over and gave Jerry a brotherly slap to the knee.  (this was very unlike Manuel, who was not a touchy person) “Now you’re getting it, Jerry.”  “It comes down to not only size and trajectory, but equally important … incidence and timing.”

Manny pointed to himself and then down the hall towards the hallway bathroom.  “Help yourself; you know where it’s at.”  Manny left the room for a break and found Jerry had brought him another refill when he returned.  He said, “Jerry, someday you’re going to make someone a wonderful wife.”  “Hey, I’ve got Sara, and you’re the bachelor big fella.”  “Right, that reminds me, how’s she and … ah,” “Teresa” said Jerry.  “Yes, how are Sara and Teresa, doing?”  “They’re fine and safer than here at the moment as you know.”  “Of course said Manny.” 

Manny stretched and resettled his generous bulk into the soft cushions of Jerry’s couch.”  “All right Jerry, were did we leave off?”  “You never answered my last question” said Jerry.  “What makes you and your girlfriend think we’re going to have another CME two months from now?”

“In layman’s terms the first X category CME occurred about two months ago at almost a right angle to the Earth.”  “Roger that…got it,” said Jerry.  “The second CME was also X category.  It occurred last week from the same sunspot cluster.  This CME’s ejecta traveled at about a 45 degree angle from the Earth.”  “Okay,” said Jerry, “another miss, got it.”  “Multiple eruptions from the same cluster are very unusual but not unknown.  The unique aspect at this point is that each CME was dangerously large and as I stated earlier, on the same plane as our orbit.”  “That bit I don’t understand,” said Jerry.  “Plane or orbit?” asked Manny.  “The plane part.”  “In this case the term plane refers to orientation.”  Manny held up his hand between himself and Jerry.  “Pretend I’m holding an orange.  You don’t have an orange I can hold do you?”  “No I don’t.”  “To bad, if you did I’d have you hold up a grain of salt from your back bedroom to get the full effect.”  Manny chuckled at a joke he knew Jerry didn’t get.  “Anyway, hold up your finger, good boy, that’s the Earth.  This cluster has already fired off two ejecta streams which only missed burning your finger because the first one happened to hit the fireplace beside me and the second shot off towards your kitchen.  If they had hit the floor or ceiling over here where my hand is, your finger would be completely safe, get it?”

“I get it now” said Jerry as he lowered his finger.  So there are 360 degrees in a circle, which gives us a 1in 360 chance of getting hit.”  Manny made a humph sound and sadly shook his head.  “More like a 1 in 4 chance little brother, CME’s are huge and expand as they travel.”  “So we already dodged a 25% chance two times?”  “Correct again” said Manny.  “You impress me more and more.”  Jerry suddenly felt he was getting another of his stomach aches.  “So if we get another one in two months we have another 25% chance of being hit?”  “You would think so wouldn’t you” … Manny took a dramatic pause at this point detectives C and H would have envied.  “Except …for those elements I brought up earlier.  You remember Jerry, incidence and timing.  Many people in the community feel this sunspot cluster is behaving like a periodic geyser.  The Old Faithful of clusters if you will.”  If yes, we can expect a third ejection two months plus two days from the previous event.  The forum built in a fudge factor of 5% either side.  You add three days for the ejecta to reach Earth and subtract eight days from the previous event.  That gives us the 54 to 60 days I mentioned two Cokes ago.” 

“Oh great” groaned Jerry.  “It gets even worse” Manny added.  “That was incidence, the timing is also unfortunate.  The timing puts our planet in a bull’s eye.  Everyone knows our planet orbits around the Sun once every 365.25 days.  What almost no one knows is the Sun rotates on its’ own axis once every 27 days.  Many in the community expect the current cluster to swing around and point dead-on towards Earth just in time for Old Faithful to blow away our dandelion’s bloom of electromagnetic infrastructure.  It comes down to shear bad luck and timing.” 

“Give me a second” said Jerry.  “I got at least 54 days for ya bro.”  Jerry scratched his hairline like other simians he was so closely related to.  “First you said we had a 25% chance of getting hit, now you say it’s 100% because of bad timing.”  “That’s not exactly what I said, Jerry.  I stated that “many” feel this has a chance of happening.”  “I’m one of the many, if you didn’t get that.”  “Okay, but what are the odds this thing will go off, and go off exactly on time?”  “Those Jerry, are the most important questions of all.  Unfortunately, I’m not clairvoyant.  However, if this cluster is periodic we will get hit.  If it stays in the high X category we can expect to lose our entire electrical power grid for at least several years.” 

Jerry was thinking again.  “When you got here you said this was potentially the end of the world.  Not having electricity for several years wouldn’t be the end of the world.”  “You’re half right Gerardo.  For the Third World, losing electricity wouldn’t be so traumatic; they’re used to surviving without a grid.  However, us, the First World, has relied completely on electricity for what? 75 years?  You could survive without electric lights or a telephone or cell phone or the internet or television or radio.  But, could you survive without food, fresh water, central heat and air, hospital care?  Could you plant and grow your own food it you had to Jerry?”  Jerry answered, “maybe I could.”  “I believe you can do it as well little brother when the time arrives, that’s partially why I’m here to warn you.”  

“Come to think of it we’re not so bad off Manny.  Sara and I have our old fashioned little ranch home and we have some land and a garden and some animals and water too.”  “Right on” said Manny, showing his age.  “I don’t feel that will be enough to save you for long if the worst happens and you haven’t planned for the worst.”  “I think I just now got where this is heading, you want me to become a prepper like those crazy preppers on that hilarious prepper program.”  “That’s exactly right little brother, and I feel so strongly about this I have something right here to help motivate you.”  Manny reached into his sports coat with his strong hand.  Retired and recently jumpy former cop Jerry had a momentary surge of panic --- GUN.  It passed and Jerry thought to himself; “man, you are losing it.”  Jerry saw Manny was holding up a white envelope, the kind of envelope well to do bachelors like Manny might put money in.  Manny opened the flap and gave his brother a mini peep show of the contents.  “Holy shit” thought Jerry, “there’s some green in there, lots of it.” 

Chapter 4

You’re my lifeboat

“What I have for you is $2,000.00 in twenties.  I’m willing to give you this money on two conditions.”  “I’m cool with conditions…gimme the money nigga.”  Manny was patient with Jerry, he understood Jerry’s so called sense of humor was what you might call …off.  “Condition one; I want you to spend every dime of this two grand on bulk food and or other survival gear at your discretion.”  Manny continued; “condition two; If the worst happens and I’m forced from my home, I need somewhere with food and water and security and yes, family, to go to.  I’d like to come here if I lose my home.  Gerardo, you’re my lifeboat.”

Jerry started to tear up just a tiny bit but held it in.  So here it was, Manny was finally going senile, or maybe he was merely deranged.  “You know you’re welcome here any time, money or no money.”  Manny smiled and Jerry smiled, then Jerry added; “but the money helps.”  Manny did his pointing routine and got up for yet another bathroom break.  This gave Jerry time to consider the envelope of money Manny had handed him.  “What the fuck do I do now?  I can’t take money from a crazy man, can I?”  By the time his brother returned from the lave Jerry had made his decision.  He would take the money and not spend it, and return it later when the world failed to end, or he would spend it, but only on food.  Since Manny was a closet prepper, Jerry figured he would be happy to inherit two grand worth of Twinkies or whatever for the next time the world ended.    

Manny found Jerry making sandwiches in the kitchen like a good house husband.  Manny laughed at his little brother.  “If you feed me I might never leave.”  Jerry had decided it was time to hit Manny with a dose of reality.  “How come the media isn’t talking about this crisis?”  Manny didn’t stumble.  “Well Jerry, I’ve been monitoring CME, solar flare, and sunspot activity forum posts recently and they have some good reasons why the news media is staying away from this story.”  Jerry’s face became mock serious and he asked; “It’s not a conspiracy, is it Manny?  Is it a conspiracy?”  “Very ha, ha, funny Jerry.  Let me explain it to you in language you may understand.  To begin with, news media outlets report facts, not unproven theories, possibilities, or conjecture.  Also, they try not to yell “fire” in crowded movie theatres, if you get my drift.  The mainstream news media rarely panics people if they can avoid it.” 

Hmmm, Manny was sounding pretty goddamn sane, but genius often walks hand in hand with madness.  “Alright Manuel, I agree with you on these points.”  There was a pause in the conversation and Jerry thought maybe they had come to an end when he remembered something else Manny mentioned earlier.  “You said something earlier about, lots of people already knowing about this Sun problem possibility.”  Jerry watched his brother attack his sandwich while he waited.  Manny was a dandy but he sure could make short work of a ham sandwich.  It was close to but not exactly cannibalism.  “Well Jerry, anyone who watches the news or browses the web knows we’ve had two huge CME’s in two months.  That alone is enough to get a small percentage of people jumpy.  Have you noticed food and gas prices lately Jerry?”  Jerry was mute and Manny continued.  “Oh I’m sorry brother, of course you haven’t.  You’ve had more pressing matters on your mind haven’t you?”  “Well, let me assure you prices are already up substantially.”  I came here on a shopping trip as well as to have this talk.  I visited the Wal-Mart in Placerville on the way here.  Guess what? The ammunition counter is empty, someone is preparing for something.”

All right, so we have another run on ammunition, Jerry understood more than most how dangerous our world had become.  There was always some crisis or other and each had the potential to frighten the masses into stocking up on beans and bullets. (usually more bullets than beans)  “Alright Manny, presuming you’re right, what do you suggest I do exactly?”  “Jerry, except for the parade of news vultures and simpleton protesters you’re very well set here.  You have a well and a creek and a fire resistant house.  Hell Jerry, you have fruit trees and a garden and even some animals.  Even better bro you have a real brick fireplace with a wood burning stove.  Manny continued, if the worst happens you’re going to need that stove.” 

“So I should stay here with my mini farm and my family and wait it out and buy some extra food, is that it?”  “What I suggest you do brother is” …Manuel paused to gather his thoughts and catch his breath.  Manny had a touch of emphysema.   “I suggest you take the two grand plus every other dime you can scrape together.  Use the money to prepare for the end of the fat times we’ve all enjoyed for so long.  I suggest you be ready if and when the Sun destroys electrical grids worldwide 54 days from today.  If it happens, everyone in the U.S. goes back to the 1800’s overnight minus steam power and a mostly self sufficient agrarian society.  I suggest you buy all the food you can get your hands on plus any survival supplies you feel might be helpful.  That reminds me little brother, Wal-Mart plus every gun shop I checked between here and Paradise is out of .22 Long Rifle ammo, would you happen to have some to spare?” 

Jerry hooked up Manny with some .22 from his longtime ammo stash and the brothers said their goodbyes at the front door.  Jerry invited Manny to move in before the potential CME strike but Manny politely declined.  Manny’s plan for the CME if it occurred and if it was bad was to save his house from fire first and looters second.  Jerry got a puzzled look and asked; “fire, are you afraid someone will set fire to your house?”  “No” responded Manny.  In 1859, there were reports of telegraph wires sparking and telegraph sets that caught on fire.  If a third CME occurs and if it’s even close to the magnitude of the recent two; Manny placed his plastic bag holding his booty of two 500 round cartons of .22 on the floor in the front hallway, held his hands up in front of his face and wiggled his fingers like dancing flames, I expect the world will burn.”

“Expect fire Jerry, plan for it.”  With that, Manny picked up his bag of bullets and gave Jerry a hug.  Jesus, Jerry couldn’t remember I time when Manuel had given anyone a hug.  Jerry held the door open and chuckled when his brother answered “FU cur” to a protester’s “Boo.”  Jerry noticed Manny had wisely parked way down the street well away from the gaggle.  When Manny safely reached his car Jerry closed and locked his door.  Jerry had a lot to think about.

Jerry took a nap first and towards evening got to work.  To start, Jerry did his own internet search.  He tried a search with “CME, two month pattern,” and got a beaucoup butt-load of hits.  Jerry searched the internet for a couple hours and found what he figured he would find.  Jerry hunted up his cell phone and debated calling Manny.  While he was deciding whether or not to call, Jerry admired his new toy.  Prior to Sara moving out, Jerry had always barrowed her cell when he did jewelry runs or other broke dick cop jobs.  Borrowing her phone had been a bone of contention between the two and Sara asked Jerry to buy his own every time he had to barrow hers.  Jerry used to point out that a second phone was a large ongoing expense for something he rarely needed.  When Sara and Teresa moved out Jerry finally caved in.  Jerry admired his phone.  Cell phones were science fiction when Jerry was a young man.  Dick Tracy had a wrist radio and Star Trek had communicators; that was it.  The “World of tomorrow” Jerry now lived in didn’t have flying cars but it had cell phones and flat screen TV’s and personal computers; those were wonders enough. 

Jerry finally called Manny.  “Hey bro, are you back at your nest in Paradise yet?”  “No, I’m still shopping but I can talk, what ya got?”  “I’ve been surfing the net or whatever and I found nothing on mainstream science sites about periodic CME’s.  I found information on periodic comets but as far as I can tell there’s no such thing as a CME that goes off like a geyser.”  “Exactly”, said Manny.  “Most scientists believe the two recent CME’s are completely unrelated.  Most feel that even if they were expelled by the same sigmoid feature they’re just a fluke, like lightening striking consecutively in the same spot.”  “What does Freud have to do with this?”  When he answered, Jerry could hear the consternation in Manny’s voice.  “Listen Jerry, I know exactly how intelligent you are so don’t play dumb.  However, I know you like to kid so I’m going to play along.  It’s not Sigmund, it’s sigmoid.  The term refers to an “S” shaped sunspot feature.  The “S” we see is a coiled electromagnetic field.”

“All right I’m busted.  I did find several dire warnings on YouTube concerning the impending end of the world from the tinfoil hat wearing crowd.  They feel the Sun might go on shooting off plasma bursts for months or years.  All of them are sure we’ll get hit sooner or later and one hit from a large CME is all it will take to figuratively fuck us in the ass.” 

“I wouldn’t say it using your words but essentially that’s correct.”  “Manny, can I hold off on buying supplies or whatever until closer to your 54 day drop dead date?”  “Oh sure you can do that Jerry.  But, I advise you don’t wait because when everyone figures out we have a potential problem it will be too late to prepare.  Jerry, right now you have almost two months to get your act together.  If the worst happens you’ll thank your lucky stars (Manny chuckled, another pun Jerry didn’t get) you were ready.  If nothing happens 54 to 60 days from now you’ll be stuck with extra food and a lifetime supply of shaving blades; big deal.”  “Okay,” said Jerry, “thanks for the advice.”  “Hey,” said Manny, “stay safe and remember I love you bro.”  Jerry heard Manny click off and he looked at his touch screen marvel and said out loud; “he must really think this is for real, a hug and the “L” word in one day?”  In fact Manny was certain either he or his brother or both would be dead before Christmas.  Manny had not only drank the Kool-Aid, he was stocking up on it, cases of it. 

That night Jerry wrote up a list of supplies.  He called Sara the next morning and asked her to come over.  Sara didn’t want to run the media/protester gauntlet so they agreed she would come by in the late evening.  Jerry spent most of the day reviewing survival topic videos on YouTube and taking notes.  When Sara showed up Jerry had dinner waiting for her.  This told Sara he was about to do something she wouldn’t like or ask her to do something she would hate.  Jerry showed Sara the envelope of cashish he got from Manny and explained the money came with a couple strings attached.   During dinner Jerry told Sara all about the world possibly ending in 53+ days.  After Jerry finished Sara calmly spoke, “Jerry… honey, I respect your brother’s opinion on most issues and I know he’s scary bright… but he has to be wrong this time.  Shouldn’t we concentrate on the lawsuit and Teresa and Annie?”  Sara saw Jerry slump when she told him that.  Too bad, someone had to keep men focused on real world concerns.  Sara saw Jerry gather himself.  “Honey, I agree with you 100%.  However, I feel we can do the things you mentioned and also spend some of Manny’s money.  He wants us too and I’ve been looking for a project to get my mind off…you know.”  Sara gave Jerry a dubious look.  “Sara, you should also know I didn’t have to take one of my pills last night for the first night in a long time.”  Jerry was looking at Sara like a faithful doggy wanting a walk.  Sara knew she should say no but how could she?  Sara again reviewed the list of supplies Jerry had handed her earlier.  She really took her time.  “Since this list is mostly animal feed and groceries I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stock up just in case your brother’s crazy theory is correct.  If the world stays together the animals can eat some and you dear, can eat the rest.” 

Jerry had been holding his breath waiting for marching orders from his boss.  He blew out a big double lungful of stale Jerry breath and reached for something on the empty dining room chair next to him.  Jerry had put it together before dinner.  He carefully put it on and Sara knew exactly what she was looking at.  It was a beanie made from aluminum foil.  Sara started laughing and she couldn’t stop.  Sara pointed at Jerry’s new hat and her hand shook up and down.  “You even made a tiny propeller for the top, how did you do that?”  Jerry tried to spin the prop and this made Sara laugh harder.  Jerry smiled as the love of his life wiped tears away.  Jerry was well aware Sara must have married him for his sense of humor because it certainly wasn’t for of his looks. 

“Great babe, then it’s decided.  I suggest we tell Teresa something other than the truth concerning the spending spree.”  Sara gave Jerry the same look women have given men for millions of years: The look which silently says; “you are a dumbshit.”  “Jerry, other than the truth is what normal people call a lie.”  You want to lie to Teresa.”  “Well yes, but I think it’s for the best for two reasons.  Reason one, if we tell her the truth she might think we’re nuts.”  Sara pointed to Jerry’s cosmic ray beanie.  “Why would she think that?”  Jerry continued; “two, if we tell her the truth it might scare the crap out of her.  I suggest we tell her we’re stocking up on essential items because we might have to declare bankruptcy because of the civil suit.”  “That won’t frighten her much,” said Sara.  Jerry didn’t miss the sarcasm.  “Well, not as much as all our modern conveniences possibly being burned away.”  Sara weighed the moral ramifications of a white lie and said, “all right, now that we have our stories straight…lets go over your list together, after you take off that stupid hat.”   

Chapter 5

The list

The first item on Jerry’s list was shelter.  “You notice baby I’m not planning on going anywhere.  We have a perfect house as far as protection from wildfire goes.”  “Yes Jerry, I know, thanks to the concrete tile roof you insisted on getting we’re fire resistant."  Jerry thought to himself, “here we go again with the concrete roof.”  Sara never failed to mention it.  Jerry decided to save his breath this time and not argue about it.  Yes, the concrete tile roof cost twice as much as an ugly asphalt shingle roof.  The fact is the concrete roof had a lifetime warranty while the asphalt roof was only warranted for 15 years.  Also, the concrete roof had better insulating qualities and as Sara admitted was fire proof.  Jerry used his most charming tone of voice when he answered her.  “We also have a brick house instead of modern sucky stucco and we have a basement.”  “Well Jerry, we really don’t have a basement because it’s full of stuff.”  “I’m going to clean all that crap out and store it partially in the garage and the rest I’ll store in one or two of the sheds.”  “Sounds good,” said Sara.  “And if this “C” thing hits Teresa and Annie and I will move back here.”  “Well, yes of course.” 

“Item two” said Sara as she glanced at her copy of Jerry’s list.  “Water.”  “Correct” said Jerry.  “We have the world’s lowest gallon per minute well and it won’t work if the electricity goes out.”  “Then we can’t stay here unless you like creek water.”  “Exactly,” said Jerry.  “I’m not drinking from that dirty creek,” said Sara.  “Oh but you will and you’ll be happy to get creek water.”  Jerry went on; “You know our little creek is one of the reasons I bought this house.”  Sara had never prized their tiny creek but Jerry fell in love the first time he saw it.  The realtor had pointed out the source started on this 3.5 acre lot and Jerry remembered she had said; “They don’t call this area Shingle Springs for nothing.”  The most amazing aspect of the Garcia mini ranchette spring was it didn’t often dry up during summer.  Once or twice maybe but mostly they still got at least a trickle year round.  Jerry realized the spring would be their most valuable resource if the electricity failed.  Jerry noticed Sara was snapping her fingers near his face.  “Jerry, Jerry,” said Sara.  “I lost you there for a second.  I’ll drink from the creek if I have to.  Are we ready for the next item?”  “Yes dear.” 

“Item three is food.”  “I’ll get food babe,” said Jerry.  “What kind of food did you have in mind?”  “Sara, you won’t be happy if I tell you.”  “Please tell me you’re not going to buy nothing but Spam.”  “Not at all” said Jerry.  “I have two words for you sweetheart: Pig Chow.”  Sara laughed briefly and then got a very serious look on her face.  “You better be kidding Jerry.”  I’ll drink dirty creek water but I’m not eating hog food.”  “Alright, scratch the Pig Chow, would you eat delicious rice, wheat, corn, and oats?”  “I guess” answered Sara.  Jerry smiled and enjoyed his secret Sara ribbing.  He had described the ingredients in a popular dried dog food.  “How much food do you plan to buy dear?”  “I’m shooting for one or two year’s worth depending on prices.”  “Are we ready for item four?” asked Sara.  “Ready.”

“Item four, said Sara, is personal care items.”  “I know what those are of course.  There’re the paper products and health care items we routinely use.  How about I work on getting these items?”  “Sara, you read my mind as usual.  You know what I need except Manny pointed out something I would have missed: shaving.  No more electric razor for me.  Can you please buy me two years worth of disposable razors and shaving cream?  Also, don’t forget dental floss.”  Jerry saw Sara write a note on her copy.  Possibly she was just writing; “My husband is a controlling asshole.”

“Item five is medical supplies.”  “Sara, I’ve been taking one of those generic Pepsid AC pills every day since the attack except for yesterday.  If I get stressed it looks like I’ll need one per day for the duration.  We also need generic Claritin and lots of pain relievers and the standard stuff for colds and flu.”  Sara pointed her pen at Jerry, “no problem dear I’ll buy those.  I’m also going to need to get toddler and young child medicines.”  “This hun, is one of the many reasons I married you.”  “Ready for the next item?” asked Sara.  “Not yet, think major injuries with no doctors available.  We’ll need bandages and blood stopper pads and fish antibiotics.”  “Whoa, band aids and bandages I got, blood pads I don’t unless you’re talking maxi pads and you’re not, are you?”  “No I’m not.”  “Great Jerry, you can buy blood pads and the other thing you mentioned.”  “Fish antibiotics” Jerry said helpfully.  “Sure, whatever.  I’m not even going to ask why we would ever need fish antibiotics when we don’t have any fish on the property.”  Jerry scrunched up his face and thought a moment.  “We also need Rid shampoo for lice.”  Sara was now starting to get slightly agitated.  “Again dear, we don’t have lice.”  “Exactly,” and Jerry pointed his index finger at Sara to emphasize the point.  “A year from now all the neighbors will be teeming with lice but we won’t because we bought lice shampoo while it was still available.”  At this juncture Sara remembered that insanity often runs in families.  For example, Jerry’s brother had been odd forever prior to this latest madness.  Having married well and divorced better, Manny had enough money to be considered eccentric.  Jerry on the other hand was just poor enough that the neighbors would consider him a crazy old coot when this “C” thing went the way of Y2K.  Hopefully the neighbors wouldn’t find out and Sara could throw away the stupid lice shampoo a couple months down the road.  “Let me tell you about vitamins Sara.”  “What? …vitamins, yes baby I’ll buy a two year supply of those.”  For most husbands this would have been enough and they would have moved on.  Not Jerry.  He loved his trivia.  “Sara, I heard a report some months ago that said a daily vitamin is ineffective and a waste of money.”  “Got it, no vitamins.”  “Not so fast, Jerry continued.  Those studies were predicated on Americans getting more than enough vitamins and minerals from our rich diets.  If the CME happens we won’t be eating bananas for who knows how long.  No bananas equals no potassium, or at least lots less, so we will need those vitamins after all.”  “Got it,” said Sara, “get vitamins.” 

“Ready to move on” said Sara.  “Yes ma’am.”  “Item six is guns and ammunition.  What are you expecting Jerry?, a war?”  “Of course not” said Jerry.  However, if we have stuff, and we will, and people loose everything, some of them might try to take our stuff by force.”  “Jerry, right now you have enough guns and bullets to last a lifetime.”  “Ma’am, yes ma’am, this is the one item we already have covered, except we also have “shelter” covered.”  “Thank God for small favors,” said Sara.  Jerry saw Sara had fallen for his Cheshire Cat grin.  Jerry was secretly thinking about four additions to his defenses:  military body amour, a suppressor, night vision, and items that go boom.  Jerry kept these dark and dangerous and in two cases, illegal, thoughts to himself. 

“Item seven is food preservation/production supplies,” said Sara.  “I’ll get those items” said Jerry.  “Some of them are heavy.”  “We already have a garden; do you plan to expand it?”  “Yes I do” Jerry answered.  I’m at least going to buy seeds and fertilizer and whatever strikes my fancy so we can expand it before the bulk stored food I plan to buy runs out.  “Speaking of bulk supplies, and I know this doesn’t fit in this category, Annie is going to need at least a few months worth of diapers.”  “Buy away,” said Jerry.  But let’s shoot for not going into debt too much over this.” 

“All right Jerry, the last item says “miscellaneous.”  “Yes hon, this is like a catch all for items we come up with together.”  “What about batteries?  Batteries are electric; will they work if electronic things burn out?”  “I have no idea dear, but I’ll research that question, anything else?”  “Will flashlights work?  No use having batteries if flashlights won’t work.”  “I’ll check on that also,” said Jerry. 

Starting on day 52+ Jerry began his buying spree.  On many days he left the house prior to 5:00 AM before any protesters showed up and made sure he didn’t return until after dark.  Jerry had thought about having Sara and Teresa watch the house while he was gone but decided against it.  Why put them at risk?  Besides, they had their own shopping to do.  One lucky break was the number of protesters had started to thin and the media had completely lost interest in “The Jerry Story.”  Unfortunately, at least one protester, not always the same person, showed up every day like clockwork.  It was almost like they were employees putting in their time.  Jerry didn’t know of course this is exactly what they were.  Jerry was only able to sneak away at all because he had cleaned out a space in the garage for his truck to keep it from being vandalized by some lowlife protester.  On several days Jerry had Sara swing by and pick him up so they could shop together.  These were like mini dates for the couple.  Jerry was taking a calculated risk leaving the house unprotected at times, but the alternative was remaining a prisoner in his own home.   

Being a systematic sort of guy Jerry started with shelter.  As he had discussed with Sara he didn’t intend on bugging out or otherwise fleeing anywhere.  Jerry did feel it was a good idea to protect the house from the greatest danger to structures: fire.  Jerry ordered two small ABC dry chemical extinguishers for under $25.00 each plus two larger 5lb.’ers for $50.00 each.  Thinking of shelter Jerry thought about personal shelters in case they did lose the house.  A tent?  No.  Ah, the outlawed incandescent light bulb in Jerry’s brain flashed and he thought, “what if it gets real cold?”  Sleeping bags are like small shelters.  Jerry currently had one stored in a shed.  He had inherited this one as a cast-off from his daughter’s sleepovers long ago.  That one would work for Teresa and Annie.  Jerry bought a new sleeping bag each for himself and Sara.  Being a crafty old buzzard he made sure he could zip the bags together so he could cuddle with his blushing bride.  Again, the bags were meant as last ditch shelter if they had to abandon the house.  Their home had assets and loved ones they just couldn’t leave.  There was Sara’s chicken coup and her animals plus two cats and one dog.  While their dog was a fine guard dog, Jerry had kept her inside except for supervised poop breaks since the house vandalism.

Jerry next tackled the water issue.  He looked into buying a manual pump system for his well.  These systems were either very expensive or made entirely out of pvc pipe.  The pvc pipe kit Jerry found online was not very expensive but Jerry figured it would break sooner or later if he used it on a daily basis.  After watching an install video of the pvc system, Jerry decided to buy the kit as a backup in case his little creek went dry.  The kit cost less than $200.00 but Jerry had to buy bundles of 20’ pvc pipe and couplers and pipe cement and miscellaneous pipe stuff.  Jerry felt that less than $400.00 total was cheap insurance against running out of water.  While Jerry was at the home supply store he also bought some tarps and lots of duct tape.  If Mythbusters could do amazing things with it so could Jerry.  Jerry also bought a lifetime supply of butane lighters and several dust masks.  Sara pointed him towards the masks.  Fires equal ash and burning cinders.  The masks might come in handy. 

Jerry and Sara already owned one stock tank but Jerry ordered two more 100 gallon plastic tanks for extra water storage capability.  The tanks cost $100.00 each.  Jerry didn’t buy any bottled water.  The stuff is heavy, bulky, spilly, and expensive.  Jerry did buy many gallons of liquid bleach to treat drinking water plus three reverse osmosis water purifiers.  Jerry got one of each of the top brands just in case one or two of the pumps were garbage.  The purifiers cost about $300.00 total.  He bought several used food grade 55 gallon plastic barrels plus two metal drums with lids.  Jerry planned to store bulk grains in the barrels.  The barrels and grain were nothing new for Jerry.  He already had this setup for pig and goat feed. 

Jerry spent lots of time not to mention money buying animal and people food.  Hell, why not?  If the U.S. got thrown back to hunter/gatherer groups in less than two months every pound of food Jerry bought now would be effectively priceless.  If the grid failed store bought food would become completely unavailable.  On the other hand as Sara had pointed out, if Jerry’s brother and various whack job YouTube end of the world posters were wrong, Jerry would end up with extra bulk food.  These wouldn’t be a total loss because his family and Manny could eat some of it, donate some to charity, and use the rest of it for animal feed. 

Jerry started with sugar.  Refined white sugar is sweet poison and very bad for flowers and other living things – except when you’re starving.  Every human and most animals love foods with sugar in them.  The reason we’re drawn to this taste is because mother nature tells us sweet tasting foods are rarely poisonous and usually contain lots of caloric value per unit.  “Yum yum” thought Jerry.  His family would drink gallons of grape Kool-Aid if they were starving, or if he forced them to drink it.  Jerry found 50 pound bags of delicious empty calorie sugar at Sam’s Club for $17.00 per bag.  He bought four bags. 

Jerry found salt at Wal-Mart in 40 pound plastic bags for $8.00 per bag.  This was 100% sodium chloride with no additives.  This wasn’t people salt, it was pool salt.  It would do in a pinch.  This salt was supposed to kill bacteria in pools or whatever but it was still pure salt.  Alright, maybe it was pure-ish.  Jerry had once watched an hour long documentary all about salt.  Thanks to that program Jerry knew how important this purchase was.  People and animals need salt to live, period.  Back in medieval days salt was worth its weight in gold.  Jerry reasoned it would be valuable again if it became scarce.  Jerry remembered reading somewhere that the word “Salary” came from the root word “Sal” meaning “Salt”.  The Egyptians who built the pyramids were paid at least in part with a salt ration.  Jerry wasn’t sure how much salt to buy.  At $8.00 per bag he decided to get a nice even $88.00 worth plus tax.  When he got home Jerry pondered where to store the stuff.  Obviously, the bags had to be kept away from water.  Jerry finally decided to stack them near the fireplace.  This was dual use.  If someone attacked the house he could rearrange the bags and make an Annie sized bullet resistant cubby up against the fireplace. 

Next on Jerry’s food list was coffee and tea.  These were luxuries for sure but they wouldn’t expire for years.  Jerry had bought a three pound bag of Indian tea in granules when he was single and was still making tasty tea from that bag 10 years into his marriage.  The tea lasted that long because Jerry was the only person who used it, plus he didn’t touch that particular tea for years.  The point is the tea never lost its potency.  Jerry didn’t drink coffee but Sara was addicted to it.  Knowing Sara might literally die without coffee, or at least feel like it, Jerry bought a two year supply of her favorite; 12 cans at $8.00 per.  Ouch, for much less but still substantial money Jerry bought two years worth of tea and instant hot chocolate packets. 

Jerry had previously reviewed a video which listed the top 19 survival foods plus a 20th non-food item.  The 20th item was baking soda.  Jerry found it in a 13 1/2 pound plastic bag at Sam’s Club for $7.00 per bag.  Jerry didn’t know why this item was on the list until he checked out another video on the stuff.  Jerry could make Irish soda bread with it.  Wow!  If this was the only use Jerry would have passed.  However, according to the video baking soda is good for many uses.  You can clean with it, you can deodorize with it; both clothes and your stinky body.  You can brush your teeth (both of them) with it, use it as a mouth wash, and it’s a pretty good antacid.  It also soothes sunburn and poison oak rashes.  Jerry bought two bags. 

The next item on the list was alcohol.  No one in the house drank hard liquor but Jerry bought a case of (12) 750ml glass bottles of vodka for a lot of money.  Jerry had read this would be needed to calm frayed nerves, medicinal use, and also was a wonderful barter item.  It the Sun managed to calm down Jerry would have presents for Manny for years to come.  Manny drank like a fish. 

Three of the items on the list were grains.  Jerry didn’t buy any brown rice because he read it spoils much faster than white rice.  Jerry had read years ago that the only ration the North Vietnamese received while they fought (and outlasted) U.S. soldiers in South Vietnam was white rice.  If rice could help defeat the world’s best military Jerry figured he wanted lots of it.  Sam’s Club had a shitpot load of rice and Jerry bought all of it.  He bought (10) 50 lb. reinforced plastic bags of Calrose rice from Sacramento for $19.00 each.  He bought the same amount of jasmine rice from Thailand for $25.00 per bag.  Jerry also decided to splurge on (4) 20 lb. burlap sacks of Indian basmati rice for $19.00 each. 

Jerry bought his other grains at the feed store.  He already had an intimate relationship with this store because he and Sara bought animal feed there on a regular basis.  Sara had six chickens and two pigs and one pigmy goat.  She and lately Jerry got eggs from the feathered peckers and raw milk from the hell beast.  Jerry got nothing but grief from the pigs and Sara wouldn’t let him make them into bacon.  These critters cost a small fortune to feed and Jerry stocked up.  Chicken feed for example cost $18.00 for 50 pounds and the chickens inhaled it.  Jerry didn’t stock up on pig feed.  When Sara had bought them they were cute and little.  Now each “Little” piggy weighed upwards of 100 pounds and could eat four pounds of ground corn/soybean premix each day.  They literally ate like pigs.  Jerry didn’t dare tell Sara that if the worst happened Spotty and Babe would have to go.  

Jerry had never bought wheat before.  The feed store had it for $16.00 per 50 lb. bag.  Jerry bought three bags.  He understood he would have to buy a manual grinder to process the whole wheat and that was an added expense and a pain in the ass.  With wheat Sara could make bread or at least tortillas.  The upside was the grinder could also process the other grains Jerry was also stocking up on.

The feed store also had whole oats for $17.00 for a 50 lb. bag.  Grind it up a little and cook it and you got breakfast.  Jerry bought six bags of oats.  He also bought six 50 lb. burlap bags of whole dried yellow sweet corn for $20.00 per bag.  They had bought this before as supplemental pig feed.  Jerry had a plan to save most of the corn and plant himself a corn patch at some point.  Sara could also make more tortillas with ground corn. 

Jerry bought five 50 lb. bags of corn based dog food at $25.00 per bag.  Very expensive but everyone in the household, animal and human, could eat it if they had to.  Dog food is balanced with added vitamins and minerals and beats cropping grass like a sheeple.  Jerry also found one item at the feed store he already knew about because of the animals and one lucky find.  The first was a packet of vitamins and electrolytes for $6.00 per 8 oz. packet.  This was for animal use to keep them healthy.  Jerry was an animal, right?  He bought several packets.  The lucky find was antibiotics.  He asked the store manager about the mythical fish antibiotics and sure enough they had it.  This stuff would cure your koi pond of fin rot or whatever.  The manager told Jerry more than one “Prepper” had bought it.  Jerry asked it they had any other antibiotics and this is when the lucky find happened.  The manager directed Jerry to another display and handed him a packet.  This was 6.4 ounces of tetracycline hydrochloride for $10.00.  This was enough to cure horse clap or several cases of Jerry lockjaw.  Jerry had been so excited he all but wet himself.  Since a simple bacterial infection could kill you if the healthcare system failed Jerry bought (5) packets.

The next item on Jerry’s survival food list was vinegar.  Jerry bought two cases of plastic gallon jugs for not much money.  Vinegar would be important to preserve vegetables the next time Jerry and Sara got a garden in.

The next item on the list was honey.  Jerry and Sara currently had two bee hives on the property but Jerry knew they wouldn’t survive more than a year without varroa mite medication.  Jerry planned to go to Sacramento at some point and stock up on the meds.  While he was shopping Jerry checked out the price of retail honey and almost keeled over from sticker shock.  Jerry would have to survive on the honey he could produce. 

Dried beans were next.  Jerry found pinto beans for $36.00 for 50 lbs.  Expensive yes, but, cultures, including Jerry’s, had been mixing beans and rice to get a complete protein source for millennia.  Jerry bit the bullet cost wise and bought six bags. 

The next item was soy sauce.  The food list poster had pointed out this is a great food seasoning which doesn’t spoil.  Jerry found it for less than $10.00 per gallon and bought several.  It would be great for stir fry in the future. 

Dry pasta was next.  Jerry had already bought bulk wheat but making pasta was a chore.  Jerry kept it simple and bought one case of (20) 1lb. boxes of thin spaghetti at Wal-Mart for just over $20.00.  While he was at it he also bought several cases of ramen soup.  Before he retired Jerry used to eat these things at work including often eating the noodles raw at his desk or in his vehicle as a snack.  The ramen was college student cheap at about 20 cents each. 

To go with the pasta Jerry bought institution sized cans of tomato sauce just shy of a gallon for 2.50 each.  He bought several cases so they would have enough to pair with rice.  Jerry and Sara already had patches of Greek oregano growing almost wild on the margins of their garden to flavor the sauce. 

The next item was cooking oils.  Jerry found 35 lb. plastic containers of soybean oil at Sam’s Club for $23.00 each and bought three of em.  Oil has lots of caloric value and anyway, everything tastes better fried.   

Powdered milk was also on the list.  Jerry found it at Sam’s Club but he had to order it.  The upside; free shipping.  For $70.00 Jerry got a (6) case of #10 cans.  Each can had 108 oz.’s of powder and a few ounces would make a serving of horrible tasting milk.  Jerry ordered a case and didn’t look back.  Baby needs milk and they couldn’t rely on goat’s milk being available in the long run.  While looking for powdered milk Jerry found powdered eggs online in a 2 lb. can for about $20.00 per.  The can was the equivalent of about 70 fresh eggs.  Factoring in the price of fresh, dried eggs cost about three times as much as fresh.  The only good news was the cans would store for up to three years unopened.  Jerry decided to pass on powdered eggs.  Sara had already started preserving extra eggs by coating them with oil.  She also planned on pickling some.  The oiled eggs would last up to nine months without refrigeration and the pickled ones might last forever. 

Spices were next on the list.  These also used to be worth their weight in gold but that wasn’t necessarily because they had to be imported from exotic lands.  Spices were thought at the time to cure certain illnesses.  Spices were more medicine than flavor enhancers.  Now that people knew better Jerry concentrated on black pepper and cinnamon.  Jerry could grow chili peppers and garlic and onions and the leafy spices like the before mentioned oregano.  He might not see peppercorns and cinnamon ever again. 

Also on the survival food list was Kool-Aid packets.  This made sense to Jerry since they are cheap and he had already bought 200 pounds of sugar.  Jerry bought boxes of several different flavors.  He laughed at the idea of being the purple drank king of Shingle Springs.  Like that would ever happen. 

Jerry also bought some food items just because he wanted them.  First he bought a few large glass jars of dry yeast.  He also spotted gallon sized glass jars of pickles for $5.00 each.  He bought several thinking he could reuse the jars to preserve pickles, peppers, and tomatoes, from his own garden.  Jerry also spotted three 108 oz. cans of hominy on the “discounted merchandise” shelf at the local Wal-Mart for $2.61 each and bought them.  Both Jerry and Sara had grown up eating hominy and this was a good deal. 

At this point Jerry had been shopping for two weeks and had bought most of the shelter and food items on his list.  He did a quick and dirty accounting and found he had spent just over $3,600.00.  Jerry hadn’t been keeping an exact count of the cost of the stuff Sara had been buying but it was steep.  Sara had been buying small but expensive items like medicines, diapers, and personal hygiene products.  The razors Sara bought for him were god awful expensive and of course she had to buy some pretty pink ones for her and Teresa. 

Jerry had been checking in with Manny every few days and figured it was that time again.  Jerry called but Manny wasn’t picking up.  “Hey bro, it’s 38 days till doomsday and I’ve mostly finished the shelter and food.  Give me a call.”

While he waited for a callback Jerry dug into his safe and made a list of his firearms and ammo.  Jerry’s big gun was a 1980’s Sterling manufactured AR-180 semi-automatic rife.  This of course was .223 caliber and Jerry had lots of slotted AR-180 compatible 30 round mags for it.  Jerry also had a Remington model 1100 semi-auto 12 gauge.  This was an older model with the glossy wood stock.  Jerry had also recently bought a Talo special edition Ruger 10-22 semi-automatic rifle.  Jerry had bought this one when it looked like the fascist A-holes running California might outlaw military style .22 rifles.  This little rifle had all the “bad” features liberal politicians hated:  a threaded barrel, a pistol grip, and a folding/collapsing stock.  The Ruger also accepted 25 and 30 round mags and Jerry just happened to own lots of them.  He had luckily bought them before his Nanny State leaders had banned sales of magazines holding more than 10 rounds.  Jerry also had his Glock model 23 .40, except he didn’t have it because Sacramento County hadn’t returned it yet.  Jerry’s Glock model 19 9mm was currently in the living room.  This older weapon had defaulted as Jerry’s CCW pistol when his .40 had been taken into evidence.  The old 19 was almost exactly like Jerry’s 23 except for the caliber.  Both pistols had tritium night sights.  Jerry strongly believed that if you worked at night you better be able to see in the dark.  Jerry used the same trick with this pistol as he had with his model 23.  The 9mm held two more shots per mag and Jerry had several 15 and 17 round mags for it.  Jerry also had ten, no, eleven other handguns in several calibers including the .380 Grendel he had previously loaned Sara.  Handguns had always been working tools for Jerry during his varied law enforcement career.  He had started off as a security guard, was a uniformed officer for a few years, and retired as an ABC Agent.  Jerry had used revolvers when he started and still had them.  He had upgraded to pistols and had kept almost every weapon he had ever bought.  Jerry told himself firearms were a good long-term investment and that was true up to a point.  The truth was he liked having them in the same way Sara enjoyed her jewelry collection.  As part of his preparation Jerry didn’t go out and buy more guns.  During his perusal of survival videos a regular topic was; “how many guns do you need?”  The simple answer is; “all of them.”  Realistically, Jerry didn’t need and could never use five deer rifles and five shotguns if the end came.  He had defensive weapons for himself and Sara and that was enough.  It was a moot point anyway because Jerry couldn’t afford an arsenal.  He was already eating through his Visa credit at a record rate.  Jerry figured he had enough boomsticks to ride out the apocalypse.

Also, as stated earlier Jerry never met a round of ammunition he didn’t love.  Jerry had been buying bullets since the 1980’s and still had most of them.  In fact he had so much ammunition there was no way more than a small fraction of it fit in his safe.  Jerry had also made a tidy profit over the years.  About 1988 he had bought a case of 5000 rounds of .22 Long Rifle ammunition for about $115.00.  Today it was worth about five times that minus the rounds he had fired over the years and the 1000 rounds he gave Manny.  Jerry had watched the prepper show for several years for its entertainment value and some of those survivalist people had 100,000 or more cartridges saved up for the end.  At twenty-five cents up to one dollar for each round of common centerfire ammunition this was a lot of scratch.  Jerry calculated he currently owned about $3,000.00 worth of bullets and that was enough.  Being a paranoid old cop Jerry had always been comforted knowing he owned what the uninformed call an “assault rifle.”  Jerry liked to think of his AR-180 as an “anti-assault” rifle.  Many years ago Jerry bought a 720 round spam can of surplus Malaysian 5.56mm 55 grain FMJ rounds just in case.  He had paid about $150.00 for them and these rounds were now worth at least fifty cents each.  Over the past couple of years Jerry had bought the following boxes of shiny new ammo for his big gun:  A 40 round value pack of 45 grain hollow-points for $32.00.  The box said these were varmint rounds.  Jerry decided they would work equally well on two legged varmints.  At Wal-Mart Jerry had also found boxes of American Eagle 62 grain green tip mild steel penetrator rounds.  These were essentially U.S. military surplus rounds and were the same ammo our soldiers used in the Middle East.  They were expensive, $80.00 for 150 rounds, but Jerry had to have them.  If Jerry ever had to air out a bad guy’s vehicle he now owned the rounds for the job.  Jerry had also bought (15) 20 round boxes of TulAmmo steel cased 55 grain FMJ rounds for the bargain price of twenty-five cents per round.  Jerry had told Sara he had to buy the “Tula” ammo because he was a tool.  (somehow she hadn’t found Jerry’s quip funny.)  Jerry had found 720 round ammo cans of Turkish 5.56mm 55 grain FMJ at Wal-Mart for $495.00.  This price was outrageous, especially for Wal-Mart.  Maybe this was the special Commie-State price.  The price of freedom is high, and even higher in California.  Jerry passed.  Jerry had also lately been buying lots of boxes of .40, .380 and 9mm.  He had even bought a 20 round box of  240 grain soft-points for his S&W 3 inch model 629 .44 mag.

When Teresa showed up with Annie with almost nothing but the black clothes and white diapers on their backs Jerry and Sara found themselves going to Wal-Mart every three or four days for toddler supplies and food.  This continued until Sara and Teresa moved to their duplex.  Every time they went as a group Jerry window shopped the ammunition display.  Jerry found it was like a treasure hunt because they seemed to change the stock every week or so.  For example, one week Jerry spotted .50 Browning Machine Gun cartridges in 10 round boxes for about $38.00 per box.  What made this extra strange was California had stupidly outlawed rifles chambered for this largest of otherwise legal rife cartridges some years ago.  There had been a national ammunition shortage in 2013 and into 2014 and Jerry had begun buying ammunition after the shortage ended.  Wal-Mart had limited ammunition sales to three boxes per customer per day during the shortage and continued this policy for some time after the shortage ended.  Being in the ammo slinging profession Jerry had always felt more secure when he had lots of it around.  Jerry also had to qualify every six months to keep his concealed weapons permit valid.  This had been one of the first things the Sacramento detectives had checked after the shooting.  Had Jerry been all nice and legal concerning his CCW status? Yes he had been.  Jerry had learned a lesson from the great ammo shortage of 2013 and had decided to create a stockpile of ammo against the next one.  All it would take would be the next mass school, restaurant, theatre, etc., shooting or threats of more gun control from the shitbird politicians to set off another cycle of panic buying and shortage.  As stated earlier Jerry had also found over the years that ammo was a sound investment; it never lost value.  

Even before Manny’s visit, Jerry had noticed the ammunition cabinet at the Placerville Wal-Mart was recently all but empty most of the time.  Could Manny be right?  Were people buying all the ammo for the same reason Jerry was buying extra food?  The cell phone started buzzing and it was Manny calling Jerry back.  “Jerry, I understand you bought a horse and a happy meal.”  “Very funny, I thought I was the comedian of the family.  I bought shelter items including fire extinguishers and over two years worth of food.”  “Very sound my boy.  I’m very proud of you and hope you spent every penny of the pittance I gave you.”  “Well,” said Jerry, “If I told you how much I’ve spent you’d keel over.  Suffice to say the two grand is a fond memory.”  There was a pause and Manny asked, “are you done shopping?”  “Not by a long shot” answered Jerry.  “I have some special items to buy I can’t discuss plus farming and home repair and food preservation supplies.”  “It sounds to me like you’re ahead of the game but if I were you I’d finish my buying before word gets out concerning the coming disaster.”  “Do you still feel the Sun will go off on us?  It’s only 38 or so days away and we still haven’t heard squat from the news media.”  “Jerry, we’ve discussed the media before.  They’re not going to say shit, pardon my vernacular, until it’s too late to matter.”  Jerry softly laughed into the cell phone.  Nothing like a good laugh to defuse a hothead.  “Okay, calming thoughts big guy, I had forgotten.”  “Jerry, an important day will be eleven days from now when the Sun has rotated on its 27 day axis.  At this point the sunspot cluster we’ve been monitoring will face almost directly towards Earth again.”  “And it could hit us then, right?”  “Most likely not.”  Manny continued, “remember the second CME occurred 62 days after the first.  Eleven days from now we’ll still be 27+ days out from the last event.  What we will learn eleven days from now is whether the sigmoid feature is still active.  If the feature has dissipated its all clear, no third CME will be forthcoming.”  “I understand” said Jerry.  “And I also remember we decided not to wait to begin preparing because that might have been too late.”  “Right,” replied Manny.  “In retrospect we may have been overly cautious, but better to be too careful than get caught with our shorts down, as it were.”  “I’ll call you again in a few days’ said Jerry.  “Love ya bro.”  “Love you too.”  Jerry hit the red “cancel” button on his cell.  “This emergency might turn out to be a big washout but at least it’s brought us closer together as brothers,” thought Jerry.

The next day Jerry continued buying supplies.  Since Jerry was confident he had enough guns and ammo he concentrated on buying extra items which he felt would give them an edge if the world really did come crashing down.  The first item on his special list was Military body armor.  Jerry looked it up on eBay and found it was ridiculously inexpensive.  He found a new plate carrier for $67.00.  It even came in different colors/camo patterns.  Jerry went with tan because that would blend in well with the dry grassland all around his house.  Jerry found the (4) 1/4 inch hardened steel plate set for the carrier for $156.00.  Jerry added it up and laughed at the $223.00 total.  How appropriate since this body armor was rated to stop .223 rifle rounds.  It would also stop larger rifle rounds and was cheap insurance against Jerry getting ventilated.  Ceramic or composite plates would have been lighter but they were way more expensive.  Jerry didn’t even consider buying a military Kevlar helmet.  He thought about buying armor sets for Sara and Teresa but decided against it.  The truth was Jerry really didn’t think the world was going to end in less than 38 days.  He could justify body armor for himself because maybe he could use it for security work in the future.  If there was the possibility of getting shot Jerry didn’t want his wife and granddaughter roaming around outside anyway, armor or no armor. 

The next item on the special list was suppressors, also known as silencers by the uninformed.  A suppressor is basically a threaded metal or plastic tube with baffles in it.  Suppressors let weapons sound like “thump” instead of “boom.”  Jerry wanted one or maybe two or more of these so he could fire on bad guys without disclosing his exact location.  Suppressors were verboten by the silly rule makers in the People’s Paradise and Jerry faced a felony charge if he got caught with one.  Easy, he would get all the pieces together and keep them separated until law enforcement and courts ceased to exist.  In the 1960’s there was a book named the anarchist’s cookbook.  It was a survivalist’s and anti-establishment freak’s favorite.  It had a section on “silencers” and gave a brief description of the theory behind how they worked.  It also included a copy of Hiram Maxim’s patent application.  The information in the cookbook was crappy at best.  Inquiring minds stopped buying it when infinitely better information became available for free on the internet.  It didn’t take Jerry an hour to find a video that gave step by step instructions how he could build a suppressor in his garage for less than $30.00.  Jerry noted the inexpensive aluminum D cell flashlight the poster used for the suppressor body and ordered three of them for less than $50.00.  Next, he went to Home Depot and bought washers and other bits and bobs he needed for the guts of the device and to attach it to his big gun.  While he was there he also bought some PVC pipe, end caps, aluminum door screen, and some aluminum tubing.  Jerry could throw together a disposable suppressor with this stuff.  He did not buy the above items during the same visit.  Jerry didn’t want to find himself in jail when the lights went out.  Jerry also bought a tap and die set.  This was an essential tool Jerry needed to put together his sound suppressors.  The set would ensure Jerry’s suppressors wouldn’t blow apart at the first shot. 

The next item on Jerry’s bad touch fun list was night vision.  Jerry reflected long and hard about this one.  One of the main reasons our military pwned the hadjis during the recent fracas was because we could see in the dark and they couldn’t.  You already know Jerry liked weapons he could hit with in total darkness.  The downside was cost.  Jerry reviewed available night vision options and found they were nose bleed expensive.  Military issue goggles for example cost over five grand.  Jerry checked out night vision scopes and found shitty cheap ones for a few hundred bucks and a nice one he waffled on buying.  The nice one was the Pulsar N750 Digisight.  Jerry liked this sight because it was solid and reliable (per the Amazon reviews.)  It was made in Russia and was basically a video camera with a night vision mode and built in reticle so you could aim it.  It was a bulky monster and weighed 2.2 pounds.  Even worse was the cost; $1,600.00.  Jerry ordered one after he watched several YouTube videos of people pig hunting with this scope.  The piggies never saw what hit em.  Jerry figured he needed an edge if his home turned into the Alamo.  Seeing his enemy in the dark was just the edge Jerry needed to survive a siege of his castle.  Jerry didn’t dare tell Sara how much money he spent on this item.  If he did she might beat him to death with it. 

The last item on Jerry’s double-secret wish list was explosives.  Jerry had already dabbled with low explosives in the Army Reserve and had made homemade and highly illegal M-80’s for the 4th when he was much younger.  Every former soldier understands explosives are a wonderful force multiplier.  A force multiplier is a tactic or piece of equipment that drastically increases the effectiveness of your fighting force.  Take the Muj in the Middle East.  They found they couldn’t stop Humvee’s by shooting at them.  Blowing them up however, worked great.  Jerry intuitively knew he wouldn’t be able to defend his home against a large group or gang of invaders without an explosive edge.  There are two basic categories of explosives:  High, and Low.  The military uses high explosives for everything except training devices.  In layman’s terms, high explosives detonate faster than low explosives.  This higher velocity gives high explosives much more power than low explosives.  Unfortunately for Jerry high explosives like dynamite and detonation cord were highly regulated by the State and Jerry had none of the necessary permits.  Low explosives were another matter.  Jerry could buy contact sensitive low explosives and have them shipped to Sara’s duplex.  This stuff was sold as a “Target indicator.”  Hit a pound of it with a center-fire rifle round and you got a nice “Indication” about 20 times more powerful than any M-80 or ashcan or cherry bomb Jerry ever crafted as a juvenile delinquent.  Jerry also bought 10 pounds of potassium perchlorate for $80.00 and enough aluminum German black to make lots of home brewed mini grenades.

During the next few days Jerry ordered some remaining items and had all of them sent to Sara’s duplex.  Jerry had nothing sent to his main residence because he couldn’t take the chance a protester would steal or otherwise fuck with his end of the world stuff on his own doorstep.  Jerry ordered the blood stopper pads he had told Sara about.  These things had a gel or powder in them that congealed blood on contact.  This was another innovative product from the war and one Jerry could get behind if someone shot him.  He also finally ordered a modern manual crank grain grinder.  This product was the first indication Jerry received besides for ammunition that some products were becoming unavailable.  He had to back order the grinder but it eventually showed up.  

Jerry also made a pilgrimage to Harbor Freight Tools and bought a pickup truck bed of stuff.  He bought hand-powered tools like saws; pry bars, and hammers.  He got more tarps, bungee cords, a wood spitting maul, cheap alkaline batteries, several equally cheap flashlights to put them in, and several Rambo knives for $6.99 each he expected would break on the first use.  Hell, maybe Jerry could use them as trade goods.  Jerry considered getting an 800 watt generator for the giveaway price of $90.00 but they were sold out.  He did buy a 2000 watt power inverter he could wire into his truck’s 12 volt system.  As long as he could keep his truck going he could plug 110 volt power tools or whatever into it.  Jerry had been surfing the internet like a champ and had a devious plan to protect his Frontier from frying.

Jerry didn’t call his brother until the evening of day 27+ and he almost didn’t call then because he was afraid.  Ring, ring, and Manny picked right up.  “Okay Manny, what’s the word?”  Manny did one of those dammed dramatic pauses he liked to do and finally answered.  “I have very bad news brother.”  “I knew it” said Jerry, and Manny heard the exasperation in Jerry’s voice.  Jerry continued and cut off Manny in the process.  “I fucking knew it, the sunspot is gone and I’ve just wasted I hate to think how many thousands of dollars on paranoid bullshit.”  Jerry had turned into a blithering little boy and Manny the adult in this relationship let Jerry cry himself out like a toddler.  “Are you done?…Are you finished Jerry?”  Jerry had regained his composure and answered almost meekly, “Yes Manuel.”  “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, the sigmoid feature is strong as ever.”  “What?”  Manny continued, “It’s countdown time Gerardo, 27 days and counting.”  “Oh shit” said Jerry.  “I’m relieved to hear we might still all die, why is that?”

Chapter 6

A small panic

On day 25+ “The Sun” (ironically) broke the story about a possible “cyclical” CME event to the United Kingdom.  No one paid any attention.  On day 23+ “The Daily Mail” printed essentially the same story with slightly better academic experts.  This time lots of folks across the pond paid lots of attention.

Not so amazingly the same pattern took place in the United States.  On day 20+ the “National Enquirer” reported the following story in summary;

The title of the Enquirer story was:  “Will a Plasma Tsunami Hit the Earth in August?”  On April 4th our Sun experienced a X category Coronal Mass Ejection. (CME) A CME is a burst of charged particles and plasma accompanied by a large magnetic field.  This burst of charged particles exits the Sun’s surface at up to one million miles per hour.  “X” category is the largest CME.

Our Sun has a solar cycle of less activity, solar minima, to greatest activity, solar maxima.  During a solar minima period our Sun produces a CME once every few days.  During a solar maxima period our Sun can produce several CME’s per day.  The April 4th CME was very unusual because of the huge size as previously mentioned.  It was also unusual because it occurred during a solar minima cycle.

Dr. Robert A. Course is an astronomer who studies space weather for the National Aeronautical and Space Administration. (NASA) Dr. Course is currently a senior scientist with the solar group at the Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, AL.

Dr. Course confirmed reports from other sources who reported the ejecta of high energy electrons and protons from the April burst traveled in a direction away from Earth.  

On June 5th our Sun ejected a second CME from the same sunspot cluster as the April 4th event.  While this is not unusual, the extreme size of this second CME surprised solar scientists.  Dr. Course confirmed the June 5th CME was every bit as powerful as the April event.  Dr. Course also confirmed for the Enquirer that the ejecta of this second CME came much closer to interacting with Earth’s magnetic field.  “The main mass of charged particles and the magnetic field from the June 5th episode missed the Earth, but this CME was a near miss.” 

The Enquirer questioned Dr. Course concerning reports by many credible scientists that this particular sunspot cluster may be a new kind of cluster: A periodic sunspot cluster.  Dr. Course replied, “two instances doesn’t make anything, much less huge ejections from our Sun, periodic.” 

The Enquirer asked Dr. Course to imagine what will happen if this cluster is periodic and fires a third X category CME towards Earth on August 6th.  “This is pure conjecture and is unlikely to happen.  If our Sun produces a large CME on or about August 6th from the current large cluster first observed last March, I would expect a significant percentage of high energy ejecta to interact with Earth’s magnetic field.” 

The Enquirer asked Dr. Course to discuss the importance of the magnetic field to our planet.  “Our magnetic field deflects the Sun’s normal solar wind.  Our magnetic field prevented the solar wind from stripping away our sliver thin atmosphere untold millions of years ago.  The planet Mars for example was at one time in its history a fledgling Earth.  It had enough atmosphere and warmth that liquid water flowed over the surface.  However, Mars never had the protection of a magnetic field.  Over time, the solar wind stripped Mars of its entire atmosphere.  If not for our magnetic field, Earth would have entered its adolescence as Mars big brother, a dead world with no atmosphere. 

The Enquirer asked Dr. Course if Earth’s magnetic field will protect us from the predicted August 6th CME.  Dr. Course told the Enquirer; “paradoxically, the same magnetic field that protects us from the solar wind would act against us if an unusually severe CME directly impacted Earth’s magnetic field.  Record electro-magnetic fields accompanying such a large CME could create geomagnetically induced currents.  These currents could damage or destroy power grid transformers and collapse the power transmission grid they support.”

The Enquirer asked Dr. Course to predict how long the power will remain disrupted.  “Based on past CME events we might expect a loss of electric power in limited areas for up to 48 hours.”  The Enquirer spoke with other experts including many power distribution infrastructure electrical engineers.  The general consensus between these experts is that a record CME impact with Earth could burn out electrical power grids worldwide from many months up to several years.

Similarly to “The Sun” tabloid story no one but the doomsday fringe paid any attention to the National Enquirer article. 

On day 14+ USA Today printed a story that was almost a word for word copy of the article The Daily Mail printed over one week earlier.  USA Today substituted NASA sources and experts for quotes from European Space Agency experts The Daily Mail had quoted.  USA Today is the third largest circulation newspaper in the United States.  When the USA Today story broke, a hefty percentage of Americans who had visited a hotel or airport on day 14+ started to worry.  

The story made the evening news on day 14+ and that set off a small panic.  Jerry visited Home Depot the following day to buy potting soil for additional future raised beds.  Jerry walked up to the gardening section spot where potting soil was usually stacked nuts deep on pallets and found there was no potting soil.  Jerry also noticed the store was packed to the gills with shoppers and most of them were buying perennial “emergency” supplies.  Batteries; gone.  Gas cans to store spare gas; gone.  Generators; gone.  Jerry now saw his brother’s wisdom.  Jerry could live without more potting soil and bought a big stack of 1/4 inch oriented strand board so he wouldn’t waste a trip.  Jerry had developed a plan to build a rough floor in his attic.

Chapter 7

My brothers an idiot, then there’s me

Between day 13+ and day 10+ Jerry completed buying those remaining survival goodies he could find on the shelves.  It was lucky Jerry and Sara had bought early because by day 10+ shelves were virtually empty except for some frozen foods and other items you wouldn’t want to be stuck with if your electricity got knocked out. 

Jerry also received a call from his civil suit lawyers.  It seemed Robert Lydell and associates were ready to move ahead with the suit.  Jerry asked his lawyers to put them off for one month.

On day 8+ E.P.I.C. Vice Director Tess Saunders accidentally walked in on her boss while he was plowing one of their newer interns.  Being a good girl Friday she diplomatically planned to wait until Houghton finished before she interrupted him.  Tess knew from personal experience it wouldn’t be long.  This giggling junior college skank was the latest of many who unexpectedly found herself bent over Robert Houghton’s imported mahogany desk.  Most likely this slut had the same childish idea most of them had, that she could fuck her way into a full-time position. Tess laughed inwardly, “position”.  Little did this stupid child know Houghton only had patience for one female relationship in his life; and Tess was it.  Tess sighed but did it quietly.  This wouldn’t be the first time Tess found herself cleaning up an embarrassed and degraded receptacle of Houghton’s E.P.I.C semen.  On second thought, she could tiptoe her way out of the office and get herself a latte.  That’s exactly what she did.

Tess returned to the office and found Robert at his desk working away sans slut.  You would never know she had seen him bare assed and thrusting less than an hour ago.  Unbeknownst to Houghton, Tess maneuvered herself into position to ensure the slut wasn’t servicing him under the desk.  

“Are we alone? Tess asked innocuously. 

“Yep.”

“Do you have time to talk about this Gerardo Garcia character?”

“I always have time for you Tess.”  Tess would have believed Houghton if she didn’t know him so well.  He was a talented lawyer and the best bullshit artist she had ever met.  Robert Houghton could sell shit sandwiches and convince people it was pâté.

“We’ve had at least one of our paid people or a student or volunteer outside the guy’s house every day since we found out he lived in our county.”

“By paid people, I presume you’re referring to those wetbacks I hired in the Home Depot parking lot?”  Tess returned Houghton’s stare with stony silence.

“And?” continued Houghton.

“And, the story has cooled in the media and we have bigger fish to fry coming up.”

“Big fish?”

“The local badge heavy bastards are getting all besides themselves about this potential solar storm business.”  Houghton gave Tess his patented “Intrigued” look. 

“Go on.”

“Well boss, I’ve been informed by one of my sources in county admin that the sheriff’s department and Placerville P.D. are planning to put up a tent city at the high school on Canal St. if we lose power.” 

“So?”

“So, officially, they’re referring to it as a contingency Red Cross relief shelter.  Unofficially, per my source, they plan to have a fence down the middle of the camp.  One side is for citizens who need shelter.  The other half is reserved for curfew breakers plus any folks who fail to obey the pig’s orders.”

“I know what that is Tess; that’s a concentration camp.  So you suggest we lay off Garcia and concentrate on the fascist pig plan.”

“You always know best Robert; I’ll get right on it.” 

On day 7+ Jerry looked out his front window and son of a bitch, no protesters, not even one.  The next day same thing, and the next.  On day 5+ Jerry had Sara abandon the duplex (for now at least) and come home with Teresa and Annie.  When they moved back into the big house Sara brought a couple Xterra loads of stuff she and Teresa had bought.  Jerry gave Sara a big hug and pecked her cheek while Teresa held Annie and looked on glumly.  During the following several days Sara and Jerry found room for and stocked away the hundreds of pounds of food and care items they had bought during the past almost two months.  During this time Jerry also put together his military plate carrier and modeled it for Sara and Teresa.  Teresa thought it was “badass” but Sara’s opinion wasn’t exactly glowing.  “Jerry, you look like one of those Hollywood bank robbers.”  Jerry posed for dramatic effect.  “That isn’t the look I was going for but I’ll take it.”  Jerry continued, “I can’t breathe in this thing, but I feel safe.”  

On day 2+ Jerry enlisted Sara’s help in the garage and set about shielding the electronic gadgets he wanted to protect from the CME.  He had read all about the effects of CME’s/Solar Storms.  One online expert stated that CME’s were different than Electro-magnetic pulse (EMP) events created by atomic weapon detonations in the upper atmosphere.  This expert’s opinion was vehicles of all sorts and all electronic devices not plugged into wall sockets would be completely safe from even a direct hit of the Earth by a gigantic CME.  This expert however, was completely confident that all power grids would be completely destroyed.  On the other hand, Jerry read the USA Today article and it mentioned EMP damage.  Jerry decided to go with the worst case scenario and follow the USA Today advice.  The article also stated that one could use Faraday cages to shield delicate equipment from EM pulses.  This led Jerry to do a search for “Faraday cage” on the internet.  Jerry learned that a Faraday cage is like a microwave oven in reverse.  Microwave ovens keep in wave radiation using a metal enclosure.  The window has a metal mesh screen so you can watch your hot pocket bubble without getting your retinas burned out.  A Faraday cage is the same thing except it’s a metal enclosure that keeps out wave radiation.  Jerry had fortuitously bought two metal storage drums with lids. These were perfect Faraday cages as long as you kept the metal lids firmly attached.  It amused Sara to watch Jerry gather up all the electronic gewgaws he wanted to protect and stuff it all in the drums.  All of it had to be insulated from the metal sides of the cans with high tech material.  Jerry used cardboard. 

One of the first things Jerry put in was his unopened Digisight.  Sara apparently had yet to figure out how much money he had spent on it.  Jerry hoped he could return the night scope for a refund if the world didn’t burn.  After Jerry had safely cocooned flashlights and batteries and two portable handy talkies and the house landline phone and two GPS devices and a laptop and a portable AM/FM radio in the metal barrels, Jerry and Sara heard Teresa’s voice from behind.  She had appeared in the garage with Annie in tow.  “I know what you two are doing.  I’ve heard all about it on the TV.”  Jerry had to strain to hear her.  Teresa was one low volume Goth princess.  Annie clutched her mommy’s hem with one hand and adjusted her bottle with the other.  “Do you really think everything that uses electricity will get burned out?”  Teresa was looking at Sara and Sara turned to Jerry.  “This whole ride on the crazy train is your deal dear so maybe you should answer.”  Jerry didn’t answer immediately.  The truth was he found Teresa rather spooky and didn’t often speak with her.  “Well I uh…um, we really don’t think anything is going to happen.  But, we don’t want to take a chance so we’re taking some basic precautions.”  Teresa abstractedly repeated the words, “basic precautions.”  Teresa didn’t like colors but she wasn’t stupid.  Her grandparents had stockpiled enough food and supplies to last forever.  “Should I put my iphone and tablet in the barrel too?”  For Jerry this was a no-brainer.  “I think you should put the tablet in sweetheart, it can’t hurt.”  “All right, I’ll go get it.”  Jerry called after her to put it in a small cardboard box. 

While Teresa and Annie were gone, Jerry got out his cell and called Manny.  He got Manny’s voice-mail.  “Manuel, we’re shutting up our landline phone in a Faraday cage, I mean barrel, and you won’t be able to reach us except on our cells until after the CME window.  I want to thank you for the help and money you provided us.  Good luck brother.  See you on the other side.”  The last remark made Sara smile.  Teresa returned with her tablet in its original box.  Teresa all but chewed her lower lip as she put the box inside the barrel.  Finally, she and Sara watched Jerry put the lid on and bang it a few times with a rubber mallet.  Jerry had always been somewhat anal retentive.  He took out a roll of foil air duct tape and wrapped it all around both barrel tops to seal any gaps.  “When can I get my tablet back?”  “Huh?” Jerry grimaced at the interruption.  “Well, according to my brother and an article I read, the electric wave could hit us as soon as two days from today or as late as eight days from now.  Theoretically, it could be on the way right now.  We may or may not receive some sort of warning from the government.  My guess is they won’t warn us.”  “Why wouldn’t they?” Teresa asked in her quiet voice.  “Well…there’s no reason for them to warn us about something we can’t do anything about.  It’s not like we can take cover or even need to.”  “So if it happens the electricity in the house will go out.”  “That’s exactly correct; that’s the minimum I would expect.”  “And you put all our electric stuff in the metal cans to protect it.”  “Correct again.”  “So I have a question, why didn’t we put our cell phones in the barrels?”  Sara started to say something but Jerry had already blurted out the awful truth.  “Oh we don’t need to protect them because the cell phone system won’t work without electricity.” 

Teresa was stricken.  Her grandfather had so off handedly pronounced the death of her love after Aniseed she hoped beyond hope he was joking.  One look at her grandmother’s solemn face and she knew it was horribly true.  How would she possibly survive without her iphone?  Jerry figured there must be some sort of code in the Goth community against crying.  Teresa looked like she wanted to but didn’t.  Teresa addressed Jerry and hissed; “This isn’t fair,” and stomped towards the house.  Aniseed struggled unsuccessfully to keep up and was dragged over the threshold.

Jerry stayed outside puttering.  Being an oldster, Jerry had zero idea what had just happened.  Sara checked on Teresa and Annie and found Teresa trying to turn on the TV.  The remote lit up but the TV wouldn’t go on.  “When it rains it pours” thought Sara.  “I forgot to tell you, Jerry unplugged the TV and the PC.  You can still use them but you have to plug them in first.  He also wants us to keep them unplugged when we’re not using them.”  Teresa looked grimly at the ceiling and Sara heard her sniff and saw she was wiping away some tears.  Teresa told the ceiling, “whatever.”

While Sara and Teresa watched Annie, Jerry got to work building a Faraday cage for his Frontier.  He had considered stripping it.  That wouldn’t work.  There were too many electronic components and computer modules to take out.  Jerry had considered renting a metal storage unit and covering the floor with foil; or maybe foil backed home insulation panels.  Hey, that was an idea.  Maybe he could build a metal box with the panels.  That was the plan Jerry had gone with.  First, he drove the truck into the driveway from the garage.  Next, he laid down five foil backed insulation panels on the garage floor.  Four panels plus one like a cap at the end gave him an 8’ x 20’ footprint of coverage.  Each panel was 4’ x 8’ and only weighed a couple pounds.  Jerry laid them out foil side up and used his foil duct tape to join the panels together.

Now he needed help.  He went and got the ladies and was happy to see Teresa had recovered from the news of her cell phone’s death sentence.  With Annie supervising they managed to flip the joined panels over.  Now that the foil barrier was facing down, Jerry carefully drove his Frontier onto the panels.  His truck smashed the insulation but that was alright.  The important part was not to tear the continuous barrier.  Sara thought he was done.  “No dear” said Jerry as he pointed to a stack of additional panels.  “I have to use those to cover the truck completely.  The good news is I can finish the job by myself.”  “Are we going to do my Xterra too?”  “I’m sorry” said Jerry, “I don’t have enough panels.”  “Why are we protecting your truck instead of my SUV?”  “My Frontier has a bed and your Xterra doesn’t.”  “Don’t forget your propeller hat honey” said Sara as she and Teresa walked back to the house. 

It took Jerry a couple more hours to place the remaining panels and tape all the joints.  When he was done he had created a shiny square box with a floppy top with a truck inside.  Jerry was counting on something he had read about called “skin effect” to protect the electronic components in his Frontier from EM voltage spikes.

On Zero day the Garcia household was all set.  Everyone stayed at home just in case all hell broke loose.  The media reported many were holding Zero day parties.  The predicted CME did not appear on Zero day.  Unlike the no show Y2K disaster, Zero day wasn’t a deadline.  The CME/solar storm could still arrive up to six days after Zero day according to at least some experts.  Day Zero +3 came and went with no change.  Day Zero +3 was exactly 62 days from the previous CME event.  Predictably, most people expected this so called “grid killer” CME to follow the exact 62 day interval of the previous event.  When it didn’t, most of the world responded with more derision than relief.  The general feeling was the world had been suckered yet again by media hype and fear mongering; exactly like the Y2K debacle.  On day Zero +4, Jerry started getting a little nervous.  By the end of day Zero +5 he was very nervous.  Jerry took Sara aside and told her, “my brothers an idiot, then there’s me.”  Sara patted Jerry on the cheek.  “At least we didn’t die.” 

