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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 18, 2015 22:02:20 GMT -6
I've been enjoying all the great stories that everyone has been providing here. I guess its about time that I return the favor.
Chapter 1.
The lights flickered for a few seconds before going out completely. Outside, I could barely hear the rustle of tree limbs in the breeze, counterpoint to the steady ticking of the battery operated clock in the kitchen.
Pat chuckled and set her book down. “Its 10:30 at night in the middle of a winter storm and the power goes out. Why am I not surprised?”
I clicked on the shutdown icon on the computer, since without power, the Internet was down. The UPS backup power supply would power my computer for at least an hour, and the laptop’s internal battery was good for at least another hour beyond that. Never the less, it was about bedtime. Reaching into the desk drawer, I pulled out the small flashlight I kept there. “Do we want to light some candles?”
My wife shook her head. “No. Just light the stove to keep the house from getting too cold. It isn’t likely that the crews will get the power back on very soon.” She stood up and stretched. “If it hasn’t come back on by morning, you can run the generator for a bit to make sure the fridge stays cold.”
Growling under my breath, I fumbled for the switch on the wall next to the kitchen door. With a flick, the LED backup lighting came on. The battery bank would run the small array of lights for a week, if only used occasionally. I stepped into the kitchen and took a match out of the cabinet drawer next to the cook stove. The strike anywhere match flared to life against the cast iron side of the stove, and quickly lit the tinder and wood that had been stacked there earlier in the day. If it had been summer, the small solar/battery backup system would have kept enough juice to power our minimum lights indefinitely. Solar panels didn’t do so well in winter, especially after a week over overcast skies, so we had to rely on the charge from the grid.
I knew I should have installed that windmill last summer.
Once the fire was drawing well, I eased the stove door closed. Experience with the heavy, cast-iron cook stove suggested that the firewood already loaded would last until morning with the dampers partly shut, providing a fairly steady heat that would keep our small cabin comfortable. Not that the building was that small… In total, it was about 800 square feet. It was a little more heavily constructed than your average cabin too. The exterior walls were reinforced concrete poured in styrene forms for easy construction, with an additional 12 inches of urethane sprayed on the exterior. The roof was of similar construction, with 24 inches of insulation, waterproofing, and 12 inches of topsoil over it. The majority of the exterior was earth sheltered, with only a few dozen feet exposed for windows and the door. Real stone facing covered the exposed insulation. It wasn’t quite enough to keep us warm in the winter without heat, but it was close.
Pat had already gone into the bedroom. As I followed her, she sat down on her side of the bed, and reached over to turn on the battery operated radio on her night stand. Static was all that came out of the tiny speaker. “Power must be down at the radio station too,” she commented as she tuned for another station.
As the minutes passed with no music, news, or anything else playing from the radio, I responded. “Radio stations usually have back-up generators. This isn’t a normal power outage.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I’ve known for a couple of decades that the United States was following the same path the Roman Empire had taken. I started taking an interest in disaster preparedness, which led to self-sufficiency and survivalism, and I started taking steps to prepare for the fall.
My wife Pat and I had kept a stockpile of food in a Tupperware bin in the closet for a number of years… it was our “Hurricane Supplies”, faithfully rotated out every year. As I started becoming interested in Prepping, one bin grew to two. With the exception of a year or two where we were fighting the economy to stay employed, we both had pretty good jobs and were working hard to knock out the debts we’d accumulated over the years. The storage bins got together had had babies… in the form of 5 gallon buckets… first a half dozen, and then a couple of dozen, loaded with beans, rice, wheat, and other staples. After the kids moved out, we decided to sell the house in the city, and move out to our present digs. Yes, we had a couple of kids. Heather was living somewhere near Dallas, and Scott had joined the army when he turned 18, and was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, in Missouri. I don’t know when, or if they will be coming back for a visit. There is no other close family in the area. Both Pat and I have siblings living in other parts of the country, but we rarely even talked with them, and even more rarely visit. Now it’s just me, Pat, and Shredder, and African Grey parrot, living in a custom built cabin on a six acre parcel on the outskirts of Lenoir, North Carolina. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ One of the nice things about being retired is that you don’t have to get up at any particular time. One of the not so nice things about being retired is that you tend to be old, and generally get up at about the same time you would have anyway. I rolled out of bed at about 5 a.m., slapping the switch at the bedside to activate the night light. This system drew off the same batteries as the house backup lights, but ran off a 5 minute timer, providing just enough light to find the wall switch, or to get settled in bed.
I padded out of the small bedroom, and around the corner into the bath, hitting the light switch as I entered. I studied my refection in the small mirror over the sink, noting that the gray in my beard was becoming more salt than pepper, and wondering if I should dye it again. Not that anyone cared what one old fart looked like. As I took care of my necessary business, I considered the situation. Since the grid electricity was still out, I would need to check on the generator this morning, making sure that it would be ready to recharge the battery bank and cool the freezer every couple of days. It wouldn’t do to run the generator indiscriminately. I only had about 60 gallons of gasoline stored for emergencies, and this was only enough for some 200 hours of gen time. If we could limit usage to an hour every other day, this was good for an indefinite time. Probably longer than the fuel would last before risking going stale.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I turned the backup lights off. Two steps away, I reached the kitchen light switch, and turned it on so I could check the stove. The fire was still flickering on the remains of the firewood. I grabbed another 3” diameter log and tossed it onto the fire. There were only a few hunks of firewood left in the caddy to the side. I would need to bring in some more later this morning. Fortunately, we had at least a dozen cords neatly stacked in the shed a dozen yards outside the door of the house, a side effect of clearing much of our acreage of woodland to make room for our house and micro farm.
The sound of radio static from the bedroom signaled that Pat was awake. “Still no radio.”
I grunted. Something in the world was well and truly bollixed. “I’ll get on HF and see if anyone knows what’s going on.” Using the ham rig would drain the battery bank more quickly than the little led lights, but that’s why we had a generator. Suspenders and belt. Two is one, one is none, and similar sayings. I paused as I waited for the expected response.
