He finished the decontamination he’d planned on a week after he’d started. He hadn’t been off the property to check on anyone, wanting the decontamination done first. Sure he would find more bodies, Eric suited up in his Tyvek hooded, sock foot coveralls, rubber boots, rubber gloves, and his MSR Millennium respirator. He hesitated what weapons to take. He didn’t want to be threatening to anyone, but he wanted to be able to protect himself.

Eric went with his original weapon, before acquiring Shepard Graves’ yacht collection. A .308 Savage 99A, with built in 5-round rotary magazine and aftermarket peep sight and sling. He slid two 20-round leather ammunition cases on a leather gun belt, added two dual pouches for magazines for the Glock 21SF he’d picked up on the yacht, added the holster for the Glock, and buckled it around his waist.

He also debated whether to take the Jeep or the Suburban. Thinking of recovering items that he might find, Eric opted for the Suburban, with the rear seats folded down. With the Suburban out, fueled, and ready to go, Eric locked down the house and headed out.

First stop was the Hogsteins. Their front door was unlocked. He went in after he knocked and didn’t receive an answer. The Hogsteins were lying side-by-side on the bed in their bedroom, fully dressed, holding hands. There was a bottle of pain medication open on the bedside table. It was empty.

Eric shook his head and looked around the house. There simply wasn’t any food to be found. Rather than starve to death, they had opted to take their own lives, rather than suffer. He found a serviceable double barrel 12-gauge shotgun and a Ruger 10/22 rifle with a couple of boxes of shells for each. He took them out to the Suburban and put them in the back, throwing a tarp over them.

He continued his search. He found only one family alive. The Mathews. Father, mother, two daughters and son. They were one of the families in the area that had an operating vehicle and Weather Alert radio when Eric had made the rounds after the HEMP attack. They had come through the nuclear attack in good shape. Eric didn’t come right out and ask, and they didn’t come out and say, but it was obvious they were preppers like Eric.

Colin Mathews had met Eric in the driveway with a holstered pistol and slung rifle. They exchanged a few words, and agreed on a CB radio channel and time to contact one another on a regular bases. If either had trouble, the other would come to help.

It was just too much effort to bury all the bodies that he found. Hopefully there would be a local FEMA response that could help with that at some point in time. Eric took what food that was still good, and all the firearms and ammunition he found. He left jewelry and other similar valuables.

When he got home that evening, he stacked the food that would keep in the living room, and took the guns and ammunition to the basement to sort through in more detail.

He did the same thing for three days, finding one more prep family that was doing okay, and plenty more bodies. Some of which had gone violently. They were the ones closest to the highway. “Must have been refugees from St. Louis,” Eric mused.

On the fifth day, Eric loaded all the food he found, and some of the firearms and took them into Pacific. The trip was two-fold. One, to turn in the things he’d found, and additionally, to report the deaths of those he’d found. He hedged a bit about the two prep families, saying only that there seemed to be a couple of families that made it on their own. He didn’t offer names and they didn’t ask, assuming he didn’t know.

It wasn’t FEMA that he found in Pacific, it was just the city making it on its own, and Franklin County authorities trying to do what they could county wise, which wasn’t much. The city had suffered quite a bit of physical damage from the nuke that hit St. Louis.

Eric made no effort to hide his weapons, though he again carried the less threatening Savage 99A and the pistol. Nothing was said about them. Quite a few of the people he saw in Pacific were going armed.

He was also open about having gone through the area in which he lived and taking the things he was turning in. “I’m okay for the moment and I thought others might need this stuff.” No one thought about it, or if they did, didn’t care, as no mention was made of anything that Eric might have kept.

Rather reluctantly, Eric went to the Baker house. He saw Shelia and her mother both outside, apparently digging a grave in the front yard, for their dog, that lay lifeless a few feet a way.

When they saw the Suburban stop both women walked over. Both were armed. “He did it, didn’t he?” asked Shelia’s mother. “Went out there to try to make you give up some of what you have.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked as Shelia looked on, dry eyed.

“No. I found him sitting on my front porch. He was dead.” Eric handed over Handy’s wallet and the Colt and two magazines. “I buried him. If you want to come out and have a service, or move him…”

Handy’s wife was shaking her head. “He made his bed and slept in it. We told him the radiation would kill him, but he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t get that fuel tank installation out of his head. That you had to have food and other things if you had fuel.”

“I do have some,” Eric replied carefully. “I’d just as soon that it not be common knowledge. If you two need help for yourselves, come out or get word to me. I’ll do what I can.

“Thank you, Eric. And thanks for making sure my Shelia made it back from the war in California. I never thanked you properly for that.”

