Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (18 page)

I
t was almost noon when Bishop woke up, but he didn’t realize how late it was.
I sure am spending a lot of time in this bed these days
, he thought. He managed to get up without too much effort and made himself a cup of coffee using the grill and teapot. He was sipping the hot brew when he looked at his watch.
Oh shit
, he thought,
we have to get started
.

Terri was out by the street
, talking with some neighbors when he found her. She looked up as he approached and asked, “How is my hero feeling?”

“Just peachy keen.
Terri, I need to talk to the guys. It’s important.”

Terri replied in her best official tone,
“Talk to me, sir. I am your official block councilwoman. How may I help you?” she said with her eyebrows going up and down.

“Seriously
, Terri, those guys from last night are going to be back. For a while they will fume over the ass-kicking they took, and then will be back mad as hell. We need to be ready.”

“Bishop, don’t worry about it
. Our guys are taking turns down by the entrance. We organized shifts to keep watch. They even have a signal whistle.”

“They won’t come to the entrance
. They will come through the woods.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Terri, that’s what I would do if I were them. They know there are people here with guns and ammunition. They know they haven’t looted this street yet. We hurt them badly last night, so they’ll try a different way. Can you get all the guys together? We have a lot of work to do before it gets dark.”

“Sure. Where do you want them?”

“Ask them to meet by our garage.”

Bishop opened his garage door
. He searched in a cabinet for a bit and found what he was looking for. He went to his bedroom closet, filled a bag with shotgun shells, and then went back to the garage.

The neighborhood men started arriving one by one
. As soon as most of them were there, Bishop said, “Hey guys, thanks for coming over. I think the gentlemen who attacked us last night will be back, probably tonight. I know we have guards at the front now, but I don’t believe we will be attacked from that direction. I wouldn’t if I were them.”

“How do you think they will come
at us, Bishop?” someone asked.

“If I
were them, I would come in from the woods over there,” he said pointing. “I would scout the neighborhood and see the guys at the entrance. I would bypass the guards, work my way through the woods, and attack from a new direction.”

“Bishop, there is no way we can guard all of that ground all night
. How the hell are we supposed to cover the entire area?”

“I have an idea
that I think will work. We need an early warning system, and I’m pretty sure we can make one. Does anyone have fishing line at home?”

A couple of the men did, and ran off the get it
. Bishop pulled out a big piece of cardboard and a marker and started drawing a map of their street. He had just finished when the men returned with spools of fishing line.

Bishop
motioned them all close and pointed at the map. “Here is what I think we should do,” outlining his plan.

T
here were some questions and a few suggestions. Within an hour, everyone agreed on the strategy, and they proceeded installing the early warning system throughout the neighborhood.

The first step had been to
use a two-story house, one on each side of the street and as close to the middle of the neighborhood as possible. With agreement from the owners, they went to the second story of each house and noted on the map where the blind spots where.

Then they
hung the fishing line as tripwires outside. They used hammer and nails, small hooks and anything available to hang the lines and cover the blind spots. While one crew was rigging the wires, Bishop was showing others how to build the noisemakers. He had a bag of mousetraps that he had picked up a long time ago to use in the attic. He showed everyone where to drill a hole in the traps, glue a small nail and a shotgun shell to create a noisemaker. If the trap were sprung, the nail would hit the shotgun shell and go boom.

“Where the hell did you learn this shit
, Bishop?”

“I took a class once in the Army
.”

After they made the
booby traps, as one man called them, they went around the neighborhood carefully hooking them up to the fishing line tripwires. Bishop checked each one and thought it was the best they could do in such a short time. Everyone met back at his garage.

“I only have two night vision scopes
. After I mount them on the rifles, we will use one in each house on the second floor. They will only fit on my rifles, so I need the guys manning the watch towers to learn how they work.”

Everyone wanted to learn, so Bishop spent the next hour teaching the basics of an M4 carbine
. Some of the men had been in the military, and it came back to them quickly. “The M4 is just a newer version of the old M16,” he told them. “All of the controls are the same.”

It was starting to get dark, but Bishop had a few more things to go over.

“We won’t be able to tell exactly which tripwire they hit. All shotgun shells sound the same, and the noise will echo around the houses. The guys in the watchtowers will have the best chance of seeing or hearing which one was tripped. I have numbered them on the map. You guys should all do the same. If they go off, everyone should meet at this house, right here. This is our rally point.”

Bishop reached in his bag and pulled out a bunch of glow sticks. He handed each man one and said,
“If you hear a shot, break this stick, and hang it around your neck on the way to the rally point. It will keep a friend from shooting you. Once we have gathered at the rally point, we will take them off and go after the looters. “

“One more thing
– It’s possible that they will try an enveloping attack, or diversion. They may send two guys in here first and then a bigger group comes afterwards, from another direction. Don’t fall for it. Unless you are supposed to meet at the rally point, stay at your post and keep a sharp eye out. If the rally point gets in trouble, we will shoot a flare, and that will mean come and help.”

