Jeremy Harris looked up the highway, then back down at his get home bag. He was one hundred and twenty miles from home, and 85 miles from his bug out location. With the contents of his bag and the contents of the car laid out in front of him, he took a quick inventory, A modified Marlin model 15y youth single shot .22, with an AK 47 pistol grip and a hand made folding stock, 2 100 round boxes low velocity .22LR rounds, a Walther .380 sub compact and 100 rounds of .380ACP, a single roll of TP, two one-liter water bottles, a pair of wool socks, a pair of boxers, a long sleeve wool shirt, a pair of surplus wool military pants and a military surplus wool blanket. He had a Gerber multitool, a Kershaw Onion pocketknife, a cheap Chinamart hobo tool, two cans of sterno, a folding wire cooktop for the Sternos, a lightweight aluminum mess kit, a small jar of salt and pepper mix. His food stores consisted of 6- 3,000 calorie lifeboat ration bars, 4 pouches of tuna salad, 4 of chicken salad, a pint jar of cold flour and a small package of hardtack. He had a small, basic first aid kit, 4 Bic lighters, a firesteel, and a small assortment of paracord, fishing line and a sewing kit wrapped in a mylar space blanket pouch and stuffed into an old metal French Press, a small 4X6 tarp lay in it's wrapper, still neatly folded.
Stowing the rifle, food, clothing and supplies in the backpack, he quickly slipped the Walther .380 into a pocket holster and hefted his pack, he knew he was roughly 10 miles from the nearest town, and it was a mere wide spot in the road, there were three more similar towns on his way to the summit in the Cascade mountains, as he looked up, he couldn't help but notice the snowcapped range.
It was 4:48p.m. on December 21st when every car on the highway around him died, most pulled off the road, but a few ended up stuck in the middle of the road. He looked at the gauges on the Subaru's dash and cursed himself for driving it instead of his old Ford diesel, "Better that the wife's got it," he mumbled. By 6:00p.m. he had made nearly three miles, walking with a long space eating stride. He decided to make a quick camp just slightly off the road in a thick stand of pines where there was little moisture. Just five minutes later a quick shelter had been fashioned, and a warm, heart cheering fire was going strong in front of the small, flat lean to. With the fire burning small but strong, he quickly filled his mess pan with a small amount of water and a few spoonfuls of the cold flour, which he heated slowly over the fire. While waiting for the mush to warm up, he cut a lifeboat ration bar in half and began slowly chewing on the heavy, tasteless food bar. A few minutes later he was hungrily licking the last of his cold flour meal off of his hobo tool spoon, wiping the last remnants clean with a single square of TP. With a full belly and a long drink out of one of the water bottles he was soon asleep, not warm, but not freezing by any means, though he knew that his trek up and over Steven's pass would be rough and cold to say the least.
By 7a.m., the first light of day had crept onto the highway, and it found Jeremy three miles closer to his destination. He was four miles from the next town, and, if he remembered correctly, the town boasted a second hand store a couple operated out of their home, he had hopes of acquiring a tent and sleeping bag there.
9a.m. found him at the front door of the thrift shop, waiting as the woman came through the "store" to unlock the door, "G'morning ma'am," he mumbled as she opened the door with a small smile, "And good morning to you!" she said cheerfully. He wandered around the store for a few minutes, finaly finding a Wendzel one-man tent that boasted a minimal weight of 2.1lbs, and an older -20 rated mummy bag complete with a stuff sack with straps for fixing it to a backpack. He paid in cash as the owner apologized for the credit/debit machine not working and then made his way outside to stow his new purchases. On the way out the door, a battered, flat black Huffy 21-speed mountain bike caught his eye, and he turned back into the store with more cash in hand. He thought about his wife and kids and hoped that they had already made their way to their BOL along the Blewett Creek. He knew they had a plan for such occurences, and just hoped to god that the old Ford Diesel would start and haul his family to safety.
A few hundred feet up the road, he stopped at a small grocery store and tied his bike to a phone booth with a short piece of paracord. He walked into a scene lit dimly by the light from outside, an old man stood at the counter, huddled near a small propane tent heater, "Cash only, son, sorry 'bout the inconveniences." Jeremy quickly nodded and made his way through the small store. He counted the cash he had on hand in his mind before deciding what to purchase, a 1lb. bag of jerky, a small box of Minute-Rice, two cans of Spam, two 1lb canned hams, a 4 ounce can of Folgers coffee, a 4-pack of TP and a box of Zip-Lok bags. He paid for his purchases and stepped outside, dumping the quick rice and coffee into freezer bags before stowing them away. One can of Spam he ate on the spot and then climbed on the bike, by 10a.m. he was leaving the town and on his way once again. 8 hours and 32 miles later, he lay in his tent, stiff, sore and munching on hardtack and pan-fried Spam.