“Think nothing of it. All of us were watching each other’s backs. Sheila held up her end. She’s a good soldier.”

“Still,” Marlene said, “Thank you.”

Eric left, still felling bad for them. They would most likely suffer because Handy had made a serious error in judgment.

Next Eric went by Randy’s place. Randy opened the door and Eric almost lost his breakfast. Randy was a wreck. Hair falling out, gums and finger nails bleeding, the skin of his face sloughing loosely.

“Oh, Randy!” Eric said softly and followed his friend into the house.

“I stayed away from the windows and everything. But I still got it. Radiation sickness.” Eric didn’t have the heart to tell him how little protection the house had provided. He obviously knew it now. “Running at both ends. Doc said I didn’t have much longer.”

“You saw a doctor?” Eric asked.

“Yeah. I was still in pretty good shape when I first went looking around. Doc Jones looked me over and told me what was wrong with me.”

“Is there anything you need?”

Randy shook his head. “Got a couple bottles of booze to keep the pain down. Doc wouldn’t give me anything. Said he had to keep it for people that had a chance to live.”

“Randy, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” Eric said.

“Would you… Could you see that I’m buried right? Never went to church much. But I’d like some words said over my grave. Could you do that for a friend?”

Blinking back tears, Eric nodded. “I’ll see to it, Randy.”

“You’re smart, Eric. You’ll make it. You knew something was up and got those tires and must have got a shelter. I wish I’d been smart, like you. I got no one else. My parents were in St. Louis. You can have any of my stuff you want when I’m gone.”

“Eric, don’t talk like that. Maybe…”

“No maybes for me, Eric and we both know it. You don’t want to hang around too long. Doc said I might come down with just about any illness, weak the way I am.”

Randy wouldn’t shake Eric’s hand when he offered it. “Too dangerous for you, Eric. Give me a couple of days and come see about me, will you?”

Blinking back the tears again, Eric nodded and said, “I will, Randy. You can count on me.”

Eric went home a saddened man. He spent the two days avoiding people and cutting firewood. When he went back to see about Randy, no one answered his knock. Eric forced the door. He gagged when he found Randy on the bed in his bedroom, in a pair of shorts. The bed was a mess, with Randy in the middle of it.

There was still a half a bottle of liquor left, so Eric told himself Randy had not been in pain at the last. Or cognizant of his condition. Eric had to leave the room several times, to clear his nostrils of the smell, but he finally had Randy wrapped up in a clean sheet, blanket, and the afghan that his grandmother had made for him. It was one of Randy’s prized possessions and Eric knew Randy would like to have it with him.

He loaded the body in the back of the Suburban, with some difficulty, but, suspecting the worst, he’d brought the game cart, which made the task easier. He went to the high school, where the recovery effort, such as it was, had headquartered. When he told the receptionist he had a body of a friend for burial, that was as far as he got.

“Sorry. You will have to deal with it yourself. We’re overloaded with bodies we’re clearing from necessary locations. Give me the particulars, including where you plan to bury him, and I’ll log it in.”

Eric didn’t even try to protest. He told the clerk that he would bury Randy out at his place, and gave her the location. Eric hesitated to take any of Randy’s things, especially with the body still in the Suburban, but Randy had insisted, so Eric went back to Randy’s house.

There wasn’t much to take. Randy’s game cart, identical to Eric’s. A couple of hunting rifles and shotguns, along with a few boxes of ammunition. He added Randy’s camping gear to the other things in the Suburban and took another look around. There was no food in the house, and nothing of great value, at least to Eric.

He drove slowly back to his place, fired up the rototiller and dug another grave, out by the other two. He dug Randy’s deeper than he had the other two, and eased Randy’s body into it as gently as he could.

Eric had to look for his old bible, but he found it and read several passages over the open grave. Finally he began to fill it. It was almost dark when he finished, and it was full dark by the time he unloaded the Suburban and parked it in the garage.

Eric again spent several days cutting firewood, preparing for the expected nuclear winter. Eric had his doubts about the effect, but wasn’t prone to take chances. He already had thirty cords cut, stacked, and covered. But he needed something productive to do and cutting wood filled the bill.

But again his sense of civic duty came to the fore, and he went into Pacific to see if he could help in some way that didn’t compromise his personal preparations. Being young and healthy, they put him to work clearing more areas of bodies. Something he would have preferred not to do, but he did it, anyway. People were still dying from their exposure to radiation in the weeks after the attack. Those that hadn’t stayed in what shelter they had, or didn’t have much in the way of shelter to start with. Like Randy.