“Mark Griffin, you will not sit down at that radio until after breakfast and chores are done!” Of course, I hadn’t really planned to. Whatever disaster had occurred in the world, finding out now or in two hours wouldn’t make any difference.
“Yes dear.” I answered, as I returned to be bedroom to dress. A wise man knows that the secret to a happy marriage is to never argue before breakfast. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by biggkidd on Jan 18, 2015 22:42:34 GMT -6
Cool a new story. Thanks for sharing. I can't write a lick but I sure like reading.
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 19, 2015 2:10:59 GMT -6
Good start.
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Post by patience on Jan 19, 2015 2:42:33 GMT -6
Excellent writing! Your characters are engaging and the situation is a fine one. Thanks for this and I hope you continue. I am hooked on these folks already.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 19, 2015 8:58:42 GMT -6
I thought I'd make it a little easier for everyone to visualize what I'm talking about as I write this story. This sketch approximates a real property I found in the Lenoir area (I want!!), with a rough sketch of how I might develop it, assuming I could afford to sell the house in suburbia, and quit working for a living. Oh well, maybe someday, once the kids are out of the house... Attachments:
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 19, 2015 10:22:19 GMT -6
yeah one should never argue with the cook (be it the wife or husband) before a meal.
things tend to burn or be raw....
lol! thanks for the new story! Keep up the good work. I am intrigued!
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 19, 2015 10:24:21 GMT -6
is that small brown box the outhouse?
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 19, 2015 11:09:20 GMT -6
Small brown box is the septic tank. This is a rough design sketch I'm playing around with.
Chapter 2
Tying the laces on my work boot, I paused to give Pat a quick kiss good morning, and exited the house. Closing the inner door, I took the two steps to the outer door, and opened it to a chilly winter day. The front of the previous night had passed, leaving little behind except a light dusting of melting snow and a few fallen branches from the mixed pine and oak that made up the bulk of the natural forest in the area. Of course, when we set up our homestead, I was careful to keep the planting beds well away from the natural woodland, so this debris wouldn’t damage any of the fruit trees and bushes we were trying to grow.
Scattered clouds drifted across the otherwise clear sky, promising a warmer day. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but there was enough of the predawn light to wash out the stars. The moon was still visible over the tree line to the west, and I could make out the pink tint of clouds on the horizon to the east. Turning to the north, I headed toward our large barn, passing between the two halves of our kitchen garden.
February was still too early to even think about planting anything in the small garden plots, but there were still farm chores to do. We didn’t have a cow or any of the normal four footed ruminants that occupy such places, but we did have a small flock of ducks. Generally, ducks take care of themselves, but I prefer to give them a little supplemental feed in the winter. In addition, there were eggs to be gathered. Not that ducks laid as heavily as a chicken would, but the eggs were richer, and provided more nutritional value. Besides that, duck meat tasted better than chicken, at least in my opinion.
Neatly stacked firewood filled the 10 x 30 foot shed against the side of the barn. I reminded myself that I needed to bring some of that back to the house. The barn door on this side wasn’t locked, since no trespassers could move across the property without triggering one of the motion detectors that covered the area. I was pretty sure that they would still be working, since they ran off independent solar panels, with battery backups. I’d check on them a little later, just to be sure.
A cacophony of quacking greeted me as I opened the door in the side of the barn. The ducks generally had the run of the property, but usually spent the winter nights in one corner of the barn. A three foot high chicken wire fence was enough to keep the Buff Orpington ducks contained. This domesticated breed had no real tendency to flight, and as long as they could get where they wanted to go, were fairly mellow birds. Since they had their own door in the barn that let them get out into the yard when they wanted, they had no particular need or desire to get into the rest of the barn and shit all over my truck, or the tractor.
It didn’t take much to encourage the ducks to head outside. Scattering a few hands full of duck food (mixed grains) in the yard outside their door had the two dozen birds waddling out to scoop up the treats before continuing on to the pond in the northeast of the property. Reentering the barn, I took the egg basket off a convenient hook before stepping cautiously over the fence into the duck enclosure. Generally, ducks don’t make a mess in their bedding… if they can get outside to do their business. But I’ve stepped in their crap more than once by not being careful, and Pat doesn’t like me to track that stuff into the house.
I found six eggs that weren’t marked for hatching this morning. Taking a big black marker from my pocket, I carefully marked two of these with a big X, and discreetly laid them back into the straw bedding where I had found them. Some of the eggs I marked like this would end up hatching into new ducklings, and the X made it so I wouldn’t accidentally grab them for breakfast in the future before they’d had a chance to do so.
Climbing back over the duck fence, I returned to the house with the four duck eggs, remembering to grab an arm load of firewood as I passed the wood shed. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Handing the egg basket to Pat, I carefully stacked the dozen pieces of firewood into the caddy next to the wood stove. She was sliding a loaf of bread into the oven section of the stove as the coffee pot percolated on the stove top. “Git you! Breakfast will be ready in a bit. Go find out what’s going on in the world.”
Grinning, I gave her another peck before stepping across to the desk, and flipping on the power switch to the HF rig, and tuning to 14.242. “G4CAC. CQ CQ CQ. Is anyone on the air this morning?”
“CQ, CQ, CQ. Hello?” Shredder, our African Grey parrot, was always quick to put her two cents in on any conversation.
I wasn’t surprised to get a response other than the feathered fiend. Several prepper type hams hung around this particular frequency in the morning hours. “G4CAC, this is AC4NC. Good morning Mark. How’s it going out on the farm?”
Keying the mic, I responded. “Jeff, you reprobate, why aren’t you off to work already? How’s it going back in the city?” I had worked with Jeff about ten years back, and kept in touch with him after we went our separate ways. Jeff Laumer was a bigger ham geek then I had ever been.
“Haven’t you heard, buddy? Power’s out all over. I heard from Randy Tucker, LM2BKY out in Colorado, that some nut-jobs blew up a major relay station in Nebraska. Cascade failures have taken out most of the rest of it, except for down in Texas, and a few local power systems. Raleigh will probably be back up later today when they can cut out the system interconnects to the grid.” Raleigh was fortunately to have a nuclear power plant close by. It didn’t depend on long distance power.
