An Old Man And His Axe: A Prepper fiction book of survival in an EMP grid down post apocalyptic world (Old Preppers Die Hard 1) (2 page)

He didn’t know why, but he had gone outdoors and looked towards the sky for some kind of sign before shrugging off such a notion of seeing an aurora and trying to start his car then tune in his radio. When nothing but static greeted his ears after a channel  search he raised his eyes to heaven again and thought “Ah Hell” before slinking dejectedly back in the house looking at the ground sadly. His mind clouded with worry about what he knew was ultimately coming. He knew some kind of EMP event was occurring and he had anticipated its consequences for years. This was no game or hobby now, a bit of excitement but mostly dread came over him at the realization it was only him and his preps against the world now.

He only had one brother for family but he lived far distant in another state. Farley’s phone worked because he had an old model but his brother had overlooked that particular prep in order to have the latest in convenience and technology of remote phones so his did not work without electricity. No way to get in touch with him now and no other preparedness minded folks in town he wanted to call so he just hunkered down and started playing in his preps and turning the apartment into his own version of prepper central.

He was now officially his own Chief Chaos officer and he set his place up to ride out the fall of society as best he could. He wasn’t worried that everyone would go bonkers or turn into zombies as soon as the news was out because he had ridden many a hurricanes aftermath out before and so had his neighbors; they were pretty resilient when it came to disasters.

Most people living in the city would be fine for weeks and they actually became better people and helped each other out after such a disaster. This gig was a little different though. No National Guard show of force or convoys bringing in relief supplies so it probably would get real interesting around here, he decided, and that’s when the first thoughts of bugging out had come to his mind.

He had tried to use some of this early warning or wisdom he had to think about doing a run to Wal-Mart to see if they were trying to operate after the power loss but blew it off as probably a fruitless idea. No, he was stuck where he was at with what he had on hand and that was going to be it for how long? Forever? Farley shuddered at the thought and then dismissed it optimistically.

Over the coming weeks as he scraped by, Farley knew hell and misery was going on outside his door but he just shut himself in after the first two weeks and tried not to warp his mind further by over-listening to the news on the radio. Saturating yourself in that 24 hours a day can cause a lot of harm to your psyche; it was particularly a problem in children he remembered, and grimaced at the thought of all the households that were doing exactly that, figuring what else do you do while waiting to be rescued or watching the chaos unfold but listen to the news?

Farley himself, however, was bored to death with the monotony of things but he busied himself with packing and repacking his gear getting ready for this dang fool bug out mission he was going on and kept his head down and away from extra problems that might cause his demise before he even ventured out.

He did a lot of map work in his constant plotting and scheming, looking at direct routes and reviewing alternate routes trying to guess and second guess where he might go and how in the world he would get there. One big question mark in planning his trip was that he didn’t understand how the bazillion miles of power lines and transformers would affect his trip.

Lines were down everywhere and were lying in the road in some places having been blown or burnt off transformers, while in other areas they looked normal. Substations, he noted, usually received the brunt of the damage and the smoke of them burning permeated the air with ozone and burnt insulation smell for days. The fire department fought many a valiant fight saving bits of the city until the exhausted workers and volunteers wore out. Many folks became homeless the first days from fires and they soon overwhelmed what little bit of help or charity that was still available from the preexisting infrastructure.

It was the luck of the draw and how far off you were located from such conflagrations of smoke and despair that set the tone for your own beginning of these end times and Farley considered himself lucky that he and his preps hadn’t gotten burned up yet. Whenever the yahoos  started burning down their neighborhoods with unattended or unsafe cooking fires or did something else really stupid like they always did burning this or that in protest that they weren’t getting their entitlements, the cities in America would soon be smoking hulks from the uncontrolled fires and the raging firestorms they would cause.

Farley couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that fact. Yes, he had heard of millions of acres burned in wild fires and he had heard of the great fires in history that had devastated cities like San Francisco but nothing like the grand scale of firestorms going on nationwide now.

San Francisco was toast by the way, as well as most of California was, devastated from the quakes. The sky’s horizon around him was a constant red-black as fires burned out of control miles away. Reports of this or that major cities fires or vast woodlands burning uncontrollably droned on and on in travel advisories and alerts on the emergency broadcast channels to the extent that he decided that hell was now just part of living and he didn’t have any fireproof suit to escape it.

He had him, his preps and what passed for a semi-reliable bug out mobile with a half tank of gas to get the hell out of dodge and go somewhere safer for the moment but he had no idea what he would face on his way or experience once he arrived. The main thing was he didn’t want to get caught somewhere out of gas and trying to out run a fire on foot so the plan was to travel as close to water as he could and hope he didn’t get turned around too many times.

Distant memories of traveling some roads and the possible hazards on them plagued him. His normal course of travel for going to the lake traveled right across a small reservoir dam. As far as Farley knew, Alabama had only been hit with some minor quakes and that road might be o.k. but on the other hand it worried him and he found a detour around it but that detour had its own detours and now he was pretty much disoriented and confused.

