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Post by mnn2300 on Jan 25, 2015 21:41:45 GMT -6
I am really enjoying this story. Looking forward to more. Did want to point out 2 things:
Chapter 2 it's an F250 but in Chapter 4 it's an F150 Also Chapter 4 lists a "dawn to dusk curfew" pretty sure it should have been "dusk to dawn".
Not trying to be nit picky, these were just 2 things that popped out at me, they in no way detract from the story, which is very good, but you may want to edit it to correct it..
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 26, 2015 7:41:25 GMT -6
Chapter 2 it's an F250 but in Chapter 4 it's an F150 Also Chapter 4 lists a "dawn to dusk curfew" pretty sure it should have been "dusk to dawn". Darn, I was concentrating so hard on not messing up people/place names, or ham call signs that I didn't even watch for those kinds of mistakes. I notice that you missed another error of that type... one where I did use an incorrect name for one of the neighbor's wives. Since corrected in my original word document, as will be be two errors that you mention. For those who, like me, can't rely on memory to keep all these names & stuff straight, learn to depend on a separate document listing names, locations, etc., so you don't have to read back through earlier chapters to remember what you named that one character. Oh, and I would have written another chapter or so yesterday, but the keyboard on my old laptop is bad, and the external USB keyboard disappeared (back to kid's computer). I'll have to pick up another one today or tomorrow, when I have time. I probably won't have time to work on the story tonight (Toastmasters), and I can't really work on it using this (work) computer, but hey... we'll get there. Just wait until the action starts in the next chapter.
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 26, 2015 13:29:26 GMT -6
Keeping up with the details is HARD - especially when your muse is on a roll with the story. The Camry you left home in needs to be an Expedition when you stop for groceries and a 4 wheel drive Suburban when it starts snowing and the traffic gets bad ;-)
Long ago, I did a story online in another genre (it's no longer available). It had a very interconnected family so I had a genealogy chart for relationships as well as a spreadsheet that had details on each character (hair color, nickname, spouse, etc). People liked the story, but I probably spent more time verifying than writing :-(
Not likely to do that again. Once you're out of the direct family line, "aunt", "uncle", "cousin" is all the relationship detail most people care about; no need to say "third cousin once removed".
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Post by minitruck83 on Jan 27, 2015 7:23:36 GMT -6
The only way I know to check the safety on a Glock is by visually making sure of finger position. (Enough nitpicking... MOAR).
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 27, 2015 10:00:44 GMT -6
Chapter 6
“Let’s go for a walk,” stated Shredder as Pat and I pulled on our rain jackets. The afternoon skies had clouded ahead of a cold front about the time we had returned home from our visit to the Dulgen’s place. The evening had brought a cold wind behind the clouds that threatened to turn the drizzle to snow. The gravel of the road wasn’t cold enough to allow any potential flurries to stick, but even wet snow would have been warmer than the stinging spray of the rain.
“The Clay’s are still at home,” observed my wife as we strolled past their lot.
I nodded. “Do you think they’ll come?”
“I expect so,” replied Pat. “That girl seemed pretty sure of it.”
“Yeah… we’ll see.” Ahead, I could see another group just entering the Heinstead’s yard: two adults, and three smaller figures. The Dulgen’s were a few minutes ahead of us, and were still shedding jackets as we entered the farmhouse.
“Welcome Mark, Pat. Glad you could come.” Mary Heinstead greeted us as if she hadn’t spoken to us just a few hours before. “It’s chilly out there this evening. Can I get you some coffee to warm up? Cory? Sue?” Mary loved to play hostess when any neighbors visited. “Thank you Mary, that would be great,” agreed Cory.
“Yes please.”
“Black, thank you.”
“None for me.”
“Charie, take these young’ns back to the game room and show them what’s there. Then you can come on back. You kids go on back and play.” As she swept out of the entry room, there was a knock at the door. Henry and Barbara Clay had arrived. Vic waved the rest of us into the farm house’s sitting room as he opened the door for the Clays. “Come on in folks. Just set your coats on the stand, and go on in and get comfortable.”
Barb and Henry looked around somewhat nervously. The pair hadn’t been much for socializing since they’d moved into the community. “Hi Henry, Barbara. We’ve all been meaning to get over to talk to you, but while we’re waiting for the rest of the neighbors, I thought I’d ask how you are set up for winter, if the power doesn’t come back on real soon.” I know… I might have been a little more circumspect, but it generally wasn’t my way.
Henry seemed a little hesitant at first. “Um… well, we do have a little wood stove to keep the house warm. The fridge isn’t going to stay cold very long, but we don’t have all that much in it.”
“We don’t have all that much in the cupboards either,” added Barb in a worried tone. “Didn’t you say the banks were closed? How are we going to buy groceries? We don’t have any money.”
I let my mouth quirk as my wife reassured the young couple. “If things don’t get back to normal pretty quick, I’m sure we can work something out.” She paused as she considered what she might be suggesting. “Or maybe you could move in with one of your parents.”
“Mom and Dad kicked me out,” stated Henry flatly. “They bought us the land and the trailer, and said they never wanted to see us again. Then they sold their house and moved away. I don’t know where they went.”
“And my Mamma and Pop both died years ago when I was in high school,” said Barbara sadly. “That’s one thing Henry’s parents had against me. They called me a tramp.”
Pat tisked. “We’ll help you figure things out.”
“One thing I meant to ask you Henry… I notice that you don’t have much firewood stocked up.”
“We didn’t use the wood stove that often before.” The young man shook his head. “I guess we’ll be getting more use out it for a while.”
The front door of the house opened and closed again, and Andy Chapman stepped into the room. He was wearing an old Army BDU field jacket, and there was an AR15 slung over his shoulder, barrel down. “Mr. Heinstead said there might be some bad things happening soon, and I should come over whilst everyone discussed about it.” He stated as we all took notice of the weapon. But since all of us except the Clays were armed, the only ones who were started were Henry and Barb.
Tom Marshall entered next, along with the Upman family. As the adults came into the sitting room, the three children run screaming toward the back of the house, where laughter could be heard. Moments later, 17 year old Charlie entered the room, as Marshall glanced around at the others. “Dang it Cory, you should a told me there was troubles a coming. I’d a brought my shotgun… or maybe my carbine.” He turned to me and continued, “The younger generation just don’t think things through.”
I grinned back at him. Tom was at least a dozen years older than I was, while I was at most five years older than Cory. “I expect that some of us will… if you give us another ten or twenty years. Truthfully, I don’t anticipate any trouble right way, but I’ve gotten in the habit of carrying if there’s the least chance. Otherwise, I’d have my shotgun along,” I paused for effect. “or something heavier.”
Marshall grunted in response, only the twitch of his lips giving a hint of his real amusement. Before he could respond, the opening of the front door, and the gabble of excited voices signaled the arrival of the Charles Winters and Tina Veach, and four youngsters, including two being carried. Mary glanced at the pair, and then hurried over to take the two year old girl from Winter’s arms. “Tina, why don’t you and I take the little ones along with the other kids, out to play.” Tina smiled at the older woman and followed her with the one year old boy in her arms, and the two older children following behind her. “Sue, Pat, would you care to join us?”
Winters watched as the women took the youngsters to the back of the house, where excited laughter pointed the location of the remaining kids. “One of these days Tina’s going to be ready to marry me.”