I grunted. One major substation could have that effect, but not likely. There was probably more than Jeff was suggesting. “OK Jeff, thanks for the info. I’m going to wander into town here and see what’s going on in the neighborhood. G4CAC clear.”
“Catch you later Matt. AC4NC clear.”
“Over and Out” Shredder added.
Turning off the radio to save power, I turned in my seat to face Pat, who looked in from the kitchen. “Did you catch that, gorgeous?”
“Yeah. But it isn’t just one substation, is it?” she asked, her mouth set firmly.
“I suspect not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 19, 2015 12:31:47 GMT -6
"Small brown box is the septic tank."
well duh! of COURSE it is!! lol! that explains the "S" and it being located by the leech field. hahahaha! (I was thinking the "s" was for "sh**house"...bad me!)
thanks for the moar (and explanation)
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 19, 2015 16:23:04 GMT -6
Chapter 3
Breakfast eaten, dishes washed, and bread baked, by unspoken agreement we dressed up for the outdoors and locked the house behind ourselves. It was a moment’s work to open the garage door on the barn, and start up the truck. Backing it out was another minute. Pat closed the garage door before climbing into the cab beside me. The F-250 diesel wasn’t as fuel efficient as my last truck, a little Tacoma, but unlike the Tacoma, it had rear seats, and could pull a decent load, which was necessary in the summer. Turning the truck around next to the fuel shed, we drove up the crooked driveway to the cul-de-sac at the end of which our property was located.
Lenoir isn’t exactly the center of civilization in North Carolina. And we weren’t exactly in Lenoir anyway. Our 6 acre homestead was actually on the northeastern edge of the town of Hudson, to the southeast of Lenoir. Our property had a small tributary of gunpowder creek along the back edge. I had been very careful to stay away from this creek when I cleared the land, only cutting selected trees to create a path down to the creek. Judicious placement of a few fallen logs had created a natural dam at one point in the intermittent watercourse that allowed the formation of a small pond, encouraging wildlife to hang around. I fenced this area off to keep the ducks out. They had their own pond, further up on the property.
As we drove down the street, we waved to our neighbor. Henry Clay was in his front yard, swinging an ax to split firewood. He and his wife Barbara occupied a double wide on the next parcel over from us. Henry worked down at a tire shop near downtown Lenoir. Barbara had a job at the Google data center, second shift. I pulled to a stop as we passed Henry. “Hi Henry,” Pat called as she rolled down her window. “Are you making out all right with the power being out?”
Henry lowered the ax and brushed his gloved hand across his brow. “Morning Pat, Mark. We’re doing OK for now. Boss called to tell me to hold off coming into work until after lunch. I expect Barb will be going in this afternoon like usual. Those Google folks don’t close down for nothing.” Henry’s mention of a phone call reminded me of the advantages of having a land line. We’d switched over to pure cellular when we’d moved up here.
“We’re going to run into town to hit the market. Do you and Barbara need anything?” Henry shook his head no, and hefted the axe back over his head. Noting that the conversation was over, I eased off of the brake and continued down the road.
Lenoir is the county seat of Cadwell County, and is also a fairly significant community for this part of the state. Lenoir still has a fair amount of furniture manufacturing going on, as well as that datacenter that Google put in back in ’07. More importantly, it includes a farmer’s market where we could sell our excess fruit during the summer. Our trees weren’t producing much yet, having only been established three years ago, but last summer we harvested a fair amount of berries of various sorts. As much as I like raspberries, blueberries, and so on, you can only eat so much of it. The rest ended up being traded to other local producers for things that we weren’t growing much of.
Traffic on Hickory Blvd. was lighter than normal, and I concluded that a fair number of people didn’t have to go into work until later. I accelerated the truck north toward town. As I mentioned, Lenoir isn’t exactly a big city. We lived in the next town over, and we were still only about five miles from downtown Lenoir.
Traffic lights were out in Lenoir, of course, but folks were treating the intersections as four way stops. The first thing that indicated something unusual was when we pulled into the bank parking lot. One of the local police cruisers was parked sideways in front of the entrance to the Wells Fargo branch. The young officer standing next to the cruiser waved the car in front of us away, and turned to do the same for us. I stopped in the truck about 30 feet away from him, and rolled down the window. “Hello officer. Is something wrong with the bank?”
I could tell that he’d answer the same question more than a few times already. “Sir, the bank is closed today. I don’t know why, but it’s probably because of power outage.” He made a shooing motion with his hand, and I pulled away.
“That’s interesting.” Commented Pat. “I have a theory. Let’s go up the street and check on some of the other banks in town. I nodded, and pulled back onto the street. My wife’s theory was correct. Both BB&T and Suntrust hosted a police cruiser in front of their entrance. Two smaller banks, CommunityOne and Carter Bank and Trust were locked up tight, although they didn’t sport a police guard. “Do we need to go to the other end of town and check on B of A, or the credit unions?” I asked, grimly. We generally carried a balance of around $15,000 in our account at Wells Fargo.
“I don’t think so.” Pat’s voice was more sad than worried. Sad, because it looked like the system might be about to crash. Not worried, in particular. While we stood to lose a substantial amount of cash, we didn’t have all that much tied up in the stock market. We didn’t have any debts, and we did have a substantial pile of silver stashed away back on the homestead. “Do you have much cash on you? Better spend it while we can.”
I remember gasoline as slow as 25 cents a gallon, back in the late 60’s, during a gas war. We all griped and complained when it hit $4 a gallon back in the early 2000’s. Don’t we wish it were that low now. In spite of the “low” inflation rate of the last decade, the prices of energy and food had generally increased by a factor of six during that time. Green energy was the watchword of the political elite, but most people couldn’t afford it.
The truck rumbled up the road toward the town Walmart. “I probably have about $500 in my pocket. We can dump that before it becomes worthless. If you’re wrong, we won’t have to go shopping for a couple of weeks.”
Walmart was open, and evidently had some source of electricity, since at least their interior lights were on. I parked near the outer edge of the parking lot, and we walked into the store, locking the truck behind us. Another police car was parked near the entrance of the store, but no effort was being made to stop customers from entering or leaving. A big sign on the entrance glass made it clear that only cash was being accepted. A lot of people seemed to be reading this sign and turning around.