That he had his preps and mostly good health to depend on he counted as a blessing and didn’t spend much of anytime feeling sorry for himself. He was better off than a lot of folks he figured and spending his youth hunting and fishing would give him some advantages but not a lot in surviving now. The main thing he decided that was in his favor is that he had experience gained from age and patience from facing life’s adversity before and keeping a positive outlook. He had a plan, he had knowledge to see it through and if he just could get a bit of luck on his side then maybe he might just make it a few more winters. Despair was not normally a part of his vocabulary and he sure didn’t need to let his guard down and allow any thoughts of ever giving up creep in. Hell, he thought optimistically, this is the biggest adventure he would ever go on and he planned on making the best of it to the best of his ability.

He wasn’t being overly optimistic, nor was he kidding himself in any way about the hazards and dangers he would be soon facing, he knew it was going to be brutal. He knew he could well die before 2 weeks were even out but he was boyishly thrilled at the prospect of utilizing old skills and new knowledge to overcome what he foresaw as a future.

“Shout at the Devil, you old Farley, you!  Time to piss on the fire, howl at the moon and get this show on down the road. Hot damn, time to get ready for tomorrow while living it today!” He said to himself before opening his last hot can of beer and starting to organize his pack one more time with a different outlook on coming back after the supplies he was leaving. 

“Man, I am going to be stove up as hell by the time I just get to the lake trying to hump this little bit of equipment.  I need to be moving slow, pacing myself and eating well to even get that next 8 or so miles under my belt so just that part will take me a few days and I will still be pushing it. Let’s see that first 10 miles I might be able to hike in a day, no, break it into two days and don’t kill myself while I am trying to get used to this existence. Take yourself two days buddy and break in the boots and the body.” Farley thought sagely to himself.

He was wearing his well worn-in construction style cowboy boots with a heavy open tread but that new pair of low quarter hiking boots would be better on slippery rocks, etc., down by the lake. He damn sure wasn’t going to try breaking them in on a road march but decided they would go along for the journey in his pack anyway. He had toted a second pair of military issue combat boots in his pack as required by military wisdom when he was in the Army and he had cursed the extra weight then but just about now it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Hell, at least he didn’t have to carry a pair of rubber snow boots to go over them also now. Another set of clothes and 2 pairs of extra underwear and socks, ah add another shirt, a beachy looking civilian one just for the hell of it. He might want to look spiffy someday or just do the blend in vacationer thing. Blue jeans and OD long sleeve shirts was his outdoor camping thing usually but he had CAMO BDU’s (Battle dress uniform) in his gear. He also had civilian camo or what he called his deer hunting suits to consider, hell I bet half the world will be wearing that crap these days.” Farley thought thinking about deer hunting season and the folks that wandered in his Barbecue Joint hang out at this time of the year made it look like a RealTree camo convention.

“Gray man hell, you prepper folks worried about appearances, you should blend in with what folks are wearing or combinations thereof. O.k., no sense me going around full battle rattle looking like I am in the militia, I guess, and standing out though. Bad enough I am going full web gear.” Farley thought thinking of his LBE or military load bearing equipment. He knew the value in that stuff no matter how heavy or awkward it could be.

His field gear for this day was a pared down version of what he used to wear in the military and it was not something he could easily put in his pack or forget about its advantage in weight distribution when worn on the body. He had read a book way back when, called the Rural Ranger, that described a rig that he had taken mental notes on and he had customized them to meet his own needs that could sustain him all by itself if he lost his main pack or if he was just doing a lightweight day hike somewhere.

He had the normal web pistol belt with suspenders as the base to build off of. The thick nylon  belt splayed the clip on his little pistol holster if he decided to wear it that way but he usually just left it in his pocket or on his regular pants leather belt holding up his jeans anyway. Main reason he wore it there was that he dumped the web gear every chance he got when resting or doing camp chores because of its weight and even though it was old style Army and open in construction, it was still hot to wear.

He had two one-quart canteen pouches on it. One pouch held water the other carried survival tabs which in a pinch could provide him with two weeks’ worth of food. On the back of his belt he had a military poncho rolled and folded over for ready access secured with the old military boot blousing rubbers he used to wear in the service to hike his highly starched pants up over his jump boots in the old uniform of the day.

A butt pack was affixed to his rig; however, it was empty for now and probably would remain so. Weight was his enemy and every single ounce added counted, o.k., just for the hell of it he would add a couple entrée only MRE’s to it for mental comfort but that was it!

Damn, sure won’t be comfortable a mile or two down the road bouncing against his ass but he could take solace in eating it and lightening his load. Next was his ammo pouch which contained a plastic box of 100 rounds of CCI mini mag 22 and 50 rounds of .380 and an extra clip for the rifle and his pistol.

He had an AK magazine pouch with a carefully assembled survival kit in it that broke his heart to remove but he had his roly bag one in his pack. He did take a few items out of it and added them to his survival vest that he customarily wore at times and winced at the thought that thing was even too hot to put on today and would ride in or on his pack also for deployment later.

He had his battle bandage in a compass case on his suspenders and managed to stick in it some extra water purification tabs and a few extra fish hooks. A beautiful Stag handled knife set on his side topped off the ensemble but he attached an empty M16 magazine to the belt anyway in case he wanted to reconfigure and add more items later.

“Food, food, glorious food, just what in the hell is it that I am going to carry with me?” Farley said to himself thinking of all that wealth he was leaving behind. I could sit around here and eat like hell first but that is just delaying the inevitable. Speaking of which…” Farley thought and stuffed two small rolls of the cardboard-removed camping kind of toilet paper into his formerly empty magazine pouch on his belt.