Another group was tasked with gathering the immensely valuable farm animals in the area and taking them to several specific farms for care, breeding, with many destined for the soup kitchen that was being planned for when other supplies of food ran out.

As he’d done when working on his own, anything with food value was loaded up and taken to the high school for distribution to those in need. Everything else was left. Eric couldn’t believe it. He asked, finally, about all the goods being left behind. The official word was that there would be a further effort to gather important items for future use, but it could be years before it was done.

“What about things that will deteriorate in the mean time? There are bound to be fires. Floods. A lot of useable items are going to be lost to the elements, and probably to people just taking them.”

“That’s just the way it is,” replied the county civil defense official. “Sure, we’ll lose some things, but we don’t have the personnel to do anything but bury bodies and salvage food. That’s all I care about. As far as I’m concerned, everything else that doesn’t have an owner around is fair game to anyone that wants it.”

Eric took the woman at her word. He continued to help with the body collection and census, but made note of things he felt should be salvaged for the community, plus things he could use personally.

When he had time he went back and picked up what he wanted. He even hired Sheila and her mother to help him with things it needed two or more people to handle. He paid them in much appreciated food. He bought a triple axle open trailer he found when checking out a place with a family living there. Again, food was the currency.

He gathered up all the guns and ammunition he could find, along with fishing gear, and premium camping goods. Those he kept himself. Most of the other useful things he began storing in the Hogstein’s barn. It was old, but in good shape. It hadn’t been used in years.

The Hogsteins had been Eric’s closest neighbor. He cut a direct path through the woods so he could get to the property without going out on the road. It saved a good mile on the trip, and was private, too. He blocked the entrance to the Hogstein property with several of the abandoned vehicles he towed to the spot. It was partly to get them out of the way on the road, for when winter set in, as well as a handy place to put them. Them blocking the driveway up to the Hogstein’s house was a plus.

He buried the Hogsteins the same way, at the edge of the woods that surrounded their property. With Sheila’s and Marlene’s help, Eric gathered up and stored wood burning stoves; solar panels, batteries, and controllers; tools of all sorts; generators; several working vehicles; gardening equipment; and a whole list of other things he thought would be useful in the future.

The winter that had been pending arrived. Before it got too bad, Eric asked Sheila and Marlene to stay at his house, at least through the winter. Neither of their homes were, by any stretch of the imagination, off-grid. Even if they installed one of the wood stoves they had salvaged, they had to carry water from the city pumping station, and dump their bucket toilet at the waste treatment plant. It was not going to be an easy life during the winter.

Eric made sure both women understood he wasn’t looking for anything more than help during the winter. That they would share his spare bedroom, and he would be in his own. It didn’t take much to convince them. They moved in during the first snow storm of the year.

As the snow continued, off and on, for a week, both women thanked Eric several times for allowing them to move in. Eric and Sheila took care of most of the outside work while Marlene, a stay at home wife and mother all her life, took care of the house.

Eric maintained regular contact with the few families left in the local area by CB, with a regular round table discussion twice a week. Though in no way formal, they essentially had a MAG (Mutual Aid Group). Everyone was willing to help everyone else, where they could, when it didn’t lessen their own chance for survival that winter.

Eric took Marlene over to stay with one expectant mother that had three other children that the Father was having trouble taking care of while maintain the house in living condition.

Sheila and Eric helped more than one person cut firewood to add to their stocks, when it became obvious they might fall short if the winter lasted longer than normal. It was already colder than average.

With the river within walking distance, Eric did a lot of fishing, using several trotlines. One of the other families had the Jon boat that Eric needed to use, and got the lion’s share of the catch for his family of seven. Eric kept a little to vary the menu at home, and gave away the rest for future consideration. He had to give up the practice when the river froze over. The ice wasn’t thick enough to do ice fishing, but too thick to maneuver the Jon boat through.

Like many of the other survivors in the area, Eric went hunting to supplement the stored supplies. He decided to let the others have the small amount of game that had survived the fallout. It might be years before game made a comeback from areas that had suffered less fallout damage.

Eric, Sheila, and Marlene went into Pacific once a month to draw the community provided food in return for the work they had done. Eric wouldn’t accept his, but Sheila and Marlene both took their shares to stretch the supplies Eric had.

The winter, though slightly worse than normal, didn’t turn into semi-permanent Nuclear Winter. There was a real spring, and the first thing Eric and Sheila did was get a large garden started. Second was to go and recover a nice greenhouse they’d found at one of the abandoned houses they’d otherwise salvaged.

Sheila and Eric got it up and ready for use. Marlene took it over from there. The greenhouse would be her bailiwick, with Eric doing any heavy work needed. After the gardens were established, Sheila and Eric went into Pacific to see what was on the agenda.