“What do we need?” I asked Pat.
“Need? Nothing. Want? Load up on spices. Beans and rice will get mighty bland by themselves. I’m going to see what I can get on the canned goods isle.” She pulled a shopping cart out, and pushed it toward me. “Don’t worry about paying for what I get. I have my own money.” Pat took another cart out, and headed toward the canned goods isles.
In spite of the fact that a lot of people were turning away after reading the cash only sign, the place was busy for a Tuesday morning. In addition, there was a certain, almost frantic air as shoppers pushed their carts up and down the isles of the store. The power used to light the store was less than usual, or the store had shut down alternate rows of lights to conserve the limited supply. It lent the rows of products an eerie cast. The shelves were not empty, as far as I could see… yet. But if what I suspected was occurring, there wouldn’t be any more deliveries, and the shelves would soon be bear.
I made my choices by the simple expedient of grabbing two of the largest container of each kind of seasoning mix that the store carried. I noted that prices were higher than they had been just the previous week, and I kept a quick tally in my head so I wouldn’t go over. After grabbing as many different spices as I saw, I moved over to the international foods row to stock up on salsa, which you can never have too much of. I wish they carried the larger plastic bottles like they used to at Sam's club, but evidently they weren’t making enough money on that variation.
My internal adding machine told me that I was getting close to my limit, so I headed to the front of the store. Pat was evidently finishing her run as well, as she pulled into line behind me, her cart loaded with canned tomatoes, corn, chili, and tuna. I eyed her cart, and concluded that she must have more cash in her pocket than I did.
The line moved forward in fits and starts. The only excitement occurred when a lady in the next row wanted to pay using her credit card, and was refused. She started to make a fuss until a manager spoke to her in a low voice, and she stalked away. All of her acquisitions were piled back in her cart, and the manager wheeled it back into the store to have a stock boy return it. We finished paying for our purchases, and walked out, with less than $50 in cash between us. A quick stop at the gas station on the corner bought just about enough diesel to top off my tank.
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Post by nancy1340 on Jan 19, 2015 16:49:57 GMT -6
I like very much. Thanks
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Post by millwright on Jan 19, 2015 17:56:34 GMT -6
1-2 chapters a day? Good stuff, keep up that pace and you will stay ahead of the moar monsters. Maybe
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Post by ydderf on Jan 19, 2015 19:40:46 GMT -6
This story is just fine. If you keep writing I will keep reading. I will wait as patiently as I can thanks for sharing your story.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 20, 2015 7:54:01 GMT -6
1-2 chapters a day? Good stuff, keep up that pace and you will stay ahead of the moar monsters. Maybe Ha! You'll be lucky to get 1 chapter a day, when its not a weekend or holiday. Thank MLK for the extra words yesterday.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 20, 2015 19:50:02 GMT -6
Chapter 4
As I guided the F-150 back down the road toward home, Pat started fiddling with the radio. After a few minutes, she made an exclamation of success and turned the volume up. “… starting tonight, and continuing on until further notice. Let’s hear from our Eric Richards down at city hall.”
“Tom, I’m standing in front of Hickory city hall, where power was restored less than an hour ago. The Mayor’s office issued a press release just moments ago that the Hickory police department would be enforcing President Mallory’s curfew. When asked about areas outside of the town, Mayor Ritte said that although it was outside of his jurisdiction, he understood that the state highway patrol would be patrolling the major highways. The Catawba County sheriff’s department will be stopping traffic on highways 321, and 127. Back to you Tom.”
“Thank you Eric. For those of you who are just joining us, today’s massive power outage was caused by an explosion at an Ohio substation, which caused a cascade failure across 38 states. Power remains out throughout the northeast. President Mallory declared a nationwide state of emergency, and issued a dawn to dusk curfew on all non-emergency or law enforcement personnel, starting tonight. Residents are encouraged to remain in their homes. This is WHKY 1290 talk radio. More after this commercial break.”
Pat turned the radio down to a low mutter as an announcement extolling the advantages of a local Hickory car dealership played. “Seems that declaration was awfully quick, doesn’t it?” she pondered, as she gazed out over the broken forest and scattered businesses of south Lenoir.
I scratched my head as I cruised down Hickory. “Especially that thing about ‘Nationwide’. 38 affected states suggest that there were 12 that weren’t. Seems more logical to leave it to local folks to say if they need a curfew. I’m kind of surprised they didn’t say anything about the banks being closed… but maybe that’s just a local thing here.”
Pat barked a short laugh. “Right. And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You watch. Even if we get power back up today or tomorrow, the banks’ll stay closed. It will be some sob story about how there is still a disruption in the networks.”
We drove in silence for a minute. “I’m wondering how much curfewing they’re actually going to be doing out here in the sticks? Chief Day only has a dozen officers in Hudson, and I hear that Lenoir only has about twice that. That’s enough to cover the main highways through town, but if they’re covering the banks as well, there’s not a lot left for the side streets.”
“Mmmm… they might as well not be patrolling.” She nodded. “Better talk to the neighbors.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I stopped the truck in front of the house long enough to unload the canned goods, spices, and salsa, and then returned it to the barn. While Pat was putting the groceries into the pantry, I strolled through the bedroom, and into the closet. Shoving some jackets hanging on the back bar to one side, I dialed the combination on the big gun safe concealed there: 74-17-76. I considered the available selection before taking out two side arms and a 12 gauge, as well as a modest amount of ammunition for each.
Closing and locking the safe, I pushed the jackets back across the front of the metal box, carefully concealing it from casual inspection. I exited and closed the closet, and then headed for the kitchen.
“Double tap. Double tap.” declared Shredder, as I passed. She continued with a shrill whistle. Really, I don’t know where she picks up this language. “I want a peanut.”
Pat had just finished putting the groceries away. She glanced at the armament as I set it down on the kitchen table. “Do you really think it will come to that?”