"Mom! The power's off!" yelled Tara Harris to her mother, Amy. Amy looked at her phone, ready to call the power company, but the phone was blank, it was on, but didn't bring anything up but a white screen, "What in god's name is going on," she muttered. She walked into the garage and picked up a small wind up radio, finding nothing but static when she searched the channels. As she put the radio away, she walked over to switch the house over to backup power, shutting off the heavy load circuits before moving the large handle that connected the home to the 120 volt inverter and battery bank. With the lights back on, she walked into the living room and turned the TV on, surprised to get nothing but a blue screen, even though the family's TV came through a dish system. Realization dawned on her and she immediatley went into her bug out plan. She yelled for the kids and all five were in front of her seconds later. When she explained, all five sprung into action, dad had them practice this all before, and they all knew what to do.
45 minutes later, the battered F-350 Crew Cab was loaded to the gills. A pair of large, heavy roof racks, bolted atop both the cab and canopy were loaded with feed bags and blue Rubbermaid totes. Inside the totes was a wide variety of items, everything from bedding to LTS buckets were stored neatly inside. The canopy was packed to overfull, a long, heavy gun crate housed a dozen long arms, two Mosin Nagant 91/30 rifles, two Yugo SKs's with Tapco magazines and ATI folding stocks, two Mossberg 500a 12 gauge shotguns, four Mossberg 702 Plinkster .22 rifles, a Romanian SAR-1 AK-47 and a Marlin .45LC lever action carbine. Another smaller crate held another Walther PPK, two S&W 5906's, two Colt Army revolver clones in .45 long colt and two Heritage .22 revolvers. 6 milk crates and two diamond-plate toolboxes contained a total of more than 45,000 rounds of various calibers of ammunition, along with reloading supplies for the shotguns, 9mm ammunition and .45LC guns. Amy, Ryan and Tara all carried Kel-Tech Sub-2000 9mm's. Five adult rabbits and a dozen chickens were crammed into tiny cages at the back of the canopy.
A battered 18' travel trailer was hooked to the tow package of the pickup, inside was all manner of PAW survival gear, tools, seeds and foods. Stacked in one corner of the trailer set a small stack of solar panels, beneath them a dozen GM alternators and every other piece neccessary to build 12 volt wind generators. Boxes of LED lights, a tiny chest freezer, dozens of 5-gallon propane tanks and stacks of 2X4's and plywood finished the load.
With a quick check to make sure all three of the truck's fuel tanks were full, Amy started the old Ford diesel with a heavy cloud of blue smoke, then pulled out of the driveway, casting one last glance at their modest suburban home. She looked over and then into the rearview mirror, noticing the expressions of fear on her childrens' faces.
Jeremy took only a few short minutes to pack his camp before starting a tiny fire. He fried the rest of his last can of Spam as he waited for the water in the French Press to boil. He dumped some coffee grounds into the steaming cup and waited for a few more minutes before driving the plunger down and sipping the piping hot liquid. He finished packing his mess kit as he sipped coffee, hesitating as his eyes passed over the bag of jerky. He tore open the bag and slipped a few pieces into a pocket of his coat, that way he could eat his lunch on the go.
Ten hours later, wet, and cold, Jeremy huddled around a small fire, his soaked clothing hanging from a tree branch behind him. The Marlin .22 was at his side, a single .22 round in the chamber. The weather had made a turn for the worse during the day, a wet, cold storm had envelopped the mountains around him, drenching him and everything around him. He was not only cold, he was hungry, the third day of short rations was beginning to take it's toll on him. With the fire burning brightly, he listened once again to the squirrel that had been chattering at him off and on for the past twenty minutes, "You show yourself an' you're gonna be dinner," he muttered. Almost as if the muttered words coaxed the animal from hiding, he saw it, just 30 feet away. It was standing on it's hind legs, just staring at him. He brought the little .22 up and lined up the sights, slowly squeezing the trigger as he let out a long, deep breath. The quiet pop the low velocity round made was lost in the murmur of the forest as the fat tree rat fell from the branch, now missing a good portion of it's skull.
Minutes later, the squirrel was roasting over the fire, a light coat of salt and pepper for flavor and some rice to stretch the meal a little and soon Jeremy was reclining against a small, half rotted log that made up a part of his camp. With the wool clothes on and the wool blanket over his shoulders, he was almost comfortable, almost at home. He thought about the journey ahead of him, he'd only made twenty miles that day before the storm had overtaken him, but he knew he had only to crest the pass and then make it the few scant miles to his small cabin, he just hoped everything would be okay when he got there.
