Don took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Trenton is… was worried about this meteor cloud. He called it Cosmic Buckshot. He asked me to see to your safety, on a trip to a place in the Missouri Ozarks.”

Patricia’s eyes widened even more. “He told you about the retreat?”

“He didn’t mention a retreat, just a cave to hole up in until the danger is past.”

“I see. And how are we to get there? The planes are grounded. I’m sure he had a plan.”

Don nodded. “The bikes. Your BMW and the Indian.” Don didn’t mention that Trenton had given him the bike. “He didn’t think my Harley would make it.”

“Probably not, if we have to go cross country.” Patricia looked thoughtful for long moments and then looked back at Don. “I’m releasing you from your promise. For I’m sure you promised him you’d take care of me. I don’t need a keeper.”

“I promised him,” Don said. “I don’t go back on promises. He told me about a hiding place in his basement. That there are some things there we should take on the trip.” Don had made the decision without really thinking about it. He would see Patricia to the safety of the cave, no matter what it took.

“Won’t talk you out of it, will I?” Patricia asked, her eyes searching Don’s face.

“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “you won’t.”

“After the funera…” Patricia started to say, but fell silent before she finished the thought. “He wouldn’t want us to wait, would he?”

Don shook his head again.

“Then,” Patricia said, setting aside the coffee and looking determined, “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m hoping Grandfather is overestimating the danger, but we’ve prepared for many years in case something like this came about.”

“You and your Grandfather are preppers?” Don asked, tossing the foam cups into the trash bin as the two of them left the restaurant.

“You know the term?”

“I heard it and did some research… I know what it means, at least the basic part of it.”

“That will simplify the rest of the explanation. I’ll fill you in when we get to the house.”


Cosmic Buckshot - Chapter 3

Don followed Patricia’s Subaru to the house she’d shared with her grandfather. She was an expert driver and Don had no problem following her in the terrible traffic that was an everyday thing in the city.

He drove in beside her when she parked the Subaru in the garage. He left the Harley by another one, the chopped Harley Davidson that Trenton often rode, and the BMW that was Patricia’s. The Indian was also there, in all its glory.

“Come on in. I’ll change and get a bag packed while you look over things in the basement. Down there,” Patricia said, pointing at the door that closed off the basement stairs. She handed him a set of keys.

Surprised that she wasn’t going with him, Don opened the door, found the light switch, and went down the stairs. It took only moments to find the cabinet that Trenton had mentioned, but it was a struggle to move it. Don was fairly sure that it was intentionally loaded down the way it was to make it unlikely to be moved. It was obvious that the room had been entered recently.

There were old cobwebs hanging out of the way. Don unlocked and worked the warped wooden door open and peeked into the small room. There was no lighting fixture, but there was a windup flashlight in the cabinet outside and Don cranked it up and took another look.

There were crates and ammo cans, boxes and bins. A layer of dust covered them, disturbed here and there by the recent activity. The first thing he noticed was the new looking gun case. Don began to carry things out into the light in the basement so he could inspect them more easily.

When everything was spread out, Don opened that new gun case that had caught his eye. With the lid thrown back, he stared down at a pristine Tommy Gun, World War II issue, based on what Trenton had said about the additional surplus items the man had that had owned the Indian.

Don had no idea of the technical details of the weapon, only that it was the classic Tommy Gun. In fact, it was a late model M1A1, as issued to specific personnel during World War Two. Besides the gun, the gun case held an even dozen spare 30-round magazines, plus the one that was in the gun.

The twelve were loaded with the short, fat .45ACP FMJ cartridges. The one in the gun was empty when Don figured out how to release it and then reinsert it. He worked the action a few times. It was slick and smooth. Don set the gun down and picked up one of the ammunition cans that had been sitting near the Thompson gun case.

He opened one after the other of the five cans. Three held loaded 30-round magazines, the other two boxes of the .45’s. Don continued going through the items he’d carried out into the basement.

When he was finished opening everything, he was in a state of awe. In addition to the Thompson, there were a total of thirteen guns, with ammunition and accoutrements for all of them. Again, though he didn’t know the specifics, Don was gun savvy enough to recognize all but two of them for what they were.

Two M1 Garand’s, three M1 Carbines, and three 1911A1 semi-auto pistols. All were obviously ex-military, somehow brought into the country after the war. The only one that would have been a real problem was the Thompson submachine gun. It was highly illegal, even in those days, for a civilian to have one.

The other two weapons that Don wasn’t sure of were identical. He had them in his hands when he heard Patricia come down the steps and speak when he looked up at her.

“A pair of whippet shotguns. They were my Grandfather’s defensive weapon of choice when he was riding the wild side.”

“Three barrels?” Don asked. He’d never seen anything like the three barreled 12 gauge whippets with their short barrels and contoured pistol grip cut from the original wooden full stock.

“Wicked for short range work from a motorcycle. Three shots each, one handed. I saw a picture once of Grandfather in those days, on the chopper, wearing the whippets. There should be a holster set there somewhere. One down his left leg, one cross draw.”

“Holy Molely!” Don whispered.

“Yes. So what do we have, besides the guns? Should be some other guns, too, unless I miss my guess.”

“There are. Over here,” Don said, stepping over to another open gun case, this one with two long arms and two pistols.

“Grandfather’s PTR-91, Remington 11-87 custom tactical 12 gauge, Glock 21SF .45ACP, and a Beretta Tomcat .32 ACP hideout gun. These were his survival guns until the others came along. I don’t suppose you know when he got these others, do you?”

Don nodded and told her what Trenton had said when he explained where he got the bike. Patricia looked a little hurt that her grandfather hadn’t told her about them, but had Don. Don saw the look and said, “I have a feeling he didn’t want you to know about the Tommy Gun. Could get you in a lot of trouble.”

That seemed to make Patricia feel better. “Okay. I’ve got the BMW packed. What should we take of this? The rest will have to go back into the secret room. Hopefully, someday, I can come back and recover it all.”

“I… uh… don’t really know…” Don said. “I just learned about this kind of thing.”

“Oh, yes. Well, I don’t know if you noticed it or not during the parade, but Grandfather had mounted two scabbards on the bike. One for the Thompson, and one for a Garand, I’m sure. He had dummies in them during the parade, but he obviously intended to carry them in the PAW, if he…”

Patricia fell silent for a moment, but then continued. “Anyway. I’m sure he intended the scabbards for the Thompson and a Garand. The Thompson for midrange work and the M1 for long range.”

She was looking through the open boxes. “And here are the belt and scabbards for the whippets. They’re too much for me to handle, with my other gear. You can carry them if you want.”

“Okay,” Don said, more than a little intrigued with the armament he’d have on the Indian.

“We’d probably be better off with the weapons out of sight for the moment. Just a handgun under our jackets, until we really need to get out the others.”

Don nodded. As they began to pick and choose the items they were going to take, Don ran across the military tanker holster for one of the 1911A1s and strapped it on. He added a pair of leather twin magazine pouches to his belt that were with the holster and slipped the seven round magazines into them.

It took some time to decide on what was going and what was staying, but finally both bikes were loaded up with the equipment and supplies to make the trip to the Ozarks and everything else put away and the secret room locked and concealed again.

When they moved the bikes outside the garage, ready to hit the road, they saw one of the fiery paths created by an incoming object. It went well past them, but the two looked at one another and then put the bikes back into the garage.

“I think it better if we travel by day the way Trenton suggested, since the bombardment is coming from deep space.” Don looked at Patricia.

“Yes. That probably is a good idea, though with what we’re carrying, I’d prefer to travel in the dark. But it is probably too dangerous.”

They went into the house and Patricia prepared an evening meal. They ate it by the light of a wind up flashlight when the power failed just as Patricia was setting things on the table. Then, working by the light of the wind up flashlight, Patricia got the spare bedroom ready for Don to use that night.

They agreed to get up and be ready to leave by five the next morning. Both woke once near midnight when an explosion sounded and shook the house slightly. And both waited anxiously for several minutes, but soon were asleep again when nothing else happened.

But the next morning, when they headed out, they passed by the scene of the explosion in the night. A thirty foot crater had destroyed the street, barely missing a fast food place. There were still fire trucks around, monitoring the smoldering buildings that had caught fire from the heat the object created.

There were people standing around, gawking at the scene. There were also several police officers in attendance. They began glancing over at Patricia and Don. Patricia, motioned with her head and Don followed her around the crater and down the street a bit further. When she stopped, Don did as well. They had compatible radios on the bikes, and headset mikes and earphones.

