Dark Days Rough Roads (6 page)

Next on the
agenda was making sure they were locked and loaded. His dad had an old H&R
.22 revolver he had gotten back during the riots in Detroit in 1967 and his mom
had a Ruger LC9 and S&W 40. The Smith was a Y2K purchase, the Ruger was
recent. They couldn’t handle a shotgun, so he worked them up a lightweight
AR15. Everything was loaded and good to go. Plenty of magazines were at the
ready. Enough lead down range and they should be able to hit what they pointed
the guns at. Both knew how to fire what was in the house.

There was
no time for a lot of chit chat; he told them he was heading out to get Kayla
and would try to swing back by on his way home. He was located about 10 miles
north of them, practically in a straight line, so it was convenient. He told
them to turn their ham radio on at 8:00 am and listen. Not to talk, but listen
and answer only if he asked a question or unless it was very important.

This
would keep them updated on his progress and he on their current situation.
Every two hours was the designated contact time and would help save on their
batteries. His rig was powering his radio so he was not worried too much about
leaving his on. Of course he would have to make sure he kept his truck battery
charged; there wouldn’t be any AAA service calls.

Haliday
explained that if any of the other kids showed up to make sure it was just them
and their families. He couldn’t insist on this enough; it wasn’t a Holiday Inn
he told them. They had sorted through her preps and calculated five months for
the 14 people who may show up. Not really a lot in all reality. They had
started in early ‘99 for Y2K and had rotated through, and then added what they
needed. Over the past years they managed to add quite a bit.

One of
his brothers actually worked at a survival store back then and sold everyone
who came in the store on the idea. Unfortunately, these days he fell into line
with the rest of the sheeple and dropped the whole idea. Just this past Father’s
Day, he was saying that he thought having two weeks of basics was enough for
most anything. Two weeks now would get you two weeks closer to starving around
the holidays. Haliday was disappointed with that.

Haliday
never talked to his brothers and sister about his readiness. Nothing but
ridicule would ensue and he wouldn’t have any part of it. His mom was different
and she would welcome the rest into the house to make the best of it. A niece
and nephew were welcome as well. They’d come in handy for labor, security and
whatever else needed to be done. The trade off was food supply. But strength in
groups was one of the popular sayings in readiness. Hopefully whoever showed up
would bring what they could.

A quick
set of goodbyes and wishing everyone the best of luck and he was out the door.
Heading back toward the truck, he had walked straight out to the street and
then toward the truck with his rifle in a low ready position. It was fairly
light outside now and he could see a couple people down the street come out of
their house. They were surprised to see him there, so he kept up the act. A
young boy with them came running up and said, “Mister, my dad wants to talk to
you.” Haliday rolled his eyes, mumbled a bit and said, “Fine.”

He stood
there and the guy was walking toward him. Oh ya, dress like the DHS, good idea
genius, he thought to himself. He carefully watched the man approach. “Excuse
me sir, what’s going on?”

“So far
as we can tell, it’s a regional terrorist attack and we’ve tracked some people
into this neighborhood, so I suggest you go home, lock your doors and wait it
out. We’ll be sending more agents and support in a few days, so hold out as
long as you can. In the meantime we are trying to hunt them down.”

He
guessed the guy bought into the story. He hoped so; fewer people out in the
chaos that was closing in fast enough. He got back in the truck and took off
through the neighborhood. He passed an old lady who just waved as he drove by.
She was putting an envelope in her mail box and raised the flag on the side of
the mail box. He started laughing out loud. Oh boy, that’s going to be one for
the story books. Lady, there isn’t enough postage to get that delivered right
now. In a few days, she’d probably try to call the postmaster and complain
about how it wasn’t picked up.

He pulled
back onto the main road and was heading west. Over in a nearby strip mall there
was a small Middle Eastern fruit market with a lot of goods under a tent
outside. People were lining up already. Mostly older Middle Eastern folks, a
few others as well and he could hear who he thought was the owner yelling at
them all.

“Stand in
line. I am taking only money. No credit cards. Do not buy it if you don’t have
cash.” Haliday shook his head. Cash was about as good as toilet paper right
now, but nobody knew it yet. How could they not? Nothing worked. Nothing. Did
they think it was going to magically just come back on or something?

He looked
at the 7-11 and it was closed. Haliday ran it down in his mind and laughed. He
figured other than the frozen drinks, there was about a year’s worth of junk
food. Candy bars, potato chips, gum, a few bags of jerky and some overpriced
canned food. Too bad the owner didn’t have sense to hide it all.

He
continued his trek westward. Same thing again and again, zigzagging through the
streets and dodging cars and the odd person walking the streets or sidewalk. It
was still early and he didn’t really expect to see many people out anyway. It
was a Wednesday and even though they should be working, no one except a few
would be going anywhere. He figured local markets or small shops like the fruit
market where the owners lived close by may open, but nothing else. No power, no
communications, no work.

He turned
the ham on to see if he could hear any information about what went down. There
seemed to be a lot of theories, but nothing official as far as he could tell.
He reached over and grabbed a large binder and flipped it open. This was his
map set for the route he was taking.

He had
printed and laminated each sheet and made notes about possible areas to stop,
areas to avoid, alternates to bypass trouble when—not if—he ran into it, water
holes and more. As he progressed, he would flip to the next page and continue
doing that until he got there. He put together another binder in reverse for
the return trip. He had made the trip four times before to get all of the info
logged.

Wading
through the suburban sprawl was time consuming. It was still early enough and
he hadn’t had any troubles other than the interested parties seeking info from
“the police”. He still doubted this plan, but so far he was pulling off the
scam. Reaching the more rural area just outside of the congested suburbs, he
popped up onto a small state highway running East and West and was able to pick
up some speed.