Everyone thought they were ready and knew their job
. Bishop was exhausted, so he readied all of his gear by the door and went to bed.

Bishop
had given each watchtower a Walkie Talkie and kept one as well. He sat it next to the bed and throughout the night, every hour, he heard, “One…ok,” and then, “Two…ok.”

He s
et his watch alarm for 3:00 a.m., and it started beeping. He thought it would be after three if they were coming at all. After his alarm sounded, he heard guards check in again over the radio. He had made some coffee before going to bed and warmed it up on the grill. He put on his load gear, slung up his rifle, and strolled out into the cool, early morning air. He keyed the radio and said, “This is Bishop – I am walking to the rally point, so don’t shoot me.”

He walked slowly down the street
, stopping to drink coffee, and listen at every block. He made it to the rally point and sat down on the curb to finish his coffee.

“One -
movement - I have four men with rifles walking through the woods. They are using flashlights. I could shoot them right now.”

Bishop keyed his radio, “One, don’t
shoot anybody. Until they come over our fence line, they are hunting deer for all we know.”

Bishop made sure his weapons were ready
and just waited. After a bit, he keyed his radio and said, “Two, how does it look over there?”

“Two. All clear here
, Bishop. Do you need help?”

“Two.
Thanks, but I got it. Keep watching.”

“O
kay.”

“One. Bishop, they are heading for our fence, right behind #44. I don’t think there is a booby trap there.”

Bishop wished he had made a map to bring with him. He was pretty sure that #44 was not covered, but was having trouble remembering exactly where each tripwire was. He also had a much bigger problem than his memory. He had planned on one of the booby traps being tripped, and the other guys rushing to the rally point. It now looked like the bad guys were going to cross the fence where there weren’t any alarms, and he had no way of calling the others for help. He was on his own.

Bishop keyed his radio as he headed for #4
6, right next door to where the strangers were headed. “One. I am heading to #46. I’m going by myself. Do you have a clean shot at where they are going to come through the fence?”

“No, there
’s a roofline blocking my view. They are almost to the fence. One guy just pulled out a crowbar, and they lifted another guy over the top of the fence. I saw his head pop up and look around.”

Bishop moved as fast as he could without making
a lot of noise. He decided to try and catch them coming through the fence where the opening would create what the T1 guys called a fatal funnel – essentially a narrow gap that channels people into a known opening where they can be dealt with. Bishop made it to #46, ran along the side of the house, and entered through a gate into the back yard.

A six-foot high privacy fence with a gate at the end separated the yards
of #44 and #46. He made it to the gate and gently pushed it open. He heard the crowbar prying wood off of the fence and in the moonlight saw a board popping off and falling into the grass. It wasn’t long before a second board went flying off. He saw a head peek through the opening and look around. A foot came through next, followed by a leg. Bishop raised his M4 and waited until the man’s hip was through the opening, then aimed for the fence where he knew the man’s upper torso would be. He fired three shots in rapid succession. He moved his aim slightly left, fired, and then sprayed three more rounds to the right. The 5.56 NATO rounds he was using were 69 grains each. At 2,850 feet per second, they went through the thin pine fence as if it were paper. He then charged the fence, but couldn’t see anything moving.

“One
- where are they?”

“Bishop, you hit three of them
. Two are not moving, and the third is on the ground. The last guy is running.”

“One,
please hurry down here with my night vision. I don’t want to worry about these guys anymore. I’m going after him.”

“Ok. I
’m on my way.”

It took
less than a minute for the lookout to get to Bishop and hand him the monocular. Bishop mounted it on his rifle, and then used it to look through the fence where he could see three men lying on the ground. The third was rolling around holding his shoulder. Bishop went through the opening and kicked the man’s weapon away. He figured the runner would try to get back to the road, so Bishop headed to cut him off. He looked through the NVD, ran 20 steps, avoiding trees and brush. He had repeated the process for about five times when he paused. He could hear someone fighting through the undergrowth to his right. He took a knee and scanned the area. He saw the man, who in the darkness had bumbled into a large patch of thorn bushes. Bishop could see the guy was about 150 meters away and struggling to get through the painful stickers. He centered the small red dot of his riflescope on the man’s chest and thought about the looters.
What would they have done to Terri and the other families in the neighborhood?
He then remembered what they
had
done to that family in the SUV. When his mind flashed an image of the small children, dead in the backseat, he pulled the trigger.