“We may run into that a lot. I’d really thought about taking the Subaru so we could carry more stuff,” Patricia said. “I think I know why Grandfather wanted us on the bikes. Though we could have gone around this one, there may be places we can’t. Did you see the cops giving us the eye?”

“Yes, I did,” Don replied. “We need to be very careful to keep it legal while we’re riding. You know the back ways to get us out of town?”

“I do. But I want to stop at the bike shop first. A couple of things I want to pick up. Things of Grandfather’s.”

“Okay. Lead the way,” Don replied and shifted back into gear when Patricia took off again.

It didn’t take long for them to reach Trenton’s shop. Don waited outside as Patricia went inside the shop. She wasn’t there long, but it was long enough that they were still at the shop, just ready to head out again, when a group of bikes pulled into the parking lot.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” asked a big bearded man on an equally big chopped Harley. “We’re looking for Trenton. You know where he is?”

“He’s dead,” Patricia said, after lifting the visor of her helmet.

“Really?” said one of the other bikers. “Well now. You must be that pretty little granddaughter old Trent used to talk about. All grown up. Looks like we get two prizes instead of one. Open up the shop. We want a few things. Old Trent always said he’d be ready for something like this.”

A couple of the bikers dismounted and moved toward Don and Patricia. “Let’s get out of here,” Don said softly through the radio.

When Patricia popped the clutch, the BMW squalled its rear tire and she was on the street before any of the other bikers could make a move. Don was right behind her, wishing he was on his Harley instead of the Indian.

Several of the bikers took off after them and Don forgot about his Harley when Patricia left the road and climbed the steep berm of an overpass to get to a cross street. Don downshifted and took the Indian right up after her. The chopped bikes just couldn’t make the climb. There were shouted threats that neither Don nor Patricia heard.

Don pulled up alongside Patricia and they both slowed to a more sedate, and legal, speed. There was still a lot of traffic, and it seemed all city, county, and area state police units were out in force.

Patricia saw a slot between two semi trucks traveling their limit and dropped in between them, with Don just to her right and behind her. They couldn’t be seen from the front or the back, only the side when someone passed.

They rode until noon and had the lunch Patricia had packed when she’d made breakfast that morning at a rest stop on Interstate 40 near Yucca, Arizona, having picked up I-40 from I-15 after they got outside the city.

Traffic was fairly light when they continued east on I-40. Patricia set a steady pace, keeping in the right lane, her speed just below the maximum. They discussed whether to go through Flagstaff and find a place to overnight when it would already be dark, or stop on the west side and go through the city the next morning.

“We should be good until well after dark. If Flagstaff takes a hit…” Don said, letting his words trail off.

Patricia replied over the radio, “True. I think it better to get through town. Lot of open space on the east side. I think I’d rather be over there than on this side.”

Both fell silent, the decision made. They went through Flagstaff when they reached it, stopping on the east side to refuel. Both bikes were carrying extra fuel containers, but the possibility of running out with no resupply handy was too big of a risk. Better to keep the tanks topped off and keep the extra for emergencies.

The city was as yet untouched by the bombardment when it went into darkness as the earth turned on its axis. Behind them, in their rearview mirrors, Patricia and Don could both see the streaks of light that indicated that the earth was still in the path of the mass of cosmic material passing through the solar system.

As soon as they came to an overpass crossing I-40 they stopped, pulling off the pavement and up against the support structure of the overpass. A couple more people had the same idea and five additional vehicles stopped under the overpass, two more on the east bound side and three on the west bound.

Still with only their handguns worn under their leather jackets, Patricia and Don set up the tent carried in the sidecar of the Indian. Some of the other people that had stopped walked over, wanting to talk.

Don was cautious at first, but the others were just ordinary citizens, looking for shelter for the night from the Cosmic Buckshot. Don used the term and the others picked it up. Fortunately one of the vehicles that had stopped was a large motorhome, apparently well stocked with food and drink, and driven by a companionable retired husband and wife.

Rick and Bridgett willing shared some of their food and water with the others as Patricia and Don prepared their own supper over a small, single burner camp stove. Both jumped when one of the rocky objects screamed overhead and impacted somewhere to the east of them.

None of those that stayed under the overpass slept very well. The bombardment seemed nearly constant, though none of the meteorites landed near them. Patricia and Don were the first ones up and about. They were almost ready to go when Rick called over to them and offered the use of the RV’s bathroom to them. Both accepted gladly.

They hit the road again and it wasn’t long before they again saw up close the damage caused by one of the small rocky objects. It had impacted on the shoulder of the west bound lanes of I-40, tearing up the pavement almost all the way across. The crater was a full thirty feet in diameter and over ten feet deep.

Don and Patricia stopped to take a closer look.

The ground, and what little was left of two cars demolished when the impact took place, was still smoking. “Wrong place, wrong time,” Don muttered into the radio.

“Yeah. Could have been us. Let’s keep going.” Patricia put the BMW back in gear and they picked up speed, still headed east.


They spent the next night under I-40 where it crossed a local road near Defiance, New Mexico. This time it was only them. They were able to refuel, use the bathroom, and get something to eat before they left the little town.

There had been nothing close to them during the night, but when they approached Albuquerque they could see towers of smoke in every direction. From the looks of it a much larger meteor broke up in the atmosphere and scattered individual elements that peppered the area.

Power was out, and there was nothing open. Patricia and Don just worked their way through the city, having to take some surface streets at times due to the Interstate being destroyed, or just blocked because of destruction elsewhere.

But they were able to navigate the two bikes through even the worst spots and were well on their way toward the Texas border by early afternoon. Yet another overpass gave them shelter for the night. This time they had to unpack the small camping toilet. There were no services anywhere close to where they stopped.

They had their closest call so far on the trip that night. Less than a quarter mile away one of the larger objects landed, shaking the ground and lighting up the sky in the process. The blast wave whipped the tent and the smell and taste of hot rock was in the air.

The next morning, when they inspected the crater, they wondered if the protection of the overpass was actually any protection at all. But the overpasses were the best they could find on the road as the two continued the journey.

After three nights of the bombardment, Amarillo was in worse shape than Albuquerque. I-40 disappeared into a huge crater on the western edge of the city. Patricia guided them down onto surface streets. There were small craters, destroyed buildings and houses, and fires everywhere one looked. More than once they had to backtrack when a street they took to avoid another blockage was blocked as well. They were getting some angry looks as they passed people in shock from the celestial attack.

Don found himself helping Patricia help people dig out survivors. But he managed to keep them moving enough so they were out of the city before dark. They found another underpass and took shelter under it for the night, despite the knowledge that it was limited protection. But it was some protection and better than being out in the open.

It turned out to be a quiet night where they were, though they could see the streaks of light in the distance all around them where the bombardment continued unabated. There had been little traffic the night before and there was none during this one. Don and Patricia were up and ready to go the following morning.

Each succeeding night of bombardment added additional craters and destruction to what had happened the night before. Distances between the craters were shorter now. After four nights, Don and Patricia were seeing a larger crater every few miles, with clusters of several close together occasionally. And there were open stretches untouched by the impacting meteorites.

Cosmic Buckshot - Chapter 4

The vagaries of fate had treated Oklahoma City well when they reached it. Though there were columns of smoke here and there, and the occasional impact crater close enough to the Interstate to see, the city still had power in most areas and some critical services were still in operation.

Patricia and Don managed to fill their fuel tanks again, eat a meal, pick up a bit of packaged food and several bottles of water, and get a shower at one of the truck stops. There wasn’t much traffic, but there was some, including semi trucks. While Patricia was using one of the showers and Don was watching the bikes, a couple of truck drivers stopped to talk to about the Indian.

“Nice,” said one of the men. “Haven’t seen anything like that since Street Vibrations in Reno last year.”

“Yeah,” said the other driver. Gonna need it if you’re going north. I-44 is bad, starting about forty miles north of the city. Really got hammered. I almost didn’t make it through, and that was yesterday. After last night, no telling what it will be like. Seems to be getting worse each night.”

“And people are starting to get… uh… rambunctious…” said the first man. He shifted the light jacket he was wearing to expose the holstered handgun on his belt. “Can’t be too careful. I saw the lady with you. There’s some people out there that are more than capable of trying to take her away from you.”

“Yep. There’s a biker gang on the loose, headed this way from California, tearing up jack. Already killed a couple of cops and assaulted several people, including women, if you know what I mean.”

Don felt himself pale slightly. “A biker gang? From California?”