Jerry and Sara had sat down and were watching something other than Bubble Guppies for once when Jerry’s cell rang.  “Hi Gerardo, it’s on the way.”  Jerry turned his phone towards Sara so she could see Manny was calling.  “I’m going to put you on speaker.”  Jerry had to search for the correct button on the screen.  They got Manny in mid-sentence.  “It’s time building up because it’s the largest CME ever observed.  It’s moving towards Earth extremely slowly.  Mass is related to velocity with CME’s; more mass, less velocity.  It should be here in four days.  Jerry heard Manny breathing hard and paper rustling.  “That would make it August 12th.  “It’s going to hit the Earth on the 12th ?” asked Sara.  “Is it ever.  You have four days to do anything involving electricity, after that, forget it.”  The conversation wound down and Jerry hung up.  “That’s not exactly true you know” said Jerry.  He continued, “the grid will go down but we can still produce electricity with solar cells and generators.”  “You bought those right?”  Jerry shook his head … well, no.  “Solar cells were way too expensive per watt and I looked for a small generator but they were sold out.”  Sara started to protest and Jerry playfully shushed her.  “I did buy you --- wait for it, a power inverter, which I installed in my truck.”  “I have no idea what you’re talking about Jerry.”  “A power inverter turns 12 volt truck power into 110 volts.”   “Can we plug a blow-dryer into it?”  “Yes we can” said Jerry.  “My hero,” Sara deadpanned.  Sara went to hug Jerry but dodged at the last second.  “Fake out, she said, and fled into the kitchen.  Sara didn’t seem frightened of the now confirmed impending disaster.  Jerry considered his own emotional state and held up his hand to see if he was trembling.  Steady as a rock.  “Why should I be nervous” thought Jerry.  Thanks to Manny we saw this disaster coming and prepared for it reasonably well.

There was no hiding this news.  One of the major networks preempted regular programming at 10:00 and aired a live special on the CME.  Sara and Jerry and Teresa watched it and opinions were divided.  Teresa thought the program was boring and amateurish.  Jerry and Sara thought the program was gripping.  From experience Jerry and Sara understood the news networks only dropped their fluff and plastic Ken doll reporting when they were reporting something life-changing.

The next morning, Day Zero +6, the West Coast plus the rest of the world as far as Jerry could tell, went into full blown panic mode.  The Garcias didn’t bother going to the store to stock up.  There would have been no point in it even if they didn’t have half a ton of bulk foods on the property.  Within hours of confirmation there wasn’t a morsel of food left on the shelves of any store.  The Garcia family members watched the panic live and in living color on the flat screen. 

One day out from the 12th Jerry and Sara filled up the bathtub and the stock tanks and available buckets with clean well water.  Before he turned in for the night, Jerry double checked that every electrical device in the house including the toaster and dishwasher was unplugged.

On the morning of the 12th Jerry plugged in the TV and the family watched the extensive media coverage.  It was almost like a reverse New Years broadcast.  Instead of counting down to a new beginning they were counting down to the end.  One program taught the Garcias all about Stereo A and B satellites and how they track solar activity.  The same program told them to expect GPS to go down when the CME hit.  Those satellites along with most others would burn out along with the ground based facilities supporting them.

At exactly 9:00 AM they heard the emergency broadcast system tone.  The message was brief and to the point.  The West Coast of the United States should expect a large solar storm six to twelve hours from 9:00 AM, Pacific Standard Time.  “Alright,” said Jerry, “here we go,” and Sara took hold of his hand.  If the Garcia’s had stepped outside around this time they would have possibly noticed the absence of planes in the air.  The Federal Aviation Administration had grounded all flights over U.S. airspace.

Regular programming resumed but one report was too heart rending to watch.  Before Sara turned the channel it showed the crew members of the International Space Station symbolically battening down the hatches before the CME hit.  Although the program didn’t come right out and say it, experts the program interviewed hinted the astronauts were doomed.  They had shielding against high energy subatomic particles; a safe room of sorts, but there was no way to rescue them at this late hour.  The brave astronauts wouldn’t be the first human casualties but their situation was ultimately hopeless.  There would be no way to return them to earth after the CME hit.  The ionizing radiation from the CME would burn out GPS satellites first, followed by satellites closer to Earth, followed by the ISS, followed by the planet.

At 3:00 PM Jerry asked the ladies if he should unplug the TV.  They were way ahead of him.  Teresa said, “there’s no reason to unplug it unless you’re afraid it might blow up grandpa.”  Teresa got up from the couch and tapped on the plasma’s screen.  “Its plastic, not glass.  I wouldn’t worry about it.”  Sara added, “she’s right dear, we might as well watch it till it goes off for good.”  Jerry couldn’t disagree with logic like that.

At about this same time Manny was watering down his roof and yard with a gardening hose using piped city water while it lasted.  At about 3:30 PM Robert Houghton and Tess Saunders   locked up the E.P.I.C office.  Robert had decided they should be at their duplex and apartment respectively when the CME hit.

Just after 5:00 PM Teresa was out of the room changing Annie when the TV made a crackling noise and went black.  Strangely, it continued making popcorn sounds for several seconds.  It sounded exactly like it was cooking deep inside its plasma guts.  Finally, the TV was still, or at least quite.  When Teresa walked back into the room she was completely unaware anything had happened.  While Jerry cautiously kicked the TV plug out with his foot, Sara tried to switch on the kitchen light and sure enough that was it, the electricity was out.  “Well” said Sara, “this is slightly anti-climactic.”  Teresa dived for her iphone and checked it like a nurse would triage an accident victim.  “I’m trying to call my mom” she reported.  Jerry looked out the back window and found the animals were fat, very dumb, and happy.  Inside the house their dog and two cats gave no indication anything world shaking had happened.  “I can’t get mom.  It rings but that’s it, and no voicemail.”  Sara opened the front door and walked out on the porch.  Jerry was fascinated watching Teresa operate on her phone.  “I can’t get the internet either.”  Jerry stifled a chuckle when he saw Teresa shake the phone uselessly.  That’s when he heard Sara scream.

Chapter 8

The roofs, the roofs, the roofs, are on fire

Jerry ran to Sara and looked where she was pointing.  Sure enough, a little wisp of gray smoke was wafting out of the metal conduit where the main electrical line entered the house. 

“Sara, get one of the small fire extinguishers and bring it here.”  Jerry looked into the living room and saw Teresa frozen like a deer, “Teresa, I need your help out here.”  Jerry didn’t exactly bolt for the garage but he at least fast walked.  Always thinking ahead, Jerry had left the garage door open.  He was lucky he had.  Without electricity, the automatic opener it was attached to was a hindrance, not a convenience.  Jerry grabbed his 8’ ladder and carried it towards the front of the house.  As he struggled with the heavy ladder Jerry thought, “where the hell is Teresa?”  Jerry opened the ladder and told Sara, “Climb up and spray a few puffs into the pipe, then standby.”  Oh no, Sara was crying.  Her entire frame was trembling and she was making noises frightened children make.  “Sara, darling, can you climb up the ladder and use the extinguisher?”  Sara looked to her husband and shook her head, “yes, I can do that.” 

Jerry hustled it back to the garage and got his 6’ ladder.  As fast as he could, Jerry carried it inside and opened it below the hallway hatch leading to the attic.  “Teresa, I really need some help here.”  Jerry was up the ladder and feeling the hatch for heat when he saw Teresa.  She squeezed past the ladder with Annie in tow from the back bedroom.  Jerry jumped down the ladder and found Teresa outside standing below Sara.  “Teresa, are you ready to help me?”  Teresa looked up at Sara and back to Jerry.  Teresa had lost most of her Goth girl coolness.  She looked lost.  “I had to get Aniseed.”  Jerry could hear the fear in her voice.  “Fine, leave her with Sara and come help me.”  Teresa followed Jerry back into the house and Jerry pointed towards the kitchen where they stored the extinguishers.  “Bring a big extinguisher to the hallway.”  Jerry was on the ladder when Teresa arrived.  No time to waste he took the extinguisher from her and slammed the base against the hatch. 

The hatch flew open and Jerry and Teresa saw smoke in the attic.  “Shit, shit, shit,” thought Jerry as he climbed into the attic.  He pushed the extinguisher in front as he went.  Undoubtedly, hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of homeowners world-wide faced a similar crisis.  A large percentage died of smoke inhalation before they ever got close to the fire.  Jerry got lucky.  He managed to reach the flames before they grew out of control.  He also had four extinguishers when most homeowners had none.  Sara saw a huge stream of white smoke jet out of the conduit.  She thought she heard some clamoring and then she heard banging.  Sara looked just in time to see the air vent at the front attic area of the roof fly out and clatter onto their concrete walkway.  Sara took two steps down off her ladder and craned her neck to the left.  She might have laughed except this was no laughing matter.  It did look like a scene from a 1920’s slapstick comedy.  Sara saw Jerry’s head sticking out of the vent.  There was soot on his face and he was alternately coughing and breathing in lungfuls of fresh air.  Whitish smoke seeped out of the vent around him.  Jerry saw his wife staring at him.  “I’m just going to stay here awhile until my heart stops racing.”  Sara had stopped crying and a remarkable calm had come over her.  She answered, “me too.”

Jerry heard Teresa’s voice behind him.  “Can I go get Aniseed now?”  She must have been calling up into the hatch but Jerry heard each word distinctly.  The attic was like a megaphone.  Jerry took a breath before he ducked into the attic.  “Okay”, then he stuck his head back to the fresh air.  

A minute or two later, Jerry saw Teresa walk out the front door directly below and he couldn’t resist.  “Boo” and Teresa jumped.  She ignored him and gathered up Aniseed.  Sara joined her and they walked back towards Jerry.  Teresa shielded one side of her pale face as she looked up at Jerry.  “What are you doing up there?”  “Breathing,” replied Jerry.  Teresa looked into the afternoon sun.  Jerry saw her point.  “Grandpa, I think your neighbor’s house is on fire. 

Jerry joined the ladies in record time.  It was like free diving except through smoke.  He took a big breath and ducked inside.  He couldn’t see the hatch hole but he knew where it was.  Jerry found it and let the extinguisher drop to the hallway floor.  The damn thing was heavy and bounced with a loud thunk.  “That’ll leave a mark.”  He took a breath of relatively smoke free hallway air and climbed down the ladder.

Jerry joined the ladies and looked towards his closest neighbor’s house.  This was the Dewey house.  It was just over one city block away and was two stories.  All of the several houses in Jerry’s neighborhood were clones of the Dewey house.  All of them were extra big and two story.  They were also much newer than Jerry’s old hovel.  Jerry didn’t know the Deweys very well but he still had a decision to make.  Jerry was a former Boy Scout and made the personally stupid but ethical decision.  “Sara, how about you stay here with Teresa and monitor our house.  Have Teresa bring over the big ladder and set it up where the vent is.  She can climb up and peek in and make sure our fire stays out.  Annie can stay with her.  While she does that can you check out the rest of the house and make sure nothing else is smoldering?”  “I can do that.”  Sara gave Jerry a quick peck and he took off at a slow jog towards the Deweys house. 

Jerry saw it was a lost cause before he ever got close.  The Deweys were home and they were understandably frantic.  The roof was what a firefighter would call fully involved.  The Deweys were attempting to fight the fire with a garden hose and were losing.  Mr. Dewey manned the front yard hose.  Jerry tapped him on the shoulder.  “What can I do?”  Dewey did a double take with one of the most panic stricken faces Jerry had ever seen.  “Ah…ah, please, get my car out of the garage.  The keys are in a dish on a table in the hallway.”  Jerry pointed to the front door and Dewey added, “It’s unlocked, hurry please.”

Jerry opened the door expecting smoke and flames.  There were none.  He found the keys and ran to the garage.  Jerry had always admired the Dewey’s three car garage.  He found an automatic garage door pad on the wall and hit it.  Good one Jerry.  Of course nothing happened.  Jerry found a side door and it was unlocked.  Jerry stepped into a garage larger than Jerry and Sara’s first house.  It was also cleaner.  Mr. Dewey’s cleanliness put Jerry to shame.  Jerry found a Range Rover and a Jaguar.  The first thing Jerry needed was to find the manual unlocking handles for the garage doors.  Easy stuff.  Five minutes later, Jerry had the Range Rover safely parked down the driveway as far as possible from the stricken house.  Jerry couldn’t save the Jag because he couldn’t get it unlocked.  He also didn’t seem to have a key for it.

When Jerry walked back over to Mr. Dewey it was all over.  The Deweys were also on well water and their pressure tank had run out.  It wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.  Over half of the roof was now in flames.  There was no stopping this fire unless the fire department showed up and most likely not even then.  Mr. Dewey had been joined by his wife and both were in tears.  Jerry pressed the keys into the wife’s hand.  “I’m so sorry.”  Jerry turned away and noticed for the first time the next house down the block was also burning. 

Jerry didn’t hurry back to his own house.  He could see it was fine.  There was a general haze of wood and grassland smelling smoke in the air.  A gentle breeze was blowing from the West as it always did in Jerry’s neighborhood.  Lots of smoke was coming upslope on that westerly wind. 

Jerry didn’t have to say a word when he rejoined Sara and Teresa.  The look on his face was enough.  Jerry gave Sara a half-hearted smile and said, “I saved their car.”  “The Dewey’s car” said Sara.  “What’s their names?”  “Charles and Margaret” answered Sara.  “Right, Charles and Margaret.”  Jerry picked up the attic vent he had bashed out a million years ago and started climbing the big ladder to press fit it back into place. 

Jerry left both his ladders in place.  “Honey, either you or Teresa check up the hatch hole for fire every 10 minutes or so okay?  I’m going to walk back and check on the Dew, um, Margaret and Charles.”  “Got it, Teresa and I will get some dinner going.  Its all frozen food tonight, with sides of whatever we have left in the refrigerator.”  Teresa gave Jerry a dark scowl as he kissed Sara goodbye.  Jerry guessed exactly what she was thinking; “why does he get to watch the neighbor’s house burn down while I make dinner?”   

When Jerry rejoined the Deweys they were loading up both cars with the small amount of possessions they had been able to retrieve from their home.  Jerry approached Charles and shook his hand.  “Thanks for your help earlier” said Charles.  Charles was less panicky than before.  He now looked shocky.  “I see you got the Jag out” said Jerry, “I’m glad.”  Jerry saw the entire second floor was now burning and sparks were flying away from the structure like a roman candle.  Unfortunately, the West wind was carrying the sparks towards Jerry’s house. 

There was nothing more Jerry could do to help the Deweys.  Ugly looking black smoke was pouring from the open front door.  Whatever Charles and Margaret had salvaged was going to have to be it.  Jerry turned back to Charles and asked, “do you have somewhere to go tonight?”  Charles was definitely in shock and he looked like a sad clown in blackface.  Jerry could see where tears had washed furrows down both soot covered cheeks.  Margaret had been listening and spoke to Jerry for the first time.  “We’ll be all right Mr. Garcia.  We’re going to drive to my parent’s house.”  All three winced as the house made a large cracking sound.  The roof could collapse at any minute.  “You could have something to eat, my wife’s making some dinner.”  Margaret thought about Jerry’s proposal for a second.  “I doubt Charles could eat now and I certainly can’t.  I just feel sick and want to go.  Besides, we want to get going to Sacramento before dark.  Thank you anyway.”  

Jerry waved goodbye to the Deweys as they drove off.  Jerry looked to the open garage.  Charles had told Jerry he could have anything he could save before the house burned to the ground.  Jerry considered the items he had seen in the Dewey’s garage.  Had he seen a Mountain bike? No.  Had he seen a dirt bike?  No.  A quad runner?  No.  A chain saw? Nope.  Jerry had noticed fancy and expensive looking golf clubs with the wheeled cart. Jerry doubted he would be doing much golfing in the foreseeable future.

As Jerry walked home (again) he saw even more sparks and a general haze of smoke racing past him.  They would really have to guard against fire.  The military always had a “fire guard” to do just that.  The three of them would have to take turns checking throughout the night.  One stray spark could doom them, just like the poor Deweys.  When Jerry got home he found Sara and Teresa had cooked up a mixed fare of frozen fish fingers and hash brown patties.  They had fried them.  This was easy for now because the Garcia’s had a 250 gallon propane tank on the side of the house.  Hopefully the fuel would last for a year or so.  While they ate, Jerry told Sara and Teresa about his second check on the Deweys.  He also outlined his fire guard plan.  Teresa was unconvinced until Jerry asked her to have a look outside.  She returned with a little Gothy kennel cough.  “Drink some orange juice dear,” said Sara.  Sara remembered something important and snapped her fingers.  “The dust masks.  We have those some place.”  Sara was up like a shot to find them.  “Full of energy that girl,” said Jerry to Teresa, “that’s why I married her.”  Teresa gave Jerry a crooked smile and attempted to get Aniseed to eat a piece of fishstick.  “Grandpa, why do you call these fish fingers?”  “I got that from Dr. Who,” answered Jerry.  Jerry waited for Teresa to respond with the famous question from the show.  Wait for it.  He was somewhat disappointed when she didn’t.  Jerry was mentally reaching for something…anything, to distract him from the slow motion disaster they were facing.

Sara soon returned with a plastic bag filled with various masks.  Jerry had bought the basic white jobber home handymen and women might buy.  He had also bought three much more expensive Bane looking masks.  Teresa was instinctually drawn to the menacing Bane mask.

Teresa tore her mask from the plastic like it was Goth Christmas and tried it on.  “How do I look?”  It was muffled but understandable.  Sara answered, “you look great sweetheart.”  Jerry took the first watch.  The mask did help somewhat.  He had placed buckets of water strategically around the yard and planned to call the ladies and do a bucket brigade if the house caught.  Around 8:00 PM Jerry started seeing many more sparks coming from down slope.  There was also a grassfire to the Northwest. 

As the Sun set Jerry saw something he couldn’t believe.  “Sara, this is not an emergency.  Come out here with Teresa and don’t forget your masks.”  When Sara and Teresa showed up all they could do was stand awestruck.  The sky was ablaze.  It was green higher up and neon pink into purple closer to the horizon.  The entire sky glowed with a defused milky brilliance.  The colors changed and danced in curtains exactly like Jerry had watched on TV shows about Alaska.  “I know what this is,” muffled Teresa, “But I can’t remember the name.”  “Aurora Borealis,” Sara muffled back.  “We’re really fucked, aren’t we grandma?”  “Yes we are dear, and don’t curse.” 

During his first fire watch, Jerry tried to start Sara’s Xterra.  He cranked it and it started right up.  “That’s nice,” thought Jerry.  He walked into the garage and faced his Frontier in a box.  He tore down the driver side panel and got in.  “Please start” he said out loud and turned the key.  Varoom.  “Yes.”  Jerry was two for two.  Hmm… I’m really three for three counting the Range Rover.  Jerry was able to clear away the remaining insulation panels surrounding his truck even with the garage lights out and even though it was now after 9:00 PM.  Jerry walked out of the garage and noticed how unnaturally light out it truly was.  The Aurora continued to blaze overhead and the defused milky light kept the entire landscape amazingly illuminated.  Sparks continued to race by like deadly fireflies.  Jerry had seen real fireflies decades ago in Alabama during Army Basic Training.  There was also a hot wind blowing from the West.  Teresa relieved Jerry from his fire watch duty at 10:00 PM and Jerry decided to take a little walk past the Dewey house.

Jerry considered taking a rifle but decided that would be silly.  He was armed anyway.  He had his Glock 9mm inside his belt and a spare mag in his pocket.  He walked to the Dewey house and found it a smoldering wreak.  The next house to the West was also all but gone.  Jerry came to a burned out area of grassland and wished he had boots on.  He had stupidly worn tennis shoes.  Jerry continued walking west.  He finally reached the slope where he could look down into the greater Sacramento Valley and almost pissed himself.  It was an inferno.  No, it was like a sea of fire.  

Jerry was reminded of Kurt Vonnegut’s description of Dresden after the fire bombing.  His first thought was no one could survive down there.  On reflection, Jerry knew that wasn’t true.  Most of the people would make it out.  Jerry feared lots of them would head straight for him, a wave of desperate refugees, away from the searing flames and heat. 

Back at home, the entire family spent an apprehensive night worrying a spark would catch in the eves and take hold before they could knock it down.  Jerry told Sara and Teresa what he had seen before he got some sleep.  Near dawn, Jerry relived Sara from fire watch.  He watched the Sun come up with mixed emotions.  Should he curse the Sun for killing millions?  The Sun looked sick; blood red and weak.  It was the haze of smoke that caused that, and it would only get worse.  Jerry decided to thank God and Manny and his all female team for helping them survive the first night.  The first night of a battle was always the most important.  This was going to be a drawn out battle for survival and Jerry was determined to win at any price. 

On the morning of the second day of what the Garcias later variously called “The Event”, “The Emergency”, “E-Day”, and in Teresa’s case: “Freaky Friday”, Jerry opened his two sealed metal Faraday cage barrels and unpacked all the electronic devices he had sought to protect.  Everything worked except the laptop couldn’t find the internet and the GPS devices failed to lock onto any satellites.  Sara plugged in the landline phone while Teresa tried the portable AM/FM radio.  Sara reported, “the phone gets a dial tone but I can’t get through to Manny or 911.”  Teresa reported, “I can’t get a single station on the radio, not even the shit kickin’ stations most people around here listen to.” Everyone had previously tried their cell phones.  They turned on great but no internet and no calls.  Teresa kept hers out, hoping beyond hope her precious phone would live again.  

Jerry tried the portable handy talkies and they worked perfectly.  Jerry had gone all out on them and had bought the accessory Secret Service style sleeve mics and clip on earphones.  Teresa appropriated one of the portables as her new toy.  The last item Jerry unpacked was his Digisight.  Jerry put in four batteries and hit what he hoped was the “on” button.  The damn thing had rubber covered buttons and switches all over it.  “What the heck is that?” asked Sara, “and where did you get it?”  Jerry was busy reading the instruction manual.  “What dear?”  “This?”  Jerry picked up the box and held it out so Sara could see the picture.  She saw “Pulsar” in big letters.  Sara playfully knocked the box out of Jerry’s hand.  “Okay, bossy, this is the Pulsar N750 Digisight I bought for only $1600.00.”  “You’re not kidding are you?”  “Not only that, I can also report it works…in daylight at least, and I don’t expect we’ll actually have to pay for it for a long time, if ever.”  “That’s right” said Sara.  “You must have bought it on credit.  “I guess all of our electronic money, what little we had, is gone along with our retirement pay.”  “You can’t get blood from a stone” said Jerry.  “If the company shows up with a bill, I’ll give them food and vodka instead of worthless pieces of paper.”  Jerry picked up the sight and instructions and a flashlight.  “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I’m going into the basement to try night mode.”

Teresa smiled as Jerry tromped down the steps.  Teresa didn’t often smile and Sara caught her in the act.  Sara stated, “you like Jerry’s new toy.”  Teresa held out her arms like aiming a gun.  “Sure, why not, that thing is badass.”  Sara was about to say something when she noticed Teresa was pretending to rock out to the handy talkie, earplug in her pale ear.  Sara sighed and thought, “what do I expect from a child anyway?”

The family had lunch of more defrosting freezer food and Jerry watched Annie while Sara and Teresa feed the four-legged varmints.  Annie was a cute little toddler.  More than cute, this kid was advanced.  Per the County approved Welfare doctor, Annie who was barely two, was talking at a three year old level.  However, the child and her mommy were handfuls.  One reminded Jerry of his daughter as a toddler; the other reminded him of his daughter as a young teenager.   

One big difference between Annie and Jerry’s daughter at two was the crying.  Jerry’s daughter had been a quite stealth baby.  You could put her in a corner and forget about her.  Annie was a crier.  She woke up crying, she cried for toys and candy in stores, she cried if you attempted to put her down for a nap, she cried when her mommy left her for more than a minute, she cried when it was bedtime.  In short, this kid cried constantly.  At first, the incessant squalling jangled Jerry’s already ragged nerves.  After a while, like mothers (and grandfathers) throughout the ages, Jerry got used to it.  After three decades Jerry was reminded that having small children around teaches coolness under fire.  Jerry continued hearing the most blood curdling cries of terror one could ever imagine.  The household always checked  on the source of the screams because you can’t take chances with toddlers.  So far it had always been a false alarm, knock on wood.  The only time Annie was truly content was when she was watching cartoons.  Thank goodness for cartoons, the opiate of toddlers.  Oh my god, the TV was dead.  The adults would adjust and so would Annie.  Children are much more adaptable than adults. 

Then there was Teresa,  sometimes she acted like a proto-adult; sometimes she acted like a fourteen year old.  For twenty she wasn’t so bad.  The Goth thing was disconcerting but at least it didn’t hamper her mommy duties.  Teresa was an attentive mom and had been looking for a job before E-Day.  She had also handled the end of electricity better than Jerry would have expected, except for the loss of her iphone of course. 

The ladies found Jerry attaching his Digisight to his AR-180.  Jerry used a spare Picatinny rail left over from his CA. evil Ruger 10-22 rifle.  Jerry couldn’t do it outside because of the increasing smoke level.  To light the coffee table area for this detail work, Jerry had put into service the one and only old fashioned oil lamp they had in the house.  It had been a decorator item.  Jerry had a partial 5 gallon drum of kerosene in the garage and had bought a pack of wicks before the end.  Teresa had never seen the big rifle before and was fascinated.  “Gee grandpa, that thing is”…Jerry interrupted her, “I know, I know, badass.”  “Fuckin badass.”  “Language,” said Sara.  

Teresa got Annie and bounced her while they watched Jerry drill and tap the top cover for the rail.  Jerry looked at Teresa and told her, “I can’t afford to screw this up.”  Teresa watched Jerry Sharpie mark two points and then punch a small dimple at each point with a small ball peen hammer.  Teresa had never watched the famous TV commercial where a stone cutter split a diamond in the back seat of a Le Baron or whatever to demonstrate the steady ride.  In Jerry’s mind he was doing similar work.  He had to get this just right.  Jerry didn’t own a drill press.  His cordless drill still had juice so he used that.  Jerry drilled and tapped holes for the rail screws in a spare piece of sheet metal for practice before he tried it on his rifle.  A big dose of blue loctite and Jerry was finished.  Now, all he had to do was let the loctite set up for 24 hours before he clamped on the sight. 

Jerry decided to take Sara to the slope near sundown.  He had to do it.  It was important she understand exactly what they were facing.  They left Teresa home to guard and Jerry gave her a ten second train-up on operation of the .380 Grendel.  “It’s ready to go, pull the trigger and it goes bang eleven times until the slide locks back.  Point it at their chest and shoot them until they run away or fall down.”  Jerry wore boots this time and made sure Sara wore her new ones.  Jerry told her, “hon, you need to wear your boots a couple hours a day until you get them broken in.”  Sara was amused by that statement.  Sometimes Jerry treated her like she didn’t have a brain at all.  In these cases it was usually easier to let Jerry believe he was saying something useful. The truth was Sara had broken in a dozen pair of shoes/boots for every one her husband ever had.  Sara smiled slightly, “yes dear.”  The conversation was muted through dust masks but they were getting used to them.  As they walked the aurora blazed and danced overhead.  The sky was still milky somewhere high above the aurora and continued to bath them in an unnatural and sick light. 

Just before they reached the slope, Jerry noticed the third and last house west of his was still standing.  It was dark of course but at least it was still there.  Not every home had caught fire on E-Day.  Even Sara didn’t know the name of the residents of this house.  “I don’t think they live there full-time.”  Jerry and Sara inched their way past the intact house.  Maybe thought Jerry, the residents were crouched down, ready to open fire at anyone who came near.  They finally reached the slope and Sara started crying.  Jerry held his wife while she shook and sobbed.  If anything, the fires were worse than yesterday.  There were flames and black smoke, then more flames through the smoke in the distance.  Sara walked home like a robot, one small mechanical step after the other.  Jerry held her the entire way.  When they arrived home Jerry stood to the side of his front door with Sara safely behind him.  This was a test for Teresa.  Jerry knocked on the side of the door and quickly withdrew his hand.  A few seconds passed and bullets didn’t come flying through the door.  So far so good.  “Honey, its grandpa and grandma, open up.”  Jerry heard Teresa throw the deadbolt and she opened the door, Grendel in hand.  Teresa hustled in the old folks before too much smoke got in.  As it was there was already a smelly haze in the Garcia home.  The smoke found its way in through every tiny gap and crack. 

Jerry sat Sara on the couch next to Annie.  Sara seemed to be coming out of her shock.  She busied herself keeping Annie from wandering.  “Teresa, do you want to check out the valley view?  I have to warn you, it’s not pretty.”  Jerry repeated the wake up call with Teresa; boots, walk, look.  When they reached the slope the Sun was setting.  It shone through the overcast of smoke and turned it red.  The ground burned, the clouds weren’t on fire but they looked like they were, the sky was green, indigo, into violet.  The aurora danced happily over the destruction.  “Grandpa, that is sick.”  Jerry had to admit, (in this case only to himself,) that there was a horrible beauty to the devastation.  Was it right that he should feel a small thrill he was safe when below a few dozen miles away many thousands of people were undoubtedly dead or dying?

“Grandpa look.”  Teresa was pointing again.  “This kid really has good eyes”.  Jerry saw someone walking up the slope.  He or she had walked from behind a small blind spot and they were trying to find a way up.  “Teresa, I need you to run back home right now.” “Come on grandpa.”  “Do it…run.”  Teresa gave Jerry a defiant Gothy look but obeyed.  The walking person was obviously distressed.  He or she took one step up and stopped, another step up and stopped.  Jerry finally got a good look and what he saw chilled him.   This was a woman. 

Jerry knew it was a female because he spotted portions of a bra through holes in her top.  Other than the bra, Jerry wouldn’t have known.  She was wearing some sort of long pants.  At least they were before flames singed off the bottoms.  Every inch of her outfit had a burn hole.  Most were dark pinpricks, others were finger sized.  Her clothes were a Swiss cheese of  scorched and burned cloth.  She was wearing shoes but Jerry couldn’t tell what kind, tennis shoes maybe?  Whatever, her shoes had melted onto her feet.  Each step had to be agony.  She had no hair, it had been burned off.  The androgynous look had tripped Jerry up.  He had received some first aid training in the military and as a law enforcement officer.  This poor creature was dead.  Her body hadn’t caught on yet, but she was dead.  She appeared to have extensive 2nd to 3rd degree burns.  Without prompt medical aid she wouldn’t make it and likely not even then.  At some point she had coughed up black sputum.  It left twin tracks down her chin.  She was beyond the ability to cough now.  She wheezed loudly with every shallow breath.  Jerry had never heard a death rattle before, but recognized it instantly.  Every breath was a struggle.  The eyes alone told Jerry she was doomed.  She wasn’t exactly blind, but her eyes were dead, sightless, if that makes any sense. 

Jerry acted on pure instinct.  He side-stepped down the slope, picked her up in his arms, and carried her home.  She couldn’t have weighed more than 80 pounds.  Jerry used her left foot to bang on the front door.  Sara opened the door and gasped.  “Is that person dead?”  “Not if I can help it.”  Jerry and Sara wrapped the injured woman/girl? in a clean sheet while Teresa stood far away and held her nose.  Burned flesh smells gross.  Mini me Annie looked at her mother and copied her, except with crying added.  Jerry now had time to reflect on his latest off the cuff action.  “This girl is going to die right in front of us.”  “Sara, please pull my truck around and I’ll hold on to her in the bed.”  Jerry might have chuckled at his slip of the tongue if this hadn’t been a deadly serious situation.  “Teresa, while grandma and I are gone you need to watch the house, just like before.”  Teresa gave Jerry a sloppy thumbs up.  “Yes grandpa.”  Jerry asked, “where’s the Grendel?” and Teresa turned her fanny and pointed to her hip pocket.  Sure enough, there it was, with part of the grip and slide poking out.  “Good girl.”  

Jerry met Sara as she pulled around.  Watery pink spots had started to seep through the white mummy wrapping of his bundle.  “We need to take her to the hospital, any ideas?”  People fall back on habit in times of crisis.  Jerry had been thinking Kaiser in Folsom.  Sara had visited a closer hospital and didn’t even have to think about it.  “Marshall,” said Sara.  Sara drove directly to the Marshall Medical Center in Placerville.

Chapter 9

That’s why they call it Hangtown

Sara had no problem finding the hospital in the dark.  First off, the landscape wasn’t exactly pitch black.  True, there were fires and the glowing remnants of burned out structures all around.  There was also a major forest fire just a few miles south of Placerville.  However, these didn’t give off much light.  There were no working streetlights, no electricity.  Stoplights also didn’t work, of course.  What guided her was that strange milky illumination the sky continued to radiate.  The effect was similar to the full moon shining through overcast.  It was just weird but there it was, it was staying twilight well after sundown since E-Day.  When Sara reached Marshall she thought out loud, “yea, the lights are on.”  Sara’s momentary joy faded when she saw row after row of wrapped somethings in the well lit south-side parking lot.  Some were in sheets, some in blankets; two were in bright yellow sleeping bag looking things. 

There was a hasty barricade at the parking lot.  The barricade was manned by a Placerville P.D. officer.  He gestured for Sara to stop and checked out Jerry in the back with the wrapped girl.  He turned to Sara.  “Dead or injured?”  “Um, injured.”  “Park your vehicle in the northside parking lot and carry the injured person to the eastside treatment area.  Sara was lost, like many woman she navigated by landmark, not direction.  The officer had stumbled over this language difficulty since his shift started including with most men, but couldn’t shake the ingrained habit of giving direction using compass point.  This is a secret alchemy shared mostly by cops, soldiers, and people who drive for a living.  Jerry saw Sara looking up at the poor officer and imagined the deer in the headlights look on her face.  The officer pointed and told Sara, “that way, and around to the other side of the complex.  Park, then carry the injured to the east… this other side, (pointing again) of the hospital.  You’ll see some shade covers and nurses.” 

Sara found the correct lot and parked.  Jerry popped the tailgate and slid the injured girl most of the way out.  “Don’t drop her Jerry.”  Jerry carried her as Sara led the way to the nurse’s tent station.  They were met by a candy striper young girl minus the uniform.  She gathered a clipboard and pen and approached the couple.  “Good evening folks, please, one of you take the patient to that station there while the other fills out some contact information.”  Jerry took the burned girl and as gently as possible placed her on a cot under one of the shade covers.  Jerry saw it was extra bright and noticed someone had ran a bulb from somewhere inside the hospital and put it above the cot.  A no nonsense nurse approached Jerry.  The girl was unconscious and wheezing softly.  The nurse checked for a heartbeat and asked, “what happened here?”  “We found her walking in a field and brought her here for help.”  “Are you a friend or relative?”  “No, we’ve never seen her before.”  Jerry watched as the nurse gestured to a nearby orderly or fellow nurse.  Together they turned the girl on her side.  The nurse examined the girl’s back and whispered something to the orderly.  He took out a grease pencil and drew a “T” on the girl’s forehead.  Jerry had a good idea what that stood for.  He rejoined Sara who was finishing the clipboard information.  “How is she” asked Sara.  Jerry smiled his best reassuring smile; “She’s going to be fine” Jerry lied. 

On the way home Jerry noticed there was almost normal traffic on the smaller roads for early evening.  They stayed off Highway 50 and were glad they did.  The highway was jam packed in both directions with cars and people heading east from the valley into the mountains.  When they arrived home Jerry did the same knock and notice routine he had done earlier with Teresa.  When asked, Jerry lied about the girl to Teresa.  Sometimes lies are merciful and the truth is cruel. 

Sara started a late dinner of the last of the frig food and Teresa dropped yummy ramen noodles into Annie’s mouth.  Just this was a major undertaking with only one oil lamp in the house.  The noodles were easy thanks to propane.  Neither Sara nor Jerry ate much dinner; it’s hard to have a hearty appetite when you have the smell of charred flesh up your nose.  “How was town” asked Teresa.  “Well, we didn’t actually go into town.”  “Next time you go can I?”  Sara considered the request.  “I guess we can’t keep you locked up forever.  How about you go with grandpa next time and I’ll watch the baby?”  “Great,” answered Teresa.  Sara noticed Teresa wasn’t so morose lately.  If anything, she was extra bubbly since the world ended.  After dinner, Jerry showed Sara and Teresa how his Digisight worked.  They took it outside and Jerry handheld it while the ladies had a look.  It didn’t seem to be doing much until they sent Gretchen after a thrown stick.  Gretchen stood out as a bright white glowing ghost dog.  Jerry had six reticles to choose from.  He went with crosshairs with a small circle directly in the middle.  “That’s my circle o’ death quipped Jerry.  (nobody laughed) 

Sara noticed the smokiness and breeze had increased.  Worse, sparks were continuously flying past the house.  All family members had started coughing except Annie.  Sara had enough and called for a halt to the demonstration.  When they returned inside it was obvious the house was steadily filling up with a thick haze.  This was starting to get scary as there was no way to air the house out.  The three took turns checking outside for fire.  After a few hours Sara decided it wasn’t safe to stay on the ground floor any longer.  Everyone including Annie had their dust masks on.  All of them, especially Annie’s low tech mask, had started turning dark grey.  Sara herded her flock into the basement for the rest of the night.  The air remained breathable down there.  Jerry kept the exterior hinged basement doors shut and duct taped the gaps.  Again, the family members took turns checking outside.  They also popped their heads up into the attic periodically for good measure.  Gretchen and Sara’s cats joined the family in the basement.  The chickens, goat, and pigs, and Jerry’s bee hives had to fend for themselves.  Everyone got some measure of fitful sleep during the next eight hours.

The next morning the entire family was up with the weak, red tinged dawn.  Jerry and Sara saw the relief in each other’s eyes.  They were both thinking how lucky they all were to be alive.  The house could have burned to the ground during the night.  They could have choked to death or dreamily drifted off to sleep, never to awake.  Could they have made it upstairs?  From the amount of soot Sara guessed not.  Sara found the water they had stored in the bathtub had turned grey.  She touched the surface and a clear spot appeared.  A fine film of ash had settled during the night.  The fires had to have killed millions.  Sara decided they could write off major cities and suburbs.  Without a doubt the fires must have killed many more millions from smoke inhalation.  Sara told Jerry, “Everyone down the hill is dead now.”  “I don’t think so, but after last night many will soon catch it from dehydration and/or exposure.” 

Everyone had sooty oatmeal for breakfast.  “Teresa, do you still want to go into town?”  Before they left the house, Jerry got out the Remington 1100 and loaded it with 4 + 1 shells of buckshot.  Jerry got Sara and Teresa’s attention and held up a deadly looking shell; “This is “000” buckshot.  It’s like “00” buckshot that goes to eleven.  The safety button is on luv.  Mind you don’t blow holes in me bleeding door.”  Jerry affected his worst English accent as he explained this.  Jerry put the shotgun up and out of the reach of Annie and he and Teresa were out the door.  Jerry warned Teresa what to expect on the way.  “Honey, you might very well see some dead bodies.”  “Dead people don’t bother me grandpa, it’s the live ones that upset me.”  Jerry gave a nervous laugh, either Teresa had the family sense of humor, or she was just strange.  “Grandpa, I’ve been wondering about Aunt Shelly, are we going to go get her?”  Jerry frowned, “you know she lives close to L.A.  We’d never make it there.” “Oh yeah.  I guess the same goes for my mom and dad and rotten husband in Palm Springs.”  “They’ll be fine” said Jerry.  Jerry was lying again but there was nothing to be done about loved ones far away. 

The first thing Jerry saw in town that surprised him was the traffic.  It was packed.  Jerry concluded the one online expert who predicted minimal CME knocked of vehicles had been correct.  Jerry also noticed people jammed the streets and sidewalks.  Many of them seemed to be camping.  Jerry pointed out groups of people to Teresa; refugees.  Many businesses had burned including most of the buildings on the northside of the main drag of downtown Placerville.  Teresa had been using her hawk eyes.  “I don’t see any bodies’ grandpa.”  Jerry pointed to a spray painted sign he saw nailed near the door of a local business.  The sign read, “looters will be shot.”  Someone had crossed out the word “shot” and had painted “Hung” near it.  “I guess that’s why they call it Hangtown,” said Jerry.

Jerry was happy to see some people were armed.  If local law enforcement was planning on a Katrina style gun grab it looked like they hadn’t started yet.  Jerry hoped they were smart enough to avoid attempting to violate any Constitutional protections in this community.  Placerville was not and would hopefully never be lefty liberal Sacramento.  About halfway through town Jerry saw something that really interested him.  He stopped and started putting on the gear he had stashed on the back seat of his Frontier before he and Teresa left the house.  “Decision time Teresa.  Do you want to wait in the truck or come with me and meet some soldiers?”  This was an easy decision for Teresa.  “I’m coming with you.” 

SSG Rothko was the Det 1 NCOIC.  He was standing by the Humvee while his soldiers made a pogey bait run in a small café.  He spotted the old guy wearing a plate carrier with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder before the old dude was halfway across the street.  The old fart was holding out some sort of card.  Rothko dismissed the senior citizen Rambo as a potential threat and concentrated on the crazy hot Goth chick following Rambo like a puppy.  Bannerman and Deichel chose that moment to exit the café.  “These guys don’t got shit” said Deichel.  Deichel pulled up short like he had hit an invisible brick wall.  Bannerman did the same.  “At ease Deichel” said Rothko.  Rothko’s soldiers were twenty somethings and it showed.  They were slack jawed at first, then tried to puff themselves up for the lady.  Rothko checked out the pink ID card.  The card had “United States Uniformed Services” at the top.  Rothko had a similar card in his wallet.  He checked the “Rank/Pay Grade” box.  “CPT/03” Shit, Rothko thought to himself, “this fucker’s an officer.”  Rothko considered saluting but decided against it, this dude wasn’t even in uniform.  “What can I do for you sir?” 

Jerry carefully removed his wallet and replaced his identification as two of the three soldiers continued to drool over Teresa.  She was model pretty, even with pale makeup and wearing embalmer’s assistant clothes.  It occurred to Jerry the good sergeant hadn’t noticed his ID had the word “retired” on it.  Oh well, who was he to point out minor mistakes in others.  “Sergeant Rothko is it?”  “Yes sir.”  “This is my granddaughter Teresa.”  Deichel and Bannerman beamed at the word “granddaughter.”  Rothko introduced his men and seemed to relax slightly.  “Sergeant, I don’t need anything.  Rothko relaxed even more.  Deichel had started chatting up Teresa a few feet away.  “I’m curious sergeant, are you active Army, National Guard, or maybe Reserves like me?” 

Rothko debated answering.  There was a time for operational security, this was not that time.  “Well sir, we’re Detachment One, of the 270th Military Police Company in Sacramento.”  “And that is a”…Jerry started to ask.  “We’re National Guard sir.”  “It’s good for you guys armories don’t burn too well; it’s a little slice of hell down the hill.”  Sergeant Rothko stiffened at that one.  Jerry had inadvertently hit a nerve.  “We’re local sir, outstationed here in Placerville.”  “I’m guessing they activated you just before the CME hit.”  Where Rothko had stiffened before, his entire body deflated at Jerry’s latest question.  “They didn’t activate shit sir.”  Rothko caught himself too late.  Jerry laughed.  “How did you make it to the 270th’s vault to get your weapons?”  “We didn’t do that either sir.  After years of the Det bitching it was stupid to have a detachment here when our equipment was 30 miles away, we got permission to store our TA-50 and weapons at Placerville P.D.  When we got there the building was on fire.  We helped empty the place and have been supporting the PD ever since.”  Jerry had noticed barracks bags and cases of MRE’s in a cargo trailer attached to the Humvee when he had walked up.

Jerry had another question for Sergeant Rothko.  “How are you guys set for fuel and ammo?”  SSG Rothko was taken aback by Jerry’s question.  He cocked his head to the side and considered that possibly this old officer wasn’t clueless after all.  “We can get diesel from the city, but it’s funny you should mention ammunition.  I only have two partial mags per soldier – and that’s only because half my guys no-showed.”  Jerry replied, “I figured as much, I know all about security ammo.  To tell you the truth, I’m surprised they let you stock any ammo up the hill here.”  SSG Rothko smiled that cynical smile all senior sergeants acquire after dealing with military bureaucracy year after year.  “I asked the PD for some 5.56 and guess what, they refused.  An idea flashed into Jerry’s brain.  “You know sergeant, times are tough and this situation won’t fix itself for years.  I bet you have extra rifles.  I have lots of extra 5.56, maybe we can trade.”

SSG Rothko approached Jerry until their faces were only inches apart.  Lowering his voice conspiratorially he said, “I can’t just give you a rifle sir.”  Jerry didn’t blink.  “Of course you can’t” answered Jerry.  “You signed for them and you’re responsible for every weapon.  However, I’m an officer in the Reserves and this is the biggest Federal emergency since WWII…at least.”  “This is true” agreed Rothko, “the bodies are stacking up and my men have already faced some hardheads.”  “How about we do this Sergeant Rothko, you sub-hand receipt one weapon to me and I’ll loan you all my extra rounds.”

Jerry could see Rothko wasn’t dead set against the idea.  “How many extra rounds do you have sir?”  Now they were horse trading.  Jerry scratched his chin like a Persian rug merchant.  “I can’t give you more than half of my rounds.  I don’t expect the grid will be restored for several years.  I also expect most of the people around us will be dead by next spring.”  “That’s cold sir.”  “I’m sorry Sergeant Rothko; I’m just trying to be realistic.”  Jerry could tell by the look on Rothko’s face he didn’t think Jerry was sorry.  “I have about 1000 rounds total.  I have 120 rounds on my person and about 360 rounds in magazines in my truck.  The ammo on me is special hollow-point and penetrator rounds.  I’d rather not give those up.  My truck has all FMJ stuff, and most of it is steel case Tula.”  “Hmm,”  Rothko was thinking it over.  You know sir, we really could use those rounds, but…I don’t feel like going to federal prison.”  “Well,” said Jerry, “people will start running out of food any day now.  I fear that soon people will beg to be sent to federal prison.” 

As Rothko and Jerry talked, Corporal Bannerman had grown more and more suspicious about this “officer”.  There was something about him, something familiar.  Bannerman cock blocked his buddy Deichel to ask the Goth girl a question.  Jerry vaguely heard Teresa tell him, “that’s my grandpa.”  Jerry watched Bannerman walk up to Rothko.  “Excuse me Sergeant, do you know who this is?”  Sergeant Rothko gave Bannerman a scathing look.  “I know who he is Corporal, I checked his military ID.”  Bannerman was undeterred.  “This is that Zimmerman guy, you know, the guy who smoked the jewelry store robbers.”  Rothko now looked confused and Jerry knew the jig as it were, was up.  “Sergeant Rothko, can I show you my law enforcement ID?”  Rothko made a gesture meaning, sure, knock yourself out, and Jerry slowly reached for the other back pocket of his 511’s. 

Teresa and Deichel had joined the group.  Jerry got out his (retirement) badge case and opened it for the sergeant.  Jerry told Bannerman, “I’m not that Zimmerman guy, I’m that Garcia guy.”  Three voices at once spoke, “I know you.”  From then on it was old home week.  It seems military police officers respect famous/infamous retired cops who do in bad guys. 

Sergeant Rothko asked Jerry, “why didn’t you tell me who you were sir?”  “Well,” said Jerry.  “I didn’t want to confuse the issue.  I’m really in the Reserves.”  This was a small lie on Jerry’s part.  He was actually retired from the Reserves.  Because of my Reserve status, and presumed automatic activation for the duration of this emergency, you can legally sub-hand receipt that equipment we discussed to me if you want.”  The trade didn’t take long at all.  Sergeant Rothko followed Jerry and Teresa home so the Sergeant could confirm Jerry was a current resident of El Dorado County.  Sergeant Rothko felt this added to the legality of the equipment transfer.  Jerry was happy to oblige him.  Sara met the troops and then stayed in the house while Jerry and SSG Rothko did their deal.  Jerry got out his surplus East German load bearing equipment with four mag pouches and started uploading the rounds from the 12 mags.  Jerry methodically stripped off all 360 rounds into an empty MRE case.  They couldn’t just switch off filled mags for empty because only Jerry’s mags had the special AR-180 slot.  SSG Rothko reminded Jerry that he had offered to trade 500 rounds for a rifle.  “You still owe me 140 rounds sir.”  Jerry held up a finger, “right”, and disappeared into his house.  He came out carrying seven boxes of Malaysian 55 grain FMJ.  SSG Rothko smiled.  All staff sergeants are supply sergeants on some level, and they never forget.  SSG Rothko had been curious about Jerry’s rifle from the start.  “Sir, what kind of rifle is that?”  Jerry got a kick out of showing off his failed successor to the AR-15 platform.  All three soldiers thought the side folding stock was “sick.”  Jerry also showed off the 60 round Surefire high capacity mag he had bought before he retired.  All three agreed it was “the shit.”  Jerry guessed this meant they liked it. 

SSG Rothko didn’t have any of his hand receipts.  They had all gone up when Placerville PD burned down.  The sergeant hand wrote two copies showing the (temporary) transfer of one (1) M16A2 rifle, serial number xxxxxxx, to United States Army Reserve Captain Gerardo Garcia-Reyes, living at so and so address.  Rothko and Jerry signed each copy and that was it, done deal.  Jerry had asked for an M-4 but Rothko would see none of it.  He explained he was keeping all his M-4’s in case more of his soldiers showed up.  He also informed Jerry he would return for the rifle if all 11 of his men (and one woman) reported for duty at some point.  SSG Rothko added he felt this was unlikely.  Rothko also told Jerry he might be ordered to retrieve the rifle by his chain of command.  That is, if he ever heard from them.  Fair enough.

Jerry was happy to get the M16A2.  He had popped off two bursts from one during his Officer’s Basic Course long ago.  The weapon had safe, semi, and burst, settings.  The automatic burst setting (Jerry’s favorite) fired three rounds with each trigger pull.  Better still, this particular rifle had an M-68 Aimpoint sight attached.  SSG Rothko threw in two extra 3v button batteries for the Aimpoint.  Also in Jerry’s favor was the fact all his slotted AR-180 mags were backwards compatible for M-16 series weapons, so that wasn’t a problem.  

While SSG Rothko and Jerry had been doing fucking paperwork, Deichel and Bannerman busied themselves fantasizing about Teresa and eating chow.  Jerry noticed they only had camelbacks to suck on.  “Have you started to run out of water yet?”  “Gee sir, you must be psychic.”  “Not really” continued Jerry, “but I do know water is pumped using electricity.  There would have been some residual water pressure in the pipes, but firefighting would have used that up quickly.  I bet no one in town has running water now.”  SSG Rothko was gaining respect for CPT Garcia by the minute.  “You are correct sir, and I see you have a stream coming off your property.”  “Do you guys have water purification gear sergeant?”  SSG Rothko rubbed the back of his neck, “no.”  “Do you have a water container?”  “Yes sir, we have one 5 gallon water jug with us, almost empty.”  “How about I go get my Katadyn and your young soldiers can pump their brains out.”  Sergeant Rothko’s laughter followed Jerry into the house.  Things were going well for Jerry.  In a fit of playfulness he held out his new rifle for Sara to see.  “Now I have a machinegun…ho, ho, ho.”  Sara didn’t get the reference but Jerry didn’t care.  “It isn’t Christmas honey” said Sara.  “For me it is” Jerry answered.  “I was kinda down with the end of the world and all but--this,” Jerry held up his new toy closer to Sara, “has turned my frown upside down.”  Jerry mimed a sad clown face when he said this.  “Great baby, just don’t hurt anyone with your new army gun.”  “Come on sweetheart, you know I only hurt people back.”  “Jerry, it is amazing, I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.  You’re beaming exactly like a kid on Christmas morning, and don’t say ho ho ho, again.”  “Sara, I’m just following the path to enlightenment the Beatles showed me; happiness, is a warm gun.”

Jerry handed the rifle to Sara and ran down into the basement to dig out one of his brand new pumps.  When he returned Jerry found Teresa pointing the new rifle towards the kitchen.  “Ack, ack, ack.”  Jerry took the weapon from her hands.  “Hey squirt, is this weapon unloaded?”  Teresa dumbly replied, “huh?”  “That’s what I thought.  No more playing with guns for you young lady.  You can handle them and I’ll even give you one as your very own, but we don’t play with them.  Your training starts tonight, or whenever I get around to it.”

Jerry supervised the filling of the Det’s water jug.  It wasn’t complicated, but it looked like hard work.  The actual supervision amounted to Jerry insuring Private Snuffy and his butt buddy didn’t clog the inlet tube of the pump with creek sediment.  Sergeant Rothko made sure his soldiers topped off their mags.  Next, they filled spare mags until all 500 rounds were loaded up.  Sergeant Rothko offered Jerry an MRE and he graciously accepted.  Jerry figured Teresa might enjoy it as an exotic treat.  Jerry told his new best friend SSG Rothko, “you and all your guys are welcome here anytime at Casa Jerry.  Oh, and bring your guns.”  With that, and a wave from Sara at the front door, The Garcia’s new army friends were off.   

At some point that afternoon, Jerry walked down to the slope.  He was loaded for bear and felt he better be from here on out.  Jerry had his armor, the new (used) M16A2, and his Glock 19.  Jerry always wore the 19, even in the house.  Oh shit, the last house down the street west of Jerry had burned during the night.  Jerry also saw one ragged group of refugees.  He walked home and decided to do some more home gunsmithing. First, Jerry attached his Digisight night scope to the AR-180.  This would be his night rifle.  Next, he put his Remington 1100 12 gauge in his vise and hack-sawed off most of the 26” barrel.  When he was done Jerry met Sara and Teresa.  The two were busy airing out the house and sweeping up grey ash from every flat surface.  Jerry showed the short barreled shotgun to the ladies and said, “I keep this…for close encounters.”  Another movie reference neither got, oh well.  Jerry screwed two hooks he salvaged from the garage near the front door and laid the short shoty within easy reach for adults, but out of the reach of Annie.  He told the ladies, “I’m leaving the safety off from now on.  If need be you point it at bad people and pull the trigger five times.”  Jerry also had a nylon bandoleer filled with extra shells and hung it from one of the hooks.

Once they had some quiet time Jerry brought up the issue of his brother.  He got Sara and Teresa together in the front room and gave them his thoughts on the subject.  “You know, now that the worst has happened I’m thinking I should get Manny and bring him here.”  Sara didn’t comment and Jerry got the feeling she wasn’t too thrilled.  Jerry continued, “I could go but I’m not going to do that for three reasons.”  Sara smiled, her husband was a very logically minded man; Manny was more so.  “The first reason I’m not going to make the attempt is because the roads are jammed.”  Sara and Teresa nodded in agreement.  “The second reason is I don’t want to split us up.”  More head nodding.  “The last reason is Manny told us he would come here automatically if he needed to.  He has a good vehicle and supplies and is prepared to leave his house if he has to.”  Sara spoke up, “I agree with you 100% Jerry.”

Near evening someone knocked on the front screen door.  The regular wood front door was still wide open.  Sara floated towards the door like Doris Day and Jerry grabbed her arm.  “Don’t.”  It occurred to Jerry his shotgun was currently closer to his unknown visitor(s) than himself.  Good move Jerry.  Jerry drew his 9mm and held it out of sight along his leg as he walked to the door from an angle.  “What can I do ya for?”  A male voice called out, “we need food and water.”  Jerry glanced out the window and saw a young man and woman with a child.  Jerry didn’t see any weapons.  It’s the weapon you don’t see that kills you.  Jerry slipped out the back door and came around the side of the house.  “Good evening” said Jerry.  Mrs. Stranger yelped.  Mr. stranger patted his arm towards her and turned towards Jerry.  He wore scuffed leather loafers and casual Friday attire.  Mr. Stranger straightened his shoulders and pronounced.  “We need food and water.”  “Yes, I heard you before.”  “We haven’t eaten in two days and my boy is hungry.”  Jerry made a decision.  “We don’t have much food ourselves.  We can feed your son and the creek at the culvert 75 yards down the road has fresh water.”  Jerry didn’t enjoy being a dick.  However, it was time to start making hard choices.  Mr. stranger raised his voice and repeated his request, which was now starting to sound more like an order.  Mr. stranger was used to getting his way.

Jerry tried another tack.  “Do you folks have a car?”  The milky sky gave Mrs. Stranger a halo effect.  She rolled her eyes.  “If Jim had filled the car like I told him to we wouldn’t have ran out of gas.”  Mr. Stranger flared at his wife, “not that again, I told you I just forgot, I’m sorry.”  Mrs. Stranger wasn’t ready to give this one up.  “We would have made it all the way to Tahoe if you had paid better attention.”  “Drop it Jennifer.”  Mrs. Stranger fumed silently.  Stranger junior moved and hid behind his mother.  “Whatever happens” thought Jerry, I’m going to feed this kid.  Maybe this was a chance for Jerry to get some intel.  “Where did you folks start from and when.”  Mr. Stranger answered this one.  “We’re from Danville, you know east of Oakland.  We left the first day, before the animals got out.”  Mrs. Stranger tried to shush her husband, it didn’t work.  Everything was burning so we stopped at a park.  Someone had crashed through the fence and cars were parked on the grass.  I drove over by them and we stayed there two days until the fires burned out.  “I tried to get gas on the way here, really I did, but none of the pumps were working.” 

Jerry felt more at ease with these strangers and chanced a look around.  Jerry saw Sara standing at the front door.  She kept the screen shut, smart.  Jerry saw a dark waif behind him.  It was Teresa.  She was at the same corner he had come around.  She had the shotgun and thankfully wasn’t pointing it at his back.  “Sara, can you please get the”…, Jerry tilted towards Mr. Stranger and he answered, “The Millers, we’re the Millers.”  “Sara, can you please get the Millers some Kool-Aid and oatmeal?”  She could. 

There wasn’t any place for the Millers to sit, but Jerry didn’t dare invite them into the house.  He would have to work on that.  Sara brought the Kool-Aid first.  The Millers gulped the sugary drink like they had crossed the Sahara.  Jennifer Miller held out her glass, “more please.”  Teresa joined the group and held the heavy shotgun against her shoulder, muzzle up.  She must have seen that on TV.  Teresa seemed to fascinate Mr. Miller.  He stared at her.  It was time to pump him for more information.  “Mr. Miller.”  “Call me Jim, mister?”… “I’m Jerry, this is Teresa, and you’ve already met my wife Sara.  Jim, you came through Sacramento correct?  How is it?”  Jim stared blankly at Jerry.  “Gee, this guy does lots of staring.”  Finally Jim spoke.  “How is Sacramento?  There is no Sacramento.”  Jennifer echoed her husband.  “There’s a building here and there, and empty shells, but Sacramento is gone Mr. Garcia.”  “We drove right through it” added Jim.  “On the freeway.  It was burned on both sides.”  The Miller’s son piped in from behind his mother.  “My daddy drove in the smoke.”  The Millers couldn’t say any more, bad memories.

Sara said something to Teresa and she went to the back of the house.  Teresa returned with a folding patio chair.  She brought all four chairs and never let go of the 12 gauge.  The Millers sat down gratefully.  Jerry the ex-cop stayed standing, but he had reholstered the Glock.  Sara brought oatmeal and the Millers started to gobble it.  “You have to eat slowly” warned Jerry, “if you eat fast you’ll throw up.”  Jerry knew this from his childhood.  The family had been dirt poor until Jerry’s dad earned a union position.  Sara whispered in Jerry’s ear and he replied “fine.”  The next thing he knew Sara had invited the Miller’s to stay the night, inside.  So much for hard choices. 

It was a long night.  Sara was full of trust and hugs for strangers; Jerry wasn’t.  He made sure she and Teresa helped watch (guard) the Millers as they slept.  Sara scoffed when Jerry told her he didn’t want to wake up with his throat slit.  She didn’t like it, but she went along with Jerry’s game plan.  Jerry gave himself the last shift.  In the morning, Sara made breakfast for everyone and Jerry had time to ask some additional questions which had come to him during the night.  “Why were you going to Tahoe?  Do you have family there?”  Jim explained they were just trying to get out of the bay area when they saw one of those temporary Caltrans sign boards.  It read, “drive to Lake Tahoe, fresh water there.”  Jerry also asked: “How did you end up here?  Our house is off the main roads.”  Jim answered this one as well.  They had walked along Highway 50 for some time after they ran out of gas.  It got so crowded it became dangerous.  In desperation they took to the hills.  After breakfast everyone said their goodbyes and Sara drove the Millers to Placerville.  Teresa rode shotgun.  While they were gone Jerry put back the chairs and cobbled together a big ass bench with some of his precious pre-emergency lumber.  He made sure the bench was too heavy to steal easily and cable locked it to his front poach rail just to be sure.

Chapter 10

Folsom Prison laundry blues

Jerry spent the next several days working on home defense.  First, he drove to the closest public school (at night) and used his huge bolt cutters to cut out sections of chain link fencing.  He had pre-measured his home windows and cut the sections to match.  It took Jerry less than a day to woodscrew the fencing to the wood trim around each window of Casa Garcia.  Jerry needed help placing the screening and asked Sara and Teresa to trade off. 

Second, Jerry built a gun platform.  The ones in movies were always watchtowers.  The problem with watchtowers is they’re completely visible.  Any potential home invaders are faced with a big fat obvious target that screams “Shoot Here.”  There is another big disincentive to being watchtower boy.  That disincentive is the likelihood of being riddled with bullets while climbing up into said watchtower.  Jerry was smarter than that and had thought ahead.  Jerry had bought enough plywood before the end to completely cover the exposed rafters in his attic.  Jerry had a large HVAC unit in the attic.  It was basically a square sheet metal box about the size of a refrigerator with pipes and air ducts going to it.  It also had a squirrel cage fan in it powered by an electric motor.  Since it wouldn’t work anymore and was in the way it had to go. 

Sara was understandably anxious when she spotted Jerry climbing up the folding ladder into the attic.  The part which made her nervous was he was carrying his chainsaw.  “Jerry, what in the hell are you up to?’  “Can’t talk now dear, work to do.”  Jerry had already tipped off Teresa.  She found Sara and excitedly pulled her by the sleeve out the front door and well away from the house.  Annie was with Teresa as always.  As they watched, the attic vent above the front door went flying.  Jerry was making a real habit of this.  Next, the ladies heard the unmistakable roar of the chainsaw.  Sara gasped as several inches of chainsaw bar poked through the triangular wood attic siding.  Sara had time to think, “he’s destroying my house,” as Jerry cut a hole the size of a small window, about 2 1/2 feet by 2.  Jerry killed the saw and gave the cut section a hearty snap kick.  Sara watched open mouth as the section of siding sailed into the front yard.  Teresa was jumping up and down, clapping her hands, squealing in childish delight, when Jerry showed himself.  He gave his best leer and yelled, “here’s Jerry.”

It took Jerry three days to finish the rest of the “attic” project.  He started by cutting a hole at the back of the house.  This one didn’t match the first because it was much larger.  Large enough in fact to fit the largest parts of the dismantled HVAC unit.  Jerry chucked them out the hole.  He now had lots of sunlight and smoke smelling but fresh air in the attic.  Jerry grinned stupidly to himself and said out loud to no one; “flow through ventilation.”  Jerry used 2 by 4 and 2 by 6 inch lumber to frame the new “windows.”  Again, with help, Jerry slid 4 by 8 foot plywood sheets through the back window up into the attic.  He nailed down the sheets and voila’, Jerry had a floor, nice headspace, and two low profile windows to shoot people from if need be.  To finish off the project he attached chain link over these windows and made hinged shutters he could open from inside the attic.  Jerry wished he had a few dozen sandbags but he didn’t.  Downstairs he had brick around his windows that might stop bullets.  In the attic, for now at least, Jerry had zero cover from return fire.  Plywood and 2 by 4’s won’t stop shit.  Jerry would have to figure out a way to harden his secret sniper perch.  The last problem was attic access.  The folding ladder was no answer.  It was slow and wobbly.  What Jerry needed was stairs.  Unfortunately he didn’t happen to have a set of stair stringers he could pull out of his ass.  Maybe he could salvage them from an empty house somewhere?  Were there likely to be any empty houses with thousands of homeless refugees coming up the hill?

Jerry ruminated on the stair problem until it came to him.  Jerry did some more late night salvage or theft, whatever, at the local grade school.  School was most definitely out for some time to come anyway.  He drove his Frontier right up to the metal jungle gym area and used the 110 volt inverter to power his angle grinder.  The aurora blazed green and blue as Jerry cut an old fashioned metal slide to pieces.  When Sara saw the metal stairs in the truck bed the next morning she didn’t say anything.  This was mostly because she was unaware exactly what Jerry had done.  The mischievous little boy inside Jerry had considered (and wisely rejected) it would be fun to bring the entire slide home.  He could set the whole thing up in the hallway and slide down from the attic during an emergency.  Jerry bolted the slide stairs in place of his ladder and they worked perfectly.  Stable and permanent. 

While Jerry was hardening the home front, Wardens Randy “Rocky” Knoll and James “Beach” Comber were facing the most pressing emergency of their careers.  Knoll was Warden of Folsom State Prison (FSP).  Comber was Warden of California State Prison-Sacramento.  CSP-Sacramento was located next door to FSP.  The prisons briefly had one warden until the facilities split in 1992.  Why have one warden when taxpayers can pay for two?  FSP was built using granite and steel in 1878.  CSP-Sacramento was constructed from concrete in 1986.  Everything was fine when the CME hit.  Prisons are fire proof from the outside.  The only way they burn is when inmates set their mattresses on fire.  A grass fire came through on day two and that was it for fires.  Both facilities had State mandated backup generators.  The older model at FSP kicked in and ran for three days until the diesel ran out.  The CME immediately burned out the newer generator at CSP-Sacramento.  The inmates could live without juice for their see through TVs.  They missed air conditioning but could live without it.  They bitched but got by with only window light. 

What they couldn’t live without was water and food.  The always feeble water pressure at FSP failed on day two.  Warden Knoll sent “water parties” of trustees down to the nearby American River.  The small army of trustees bailed water directly from the river and brought it back for the prison.  Warden Knoll understood one can complete momentous tasks with unlimited manpower.  CSP-Sacramento was currently receiving gravity fed water from three water storage tanks east of the facility. 

Food was the crucial problem.  Both facilities had no more than four or possibly five days of food on site.  They normally relied on daily deliveries of foodstuffs.  The delivery trucks stopped arriving on day one. 

On day two, Wardens Knoll and Comber held an emergency meeting.  They met at FSP because the thick granite construction and currently working AC made for a more temperate meeting room.  CSP-Sacramento was turning into a hotbox.  Warden Knoll addressed a small leadership group of deputy wardens, captains, lieutenants, a gaggle of sergeants and misc. support staff.  Some were working when the CME hit.  Additional staff reported for duty after day one.  Both prisons were still on lockdown.  Warden Knoll began with a simple statement: “We have to release the inmates.”  His words were met with a resigned and stony silence from most of the higher ranks, catcalls from the lower.  A female licensed psychiatric technician was the first to speak.  “Warden Knoll, I work at CSP.  We house almost a hundred severely disordered individuals.  Their favorite feel good movie is Silence of the Lambs.  You can’t let them out, they’re dangerous.”  Warden Knoll addressed the LPT directly and spread his hands in a placating manner.  “Young lady, all 5,000 of our inmates are dangerous, some more so than others.  Never the less, we can only feed them for two more days.  Within a day or two after we run out of food they will riot and the trustees we’ve been sending off the grounds for water will simply run away.” 

A grizzled sergeant spoke up next.  “Fuck em, I say we keep em locked up and let em rot.  I have a family and a home not ten miles from here.  Warden, you can’t turn these animals loose in what’s left of my community.”  Warden Comber spoke, he wasn’t happy.  The sergeant who had spoken out was one of his.  “There will be no more outbursts like I just heard.”  Comber was staring daggers at his out of order sergeant.  The sergeant had been on his feet and now nervously swayed back and forth.  “We can’t let our inmates starve to death.  Since we can’t continue to care for them we have to release them.” 

Another sergeant raised his hand.  This was Sergeant Nelson.  Everyone in the room knew him or knew of him.  Sergeant Nelson was the armorer for FSP.  Sergeant Nelson could have retired years ago at 90% but he hadn’t.  Folsom State Prison was his home.  He stayed on because he loved training up and mentoring green CO’s.  Sergeant Nelson had worked at FSP longer than anyone else in the room.  He was a legend and he was well respected.  Warden Knoll smiled at Nelson and gave him the floor.  Sergeant Nelson stood up and addressed the group.  “I have almost two years of qualification ammunition in my warehouse.  That’s way more than enough “medicine” to cure every lifer, pedophile, gang member, and disordered asshole on the grounds, including the entire SHU.”  Everyone knew Sergeant Nelson was joking.  The laughter washed away the subtle air of tension in the room.  After they all quieted down, Warden Knoll wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and the meeting continued on a more serious note.  

The food service assistant gave a report.  The assistant’s boss hadn’t shown up for work.  The boss might have been written up for the unexcused absence if there was such a thing at this point.  There wasn’t.  Everyone present was effectively out of a job.  Two of those present had already lost their homes.  On day two less than 25% of the facilities’ staff had come to work.  “Hi I’m Reggie Lenard.  I work for Food Service Manager Guzman who isn’t here today.”  Mr. Lenard cleared his throat.  “What Warden’s Knoll and Comber mentioned earlier is true.  We only have four minimum standard meals left, and that’s after we discontinue the noon meal, which is effective today.”  There were grumbles from the attendees.  Lenard continued.  “All staff will receive a noon meal, but staff shall not eat in view of inmates for obvious reasons.”  Warden Knoll called out; “Food rations.”  “Yes sir, I was getting to that.”  Mr. Lenard glanced at a crib note.  “All staff will receive one day’s ration of dried staples for each immediate family member for each day an employee works.  Are there any questions?”  A CSP lieutenant asked; “What’s for lunch today?”  Mr. Lenard seemed embarrassed when he answered, “baloney sandwiches and lemon-lime drink.  We also have lots of coffee.”  Someone else had a belated question.  “Can’t the State or the Federal Government fly in pallets of supplies by helicopter or something?” 

Warden Comber looked to Warden Knolls.  Knolls deferred to Comber who answered.  “We’ve been in radio contact with the Office of Emergency Services, the CDCR, and other higher authority since yesterday.  Sacramento County is drafting an emergency proclamation which they will forward to the State.  But, there is no immediate relief for us and any help will be too little and too late.  Warden Knolls and I have been given absolute authority by CDCR to respond to this situation as we see fit as long as we act within legal and humanitarian guidelines.  The bottom line is no help is coming, we are on our own.” 

The attendees now looked as crestfallen as Wardens Knoll and Comber already felt.  Warden Knoll addressed the room again.  “As I stated earlier we have to begin out processing all our inmates and we don’t have much time.  Warden Comber and I have decided to start with the FSP Women’s Facility.  Let me introduce you to SSA Michele Meadows.”  Ms. Meadows was another old-timer.  She was a Staff Services Analyst and she knew the clerical side of managing an inmate population better than anyone present.  Meadows was an average experienced State worker: a forty something over-weight female of indeterminate racial heritage.  Meadows waddled to the front of the room, leaving a line of scooted folding chairs in her wake.  Meadows weakly waved to the crowd and casually said, “hi ya all.”  Nothing frightened her.  “The FWF population is currently 351.  The FSP generator is working for now as you know.”  Meadows gestured to the glaring florescent lights above their heads.  “Unfortunately, our inmate tracking system is offline.  The good news is we never disposed of our supply of multiple carbon form 1115’s.  As most of you know this is the old inmate release document.  We can fill out the 1115’s and bus out-processed population to Mather Field in Rancho Cordova.”  Warden Knoll took this opportunity to butt in.  “Excuse me Michele, I forgot to mention.  The County is setting up a displaced person’s shelter at Mather Field.  If any supplies are forthcoming that’s where Federal authorities will fly them in.  Warden Comber and I plan to transport released population to Mather as long as they have space and we have fuel for our buses.” 

Over the next four days and nights facility staff successfully released almost 5000 convicted felons on an unsuspecting and unprepared region.  Mather took in the female released inmates but refused to take any males.  The prison buses operated around the clock and for all intents and purposes “dumped” released inmates in groups of 50 or so at various spots within a forty mile radius.  The drivers with other correctional officers literally riding shotgun chose the end of the line almost randomly.  Near the end, the prisons had been without food for over a day and the remaining inmates only got tepid river water at meals before they were kicked out the door.  Some of the cons whined about sundry violations of their civil rights.  The truth was most of the released inmates were in no worse shape than the civilians they were dumped on.

Both facilities had some inmates in their infirmaries that couldn’t be moved.  These were mostly older inmates who should have been in a medically staffed convalescent hospital.  One inmate was recovering from wounds after being shanked.  Another had a broken back plus two limbs after someone tossed him over a forth floor tier.  The entire remaining medical staff at FSP and CSP-Sacramento amounted to the before mentioned licensed psychiatric technician and one licensed vocational nurse.  None of the staff doctors ever showed up.  There was no way to care for these inmates and nowhere to take them.  Giving them a painless and merciful sleepy-time death wasn’t an option.  The LVN was aware of the prosecutions after medical staff performed euthanasia on patients facing drowning during Katrina.  Only the LVN stuck it out to the very final end.  She kept the patients sedated as much as possible and waited for them to slip away from dehydration.  When the last was gone she left CSP never to return.

One group of inmates at Represa had a plan.  15 inmates who worked in the prison laundry left as a group.  A trustee had been delegated to release them and they walked out a side gate and into the hills.  Before they left, each packed one or two spare correctional officer jumpsuits.  They used to dry-clean these for the CO’s but these ones ended up free for the taking, as long as the stupid bacon didn’t find out about it.  The leader of this group was one Pauli Rossi.  The guys often called him “Crazy Pauli” behind his back.  Rossi had honestly earned this nickname after years of huffing dry cleaning fluid every chance he got.  Pauli was crazy.  He knew about the nickname and was proud of it.  Pauli was crazy all right, like a fox, and Pauli had a plan.

Chapter 11

Nutshot

DeMarcus was a gangbanger without a gang.  He didn’t even have a place to stay.  His homies were gone.  His girlfriend was gone.  No one could hook him up.  He couldn’t even find beer at the liquor store.  DeMarcus had been living in Placerville around a bunch of Ponderosa looking motherfuckers before his bitches mom’s apartment burned up.  DeMarcus was now out on the street with them.  Everywhere he looked he saw Big Hoss and Little Joe assholes wearing cowboy hats … Cowboy hats!  DeMarcus even thought he spotted Hop Thing the chink pushing a shopping cart like it was a fucking rickshaw. 

DeMarcus had been given one job to do while he had been stuck in Ponderosaville.  The shot callers had ordered him to keep an eye on that Jerry Garcia asshole.  DeMarcus had an easy go of that assignment because he found lots of reporters and protesters outside asshole’s house.  It had been easy for him to mix with the mob and mimic their chants.  There was even some fine young things protesting.  DeMarcus liked watching them bounce up and down and prance around holding dumbass signs.  DeMarcus immediately became one of the most reliable protesters.  He showed up early thanks to his bitches bitch mom dropping him off on her way to work.  He often stayed late and had his girlfriend borrow mom’s car to pick him up after sunset.  DeMarcus even helped himself to free drinks and sandwiches some dink provided to the protesters.  He found out some of them were getting paid for marching up and down outside asshole’s house. 