Amy wiggled the key in the rusty old lock holding the chain across the road to their cabin. The snow on the road was untouched, clean, clear and at least two feet deep. She hadn't had any trouble so far, especially with the old Ford locked in four wheel drive, she just hoped her luck would continue. When the chain dropped she turned back to the Ford and climbed back into the driver's seat. Putting the truck in gear she slowly eased on the pedal and the old truck rattled up the narrow road without slipping a tire.
Just a few minutes later the truck was parked between two small structures. The first, larger structure was the family's small cabin, the second, a combination woodshed and small stock barn. She could see Ryan, her only son, already putting the animals away in the shed and packing the heavy feed bags in one at a time. The girls were bringing clothing and bedding in, stacking everything on the bunks lining the cabin walls. Amy poked at the fire absently, wondering where Jeremy was and how he was doing. She'd never liked it when he had to go out of town for those classes, and just hoped he'd headed for home instead of socializing with his coworkers after the training seminar.
With the small fire in the rock fireplace Jeremy had built with his own two hands slowly taking the chill from the air in the cabin, Amy turned back towards the heavily loaded Ford, still wishing he was here with her. It took next to no time to get the Ford loaded and to bug out, as Jeremy kept as much of their preps as possible stacked in the trailer, and only what the trailer couldn't hold was loaded into the pickup. When all was said and done, it took the family a full eight hours to unload the truck and trailer, plus a little over two hours to get to their cabin from home. It was now 4 a.m. the day after, and all of the girls, Amy included, were beat, she was barely keeping her eyes open when Ryan stopped in front of her, "All done, mom, I'm going to keep watch until daylight, it'll give you about 3 hours to sleep before someone else takes over." She looked at her 13 year old son for a long moment before her mind could function enough to compose a reply, "No, Ryan, you've done more than enough, I'll take the first watch."
Ryan laughed at her, then, "Mom, you can't even keep your eyes open, go to bed, I got this," he replied, she noticed the steaming cup of coffee in his left hand, and then the black SKS, the sling draped over his shoulder, pistol grip in his right hand, "Okay, I, I guess I could use the rest," she said, still barely conscious.
The next thing she remembered was a sound like a gun shot, she jerked straight up in bed, her hand immediately going to the carbine hung on the corner post of the only full bed in the cabin. She heard it again and finally realized what it was, the sound of a splitting maul splitting firewood. She glanced out the window to see Ryan hefting the maul again, then dropping it onto the center of the round. She looked around the room, noting with some satisfaction both the refilled woodrack near the fireplace, and the growing stack next to the door on the front porch. She also noticed the clean dishes drying on the kitchen counter, and the smell of something cooking in the dutch oven over the fire. She could see the girls, two of them at least, feeding the animals, where the other two were she could only guess.
Stowing the rifle, food, clothing and supplies in the backpack, he quickly slipped the Walther .380 into a pocket holster and hefted his pack, he knew he was roughly 10 miles from the nearest town, and it was a mere wide spot in the road, there were three more similar towns on his way to the summit in the Cascade mountains, as he looked up, he couldn't help but notice the snowcapped range.
It was 4:48p.m. on December 21st when every car on the highway around him died, most pulled off the road, but a few ended up stuck in the middle of the road. He looked at the gauges on the Subaru's dash and cursed himself for driving it instead of his old Ford diesel, "Better that the wife's got it," he mumbled. By 6:00p.m. he had made nearly three miles, walking with a long space eating stride. He decided to make a quick camp just slightly off the road in a thick stand of pines where there was little moisture. Just five minutes later a quick shelter had been fashioned, and a warm, heart cheering fire was going strong in front of the small, flat lean to. With the fire burning small but strong, he quickly filled his mess pan with a small amount of water and a few spoonfuls of the cold flour, which he heated slowly over the fire. While waiting for the mush to warm up, he cut a lifeboat ration bar in half and began slowly chewing on the heavy, tasteless food bar. A few minutes later he was hungrily licking the last of his cold flour meal off of his hobo tool spoon, wiping the last remnants clean with a single square of TP. With a full belly and a long drink out of one of the water bottles he was soon asleep, not warm, but not freezing by any means, though he knew that his trek up and over Steven's pass would be rough and cold to say the least.
By 7a.m., the first light of day had crept onto the highway, and it found Jeremy three miles closer to his destination. He was four miles from the next town, and, if he remembered correctly, the town boasted a second hand store a couple operated out of their home, he had hopes of acquiring a tent and sleeping bag there.