The first man spoke again. “Yes. Funny thing though. It’s being said it’s a big group composed of several factions. Usually don’t see colors mixed in a gang. But I guess this situation brought them together.”

The second man chimed in again. “Can’t imagine why they are on the move. You’d think they’d be holing up somewhere safe. Us I can understand. We have loads to deliver. Which brings us to, why are you two travelling? Wouldn’t you be safer in one of the shelters that are being set up? That’s where we’re going after we deliver these loads here in the city.”

“Yeah,” Don said, shrugging, not willing to give much information to the two, even though they seemed on the up and up. “The lady wants to get to her Grandfather’s place in Missouri.”

“I guess being with family at a time like this is important,” said the first man. The second agreed and then both tipped their caps when Patricia walked up.

“Mind you,” said the other driver as they walked away, “Take care. She’s a prize.”

Don nodded and Patricia gave him an arch look. “Not laying claim on me, are you?”

“Actually,” Don said, to try and avoid getting in trouble, since that was about how he was feeling, “I think they were talking about the Indian.”

“Oh. Of course. You ready?”

Don nodded, realizing he’d just lost a no-win situation. “They told me things are rough up north. And Patricia, I think that biker gang may be after us.”

“What? The biker gang? Why would they be after us?” Patricia asked, settling the helmet on her head.

She started the BMW and Don did the Indian before he replied through the radio, “Besides you, you mean?”

“That’s not funny,” Patricia said.

“No. No, it wasn’t. Sorry. Is there any way any of those bikers could know of your Grandfather’s place in the Ozarks?”

“I don’t see how,” Patricia replied. “But I suppose it is possible.”

There was silence for several minutes as the two got the bikes on the road and then up on the I-44 toll road. There were no attendants at the toll booths. They were headed northeast, toward Tulsa, and then Joplin, Missouri.

“Do you really think those bikers we saw at Grandfather’s could be after us?” Patricia asked.

“I’m afraid so. I think they must know something about the situation in Missouri. Might just be guessing. But I think we’d better keep an eye out for them.”

It didn’t take them long to run into the trouble that the truck drivers had warned Don about. There was a cluster of craters crossing the Interstate. There were remains of several vehicles, and signs where others had managed to maneuver through some of the smaller craters to continue their journeys, in both directions.

Don almost didn’t see the two men in time when they popped up from behind one of the wrecked cars and pointed shotguns at him and Patricia. But see them, he did, and warned Patricia to get going. She throttled up the BMW, disappearing down one of the craters and then up the other side before the two men could do anything.

The distraction gave Don enough time to get the Colt from under his leather jacket and pop off four rounds toward the men. It made them dive for the protection of the wreck, and Don did the same thing as Patricia, taking one of the craters almost head on, off to one side just enough to avoid the mass in the very middle of the bottom of the crater.

They both sped away, zigzagging around the multitude of smaller craters, and to make it more difficult for the shooters to get a good bead on them.

Patricia went for over a mile, past the worst of the cratered area, before she slowed to a stop and lifted the visor of her helmet. “You okay?” she asked Don when he stopped beside her and also lifted his visor.

“Yeah. I think so. You?”

“I’m fine. Your warning gave me time to get away. Thank you.”

“Sure.” Don was replacing the magazine in the Colt with a full one, slipping the one with four rounds left in it into his jacket pocket. “I’m beginning to think we should break out the heavier firepower. The authorities seem to be keying on rescue and recovery. I think we might be safe enough if we don’t go flashing it around.”

“I think you’re right,” Patricia said. She got off the bike and turned to the large pack lashed to the rear seat of the BMW. While Don extracted the Thompson, Garand, and the two whippets, Patricia was taking out what Don thought he recognized as one of the M1 Carbines that Trenton had bought.

But when he looked closer, he realized it was somewhat different. “That’s not one of your Grandfather’s carbines…”

“No. It’s a clone. Made by Auto Ordnance. Uses the same magazines and accoutrements as a GI version, but has a more modern folding stock. It’s not up to rifle ranges, but it suits me for short to medium range work.”

Patricia unfolded the stock, slipped a 30-round magazine in place and worked the bolt to load a round into the chamber. Though she didn’t have a leather scabbard on the BMW the way the Indian was equipped, there were a pair of brackets that were obviously there to carry the carbine when Don saw her place the gun in them.

With the Garand and M1A1 in their scabbards, Don took a few moments to strap on the belt and holster the three barrel whippets. “Feel like I’m going off to war,” he said, looking over at Patricia.

“Yeah. We may be.” There was silence for a few moments, but then Patricia was looking at Don, with a look on her face that Don had not seen before. “I’m scared, Don. I don’t want to get into the hands of those bikers…” She shivered and just looked at Don.

“You won’t. I’ll see to it, Patricia. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Yes. Thank you. I intend to help you in that,” she added, touching the carbine. She’d handled it with practiced ease, and Don had a feeling she would be quite effective with it if the need occurred.

After taking long drinks of water while they were stopped, both got back aboard the bikes and headed northeast again, very much more attentive to the road ahead. They had to stop again after a short while. The smoke from the many fires that the meteorites started was getting thick. Taking out half mask respirators, the two put them on and replaced their helmets.

Copyright 2010

 

The respirators allowed them to continue, though the smoke made them keep the speed down somewhat. But once free of the worst of the damage, they were able to speed back up, but kept the respirators on, for though the smoke was less, there was still some in the air. No need to inhale any more than necessary, was their thought.

Fearful of the rising aggression of those they were meeting, the possibility of the biker gang catching up with them, and the possibility of being stopped by local officials for their weapons, Don and Patricia decided to loop west and then north of Tulsa to avoid the problems in the city, and hopefully throw off the bikers by not following the most direct map.

And there was at least a slightly less chance of getting stopped by would-be bandits on the state and country roads they would be taking. The primary disadvantages were the extra time it would probably take, though that was problematical with the chance for delays in Tulsa, and the fact that there would be no overpasses to spend the night under, for the little protection they did provide.

They would be staying out in the open, but it was a risk they were willing to take, since the overpasses weren’t that much protection from the larger impacts, anyway. So they left the Turner Turnpike/I-44 and took 9th Street/Highway 97 North, southwest of Tulsa.

Keeping their speed reasonable, they made their way north on the rural roads, seeing only a few vehicles. They got some long, hard looks, but no one tried to stop or interfere with them.

With night already on them, Patricia pulled off Highway 75 at Rice Creek Road and they set up their camp. It was routine now and they were in their sleeping bags within a few minutes of having supper. The temperature was down below normal and Don began to wonder if the smoke from all the fires was having an effect on solar radiation enough to start a cool down.

He fell asleep thinking about it, the soft sounds of Patricia breathing in her sleep two feet away from him music to his ears.

They both slept soundly, no impacts occurring anywhere near them during the night and early morning hours. They were on the road before eight. It came as a great surprise when a meteor shot over their heads later that morning as they were traveling east on Highway 60. It landed somewhere ahead of them.

They slowed and exchanged glances. “I thought only at night…” Patricia said.

“Must have been caught in the earth’s gravitational field just right to swing it around,” Don replied. “Man. That’s just one more risk we have to watch out for. Let’s get going. That cave sounds better and better all the time.”

Patricia didn’t speak. She just throttled up and headed toward Turner Turnpike/I-44 again. They saw a large column of smoke rising to the north when they reached Vinita and crossed the turnpike. “Must be from that one we saw earlier,” Don told Patricia. She didn’t respond, keeping an eye on the road. Another night of impacting meteorites had the landscape peppered with craters, some still smoking, small fires still burning. The Highway 60 roadbed had its share of hits that they had to maneuver around.

The worst thing was the fires, though. Again wearing respirators under their helmets, Don and Patricia had to slow considerably due to the smoke from the burning forests all around them. The Ozarks were on fire in a big way.

And it was from out of the smoke that the biker gang came. Don thought about it later and suspected that the biker gang had lost track of them when he and Patricia went north around Tulsa and had speeded up to try and find them.

With their longer trip, Don realized that they had actually cut the space between them and the bikers, not increased it. But that all came later. When the lead biker came up behind Don out of the smoke it took him a moment to take in the situation. It was only when a bullet shattered the right hand rear view mirror did Don look over his shoulder and see three bikes close behind them.

Don hastily fumbled the whippet shotgun on his left leg free of the harness with his left hand, pointed it behind him, and pulled the trigger. It was all he could do to keep from losing control of the Indian. If he didn’t have the sidecar on it, he was sure he would have wrecked. He didn’t see the one bike go careening off the road and into a tree. He pulled the trigger of the second barrel and then the third.