I handed her the S&W 9mm, “her” gun, and a box of shells. Pat dropped the magazine, and then opened the ammunition and loaded ten rounds. She thought for a second, and then pulled back the slide and cautiously added one in the chamber before putting the gun on safe, and slamming the magazine home. She shoved the automatic into its holster, and then slung the shoulder harness over her arm and started fastening the belt.
I put on my shoulder harness first, before drawing my weapon. I’ve always been partial to the old 1911 45. My current favorite was a Sig Saurer 1911 C3, with wood grips. At the range, Pat always gave me a hard time about how my gun only carried 8 rounds to her 11, but, as I always replied, when I hit something, they’d know they’d been touched, which wasn’t always the case with a 9. I loaded the mag for the Sig, and after a moments though, took a second mag that I had pocketed, and loaded it up too. Never to safe.
“I think we can go check on the neighbors now.” I commented. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Henry was no longer out in his yard, and his old Escort station wagon was no longer sitting in front of their trailer, so I presume that he had gone into work. Barbara was outside, pruning the rose bushes that covered the front side of their house. Pat called out to her. “Hi Barb, have you heard the news?”
Barbara was in her mid 20s. She and Henry had only been married for a couple of years, and they’d just bought the land for their trailer the previous summer. Pat had mentioned that they were talking about having kids, but she didn’t know when it was going to happen.
The young woman stood up, and shoved a loose hank of dark hair behind her ear. “Oh. Is the radio back on? We tried a little while ago, and didn’t hear anything.”
“We caught a station out of Hickory.” My wife explained. “Power’s still out in a lot of places, and all the banks in town we checked are closed. Walmart is only taking cash. We also heard that they’ve called for a curfew after dark.”
Barb’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “How in heck am I supposed to get home from work? How’s Keven supposed to get in to relieve me?”
“How are you and Henry fixed for food?” I asked.
“We’ve got enough in the cupboard for two weeks, and a bit more in the fridge… if the power comes back on and it doesn’t all spoil. Henry’s got a camp stove, so I guess we can cook, even if power stays out.” She didn’t seem at all concerned about the situation.
“Well, you take care, young lady. I hope things work out all right for you.” Pat smiled as we turned away. Before we had walked 20 yards down the road, I heard her mutter “Grasshopper” under her breath.
“Yeah.” I replied at the same volume. “I bet they don’t have much money outside of the bank or their 401K.” I glanced back at the Clay property. It was a 4 acre parcel, but it was almost entirely wooded, with only a small corner in the front cleared to make room for the mobile home, and a tiny little garden where Barb said she planned to raise tomatoes and peppers. “But not complete grasshoppers.”
The next house up the street belonged to Cory and Sue Dulgen, the antithesis of grasshopperdom. They had their 15 acre parcel almost completely cleared, and used it to raise walnuts, peaches, and hogs, as well as seven youngsters. They had a big old rambling farm house, backed up by a dilapidated old barn. An old steel swing set was being used by a couple of the kids, in spite of the cold weather.
“Jenny, Maggie, is your mama around?” Pat called out to the youngsters.
The little blond jumped off the swing. “Yes, Mrs. G. I’ll fetch her.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 20, 2015 21:07:44 GMT -6
ah that chapter ended too quick!!! lol! thanks
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 23, 2015 20:45:39 GMT -6
ah that chapter ended too quick!!! lol! thanks Yes, I did rush that one a bit. After re-reading it, I decided to tweak it a little, and write a bit more of it. Here we go.... Chapter 4 As I guided the F-150 back down the road toward home, Pat started fiddling with the radio. After a few minutes, she made an exclamation of success and turned the volume up. “… starting tonight, and continuing on until further notice. Let’s hear from our Eric Richards down at city hall.” “Tom, I’m standing in front of Hickory city hall, where power was restored less than an hour ago. The Mayor’s office issued a press release just moments ago that the Hickory police department would be enforcing President Mallory’s curfew. When asked about areas outside of the town, Mayor Ritte said that although it was outside of his jurisdiction, he understood that the state highway patrol would be patrolling the major highways. The Catawba County sheriff’s department will be stopping traffic on highways 321, and 127. Back to you Tom.” “Thank you Eric. For those of you who are just joining us, today’s massive power outage was caused by an explosion at an Ohio substation, which caused a cascade failure across 38 states. Power remains out throughout the northeast. President Mallory declared a nationwide state of emergency, and issued a dawn to dusk curfew on all non-emergency or law enforcement personnel, starting tonight. Residents are encouraged to remain in their homes. This is WHKY 1290 talk radio. More after this commercial break.” Pat turned the radio down to a low mutter as an announcement extolling the advantages of a local Hickory car dealership played. “Seems that declaration was awfully quick, doesn’t it?” she pondered, as she gazed out over the broken forest and scattered businesses of south Lenoir. I scratched my head as I cruised down Hickory. “Especially that thing about ‘Nation-wide’. 38 affected states suggest that there were 12 that weren’t. Seems more logical to leave it to local folks to say if they need a curfew. I’m kind of surprised they didn’t say anything about the banks being closed… but maybe that’s just a local thing here.” Pat barked a short laugh. “Right. And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You watch. Even if we get power back up today or tomorrow, the banks’ll stay closed. It will be some sob story about how there is still a disruption in the networks.” We drove in silence for a minute. “I’m wondering how much curfewing they’re actually going to be doing out here in the sticks? Chief Day only has a dozen officers in Hudson, and I hear that Lenoir only has about twice that. That’s enough to cover the main highways through town, but if they’re covering the banks as well, there’s not a lot left for the side streets.” “Mmmm… they might as well not be patrolling.” She nodded. “Better talk to the neighbors.