9a.m. found him at the front door of the thrift shop, waiting as the woman came through the "store" to unlock the door, "G'morning ma'am," he mumbled as she opened the door with a small smile, "And good morning to you!" she said cheerfully. He wandered around the store for a few minutes, finaly finding a Wendzel one-man tent that boasted a minimal weight of 2.1lbs, and an older -20 rated mummy bag complete with a stuff sack with straps for fixing it to a backpack. He paid in cash as the owner apologized for the credit/debit machine not working and then made his way outside to stow his new purchases. On the way out the door, a battered, flat black Huffy 21-speed mountain bike caught his eye, and he turned back into the store with more cash in hand. He thought about his wife and kids and hoped that they had already made their way to their BOL along the Blewett Creek. He knew they had a plan for such occurences, and just hoped to god that the old Ford Diesel would start and haul his family to safety.
A few hundred feet up the road, he stopped at a small grocery store and tied his bike to a phone booth with a short piece of paracord. He walked into a scene lit dimly by the light from outside, an old man stood at the counter, huddled near a small propane tent heater, "Cash only, son, sorry 'bout the inconveniences." Jeremy quickly nodded and made his way through the small store. He counted the cash he had on hand in his mind before deciding what to purchase, a 1lb. bag of jerky, a small box of Minute-Rice, two cans of Spam, two 1lb canned hams, a 4 ounce can of Folgers coffee, a 4-pack of TP and a box of Zip-Lok bags. He paid for his purchases and stepped outside, dumping the quick rice and coffee into freezer bags before stowing them away. One can of Spam he ate on the spot and then climbed on the bike, by 10a.m. he was leaving the town and on his way once again. 8 hours and 32 miles later, he lay in his tent, stiff, sore and munching on hardtack and pan-fried Spam.
"Mom! The power's off!" yelled Tara Harris to her mother, Amy. Amy looked at her phone, ready to call the power company, but the phone was blank, it was on, but didn't bring anything up but a white screen, "What in god's name is going on," she muttered. She walked into the garage and picked up a small wind up radio, finding nothing but static when she searched the channels. As she put the radio away, she walked over to switch the house over to backup power, shutting off the heavy load circuits before moving the large handle that connected the home to the 120 volt inverter and battery bank. With the lights back on, she walked into the living room and turned the TV on, surprised to get nothing but a blue screen, even though the family's TV came through a dish system. Realization dawned on her and she immediatley went into her bug out plan. She yelled for the kids and all five were in front of her seconds later. When she explained, all five sprung into action, dad had them practice this all before, and they all knew what to do.
45 minutes later, the battered F-350 Crew Cab was loaded to the gills. A pair of large, heavy roof racks, bolted atop both the cab and canopy were loaded with feed bags and blue Rubbermaid totes. Inside the totes was a wide variety of items, everything from bedding to LTS buckets were stored neatly inside. The canopy was packed to overfull, a long, heavy gun crate housed a dozen long arms, two Mosin Nagant 91/30 rifles, two Yugo SKs's with Tapco magazines and ATI folding stocks, two Mossberg 500a 12 gauge shotguns, four Mossberg 702 Plinkster .22 rifles, a Romanian SAR-1 AK-47 and a Marlin .45LC lever action carbine. Another smaller crate held another Walther PPK, two S&W 5906's, two Colt Army revolver clones in .45 long colt and two Heritage .22 revolvers. 6 milk crates and two diamond-plate toolboxes contained a total of more than 45,000 rounds of various calibers of ammunition, along with reloading supplies for the shotguns, 9mm ammunition and .45LC guns. Amy, Ryan and Tara all carried Kel-Tech Sub-2000 9mm's. Five adult rabbits and a dozen chickens were crammed into tiny cages at the back of the canopy.
A battered 18' travel trailer was hooked to the tow package of the pickup, inside was all manner of PAW survival gear, tools, seeds and foods. Stacked in one corner of the trailer set a small stack of solar panels, beneath them a dozen GM alternators and every other piece neccessary to build 12 volt wind generators. Boxes of LED lights, a tiny chest freezer, dozens of 5-gallon propane tanks and stacks of 2X4's and plywood finished the load.
With a quick check to make sure all three of the truck's fuel tanks were full, Amy started the old Ford diesel with a heavy cloud of blue smoke, then pulled out of the driveway, casting one last glance at their modest suburban home. She looked over and then into the rearview mirror, noticing the expressions of fear on her childrens' faces.