The bullets whizzing past him stopped and Don holstered the whippet. He brought his left hand back to the handlebars and sped forward. Patricia was hunched down on her bike, gaining speed as Don came up even with her.

He wouldn’t have been able to keep up with her, but their speed was limited by the road conditions. Eighty miles an hour one second, back down to forty to avoid a crater because of smoke.

But the gang was having the same problem. And the reception they’d had so unexpectedly had them a bit more cautious than before.

Don suddenly pointed to a spot on the side of the road where the trees suddenly ended. Patricia turned into it, braking hard. Don was right behind her. They could hear the other bikes coming out of the smoke as Patricia grabbed her carbine and dropped to the ground, and Don pulled the Thompson free of the scabbard and crouched behind the sidecar.

The other bikes were passing by in seconds. “No mercy,” Don told Patricia, just as he pulled the trigger of the Thompson. The stream of bullets raked the column of riders, but quickly lifted above them as the muzzle of the submachine gun rose and Don rocked back from the recoil.

Peripherally aware of Patricia firing the carbine, Don pulled the Thompson back down on line, and braced himself a bit better before triggering the gun again. This time he held the gun on track, emptying the 30-round magazine before he released the trigger. Quickly he reached for the musette bag that contained the spare magazines and took out one; Don reloaded and raised the gun again. But the only targets left were those five bikes that had gone down in the short ambush.

One man was struggling to get up and Don heard the carbine fire again. The man dropped to the ground, obviously quite dead. The sounds of the bikers had faded quickly when they passed, but they had turned around and were coming back. This time they would have their own guns ready.

Don grabbed the musette bag and then Patricia and they ran toward the trees behind them. When the gang turned into the opening along the side of the road, Don and Patricia were again ready for them.

But the gang was ready, too. A thunderous exchange of gun fire sounded that lasted through several magazines of fire from each side. When silence suddenly fell, there were another six bikers down, with the rest powering away from the scene, back to the west.

Patricia’s helmet had a bullet scar and her head was aching, but she was otherwise untouched, the huge old tree she was behind having stopped most of the handgun and shotgun blasts directed at her.

The same couldn’t be said for Don. One bullet had bored through his right thigh, fortunately missing bone and artery. And he had a nick on his right arm, and another low on his left side from a round that had gone through the tree he was behind and tumbled through just slightly more than skin deep.

He managed to stay upright, though the Thompson was hanging down and his left arm was against the tree to keep him that way. Patricia didn’t hesitate. She ran to the BMW as Don looked on. He was sure she was going to leave him behind. But instead of getting on the bike, she grabbed her packs off the back and threw them into the sidecar and then ran back to Don.

He nearly screamed when she helped him to the Indian and got him on top of the load in the sidecar. Wasting no time, Patricia was on the Indian’s seat and had them moving, very slowly, Don thought, on the road again, headed east.


Cosmic Buckshot - Chapter 5

Don woke up groaning. He was on his back, looking up at the bottom of the top bunk of a bunk bed. He turned his head, slowly, to the left and saw Patricia, wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans, sitting at a small table.

Again moving slowly, Don took stock. The wounds in his right arm, left side, and right thigh were bandaged. He was weak, but could move. And he had a terrible thirst.

“Water…” he managed to croak out.

Patricia immediately looked over at him and Don repeated, “Water…”

“Okay. Hang on a second.” Patricia disappeared from his sight for a few moments and then returned, to crouch down beside the bunk with a bottle of water in her hand. “You need some help?”

Don started to shake his head, but thought better of the idea, and said, “No. I think I can… if you can take the top off.”

Patricia twisted the top off the bottle of water and handed it to Don, ready to lend a hand if he needed one to get a drink. Though he spilled a bit, Don managed to get the bottle to his lips and take a swallow. And then another. And another. Until the bottle was empty.

“Better,” he finally said when Patricia took the empty bottle from him. He met her eyes. “What happened? We were in a gunfight…”

“Yes. We were. And you got shot. But when that scum turned tail I got you on the Indian and here to the cave. We were almost here when they came up on us. I got us in and the Indian, and then bandaged you up. You’ve been out for six hours. As far as I can tell, the bikers that lived have no clue exactly where we are.

“They may know we have to be near, but I doubt they are aware of where the cave is, or even if there is a cave. Though if it was me, that’s what I would be thinking. But this cave is well hidden. Almost impossible to discover by accident.”

“Sorry I…”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Don,” Patricia said immediately, cutting him off. “You saved me from that bunch of animals. I never would have been able to fight them off by myself.”

Don just looked at her for a few moments, seeing the sincerity in her eyes. “Okay.”

“You up to a meal?” Patricia asked then. “I’ve got a pot of beef soup on.”

“Yeah. That sounds good,” Don replied, his stomach rumbling with the mention of food.

“Let me help you up.” Patricia reached over to help Don sit up. He started to protest, but the helping hand was a great help. Still, he groaned a little as the movement stressed the wound on his side and in his leg.

“Thanks,” Don said when he was sitting up. Patricia kept a hand on his good arm as he leaned forward and stood up. She steadied him for a moment and then handed him a pair of crutches that had been leaning against the end of the bunk, out of Don’s line of sight.

“Keep the weight off that right leg,” Patricia said, watching as Don took the crutches and began to move toward the table where Patricia had been sitting when he woke up.

Don began to look around as he maneuvered toward the table. It wasn’t obvious that they were in a cave. Trenton had built a cabin inside, apparently, and that was where he and Patricia were.

“This like the Meramec Cave where Jessie James had a hideout built inside?” Don asked.

“Something like that,” Patricia said with a smile. “A bit more expansive, but we can get you up to speed on that later. Right now I want you to eat something and then get some more sleep.”

“Uh… Bathroom?” Don suddenly asked, feeling the sudden need.

Patricia motioned with her head and Don saw the open door of a small bathroom. When he went inside he found a chemical toilet and a fiberglass shower enclosure with a couple of Sun-Shower bags sitting on a shelf.

He did what he needed to do and went out to the main room of the cabin, going to the single bowl kitchen sink to wash his hands. Patricia was setting bowls of soup on the table, having dipped them full from the stainless steel stockpot on the two burner propane camp stove.

She added a plate of saltines to the table and then watched as Don moved gingerly to sit down.

He tried a bit of the soup. It was hot, though not too spicy. “Oh,” Patricia suddenly said. “Water. You’ll want more.”

Don nodded and watched as Patricia moved over to a small refrigerator to take out two bottles of water. She handed one to Don and then sat down opposite him, opening her own bottle. Don didn’t have any trouble opening his this time.

There was silence for some time as the two ate. Patricia dipped up another bowl for Don when he finished the first one quickly. He ate the second more slowly. “This is really good.”

“Can’t take much credit. Just dried soup mix with freeze-dried beef added.”

“Well, it’s still good.”

When it was obvious that Don had all the soup he wanted, Patricia ordered him back to the bunk and turned to do the cleanup.

He really wanted to inspect the cabin and the cave, but he was feeling a bit woozy, so didn’t object.

When he woke up later, the cabin was dimly lighted, the light coming from a wind-up flashlight hanging on a hook in the main part of the cabin. When he got up to go to the bathroom he saw Patricia asleep in the lower bunk of the pair opposite the one he was using.

He moved as quietly as he could with the crutches, but he saw Patricia’s eyes on him when he returned. She said nothing, and neither did he as he got back into the bunk. He was asleep in moments.


Feeling much better when he woke up he looked over toward the other set of bunks. Patricia wasn’t there. He got up and looked around the room. She wasn’t anywhere in sight, and the bathroom door was open.

“Patricia?” he called, a cold feeling in his stomach.

“Yes?” came her voice from behind Don. He whirled around, almost falling. “Be careful!” she admonished him. “You needed something?”

“No. I… Just woke up and you weren’t anywhere around… And I…”

“I’m sorry,” Patricia said softly. “I was just out taking a look around. It’s really bad outside.”

“No sign of the bikers?” Don quickly asked.

Patricia shook her head. “None. But there is plenty of smoke. There’s a fire burning not too far from the cave. But the wind is from this direction so I don’t think we have anything to worry about.

“There might be a little smoke get in, but the cave system has dozens of small openings all over the area that keep the air moving. They are too small for anyone to get in, but allow plenty of air movement. As long as the entire area doesn’t burn, we should have clean air. Even if there is some smoke, Grandfather made provisions to seal a room up with CO2 scrubbers and oxygen cylinders.”

“What’s that do?”

Patricia smiled. “Better sit down,” she said.