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I stopped the truck in front of the house long enough to unload the canned goods, spices, and salsa, and then returned it to the barn. While Pat was putting the groceries into the pantry, I strolled through the bedroom, and into the closet. Shoving some jackets hanging on the back bar to one side, I dialed the combination on the big gun safe concealed there: 74-17-76. I considered the available selection before taking out two side arms and a 12 gauge, as well as a modest amount of ammunition for each. Closing and locking the safe, I pushed the jackets back across the front of the metal box, carefully concealing it from casual inspection. I exited and closed the closet, and then headed for the kitchen. “Double tap. Double tap.” declared Shredder, as I passed. She continued with a shrill whistle. Really, I don’t know where she picks up this language. “I want a peanut.” Pat had just finished putting the groceries away. She glanced at the armament as I set it down on the kitchen table. “Do you really think it will come to that?” I handed her the S&W 9mm, “her” gun, and a box of shells. Pat dropped the magazine, and then opened the ammunition and loaded ten rounds. She thought for a second, and then pulled back the slide and cautiously added one in the chamber before putting the gun on safe, and slamming the magazine home. She shoved the automatic into its holster, and then slung the shoulder harness over her arm and started fastening the belt. I put on my shoulder harness first, before drawing my weapon. I’ve always been partial to the old 1911 45. My current favorite was a Sig Saurer 1911 C3, with wood grips. At the range, Pat always gave me a hard time about how my gun only carried 8 rounds to her 11, but, as I always replied, when I hit something, they’d know they’d been touched, which wasn’t always the case with a 9. I loaded the mag for the Sig, and after a moments though, took a second mag that I had pocketed, and loaded it up too. Never too safe. “I think we can go check on the neighbors now.” I commented as I loaded the shotgun with shells, and placed it in the rack over the kitchen door. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Henry was no longer out in his yard, and his old Escort station wagon was no longer sitting in front of their trailer, so I presume that he had gone into work. Barbara was outside, pruning the rose bushes that covered the front side of their house. Pat called out to her. “Hi Barb, have you heard the news?” Barbara was in her mid 20s. She and Henry had only been married for a couple of years, and they’d just bought the land for their trailer the previous summer. Pat had mentioned that they were talking about having kids, but she didn’t know when it was going to happen. The young woman stood up, and shoved a loose hank of dark hair behind her ear. “Oh. Is the radio back on? We tried a little while ago, and didn’t hear anything.” “We caught a station out of Hickory.” My wife explained. “Power’s still out in a lot of places, and all the banks in town we checked are closed. Walmart is only taking cash. We also heard that they’ve called for a curfew after dark.” Barb’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “How in heck am I supposed to get home from work? How’s Keven supposed to get in to relieve me?” “How are you and Henry fixed for food?” I asked. “We’ve got enough in the cupboard for two weeks, and a bit more in the fridge… if the power comes back on and it doesn’t all spoil. Henry’s got a camp stove, so I guess we can cook, even if power stays out.” She didn’t seem at all concerned about the situation. “Well, you take care, young lady. I hope things work out all right for you.” Pat smiled as we turned away. Before we had walked 20 yards down the road, I heard her mutter “Grasshopper” under her breath. “Yeah.” I replied at the same volume. “I bet they don’t have much money outside of the bank or their 401K.” I glanced back at the Clay property. It was a 4 acre parcel, but it was almost entirely wooded, with only a small corner in the front cleared to make room for the mobile home, and a tiny little garden where Barb said she planned to raise tomatoes and peppers. “But not complete grasshoppers.” The next house up the street belonged to Cory and Sue Dulgen, the antithesis of grasshopperdom. They had their 15 acre parcel almost completely cleared, and used it to raise walnuts, peaches, and hogs, as well as seven youngsters. They had a big old rambling farm house, backed up by a dilapidated old barn. An old steel swing set was being used by a couple of the kids, in spite of the cold weather. “Jenny, Maggie, is your mama around?” Pat called out to the youngsters. The little blond jumped off the swing. “Yes, Mrs. G. I’ll fetch her.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ After a few minutes, Sue came bustling out of the front door of their home, wiping her hands off on an old dishtowel. “Hey Mark! Hi Pat. How you folks doing today?” Sue was 52, the same age as my wife, and the two tended to socialize quite a bit. Pat paused to scratch the head of the Dulgen’s big Labrador, Barney, who at come up to her at the picket fence that marked the edge of the yard. “Hi Sue. Did you hear the news report this morning about a curfew?” The other woman draped the dishtowel over her shoulder as she considered this news. “No, I hadn’t heard. Is the radio back on?” “Yes,” I acknowledged. “We took a run into town to hit the store. Things are a bit crazy. All the banks are shut down, and at least Walmart is only taking cash. We caught the news on the drive home.” Sue turned toward the children, who were hanging on every word. “Maggie, run around back and fetch your father. Jenny, I want you go run next door and see if Mr. and Mrs. Heinstead are at home, and can come over.” Glancing back on us, she noted the holstered side arms. “You’ve got your pistols on. That’s probably smart, if things go to pot, as it looks like it may.” Cory Dugan jogged around the south side of the farm house, pitchfork raised in one hand. A younger version of Cory ran behind him. When he saw Pat and me, he slowed in his run, and lowered the fork. “Maggie had me worried there for a minute. She said something about a “‘mergency”. I take it that there’s something up, more than a power outage?” Stopping at the fence, he leaned the pitchfork against a fence post, and reach behind his back to pull out a glock, jacking a round into the chamber, and checking the safety before returning it to the holster behind at the small of his back. Cory was the one who convinced me that sometimes being armed could be a good thing. “Your wife sent one of your kids over to fetch Vic and Sharle.” I mentioned. “Probably ought to wait to see if they can join us before we get into it too much. But as I told Sue, the banks are shut down, it’s cash only at the store, and there’s a general night-time curfew announced.” Dugan nodded his head sharply. “Yeah, they’ll have to be in on any planning. Depending on what the six of us figure, we can talk to the rest of the street after. Clays are going to be worthless. Chapman might be helpful… Upmans too. Not sure about that new couple down at the end.” “Charlie Winters and Mary Veach.” His wife identified the new couple. “And old Tom Marshall might be valuable.” Tom Marshall wasn’t on our street. He lived on the big property across Pine Mountain Road where our Gunpowder Heights intersected the main road. Marshall, however, was one of the original landowners, having lived on his 160 acre parcel since sometime after the Korean War. I didn’t want to guess how old he was. “Yeah, Mr. Marshall too.” Acknowledged Cory. “Here comes Vic and Mary.