Jeremy took only a few short minutes to pack his camp before starting a tiny fire. He fried the rest of his last can of Spam as he waited for the water in the French Press to boil. He dumped some coffee grounds into the steaming cup and waited for a few more minutes before driving the plunger down and sipping the piping hot liquid. He finished packing his mess kit as he sipped coffee, hesitating as his eyes passed over the bag of jerky. He tore open the bag and slipped a few pieces into a pocket of his coat, that way he could eat his lunch on the go.
Ten hours later, wet, and cold, Jeremy huddled around a small fire, his soaked clothing hanging from a tree branch behind him. The Marlin .22 was at his side, a single .22 round in the chamber. The weather had made a turn for the worse during the day, a wet, cold storm had envelopped the mountains around him, drenching him and everything around him. He was not only cold, he was hungry, the third day of short rations was beginning to take it's toll on him. With the fire burning brightly, he listened once again to the squirrel that had been chattering at him off and on for the past twenty minutes, "You show yourself an' you're gonna be dinner," he muttered. Almost as if the muttered words coaxed the animal from hiding, he saw it, just 30 feet away. It was standing on it's hind legs, just staring at him. He brought the little .22 up and lined up the sights, slowly squeezing the trigger as he let out a long, deep breath. The quiet pop the low velocity round made was lost in the murmur of the forest as the fat tree rat fell from the branch, now missing a good portion of it's skull.
Minutes later, the squirrel was roasting over the fire, a light coat of salt and pepper for flavor and some rice to stretch the meal a little and soon Jeremy was reclining against a small, half rotted log that made up a part of his camp. With the wool clothes on and the wool blanket over his shoulders, he was almost comfortable, almost at home. He thought about the journey ahead of him, he'd only made twenty miles that day before the storm had overtaken him, but he knew he had only to crest the pass and then make it the few scant miles to his small cabin, he just hoped everything would be okay when he got there.
Amy wiggled the key in the rusty old lock holding the chain across the road to their cabin. The snow on the road was untouched, clean, clear and at least two feet deep. She hadn't had any trouble so far, especially with the old Ford locked in four wheel drive, she just hoped her luck would continue. When the chain dropped she turned back to the Ford and climbed back into the driver's seat. Putting the truck in gear she slowly eased on the pedal and the old truck rattled up the narrow road without slipping a tire.
Just a few minutes later the truck was parked between two small structures. The first, larger structure was the family's small cabin, the second, a combination woodshed and small stock barn. She could see Ryan, her only son, already putting the animals away in the shed and packing the heavy feed bags in one at a time. The girls were bringing clothing and bedding in, stacking everything on the bunks lining the cabin walls. Amy poked at the fire absently, wondering where Jeremy was and how he was doing. She'd never liked it when he had to go out of town for those classes, and just hoped he'd headed for home instead of socializing with his coworkers after the training seminar.
With the small fire in the rock fireplace Jeremy had built with his own two hands slowly taking the chill from the air in the cabin, Amy turned back towards the heavily loaded Ford, still wishing he was here with her. It took next to no time to get the Ford loaded and to bug out, as Jeremy kept as much of their preps as possible stacked in the trailer, and only what the trailer couldn't hold was loaded into the pickup. When all was said and done, it took the family a full eight hours to unload the truck and trailer, plus a little over two hours to get to their cabin from home. It was now 4 a.m. the day after, and all of the girls, Amy included, were beat, she was barely keeping her eyes open when Ryan stopped in front of her, "All done, mom, I'm going to keep watch until daylight, it'll give you about 3 hours to sleep before someone else takes over." She looked at her 13 year old son for a long moment before her mind could function enough to compose a reply, "No, Ryan, you've done more than enough, I'll take the first watch."
Ryan laughed at her, then, "Mom, you can't even keep your eyes open, go to bed, I got this," he replied, she noticed the steaming cup of coffee in his left hand, and then the black SKS, the sling draped over his shoulder, pistol grip in his right hand, "Okay, I, I guess I could use the rest," she said, still barely conscious.
The next thing she remembered was a sound like a gun shot, she jerked straight up in bed, her hand immediately going to the carbine hung on the corner post of the only full bed in the cabin. She heard it again and finally realized what it was, the sound of a splitting maul splitting firewood. She glanced out the window to see Ryan hefting the maul again, then dropping it onto the center of the round. She looked around the room, noting with some satisfaction both the refilled woodrack near the fireplace, and the growing stack next to the door on the front porch. She also noticed the clean dishes drying on the kitchen counter, and the smell of something cooking in the dutch oven over the fire. She could see the girls, two of them at least, feeding the animals, where the other two were she could only guess.