As the women and children disappeared down the hallway, Cory asked, “What’s up with that? Four kids, and she doesn’t want to get married?”
Winters shook his head. “Only the littlest one is ours. The older boy and the younger girl are mine by a previous marriage. The other girl, Melody, is Tina’s. Her first husband died in an accident two years ago. He was my best friend.” He stopped, leaving anything else unsaid for now.
The sounds of play from the rear of the house subsided, and a few minutes later, Mary Heinstead emerged. “Gentlemen, if you would all come to the dining room, dinner is served.”
We followed her down the hallway a few steps to where the dining room opened off to the other side. Pat and I had dined with the Heinsteads before, so I was unsurprised to see their big table stretched to its maximum length, filling the room, with seating six chairs on each side, and two more at the ends. Six chairs, that is, on the near side. The far side only hand five chairs. The sixth place, in the back corner, was occupied by a highchair, where the baby was seated, and was busy applying mashed potatoes and applesauce to his face. The other places were set with table wear. “Find a seat, gentlemen. We will be out in a few minutes with dinner.” She went through the archway into the kitchen, where all of the youngsters were seated at a smaller, but still impressive table to one side. The neighborhood ladies where circulating around this table, dishing out food to the children. In a few minutes, they finished with the younger crowd, and brought platters of oven fried chicken, bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans out to the adult table. A few minutes of shuffling around and we had all seated ourselves in the available chairs, with Vic at the head of the table next to the baby, and Mary at the other end, near the arch leading to the kitchen.
“Dig in folks,” encouraged Vic, stabbing a fork into a chicken thigh. “Thank you all for coming. I don’t know if you’ve all heard about what’s going on in the country, but we thought it best if everyone knew, so we can discuss what needs doing, if anything.” He paused, as the food was passed around, and everyone loaded up their plate.
“The word is that someone has blown up some of the power transmission systems, causing the grid to go down.” Stated Cory, once everyone had started eating.
I swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes while waving for attention. “The word I got on HF is that there have been at least six attacks on major transformer stations. One was stopped. There may be more that I haven’t heard about.”
“Does anyone have an idea about who did it?” asked Dave Upman. “Is there a war going to start or something?”
Vic cocked his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m more worried about what else is happening. The fact that the banks are closed. People not being able to get to their money, or being able to buy stuff in the stores. A lot of folks don’t have much put by. People get hungry, and they may start doing things that they otherwise wouldn’t do.”
Marshall grunted “Too many kids these days don’t know how to keep house proper.”
Henry Clay looked down at his plate. “Barbara and me don’t have much in our house. We don’t have a big garden like you all do.” He looked up at me. “We don’t even have much firewood.”
“Maybe I can swing by tomorrow and see if we can help you fix that, at least.” I suggested. “This curfew that the President declared isn’t really that practical, but it is going to screw up the economy more than it already is. It’s too easy to get around on the county roads, and law enforcement doesn’t have enough personnel to stop it.”
Cory nodded. “Law abiding folks may follow the rules, but a criminal won’t hesitate to ignore them.”
Further conversation was interrupted by a series of shots fired somewhere in the medium distance. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 27, 2015 13:27:13 GMT -6
Just reading through and I noticed that I mixed up some names. In my notes, and in the story line, I used both Tina and Mary at different times for Ms. Veach. Unfortunately, these are the names that I've given for Mrs. Upton and Mrs. Heinstead, respectively. To avoid confusion, I have named Ms. Veach to Colleen, and corrected it on my original. I'd fix it here as well, but you can't go back...
Yes, I know that there are two Charlies... Young Charlie Heinstead, and Charles (call me Charlie) Winters. It happens.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 27, 2015 13:44:42 GMT -6
Chapter 7
The firing died away, but everyone froze for a moment, Vic, Cory, Andy, and Dave headed for the door, weapons at hand. Tom Marshall and I looked at each other. Henry and young Charlie just looked scared. I drew my Sig, and double checked the load before holstering it again.
“Pat, Sue, you both have your firearms. I’m going to get my shotgun, and the three of us can watch the kids.” Mary rose calmly from her chair. “Barbara, do you know how to shoot a gun?”
The younger woman shook her head, so Mary turned to Charlie. “Please go to the gun safe and get three of the 12 gauges and two boxes of double-0. One for me, one for Mr. Marshall, and one for yourself.” Turning to me she continued. “Mark, could you keep an eye on the rest of the men folk?” We heard a burst of firing from outside. After a moment, the burst continued. “There’s no telling what they’ve got into.”
Not knowing what the other fellows had found, I cautiously walked out to the road, and around the trees that formed the boundary between the Heinsteads’ property and the Upmans’. I saw the other men standing in the yard beyond the Upmans’ house, gazing out into the field. As I joined them, Dave spat on the ground. “You should have shot them, Andy.”
“What happened?” I asked to no one in particular.
Vic explained. “Dave’s cows were in the pasture, and it looks like some yahoos in a pickup were out hunting. We came around the corner, and they had backed their truck into the field to load up their kill. Andy fired at the truck… took out one of the tail lights.” He spat too. “Dave is right Andy. You should have shot them.”
Chapman had a haunted look in his eyes. “Druther not do that, if I didn’t have to. I was aiming for their tires.”
We walked into the pasture. Vic and I both had small flashlights, and we could see where the trespassers had cut the barb wire fence separating Upton’s property from Pine Mountain Road. The tracks in the soft earth where they had driven across the ditch and into the grass led to the point where one of Dave’s cows was laying. It had been hit by a couple of bullets… 30-06 maybe, although it was hard to be sure. It was definite dead.
“Aww Mable.” Dave looked both angry and worried. This was half of his milk production. I wondered if the other cow or either of the calves were laying somewhere else on the property.
Cory shook his head at the waste. “We need to find your other cow and the calves, Dave. And the best we can do with this one is to butcher it tomorrow. Do you have enough cold storage to safe the meat?” Upman shook his head. “No dammit. Most of it I’ll have to dry to preserve it.” He glanced back toward the barn. “I can see Daisy over near the small pond. Hope the little ones are about.” Turning his attention back to us he continued. “I’ll have to go get the tractor with the bucket to haul her back to the barn. Vic, can we round up Daisy and the calves, and put them in your pasture until I can fix the fence?”
Vic nodded. “Sure Dave. Might be a good idea to get them out of sight of the road for a while anyway. If one group of thieves can see them, we might have more sometime. For that matter, these fellows might be back.” Vick turned toward the other cow. “Cory, help me out here.” The three men headed toward their respective chores. Andy and I looked at each other, and then back at the road. The evening was silent, with neither gunfire nor vehicle sound disturbed the darkness as the cold drizzle slowly soaked into our jackets as we stood guard over the carcass. After a few minutes, we heard the sound of Dave’s small tractor start up.
It was a few more minutes before Dave came driving out with his tractor, a little Kubota. He’d taken time to mount the bucket, and was driving through the field with the front end raised enough that it didn’t catch on the high grass. I waved the small flashlight to let him know where we were, and then used it to guide him directly to the carcass.