DeMarcus was responsible for the flat tires, tagging, and fire of course.  Unfortunately the pig’s house was the third little piggy’s house: you know the one made out of brick.  The fuckers crib would not burn.  When the other protesters left so did DeMarcus.  It doesn’t pay to stand out.  After the arson attempt Garcia’s family had split.  Pig Garcia was all alone in this house. (if it was still there)  DeMarcus needed a new place to live and he had a place in mind.  DeMarcus put a bottle of water in his saggy pants and started the long walk to Jerry’s home.

DeMarcus made sure he arrived at Jerry’s pig house after dark.  DeMarcus didn’t exactly blend with most of the locals.  He found the house was still standing and what the fuck?  The pig that shot his homies had lights!  Nobody had lights but somehow this guy did.  DeMarcus would have knocked on the guy’s door and capped him right there except he couldn’t.  DeMarcus didn’t own a gun anymore.  He traded it for 1/4 oz. of primo shit about a year ago.  He had a knife but he left it at his girlfriend’s house when he woke up with smoke pouring into her bedroom.  DeMarcus had found a nice board with nails sticking out one end on the way here.  It would have to do.  DeMarcus picked his way through a barbed wire fence to get onto Jerry’s property.  Every piece of clothing he had on stuck like glue to the wire.  It took him forever but he made it.  DeMarcus snuck around to the back of Garcia’s house and was met by the most god awful squealing and grunting he had ever heard.  The sounds scared the shit out of him.  He was out of his element down on the fucking farm.  There was no going back to Placerville.  There was a wood fence with some kind of animals inside.  The only animals DeMarcus liked were two legged female ones or the ones on a plate with a side of eggs. 

DeMarcus crawled to the house and checked for an open window.  Sweet, he found one.  Oh come on, Garcia had some kind of metal screen over the opening.  He pulled at it but it wouldn’t come loose.  DeMarcus heard someone open a back door.  Maybe they were checking on the animals.  This was his chance.  He scuttled around to the back and found a young girl looking out the open door.  He had only been expecting pig fucker but so what, he was committed.  DeMarcus punched the little bitch in the face and bum rushed his way into the house.  He found himself in a hallway and he saw light ahead.  As he ran down the hallway he smacked into something hard and metal.  “Ouch.”  Sara was in the living room and heard a strange voice yell, “cocksucker.”  Sara stood up in time for DeMarcus to knock into her with a horizontal forearm.  He had defaulted to the football training he had received before they kicked him out of school.  Sara fell backwards and bounced off the couch and onto the floor.  DeMarcus saw Jerry walk from the kitchen.  The stupid pig had a glass in his hand and a mystified look on his face.  DeMarcus had seen this look many times on past victims.  DeMarcus sometimes imagined their last thoughts were often, “how can this be happening to me?” 

DeMarcus gave Jerry a deadly smile and raised the nail studded board.  He was about to stick it into the pig’s forehead when he found himself almost kissing the asshole.  Jerry had moved into the attack and was going for his holstered 9mm.  DeMarcus brought the board down behind Jerry’s back and felt the nails dig into something soft.  He heard Jerry cry out.  Jerry had felt something bite into his ass.  Worse, he was having trouble with his draw.  Jerry head-butted the intruder and pushed him off.  Jerry had also defaulted to over two decades of weaponless defense training.  Without consciously thinking about it, Jerry had pushed the assailant away to gain space to draw his weapon.  The draw still wasn’t happening.  Jerry improvised and kicked the home invader squarely between the legs.  This sent him backwards again.  This time, he went backwards over the couch and fell behind it. 

Teresa entered the living room and yelled “Aniseed” at the same moment the invader popped up from behind the couch.  Jerry had finally managed to draw his Glock model 19 but Sara fired first.  She had the .44 magnum in hand and point shot the crazed attacker.  The single shot was incredible in the confined space.  There was a bright flash and a resounding boom.  The intruder collapsed behind the couch and Jerry advanced to cover him with his 9mm.  Everyone was stunned.  Teresa rushed and gathered up Aniseed.  The poor toddler had been asleep on one end of the couch.  The commotion had awoken her and she was bawling.  A pall of bluish grey smoke hung in the air.  

The home invader appeared to be unconscious.  Jerry took no chances.  He saw Sara holding the big revolver at arm’s length.  It was shaking.  Possibly she was crying but Jerry couldn’t hear her.  The only thing he heard was ringing.  Bzzzzzzzz.  Jerry had some hearing damage after a lifetime of shooting sports and training.  This was an occupational hazard even though he always worn earplugs.  The ringing he was experiencing was nothing new.  It happened every time he was near a gunshot minus protection.  Bzzzzzzzz. 

Jerry asked Teresa to get a flashlight.  Teresa had no idea why her grandpa was speaking loudly and distorted like a deaf person, plus she could hardly hear anything after that bang and with Aniseed screaming in her ear.  Grandpa was pantomiming holding and turning on a flashlight so she finally figured out what he needed.  Teresa got the light but never released her child.  She turned on the flashlight and couldn’t believe what she saw.  Grandma was holding the coffee table gun in her hand and was crying.  There was a hole in the couch.  Teresa shined the light over the couch and saw that the guy who sucker punched her was sprawled on the floor. 

Now that he could see, Jerry cautiously approached the downed suspect and stepped lightly on his head.  There was no response so Jerry concluded he wasn’t playing possum.  Jerry kicked away the bad guy’s stick and took his right hand in a twist lock.  As Teresa looked on and provided light, Jerry dragged the prisoner, body? towards the front door.  Jerry told Teresa, “get the door,” in that silly new voice.  Jerry dragged his unconscious charge to the middle of the road and checked the area for his buddies.  He didn’t see anyone and certainly couldn’t hear anyone.  Now what to do? 

Jerry had options.  Usually options were nice---not this time.  Arrest him?  No.  That could get messy.  Leave him in the road?  Maybe.  Make sure he’s no longer a threat and then leave him in the road?  Bingo.  Jerry placed the muzzle of his 9mm against the home invader’s head and pulled the trigger.  Jerry barely heard the report but felt the recoil.  There was no coming back from a contact wound to the dome with a prefragmented slug.  This fellow’s career of attacking innocent people was over.  Jerry got back to the house and systematically cleared each room.  Once he was sure the intruder hadn’t had any partners he shut and locked the back door.  When he finished he found Sara and Teresa and Annie standing in the living room in a group hug.  All of them avoided the couch.  Jerry’s ass had started to throb now that the excitement was over.  Jerry gestured and Teresa pointed the light.  Sara saw blood on Jerry where his leg met his backside.  Sara ordered Jerry to drop trou and found two puncture wounds.  “Teresa, please go get grandma one of the first aid kits.”  When she returned, Sara didn’t know where to start.  Jerry hobbled to the kitchen and walked her through it since he couldn’t see.  “Let it bleed profusely to wash out potential tetanus germs.  Follow that with an application of rubbing alcohol.”  That one made Jerry wince.  Sara finished by drying the area and applying a bandage.  Jerry would start a regimen of horse antibiotics in the morning just to be sure.  Jerry and Sara followed Teresa back to the living room and Teresa pointed out the bullet hole in the couch.  “Look grandma, you shot him in the dick.”  Sara blanched and quietly said; “language.”  Sara was shocky.

Jerry got Sara a glass of wine and made sure she drank it.  No one slept soundly that night.  Sara cried softly for some time while Jerry held her.  He reminded Sara more than once that she had only wounded the intruder.  This was possibly not true but Jerry did his best to convince Sara she hadn’t taken a life.  While the buzzing in Jerry’s ears lessened to a dull ache he was struck by the thought that shooting someone in the head in the middle of the street had become the new normal in what, a few days?  The next morning, Jerry swallowed his first 1/4 teaspoon of antibiotic powder and replaced the spent round in the .44 Magnum revolver.  This hideout weapon had been one of his home security measures.  Only two days earlier Jerry had epoxied a 1 x2 inch neodymium super magnet underneath the coffee table.  Jerry had a thing for super magnets.  (you had me at super)  Unlike his patience they never wore out.  Jerry used to stick all sorts of heavy items to the wall of his cubicle with them including scissors before he retired.  Until recently they found a new home on the refrigerator.  Jerry had gone with the .44 because he and the ladies could pull the trigger, but a toddler couldn’t handle the fourteen or so pound double action.  This was a lesser of two evils situation.  None of Jerry’s pistols were toddler proof with a round up the spout.  The double action .44 revolver was at least toddler “resistant”.  Jerry had done a test previously and even Teresa could handle the big revolver, click, click, click---at least in dry fire mode. 

After breakfast, Teresa rejoined Jerry and Sara in the living room.  Jerry had seen her without Marilyn Manson makeup before, but he had never seen her dressed in any color except black.  Teresa had appropriated a pair of Jerry’s old Army Battle Dress Uniform (BDU) pants.  Even with the waist adjustment tabs and the legs shortened they fit badly.  She still had a black top on.  Still, this was a real change.  Teresa was always pretty, but without the kabuki makeup she was stunning.  No one commented on her black eye and she diplomatically didn’t point out Jerry’s inability to sit.  Teresa seemed subdued.  I guess no one could blame her after last night’s trauma.  Finally she spoke.  “That guy’s dead isn’t he.”  Sara started to answer…”I hope so”, Jerry butted in.  Sara gave Jerry the look.  “Are we going to leave him in the road?”  Jerry looked grimly at the ceiling for several seconds.  “I’d love to but we can’t.  We don’t want local law enforcement asking any questions plus he’s going to start stinking the place up any time now.”  “I want to help move him” stated Teresa.  “No you don’t” Sara and Jerry said at the same time.  “But I do.  It’s time I grew up.  None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t stupidly opened the door for him.”  Teresa wasn’t near tears.  She looked very determined.  This was a bad sign.  Jerry had dealt with this same stubborn streak in Sara before.  “Honey, if you hadn’t opened the door me or Sara would have.  We have to check on the animals don’t we?”  Teresa pouted.  “I guess so.”  “If anyone is to”…Jerry almost but didn’t quite say the word “Blame.”  “If we overlooked something it’s me.  Remember I told you I would give you some firearms training?”  Teresa’s face brightened at the same time Sara’s clouded.  “She’s just a young girl” said Sara.  “Exactly” said Jerry.  “She’s a young lady who we can’t protect forever.  It’s better if I teach her to defend herself sweetheart, exactly like I taught you.”  Sara couldn’t argue with that one and didn’t try.  It was true Jerry taught her to shoot every gun in the house years ago including the big revolver and the shotgun. 

Jerry waited until breakfast had digested before he started the roadkill cleanup job.  There was no reason to waste good food throwing it up was there?  Jerry considered dragging the body behind his truck to the slope.  After some reflection he decided that was ill-advised.  God forbid someone should catch him.  Jerry imagined how that would go down:  “Oh my dear lord, that monster dragged that sweet young boy of color to his horrible death, get him.”  Oh well, since he couldn’t wish the dead kid into the corn field, he would have to do it the hard way.  Jerry could have loaded the body into his truck except he wasn’t about to touch it.  Who wants to touch a dead body anyway?  Jerry looped a length of thick rope around the corpse’s feet and started to drag him manually to the grassy slope up the block.  Teresa watched from about ten feet away and dry heaved when the body’s arms flopped.  After that she held it together and helped Jerry with the plow horse routine.  Jerry felt a small stab of pain with every step.  He hoped his wound didn’t fester.  At the slope Teresa asked. “Shouldn’t we bury him?”  Jerry was too exhausted to laugh.  As he huffed and puffed trying to catch his breath Jerry said, “Teresa, you’ve been watching movies and television way too much.”  Jerry scrunched up his face and added; “okay, maybe not recently.  I’ve never dug a grave.  However, I’ve dug fence post holes and repaired a retaining wall once.  Let me tell you, digging sucks.”  With that Jerry undid the rope and rolled the body over the side with his foot.  All the grass on the slope had burned but the dead kid only rolled about five feet.  Now the scene was a black comedy.  Jerry carefully made his way to the body and gave it another push.  It rolled another five feet.  “Son of a bitch.”  Teresa had her hands over her mouth and was giggling.  She play acted shuddering in disgust and giggled again.  Jerry finally maneuvered the body over a small rise so it was at least out of sight from the top.  He struggled back up the hill and was reminded of the poor “T” girl he found here only days ago.

When they returned to Casa Garcia the entire family minus the toddler started firearms training/practice.  Jerry started Teresa on the Talo Ruger 10-22 rifle.  Within half an hour she was ripping through 25 round mags like a champ.  Once everyone was comfortable with the semi-auto, Jerry unveiled his latest felony.  Jerry had built a redneck special suppressor from one of his D cell flashlights.  Not wanting to spook the ladies he had pre-tested it and surprised himself when it worked perfectly.  As Sara and Teresa and Annie watched, Jerry unscrewed the birdcage flash-hider from the Ruger and screwed on the suppressor.  The body was aluminum and Jerry had only used a few baffles.  The suppressor was about ten inches long but very light.  Sara tried some shots following Jerry and was absolutely delighted.  The “can” had the same effect on Teresa.  No more “crack”.  The rifle now went “thump.”  

Next they brought out the Remington semi-auto 12 gauge.  For some unknown reason Teresa tittered when anyone said the word “gauge”.  Jerry didn’t practice with buckshot.  He didn’t have more than a couple dozen rounds and had to save them for serious social engagements.  He also didn’t want to punish himself or the ladies with the harsh recoil.  No one ever notices recoil during real life defensive situations anyway.  At close range, birdshot was enough to demonstrate the power and pattern spread of the 12 gauge.  Jerry set up some partially burned boards he salvaged from the remains of the Dewey house and they blasted holes in them.  Teresa was shocked the shotgun easily snapped 2x4’s in half at close range.  She also learned the shotgun only spread about one inch for every yard of range.  Jerry summed up the lesson with the following; “The most intimidating personal weapon is the 12 gauge shotgun.  Everyone knows what a shotgun is and how powerful it is.  Hell, even a single shot 12 or 20 gauge commands instant respect.  Our shotgun holds five shots.”

Jerry next brought out his borrowed M16A2 and fired it on single shot to demonstrate the weapon.  Then it was Sara and Teresa’s turn.  Teresa was surprised how low the recoil was compared with the shotgun.  Jerry took out his second suppressor.  This one had more baffles and was much heavier than the .22LR can.  The good news is it kept muzzle climb to a minimum.  Jerry switched the rifle to “Auto” and everyone fired off several bursts.  Teresa had more fun than the adults and burned through a 30 round magazine before Jerry could blink. 

Jerry finished this training period with handguns.  He started off easy.  Jerry took out the Ruger MK-II .22LR pistol.  He had fitted a PVC pipe suppressor to the barrel with tape and a hose clamp.  The straight 1/2 inch bull barrel made this an easy operation.  Jerry had even cemented a piece of PVC onto the end as a front sight.  Both ladies loved this one.  It had zero recoil and zero noise.  Jerry had an ample supply of 10 round magazines and Sara and Teresa raced through them.  “Grandpa, this thing is a pop gun.”  Jerry walked Teresa over to the scrap 2x6 board they had shot over 50 bullets through and had her look at the back of the board.  There she saw a crater larger than her hand.  The bullets had left small holes in the front but blew the crap out of the back.  “Pop gun huh?” said Jerry.

The next handgun was a .380 Bersa Thunder.  Jerry had to snap his fingers to get Teresa’s attention.  “Hey kiddo, I’d pay attention if I were you.  This one will be yours unless grandma wants it.”  Teresa’s eye’s lit up like an evil little girl who had found another spider to step on.  Jerry began, “this is a double/single action semi-automatic pistol.”  Jerry safety checked the weapon and demonstrated how the pistol transitioned from a double action trigger pull to single action after the first shot.  Jerry expected to lose Teresa at this point and completely confuse her.  To his surprise she quickly understood the transition and why the weapon had this feature.  “That’s so you don’t shoot your dick off, right grandpa?”  Jerry blushed and laughed at the same time while Sara gave Teresa a swat.  Jerry went, “ahem,” into his fist and continued.  “The Thunder has a safety here,” Jerry pointed, “and this is how the safety works.  See the painted red dot?  Do either of you know what the red dot means?”  Sara knew, she had taken this class from Jerry before.  “Red equals dead.”  “Very good” said Jerry, and he leaned over and gave her a smooch.  “When you see the red dot the safety is off and you can kill someone.”  Teresa raised her hand and professor Jerry acknowledged her.  Manny wasn’t the only academic in the family.  “How many bullets does it hold grandpa?”  “Seven, plus one in the chamber of course.”  “How many bullets does your gun hold grandpa?”  Any answer he gave wouldn’t make Teresa happy.  “Well…15 plus one, …but they’re big bullets.”  Teresa accepted that answer for a second before she caught on.  “Haaay.”  Jerry had the ladies go through three mags each and he popped off eight rounds for the hell of it.  Sara and Teresa each loved the Bersa. 

The next handgun jerry brought out was the .380 Grendel Sara and Teresa had carried previously.  Jerry showed the ladies how the weapon easily fit in a pocket with no holster needed.  “Okay, girls, this lil bastard is a double action only semi-automatic pistol.  Because of the action it has no safety whatsoever.  As I’ve stated before, you only have to worry about aiming and pulling the trigger with this one.  Oh ya, the mags hold 10 rounds.”  Jerry was half-fibbing here.  The magazines were supposed to hold 11 cartridges-- but they didn’t.  They were cheap plastic and he could only get 10 rounds in them.”  He kept this little truth from his students.  Also, some years ago Jerry had a devil of a time finding ammo the Grendel would feed 100%.  He didn’t tell Sara and Teresa this either.  Why give them doubts about the gun.  Jerry knew the nickel cased hollow-points he currently feed the little beast feed perfectly.  What’s more, 10 plus 1 unexpected .380 slugs would be no picnic for anyone stupid enough to molest his ladies.  Jerry had some Fiocchi FMJ’s so they used them for practice.  Sara and Teresa fired two mags each and Jerry burned the last 10 rounds.  This particular Grendel liked these rounds and the weapon functioned without a hitch.  Both ladies were drawn to the Grendel.  With cell phones useless this was the new 911.

Jerry also trained Teresa on his Glock 19 and reminded her it wasn’t up for grabs.  Sara had shot the Glock many times over the years and bowed out from any more shooting.  Jerry had lots of 9mm and let Teresa fire four cop capacity mags of practice ammo.  After she was done the family cleaned the weapons and the ladies picked their everyday carry handgun.  Sara generously gave Teresa first choose.  “Well, grandpa’s Glock is too big and blocky and I can’t have that one anyway.”  She picked up the Bersa and locked the slide back.  “Between this one and the small one I better take this one.  It fits my hand just right.”  Jerry had a medium nylon hip holster for the Bersa and delivered it to Teresa near sunset with two extra mags. 

The next morning Jerry continued hardening the homefront.  Once he saw the doors were a weak spot he got to work reinforcing them.  They had a round glass peephole at the front door and nothing at the back.  Jerry built a sliding door at face level from left over plywood.  He also reinforced both doorjambs.  Jerry also instituted a new policy.  From now on they would check on people at the front door and animal sounds from the attic.  Jerry got out the portable radios he had bought before the collapse and put one on a shelf he installed up there.  Whoever did the attic check would use the radio to tell the others what they saw and heard.  Anyone who had the balls to trespass to the backdoor would be dealt with harshly.

Jerry also built an emergency escape hatch from the house.  This was easier than you might think.  The hatch was already there.  Jerry added a one way Jerry sized flap to one of the hinged doors which led from the backyard into the basement.  It was exactly like a human sized pet door but at an angle.  Once out the flap there was another problem.  Jerry would be exposed to anyone watching the backyard.  Jerry had a fix for this situation but he hated it.  Jerry got his number 2 shovel from his detached garage and started digging a shallow trench.  The whole thing was about twenty feet long and went through a portion of the animal pens and under the split rail fence on the eastside of the backyard.  The trench would give Jerry and the family cover and concealment if they had to sneak away from the house.  They would have to low crawl like snakes on their bellies the entire way but at least it was a safe and sneaky exit.  Jerry had Sara and Teresa practice going through the pet door and each of the three tried it while shooing along Annie.  Annie was getting used to quiet time games like this and seemed to enjoy crawling in the dirt.

Chapter 12

The Coalition

A few days after the lights went out Robert Houghton and Tess Saunders found themselves camped out on the recreation room floor of  the Indian reservation his mother had been born on.  The reservation was only a few miles north of Placerville and Robert hated the place with a passion.  He had never lived here and had only visited in the past for purely business related reasons.  Robert had disavowed the people who lived on the “Res” his entire professional life and only came by when one of the local badge wearing bully boys hassled one of the redskins.  To Robert’s disgust the law dogs were usually in the right.  The reservation was filled with SSI recipients, perennial welfare cases, and unemployment insurance scam artists.  Most of them were stereotypical drunken Indians and Robert Houghton secretly hated all of them. 

Robert and Tess lost almost everything when the CME hit.  They were three for three when it came to burned down structures.  His duplex, Tess’s apartment, and his E.PI.C. office were all gone.  Luckily they often worked out of their cars and they had been stocked with supplies.  For example, Robert’s Mercedes SUV was packed with water bottles.  He used to like to have people witness him handing out bottles of water to the local contingent of street people and beggars.  This had been easy before the CME because Robert used to have interns fish empty bottles from the trash and refill them from the tap.

As he lay on his Maidu surplus sleeping bag on the floor beside Tess, Robert Houghton had a vision.  He saw himself leading the oppressed minority of El Dorado County.  He would gather them together for safety and form them into a force to be reckoned with.  They would be the loudest voice in the County.  The privileged few were undoubtedly hording all the food left in the area for themselves.  Houghton’s group would storm the pinnacles of power in Placerville and demand their share.  Houghton knew exactly what he had to do to meet this goal:  He had to form a coalition.

That evening Robert and Tess found themselves on a small hill overlooking a particular high school.  True to Tess’s insider information, local authorities had set up a concentration camp.  The camp was indeed divided but not down the middle.  Instead there seemed to be a smaller fenced off area.  Robert was sure he recognized many faces in the fenced off area he had handed out water to in the past.  It was true, the pigs were rounding up the people.  Robert was watching the scene through binoculars he happened to have stashed in his SUV when the storm hit.  Using the glasses gave Robert a warm feeling and he felt a familiar swelling in his pants.  Robert smiled and mused this must be some sort of conditioned response.  In his past life Robert had often given his college interns a ride to their dorms after a hard day of epic work.  Never the male interns, not that there were many, always the girls.  It hadn’t taken long for someone as intelligent as himself to notice these girls didn’t seem to know how window blinds worked.  They either left their drapes and blinds wide open or only partially closed them.  Robert couldn’t see much until he had bought the binoculars.  They opened a new and exciting world of voyeurism to Houghton.  Some stupid college rent-a-cop even caught him once in the act.  Houghton had shined on the bumbling Barney Fife wannabee by telling him he was doing law practice client surveillance.  Houghton had told him, “I can’t go into details officer because of attorney/client privilege.”  If the pig had hassled him five minutes later he might have caught Houghton “Banging the gavel”.  Robert chuckled at the memory. 

Houghton needed to get these oppressed people released if he ever hoped to make his coalition a reality.  Under normal conditions he would whip up a writ of habeas corpus at his office.  Next, he would take a leisurely stroll to court, file it, and get these obviously unlawfully detained half wits and boarder jumpers released.  These were not normal conditions.  Houghton’s office was a cold cinder and all the judges seemed to have abandoned the darkened courtrooms.  If Houghton owned or thought to borrow a pair of bolt cutters he could stage a great escape.  Unfortunately for Houghton he had no idea what bolt cutters were.  Houghton didn’t even know there was such a tool.  Dike cutters could have snipped through the fence but Houghton hadn’t heard of those either.  If one had run the words “dike cutters” by Houghton he would have grinned and guessed that was some sort of kinky fetish.  Besides, Robert Houghton was a man of words, not action.  He and Tess returned to his Mercedes and aha, he had some blank paper and a clipboard in the back.

Robert spoke while Tess took his dictation.  As Houghton rambled off words in his most flowery legal verbosity he thought about how much he loved “dictation.”  Tess had no idea why her boss was grinning but knew better than to ask.  Houghton ended the letter with; I herby order the immediate release of the unnamed group of individuals represented by Robert Edward Houghton, Esq.  Attorney at Law.  Signed Jennifer Kingfisher, Presiding Judge of the Superior Court of the County of El Dorado.  The entire handwritten writ was total bullshit and had the legal weight of a butterfly.  Robert and Tess waited until the wee hours of the night to serve it on the unsuspecting Gestapo guards.  They would never know what hit em. 

Robert and Tess ambled over to the guard outside the detention enclosure of the Red Cross Shelter at 3:10 AM.  They timed their visit to catch the Nazi oppressors off guard.  The guard was in civilian clothes and was slumped over a school desk.  He was sound asleep.  Robert and Tess counted nine white sleeping bags on the blacktop inside the enclosure.  Every bag had an adult sized occupant except for one.  The owner of the empty bag was a huge thirty something man.  He was wide awake and paced back and forth like a caged cat at the zoo.  The sky’s nightly milky glow and the aurora had been fading but there was still enough light for the three to see each other clearly.  The big man’s movements, his posture, his tensed muscles, and especially his eyes radiated raw hate.  He didn’t speak, he didn’t have to.  The man’s eyes spoke directly to Robert.  If I could get out of here I would beat you to death first.  Robert Houghton had found a Senior Executive Director for the Houghton Coalition.  All he had to do now was free him. 

Robert looked at the enclosure gate, it was padlocked.  Razor wire topped the chain link fence.  There was no razor wire around the rest of the camp.  The wire marked these nine as slaves.  The Man would use and discard them on a whim.  Houghton gave Tess helpful hand signs and finally she understood.  Tess squatted down next to the now snoring guard and visually checked his belt for keys.  When Tess stood up and raised her hands in the universal “I got nothing” pose, Robert took a small flashlight he had found in Tess’s car and rapped it on the desktop.  The guard awoke with a start and said “wha, who?”  Houghton had the advantage and intended to maintain it. 

“Wake up you indolent fool.  My name is Robert Houghton.”  The half asleep guard looked up into Houghton’s light and gaped like a caught fish.  “My card.”  With that Houghton thrust a business card into the guard’s limp hand.  The guard attempted to make sense of the card while Houghton continued.  “I’m here at this late hour to serve you with a writ of habeas corpus from Judge Kingfisher.”  “Judge who?” asked the guard.  “Judge Jenny Kingfisher you lazy cur, Superior Court Judge Kingfisher.”  The guard had started to regain his limited wits, but if this was a prize fight he would be on the ropes.  Houghton motioned Tess to put the clipboard under the guard’s nose.  The writ was attached.  “Read it, and release my nine clients immediately.”  The guard scanned the document and said, “this is handwritten.”  Robert was ready for this objection.  “Of course it’s handwritten you sleepy jackass.  Courthouse staff has been furloughed for now; however, judicial review remains active.  You do see Judge Kingfisher’s signature at the bottom of the writ, don’t you?”  The guard didn’t know what to do.  A week ago he had been a Medicare claims clerk at a local hospital.  He didn’t know how to be a guard.  “Maybe I should wake Mr. Simmons.”  Houghton didn’t need to know who Simmons was.  He already knew his plan would fall apart if anyone else got involved.  Houghton bluffed.  “Yes, let’s wake Mr. Simmons… so I can tell him how I caught you sleeping on the job.  I’ll add that to your failure to obey a judge’s court order.”

Houghton saw doubt on the guard’s face.  “I have him,” thought Robert.  Now was the time to show him the Houghton charm.  Houghton used the same syrupy voice he had used to seduce dozens of coeds.  “There’s no need to blow this out of proportion is there Mr?”...“Connors, Jake Connors.”  “Jake, you have my business card and I’m going to leave you the writ, that’s your copy.  I also have an identification card that shows I’m an officer of the Court.  May I show it to you?”  Jake was more than ready to have Houghton guide him, just like all those coeds.  “Sure I guess.”  Houghton removed his Superior Court ID card and handed it to Connors.  It was a photo ID any lawyer could apply for.  The card saved Houghton the indignantly of a metal detector search by jackbooted thugs every time he had court business.  Jake compared the photo on the card while Houghton held his flashlight to the side.  When he sensed Jake was satisfied Robert asked, “You have the key to the gate, right Jake?” 

Five minutes later Houghton had the nine detainees on their feet.  The huge man had helped the process along by shoving most of the sleepyheads awake while Houghton spoke with the guard.  Robert called a huddle of the nine away from Jake and explained the situation.  “Most of you know me.  I’m a civil rights lawyer and I’m here to get you released.  You can come with me and my assistant or not.  Follow me if you want to get out of here.”  Eight of the nine went with Robert.  The single dissenter told Robert, “they have food and water here and a shade cover during the day.”  Robert had to admit his reasoning was valid.  Robert noticed the huge man ensured the released detainees took all their personal items with them, including the lightweight sleeping bags.  This man mountain had leadership potential, but could he follow?  Robert and Tess packed the detainees into his SUV and her sedan and they drove north to the Miwok Reservation; their new home.

The next morning Robert had to act fast to forestall a potential objection.  Last night the one reservation guard had let Robert and Tess’s vehicles in with no problem.  The guard paid no attention that both vehicles were packed like sardine cans with people.  The morning was different.  Tribal leadership was sure to object to Robert’s latest action.  They hadn’t said anything when he brought Tess with him, but eight new people?  The reservation was for members of the Miwok and Maidu tribes after all, not for refugees.  The big man was key to Robert’s power base.  He had to get him on his side and fast.  Houghton motioned him away from the others and had a powwow with him.  Houghton introduced himself.  Good morning sir, my name is… “Robert Houghton” the big man interrupted.  “You’re an attorney and you got me out of jail, thanks.”  “You’re welcome” said Houghton. 

Houghton explained the situation to the big man whose name was Tom.  Houghton never found out his last name, or even if he had one.  Tom liked the idea of being third in charge behind Robert and Tess and agreed to follow Robert’s orders to the letter.  So far so good.  “Tom, please tell the others our situation and you know what to do if anyone gets in our way.”

Robert found Tess returning from the reservation communal kitchen.  “Boss, here’s the situation” said Tess.  “The kitchen has no food except some for the children, so no breakfast.  Some men are out hunting and the cook told me everyone is supposed to meet by the flagpole at 8:30 to go on a foraging trip for food.  We can get water from the creek and the bathroom area is down that hill,” Tess pointed.  “We have to dig crap holes and cover them up.  They have a shovel and some toilet paper.”  “Yuck” said Robert.  “These people are living like savages.  Will you be a dear and tell our group what you told me?” 

At 8:30 AM Robert gathered his coalition of ten at the courtyard flagpole.  Tom took charge of herding and keeping them in line.  He had made sure they tidied up their portion of the rec room and rolled up their disposable Red Cross paper sleeping bags before they met for the foraging trip.  To the residents of the reservation it looked like Robert had gathered up a home for the mentally disabled and brought it en masse to the reservation.  Everyone on the reservation had gotten dirty since the plumbing stopped working.  These new people were extra dirty, and they smelled.  Tom appeared to be head councilor and the woman named Tess supervised him.  The guy named Robert must have been the home’s director.  Robert was unquestionably in charge. At the flagpole sure enough, one of the reservation’s head mucky mucks approached Robert and started to speak to him about Robert’s group.  Right on cue Tom ambled over to the little chief and glowered down at him.  Robert watched the chief gulp like a cartoon character when Tom crowded him and smiled inwardly when the redskin backed down and all but scurried away. 

The leader of the foraging party was a young reservation girl.  “Hi, I see we have some new people this morning.  My name is Sally.”  The group of about two dozen people including several children said, “hi Sally.”  “Our job today is to walk to the tree line up the hill and gather as many acorns as possible.  Some of us did this yesterday.  We’re low on food so we’re going to make acorn mush.  This will be dinner with maybe some game if the men get lucky.  One of Robert’s group raised his hand and said the following; “I’m not picking no goddamn acorns.  My stomach hurts an I need a drink.”  “Oh thank you sweet baby Jesus” thought Robert.  This is just what he needed, an example.  “Tom, please take this gentleman and escort him to the recreation room and have him pick up his personal items.  The sleeping bag stays, that’s Coalition property.  Walk him to the front gate and send him on his way.  We don’t need his kind here.”  Tom didn’t hesitate.  In his world only pussies and punks hesitated.  “Yes sir Mr. Houghton” said Tom as he clamped a huge paw on the shoulder of the Coalition’s first sacrifice.  The stumblebum only kept from falling because Tom all but carried him by the scruff of the neck as he led him away.  Sally was dumfounded.  She didn’t notice when Tess slid her hand onto Robert’s and gave him an admiring squeeze.  Robert turned to Sally and said.  “Me and my group are ready to go and we want to help out any way we can.”  Sally handed out plastic garbage bags to half the group and they began the long walk to the acorn laden scrub oaks. 

Tess found time to talk to Robert as they gathered acorns under the trees.  “Robert, aren’t you concerned the police will come after us?”  “Whatever for Tess?”  Houghton was distracted as he was busier checking out Sally than hunting like a pig for acorns or listening to his assistant.  Sally was the shapeliest little Poca-cunt-ass he had seen in a while.  “Well, it won’t take them long to figure out our writ is bogus.  Also, you gave that guard your business card.”  Robert was trying to decide if Sally was eighteen, or younger.  “Hmmm… well—you’re right Tess but who gives a shit?  Those Red Cross drones can’t check on the writ until they find Judge Kingfisher, and how will they do that?  Plus, if anything we helped out the Red Cross by taking some (Robert whispered) fucking street people, off their hands.  If the fascists have a problem with me freeing the oppressed they’re going to have to find me first, and I don’t plan on being found.”  Tess smiled and tossed some more acorns into Robert’s bag, “you always know best Robert.”

The group gathered about 30 pounds of acorns in about an hour and Sally took them on a slight detour on the way back.  Sally stopped at a flat rocky area about the size of a pool table.  The area was studded with mortar holes.  “Most of you have seen this but some of our new people haven’t.  This is one of our tribal acorn grinding rocks.  These pounding holes are many hundreds of years old.  When she was younger my grandmother pounded acorns for mush and bread right here for many years.”  Robert muttered to himself; “I’d love to pound you.”  Sally continued.  “A couple of our older ladies are drying the acorns we gathered yesterday over charcoal.  We’ll eat those tonight.  We’ll eat these,” said Sally holding up an acorn, “tomorrow.”  Sally cracked open the acorn expertly and showed the yellow-tan meat to the group.  “Once these are dry the ladies pound them into a powder.  Next they run warm water over the powder to leach out tannic acid.  After several washings you can dry the powder into flour for acorn bread, or cook it into a paste or mush.  The ladies tell me it’s similar to the Hawaiian people’s poi.  I haven’t tried it yet but I’m told salt really helps.”  The group chuckled politely.  “My puffy Snatch-a-jew-ea is quite the little comedian” thought Robert.

When the gatherer group arrived at the reservation they cued up and dumped their acorns into dirty five gallon buckets.  Houghton had squirreled away a pocket of acorns for himself: He was hungry now.  When no one was looking he took an acorn from his pocket and struggled to get the slippery little devil open.  He finally got it by stomping it with his dress shoe.  Houghton looked to his left and right.  He didn’t want to be falsely accused of being a food hoarder.  Houghton popped the acorn into his mouth and savored its nutty deliciousness as he chewed.  This lasted for two seconds before the bitterness hit.  It wasn’t a nice bitterness like dark chocolate.  This was a bitterness that warned an area deep in Houghton’s tiny reptilian brain.  The warning said; this shit is poison.  Houghton spat out the chewed acorn in a dry tan cloud.  Soap would have tasted better.  Houghton angrily scooped the remaining acorns from his pocket and threw them far away.  He had made a decision.  Houghton needed real food, but first he needed an audience. 

Houghton waited until noon.  As he had hoped the Indians didn’t even serve a token lunch.  There was water, yes, and the little ones were given tortilla looking things to munch on, yes, but the adults got nothing.  Houghton gathered up the members of his coalition near the flagpole and sent Tom to bring as many of the res Indians he could cajole or bully into coming.  Houghton ended up with 16, 17, 18, listeners total including several children.  Houghton began his speech. 

“Hello all, my name is Robert Houghton and I’m a proud member of the Maidu tribe. (Lie)  I’m a prominent civil rights lawyer in this community and I know your rights.  One of the main human rights is the right to provide life giving food to your children.  The so-called civil authority currently in charge of the County seat; Placerville, has no right to keep us from obtaining food to feed the children.  Furthermore, it is not a crime to steal a loaf of bread to feed a hungry child.  The local civil authority doesn’t care about you and they have abandoned you. (Lie)  They don’t care if your children starve to death. (Lie)  It’s up to us to provide for the children however we can in these dark and cloudy days, even if we must shed some of our most precious moral guidelines in the process.  The old rules were for the old world.  There is no more “stealing”, there is only providing.” 

“I propose we take my vehicle and my assistant’s vehicle to Placerville and take back the food which the fat cats and the privileged have so wrongly taken from the very mouths of our children.  I need three volunteers.  Who will help feed the children?”  Tom was the first to raise his hand.  “I’ll help you Mr. Houghton.”  Robert had previously briefed Tom concerning the speech.  Tom was what carnival barkers used to call a “shill”.  The rest of the crowd didn’t need to know this.  “There’s one” said Houghton, “I need two more to step up.”  Houghton got his volunteers and off they went. 

They tried two grocery stores and found just what they expected.  They were empty and had been looted.  They considered bashing down the front door of the nearest intact mini mansion.  The problem with that plan is if you can afford a mansion you can also afford guns and guard dogs.  After driving around like an asshole for an hour Houghton could feel he was losing the momentum he had worked so hard to create.  Tom was in the front seat of Robert’s SUV.  “Tom” said Houghton, “I have it.”  “I drove by a convalescent hospital the third night after this happened and the place was lit up like a joiner Jew’s house at Christmas.  If they have electricity they also have to have food.”  When Tom didn’t respond, Houghton glanced at him to gauge Tom’s reactive to the awesome plan.  “Well, what do you think?”  Tom had a sour look on his face.  “Do you think we should be taking food from old people Robert?”  “I do in fact feel this is the only reasonable course of action we have left at this juncture, and by the way Tom, what happened to Mr. Houghton?”  Tom could hear Robert, um, Mr. Houghton was getting mad.  “You’re right Mr. Houghton; this is the only junction we have left.”  “I know I’m right, I’m most certainly right.  We have to think of the young, not the old.”  Robert pounded the steering wheel and headed towards the convalescent hospital.

When they arrived they found the hospital was wide open and dark, but unburned.  Tess parked beside Robert’s SUV and she and the two reservation volunteers joined Houghton and Tom.  The first thing Houghton noticed was the building.  It was a shitty single story rectangle from the 60’s.  It had a metal clad roof and was mostly made from cinder block.  Every door and sliding window was wide open.  “I guess their juice failed” said Houghton.  Houghton next noticed patients had been placed under each available tree, all of them in beds.  Two middle aged women in regular clothes attended to the patients.  Houghton also saw a pile of white wrapped dead people at the extreme corner of the property.  “You see” Houghton yelled triumphantly, “these oldsters are already dead.”  The two reservation volunteers were standing side by side and looked very unsure.  Houghton clasped a hand on the shoulder of each and told them, “these old people are dying, they won’t last long.  But, their sacrifice will feed our hungry children.  Who are we to deny them the chance to feed little ones?”

Houghton briefly addressed his people before they went in.  “Let me do the talking and follow my lead.  Houghton held out his clenched hand.  “Fist bump.”  Houghton blew out some air and yelled, “well then—let’s do this.

Houghton strode through the front door of the facility like he owned the place.  This wasn’t an act.  Houghton honestly believed he was personally entitled to every scrape of food (and pain pill) in the building.  “Who is in charge here?”  Houghton found no one behind the front desk.  “I don’t think anyone’s home Robert.”  It’s dark as a tomb in here said Tess.”  Not only that, it smelled.  “Ewww”, Tess added.  “It smells like ass in here.”  Robert  was way ahead of Tess as usual and had covered his nose with his last monogrammed handkerchief.  Houghton snapped his fingers at Tom.  “Watch the door and don’t let those two bitches on the lawn in here.”  Houghton sent the volunteers down the main corridor to find the kitchen.  They started to go off in the same direction and Robert had to stop them.  “Hey, dummies, this isn’t a foot race, you go that way, and you… go the other way.”  After they left, Robert swatted Tess on the bottom and stated, “I do the best I can with the people they give me.”

During the interminable wait, Robert noticed one or more of the lawn biddies were giving Tom a hard time.  “Tom”, Robert yelled at the ceiling.  “You have my permission to clock these cunts if they give you any lip.”  Tom must have said something to the biddies because it got real quite after that.  “Oh blessed silence” thought Houghton.  Soon enough the volunteers returned.  One had found the kitchen.  “They have food cooking in the kitchen Mr. Houghton but a lady is watching it.”  Houghton confidently fast walked to the kitchen with his entire entourage in tow; except for Tom, who he left guarding the front entrance.  At the kitchen he found a thirty something female.  She was standing with her arms crossed and appeared subdued.  Houghton fed her a line.  “Hello Ms.”— he read the nametag on her plum was it, nursing scrubs…hard to tell in this light.   “Hello Ms. Cathy.  My name is Mr. Saunders.  I’m with the Red Cross.  I’m afraid we’ve received a report this facility is hording foodstuffs.”  Cathy started to speak and Houghton shushed her, just like in court.  “Pursuant to county emergency order 11-5, I have been empowered to seize any and all excess foodstuffs for shelter use.  I’m sure you will cooperate during this crisis.  How about we start an inventory so I can make sure your facility retains its 20% allotment?”

LVN Cathy was lost.  She had been doing her best but as soon as the generator failed patients had begun dying.  She had been making soup when this Saunders from the Red Cross came in.  Soup was warming and patients who couldn’t chew could sip the broth.  She didn’t think to ask for identification and the hospital didn’t dare buck the County.  Cathy was so tired.  She had watched patient after patient crash during the past few days.  Only the strong ones were left.  Three family member volunteers and her, that was it.  Everyone else had fled or never came to work for even a single day after the ejection hit. 

Houghton had his followers find and stack the food while Tess stood by with her trusty clipboard.  She adjusted her black plastic rimmed glasses as she tallied the take.  They loaded 80% into their vehicles, all nice and legal like.  Before they left Cathy to her cooking, Houghton thanked her.  Houghton had found over the years it was always best to leave the suckers with a good feeling, even after he had picked their pockets.  “Nurse Cathy, I’m going to bring up your hard work and self sacrifice to the board at our next commissioner’s meeting.  I think some sort of award is in order.”  That made Cathy smile.  They loaded the last of the seized food and Houghton noticed the lawn biddies were gone.  Houghton edged over to Tom.  “Hey big fella, what happened to the lawn whores?”  “Nothing happed Rob…I mean Mr. Houghton.”  Robert playfully nudged Tom in the ribs.  “You didn’t eat em did ya Tom?” “No sir Mr. Houghton, they decided to take a walk.”  “Hmmm.”  The food filled both vehicles.  Robert didn’t know exactly what they got, that was Tess’s department.  It was mostly big cans and bags of whatever.

Oh my, he had almost forgotten.  “Did one of you find a dispensary by any chance?”  Robert and Tom personally raided the pill palace.  They found all of Robert’s favorites.  They found hillbilly heroin.  This stuff had made a loudmouth talk radio asshole go deaf.  Robert liked hillbilly heroin.  They found Demerol, Fentanyl, morphine, and bottles of codeine.  They found lots of other stuff Robert had never heard of.  Lucky for them, Tom was something of a pill connoisseur.  Tom knew drugs like Robert knew fine wines.  In the end they took almost every pill plus bandages and other crap.  Maybe Robert would bandage a sniffling little res brat’s booboo and be a big hero.  They stuffed everything in confiscated pillow cases and left.

When they returned to the reservation Robert put a guard on their new supplies.  Robert planned to feed and medicate coalition members first and non-members second.  Houghton planned to be the savior of these stupid savages.  He would feed them and soon enough they would do whatever he told them to do, as long as he kept feeding them.  The res big game hunters had returned from the happy hunting grounds and hadn’t found shit.  No deer, no bear, no buffalo.  Houghton popped a Demerol and began daydreaming about Sally.  He found young girls liked their pillsy willsys.  Robert gave girls pills which made them feel good and then they made him feel good.  Maybe he would slip Sally a Demerol and see what happened.  Robert’s interlude was disturbed by Tess.  “Wake up jerkass.”  Robert was awake, and he was floating.  “What’s the big idea giving that old folks home nurse my name?”  “Huh?”  “You told her you were Mr. Saunders from the Red Cross you fucking asshole.  Saunders is my name, remember?”  “Oh ya” said Robert.  “I’m really sorry about that one Tess.  I couldn’t remember the name of the guy so I improvised.”  Robert held up a Demerol to Tess and gave her a wink.  Tess stomped off.  “She’ll be back” thought Robert as he nodded off, “she’ll be back.” 

Chapter 13

This one’s lunch and that one’s dinner

After the home invasion incident the Garcia family did some nail biting.  Would the invader’s buddies show up or would it be the cops?  After a while they came to the conclusion no one was coming.  They were completely on their own and that was okay.  Jerry had washed off the pool of dried blood the bad guy left in the street and they went on with their lives.  In the Army reserves Jerry had been taught to dig a fighting position (fox hole) and then improve it as time permitted.  Possible improvements were a grenade sump, multiple exit points, and overhead cover.  Jerry did the same thing but to his casa.  True, he had barricaded the doors but cretins could still insert bullets through them with impunity.  What Jerry needed was hardened steel plating.  Since he couldn’t pull this out of his ass anymore than stair stringers, he improvised. 

Jerry took a trip up the hill north of his house to a cul de sac subdivision.  He had new and improved gun girl Teresa in the back with the Talo .22 Ruger as backup.  On the way Jerry stopped his truck periodically and pointed out targets of opportunity like pinecones and tree stumps for Teresa to practice on.  Jerry had insisted Teresa use the suppressor on the rifle.  It would be downright inconsiderate to disturb the neighbors with gunshots.  Teresa had laughed; “what neighbors?”  She was right of course.  When they arrived at the cul de sac they found it was gone.  The street was there, but six of six Tuscan style custom homes were burned out hulks.  Jerry and Teresa picked through the rubble but couldn’t find any metal plates.  They found what was left of kitchen appliances, water heaters, and mazes of air conditioning ducts.  All of it was thin sheet metal.  It looked like a wasted trip to Jerry.  “Well, at least the air has cleared said Jerry; I don’t smell smoke in the air.”  Jerry glanced overhead, the sky remained unnaturally overcast.  They hadn’t had clear skies since E-day.  Jerry was lost in his own thoughts when Teresa got his attention.  “Hey grandpa, we’re looking for metal right?  Those are metal.”  Teresa was pointing at a manhole cover. 

Manhole cover?  Sure it’s metal but its round.  Jerry wanted nice square 1/2 inch steel plates.  A manhole cover?  Jerry seemed to remember they were made from cast iron.  They were heavy and thick but would they stop rifle rounds?  Jerry had no idea.  He did know they would be better bullet protection than a plain wood door.  Jerry would have done some thoughtful measuring if he could have spared the gas.  Every drop of go juice was irreplaceable at this point so he got his pry bar from his Frontier and got to work.  Jerry loaded the cover in the truck bed and Teresa spotted several more on the way home.  People don’t notice manhole covers.  Once he paid attention Jerry saw the roads were littered with them.  They seemed to come in three sizes: Heavy, Oh shit that’s heavy, and Oh my fucking lord I can’t even move this.  Jerry scrounged two of the oh shit size.  They seemed to be about 2 1/2 feet across.  Teresa also spotted a nice looking 1 1/2 foot by 2 foot looking metal plate stamped “PG&E”.  Jerry would have taken it but found it was bolted shut.  They continued shooting practice on the way home.  Jerry had found Teresa was a gifted shot, a natural.  She never missed.  Jerry remembered a story he had read about Russian snipers during the Great Patriotic War.  One of the best was a woman.  She would come back from a solo mission hunting for German officers and would report she had got 10 or 12 or whatever “Matchsticks” that day.  Dehumanizing the enemy is a psychological defense mechanism.  This is especially necessary when you can see your quarry blinking and laughing and generally acting like a good egg just before you squeeze the trigger.

Jerry got out his tape measure at home and it was kismet.  The covers were exactly 27 inches across and his doors were 31 1/2 inches.  Close enough for Jerry work.  With Sara’s and Teresa’s help he glued and screwed the covers to the inside of his doors.  They were exactly the right size to duck behind.  Jerry next tackled the hardening of his attic observation/sniping position.  Jerry didn’t have sandbags but he did have sand.  Well, not a pile of sand, but he did have a creek.  Creeks are filled with sand and gravel and water rounded rock.  All Jerry had to do was get the rocks from the creek and into the attic.  The family did this a little bit at a time.  Since they were making multiple trips to the creek on a daily basis anyway, Jerry requested the ladies shovel a half bucket of rocks from the creek bed during every trip and dump the bucket into the wheelbarrow he parked nearby.  When it was half full Jerry wheeled it to the front of the house and dumped it on the road to dry.  While the rocks dried Jerry built what amounted to planter boxes inside the attic.  The boxes were plywood and extended up to the bottom level of the observation windows.  After the gravel/rock mixture was a dry as Jerry could manage without sun he filled the boxes.  Jerry now had a foot of loose rock between him and any incoming rounds. 

A day or two after Jerry finished this project Sara discovered “Babe” the pig was missing.  At first all the Garcias presumed Babe had somehow escaped.  It soon became apparent someone or someones had somehow stolen the almost 100 pound pig right out of the pen.  The telltale evidence was shoe prints which didn’t match any family member.  Jerry wasn’t some sort of master tracker.  However, it looked like someone came over the northside barbed wire fence and left the same way; carrying the pig.  How they managed this while dealing with a squealing pig was unknown.  Jerry had to figure “Dinner” was alive during the abduction because he found no blood.  Sara had named the remaining piggy Spotty and the missing pig was Babe.  Jerry had always called then Lunch and Dinner.  Jerry missed Dinner.  He was also going to damn well make sure he didn’t get caught flat footed again by a sneak thief. 

What Jerry needed was an alarm system.  He already had the best alarm any man could buy.  Jerry’s alarm was always alert, didn’t need batteries, and would also lick his face.  Unfortunately Gretchen the alarm had been kept indoors since before E-day.  Ironically they did this for security reasons.  Sara didn’t want to risk someone hurting her dog.  Usually a large group of animals are their own alarm system.  Sara and Jerry had found the chickens were especially nervous.  There were always coyotes and foxes skulking around just itching to grab one.  Sara always kept them caged at night.  Now that Jerry’s animal alarms had failed he went with plan B.  Plan B was booby traps.

Jerry had some parachute flares.  Not every guy buys a metal can of surplus Bulgarian parachute flares but Jerry had.  He didn’t even buy them as a CME prep.  The truth was he bought them almost twenty years ago for 4th of July and or Army Reserves fun.  Not unexpectedly the opportunity to fire them never came up.  Jerry hadn’t dared try one anywhere around this area.  This sort of thing had been illegal and was a fire hazard.  However all bets were off now.  The flares would make perfect alarms.  The can held 12 flares.  They were in plastic tubes and had pull cords on the bottom.  Take off the safety cap, pull the cord and up goes the flare.  Jerry tried one so the family would be aware of the effect.  He also wanted to make sure they really worked.  The night of the launch was a big event for the Garcia family.  Without TV, radio, or the internet, this was the height of fun down on the farm.  They walked to an area where a grass fire had gone through just to be safe.  Jerry had his AR-180 with the Pulsar night sight and suppressor slung over his shoulder.  Teresa had the Ruger rifle.  Sara had the Remington semi-auto.  Teresa was wound up tighter than a two dollar watch with childlike excitement.  “Grandpa, let me fire it pleeeze.”  Jerry wisely demurred.  He had on safety glasses and was wearing leather work gloves.  For all Jerry knew this thing might malfunction and put an eye out.  Sara and Teresa counted down and Jerry closed his eyes and pulled the cord.  Jerry heard a pop followed by WHOOSH!  Jerry cautiously opened one eye and saw a small shower of sparks floating downwind.  He looked up just in time to see the flare begin burning.  Jerry hadn’t remembered so now he knew, these were white star flares.  Teresa whooped and Annie covered her face with her hands while Sara wore a grim smile.  She was pretending to like this but Jerry knew she was frightened of fireworks.  It was hard to tell how high the flare went.  Jerry guessed it was close to 200 feet.  It didn’t light up the area.  These were small signaling flares after all.  But, if some burglar tripped one it would undoubtedly scare the crap out of them as well as alert the family.  The flare sank slowly towards the ground and burned out maybe 50 or 60 feet off the deck. 

The next morning Jerry and Sara got to work setting out the trip flares while Teresa watched Annie and stood guard.  They attached the flares to 2X4 stakes well inside their barbed wire fence.  At first the trip wire stymied Jerry.  He didn’t have any fishing line and he didn’t have any thin wire.  Why Jerry neglected to buy fishing gear when he had the chance escaped him.  This was one of many stupid omissions in his end of the world planning.  Jerry had two 50’ lengths of 550 cord and amazingly only 50’ total did the trick.  550 cord is one of those cool things you find out about in the military.  550 cord is parachute shroud line.  Each line can allegedly hold 550 pounds.  550 cord is about an eight of an inch thick and is several strings wrapped together.  Jerry and Sara unwrapped one 50’ length of cord into seven white smaller strings.  Jerry took a piece of one of the strings and attempted to snap it; he couldn’t do it.  550 cord is strong shit.  Sara noticed each string was made from three wrapped threads.  Each thread was barely thicker than sewing thread.  Jerry twisted a short section of one of these threads around each fist and tried to snap the thread.  Unbelievably it would not snap.  Jerry tried to take apart one of the threads and it frayed into small threads stuck together almost like spiders silk.  Jerry guessed this was some kind of nylon.  Whatever it is the threads make an excellent trip wire.  Sara did the math.  They ended up with 1000’ of super strong white thread from the one 50’ length of 550 cord.  They didn’t bother trying to paint or dye the thread even though white tends to stick out in a natural setting.  At night even white thread would be invisible.  This chore took all day but was worth it for the piece of mind.  They ended up staking 10 of the 12 flares.  Jerry spray painted the wood posts a rust brown color on the side away from the house to obscure them.  Each flare had a trip line attached about twelve inches from the ground.  It would have been nice to have complete coverage of the yard but 1000’ of thread was nothing compared to over three acres of fenceline.  They got close and covered what Jerry saw as the main avenues of approach from the north fenceline and a good portion of the east and west sides.  Jerry hoped smaller critters like skunks would fit under the wires without setting a flare off.  If mister pig theft returned he was in for a surprise.

At the end of the day after a nice rest and dinner Jerry hit Sara with the animal reality.  This was going to be a touchy subject so Jerry tried to be real smooth.  He sat Sara on the couch and brought her a glass of wine.  He found her sitting far away from the bullet hole.  She hadn’t sat anywhere near it since the incident.  He handed her the glass and sat down beside her.  He waited for her to take a sip before he pounced.  “You know sweetheart, the reason why Babe got taken is because people are starving out there.”  “I guess.”  “No, not I guess, I’ve been to town and remember those people who came by?  People are starving and getting desperate.”  “So”, said Sara.  “So, the animals make us a target.”  Jerry continued, “there’s a good chance refugees out there will keep coming here as long as we have food on the hoof sitting in pens in our back yard.”  Sara knew where Jerry’s conversation was leading and her eyes widened.  “You want to kill Spotty and Satan.”  Jerry was now backed into a big corner, “I didn’t say that!  You’re putting words in my mouth dear.”  In fact this is exactly what Jerry felt needed doing.  He didn’t want to do it, but if he was smart he would do it.  They should put these two animals down and make a huge batch of pig and goat jerky.  Having them alive on the property squealing and bleating was like putting an apple pie on an open window sill to cool.  Come and get it.  “I can keep them in the basement” said Sara.  Jerry could only stare in awe at his wife after that one.  These two animals were like children to Sara.  The chickens not so much thank goodness.  “These are farm animals Sara, not Anne Frank.”  Sara crossed her arms and her eyes reflected a burning determination.  She wasn’t going to give in on this one; even if her stubbornness got them all killed.  Jerry gave up. 

The next morning Jerry started his next home defense project.  Jerry currently had a barricaded house partially protected with booby traps.  He had a hardened sniper’s nest and a night scope.  He had suppressors for quiet kills.  He even had a burst fire assault rifle.  With all this a small determined force of a few people stood a good chance of wiping the Garcia’s out.  Jerry needed a truly terrifying weapon he could unleash on a group of attackers.  He needed a flamethrower.  Not having one he started construction of a force multiplier he did have access to.  The important part of a grenade is the fuze.  You can use cannon fuze like 4th of July fireworks use.  The hard part there is lighting it while people are shooting at you.  Jerry wouldn’t have considered building hand grenades except for one fact:  Jerry had safe and reliable military grade fuzes.  The next question is where did Jerry obtain said fuzes?  He stole them of course.  Jerry didn’t kid himself about this.  He stole them years ago when he was a butter bar lieutenant in the Reserves.  Maybe stole is too strong a word.  He was issued something like 50 M228 practice hand grenade fuzes during a force on force training exercise.  He was also issued a box of 20 practice grenade cases.  At the time he had to account after the exercise for every grenade case but not the fuzes.  The fuzes were considered an expendable item.  Jerry ended up with two mag pouches stuffed full of unexpended fuzes.  He took them home and they had sat in a zip lock bag for over twenty years.

An M228 fuze is the “Practice” version of the M213 fuze for the U.S M67 fragmentation hand grenade.  Probably not coincidentally the M67 looks like a baseball with a metal knob on top with a spoon attached to the knob.  Jerry’s guess was the military got the bright idea that if a kid could throw a baseball, he could throw an M67 “baseball” grenade.  Every red-blooded American kid can throw a baseball, right?  Jerry’s practice fuzes were painted Army practice blue instead of olive drab.  Other than the color they seemed the same as actual M213 fuzes.  Jerry had only thrown two real M67’s during his military career, during basic training in Alabama.  The practice and real fuses both have a 4 to 5 second delay, and each has a pull ring and safety clip.  Jerry’s practice fuzes went off with a tiny “Pop” and gave off a small puff of whitish smoke.  They also gave off sparks.  These practice fuzes would work nicely to set off Jerry’s overgrown homemade cherry bombs.

Before E-Day Jerry looked into buying a baker’s dozen of practice baseball grenade cases.  They cost about $20.00 each and were completely legal.  He didn’t buy any because of the cost; $20.00 each?  Jerry had been on a budget and he didn’t really believe the sun would go crazy.  He didn’t want to be stuck with them after the CME fizzled.  Another reason he hadn’t bought any was because “practice” grenade cases have dime sized holes in the bottom.  The hole is there to let out that puff of white smoke discussed earlier.  Where you spotted the smoke was the spot your practice grenade would have blown up real good if it had been a real grenade.  The hole presented a minor problem for devious types like Jerry.  He would have to weld up or otherwise plug the practice case’s bung hole before it could go kablooie.  Jerry could possibly plug it well enough with the right sized bolt, washer and nut.  This would have been lots of cost and hassle so Jerry could have his big boom.  Following the KISS principle Jerry used PVC plumbing pipe instead.

Before E-Day Jerry bought lots of bits and bobs and pieces of PVC pipe and fittings.  They were inexpensive and could be used for Jerry’s well pump project if nothing else.  Searching through his stash in his garage Jerry found 1 1/2 inch diameter plastic pipe was the best size for his grenades.  He decided to make them small enough to throw far but still big enough to get an attacker’s attention.  The design he settled on was two end caps glued over a piece of pipe small enough so the end caps touched.  This made a nad about 3 inches long minus the fuze.  Jerry started by gluing the bottom end cap to the inner piece of pipe.  Next, he painted the inside with silicone caulking and let it set up until it was slightly tacky.  Next, Jerry poured in number 9 lead birdshot pellets until he had the pipe filled to the top.  He let this set up overnight and poured out the excess pellets.  Jerry now had a plastic pipe and one end coated with a thin layer of lead pellets.  These would be the “Fragment” part of Jerry’s improvised grenades.  Jerry used these very small pellets even though they weren’t optimum.  Larger pellets; steel BB shot for example, would have been a better choice.  Jerry used the number 9’s because that’s what he had handy.  Jerry had bought a bargain 25 pound canvas bag of number 9 shot at a garage sale many years ago.  He knew it might come in handy someday and today was it.  Next Jerry had to attach the threaded fuze to the top end cap.  This proved to be difficult to get right because Jerry didn’t have the correct coarse fuze thread in his tap and die set.  Sara wasn’t amused when she found Jerry cooking a PVC end cap in their oven.  Jerry explained to her even though she wanted no part of it.  “You see baby, I’ve drilled a hole in the end cap slightly smaller than the fuze.  Jerry showed her one of his grenade fuzes.  I’m hoping the heat will soften the cap and expand the hole enough so I can screw it in.”  Sara smiled even though the house was filling with a gag reflex inducing melted plastic smell.  “Why are you smiling? Sara was the sphinx.  The oven ended up more melting the cap than softening it.  On to plan B.  Jerry drove his Frontier out to the street in front of the house and ran electrical cords from the inverter to their built in microwave.  He planned to heat an end cap with microwaves; this would work.  Jerry hit the “Minute plus” Button and…nothing.  The microwave oven was dead.  “Crap” thought Jerry.  “I forgot to unplug it before the CME hit.”  Jerry was frustrated—again.  “How did the CME burn it out anyway?  Wasn’t it a Faraday cage?”

In the end Jerry found that if he slathered some PVC pipe glue (cement) inside the end cap hole the glue softened the plastic slightly.  If he worked fast he could carefully screw in the fuze using a padded pair of pliers and his trusty vise.  The bond between fuze and end cap had to be extremely strong.  When the grenade exploded, pressure would tend to escape from the weakest point.  If the pressure was released too early because the fuze got blown off, Jerry’s little bombs would go pop instead of BOOM!  Once he got a fuze firmly affixed to an end cap Jerry strengthened the bond by placing a washer over the threaded end of the fuze.  This he tightened with a course thread nut.  The fit was good enough but not perfect.  Jerry finished the top end cap with a slathering of caulking and a coating of pellets.  When this was dry he filled the grenade 3/4 full with flash powder and gingerly glued on the fuzed top end cap.  Jerry only made one for now.  He wanted to test this one for function and effectiveness before he built more.  Construction and possession of an unlawful destructive device.  This was another felony Jerry could add to a growing pile of crimes he had committed since E-Day. 

Funny, Jerry didn’t feel like a felon.  Is a crime still a crime if no one’s left to enforce it?  The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (ATF-E) regional offices were undoubtedly empty.  Good riddance.  75% of the “Felons” they ever caught were clueless yokels who violated bullshit malum prohibitum firearms laws.  No intent but still guilty.  Before the emergency the Federal anti-gun laws were almost as convoluted as the income tax code.  California’s anti-gun laws were even worse.  Jerry was technically a criminal but he hadn’t hurt anyone who hadn’t deserved it.  What about his neighbors?  Jerry didn’t seem to have any neighbors left.  If he did he doubted they would’ve objected to his possessing an M16A2 or suppressors or Jerry-rigged hand grenades during this emergency.  What about the God given Natural Law of self defense?  What was Jerry to do when the rape gangs came through?  Did the California politicians expect him to wring his hands and plead as they raped his wife and granddaughter before they cut all their throats?  Obviously they did because the politicians had spent decades doing their best to make the average law abiding peon Californian citizen as defenseless as a sheep in a stockyard.  That was fine because all the animals on the Golden state’s socialist paradise farm were equal correct?  No they weren’t.  The rich and the politicians (same thing) had armed guards up the ass.  Jerry and Sara unwillingly helped pay for the politician’s guards with their tax dollars before the CME made taxes blissfully obsolete. 

When Jerry revealed his test little hand-mangler to Sara and Teresa their reactions were night and day.  Sara backed up like a skittish horse while Teresa leaned forward.  “Can I hold it grandpa, can I?”  Teresa didn’t seem as frightened as she should have been.  Jerry had received an “Explosives” block of instruction in his POST academy.  The instructors had included lots of color slides to impress on Jerry and his fellow cadets just how unforgiving high and low explosives can be.  Click, here’s a slide of a teenager who had a M-80 go off in his hand, click, here’s a slide of a 1970’s activist who tried to cook up nitroglycerin in his bathtub.  Notice the stain on the ceiling; that’s him.  Click, here’s what happens when you detonate a 50 pound bag of ammonium nitrate fertilizer inside a small house.  Next slide, a photo of a crater where the house had been.  Jerry still had ten fingers because he had a healthy respect for explosives high and low.  The best way to teach Teresa the same respect was to show her exactly what would happen the first time she made a mistake with things that go boom.

At the appointed hour the entire Garcia clan walked next door to the burned down Dewey house.  Everyone including Annie had ear plugs.  Everyone except Annie wore or carried a firearm.  Jerry cleared a flat area behind what was left of the Dewey’s cheap sheet metal natural gas fireplace.  About 10 feet behind that he set up scraps of wallboard.  These would act as bad guy targets.  Jerry pulled his test nad from a pouch.  It was a fist sized white capsule except for the fuze.  If Jerry had pained a red stripe it would have looked like a big and very deadly, Tylenol.  Jerry chuckled at the thought.  Sara was looking apprehensive again while Teresa was excited as ever.  Let the training begin.  “Teresa, how would you like to set off this little pill?”  “Hell ya.”  Sara started in with the objections as Teresa twisted from side to side like she had to pee.  After Jerry managed to calm his ladies he did a walkthrough with Teresa.  This is the way Jerry had learned things in the military.  They called it crawl, walk, run.  You didn’t start at full speed with 19 and 20 year old kids; especially when training with lethal goodies.  Jerry started by pantomiming how to release the safety clip and pull ring.  Teresa parroted Jerry’s movements.  Next, they added walking behind the fireplace, before releasing the clip and pull ring.  Jerry had Teresa toss a small rock behind the fireplace to simulate dropping the grenade.  “Remember, you have about four seconds to run like hell after you toss the grenade.  Don’t trip.  If you do trip, don’t get up.  Stay on the ground and crawl away from the grenade.  The ground is your best protection against getting peppered with fragments.  Hug the ground and crawl away.”  Teresa took the mini train-up seriously but like all youngsters she soon became distracted.  Jerry got her attention by placing the grenade in her hand.  This had the desired effect.  Holding something that can turn your face into goo tends to sharpen your focus.  

Once training was over it was time for the big show.  Jerry had Sara take the baby waaay back while Jerry shadowed Teresa.  She did a great job.  Jerry expected her to forget the safety clip but she didn’t.  Teresa tossed the grenade and Jerry heard that distinctive “ping” as the safety lever released.  This is a sound never forgotten by those who have heard it.  They ran together as Jerry counted out loud.  Teresa ran like a gazelle while Jerry ran/limped.  Jerry was healing from his backside puncture wounds but was still tender.  After three one-thousand he and Teresa hit the dirt, just like they had practiced.  It’s amazing just how far a motivated person can run in three seconds.  They were way out of any reasonable danger area when the grenade detonated.  Military M67 fragmentation grenades explode with a “Crump” sound.  They make a grey cloud of smoke when they go off.  Jerry’s ersatz grenade went off with a satisfying boom and left a whitish smoke cloud.  Not as powerful but scary nonetheless.  Jerry estimated his little day ruiner was more powerful than a military hand grenade simulator but way less powerful than an artillery simulator.  Teresa dusted herself off and yelled; “Boom goes the dynamite.”  This girl was turning into a tomboy.  Jerry half expected to find her hunting for snakes next.  The smoke dissipated and everyone walked over to survey the damage.  The first thing Jerry noticed was the 4th of July burned powder smell; kinda sulfury.  Jerry loved that smell.  “Look at that” Jerry beamed.  There were pieces of white plastic here and there.  More importantly the scorched and twisted sheet metal from the fireplace was pockmarked with hits from the lead pellets.  Although they didn’t go through the pellets left deep dents in the metal.  The grenade had blown over two of Jerry’s wallboard targets and he found lots of hits in them plus in those still standing.  The pellets had easily penetrated through the wallboard.  “Well,” said Jerry.  “I’d say this test is an unqualified success.” 

Soon after the test Jerry got to work making a production run of grenades.  He made two minor changes to his design.  He used a red hot rounded off nail to melt golf ball dimples in the plastic cases.  This would aid fragmentation and make the grenades less slippery.  He also spray painted the production nads with some of his rust brown paint including the blue painted spoons.  His production run was deadly and looked it.  From then on Jerry and Teresa always carried at least two nads each when out and about.  They kept others hidden in the Frontier and Xterra.  The remainder was hidden around the house safely out of the reach of the curtain crawler.  Jerry had taken the old “Pull pin in case of emergency” to the next level.  

Chapter 14

Beating heads beats breaking rocks

Rossi and his crew headed to the river.  The first thing they all wanted was to wash some of the dirt and sweat off and to get a cool drink of river water.  When they got to the river they found a twenty foot cliff.  They worked their way downstream until they found a flat area but unfortunately it was crowded with other cons.  The group washed off and filled up their water bottles.  Rossi noticed one of his guys had started to change his clothes.  “Hey stupid, are you trying to get us all killed?” said Pauli.  “What are ya talking about Pauli; all these guys know we’re just like them.”  “Yes they do” answered Pauli, “and if you put that uniform on in front of em they’ll kill ya for it so they can pull the same scam we’re going to”

Rossi’s men had gathered around him.  One of the braver ones asked, “what scams that Pauli?”  “Oh” answered Pauli, “we’re correctional officers now.”  Smiles all round.  Being a correctional officer was a good thing.  Once Rossi got his group together they headed east again into the hills.  They needed to be far away from any other convicts and most other people for this to work.  Rossi had his guys change into their CO coveralls and they discarded their old prison blues.  They would never wear them again.  The correctional officer coveralls featured embroidered badges and each had a name tag.  “Listen up” said Pauli, “from now on the name you’re wearing is your name, get it?  Learn that name and use it.  Anyone using the wrong name gets a swift kick in the ass from me but no one else got it?  I’m the one who’s going to administer the punishment around here.  Do like I say and you’ll all be eating steaks and fucking sweet little pieces of ass before sundown.”

They continued heading east and settled at a secondary road close to sundown.  Sundown these days was a sick red ball low on the horizon.  The smell of smoke filled the air and there was complete cloud cover.  “I need six strong men,” said Pauli “who can do what needs to be done.”  Over 10 hands went up and Pauli chose six killer types.  The others hid while the seven waited for a victim to blunder by.  It didn’t take long for the first sucker to show up.  Rossi’s men blocked the road and he held up his hand to stop the car.  Of course it stopped.  Americans were conditioned long ago to blindly follow any and all authority figure.  Rossi smiled at the driver and made the universal hand signal which means; roll down your window.  He smiled as he did this.  “No danger here asshole.” Rossi’s smile was a shark’s smile, a fake smile.  Rossi was the top predator in this new ocean and there were lots of fish to eat.  “I need to see your license buddy” Rossi ordered sweetly.  Not being a real cop Rossi forgot the “sir” and to ask for proof of registration.  The driver, a middle-aged family man by the look of it, handed over his license and Rossi pretended to study it while he decided what to do next.  The driver had a dowdy looking wife and a little kid in the car.  Rossi needed lots of food but more than that he needed something he could use to take food. “Do you have any guns in the car?” “No I don’t officer” answered the driver.  “Get out of the car” said Rossi, "we have to do a search.”  Rossi had his men search the car while he supervised.  They didn’t find anything worthwhile but some food.  Rossi confiscated a box of Twinkies and told the driver “My guys need to eat” and sent the family on its way.

During the next hour Rossi’s guys stopped and searched two more cars.  No guns but they found more food.  Soon after, two cars came by at the same time and Rossi had to wave them by, they couldn’t handle two cars at once, at least not yet.  Finally they caught a break.  An old lady came by in an old truck and a young girl was sitting next to her.  Rossi stopped the truck and had his guys search it.  These two didn’t have shit.  Rossi was frustrated and he had to have some concrete results for the guys or he wouldn’t be leading them for long.  “Hello ma’am can I have your keys please?”  Once he got her keys in his hand Rossi dragged the old bitch out of the truck and feed her to his guys.  He did the same with the young girl.  As the aurora began sending sheets of color across the sky Rossi smiled to himself.  He delivered most of what he promised earlier and now that they had a truck he would get even more nice things for them tomorrow.

Rossi woke up with a smile.  His prison issue blanket plus something else had kept him nice and warm during the night.  He had the young piece of ass sleep next to him with a boot lace tied around her neck as a leash.  Rossi remembered how loose she was by the time she was passed around to him.  Being a generous leader he had let his guys have her first.  They even got a couple pieces off the old bitch.  She had been a fighter til one of the guys’ cold cocked her.  She died sometime during the night.  “Hehe, maybe she was cold when she got cocked?”  After Rossi took a piss he told one of his less touchy feely guys to take care of the young girl; no witnesses.  The guy laughed as he strangled her.  “That’s one sick son of a bitch” thought Rossi.  He figured she was a gone goose when he noticed piss flowing down her bare leg, oh well.

This cold blooded murder was the last straw for most of Rossi’s new gang.  Two pussies had run off during the night and now several more wanted to part ways.  “Fine” said Pauli, “but you got to leave the CO outfits.  We can’t have two groups of officers roaming around pulling all kinds of shenanigans now can we?”  Rossi sent the spineless deserters on their way to retrieve their prison blues.  He let them take water and their blankets.  Three of the sniveling cowards walked away with their drawers hang’ in out while the other two wrapped their blankets around her waists like skirts.  He wouldn’t have let them take any food except that wasn’t a problem because it was all gone.  The goddamn pigs had eaten every morsel last night.  “Geez” thought Pauli, “am I going to have to spoon-feed these assholes like babies.  No discipline.”  This left Rossi with eight guys including himself. 