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Mary and Vic Heinstead had evidently heard something of what had been going on. They were both armed: not just with handguns, but with a couple of hunting rifles. Vic was almost as old as me, but the pair had been living out here for a more than 20 years. Before that, they’d had a farm down in the Piedmont. They had three kids, but only the youngest was still at home. Charlie attended South Caldwell High School, a few miles away. “Figured you’d hear about what’s going on Mark.” Vic allowed as the pair of them walked up Gunpowder Heights. Their house was a few hundred feet up road, right before the road curved to the west. “How much do you all know?” “Possible attacks on one or more power grid substations. Banks closed. Curfew.” Summarized Cory. “We’ve been listening on the radio. There’s a couple of stations on now from Hickory. There’s rumor of riots in some the bigger cities: Atlanta, Newark, Saint Louis, and Chicago.” He spat on the ground. “Of course, there’s probably a lot more that they’re not admitting to. Nothing about problems in Charlotte, Raleigh, or Greensboro so far.” I shifted my feet slightly. “It won’t be long… I’d say no more than a day or two before it starts in those cities.” I calculated. “It might take another three or four days before the trouble gets out this far.” “Don’t bet on it.” Vic shook his head. “There almost half a million people living within 75 miles of us here… mostly in Hickory, but quite a few right in Lenoir. You know that most of them aren’t ready for this.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the Clay’s mobile home on the other side of the cul-de-sac loop. Mary Heinstead grimaced. She was somewhat older than the other two women, and tended to be even more practical than any of us. “So what do we do with them? The Clays aren’t bad people… they just don’t understand the realities of life yet. David and Tina Upman do understand, but they haven’t got as much put by as we all do. Charlie and Mary have the idea, but need a push to really get going.” “Don’t forget Tom Marshall,” reminded Sue. “He probably has more knowledge about farming in this area than any of us.” Mary nodded her head. “Tom will be a valuable resource.” She let her gaze turn back toward the street, back in the direction of her own home. “And finally, there’s Andy Chapman.” She paused, as if considering the worth of this individual. We all knew Andy... even though he kept to himself. Andy used to be more outgoing, but his wife had passed away several years ago; before Pat and I had move here. I didn’t know him that well myself. “Andy might be real handy.” Admitted Cory. He turned to face me and Pat. “Andy was in the Army Rangers, back in the wars. If there’s trouble…” Vic pursed his lips. “Andy could be trouble. He’s been mighty standoffish since Beth died.” He shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to ask him. I can do that, since he lives down by us.” “Then I’ll walk on down to the Upman’s, Mary and Charlie’s, and Tom’s house, and talk to them,” volunteered Cory. Before anyone looked at us, I stepped up. “We’ll talk to the Clays again on the way home. I want to get on HF again and see what else I can pick up.” “That will be good.” Stated Vic. “See if we can all get together later this afternoon… Say 6 o’clock, just after the sun sets. Let’s all meet at our house, since we have the most room.” He turned to Cory. “Bring your kids, and tell the others to bring theirs as well. We’ll make a party out of it.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 24, 2015 0:42:48 GMT -6
Thank you! seems the neighborhood just may do ok!
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 24, 2015 8:14:07 GMT -6
Thank you! seems the neighborhood just may do ok! Sure it will. <Heh Heh Heh> And here is my subdivision map: Attachments:Empire Down.pdf (152.41 KB)
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 24, 2015 10:58:53 GMT -6
those are some weird shaped lots but that tiny road would be easy to block. if the two properties on each side of the openings were fenced, it would keep much of the hoards off.
and your main characters are way up in the back.
I like the jog in the road because it would block any further view of what would be back there
thanks!
(yeah, I know there has to be problems cause it is a STORY!!! LOL!)
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 24, 2015 13:58:28 GMT -6
those are some weird shaped lots but that tiny road would be easy to block. Any time there's a circle (court, cul-de-sac, [your term here]) some of the lots around it will be wedges or trapezoids. We live at the entrance to a group of houses like the map, except the road goes straight back. The first two lots on each side are rectangles. The lots beyond that are wedges around the circle. I see two advantages to the wedge-shaped lots. 1. The size of the lot isn't obvious from the front - casual passers-by might think it's just another house on a too-small lot. 2. Room for a semi-hidden garden and buildings in the space behind the house.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 24, 2015 16:46:45 GMT -6
What papaof2 said about lot shapes is true. I used to work in land development out west, and the developers would sometimes divide up the larger properties in interesting shapes to make "unique" lots (ie: more expensive). A jog might be put into a road because of the shape of the land that it is servicing. Since I'm making it up as I go, I'm basing my maps on where I want the story to go. Of course, my fictional subdivision fits somewhere in the real map. Thank you Google Maps. (And no, while Gunpowder Creek and the other major street names are real, there is no Gunpowder Heights Road or geography that exactly fits what I am describing.)
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 24, 2015 21:32:12 GMT -6
Chapter 5
Barbara Clay had moved on from pruning roses to pulling weeds in her garden bed. “You’d have less trouble with weeds if you’d do a little sheet mulching,” observed Pat critically. “We wanted to mention that we’re going to have a neighborhood get together down at Vic and Mary Heinstead’s place tonight at 6, if you happen to be around. We’d sure like it if you and your husband could come.”
Barb dropped the handful of weeds. “I was going to run into town at 3 this afternoon, and see if the center is even open. No use getting stuck down there after dark if the place is shut down. Henry should be home by then, even if his shop doesn’t close early. If I’m not working, I’ll make sure we come down.” She gazed down at the barren rows of her kitchen garden. “What’s sheet mulching?”
I grinned as my wife explained. “Even in winter, things like weeds are going to grow, as long as they have soil and sunlight. The seeds are always there, and you can’t hardly get rid of the soil. Soaking the ground with weed killer would take care of them… for a while, but you can’t do that when you’re trying to grow food. Instead, you cut off the light. Cover the ground with something that keeps like light out. Some people use heavy black plastic. Another way is to use cardboard, which is biodegradable. Ideally, you put the cardboard down, and then put a good heavy layer of mulch and compost on top of it. By spring, it will mostly be broken down into soil, and the weeds will be dead.” It had taken a while to get Pat to understand what sheet mulching was all about. It had taken me a while, back when I first started studying organic gardening.