After pulling the tractor up with the bucket directly over the cow, he set the little engine to idle, and jumped down. “Daisy and both calves were fine. Cory and Vic are leading them up to Vic’s pasture now. I hope they don’t give his sheep any problems.” It only took a few second to run a loop around Mabel’s back hooves and over one of the teeth of the bucket. Dave jumped back onto the tractor seat and used the bucket to lift the animal up so it hung suspended. Then he carefully turned the little work vehicle around and drove the few hundred feet back toward the barn. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ After hanging the carcass from a barn roof truss, we walked back to the Heinstead house. Vic and Cory had already bedded down the cow and calves, and were explaining what had happened to the rest of the group. “It’s clear that we aren’t going to have three or four days before things start going wrong.” Vic summarized. “The sheriff and town police officers may be able to offer some protection to citizens in town, but we’re too far out on the edge.”
Andy Chapman had returned to his chair in the corner, his back to the wall, and his rifle hung on the back of the chair. He was buttering up a roll. “The houses visible from the road won’t be safe.” Taking a bite from the biscuit, he continued. “Best if you can avoid noise and light at night when it can attack attention.”
Tom Marshall swore under his breath. “Dang. You’re right about that. Hate to get chased out of my own house, but I guess I need to find someplace else to stay.” He pointed at the Upmans, and Charles and Mary. “You too, I expect.”
David sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Where are we going to go?”
Mary smiled. “We have two empty rooms that belonged to our oldest two. We can fix them up for you and Colleen, and well as your kids.” Sue waved to the Upmans. “We have a spare bedroom. We can put you up for a while, and your three can double up with ours.”
“Good,” affirmed Vic. “And tomorrow we can process that meat.”
“Tomorrow, Henry and I can start getting his home fixed up.” I added. Clearing additional land, firewood, ploughing up some new garden beds for spring. There was a lot to do.
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Post by patience on Jan 27, 2015 18:14:10 GMT -6
Better cut the throat on that carcass as soon as you get it vertical, and then gut it before letting it hang overnight. Need to gut it so the meat can cool out.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 27, 2015 21:50:16 GMT -6
Better cut the throat on that carcass as soon as you get it vertical, and then gut it before letting it hang overnight. Need to gut it so the meat can cool out. Yes, I do know better than that. Even thought of writing it in, but then didn't. Can we say it goes without saying... like putting air in a new tire?
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Post by biggkidd on Jan 27, 2015 23:18:17 GMT -6
Or you could start off with on the way home Vic stopped at the barn where he bled and gutted the cow. But it should probably be said city folk have no idea! I know because while not from a city, suburbia doesn't teach the things one would know living on a farm.
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Post by patience on Jan 27, 2015 23:49:56 GMT -6
Suburban Gardener, Sounds good to me.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 28, 2015 7:59:11 GMT -6
I agree that city folks generally wouldn't know. I Я 1. And I haven't had to butcher an animal since I was a kid, living up in Alaska. I know about draining and gutting, but didn't even thing about letting the carcass cool. They tended to get frozen by the time you got them back from where you shot them.
Here is how I would modify it:
After hanging the carcass from a barn roof truss, slitting the neck to drain the blood onto a loose pile of straw, and gutting it, we walked back to the Heinstead house with the liver wrapped in some old newspaper. Vic and Cory had already bedded down the cow and calves...
Also, I want to add another little bit at the end:
Good,” affirmed Vic. “And tomorrow we can process that meat.”
“Ummm… Mr. Marshall, we have an extra bedroom too,” suggested Barbara shyly. “If you want you can stay with us. And maybe tell us what we can do to fix our place up.”
Tom looked thoughtful at this offer.
“Tomorrow, Henry and I can start getting his home fixed up.” I added. Clearing additional land, firewood, ploughing up some new garden beds for spring. There was a lot to do.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 29, 2015 21:11:01 GMT -6
Chapter 8
Day 2. I don’t know why I decided that I needed to keep track of how long it had been since the power went out, but I just started a tally in my head. For some reason, it seemed like it should be longer. Less than 24 hours had passed, and at least some people had decided that the rules no longer applied to them. Of course, that element had always been there. It was only the threat of punishment by the legal system that had restrained them. With that restraint distracted by the need to protect other things, and with the availability of cheap and easy sustenance, it wasn’t too surprising that some of them would start acting up.
From here on until things got back to normal, if ever, we would have to hand out our own retribution.
As Pat prepared breakfast… pancakes and eggs… I got on the radio and made a couple of quick contacts. What we had experience last night was typical of the kind of societal breakdown that was going on elsewhere. The bigger cities also had the benefit of large scale riots, although from what I heard, they could be worse. I expected that in a few days, as more of the population's ready store of food ran out, that this kind of event would be more common.
“Mark, while you help Henry straighten out his firewood situation, I’m going to check on Barbara’s kitchen supplies,” Pat proposed as she pulled on a sweater. “Depending on how bad they are, I was thinking we can spare some bulk foods and canned goods.”
I nodded. “They’ll probably need it. Just make sure that Barbara knows that those bell jars and lids are not throw-away.”
Her mouth quirked in amusement. “Yeah, it’s going to be hard to order any more for a while.”
I took a side trip up to the barn to retrieve the Stihl, and a small bottle of chain oil. Today, we’d concentrate on taking down big trees, and it would be easier to do with the 18 inch bar of the Stihl than with the little 14 inch Husqvarna. That would be OK later, once I was sure that two of us could be working independently.
Henry answered the door as soon as I knocked, which mildly surprised me. It was only 6:30, and the sun wouldn’t be up for almost an hour. He was evidently waiting for us, since he was completely dressed, and had his coat in hand. “Thanks for coming over Mark.” From his voice, I could tell that he was still tired, and I suspected that Tom Marshall had something to do with his early rising. Barbara could be seen behind him, but I didn’t see Tom.
“Good morning Henry. Is Tom about?” I asked as Pat slipped passed him, and entered the house.
Henry moved out of the way to let my wife enter, and the exited, closing the door behind him. “That old man is crazy. He was out of bed before five in the morning. He made coffee and breakfast before five thirty, and had both of us out of bed to eat. Then he headed out before six. He said something about chickens.”
I chuckled. “Get used to it. Chores need to start early, so you get them out of the way in time to go to work. After we get a little farther along… maybe spring, if this keeps up that long… we’ll have to see about getting you and your wife set up with some chickens or ducks.” I considered this for a second. “Probably chickens, since you don’t have a pond on your place.”
We walked around the north side of the mobile home. “We’ll probably stack your firewood along here.” I said, waving on the north side of the house. “Looks like you have room for six or eight cords of wood, without it sticking out too far.”
As we continued toward the tree line to the east of the house, Henry asked the anticipated question. “A cord… that’s like a yard of firewood, isn’t it?”
“Closer to five yards,” I corrected. “A cord of wood is a stack four foot high, four foot wide, and eight foot long. 128 cubic feet. A yard… or cubic yard… is three foot by three foot by three foot, or 27 cubic feet. A cord is how firewood is usually measured. They use cubic yards to measure dirt or manure.” I explained.
Henry was silent as we continued to the trees another few yard behind the end of the house. “Your lot continues two or three hundred feet that way. That’s a lot of trees. You’ll want to harvest a lot of that eventually to make room to grow food or animals. But that’s long term.” Stopping a few feet away from the tree line I waved my arm. “For this morning, we’ll cut down enough for a couple of years.”
“Two years? Why so much?”