The smaller but more efficient group had a busy day stopping and shaking down every lone traveler they could get their hands on.  By evening the group had acquired two more vehicles and had stacked up two more bodies.  They got more food and some water and surprise surprise, their first gun.  It was just a small one, not that it mattered.  Rossi figured any gun was worth its weight in gold.  With a gun he could get lots and lots of gold.

Now that the gang’s basic needs had been met it was time for Rossi to be more selective.  From now on they would look for a Grapes of Wrath look’n motherfucker with everything he owned piled in his car.  Pauli could sleep in a car but he didn’t want to have to.  He wanted tents and sleeping bags and air mattresses; you know; Boy Scout camping shit.

A couple days later the guys hit the jackpot.  The group had moved to another road and a jackass came by in an RV.  The boys stopped and swarmed it like Somali pirates.  Once inside they slaughtered every swinging dick in the vehicle except for the ladies.  The RV was a keeper.  The place was a home on wheels and it was all Rossi’s.  It had soft beds and running water and a bathroom that one of Rossi’s guys could not physically fit into.  It even had a kitchen where the two women who came with the RV could cook dinner.  Rossi had the guys tie the older woman to the stove.  They tied the younger woman to one of the beds. 

Now that they had a mobile base to work from the gang moved again and concentrated on confiscating guns and ammunition from motorists passing through the area.  They found plenty and took them all under “color of authority” as it were.  One of Rossi’s guys had taught him that one.  That’s what they used to charge CO’s with when they violated inmate’s rights.  The gang also continued to rape and murder when they felt like it.  The murdering part was always done after a rape except when the gang took a bitch as a slave.  They soon ended up with one bitch slave apiece.  They would’ve taken more but Rossi put his foot down on this issue.  He learned a long time ago that a man can only handle one woman at a time.  Using the Wisdom of Solomon Rossi decreed a guy could get a new slave as long as he got rid of the old one immediately.  When Rossi explained this to the guys he ran his finger across his throat so they would understand what he meant by “Get rid of.” 

Concerning the topic of women Rossi had a secret.  Rossi had a peccadillo for children although he had never been convicted for it.  If he had he never would’ve been given his job in the laundry.  Rossi agonized over the question as much as he could agonize.  How young a girlfriend did he dare go?  Thirteen?  Twelve?  Rossi also liked young boys, but not around this bunch.  Inside the joint that had been okay.  Now that he was on the outside, Rossi had to leave that behavior behind him, ha ha.  In this new world tailor-made for men like him, a world with young girls wandering around just waiting to be plucked, Rossi would have to concentrate on split-tail chicken from now on.

Speaking of chicken, Rossi’s gang had a pecking order.  A pecking order is something real-life chickens have.  The cock o’ the walk rooster gets to peck all the other chickens.  The other chickens peck each other according to how big their balls are.  The scrawniest chicken gets pecked by all the other chickens.  Rossi’s gang had a very scrawny chicken.  The name on his coveralls was Trejo and he was a shaky little rat.  The guys called him officer Trejo when they are working.  In private they called him Gas Bitch.  Gas Bitch got all the worst jobs except killing people.  Rossi had a couple guys who didn’t consider that a bad job at all.  Gas Bitch’s main job was siphoning gas from captured vehicles so the guys could keep their small convoy head’n down the road.  Gas Bitch had a length of hose that he sucked on like a little gas bitch.  He gagged and choked and threw up every single time and it always made Rossi and the other guys laugh.  Rossi believed every gang needed someone like Gas Bitch for comic relief if nothing else.  Rossi was staring down Gas Bitch as he thought this.  Gas Bitch felt he should say something, anything,   Pauli made him uncomfortable.  “Hey you know Pauli, this sure beats break’n rocks.”  Gas Bitch wasn’t sure Pauli was going to answer, not that he had to, Pauli being the boss and all.  Pauli didn’t answer for several minutes.  Pauli was always thinking, mostly about how he could keep himself alive.  Pauli’s cold eyes finally focused on his gas bitch and he asked; “when was the last time you broke a rock you stupid bitch?” 

Rossi soon found the most important thing his group needed was water.  The problem was water wasn’t flowing anymore except for creeks and rivers.  There were also some lakes in the hills but the guys found people camped out on every inch of shoreline.  The problem with the creeks was there were hardly any roads to them. The problem with the rivers was they were way down in valleys.  After a lot of searching the guys found a small campground.  It had been crowded with people at one point but then a fire must’ve gone through.  The gang arrived midmorning and found total devastation.  There were three burned-out campers and at least one burned-out car.  Rossi could see where people had apparently fled as the flames advanced.  Remains of camping stuff were everywhere; burned tents, burned camping stoves, but no burned people.  Rossi got his guys and the slaves to work looking for anything they could use.  Rossi heard one of the guys call out, “Hey Pauli, I found a axe.”  Rossi trotted over and found his man had at least found an axe head, the handle was mostly burned off.  “Good find” said Rossi.  “We needed an axe.  Now get to work making a handle for it.”  Rossi’s guy hemmed and hawed but got to work.  The man who found the axe looked sideways at Rossi and said, “geez Pauli, if I knew you was going to be this way about it I wouldn’t have told you.”  “Get to work Rossi commanded, we need wood for campfires, move it.” 

One of the slaves found a water spigot.  She turned it on and water flowed weakly but steadily.  This was the best find of all.  Rossi figured maybe the water was siphoned right out of the ground or something.  In fact this water source was gravity feed from a national forest reservoir far uphill.  They also had a huge permanent cinder block campground outhouse which hadn’t burned.  The guys didn’t care but it seemed to make the slaves happier.  Rossi decided they would stay here for now and raid the surrounding areas for supplies and food and gas.  The campground was less than 15 miles from Casa Garcia.

Chapter 15

Chicken thief

Ever since Babe had been taken Jerry had been trading off watching with Sara and Teresa through the night for the thief(s).  For over a week since the theft Jerry had stayed in the attic all night long whether he was officially on guard or not.  Jerry wanted to be ready as quickly as possible when the thief returned.  The longer it took for the thief to return the better.  The timeframe spoke to the size of his adversaries.  A large group would’ve run out of pig in a couple days.  A single thief would have smoked pig jerky for weeks.  However, a stupid thief might waste most of Babe and be back for more sooner than expected.

During the day Jerry cooked up another surprise for the thief.  Jerry cut a big piece of plywood and painted it white.  On the face in big black letters he painted “keep out.” The sign meant nothing of course; it was what was behind the sign that counted.  On the reverse of the sign Jerry attached a quart sized canning jar filled with target indicator explosive.  Jerry had bought 40 pounds of this two component explosive for just less than $300.00 before the crash.  It had only been legal (except for California naturally) because it could only be set off by the impact of a high velocity rifle bullet.  It was a mixture of ammonium nitrate prills and aluminum powder.  Jerry understood this stuff was very hygroscopic and would dud out if it got damp. The canning jar would keep out moisture nicely.  This was really a minor concern because the weather had been unnaturally dry since the CME hit.  “Why take chances” thought Jerry.

As previously stated, low explosives like this target indicator mixture aren’t very powerful.  However, you can make up for the lower power by simply using more of it.  A pound of low explosive going off near you is scary, 10 pounds is lethal, and 20 pounds can launch a vehicle.  Jerry had enough prills in the quart jar to at least frighten the crap out of any trespassers.  After Jerry completed the first sign he made two more and staked them in his pasture.  He put the signs closer to the house than his flare/tripwire array.  Jerry didn’t want an explosion setting off or disabling the flares.  He put one sign at the middle of his three fence lines and made sure he had a clear shot at each jar from his attic. 

Seven days after the first theft, Jerry was asleep and Teresa was on watch.  Someone was shaking him and Jerry was instantly awake. This wasn’t a normal wake up call.  This was more of a panicky wakeup.  Jerry saw bright white light through the rear attic window. “Look grandpa, someone set off a flare.”  Teresa’s voice was a mixture of nervous dread and excitement.  Teresa handed Jerry the night sight mounted AR-180 and Jerry found the scope was in sleep mode.  He lost precious seconds turning the scope on.  The flare was drifting to the east and luckily did not washout the view through the Pulsar.  Jerry clearly saw “Spotty” the pig on the ground near the north fence line.  Two people had already cleared the back fence and were running away.  This was a 250+ yard shot and Jerry decided to give each person one round.  He wanted to more scare or wound than kill them.  He aimed his crosshairs at the behind of the person on the left and cranked off one round.  He gave the person on the right the same treatment and saw him or her stumble.  Their partner stopped and helped the injured person hobble off. 

When they were out of sight Jerry gave Teresa the rifle.  “The weapon is hot” he told her.  “I’m going to check around the house, stay here and watch the yard.  I need you to shoot anyone who comes near.”  Can you do that?”  “Yes grandpa.”  Jerry went down the slide stairs to the first floor and retrieved the shotgun.  Next Jerry went to Sara and told her what was going on.  She was groggy but understood the situation.  She would stay with Annie.  Jerry next checked every window in the house systematically.  He took his time peeking out at low corners and listening for any movement.  Jerry approached the back door and mentally kicked himself.  He had forgotten to use the two way radios.  They had trained for this but Jerry had still fucked up.  If Jerry lived through this they would just have to practice harder.  Jerry unlocked the door and opened it “verrry” slowly.  Time was on Jerry’s side.  He could stay here all night but any trespassers couldn’t.  Jerry glanced at his watch and saw it was almost 5:00 AM.  It occurred to Jerry he had made yet another mistake.  He should’ve gone down into the basement and exited the human sized doggie door he spent so much time building.  Here he was exiting an obvious door exactly like any trespassers would be waiting for.  Jerry was committed at this point so he went with it.  Closing the door behind him, Jerry crept all the way around the house.  He stayed close to the wall to keep Teresa from accidentally shooting him.  Jerry did not take a flashlight with him.  The use of any kind of lighting source outside at night marks you as a target.  Sure you can see but so can your opponents.  Any light screams “Shoot here.”  Jerry trusted lights like he trusted watchtowers.  Jerry was relieved when he didn’t find a gang of cutthroats waiting for him.  Jerry went back inside and he and Teresa kept watch till morning.

Before he checked on Spotty, Jerry snuck away from the house with his AR-180 and did a perimeter check in a half circle to the north.  Jerry did one sweep about 500 yards out and then swept back about 200 yards out.  Teresa covered him with the Talo .22 while Jerry was out.  The Talo didn’t have the range of say, the M16A2, but Teresa handled it like a biathlon shooter.  Jerry was checking for the person he had probably injured.  He was also checking for possible snipers.  The bad guys might be waiting to pop Jerry when he checked on Spotty.  Jerry didn’t find any bodies or blood or any snipers and was happy he didn’t.  When he did check on Sara’s poor pig it was dead as expected.  Jerry found one small caliber hole in Spotty’s forehead.  He also found a folded towel the bad guys had dropped in their flight. The towel had a hole through it and burn marks on one side.  The thieves undoubtedly used the towel to muffle the shot.  That being the case Jerry was still surprised Teresa hadn’t heard them.

As he dragged the pig towards the garage, Jerry came up with the following theory.  Teresa had most likely been asleep when the trespassers came over the fence.  Somehow they had managed to avoid the tripwires.  This was lucky but possible.  Teresa slept through the pig execution and hadn’t awakened until the thieves tripped a flare on the way out.  Jerry decided not to confront or call her on the possible lapse.  Young people learn the most by making mistakes and Jerry didn’t think Teresa would let herself fall asleep on guard duty again.  Regret is an effective motivator.  Sara was beside herself with grief over the loss of her second pet pig and she stayed away while Jerry butchered it before the meat went bad.  Jerry had never butchered anything larger than a cooked Thanksgiving turkey before in his life.  Teresa stood guard with the Talo while Jerry did the grisly work.  Jerry was soon up to his elbows in gore, pulling out ropes of fish belly white intestines.  Teresa did her mock shudder of disgust.  “Ewww,” she giggled, and then pretended she was upchucking.  This must be instinctual.  When one person pukes or even pretends to, it can set off people nearby.  Jerry almost lost it and came that close to throwing up into the gaping pig cavity.  “Please, for the love of God, stop that” Jerry begged. 

Jerry saved all the innards except for the intestines.  The organ meat would make a good supplement to the pet food the cats and Gretchen had been eating since no one else would eat them.  Jerry took all the meat and smoked it in a makeshift smoker box he put together using the insulated panels he had covered his Frontier with.  Sara donated a wire clothes rack to hold the over 50 or so pounds of Spotty meat.  Jerry kept the smoker going for almost two days and the household stood guard continuously.  Jerry guessed the smell would act like a dinner bell for any refugees in the area and he was correct.  They shuffled in mostly from downwind like a zombie horde that had gotten wind of the mouth-watering smell of a defenseless infant.  Over ten of them came by while the meat was cooking.  Jerry had Sara hand out foil wrapped portions of steaming piggy while he and Teresa stood guard.  Some of the refugees cried as they ate while others moaned in pleasure.  Ummm, delicious baby meat.  Not a single taker asked what kind of meat the Garcias were serving.  For all they knew they could have been eating long pig. (i.e. people meat) The refugees were far past caring.  They were all skin and bones and were literally starving to death.  Jerry didn’t even have to give them water.  They knew exactly where the water was and drank from the creek flowing from Jerry’s property.  They cupped up water with their hands like the cautious creatures they had become.  It fascinated Jerry how they looked around.  What were they watching for anyway, a freak’n lion?  It appeared that for these people vigilance was life while inattention led to painful death.

After all the meat was smoked, Jerry and Sara stored it in small portions in plastic bags.  During the day of the butchering the last thing on Jerry’s mind was eating meat, and Jerry knew from long experience Sara would never touch it.  Despite themselves Jerry and Teresa gorged themselves like Timberwolves behind Sara’s back.  This was the first fresh meat the family had in weeks and it was sooo good.  At the same time it was sooo bad because it was Spotty.  At one point Jerry had tears flowing down his checks as he ate.  Teresa took them for tears of sorrow and was touched.  Only Jerry knew they were tears of joy.  “Spotty, you dirty little pig you are so delicious.”

A day or so after they finished the pig processing someone took a few shots at the house during the night.  No one was hurt and only one of the rounds made it through the bricks.  That bullet fragmented and could have caused some damage if anyone had caught a chunk.  Jerry blew off the incident until the same thing happened the next night.  The first rounds had come from the west but tonight’s bullets were hitting the northside of the house.  Jerry had a chicken coop and a goat on that side and he had had enough.  Jerry decided he had to go medieval on their asses whoever they were.  Taking his night rifle Jerry snuck out the front door and worked his way east.  Jerry planned to flank this asshole whoever it was and he did so easily.  It was really no contest.  With the Pulsar night sight Jerry found his adversary with no trouble.  Since the guy was warm he all but glowed in the scope.  It seemed to be a man and he was about 250 yards from Casa Garcia.  Jerry cautiously crept to within 200 yards of the shooter and watched him while the shooter watched Jerry’s house.  Jerry used the Pulsar to glass the area for additional bag guys and found none.  After over a half hour the shooter prepared to crawl away and Jerry decided to take him out.  Jerry carefully aimed the crosshairs right at the top of his targets back at the heart lung area and squeezed off one very careful and almost silent shot.  Jerry had the suppressor on the big rifle.  At the shot the target showed no reaction so Jerry cranked off an additional two rounds.  Jerry still saw no reaction so he settled down and waited.  The shooter had stopped crawling away and that was something at least.  Through his scope Jerry saw the shooter’s rifle barrel had remained pointed towards the house the entire time.  Being the hottest object the barrel really stood out through the Pulsar.  Jerry carefully crawled towards the shooter slowly but steadily.  Jerry tried to emulate a snake in the grass.  When Jerry got to within about 100 yards of his target he saw that the shooter appeared to be dead.  Jerry carefully centered his crosshairs on the guys head and held his breath as he squeezed the trigger.  Chunk… The rifle bucked and the surprise break told Jerry he had gotten off a perfect shot.  He was sure he had seen the shooter’s head jerk from the impact of the 5.56mm bullet. 

Jerry waited again for a bit and then crawled the rest of the way to check out the damage.  It was a man all right and he was very, very dead.  The guy had been dressed like a hunter and he had been shooting a scope sighted 30.06 bolt action rifle at Jerry’s house.  Jerry had no idea why this man would do such a thing.  Jerry could only guess he was part of the pig thieves group and had been out for revenge.  Jerry checked the body for supplies and found nothing except a small container of water.  Wait a minute, here they were, a partial box of extra cartridges for the deer rifle.  Jerry took the bullets and the rifle and carefully low crawled his way back to the house using an entirely different route.  Jerry took his time since he had all night and didn’t want any of the dead guys’ buddies to spot him.  It took Jerry over three hours to crawl only a few hundred yards.  After he got home Jerry took the time to contemplate the night’s events.  Everything had gone well except for one thing, it was obvious an unknown group had it out for the Garcias and that was not a good thing.

Jerry sweated out the next few nights.  It’s very stressful having unknown people out there somewhere who seem to want you dead.  Jerry took to scouting around the house every night at random hours.  The body of the shooter stayed where Jerry had left him and Jerry was uncertain if this was a good or bad thing.  Jerry concluded a guy could get paranoid very quickly in this new environment.  He half expected to take a bullet at any moment any time he was outdoors.  He had to let those feelings go or they would paralyze him.  He stayed low and moved fast during the day and stayed lower and moved at a snail’s pace at night. 

A few days after Jerry killed the house shooter he decided to try to trap this unknown group.  He told Sara and Teresa his plan and they decided it wasn’t a bad one.  Jerry didn’t know if the group had his house under constant surveillance or not.  If they did he was going to get their asses.  If not, Sara and Teresa and Annie would have a pleasant day in town.  Early one morning the Garcia clan made a big show of loading everyone up in Sara’s Xterra and driving away from the house towards Placerville.  About a mile away they unloaded Jerry and the ladies continued into town while Jerry snuck back to watch the house from high ground.  If a group had been watching the house, now would be the time their lookout would get word to the main group and the main group would swarm the house and loot it down to the floor boards. 

Jerry guessed it would take about an hour for the lookout to get word to his people, a half hour for them to get ready to move out, and another hour for them to arrive at Casa Garcia.  It had taken Jerry about 30 minutes to get into position so he estimated things would start popping in a couple hours, if they were going to pop at all.  While he waited and watched, Jerry sucked on his rice bottle.  This was one of Jerry’s inventions.  He had taken a plastic bottle and wrapped duct tape around it so it wouldn’t make that concealment killing crinkly noise as he drank from it.  In the bottle he had a combination of filtered water, cooked white rice, and sugar.  This was sort of a drink and snack all in one.  After a while a single male refugee walked down Jerry’s road from the west.  “Here he is” thought Jerry, “the scout.”  As Jerry watched through the scope the refugee took a single glance at the front of Jerry’s house and kept walking.  “Hmm…that’s one tricky scout—good acting.”

While Jerry was waiting for the Mongol horde, Sara and Teresa were fantasizing about all the shiny items they could trade for in Placerville.  To that end Sara had secretly brought along one dozen fresh eggs and a bottle of vodka.  They would have to make the best of this trip as Sara’s Xterra like Jerry’s truck only held so much gas.  On the way they laughed and played and generally tried to forget that the world had ended.  “What do you want to buy in Placerville Teresa?”  Teresa frowned in thought, “I don’t know grandma, ice cream would be really cool.”  Teresa thought about what she had said for a heartbeat and then clapped her hands and laughed.  “I’m as funny as grandpa.”  Teresa was tickling Annie when Sara replied “grandpa just thinks he’s funny.”  “Well sweetheart, unless they’ve invented an animal that poops ice cream I wouldn’t expect any ice cream to be available.”  Teresa had decided to leave Annie alone for now, since the car ride was putting her fast asleep.  Teresa had her full attention back on Sara.  “No ice cream huh? Yeah, I guess not.”  Now Sara was afraid she had crushed her granddaughter’s little dream.  “You know, they might have candy.”  “They just might.” 

When they arrived in Placerville Teresa was struck by the change.  “Grandma this is all different.”  “It sure is,” said Sara, “most of the buildings have burned down.”  “No, that’s not it grandma, the buildings had been burned before.  It’s the people that are different.”  “How so sweetheart, how are the people different?”  “Well-- for one thing almost all the people who were here before are gone now.  What I mean is that the streets are almost empty.  There were 10 times as many people the last time I was here with grandpa.  And, of the ones who’re still here, look how thin they are.”  “Well you know sweetheart, this is the first time I’ve been downtown since the day this happened so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”  Teresa was staring like she was in a trance.  “This is so strange grandma, the streets are empty.” 

Sara drove around looking for normal things she expected to find; open stores for example.  She couldn’t find a single one.  On a side street Sara spotted an open door with a hand painted “Welcome” sign.  She pointed and cried out, “ha-ha, there’s one.”  Sara pulled over to the curb and parked halfway in the street.  This wasn’t a problem because there was virtually no vehicle traffic.  “Wait here” said Sara, “I’ll check it out.”  Sara made sure she took the keys and locked the doors when she got out.  She patted her front jeans pocket and felt the Grendel safely nestled.  Jerry had taught her not to take chances when she didn’t have to and Sara had taken the advice to heart.  When Sara entered the business the first thing she noticed was the light.  These guys must have electric lights somehow.  Then she saw the windows.  Whoever owned this establishment had salvaged windows and installed them up and down the south and west walls.  Sara looked up and saw the ceiling had been cut away to the rafters and the roof was covered with commercial sized skylights.  It was almost as light inside as outdoors.  That is to say the businesses interior was gloomy just like outside.  The second thing Sara noticed was the smell; it was not pleasant.  Sara had never been in a whorehouse before but nevertheless she recognized the smell.  The many mattresses on the floor, some only just hidden by cheap screens, were another clue.  To the right there was a long old fashioned bar but no stools.  The back bar had zero liquor bottles; all gone.  “Hi ma’am, how can we help you?”  Sara looked to her right and saw the barman, if you could call him that, and two extremely thin young girls of indeterminate age.  The three were standing behind the bar.  “This must be the day shift” Sara mused.  Sara didn’t know what to say, there was no doubt about it, she was at a loss for words.  “Ma’am?”  “Um, I was looking for something to buy and I saw you were open so I came in and.”  Sara was convinced her face had to be glowing beet red.  “Well ma’am,” said the barman.  “We usually serve a particular clientele here but honestly these days we’re open to all comers.”  That comment got the bar girls tittering and Sara fled for her life.  She fumbled with the clicker to open the car and locked it when she finally got behind the wheel.  All Sara could do for some time was sit alternately puffing for air and laughing.  Once she regained her senses Sara noticed Teresa gazing at her quizzically.  “What?” asked Teresa.  “Not our store” said Sara.  “What?” 

Sara tried a couple more streets and soon concluded it was useless.  Placerville didn’t have any normal stores left.  Sara wanted to go home but they couldn’t.  Not yet.  Part of Jerry’s plan called for them staying away from the house for five hours exactly.  If he was right about people watching the house Jerry didn’t want Sara and Teresa returning to Casa Garcia during the middle of a firefight.  Even if that happened the ladies were ready.  Sara glanced over her shoulder and saw Teresa holding Jerry’s new machine gun while she simultaneously checked on Annie.  Since Sara didn’t have any idea where to go next she drove to a place she had recently been.  “Yeah” thought Sara, “were going to the hospital.”  It wasn’t far away and the drive over was reasonably uneventful.  They passed more than a few refugees who stared and/or waved.  Could it be a moving vehicle had become a curiosity this quickly? 

When they arrived at the hospital it was Sara’s turn to remark that things were different.  The parking lot nursing station was gone and the entire hospital looked deserted.  By chance Sara spotted a friendly looking scavenger near the side of the building.  She drove over and struck up a conversation.  “Hello Sir good morning, do you have a minute to talk?”  The scavenger, who was really a tramp hoping to one day be a scavenger, bent down and looked at Sara with a measure of curiosity and skepticism.  “Minute to talk?  Lady, I got a whole lifetime to talk.  Talk’n is all I got.  But…ah why should I talk to you?”  Sara looked over at Teresa and said “egg em.”  Teresa didn’t move.  Her grandma couldn’t have meant what Teresa thought she meant.  “Go ahead sweetheart, give him an egg, but just one.”  Teresa smiled and inwardly laughed.  Teresa and some girlfriends had thrown eggs at a nasty girl’s house long ago.  As the tramp watched, Teresa dug out the egg carton and opened it while Sara hit the button to roll down the backseat window on that side.  The tramp stared at the eggs like they were exotic jewels.   They might as well have been Fabergé eggs and he was the Czar.  Teresa asked the tramp, “brown or white?”  The tramp was still dumbstruck.  “White I guess.” Is the hospital closed?”  “Closed and empty lady, ain’t nothing in there.”  Sara continued to question the stranger while he selected his lunch.  “Why did they close it?”  “I don’t know lady, they didn’t run out of patients, maybe they ran out of doctors.”  “We didn’t see hardly any people in town, do you know where they all went?”  The tramp had put his egg in his mouth shell and all and was holding it there.  He spit it out into his palm to answer Sara’s question.  “Oh, I guess they put most of em in Murphy Gulch.”  “Is that a camp for homeless people?”  The tramp gave Sara a sad tiny laugh.  “No lady that’s just a Gulch.  The volunteer fire department has been dumping all the bodies there.”  “Oh,” said Sara.  Sara wasn’t sure what to ask next.  She also knew her questioning would soon start to try the man’s patience unless she ponied up another egg.  “Is there any place they’ve taken displaced people to?”  “Displaced?”  “You know” continued Sara, like a camp or something.”  “Oh yeah yeah sure, you’re talking about El Dorado high.  They have a camp there all right.  They might take you in but not me, they don’t give guys like me a break.”  Sara thanked the man and headed to Canal Street.  “Where we going grandma?”  “I think we might as well check out the camp since we have time and that’s where the people are. Maybe they know what’s going on.”  Teresa pulled herself forward from the backseat and gave Sara a thumbs-up. 

About halfway to the high school Sara passed a hitchhiker.  It was a girl in her early teens.  She was wearing boots and had a small backpack.  It looked like she’d made the backpack from a plastic grocery bag.  “Should we pick her up grandma?”  “I’m sorry we can’t do that honey, it just isn’t safe.”  When they got to the camp Sara told Teresa to stay with the car. “Why do I have to stay with the car?”  “Well for one thing you have a machine gun.  We dare not carry it around a crowd of people and leaving it in the car wouldn’t be safe either.”  Teresa sulked but did what she was told.  Sara found the entrance of the camp was guarded.  She approached the guard and attempted to strike up a conversation.  “Hi there, what sort of.”  “I’m sorry, the guard interrupted.  I’m not allowed to talk to anyone.  If you need assistance I can get someone.”  “Can you at least tell me the name of this place?”  “I’m sorry miss.”  Sara was getting exasperated and it wasn’t worth it.  “That’s okay, thanks anyway.”

While the ladies were shopping, Jerry was concealed behind a small rise in a field east of Casa Garcia.  He estimated he was about 375 yards away.  During military qualification the farthest target in his branch was 400 meters.  With worn out crappy M-16A1’s with only iron sights, Jerry used to hit that target approximately once for every three shots.  Jerry was close to 100% at closer targets and always qualified expert.  With a steady rest, a suppressor to eliminate muzzle blast, and most especially the Pulsar sight, Jerry was confident he could hit man-sized targets almost every time.  Jerry had selected 55 grain FMJ rounds for today’s mission for maximum accuracy.  From his vantage point Jerry had eyes on the south, east and north sides of the house.  If someone snuck up on the west side and started breaking in a window Jerry would have to improvise.  Just when Jerry had decided nothing terrifying was going to happen the refugee scout returned.  This was unusual.  People sometimes walked by the house even now but they never walked back.  The guy didn’t even stop for water.  Jerry watched him walk right by the creek which flowed from Jerry’s property two times without stopping.  This was completely unprecedented and very, very strange.  This time the scout avoided looking towards the house and kept walking westbound until he was out of sight. 

The guy was back 40 or so minutes later and he brought two friends with him.  The scout now had a rifle in his hands, surprise.  Some refugee he was.  One of his buddies also had a rifle and the third guy was lugging the World’s longest crowbar.  If they continued on the road in front of the house Jerry would have a clear view of them all the way to his front door.  On the other hand, if they veered off into the field on the side of the house, jerry would soon lose sight of them.  Screw that.   For a split second the following quote raced through Jerry’s mind: Kill a man and they call you a murderer, kill a million and they call you King.  Jerry wasn’t sure if he had the quote right or not.  He opened fire.

Jerry started with the potential home-wrecker closest to the field.  He aimed at his target’s stomach knowing the dummy would walk into the round.  At the shot Jerry saw a satisfying puff of dust at the region of the guy’s diaphragm.  Jerry thought to himself, “I’m right on target,” as he swung to the next man.  The second guy saw his buddy crumple but seemed unaware of what had just happened.  Jerry watched him bend forward and reach down like he was going to steady his downed buddy.  This action changed the shot.  Jerry aimed at his shoulder and squeezed the trigger.  The AR-180 bucked softly and the second man jerked violently backwards.  A second later Jerry heard the “thwack” of a solid hit.  The last man standing was the fake refugee/scout.  He should’ve run north to the safety of Jerry’s detached garage, but he didn’t.  Suppressors are tricky that way.  It occurred to Jerry the scout had no idea which direction he was being fired upon from.  The scout should have presumed the shots were coming from the house.  This being the case a good healthy sprint to the side of the garage would’ve been the smart play.  Instead the scout panicked.  He took off like a jackrabbit back the way he’d come and Jerry almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.  Jerry thought to himself, “I can’t let him get away.”  Jerry aimed at the fleeing man’s head and cranked off three or four shots.  In the heat of the moment Jerry lost count and didn’t care anyway.  At shot number three or four the scout fell down and Jerry held his fire.  Adrenaline flowed through Jerry and his entire body tingled.  Jerry was happy.  There was no other word for it.  Jerry was happy not that he hurt some people, he was happy because again he was alive and unhurt and he had stopped people who wanted to hurt him.  Jerry perused each of the fallen men with great care.  The first man Jerry had shot was on his stomach.  He had dropped his rifle and it had fallen several feet away.  The second man had fallen on his back and the crowbar had fallen or rolled against him.  The last man had fled almost 50 yards before he fell.  He was also on his stomach and his rifle was also out of reach.  As Jerry watched, the third man rolled over onto his back.  Jerry took careful aim and methodically pumped three more bullets into his prone form. 

Now it was time for Jerry to move out.  He still had to make sure some unseen enemy wasn’t watching and waiting for him to do something stupid, like saunter up to the bodies.  Jerry moved out to the north like he had done many times before.  He never flanked to the south of his house because the land there sloped down from the road.  Anyone near the road would spot Jerry if he came from that direction, at least during the daytime.  Jerry crawled north and uphill until he reached a spot where he could look down upon the area where he had dumped the gangbanger’s body.  He carefully glassed the area until he was reasonably sure no one was there.  Of course that’s why they make camouflage.  If an enemy was there and didn’t move Jerry might not spot him.  That’s why it sucked that Jerry was fighting during the daytime.  He had the advantage during nighttime only. 

Jerry snuck back to the house and left the bodies and the two weapons where they had fallen.  He wanted to be back at the house when Sara returned.  He made it without getting shot and planned to turn the tables on any bad guys left out there.  He would watch the bodies and the two rifles and use them as bait.  Jerry expected any remaining adversaries to come by after nightfall to at least collect the weapons.  Jerry and his Pulsar would be waiting.  Sara returned home exactly on time and he heard her Xterra long before it became visible.  There was a remarkable lack of mechanical sound these days.  Sara was sure to see the bodies on the road and it occurred to him he screwed up yet again.  He should’ve had Sara take one of the portable radios with her but he hadn’t.  Stupid Jerry.  If he had done that he could’ve given her a warning when she got in range.  They were really, and Jerry really meant it this time, going to have to practice using those portable radios.  Jerry knew when Sara spotted the bloody corpses because he heard her brakes lock up.  He then heard her accelerate and brake again hard when she pulled up into the driveway.  Jerry never watched the car, he was scanning for threats, muzzle flashes, whatever, to the west.  Jerry didn’t move from his position in the attic until he heard Sara slam the front door.

Sara was understandably frantic.  “Jerry are you in here?”  “Yes dear, I’m upstairs and I’m okay.  Put the sticks against the doors, get the shotgun, and meet me in the front room.”  When Jerry joined his family Sara hugged and kissed him with an intensity she hadn’t used in quite some time.  Tears ran down her face and Jerry noticed Teresa was cradling the Remington like it was her second baby.  Jerry calmed Sara and explained what had happened while she and Teresa and Annie had been out.  “You see what happens you two,” said Jerry.  “Sometimes they really are out to get you.”  Teresa’s eyes sparkled when Jerry got to the part about his plan to watch the bodies.  “Grandpa, I have to take a monster potty break.  When I’m done how about I take the first watch?”  It was another long mostly sleepless night for the Garcia clan.  Teresa and Jerry traded off watching for infiltrators to low crawl up to the bodies to retrieve the valuable weapons.  Jerry had to explain to Teresa what an infiltrator is in the military sense.  Amazingly no one showed and Jerry was finally forced to retrieve the rifles himself before daybreak.  Teresa covered him while he did this.  If Jerry had left the weapons there during the daytime anyone could’ve walked by and retrieved them.  Finder’s keeper’s right?  Jerry could’ve shot them as well and started the whole pattern over again.  That would be dumb. 

Chapter 16

Here comes the neighborhood

Teresa hovered nearby and gave Jerry sly side glances as Jerry removed the rifles from his backpack.  For Sara looking on it was like a perversion of Christmas.  Her husband was Santa and he was handing out deadly toys to all the most aggressive little boys and girls.  Jerry had worn an old hobby backpack when he retrieved the rifles from the dead wannabe burglars.  He hadn’t been able to think of a better way to retrieve the weapons and still have his hands free.  Jerry had carried the M16A2 and Sara and Teresa had covered him from the attic.  The crowbar had been a problem.  It had been too long and heavy to fit in the pack.  Jerry wanted that crowbar and had taken the extra time to lash it to the top of the backpack crucifix style. 

“What kind of rifle is that grandpa?”  “Oh this?” asked Jerry as he held up the first rifle.  Jerry knew what the rifle was in a general sense but not specifically.  Luckily all the information he needed was stamped on the weapon.  Jerry spoke as he read.   “This is a Browning lever action rifle in .243 caliber.”  “It looks pretty cool grandpa but its kind a beat up.”  Jerry was only half listening because he was busy unloading the weapon.  Including the additional cartridges he had dug out of the dead guys pocket Jerry had exactly 11 rounds for this rifle.  Teresa was making cute little grabby motions with her hands almost exactly like Annie did when Annie wanted a toy.  Jerry handed her the weapon with the lever open.  He was happy to see she checked the chamber before she examined it more closely.  “Is this a good gun grandpa?”  “Oh one of the best” answered Jerry, “before that fella went and dropped it.”  Teresa smiled an evil little smile.  “He dropped it all right grandpa.”  “Is this a powerful gun grandpa?”  Jerry held up one of the .243 cartridges with one hand and fished out a loaded M16A2/AR-180 magazine with the other.  He pointed both towards Teresa so she could see the size difference.  She whistled, “big.”  “The .243 Winchester is well known as an effective deer cartridge.”  Sara came over and traded Teresa for the Browning.  She examined the scuffed wood stock and commented “I have a furniture touchup pen somewhere in this house.”  As Sara and Teresa watched and Annie squirmed up into Teresa’s arms Jerry took out the second rifle.  It was a Glenfield .22 semi-auto.  Jerry took out the tube and started dumping out cartridges.  There was really no reason to do this since Jerry planned to keep both rifles loaded for potential instant use and stashed somewhere out of toddler reach.  Mostly he was curious how many rounds the tube held.  He couldn’t remember but he did remember it was a lot.  Jerry pulled back the charging handle and checked the chamber and held up the little rifle for the ladies to see.  “This is a Glenfield model 60 (Jerry had cheated again) and its one of the most popular rifles ever sold in America…if I remember correctly.  When I first got involved in law enforcement this was a popular gangbanger gun because of the firepower.  They left this gun behind when they upgraded to Chinese AKM’s in the 1990’s.  Still, this is a very reliable design and can spit out a handful of bullets really quickly.”  Teresa handed off Annie to Sara and reached for the Glenfield.  Jerry winked at Sara, “this girl sure loves rifles doesn’t she honey?”  Teresa pumped the rifle up and down.  “God damn grandpa, this thing is hella light.”  Jerry had retrieved less than a 50 round box of .22LR with this rifle.  That wasn’t a problem in this case because Jerry had thousands of rounds of .22 LR in the house. 

The next day the new neighbors moved in.  They arrived from the East and had everything they owned either strapped to their backs, tied to a mountain bike one of them pushed along, or piled inside a shopping cart another one of them had been noisily pushing down the road.  There were three of them; two men and one woman.  Sara had heard the sound of the shopping cart banging along but had ignored it.  The new neighbors were halfway moved in before the Garcias noticed they were planning on staying for a while.  This was good entertainment for the whole family.  The new neighbors had a small raggedy ass tent in the shopping cart.  They had already set it up on the street east of Casa Garcia exactly where the Garcia’s no name Creek ran through a culvert and under the road.  There was never any thought to driving them off.  They were on public property and had just as much right to the water as anyone else.  Teresa noticed the new neighbors had a bunch of cardboard in the shopping cart.  This perplexed her at first.  “What the hell are they going to do with all that damn cardboard?”  Like the young girl she was Teresa got excited when she figured it out.  “Look at that grandma,” Sara interrupted her with, “Don’t point dear, it’s not polite, and stop staring.”  “Yes grandma, but look, they’re using the cardboard to make a soft floor inside the tent.” 

Once the new neighbors seemed reasonably settled in Jerry walked over and introduced himself.  Before he did he took the precaution of sending Teresa into the attic with the AR-180 to cover him.  Jerry grabbed the M16A2 and made sure he had his 60 round magazine first up.  Jerry walked very slowly down the road with his rifle in the low ready position.  With his body armor and extra magazines and floppy boonie hat Jerry looked every inch the paranoid prepper proven right.  Jerry did not wear sunglasses.  It’s impossible to read a stranger if you can’t see their eyes.  Jerry never spoke to strangers with sunglasses on unless he intended to intimidate them.  Jerry didn’t want to intimidate the new neighbors.  He wanted very much to make them his new allies.  A man in his 30’s stepped out to face Jerry.  “And this would be the leader” thought Jerry.  The man wasn’t armed as far as Jerry could tell and stood his ground warily.  The man spoke before Jerry got too close.  “This is a public road and we don’t want any trouble.”  Jerry switched the rifle to the other side and held out his right hand.  “Welcome.”  Jerry had a lot to take in while he waited for the man to react.  First off he noticed the second man and woman also seemed to be unarmed and they were holding onto each other in a very intimate manner.  “Okay then” thought Jerry, “those two are a couple.”  The first man seemed to be at a loss.  A part of Jerry’s brain was thinking thoughts like, “don’t leave me hanging bro and geez, people sure are suspicious these days,” when Mr. thirty something finally decided to shake Jerry’s hand. 

As they shook hands Jerry waited for one of them to pull a weapon and for a hole to appear in Mr. Hand shakers forehead courtesy of Teresa behind the AR-180.  “Hello neighbor, my name is Jerry.”  The leader made introductions all around.  “Well a... I’m Michael, and this is Glen and his wife Julia.”  Jerry relaxed slightly.  “I live with my wife Sara and granddaughter Teresa and sometimes friends drop by.  Its fine that you’re here but I have to warn you about a couple things.  First off you may have noticed some bodies up the road.”  Jerry pointed.  “We’ve had some trouble with thieves and when anyone attacks the house we repel all borders as it were.”  Michael’s expression didn’t change.  “Another thing is please don’t blocked the road, people and vehicles go by on occasion including our vehicles.”  Michael shook his head.  “The last thing I have to warn you about is the fence here.”  Jerry pointed again.  Possibly Jerry was part Italian.  “We have warning devices and booby traps set up.  Because of the thieves we shoot anyone who comes, I should say sneaks, onto our property.  Don’t cross or bother our barbed wire fence.”  Michael looked a little glum but Jerry noticed his words seemed to have soaked in.  The couple who had been standing behind Michael came over and the man shook Jerry’s hand.  Jerry had always been bad with names and had forgotten what they were already.  Jerry hadn’t brought them any food and didn’t intend to mention food to them ever.  Sara had ran the idea by him but he had pooh-poohed it.  Feeding people was a bad idea and was something they couldn’t afford in the long run.  The new neighbors would have to make their own way in this brave new world.

During the next couple of days Jerry kept his eye on the newcomers.  Sara and Teresa also introduced themselves and went back two or three more times to talk with Julia.  Jerry learned from Sara that the neighbor’s full names were Michael Weber, and Glen and Linda Reid.  On the morning of the second day Jerry watched Michael head south down the creek and followed him from a very discreet distance.  Jerry wanted to assure himself the new neighbors weren’t with the group who had been pestering him.  He also wanted to make sure they weren’t cannibals.  The idea would have been laughable less than two months ago but not now.  Jerry was heartened to see that Michael didn’t have a rifle with him.  It’s difficult to take big game like humans without a rifle.  Jerry tracked Michael for several miles downstream.  It looked to Jerry like Michael was keeping a lookout for any food of opportunity.  Michael would stop every once in a while and turn over a rock or two in the creek like a raccoon.  After three hours Michael finally reached the destination he had been heading to.

Jerry found himself looking at a swampy area.  The shallow swamp was filled with cattails.  Jerry knew all about cattails from summer camp when he was much younger as well as survival documentaries he had watched on the Discovery Channel.  “Would he do it?”  As Jerry watched, Michael took out a small knife and a plastic garbage bag.  Yes, that’s exactly what he was doing.  Michael was harvesting cattail roots.  Jerry had never eaten them but he understood they were delicious and had lots of nutritious sugars or starches or something in them.  You can even eat them raw, what a deal.  Michael worked methodically and smoothly like he had done this many times before.  It was obvious someone had been harvesting them because Jerry saw a pile of cattail tops where roots had been gathered previously.  In pretty short order Michael filled the garbage bag and started back up the creek.  Jerry let him get almost out of view before he began following him back.  Jerry dared not let the new neighbor find him following him around; that would rightfully piss the new fellow off. 

After he returned home Jerry let Sara know the neighbors were on the level and could handily feed themselves thank you very much.  “Sara, Teresa, gather round please.  Thank you.  I’m thinking of offering a deal to the new neighbors and want to get your advice.”  Jerry had the ladies full attentions.  “It looks like they plan to stay a while and I think we can help each other out.  How about we offer them a mutual protection pact.”  “I know what that is” stated Teresa.  “We scratch their backs and they watch ours.”  “Very good” said Sara.  “It’s a win-win right?  We can cover each other from those “Others” out there.”  Jerry had held up his hands and made quote signs in the air when he had said the “O” word.  “Sounds good to me” said Sara.  “Sounds good to me” said Teresa, mimicking Sara.  Sara looked at the ceiling with her eyes closed. “There’s that sense of humor again.”  “Okay then it’s decided.  I could give them one of our handy talkies but I only bought two of them.  Why I only bought two I’ll never know, they were only 40 bucks apiece.”  “We should hold on to them grandpa.”  In the end the new neighbors agreed to the plan and they came up with a low-tech signal which would work night and day.  Jerry silently prayed he wouldn’t hear the sound of metal pans being banged together anytime soon.

After the neighbors moved in, word got out somehow that Jerry’s creek was the place to come to get drinking water.  It started off a trickle and quickly grew to a steady stream of regulars.  It didn’t escape Jerry’s notice that people never came from the west or the north.  It was pretty obvious to Jerry the hostiles were over there somewhere.  The flood of new people seeking water brought Jerry lots of intel.  Human intelligence is what the military calls it but Sara called it gossip.  It’s the same thing of course and charming and sophisticated Sara acted as wallflower Jerry’s main intel asset.  Jerry got an intel briefing from Sara every evening during dinner except for the hottest gossip.  Sara decided it was better to get direct testimony for the juiciest information and rewarded her sources with a free meal. 

The latest winner of a nice fried tortilla with beans dinner was a skinny teenager who called himself “Buddy.”  “This is the best meal I’ve had in months” said Buddy as he shoveled in the food.  “You guys must be rich.”  Looking at this gutter rat of a young man Jerry developed the theory he was homeless and hungry before E-Day.  “Go on Buddy, tell my husband what you told me,” prompted Sara.  “Um…well it’s like this…there are several groups of very intense people out there pulling some crazy shit.”  “Go on.”  “Okay, okay, you got this Shout’n Houghton dickhead.  He’s all about tak’n it back from the man for the people.  I heard him give a speech a couple weeks ago.”  “Let me interrupt” said Jerry.  “How exactly does he take it back?”  Buddy washed down some tortilla with water from a glass, these people were rich, and looked at Jerry.  “You know man; he just takes shit from people who have stuff--.”  Buddy’s voice trailed off but Jerry could have sworn he heard buddy say the words “Like you.”  “Buddy,” said Jerry.  “This Houghton isn’t taking stuff without help.  How many people does he have?”  “I don’t know man, but there was a big crowd there when he was talking and they were really buying his line.”  “A big crowd being about how many people?” asked Jerry.  Sara and Jerry watched as buddy crunched the numbers, there was some effort involved.  “Maybe 30 people?”  “Where does Houghton hang out?” Buddy swallowed another mouthful of food and took a deep breath before he answered.  “That one’s easy, he runs the Indian reservation.”  Jerry knew where that was.  Luckily it was far away north of Placerville. 

“Buddy that’s one group” said Sara.  “Tell us about that other group.”  “Right” said Buddy.  “There’s the El Dorado Posse.  They were arresting looters and taking away dead people and handing out food fairly according to them; mostly in Placerville.  When things really got bad I heard the Posse broke up but I left Placerville anyway because I heard they were looking for me.”  “How many people did they have Buddy?”  “Oh they had everybody.”  Buddy laughed.  “All you needed was a cowboy hat.”  Jerry laughed along with buddy.  “As you can see I don’t own one.” 

“Tell us about those other groups Buddy.”  “Wellll…” said Buddy.  “The uniformed cops were around for a while but they lost control and stopped coming to work.  The military was in town for a while too but they also left.  The hospitals were running for a while but they ran out of pills and closed.  Do you know about the Red Cross shelter?”  “Thank you Buddy, yes we do.”  “They were open when I left town but I don’t know now.  They stopped taking new people in.  What good is a shelter that can’t give you shelter?”  “Oh yeah” added Buddy, “there’s also that group of cops who were stopping people and taking guns and food from them.”  Jerry discounted this report, it had to be just a rumor or some sort of miscommunication.  “Do you have anything else to add Buddy?”  “Sure” said Buddy as he swallowed more food, “some folks are eating people.”  “What?”  Said Sara and Jerry simultaneously.  “Buddy, you didn’t tell me about this before.”  “Well I’m telling you now but it’s no secret.  Lots of folks will do that when they get desperate, but other folks refuse to touch it and waste away til they pass.”  Jerry looked at Buddy solemnly, “have you been eating people Buddy?”  Buddy gritted his teeth, “I’ll never tell.”  Sara held her hand up and stated “We’re not here to judge.”  Sara looked scathingly at Jerry and hissed “Sometimes you are a tactless ass.”  Jerry ignored her and drove on, “are there any large groups who practice cannibalism Buddy?”  This was a very important question.  A large group of fanatics could storm the house and extract Jerry’s family like tasty sardines from a can.  “This is only a rumor that’s been going around.  There’s supposedly a group way north who robs people.  If they fight back the group kills them on the spot and cuts up the bodies.  There’s only one reason they would do that.”  

The next day the Garcias were doing some target practice with the twenty-two’s.  They had thousands and could afford to burn some of these rounds,  Jerry and Sara agreed this was a good idea to let everyone within earshot know the Garcias liked to stay sharp.  During a lull in the firing Sara heard pans being banged together.  Jerry scooped up his big rifle which he had kept nearby and he and Teresa responded to the noise while Sara kept an eye on Annie.  As they rounded the house they saw a Humvee had passed by the new neighbors and was approaching Casa Garcia.  Jerry made sure he kept his M16A2 at low ready so he wouldn’t spook them.  Jerry expected to see SSG Rothko and was surprised and apprehensive when he didn’t recognize any of the soldiers in the vehicle.  “Great” thought Jerry, “here I’m holding a military rifle and these aren’t the guys who gave it to me.”  Too late to hide the evidence, Jerry would have to bluff his way through or maybe just tell the truth.  Jerry let the rifle hang at his side and kept his hands where the soldiers could see them.  The Humvee drove right up to Jerry and the three soldiers in the vehicle appeared to be reasonably relaxed.  Well that was a good sign.  The passenger spoke first.  "Good morning sir, I'm Corporal Shephard, this is Corporal Isaacs, and in the hole we have PFC Dancy.”

Jerry walked up to the passenger door and awkwardly shook Corporal Shephard’s hand.  “Pleased to meet you corporal, where’s Sergeant Rothko?”  Jerry noticed an immediate change in the vibe between them.  “Well sir, Staff Sergeant Rothko and Bannerman and Specialist Deichel are gone.”  “Oh?” asked Jerry.  “Did they outstation them to Mather or some other hellhole?”  Corporal Shephard was looking more and more uncomfortable.  “No sir, they’re just gone.”  “Gone as in they bugged out?”  “No sir, Sergeant Rothko would never have done that sir.”  “How long have they been missing?”  “Two days sir.”  “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to them?”  “No sir, they went to refuel and never came home.  We’ve looked everywhere and we’ve asked around and no one has any idea what happened to them.”  “I see” said Jerry.  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen them either.”  “We’re going to keep looking” said Shephard.  “If we see anyone with our stuff like our weapons or the Humvee we’re going to detain them.” Corporal Isaacs joined the conversation, “yes sir, I’m going to detain my boot up their ass.”  PFC Dancy banged the top of the vehicle above Isaac’s head and yelled out “Chill.”  “Speaking of weapons” asked Jerry.  “Did Staff Sergeant Rothko tell you about his hand receipting me the rifle I happen to be carrying?”  “Oh yes sir, no problem there sir.  My men are carrying some of the bullets you traded to Sergeant Rothko sir.”  “Whooo,” Jerry comically exaggerated a sigh of relief.  “Then I’m safe.”  “Yes sir.”  “So Corporal Shephard, if I see any non-military types besides myself carrying M-4’s or driving a Humvee I should be wary.”  At this point Teresa stepped from behind Sara.  It’s possible she had been shy because of what she had been wearing.  The dress code was rather relaxed these days on the Garcia Ranch and Teresa had been practicing with boots over one of those hoodie footie jumpers.  Or was it a footie hoodie.  Jerry couldn’t remember.  From where Jerry was standing the Humvee acted like a megaphone.  Jerry distinctly heard PFC Dancy whisper “There she is bro” to Corporal Isaacs.  Jerry smiled.  It looked like word of the beautiful granddaughter of the old Captain had gotten out to the rest of the troops.  Teresa was a vision of loveliness and deadliness.  She had the Talo .22 balanced against her shoulder with one hand and waved to the guys with the other.  It took Jerry a while to get Corporal Shephard’s attention back.  “So tell me Corporal, are you getting any support from your higher headquarters?”  “What?” asked Shephard.  Jerry had to repeat the question.  “We don’t seem to have any higher headquarters left sir.  Regarding support we never got any.”  “How are you making out, do you have food and a place to stay?”  “We’re fine sir, we’ve been providing security at a reservoir east of here and they repay us in potable water and food.”  “What kind of food are people eating these days?”  “Mostly beef.  Lots of cattle survived the fires and we have some hunters who bring one in every few days.  They also got a deer one time.”  “Good to hear it Corporal Shepherd.”  “Oh another thing, how are you set for diesel?”  “We lucked out there sir, gasoline is starting to become scarce but we have a line on diesel and have some stashed.”  “Glad to hear it.  Can I do anything for you?”  “No sir, except keep an eye out for our guys.”  Jerry stepped away from the vehicle and Shephard told Isaacs to move out.  They turned around in Jerry’s driveway and headed back the way they came.  As they waved goodbye Jerry caught Sara’s eye.  “Gee those guys were a contrast to Sergeant Rothko’s crew.  The sergeant’s crew was well fed and these guys look more like a skeleton crew.  The lack of healthy meals is really starting to show.”  “Speaking of meals” said Sara, “how about I give some of that disgusting pig jerky to the neighbors as a reward for sounding the alarm.”  “Great idea.” 

The next few days were lazy and quiet.  The ladies had developed a thing for warm baths.  This was an incredible luxury in the New World.  The house had a bathtub but no running water and especially no hot water.  Sara wanted to heat pots of water on the stove but Jerry vetoed this idea.  He knew they had to save their propane for the coming winter.  Jerry made the ladies heat pots of water over a wood fire.  Jerry in fact got the bad end of that bargain because he had to collect most of the wood.  The new neighbors had a campfire going 24/7 and wood was starting to become as scarce as food for most people.  Luckily for all concerned, for now there was lots of charred wood where the neighbor’s homes used to be and the stuff burned almost like charcoal.  However, you still had to forage for it.  Another lucky break was the creek on Jerry’s property was flowing stronger than ever.  Jerry theorized the creek was flowing so well because he didn’t have any neighbors anymore drawing water from their wells.  Jerry in fact hadn’t bothered putting together the well pump kit he had bought prior to the emergency.  He planned to save that for the day (knock on wood) his creek ran dry. 

Jerry was shooting the breeze with Glen and Julia while Michael was away scaring up dinner when they noticed two men approaching on foot.  This wasn’t unusual because as mentioned earlier lots of people came by to get water.  These men were heavily armed and that was unusual.  They were both in their early 20’s and that wasn’t at all unusual.  Jerry had noticed a pattern lately.  The very young and the very old for the most part hadn’t survived this long.  Jerry’s family was an exception.  Jerry was cautious of the newcomers but polite.  Funny how visible weapons tend to make people much more polite than they might otherwise normally be.  The slightly taller of the two spoke first.  “Hi folks, where can we get some water?”  Glen Reid answered, “right here’s just fine.”  There was a lot going on with this simple conversation.  To begin with the newcomers didn’t ask if they could have some water they asked where they could get water.  It was presumed fresh water was a public commodity unless it was on obviously fenced and protected private land like Jerry’s property.  Also, Glen could’ve pointed them downstream away from their camp.  The fact that he didn’t and was letting them draw water from the shallow pool right at his camp showed he was a generous and neighborly person.  As the two newcomers extracted plastic bottles from their packs and started filling them Jerry checked out their weapons.  The first guy had some kind of revolver in a nylon holster on his hip.  He also had more speedloaders than Jerry had ever seen before clipped to the front of his gun belt.  Jerry counted six of them, three on each side.  The other guy had some sort of sawed-off rifle sticking out of his backpack.  He also had on knee and shin guards like a skateboarder. 

The newcomers drink their fill of the cool water and refilled their bottles.  When they were finished the one who had spoken before made the formal introductions.  “I’d like to introduce myself, I’m Andy Bohne and this is my buddy Bart Barry.”  Before Glenn could introduce himself and his wife and before Jerry could introduce himself, Andy continued; “Do you guys know where we can find Jerry Garcia?”  Jerry tensed but not too much since he was holding an automatic weapon with a 60 shot magazine.  Jerry clicked the selector on his M16A2 from safe to semi and you could have heard a pin drop.  All was quiet except the gurgling of the creek.  Andy and Bart simultaneously raised their hands without having been prompted and Andy said, “whoa.”  “I’m Jerry, how can I help you two?”  It must’ve been Bart’s time to talk because he piped up with, “We don’t mean you any harm Mr. Garcia, we’re looking for a job.”  More clicks, Jerry had switched to three round burst.  “Okay said Jerry, step away from the Reid’s over there by the fence and we’ll discuss this.  Whatever you do keep your hands away from your weapons.”  Andy and Bart started to move and Jerry told them to take along their backpacks.  “Squat down by the fence.  Jerry waited until the two were in position.  “Alright, how do you two know about me?”  Andy spoke again, “Mr. Garcia, everyone around here knows about you and your family.  You’re survivors who’re making it and not just hanging on like most of us.  You have water and food.  Downtown and all the way to Placerville your house is a landmark.”  Jerry was nonplussed.  “I was unaware of that.  Now what’s this about a job?” 

Bart spoke again.  “Gee, these guys really have a fetish concerning taking turns.”  “We’re zombie hunters Mr. Garcia.”  Jerry was still as a statue for several seconds after that one.  “Are you actually properly insane?”  “No Mr. Garcia, you see before the internet crashed, my buddy here was a sensation and I did the camera work.”  “Let me explain” said Andy. “To begin with, we know there’s no such thing as zombies.”  Bart looked reproachfully at Andy but kept quiet.  “Before the CME hit, Bart and I played around with “What if” scenarios.”  Bart butted in.  “That’s right Mr. Garcia, what if the zombie apocalypse really hit us?  What if they were fast zombies?  What if they were infected instead of zombies?”  It was obvious Bart was wound a little tight.  Andy put his arm on Bart’s shoulder and brought him to heal like a schnauzer straining at the leash.  “You see Mr. Garcia, we’ve done some training and we have some skills.  We heard from other people on the road that your house has already been attacked at least once.  The bottom line Mr. Garcia is Bart and I would like to help protect your home.”  Jerry scratched his chin with one hand while he thought about it.  “Well Andy, you see Glen and I have a similar deal.  They watch our backs and we watch theirs.  You’re welcome to move in with the same deal.”  Right on cue Bart spoke again.  “Mr. Garcia sir, does that include meals cus Andy and I are starving.”  Jerry thought it over.  He definitely needed some help but could he and Sara afford the upkeep of two young men?  They had to eat like horses.  Plus, just how good were there alleged “Skills” if they couldn’t even feed themselves?  “I’ll tell you what” said Jerry.  “Come up to the house and we’ll discuss it.”  Jerry had Andy and Bart walk ahead of him.  He wasn’t about to turn his back on them until they had proven themselves as trustworthy. 

Jerry had them sit on the bench in front of the house while he questioned (interrogated) them further.  Sara and Teresa and Annie joined the group and Sara brought the young men some Kool-Aid.  They gulped it even though Jerry had watched them fill up on creek water like camels having crossed the Sahara less than 15 minutes ago.  Even Kool-Aid was a luxury.  Predictably Andy and Bart couldn’t take their eyes off Teresa.  Today she was dressed in her full on combat Barbie ensemble.  “Okay Andy let’s start with you” said Jerry.  “I notice you have a crazy revolver set up.  What exactly is that?”  Andy pointed to his revolver without touching it and said, “this is a seven shot Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum and I have six speedloaders for it right here.”  “Seven shots, hmmm, tricky.  Let’s hope the bad guys like to count rounds fired.”  “I really got it for steel plate competition Mr. Garcia.  They didn’t let me use the seventh round because it would’ve been an unfair advantage.  But, the extra weight helped plus seven shots are better than six for home defense.”  “Looks like a six-inch L frame, correct?”  “Right.” 

“Okay how about you; what was your name again?”  “Bart… My name is Bart Barry.”  “Yes, I’m sorry Bart, that looks like a sawed off shotgun in your pack.”  “You sure know your guns,” said Bart.  “This is a single shot 12 gauge H & R.  After the CME hit I cut it down on both ends.”  “Is that barrel less than 18 inches Bart?”  “Probably.”  “Tisk, tisk,” said Jerry.   “That’s a felony Bart, not that anyone cares.”  Bart gave Jerry a sheepish look.  “How are you guys set for ammunition?”  Andy opened his pack and started rummaging. Jerry relaxed when he heard the sound of fingers smacking against a cardboard box.  Jerry was well acquainted with this sound.  Would it be Remington, Winchester, or Federal?” Andy took out a box of “White Box” Winchester .357’s and handed it to Jerry.  Jerry felt the weight and estimated.  “Full box?” asked Jerry and Andy shook his head.  “You two know this ammo is really named Winchester White Box.”  “Not really” answered Andy, but the box is white.”  Jerry turned the box around and pointed to a section before he read it.  “USA White Box has always stood for consistent performance and outstanding value.”  Jerry looked at the side of the box.  “110 grain hollow-points.  That would definitely leave a mark.”  Andy Bohne smiled and Jerry handed the box back to him.  Jerry noticed Teresa had taken a step closer and was rocking from side to side.  Just like Annie this kid never seemed to stop moving.  The young men for their part seemed completely mesmerized as if watching a cobra.  “You know fellas, the Winchester Corporation conducted a consumer acceptance study before they went with “White Box.”  “Jaundice Yellow and “Mud Brown” box didn’t test well with the public.  “Black Box” however tested well in urban areas.”  “Whaat?” Said Andy.  Bart chuckled and Teresa couldn’t stop laughing.  She was snorting and it was obvious to Jerry that Andy and Bart were in love.  Maybe Jerry could talk them into paying him to work for Casa Garcia. 

Once everyone regained their composure Jerry continued.  “Alright Mr. Bart Barry, what rounds or should I say shells do you have for that boom stick of yours?”  Bart didn’t bother digging them out.  “I have about 20 shells left.  I tried to shoot some birds with the others and missed.”  “What shot size do you have young man?”  This question seemed to perplex Bart.  “Well, this is a bad sign” thought Jerry.  “This guy is mucho ni idea.”  “I don’t think he knows birdshot from buckshot grandpa.”  “I do too” shot back Bart.  Jerry was really enjoying this, without television this was it.  “You keep this up and you two will have to get married” said Jerry.  Teresa gave Jerry a playful slap—“grandpa!”  “I’m guessing number six said Jerry.”  “I can look said Bart.”  “Please, the suspense is hopefully not killing me.”  Bart dug unseen into the very bottom of his pack and came up with a shotgun shell.  “And the answer is?” said Jerry dramatically.  Bart first looked on the bottom of the shell and this started Teresa laughing again.  Bart wouldn’t have been as stumped as he was if he had attended a training session like the one Jerry had given Teresa recently.  Jerry had carted out examples of all of his ammunition and explained the sometimes subtle differences one to another.  After a while Bart noticed a series of “9’s” printed on the side of the shell and pointed.  “Number nine birdshot” said Jerry.  “We can definitely do better than that.”  

While they had been talking, Sara brought out chunks of poor Spotty and handed them around.  Sara shared a bowl of some unidentified grain soaked in powdered milk water with Annie.  “You’re sure pushing the pork aren’t you babe?”  “I am and please don’t mention Babe.”  “Sorry dear.”  After everyone had eaten they all tromped back to the Reids and washed their hands downstream.  Wood ashes worked amazingly well as a mild abrasive to soak up and scrape off stubborn stuff like Spotty fat.  At the same time Sara brought the Reids some meat.  It wouldn’t have been polite to leave them out.  After they were done washing Jerry got Bart’s attention.  “Bart, earlier he said something about Andy being famous or something?  What’s that all about?”  “Yeah Mr. Garcia, he was famous all right on YouTube.  Our video got over a million hits.”  “Really, what video would that be?”  Andy pointed to his backpack and said, “It’s in here Mr. Garcia, on my laptop.”  Everyone was taken aback by that statement.  The idea that someone carrying everything they owned on their back would include something as useless as a laptop was almost impossible to believe.  “I’d love to show it to you and everyone else.  Bart and I are really proud of it.”  Glen and Julia weren’t about to miss this and followed the group back to the Garcia’s front porch.  Andy opened his pack and sure enough he had a laptop safely nestled inside.  As he took it out and opened it Julia spoke for all of them.  “Are you sure that thing still works Andy?  I’m surprised the CME didn’t burn it out like everything else.”  “Oh no it works” said Andy.  Andy hit the “on” button and the little engine that could laptop booted right up.  “I’m not sure why it works,” said Andy.  “It wasn’t plugged in during the CME and look”… Andy tapped the case… “It has a metal shell, not plastic.” 

Andy set the laptop on Jerry’s refugee bench and everyone gathered around to watch the show.  Andy navigated to videos and selected one titled “The 5 Minute/10 Zombie Kills Challenge.” 

The video opened with Andy wearing pieces of sheet metal armor over tan jeans and a primitive looking untanned leather jacket.  He was also wearing a black skateboarding helmet and safety glasses.  “Hello everyone.  Well here we are, the Zombie Apocalypse has finally come and my buddy Bart behind the camera (the camera shook slightly) has bet me I can’t defeat 10 undead within five minutes with only the weapons I can find in an average suburban garage.  As you can see behind me we have ten 3D zombie targets staked out in the yard.”  The camera view moved past Andy and panned slowly over the 10 head and torso three-dimensional targets.  They seemed to be made from plastic and were all the same basic type except there were a few different color combinations. They didn’t look cheap.  The camera panned back on Andy and he continued.  “All challenges have rules including this one.  Rule number one is I can only use each weapon I find once.  Rule number two is I must destroy the brain of a single zombie before I can go on to a new weapon.  Rule number three, I can only retrieve one weapon from the garage at a time.  Bart and I realize in real life you would never discard an unbroken weapon.  However, we’ve designed these rules to keep this a zombie challenge, not a zombie slaughter.  I should explain this is my dad’s garage and I’m reasonably well acquainted with tools and other stuff he has that I can use as improvised anti-zombie weapons.  Bart and I also use this space as our weapons and armor workshop, so there might be some surprises.”  Bart’s voice was heard; “Enough chitchat bitch.  Are you ready for the challenge?”  Andy smiled and shook himself out and yelled “Ahhhhh.”  The camera operator (Bart) held up a stopwatch and yelled “Go.” 

Bart followed Andy with the camera as Andy sprinted into the garage.  “Weapon, weapon” said Andy, “they’re coming, I need a weapon.”  The camera caught Andy studying one of those pegboards over a workbench filled with tools.  Andy selected a hammer and held it up to the camera.  “Weapon number one, household hammer, everyone’s got one.”  Andy ran to the closest zombie and wailed on it with the hammer.  Andy completely smashed the head with three solid blows and Bart yelled “Dead zombie, next.”  Andy dropped the hammer and sprinted back into the garage.  “Weapon number two, a framing hammer, not so common but my dad has one.”  Andy sprinted to the next closest undead and brained it with the hammer.  This hammer was heavier than the first and it only took two blows before Bart yelled “Dead zombie, next.”  Andy ran back into the garage and grabbed a third hammer off the wall.  “Weapon number three, another hammer.”  Andy clowned for the camera, “why does my father have so many hammers?”  The shaky camera closely followed Andy as he ran to the next zombie and dispatched it with several blows.  Something squirted out of this one and hit Andy square in the face.  “Ewww” Andy yelled, “zombie juice!  That’s why we wear safety glasses.”  “Dead zombie” prompted Bart, “next one.”  Andy ran back into the garage and froze.  “Oh crap I’ve run out of hammers.”  Andy scanned the garage and darted to his right.  He picked up an ax and brandished it in front of the camera.  “Weapon number four, here’s Johnny, an ax.”  As Andy trotted towards the next zombie the viewers heard Bart caution Andy.  “Careful.”  Andy stopped and raised the ax high over his head and waited until Bart had it framed.  Andy yelled “hiyah” and brought the ax down on the zombie’s head.  The ax glanced off the slick plastic and the sharp blade buried itself several inches into the target’s torso.  Andy yanked out the ax as Bart backed up and the zombie fell over onto its face in the grass.  Andy brought the ax up again and decapitated the prone brain eater with one chop.  “Next zombie” said Bart and Andy dropped the ax and sprinted back into the garage.  The next weapon was an easy choice.  Andy found a hatchet on a shelf.  He held it up to the camera and said “Weapon four, hatchet.”  Off-camera Bart stated “That’s weapon number five idiot.”  “Weapon five” said Andy.  “Time to Lizzie up these bitches.”  With that, Andy ran to the next zombie and chopped it square down the middle of its head.  The hatchet stuck and Andy left it.  He looked at the camera and Bart called out “Dead zombie, next.”  Andy ran back to the garage as the camera followed.  The cameraman looked left as Andy looked right and Bart missed the shot of Andy selecting a shovel.  Andy held up the shovel with two hands and stated “Weapon number six, dad’s shovel.”  Bart lagged behind Andy this time and got a long shot of Andy swinging the shovel against a zombie’s head.  There was a loud “Twang” and the zombie toppled over.  The camera shook as Bart approached Andy and Bart said “Stunned but not dead.”  Andy gave the camera a look which silently said “What the fuck dude?”  Bart repeated “Stunned but not dead” and Andy placed the shovel against the zombie’s vulnerable neck and stomped down with his boot.  There was a satisfying crunching noise.  “Dead zombie, next.”  Bart held up the stopwatch again in front of the camera and called out “Three minutes gone, hurry.”  Bart turned around and the camera caught Andy rummaging through a trashcan filled with wood scraps.  Andy selected a 2X4 about two and a half feet long and ran back past Bart.  Bart followed him with the camera in time to catch Andy swinging the board like a baseball bat sideways.  The 2X4 glanced off a zombie’s head and Andy gave it another whack.  This time the zombie fell over and Andy started to stagger towards the garage.  A hand reached out, grabbed Andy and turned him around.  Andy at this point was starting to huff and puff.  Bart stated loudly, “that one’s only stunned, finish him.”  Andy had bent over and was using the 2X4 like a cane.  Bart filmed as Andy caught his breath and raised the board over his head.  Andy wasn’t playacting anymore.  He was tired and he was running out of time.  He was fighting for his life.  With a grunt he smashed the 2X4 into the zombie’s forehead.  Fake blood spurted and Andy dropped the board.  “Dead zombie” called out Bart, “next.”  Bart followed Andy as he ran back to the garage.  Andy zigzagged comically as he ran.  “Need another weapon” Andy gasped.  Andy eyed a big yellow pry bar and picked it up.  “Freeman lives” said Andy and Bart followed him as Andy hobbled towards the next walking dead.  The audience clearly heard Bart laughing as he followed and he said, “good one bro.”  Bart was on Andy’s heels and he asked “How much does that thing weigh?” as Andy prepared to strike.  “About 5 pounds” said Andy as he smashed the hooked end of the pry bar down into a zombie’s brain.  “Dead zombie, hurry, hurry.”  Andy stumbled back to the garage and scanned several items.  Lawnmower?  No.  Weed Wacker?  No.  Chainsaw?  No.  Andy finally grabbed a screwdriver off the pegboard and held it up to the camera.  “Wha… what number weapon is this one?”  “That would be number nine pal, you better hurry.”  Andy fast walked back to the diminished zombie horde and stuck the screwdriver into the top of a zombie’s head.  Andy paused as the cameraman stepped in for a close-up.  Viewers could clearly see the screwdriver had penetrated only a part of the zombie’s face and was sticking out of one nostril.  “That’s not a kill brother, you better hit it again.”  The cameraman followed Andy as he staggered away from the zombie.  At this point Andy very much resembled a shambling slow zombie.  As Bart followed he whispered for the audience, “according to the rules he could have taken out the screwdriver and stuck it in again but he’s not thinking straight.”  Bart watched Andy select another screwdriver off the board.  “Going with another screwdriver are ya, cupcake?”  Andy held up the screwdriver for the camera and said “Must kill all humans…I mean zombies.”  As they returned to the wounded walker he asked “How much time left?”  “Less than a minute” answered Bart.  Andy plunged the screwdriver into the zombie’s head with a grunt and Bart yelled “Dead zombie, one left.”  Andy appeared to be hyperventilating as he returned to the garage.  He looked like he might pass out at any moment.  As Andy desperately searched for a weapon, any weapon, the viewers heard Bart narrate; “people get tired but zombies never do, that’s why they always win.”  Maybe it was against the rules but Bart decided to throw Andy a bone.  “The warhammer, bitch, get the warhammer.”  Andy giggled and said “Right.”  It was possible he was delirious with exhaustion.  Andy staggered to an old wooden footlocker and flung it open.  The camera peered inside and there was a medieval looking helmet and some chainmail and a hammer.  Andy held up the hammer and said “Eight pound warhammer, made from cast iron pipe pieces.”  Bart yelled “You have less than twenty seconds.  Use the warhammer bitch, use it.”  The camera followed Andy as he ran screaming like Private Fat Body towards the last zombie.  Andy in that last moment retained the dramatic sense to pause for Bart to capture the climax.  “There can be only one” gasped Andy as he smashed the last zombie’s head with the huge improvised sledgehammer.  The blow splattered the zombie’s head like a watermelon, smashed all the way through the torso, and splintered the wood stake cornholed into the torso.  “Time,” yelled Bart as he held up the stopwatch as proof.  Andy had indeed won the 5 Minute/10 Zombie Kills Challenge with only seconds to spare. 

The film ended and Andy and Bart held their breath like indie filmmakers at Sundance.  There was stunned silence from Sara, Teresa, Glen, and Julia.  Jerry finally was the first to speak.  “That is the greatest thing I’ve ever watched, you’re hired.”  Being the voice of reason in the Garcia household and Jerry the little boy all grown up, Sara spoke with him privately before he went completely off his head.  “Honey, you really shouldn’t hire these two 15 year olds.”  Jerry was incredulous.  “They’re twenty, twenty-one at least.”  “Jerry, I’m talking about their mental ages.”  Jerry laughed, “alright, you got me there, but, remember the old saying about there being safety in numbers.”  Jerry, the so called authority looked smug.  Sara wasn’t buying it.  “Jerry sweetheart, the numbers show we can’t afford to feed every stray who wanders in.”  “Yes, yes,” Jerry said impatiently, “but these guys are fighters.”  “Zombie fighters” retorted Sara.  Jerry wasn’t sure how he should answer that one.  “Honey, the bottom line is if we take in anyone we’ll have to make them de facto family members, anything less would become unbearable for them and us.”  “How about we treat them exactly like Michael and the Reids?  We let them live on the property with the proviso they feed themselves?”  “Done, if they go for it.”  Jerry broke the news to Andy and Bart.  “I’m sorry guys; the wife won’t let me hire you after all.  To hire you I’d have to pay you in meals.  Sara is the keeper of the pantry and has reminded me we don’t have that much food stocked up.”  “Well partner” said Bart, “looks like its snake kabob again tonight.”  Now it was Andy and Bart’s turn to have a private discussion.  They stepped away and confabbed for a while before Andy delivered the verdict to Jerry.  “Mr. Garcia, if it’s okay with you we’d like to move our pallet tent to your property and we can get our own food.  Where we live now we can’t protect what little supplies we have.  We’ve also been spending way too much time hiking to water.”  “Sounds good to me” said Jerry.  “By the way, what’s a pallet whatever you said?”  “Pallet tent Mr. Garcia” said Andy.  “Bart and I found a stack of pallets behind a pottery store and we stacked them together into a sort of tent.  We also found a dumpster filled with packing paper.  We crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into the open spaces between the pallets as insulation.”  “That’s pretty ingenious you two” said Jerry.  “I have hammers and nails and saws and I bet with a little work we could improve your design.”  There was a silence and Jerry saw the two young men were hemming and hawing.  “Well Mr. Garcia” said Andy, “that’s a nice offer but Bart and I have a better idea but we can’t do it without help.”  “What do you have in mind?”  “Bart and I found one of those camper trailers that can fit on the back of a pickup and we couldn’t help but notice you own a pickup Mr. Garcia.”  It didn’t take long for the boys to rope Jerry into agreeing to help them haul the camper to Casa Garcia.  Jerry insisted it be placed on the west side of the garage so it wouldn’t block Jerry’s current lines of fire.  To seal the deal Jerry invited Andy and Bart to dinner.  Jerry let them sleep in the garage for the night and they headed out the next morning after a hearty breakfast. 