Even with
the area littered with the cars he could maintain almost 45mph, but the 70mph
limit would have been nicer. He looked down at the gas gauge and it was just
under a quarter of a tank. He looked at his binder on the map and found what he
wanted. He had a few spots picked out to stop at.

No doubt
he would make it there, but he was not sure what to expect when he arrived.
About 10 minutes later, he saw the sign. Ride Share 1 mile. It was essentially
a parking lot where folks parked and car pooled in state-owned vans to go to
work. With a lot of people around this area working 45 minutes to an hour away,
it was cheaper to pay the weekly fee than to pay for gas, and pay for parking
in the tight Downtown Lansing area. He wasn’t going there though; he would
split off and head south long before going near the state capitol.

He pulled
into the Ride Share lot and estimated about 45 to 50 cars in the lot. He staged
the truck toward the center of the lot, angled toward the exit. He didn’t want
to get caught in the lot or become blocked in and not be able to get the
vehicle out. He hadn’t seen anyone here or nearby.

He had
figured anyone near this lot had probably walked the couple miles to the little
nearby town to seek help. He placed it in park and looked at the time. 8:10
am—real good—he was late. He hadn’t heard them broadcast, which meant they were
listening to his instructions.

Keying
the mic, he spit out a quick sentence. “Kaybear and Bobily (his mom’s nickname
from her grandfather) all good on track and safe, reply one word.” He heard
Kayla respond “yes,” and his mom respond “yes.” Next he said two words only.
“Anything bad?” He received two “no’s” in response.

There
would be no chatter. This would deter anyone listening from trying to piece
together the plan or any other info. No designated route info given, no
locations of anyone, no time schedules to figure out or anything like that.
Haliday thought this was the safest way to go.

He
climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear passenger door. Off the
floorboard he grabbed a small plastic bag and a six gallon gas can generally
used for boating. He walked up to a pickup truck in the parking lot and placed
the gas can close underneath. He kept looking around and still saw no signs of
anyone. He unscrewed the top and set it aside. Out of the plastic bag he pulled
out a strange looking contraption he made just for this purpose.

Haliday
had taken one inch galvanized pipe and installed a ball valve faucet in the
middle. He used that to attach the hose to. One end of the pipe was ground down
at an angle and to a point. The other end was capped off. This was a quick and
effective method to pierce the tanks.

Haliday
placed the open end of the hose in the gas can and then placed the spike up
against the gas tank of the pickup truck. Using a small five pound hand sledge
a quick rap on the cap and it pierced the tank. He pulled out another plain
spike and popped a hole in the pickup’s tank near the top of the tank. The air
hole allowed the gas to flow smoothly after opening the ball valve and in about
two minutes the gas can was full.

The
height of the pickup’s tank and the low profile of the gas can let gravity do
the work perfectly. He pulled the spike out and crammed a cork in the hole. He
didn’t want gas spilling all over the place. He carried the gas can over to his
truck, attached a nozzle and dumped it in. About six minutes total.

He had
full gas cans stored in the back of the Tahoe and it should be enough to get
him there, but he wanted to save those for the time when he might not have this
luxury of draining someone else’s tank. Was it stealing? Absolutely. Did he
care? No. He doubted they would be coming back for their vehicles and by the
time they did the gas would most likely be bad anyway.

It was
not like he was taking food from someone. That was his justification. He moved
on and tapped another tank from an SUV. Same result, he would need two more to
fill the Tahoe. He hadn’t changed the tank to a higher capacity because he
didn’t want to modify anything under the body. He regretted this now.

One last
tank left to drain. It had been about 20 minutes when he approached the last
vehicle, a full size conversion van. He was about 20 feet away when the door
popped open and a guy in his late thirties jumped out. Haliday dropped
everything and drew down, ready to fire if he had to.

The guy
didn’t seem phased a bit and instead yelled at him. “Who the hell are you? Wait
a minute, you’re a damn Fed. What in the hell are you doing?” Haliday told him
to take it easy and keep his hands visible. This guy looked a little rough
around the edges and Haliday expected trouble.

“If I
don’t, what are you going to do, shoot me? Haliday just looked at him. “Hey
moron, I asked you what you were going to do about it?” Haliday’s response was
monotone and to the point. “Yes sir, I’m going to shoot you. It’ll be twice in
your chest and then once in the head. I’m just trying to decide if I’m going to
place your body in your van or let the animals eat your carcass.” Haliday
leveled the pistol at his chest, center mass.

“Damn
man, relax, ok.” The guy raised his hands up slightly and asked, “What do you
want me to do?” Haliday kept his bead on the guy and reached into his left
cargo pocket and pulled out a pair of heavy duty zip ties. Flex cuffs were too
expensive and these worked just as well. In the military, they used to keep
them coiled up in the top of their BDU caps while on road duty. Not that they
needed them that much, but it helped keep the caps in form during guard mount
inspection.

 He
tossed them over and told the guy to put one around his right wrist and cinch
it down. He told him to loop the other one through and then loop it around his
door handle. The guy started to complain and Haliday told him to knock it off,
he was doing him a favor. After the guy had attached himself to the door
handle, Haliday looked him over and everything looked fine.

He
holstered the pistol and walked over to the guy to make sure they were tight.
The guy turned toward Haliday, slipped his hand out of the cuff and reached out
and grabbed him. Haliday arm locked the guy and bent his wrist downwards
violently in a gooseneck, almost breaking it.

As the
man yelled out in pain, Haliday put him on the ground and into a prone position
where he wrenched his arm behind his back and pulled tight. The man continued
to yell in pain and Haliday tightened his grip even more. He then drew his
pistol and placed it on the man’s throat up against his jugular. “Keep it up
idiot and your jugular and esophagus become pink slime.”