“Fresh cut wood is too wet. It doesn’t burn as well as drier wood. You should have cut your firewood for this year last winter… or the summer before. We have to play catch up now.” Setting the chainsaw down, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a couple of pairs of earplugs. “Here. You want to use these or it will damage your hearing, if you do it much. Roll the little foam sponges between you fingers like this, and then stick them in your ears… like this.” I demonstrated. “They’ll expand in your ear canal, and block most of the sound.” I repeated with my other ear, and then waited while he fumbled with the earplugs and got them in. With a grin, I turned to the chain saw and pulled the starting cord.
Unlike Henry, I did cut firewood ahead of time, and kept the chain saw in good operating condition. I had given it a once over last night after we got home from our little action, making sure that it would start easily. There’s nothing more embarrassing that not being able to start a piece of equipment when you’re trying to demonstrate. My saw started on the first pull.
Nodding to Clay, I stepped forward and notched into the close side of the first tree, carefully estimating the undercut in the predawn light to get the tree to fall so it wouldn’t hit the house. Waving Henry off to the side, I stepped around the tree and let the chain bite into the other side of the eight inch trunk. This all looked like second growth stuff, mostly six to eight inches, with a little scrub mixed in.
With a crack, the big spruce slowly leaned over. Slowly at first, but then with a rush, crashing to the grass covered yard about 12 feet away from the house. I saw that Henry was watching with consternation as I stepped forward and started limbing the trunk. The lower branches were up to two inches thick, but didn’t do much to slow down the chain. After removing the limbs on the top and sides of the log, I sectioned the trunk into four foot lengths. Inside of forty-five minutes, I had the thing ready to carry back to the wood stack.
I shut the saw down, and pulled the earplugs out of my ears. Henry did so as well, and we stared at each other. “Well, that’s how it’s done. Are you ready to give it a try?” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ By ten in the morning, Clay had gotten the hang of cutting into a tree without the saw bucking back and taking out a chunk of his leg. After I was confident he wasn’t going to drop a tree on his house, or chop off a leg, I left him to section a log, and walked back to my barn to get the smaller chainsaw.
As I was returning with the saw and a gas can, I met Andy Chapman, carrying a couple of radio handsets. “Hello Mark. I wanted to let you know what I’ve been doing.”
I looked at the handsets. “Something to do with your radios?”
He glanced down at the radios. “GMRS,” he explained. “No, I’ve been looking at the situation at the entrance of the neighborhood. I found a place in the woods at the south end of my property where you can overview the all three houses and both roads. I’m planning to establish an OP there.” He handed me one radio, and raised the other. “We’ll keep an eye on things, and call on the radio if we see anything.”
“We? Who else is going to be out there watching?”
“Vic’s kid… Charley. And Dave. Two of us on at any one time.” He scratched his nose. “I’ve given handsets to Vic, Tom Marshall, and Cory. Vic and Cory are at Vic’s place chopping up that cow. Upman, Winters, and Marshall and the women are down getting some clothes and personal stuff outta their houses. And food, which is probably more important.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Henry and I spent the rest of the day felling, trimming, and sectioning trees. With two of us doing the work, we soon had a fair sized section cleared, about 50 feet across, and 20 feet deep. This thousand square feet of forest yielded about 40 trees of varying sizes, which sectioned into about 400 four foot log sections. After we dragged them to the north side of the house and roughly stacked them, I estimated that we had processed four cords of wood. Not bad for a day’s work. We'd have to get in with a tractor to pull the stumps, but there was not reason that we couldn't open up a new area for planting or something before spring. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Feb 1, 2015 13:21:25 GMT -6
Chapter 9
Sundown at this time of year was only about 6:00 p.m., so there were still things that needed to be done. I left Henry to go and change, and we agreed to meet over at Mary and Vic’s home, where the others had told us earlier that they would be serving dinner again tonight. Considering the effort involved in cooking on an old wood stove, I wasn’t too surprised that this was a popular decision. I headed back home to clean up a bit myself.
As I changed cloths in the light of the small LED emergency lights of my bedroom, I noted that the charge meter that displayed the battery bank level was down to about 80%. Not that big of a deal, since this was well within the discharge tolerances for the four big G2 batteries that made up the bank. But if the low charge rate of the winter sun (or lack thereof… we still were pretty overcast) failed to maintain the charge, I’d probably have to crank up the generator soon. Most likely, I’d do that tomorrow morning, while out tending to the chickens. This would let me keep the freezer cold, and refill the main water tank, since both the freezer and the well pump pulled too much current to run off the batteries. The freezer was still probably OK for a couple of more days, but no sense pushing it. The water tank was undoubtedly still half full, but you never knew when you wouldn’t be able to run the well.
Sap and sweat removed, and a fresh set of clothing on, I put the dirty outfit in the hamper. That was another thing we could do while I ran the generator in the morning. Pat could run a load of clothes through the washing machine. While I had managed to pick up some “manual” washing equipment when we’d built this place, I’d rather not have to set up and use the wringer washer during winter if I could avoid it. The big electric system was about six years old, but was still a lot more convenient. We didn’t need to use the matching dryer. That sucked way too much juice for way too long to justify running the generator. Inconvenient as it was, I’d have to pull the drying racks out of the closet and take up most of the floor space inside to dry clothes… unless the weather suddenly turned sunny and warm, and we could use the clothes lines outside. Not, I thought as I opened my gun safe to retrieve a rifle, that it was likely to do so before April. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Everyone had arrived at the Heinstead’s ahead of me, except for Henry, who was immediately behind me, and Andy, who Mary said had grabbed some food and left for his OP before dark. I could tell that Charlie Heinstead was also eager to head out to help out on the night watch, and I wondered if he’d be quite so eager after a night or two out in the cold. I remembered back to my days in the army… that was 40 years ago… well, 35 when I got out. I spent most of my time in Texas, and generally the night didn’t get that cold, even in the winter. But there were a few times… Here in the foothills of the Appalachians of North Carolina, things got cold in the winter, and it was never comfortable at night. “There you are Mark, Henry. Dinner is served!” Our ladies were serving up a fine batch of liver and onions, as well as some preserved carrots from the fall harvest, and fresh cut broccoli, which was still available from the greenhouse. The younger crowd was already chowing down at the kitchen table, a steady babble of excited conversation and an occasional giggle signaling the good mood of the children. The adults were seated around the big table in the dining room, looking less worried than they had the evening before, but tired. Henry looked completely worn out, but then, I’d kept him at it all day long, with only a few minutes break to eat the sandwiches lunch that Pat and Barbara had brought out at lunch.
The kitchen and dining room of the Heinstead’s home was outfitted with an electrical backup similar to what we had at home, but they evidently had a more complete system, with more solar panels, and more batteries, since their lights were almost as bright as you’d have running off the grid. I wish I had a bigger system too… it had been in my plans, but there were only so many hours in a day. If this power outage turned out to be short term, maybe I could go back and fix it. If it was the permanent crash that we all feared it was… well, we had enough set by to make do.
“So Dave, how are those cows of your doing, up with the sheep?” I asked between mouthfuls of carrots.
“They’ve settled in well enough. Sheep don’t bother them… and visa-versa,” he paused for a moment. “Of course, Vic’s sheep dogs don’t know what to make of ‘em. They know they aren’t sheep, but even though Vic told them that they belonged for now, they still want to watch them.”