Jerry asked Teresa to come along.  He told her privately he wanted her to in effect guard the young men without them knowing she was doing it.  Jerry didn’t think it was a sound idea for him or anyone else to be alone with strangers until they gained trust through long association.  Jerry strongly believed in the “Trust but verify” doctrine.  Even if Jerry completely trusted Andy and Bart it made sense to have Teresa guard them against being jumped by a gang or whatever while the three worked.  Judging by the smiles on their faces the two young men didn’t have any objection to Teresa tagging along.  During the ride towards Placerville she rode in the pickup bed with the boys.  She watched them and Andy and Bart certainly enjoyed watching her.  After a series of directions relayed via open window the four arrived at the camper.  It was sitting on the ground in the backyard of a burned-out home.  They exited the Frontier and stood in a line behind the camper’s open door.  Teresa being a curious kitten cracked the door wide open and poked her head inside.  She recoiled so fast Jerry was sure she had stumbled on someone hiding inside.  Jerry found he had shouldered his M16A2 and drawn down on the camper.  Teresa was bent over and was gagging.  A long tendril of something that looked like raw egg white hung from her chin and twitched.  “Hold up Mr. Garcia” said Andy.  “We were just about to warn you about the smell.”  Teresa wiped her chin.  “You fucking retards, I’ll kill both of you slowly.”  Bart had his hands up in a placating manner and said to Teresa, “I’m sorry… Um miss, let me explain.”  Teresa had partially recovered and was holding the Talo .22 at the hip.  The barrel however was pointed somewhere near the vicinity of Bart’s gonads.  “When Andy and I found this trailer we found a family in it; a dead family.  We don’t know if they died of hunger or dehydration.  We took out their bodies and buried them,” “burned them” Interjected Andy.  Bart gave Andy a sharp look and continued; “Yes to be exact about it we piled up the bodies and burned them.”  “Cremated them actually” said Andy.  Bart flashed anger at Andy and pointing a finger at him said, “this is a serious situation butthole.”  Andy waved his hand in the “so-so” gesture to show his dissatisfaction with his buddy being such a pussy.  This made Bart laugh despite himself.  While this was going on Jerry had tiptoed to the door of the camper and opened it wide open again with the barrel of his rifle.  Holding his breath he took a look, no bodies.  “Hey” yelled Jerry to get everyone’s attention.  “No bodies home.  Get it?  No bodies.”  Andy and Bart grinned sheepishly but Teresa was still pissed off.  “Andy” asked Jerry.  “Do you really think you can live in here?”  “Yes Sir Mr. Garcia. It needs a good airing out and we plan on stripping out the cushions but this thing will be warm and it has windows and a door and it even has a sink.”  Teresa looked unconvinced.  Jerry shrugged his shoulders and told her, “It has a sink.” 

The next problem was loading the camper onto the Frontier.  Jerry got out a bag of tools he had brought along and fished out his tape measure.  Jerry took some measurements and sadly pronounced, “It won’t fit.”  Ultimately after some trial and error the four managed to wedge the camper diagonally into the bed of the Frontier.  They used rope and ratchet straps to keep the rank smelling piece of shit from falling off during the drive back to Casa Garcia.  The end result resembled something cobbled together by Somali natives but it worked.  By the time they were ready to move out, Jerry and to a lesser extent Teresa had become fast friends with Andy and Bart.  Shared hard work will do that.  During the drive home Jerry told the youngsters the story about the guy who bought a “death car.”  “As the story goes a young man with no money who lived in the Midwest in the 80’s needed a used car.  He was checking the newspaper ads and found a mid-70’s sedan for sale in perfect running condition for just a few hundred bucks.  The young man went out to talk to the guy who was selling the car and they inspected it together.  When the youngster opened the driver side door the smell of death was so overpowering it could gag a maggot.  The kid jumped back and yelled “Oh lordy sweet Jesus what’s that smell?”  The seller got all serious and told the young man something to the effect, “well I’ll tell ya, there’s just one problem with this vehicle and the matter is slightly delicate, that’s why I left this one thing out of the ad.”  Jerry used his patented Mr. Haney impression from Green acres when he spoke in the seller’s voice.  This tickled Jerry even though the youngsters wouldn’t catch the reference in a million years.  The young man asked, “what died in there?”  “Well I’ll tell you son, the problem is an older gentleman owned this vehicle.  One morning he got in it to go to Sunday services and he had a heart attack.  Nobody found him for a couple weeks and by then he was mighty ripe.  When they found him he had turned into a human jellyfish.  His body was stuck so badly to the front seat cover the volunteer fire department wrapped it around him like a shroud and took it and him out at the same time.  I’ve tried everything I can think of to get the smell out and nothing works.  That’s why this car is such a cherry deal.”  The kid was shrewder than he looked.  He scratched his chin and offered the seller 200 bucks and the seller went for it just to get the putrid heap off his hands.  The kid drove the car home gagging the whole way even though all the windows were rolled down.”  Teresa waved her finger in front of her mouth and told the group, “I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.”  “Ah, but the story gets better,” continued Jerry.  “The young man drove the death car to his family’s farm and filled the entire interior up with fresh cut green hay.  He rolled up all the windows and left the car like that for two months.  At the end of the two months he opened all the doors and cleaned all the hay out and from that day forward the death car smelled as clean and fresh as a daisy.”  There was silence at the end of Jerry’s tale. 

When they got home Jerry backed up the truck and the group dumped the camper.  Andy and Bart stripped out anything that could hold odors, piled it up by the road, and made a bonfire.  Teresa approached Jerry and the boys.  She was holding a big orangey-yellow box.  “Grandma gave me some baking soda.  How about you sprinkle it around inside and close the camper up for a few days.  By then the smell should be all soaked up and you can sweep out the baking soda and move in.  Better than hay.” Bart and Andy were impressed and Jerry was proud.  “Boys, you’re welcome to bunk in the garage while your new quarters air out,” offered Jerry.  That’s just what they did.

Chapter 17

Asshole reallocation

Houghton woke with Sally snoring softly against his chest.  Judging from the angle of the raising sun through his window Robert had some time to reflect on the past few weeks before it was time to get up.  As he expected it hadn’t taken long for him to win the affection of his little pa-pussy using a combination of rich food and euphoria inducing medication.  Houghton had quickly become king of the reservation by being the survival king.  Houghton had learned everything he knew about wilderness survival from watching the show “Survivor.”  The main lesson he brought away from the show was the person who provided food to the tribe never got put up for elimination.  The mighty redskin hunters who used to be in charge of the reservation had failed miserably time and again at bringing home the bacon.  If Houghton remembered correctly they brought home one scrawny turkey and a couple geese and that was it.  Houghton had pointed out their inability to provide until they were out and he was in.  Tom had also been very useful.  Every Godfather needs his obedient stooge and Tom was Houghton’s Luca Brazzi.  Houghton had sicked Tom on more than one defiant almond eyed tribal elder who had refused to submit to the new world order; Houghton’s order.

Houghton with Tom’s help had come up with a surefire technique to find big game.  After that it was a simple matter of tracking them back to their lair and pouncing on them while they slept.  Houghton had woken up Sally and was in the middle of his daily morning milking when they were disturbed by a knock on the door of their private cabin.  “Bang bang bang—pause, bang bang.”  “Oh what is it you fucking cretan” yelled Houghton.  Whomever it was had shit for brains like so many of Houghton’s ragged band of followers.  The voice sounded like it belonged to that young boy what’s his name and he was trying to talk through the closed door.  Houghton pushed Sally towards the door roughly.  She opened it and at the same time hid behind it.  She had to because she was naked.  The kid stood at the door while Houghton stayed in bed.  Houghton had purposely flung off the covers so the kid could see him at full mast.  This display on Houghton’s part was worthy of a silverback gorilla.  The kid flushed and Sally giggled from behind the door.  “Mission accomplished” thought Houghton.  “What is it Jimmy?”  “Jonathan Mr. Houghton.”  “What about Jonathan?”  “Um, no Mr. Houghton, my name is Jonathan.”  Houghton sighed.  “Alright Jonathan” said Houghton as he bared his teeth, “What’s so important you would disturb me before breakfast?”  “Ah, Tom’s back and he sent me for you.  He says he found a fat cat.”  “Well Jimmy that’s different, tell Tom I’ll join him in a few minutes.”  As he spoke Houghton noticed Sally’s pudgy face sticking out from around the door.  She was biting her lip in that little girl manner that never failed to turn him on.  “On second thought Jimmy, inform Tom I’ll join him in exactly 30 minutes.”  Jonathan was shaking his head up and down like a simpleton.  “Oh yes I almost forgot Jimmy, tell Tom to have breakfast waiting for me.  I like to eat while I work.”

Houghton was relaxed and centered when he joined Tom.  Houghton was relaxed; very relaxed, Tom looked like a caged tiger as always.  As ordered Tom had breakfast waiting for Houghton and like a good servant hadn’t began eating before his master.  Houghton was polite with Tom as he was with all the help.  It doesn’t pay to be impolite to someone who can poison your soup.  “Good morning Tom” said Houghton, “how was your evening?”  “I found the best one yet so far Robert” said Tom.  “Oh good good tell me all about it.”  “Well Robert, it worked just like you said it would.  I hung out on the other side of the street from that whorehouse downtown and watched the customers.  A big fat roly-poly A-hole drove up in a fancy car all alone and stepped out with a bottle of booze.  He came out about a hour later without the booze and he had a big smile on his stupid face.”  “Oh I can only imagine” said Houghton.  “I was waiting for him in your car and I followed him all the way to his fat cat mansion.  “Tell me about where he lives Tom.”  “Well Robert, it’s the perfect setup.  He lives about 5 miles east of Placerville and he has one fat cat neighbor.  He had another neighbor but that one burned up.”  “Hmm” neighbors can be a problem Tom.”  “I don’t think so in this case Robert.  The land around each mansion is so much that they’re far away from the other houses.”  “I think I understand what you’re trying to say Tom.  There’s generous space between the mansions right?”  “That’s right Robert, that fat juicy pig is all alone in his big dark house.”  “Excellent Tom, put teams on the house for two days so we can get a feel for Mr. Fat Cat’s comings and goings.  We’ll hit him on the third day if it feels right.”  

Tom’s teams for watching the mansion amounted to two young men during the daytime and two young women at night.  He didn’t dare mix and match or his teams would spend more time screwing than watching.  As it was he had his doubts about the women.  They were dykey as hell.  The teams didn’t exactly crouch silently in a perfectly camouflaged blind, eagle-eyed and still as statues as their forefathers would have.  Instead, they gossiped and played slap and tickle like fifth-graders.  They kept at least one eye on the target mansion and recorded almost indecipherable notes regarding who came to and left from the mansion and at what times.  Did they have weapons?  What were they carrying?  At least the youngsters didn’t have cell phones to distract them; thank God. 

At supper on the third day Tom briefed Robert concerning the results.  There were people nearby so Tom addressed his boss formally.  Tom unfolded his highlighted notes but before he began he returned Robert’s binoculars.  The boss had let his watchers borrow them.  Houghton gingerly took them and gently placed them on the table next to his food.  For a fleeting moment Houghton fantasized about the young girl with cute short hair who was on Tom’s team.  The thought of her fingering his peeping glasses excited him.  When he got tired of Sally he might take a crack at the boyish girl.  “Here’s what we found out about that stingy fat cat Mr. Houghton.”  “I’m very pleased to hear what you have to report Tom, please continue.”  Houghton said this loud enough so others eating nearby were sure to hear.  Houghton loved the sound of his own voice.  What he loved more was when other people were given the privilege of hearing him speak.  The oratory arts were what had drawn Houghton to the legal profession; oh and also the money wasn’t bad while it lasted. 

“There seem to be only two people who live in that big fat house all alone Mr. Houghton.”  “Mr. Fat Cat and who else, Tom?”  “I guess it’s his wife Mr. Houghton.  She’s a dumpy fat middle-aged sow just like her husband.”  “Do you see there Tom?  You said it right there, FAT.  That’s how we pick the guilty ones, the ones who eat foie gras and drink champagne while our children on the reservation go hungry.  I ask you Tom, is that right?  Is that just?”  Houghton speared a smoked clam from a tin they had liberated during their previous asset reallocation raid.  He chucked the tidbit into his mouth and sucked on the delicious juice while he waited for Tom to answer.  Being somewhat slow Tom hadn’t realized Houghton had asked a question.  “Did anyone else come to the house while your people watched?”  “No Mr. Houghton and get this, they have a swimming pool.  It looks like they’ve been getting all their water from it.  So assuming they’ve got that place stocked to the gills with food they never have to leave.”  “Except for pussy.”  Houghton had leaned into Tom and whispered this so only he would hear.  Tom laughed; his boss had a good sense of humor.  “Did your people see any guns?  You know how I hate guns Tom.”  “No Sir Mr. Houghton.  If the Fat Cat has any guns he never brings them outside.”  Houghton was deep in thought for several moments.  “I’ve made my decision Tom.  Let’s hit him tomorrow morning at exactly 4:20 AM.”  Tom laughed an evil laugh, “you sure do have the flare for the… What do you call it Mr. Houghton?”  “The dramatic, Tom.”  “That’s right Robert, you’re dramatic.”

Reggie Collins was oblivious to Houghton’s plans.  He and his wife Laverne were only interested in riding out this horrible situation.  Neither of them had any idea just how frightening and difficult it would be to get along day by day without electricity.  Reggie had paid attention to the news before the CME and had prepared for the worst.  Reggie had stocked up on enough canned goods to keep them fed for at least several months.  By then the government was sure to have things well on the way to getting the system back together again.  Reggie was a market analyst and he understood more than the average person how the entire world follows a bell curve of ups and downs.  Financial markets had always been cyclical and Reggie presumed on a grander scale the entire world followed flowing cycles of good and bad times.  This was a bad time to be sure but it couldn’t last.  The government would fly in corn and wheat and hogs and cattle from the Midwest.  All Reggie and Laverne had to do was hold on until the government got back on its feet and saved them.  That’s what Reggie told himself and Laverne as the weeks rolled by.  In reality Reggie had witnessed the deterioration of society one more step every time he had gone into town.    

There was a bar Reggie had frequented before the end.  After the CME Reggie continued to stop by regularly and checked in with the owner for town gossip and news.  About three weeks ago Reggie found new management had taken over.  Placerville had reverted to an outlaw town much more dangerous and lawless than it had been during the height of the gold rush.  Reggie knew better than to ask the whereabouts of the old owner.  At first he had been shocked when he found out the new owner’s plans for the old bar.  As he was want to do Reggie analyzed the marketplace and came to the only reasonable conclusion; there was no liquor to sell at any price except in barter for food.  The new owner had a supply of girls who needed food.  The new owner would exchange the lady’s services for food and liquor and keep a commission for himself.  This was a sound business plan.  Reggie was down as the young people said with commissions.  He had provided Laverne with a very comfortable life based on a split on commissions.  Reggie didn’t particularly like the new owner but he was intrigued by the working girls the owner employed.  Reggie had tried to stay away, really he had, but the pressures of this new world were too much for him.  Along with food, Reggie had stocked up on booze before the CME.  Only a couple of months later he found he could trade a bottle of the good stuff for very personal attention from one or even two young girls.  Reggie felt guilty the first time and vowed it would be his last.  Unfortunately Reggie had always had poor impulse control and he visited the “Bar” just three days ago for the second time.  He was sure Laverne was clueless. 

Laverne was not clueless.  She smelled the truth on Reggie on both occasions.  Reggie’s nerves had been banjo string taut since the electricity went off and the Idledown’s home had burned.  Their neighbors had escaped by the skin of their teeth that horrible night.  Thank goodness they had a cabin near Sierra-at-Tahoe to flee to.  Reggie had always been faithful during their long marriage.  Laverne knew in her heart it was stress and powerlessness that had driven him into the arms of a floozy.   At least it wasn’t a mistress; you don’t pay off mistresses with bourbon and whiskey. 

Tom had one of the sentries wake him at midnight and he in turn made sure Robert was awake.  Tom under Robert’s direction had put together a small team of hatchet men and women for the asset or asshole reallocation raids.  Robert used the terms interchangeably depending on his mood.  Except for himself and Robert and Robert’s assistant Ms. Saunders none of the raid members were older than 18.  It was Robert’s opinion this most difficult of all jobs should be done by youngsters because they had the most to gain from each job’s successful conclusion.  This is what Houghton said in public.  In fact the truth was he had hit a resistance level over the age of 18 or so in manipulating members of his coalition in carrying out this bloody and violent work.  They had started with easy targets and quickly escalated to what law enforcement would’ve called home invasions during the old days.

Houghton addressed the raid party members before they moved out.  As he was about to speak he saw they had pranked him.  Every one of them wore a homemade headband adorned with one or more turkey feathers.  They also had face paint Houghton presumed they had produced from charcoal dust and berry juice or lipstick or who gave a fuck.  They looked like youngsters who had dressed for a theme dance at the local high.  Houghton didn’t give a rat’s ass how they dressed as long as they got the job done.  They stood in a circle around a blazing bonfire.  Before he spoke Houghton smiled his brightest toothy veneered courtroom smile to show the kids he had a sense of humor.  “I see you’ve all dressed for the occasion.”  The kids laughed, they were in high spirits.  Tonight was the equivalent of the big football game for these young people in the post CME world.  “Tonight we strike a blow for the people against two bloated food hoarders.  I personally met with them only yesterday and begged them to share some of their food with the Miwok children.  Do you know what they said?”  One spunky young girl yelled out “What did they say Mr. Houghton?”  Children, especially young girls, are so cute.  Houghton paused for dramatic effect.  This was a simple actor’s trick he learned in law school.  “They told me you dirty redskin trash could starve for all they cared.”  Some of the youngsters were dismayed at his words and others were angry.  Houghton could read a jury and he had this jury of children in the palm of his hand.  Houghton seemed to stumble for a moment and tears welled up in his blue eyes.  He cried out as if in pain and made sure all the youngsters saw the tears running down his dimpled cheeks.  “I would ask you to be merciful tonight but I know you won’t be.  These animals don’t deserve mercy.  Let me hand you over to Tom at this time if I may so he can check your weapons and equipment.”  The teenagers and especially the girls loved the man who some in the coalition had nicknamed “Shout’n” Houghton.  The girls all but swooned and were jealous of that little bitch Sally.  Mr. Houghton was so smart and sensitive.  Mr. Houghton felt pity for the fat cats they would take down tonight but he was the only one.  The raid members had gotten together earlier and had unanimously agreed tonight there would be no mercy. 

While Tom lined up the little band of young savages and checked their equipment Houghton sat on the tailgate of a truck and changed out of tennis shoes he had won during a raid.  He retrieved and put on a nice pre-broken in pair of boots he had also acquired from a raided residence.  As he changed his socks he carefully removed a Band-Aid from under his left big toe and palmed it like a stage magician.  Houghton had a dull tack hidden under the Band-Aid.  Tess sidled up to Houghton and abstractedly took his tennis shoes.  She would put them away for him like she did everything else.  This was one of the many kindnesses she did for Robert each day.  Tess acted like his good wife even though she wasn’t.  Tess also knew Robert as if she were his wife.  “Actual tears, how did you pull that one off you fakir?”  Houghton gave Tess a stony look.  He had never been able to put anything over on her.  “Look Tess, winning over kids is just like winning a generous settlement in court, it’s all smoke and mirrors.” 

The raiding team was ten strong.  Robert, Tom, Tess, and seven little Foys.  Robert felt they were cute as wolf puppies except for the males.  He rarely turned his back on any of them.  Everyone on the team was armed with something if even a butcher knife.  Sometimes the establishment could mount a spirited defense against the will of the people.  Tom had assigned a boy and a girl as outside security.  Each of them had a rifle.  (more spoils of reallocation)  The pair had gone inside when they raided their previous house.  Houghton and Tom agreed they should change up team member duties from raid to raid to keep things fresh and exciting for them.  Houghton had found the girls could be more vicious and merciless than the young gentleman.  Wasn’t it true female lions did most of the hunting while the male lions took a nap. 

Besides firearms and knives everybody had a flashlight.  Tom made sure they all worked.  There would be no flaming torches for this mob.  Who did that anyway except in the movies?  How the hell did you even build a torch and how would you keep from accidentally setting yourself and or the target structure on fire?  Strangely enough batteries had become prime booty in this new world of the People’s Revolution.  All ten of them loaded up in the one pickup.  It was a tight fit but gasoline was getting almost as precious as food and batteries.  Tom drove and Houghton rode shotgun minus the shotgun.  Touching a firearm was beneath Houghton.  Tess was in the back babysitting.  During the drive to the greedy pig house Houghton noticed Tom smelled really rank.  Tom smelled like someone had fed sauerkraut marinated in nuoc nam sauce to a goat and then punched the goat in the stomach.  After the goat threw up they smeared the vomit all over the goat’s fur and then Tom had taken the goat to bed.  If Tom kept doing the good job he had been doing for the Coalition Houghton would have to induce one of his reservation girls to clean Tom’s body and clothes with lye soap and a stiff brush.  As for Houghton he always smelled like lilacs and Sally kept him clean as a kitten with her tongue. 

Tom parked the truck half a mile from the mansion.  Nine of them walked in while one of the boys guarded the truck.  The coalition had learned the hard way on a previous raid that strange sounds, like a truck engine for example, really carried in this unnaturally quiet post CME world.  Everyone was in position two hours before the planned assault.  Houghton had a flair for building up tension in a group.  By 4:19 AM the youngsters were straining like thoroughbreds in the gate.  Houghton released them exactly on time and they swarmed the mansion like the patriots who pulled off the Boston tea party.  They usually breached houses with the truck.  One of the reservation handymen had managed to weld a scrap metal ram onto the truck’s brush guard.  Unfortunately these capitalists had a steep concrete set of steps before one could get to the main entrance.  The rear door was equally inaccessible to the truck ram.  This is where prior surveillance paid off.  The coalition had also cobbled together a one-man or in this case a one-boy handheld ram just like jackbooted SWAT pigs used to use.  On Tom’s order ram boy smashed in the rear door and several raiders poured into the mansion led by Tom.  Again, the coalition had learned the hard way front doors were always stronger and had better locks then rear doors.  Houghton with Tess at his side personally guarded the front of the house in case a squealing piggy attempted to escape.  Together they tracked the raiding parties’ progress through the two-story mansion by watching the windows.  Tess spotted a flashlight beam and told Robert,  “look, they’re already on the second floor.”  Houghton rolled his eyes and mumbled “Thank you mistress of the obvious.” 

It was all over in just a few minutes.  The front door opened and two of Tom’s bully boys dragged out Reggie and Laverne Collins.  Each was bound and gagged.  Houghton had personally taught the children how to tie escape proof bindings.  A brief foray into E.P.I.C intern bondage and discipline had come in handy in a most unforeseen manner.  The gags were absolutely necessary.  Not a single enemy of the people yet had the nobility to face the judgment of the Coalition with a modicum of reserve and dignity.  They always blubbered and begged.  Tess stood apart nervously as two of the younger girls guarded the criminals. One kneeled on the man’s stomach and rode him like a hobby horse and pretended to stab him in the face as he bucked and cried.  Their movements were almost sexual and Robert felt a tightening in his groin.  The other girl had the wife on her chubby knees and held her by the hair.  Every time the wife cried out the girl gave her a playful slap on the cheek.  This girl definitely had “Mommy” issues in a good way. 

During the next hour and a half the raiding party thoroughly searched the mansion and brought out everything useful.  The man and wife had finally cried themselves out and stared dull-eyed like steers at the slaughter house.  Houghton had the youngsters pile up the seized food and other property in a circle around the criminals.  This was evidence against them.  Several raids ago Houghton had given up the practice of leaving 20% behind for the guilty to live on for as long as they could.  For a while now the Coalition had been taking everything and leaving the guilty leeches with only their lives. 

A sick reddish sun had barely risen above the Sierras and was shining feebly through the clouds when Houghton saw his two strongest boys walking from the criminal’s four car garage with something in their hands.  It sickened Houghton when he noticed this criminal’s garage was bigger and fancier than the house Houghton had grown up in.  The garage itself was two-story and the searchers had found handyman quarters up there but no Kato.  Each boy had a coil of orange rope.  Upon closer inspection Houghton saw these were heavy duty extension cords.  As Houghton looked on the boys tied loops in the cords and swung them over a stout beam of the portico covering the front walkway.  When they saw what was happening the man and woman began wailing and again thank God for the gags.  The same little girl who had ridden the husband earlier danced around them stabbing the air and doing her best kindergarten play imitation of a war whoop.  For his part Houghton wasn’t thrilled about where this was leading.  When he alluded earlier concerning showing no mercy he meant no mercy regarding leaving any seized property behind.  The Coalition had never executed anyone before but it looked like today was that day.  Houghton could put a stop to it but did he dare?  Houghton was a consummate judge of human character and emotion.  As he looked into the eyes of each raider all he saw was bloodlust.  If Houghton defied the will of the Coalition he might find himself challenged for leadership by one of these boys, or even Tom.  If Mr. and Mrs. Fat Cat had to pay the price for Houghton to remain Executive Director of the Robert Houghton Peoples’ Coalition then so be it.

The kids dragged the man and wife towards the nooses and Houghton saw a chance to get in front of this situation.  Jogging to a position between the nooses and the prisoners Houghton spread his arms wide like a preacher.  Once he got their attention he spoke, “whoa, we can’t just string them up like this.”  Several members—no, the majority of them, balked at Houghton’s admonition.  This was the strongest push back to Houghton’s leadership he had faced since the former tribal elders attempted to rein him in.  “These criminals are guilty and we will execute them.”  The woman produced an earsplitting screech even through the gag.  “But, we have to be nice and legal about this or chance facing negative legal consequences in the future.”  Everyone in the crowd except for Tess was now stumped.  Houghton smiled inwardly at the thought he had been troubled even briefly about the possibility of losing control.  None of these useful idiots had even a fraction of the intellect needed to direct the Coalition on the path to prosperity.  Houghton let the crowd wait until he was good and ready to continue.  “As legal counsel for the sovereign Nation of the Miwok and Maidu People you have the ability to appoint me as the People’s Judge.  Is it your will that I should judge these criminals and pronounce the People’s sentence upon them?”  Houghton saw that at least a couple of the youngsters got it.  This was just like the People’s Court they used to watch on television and Robert was Judge Jew-Me.  The youngster’s eyes twinkled with excitement.  This was a fun new game.  Their happy expressions reminded Houghton of the look of a dumb animal like a puppy when it realizes it understands what to do when you’ve ordered it to heal or sit.  One of the boys yelled out “Go get em Judge Houghton” and a girl followed it up with a “Whoop whoop.”  That was it then, with a stroke of public affirmation Robert was now Judge Houghton, with more power than ever. 

Houghton, no, Judge Houghton, now turned his attention to the accused.  Torquemada himself couldn’t have felt the rush of omnipotent power which now seized Houghton’s dark and twisted soul.  He didn’t care what he said to these doomed people as long is it sounded good to his audience.  “Mr. and Mrs. Fat Cat, you’ve been accused of hoarding food and thus willfully disregarding the welfare of the larger community.  The evidence of your crimes lies all around you so you can have no defense.  This informal jury of your peers finds you guilty of this most egregious offense and as judge of the People’s Tribunal I sentence you to be hung by the neck until you are dead.”  Another thankfully muted scream from Mrs. Fat Cat.  Houghton swished his hand towards his chief henchman and pronounced, “Tom, I’m appointing you chief bailiff of the court.  Please carry out the sentence as quickly and humanely as possible.”

Before you could say Bob’s your uncle, Tom had Mr. Fat Cat hanging a foot off the ground and the two big boys shared the chore or was it the honor of hoisting up Mrs. Fat Cat beside him.  The ensuing display secretly sickened Houghton and Tess.  Houghton put on his practiced neutral courtroom expression but Tess’s face showed the full extent of her revulsion and horror.  Houghton held her hand and squeezed hard but Tess never felt it.  Tess was mesmerized by the sight of Mr. Fat Cat’s legs pumping in the air like he was running.  This continued it seemed forever until his legs finally ran out of steam and his body went limp.  Someone had tied Mrs. Fat Cat’s ankles together when she had been captured.  This made her move in a different manner when the boys strung her up.  Her entire body convulsed in a caterpillar like motion and Tess wasn’t able to will herself to look away as the woman’s face turned blue and then purple.  The next thing Tess detected was the smell of throw up.  She found herself on her knees with Robert bent over her.  “Breathe” said Houghton, “I’ll have one of the girls clean you up.” 

Not long later, Tess sat in the truck in Robert’s seat with the A/C blowing in her face.  One of the girls had taken off Tess’s blouse and bra and cleaned her up with a damp washrag.  Robert hadn’t been able to keep from peeking and had caught a glimpse of side boobage while the girl worked on Tess.  Tess didn’t know it but she was now wearing one of the executed criminal’s tops.  While the boys and girls loaded the first pile of reallocated property into the truck bed, Houghton had some quite time with Tom.  “Tom, we haven’t ever taken the time to shoot the breeze have we?”  “No Mr. Houghton.”  “One thing I’ve been curious about Tom, what’s your last name?”  “Oh, that’s not important Mr. Houghton.”  In reality Tom didn’t have any idea what his original last name had been.  He remembered the last names of some of his many foster parents but he never felt right about using those names. 

Time for another topic.  “Okay,” said Houghton.  “Tom, when I first meet you they had you locked up.”  “And?” “Well Tom, you’ve thoroughly impressed me with your organizational and people skills.  Don’t get me wrong big fella, you’re no Tess, but you’re at least a Tess Junior.”  “And?”, “And I was wondering why the Man had you locked up.”  “You know it’s not polite to ask a guy that question Robert.”  Houghton started to squirm.  Tom was a man mountain of a Highland gorilla.  Tom started to laugh and Houghton started to relax.  “I’m just fuck’n with ya boss.  The truth is the sheriffs had it out for me but for good reason.  I had got in a fight at a car dealership and I hurt a skinny vato who washed the cars.  I left and came back later that night and punctured every tire and smashed a few windows before an alarm went off.  I left again but those suckers had me on video.”  “I remember that” said Houghton, “that was you?”  “Uh-huh.  Anyway I got picked up and they sent me in to be mentally evaluated.”  “72 hours right?”  “No almost three months.”  “Oh, how did that go?”  “Pretty well Robert, I learned lots about me and my temper.”  “That’s good” said Houghton.  There was a pause while they watched the young people do all the work.  Part of that work was grave digging.  It would be unwise as well as unsanitary to let the dead Fat Cats hang out.  One of the young men who had hoisted Mrs. Fat Cat like a flag now found himself on the wrong end of a garden spade.  He was an average teenager and bitched as he dug.  Bitch as he might he didn’t dare stop until Tom got tired of supervising him.

“Are you curious about what they told me Robert?”  “Well, it would pass the time.”  Houghton was being cagey.  In truth he was figuratively dying to hear what the head-shrinkers told Tom.  “Okay boss here goes.  The bottom line is the psychologist who wrote up my profile said I have a non-specific personality disorder.”  “Tisk-tisk” chided Robert.  “That sounds ominous.”  “Oh, it gets worse boss.  He also said something about there’s evidence I have a marked mind-set of powerlessness along with deep undercurrents of anger, aggression, and hostility.”  Robert shrank back in mock fear and said in a quivering voice, “please tell me that’s it Tom, no more please.”  Tom looked pensive for a moment and continued, “I remember a little bit more if you can stand it Robert.”  “In for a penny, in for a pound, just don’t hit me.”  “Another psychiatrist, a fucking cunt who was a real tight ass wrote that I’m a socially isolated individual with personality dynamics that negatively increase my propensity towards a transient lifestyle.”  “In other words you were a street person.”  Tom smiled at Robert, “exactly, how come you get it and she didn’t.”  “You had me at fucking cunt Tom.”  “Wait a minute, one thing-- you said you were on a car lot” “Car dealership” Tom interjected.  “Yes,” if you were homeless what were you doing at a car dealership?”  “Just looking boss, a man can dream can’t he?”

Chapter 18

Eat the ugly ones first

Rossi wanted food but he needed drugs.  He hadn’t had any good drugs in years.  He traded for a tab of acid one time in the joint but that was it besides pruno and his old standby, tetrachloroethylene.  Now that he and his crew had food and water and guns and wheels and hot and cold running pussy the only thing missing was getting high.  Before he had so inconveniently been sentenced to state prison, Rossi had a sweet deal going with a veterinarian were he used to live in Riverside.  Rossi used to trade the vet stolen jewelry and other stuff for puppy uppers and doggie downers.  That had been the best shit Rossi ever had.  Maybe it was because the “doctor’s” shit was always pure or maybe dog pills have to be stronger than people pills because you know, dogs are tougher than people.  That crooked vet had even hooked Rossi up with some PCP way before that shit ever hit the streets.  Rossi couldn’t give you even one name of one of the last five presidents and it would task his brain if he had to rattle off the names of more than 10 states.

However, like most connoisseurs, Rossi never forgot the name of something that got him high.  What he wouldn’t do for some Rimadyl or better yet a big bottle of Tramadol.  One of the first things Rossi had done was put out the word for his supply parties to let him know if they found anyone who kept livestock or better yet an actual veterinarian office.  His hopes and dreams had been rewarded just this morning when two of his men reported they found an isolated ranch.  The ranch was plum for plundering and better yet there was a sign out front which read “Dr. Walker, veterinarian services, welcome.”  Rossi left two guys to watch the slaves and took his hardest hard cases with him to go get his drugs.  Using their correctional officer jumpsuits plus some Army fatigues they had acquired they simply drove up to the residence in broad daylight and demanded entrance. 

Dr. Misty Walker was a fifty something woman who had dedicated most of her life to the care and welfare of animals.  Possibly she had spent more time with them then with her own husband.  Whatever the reason they had divorced some years ago and Misty retained the ranch and her practice and had been paying spousal support until the lights went out.  Once Misty had assured herself that the electricity would be out for some time she settled into a routine of caring for the animals she had owned or was boarding when the CME hit.  Misty had started the emergency with two horses and six dogs and several cats.  Up till now she hadn’t lost a single one and had enough feed to keep them and herself healthy for the immediate future.  What she had lost was her help.  Prior to the CME Misty had a ranch hand and a receptionist.  After the CME hit both of them stopped coming to work.  While it was true Misty had lost the ability to pay them she could have compensated them in food as long as they didn’t mind eating the same corn based chow she and the animals had been eating.  As one might expect Misty’s help had stopped showing up immediately after the electricity failed.  Misty presumed either they couldn’t get to work or they decided their homes and immediate families were their priority.  Misty wasn’t quite sure exactly how bad things were out there but she knew it had to be very bad because not a single family had come by to pick up their boarded animals.  She would’ve thought that at least the Matthews would’ve picked up Rio and Lady because they were transportation that would never need gasoline. 

Misty was busy doing chores when she heard the sound of crunching on her gravel driveway.  This was her first visitor in weeks and she smiled broadly.  Even though the animals kept her company she missed human interaction.  Misty at first became apprehensive when she saw it was two cars, not one, which had driven up.  She was relieved when she saw policeman and soldiers exit the vehicles. 

Rossi was in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle.  He couldn’t have been more relaxed as they drove up to within feet of Dr. Walker’s front door.  The correctional officer uniforms had been a true stroke of Rossi’s genius, or at least Street Smarts.  The military uniforms added to the deception.  “Good morning sir or ma’am, we’re from the government and we’re here to help.”  Rossi chuckled at the thought.  “We’re here to help all right--help ourselves to everything you’ve got.”  Rossi was slightly disappointed when he saw the presumed Dr. Walker step out onto the front porch.  Was it too much to expect a country bumpkin doggie doctor to look like the girl in Rossi’s favorite 90’s rock video?  “She’s my cherry pie, la la la de la,” Rossi had never learned all the words.  From the looks of her this old bag wasn’t even a turd pie.  “Ah well, time to sweet talk the old witch.”  Rossi realized the good doctor (or was this the doctor’s wife?) possibly kept all the good stuff in a locked safe.  While it would be fun to watch the boys peel a safe, Rossi decided he would try talking the doctor into doing this the easy way.

Rossi leisurely stepped from the vehicle and stretched and lazily looked around like he owned the place.  This dumb doctor and whoever else was home didn’t know it yet but as of now Rossi in fact did own the whole spread and everyone on it.  The members of his crew exited the vehicles and fanned out for security and also as a show of force.  The effect of those military rifles on the straights was phenomenal.  Every time one of them got a gander at one of those mean look’n mothers with the banana clips their eyes got wide and they got all submissive.  Rossi noticed Dr. Walker or his wife, whatever, didn’t matter, didn’t respond the way he’d expected.  She was holding her ground and gave Rossi the old hairy eyeball.  Rossi walked right up to her easy peasy and stuck out his hand.  “Good morning ma’am, I’m officer Rossi, are you Dr. Walker?”  Rossi didn’t even bother using the name patch name on his jumpsuit.  Nobody ever seemed the notice.  The woman tentatively and rather limply shook Rossi’s hand.  “Yes I’m Dr. Walker, how can I help you officer?”  “Well ma’am as you know, the governor declared martial law and this is a state of emergency.”  Rossi hurried on with his canned speech before this dried up old bitch could object.  “This being the situation presently it is my job to check all medical facilities for medication.”  Rossi had made a mistake.  He had planned to ask about other people at the ranch first but he had forgotten to do that.  For all he knew there could be some hidden asswipe pointing a 12 gat at his head this very second.  Rossi decided to let one of the guys do the talking on the next job.  The yammering of the bitch broke Rossi’s introspection.  “Check my medication?”  “Yes ma’am, as you may know there’s lots of injured people in the cities and towns and I’ve been given the job to find medication for those poor people.”  “Well I guess treating people is just as important as treating the animals.”  Rossi smiled a disquieting crocodile smile.  “Don’t you know it stupid bitch, and I need the full treatment,” thought Rossi.  “Oh yes ma’am, now where do you keep your prescription medication?” 

Dr. Walker led Rossi and one of his underlings to her office.  On the way Rossi asked what most people would consider a completely innocuous question “Are you here all alone ma’am?”  This question was actually a go ahead for immediate rape and murder if the doctor answered the question as Rossi hoped.   If anyone else was present the R and M would have to wait until Rossi’s crew gathered up all the victims.  “Well” sighed Dr. Walker, “I’m afraid it’s just me and the animals.”  “Not for long” thought Rossi.  As usual Rossi had been right.  This doctor like most of them kept her best and most effective meds in a safe hidden away in a protective corner.  Rossi’s palms itched and his mouth watered like a dog waiting for a bone as the doctor opened her combination safe.  This moment was like Christmas for Rossi, such a wonderful time.  The all so helpful Dr. Walker started taking out Costco sized jars of all the best shit from the safe and stacked it on the edge of her desk for “Officer” Rossi’s perusal.  Rossi spotted a small vial and squatted to read the label.  Ketamine.  In the joint this one vial of Special K and some works could get Rossi a couple year’s worth of blowjobs and companionship from his choice of an endless supply of hairless, barely legal twinks.  Jackpot.  Rossi next asked about guns, none huh, oh well.  Rossi finished the tour of his new prize with a lookie loo of the animals and the doctor’s supply of food for them.  Rossi’s crew were mostly animals and he figured they could just as easily eat dog chow as anything else.  Sad to say Rossi had recently really come the miss the wonderful slop they had served him in Folsom.

The time finally came when Dr. Walker had outlived her usefulness to Rossi.  “Officer Pesado, would you please show the doctor your paperwork?”  This was code for “Fake Officer Street Monster, please take this sweet lady and give her your most spirited R and M treatment somewhere away from me so I can fucking concentrate.”  Officer Pesado dropped the “good guy” façade like someone had thrown a switch.  As Rossi watched he grabbed Dr. Walker by the hair and began dragging her off like a big cat would drag off a helpless gazelle.  Predictably she screamed bloody murder and maybe she was psychic because that’s exactly what awaited her.  Rossi rubbed his temple and moaned in a slightly lower level than the doctor.  Rossi felt one of his sick headaches coming on.  Fake Officer Pesado was supposed to lead the victim somewhere private and then jump her or him.  It was so hard for a man like Rossi to get good help these days especially when most of his guys were sociopaths.

For the next few hours Rossi supervised the systematic search and seizure of everything useful from the Walker ranch.  Rossi briefly considered simply bringing the slaves and the entire camp to the ranch and moving in.  This place even had built in quarters for the girls; cages.  It was a tempting idea but Rossi ultimately dismissed it as too dangerous.  God only knew how the local hicks would react if they found Rossi’s little Manson family had taken over the premises.  Luckily, Dr. Walker owned a big GMC shit-kicker truck and a flatbed.  Rossi had the guys load up every bag of dog food along with the small amount of people type food the doctor had left.  Rossi didn’t have quite so much luck with the two horses Dr. Walker showed them.  None of his current guys knew a damn thing about horses.  The worst of it was one of the guys who Rossi had worked with in the laundry did know all about horses.  His name was Richard Rudd and he’d worked for some time with horses and other livestock on a CDC honor ranch.  Unfortunately, Richard had been one of the guys who had lit out that first night after they left the joint.  One of his current guys at least found some rope so they could lead the horses back to their campground.  Even though nobody found a saddle Rossi figured if they had to his group could do what those faggy French like to do with horses.  Near the end of the loading process one of Rossi’s boys stepped up with a dog under each arm. “What do we do with these Rossi?”  This kid’s name was Baxter and he was a true idiot even by jailbird standards.  If Rossi had been wearing a hat he would have smacked the kid with it.  “Isn’t it obvious Jackass?  Take em and we’ll eat the ugly ones first.”

About this time Pesado the pest exited the main door of the attached veterinarian office.  He was pulling on a leash and Rossi didn’t see Pesado’s latest mischief until he noticed the rest of the guys laughing.  The leash was attached to a dog muzzle and Pesado had somehow fitted the muzzle to Dr. Walkers face.  The funniest part was it looked for all the world like the doctor had a big old black leather dick coming out of her mouth.  She was buck naked of course and as Pesado pulled she crawled forward on her hands and knees exactly like a little doggie.  Dr. Walker was crying softly and black mascara ran down the corners of her eyes mixed with copious tears.  This was Pesado’s moment and Rossi let them enjoy the limelight.  Pesado led the doctor onto the dead lawn in front of the office and stood by nonchalantly.  After a moment he began whistling exactly like he was waiting for his doggie to take a piss.  This brought on another wave of guffaws from the group.  As Dr. Walker’s frame shook and she lamented over what cruel turn of fate had brought her to this moment, Pesado waved to Walker’s ass and made a gesture which silently asked; “does anyone want a piece?”  Not finding any takers Pesado took out a 9mm pistol he had previously taken away from a dead soldier and shot Dr. Walker in the back of the head. 

The drive back to camp was uneventful but slow because of the fucking horses.  As Rossi’s crazy caravan crawled along at a trot, Rossi spotted fresh meat walking along as pretty as you please.  It was a young girl, so far, so good.  From the back she appeared to be in her late teens and had brunette hair to her waist.  She was wearing orange short shorts and the cutest cowgirl fuck me boots Rossi had seen since before the last time he got sent up.  Strangely she had apparently modified multiple layers of plastic grocery bags into some sort of makeshift backpack.  As Rossi’s lead vehicle approached, the young girl turned around and began walking backwards and stuck out her thumb.  Rossi was so dumbstruck he failed to react and his driver drove right past her.  Rossi finally got his act together and craned his head over until he was resting against the kid’s chest.  In this position Rossi got a clear view of the girl in the driver’s side mirror.  She had turned around again and was holding up a hand to the side of her head with thumb and little finger extended like a telephone.  As Rossi watched she mouthed the words “Call me.”  Rossi was in love. 

“Stop the fucking car” yelled Rossi.  The car behind also stopped.   So did the crew’s new truck and trailer with attached horses.  Rossi had taught the guys a few things during the past weeks.  One of the first things he taught them was not to do shit until he ordered them to do it.  Bearing that in mind, a group of guys in the second car sat there within a few feet of the girl and did their best to ignore her and twiddled their thumbs as they waited for Crazy Pauli to fucking do something.  For his part Rossi decided he had to have this bitch one way or another.  On a whim he decided to be a gentleman about it.  Rossi tilted the rearview mirror and began slicking back his greasy hair with spit covered fingers.  Self grooming is a subtle sign of sexual attraction, so is panting.  Rossi found himself like a male bitch in heat over this new bitch.  “Time to turn on the Rossi charm.”  Rossi lurched from the vehicle with the grace of Frankenstein’s monster.  Rossi had taken a doggie downer or three before they left the ranch and yes he was a tad fucked up. 

Rossi staggered over to the new girl and unconsciously stood up straight so he’d look taller.  Rossi swept his arm like the gallant Medici prince he wasn’t and said, “how’s it go’ in little lady…would you like a ride?”  The new girl put a finger in her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl.  This was an act of course.  She had copied the coquettish move from a porn flick and had found over the years it never failed to woo suckers.  “Can I ride on your lap daddy?”  Rossi was now in love and lust.  The new girl did indeed ride on Rossi’s lap and all the way back to the campground Rossi wished they had been riding in the stiff springed pickup.  Not that Rossi could get it up after the downers he had downed. 

During the ride Rossi found out this petite new girl’s name was Kim Snyder but she preferred Kimmy.  Most guys would have found her bee sting sized titties a turn off but not Rossi.  Kimmy had fooled lots of guys with them.  Although she looked like jailbait Kimmy was 24 going on 34.  Kimmy lied through her teeth about her background and history to Rossi and the dolt bought every word.  They always did.  Kimmy had her thumb out and her legs spread since age twelve when men, including her fucking mother’s boyfriend, first started noticing her body.  Kimmy was an eternal victim and in her conniving mind nothing was ever her fault.  In the past few months including even before the sun exploded Kimmy had Jezebeled her way out of two groups in a row.  Kimmy started off by Yokoing an entire chapter of the Demons motorcycle club to the point several members nearly killed each other over her.  Kimmy had wisely fled before they turned their attention on her.  Another group took her in based on Christian charity alone shortly before everyone in the state ran out of food.  Unfortunately for Kimmy even Christian charity has a limit.  By nature Kimmy was a lazy but violent Lolita with a clever mind.  If she remembered correctly the leader of the Christian group she failed to seduce called her (quote) “A hostile and disruptive lost child” just before he banished her from the congregation.  Kimmy was perfect for Rossi’s gang. 

The first thing Rossi ordered Kimmy to do besides sucking his dick was to call him “Master.”  Rossi didn’t yet know it but Kimmy wasn’t exactly comfortable with following orders.  Okay whatever, for now this would be a fun game; master and servant.  Coincidentally that was the title to one of Kimmy’s mom’s favorite old songs.  “This old goat “master” Rossi and my mom have a lot in common” thought Kimmy.  The second thing Rossi did was line up all the girls and introduce them to Kimmy.  Nobody in camp was old enough besides Rossi to know it but as he lined up the girls he pictured himself as Mr. Rourke from a TV show from his childhood.  Rossi always used to enjoy even as a young child how Mr. Rourke wearing his shiny white suit used to line up all the island’s Polynesian looking chippy girls for inspection.  As Kimmy watched, Rossi not only lined the girls up he also rearranged them in an order Kimmy would soon learn went from highest in ranking to lowest.  At the head of the line was head bitch Liz Brown.  Liz was Rossi’s number one girl and Kimmy’s number one target.  As Kimmy stood at attention she counted her rivals.  Thirteen girls in all.  “That’s a lot of girls.”  Three girls at the end of the line were completely naked except for shoes and the rest of the girls were only topless.  In this group being topless was better than being naked.  Kimmy wanted to be topless.  Being a smart girl Kimmy seized the moment to take the initiative and shucked off her top.  Since she really didn’t need one Kimmy never wore bras.  Kimmy stood back at attention and did her best to thrust out her puffy grade school sized chest.  Several of the girls began tittering and a couple laughed out loud at Kimmy.  Kimmy would kill the laughing cows first.  All the guys were standing around enjoying the spectacle and none of them could tell that Kimmy was seething inside.  Kimmy had years of practice at this charade.  She was absolutely still and wore an amused little girl smile.  What only Kimmy knew was her smile was the smile of a baby cobra. 

Her new old man (ha ha) Rossi walked up beside Kimmy and explained to her and the crowd something she had already figured out.  “Girls this is Kimmy.”  Silence.  “Well, say hello you cum dunts.”  There was a weak chorus of “hi Kimmys” and “hello Kimmys.”  “Kimmy being the bright girl you are I see you’ve already noticed that all you girls must be at least topless at all times.  Good girls can stay completely naked if they wish…but so far no one has.”  The lined up girls and especially the only topless girls booed and cat-called for a few seconds.  Rossi let them settle down and eyeballing the three girls at the end of the line he continued.  “Bitchy, mopey, and or defiant girls will stay completely naked until they learn to obey.”  Rossi noticed the three girls were slump shouldered and avoided his gaze, this was a good sign.  Rossi now turned his attention back to Kimmy.  “Oh Kimmy, just so you can’t say you weren’t warned, my crew has no need and no time to deal with girls who try to run off.  If you try to run away the boys and I will vote you off the island…permanently.”  Rossi did a pretty good impression of a cowering and silently screaming female and cut off the impression with a tomahawk chop.  Most of the guys copied their boss, especially the amusing chopping part and most of the girls visibly cringed.  Kimmy was different, she took in the entire horrible tableau with a smile.  Rossi finished the lineup by personally introducing each of the girls by name to Kimmy.  This was actually pretty easy because Rossi had named some of the girls himself.   He started with Liz his old lady and worked his way down.  Kimmy keenly paid attention to each name, anything to gain an advantage.  She especially noted nicknames and which girls had them.  There was “Angina Vagina,” “Moaning Lisa,” “Anna Mule,” “Jit Jill,” “Weepy Twat,” and Sweet Hole Alabama.  “I can definitely work with this group,” thought Kimmy. 

Within a week Kimmy was Rossi’s number two girl and was on her way to number one.  That’s right, Rossi had two bitch slaves and so did most of the other guys.  Rossi had found it impossible to enforce his “one cunt at a time” rule.  Only Gas Bitch and his stuttering nervous buddy only owned one slave apiece and they had been given two of the girls who were always completely naked and weepy.  Kimmy had noticed right off the bat that Liz was very disappointing in the sack for both her master and herself.  Liz always had a bitter beer face when she should’ve been smiling.  “Why can’t a girl put a sparkle in her eyes and smile or better yet open her mouth when her man wants it most.”  All the better for Kimmy.  Also, and even more disappointing for Kimmy on a personal level, Liz adamantly refused to engage in any sort of girl on girl action.  “Hadn’t this stupid whore even been to juvi?”  Beginning the first afternoon she met him, Kimmy was a bitch in heat for Rossi and in turn he pretended to be a rutting ram.  Before she knew what happened Liz was out and Kimmy was in.  Kimmy greedily took over Liz’s spot as head bitch.  Kimmy’s main job was ensuring that the other girls did their chores and did other things to keep the men happy.  She also remembered which girls had laughed at her and made them pay.  Kimmy also appointed herself head chef even though she didn’t know shit about cooking.  Before her mom died she told Kimmy more than once she should be a whore in the bedroom (check) and Donna Reed in the kitchen.  Kimmy had no idea who this chick was but she understood men like a girl who can cook a meatloaf.  Cooking for the crew was actually reasonably easy because they mostly ate dog food mush and roast beast. 

Liz started getting real lippy with Kimmy after their master put Kimmy in charge.  The fuming and dirty looks came to a head a few days later when Liz refused to fetch Kimmy a bucket of water.  “I’m not your nigger slave Kimmmmy, you and your skinny ass can fetch your own water.”  This was the last straw and how dare Liz sass Kimmy in front of the other girls.  If Liz had been on the streets half as long as Kimmy she may have seen the ass whopping coming.  Kimmy’s tight smile was one clue.  Her stiffening rosebud nipples were another.  The big clue and the most important one Liz missed was Kimmy’s rings.  Kimmy wore a lot of oversized sterling silver rings for a young girl.  She always wore several and only took them off when she was working or fucking.  As Liz pranced around the campground smug in her victory after finally telling off this flat-chested upstart, Kimmy took all her rings out of her shorts pockets and put them all on her left hand.  Kimmy was sinister handed.  All of the men in Rossi’s crew knew all about fighting rings but unfortunately for Liz she didn’t know squat.  Liz never saw Kimmy sneak up behind her.  She felt someone yank her hair and briefly glimpsed a silvery something a split second before Kimmy punched her in the face.  Liz collapsed onto the ground out cold and never felt the additional blows as Kimmy knelt down and punched her methodically in the mouth, nose, and each eye.  By the time a couple of the guys reacted and pulled Kimmy off it was all over for Liz.  She was still alive but Gas Bitch’s girl had to lead her around for the next week because her eyes were swollen shut.  Liz also wouldn’t be talking very much for some time to come because Kimmy had broken several of Liz’s front teeth. 

Kimmy was happy as a clam.  The one-sided fight solidified her position as Rossi’s number one girl.  All the other girls obeyed her without question and even the mousey little guy nicknamed Gas Bitch and his twitchy stuttering buddy avoided her.  Kimmy had never been so happy and slept like a baby and only had sweet dreams. 

Rossi like most leaders was a mixture of contentment and apprehension.  Rossi had a lot of things to be happy about.  He had a nice quiet out-of-the-way campground all to himself with nice fresh running water and even a fucking toilet.  He had a crew who respected him and more importantly followed his orders.  He had a bevy of the choicest young girl slaves at his disposal including the pick of the litter; Kimmy.  Rossi smiled.  Kimmy sure was a pistol.  Rossi had the authority vested in him by the correctional and military uniforms he had acquired.  He had cars and trucks and a Humvee.  He had guns including several military guns that came with the Humvee.  He slept in his own RV on a soft bed every night with Kimmy snuggled up against him.  The RV was like a mansion or even a fucking castle compared to the prison cell the old world had forced him to live in before providence or possibly dumb luck had freed him.

On the negative side of Rossi’s ledger was food.  For a long time the crew thieved with their scam of shaking down refugees from the Valley.  Regrettably the supply of vehicles passing through had recently dwindled and finally all but stopped.  Rossi presumed most people had finally ran out of gas.  The crew did spot a convoy of several vehicles sometime ago led by a Mercedes SUV of all things.  Rossi briefly entertained the thought of cutting them off and ransacking them on the spot but decided against it when he noticed several rifle barrels sticking out of windows.  Everybody in both groups smiled and waved as they passed.  This was the same level of respect a pride of lions gives a cackle of hyenas on the African plains.  With the level of plundered food drying up Rossi had been forced to send out hunting parties.  He sent them out in groups of two, one to hunt and the other to cover the hunter’s back.  His best team was a couple good ol’ boys from the South who grew up eating anything that moved including their female cousins.  Over a short period of time this team had acquired hunting guns and one set of camouflage by hunting other hunters.  One of the team members wore a set of the military camouflage the crew had stripped off a dead soldier boy who no longer needed it.  The team found the military camouflage was shit compared to the civilian outfit but it was better than nothing.  The crew’s hunting parties reported the hills weren’t exactly overflowing with meat on the hoof but the Southern boys were by far the most successful.  Even after they got the hunting guns and hunting camo they continued shooting any other hunters they ran across to keep them from taking a dear or pig already earmarked for the Rossi crew. 

Rossi considered the ton of animal feed they found at the vet’s office a real boon until they had eaten nothing but corn and animal byproduct mush for some time.  It smelled terrible and tasted worse.  Worse yet it seemed the little ladies under Rossi including most of the men categorically refused to eat little kitties or doggies or even horsies.  Rossi had lots of mouths to feed and since they were so picky he began sending out additional hunting parties.  To the south was untouched territory and that’s where Rossi sent his best team. 

Ricky Newman was born in South Carolina and Denny Bliss had fled Tennessee with local law dogs hot on his heels.  As far as the other guys in the laundry had been concerned these two were practically neighbors.  They certainly sounded alike and both of them constantly pined away like schoolgirls for sweet tea and peach pie.  They were alien and might as well have come from Mars.  Being the best team they had their pick of vehicles.  They wanted the Humvee but Rossi wouldn’t let anyone drive it.  Surprise surprise their second pick was a pickup truck.  The boys had been out for two days and hadn’t found anything more substantial than one tree squirrel and one ground squirrel.  These they ate themselves.  Ricky was the most experienced hunter of the two and he had taught Denny how to still hunt.  Near sundown on the second day they were proned out on the top of a hill close to some burned down structures when they spotted two other hunters approaching them from the east.  The two were slightly below Ricky and Denny and it soon became clear neither of them had any idea they were being watched.  Ricky knew exactly how to handle this situation and froze.  He was worried about what Denny would do.  They had shot at hunters before and got them but these two were so close Ricky could throw a rock and hit em.  “Please don’t move Denny.”  Ricky thought this but didn’t dare say it.  He had learned from long experience when he was much younger that these two hunters who had blundered upon them would only see them if Denny moved.  As the hunters passed below them Ricky and Denny silently rose up and shot them in the back.  After the smoke cleared Ricky could see he did a better job of it than Denny.  The hunter Ricky had shot was stone cold dead while the one Denny had shot was hollering and carrying on like a stuck pig.  There might be others in the area.  “Denny, finish that one off.”

Denny was more than slightly unnerved.  He had shot at three or four people in the past few weeks and he may have hit one of them.  All of them were much farther away and Ricky had always done any finishing.  Ricky was a homicidal maniac compared to Denny.  Denny was just a career insurance arson artist who was struggling to stay alive in a dangerous world.  As he approached the wounded man Denny’s shotgun rattled.  When he got to within a couple feet of the wounded man the guy flipped over on his back and started to dig for something at his waist.  Denny saw this was only a young boy.  “No, wait a fucking minute, this is a girl and she’s going for a gun.”  Denny had been planning on shooting the wounded guy in the head.  For some unknown reason Denny didn’t do it.  He jumped quick as a bunny and stepped on the girl’s hand.  She yelled again and Denny dropped down on her chest and smacked the receiver of the shotgun against her forehead. That did it; she was unconscious or maybe dead.  Denny glanced at Ricky and saw he was methodically stripping his guy of guns and anything else useful.  Denny now had a decision to make and he sure as shit better make the right one.  First he found the gun the girl had been going for and retrieved it.  The gun was a shiny pistol.  “Mine now.”  Second, he started to unlace one of the girl’s combat style boots.  Denny had learned this trick from a friendly fag he met in the joint.  The guy had gone on a two year spree of drugging young men.  Once they were out he tied them up with their own shoelaces, sodomized, and finally straggled them.  Really a nice older gentleman. 

Denny tied the girl’s hands behind her back and got to work on the second boot so he could tie her legs.  Denny was almost done when he noticed Ricky kneeling down beside him.  “What the fuck are you do’in bro?”  Denny glanced up at Ricky and Denny was so happy he almost giggled.  “This is a girl Ricky.”  “Yeah ya stupid fuck; I can see it’s a girl.  You can’t keep her dummy, you already got two.”  “Oh I’m not planning on keeping her.  One of the bosses’ girls is broken so I’m gonna give him this one as a present.”  Ricky frowned.  “I guess you can you fucking suck up.”  “I guess I am.”  Denny was now certain he had made the right decision.  Ricky gave the wounded girl the once over.  There was no use presenting Rossi with a corpse or a soon to be corpse.  Denny had done a bang up job with the shotgun.  If he had used the rifle he had carried on previous hunting trips he undoubtedly would’ve missed her completely.  The shotgun was a new experiment that had actually worked out because it was good for small game.  It looked like Denny had shot this chick in the legs with birdshot, she would live.  Denny began searching the girl as Ricky retrieved her girl-sized rifle and slung it over his shoulder.  Denny caught Ricky’s attention when Denny yelled “Oh fucking hell” loud enough to wake the dead.  Denny had unzipped a pocket on the vest the girl was wearing and was pointing at something.  “Is that a fucking grenade?”  Ricky nonchalantly reached over and held the object up in front of Denny’s face.  Ricky examined the object for a few seconds and said “gee Denny, I don’t know buddy…looks like a grenade to me.  I found two of em on the dead guy over there.  If you’re afraid you’ll blow your balls off I’ll carry them.”  Ricky saw the western horizon was blazing pink; it was almost sunset, time to hurry.  “Denny, get your ass in gear and throw your dead piece a tail over your shoulder and let’s get moving to the road.” 

When Denny picked the girl up she woke up and started struggling.  She also yelled right in Denny’s ear until he threw her down and gagged her.  Denny and Ricky moved west and downhill until they reached the road.  This was just the first leg of their journey because the truck was parked almost a mile away.  Since this was all his idea Denny was elected by Ricky to stay with the girl while Ricky hiked to the truck and brought it back.  As he waited for Ricky to return Denny studied his captive.  She was very young and very pretty in a rough sort of way.  She was dressed like a little soldier and from the way she tried to draw down on Ricky he knew it wasn’t all for show.  At first her pretty eyes showed fear but by the time Ricky returned with the truck Denny only saw hate.  If she hadn’t been trussed up like a Thanksgiving Turkey this girl’s hateful stare would’ve given Denny the willies.  Denny unceremoniously hoisted the girl up and chucked her over the tailgate.  Denny took the extra precaution of looping a rope noose around the girl’s neck.  The noose had already been in the truck and was left over from the time the crew captured their Alabama slave.  Denny and Ricky had both wanted her because she was a down home southern lady (hee hee) but Rossi gave her to one of the other guys.  Since the girl was fully awake Denny pulled an imaginary noose around his neck and stuck out his tongue and play acted like he was strangling to show the girl what would happen if she managed to jump or fall out of the pickup.  With the girl secured Ricky pointed the truck north and they headed back to camp to show Rossi all the high-speed guns and equipment they had taken off the two hunters and present him with a new slave.  Denny was certain Rossi would look upon him with a new appreciation after this one.  It had been a good hunt.

Chapter 19

Death and destruction

When Jerry woke up it was dark and he was cold and his head hurt like someone had smacked him with a baseball bat.  He was very weak and had no idea where he was or what was going on.  He blacked out for an unknown period of time and awoke feeling somewhat better except he was shivering.  It was still dark but this time Jerry was able the form the thought “Don’t fall asleep” in his mind.  His thoughts were still muddled but he now remembered where he was or at least had been and what he had been doing.  More importantly he remembered Teresa.  “I was patrolling with Teresa.”  Jerry reached for his rifle and couldn’t find it.  He reached for his Glock 19 and couldn’t find that either.  “Okay this is bad news, someone searched me.”  Jerry held up his arm and painfully brought his hand over and pressed the Indiglo button on his watch.  Whoever had searched him missed or didn’t want his watch.  Watches weren’t so important in this new world and mostly only old guys like Jerry still wore watches anyway.  According to his watch it was after 8:00 PM.  Jerry tried to remember for some time what pocket his flashlight was in and he couldn’t remember.  This fact and his general weakened state and his splitting headache were clues to Jerry that he was really messed up.  While he slowly and painfully searched his pants pockets and the mag pouches secured to his body armor for the tiny flashlight he knew he had somewhere, a part of his mind told itself to remember to tell Teresa something to the effect of “See, having a flashlight on your person even though you expect to be home before dark is a good idea.”

“Speaking of Teresa where is she?  “She was about 10 feet in front of me when I last saw her.  Is she there now dead or bleeding to death?  I have to find her.  It’s darker now at night than it used to be and I need my flashlight to find her.”  Jerry called out for her without thinking about the possible danger.  “Shit, what are you doing, the bad guys might be out there.”  Not finding his flashlight Jerry decided to crawl.  It was slow going and he measured it “Half a foot per slide forward times 10, no 20, equals 10 feet.”  When Jerry had gone what he estimated as 10 feet he was exhausted and his head, especially the back of his head, was pounding.  Jerry felt a wetness back there.  “Did someone shoot me in the head?”  Jerry felt around himself as far as he could reach and no Teresa, just crinkly dry grass and dirt.  This was useless.  “I have to get home before I can get help and come back and look for Teresa.” Jerry tentatively scrunched up on all fours pointed downhill and immediately regretted it.  The ground began spinning and he was hit by waves of nausea.  Jerry had felt this before but this time he wasn’t drunk.  A lucky break for Jerry he was too weak to throw up.  He hugged the ground and the nausea subsided.  Jerry tried again and again and eventually he was able to kneel without becoming nauseous.  He tried to stand up and fell over.  “Ouch.  Maybe crawling was a better idea for now.”  Jerry headed downhill, downhill equals home.  After an hour he had to rest.  The five minute or so break cleared Jerry’s head somehow and he found he could now stand up and actually walk.  After some time Jerry found the road that he hoped was his road.  He turned to the right and walked in the middle of the road towards home.  Soon Jerry saw a campfire ahead.  As he got closer Jerry saw the campfire was by a tent and beyond the tent was a house, his house. 

Jerry was glad to find his neighbor Michael Weber was on guard and he gave Jerry the old “who goes there” routine as Jerry approached.  After he recognized Jerry, Michael woke up Glen and Julia and they walked Jerry the final 50 yards to his home.  Jerry had been moving by sheer force of will alone and collapsed when he saw Sara.  When Jerry next woke up he was in bed and the light filtering around the blinds told him it was sunup.  Sara was there.  “Wakeup sweetheart, you have to get up, our granddaughter is out there somewhere.”  “What?” replied Jerry.  “You told me last night to wake you up at sunrise so you can find Teresa.  Andy and Bart and Glen are already dressed and have volunteered to go with you.”  “What?”  “Andy and Bart and Glen.  Can you sit up for me?”  As she said this Sara gently slapped Jerry’s cheeks with two fingers.  Jerry felt a growing sense of dread, something bad had happened.  “What happened?  Is Teresa here?”  Sara had reached for a glass of water and held it to Jerry’s mouth.  After he drained the glass he said, “never mind, I remember, she’s up the hill.  Did someone shoot me?”  “Wait here but stand up if you can.”  Jerry was on his feet when Sara came back into the room.  She held up Jerry’s body armor and turned it around.  Jerry saw a bullet hole at the left edge.  Sara turned and dropped the armor on the floor with a clunk.  “I think I know what happened baby, someone shot you in the back and then smacked you in the head.  Whatever they hit you with barely broke the skin.”  Jerry thought about it but the entire incident was a mystery unless; “I think I know what hit me.  I’m guessing the metal plate in the vest twisted around and clocked me when the bullet hit.  It’s also possible it hit me when I feel down, I’m not sure.”  Jerry reached up and he could feel it.  Sara had bandaged him up while he slept.  “I have to find Teresa” said Jerry.  “Yes you do” answered Sara. 

Sara guided Jerry to the front room where the guys were waiting.  The mood was somber because the guys understood they were about to go search for Teresa’s body.  Jerry felt sick.  He wished he could turn back time and take another patrol route.  Why had they been patrolling anyway?  “This is all my fault.  I was walking along in condition green like I was on a god damn walk in the park.  If I had been paying attention we wouldn’t have gotten ambushed.”  Jerry saw Glen’s wife Julia and Annie were sharing a kitchen chair, Jerry waved.  Jerry said good morning to the guys and thanked them for helping out.  Jerry saw Sara had already prepaid them at least in part with a big breakfast of old world food including oatmeal with brown sugar and honey from Casa Garcia’s own hives.  Sara put a bowl into Jerry’s hands, “eat.”  Jerry also detected what smelled like fried eggs and Spotty jerky or maybe the last of the Spam?  The condemned ate a hearty meal.  This might literally be the case because there was a reasonably good chance the search party would soon be walking into a second ambush.  As he ate Jerry noticed Sara had taken the initiative to up gun the members of the informal posse with the rifles he had retrieved from the house shooter and the wannabe raiders.  Glen Reid got the Glenfield.  Sara disappeared again and came back with Jerry’s body armor.  Jerry was drinking more water and popped a pain reliever as Sara dropped the armor on the couch.  The armor bounced off the couch and hit the floor.  It went “clunk”, again, and Sara went “shit.”  Under different circumstances this would have been amusing.  “Do you want to take that?”  Jerry viewed the armor with trepidation.  It had saved his life but right now he doubted he could hike back up the hill wearing it.  “Thanks honey, I’ll pass for now.”  Jerry addressed the guys, “any takers?”  There were murmurs of what sounded like thanks but no thanks.  Sara handed Jerry his AR-180 and he slung it over his shoulder.  Sara handed Jerry several extra mags and he stuffed them in his cargo pockets. 

Jerry ensured the guy’s weapons were loaded and that they understood how to reload them, safeties, etc. and checked for extra ammunition.  “Okay, here’s what we need to do.  I want to walk back up to where Teresa and I got hit and approach the area from the back, north side.  We will have to move very slowly when we get close to ensure we don’t blunder into an ambush like I did yesterday.  If Teresa is alive we can get boards from the burned down houses and…no bad plan.  On second thought we can use a sheet as a litter.  While Sara went to get a sheet Jerry retrieved some rope and a knife from the garage.  Dead or alive they would wrap Teresa up and carry her out. 

The group of four left soon after.  Michael Weber had night guard duty and would sleep during the day.  Jerry moved out at the fastest pace he could handle and circled far to the east before the group cautiously climbed the hill from the north side.  It was midmorning when the search party reached the ambush area.  Jerry felt a wave of relief when he found Teresa wasn’t in the immediate area.  He had expected to find her body.  Bart Barry found one empty 12 gauge shotgun shell and Jerry found a flat spot in the grass where Teresa had fallen.  He also found blood and a trail through the grass heading west.  It occurred to Jerry his worst fears might yet be confirmed.  Was it possible Teresa had wandered off like wounded game often did and they would find her body somewhere downhill to the west?  Jerry had the guys spread out into a line and they followed the trail until it ended at a secondary hardtop road.  Right there plain as day Jerry found a loaded CCI stamped .22 caliber long rifle round.  “Smart girl” thought Jerry.  Either the ambushers had carted off Teresa’s body for a reason Jerry didn’t wish to think about and this round had coincidentally fallen in this particular spot, or Teresa was alive and this was her version of a breadcrumb.  Jerry also found a single spot of what appeared to be blood on the road.  There was only one way for Jerry to confirm his suspicions.  Since this road ran north-south and the Garcias hadn’t faced any threats from the south, Jerry decided to head north; but first he consulted his map.  Jerry saw Andy was closest and waved him in.  He briefed Andy on the plan and sent Andy to relay it to Bart and Glen.  Jerry had fallen back on military training, there was no use bunching all of them up into a fat juicy target for any bad guys who might be watching.  As Jerry moved out he carefully searched the road for additional cartridges.  According to his map the closest intersection was 2 miles or so away. 

When the search party reached the intersection Jerry positioned his three teammates off the road at the south, west, and east points while he went forward and checked the northside of the intersection himself.  This was another guess on Jerry’s part.  He was guessing the ambushers had continued north.  If he didn’t find what he hoped to find he would check the west and east points of the intersection.  Jerry was also guessing the ambushers had put Teresa in some sort of vehicle because he hadn’t found any more blood.  Jerry searched the northside of the intersection starting at the limit line and found nothing.  Jerry had begun breathing hard and his body tingled with growing fear.  Jerry took a few seconds and stopped on one knee in the middle of the road and concentrated on regaining control.  This was dangerous and Jerry was completely aware he was currently a target any sniper guarding the intersection would be incapable of passing up.  After Jerry calmed down he slowly continued north and carefully scanned the road.  “Where are you” thought Jerry, “I know you’re here.”  Jerry walked north another 15 feet and there it was, a brassy glint at the side of the road.  Jerry scuttled over to the object and picked it up.  There it was and thank you God or luck or fate.  An unfired CCI .22 cartridge.  This tiny object confirmed Teresa was alive and told Jerry there was a chance he might find her.  Being a firm believer in sharing the wealth Jerry motioned for another team member, Bart this time, and briefed him on what he had found.  Bart was happy for Jerry and patted him on the back, “good job.”  Bart’s jovial mood evaporated in a flash and Jerry almost had a mutiny on his hands when he told Bart they had to return to Jerry’s house before they could take up the search for Teresa in earnest.  Jerry began walking south and before he could say “cluster fuck” Jerry had three guys snapping at his heels and arguing with him to continue the search now.  By the time they returned to Casa Garcia the other members of the search team were so disgusted with Jerry’s decision they had stopped their bitching and mumbling altogether. 

Glen Reid was the oldest and by Jerry’s estimation the most mature member of the search team.  This is why Jerry took him aside and told him his plan at the same time he told Sara.  “Sara, Teresa is alive as of last night.  The party who ambushed us took her prisoner and drove her north.”  Jerry looked at Glen when he said this next part, “I’m going to go look for her alone and it might take me many days or even a week or two to find her.”  Sara was in a daze.  As Jerry spoke she held Annie in her arms and bounced her nervously.  One saving grace was Annie was too young to understand the gravity of this horrible situation.  Glen had held his tongue until he heard this “alone” bullshit.  Now he felt compelled to speak up.  “Why do you insist on going alone Mr. Garcia?”  “Uh well Glen... I intend on stalking the kidnappers and moving mostly at night when my night vision scope gives me an advantage.”  Jerry’s words seemed to mollify Glen and Jerry watched him relax.  “Glen, I need you to tell Andy and Bart my decision.  I also need you to get the keys to my truck from Sara and drive me back to the intersection as soon as I get together some supplies I want to take.”  “Sure, I can do that Jerry.” 