Don did so, and Patricia began to explain about carbon dioxide build up and the need to keep it very low to avoid dangerous conditions, and how adding a little oxygen to the closed atmosphere to replace that used when breathing that was expired as carbon dioxide.

“I see. What else did Trenton set things up for? This prep stuff is all pretty new to me.”

“Let’s just take it a day at a time. We’re still in the stream of objects, and they are getting worse. More of them, and a bit bigger, from what I could see last night.”

“You went out last night?” Don’s voice was almost an accusation.

“No. I’m not foolish. There are a couple of hidden cameras outside the cave. I was watching the monitors. There were streaks of light every few minutes. I think I felt one hit nearby, but I’m not sure.”

“Oh. Okay. I wonder how long it will last? The last report I heard before we left LA was that the field stretched out millions of miles. That it would be likely to have impacts for over two weeks.”

“That’s the last I heard, too. The field they could see, before they lost the satellites, was about twelve million miles in diameter and at least twenty million miles long. Objects from sand size to about car size. Some remains from after the Big Boom that did not coalesce into something bigger.

“The column is crossing the Earth’s orbit at a tangent, with the Earth in just the wrong place at just the wrong time on the orbit.”

Don was nodding. That matched with what he’d seen on the news early on, too. “So we have another week or more of this Cosmic Buckshot to get through.”

“Yes. That’s what I think. We’ll only know for sure after there are no more impacts for a while. I tried listening to the shortwave and Amateur Radio frequencies and had to stop. All I got was static, including a lot of loud bursts that hurt my ears.

“But that may give us an idea of when the bombardment is over. The static, especially the really bad stuff, should drop off dramatically once the impacts stop.”

“I think I understand that. What about all the smoke? Will that affect the radios?”

Patricia shook her head. “Not very much, the way I understand it.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Don said.

“Yes. But the smoke could create a cooling trend, if not an outright mini-ice age.”

“But… I thought just volcanoes… and nuclear war… could do that,” Don said, staring at Patricia.

“Part of those scenarios is smoke in the atmosphere. With as much of the world burning as must be, I think it could do the same thing as one of the super-volcanoes. Never really bought into nuclear winter, though it is essentially the same premise. I just don’t think there would be as many ongoing fires in a nuke war. But that’s beside the point.”

Don lifted his eyebrows in question.

“The main point being that the world’s modern infrastructure is being destroyed as we speak. Billions are dying. This is going to be like many of the scenarios of nuclear war, without the radiation. Except that from nuclear power plants that might take a hit large enough to damage them.”

Don decided she was thinking out loud as Patricia continued.

“Of course, even if the nuke plants do survive, the power grid is down, I’m sure, and will be for years. We were more than extremely lucky on our way here not to have one of the bridges knocked out. Would have slowed us down greatly if we’d had to back track and find a way across some of them.

“Bridges will be problematical in the future. They’ll either have survived or not. No rhyme or reason. Just a big enough chunk hit it to take it out or it didn’t. Same with things like refineries. Though… without power, they aren’t going to be producing much fuel. If they can even get the raw materials…

“Airports the same. There will probably be some untouched, but others beyond use. Fixed wing air travel will be limited to available airports, and then only after a survey is done to find the ones that are okay and those that aren’t. And the problem of fuel for them…”

Patricia shook her head and then looked Don in the eyes. “It’s going to be a tough world when we go back out. This is a real apocalyptic event. The Post Apocalyptic World. I guess we’ll see how close the writers of PAW fiction came to the reality of it in a couple of weeks.

“For right now, I think you should get some more rest. We’re going to need you in as good of shape as possible when we start exploring outside.”

Don didn’t argue. The sitting up had started his thigh throbbing. He hobbled back to the bunk, using the crutches, and climbed in. He expected to toss and turn some, but he was out like a light before he knew it.

He woke to the smell of coffee and the beef stew being heated up. Between grunts and groans and the clanking of the aluminum crutches, Patricia heard him moving and looked over. “I’ve brought your gear in. You’re welcome to take a shower and change. I need to check your wounds again. Give me a minute and I’ll fill one of the shower bags with warm water.”

Don nodded. He was ready for a shower and clean clothes. He looked down at the jeans he was wearing. Patricia had been tidy, but he would need to sew up the right leg of the jeans where she’d cut them open to treat the bullet entry and exit wounds.

Don had a change of clothing out when Patricia came out of the bathroom. “I hung up the bag for you. Just open the valve… Just a little… Get wet, turn the valve off and soap up. Turn the valve on to rinse off. There’s enough water to get a good shower, but you have to use it just right.”

“Okay. Thanks Patricia.”

She smiled over at him and Don turned to go to the bathroom, unaware that Patricia was watching with an admiring eye. “Wouldn’t be so bad… Even if he isn’t a prepper…”

Don felt much better when he came out of the bathroom. Patricia had the table set again and both sat down to eat the leftovers and have one cup of coffee each. “I’m something of a coffee consumer,” Patricia said, with a sigh as she set the empty cup down. “Have to really ration myself. Grandfather really set this place up well, but there are a limited amount of the really important things like coffee… and chocolate.”

Don chuckled. “Well, if he stocked any tea, you can have my coffee ration. I don’t drink either very much. Sure am going to miss my Barqs Rootbeer fix every day, though.”

Patricia smiled again. “Well now, that might not have to be. We have brewing capability. Can make root beer just as easily as beer beer.”

“Wow. That sounds great! But way down on the list of things we need to do, I bet.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. But just getting through the next few days intact without a meteorite in our lap is all we need to do. Then comes the aftermath.”

Don nodded. When they finished the meal and Patricia cleaned up the area, she brought out an old laptop computer from what Don learned was a huge storage room tacked onto the back of the cabin.

“Grandfather has maps and all kinds of information on CD/ROMs. I thought we might study some of it when you’re up and bored half to death.”

“Good idea,” Don replied. “I’ve got a lot to learn.”

That was the way they spent the next several days when they weren’t eating or sleeping. Trenton had amassed a great deal of information over the years and had it all cataloged on the stack of CD/ROMs that Patricia carried in. “This is the working set,” she told him. “There are two spare sets cached, in case this one gets lost or damaged.”

“Trenton really knew what he was doing, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I’m a Prepper. Grandfather took it several steps beyond that. Wait until you see the provisions he’s made to continue life in the aftermath of something like this.”


Twice during their stay in the cave Don and Patricia felt the ground shake and looked up anxiously for a few moments until the shaking stopped. They looked at one another and then back at the laptop screen each time. There was nothing they could do about it if one of the larger meteorites was to impact directly on the cave. Either the rock would absorb it or it wouldn’t.

Don had begun going outside the cabin when Patricia did, to check the monitors for the outside cameras occasionally during the night. Due to the heavy smoke in the area they didn’t leave the cave.

The twelfth night they checked three times and saw no streaks of light indicating meteors. They gave it a full two weeks though before they ventured outside the cave.

They didn’t stay long. The smoke from the local fires was still heavy and they would need to mask up if they were to go exploring. And Don wasn’t quite up to it, anyway. So they carefully studied the maps on the CDs and the paper maps that Trenton had furnished. Patricia wanted to check the several caches in the area to see if they had survived as well as the cave.

But the day finally came when Don assured Patricia that he was up to the venture, and the two geared up to go outside for a stay of perhaps several hours. Patricia helped Don get small pack ready for the excursion, and had one on, too, when she showed Don more of the cave. The main entrance and exit was down a passage that opened out into a fairly large room.

Don did a double take at the number of totes, containers, tanks, shelving units, and cabinets that covered almost every square foot of space in the area. There was one open area left, large enough for the Indian and sidecar and a ROKON two wheel drive bike, with room for a couple more bikes.

Patricia led Don over to what looked like a standard framed wall, without insulation. However, when she pulled on one end, the wall slid to one side. She opened it only enough for them to get outside.

Don turned around and looked at the door from the outside. It was formed and painted to look like the surrounding rock, overlaid with a great deal of vegetation, some growing up and some hanging down from above.

When they moved several steps away, Don had to really concentrate on seeing the door. And what made it more believable was the roughness of the ground in front of it. The Indian must have bounced around a bit when Patricia drove it into the cave, though he had no recollection of it.

As they moved further down, Don lost sight of the door completely. He knew if he was by himself he would have to hunt for it all along the face of the bluff. And there would be no reason for anyone to do so, if they were just traipsing through.

Though there was still some smoke in the area, it was light enough for their simple dusk masks to filter the particles out, though there was some smell of burned wood getting through. They didn’t have to go far before they saw the source of at least some of the smoke.