Vic laughed. “Yeah, they want to treat them like the sheep, and keep them with the rest of the flock. The cows just ignore them, and keep browsing where they want, as opposed to where the sheep want.” He waved in the direction of the pastures. “There’s enough grass, even at this time of year to let them all graze for a week in my paddocks. Then we can shift the bunch of them down into Dave’s pastures for a couple of weeks during the day, and then bring them back up. We’ll make due.
Cory chipped in his two cents. “I’d offer my land for graze, but I don’t really have any. I’ve got nothing but pecan, hazelnut, walnut, and almond trees. Sheep and cows won’t eat those, will they?”
Vic considered this. “Sheep don’t really eat nuts. But they might go after any low branches. Don’t know about cows.”
“Not good.” Upman stated. “Walnuts are mildly toxic to cattle. Not as bad as for horses, but bad enough. They know it though… won’t eat them. They will eat almonds though… but it dries up their milk, which we wouldn’t want with a nursing calf… two nursing calves.” He shook his head. “Between Vic’s pasture and mine, and the hay we’ve both got stored, we’ll make due.”
Tom Marshall stood, hitching up his trousers. “Well, if it comes down to that, I’ve still got standing in my fields. Wasn’t due to harvest it until March, but if’n things don’t go back to normal, I probably don’t have anyone to buy it, once its cut and rolled.”
Any further discussion of livestock was interrupted at that point by the squawk of the radio handsets, of which there were three in the room. “Looks like we’ve got company again tonight.” Andy Chapman’s voice wasn’t much above a whisper, although with the radios turned up, his low murmur was like distant stereo thunder. “Three trucks… and a bunch of guys.” A crackle of static broken through for a moment. “… that there are at least nine, that I can count. Maybe more.”
Vic picked up one of the radio sets. “What…” he stopped, as feedback from the other handsets resulted in a shrill squeal. He waited until Dave and I turned off the other two handsets. “What are they doing?”
“A couple of them snuck up to the house, and now the rest of them are just driving up the driveway as if they owned the place,” replied Chapman. “Looks like they plan to grab as much as they can.”
“Right.” He gathered all of us with his eyes. “We’ll head on over there right away, and see if we can’t change their minds about it.”
I stood, and picked up my rifle, an old Remington 700 in .308. I already had one magazine in the rifle, and two more in my pocket. If the trouble was going to take more than 12 rounds… well, I just tried to remember that the other guys were similarly armed. We weren’t planning to fight a war.
“Henry, do you know how to fire a weapon?” asked Vic, as we all donned our jackets.
Henry looked nervously around the room as the four other men, and two of the women checked their weapons. “Uh…yes sir. Back in scouts I fired both a .22 and a .410 shotgun. Nothing since.”
Vic surveyed him critically. “Ok. I’ve got a spare .410 I can lend you. Just try not to shoot any of us, if it comes down to it.” He considered for a moment. “I’m almost tempted to leave you here to help guard the kids.”
Clay stiffened. “No sir. I can help out. I know I can.”
“OK. Lemme get that shotgun, and some buckshot. That will be good for discouraging anyone who might argue with you… but you’re not likely to kill anyone.”
Weapons ready, eight of us… Charlie, Henry, Charles, Dave, Vic, Cory, Tom, and I, let ourselves out of the old farm house. Mary stayed behind with her shotgun, to watch over the kids with Pat, Sue, Tina, and Colleen. Pat had her sidearm, but not another long gun. Since the thieves were not likely to come up to a lighted house, it was probably adequate force.
The Upman’s house was only about 50 yards south of the Heinstead home. We strode past the greenhouse, and to the tree line that divided the two properties. Both families having kids, well-worn trails penetrated through the 20 foot stand of beech and pine. Vic evidently knew these as well as the younger people, and we were soon all arrayed behind the tool shed at the north end of Dave’s property.
“There they are,” muttered Upman. The shed was to one side of the house, about 40 feet further back from the street. The front of the house faced north, overlooking the driveway that passed in front of it, and then swung past the shed on the way to the barn. But we could see the front of the house, and the vehicles were obvious, with their headlights providing the criminals light to work by. We could see figures emerging from the front door, arms burdened.
“I thought you cleaned out your pantry, Dave.” Queried Cory. “Looks like they’ve got some of your canned goods.”
“Darnit Dulgar, you try emptying a deep pantry in a single day. We got everything out of the freezer and kitchen cupboards. There’s a whole room full of food buckets and canned goods we didn’t touch.”
It was obvious that these people had found that room and were in the process of touching them. “OK, when we start this, Mark, I want you to shoot out some tires,” Vic directed. “The rest of us will cover them if they start anything.” Raising the radio handset to his mouth, he passed our intentions to Chapman. “And Andy, if you see any of them getting away, you are welcome to shoot out their tires or brains as they go by.”
“Roger. I’ll stop them, and let you know if any more are coming.”
With the headlights shining at the front of the house, the thieves’ eyesight was totally inadequate for the darkness behind the trucks. Older pickups, all of them. An old GMC with a broken tail light identified this as the same group that had helped themselves to Dave’s milk cow the previous night. We were able to sashay across the intervening distance until we were spaced out along the north edge of the gravel driveway, with good fields of fire that left little room to hide behind any of the trucks. Vic directed Henry to the far side of the line closest to the shed, and farthest from the street, where he could shoot down the face of the house without hitting any of us.
With a nod to all of us to stand ready, Vic shouted, “Everybody put down the stuff in your hands, and throw down your guns!” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by biggkidd on Feb 1, 2015 13:41:58 GMT -6
Looks like things are heating up!
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Post by kaijafon on Feb 1, 2015 14:17:05 GMT -6
thank you!
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Feb 1, 2015 21:58:40 GMT -6
Chapter 10
For a second, all of the trespassers froze.
Then, as if someone had hit the resume button on a video playback, they all started moving in different ways. Some dropped what they were carrying. Others threw their burdens into the darkness where they had heard Vic’s command. Still others dived for the trucks. I raised my Remington and shot at the front tire of the second truck in the driveway. The one closest to the street was blocked from my view.
The sound of my shot heightened the confusion, if anything. Shouts of consternation, fear, panic were punctuated by the crack of gunfire. Evidently, several of the would-be bandits were armed. The snap of weapons fire and the flash of muzzle fire signaled that at least some our opponents had no intention of laying down their arms. After a second, return fire from our group let me know that my friends were serious too. The zip of a nearby round told me that I wasn’t immune to being targeted, so I worked the lever action on the rifle, and took aim at one of the shapes in the headlights.
A .308 is a fine deer rifle. It does a pretty good number on a man too. My target crumpled, and I worked the action again. As I searched for another target, the truck nearest the road lurched forward with a spray of gravel as the driver revved the engine of a beat up old crew cab F-150. I took a shot at the right rear tire of the truck, and I incidentally heard several other shots around me. None of them seemed to slow the fleeing vehicle.
I levered the last round of my rifle into the chamber as the truck swerved into the road. As it began to accelerate, I heard the high Pop Pop Pop Pop of a small caliber semi-automatic weapon. The escaping truck swerved slightly, and then started to slow down, but failed to navigate the curve in the road, coming to an abrupt halt when it slammed into a large tree on the far side of the road.