Barb looked up and down the rows of her garden. It wasn’t really that much… the whole garden was only about 20 by 30 feet. “That’s a lot of cardboard. And how many bags of mulch would that be?”
“We have a bunch of extra cardboard in our barn loft.” I mentioned. “We hang onto any we can pick up from the store, since we have a lot more planting area than you do. And you sure wouldn’t want to use bagged mulch or compost. That store bought stuff is expensive. Talk with some of the neighbors, and see if anyone has some compost and what straw they can let you have.” I glanced at the small garden. “You’ll probably need a pickup load of manure, and two of straw.”
With a slight frown of distaste, the young woman pulled the gardening gloves off her hands. “I guess that would be better. I’ll have to talk to everyone, if I can go tonight.”
The sound of a racing engine signaled the approach of a small car. A few seconds later, Henry’s faded green Escort station wagon drifted around the loop of the road, and pulled into the driveway, coming to a stop in front of the Clay’s trailer. The old car wheezed to a stop, reluctantly idling down before sputtering to a stop. Henry got out of the vehicle, and paused to give the front tire a good kick. Seeing the three of us, he gave a wave, and walked around the front of the car.
“Hi Mark. Hello Mrs. Griffin. I had to drive home in second gear. Transmission won’t go up into third.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid she’s about had it. Twenty years old, and parts are getting harder and harder to find every year.”
I chuckled. That model of car hadn’t been made for at least 15 years, and had rarely had a life expectancy of 10. The fact that Henry had kept one running for double that, with over 300,000 miles on the odometer, spoke volumes for his ability as a mechanic, as well as his pigheaded stubbornness. “You’re home early. Is the shop closed?”
Henry turned away from the dilapidated car. “Yeah, Mr. Talwber decided that there was no reason to stay open. We can’t use any of the power equipment, and even if we make a few repairs by hand, we weren’t able to swipe credit cards. Hardly anyone has cash.”
I nodded agreement. “And if you don’t have any, you can’t get any, with the banks closed. Hey Henry, there’s going to be a neighborhood meeting tonight at 6 over at the Heinstead house. We’d like you two to come.”
“I said we would, if I don’t have to work,” prompted Barbara.
Henry put his arm around her shoulders. “We’d be happy to come. Barbie, you aren’t going to work. Not only is the car on its last legs, but no one has any power. Even if they do, over at your work, the network will be down.” Glancing back to us, he continued. “You said 6? Do we need to fix anything?”
Pat shook her head. “Just bring yourself. Vic and Mary have lots of food. And the current situation is part of what we want to talk about.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The first thing I did when we got back to the cabin was to check the wood stove. Still some left, but I tossed in another section of firewood to keep it going until evening. That reminded me that I needed to ask Henry about his firewood situation. Although he had a small pile in front of their trailer, he seemed to cut it on an as-needed basis. That wasn’t efficient, as the wood didn’t have time to dry out after the trees were cut down. Besides, if we had an extended cold snap, and snow, it would be difficult to replenish depleted stocks. I’d ask tonight, and if necessary go over with the chain saw tomorrow.
“Heather!” screamed the bird as I passed on the way to the desk.
“You stupid bird,” I commented. “Heather hasn’t lived with us for eight years.”
“I want a peanut!” proposed Shredder.
“You had one with breakfast.” I pointed out, as I turned on the power to the HF rig.
“CQ CQ CQ, Hello!” answer the grey feathered monster. God, what every possessed us to buy a pet that would probably outlive us?
I turned the tuning dial slowly, looking for traffic.
“… pretty big crowd, and the cops just ran.”
“They didn’t even try to stop them?” The first signal was fairly strong, about a 7 x 4. The second was weaker, maybe a 6 x 3.
“Not at all. The crowd just threw a few bottles and rocks, and the cops turned tail. Before they could come back with more, the crowd had already smashed in the doors and cleaned out the store.”
“Break,” I interrupted.
“Go ahead break.” Answered the first voice.
“This is G4CAC, Mark in Hudson, North Carolina.”
“Hello G4CAC. You’ve got Ed, C3EW out of St. Paul, Missouri. Also on the frequency is DW2MK, Mike in Amarillo, Texas. How’s it going out there in the south?”
I keyed my mic. “Not too bad so far. Limited power, in town. Banks closed. No rioting that I’ve heard of anywhere around here yet. I caught the end of your last conversation. I take it that you’ve got trouble out your way? Over.”
“That’s right. I was in Kirkwood, outside of Saint Louis, and I saw a mob breaking into a small grocery store. There was a police car stationed there, but they ran when the crowd came at them. Not that I blame them. They were outnumber a hundred to one. Maybe the cops can hold onto the bigger stores… I hear they have five cars at the Sam’s Club in Saint Charles. Over to you Mike.”
Pat came up behind me, and set her hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got cop cars in front of some of the banks. Nothing at any of the stores, but we don’t have so many people who might riot out this way.”
Pat reached for the handset. “This is KD4NYW, Pat, also in Hudson. Have either of you heard anything behind the big power outage?”
“Howdy Pat. I’ve been on the radio all day, talking to folks all over. I’ve got reports of bombings at five power relay stations across the country. Also, one blocked attempt, where an off duty sheriff was pulling daddy duty with a group of middle school kids visiting the power station. He shot the tires out of the truck full of explosives after it crashed through the outer security gate. Also killed the driver before he could earn his 72 virgins.”
“Don’t expect the power back everywhere real soon,” advised Mike, DW2MK. “Those transformers take forever to replace.”
I took the mic back from my wife. “Roger that. Some places will have power, and others won’t. Well, I’m going to have to go run the generator before I can use this rig much more. Thanks for the info gents. This is G4CAC and KD4NYW clear on your final.”
“Have a good one G4CAC and KD4NYW. Stay safe, and keep your batteries charged. C3EW”
“Over and Out.” Stated Shredder. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by ydderf on Jan 24, 2015 23:20:19 GMT -6
Thanks for the update!
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 25, 2015 12:26:54 GMT -6
Thank you for the MOAR!!!
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