A ring of burned vegetation surrounded a six foot diameter crater. Though there were no visible flames, the thick layer of leaves and ground cover on the forest floor was still smoldering. Patricia went around the burned area, travelling just a bit further. Taking out the map she’d brought with her she studied the area, and then the map, finally pointing at a spot midway between two outcroppings of rock.

“There,” she said. “No sign of disturbance.”

Don only nodded. He was already beginning to feel the strain on his leg from the walk on uneven ground. Patricia kept an eye on him without him realizing it and cut the trip a bit shorter than she’d intended to get Don back to the cave so he could rest. She didn’t bother trying to convince him that she could check the rest of the caches by herself. Things could wait another day.

Copyright 2010

 

Cosmic Buckshot - Chapter 6

In all, it took a week to check out the entire property that Trenton had owned, that was now Patricia’s. The cave wasn’t in the center of it, but it was close. The two found six more craters on the property, only one as large as the first. Most of the underbrush was burned away in several areas, leaving many scorched, but living trees still standing. There were some areas that had burned everything to the ground, but only a few small patches.

One of the guerilla gardens of self-propagating food plants located in areas of the forest had burned, but the other three were still in good shape.

Finally, knowing the extent of the damage to the property, Don brought up going after Patricia’s BMW and taking a look around the rest of the area.

“You think it’s still there?” Patricia asked. “I’d pretty much written it off. I have the ROKON I can use.”

“I think we should check. There could be some other things there we can salvage.”

“You picked up that idea quickly from your reading,” Patricia said with a smile. Hard facts weren’t the only things on Trenton’s CDs. There were several containing PAW fiction stories that had caught Don’s interest. He was reading one of them when he wasn’t busy doing something else.

“Well… It sounds like a good idea,” Don said sheepishly.

“Good enough to check out,” Patricia suddenly replied. “I really would like to get the BMW back. It’s a good bike. Okay. We’ll go tomorrow if it isn’t raining.”

They’d received their first rainfall since the bombardment the day before, just as they returned to the cave from one of the exploration trips. It had cleared some of the smoke. It had been a very cold rain, for mid August, bringing Patricia’s fears of the return of a mini ice age due to the huge amount of smoke that had been carried high into the atmosphere from the sometimes massive fires caused by the bombardment.

But the rain was a short one and it was a clear day the next morning when the two checked. Though clear was a relative word. There was a thick haze high in the atmosphere, causing an uncomfortable looking orange-yellow cast to the sunlight. Don let Patricia get the Indian out of the cave and down onto the smoother forest floor before he climbed into the sidecar.

They both had daypacks, and their weapons. Patricia wore her pistol and had the Carbine slung over her back. The Garand was in the scabbard on the Indian, and Don carried the Thompson in his hands for immediate use.

Don was surprised at how close they’d been to Trenton’s property when the attack took place. It was only a few miles away as the crow flies, but quite a bit longer than that on the roads. There was a river and some very hilly land between them.

Don could tell that Patricia was tensing up suddenly. “Must be close,” he thought. Out loud he said, “You want to stop here and let me go up and take a look?”

Patricia shook her helmeted head. “No,” came through the radio, and Patricia increased speed just a little bit. Patricia might have had an idea of what they would find. It might have been what had made her hesitate.

The scene caught Don by surprise. A meteorite had impacted on the edge of the road at the far edge of the clearing where the battle took place. A couple of the downed bikes had been destroyed and, from the looks of it, a couple of the bodies had been in the zone, too. Don felt himself turn green as his stomach churned at the sight.

He’d not thought about the bodies, assuming the other bikers would have done something about their friends. Not so. There were bodies… well, pieces of bodies scorched from the fire caused by the meteorite strewn here and there. The wild animals had been at them now for weeks and there wasn’t much left except remnants inside pieces of clothing.

Don barely managed not to launch his breakfast as he climbed slowly out of the sidecar. Apparently the other bikers hadn’t even come back to reclaim the useable bikes or the weapons of the dead ones.

Slowly, wishing they’d brought respirators, Don helped Patricia gather up useful items from the grisly remains. The two went over the five relatively undamaged motorcycles and decided to try and get them back to the cave. It was only then that Patricia walked over to the BMW.

She sighed. There were half a dozen holes and nicks in the metal caused by bullets when the bikers had targeted her. But upon closer inspection, Patricia realized that nothing critical had been holed. Don helped her get the bike back up on its stand and she straddled it. To both their amazement, it started right up.

Patricia looked over at Don and grinned. “Okay. I owe you one. I really had given up on this thing. I knew it had taken some hits.”

“Okay. Let’s load the sidecar with the stuff we collected, and get back to the cave. We should be able to do one more trip to get one of the bikes.”

Patricia nodded and shut off the BMW. It was the work of only a few minutes to load the sidecar and for Don to get on it and get it started. Patricia got back on the BMW and led the way toward the cave. They both kept a sharp eye on the road in front and behind them.

Over the next two days Don and Patricia moved four of the five gang members’ bikes, two to the cave and two to a hiding spot some distance from it. When they went after the fifth bike Don pulled up the Indian up short. The fifth bike was nowhere in sight. Even one of the badly damaged bikes they’d not messed with was gone. What was in sight was a piece of cardboard wedged in the other bad bike. Marked in red lettering were the words, “You Are Dead!”

Patricia, in the sidecar, gripped the M1 Carbine tightly, her head swiveling around constantly. “Let’s get out of here!” she said into the radio.

Don wasted no time getting the Indian turned around and headed back up the road, his shoulders humped, expecting a shot between them at any second. But none came and Don pulled over and stopped well before getting to the turnoff to Trenton’s property.

“What do you think? Should we set up an ambush? In case they were watching and are tracking us?”

“I don’t think it will work again,” Patricia said. “But what we may need to do is take the Indiana to the other side of the property, all the way around, and leave it. Hike the rest of the way in to the cave. We’ve got the other two bikes we can use to scout out the Indian’s location. Don’t want to risk the BMW.”

“Okay. You’d better drive. You know where we’re going.”

The two switched positions, and once again Don rode the sidecar with the Thompson in his hands. It was a rough ride and Don was glad when Patricia brought the bike to a stop near a huge old tree growing beside one of the three creeks on the property.

“Shanks’ Mare from here,” Patricia said when she shut off the Indian. Both removed their helmets and listened for some time, trying to discern if there was anyone tailing them. They heard nothing, so turned and began the hike back to the cave.

After entering the cave when they reached it, the two ate a slow meal before getting ready to go back to where they’d left the Indian. They left the cave and hiked over to get the two gang bikes they’d hidden. They were far from ideal in the forest, but they gave Don and Patricia more mobility than being afoot.

Since they were quite a bit louder than their own bikes, the two stopped well away from the Indian. A chill rain was muting the sounds some, but not enough to ride up to the other bike without being heard.

Patricia lifted the visor of her helmet and Don did the same. “Now,” she said, “if they did follow us, they’ll be staking out the Indian to see if we come back for it. Ambush us like we did them. So we’re going to have to be very careful as we look for them, because they’ll be watching.”

Don nodded. “Okay.” He let Patricia lead the way toward the Indian’s hiding place.

It came as a great surprise when they got relatively close and heard loud talking coming from the spot on the creek where the big tree grew. Crouching low, guns at the ready, Patricia led Don closer. He kept a constant watch behind them as they moved forward.

It was a little bizarre, Don thought, when he saw the four men. They had a campfire going, with tarps up to protect it and themselves from the cold rain. All were armed to the teeth, keeping a sharp lookout all around. But they were also passing around a bottle of whiskey.

“You think there are more out here?” Don whispered into the helmet radio.

“Could be, but I have my doubts. But still… There could be. Let’s wait and watch for a bit longer before we do anything.”

Each took up a watch position a few feet from the other and watched both the small camp of bikers and all around them in the forest. After two long hours in the cold rain, as it was starting to get dark, one of the bikers stood up and stepped out from under the tarp that had sheltered him.

Don and Patricia both got a good look at him. It was the leader of the gang, but horribly disfigured around his face. It looked as if someone had held the right side of his face in an open flame. It still looked raw, the beard burned off.

Her breath hissed through Patricia’s teeth when she drew a deep one at the sight. She crouched down even more when the man looked out into the forest, fortunately away from them, and shouted. “I know you’re out there, Woman! I can smell you! You hear me? You and that pretty boy are going to die! You know it and I know it! So make it easy on all of us and come on out. We’ll make it quick when we kill you!”