The night became eerily silent. Somewhere on the far side of the house, I could hear some retreating footsteps as escaping thieves ran through the high grass of the Upman property. By the remaining light of their trucks, I could see that there were no moving targets. “Man down!” shouted Vic.
I glanced into the darkness where Cory Dulgen was on the ground. Where Cory was sitting up, his right hand tight against his left harm, up near the shoulder. “That hurts… a lot!”
“Cory, damn it!” Vic laughed in near hysterical relief. “You’re not supposed to step in front of the bullets.”
Dave was going from one body to the next. “He’s doing better than this crew. Five dead here.”
Our inspection was cut short by a call from Andy, out in the street. “Hey guys, come here!”
“Take care of Cory!” I bellowed at Vic, and the rest of us sprinted out to the crashed truck. Well, the rest of them sprinted… this old man was happy to jog over. Since the distance was only a couple of hundred feet, it only took me an extra thirty seconds to arrive at the wreck. I joined the others, who were standing, staring into the smashed truck.
The driver had been female. Had been. It was hard to tell what her actual features had been. When a round from an AR-15 penetrates a skull, there isn’t much left.
The man in the back of the truck hadn’t been hit by gunfire. The when his head impacted the back of the cab as the truck slammed into the tree, his neck had snapped, judging by the odd angle that it was tilted to one side.
No, those weren’t the things that held our attention. It was the two little ones, fastened securely into a car seat and a booster seat in the back seat of the truck. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Both of the kids were scared out of their wits. The younger one couldn’t have been much older than two, and kept calling for his mama as we pulled him out of his car seat. The older one must have been four or five. She shrank back as Andy reached in from her side of the truck to unfasten her seat belt. “It's OK little one. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The girl squeaked, and tried to move further back across the seat, prevented only by the seat belt. “Stranger, stranger.” She swung at Andy’s arms with her tiny little fists.
Chapman’s expression thinned for a fraction of a second. “I’m not a stranger. My name is Andy. You can call me Uncle Andy.” As her blows paused, he smiled and asked, “And what’s your name?”
The girl stared back at him for a moment as she considered this question. Then, she decided that Uncle Andy wasn’t all bad, and replied. “My name is Cherry Lang. My eyes are blue. Mama says I’m going to grow up to be a movie star!”
Chapman chuckled as he successfully released Cherry’s seat belt. “I bet you are honey. Right now, we’ve got to take you and your brother some place to get warmed up.” He held out his arms, and the girl climbed into them like a squirrel. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“His name is Douggie. He’s a real brat.” Cherry informed him seriously.
Dave had lifted Douggie out of the wreck, and was shushing his plaintive little whimpers for his mama. “We have to take these two back to the house. What do we do with the rest of them?
I signaled to the two Charleys, young and older, Tom and Henry. “Can’t do much besides laying them out in the barn tonight. You two go ahead and take these two in to the ladies. If Vic finishes up with Cory, the bunch of you are welcome to come out and help.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ We trooped into the Heinstead house after moving all of the bodies into the Upman barn as a temporary morgue, and picking up all of the supplies that the thieves had attempted to abscond with. I’d also confiscated ID cards from all of the deceased, especially the woman, in hopes we could identify the two kids positively, and get them back to relatives. “How are our little visitors?”
Mary held a finger to her mouth. “Not too loud. We just got them to sleep. It’s getting a little crowded, but we have Cherry sharing a bed with Melody, and Douggie in the small bed with Angela. Fortunately, the other two were already asleep, or we might not have gotten them settled down yet.” She yawned. “My, this has been a long day. Do you gentlemen have any further excitement planned for tonight?”
Andy replied. “Hope not, ma’am. It’s unlikely we’ll be seeing that bunch again… At least a couple of them got away… on foot, but I think we took the wind out of their sails. Probably don’t need to keep the OP manned.”
After a round of goodbyes, the majority of us left to walk back to our homes next door. As we walked across the loop at the end of Gunpowder Heights, Pat leaned her head against my arm. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt out there tonight.”
I grunted. “Just Cory’s bad luck to be hit at all. We were in the dark, and they were shooting blind past their headlights. I’m more worried about what we’re going to do with those kids.”
“Do?” she asked inquisitively. “It’s not like you can throw them out.”
I shrugged. “No, but they don’t belong to us… us as a group, not just us as family Griffin.” I sighed. “Much as it pains me, we have to turn them over to relatives, if any. The authorities, if they have no other family.”
Pat’s face grew long. “You’re right. And I don’t like it either. How are we going to find out?”
“We can drive into town tomorrow. Need to report this attack to the police anyway.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by kaijafon on Feb 1, 2015 22:23:15 GMT -6
Thank you! two little ones, why do I think they no longer have any more family? Why would their mom have brought them if there was anyone they could have left them with? Thanks again!
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Post by biggkidd on Feb 2, 2015 7:50:48 GMT -6
Nice twist!
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Post by ydderf on Feb 2, 2015 20:26:04 GMT -6
Thanks for the update. A note,one makes DO with a less than optimal situation. My rent is DUE at the end of the month. If my grammar corrections bother you let me know and I will make no more. I'd like to end with MOAR please.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Feb 3, 2015 20:28:04 GMT -6
Thanks for the update. A note,one makes DO with a less than optimal situation. My rent is DUE at the end of the month. If my grammar corrections bother you let me know and I will make no more. I'd like to end with MOAR please. By all means, keep me honest. I try to catch those kind of things myself, but that one slipped right past me! See if I don't do better this time... Chapter 11 Day three. The battery charge indicator was down to 70% this morning. After donning my jacket, I walked around to the generator shed on the north side of the house, checked the fuel tank of the little Briggs & Stratton, and used the electric start to get it running. The little engine turned over reluctantly at first, and then sputtered to life, and settled into a throaty roar. I verified that the exhaust hose was still venting the engine exhaust to the outside of the shack, and then left the little power plant to power the well pump and the battery bank charger, while I headed out to finish my morning chores. The generator shed was fairly well insulated for sound, and the noise level dropped to near nothing as I closed the door behind me. The ducks were waiting for me to let them out into the field. I stepped carefully through the straw covered pen, picking up freshly laid eggs. As usual, I was going to leave the bulk of them for the ducks to try and hatch out, taking only enough for Pat and myself, but on second thought I took an extra dozen, thinking to pass them on to Barbara and Henry. I wasn’t worried about Tom, although he was welcome to some eggs if he wanted any. The Heinsteads raised chickens, and produced plenty of eggs for the other families on the street. Returning to the house, I carefully placed the eggs in a cardboard egg tray for future use. Like chicken eggs, duck eggs didn’t really need to be refrigerated, as long as the protective coating they were laid with wasn’t scrubbed off. We could drop a share of the eggs off at the Clay’s house when we headed out later this morning to go into town. Pat was already frying up the eggs I had collected yesterday, using a bit of the duck oil we saved from the last bird we broiled. Ducks do tend to be a bit greasier than chicken, and when cooked in the wood stove oven, will drip quite a bit of oil into the pan. We generally saved most of this in bell jars, using it for cooking as needed. “We’re really going to turn those kids over to the sheriff?” my wife asked as she expertly flipped the fried eggs onto two plates. I traded the plate for a couple of slices of freshly cut sourdough bread that I had sliced on the counter by the sink, and returned to get additional slices to add to my own breakfast. “We won’t be taking them with us.” I explained. “Mary wouldn’t