As Glen moved out, Jerry started filling a medium backpack with supplies.  The first thing he reached for was one of their water purifiers.  Next in went a water bottle and a plastic bag of jerky.  Jerry added backup batteries for his Pulsar sight plus his old poncho liner.  On impulse Jerry threw in the suppressed Ruger .22 pistol.  He topped it off with extra mags for both his weapons and two grenades.  At the last moment he remembered he had a plastic bag with personal hygiene items; Band-Aids, miscellaneous pills, etc.  He also wedged in a short length of 550 cord and snuck in one of his blood coagulant pad packs when Sara wasn’t looking.  It wouldn’t do any good to remind his wife he was heading into a situation where his getting shot was more than likely.  Jerry decided to leave his armor at home.  He was still too banged up to hump it and it would slow him down.

Jerry would have taken a suppressor for his AR-180 except for one thing, he didn’t have one.  The shooters had taken both the suppressors Jerry had made except the PVC pipe model on the Ruger.  Unfortunately that one wouldn’t fit on his rifle and Jerry didn’t have time to build a new suppressor from his one remaining flashlight body.  Letting the opposition see the muzzle flash from his rifle at night would be a tactical disadvantage that Jerry would have to live with.  Jerry had selected magazines of 62 grain green tip penetrator rounds hoping they would have lower muzzle flash than his other bullet weight 5.56 cartridges.  Jerry was all packed up and Glen was waiting with the truck.  Jerry gave Sara a kiss and told her “I love you.”  Sara was taken aback.  “Jerry you haven’t told me that in years.”  Jerry was somber, “I haven’t needed to but this is different, dicey.”  Jerry held up a finger, a memory aid, “remember, I expect to be gone a while.  I have to track these vermin on foot and I have to do it slowly and carefully so I see them first before they see me.  I might be gone a week or even two.”  Sara’s eyes were swimming in tears and she was sniffling.  Jerry would have teared up except he was too frightened to be sad.  Both of them realized this was quite possibly, no, probably the last time they would ever see each other.  This rescue mission was doomed to failure but Jerry subscribed to the principal of never leaving a man (or woman) behind.  Sara was no shrinking violet and showed this side of her personality now.  “Bring her back alive Jerry and punish the people who took her.”  Jerry thought back to the last two words of one of his favorite science fiction novels from his adolescence.  “Oh, I’ll get her back all right and to the people who kidnapped her I bring death and destruction.”

Jerry found Glen waiting in the truck.  “Are you sure you couldn’t use some help?”  “Thanks Glen but no, you driving me to the intersection is dangerous enough and you have Julia to look after.”  “Right.”  As they drove Jerry covered Glen.  All the truck windows were rolled down so the two could see and hear better and shoot back if they happened to be attacked.  Over the noise of wind rushing through the truck interior Glen asked a rather uncouth question.  “Jerry you think those men will abuse Teresa?”  Jerry wasn’t surprised or shocked by the question.  This new world was like a lawless frontier and people had taken to speaking plainly.  “Don’t repeat this to my wife but I hope they abuse the hell out of her.”  Now it was Glenn’s time to be shocked but he wasn’t.  Confused yes, shocked no.  “I don’t get it Jerry.”  Jerry glanced over gravely at Glen.  “Think about it Glen, it’s either that or the stewpot.”  Glen swallowed hard. “Oh,” and was quiet during the rest of the ride.  Jerry had Glen drop him off about a block short of the intersection and Jerry melted into the short grass as Glen drove away.  Jerry low crawled to the nearest copse of trees and waited and watched and scanned with the Pulsar until he was reasonably sure no one was watching the intersection.  Jerry already knew he had to move north and he did so slowly and quietly.  What Jerry told Glen earlier about his moving mostly at night had been a gentle lie to spare his feelings.  Jerry had to move in the daytime to spot Teresa’s breadcrumbs.  Jerry didn’t spot anything the first day but he had a plan.  He would follow the dropped cartridges and bypass any houses he passed until the trail ended.  When Jerry stopped finding cartridges he would know Teresa was behind him.  This logic only held up if Teresa had stayed conscious and was able to drop cartridges during the entire trip to the enemy house or camp.  Jerry had to hope this was the case because if it wasn’t his chances of finding her was slim to none.  Jerry did at least carefully check the driveways he found leading off the main road.  Finding no cartridges he continued north.  It was also possible the kidnapper’s camp was 50 or 100 miles away.  Jerry tried to keep that possibility out of his mind.  Near sunset Jerry found water and ate some jerky and rolled himself up in his trusty poncho liner.  When Jerry had been in the Army Reserves at least three buddies over the years told him they found a poncho liner indispensable.  The reserves issued a rubber coated poncho to keep off rain and for that one purpose it worked great.  The Army also made a liner so a soldier could stay dry and warm but they never issued the liners.  Soldiers had to pay for poncho liners on their own dime and they weren’t cheap.  Jerry had finally caved in and bought a liner and soon regretted he hadn’t bought one years ago.  No soldier including Jerry ever actually used the liner with the poncho.  Where the liner excelled was its use as a pillow when a soldier slept in their issued sleeping bag.  It also made a great cover or in warm weather you could use the liner in lieu of the sleeping bag.  This is how Jerry used it now.  He wrapped himself up in it and slept soundly until sunup.

Jerry moved out and found another .22 CCI stamped cartridge during the afternoon of the second day.  He moved out again the next morning and close to noon on the third day of the search Jerry came upon a team of hunters.  He presumed they were hunting small game since big game like deer mostly bed down in thick cover except around sunup and sunset.  Both of the hunters were carrying deer rifles as far as Jerry could tell and that was strange.  You don’t shoot rabbits and squirrels with a deer rifle unless you enjoy picking up pieces of exploded critter.  Maybe these guys were desperate or just inexperienced hunters.  Jerry had taken the time to dig the bullet out of his vest before he left home.  He was looking for a guy with a .30 caliber high powered rifle and another with a 12 gauge shotgun.  As damning evidence in case there was time for a trial Jerry was carrying the slug and the empty shotgun shell Bart Barry had found.  No shotgun so it seemed unlikely these guys were the ambushers Jerry was looking for.  For that matter he didn’t know the exact size of the group who had bushwhacked him and Teresa.  Since they were heading generally north Jerry decided to follow them for a while.  Being careful Jerry stayed a good quarter-mile behind and off to the side.  Jerry had looked at his watch not too long ago and it’d been after 5:00 PM.  Jerry was considering giving up tracking these two and heading to water when he heard a shot.  Jerry proned out and waited for bullets to begin impacting around him.  When that failed to materialize he sighed in relief and flanked the hunters so he could see what they had bagged.  When Jerry reached the ridge the hunters had been on he found them about 200 yards northwest standing over a kill.  Like a sneaky fox Jerry silently and ever so slowly crawled closer.  Jerry reached a spot about 150 yards away and looking down on the hunters he used the Pulsar sight to watch the hunters dress their kill.  Jerry hoped it was a deer and that the hunters would leave him some scraps for dinner. 

It only took Jerry less than a minute to see something was very wrong here.  To begin with one of the hunters now had an extra rifle slung over his shoulder.  These bastards had shot another hunter.  These two had to be the backshooters Jerry was searching for.  As Jerry looked on the murdering hunters searched the man or woman they had shot and appeared to place the objects they found in a pile.  Then they took turns choosing items.  Jerry found what they did next very strange.  They undressed the dead hunter or at least partially undressed him.  The next act was the most ghoulish and macabre act Jerry had ever personally witnessed.  One of the hunters took out a knife while his buddy took off his backpack and reached in and pulled out a pillow case. “No good will come of this” thought Jerry as the hunter with the knife started cutting.  As Jerry watched the hunter who Jerry now thought of as the butcher expertly filleted off prime cuts from the dead hunter’s thighs and back.  As he cut each piece went into the pillow case.  Jerry noticed the crosshairs of his Pulsar sight were slowly drifting up and down.  This alerted Jerry he was breathing way too hard.  He had to physically rest his rifle on the ground while he worked to gain control of his nerves and breathing.  Jerry got back on the sight just in time to witness the butcher finish cutting away a slab of human ribs.  “Ugh.”  As the ribs went into the sack it took Jerry a monumental force of will to keep from opening fire.  “Don’t do it Jerry, these two are going to lead you to their camp or house or double wide and that’s where you’re going to find Teresa and she will be alive.”

This is exactly how it worked out.  The hunters started walking at a non-hunting pace due north and angled somewhat west until they intersected the road Jerry had been following for the past three days.  This was another piece of evidence that told Jerry that these were the hunters who had attacked him and Teresa.  Granted there were some discrepancies.  These guys didn’t have a shotgun and they didn’t seem to have a vehicle.  There was another question; these guys ate people so why hadn’t pieces of Jerry ended up in a sack?  After sunset Jerry found it was absolute child’s play to follow the two people eaters.  Jerry switched on the Pulsar sight and followed the white glow each hunter gave off surrounded by the road and grass and trees which appeared grayish or black in the scope because they were cooler.  The asphalt road being the warmest object besides the hunters was a very light gray.  Jerry followed the hunters until they approached an intersection just before 9:00 PM.  They had barely taken a breather except for one piss break and their stride was kicking Jerry’s old ass.  At the intersection they headed west and downhill.  Jerry would’ve loved to check the intersection for .22 cartridges but he didn’t risk losing his quarry.  It was impossible anyway at night.  For whatever reason the Pulsar couldn’t distinguish the heat signature of a brass cartridge.  It would’ve been great if they glowed but they didn’t.  Jerry theorized brass and bottle caps and pull tabs and foil gum wrappers shed whatever heat they absorbed during these overcast days at about the same rate as small rocks and chunks of asphalt.  After another hour Jerry saw what must be the hunter’s camp.  He spotted it way off because they had a campfire.  Sure enough the hunters made a beeline for the campfire and as Jerry watched over a dozen figures materialized from pine bough tepees and vehicles.  Jerry eased up in a tree line over a hundred yards away, snuggled under his poncho liner, and settled in for the night.  As Jerry watched, the hunter with the backpack retrieved the pillow case and handed out goodies from his bloody sack like a grizzly Santa.  Women started cooking the meat while children danced around excitedly.  Jerry was amazed yet again just how clear and detailed a view his night sight provided him.  The campfire didn’t washout the view and Jerry switched the sight off whenever an adult member of the camp approached the fire.  This gave Jerry normal views plus thermal images.  Jerry counted four women at the camp and eight or nine children. The children were running around so much he was unable to get an exact count.  The only other adult at the camp besides the two hunters was an older man.  From the way he moved and the way people moved around him and seemed to defer to him Jerry decided this was the guy in charge.  He was a tall thin grey or white haired gentleman.  He always moved deliberately and with a flowing grace, like a former dancer or actor.  One of the women brought out plates while another settled the children in a circle around the campfire while the third woman collected cooked meat from the fourth woman who was doing the cooking.  Everyone was served and Jerry noticed no one ate until the man in charge seemed to give a little speech.  Jerry couldn’t hear the words but he caught the body language.  After the man finished, one of the hunters stood up and took a bow and the whole group gave him a round of applause.  The man in charge spoke to the group again and finally the whole group dug in.  Jerry had been waiting for this moment and for whatever reason it failed to faze him.  “It only took me a few hours to get used to the idea of a group of people murdering and butchering another human being and serving him up for late supper.  Welcome to your new world.”

Jerry set his watch alarm and got some sleep.  He was awake well before sunrise and carefully moved to a position east of the camp so he could observe them with the sun sickly as it was behind him.  He dug out the suppressed Ruger and kept it handy in case one of the adults blundered into his position.  If a child approached (Jerry knew this was much more likely) he would scare off the little tyke and withdraw.  As Jerry observed the camp he became less and less sure that these were the people who had kidnapped his granddaughter.  Jerry didn’t see any sign of her or any other captives.  He also didn’t see anyone carrying the Talo .22 rifle nor his M16A2.  No one had a shotgun and as a matter of fact these people didn’t seem to have any guns at all except for the rifles the two hunters always carried.  Jerry didn’t know what they had done with the rifle they had taken off the person they had murdered.  They must have stored it somewhere.  “Was Teresa’s rifle stored in the same spot?  Had this group already gleefully eaten her and cracked open her skull for her delicious creamy brain?”  Something wasn’t right here.  It occurred to Jerry only the hunters knew they had served up human flesh.  As far as the people at the camp were concerned it could’ve been pig meat.  “Didn’t people taste like pork?”  Jerry had been munching on Spotty jerky since he left Casa Garcia.  “Did Spotty taste like people?”  Jerry needed better evidence before he did something drastic like for example shoot up the place.  “Should he summarily execute the murderous hunters the first chance he got and search the camp for Teresa?”  Not a bad plan but Jerry decided to check on something first.  He slipped away from the camp and backtracked to the intersection the hunters had headed west from.  What Jerry found at the intersection would decide the hunter’s fate.  Now that it was daylight Jerry carefully searched for the .22 CCI cartridge he knew, or at least hoped, was there.  If it was at the westside of the intersection Jerry had decided he would kill the hunters and search the camp from top to bottom for whatever was left of Teresa.  Jerry did find the cartridge; at the north side of the intersection.  Now what? 

Thanks to Psychology 101 Jerry realized he had an ethical dilemma on his hands.  Should he kill the murderous hunters knowing that this action would result in innocent women and children starving?  Jerry certainly couldn’t feed this group for very long before his family and the group starved.  Shouldn’t Jerry snipe the hunters before he became their next late-night snack?  Ultimately Jerry decided it wasn’t his job to save the world.  He would steer clear of the backshooters and only take them out if they attacked him first.  Jerry now regretted leaving his body armor at home, “way to go Jerry you stupid idiot.”  He had to find Teresa and find her fast.  Jerry rationalized he didn’t have time to deal with the hunters; he had to focus on saving Teresa.  Jerry moved out at a fast pace northbound to distance himself from the hunters area of operations as quickly as possible.

Chapter 20

Bob’s famous last words

While Jerry was searching, Teresa was intent on surviving and hurting her captures as much as possible before she escaped.  She knew her grandpa was dead.  They had shot him and stripped his body.  It didn’t take Teresa more than a few minutes after her arrival at the enemy camp to determine the people who kidnapped her were brutal predators.  The naked female captives were a giant clue.  She couldn’t walk and could barely stand.  Teresa decided she would make keeping her as difficult as possible for her captors.  This was a dangerous gambit because these dumb animals looked upon her life as being about as useful as a single sheet of Kleenex and equally disposable.  Even though Teresa could stand with some difficulty and much pain she playacted that she couldn’t.  If the men were going to rape her they would have to take her where she lay or drag her off.  She refused to walk to her own debasement.  Teresa didn’t know it but her being wounded was the only thing which kept her from being gang raped immediately when she arrived at the Rossi camp.  As it turned out the Rossi crew had a long history of it as the first step towards breaking the new slaves psychologically.  More than one of the Rossi crew checked out the new acquisition.  She was young and rather athletic looking and of course she was completely naked.  New slaves wore no clothes.  Luckily for Teresa when they saw the condition of the back of her legs even the most hardened Rossi crew sodomite decided the official breaking in of this new slave could wait.  Teresa’s legs were on fire.  By looking behind her she could see some of the damage and she certainly felt the rest.  The backs of her legs from above the knees down all the way to just above her ankles had been pockmarked by birdshot pellets.  Her ankles had only been spared by her thick leather boots she had retained from her old Gothy persona.  Each red mark was a separate wound and not a mere welt.  Blood and tissue fluid covered the backs of her legs and the blood had congealed into a sticky dark red mess.  Teresa spent the first night of her captivity lying on her stomach on a blanket on the bare ground next to the Rossi camp’s main campfire.  In the morning one of the lower status girls washed most of the dried blood away. 

Soon after, Denny Bliss ambled over to check on the girl he had shot.  Denny kept on his game face for the guys but inside he was sickened and somewhat ashamed at the damage he had done to the girl.  Each pellet hit was a broken red bump and black and blue bruises had begun forming around each wound.  If the wounds became infected this girl was going to have to be disposed of and Denny didn’t want to be the one Rossi ordered to do the disposing.  Denny knew Rossi would do exactly that.  He would say something like “Clean up your fucking mess”.  This “gift” slave situation was only going to work out for Denny if this poor bleeding bitch recovered.  Denny started to panic but his face remained as placid as a basset hound.  Denny had learned this the hard way in the joint; showing weakness at any time put one on the fast track to being punked.  Denny best handled his own insecurities and weaknesses by lashing out.  He squatted till he was nose to nose with the girl who was attending to his captive and hissed “you had better make sure this one gets fixed right quick missy.”  Denny was happy when the slave stammered and shook her head, spoken like a good slave.  The girl attending to Teresa got some toilet paper and laid sections over the wounds.  This helped dry the wounds and kept the flies off.  During the second day of her captivity Teresa started to talk to the young girl who was nursemaiding her.  They spoke in whispers and only when no men were around.  The girl also shushed Teresa when a certain girl who wore shorts was nearby.  Teresa guessed correctly the “Shorts” girl was some sort of queen bee bitch.  “Thanks for cleaning and covering my wounds, what’s your name?”  “The name they gave me is ‘Hoeswallowme’ but my real name’s Lisa.  It’s very important you always call me by my nickname and not my real name, okay?”  Teresa gave Lisa a thumbs up.  The two used gestures whenever possible.  “Tell me about the sour little toddler tittied girl who wears shorts.”  Lisa quietly giggled like the tender aged young girl she was.  “That’s Kimmy; she’s Mr. Rossi’s main girl.  She’s in charge of all us girls including you now I guess.”  Lisa glanced around to double check no one especially Kimmy was within earshot.  “Don’t cross Kimmy.  She’s mean and she laughed when Bob kicked a girl out of the camp.”  “Who’s Bob and how do I get kicked out” asked Teresa.

Lisa looked at the new girl like she was stupid but softened when she remembered she was only that, a stupid new girl.  She would have to learn fast and it looked like Lisa had to teach her.  “Look, Bob’s the main girl killer here and you don’t want to get kicked out.  If you try to run away or if you cause any trouble Mr. Rossi sends Bob after you.  Since I’ve been here Bob has chased two girls who tried to run and dragged off another who didn’t last long enough for me to warn her.  The girls never come back but Bob comes back covered in blood, don’t mess with Bob.”

“Thanks for the advice Lisa.”  Lisa suddenly was equally angry and afraid, “I told you to never call me that!”  Teresa could kick herself (if she could move her legs) “I’m sorry ah…what was you’re name again?”  “Hoeswallowme.”  “Right, it won’t happen again.  Tell me about Mr. Rossi.  He’s in charge but can you point him out to me and that ass…um Bob also?”  Lisa shook her head yes.  After they spoke for a while longer Teresa fell asleep.  She woke with Lisa gone and a strange feeling against her cheek.  Teresa opened her eyes and saw someone prodding her with their shoe or boot.  Teresa looked up sleepily and saw it was the hulking son of a bitch Lisa had pointed out as “Bob” earlier.  “Here it comes” thought Teresa, “he’s come to rape me or maybe kill me.”  Instead Bob held an object within inches of Teresa’s face and boomed “What do you know about this?”  As Teresa’s sleepy eyes focused she saw Bob was holding one of grandpa’s hand grenades.  One of the things Teresa had learned from being around Jerry for a few months was he was great at playing dumb when being dumb held an advantage. Jerry often played this game with grandma but she knew him well and always saw through the facade.  Teresa had learned at the feet of the master and now played dumb for the homicidal lummox known as Bob.  “That belonged to my grandpa, mister, I mean master.  I’m not sure but maybe smoke comes out?”  “Smoke huh?”  Teresa hoped Bob wasn’t thinking about trying out the grenade on her.  “If so at least being blown up is better than slow torture.”  Bob straightened up and after giving Teresa’s face a parting love tap with his boot he strode off.  Teresa mumbled under her breath, “that’s it fucking asshole, go play with your new toy.”  Teresa had to roll over on her side and strain to see what happened next.  While painful this turned out to be completely worth it.  Bob had walked to the other side of the camp gathering crewmembers and slaves as he went.  Although Teresa couldn’t hear what was being said she got the gist of it, Bob planned on showing the crowd the “smoke” grenade.  The fact Bob took possession of the grenade from the two guys who had kidnapped her and murdered Jerry told Teresa Bob was higher on the social ladder than them.

Lisa was on the edge of the crowd and later told Teresa what had happened when they were alone at the tree-line on a bathroom break.  “After he gathered a group, Bob motioned all of us to stand back.  He took a few steps forward and fiddled with the grenade and tossed it on the ground a few feet away.  Nothing happened.  This really pissed off Bob and he yelled something like ‘fucking dud.’  Bob gingerly poked at the grenade with his foot and then picked it up.  He showed it to us and one of the guys pointed out the lever part was still attached.  Bob fiddled with the grenade a second time and the lever flew off without warning and spooked Bob, “ping!”  Teresa was impressed Lisa had gotten the sound effect of the safety lever flying off perfectly.  “I know what happened” said Teresa, Bob didn’t know about the safety clip.”  “Whatever” answered Lisa and continued with her story.  “For a couple seconds Bob just stood there holding the damn thing.  At the last second he tossed it on the ground and turned away just as it exploded.”  “That part I got” said Teresa, “I heard the screams and saw everyone run for it.”  “Correct, we ran or stumbled away depending on how hurt we were” (as she spoke Lisa pointed to a pellet hit she had sustained) “except for poor ol’ Bob.”  Lisa frowned but it was a happy frown.  “Bob didn’t go anywhere.  He just slowly tilted over and fell down.”  As Lisa helped Teresa hobble back to her sleeping pad Teresa saw Bob hadn’t moved and was struck by the irony of it all, or was it coincidence in this case that Bob ended up lying next to Teresa gravely wounded from shotgun pellets?  Not only had Bob not moved he appeared to be more dead than alive.  Dozens of pellets plus pieces of plastic for good measure had peppered Bob from his lower legs to his back and up to his neck and head.  The best guess around camp was the pellets that hit Bob in the head penetrated his skull.  Lisa had cut Bob’s hair as short as she could manage with a pair of scissors and had dressed the red spots as best she could.  Bob was naked and was lying on his stomach.  He and Teresa were twins; beauty and the beast.  Lisa found her additional duty of caring for Bob very easy because so far Bob had required the same level of care as a potted plant.  Bob’s face was turned sideways and at first glance one would think he was snoring softly.  If you studied Bob like Lisa and Teresa did you would see he was more gasping than snoring.  Neither girl had ever seen someone in a coma but agreed Bob the monster was pretty much there; good riddance.  After the explosion Teresa had expected the survivors to descend upon her and was mildly surprised when they didn’t.  Was it possible no one had noticed Bob speaking with Teresa right before he blew himself up?  Stranger things had happened. 

Into the late evening and during at least a portion of the night, her second night in captivity, Teresa toyed with the idea that she could snuggle up with Bob after everyone else was asleep.  She would gently pinch his nose with one hand and cover his mouth with her other and not let go until he stopped bucking.  Alternately she could tear off a chunk of the blanket she was lying on and stuff it down Bob’s rotten throat.  Once Bob was on his way to hell she could pull the saliva slick material from Bob’s mouth like a magic trick and toss it in the fire.  She would say to herself “ta da” as the evidence sizzled in the flames.  These revenge filled thoughts kept Teresa warm until she finally drifted off. 

Her burning legs woke Teresa early the next day before sunup.  The fire had burned down but Teresa saw that the shell of what used to be Bob was still there next to her.  Teresa didn’t see that he was dead; she heard that he was dead.  In point of fact it was the absolute absence of sound from Bob that convinced Teresa his evil spirit had indeed passed sometime during the night.  Teresa searched her feelings and found she didn’t feel as happy as she would’ve guessed now that it was clear this bad man was gone.  Shouldn’t she be giddy?  Lisa had told Teresa how Bob delighted in torturing the girls he had gotten rid of with a knife slowly before he finished them off.  At least that was the rumor.  Teresa wasn’t happy and she wasn’t sad.  What she mostly felt was a warm sense that justice had been done.  “Maybe I’m just like grandpa Jerry” thought Teresa, “a law dog.”  Thoughts of her murdered grandpa brought Teresa to tears for the first time since she had been captured.  One of the girls had the job of keeping the main fire feed during the night and she had fallen asleep on the job.  She would be punished if anyone or God forbid Kimmy found out.  The girl found Teresa softly crying and ignored her, lots of the girls cried.  It was only later after the men found Bob had passed away during the night that the fire girl remembered she had discovered the new injured girl crying.  The story spread like wildfire through the camp.  The new girl had felt Bob’s passing and it had saddened her.  The new girl was a sensitive gentle girl who cared for all living creatures, even creatures like Bob.  The new girl had nursed injured animals and released them back into the wild before the world died.  Such were the rumors in any wilderness camp.  Overnight and based on zero merit Teresa was famous.  Everyone including most of the remaining men smiled and greeted her as they walked past.  Some who had caught pellets when Bob set off the grenade limped past and still they smiled.  It was crazy.  Being a shrewd young lady Teresa embraced the “earth mother” image.  She painfully got up from her sickbed and helped Lisa attend to the other wounded.  Teresa’s motives were completely self-centered but the camp didn’t need to know that.  Teresa figured the men would be less likely to rape a girl who nursed them. 

Through Lisa, Teresa got the attention of Denny and she asked him if Denny had found the blood clotting packets she and her grandfather had carried in their packs.  Denny located them but having less than an 8th grade education he had no idea what to do with the stuff.  Denny might have simply read the instructions but secretly he couldn’t read too well.  Teresa went on a pilgrimage with Lisa and sprinkled a share of the magical healing powder on each of the grenade victim’s oozing wounds.  The treated couldn’t help but notice Teresa’s legs showed no sign of having been treated.  True to her calling Teresa had forsaken the medicine so there would be more for those she attended.  At least that’s how the rumor went.  All of this was helped along by the fact most of the camp starting with Boss Rossi himself was floating on a placid sea of painkillers the crew had ripped off from the dear departed Dr. Walker the old shriveled horse doctor.  By the evening of her second day in the Rossi camp Teresa had been informed she could wear a skirt if she wished.  To Kimmy this was scandalous.  No new girl had ever been allowed to dress after only two days, not even Kimmy.  Unfortunately for Kimmy this was her old man’s call, not hers.  As she was still healing Teresa let Lisa wrap a toilet paper mini skirt around her waist.  As the crew sat around the main campfire eating dinner Kimmy was heard to grumble, “don’t sit too close to the fire bitch” and another girl leaned over and whispered to her co-wife “she looks like Lady Jesus.” 

The next day one of the girl’s waved to Teresa and asked, “how’s it going Mom?”  Teresa didn’t think twice about the statement until the girl the men called “Angina” and the girls called “Ann” walked by Teresa and said, “good morning Mother.”  “That’s it” thought Teresa, “what the hell’s going on now?”  Teresa motioned Ann over and Ann explained it simply, “Rossi found out your name is Teresa.  He made a remark you’re more like ‘Mother Teresa’ and all the guys started laughing.  I guess that’s your new nickname.”  Teresa was speechless.  “I’m jealous” said Ann, you know my nickname right?”  “Yes, the men call you Angina.”  Teresa dropped it but Ann could tell Teresa was curious, how could she not be?  Ann looked at the ground and asked, “do you know why they call me that?”  Ann continued when Teresa didn’t answer.  “They call me that because when I was new here and the men started dragging me off to have their way with me I would clutch my hands to my chest.  I didn’t even know I was doing it.  Some of the guys said I acted like I was having a heart attack every time they--you know, had sex with me.”  “Saintly” Mother Teresa felt a wave of burning anger well up inside.  She didn’t know how and she didn’t know when, but she was going to kill every one of these murdering pig-faced rapists, or die trying.  Teresa saw Ann peering at her with concern.  “Mother you’re all red, I’ve gone and embarrassed you.”  It took some time for Teresa to calm down.  She thought of Aniseed and that helped.  Grandma would protect her.  “You know Ann; I have a two year old far away from here safe and warm and her name is Ann just like you.”  “Thanks Teresa, my real name isn’t Ann you know but I appreciate the sentiment.”  Anyway, you’re much too young to have a two-year-old.”  Teresa smiled, “that’s true, my grandma told me that more than once.” 

When Kimmy found out the helpful cunt Teresa’s new nickname she was livid.  Kimmy wanted to name her “Freckles” or “Gimpy” and her old man goes and names her fucking “Mother?”  Kimmy had seen some scams and had ran some herself; but this one took the cake, or takes it.  Kimmy was so mad she couldn’t see straight. 

Teresa had noticed something else besides live nude girls upon her arrival at the Rossi camp.  What she noticed was uniforms, everybody had a uniform.  Ricky and Denny wore camouflage.  One had regular hunting camouflage and the other wore the military kind.  This seemed to be some sort of badge of honor among these cavemen, we hunt, ugh.  The others wore law enforcement uniforms or military camouflage like Ricky, or was it Denny?  Teresa had chanced a sideways glance at one of the law enforcement patches: California Department of Corrections.  Were these guys’ former correctional guards and military?  Teresa soon knew the answer to half of that question.  One of the men in military camouflage ambled over and checked her out.  It creeped Teresa out how he eyed her like she was half price sirloin in a meat case.  The guy wasn’t wearing his military hat.  Grandpa had given her one of his old military hats.  Like he used to like to do he had told her the entire history of military hats.  She remembered the military didn’t often call them “hats.”  They called them caps or some other word, what was it, “covers”, that was it.  The Army also wore berets.  Jerry had told her the story of how the Army Chief of Staff at the time had stolen the black beret from the Army Rangers and made every Private Snuffy wear them to “promote values.” Grandpa had told her “That’s why they made the guy a general.”  This toad wasn’t wearing his cover and was out of uniform.  Grandpa Jerry used to enjoy reminding her to take her cover off when she came inside the house.  It’d been like a game for them both and he used to laugh in a nice way when she forgot.  Teresa’s grim suspicions were confirmed when she saw the nametag on the uniform:  Deichel.  Teresa had meet Deichel and this wasn’t him.  That meant the real Deichel was dead unless this guy was his uncle or father.  “Not likely” thought Teresa.  Her grandpa acted like a soldier and her grandma who had never been in the military acted like a soldier.  Teresa had never meet Jerry’s brother Manuel and he had been a soldier.  Teresa’s own absentee father had been a sailor for at least a while until he got himself thrown out.  This guy reminded Teresa of her father.  This guy was sloppy and acted like a criminal. 

Teresa casually brought up the subject of uniforms with Lisa and she told Teresa the entire sordid story.  It wasn’t a secret and in fact the men were proud of it.  No, Rossi and his men were not correctional officers.  They had been inmates and the warden had let them go.  “What do you mean let them go” asked Teresa.  “I guess the guards didn’t have enough bullets” reasoned Lisa.  Lisa pointed out one of the guys whose name was Jake.  “See that guy?  Wait til he takes his shirt off.  He’s covered with tats including one showing prison walls and bars.”  “A real teddy bear I bet” said Teresa.  “What about the military uniforms and rifles and the Humvee?”  “What’s a Humvee?” asked Lisa.  Teresa surreptitiously pointed, “It’s that military vehicle hidden over there.”  “Oh sure” answered Lisa, “they killed them.”  “How did this bunch get the better of trained and highly armed soldiers?”  “One of the other girls who isn’t here anymore told me the story.  One of the crew noticed some soldiers always stopped to get gas at the same place and almost the same time every other day.  They had a pattern get it and the crew notices patterns.  The crew hid and waited for the soldiers to show up.  Once the soldiers were busy getting gas the guys walked up to them and ‘bang’ got em right in the head.  Mr. Rossi didn’t want any holes in the uniforms.”  Teresa tasted bile.  Here was another reason why all these male rats had to die.  “That girl, can’t remember her name, told me one of the soldiers had a helmet.  The crew shot the helmet and nothing happened so another guy shot that soldier in the face.  Rossi’s fake ass soldiers never wear the helmets and they never wear the heavy cover thingies the soldiers had.”  Lisa pointed using a circle gesture to her chest when she described this.  Teresa got it.  “Amour vests, my grandfather had one of those.”  “Sure, whatever you say Teresa.”

As far as Kimmy was concerned the situation with this Teresa girl had been bad enough and then Rossi made it even worse.  Rossi had Kimmy sit down before he told her the good news; his spunky girl Kimmy had a temper.  “Kimmy, I don’t want you to get mad, but I’ve decided to have Mother help you with the cooking until her wounds heal.”  Kimmy simultaneously looked hurt and like she wanted to hurt Rossi.  “But that’s my job baby” Kimmy whined.  Rossi didn’t dare admit the truth to Kimmy.  In the short time he had owned her it had become blurry exactly who was the master (mistress) and who owned whom.  The truth was Rossi felt Mother was way too pretty to fetch water, do laundry, and gather firewood like the other girls.

“Now I need you to be reasonable Kimmy.  Mother has a healing touch and I want her to get better.  Now I’m ordering you young lady to make her your cooking assistant,” “bitch,” Kimmy interrupted, “and have her sit down when she helps out.  No fetching water like with Liz, you got it?”  “Yes Pauli.”  Rossi swiveled his hyena head to make sure no one had overheard.  Rossi only let Kimmy call him Pauli in private. 

The cooking assistant gig went fucking horrible for Kimmy.  This skinny bitch Mother could read and write and plan meals and keep an inventory of the crew’s food supplies.  She was good at everything Kimmy was so bad at.  Mother “Fucker” as Kimmy called her tried to teach Kimmy how to smoke the excess meat Ricky and Denny brought in but Kimmy wouldn’t listen.  The only thing Kimmy learned from Mother-Fucker was she hated this holier than thou interloping pain in her ass.  While Teresa planed meals and helped with the cooking she also spoke with as many crewmembers as she could buttonhole.  It was the hunter Denny Bliss more than any of the other men including Rossi who spoke with Teresa the most.  This wasn’t too surprising when one considered he had routine interaction with Teresa because he’s the one who brought in fresh meat.  For his part Denny seemed rather contrite at this point over having shot and kidnapped Teresa.  As far as anyone could tell Teresa hadn’t taken Denny’s actions personal.  Secretly Teresa hoped Denny wouldn’t take it personally when she personally killed Denny the moment she could get away with it.  Just like Teresa would have expected from a good ol’ Southern boy Denny had a good sense of humor.  It was Denny who told Teresa, Bob’s famous last words.  Denny along with his buddy Ricky and Rossi and Teresa and a few other people hadn’t been part of the crowd when Bob decided to play with a hand grenade like it was a fucking party favor.  Denny didn’t bother telling his story to the people who had actually been there.  Most of them picked up a pellet or two or more and wouldn’t have found Denny’s story amusing.  Anyway they already knew the truth.  The truth was Bob’s actual last words were “oh shit.”  Denny had gotten that from someone who was just a few feet from Bob before the explosion.  The truth was the truth was boring and not as funny as the embellished story Denny told Teresa.  “Mother” he began, “do you know what Bob’s famous last words were?”  Teresa shrugged; “no clue.”  “His last words were your average redneck’s most commonly spoken last words:  “Hey ya’ll, watch this.”  Teresa put her hand over her mouth and laughed politely at Denny’s joke.  This was a gesture Teresa had stolen from Kimmy.  Teresa used it whenever possible because she knew it pissed Kimmy off.  The fact that Bob hadn’t been from the South and most certainly hadn’t been a redneck didn’t make Denny’s story any less funny.  Before he walked away Denny told Teresa something else in passing; “oh right, I don’t know if you’ve got the word yet or not.  Rossi has decided to keep you for himself.  I guess he’ll send for you tonight, good luck.”

After only a few days the situation with Teresa being Kimmy’s assistant came to a head.  Kimmy couldn’t stand this little twat any longer and decided to defy Rossi come what may.  Not being one to change a strategy which had worked in the past, Kimmy held out an empty bucket one evening before dinner and told Teresa “Go fetch me some water Mother Fucker.”  Teresa stared at Kimmy with that unique icy “Go to hell bitch” look only one woman can give to another.  Silence, one heartbeat, two, and then Teresa ruined it by smiling and gently taking the bucket from Kimmy.  “Yes ma’am water coming right up.”  As Teresa high stepped towards the camp water faucet she wiggled her butt divisively in Kimmy’s face.  “This isn’t going well” thought Kimmy.  “This crazy bitch ain’t reacting like she should.”  When Teresa returned with the water Kimmy was waiting for her more determined than ever.  Kimmy slapped her hand into the bucket and screamed; “That’s not filled to the top you stupid whore.”  Teresa reacted by throwing the water in Kimmy’s face.  Onlookers who now saw a fight was in progress caught Teresa follow up the water with the empty bucket.  It made a “thwack” sound as it bounced off Kimmy’s skull.  Kimmy was a seasoned cat-fighter while Teresa wasn’t and Kimmy was just getting warmed up.  As Teresa stepped forward Kimmy puppy-faced her.  Squatting down Kimmy turned her head to the side and looked up pleadingly.  Unfortunately for Teresa she fell for it.  As Teresa reached for her Kimmy drove up from her squat and hit Teresa under the chin with her left fist.  Normally this would have broken a girl’s jaw except Teresa had so flustered Kimmy she had forgotten to transfer her deadly rings to her dominant hand.  Maybe Teresa was literally hardheaded.  Amazingly Kimmy seemed more hurt from the blow than Teresa.  Kimmy staggered around in a small circle holding her fist and cried, “mother fucker that hurts.”  Teresa had retrieved the empty bucket and hit Kimmy over the head with it from behind.  The bucket was plastic and made more noise than cause actual damage.  The spectators saw the bucket bounce out of Teresa’s hand and Kimmy yelled; “I’ll fucking kill you.”  This was more fun than the camp had seen in some time.  None of the guys planned on stopping the fun until blood started flowing.  Neither would they let any of their killjoy females break up the fight.  Like most real life brawls the girls ended up grappling and scratching on the ground.  The spilled water made for a soppy mess and the guys pretended the two were mud wrestlers.  Everyone was cheering on their favorite (Teresa, as everyone hated Kimmy) until there was a sickening scream and a sound like someone had broken a tree branch.  While Kimmy had been going for Teresa’s eyes and failing because “who can keep nails out in the goddamn woods anyway,” Teresa had managed to get a twist lock on Kimmy and had torqued it until Kimmy’s left arm snapped.  The twist lock was a submission hold Jerry had taught Teresa as part of her informal “gun girl” training.  As a peace officer Jerry had received eight hours of weaponless defense training every quarter for over twenty years.  During one of their training sessions Jerry had told Teresa; “If someone gives you their hand, (by grabbing for you) take it and break their arm.”  Kimmy was limp and moaning and had no idea what the fuck had happened to her.  The Rossi crewmembers who saw the end of the fight were impressed and knew exactly what had happened.  Mother had used a martial arts move on Kimmy they had seen the screws use on combative cons.  A new rumor spread through the camp; Mother Teresa was a black belt.

Chapter 21

Like fish in a barrel

After Jerry left the cannibal camp and headed north he had found one more dropped .22 cartridge.  At the next intersection he found none.  Finally he would be able to backtrack and search every dirt road between here and the last intersection.  Teresa’s kidnappers would be somewhere between this intersection and the last.  Just as he was about to turn around the doubts crept in.  What if Teresa had missed marking this intersection for some reason?  What if she had dropped a cartridge and Jerry had missed finding it?  Was it possible he would find another cartridge at the next intersection or major turn?  Jerry had double-checked the cannibal camp and that had been a good idea.  Just to be sure Jerry walked north for one more intersection and did not find a dropped cartridge.  Okay, this was confirmation Teresa was somewhere back towards home, unless she had lost consciousness or her kidnappers had spotted her dropping .22 caliber breadcrumbs and put a stop to it.  The doubts could drive a man crazy and Jerry was already half looney.  On his return search south Jerry only moved at night.  He would use his night scope as planned to sneak right up on the backshooters.  Jerry also had to avoid the other group of backshooters; the cannibals. 

During the next four days Jerry methodically reconned over half of the vehicle width trails and of course every minor road off the main drag he was paralleling.  The part of the process which took the most time however was checking every house and campground.  If they appeared empty Jerry had to confirm they indeed were empty.  Jerry was looking for as few as two kidnappers with one vehicle.  For all he knew they might chain up Teresa in an otherwise empty house and leave her completely alone while they hunted for food and or more victims.  The same went for campsites.  They might chain her to a log with some water and leave her.  Near sunrise on the fifth day Jerry found his second occupied camp since he left the cannibal camp.  He settled in and waited for daylight.  While he waited Jerry counted white blobs.  These were the warm heads of sleepers sticking out from tents and covers.  If Jerry’s headcount was close this settlement had more occupants than any other he had investigated.  As the camp woke up Jerry was surprised to discover this was some sort of nudist colony.  On closer examination he saw this was the best sort of colony as only the women were nude.  Soon after the camp began to come to life Jerry spotted a pretty young thing in boots wearing some kind of gauze wrap around her waist.  Her face was swollen and she was limping slightly.  Jerry was in the middle of considering one of the men had beaten the girl when he heard someone near him whisper “Teresa.”  One part of Jerry’s brain recognized his granddaughter while another part, the survival part, recognized he had unconsciously but undeniably stupidly spoken within 100 yards of a camp of killers.  Jerry had felt a nanosecond of relief when he spotted her.  What Jerry felt now was wave after wave of fear mixed with an intoxicating brew of adrenaline.  If even one person in the camp heard Jerry speak they would shout an alarm and the men plus an undetermined number of Amazons would outflank him and fill him with bullets.  Jerry heard an unsettling buzzing in his ears and he felt faint.  His only advantage was stealth. 

Teresa continued walking and never turned her head towards Jerry’s position. “She didn’t hear me, good.”  Teresa was joined at a rock ringed campfire by a blonde girl and they gave each other a sisterly hug.  Together they began adding wood from a nearby pile.  The blonde walked off carrying an empty 5 gallon bucket and Teresa opened a large paper grain sack of some sort and started scooping out rice or wheat or whatever into several cooking pots.  “Teresa’s making breakfast” thought Jerry.  Teresa limped to the wood pile again and Jerry ignored her nudity and concentrated on her injuries.  Even without the scope Jerry clearly saw the pellet wounds in Teresa’s legs.  That explained the limping.  She had an ugly bruise under one breast and her jaw was swollen.  The men in this camp enjoyed beating up captives.  Jerry had started on this quest knowing he would show Teresa’s kidnappers no mercy.  The sight of his granddaughter’s injuries only steeled Jerry’s resolve.  Jerry was going to slaughter all of them but he had to be smart about it.  Jerry had to get an accurate count of armed camp members and he had to strike at night when as many of them as possible were together.  After a complete day of surveillance Jerry had gathered all the information he needed.  To begin with Jerry had confirmed all the women were naked or topless.  None of the women ever carried weapons and the camp contained no children. 

The camp contained three groups of men.  The first group was the hunters.  There were two of them and they were usually joined at the hip.  They wore camouflage and like the other men they always had a weapon either in their hands, slung over their shoulder, or propped somewhere within a few feet.  One had a shotgun and the other one carried a scope sighted deer rifle.  These two were undoubtedly the ones who had shot him in the back and dragged Teresa away after shooting her.  At least they fit the evidence.  Jerry marked the hunter with the deer rifle as target number one.  It was only coincidence Jerry planned to shoot the man who had shot him in the back first.  This was threat assessment more than revenge.  A lifetime of law enforcement and reserve military experience had taught Jerry your average experienced small game or deer hunter is many times more dangerous than your average cop or soldier.  The hunter with the rifle was equivalent to a military sniper and was the number one threat Jerry faced. 

The second group of men were correctional officers.  One of them had finally stood still in just the right spot and Jerry had been able to get a clear look at a shoulder patch through the 4.5X scope of the Pulsar.  There were two correctional officers.  One of the correctional officers was middle-aged and the other was possibly mid 20s.  The older officer was definitely in charge of the younger one.  The older officer constantly gave orders to the younger one and often sent him on his way with a swift kick to the backside or a shove.  If the younger officer was gone too long the older bully officer would call for him until the younger one came to heal.  In a more depressing than comic manner these two reminded Jerry of the Skipper and Gilligan.  The older officer called the younger one something Bitch.  It sounded to Jerry like “Gap” Bitch or “Sass” Bitch.  Getting back to nanoseconds it took Jerry less than one nanosecond to see these clowns weren’t correctional officers.  Sure they had the uniforms but they didn’t act like correctional officers.  Jerry remembered the rumor of “killer cops.”  Jerry would have wagered even money these two were them.

The third group was fake soldiers.  When Jerry recognized a nametag he came that close to gunning them down on the spot.  These untermensch had murdered Jerry’s comrade in arms SSG Rothko and his men.  Jerry would have these sub humans pay the ultimate penalty soon enough.  There were three fake soldiers, one to fill each of the uniforms of the brave men they had murdered.  Like the fake correctional officers the soldiers carried military M-4’s except for one.  The faux correctional officer Jerry named “The Skipper” carried an M16A2 that looked suspiciously like the one the hunters had taken off Jerry’s “dead” body.

Jerry watched the camp until just before noon.  By then he developed a good feel for how the place worked and he needed a nap.  Jerry withdrew and returned to a new vantage point at dusk nicely refreshed and ready to shoot fish in a barrel.  As Jerry had hoped the big campfire Teresa tended was the focal point of the entire camp.  As far as Jerry could tell everyone showed up there for supper.  Thank goodness these guys didn’t feel the need for sentries or roving guards.  The girls were this camp’s forth group and boy o boy did these guys have lots of em.  Jerry thought of them as girls because none looked a day over 25ish.  When a man reaches Jerry’s age all twenty something’s regardless of gender start looking like children; strange.  This camp had more girls than the cannibal camp had actual snotty-nosed children.  Jerry counted nine girls besides Teresa during the daytime but he ultimately gave up attempting to get an exact count.  Part of the problem was so many of the girls looked alike.  As far as Jerry could tell all the girls were white except for Teresa who is off-white.  Teresa has always resembled one of those tanned Brazilian girls and like many of them her tan is built in.  Jerry remembered a story his son Anthony told him and Sara many years ago.  As the story went Anthony and his wife at the time were out in public with baby Teresa when some pasty X’ers commented on the baby’s beautiful tan.  Anthony is very light-skinned and his ex-wife, Teresa’s mom, is so white she’s almost a ghost.  Two whities with a “dark” baby, those were good times.  As stated before the girls were mostly nude, so Jerry couldn’t tell them apart by their clothes.  Then there was the hair.  The ladies must have gotten together as a group and decided boy cuts were the way to go when you lived in the woods.  Teresa stood out here as well.  She still had her hair in a pony tail.

As the sun set the camp members gravitated towards the campfire like moths and the girls kept on coming.  Jerry finally ended up with a baker’s dozen of females including Teresa around the fire.  All that female flesh presented a big problem for Jerry.  Unwittingly they acted as human shields for the men.  Jerry regretted he had opted to only bring green tip 62 grain penetrating rounds for his AR-180.  This was yet another mistake in a long line of Jerry errors.  If he opened fire now there was a better than even chance some of his hits would tear all the way through the bad guys.  When that happened there were lots of ladies around who would end up as bullet backstops.  Jerry decided to wait, for once time was on his side.  Once darkness fell completely the Skipper stretched and yawned.  Jerry didn’t hear the yawn but he saw it through the scope.  Next the Skipper stood up and beckoned Teresa to his side.  As Jerry watched they walked away arm in arm and headed across the campground towards a camper.  Jerry had watched the Skipper come and go from the camper several times during the day.  Only the Skipper of all the men ever entered it.  That told Jerry this was the Skipper’s lair.  For some time Jerry had begun to suspect the Skipper was the leader of this entire group.  His leaving the circle first was the final confirmation Jerry had been looking for.  Jerry could have possibly popped the Skipper in the back of the head while he and Teresa walked except Teresa was too close.  Jerry was going to have to do something, anything, eventually.  Jerry decided he would take them all out while they sang kum by ya around the campfire tomorrow night.  Before Jerry called it a night and as he watched the rest of the men gather their respective fillies and wander off to their respective love dens, he reflected on how these men emulated one of God’s favorite parasites; the leach.  Being greedy leeches they had been unable to suck only a tiny bit of blood from each victim and leave.  Their kidnapping and backshooting ways had led them directly down a path ending at the objective lens of a 4.5 power night scope. 

The next day was uneventful for Teresa.  With poor Kimmy laid up in Rossi’s RV with a broken arm it had fallen to Teresa to take over duty as head chief.  As she and Lisa and another girl named Beth worked on breakfast Teresa thought back upon the highlights of last night.  Although she found having sex with Crazy Pauli totally repulsive she had enjoyed rubbing Kimmy’s face in it (as it were) by moaning extra loudly and pretending to enjoy herself wholly for Kimmy the whore’s benefit.  With her only partially healed shotgun pellet wounds and swollen face every thrust brought a wave of nausea but Teresa only smiled.  Kimmy had crouched as still as a wounded tiger in a nearby bunk least she jostle her crudely wrapped arm and had unsuccessfully attempted to stare Teresa down.  Almost everyone meet for breakfast and Ricky and Denny left for a hunt directly after.  Just before lunch two of the men had fought over who would get the remaining of Bob’s girls.  Since it was only a fist fight Rossi let it continue until there was a clear winner.  In the afternoon Ricky and Denny returned having had no luck.  They went out almost every day for a short small game hunt when they weren’t out for a day or more looking for large game like deer or Teresas.  For dinner it was dog food mush again and Teresa got a taste of why all the Rossi crew hated Kimmy so much.  All the guys wanted to blame Kimmy and now Teresa for the bland and monotonous diet.  After dinner the guys lit up stolen cigarettes and drank stolen liquor and also got high.  Rossi had cracked down on the drug use and was now limiting pill popping as a sort of after dinner mint.  The guys hadn’t been accomplishing much during the short period Rossi had handed out stolen doggie drugs 24/7.  Someone had just told a joke and everyone was laughing when Ricky’s head exploded. 

In the stunned moment that followed Teresa saw a chunk of Ricky’s head was missing.  Blood and pieces of skull had spattered over everyone and Teresa remembered hearing the thwack sound of something powerful hitting flesh and a soft report a split second later.  Teresa was frozen in place as were most of the almost 1 1/2 dozen people around the campfire.  Another loud noise like a crack and one of the men grunted and fell over.  Teresa was still looking at Ricky the hunter.  He was gone and his body was slumping over in slow motion.  Without thinking Teresa copied Ricky’s movement and found herself lying flat on the ground with Lisa next to her.  Teresa had her arm around Lisa’s waist; she must have pulled her down but couldn’t remember consciously doing so.  Everyone who could still move had fled and Lisa was screaming in Teresa’s ear.  Teresa heard the screams as a soft whisper.  Teresa had no plans on moving anywhere and held Lisa down tighter than before.  Teresa correctly calculated their best chance on staying alive was to hug the ground.  Teresa called out, “stay below the bullets” but Lisa was out of her mind with fear. 

In the movies when armed men are fired upon at night by an unseen sniper they calmly stand up, face exactly in the correct direction, and return fire.  In real life they have no idea where the shots are coming from and scatter like a flock of flushed quail.  Trained soldiers first seek cover, attempt to find the enemy, and only fire at enemy muzzle flashes.  The Rossi crew ran for their fucking lives women included.  Two of the five remaining uninjured men left their rifles behind when they bolted.  So far Jerry was satisfied with the results.  He had taken out the main threat but didn’t have a clear shot at the Skipper.  He had settled his crosshairs on a fake National Guard soldier’s chest and squeezed the trigger until the AR-180 bucked gently.  After that almost everyone had ran away and Jerry was relieved.  If they had pinned him down with return fire while one or two of them flanked him the situation would have gotten uncomfortable for Jerry very quickly.  Since Jerry had run out of targets it was time to move.  He moved slowly testing each step before he put his weight down.  Jerry flanked to the right down a narrow trail he had scouted earlier until he had the gang’s stolen Humvee in sight.  Jerry had expected at least one asshole to attempt to escape in the vehicle but they had disappointed him.  Through the Pulsar scope warm objects like people glowed bright white.  Jerry found lots of targets but all of them had boobs.  Jerry was attempting to find five remaining wolves hidden amongst a bevy of naked sheep.  Jerry flanked again and found two men crouched beside a pickup truck.  One had a shotgun in his hands and the other was unarmed.  Jerry shot Mr. Shotgun first and winged the second man as he stood up.  Shotgun guy had collapsed and was still but his buddy staggered off maybe twenty yards before Jerry put a second round in his back.  “Targets down” thought Jerry, “time to move.”  Jerry flanked again and was now 180 degrees from his initial position.  “Three hostiles left, where are they?”  Jerry decided to take the very risky move of low crawling through the middle of the campground towards the campfire.  This was an almost reckless move.  There were two secondary campfires in the area and Jerry avoided them like the plague.  All he needed was to be spotlighted under their glow.  Jerry angled over to the Skipper’s RV and edged up right under a window near the back.  Jerry had carefully glassed the RV in the daylight and had found the Skipper always kept the doors and windows open.  Now the doors were shut, a clue for Jerry, and he heard voices inside.  Jerry touched the side of the RV and felt movement.  Almost exactly 24 hours earlier Teresa had gone inside the RV with the Skipper.  She wasn’t here now because when he last saw her she had prudently proned out at the main campfire.  She wasn’t here now, at least he hoped she wasn’t.  “Oh crap, worrying about that girl is going to end up getting me killed, but here goes nothing.”  Jerry had to make sure Teresa wasn’t in the RV.  The only way to do that was to move yet again almost 50 yards south and take a look.  Jerry moved upright at a normal pace half expecting a crushing impact and then eternal darkness.  Hopefully any of the three remaining threats would mistake him for one of their own. 

Jerry scoped out the main campfire and here they were, Teresa and another girl were still there.  There were three bodies nearby keeping them company.  Jerry moved back towards the RV via a big circle and found another man hiding behind a large doug fir.  “Psst, who is it” and Jerry put a green tip through the guy’s head.  Another down, two to go, and Jerry went prone again.  Jerry crawled about 10 yards and stopped and listened for several minutes.  Jerry was daring the remaining dirtbags to come to the aid of their buddy and they didn’t go for it.  Jerry wished again he had his suppressor.  If he did he could have and would have cranked off the better part of a magazine into the RV at head level of a crouching scumbag just to see what effect that would have on the Skipper and his little buddy.  Fearing muzzle blast and sound would disclose his position Jerry had to fire much more surgically. 

Jerry crawled to a position where he could observe the RV’s doors and waited.  Time was on Jerry’s side again and he intended to use that time to his advantage.  Because Jerry could see in the dark and his two remaining shitbirds couldn’t, Jerry decided to let them sweat it out for a few hours.  Jerry had all night.  Some of the girls were starting to move back into camp from wherever they had fled.  Jerry would now use them as bait.  The brave men would come out to save the girls, wouldn’t they?  One of the girls approached the RV on tiptoes and banged loudly on the passenger side door.  She was yelling something, “oh God please oh God let me in Skipper” or some such shit.  This girl had on pants so it for sure wasn’t Teresa.  Jerry hoped someone would answer the banging and he really hoped it would be the Skipper.  He really really hoped he would have a clear shot when that happened.  Someone did answer the door and it was a woman.  “Oh come on” thought Jerry, “how many women do these guys have?”  The woman hopped from the RV like a bunny and the two scampered north towards two sedans parked at the north edge of the camp.  Jerry watched them to see if they would drive away but they didn’t.  It seems the men didn’t trust the ladies with car keys.  Since they posed no immediate threat Jerry went back and checked the RV again.  Jerry went to the same open window and listened and felt for movement.  “Hmm, all’s quiet.”  “Time to get creative.”  Jerry walked over to the same door the girl had pounded on and tried to knock exactly as she had.  Jerry was rewarded with a threatening “Get the fuck away from here” from inside.  Jerry was certain that was without a doubt a guy voice.  Jerry tried the door and found it locked.  Moving back to the window Jerry extracted a homemade grenade from his shirt pocket and pulled the pin.  Opps, in his haste he almost forgot the safety clip, that wouldn’t do.  There was no going back at this point.  Jerry had a live grenade in hand.  He let the spoon fly “ping” and cooked off the grenade for one second.  Reaching up Jerry shoved his hand through the bug screen covering the window opening and let the deadly device drop inside.  Jerry ducked protectively and moved like a crab until he reached the front driver side tire of the RV.  Just as he reached it there was a muffled “crump” and a flash.  This was followed by a scream and an extended stream of curses.  For some reason never to be known Jerry giggled.  “Oh shit, that’s going to hurt.”  It’s strange what people do during life threatening situations.  Jerry heard a mechanical noise.  He recognized the sound as someone inside the RV fumbling with a door lock.  This is the only reason Jerry had time to react.  The noise came from the passenger side door and Jerry turned the corner just in time to see it swing open.  No time to think about it Jerry pumped several rifle rounds from the hip into the door.  The door was aluminum with a single pane glass window and some of the rounds, more likely all of them penetrated and hit something soft.  Jerry heard the sound a wounded buffalo makes when it collapses on the steps of an RV.  That was number whatever; Jerry was too razzed up to remember.  Jerry glanced behind him as he moved on.  “One left” thought Jerry, “only one left.”

Jerry moved north again to a spot at the edge of the camp where he could observe all the camp’s vehicles.  These guys had five cars and trucks including the Humvee but not including the RV.  Jerry waited for the RV to burn but it didn’t.  Lots of smoke drifted out but that was it.  Jerry now had two dead guys next to one of the trucks, the dead guy at the RV, the guy Jerry shot next to the big Douglas fir tree, plus two dead guys at the campfire, that made six of seven total.  “Where the hell was number seven?”

Jerry was worried again.  Maybe number seven was a smarter animal than his dead “brothers.”  If Jerry was number seven he would be somewhere in a tree line at high ground if possible lying still as a statue and watching for strangers to waltz through the camp.  He would have his weapon set on single shot and would snipe at the invaders.  Come to think of it this was almost what Jerry had done.  Jerry felt safe because he knew for a fact he was the invisible man.  As long as he stayed in the shadows and didn’t move he was safe as the unnoticed snake in the grass.  Maybe this last bad guy would show himself.  Jerry hoped he would because moving around after sunrise would be nerve racking and extremely dangerous as long as one of these disgusting killers was on the loose.  Jerry listened to the girls as he waited.  What a bunch of jabber boxes they were.  Jerry’s latest shots not to mention the explosion seemed to have corralled them like a school of fish back towards Teresa.  There were too many high female voices to count.  Strangely it was almost like they took turns yelling, screaming, and crying.

Near sunrise Jerry saw someone walk close by him and “oh shit” they have a rifle.  Jerry was going to pop number seven when he saw it was one of the girls.  He was in the middle of seriously considering putting a bullet in the gun toting half naked, check that, completely naked savage when he saw it was Teresa.  “Psst.”  Jerry sounded like the world’s most pathetic leaky tire.  He had ran out of water hours ago and felt like he was dying of thirst.  “Kill’in folks is thirsty work.”  “Psst, Teresa.”  That did the trick.  Jerry was just able to check out Teresa through the Pulsar without aiming directly at her by canting the scope slightly.  Teresa had stopped and taken a knee when she heard the ghostly voice.  Someone was killing all the gang members but it couldn’t be her grandpa, he was dead.  “I’m friendly don’t shoot me Teresa.”  Teresa had a fix on the voice and whoever it was they were close.  “It’s me Jerry, night scope remember?”  Teresa wanted to rush to the voice she now recognized but something stopped her.  These men would kill her grandpa if they found him.  “Good don’t move, I’m moving to you.”  Teresa saw a dark blob move to her left and heard shuffling behind her.  A cold hand settled on her shoulder and somehow Teresa knew it was Grandpa Jerry.  Teresa collapsed into a pile of tears and sobbed.  Jerry also started leaking and wiped the tears away least he be blinded if he had to shoot.  Teresa calmed after a while and it was time to get back to work.  Directly into her ear Jerry asked; “Teresa, there’s one man left, do you know where he is?”  “No.”  “What to do now, think Jerry.”  “Safety, I have to get Teresa out of camp.”  Jerry told her his plan and asked her to hold onto his belt.  Teresa had been walking to the north and that direction was away from the other girls so that’s the direction Jerry picked.  Jerry moved out bent over and carefully placed one foot in front of the next.  Every ten or fifteen feet he stopped and checked out the area through his scope.  Together they walked all the way back through the camp and continued north through an open field towards a clump of trees.  These would provide good cover while Jerry searched for number seven.  As they approached the trees Jerry decided on a better plan.  The better plan was they should get the flock out of there before Jerry completely lost his darkness advantage.  Screw number seven, he could have the entire goddamn camp as far as Jerry was concerned.  Teresa was breathing hard when they reached the trees.  Jerry had forgotten she was injured.  Jerry sat Teresa down on a patch of nice soft pine needles (except when you’re naked) while he decided how they would get the hell out.  Jerry swept the area again with his scope and unbelievable, there he was.  This had to be the last guy on Jerry’s list.  It was just a faintly glowing white blob about 100 yards into the trees.

Gas Bitch was more terrified than he had ever been in his entire life.  This was worse than when his dad used to beat him in drunken rages.  This was worse than the first time he got punked in juvi.  When the unseen shooters had opened fire he had ran like everyone else.  He followed Pauli to Pauli’s camper but Pauli wouldn’t let him in.  Gas Bitch had lost his gun somewhere and just kept running.  He had always mostly gotten out of trouble by running.  This time he had no place to run to.  He stopped when he reached some trees and hide in them.  Everything was dark and the branches hit him in the face and scratched him until he had to stop.  When things quieted down Gas Bitch would go back and gather supplies and his girl and the big truck and they…This was the moment a 62 grain bullet entered the back of Gas Bitch’s neck.  It clipped the C-5 vertebra and shredded the right carotid artery.  Gas Bitch wasn’t dead at this moment but he was deadish.  He had no idea what had happened and was spasming when a second bullet drilled through his head.  Jerry saw hot glowing white liquid splash and then pour from the holes; blood.  Jerry saw this before when he shot the deer rifle hunter earlier.  The sight was scary, so much power in a tiny copper jacketed steel cored lead pellet.  This was the last one, the last threat.  Jerry felt dirty and sick to his stomach.  He wouldn’t fully digest the fact he had slaughtered seven men until much later.  They were sure to revisit and haunt Jerry in nightmares for who knows how long, maybe forever.  Jerry had become a real man killer during the past few months.  Jerry also felt great somehow.  Some hours ago there was a very good chance he would lose this fight.  Now he had won.  Jerry crawled forward so he could search the body.  He didn’t want to do it, touch a dead person, but it had to be done.  The dead fellow was warm to the touch and he smelled bad.  Jerry didn’t find anything useful on him and no weapons.  Jerry rejoined Teresa and gave her a hug.  Jerry was covered in something wet but Teresa ignored it.  Jerry decided to cover up some of Teresa’s nakedness.  He did it without thinking.  Maybe he picked this up after watching decades of TV shows and movies where the male hero always covered up the helpless undressed female.  It was stupid bullshit but Jerry couldn’t stop himself.  Jerry had for sure never been taught this move in any law enforcement or military training he ever received.  Jerry took off his camo top plus a grey poly tee he had on underneath and gave Teresa the tee shirt.  Jerry had begun to shiver and he felt exhausted.  “I’m going into shock and my fucking stomach hurts and I need some water.”  “It’s alright grandpa, walk back to camp with me.  Everything is fine now.”  As they walked Jerry struggled with the buttons on his camo top and Teresa limped beside him.  “I didn’t mean to swear out loud sweetheart.”  “I know grandpa.” 

It took a very long time for Jerry and Teresa to join the girls.  They stopped off at the water spigot.  This was the best water Jerry had ever had.  The sun was turning the eastern sky pink as they approached one of the secondary campfires.  To Jerry it seemed every young girl in the county was huddled around the fire.  The girls had stoked the fire and were staying warm around it.  The mornings had been unseasonably cold lately.  It made sense to Jerry they were avoiding the main campfire, there were bodies there.  One girl was off to the side and she was bound and gagged.  She didn’t bother struggling as Jerry and Teresa walked over to take a look, there was no way she was getting loose.  There was not an ounce of fear showing in this girl’s eyes, Jerry saw only raw hatred.  Teresa knew who this girl was without looking, it was Kimmy.  Exiled Liz Brown had been freed from her self imposed “Tent” arrest and had reclaimed her spot as leader.  She stood and greeted Teresa and the stranger she was leaning against.  This man with the assault rifle with what appeared to be a video camera? mounted on top was their savior.  To be honest several of the girls were ready to kill this murderer who had shot their men in cold blood but they had been overruled by the majority.  Two of these girls were still crying and Liz had assigned other girls to watch them.  Another girl saw Teresa had a top and announced, “That’s what I’m gonna do, I’m going to get me a shirt.”  With that she left the area at a brisk pace.  “Hi, my name is Elizabeth and you are?”  Teresa spoke for Jerry.  “This is my grandpa Jerry.  He doesn’t want to hurt anyone but I’ll shoot anyone who tries to hurt us.”  With that Teresa lifted the M-4 slung over her shoulder and pointed the muzzle vaguely towards the fire.  Liz was slightly older than the other girls and knew the score.  She spoke loudly so everyone would hear, “No one wants to hurt anyone else.  Are any of our captors still alive?”  Jerry answered that one, “no.”  Most of the girls cheered but some started blubbering again.  Liz said smilingly, “so I guess we’re free unless you’re our new master.”  Bodies all around and some of the girls splashed with blood and hunter brains and this woman was joking with Jerry.  Maybe this was needed, as a catharsis, so Jerry played along.  “Oh I’m not up for being anyone’s master.  I do have a mistress at home who’s the mean part of Irish who put a ring in my nose some decades ago.”  This made Liz grin, who looked like she had a couple gallons of emerald blood in her veins.

One of the girls in the group spoke up.  Her face was covered with dust and her tears had washed it down in streaks.  “What are we supposed to do now?  Who’s going to feed us?”  It occurred to Jerry this was a valid question.  He had killed the girl’s meal tickets and he sure as hell couldn’t adopt them like a cardboard box of puppies.  Thankfully Liz had this one covered.  “Don’t worry Janie; we can fend for ourselves just fine without those bastards around.  Some of the girls are local and they know how to hunt.  We’ll find enough to tough it out, don’t you worry.”  Janie was mollified, barely.  “Elizabeth,” said Jerry, “here’s my plan.  I want to police up these weapons and take back the equipment these men stole from me.  Teresa and I’ll leave all the guns and the food and whatever.  I’d like to take that military vehicle if it runs, I know the soldiers it belongs to.”  “Sounds fair to me” said Liz.  “I want to keep this gun grandpa.”  “Of course you do” thought Jerry.  “Liz, would it be okay if Teresa kept the M-4 she found?”  Liz nodded.  Another tragically young girl in the group did that thing people do when they’re nervous or want to say something but are shy.  She scooted around and acted like she was going to stand up but didn’t and started to raise her hand but didn’t.  She did all these things simultaneously.  Everyone noticed and all eyes were upon her when she finally spoke, “I know we don’t all agree that what you did was right but I know it was and I want to thank you for saving me.  I was kidnapped and raped, that’s what happened.”  Jerry felt itchy, he didn’t like being in the spotlight.  However he felt he had to say something, and especially for the girls who were crying because he had killed men they cared about.  “I don’t feel good about what happened but I watched these men for two days before I acted and I know in my heart they never would have listened to reason.  They kidnapped my granddaughter and literally shot me in the back about a week ago and they had to pay for that.  I’m sorry but there was just no other way.”  With Jerry’s explanation completed Liz sent all the girls off so they could clean up and get dressed.  That only left Kimmy.  “What do we do with her,” asked Liz.  Jerry frowned.  “I presume she’s tied up for a good reason.”  In unison Liz and Teresa answered, “oh yeah.”  “I suggest banishment” said Jerry.  “Liz, will you watch her while Teresa and I clean up the area?  After we pick up the guns we’ll come back and untie her and send her on her way.”  Jerry again looked at the tied up girl and saw her eyes had gone lifeless, like a snake’s eyes.

Once the girls had all walked off Teresa spoke, “where do we start grandpa?”  This one was easy for Jerry after decades of law enforcement experience.  Jerry wanted to conduct a thorough search but first he had to control the scene.  “I know this may sound gruesome but here it is; we have to shoot the dead guys again.”  “That makes sense” Teresa answered without expression.  “In the old world a team of officers would be all around us and they would handcuff all of the shot suspects alive or dead to ensure they didn’t do that Jack-in-the-Box Diehard move and pop up shooting.  This was yet another reference from one of Jerry’s favorite old movies and of course Teresa didn’t get it.  Even though she didn’t get the reference she understood the concept.  “We should tie them up.”  “Well that’s the general idea if ambulances were on the way and if we planned to cart the survivors off to jail.  There aren’t and we don’t.  Jerry led Theresa past the main campfire and into the woods.  At a certain spot after some searching Jerry found his backpack where he had left it prior to his attack.  Jerry slung his rifle and began opening the backpack as he and Teresa walked back to the campfire.  Jerry withdrew the suppressed Ruger .22 pistol plus two spare magazines.  He ignored the first body; this was the one who Jerry had shot in the head.  The wound was massive and it was obvious there was no coming back for the hunter.  The second body was a guy in military camouflage.  Unlike a real soldier his blouse was unbuttoned and he hadn’t been wearing a T-shirt underneath.  He was on his back and could be mistaken as being asleep.  Jerry stepped to the side and pulled back and released the bolt on the Ruger.  This got Teresa’s attention and she stepped back as Jerry put two rounds in the dead guy’s temple.  “Insurance” stated Jerry.  With the homemade suppressor it was likely no one except the two heard the shots.  Jerry examined the nametag on the uniform; SGT. Bannerman.  Jerry searched the fake soldier while Teresa collected three M-4’s and Ricky’s bolt action rifle.  They all had slings so this was heavy but easy.  Ricky the hunter had Jerry’s stolen 9mm Glock in his waistband but no spare mags.

There was another body here and it broke Jerry’s heart to see it.  It was a young girl.  Her corpse was extra gruesome because she was completely naked and her legs were splayed open.  Teresa looked for something to cover her with but there was nothing nearby.  Jerry repositioned her legs and crossed one of her arms over her chest.  Rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet.  There was a small hole in the girl’s face at the side of her nose and her eyes were half open.  Jerry reached over and attempted to close the girl’s eyelids, it didn’t work.  Jerry had been watching too many movies.  The sleepy eyes continued to stare at Jerry accusingly; they followed him.  Jerry was in a trance and Teresa saw he had started shaking.  She put her hand on her grandpa’s back and that broke the spell.  “Keep it together” thought Jerry, “there’s still danger about.”  “Maybe one of the criminals shot her grandpa.”  “No sweetheart, I did it.  My best guess is the bullet that killed the hunter also hit this poor girl.  I was so careful to wait til I had a clean shot.  The bullet maybe angled off or maybe she moved just as I pulled the trigger, I’m so sorry.”  There wasn’t anything more to say.  This was war and war is dirty and unjust and innocents die in wars.   

Jerry walked towards the big fir tree with Teresa in tow and approached the last known position of the guy Jerry headshot here from behind.  He was dead all right.  Teresa took the suppressed Ruger from Jerry and told him “I’ll handle this part.”  With that she stepped forward and added a bullet to the sticky looking dark red mess at the back of the criminal’s head.  This guy had also been wearing military camouflage.  Jerry picked up the man’s M-4 and added it to Teresa’s shoulder.  She sagged under the growing weight and had no pants to tuck the Ruger into.  It had to be this way because Jerry needed his hands free to react if any additional monsters popped up.  “I know that’s heavy Teresa but we can dump the guns at the Humvee soon.” 

Teresa and Jerry walked past a tent and angled towards the Humvee and Rossi’s camper.  A girl in the tent was putting on a pair of men’s jeans as they passed and she said hello.  As they approached, Jerry saw legs sticking out of the partially closed door of the RV and kept an eye out while Teresa dumped all the rifles except her new M-4 on the hood of the Humvee.  Jerry had Teresa stand back as he opened the RV door with the muzzle of his AR-180.  Jerry peeked in at floor level and quickly ducked back.  He didn’t expect anyone to be hiding in the back of the RV as everyone in the camp had been accounted for, but why take chances?  Jerry found his long lost M16A2 laying next to the Skipper’s body.  Jerry picked the rifle up and said “thanks asshole.”  A bullet had ripped through the magazine ruining it and Jerry almost cut himself on the jagged raw aluminum edge as he ejected it.  This was not his 60 round Surefire mag, “where the fuck was it?”  Jerry heard “oooh” and jumped.  It seemed the Skipper wasn’t as dead as he should have been.  Teresa had moved forward and had the Ruger pointed at the Skipper’s head.  Jerry saw her hand was shaking so badly she easily could have missed him but she held her fire.  “Grandpa, pull him out of there for me.”  Jerry had no idea what Teresa had in mind but she was entitled to handle the Skipper as she wished.  Jerry slung his rifle, grabbed the bottom of the Skipper’s pants and dragged him down the steps of the RV into the dirt.  The back of the Skipper’s head bounced over the steps on the way down.

“Hold this,” said Teresa as she held out the suppressed .22 to Jerry.  “This is Crazy Pauli Rossi.  Pauli, meet my grandpa.”  Pauli moaned weakly.  It was amazing he was still breathing.  Jerry had put at least one and up to four or five bullets into this asswipe.  On top of that his left foot had been all but blown off.  Jerry figured the grenade he had tossed into the RV must have gone off at this poor fucker’s feet.  “Grandpa, Pauli likes his girls to be affectionate and he likes to cuddle.  He also likes to pretend choke girls as he sodomizes them.”  Jerry looked at the ground, “I don’t need to hear this.”  Teresa smiled and squatted and placed her M-4 carefully on the ground before she turned Pauli on his side.  Unbelievably Pauli spoke.  He croaked the word “Opana.”  Teresa heard the word as “pain” and Jerry thought he heard the word “opera.”  “I hope you’re in pain you rotten fucker,” said Teresa.  Teresa lay down behind Pauli until they were spooning.  She gently moved her arm under his neck as if to cradle him.  Bringing the arm over the front of Pauli’s throat she placed his chin at her elbow.  She wiggled closer and cupped her hands together and applied pressure.