The other bikers laughed and the leader gave them a look and sharp word and they stifled their laughter.

“Every day you make me wait, Woman, the worse it will be for you! You hear me? You burned me, Woman! I’m going to burn you!” He looked over at his men and said, in a normal tone of voice, “Let’s go. I ain’t staying out in this stinking rain tonight.”

Don and Patricia stayed where they were as the bikers got on their bikes and rode away. Even then the pair waited. And sure enough, two more men appeared on motorcycles, these not the big, heavy choppers, but light, maneuverable off-road bikes. It was difficult to see them, but the bikes were much louder even than the gang’s bikes Don and Patricia were using.

The sound of the two off-road bikes faded away and Don and Patricia finally stood up. “What do you think?” Don asked, keeping his voice down. “Take the Indian, or leave it for bait?”

“I don’t think he’ll come back and wait again. He’ll be actively looking, or I miss my guess. Let’s take the Indian and one of the other bikes back. We’ll leave one where it’s at, in case we need it. Those two dirt bikes have me worried. I can probably stay away from them on the BMW. But the Indian would be a sitting duck.”

Don nodded. He got on the Indian and started it up. Patricia rode the sidecar to where the two choppers were and transferred to one of them. She took the lead in the darkness, since she had bright headlights on chopper and Don only had the blackout lights on the Indian.

Both were exhausted when they arrived back at the cave. They put away the bikes, ate a quick meal and went to bed. The next morning the two discussed a plan that Patricia had come up with during the night.

At least Patricia tried discussing it. Don was adamantly set against it. Patricia intended to make herself visible to the bikers and then lead them into another ambush set up by Don.

“It is too big of a risk,” Don said emphatically. “You could go down before you get to the ambush point. Those dirt bikes could catch you and get you stopped. A lucky shot hit you. I might miss and we’d be overwhelmed. I just don’t like it, Patricia.”

More than a little annoyed, Patricia asked Don, “Well, do you have a better plan?”

“Yes, I do. I go hunting. Alone.”

Patricia was shaking her head. “No way I’m letting you out there alone, in the condition you’re in.”

“I can handle it.”

“Maybe. But it is too big of a risk.”

“Then we come up with another plan,” Don said in a determined voice. They discussed possibilities over breakfast.

“What is the one thing they wouldn’t dream that we’d do?” Don finally asked.

Patricia chuckled. “Head on attack on the open road. That would be crazy.”

Don just looked at her.

“Did you hear me? It’s a crazy idea.”

“Yeah. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I say we combine the two plans. Me on the Indian getting them riled up and chasing me. I lead them into your ambush.”

“But you said that was too dangerous,” Patricia protested.

“It is for you to be the bait. It isn’t for me to be.”

“Kind of chauvinistic, don’t you think?” Patricia asked.

“Perhaps. But it is the only way I’m going to agree to an ambush.”

Patricia was silent for a long time. “Okay. But let me think about this some more before we commit.”

Don nodded. Patricia got up and left the cabin. Don was tempted to follow her, but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead, he cleaned up after breakfast and then took a short nap to rest his leg. The other two wounds were minor now. Only the through-and-through in his thigh was still bothering him much.

Two days later Patricia gave in and decided to go along with Don’s new plan. “It’s probably good we’ve waited,” Don said. “They’ll be livid that they haven’t been able to find you. Hopefully it will make them careless.”

“Let’s hope so. I’m still doing this under protest.”

“Noted,” Don replied.

They set about getting ready. They serviced and fueled the bikes, loaded up magazines, and prepared themselves mentally for what could be a terrible mistake in tactics. But they were committed to getting the weight of knowing someone was gunning for them off their back.

Easing out of the cave when there was just enough light to see by, the two took the back way toward where they’d observed the gang before. Going by the spot where they’d left the other biker gang bike they discovered it was gone. In its place was a much the worse for wear bike.

“They’ve been back,” Don whispered into the radio.

Patricia’s helmeted head bobbed. They were both looking around carefully. “I can find the way to the back road,” Don finally said. “Lay back and get ready to lay down some fire if I run into them before we’re ready.”

Again Patricia nodded. She had the Thompson in the gun rack of the BMW and the musette bag of magazines slung over one shoulder. Don had her M1 Carbine with a 30-round magazine, the two whippets, and two Colt .45s on him.

Patricia waited for him to advance to just before she would lose sight of him and then restarted the bike to follow him. Don got off the track slightly, but managed to get to the back road without incident. He turned the Indian up the road to get to the main road.

Cruising slowly, Don kept his eyes open for a potential ambush or the sudden appearance on the road of the gang. They had passed the site of the first ambush and Don was considering turning around and going back to try another day when he went around a bend in the highway and found himself in the middle of the biker group.




Cosmic Buckshot - Chapter 7

Don reacted more quickly that he thought possible. The left side whippet was up and thundering before he really even thought about it. The gang was spread across the entire road surface, riding abreast. The first shotgun blast hit the man directly in front of Don. The bike swerved and Don steered the Indian through the gap, pointing the whippet straight out to his left and shot another biker, this one on one of the dirt bikes.

It was pointblank range and man and bike went over instantly. Don gunned the Indian and kept going, tossing the third round from the whippet over his shoulder. He was finally telling Patricia, through the radio, to get off the road and hide until he could get the gang headed back toward her for the ambush.

The rest of the gang was turning their bikes around and headed after Don. He knew the choppers would catch him fairly quickly, even at the highest speed the Indian could do. But he wasn’t wanting to get away from them, anyway. He wanted the situation ended.

At the next wide bend in the road Don slammed on the brakes of the Indian and got it turned around. He was up to a pretty good speed when he went around the bend again, the second whippet in his left hand.

Two blasts had two more bikers and bikes down, but he missed the scarred gang leader both times. Again a shot over his shoulder with the third barrel of the second whippet and Don holstered it.

He picked up the speed and pulled away. But not before he took a round down low on his back. Another one hit the rear tire of the Indian and Don knew he was doomed. If the bullet didn’t kill him, the crash would.

But the Indian was as tough as its reputation. Don kept it, straight… well… mostly straight, as he brought it to a stop in the middle of the road. Ignoring the fire like pain in his back, Don grabbed the M1 Carbine and dropped to the pavement. He had the gun up and ready from the prone position when the bikes came around the last bend. They were going much more cautiously this time.

Don seemed to have all the time in the world to trigger shot after shot at the bikers. He was totally unaware of the rattle of the Thompson coming from behind him. All he saw was bikes and bikers going down one after the other.

Don sighed in relief when he saw the gang leader go down hard, tumbling along the ground with the big chopped Harley tumbling with him, straight toward Don’s position. Don put another bullet into the mass of metal and flesh before he passed out, assuming he was a dead man.

He came to wondering where he was and why he hurt so much. He finally remembered what had happened and lifted his head. There was carnage in front of him and beside him. It was an effort to turn his head enough to look behind him.

Don thought he would pass out again when he saw Patricia prone, half on the pavement and half on the shoulder of the road. “Oh, no!” he muttered, the loudest sound he could make. It was with supreme effort of will that Don got to his feet, the wound in his back a series of knifing pains.

It was a slow shuffle, but Don got to Patricia. He knelt down beside her. He saw blood on the ground beside her helmet. Then saw the hole in her helmet. It was just an inch from the bullet scar obtained in the first fight. It was without much hope that he eased Patricia’s helmet off her head. A deformed bullet fell out.

“Patricia?” he called, checking her head for injuries. He found one. A deep crease above her right ear. The bullet had bored a hole in the helmet, grazed Patricia, and then been stopped by the other side of the helmet.

Don watched carefully. She was breathing, at least, Don realized. Gathering his strength, Don got back to his feet and staggered back toward the carnage on the highway. It was more agony, but Don gathered up all the weapons, using one once to finish the job on one of the bikers that was beyond helping anyway. He piled them off the road in the edge of the woods.

It was just too much for him to do anything with the bikes or the bodies. He went back to Patricia and knelt once again. He managed to get her gathered up in his arms and then stand up. He nearly dropped her twice on the way to the Indian, but managed to get her in the sidecar before he passed out again.

This time when he came to, he wasted no time getting on the Indian. It was exceedingly painful to get the bike started, but he did. He got the bike in gear and started down the road slowly. He weaved dramatically as he nearly passed out several times. Don used the shortest route to the cave.