stand for us to shake them up again, so soon after last night.” We took the plates, along with cups of coffee from the battered coffee pot warming on the back corner of the stove top, over to the table. The sun was just beginning to gleam through the trees to the east of our home, hints of blue showing that the cloud cover of the previous week was finally breaking. I was glad that I’d situated the house so the small kitchen window faced in that direction, rather than south toward the road. The thermometer mounted outside the window read 42 degrees, so the day promised to be relatively warm. “I’d like to get this trip out of the way. It will probably be a warm day, and a lot nicer to work outside later.” Pat chuckled. “You just want to avoid having to bury those bodies.” I remained silent, letting her think what she wanted. Really, we shouldn’t bury them before the county sheriff was informed. Normally, the coroner up in Lenoir would have already been down to pick up the bodies… but I suspected that there would be none of that for a while. Breakfast was finished in a pleasant silence as I went over the day's tasks in my mind. The trip into town would only take an hour… two if the sheriff’s office had a lot of questions. When we got back, I’d have to help out with the burial duties, if the sheriff didn’t want to take the bodies. I also needed to help Henry finish clearing that patch of ground behind his house, and maybe start cutting some of that wood into more useable pieces. Then there was… “Eh, what was that dear?” It finally registered on me that Pat had said something. “I asked: were you planning to get on your radio to talk this morning? It’s going to take another hour for me to run a load of clothes, and get them hung up to dry.” She glanced out the window. “May as well take advantage of the favorable weather and hang it up outside.” I scratched my chin. The beard was starting to get a little long. I’d have to trim it soon, especially if the weather started warming up. “Probably so, if it’s going to be that long. I’ll take some eggs over to the Clays first though.” Draining the last of my coffee, I stood up. “I’ll do that now, and then listen for some news.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Barbara was appreciative of the carton of eggs that I gave her, although she didn’t quite know what to make of the variety of colors. Two of the eggs were white, but the rest ranged from green, to blue, and even one with a hint of pink, and all with speckles of other colors. I assured her that they were perfectly good eggs, and that they should keep without refrigeration for a week, as long as she didn’t wash them. I told Henry that I had to run into town, and that we could get back to his clearing job when I got back. Meanwhile, he should check with Vic and Cory if he was looking for something to do. He nodded mutely, but the way he was favoring his muscles told me that yesterday’s activities had been a little more than what he was used to. My next stop was the Dulgen’s house, where I stopped long enough to tell the first one I saw… Maggie, I think… that Pat and I would be driving into town this morning, and to tell her parents, and ask them if they needed anything while we were making the trip. I said to let us know… and that we’d probably be heading out in an hour or so. After being out in the fresh air, the house seemed warm. Pat was clattering in the kitchen, evidently working on a batch of fresh bread to fill the time while the laundry ran. I could hear the washer running in the pantry, as well as the quiet hum of the refrigerator as it worked to cool back down after two days without power. I switched on the clock radio next to the HF rig, and started tuning for a signal. WHKY was still on the air, so I paused and listened to it. “… expected to have the fires out by later today. And from Durham, we have word that the Food Factory at Devil’s Bistro, near Duke University, has been raided, and its entire store of food taken last night, making it the third area restaurant in Durham reported to be robbed for food. Reports state that although the Food Factory was scheduled to begin serving as a community kitchen this morning, deliveries of food from Government warehouses had not yet been made. The thieves can rest assured that after the food has been delivered, that armed guards will be stationed at the restaurant around the clock. In other news, rioters in Philadelphia have been dispersed by National Guard units, using water cannon. The Governor of Pennsylvania has stated that…” I switch the radio off, having gotten a sense of the kind of things that were going on in the country. It didn’t sound like things were getting any better. I considered switching on the HF rig. I wasn’t likely to find out anything that I couldn’t surmise from the official news report, and I certainly wasn’t in any mood for a rag chew. “Gorgeous, is there anything I can lend a hand with?” “The washing machine should be done in a few minutes,” she replied. “You can help me put them out to dry.” A dutiful husband’s work was never done. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I stopped the truck at the corner of Gunpowder Heights and Pine Mountain. David was on his tractor in the corner of his field, digging with the bucket attachment. Pat rolled down her windows as Upman let the Kubota idle. “Morning Mark. Going to go and talk to the sheriff?” he called out. “Figured that someone better.” I agreed. “Doing a little landscaping, I see.” Dave took off his Budweiser hat and scratched his head before responding. “Yeah… I thought it might look better if we planted something down here in the corner. Maybe an apple tree?” I observed the excavations that he had already made. Each appeared to be about 3 foot by 6 foot, and a lot deeper that the average tree required. “So, I guess Vic has some fertilizer to put beneath this tree… or maybe two trees, based on the area those holes cover?” He put the hat back on his head. “Maybe so, after the sheriff has had a say. You do have a couple of trees we can plant, don’t you?” Pat and I traded grins. One of the things that we were doing on our property was raising seedlings to sell. After getting our fruit orchard planted, we had built four large greenhouses north of the duck pond. We had planned to grow seedlings to sell to local nurseries once we got production up. Apples, Cherries, Plums, Peaches, Pawpaw, and so on, as well as some less common vine and bush fruit like Kiwi, Gogi, Elderberry, Seaberries, and so forth; four different varieties of each. Or rather, we would have sold them. With the current disaster, it looks like there wouldn’t be much demand for fruit trees and bushes. The seedlings were still too small to sell commercially, but there was nothing preventing us from using them ourselves. I wondered if I could use the small plants for trade, once the weather warmed up a little more. “Sure, sure. You just let us know what kind of trees you want. Apples you say? Probably a Golden Delicious… And one of the Red Spice apples.” “We’ll have to wait another month or so, until we’re closer to being past the last freeze,” observed Pat. Dave waved this off. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t need to get the trees into the ground right away. Spring is fine.” He made a shooing motion. “You better get going and find out what the sheriff wants to do with that bunch.” With a wave, we drove away, quickly getting up to highway speed. The sheriff’s building was up in Lenoir, over on the west side of town. This was normally about a 20 minute drive. I wasn’t sure what it would be under the new conditions. Here, outside the main parts of town, things didn’t seem all that different… Although the first burned out ruin where before stood a dainty farm house was a little bit shocking. Our first real indication that things were not normal was when we got into the edge of town where Pine Mountain intersected with the highway. There was a shopping center on the corner, with a Food Lion and a Walgreen's, as well as a couple of restaurants. The restaurants were closed, but a thin stream of customers was going into and out of the grocery and drug stores. A couple of National Guard Humvees were parked in the parking lot between the two buildings, along with a Hudson police car. Armed soldiers observed as we drove by, although there were no weapons at the ready. Once on Hickory Blvd., things didn’t seem abnormal, except for the almost complete absence of traffic. “There’s a fire over that way,” pointed Pat, as we drove down the ramp to Southwest Blvd. I glanced in the northeasterly direction she was gesturing in, and could see a column of smoke, but it was a mile or so off, so it was impossible to tell what it was. “Hopefully there’s still city fire service,” was my only comment. We rode in silence as we came to the intersection of Southwest and Morganton. As I turned left on Morganton, we could see another grocery across