Jerry now regretted he had demonstrated the carotid restraint to Teresa as part of her informal defense training.  Her deceptively loving embrace was that of a boa to a rat.  Pauli’s face swelled and turned bright red.  He began to spasm wildly but not a peep escaped Teresa’s firm pressure.  Pauli looked for all the world as if he was silently climaxing.  Only his open bulging eyes betrayed the truth.  Pauli’s eyes were those of a frightened small boy who had accidently broken mommy’s favorite vase.  God forgive him Jerry couldn’t look away.  This was a car crash in slow motion.  Teresa maintained pressure long after Jerry watched the slaver’s eyes unfocus.  They used to break lots of necks in the movies.  According to movies snapping a man’s neck is easy as a pencil neck geek snapping a pencil.  The movies lied.  In real life it’s extremely difficult to break a neck.  Hangmen used to refer to weight and body structure formulas.  They used them to determine how much lead weight if any they needed to strap onto a condemned man and exactly how far the drop should be to cleanly break the neck.  Get it wrong and embarrassingly the poor bastard would strangle or the head would pop off.  The carotid restraint however, isn’t about breaking necks.  The technique uses only a few pounds of arm pressure to close off the carotid arteries and starve the brain of oxygenated blood.  Professional wrestlers used to call this the “sleeper” hold.  The technique is so easy a child can do it.  Law enforcement used the carotid restraint for many years but started cutting back on its use because of accidental deaths.  Held for say 30 seconds a suspect would pass out and could be cuffed.  Held for too long or applied incorrectly or just because of bad luck suspects sometimes suffered brain death, very very embarrassing.  Jerry wasn’t too sure how long Teresa applied the carotid restraint on Rossi.  It was so long Jerry could have taken a piss break.  Teresa must have been listening during the training session when he told her about brain death being certain after four minutes.  Once Rossi was limp as a dead flounder Teresa rolled over and jumped up and brushed herself off.  She took a big breath as if she had finished an invigorating workout and asked Jerry for the Ruger.  Teresa straddled Rossi’s head one boot against each ear and pumped the rest of the magazine into his face.  Rossi would have gotten an interesting last view if he had been able to see.  Teresa took the mag from the locked back Ruger and held it out towards Jerry, “more bullets grandpa.”  Jerry fished in his pocket and held the mag just out of her reach.  “You’re not going to shoot him again are you?”  Teresa sighed.  “No, I was really mad at this jerk but I’m better now.  We have more bodies to check correct?” 

Jerry and Teresa found one shotgun and two handguns on the remaining three bodies.  Gas Bitch had been completely unarmed.  Teresa put two rounds from the Ruger into each of the dead men’s heads.  Jerry noticed Teresa did it woodenly, with less emotion than most people would show swatting a fly.  Something had died in Teresa during her ordeal.   Teresa stacked the guns with the others on the Humvee while Jerry searched the RV.  She had offered to help but Jerry was the search expert.  Not only could he find missing granddaughters, he could also toss a vehicle or residence for evidence or contraband like a pro.  Jerry started low and worked his way up.  He found Teresa’s Talo .22 rifle and the suppressor for it.  Strangely he didn’t find any magazines for the Talo.

Jerry exited the RV and Teresa directed him to the tent where Denny had lived with his slaves.  Jerry didn’t find much in the tent.  Ricky’s stuff was in or around the truck where Jerry had popped Denny.  Jerry found his backpack in the truck along with three hand grenades, some of his 30 round AR-180 mags, and his suppressor.  He did not find his 60 round mag.  What was it with these people loosing magazines?  Maybe they thought they were disposable, stupid slave owners.

When Jerry returned to the Humvee he saw Teresa had scared up a pair of baggy shorts that fit.  With her pellet wounds she didn’t dare put on a pair of pants.  “I found your .22 rifle but the magazines are gone.”  “Great.”  “No sweat, I have a few more at home.”  Jerry pointed to his backpack.  He had folded the stock on the Talo and stuck it inside.  Teresa asked, “did you find my Bersa?”  “I’m sorry honey it seems to be gone.”  Teresa frowned, “fuck these people.”  “We recovered two pistols and I presume you’re entitled to take one.”  Jerry and Teresa checked the pistols.  The first one was a 9mm Hi-Point.  Jerry picked it up.  “I know about this weapon, it’s like a Volvo, boxy but good.  They function rather well for the money but the blowback recoil is a bitch.”  “Next,” said Teresa.  The second handgun was an old piece o shit Charter Arms revolver.  Jerry swung open the cylinder and found it loaded with five semi-wadcutter hollow points.  Jerry closed the cylinder.  “Five shot .38 Special.  Pull the trigger until they die.”  Teresa held out her hand, “gimme.”  Teresa tried to stow the revolver in the front pocket of her new shorts.  They sagged all ghetto and Teresa laughed.  “Good sign” thought Jerry.  She opened the flap on Jerry’s backpack and placed the revolver inside muzzle down next to the suppressed Ruger.  “Now we deal with Kimmy,” said Teresa.  Teresa snatched an M-4 from the hood and Jerry followed her back to where Liz guarded Kimmy.  Teresa handed the M-4 to Liz and she held it like the average man holds a mop.  “I don’t want this thing.”  “You’re going to have to learn so you should start now,” said Teresa.  “Do you have a knife grandpa?”  Jerry did have a knife; he had recovered his folding Flash-II from dead Denny’s pocket.  Jerry handed her the opened knife and Teresa cut Kimmy loose.  Kimmy stood up painfully and rubbed her legs.  “Can I use the bathroom?” asked Kimmy.  “Here’s the thing” said Teresa, you’re about to be kicked out from camp.”  “I heard it before stupid, banishment; whatever the fuck that is.” “Start walking towards the campground outhouse Kimmy and don’t run or I’ll shoot you in the back.”  Liz gathered up camp girls as Kimmy walked and Teresa guarded.  Kimmy walked directly into the State Parks built concrete and sheet metal outhouse and Teresa said, “leave the door open.”  When Kimmy emerged she found a plastic bag of her soiled clothes and other miscellaneous Kimmy shit.  Everyone watched as Kimmy picked up the bag and began walking north.  After a while she turned and flipped the group the bird with her good arm, turned, and kept on truckin. 

Jerry had Liz dole out the guns on the Humvee’s hood to girls who weren’t revenge minded against murderous Jerry.  Jerry started the Hummer no problem.  The military version has no key to worry about.  They also work on a 24 volt electrical system with multiple batteries.  Most of the time as long as you don’t let a Humvee run completely dry of diesel you’re good to go.  Teresa settled on a kneeling position in the back seat to spare her pockmarked legs and she and Jerry were off with Teresa waving goodbye to her friends.  On the way home Teresa asked, “grandpa, how is it you lived after getting shot and I’m not complaining but what took you so long to find me?”  “I have a question for you; why did you leave that trail of .22 cartridges if you thought I was dead?”  “Hmm, that’s a good question; I hoped someone would come after me, maybe the zombie hunters.”  Jerry laughed.  “Okay, time for me to answer your questions.  First off, that guy the hunter with the deer rifle shot me in the vest and didn’t do that ‘insurance’ deal we did to his buddies.  Second, even with the trail you left and by the way thank you for doing that because otherwise it’s very likely I never would’ve found you, the bottom line is there was still a large area I had to search and I had to do it carefully.  I even got sidetracked for a time at what I can only call a cannibal camp.  Did your captors mention anything about a camp to the south made up of mostly women and children?”  “No grandpa not a word.”  “All right, I’ll let you know when we get close.  Keep an eye out and keep that new rifle of yours ready to go and I’ll swerve and punch it to make us a hard target to hit.  The thing is the cannibals have their own hunters and they like to shoot at anything that moves including two legged snacks like you and me.”  “When we get home I’m never leaving the house again,” said Teresa.    

They drove in silence for quite some time.  Although Jerry seemed to live almost unconsciously by television and movie clichés, he luckily saved himself and Teresa much embarrassment by declining to ask the old question; “Did they touch you?”  Jerry already knew the answer but if he hadn’t why would he or anyone else ever ask such a question?”  Would anyone asking that question expect a truthful answer?  If they got an answer truthful or not would the knowledge somehow make the situation any better?  Detectives used to ask the question only because they were fishing for criminal charges they could recommend be filed against suspects and so they could request counseling for the victim.  The whole “touching” question was a moot point anyway; anyone who could have done any touching was dead as a doornail.  Near the turnoff to the cannibal camp Jerry warned Teresa and as he jinked like a fighter pilot Teresa kept the barrel of her rifle pointed towards obvious clumps of concealment as they came up.  The swaying was no doubt painful for his granddaughter but Jerry couldn’t afford to drive straight and level as it were in bandit country.  In the Humvee Jerry covered the same distance in just over half an hour that took him days to cover on foot.  They arrived at Casa Garcia about noon and Jerry all but collapsed behind the wheel a split second after he switched off the Humvee and set the parking brake.  The mental strain had been greater than the physical effort during the search and all Jerry wanted to do was sleep.  Jerry was only half aware of the tearful family reunion.  Jerry dreamily heard Annie screaming “mommy” over and over.   Having a two-year-old in the household quickly deadens one to unfiltered heart rending cries.  The last thing he remembered was Sara helping him off with his clothes and giving him a cool drink before she tucked him into bed.  Jerry was so exhausted he slept for almost 12 hours and was so tired he didn’t dream.  The nightmares would come later when Jerry’s mind was rested.

When Jerry woke he maneuvered himself mechanically to the bathroom.  The family had a small flashlight on a shelf and Jerry turned it on so he wouldn’t miss.  He saw whoever last used the toilet hadn’t refilled the tank with water and decided to rough it.  He stumbled to the backdoor and removed the 2 x 4 brace and undid the lock.  This was a lot of work to go through to take a piss but security first right?  On the back porch Jerry had set up something he called “Jerry’s piss station.”  It consisted of two 5 gallon buckets.  One bucket contained piss and the other held clean water.  Now came the tricky part.  Jerry had to piss in the correct bucket.  The clean water bucket was there so you could wash your hands.  Jerry had set this up as a convenience but also for the free uric acid.  When the piss bucket got ripe Jerry would dilute it with creek water and water the fruit trees with it.  Jerry was starting to wake up now and had no idea what time it was.  Man was it nippy out.  The weather had started to change way early and Jerry could see his breath.  Jerry locked the door and saw faint light coming from the front room.  He approached with care and found Sara talking with Teresa next to the wood burning insert.  Teresa was on her side and Annie was sleeping next to her.  They all asked at the same time, “how are you feeling?”  Jerry spoke first, “I’m doing much better after that rest, but I could use some more water or better yet something with some sugar in it.”  Sara went to the kitchen and Jerry gave Teresa a hug.  The life and death struggle they had shared besides the whole end of the world thing had brought them closer together.  Sara returned and handed Jerry a big glass of purple something.  He slurped clumsily like a five-year-old.  Jerry had been extremely dehydrated during the past several days.  Jerry sat down and asked, “What you two talkin bout?”  “Oh you know” said Sara, “girl talk.”  Jerry laughed at himself, why did he ask dumb questions.  Sara scooted over on the floor next to Jerry and took his hand.  “I dressed Teresa’s wounds and I want to start her on those tropical fish antibiotics you bought and I haven’t yet because I don’t know the dosage.”  “First thing tomorrow morning,” said Jerry.  Sara patted Jerry’s hand and asked “Are you ready to come back to bed dear?”  Jerry nodded and Sara picked her up and left the room with Annie in her arms, it was bedtime for Annie also.  Jerry knew Sara would also use the bathroom and change into more comfortable clothes.  Sara had her routine.  When they were alone Teresa told Jerry; “You know grandpa, even if no one showed up I had a plan to kill them all.”  “Did you?”  “Remember that story you told me about the Frenchwoman at the farmhouse who poisoned all the Nazis?”  “Of course I do, that’s one of my favorite bedtime stories.”  “Hardy har har, very funny.  Didn’t you tell me she put raw pork in with damp lima beans and let it ferment until it made poison?”  “Yes I did, botulism.”  Well…I didn’t have lima beans but I did get hold of some white beans.  I didn’t have any raw pork so I substituted bunny rabbit.  I put the two in a canning jar and had it cooking away right under that bitch Kimmy’s nose.”  “Very sneaky” said Jerry.  “My plan was to wait until the canning jar lid bulged and the stuff in the jar looked and smelled like black death.”  “I like the way you think” urged Jerry.  “In the story you told me the farmhouse woman mixed the botulism with wine and strained off the chunks and served it to the Nazis.  I was going to do exactly that.  We had some wine for special occasions and mostly only the men were allowed to drink alcohol.”  “You’re a fighter and I’m very proud of you.”  “Thank you again for rescuing me grandpa.”  Jerry smiled in the subdued light from the fireplace and waved good night.  In bed as they snuggled Jerry asked Sara, “Is she going to be all right?”  Sara waited too long before she answered, “I don’t see how she can be.”

Chapter 22

Global cooling is a bitch

The next morning everyone around Casa Garcia welcomed back Teresa and Jerry.  Sara treated everyone to a luxurious gruel breakfast.  During Jerry’s absence Bart Barry had become something of a pest and followed Sara around like a puppy.  Jerry noticed and Sara snorted when Jerry asked, “new boyfriend?”  Later, Teresa was lying on the couch and Bart looked on with Jerry as Sara checked on Teresa’s birdshot pellet wounds.  “They seem to be healing nicely” said Sara.  “All scabby is better than open and oozy.  We’ll continue with the antibiotic treatment for another 13 days just to be sure any infection is gone.”  “Did you dig out the pellets?” asked Bart.  Sara and Teresa smiled, Oh no, this question was sure to set off Jerry.  It did.  “You know Bart, that stuff you used to watch in movies about digging out bullets is pure horseshit.  In real life surgeons routinely leave bullets, pellets, fragments or whatever inside the body if leaving them there won’t cause future harm.  Also, taking them out often causes more damage than leaving them in.”  “I didn’t know that Mr. Garcia.”  “It’s true; a splinter hurts like hell only because it’s in contact with all those nerves in your skin.  When something is deeper…like a pellet for example…you don’t even feel it.  Teresa, you don’t feel those pellets right?”  “I Goddamn sure as hell feel them grandpa.”  “Language,” said Sara and Teresa huffed.  “Well Bart,” Jerry whispered, “Teresa is wrong.  She feels the wound the pellet made but not the actual pellet itself.”  Teresa whispered, “I can hear you grandpa and I’m not wrong.  I can feel every pellet and I read one time in a baby book lead is poisonous.  I bet I’m going to get lead poisoning.”  Jerry scrunched his face and shook his head negatively and Bart smiled.  Jerry continued with his prattle as Sara taped small sections of paper towel over each scab.  “Bart,” asked Jerry, “have you ever heard someone on TV say after they got shot; ‘I’m fine, the bullet went all the way through.”  Bart thought about it.  “I’m sure I have.  Makes sense to me because you don’t have to take out the bullet.”  “Yes Bart, (was this kid even listening?) but I just a second ago told you taking out bullets is Hollywood bullshit.”  “Right, so when they say that they’re wrong?”  “Exactly,” said Jerry.  Think abut it, if the bullet goes all the way through you or your arm or leg you have two wounds to deal with instead of only one, get it?”  “Got it Mr. Garcia.”

During the next two weeks Teresa continued to heal and the whether continued to deteriorate.  There was no doubt now, this was much colder than late summer should have been in El Dorado County.  In a fix Jerry could heat at least the kitchen of Casa Garcia with his propane fired oven and the family could huddle.  That was the backup plan.  Jerry had his wood burning fireplace insert and he even had a woodpile.  The problem was the pile had grown smaller lately at an alarming rate.  If Jerry was bright he would work on harvesting enough wood for multiple woodpiles.  Jerry had watched a TV survival program one time where the people were challenged to survive for one year in Alaska using only frontier supplies.  They ultimately failed because they ran out of food and firewood.  Jerry hadn’t forgotten the program stated the family needed more than five cords of seasoned firewood cut and stacked and stored just to survive the long Alaskan winter for one season.  Right now Jerry had less than one cord of wood and it had begun staying near freezing all day long.  The situation came to a head the day Andy and Bart approached Jerry about their camper home.  “Jerry, Bart and I are happy enough in the camper you helped us bring here and we like helping guarding and we also appreciate your lovely wife feeding us here and there.”

“And?” “Annnnnnd…Bart and I are starting to freeze our balls off in the camper.  It doesn’t have a heater and not much insulation.  Bart and I have a plan if you’re willing to hear us out.”  Jerry gestured with his hands; “please.”  “You know the burned houses at the hilltop; Bart and I found a wood stove and all the pipes in one of them.  Being metal they didn’t burn and that stove would keep us toasty warm if we got it and hooked it up.”  Bart jumped into the conversation, “we can’t hook it up to the camper because it would be too much heat and also dangerous.”  Bart scratched his head, “what’s that chemical Andy, carbon monoxide or dioxide?”  “Monoxide,” Andy and Jerry said at the same time.  “But if we put it in your garage we could heat the whole place and have lots of room.”  “You two want to move into my garage.”  Andy and Bart both sensed this was a rhetorical question on Jerry’s part.  “If you move into the garage are you planning on sleeping on the floor?”  Bart continued, “we thought about that.  We can move the foam you gave us from the camper and sleep on that just like we have been.  That stuff works great.”  It was true Jerry had given the boys enough used insulation board from his vehicle Faraday cage to use as field expedient sleeping pads.  They had to rip out the mattresses which had been inside the camper because bodies had rotted on them.  “Right now I got my Frontier and Sara’s Xterra in there, not lots of room.”  Andy’s turn, “we did some measuring with Sara’s um, Mrs. Garcia’s permission.  “With her car right next to yours there’s enough room for the stove plus me and Bart can take turns sleeping in the bed of your truck if that’s okay?”  “On one condition” said Jerry.

The condition was the boys had to help Jerry locate and haul in deadwood and salvageable pieces of wood from all the nearby burned-out houses.  Together they located and installed the wood stove the boys had found and stocked up on all the wood they could find.  The problem was gasoline.  Jerry’s truck couldn’t hold much wood and they didn’t have a trailer.  Jerry used the last of the gas in his truck hauling wood.  This was going to be a big problem next year but he would worry about that later.  The coming winter was the more immediate concern.  The other side of the coin was the Garcia’s other neighbors; Michael Weber and Mr. and Mrs. Reid.  If the boys were freezing in a camper how were they doing in a tent?  The truth was they hadn’t been doing well at all.  Sara wanted to bring the three of them into the house but Jerry put the kibosh on that idea.  In the end they compromised and did what Jerry wanted to do.  The Xterra and frontier were pushed out onto the driveway along with the Humvee, (until they could return it to Cpl. Shepherd) and five neighbors made the Garcia’s detached garage their new shared home.  Four days later it snowed for the first time.

At an elevation of 1400 feet Shingle Springs was used to receiving an inch or two of snow each winter.  A slight dusting would come down and melt away to nothing within 24 hours.  This snow was different.  It came in fall instead of winter and it stuck around for several days.  If this was a portent of things to come it was going to be a record-setting miserable and deadly winter.  Every hunter knows about the winter die off.  Winter is the most stressful time for animals.  The stress increases many times with deep snow.  If it kept snowing the winter die off this year would include many of the people who fled into the hills when the Sacramento Valley was burned out.  With the snow, the Garcias and friends stopped seeing people drop by to get water from the creek.  Many of the same people had been coming by every day for weeks and Glen and Julia Reid especially had been on a first name basis with many of them.  Water is heavy so it was understandable they stopped dropping by when snow was all around ready to be scooped up.  Out of sheer boredom the Garcias and their neighbors began hanging out often in the warm garage.  Even while just hanging around the group always kept at least one person on watch.  Times had been bad before but with the cold and snow they were now doubly bad.  The group expected individual refugees or a group of them to become desperate any time now and attack the plump juicy target which was Casa Garcia. 

Julia Reid had been on watch and alerted the group when she spotted someone approaching.  Julia had a rifle because what good is an unarmed sentry?  The garage door was closed for warmth but everyone was still dressed in layers least they have to step outside.   Julia kept the lever action Browning ready as a strange character leading a brown dog of indeterminate heritage approached.  He called out “Hail the camp.”  People had adopted this greeting commonly used by 1850’s gold seekers and sometimes modern campers as a way to safely walk up to a stranger’s campsite without getting shot.  Julia had just pulled a night guard shift and Michael Weber was about to relieve her so he met the stranger.  The group saw the two of them speaking and then the young man and his dog walked over to the stove inside the garage to warm up.  The boy was unremarkable looking; mid 20’s, Hispanic, with hair down to his shoulders.  He had a huge overstuffed backpack which most likely contained everything he owned.  The most remarkable thing about the young man was his dog; dogs were rare in the New World.  The Garcia’s had Gretchen the dog but that was different because everyone knew the Garcias were rich.  After they had been given the word Sara and Teresa and Jerry came out to the garage to meet the stranger.  Gretchen had been at Sara’s side as usual and she and the young man’s mutt got along famously.  The young man started by introducing himself; “um, hi there, my name is Mark Bernstein and this is um my dog Misty.”  Bing a good host Michael introduced Mark to the group and saved Jerry the patriarch for last.  “Hello Mark” said Jerry lazily and waved.  “Um, could I trouble you folks for some water or better yet hot water?”  Teresa handed Annie off to Sara and left for the house.  Teresa had recovered from her wounds but found her legs now tended to stiffen up easily.  Lately she used any excuse to keep moving.  Teresa returned with a large cup of hot water and a teabag and some sugar.  The hot water was easy because the Garcias kept a warm pot of it in front of the wood stove in the house at all times for cooking and cleaning and warming drink use.  The teabag and sugar were unusual.  The Garcias always drank pine needle tea with no sugar around the neighbors unless it was a special occasion.  When Teresa handed Mark the plate and he saw the teabag and the sugar his eyes widened.  “Um, thank you.”  Teresa was well aware of Jerry’s refugee policy.  The policy didn’t apply to every stranger who drifted through.  However, Mark owned a dog and there was obviously a story there.  On her own volition Teresa hit up Mark with the Garcia family “your story for a meal” offer.  Mark jumped at the chance but added; um, my story is not a happy story and there are parts I’m not um proud of.”  Teresa tried to look sternly at Mark and failed.  All anyone ever saw in her was beauty.  “Mark, it’s very important you tell us the absolute truth and that you don’t leave anything out.  We’re having chili beans tonight and believe me you don’t want to miss them.”  Mark’s stomach had growled at the magic word “beans.”  Mark hadn’t eaten a single bean of any kind since this whole mess started.  “Um, all right.  Um, I’ll tell the truth but you won’t want to give me any food when you hear my story.”  “Don’t worry about it Mark, food first, story later.”  The beans were ready some time later and everyone got an equal share.  Mark wolfed them down faster than Misty bolted the bowl of dog food Sara gave her and then it was story time. 

“Um, you might be curious about my name.  Um, most people are.  Um, my mom is Hispanic and my dad is Jewish.  I’m Mark Junior.  Um, mom is Catholic and dad is Jewish but they don’t practice any religion and I don’t either.  Um, when the juice went out I was living in a two room apartment with two roommates.  Um, I was a musician and used to perform weekly at Steve’s Corner Coffee House in Ione.  Um, I spell it; Um, ‘W.E.A.K.L.Y.,’ I wasn’t very good.”  Polite laughter here.  “Um, the apartment became unlivable after only a few days so I um packed up camping stuff I had and Misty and me hit the road. 

(There will be no more Um’s included from here on out.  It’s enough to know Mark started every sentence with “Um.”  The listeners found it annoying but the reader doesn’t have to.  This is why Teresa later referred to Mark as the “Um Guy” when she retold his story to others.  Jerry also had a nickname for Mark; he referred to him as “A boy and his dog.”)

Mark continued his story.  “We traveled west because I felt there would be food where the most people were.  We headed down into the valley even though most people were heading uphill.  After three days I knew I had made a big mistake.  I got it backwards.  Wherever the most people was there was less food; none really and everyone was hungry.  The stores which hadn’t burned were empty.  After that we headed back into the hills and avoided other people as much as possible.  Misty and I traveled for several more days without eating anything.  I found a creek so we wouldn’t die of thirst at least and we stayed by it for another week or more.  I got so weak from lack of food I could hardly move.  Misty had been going out looking for stuff to eat and she brought back some meat she had found. (this part of the story was untrue.  Mark was embellishing here.  However, the main facts of the story were 100% factual.) It was a part of something that had been caught in a wildfire and was burned and crisp.  I ate it and it brought me back.  If I hadn’t ate it I would have died like many others Misty and I had come across.  After I ate the meat I regained enough strength to follow Misty.  She led me to where the meat came from and…Mark paused here.  Are you sure you want the truth?”  Mark was sitting on a backseat of a car Jerry and the boys had salvaged from an abandoned vehicle and made into a couch/bed.  Mark reached for the strap of his backpack.  “You remember the agreement Mark,” said Teresa.  “We need the truth.  Go ahead with your story.”  Mark looked at the floor and his voice broke as he continued.  “It was a body…a burned human body.  Mark had started crying quietly and big tears were hitting the garage floor.  The group let him cry.  The report of cannibalism wasn’t anything new and horrible.  The Garcia clan had received reports of this and other acts of desperation from other refugees.  Julia Reid patted Um Boy’s back until he continued; his story had turned into a confession.  “I was still hungry and I ate more.  I was so hungry.  Misty and I slept near the body and moved on the next morning.  I told Misty I wouldn’t eat human meat ever again and I think she understood me.  We didn’t find much of anything for several more days and then right on time Misty found us a steer carcass.  The steer had also been caught in a fire so the meat was still good.” 

Mark paused again.  He was remembering how the man or lady meat he had eaten had tasted as good as the moo meat.  He debated telling this group of strangers this, decided he would never tell anyone this one part.  Anyway he had been near death when he ate the person and was only very hungry when he ate the cow meat.  It wasn’t a fair comparison but these people wouldn’t understand.  “After Misty and I ate off of the steer as much as we could we moved on.  A group of men found me and would have robbed me.  The joke was on them because I didn’t have anything worth stealing.  The men argued with themselves about taking Misty from me.  They decided not to but they had no guns so I don’t think they could have caught her anyway.  They let us go and after that I got a pole and tied a knife I had to the end with some wire I found in a car.”  Mark patted the car seat he was sitting on.  “You can find all kinds of useful stuff in cars.  Misty and I were out of food again soon enough and we couldn’t find hardly anything to eat.  We searched burned areas for stuff that got caught and we found two burned snakes.”  Sara had left the group when Mark had taken a break.  She now returned with a big metal pan of warm rice pudding and started dishing it out into everyone’s feed bowls.  Mark paused again to eat.  He wasn’t expecting sugar in the rice and hadn’t been fond of rice pudding before the world died.  This rice pudding was without any question the best thing he had ever eaten and he told Sara so.  Bart Barry asked; “Did you find anything else to eat?  Berries or something?”  Mark didn’t understand why the group started to laugh.  Barry had asked a cannibal about eating berries.  Mark took it as a serious question and in fact Barry had been serious.  “Misty and I found meat when we got lucky and that was it.  There are wild blackberries (more laughter) all around the hills but other people ate every berry they got their hands on. (even more laughter) Misty and I were still starving when Misty found a spot that had ground squirrels.  It covered the size of a baseball field.  Misty couldn’t catch them but I tried spearing em with my knife spear.  That didn’t work at all so I tried rocks.  That didn’t work.  Last I tried a short stick about a foot long and heavy.  That worked best of all.  All I had to do was hit a squirrel and Misty would run in and grab it before it got away.  Misty and I caught lots and lots of squirrels that way.”  After I don’t know how long--weeks, we decided to move north after it snowed.  Misty and I have to find shelter. We traveled for three days and here we are.”  While Mark had been deep into his squirrel story Sara left and returned with hot water for all and instant cocoa packets.  This was another item Mark thought he would never see again.  “You guys have so much,” said Mark.  “Are you guys prepper people?”  That roused Jerry from his siesta.  He chuckled with his eyes shut.  “Let me tell you…Mark was it?  I wouldn’t call us preppers but it’s true we prepared for the CME.”  “You sure did,” said Mark.  “Lucky for us we got a heads up.”  I have a theory about your average prepper” said Jerry.  Would you like to hear it Mark?”  Mark didn’t know it but this was a completely rhetorical question.  “I used to watch that Doomsday Preppers TV program.  It was entertaining in a depressing way.  It occurs to me the first rule of prepping should be the same as the first rule of Fight Club; ‘You do not talk about prepping.’ The people who appeared on the TV show violated basic security except for the half who used the show as an infomercial to try to sell suckers expensive prepping shit.  Mark, did you watch the show?”  No huh?  When I watched the show I noticed a pattern with the half who weren’t trying to sell survival bunkers.  All of them explained they were worried about the scary near future.  The majority of the worry warts had way more young teen daughters than sons.  Do you know what this told me Mark?  It told me these fathers fears were actually based on their unconscious concern about their daughters growing up and having to fend for themselves in an uncaring world.  Freud could make something of this I’m sure.” 

“Mr. Garcia, I also have a theory,” said Mark.  “My theory is about why this mess happened.  This might sound crazy but it’s only a thought.”  Several in the group urged Mark to continue.  “Well, how’s this for a theory; the E.T’s did it.  “The what?” said Jerry.  “Hear me out,” Mark continued.  “Scientists had been saying for some time before the CME hit that they had pinpointed planets using our Kepler orbiting telescope we could colonize in the not so distant future.  My theory is the ET’s didn’t want us sending probes or people to nearby neo-earth planets so they shut us down.”  Stunned silence and the group seemed skeptical.  One group member stated; “Yes Mark but everyone knows a CME caused the worldwide blackout.”  “That’s true, but what caused the CME?  My theory is an advanced alien civilization saw us as an emerging threat and decided to shut us down using our own sun as a weapon.”  Jerry the skeptic had heard more outlandish theories than this concerning much more mundane events: The JFK assassination came to mind.  Mark was feeling more confident and continued with more enthusiasm.  “The aliens could have directed a planet killer asteroid our way but why kill all the animals and all the humans when what you really want to do is prevent the humans from colonizing space?”  Jerry was amazed when his usually taciturn Sara entered the conversation.  “But Mark, the CME is killing all the humans.  All of our neighbors are dead.”  “The CME destroyed the technology that we in the First World relied on.  This was the same technology our space program relied on.  You can be sure there’s many Third World people whose lives didn’t change at all after the CME hit.  It’s not hard to get along without electricity when you never had it.”  That gave the group something to ponder.  Jerry had been mentally fitting Mark for a tinfoil yarmulke but had started to change his mind.  “I know, I know,” said Mark.  “Maybe I’m wrong, but isn’t it strange this happened just a few decades after we first went into space?”  Jerry felt compelled to speak up, “I respect your theory Mark.  However, isn’t it more likely this periodic CME outbreak has happened lots of times in man’s history, the difference being we didn’t have electricity when prior outbreaks occurred.  Maybe our sun has been a temperamental old gal for a long time.”  Mark stroked his grizzled chin as he thought about what Jerry had said.  Finally he spoke.  “You might have something there Mr. Garcia…but I bet the ET’s were relieved.”  The neighbors who slept in the garage directed Mark to a comfy spot in the camper for him and Misty to bed down for the night.  Who knows if his being an admitted cannibal entered into that decision?  Sara made breakfast for both in the morning before they headed out.  Before he hit the road Jerry warned Mark about the real cannibals to the north.  Mark had been confused until Jerry explained; “These guys hunt down and murder wanderers like yourself, and your little dog too, and serve you up as supper.  Don’t head directly north from here.”  Taking Jerry’s advice Mark and Misty headed east to check Placerville for signs of life; ET or otherwise.

As it turns out Mark could have gone north singing the entire way in complete safety; the cannibal camp was bugging out.  The man the group called “The Director” had decided they couldn’t stay at their campground any longer.  They had no gas for their vehicles and most of them had been living in makeshift tents and lean-to’s.  They tried to stay warm but after the snow came it was impossible.  Last night one of the Director’s people had frozen to death and that was the last straw.  The Director sent the camp hunter and his assistant north to check out the rogue cop camp and report back.  Everyone in camp called the hunter “The Collector” because it rhymed with his boss’s nickname and because he “Collected” meat.  The Director had “Directed” the community theater program in Volcano CA. for many successful and distinguished seasons before he retired.  What’s more he looked every inch the theatrical director.  He was tall and thin and spoke in a cultured voice.  He was let down only by his name; Howard Middleton.  Such an ordinary name for an artist.  Only the Director’s closest confidants used his given name and never in public.  The Director had his image to consider.  The Collector’s real name was Mike Jones.  Jones spoke with the Director in private upon his return.  “They’re gone.”  “The entire camp is gone?”  “No, explained Jones.  Funny, all the men are gone but the women they had in the camp are still there.”  The Director smiled, “A camp full of women.”  Jones had read the Director’s mind. “Howie,” he began and the Director scowled.  “I know what you’re thinking but forget it, these women have rifles.”  The Director pondered this new information.  “I could ask you to harvest them Mr. Jones—one woman at a time.  You could watch and wait until each was alone and take them.”  “I’m not a ninja Howie.  These girls have protection and there’s a pack of em.”  “It was merely a thought Mr. Jones; we can’t stay here any longer as you know.  I had been planning on bypassing the bad cops and now I see I don’t have to.  I’ve staged this before Mr. Jones; I shall lead the children of Israel to the Promised Land.  In this case it’s a land filled with girls with guns.”  The cannibal camp left their campground the next morning and walked for several days.  They were slowed by the many children too big to carry but too young to take big boy/girl steps.  It snowed again on the way.

At the former Rossi camp the girl on watch at the south end of the camp saw a strange sight.  She relayed the report to another girl who ran to Liz with the news.  Liz arrived backed up by another girl with an M-4.  Liz first saw a tall grey bearded man with a warming shawl over his shoulders.  He was followed closely behind by almost a dozen children.  Several adults followed with the Collector and his assistant at the very rear.  The Director had pre-staged this procession for maximum psychological impact.  He had gambled females wouldn’t open fire on a group of innocent children lead by a harmless old man.  He was correct of course and Liz was mistaken; the Director was anything but harmless. 

Liz directed one of the girls to give only the children some food.  The adults were given water only.  The children ate dog food porage begrudgingly as they were used to tasty meat.  Liz started to tell the girls to watch the two men who carried guns and found her girls had already formed a subtle ring of armed amazons around them.  The Director presumed Liz was in charge of this bevy of potential “Miss Cow Patty of El Dorado County” contestants and gave her his full press theater veteran charm.  “Young lady, I am Howard Middleton and you my dear, are a life saver.”  After recently being kidnapped and abused Liz wasn’t going to easily trust this or any other strange man.  However Middleton had caught her off guard.  All Liz could think to reply was, “huh? Yeah, how so?”  “I, your humble servant” said Middleton, “have delivered these hungry and lost children from the wilderness and even though we are strangers you didn’t think twice about providing them sustenance.”  Liz commented, “sure, I don’t have a problem with giving children a meal who’re passing through.”  The Director cleared his throat and continued; “yes, regarding passing through, is there some place we can sit and talk regarding the welfare of the children?”  Liz led Middleton to the former Rossi trailer.  As he stepped inside the Director noticed the bullet holes in the door.  During the next two hours Liz and Middleton discussed many subjects.  They talked about shelter and the lack of it.  They talked about how unseasonably cold it had become.  They talked about food and how it was running out.  They talked about how the local girls hunting skills were not as keen as Liz had hoped.  Middleton found an opening during the discussion and seized it.  “Liz, may I call you Liz?  From what I’ve seen of your quaint campground you don’t have enough shelter to protect your charges from the imminent snowy winter.  You’re also running out of food and you don’t have a sure way of procuring it.”  Liz remained silent.  “I on the other hand Liz, have in my group an expert big game hunter who has been handedly bringing in fresh meat on a regular basis for my group.  He can do the same for you and your lovely band of young ladies.”  Liz was suspicious.  “And why would he…why would you do this for us?”  The Director flashed Liz the brilliant smile he had used on many occasions when he was a young actor to successfully drop the panties of a multitude of eager starlets.  “It’s simple my dear lady, my group needs to find shelter and so does yours.  My group can provide food but we lack vehicles and protection.  Your lovely ladies with their firearms can provide protection from bandits for both our groups.  I have a question Liz, do your vehicles run?”  Liz shook her head positively.  “Then the only remaining question Liz is this:  Is your group willing to band together with my group so we can leave these damnable woods and find a warm shelter for the winter?”

The combined Middleton/Brown merged group departed the former Rossi campground the next morning.  It was an impressive convoy of two trucks and two sedans and Rossi’s battered but still running RV.  Dead veterinarian Dr. Walker’s GMC with attached flatbed was particularly useful.  All the camp equipment had been piled onto the flatbed and a half score of children and young girls had been piled on top of that.  Liz and the Director had agonized over where they should go.  They had gasoline but it was limited.  The two had ruled out heading downhill into the valley.  By all reports Sacramento and surrounding communities had burned to the ground immediately after the CME strike.  Besides they had always seen refugees coming from the valley into the hills and hardly ever the reverse.  The convoy drove to Placerville and everyone was shocked and saddened by what they found.  Many of the buildings that had survived the initial CME fires had subsequently burned.  No one knew if this was deliberate vandalism or a series of tragic accidents.  Before the CME hit it had been a common occurrence for hobos and vagrants to take over abandoned buildings and accidentally burn them down around their ears.  You would think mentally ill wine soaked squatters would know better than to (say for example) build campfires on wooden floors inside buildings.  As it turned out they often did not know better.  It looked like many big city breed refugees had been closer to hobos than Girl and Boy Scouts when it came to fire safety.  What was left of Placerville was already fully occupied by refugees who also feared a snowy winter.  There was no room at the inn for the Middleton/Brown group in Placerville. One of the young girls in the group had heard about some sort of government relief camp at a local high school.  She was sure the camp would be there stocked with food and medicine and they would all be saved.  It was easy for the girl to lead the entire group to the high school because she was a local girl.  She had attended this exact high school before the CME hit two months and a lifetime ago.  Liz and Howard were in the lead vehicle of their group convoy and both smiled when the local girl excitedly pointed between them through the windshield “There it is I told you it would be here.”  The local girl was barely 16 years old and she bounced on the car seat with the eagerness of youth.  Liz stopped the car and everyone in all the vehicles stumbled out and stretched.  A wave of joyful shouts rolled from the back of the group to Liz.  The shouting died down and everyone became deathly quiet as soon as they got a good look at the camp.  It was there all right, what was left of it.  Torn down fences and burned tents.  The looted wreckage covered in a dusting of snow.  Liz looked up at Howard.  “Well Mr. Director, what do we do now?”  The Director was a hansom version of the stoic Lincoln.  The Director had played Lincoln as a younger man.  He stared like he was deep in thought.  “Dear Liz, it appears we shall have to make our own way in this world.”  The Director turned and addressed the crowd.  “Do any of you know of a place we can stay?”  A young olive skinned girl at the back raised her hand.  “I know a place.”

The Director and Liz spoke with the girl privately.  The Director recognized her from his group but didn’t know her name.  After the sun flare she left the Maidu/Miwok reservation on foot and headed down into the valley.  She didn’t think walking over 30 miles to her aunt’s house in Rio Vista would be all that hard.  She had been exhausted after only a few miles and was dehydrated and lost by nightfall.  The Director’s group had stumbled upon her the next day and had taken her in.  This story sparked curiosity in Liz.  “Why is it Howard your group has so many women and especially children and only three men besides yourself?”  “Hmm, I was wondering the same thing about your group my dear.  We left the bucolic 1850’s gold rush town of Volcano with as many men as woman.  We had to leave as the town was on fire.  Several frantic families all but forced us to save their children when it became clear we could only accommodate so many adults in the bus.”  “Bus?” asked Liz.  “For theatrical performances on the road.  We drove away from the flames deep into the national forest with the flames licking at our heels.  We found a green grass pasture and waited out the fires.  Our little band lived out of that bus until it finally ran out of fuel.  It was either diesel fuel or gasoline, I’m not one who knows such things.  We had two other vehicles with us and we took turns riding and walking.  As you probably know sweet lady people became desperate when food ran out.  We were attacked by bands of animals masquerading as men on several occasions.  Every time we were attacked another one or two of our armed men fell.”  “It’s unbelievable any of you survived,” Liz commented.  “Oh but we didn’t survive.  Here is where our story took a dramatic and unexpected turn.  One morning we were attacked by a lone man who had a rifle.  He shot our last armed people to death and had all of us at his mercy.  When he saw the children it broke his heart and he began to weep.  Instead of robbing us he decided to feed and protect us.  This is the man the people in my group call the “Collector.”  Along the way to the present he acquired two male assistants to help him with his hunts.  It seems his first assistant was not up to the task but the current man is very skilled.  Without the sustenance this so called ‘Collector’ has provided us I dare say all of us would have starved by now.” “He hunts” stated Liz.  “Yes of course my dear.  Mr. Jones or the Collector if you prefer brings us deer and beef and bear and especially wild boar.”  The Director didn’t dare tell Liz the truth, not until he was forced to.

The Director gave Liz a shy look.  “I must admit dear Liz Brown; I had asked Mr. Jones to keep a surreptitious watch on your camp.”  Liz bristled and the Director acted fast least the Irish temper be unleashed.  “My dear lady, I assure you this was done for defensive measures only.  We understood your camp of lawless lawmen had been attacking hapless travelers.”  Liz couldn’t argue with what the Director said, it was true.  “They were each and every one of them a mother-fucker and they got those uniforms from dead guys.”  Liz was angry but didn’t know why.  Finally she told Middleton; “no one likes being spied on.”  “Not real police.  That never occurred to me.  Anyway Liz, what exactly did happen to the men in your camp?”  “Well” began Liz—“The Rossi crew kidnapped a girl and her grandfather came after her.”  “Yes, yes beamed Middleton.  Just like “The Searchers” or True Grit.” “I guess so” said Liz.  “Anyway, the guy single-handedly slaughtered every single one of those cocksuckers.”  The Director laughed.  “Such fire Elizabeth; it matches your lovely hair.”  “They were bad men Mr. Middleton.  They were kidnappers and rapists.”  “I can imagine,” said the Director.  “What an extraordinary man” the Director mused.  “I’d like to meet him one day.  Anyway Liz, thank you for clearing up the missing men mystery.”  Liz nodded.  “Now we have our decision to make regarding where we go from here.”  The decision was so obvious neither bothered to voice it.  Liz and the Director gathered up their people and walked/drove north towards the nearby reservation.  As the truncated convoy left the deserted Red Cross shelter it began to snow again.  It was still snowing when they finally arrived at the reservation.  Only a few inches of snow had fallen and already it was becoming impossible for the Middleton/Brown group to travel.  None of the vehicles had snow chains or cables and the roads had become incredibly slick.  The as yet light blanket of snow had also changed the look of the landscape completely.  It was difficult to distinguish blacktop from ditch so the convoy was at risk of running off the roads.  The Director avoided this calamity only by proceeding at a snail’s pace of 5 MPH.  What’s worse those forced to ride on the trailer or in the truck beds were completely exposed to the harsh elements.

Huddled with a blanket around her shoulders the reservation gate guard was sure an attacking force was about to run over her.  Through the whiteout she first heard multiple engines and assumed Shout’n Houghton and Tom were returning home from the latest recon or whatever business they had left to attend to earlier in the day.  “Wait a minute” she thought.  “They left in two vehicles and she heard what sounded like way more than just two.”  A chill of fear deeper than the cold ran down the girl’s spine when she saw the headlights.  At least four vehicles were approaching the gate.  The girl was armed and thank goodness she didn’t open fire out of fear.  The res girl held her ground bravely even though she knew she was about to become the first casualty if this was an attacking force.  The Director let Liz and their former reservation resident guide approach the gate guard.  He told himself he let two females approach instead of himself because they would be less intimidating to the guard.  The truth was the Director was a bit of a coward.  For her part Liz screwed up her courage and was wearing a broad smile as she approached the guard.  The guard had been taught certain words to say such as “Halt” plus the phrase  “What business do you have here?”  In the heat of the moment and under stress she forgot every word of it but still got the gist of it correct.  “Stop, um, don’t come any closer…Wa-what are you doing here?”  Liz froze but the former reservation resident was too inexperienced to see the gate guard was scared.  She strode forward stopping within a couple feet of the guard and almost got shot for her trouble.  “I don’t recognize you but I’m Vivian Lochner.  I’ve been gone awhile but I live here.  Ask anyone, you’ll see, I grew up here.”  The gate guard was perplexed and wasn’t sure what to do.  What this girl said could be true.  The guard was new to the reservation and didn’t know the names of everyone currently on the res much less people who used to live here.  “Okay” said the guard.  “Fine I get it.  You live here but what about all these people, who the hell are they?”  Liz spoke up.  “We’re two groups who found each other and banded together.  The group I joined with found Vivian here and saved her.”  Liz looked at the guide girl, “Isn’t that right Vivian?”  “That’s right, the Director, um, Mr. Middleton saved me months ago when I got myself lost.  We all need a place to stay.”  The guard had made a decision.  “You (pointing to Vivian) can come in but everyone else has to wait right here for Houghton and Tom to get back.”  Vivian looked at the guard, then she looked at the road leading to the reservation, then she looked at Liz, then back at the guard.  The guide girl had made her own decision; she would stay with Liz and Mr. Middleton and wait for Houghton to show up, whoever that was.  The girl sidestepped till she was standing hip to hip with Liz.  Body language was enough to tell the gate guard they would all be waiting as a group for Shout’n Houghton to get back and take charge.

All was cold and snowy and quiet for the next several hours.  Liz left for a short while so she could inform Howard what was going on.  Liz returned wearing a warm coat and holding one for Vivian.  She also carried 2 cups of rare and precious coffee the Director had shrewdly ordered brewed against the exhaust manifold of the RV.  Liz and Vivian shared a cup and the other she gave to the gate guard; a small bribe.  Other residents of the reservation had heard the engines of the convoy and had filtered out tactically to help keep watch on the newcomers.  Finally and with a sigh of relief the gate guard heard the distinctive sound of Houghton’s SUV.  He approached from the north and angled the headlights of his vehicle directly in the front windshield of the RV as he pulled up.  The occupants paused before they exited the vehicle. Tom was the first out and he carried a rifle.  Houghton had been driving.  As casually as he could muster he shut the driver side door of his Mercedes and approached the gate guard flanked by the imposing figure of Tom.  When he was only a few feet from her Houghton brought himself to his civilian version of attention and barked; “Gate guard Nicole; report.”  Nicole was flustered and honored.  She had no idea Mr. Houghton knew her name.  She wouldn’t have felt honored if she had been aware of the truth.  The truth was Houghton made a point of knowing all the young girl’s names; especially the ones he hadn’t slept with yet.  When the Director saw someone who appeared to be in charge had arrived he put himself together and joined the group at the reservation gate.  Nicole waited for the distinguished tall man to trudge his way through the slushy snow before she started her report.  Although she stammered Nicole got out the entire story and she got most of it right.  As she was finishing up, the group heard a thump and all eyes turned towards Houghton’s SUV.  A figure had slammed the rear door and was high stepping her way angrily towards the gate.  Liz recognized who it was and all color drained from her face.  The figure was wearing a fox coat.  In this case weasel or female dog fur would have been more appropriate.  The figure thrust her skinny finger within inches of Liz’s face and said; “I know this bitch, Robert.  Whatever she wants you need to tell her no way.”  Send her and her new boyfriend on their way Robert.”  It was Kimmy.  Of course it was Kimmy.  How could it not have been Kimmy? 

Houghton and Tom had found Kimmy some days ago exactly as Rossi had.  Within a day Kimmy had cooed and “fuck me daddy’d” her way into Houghton’s black heart.  Just like Rossi, Houghton found Kimmy’s tiny titties a turn-on.  When Houghton guessed Kimmy was 16 she had set him straight and informed him she was 15.  The hormone addled logical legal mind of Robert Houghton bought it; they always did.  “Now now Kimberly” soothed Houghton.  “We must give these people a chance to state their case and they have.  At least I’ve heard all I need to hear.”  Houghton was a nanosecond away from pronouncing judgment on this doomed group of nationless refugees when he saw them.  They spilled like a wave of bouncy promise from the RV and the cars and the truck:  Children.  “Look at all the delightful children” mused Houghton.  There must have been a dozen of them.  And behind them, herding the children like beautiful tanned female Australian Shepards there were young girls.  Each was younger than the last.  Houghton heard a buzzing sound between his ears and he felt woozy.  He almost fainted.  When he recovered, Nicole and the strangers were looking at him quizzically.  Tom gave him a knowing smile, and Kimberly was just angry.  Houghton spoke into the air; “The strangers will stay with us as long as they wish.”  That was it, the lord god Robert Houghton had spoken.  Kimmy pushed gate guard Nicole, “out of my way cunt” as she stomped through the snow towards Robert’s private cabin. 

That evening Houghton received the Director and Liz Brown like a potentate holding an audience with visiting dignitaries.  There was food and drink and stimulating conversation.  Houghton’s left and right arms; Tess and Tom, were also present.  Houghton had grounded Kimberly.  Before long Tess and Liz were gossiping like old school chums while Houghton and the Director consoled each other regarding the burden of leadership.  Tom stood in a corner and brooded.  In the wee hours after too much alcohol Houghton privately confessed to the Director he had been feeding his people by ransacking survivor’s homes.  The Director topped him; “I’ve been feeding my people by feeding them people.”  It was love from that moment on for the two men in a brotherly sort of way, a bromance; and the beginning of a dark partnership.

Chapter 23

The Alamo

Jerry was standing on the snow covered street and was looking at his snow covered house.  It was currently snowing and no one had any idea when it would stop.  They had listened to the radio and had run through the dial almost every day since the emergency.  Static.  The result was always the same.  There was no radio voice to tell Jerry what to expect regarding the weather much less a dorky smiling weatherman on TV.  Jerry was not a happy camper.  His lightweight concrete roof was rated for “Up to six inches of snow and ice.”  Jerry’s roof, well, two roofs (house plus garage) already had four plus inches.  Sara had warned him for years the fancy and expensive roof he had insisted on buying was going to fall down on their heads one day and kill them.  Jerry feared she might be proven correct.  If the snow didn’t let up by high noon Jerry was going to climb up there and start shoveling.  Jerry had never been on this roof.  The company had warned him he would for sure crack tiles if he walked on them.  Jerry was so fucked.  What was better? cracked tiles or tons of snow and broken concrete crushing them.  If it was snowing like this in “Sunny” California what was it like in Oregon or Washington State?  Later, Jerry was playing human weathervane on the roof in falling snow and failing miserably at shoveling it with a number 2 shovel.  Jerry was thinking again, “maybe I can put together a snow shovel from some sheet metal and a borrowed handle from one of my other tools.  That is unless I finally have that big one up here and comically slide off the roof deader than a Spanish mackerel.” 

Jerry looked to his left and thought he saw something but ignored it and went back to his shoveling.  A minute later he looked back in that same direction and without thinking found himself lying flat on his belly.  Jerry peeked over the ridge of his roof and yes, he had seen something.  It was just another half dead refugee.  “Jumpy Jerry, you are really loosing it.  Oh well, getting shot in the back will do that to a fella.”  After it started really snowing the Garcia clan and company had began giving anyone who wandered by a hot drink but not necessarily a meal.  If they had an interesting story like “Um” Boy and his dog and if the group was in the mood they would feed them in exchange for the story.  Mostly it had been hot pine needle tea with sugar and down the road you go.  Children remained the exception except they never saw children on the road anymore.  Lately Jerry and his neighbors had stopped asking people their stories because it was 1: A hassle and 2: predictable.  The hassle was it was hard to get an understandable story out of someone who was almost dead on their feet.  The predictable part was the stories at this point were always about the lack of food.  If someone came by with a trained bird catching ferret the group might pull up a chair.  Cold hearted?  Jerry and his group had witnessed so much death and suffering they were used to it.  They were survivors and they had hardened their hearts because they had to.  It was a survival mechanism.  Jerry and Sara were feeding the neighbors more often since the snow and this worried them.  They weren’t running out of food yet but they would eventually.  They planned on planting corn in the spring.  No one in the group wanted to consider what would happen to all of them if there was no spring.  Jerry peeked over the peek again.  The stumble bum was much closer.  He wasn’t obviously armed but man was he weaving all over the place.  If Jerry had been a motor cop he would have issued this guy a citation for drunk walking.  The only story they were likely to get out of this poor bastard was something along the lines of the following:  “I haven’t eaten anything today except a frozen turd I found back that way and all the nice freezing cold snow I could shove down my throat.  By the way did I mention I plan on freezing to death tonight?”  Talk about depressing.  Probably Sara and Teresa would let this one pass by without offering him a drink.  This guy was so far gone it would only be wasted on him. 

Jerry stood up as the bum started to pass the house so he could make sure he kept on going.  The bum stopped abruptly when he reached Jerry’s mailbox.  It was like he had hit an invisible wall.  “What the fuck?”  The bum appeared to be reading the mailbox.  It had to be that because he certainly wasn’t here to deliver any mail.  Maybe he was here to deliver a summons for that civil suit Jerry was facing.  “Sir, consider yourself served.”  Jerry laughed at his little joke, “sure that was it,” but the bum was too far gone to notice Jerry had laughed or even that Jerry was looking right down at him.  The bum made a sloppy “right face” at the mailbox and began lurching along Jerry’s walkway towards the front door.  “No, no, no” thought Jerry as he stepped down the south side of his roof to try to get a better look.  Jerry lost sight of the bum but he heard the unmistakable sound of a body collapsing on his doorstep.  There was nothing left to do at this point except to help the guy.  Jerry carefully climbed down the icy ladder he had propped up to get on the roof and made his way to the fallen figure.  Jerry kept the prone figure covered as he advanced.  That’s right; Jerry had his rifle with him.  He never went anywhere without it including the shitter and the roof.  If this was some kind of lame trick the bum was about to find out the hard way that Jerry doesn’t like surprises.  Jerry called out; “Teresa, Sara, we have visitors, male type, one each, please come out and cover me.”  Unbeknownst to Jerry, Teresa was already on the move.  She had been alerted by Michael Weber who had been pulling a guard shift up in Jerry’s sniper attic.  It was colder than a twitch’s wit up there lately and everyone had begun calling it “Jerry’s icebox.” Teresa advanced around the side of the house brandishing her shiny and very deadly M-4.  Teresa brought the weapon to her shoulder “freeze needle dick.”  Jerry raised his hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture.  “Chill baby girl, grandpa’s got this.”  Jerry slung his rifle over his shoulder and approached the bum at an angle.  He tapped the bum with a finger.  When that got zero reaction he rolled him onto his side so Jerry was against the bum’s back.  Jerry held the half dead bum with one hand at the elbow while he searched for weapons with his other.  This is the way Jerry had been trained to search a prone suspect back in one million years B.C. when Raquel Welch had been his partner.  If the bum was still conscious he got to look down the barrel of Teresa’s assault rifle while Jerry searched.  Jerry finished searching half the bum’s body and laid him back down on his face.  Keeping a hand on his back, Jerry crabbed around to the other side and lifted the bum up again so he could finish the search.  It gladdened Jerry’s proud grandpop heart when he noticed Teresa had moved to the other side.  She had done exactly as he had demonstrated during a “search and cuff” block of training he had provided the residents of Casa Garcia. 

As Jerry resumed his search the bum croaked out “Gerardo.”  “Good try asshole” thought Jerry.  He must have read that off the mailbox.  Jerry resumed his search but something, some thought, was nagging at him.  His mailbox didn’t have the name Gerardo written on it.  His street address was there along with “Garcia.”  Not G. Garcia, just Garcia.  “Who the fuck is this guy?”  Jerry rolled the bum onto his back and was struck with the oddest thought.  This person looked exactly like Jerry’s father.  This was unlikely since Jerry’s father had died 15 years ago.  Jerry let out an involuntary yelp and suddenly he couldn’t see.  Jerry whimpered and Teresa saw Jerry had begun to cry.  Teresa had no idea what the fuck was going on.  Whoever this guy was grandpa was happy or maybe distressed to see him.  Through his tears Jerry managed to say, “sweetheart, this is your Great Uncle Manny, my best and only brother.”  Teresa lowered her weapon.

Manny’s recovery was slow but steady.  Jerry and Sara kept him warm in the front room and spoon fed him warm honey tea until he could safely swallow thin broth.  By the time Manny had graduated to soup he was able to talk but refused to.  Jerry feared he may have suffered a stroke or something but Teresa recognized the truth.  She spoke with Jerry and Sara privately.  “I know what it is.  During my short captivity the nice girls warned me about this.  Sometimes kidnapped girls would shut down.  It was almost like they were in shock.  The girls warned me to speak when the men spoke to me.  Girls who wouldn’t speak and wouldn’t move and wouldn’t obey or ran away were taken away into the woods by Bob.  That’s what they told me.”  Jerry was lost but Sara got it.  “So he’s in shock.”  “I think that’s it grandma.  Something shocked him when he was on the road.  Something happened to him.” 

The next day Manny felt he was ready to talk.  Teresa had Annie in her arms and had exited the kitchen.  Manny was lying on Jerry’s old camping cot near the fireplace.  When he spoke he sounded tired.  A tired old man who had outlived the world.  “I heard you talking about me.”  Teresa pulled up short.  “You must be Teresa and that little one must be Aniseed.  Teresa opened the front door and called out; “grandma, grandpa, you better get in here.”  Manny continued; “Gerardo told me about you two before the EMP wavefront arrived.  I dare say he wasn’t exaggerating.  You my dear are a very lovely vision indeed.  Could you hold Aniseed down here so I can get a look at her?”  When Jerry and Sara rushed in they saw Teresa squatting.  Manny was weakly blowing raspberry sounds towards the toddler.  Jerry crouched next to Teresa and asked Manny; “how ya do’in there bro?”  Manny measured his words before he answered.  “I’ve been better.  I’m happy to be here and lucky to be alive.  Where exactly did you find me?”  It soon became clear the last thing Manny remembered before he woke up on the cot was finding his brother’s street.  He chuckled when Sara told him they found him on their doorstep.  “My feet are cold.  There’s something wrong with my feet isn’t there?”  Sara and Jerry gave each other a look and Manny took this as a bad sign.  Sara fielded the question.  “Manny, you still have all ten toes but you suffered some frostbite.  I wrapped your feet loosely to keep you from rubbing or scratching them, especially your toes.”  She stopped there.  Sara had also been feeding him crushed Tylenol and antibiotic powder in his drinks and food.  Manuel didn’t need to hear the whole truth, that the little toe on his left foot had been icy white when she had taken his boot off.  He certainly didn’t need to know it had since turned a frightening shade of black.  In fact four of ten toes had black patches.  Manny would find out soon enough but not now.  Jerry didn’t want to push his brother but his next question was very important and couldn’t wait.  “Hey sport, where’s your car?”  Manny was beginning to fall asleep but Jerry needed an answer now.  Jerry lightly slapped Manny’s cheek.  Sara and Teresa and even the baby frowned.  “Hey big guy, where is your car?”  Manny roused himself.  “My car?...Oh my car is gone.  My car is gone, my babies are gone.  I couldn’t save my”…and then he was asleep.

Manny slept until the evening and was feeling much better when he awoke.  He heard some sounds and looked and saw Sara in the kitchen.  “Sara.”  She walked over to Manny and asked him, “how you doing?”  Manny didn’t respond so Sara continued.  “I’m getting a snack for the neighbors.  Everyone except the guards is attending a penny poker tournament.  I’ll be back to attend to you in five minutes unless you need some help right now using the potty.” (Manny had been using an improvised chamber pot) “No dear I’m fine.”  When she returned Sara expected to find Manny fast asleep and was mildly surprised when she found him wide awake.  “I used the can and didn’t make a mess,” said Manny.  “Good boy” answered Sara.  “Sara, I’m ready to tell you what happened to me.”  “It can wait” said Sara.  “No, you don’t understand.  I have to say it now.”  “Let me go get Jerry.”  “No.”  Manny’s voice was the strongest it had been.  “You don’t understand.  I want to tell you what happened not Jerry.”  Sara gave Manny an understanding look.  These Garcias are all alike.  “Jerry and I don’t keep many secrets, especially nowadays.”  “I understand Sara.  You can retell the facts but the fact remains I don’t want Jerry to hear it directly from me.  I don’t want him to hear of my failure directly.”  “There’s no failure Manny.  You did mention one thing that caught my attention before you last fell asleep.  You mentioned babies.”  Manny suddenly looked as though he might break down.  “Yes Sara, that’s part of it.  My babies, I couldn’t save them.”  “What babies Manuel?”  Manny gazed at Sara as if she were insane.  “My babies Sara, my bonsai babies. 

So that was it.  Sara had heard many times about Manny’s other hobby.  Manny had raised bonsai for decades.  Some of Manny’s bonsai were older than Manny himself.  His collection was worth thousands of dollars before the CME hit but they had always been priceless to Manny.  He watered them only with collected rain water and clipped them and trained them and gave them the exact amount of shade and humidity.  In the end before he was forced to leave his house he transplanted each of his babies into the most sheltered soil in his yard.  He watered some of his babies with tears and left them to their fate.  Manny’s reverie was broken by Sara’s next question.  “Manny, why did you leave your home?”  Manny sighed.  “Are you ready for a long and depressing story?”  “Your stories are never long.”  Manny smiled and Sara gingerly picked up the pee can and took it into the bathroom for emptying. Manny waited while Sara prepared something in the kitchen.  She returned to his bedside with a cup of beef bouillon.  Manny took the cup and sipped.  “This isn’t urine soup is it?”  “It might be,” answered Sara.  “I’ve always liked your sense of humor and I need all the laughs I can get these days.  So why did I leave my home?  I was prepared Sara, I was prepared for anything except for one thing; I wasn’t prepared to kill my neighbors.  I had watered down the yard and my roof for two days prior to August 12th.  Many others had the same idea so water pressure was very low.  I had also bought a twelve foot easy set pool and a gasoline powered water pump.  When the wavefront arrived many of the homes around me caught on fire.  Transformers exploded like gunshots.  My home was spared and this was my first piece of luck.  Smoke began to fill the air and after many hours night had fallen and I heard the firestorm.  It came towards my neighborhood from the west.  The sky blazed red and orange.  I had a dust mask on and started the engine of my water pump right before the firestorm reached my house.  The heat was incredible Sara.  I couldn’t breath and the radiant heat was stifling.  If I had fled I would have died.  If I had taken shelter in my home I would have died.  Sara, do you know what happens when you suspend a plastic bottle filled with water over an open flame?”  “It burns?” Sara guessed. “That’s what most people would think.   The truth is the water will start to boil eventually but the plastic doesn’t melt.  I hoped the same principle would apply to my plastic pool and jumped in.  I was holding the water hose attached to the pump and fed by the pool and sprayed down the west side of my house and the roof as best I could. 

It became a tragic comedy Sara.  The cool water protected me from the heat but I needed to spray the water on my house to keep it from burning.  The pump emptied the pool at a frightening rate and what I hoped was steam rose from my roof.  As the flames begin burning the homes of my neighbors on either side the gasoline engine died.  I presume this happened from lack of oxygen and I began choking to death.  The top ring of my easy set pool was filled with fresh air like a tire.  This is what kept the pool rigid.  I made my way to the valve and sucked clean air into my lungs.  I alternated dipping myself underwater and sucking fresh air from the valve.  At this point I didn’t care if my house burned down.  All I cared about was staying alive.”  Manuel began to cry softly and Sara held his hand and patted it to comfort him.  Manny was just like Jerry.  Strong emotions ran in the family it seemed but she had never seen nor even heard a rumor of Manny showing this level of emotion.  “While I was saving myself a person ran by.  I think it was a man and he was on fire.  He was screaming Sara.  People on fire scream of course.  I read one time in a novel one should discount the screams.  You see people burning to death quickly loose their minds from the indescribable agony.  People on fire are effectively dead long before the searing flames mercifully constricts their throats.  When their throats close it cuts off the screams and life giving oxygen simultaneously.”  Manny wiped away tears and snorted snot.  “I’m so ashamed Sara.”  “There’s no reason to be ashamed Manny.  Let me tell you a secret.  Jerry has been having nightmares since before this happened and I cry all the time.”  The first part was true but the second part was a lie.  Sara had too much responsibility to afford herself the luxury of crying.  Manny had composed himself and continued.  “After a while the flames and heat abated.  I jumped out of the pool soaking wet and managed to restart the pump engine.  I must’ve been frantic and off my head because I emptied the rest of the water all over and around my house even though there were no obvious signs it was burning.  This was stupid of me Sara.  I could have drank that water and I stupidly wasted it.”  “I bet you had water stored in the house” stated Sara.  “I did but not as much as I should have saved.  I found out soon enough the heat from the firestorm must have broken a water main somewhere.  I lost water pressure in my home completely and water soon became a pressing concern.”  “But you saved your home Manny.  That was the important thing.” 

“A few days later I was watering my babies with tub water when I noticed a group of survivors had gathered.  It’s not surprising they had gravitated to my house.  All around in each direction for almost a block my home was the only one left standing.  There were other houses of course but each had become an island in a sea of ashes and death.  They were nice enough at first.”  “How did you make it through?” and “How is your family doing?”  “One of them asked me how much water I had and how much food.  I noticed at least one of the people was armed and the only thing I was armed with was a watering can.  I had firearms in the house but not with me.  How stupid is that? Sara.”  Sara patted Manny’s hand.  “That’s not stupid at all Manuel.”  “I could have ran for it and armed myself.  I could have fought them.”  Sara saw the most probable outcome of this story.  “Manny, you said earlier you didn’t want to kill your neighbors.”  “That’s right, but the truth is I didn’t have the stomach for it…I’m a coward.”  “Manny, in real life no one kills their neighbors.”  “Maybe not.  The group walked right past me and began stripping my home of anything they wanted.  In the end Sara all my preparations were useless.”  “Manny, how is it you decided to come here and how come it took you so long and did you walk here the entire way?”  Manny smiled.  “Paradise is about one hundred miles north of here.  Being the fat bloated whale I was I never would’ve made it.  Some of those people who took over my house stayed and some left and still others showed up and moved in.  We shared everything, my things, until the food ran out.  As a group we went on the world’s best weight loss program together and spent most of our time fetching water from a reservoir several miles away.  We drove my car and burned my gas to get the water but here Sara I had done one smart thing.”  Sara encouraged Manny like one would encourage a small child.  “You’re smart Manny, very smart, what did you do?”  “It’s not what I did but what I had done.  I had a bug out bag and 5 gallons of gas hidden in a hole I had dug in the backyard before the CME hit.  Believe me Sara digging that one foot deep hole almost gave me a heart attack.”  “What’s that old movie?” asked Sara.  It came to her, “The Great Escape.”  “You escaped.”  “I guess I did Sara.  I escaped from my own house.”  The story had taken a turn for the better and Sara was enjoying it.  “How did you get away Manny?  “There was a problem in that I always had a chaperone whenever I went anywhere near the car; my car.”  Manny grinned the mischievous Garcia grin Sara knew so well.  “I guess they didn’t trust me.  I waited until the car was finally running on fumes.  After that my houseguests didn’t follow me around as much.  I presume they knew I wouldn’t get far if I drove and frankly they wouldn’t have cared less if I had left on foot for good.  One less mouth the feed.” 

“One day it snowed and that really worried me.  You see Sara I had studied the potential aftermath of massive fires and I knew this winter would be…will be…the worst on record for much of the world.  I hemmed and hawed for some days while I screwed up a modicum of courage.  I transplanted my babies one day before I left.  I told the group I planted my bonsai in the yard every winter and can you believe it?  To a man they were so ignorant they completely believed me.  I arranged it so I would wake up in the middle of the night.  This was easy because I was keyed up and nervous.  I pretended I had to go water the bushes if you get my drift.  Everyone was sound asleep when I retrieved my bug out bag and my cans of gas.  I put my stuff in my car and beat feet out of there without even filling the tank.  My car must’ve had more gas in it than we had thought because I got more than 10 miles away before it started to sputter.  I filled the gas tank and continued on in the dark at a cautious pace until almost daybreak.  I must have been asleep at the wheel from shear relief or maybe simple hunger because I completely missed a line of junked vehicles blocking the road.   I managed to stop before I rammed them and then sat there like a dummy trying to figure what to do next.  So stupid of me Sara.  Do you see now why I wished to confess my multiple lapses to you alone?”  “Manny, I already know your story ends well because you made it here in one piece.”  Manny continued his story with no comment.  “Where was I?”  “Oh yes, I was sitting there like an idiot stupidly watching the pretty snowflakes fall when two huge hulking bears approached the sides of my car and smashed in the rollup windows to my left and right with tire irons.”  “bears huh?” said Sara, “You must have been pretty woozy.”  “Yes well, it turns out your husband is the bright son in our family.  I decided they were people wearing heavy coats and not bears about the time the one closest to me dragged me out of my car through the broken window.”  “You weren’t wearing your seatbelt were you Manny?”  “I confess I was not.”  “It was two to one odds” commented Sara.  “I don’t see how you could have done anything.”  “Sara, it embarrasses me to say I had a handgun in my bug out bag.  I had previously taken it out and put it on the seat next to me.  It never occurred to me to grab it and open fire.”  Sara patted Manny’s hand for the second, or was it the third time?  “Don’t beat yourself up Manuel.  You reacted like most people would react.”  “It gets even worse Sara.  I found out to my chagrin these ‘people’ were mere children; teenage boys at best.  They took my vehicle and my weapon and my bag.  If they had taken my boots or my coat I would have ended up a feast for the coyotes.  I continued on foot all day and the entire night I guess until somehow, by the grace of God, I somehow found your house.”  Sara hesitated and then spoke.  “Manny, you are an idiot.”  “Yes Sara.”  “Manny, God didn’t get you here; you got you here.  I guess you don’t realize it was a miracle of skill and intellect, not divine providence that got you here.”  “Luck.”  “More than luck.  Have you noticed how everything looks totally different when snow is on the ground much less when it’s actually snowing?  No one could have walked 24 and more hours through a whiteout and found one particular house.  You did it Manny, you.”  After she caught her breath Sara found Manny had fallen asleep again.  He was smiling. 

The next day Manny was back to his old self. (except for the walking part)  Sara was very concerned about Manny’s feet and ordered him to stay off them for now.  Manny found himself carried like a pharaoh on his cot to the toasty warm garage so he could meet the neighbors.  Jerry was at one end and Andy Bohne had the other.  As the cot banged against both sides of the front door Manny weakly and pitifully whined; “you’re going to dump me out into the snow aren’t you?”  Andy smiled; he was used to what the Garcias considered humor.  Introductions were made and Manny learned much by observing the interactions between the residents of Casa Garcia.

The garage occupants left the big garage door open during the day and had hung two tarps at the entrance to keep in the heat from the wood burning stove.  Jerry still wanted to do random perimeter sweeps even after the attempted murder/kidnapping incident.  His opinion was staying buttoned up like a mole in a hole left the group completely reactive.  Jerry wanted to spot trouble before it happened.  The snow actually helped.  Spotting fresh tire tracks and or footprints would be easy.  The winter sweeps were okay except Jerry’s old army woodland pattern BDU’s tended to stick out.  Jerry solved that problem with bleach.  Packrat Jerry had five remaining sets of his old Reserves camo stored away and sacrificed two sets for winterizing.  Full strength bleach did wonders to tone down the green and brown.  Jerry finished the job with white spray paint.  He ended up with a mottled white with small patches of light green and brown.  To keep the paint can warm Jerry had decided to spray the uniforms in the garage.  Jerry hadn’t intended to be an inconsiderate ass; he had simply forgotten people lived there.  Other people were present but were unwilling to tell off their host.  Manny handled the situation from his cot with famous Garcia family tact.  “I have two words for you Jerry.”  “Huh?”  Jerry had been engrossed creating his spray can graffiti camouflage masterpiece.  “Two words Jerry; vapor explosion.”  “Oh right” said Jerry, “sorry,” and he began waving away at the fumes like dad had caught him smoking.  Everyone in the garage loved Manny from then on.  Later, after the uniforms were dry, Jerry modeled one set.  Everyone had to agree the winter pattern was a real improvement.  Rather than painting their rifles directly, Jerry painted strips of masking tape and applied that to his AR-180 and M16A2.  Teresa did the same for her M-4.  Andy and Bart did the same for the 30.06 bolt action and .243 Browning lever action they carried on patrols.  While they were working on the rifles Bart asked a question for the group:  “What’s the best defensive weapon?”  Andy Bohne answered first.  “Shotgun.”  “I agree,” said Bart; “shotgun.”  Manny answered next; “intelligence.”  Jerry answered next; “flamethrower.”  Bart pointed an accusing finger at Jerry; “cheater, there aren’t any flamethrowers around here.”  “True,” said Jerry.  “There’s a famous quote” Jerry continued.  “I can’t remember who said it but it goes something like; ‘Guns are more effective than harsh words.’  My point is it’s important that you have the means to protect yourself.  Any weapon is better than no weapon.”  “You know,” said Bart, “Andy and I had everything we needed to survive a zombie/infected apocalypse.  Defending yourself against other people is way harder.  Zombies are pussies compared to people.” 