At that, nearly an hour passed before he got the Indian up close to the door of the cave. It took almost the last of his energy to get Patricia inside the cave and on a bunk in the cabin. The last of his energy was spent getting the Indian inside and the cave door closed again. Unable to make it back to the cabin, Don just sat down and leaned back against the sidecar of the Indian. His last thought was how badly he’d trashed the rear tire of the bike driving it all this way flat.


Patricia groaned and rolled over in the bunk, almost falling out of it. “Don?” she called. “He must have got me here. But I thought he was dead… Thought I was dead…” Patricia’s right hand went to her head and she groaned loudly when she touched the dried blood in her hair and the gash in her scalp.

She took internal inventory and decided the head wound was the only thing wrong with her. Patricia rolled off the bunk and then climbed to her feet to go looking for Don. She couldn’t find him in the cabin. With her head spinning she had to sit down for long minutes before leaving the cabin in search of Don.

She found him slumped over by the Indian. Patricia was sure he was dead when he made no response when she touched him. But when she tried to straighten him up so she could check his eyes and pulse he groaned in pain. Patricia sighed in relief. “Don! Don! Can you hear me?”

Seeing him trying to focus his eyes and look at her, she held up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Patricia could see the concentration on his face as Don focused. “Uh… three… I think… Quit moving them around.” And then another groan.

“I need to get you in the cabin and into a bunk. Can you help me?” Patricia asked, hating to do it.

Leaning heavily on Patricia, which didn’t help her headache any, Don staggered toward the cabin, up the three steps and then inside. He didn’t remember at all making it to the bunk, but with Patricia’s help, he did.

With him out of it again, Patricia checked him over for wounds again, finding the entrance hole in his lower back, but no signs of an exit. There wasn’t anything she could do for him, except treat the wound and bandage it. Trenton had stocked a serious medical kit, including some surgical instruments and stitching materials, but she wasn’t up to trying to get the bullet out. At least not at the moment.

Patricia watched over Don for a week, as he gained strength gradually. He slept mostly, waking only long enough to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom with Patricia’s help. But finally Don got up on his own and was able to move around in the cabin without assistance.

He hated seeing the bandage on Patricia’s head, feeling like it was his fault she had been wounded. Patricia finally got him to stop apologizing and kept feeding him a diet heavy on protein and liquids.

He still had a great deal of pain, depending on how he moved, but was able to tend to himself after three weeks. Don finally talked Patricia into letting him go outside to take a quick look around. There was a heavy snow falling. And it was a bit dingy with smoke particles.

“Looks like a Cosmic Shotgun Blast Winter has set in,” Don said without smiling.

“I know. We’re okay for a long time,” Patricia said. “But I’d like to get you in to see a doctor about your back. That bullet could shift…” Patricia bit her lower lip. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Don looked at her for shocked seconds. “I feel the same way. When I saw that blood and your head… I thought I’d lost you.”

“Well, we’re okay for the moment. And, by the way, there are some people out there. Good people from the sound of it,” Patricia said. “I’ve been monitoring the Amateur and Shortwave bands and finally started getting some signals.

“It is about what we discussed. Billions dead. Modern infrastructure pretty much gone. But the survivors are pulling together and making things work again.”

Don winced when pain lanced through his back. “You think we can change out one of the tires from the other bikes to fit the Indian? I think going in to see a doctor would be a good idea.”

That became the project for the next several days. Patricia had to do most of the work, but she was a good hand with a wrench and had plenty of experience helping her Grandfather over the years.

With the Indian usable again, the two bundled up and headed for the nearest town with a doctor during a light snow. It was a miserable trip, but from what the doctor said after operating on Don by the light of crank up flashlights, it was more than worth it. “One wrong move and he’d have cut an artery. He’s lucky he lived with it until you got him in here. Which, how exactly did you do that?”

Patricia had to show Dr. Bennet the Indian and sidecar. It was the talk of the small town. As was the knowledge that the small group of bikers were no longer a threat to the town. They that had been harassing them since their arrival in the area, until Don and Patricia took them out of the picture.

Resources were scarce in the small town and Don and Patricia stayed only as long as the doctor could keep Don in the recovery bed. That was only a few days. At that, they left a generous amount of food supplies with Dr. Bennet to distribute, over and above what he was charging them.

It was a healthy Don that went back the next spring with Patricia to lend a hand to getting the remaining residents of the town organized and productive. Don had studied Trenton’s collection of information and was ready to be a part of the community. He was also more than ready to marry Patricia. She’d said yes on Valentine’s Day, but the weather had been too severe to risk a trip into town.

Don’s most important job was as area mail carrier. Though there wasn’t all that much actual paper mail, there were a lot of ‘Could you talk to…?’, ‘Could you check on…?’, and ‘Would you drop off (or pick up) this, that, or the other?’ If it would fit in the sidecar, Don hauled it, saving the fuel larger vehicles would use, and saving them from the terrible roads as time and weather continued the destruction of the impact affected transportation system.

Patricia’s time was spent mostly as teacher and librarian for the community. Trenton’s collection of information was shared with people. Patricia was careful to keep everything locked away for safety, allowing only the use of the computer and books in the library itself.

For a small fee, things could be printed out or copied. Paper was precious, and computer paper fetched a real premium in food and gasoline from Don and Patricia. They also took both paper and gasoline for their services, as well as fresh foods, to stretch Trenton’s Long Term Storage Foods stacked head high along several of the walls in the cave.

And for the lack of anyone with more experience in town, Don was ‘volunteered’ to be the town’s defensive coordinator. That came in the second year of the PAW, after Don and Patricia had taken a trip back to LA with a truck to get the rest of their things, and those things of Trenton’s they had needed to leave behind.

Don had several things going for him, though he was none too thrilled with the idea. He knew Patricia would probably make a better town guard commander, but with her pregnant, it wasn’t going to happen. Don had been a part of defeating the MZB gang. He had several military style weapons, between those taken from the bikers and those Trenton had stockpiled. And he owned the eight usable motorcycles rebuilt from the biker’s motorcycles that had been damaged in the fight.

The way the residents of the town treated Don amused Patricia, and she was one of the main instigators in him being ‘volunteered’ for the duty. She wasn’t quite as amused to be made mayor of the town, for much the same reasons, and similar ones, that had prompted Don being asked to be Guard Commander.

For an outsider to be asked was quite an honor. It turned out that Patricia was considered family, and through her, Don was. It was some time before they learned that Trenton had been a remote supporter of the town, having invested money, and most of his vacation time, in the community for years before the Cosmic Buckshot Disaster occurred.

Under their joint leadership, the town survived for years, losing viability as a town as the massive die-off of humans continued, with the severe winters, lack of modern medical care and medications, and difficulty of long range transportation taking their toll on the town.

So it came down to Don and Patricia’s son and daughter to pack up the remaining locals and convoy them to the nearest viable town, taking with them not only the people and their hardware, but the attitude and strength their parents had instilled in them from an early age.



End ********

Copyright 2010
Jerry D Young

 

Another outstanding story. Glad you made the hack an Indian instead of a Ural.

 

man jerry you just don't let up w/ the kick a** writing do ya lol great job!

 

Another great one,Jerry. Thanks.

 

Very nice story,thanks Jerry.

 

Thanks Jerry I enjoyed the new idea of cosmic buckshot.
As always your talent is appreciated.

 

Thanks for another great story Jerry. I think this is my favorite!

 

A great read as always!

 

Ah yes, a reliable bike, a good looking, intelligent woman, a Thompson, and a cave full of goodies!
What more could a man ask for!!!
Thanks for another great story, please, keep them coming.

 

Just thought I would scan it but couldn't stop reading.Great!

 

Thanks Jerry!! Great read.

 

Another winner. Thank you.

 

thanks for this and all of your stories, so much info

 

One of your best Thanks

 

I always suspected that you were a converted MZB (mutant zombie biker)!

 

This one really had a different twist.
Good story, as usual...Many thanks!!

 

Looked the 344 up and here is a link to pictures...Really sharp bike!!

http://www.vintagebike.co.uk/Bike Directories/Indian Bikes/pages/Indian-Chief-344-44.html

 

Great story hun.......i actually cried while reading this one.........hitts close to home !

 

Great story, as always... :thumb:

 

Great story! Could not stop reading.

 

It's nice to read an EOTWAWKI story that isn't caused by one world gov't, financial collapse or some other man made political cause. That's great writing! I always look for the JDY stuff! Keep it up!

 

out of all the stories i found floating around here.. this one i completely missed! just happened to run by it in the book section looking for something else!

Glad i found it for sure though! hah.

keep up the good work my friend.

 

Yet another excellent story Jerry! Keep them coming!