the way, staffed very much like the first one we had seen. The sheriff’s office was part of the cluster of county buildings on the immediate left on Morganton. We pulled into the driveway leading into the county parking lot, and immediately stopped at the check station set up before the parking lot entrances started. Most of the drive way was blocked by cones, with two armed deputies guarding the entrance. I rolled down the driver’s window to speak with the young deputy. “Official business and critical staff only, sir,” the man couldn’t be more than twenty five. Probably the more experienced people were out on patrol. “Is this the right place to report a raid and shooting?” I asked calmly. From the way the deputy swallowed nervously, I suspected that it was, and that he didn’t want to have anything to do with it. “Uh… yes sir, I guess so. Drive up the road to the intersection, and take a left. You want the second building on the right. Just go in the front door, and follow the signs.” He noted the holstered sidearm which was showing under my open jacket. “Uh… you’ll have to disarm before they’ll let you go in the building sir.” I nodded. “I expected so. But out where we live, that wasn’t so safe, if you know what I mean. We’ll lock them up before we go in.” He nodded, and the other Deputy moved the cones blocking the road out of the way. Pam and I exchanged glances, and we continued sedately past the County Health building, on to the cross road. Turning left, I passed a second, unmarked building with barred windows… probably the county lockup. The third building, immediately beyond, was labeled “public services”. I pulled into one of the open parking spaces. Our automatics went into the gun safe mounted between the front seats of the truck. Signs on the front lawn directed visitors to the county jail, the county fire department headquarters, and the sheriff’s office. We followed the signs for the sheriff, and soon found ourselves in a older, if well maintained office space, with a couple of dozen desks crowded into a space sufficient for half that number. A separate, glass walled office was at the far end of the space. This end was taken up by a desk occupied by a uniformed woman in her thirties. “How can I help you folks? I know you must have something important, or Jeff… umm... Deputy Colbrook would have had to ask you to turn around.” The name tag on her uniform identified her as Janice Holman. I didn’t see any insignia to indicate that she was a deputized law enforcement officer. Pat smiled reassuringly at her. “Yes dear, I think we do. We’ve had a problem with some people raiding in our neighborhood the last couple of nights. Tuesday, they slaughtered one of our neighbor’s cows… but some of the neighbors were able to drive them off. For safety, the people living closest to the main road moved in to stay with some of the rest of us. Then, last night, the same group broke into the same neighbor’s home, and was loading up his food stores.” We had discussed how we were going to present our case in the best light. From the concerned expression on this woman’s face, we were having the desired effect. “My husband and the other men of the neighborhood told them to stop. There was gunfire… one of our men was shot, and some of the attackers were killed.” Janice sighed a silent “Oh dear”, and picked up the phone on her desk, entering an extension number on the keypad. We could hear a phone ringing in the office across the room, and then the ringing stopped. “Gregg, we’ve got a report of another raid… nice older couple. OK, I’ll send them back.” She hung up the handset, and waved us to the office. “Sheriff Dunridge will see you immediately. Head right on back to his office.” Sheriff Dunridge didn’t wait for us to come back. He strode out of the door to meet us. Gregg Dunridge was in his 50’s, still powerfully built, in spite of the receding hairline, and deeply ingrained crow’s feet. If he had an ounce of lard on his six foot frame, it wasn’t apparent. “Hello folks, come on back and have a seat. I didn’t hear what you told Janice, except that you had a raid, and gunfire was involved.” We sat in the comfortable chairs in front of the Sheriff’s desk, and he settled into his office chair. “I’m going to record this report, just so you know.” He made no secret of hitting the record button of a consumer grade audio recorder. “Go right ahead.” “You tell him Mark.” “OK.” Facing Dunridge, I introduced the two of us, and explained what had been going on. “And when one of them took a shot toward us, I shot out the rear tire of one of their trucks. They all started shooting and running around, and we were shooting back. Some of them got into one of the trucks and started driving away, but the driver was shot, and the truck crashed. A rider in the back of the truck broke his fool neck in the crash. At least two others ran off.” I pulled the identifications I had recovered from our attackers. “These are the ID’s they had on them.” Dunridge had become more and more somber as I told him about the firefight and termination of the attackers, but when I handed the drivers licenses across the desk, his face positively glowed for a second. “Well! It seems that the county might owe you and your neighbors a vote of thanks.” He waved one of the pictures back at us. “This one is Kevin Poncillas. He’s wanted for murder. He killed a store clerk down in Conover last month, and just last week robbed a gas station convenience store down in Sawmill.” Dunridge was practically chortling. “Well, well, well… if it isn’t Bonnie and Clyde… that is, Sharon Ling and her sometimes boyfriend Bobby Vedoris. Guess we know where Poncillas has been hiding out. These two live down in Shady Rest trailer park… down at the south end of Pine Mountain Road. Vedoris has been in and out of my jail half a dozen times… nothing important… mostly battery on Ling, but she wouldn’t press charges.” He glanced at the other IDs. “Randy Smith… small time hold up artist, on probation. Not sure about these other three. None of them have been through my jail.” He put the licenses back down on the desk. “You say you shot this lot?” I shrugged. “I think I may have shot one. I was kind of rushed from the sound of a passing bullet: one of them was trying to shoot me. Not sure about the others… except that Andy Chapman probably hit the woman… she was the driver of the truck.” “Okie-doke… Not that it matters. With all the sh… stuff that’s been going on the last few days, no one is interested in charging honest folks with defending their property. Especially with known lowlifes like these. These other three fellows… well, let’s just say guilt by association. I might swing by Shady Rest and see if there are any more interesting characters hanging out down that way.” He was obviously making plans for any characters he found interesting. “I’ll have to be out your way anyway to check on the bodies…” “Uh, Sheriff, that brings up one other thing,” interrupted my wife. Dunridge was definitely in a good mood. “What else can the Sheriff’s department help you folks with today?” “Well, Ms. Ling had two little kids along with them, in the back seat of her truck. They weren’t hurt or anything… just scared.” Pat explained. “They’re staying with the Dulgens and Upmans, up at Cory and Sue Dulgen's place. But they must have family someplace…” she trailed off, leaving the implications clear. The sheriff pursed his lips. “None that I know of, but we’ll ask around when we check on the trailer park. Unless it’s a terrible inconvenience, I’d advise y’all to take care of the kids for a while, until we find different. The State social services offices here are defunct, and weren’t especially reliable about placing fosters anyway.” “We’ll pass the word Sheriff.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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Post by millwright on Feb 3, 2015 22:57:16 GMT -6
Its coming together well.
Good job.
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Post by biggkidd on Feb 4, 2015 6:52:21 GMT -6
Nice getting better and better.
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Post by ydderf on Feb 4, 2015 9:39:25 GMT -6
I'm waiting with bated breath for more.
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Feb 4, 2015 10:25:03 GMT -6
I'm waiting with bated breath for more. If you hold your breath waiting for my next addition, you're likely to turn blue in the face. Working on it, but I'm jumping between the story and several other things. I'm doing the job search thing (new since last week... it's the reason my posting rate has picked up); just pulled a couple of loaves of bread out of the oven. (Yes, I'm a guy. I cook. No ladies, I'm happily married.) Fortunately (or unfortunately), it's too cold outside right now, or I'd be out in the garden doing stuff. I don't have a setup like Mark in the story does... but I'd like to. Maybe some day...
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