That evening Andy and Bart were on guard but everyone else was hanging out in the garage until bedtime.  Jerry sat by Manny just like Gretchen always sat next to Sara.  Gretchen and Jerry recognized their pack leaders.  Jerry told Manny, “I didn’t recognize you buddy, you’ve lost so much weight.”  “With Sara’s excellent cooking I’ll be back on my feet in no time.  I have to pull my weight you know.”  “You look so much like dad now it’s spooky.”  “Thanks for the compliment” said Manny.  “You do know Dad’s a skeleton in the Golden Gate Veteran’s Cemetery?” stated Manny.  “Like I said you look just like him.”  “Very witty Jerry I’m rolling.”  Glen Reid joined the conversation.  “Your father is buried in San Francisco Huh?  My grandfather is in a cemetery down from the city.  The crosses go on for miles.”  Jerry smiled at Glen.  “Don’t do it” said Manny.  “You know Glen, our pop-pop was lucky to get in there; they’re not taking any more reservations.”  “Stop it,” said Manny.  Jerry changed the subject.  “Bro, I have a serious question to ask.”  “I bet.”  “My question concerns the weather.  The fires caused this early and heavy winter, I get that.  What I don’t understand is why it’s colder.  Shouldn’t all that heat the fires caused have increased Earth’s temperature and made the winter warmer?”  “Do you seriously want an answer?”  “Yes I do,” said Jerry.  “I’m going to put this into layman’s terms so bare with me.  Just as I warned you when I last visited your home, many structures connected to long lines caught fire when the CME intersected Earth.  Heat wise, hundreds of million of burning structures and grass and forest fires sparked by those initial fires were and are nothing compared to the solar radiation/heat energy our sun bathes our planet in every day.”  Manny now had the attention of all of the people in the garage.  This was nothing new for Manny.  “Think of all the heat from all those fires as being a burning paper bag of excrement thrown into a bonfire.  You don’t get much difference except for the smell.  The particulate matter, the soot, is another issue however.  You all noticed the sky turned smoky soon after day one.  Within two or three weeks it became overcast and has stayed overcast to the present.  All of the uncounted billions of tons of ash and particles in our atmosphere are blocking a small percentage of thermal radiation from reaching the surface.  That small difference has lowered surface temperatures just enough to plunge us into an early and unusually harsh winter.” 

Manny searched faces to see if he had lost anyone.  He had not.  “Have any of you heard about ‘The year without a summer?’  No?  Don’t hold me to exact dates.  I studied this before day one but it’s been awhile.  It happened in 1815 or maybe 1816, I can’t remember, and no I wasn’t alive then.  The global temperature fell only slightly, say one degree on average, but this caused global temperatures to fall to record lows for about one year.  So the question is what caused the temperature to drop? One year before this historic cold year a volcano in Indonesia had erupted.  The volcano was the Tambora eruption.  I also remember reading this was the most violent volcanic eruption during the past 1300 years on the planet.  So how cold did it get?  Summer crops failed all over the world and it snowed in June in Massachusetts.  Now it took one year for the ash from Tambora to circulate around the planet right?  During our event every burning building was a mini volcano and there were millions of them and many were local.  By local I mean not half a world away in another hemisphere.  The ash from this event reached use and the rest of the world immediately because in effect the entire world—I should say industrialized world caught fire.” Glen’s wife Julia raised her hand.  Jerry had witnessed this before when Manuel spoke to groups.  Manny’s normal demeanor was so scholarly, people often subconsciously reacted to him as if he were a college professor and they were his student.  Manny politely asked Julia to speak.  “So, the soot and the clouds are blocking the sun and that’s why we have snow on the ground here?”  “Exactly,” said Manny. “And it might last a whole year?”  Manny nodded gravely.  “Yes, I’m afraid it very well might.”  Manny saw a cloud of gloom seem to fall over the group darker than the noon sky had become.  “It can’t be helped” he reflected.  “Its better they know the truth.”

While Manny was laying out cold facts to the residents of Casa Garcia; two reservation boys were delivering a red nylon bag to Mr. Houghton’s watchdog.  The bag was filled with survival crap and the boys had stashed it for several days.  In the end they decided they better turn it over to Tom least he accuse them of thief of Coalition property.  The Coalition dealt swiftly and brutally with thieves.  The dominant boy spoke for them both.  “Tom, we forgot to tell you we took this bag off that old geezer we stopped at the checkpoint.”  Tom was suspicious.  “Forgot to tell me huh?”  “bullshit.”  Tom snatched the bag from the boys grasp and gave both of them a hard look.  You had to keep young ass-wipes like these two in line.  “Ya, we a...just forgot; Sorry Tom.”  Tom grunted.  “Sorry my ass!”  The boy regretted he and his buddy had ever got Tom’s attention but he kept talking anyway.  “There’s a gun in there and a wallet we took off the guy.”  The boy laughed lamely; “who carries a wallet anymore?”  Tom shooed the boys away and they gladly scuttled off.  Tom checked the contents of the bag as he walked.  Clothes, a pair of socks, some medical stuff, a 20 ounce bottle of cola, nice, a pistol, one of the better brands, nice, a knife, a flashlight, matches, other survival stuff Tom didn’t give a fuck about, and one wallet.  Tom took out the wallet and checked out the driver license.  Manuel Garcia of Paradise CA.  “La de fucking da, a Mexican.”  Tom searched the wallet for money.  This was one of the stupidest orders Robert had put out but then again he’s the guy in charge.  The Coalition was saving any cash they found on the off chance it would have value again one day.  As Tom took out the cash to count it a small piece of paper fell out and fluttered into the slush.  Tom was going to let the paper go but curiosity got the better of him.  Tom slung the bag over one huge arm like a man purse and picked the piece of paper off the ground.  Squinting he opened the paper to see what he had.  Oh great it was just a fucking newspaper article.  Tom was going to crumple it up when the article title caught his eye.  “Hero retired cop stops jewelry robbery; kills one.”  Even with his poor reading skill the words “cop,” “robbery,” and “kills” stood out for Tom.  “Why did this seem so familiar?”  Mr. Houghton had told Tom about the last protest he worked on before the CME came.  Tom snapped his fingers. The cop’s name had been Garcia.  Tom smiled as he brought the wallet and article directly to his boss.  Tom was certain Houghton would be pleased his boys had taken the cop’s car and bag and left him with nothing.  When Tom found Houghton he was holding court with Kimmy and they were speaking to a small group of Coalition members.  Tom noticed Houghton was cupping Kimmy’s little girl ass.  “Boss you gotta see this.”  Houghton was initially annoyed at the interruption.  As Tom’s story progressed a smile appeared on Houghton’s face and grew bigger with each delicious detail.  While Tom showed Robert the newspaper article Kimmy reached over and gently fingered the cash out of the folds of the wallet.  In the blink of an eye Kimmy had the bills rolled up and stuffed inside her jeans shorts pocket.  Kimmy couldn’t stop herself from taking the money even though she realized it had no value.  Old habits.  Pocketing the money was naughty but Kimmy could do no wrong around Robert.  Kimmy shrugged her shoulders and giggled and patted her pocket at the same moment Robert groaned.  He had gotten a good look at Garcia’s driver license photo.  He told Tom, “this isn’t the same guy.”  Robert held up the wallet as if it were a piece of evidence in court and stated, “the guy with the wallet is a Manuel Garcia.”  He held up the article and stated, “this Garcia, the killer cop E.P.I.C protested against, is a Gerardo Garcia, see?”  Tom didn’t see.  Tom wasn’t very bright and he was just confused.  Houghton was thinking it through.  “There’s a connection here.  A relative, that’s it.  These two fuckers are related.”  Robert noted the home address of Mr. Wallet: Paradise.  That town was too far away; going there was out.  Robert remembered exactly where the fascist retired pig cop lived.  He lived in Shingle Springs and that town was just down the road.  “Tom, do you happen to know what direction the guy with the wallet headed?”  “Sure sure Mr. Houghton it was south.  The old guy headed south as fast as his chicken legs would carry him.  That’s what the boys said.”  Robert Houghton smiled.  Gerardo Garcia’s relative was paying him a visit.  So would the Coalition.  Houghton had found his next target.

Over the next several days, teams of boys and girls surveilled the newest Fat Cat’s house using 12 hours shifts.  One team watched during part of the day and into the night.  The second team relived them and watched until well after daybreak.  They only used two teams because the Coalition didn’t have enough gas to fairy teams back and forth.  Shout’n Houghton had personally led the teams here just before dawn, none of the four had ever seen him do that before, maybe this was personal.  After Houghton gave each of his children a look through his personal binocs one of the girls commented; “This place is a real shithole compared to most of the homes we’ve liberated supplies from.  The house is only single story and it’s small.  For Christ’s sake the garage isn’t even attached to the house.”  Houghton had smiled; “good things often come in small packages.”  Houghton had driven away with his bodyguard and left the teams with a sedan they parked over a mile away from the target.  The off watch team bunked in the freezing cold car during their “off” hours.  The surveillance teams secretly and against orders switched partners so each team had one boy and one girl.  This made it less embarrassing when they snuggled for warmth and also gave them something to do during their off hours besides sleep.  When the night team relieved the day team for the first time one of the team members handed over the binocs and briefed them about the occupants.  They had been watching from high ground.  “There’s a fucking flock of criminals in there.  Me and Shelly saw seven different people down there.  About half of em are hecka strapped.  This one isn’t going to be easy.”  One of the replacement watchers took a look through the binoculars and said, “you saw that big metal storage tank they have in the yard right?”  “Ah…yeah.”  “Maybe it’s filled with gas.  I bet that’s it.  Mr. Houghton needs that gas for our cars.”

Over time the teams figured out the house contained eight, not seven, adults but they always kept one of the eight in the house. (their count was off, there were nine total adults) There was also at least one child and one dog and one goat.  By the fourth day the senior day watch team member was ready to tell Tom what they had found out when Tom arrived for an update.  Tom was lying on his belly using the binoculars while the kid whispered in his ear.  “Check it out Tom.  They have a Army Hummer and three machine guns far as we can tell.”  Tom put down the binocs and absently picked at a tooth with a dirty fingernail.  “We got machine guns too.  That woman Elizabeth ordered her people to donate them for Coalition use.”  The boy next told Tom a tidbit sure to get his juices going.  “Tom, they got food down there, lots of it.  They constantly cooking something and carrying steaming bowls and cups to the garage.”  “Food and guns and three vehicles.  Mr. Houghton will be pleased,” thought Tom.  The sticky part was all the people.  The Coalition had never attacked any place with this many defenders.  Even worst these people were on guard. 

When Houghton got the news from Tom it was just a matter of going through the numbers as far as Houghton was concerned.  He didn’t care if Garcia had a bazooka.  He had already decided Mr. Gerardo Garcia had to face the people’s justice one way or the other.  Besides, winter was coming on strong and Houghton had many new mouths to feed.  The Coalition planned the attack and ran some practice sessions for two days.  On the third day late in the afternoon they lined up five vehicles including the car they had confiscated from Manny Garcia and loaded up.  Houghton’s Mercedes SUV was in the lead and was crammed with the “leadership:” Houghton, Kimmy, Tess, Tom, former “Director” Howard Middleton, and Liz.  The second vehicle in line contained four young Coalition fighters plus former “Collector” Mike Jones.  The remaining three vehicles held five attackers each.  The Coalition also had the two surveillance teams still watching the target.  This gave the Coalition 24 fighters against 8 criminal defenders.  Houghton would have brought even more people but unfortunately not everyone at the res was fighting age.  The other problem was all but one of the young girls Elizabeth Brown had brought from the Rossi camp stubbornly refused to fight for the Coalition.  Houghton had a heated discussion with Elizabeth over this matter and had threatened to kick the headstrong girls out into the snow.  Liz pointed out the girls were in shock from the Rossi camp abuse and added the Rossi men had beaten it into them to “not” be aggressive.  Houghton relented when Liz reminded him the Rossi camp girls had provided several military rifles to the Coalition.  “Okay Ms. Brown,” Houghton had stated, “your girls shall be excused from this one supply run only.  I expect full cooperation during the next.” 

The Coalition arrived near the Garcia ranch just before sunset and parked far enough away the victims wouldn’t hear the vehicle engines.  The group efficiently assembled thanks to much experience and stealthily walked the rest of the way in.  The plan was to attack at night when the Coalition had the advantage of cover of darkness.  Before they took their assigned positions Shout’n Houghton himself gave the group a pep talk.  Tom ensured the body of the force was protected by outlying guards and joined his charismatic leader.  Tom whispered something into Houghton’s ear and stepped back so the boss could address the small gathered group alone.  Tess Saunders stood by expectedly.  She had helped her boss write the speech and knew what was coming.  Taking a page from the Schicklgruber school of speech giving Houghton planned to speak quietly at the beginning and increase his volume and tempo at the finish.  Houghton used the Clinton fist gesture as he emphasized his important points:  “The Coalition has been burned out and turned away but we won’t fade away.”  (Clinton thumb) “I need you all to rise up, gather round, and burn the house to the ground.” (another thumb)  Tess yelled “rock on” and the rest of the assault group stared at her.  Houghton knew the reference and smiled at Tess and continued.  “I said burn it up lets go for broke; I want the house to go up in smoke.  Tess yelled “rock on” again and this time Tom joined her.  Tom recognized something about this speech but couldn’t put his finger on it.  Houghton smiled his fake lawyer smile, gave another Clinton thumb for good measure and continued; “there’s no fire brigade and it’s time for pyromania, come on, let’s strike a light and burn it all to the ground.”  The small speech had worked wonders.  All of Houghton’s wild little teenage Indians were chomping at the bit with bloodlust. 

Tom stepped over by Houghton and asked, “was that Def Leppard?”  Houghton rested his hand on Tom’s shoulder, “yes Tom, yes it was.”  Tom said mostly to himself, “one thing” and clapped his huge hands for attention.  Once he had the group’s undivided attention he spoke.  “Remember one thing you little monsters.  Raid and get every scrap of the supplies down there before you start any fires.  Food first you got it?  Then we burn but only when Mr. Houghton says so.”  There was a watered down chorus of “yes Tom’s,” and “okay Tom’s,” and the group finished preparations for the attack.  As preplanned the raiders broke up into teams and would attack from all sides when Houghton gave the order. 

The Leadership group followed Houghton as he walked to the area from where he would supervise the attack.  As Houghton stood off to the side doing what commanders usually do before soldiers attack, namely nothing, the “Collector” Mike Jones ran over to former “Director” Howard Middleton and pulled him away from the group.  Jones and Middleton spoke for some time and Middleton gestured for Houghton to join them.  After he walked up to the pair Houghton found himself boxed in.  Houghton had one man in each ear.  “Go ahead and tell him,” said Middleton.  There was a silence and Houghton turned to Jones and said, “well go ahead man, spit it out.”  The Collector’s body language showed he was uneasy.  He had voiced his concerns to his confidant but hadn’t planned on bringing bad news to Houghton.  The Director had forced him into it.  “Well you see Mr. Houghton it’s like this.  I got a good look and I recognize this house.  Not too long ago I sent three men from our group, the Directors group, to check this house out for supplies.  The people in that house shot all three of them down in cold blood without giving them a chance to surrender.”  Houghton briefly considered the ramifications of this revelation and quickly dismissed them.  “If what you say is true,” he began, “I would think you’d be all NASCAR fired up to get this Garcia son of a bitch.”  The Collector almost stammered, “Oh I am Mr. Houghton except this guy, Garcia is it, is real good.  I watched the shooting and I never saw who did it or where they shot from.  The guy is some sort of ghost sniper.”  “Ghost you say?” Houghton snorted.  He was angry now and faced Jones and stood inches from him.  “I understand they call you the Collector because you collect meat, is that true?”  “Yes,” answered Jones.  “You should know Mr. Collector I know exactly what kind of meat you’ve been collecting.”  Jones attempted to look as innocent as possible.  Houghton whispered the words “human meat” directly into Jones’s ear.  Jones seemed to shrink at the words.  Middleton had betrayed him.  “Mr. Collector,” continued Houghton, “The Coalition hasn’t been driven to your group’s exigent measures only because we’ve been liberating excess supplies from hoarders all along.  Hoarding is a crime punishable by death as is cold blooded murder.  By your own testimony the Garcia household is guilty of murder is it not?”  “Whoever shot is,” stated Jones.  “No Mr. Jones, the entire household is equally guilty, and tonight I pass sentence upon them all.”  “Okay” said Jones and he thought; “there’s no arguing with this guy, he must have been a successful lawyer.”  Jones told Houghton, “I’ve said my piece, consider yourself warned,” and walked to the crest of the hill the group was hiding behind so he could watch the attack unfold.

Liz Brown had been emotionally torn while Houghton, Middleton, and Jones had argued.  She had been filled with dread about this “supply run” against so called “hoarders” from the moment Houghton had informed her about it.  It had quickly dawned on Liz that Houghton’s reservation group was nothing more than a quasi legal version of the Rossi raiders she had been liberated from.  Unfortunately Liz had already committed herself and her girls to this laughable Coalition.  Liz decided since she couldn’t stop this reprehensible action by Houghton she would at least speak up after the household below had been captured.   Liz would do her best and use what little authority she had in the Coalition to ensure Houghton treated any prisoners with respect and mercy.  Once Liz set upon this plan of action she felt her apprehension seeping away.  Liz was almost calm until she decided to chance a quick look over the crest of the hill.  The sun was just now setting far behind her.  Liz saw a small brick and wood house with a garage and several out buildings or sheds.  There was a car and a truck in the driveway and a green…Liz’s eyesight dimmed and she suddenly heard a very loud buzzing in her ears.  No it couldn’t be.  Of all the houses in the county this couldn’t be that house.  This couldn’t be Teresa’s grandfather’s house.  Liz was certain she was overreacting or maybe she was just wrong.  The chance of the Coalition attacking a house at random which turned out to be the house of the Rossi criminal camp liberator was what?  One in one thousand?  One in ten thousand?  This was the first “supply run” by the Coalition since Liz’s group had joined them.  What were the odds the Coalition would attack the house of the person Elizabeth Brown owed so much to the first thing after her group had joined?  Liz first had to confirm this house was the Garcia house.  That was most definitely a Humvee in the driveway.  Liz thought back about any detail Teresa had told her back at the Rossi camp about her home.  There was something about water.  Teresa had been drinking a cup of water and Liz had heard Teresa tell one of the other girls her grandparents had a creek right next to their house.  Liz scanned the area and there it was.  On the other side of the house and gently flowing from high ground was a small creek.  Liz felt her temper flare.  This was no random attack by the Coalition, it couldn’t be.  This was a dirty trick by Houghton to test her loyalty.  Liz Brown would not be made the fool and she would not allow Teresa to be hurt.

Houghton was standing some distance away enjoying a libation next to Tom and Tess when he noticed a red-headed Irish banshee stamping towards him.  The angry creature uttered a fresh curse with every step.  Houghton distinctly heard several words many females had used to describe him in the past: Bastard, Liar, and Sick, stood out.  Houghton had been standing with his arm around Kimmy’s slim waist.  He deftly pirouetted behind her and squeaked “help Tom,” only a few seconds before Liz got within pouncing range.  Liz had effectively blacked out from rage before she began her assault on Houghton and never noticed nor felt the solid right hook from Tom which knocked her out cold at Houghton’s feet.  The small group was a study in varied emotions.  Tom was chagrined.  He had developed a “thing” for the hansom and fiery Liz.  The last thing he wanted to do was harm her.  Tom had acted purely on instinct at his master’s command like an attack dog.  Tess was frozen in shock.  Houghton cringed behind Kimmy.  Kimmy was characteristically Kimmy.  She wiggled and laughed and began shadowboxing the air.  She looked down upon the unconscious Liz and taunted, “you just got served bitch!”  The Director had been busy with something trivial nearby and fast stepped over when he noticed the commotion.  Houghton had regained a semblance of his polished courtroom demeanor by the time the Director joined the group.  The Director gave Houghton a questioning look and Houghton said; “I have no idea what happened, she just went crazy.”  This was absolutely not the first time Robert Houghton had uttered these words during his adult life.  This was however absolutely the first time he had actually been telling the truth.  Kimmy was daintily stepping on Liz’s limp hand.  She checked for signs of life like an evil little girl who had stumbled upon a sail cat by the side of the road.  “Kimmy dear,” said Houghton.  “Would you be a lamb and bind and gag Ms. Brown for me?”  Kimmy gave Houghton a little girl salute, “yes Sir Mr. Shout’n.”  As Kimmy got to work, Houghton told the group, “I’ll deal with Elizabeth after I’ve dealt with the criminals below.”  Tom was concerned but understood he could do nothing.  Better to bury himself in his work at hand than worry about a woman he most likely could never win.  “Mr. Houghton,” asked Tom.  “If it’s okay with you I have to leave now to make sure my door rammer has his shit together.”  Robert was distracted watching Kimmy tie up Liz and dismissed him offhandedly.  Kimmy was a natural at bondage and discipline.  He would have to find out the very next time he bedded her if she enjoyed being tied up as much as she seemed to enjoy tying up another. 

The Coalition attack teams began moving in towards the target house 45 minutes after sunset.  They had found during raids on other homes it was unnecessary to wait until the dead of night to launch an attack.  The outcome had always been the same no matter the time.  Four teams of at least three fighters converged on the house from all sides.  Tom had doubled the size of the team which would approach from the west to six youngsters.  This team would attack the garage in force and then reinforce the other teams at the house.  Other Coalition members would stay back to provide fire support from the hill.

The person who was on lookout in the attic sharpshooters nest of Casa Garcia had become complacent.  Nothing ever happened and there was never anything to see.  These days’ lookouts in the attic spent most of their time trying to stay warm.  If the lookout had been watching more closely just before sunset he may have spotted what he might have initially mistaken for juicy rabbits sunning themselves at the very top of the snowy hill west of the house.  He may have scanned the rabbits with Mrs. Garcia’s seven power binoculars she used to use for bird watching.  If the lookout had been aware and checked he would have seen the rabbits were actually the heads of the reservation leadership group plus curious teenagers checking out their next victim.  The first indication anyone at the house had that something unusual was up was when they heard the truck engine.  This alone was enough to stir the entire household as no one could remember the last time they heard a vehicle engine.  Luckily for the defenders, Tom’s timing had been off.  The ramming truck was supposed to arrive when the entry teams were already in place at the target house.  Instead the truck had arrived early and one of the four entry teams was still in the open 200 yards from the house when the residents of Casa Garcia reacted.  Jerry had been gathering up his rifle so he could relieve the attic lookout for the first night shift when he heard Julia Reid announce, “I hear a car.”  Jerry paused and he could hear it to.  It was a powerful sounding engine and it was close and whoever was driving was really putting the coals to it.  Very unusual.  Jerry entered his front door and hurdled up the metal stairs into the attic and had just finished switching on his night sight when he felt a tremendous impact. 

The impact was the work of the designated Houghton Coalition door rammer.  This was a 16-year-old kid the other youngsters nicknamed Skinny.  It’s true he was too scrawny and skinny to pound open a door with a sledgehammer.  However, he had become expert at completing the same job with the brush guard bumper of a diesel Chevy pickup the coalition had liberated.  Skinny impacted the front door of the target house at about 20 mph.  This was somewhat slower than skinny had been shooting for but was the best he could do on account of the 45 degree turn he had to make off the main road.  On the way to the door he plowed through a small snow berm and crossed over what used to be the house’s front yard.  Skinny had rigged himself up a homemade three-point harness after he hurt himself badly the first time he rammed a door.  The airbag had gone off in his face and the impact had almost knocked him out.  With the airbag gone Skinny had figured out he had to tie himself up like a fly in a spider’s web if he planned to survive smashing in the fronts of houses.  Skinny closed his eyes a split second before the impact.  He immediately put the truck in reverse and attempted to back up.  Unfortunately he was stuck. 

Sara and Teresa had been working in the kitchen when they heard the increasing roar of an engine.  The next instant felt and sounded exactly like someone had set off a bomb.  The entire house shuttered and the manhole cover attached to the inside of the front door flew across the room and bounced off the fireplace.  Sara and Teresa could only stare open mouthed and Annie placed her hands over her ears and screamed in that unique toddler ultra high pitch.  The screams galvanized Teresa into action.  Without thinking she scooped up her child in one arm and opened the cabinet under the sink with the other.  Sara was frozen in shock and fear and watched as Teresa stuffed Annie under the sink and slammed the doors.  Sara thought; “she’ll be safe in there.”  Sara didn’t move and probably never would’ve except Teresa yelled, “move it grandma” inches from Sara’s face.  Teresa scrambled to the doorway mounted sawed off 12 gauge which had ended up on the floor.  Sara had forgotten about the little .380 Grendel she always carried in a pocket until she saw Teresa arm herself.  She dug it out and held it at her side.  Sara felt calmer and more in control with the pistol in hand.  They heard the unknown vehicle straining only feet away and prepared for it to finish bashing its way into the house.

In the attic Jerry immediately grasped what had happened.  He told Glen Reid, “give me the M16,” and simultaneously handed over the night sight mounted AR-180.  Jerry opened the hinged shutters over the front observation window and saw who was trying to knock his house over.  Because of the chain link over the opening Jerry couldn’t get a perfect angle on the home wreaker.  He tilted the rifle down at a sharp angle and began cranking off three round bursts through the roof of the truck.  The bolt locked back after only seconds of shooting and Jerry got to work ejecting the empty 30 round magazine.  He was wearing his body armor for safety reasons and also because it tended to keep him toasty warm in the recent cold weather.  By the time Jerry dug a fresh mag from one of the pouches attached to his vest he saw the truck had backed up and stopped against a low wall of shoveled snow near the street.  Jerry had no way of knowing the following:  Skinny had the truck in reverse and was gunning it when the roof started ripping open.  Something hurt his arm and then there was no more Skinny.  Burst number six had put one round in Skinny’s stomach, the next round entered his chest and exited his back, and the third round had gone through the back window of the truck and ended up in the bed.  Once Skinny was limp the tires stopped spinning and the truck slowly began to drift backward.  Jerry didn’t know Skinny was dead but still strapped in when he drew a bead on the truck and put most of the rounds of his next 30 round mag through the windshield.  It was very dark outside and the truck had no lights on.  Regardless, Jerry was certain he had stopped anyone in this vehicle from doing additional harm to his home.  Jerry ducked down and started reloading.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Glen pumping rounds from the AR-180 out the rear observation window.  Jerry approached and Glen told him. “I can see them out here but I can’t hit them.”  Jerry started switching rifles for the second time as bullets began punching randomly through the roof and wall.  Jerry was surprised bullets could penetrate through the snow and concrete roof tiles.  There was no disputing at least some of them were.  Glen pulled Jerry down behind the gravel planter box and a flare went off somewhere in the north field.  Jerry took a few seconds to steady himself.  He couldn’t afford to miss.  Jerry told Glen, “watch the front” and raised himself up into a prone firing position.  He brought his eye to the scope and clearly saw three intruders.  They had stopped and were shielding their eyes from the blinding illumination from the overhead parachute flare.  They were about 10 yards in from the warm tube from the tripped flare Jerry had placed at exactly 150 yards.  Jerry may have targeted a bottle of Tannerite shock sensitive explosive and blown them up except he couldn’t find the warning sign the explosive was attached to.  No matter, Jerry had three good targets and they had weapons in their hands.  They had also failed to run away when they had the chance.  Jerry aimed center of mass at the left side intruder and squeezed the trigger.  The AR-180 bucked and the first target slumped to the ground.  He gave numbers two and three the same treatment.  Number three had squatted at the same moment Jerry fired.  Luckily Jerry still got a first round hit.  The person fell on their back and kicked spasmodically.  “Gruesome,” thought Jerry.  Jerry searched the rest of the back field with the Pulsar but found no more targets.

The Coalition attack teams on the west, south, and east sides of the house were doing better than the team Jerry had wiped out.  One team had reached the east side of the structure and was making their way to the rear.  Bashing in through a door was safer than climbing in through a window.  The teams had previously found broken glass was a hazard.  Inside the front room Sara and Teresa heard a loud thump from the rear of the house.  Teresa hid behind the corner of the hallway and heard another thump from the area of the back door.  Someone was trying to break in the door.  Teresa had a shot but had to shoot around the metal attic stairs Jerry had installed.  She fired one shot towards the right side of the door just to give the door basher a taste of what he or she could expect if they continued.  Teresa’s one blast of buckshot had a good effect on target.  Buckshot doesn’t spread as much in real life as they used to portray in the movies.  Even patterns from short barrels only spread about one inch for every yard of range.  The pattern in this case could easily have been covered by a dinner plate.  The door basher was wielding a sledge hammer when splinters flew from the door.  Two or more of the big pellets hit the basher in his arms.  This made him howl in pain and he dropped the sledge.  One of the basher’s buddies grabbed him and pulled him away from the door while the other attacker yelled and fired two shots at the door with a handgun.  Both rounds penetrated and sailed between Teresa and Sara.  Above in the attic Jerry heard the yell and shooting and chanced a glance out the window.  The flare had gone out and it was black again.  Jerry sensed more than saw intruders below.  Sadly for Jerry he faced the same obstacle as before.  He couldn’t get a good angle to shoot at the attackers.  They were too close to the house.  Jerry was reaching for his Glock when he remembered he had two examples of a weapon tailor-made for this situation in one of his magazine pouches.  Jerry squatted close to the rear observation window and measured by eye the grenade diameter against the diameter of the gaps between the wire of the chain link anti-Molotov screen.  The home brewed HE grenade would fit fine minus the spoon.  Jerry thumbed off the safety clip and pulled the ring with his index finger.  This was not the time to fumble.  Jerry held the bottom of the device right next to the wire and let the spoon ping.  No time to waste he stuck the grenade through an opening and popped the fuze end with his other hand.  The nad slowly sailed a couple feet out and arced downwards.  The three person home invasion team had retreated to either side of the doorframe and failed to see or hear the juice can sized bundle of fuck you land behind them.  Jerry had ducked away from the window and waited forever for the grenade to detonate.  It went off just over a second after it hit the ground with a satisfying blast and bright flash of light.  This was followed by what Jerry registered as a female sounding scream.  At least that’s what Jerry thought he heard.  With the shooting and now the explosion Jerry couldn’t hear shit.  The blast wounded all three members of the northside entry team.  One of the three was hit by several pellets.  Another had one leg pelted by other a dozen.  They thought they were hurt more than they actually were.  Not a single pellet or PVC case fragment hit the third team member.  She was the one who screamed when the blast from the grenade banged her against the side of the house.  Grenades are a demoralizing agent as much as a wound causing weapon.  The unexpected and terrifying explosion and stinging pellets had the desired effect.  The team’s attack was completely blunted.  All they thought about now was limping away.  Bleeding and crying they fled for their lives.  The north side of Casa Garcia was secure again, at least for now.

The south side entry team had planned to saunter right in the front door of this shitty old fashioned granny house after Skinny huffed and puffed and blew in the front door with the diesel pickup.  The door had failed to fly open and the team had been completely caught off guard when someone opened fire on Skinny’s truck.  This place was supposed to be one story and yet a second story window had somehow magically appeared and one of the occupants had poured machinegun fire down on the truck.  The team had scrambled to the east side of the house as the unseen shooter tore Skinny’s truck to pieces.  The team leader had watched dumbfounded as Skinny backed the truck up.  “Why had he done that?”  The guy shooting from the second story opened fire again and riddled the cab of the truck.  What little light they had glinted off the windshield and the leader watched it spider web with bullet impacts.  The leader motioned his buddies to hug the wall of the house.  They were stuck.  They couldn’t back off for fear of being shot down from the guy with the rifle above them.  They couldn’t get into the house because the door although damaged was still shut.  This team didn’t have a sledgehammer or pry bar.  It had been Skinny’s job to get them in. 

Michael Weber, Andy and his buddy Bart, and Manny had been hanging out in the Garcia’s detached garage turned living quarters when the attack had begun.  Julia Reid had been on watch outside and had been leaning against Sara’s Xterra.  Julia and her husband Glen always took watches at the same time so they had time off together.  Julia was the first person in the household who heard Skinny approaching.  The engine noise grew but Julia couldn’t find any headlights.  She had alerted Jerry who was about to enter his house and continued searching for the unseen vehicle.  Moments later the six person west side entry team snuck around the north side of the garage and reached the side garage door.  The observation teams had briefed them about this door in some detail.  The main house residents were using the garage like a secondary house.  It had its own stove and the people who lived there rarely opened the big garage door.  That would be stupid since it would let all the warmth from the stove out.  The observation teams noted the residents cautiously always kept the small garage door locked.  However, the door seemed flimsy enough.  One of the team members assigned to the garage carried an improvised door breacher the Coalition had made from a section of sewer pipe.  This entry team made two basic mistakes:  First, they failed to look for and neutralize the outside guard they had been told to expect.  Second, they failed to check the door knob before they attempted to break down the door.  Jerry had been the last person through the door and he had forgotten to lock it behind him.  The assault team’s entry would’ve gone smoother except for these mistakes.

Three of the four men in the garage were awake.  Michael Weber had fallen asleep earlier as he was scheduled to be on watch at midnight.  All heads turned and Michael startled awake when something heavy banged against the door.  It would be nice but inaccurate to say the three awake men instantly drew down on the door weapons ready.  This response never happens in real life except with the possible exception of soldiers trapped behind enemy lines.  People on their home turf never expect the worst.  The worst took a second swing with the door breacher and this time the door gave way and flew open.  This is when the defenders caught another break. The attackers had experience entering doorways as two or three person teams.  When all six of them tried to enter at the same time they jammed up in the doorway like a Keystone Kops movie.  This slight delay was enough for Andy Bohne and Bart Barry to arm themselves and open fire at almost the same instant as the attackers.  It was the Alamo minus bayonets, or maybe the O.K. Corral Part II.  It was a nightmare.  It was also dark in the garage.  Another lucky break for the defenders.  The only light came from the wood burning stove.  When the attackers entered they were silhouetted in the doorway by the slightly less inky outside darkness.  One of the attackers must have had a flashlight.  Now they turned it on and the beam pointed down towards the floor.  Andy reached for his gunbelt draped over a chair and came up with his seven shot .357 Magnum revolver.  He aimed at the closest threat and cranked off three rounds into the young man’s chest.  A minority of the remaining intruders had opened fire as Andy swung his revolver to the next target.  He managed to place two rounds center of mass into what he perceived as a young girl, “were those feathers tied in her hair?” before he felt a tremendous impact and found himself spinning to the floor.  Bart picked up the .243 Winchester caliber rifle Mr. Garcia had given him and fired from the hip into the attacking mass from less than 10 feet away.  The soft point bullet from the powerful deer rifle cartridge clipped one attacker and tore into the stomach of a boy in the second rank.  Bart only had time to open the lever action for a second shot when a burst from an M-4 raked him starting at the groin.  The shooter had never fired an assault rifle before and was totally unprepared for the power of a weapon that fires 800 rounds per minute.  The shooter had pointed the M-4 at a guy with a cowboy rifle and pulled the trigger.  Two seconds later he inexplicably found the M-4 pointing at the ceiling.  The shooter aimed the rifle at another hoarder as the first slumped to the floor and pulled the trigger; nothing happened. The shooter thought the rifle had jammed but he was wrong.  The rifle was empty and as designed the bolt had locked back on an empty magazine.  All but four of the 30 rounds in the magazine ended up in the wall behind Bart or in the ceiling.  This left three of six attackers on the ground dead or incapacitated, one attacker wounded, and this young man holding his dick in his hands in the form of an empty M-4.  This left only one attacker currently in the fight.  He held a short barreled pump action shotgun.  He hadn’t been able to fire before because fellow team members had been in the way.  Half of the people in the garage had now fallen over and he finally had a clear target.  An old man was crawling on the ground behind a bench.  He was unarmed but that didn’t matter; everyone in this house was going to die.  He pointed the shotgun at the helpless man and pulled the trigger.  He expected the guy’s head to explode like a watermelon and was more than mildly surprised when nothing happened.  Unfazed, the old man continued skittering on his belly across the concrete like a big fucking cockroach.  The boy stood there dumbstruck for more than a second (a lifetime in a close range fight) and thought to himself, “did I miss?” and considered pumping the slide on his shotgun.

The shotgun shooter never heard Julia Reid fire at his back with the Glenfield .22 LR rifle.  She always carried this rifle when on watch because it was the lightest rifle available.  She had received some training with the .22 but she hadn’t understood it completely.  She had been shown the safety but Jerry advised her to keep it off because safeties are pains in the ass during stressful situations.  She knew the rifle wasn’t very powerful but that was okay.  Jerry had told her no one in the history of the world had ever gotten shot and immediately thought to themselves; “thank goodness that was only a .22” Julia also understood the rifle held 17 or 18 shots.  That was the best part because the Glenfield took forever to reload.  When she heard something or someone breaking into the garage she had responded and arrived just in time to come in directly behind the attackers.  The entire garage lit up with muzzle flashes and dozens of booming gunshots.  Julia aimed at one of the attackers but he fell down before she could get a bead on him.  Her second target also fell to the floor before she could fire.  Another person fired a big rifle and Julia shot him in the back until he fell down.  In the low light Julia was mistaken.  The rifle was a shotgun.  This was the youngster who had fired a blast at Manny and missed.  Another person was holding a military looking rifle similar to Mr. Garcia’s.  He was looking at it dumbly and Julia reacted instinctually.  “Don’t move.”  Everyone in the Garcia household and especially Glen had always told her she should shoot anyone who was a threat.  The Garcia clan took no prisoners.  This was a minor mistake but she had done the most important thing; Julia had reacted. In life and death situations any action is a thousand times better than doing nothing.  The young boy with the empty M-4 whimpered when he turned and found a stranger pointing a gun right at his face.  Before Julia could respond he dropped his rifle and ran past her out the door, far away from this routine raid which had fallen apart so badly. 

This only left one of six attackers in the garage on their feet.  This was the person Bart had clipped with his one shot.  This was also the attacker with the flashlight.  He had heard popping behind him and then one of the guys bolted and he swung around and saw an orangey yellow flash.  The flash had been preceded by a 40 grain .22 bullet.  The bullet entered his face near his nose and loped along at a relatively slow speed directly into his brain.  Julia would never forget the look on the boy’s face as he dropped like a load of wet laundry onto his knees and then keeled over onto his side.  Julia saw Mr. Weber was now on his feet.  He had grabbed the scoped deer rifle he always carried.  Mr. Garcia’s brother was also standing.  He cautiously stepped over towards her.  In the dim light from the flashlight the boy had dropped she saw he had to avoid bodies and shell casings which littered the floor.  Manny wasn’t sure Julia could keep it together much longer.  She was crying and shaking and she still held her rifle in the position she assumed when she last shot.  Manny used two fingers to click on the crossbolt safety on the Glenfield and told her, “Julia please step away from the doorway.”  Michael covered the door with his 30.06 while Manny took the rifle from Julia and led her out of the line of fire.  A second wave of attackers might appear at any moment.

Now only one entry team was left outside Casa Garcia.  As previously mentioned the team who had been tasked with going in the front door behind Skinny’s ramming attack had stalled out.  They couldn’t get in and couldn’t move.  They had heard a tremendous volume of fire come from the garage and then silence.  They wrongfully assumed the super-sized entry team assigned to that target had successfully cleaned out that rat’s nest of stingy hoarders.  They expected their buddies to come over any minute and help break and blast in the front door.  The reinforced entry team would capture any hoarders who gave up and then the real fun would begin.  Against orders someone up the hill had fired at the house earlier.  That had now stopped. The front door team leader imagined Houghton had Tom slap down whoever had fired.  It had gotten real quiet real fast.  “Where the fuck was the team who took the garage?” 

In the front room Sara and Teresa had heard machinegun fire from the garage.  This was not good news because no one currently in the garage had a machinegun.  One was with Glen Reid in the attic and Teresa had the M-4 she took from the Rossi group.  When a vehicle had smashed into the house Teresa had left her M-4 in the kitchen.  There had been an explosion near the back of the house and things had gotten quite soon after.  Sara low crawled into the kitchen and retrieved the M-4.  She checked on Annie and found her studiously following the quiet time game Teresa had taught her for just such an emergency.  Sara’s dog Gretchen was trembling and had decided to lie down as close to Annie as she could get.  Her back was in direct contact with one of the under sink cabinet doors.  Sara dragged the M-4 back into the front room and traded it off for the Remington 1100 from Teresa.  Teresa switched the M-4 to single shot and waited for the unseen group of goblins to continue their attempt to take the house. 

In the attic Jerry had glassed the front observation window with the Pulsar and studied the horrendous damage he had wrought on the fast cooling body of the crash truck driver.  Next he opened a small loop hole hidden in the west facing roofline and checked for hot spots.  What Jerry saw chilled him to the bone.  Jerry counted eight or nine whitish blobs staring it seemed directly at him from the low hill approximately 400 yards away.  These were the heads of prone snipers no doubt.  Two additional people were visible blatantly strolling around like this attack was nothing more than a walk in the park.  Jerry rejected his first thought and held his fire.  The range was too great for a sure hit.  Jerry decided on an aggressive plan of action and told Glen, “stay here with the M16 and guard the front and back of the house.” Jerry felt more than saw Glen nod in the dark attic.  “Shoot any strangers but this is the important part Glen…don’t shoot me.  I’m going to crawl out into the back yard through the basement escape hatch and head north and flank these turd birds.  “Sure Jerry sure.”  Jerry took a deep breath.  “Glen, it’s very important to me on a personal level you don’t accidentally shoot me.” “Sure Jerry sure.”  Glen seemed to be locked in some sort of scary mental speech loop.  Jerry turned and baby crawled to the attic stairs on his hands and knees.  Sara and Teresa heard him clomping down the metal stairs.  This usually brought back memories of grade school for all who heard the sound but not tonight.  Jerry kissed Sara.  “Is Annie okay?”  Sara told Jerry about how Teresa had stashed Annie as Jerry unscrewed the flash hider from his AR-180 and dug his suppressor from its dedicated ammo pouch.  Jerry planned on using quiet kill techniques on this pack of feral piggies.  Teresa figured it out before Sara.  Jerry attaching the silencer to his rifle could only mean one thing.  She whispered, “It’s not safe to go out there grandpa.”  Sara felt her legs turn rubbery at the words.  She pointed a finger at her husband and let her temper flow.  “Jerry, I forbid you to go outside.” The room was too dark for Sara to see Jerry’s eyes.  If she had Sara wouldn’t have bothered putting up a fight.  Jerry’s eyes were those of a tired yet determined man.  There would be no stopping him.  Someone had to be proactive and stop this madness.  Jerry gave Sara another peck and headed towards the basement door.  Teresa gave Sara the same treatment and followed Jerry.  After Jerry cautiously opened the hatch to the basement he noticed his granddaughter behind him and stopped.  “Here to see me off?” “No grandpa I’m going with you.”  Jerry’s answer to this insanity was immediate and stronger than he would have preferred.  “You are fucking not going anywhere young lady.  You are going to stay here and protect my wife and your child.”  Teresa whispered, “grandma has a shotgun and a bandoleer of shells.  I’m completely sure she can protect the inside of the house unless those sons of bitches outside decide to set fire to it.”  Jerry was mute.  “That’s what I would do grandpa.  If I couldn’t get in I’d burn this place down and call it a night.”  Jerry couldn’t say a word.  “How long do you think it’s going to take for them to decide to splash a bucket of gasoline on the garage and whip out the old Bic?  I would burn down the garage and then give the people in the house one last chance to surrender.”  Jerry was grim but proud.  “You know, sometimes people can be too smart for their own good. You’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these days.”  Teresa harrumphed and whispered “too late” and pushed past Jerry.  Jerry cracked open the hidden exit flap at the exterior basement doors and checked the immediate surrounding with the night sight.  Jerry slithered out on his belly like a Dachshund through a doggy door.  He made no sound until his heel caught on the flap and it slammed shut behind him. 

The front door team leader was ready to leave.  No one from the Coalition had breached the house as far as he could tell.  The garage entry team was nowhere to be found and no backup from the hill appeared to be forthcoming.  He could just take off and fend for himself couldn’t he?  All his meager possessions were back at the reservation but so what?  He could survive just fine with the clothes on his back and the shitty six shooter Shout’n Houghton had issued him; couldn’t he?  The team leader’s two newbies were looking to him for direction.  It was time to suck it up and do something.  The team leader still didn’t move a muscle.  No one could live alone in the freezing cold and snow.  Anyway if he ran away Tom was sure to catch up with him.  There was a garden hose waiting for the team leader if Tom accused him of running away from a fight.  The leader’s inner debate would have continued except in the eerie silence of this timeout during the battle he heard a slap.  It sounded like someone had kicked a piece of wood or closed a wooden gate?  Something wood.  Whatever it was the team leader now had something he could do.  He hand signaled the newbies to follow him and crept around the side of the house to investigate. 

Jerry felt like a fool.  Letting the stupid hatch slam was a rookie mistake. Jerry was still as a statue for about a minute before he decided the coast was clear.  Jerry had a feeling he had felt a lot lately.  Jerry felt like a man walking or this case crawling towards his own execution.  He crawled forward in the trench at the same instant the team leader rounded the corner. Here another not a mistake but at least bad luck transpired to sink Jerry yet again.  Jerry was wearing his snow camouflage motif but the shallow trench was brownish/black because Jerry had shoveled it clear of snow the day before.  The trench outlined Jerry perfectly and the entry team leader spotted him immediately.  Jerry heard the crunch of snow to his right and then the night lit up.  Jerry’s mind didn’t register the multiple reports of the team leader’s rattle trap Iver Johnson revolver because it was preoccupied firing off pain signals.  The team leader fired all five shots and managed to hit Jerry two times.  He was still click clicking the trigger when Teresa popped halfway out of the escape hatch and opened fire with her M-4.

She pulled the trigger and expected a burst.  “Pop.”  The single report threw Teresa for a loop for only a split second.  “Single shot remember” she thought and rapid fired single rounds towards the bad guy.  Her first shot point shooting sideways in the dark ten feet away resulted in a solid center of mass hit near the team leader’s diaphragm.  Hundreds of practice rounds with her Ruger .22 rifle had paid off.  The first hit alone was enough to stop the team leader in his tracks.  The additional two rounds she pumped into his chest finished the job and the leader’s body fell backwards.  The newbies behind the corner of the house shrunk back as the wood corner in front of them began to disintegrate from a hail of .223 bullets.  The newbies had enough and one of them wet himself as they retreated to the relative safety where they had started from.  Above them Glen ran to the side of the attic where the latest shooting had started.  He looked out but wisely held his fire. He saw a whitish form below and guessed that was Jerry.  As he watched another person slid from the basement door flap like the house had given birth.  “Who the hell was this?  It had to be one of them; not an attacker.” Glen started back across the attic floor to check on the front when a bullet tagged him through his side.  Glen stumbled and the M16A2 clattered across the plywood floor.  On the hill hundreds of yards away someone had opened fire again using the dark “house” as their target.  Tom rushed over to the shooter and yelled for them to stop firing.  The shooter had fired an entire magazine from a vintage 1960’s Winchester model 100 semi-automatic rifle. Chance and the vagaries of war had placed Glen directly in line with one of the .308 caliber bullets when it tore through the roof.  Glen woke up at some point and found he couldn’t move.  He felt cold and wet and he couldn’t reach the rifle.  His last wish before he drifted away was that Julia was alright.

In the garage Michael Weber and Manny and Julia Reid had huddled down behind the doorjamb of the open door so they could keep watch.  The second attack they expected hadn’t materialized and they had debated moving or staying put.  It was safer of course to stay put.  Using the light from the dropped enemy flashlight Manny had armed himself.  Being an old veteran he found and pried an M-4 rifle out from under one of the fallen attackers.  Empty.  Manny patted the dead boy’s pockets and was rewarded with one 30 shot magazine.  Manny pushed his thumb down on the top cartridge and got less than 1/4 inch of movement.  This told Manny the magazine was fully loaded.  He smiled and inserted the mag into the mag well.  Manny had never held an M-4 before but it didn’t matter.  M-16…M-4, same thing.  Manny flipped the selector to “rock and roll” and felt safer than he had felt since what was it Teresa called it?  Freaky Friday.  Someone at the north side of the house fired off several handfuls of bullets and that got their full attention.  Manny was better armed than Michael or Julia so it was up to him to carry the fight to the enemy. (God help him)  Manny whispered, “don’t move” to his companions and headed towards the main house.  Since enemy bullets had been hitting mostly the west and north faces of the house Manny opted to circle around to the north from the shielded east face.  To put it simply Manny planned to use the house as cover.  Manny rounded the south side corner and found himself maybe fifteen feet away from the newbies.  Falling back on officer’s advanced training Manny pointed the M-4 at the closest attacker’s knees and pulled the trigger.  It had been decades since Manny had fired an automatic weapon and he ripped off a long burst before he thought to release the trigger.  Over ten 5.56mm bullets hit newbie number one and he was dead before his body hit the ground.  Manny’s burst had moved diagonally and by good or dumb luck depending on your view point the last two projectiles in the bust hit newbie number two in the shoulder.  She gave a shrill cry and attempted the raise her handgun.  The hand was attached to the arm of the savaged shoulder and newbie number two found her arm rising as if she were holding a bucket of concrete.  Manny had been walking forward and was maybe four feet from the girl when he shouted “don’t.”  The girl’s weapon dimly moved another inch upwards and Manny twitched the trigger on the M-4.  Flame spat from the end of the barrel and four bullets tore into the girl’s chest.  Real life again not being an action movie she wasn’t blown or thrown backwards by the multiple impacts.  Manny watched as the girl’s legs gave out and she fell straight down until her bottom smacked against the ground.  She seemed to bounce and feel over onto her back.  Manny glanced at the newbies to make sure they were in fact incapacitated (in this case dead) and continued to the corner of the house.  Manny pointed the barrel of his rifle around the corner expecting more bad people and was not disappointed when he found no one. Manny chickened out concerning his incipient plan to check out the north side of the house.  Why look for more trouble?  He decided to stay where he was until he stopped hyperventilating.

On the hill the Coalition leadership was getting antsy.  It appeared the garage had been taken as planned.  But, there should have been lights visible in the house by now to show the assault teams had began to search.  Also, no runner had appeared to report on the situation.  That also should have occurred by now.  This was a new and disturbing turn of events for Robert Houghton.  It had only taken the breaching teams a few minutes at most to enter and gain control of residences in the past.  Time was ticking and Houghton had no idea what was going on.  He paced back and forth and attempted to make a decision what to do.  He was out of his element here.  In a courtroom there were rules and set procedures and he had always been 100% in control.  This chaos was maddening for Houghton.  Should he wait? Should he send reinforcements?  The middle of the road was called for here. Houghton got Tom’s attention.  “Tom, send someone down there to check on our progress.  I need to know what’s going on and what the timeframe is for wrapping this up.”  For his part street-smart Tom was getting a bad feeling about this attack.  The Coalition was committed and no supply run had ever failed.  If Tom had anything to say about it they would take this isolated little outpost whatever it took.

In the backyard Teresa had reloaded and crawled over to the body of the person she had shot.  She used him as a sandbag and inched her way until she could see around the corner of the house.  She dreaded she would find one or two or maybe more additional fighters waiting for her but son of a bitch—they were gone.  Now she expected them to go all the way around the house so they could shoot her in the back.  “I don’t fucking think so.”  Teresa knew Jerry was hurt because he had winced in pain when he had attempted to move.  Teresa couldn’t help him just yet.  She would wait right where she was and watch the south and north house corners and wait for the dead guy’s friends to show themselves.  After some time Teresa heard two bursts of full-auto fire from the front of the house.  As she watched, someone stuck a rifle around the corner.  This was followed by about half their head.  This would be a difficult shot and Teresa figured she could afford to wait.  She would let this asshole walk right up to her before she pulled the trigger.  Grandpa had told her more than once how unlikely it was for anyone to spot her if she stayed still.  Whoever was over by the front of the house pulled back.  “Fuck.”  This cat and mouse crap was starting to wear on Teresa’s nerves.  It was time to go.  Teresa moved over to Jerry and told him, “the attackers have fled to the front door but I’m afraid they’ll come back so we got to move Grandpa.” Jerry had been moving.  In fact he had moved almost three feet since he got wounded.  Teresa pulled Jerry forward and he grunted under his breath.  Teresa saw Jerry had turned into a human boat anchor and took the long and heavy AR-180 from him.  She settled down next to a feed shed and saw Satan the goat was skittish but alive.  Teresa laid Jerry’s rifle against the shed and helped him crawl/hobble the rest of the way.  Teresa took the AR-180 and gave the M-4 to Jerry.  Being preoccupied with wincing and bleeding Jerry was slow on the uptake.  “Grandpa, I’m buzzing like I’m high.”  Jerry knew the feeling and whispered back, “That’s adrenaline sweetheart; the most powerful drug you can get.”  “Where are you hit grandpa?”  Jerry exhaled and answered; “in my upper leg and my pride.  My pride is located the same place my ass is located.”  Teresa was pleased her grandfather was putting a brave face on this shitty situation.  “Grandpa, where do I aim to hit with your rifle at 50 yards?”  Jerry was busy attempting to staunch the bleeding in his leg with his one pressure bandage and he had failed to see where this line of questioning was leading.  “What?  I aim dead on out to 100 yards.  At 200 yards bullet drop is about four inches.  At 300 yards about fourteen inches.”  “How far is 300 yards again?”  Hmm, let me see, from here to our back fence is about 250 yards give or take.”  “Got it grandpa, I need you to stay here and guard the back of the house.  Mom has the shotgun inside.”  Jerry was so surprised Teresa had called Sara “Mom” he almost missed she had said “stay here.”  This was something he would never allow but it was already too late.  Teresa had already taken off at a low crawl and he had no way to stop here.  There was at least one thing Jerry could do.  He called out “psst” and Teresa stopped.  She heard the rip of Velcro and grandpa dug something else out of his everlasting Gobstopper selection of mag pouches.  Teresa saw the silhouette of the item; a grenade.  “Take this and remember the safety clip, yes?”  Jerry tossed the nad to Teresa.  She picked it up and clipped it to her bra strap inside her snow pattern BDU top.  She had the suppressed night rifle and mags and her .380 Thunder and a grenade.  Good enough for this gang of thieves.  She started the long crawl north.  She planned to flank whoever was to the west and take the high ground exactly like grandpa had taught her. 

The runner Tom had sent to check on the main house breach arrived at the front door just in time to run into Manny.  This was another child, maybe fourteen.  It never occurred to the kid there was even a chance he would find every one of his buddies killed or injured and the defenders waiting for him.  He certainly never thought he would be met by a skinny old man holding a machinegun.  He turned the corner of the south side of the house and called out “yo Steve” and saw someone he didn’t recognize a second before that someone pulled the trigger.  Manny had almost half a “clip” left in the M-4 and he was way past taking prisoners.  After the recent gunfire Manny’s hearing was not good.  Strangely the crunch crunch sound of this person’s footsteps over gravel and snow crust had been deafening.  Manny pointed the rifle at the boy’s chest and attempted to fire a short controlled burst.  He ended up firing more bullets than the last burst but less than the one before.  The effect was the same as with the young girl.  Six bullets smashed into the kid’s left lung and thoracic spine and he fell as if hit by a bolt of lightening.  The boy fell with his face towards Manny.  He didn’t (couldn’t) get up and made no sound.  The boy’s mouth moved like a fish out of water gasping for air and finally he was still.  Manny shuddered when he noticed the kid had died with his eyes wide open.

On the hill Houghton jumped nervously when he heard the single burst of machinegun fire.  It did not escape his notice the fire erupted just about the same time Tom’s runner should have arrived at the house.  The Director and Tess and Kimmy stood in a group at a respectful distance behind Houghton and Tom.  “Tom, what the hell’s going on down there?”  asked Houghton.  Tom could only shrug.  He wasn’t a general for fuck’s sake.

Shout’n Houghton was way past feeling simply apprehensive concerning this supply reallocation run.  He was now certain the criminal Garcia and his gang had somehow succeeded in repelling his attack.  Houghton had sent over a dozen courageous young men and women into the pit and the devil Garcia had withstood all of them.  He went from person to person and counted.  Six—seven—eight.  Eight?  He had to have more than eight soldiers left, and these weren’t even his best fighters.  He counted again.  Not counting the leadership or himself he only had seven youngsters left plus “meat” collector Mike Jones.  There was also Tom but Houghton was apprehensive concerning asking Tom to put himself at risk.  What would happen if Tom refused?  There was also Kimmy and she certainly was a fighter.  Lucky for her she was more valuable to Houghton in bed than swinging a sledge hammer.  There was little doubt the “Collector” Mike Jones was the most capable attacker Houghton had at hand.  Houghton told Jones handler former “Director” Middleton the plan and together they approached Jones.  Jones was too cagey to blunder down into the lion’s den with his thumb up his ass.  He agreed to recon the area from a safe distance and report back his findings.  Houghton suggested Jones could get this done in the next 30 minutes and received a hearty laugh in return.  “I don’t think you understand the situation Mr. Houghton.  As far as I can tell everyone you’ve sent anywhere near that house is now dead.  I’m guessing they have some crack shots down there.  They also have some automatic weapons plus they now have all the guns and bullets your people had.  So far anyone who has approached the garage or house from the west, north, or south has got their asses handed to em.  What I can do for you is I’ll circle the house from a safe concealed distance and tell you what I find.”  Houghton tapped his foot impatiently.  “This guy talks more than most of my girlfriends, bla, bla, bla.”  If Houghton didn’t know better he’d think Jones was padding his explanation attempting to clock an additional quarter bookable hour.  “You can expect me back in two or three hours.”  Jones finally shut up and Houghton told him “fine.”  Jones took a drink of water and ambled off to the north along the ridgeline. 

In the interim, Teresa had low crawled up to and past three white glowing bodies in the north field she spotted with the Pulsar.  One “body” groaned and Teresa placed the end of the suppressor against their head and finished them off.  She had crawled up to near the area she and her grandpa had been ambushed at and found no one there.  Teresa loved the night sight.  There was no hiding from it in darkness.  Now that she was up on high ground she moved south towards the spot she guessed most of the attackers had come from.  Teresa came to a slight rise and found them.  She felt a wave of nausea when she saw how many there were.  She tried to count them and failed.  She got to over ten and gave up.  No matter, she had lots of bullets for each of them and there was no turning back.  The group was much too far away to shoot at so Teresa moved closer.  She moved maybe another hundred yards and found herself in a low point on the ridge.  She didn’t feel safe here and started off towards the next rise.  “I better check again,” thought Teresa and she lifted the heavy rifle to her shoulder.  As she looked ahead she saw a person cautiously step into view over the rise.  Teresa first felt she should run.  “Stop it sissy, he can’t see you.”  Teresa sat Indian style and steadied the rifle.  She now saw the person was a man and he was less than 50 yards away.  He had a rifle in his hands and moved like her grandpa; slow and careful, one distinct step at a time.  Teresa’s arms started to give out and the AR-180 sight started to shake.  She slowly lowered the rifle and waited.  With only her natural night vision she saw a blackish blob still far away but getting closer.  She waited until the blob appeared to be maybe 35 yards away before she shouldered the rifle again.  The man had buttons on the coat or jacket or whatever he had on.  Each button was a small black aiming dot through her scope.  Teresa aimed at the middle button and squeezed the trigger. 

The AR-180 lightly recoiled against Teresa’s shoulder and there was a low “chunk” sound.  With her peripheral vision Teresa saw sparks exit the ejection port.  At the same instant there was a loud and sick sounding smack sound from her target.  It sounded exactly like someone had hit the man in the chest with a baseball bat.  He stiffened and Teresa fired twice more.  There was the same sound of a meat packer playfully punching a hanging side of beef and then the man keeled over onto his back.  The man moved an arm, possibly attempting to find the rifle he had dropped, and Teresa fired again.  She continued putting bullets into the man until she was sure he was dead.  She hadn’t counted her shots but was sure she had burned off over half the magazine.  She reloaded and moved on.  She skirted the rise in case the dead man had a partner hidden from view. 

Some minutes later Teresa was about 100 yards from the main enemy group.  She was prone behind a low 5 foot rise.  This had to be it.  She was at the last high spot before nothing but level ground between her and the enemy group.  Teresa found herself on a small patch of snow and pushed up a small line of it in front of her.  She had thought to use the snow as a rest for the rifle forend.  That part worked but now her hands were freezing.  She placed her rifle against her improvised rest and blew on her hands.  Grandpa had showed her how trigger control was the key to accurate marksmanship.  She put her hands under her armpits to warm them.  She had time to think as she waited for the feeling to return.  “Are you really ready to kill all those people?”  She took out a backup mag and placed it on the berm within easy reach.  She decided she would shoot everyone who was armed and then see.

Behind the hilltop there was a group of five people who didn’t appear to be armed.  At lease none of them held a long arm.  Near that group a person was lying on the ground.  That person hadn’t moved but the bright glow through the scope showed the person was alive and not a cold corpse.  Teresa guessed this person had been wounded.  Nearer the crest of the hill stood a solitary man.  It had to be a man because he was so damn big.  Teresa could hit him with her eyes closed.  He also seemed to be unarmed.  Right at the edge of the hill there were seven or eight armed people and they were in a convenient vertical line from Teresa’s position.  Grandpa had told her some French word our army used to describe this but she had forgotten it.  She remembered enough to know this group was like ducks in a row.  Teresa opened fire on the closest person. 

The northern most Coalition fighter heard a “zip/thunk” sound.  The girl beside him shrieked and he hugged the earth as bullets screamed over him into the people to his right.  The bullets came in a stream and chewed up the entire line of fighters who had been watching the hoarder house.  The young man who Teresa had missed understood unconsciously that every hollow thunk sound was caused by a bullet hitting one of his friends.  There were more shrieks and grunts and those who could scrambled for safety.  The missed boy decided to play dead.  Intuition told him he would be shot if he moved an inch. 

100 yards away Teresa surveyed the damage.  With the two pound Pulsar sight and one pound suppressor the AR-180 rifle had recoiled only slightly more than her beloved Talo .22LR.  She had lightly twitched the sight to each glowing lump and feed one clipped tip FMJ into each.  Unexpectedly some of her targets had been able to get up and run for it.  Two of them ran for the unarmed group and tried to hide behind them.  Another took off away from Teresa’s position like a jackrabbit.  He or she was moving fast but no one bothered to tell this dummy you can’t outrun bullets.  The person finally stumbled and Teresa was willing to give short bus a break.  “Stay down you stupid fuck.”  Teresa shot them when the person stood up and seemed to begin searching for their dropped rifle.  Back to the armed group Teresa counted.  Four people.  Alive or dead or wounded she had no idea but they weren’t moving or shooting at her.  Teresa thought the fight was over but it turned out she was mistaken.  The big guy who had been directly behind the firing line moved forward and snatched a discarded rifle from one of the people Teresa had already shot.  Tom didn’t know it but he had just signed his own death warrant.  Teresa moved the crosshairs to a point inline with the heart/lung area and squeezed the trigger.  Tom moved a split second before Teresa fired and her shot slammed into the rifle he had picked up.  The wood stock exploded and a splinter imbedded itself in Tom’s cheek.  Tom bellowed like a bull and suddenly found himself unable to yell or even take a breath.  The additional round Teresa had pumped into Tom had killed him where he stood.  She watched as the huge man toppled over like a felled tree. 

This seemed to end any additional resistance by the hilltop raiders.  As Teresa watched one person in the remaining group urged the others to knell and raise their hands high over their heads.  Teresa belly crawled towards them but stood up when two in the group lowered their hands.  Teresa was now less than 50 yards away and saw these two were attempting to sneak away on hands and knees.  “Didn’t these people understand she could see in the dark?”  Teresa pointed the AR-180 from the shoulder and moved maybe 10 yards closer and yelled, “stop.” The crawlers ignored the warning and Teresa put a round into each of them.  They were both down but one of them started screaming for help.  The wounded crawler flopped and flapped and Teresa lost it.  Aiming at center of mass she rapid fired rounds at the screamer until he or she finally shut the fuck up.  Time to reload.  Teresa inserted a fresh mag as she continued forward and stopped within 15 yards of the remaining group. 

The leadership group was in a state of abject terror except Kimmy naturally.  Houghton had heard about night vision devices and guessed correctly the Coalition had come up against an opponent armed with this technology.  He had concluded running or fighting was a bad idea.  Logic told him the obvious path and he urged his compatriots to cooperate with the unseen and unheard force in the blackness which had decimated everyone around them.  The remaining four watched as a small dirty white colored ghost appeared in front of them from the darkness.  The ghost was carrying a faintly glowing space gun.  The ghost spoke in the voice of a young woman.  “Do exactly as I say or I will shoot all of you.” 

Near dawn after hours of complete silence Michael Weber volunteered to leave the garage and check out the house.  He found Manny shaken but alive near the front door.  Manny updated him with what little he knew.  “I spoke with Sara through the door.  She’s in there alone with the baby.  Jerry and Teresa left hours ago out the trap door.  Sara has no idea where Jerry and Teresa are at this time or what’s going on.”  Michael moved out again and worked his way to the backyard.  When he arrived he found Jerry pointing an M-4 at him.  Jerry had held his fire because Michael had called out “psst, Jerry, Teresa,” before he had rounded the corner of the house.  Michael made the very brave decision to go after Teresa after Jerry told him she had gone north and west towards the probable enemy staging area.  Eventually he found her and was beside himself with joy and relief when he discovered she had captured the whole bundle of rats single handedly.  Michael also checked the wounded enemy and found it was a woman.  She was trussed up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey so Michael released her.  The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.  Michael was in the process of searching her just to be safe when she called out, “Teresa, is that really you?  Teresa chanced diverting her focus from her prisoners to study the dirty, wet, and shivering person on the ground.  What a small world this had become.  Could this actually be Elizabeth from the Rossi camp?  It was and she told Teresa the short version of her even shorter association with Robert Houghton.  Liz next vouched for Mr. Middleton and told Teresa how he had helped the Rossi camp survivors.  Last she pointed out Kimmy. 

Kimmy had uncharacteristically hid from Teresa behind Houghton.  Kimmy had recognized Mother Fucker Teresa shortly after Teresa captured the group flatfooted.  She was sure Teresa would shoot her on sight and had swallowed her boundless pride and hid like a beaten dog from the luckiest and most annoying spic bitch on the planet.  Amazingly and against all reasonable odds Kimmy hadn’t known the Coalition was attacking Teresa’s granddad’s house until she recognized Teresa at the end.  If Robert had only told her exactly whose farm this was she would have convinced him to take no chances.  It would have been safer to burn the place to the ground right off the bat and shoot anyone who managed to get out.  She could have at least warned Robert about the magic “see in the dark” rifle Teresa’s old goat grandfather owned.  Kimmy didn’t dwell on what might have been.  The only question Kimmy wondered about now was whether Teresa would shoot them all or hang them.  Michael wanted to tie up the captured gang of four and found one item suitable for the job.  The woman named Liz had been bound with some kind of elastic bandage and he had cut it up into pieces getting her out of it.  It looked like whoever had tied her had used an entire roll.  Michael used the longest strips to tie the hands of the captives behind their backs and had enough left over to tie the feet of the two women.  Michael chose them because they looked more physically fit than the men.  The men might run but the ladies would have to hop for it if they decided to rabbit.  Michael sat the four down next to each other and was satisfied.  He had to secure these human vermin because either he or Teresa had to go for help.  After some discussion Michael agreed he should be the one to get help while Teresa guarded.  Teresa had experience with Jerry’s long range rifle in case enemy reinforcements drove up.  Also, Michael knew where everyone inside and outside the house was located. 

It was just after sunrise when Michael made his way to the house and contacted Julia Reid at the garage, Manny at the front door, Jerry on the northside of the house, and Sara and Annie inside the house in that order.  Sara attended to Jerry’s fresh wounds while Manny and Michael checked on Andy Bohne and Bart Berry in the garage.  They found Andy grievously wounded.  Bart was dead.  Michael and Manny carried Andy inside the house on Jerry’s army cot so Sara could do her best.  At the same time Julia Reid had gone up into the attic.  Everyone below heard her screams and Manny ran to the slide stairs.  Julia’s screams had subsided to wails of grief when Manny returned to the front room and sadly shook his head.  They couldn’t comfort Julia yet.  Michael traded off his 30.06 for Jerry’s M-4 and he and Manny moved out to help Teresa bring the prisoners back to the house.  When they arrived back up the hill they found Houghton attempting to defend his actions.  Teresa was reminding him that silence is golden when someone is pointing a semi-automatic rifle at you.  Robert Houghton had never been one to take direction.  He also had no compunction against having a fool for a client; himself.  With Houghton’s annoying righteous indignation act and Manny attempting to catch his breath after the hill climb no one noticed Julia Reid until it was too late.

Julia had found her husband dead in the attic.  There had been so much sticky brownish blood.  Julia had gone what the courts used to define as temporarily insane.  She had left the Glenfield .22 rifle behind and tore out of Casa Garcia to find and punish any alive attackers she could get her hands on.  By sheer accident or fate she timed her arrival on the hilltop perfectly. She had also stopped crying and made no sound as she dashed up the hill.  Julia was way past crying.  Julia stopped directly behind Manny and searched for those responsible.  Julia saw the machinegun hanging from a strap over Manny’s shoulder.  The barrel of the gun was pointing like an accusing finger at the guilty and Julia knew exactly what she had to do.  Manny had a round in the chamber and the selector on full bore spray and pray.  Insane sure, but Julia wasn’t so insane she didn’t aim.  She grabbed the M-4’s pistol grip with one hand and the handguard with the other.  Julia kept the rifle on Manny’s shoulder and attempted to rake Houghton, Tess, Kimmy, and Middleton with 30 rounds.  The bolt locked back after only 8 shots.  Manny hadn’t changed magazines after having fired this weapon earlier.  Houghton caught 4 of the 8.  Next in line Tess was hit by 3 of the remaining 4 rounds.  The eighth shot missed entirely.  Manny twisted away but Julia maintained her death grip on the M-4.  With Michael’s help Manny pried Julia’s hands from the rifle and pushed her to the ground.  Emotionally something broke inside and she began sobbing on hands and knees. 

Teresa continued to cover the four captives and had a box row seat view of the results from multiple impacts from an assault rifle.  One can only hope Robert “Shout’n” Houghton understood this was the end before his black heart gave out.  His shirt ballooned from the hits and he stiffened and shook before his legs buckled.  He collapsed and likely never felt the body of girl Friday Tess when she fell on top of her boss.  The shooting had lasted less than one second.  Grey smoke drifted lazily and revealed Kimmy and former Director Harold Middleton completely unscathed.  Kimmy’s feet were still tied to Tess.  Michael Weber walked to each of his fellow defenders and yelled, “no more shooting, no more killing.”  Michael had reached his breaking point.  This wholesale slaughter had to stop.  Teresa was calm and focused.  It would be so easy to pump a .223 slug between Kimmy’s tits.  Only Michaels’ plea stopped her from sending Kimmy straight to hell.  Manny decided he would beat himself up later over loosing control of his weapon.  There were still two prisoners to deal with and it was up to him to take charge.  Command decision or democracy?  Manny went with democracy.  He asked “what do we do with the two we have left?”  Julia was the only one who spoke up.  She interrupted her tears to call out, “kill them.”  Manny paused and announced “okay, it’s decided then, we let them go.  Who has a knife I can borrow?”  Manny cut Kimmy and Middleton loose and motioned for them to hit the road.  They began walking north in the general direction of the reservation.  This made Elizabeth panic.  “Stop them, It can’t happen like this.”  “Stop” said Teresa, “turn around.”  Middleton was clueless but Kimmy was certain they were about to be murdered.  As cold and weak as Elizabeth was she knew she had to speak up before Teresa and her friends made a huge mistake.  She explained, “I know Mr. Middleton.  He’s not perfect but I’ve seen good in him.  We need him to lead what’s left of the people at the reservation.  But,” Elizabeth continued, “you can’t let Kimmy go back to the reservation.  Kimmy’s a snake.  If you leave her around other people…I hate to say it but Kimmy will poison their minds and you’ll have to deal with another attack.”  Kimmy looked daggers at Elizabeth to no effect.  Without a powerful man at her side Kimmy was nothing more than a mean little girl.  “No problem” said Teresa.  She started to address Middleton first but was interrupted when one of the allegedly “dead” Coalition fighters raised his arm and shakily pleaded, “please don’t kill me.”  This was the boy Teresa had missed when she opened fire on the armed line of attackers.  Michael grabbed the youngster and marched him over beside Middleton.  The defenders had their backs to this boy for some time.  Manny sheepishly grinned and said “oops.”  Teresa recovered quickly.  “You two; Mr. Suit and Possum Boy.  Walk north directly to the reservation.  A group of us will stop by tomorrow to check on you and bring back Liz.  We had better not find Kimmy there.”  Middleton nodded yes and stepped off smartly with the young man in tow.  Lastly, and appropriately, Teresa addressed the last woman standing: Kimmy.  “You need to start walking west towards Sacramento.  If I find you at the reservation or if I ever see you anywhere in this area I will personally put you down, got it?”  Kimmy knew when she was beat.  She had drawn the short end of the stick so many times in her life she was almost getting used to it.  As always she kept her chin up and retained some dignity even in defeat.  “Whatever you say…Mother Fucker.”  Kimmy smiled, daring Teresa to shoot.  Teresa returned the smile and Kimmy turned her back on the defenders of Casa Garcia and took off.  Just before she disappeared below line of sight downhill with the rising sun at her back she threw Teresa the double bird as something to remember her by.  Kimmy the eternal survivor had done it again.  Kimmy’s departure marked the official end of the battle.  The struggle for Casa Garcia was over and the defenders had won.

Teresa, Michael, and Manny spent the better part of the day policing up weapons and vehicle keys from the Coalition dead.  They also checked for wounded and found none.  They were too worn out to deal with bodies for now, including those of Bart in the garage and Glen in the attic.  Sara did what she could for Andy Bohne but he didn’t make it.  She dressed Jerry’s wounds and gave Julia Reid shots of vodka until she could sleep.  She wrapped Elisabeth in blankets and gave her warm broth and she also slept.  Teresa slept with Annie in her arms.  Everyone in the household was physically and emotionally exhausted.  Jerry had slept earlier and kept guard with rifle and shotgun at the ready while the others got some shuteye.  At this point the defenders of Casa Garcia couldn’t have repealed an attack by a troop of Brownies.  Luckily there was no one left who had immediate designs on the Garcia’s precious food and supplies.  Also on the plus side they had taken possession of virtually all the weapons the Coalition had brought to the fight.  There was still the looming threat of the coming winter, and in the spring they would have to grow some food or starve.  The extended Garcia family’s battle for survival had only begun.

Coronal Mass Ejection.  Revision 1.  Copyright © 2014 by Eileen Nordt.  All rights reserved.  Printed in the United States of America.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the author except for brief quotes in critical articles and reviews.  This is a work of fiction but not science fiction.  All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are used fictitiously.