What they found was reassuring. Though he always kept one of his Weather Alert radios on, and had been monitoring the Amateur Radio bands during the winter, he’d not heard of much in the way of real national aid. There were two Federal FEMA reps on hand when Eric and Sheila went into the high school gymnasium.

Eric kept an eye on them as he and Sheila registered to help work again that summer. The two FEMA reps seemed to just be watching what was going on, and perhaps, Eric thought, making a suggestion here and there.

Eric asked, and found out, that he and Sheila were among only a few that had signed up since spring. “I’m afraid you may be doing the same things you did last year. Collecting bodies and burying them. The reports we’ve been getting are that a lot of people didn’t make it through the winter due to the lack of heat and the lack of food and water.” The man sighed. “Can you handle it a few days on your own? I’ve got someone to run the backhoe, but not do the field work. Have some fuel, but not much.”

Eric let Sheila make the decision. She nodded, so Eric did, too.

The Civil Defense worker was right. Eric and Sheila found body after body, entire families sometimes, that had not made it through the winter. They found very little food in those homes with dead. It was tough on Sheila, but she persevered.

As they’d done the previous summer and fall, the two salvaged the things they wanted to keep, turned in what little food there was, and delivered the bodies for burial. The names and particulars were dropped off at the high school with the food collected.

A week into the work one of the FEMA people stopped Eric and Sheila on their way to the Suburban from the gym. “Can I ask you something?”

Eric nodded.

“Why don’t you take the food for yourselves?”

“There are other people that need it more than we do,” Eric said carefully. “Why?”

“Just curious, that’s all. Most people I know would keep it all.”

“We don’t,” Sheila said. Eric could tell she was getting her back up.

“We take care of ourselves,” Eric said. “We have a garden and a greenhouse. I hunt and fish. We get a share of what’s collected for doing the work. We’ve traded some of the things we salvaged for some of the meat the local farms are producing.”

“I see. And I see you always have a gun on you.”

“There hasn’t been much trouble that I know of, around here. But from Amateur Radio reports, that’s not the case everywhere. And the more desperate things become, the more dangerous it will get.”

“You’re not thinking of trying to disarm everyone but the criminals, are you?” Sheila asked. “I didn’t fight the Chinese to have a bureaucrat come around and take my gun or the food out of my mouth.”

“Settle down, now,” said the man. “I’m just gathering information. Your position seems to be a common one. I don’t think there will be any gun grab or food confiscation.”

“There won’t be,” Eric said.

“How can you be so sure there won’t be an attempt?” Sheila asked in surprise. The FEMA man looked curious, too.

“Didn’t say there wouldn’t be an attempt. Said there won’t be any guns grabbed or food confiscated, if it is tried.”

“The old, ‘from my cold dead hand’ situation?” the FEMA man said.

Eric nodded. “I’m afraid so. Like Sheila, I fought as a civilian in the counter force action in California. So I could continue to do those things enumerated in the constitution that a free people do. All of them.”

With a nod, the FEMA walked off.

“Do you think they’re really going to try something?” Sheila asked Eric as they got into the Suburban.

“I don’t know, Sheila. I suspect they’re getting an earful from people like us. The majority in the attack affected areas are preppers to one degree or another, or they wouldn’t still be alive. If they do gather the information and learn what the cost will be to institute a New World Order in the aftermath of the war, I really don’t think they will attempt it.

“The call to arms during the invasion will be remembered as civilians taking action for something important by other civilians, and probably most of the remaining military and political leaders. I was serious that even if attempts are made, they won’t succeed. A lot of people will die, that shouldn’t, but I don’t think a majority of the American’s left are going to allow gun grabs or food confiscation and redistribution.”

“Wow!” Sheila said softly. “You are very set on this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Eric said. “Aren’t you?”

Shelia sat back in the seat. “Yeah. I am. I just can’t say it as pretty as you.”

Eric laughed and Sheila did, too. Both wondered what the FEMA man would have thought had he seen the pile of guns under the tarp in the back of the Suburban.

Perhaps Eric’s and Sheila’s words made a difference. Neither a gun ban nor food confiscation occurred during those hard years after the war.

When things had eased slightly, Sheila moved her mother to the post apocalypse house Sheila was able to acquire when she went to work for FEMA in Pacific.

Eric stayed where he was, more than set for life. As time passed and non-essential activities once again became possible, Eric discovered his collection of arms and ammunition was one of the best in the country. He spent his last days polishing the guns and counting the gold and silver coins he had. His will stated that his estate would go to the federal government to help out things a little.

End **************

Copyright 2008

 

By Jerry D. Young