Bob’s job was to monitor the Emergency Broadcasting Network twice per day. He didn’t mind listening to John Philip Sousa and the other marching band music being played around the clock. Every hour, a pre-recorded voice would come on the air:

You are listening to the Emergency Broadcasting Network
. Stand by for emergency instructions and information.

There would be a pause, and t
hen the national anthem would play, followed by another hour of marching music. This cycle repeated every day, over and over. There was never any news, and he noticed that the music was exactly the same every day.

He was 79 years old and had to use a cane to get around
. He often thought about his son and grandsons who lived scattered around the country. He knew they were good men who had married good women, but he still worried about them. His heart was heavy, wishing the lot of them were closer to Houston.

Before all of
the turmoil had started, he would talk to one or two of them almost every week. While he sometimes had trouble keeping their names straight, no one seemed to mind. A few times a year, they would either visit him or take him to a wedding, funeral or family other event.

Their mother passed away four years ago,
God rest her soul. She had been not only Bob’s wife, but his lover and friend. Nothing could ever replace her.

He made it to the kitchen and found a candle
left by one of the nice neighborhood girls. He fumbled with the lighter and got it to burn. The kitchen was filled with a warm glow. He turned off the flashlight to save the batteries. The candle was very short, and he thought he was going to have to ask that neighbor of his for another one.
Damn it! What was her name again?

Bob went to the sink with a cup to
fill with some water. He lifted the faucet and only a little spurt came out. He tried again and still nothing.
Odd,
he thought,
is there something special I’m supposed to do? These new times are so confusing, but at least my neighbors stop by often, and I have a job. Job? Oh, yes, I need to listen to the band music.

He tried the refrigerator water
.
Damn, I keep forgetting, there are no more refrigerators.
He finally remembered the water had stopped working two days ago. He found that fancy bottled water someone had left him on the counter and made a cup of cold coffee. He made sure it was the steel cup, and then held it over the candle for a while.
At least it makes it warm
, he told himself.

He picked up the small radio and turned the crank
to give it power. It reminded him of the Army, so many years ago, where he would see crank radios like this. He turned it on and smiled when the music came on. He sat back and his mind drifted away to a trip his wife and he had taken with their new baby son years ago.

His trip back in time was interrupted by a new sound he had not heard on the radio before
. Every few seconds, he heard static over the top of the music. He moved the dial on the radio, thinking he had bumped it off of its station. That didn’t seem to have any effect. He turned it some more, but the annoying noise still persisted.

He would have to get his neighbor to look at it when he asked h
er about another candle. He settled back into thinking about his son.

Bishop had fallen asleep on the couch again. He woke up hot and sweaty, but that was nothing new these days. They had stopped using precious gasoline to cool air days ago. He heard a distant rumbling and initially thought it was an explosion. A little concerned, Bishop became very still to see if the noise repeated. Seconds later, there was a flash of light, the windows rattled, and the whole house shook to its foundation. He smiled for the first time in days. A thunderstorm! They had not had significant rain in weeks, and it would cool off the air!

He went to the garage without even making coffee and gathered up his buckets and plastic bags
. He went outside to set up rain traps.

Bob was sitting at his kitchen table drinking his cold coffee. The radio played the same announcement it always did, but then he heard a new voice.

Your attention please. Your attention please.
This is Major Robert Danforth of the 112
th
Transportation Regiment, Federalized Texas National Guard. I have an announcement. To all civilians of Houston, Texas and surrounding areas, the United States Army, by order of the President of the United States, has established martial law for the city of Houston. In addition, all city and state agencies have been federalized. All employees of the city of Houston or the state of Texas should report to the Federal Building at 1200 South Main Street as soon as possible. You should bring identification and will be assigned specific duties.

All civilians within the Interstate 610 loop are ordered to remain in their homes until contacted by local authorities
. For the safety of all citizens, this order will be strictly enforced, and violators will be shot on sight.

All civilians residing outside of the 610 loop are hereby ordered to report
, as soon as possible, to checkpoints established at every major intersection of the 610 loop and interstates 45, 59, 10, 288 and 290. Additional checkpoints are being established at all major surface roads as well.

You are required to bring identification and will be assigned temporary housing and duties
. The United States Army will provide basic shelter, security, food, water, and medical care.

F
amily units may be temporarily separated in order to provide shelter.

No weapons
of any kind are permitted inside of the 610 loop.

Personal property is subject to confiscation.

Able-bodied adults, between the ages of 16 and 65, will be expected to perform assigned tasks and labor.

These orders are issued by General T. Wilson Adams, Major General, United States Army.

End of message.

This m
essage will repeat in 30 minutes.

Bob had a piece of paper and pencil next to the radio
. He was trusted to write down anything he heard out of the ordinary, and this was surely not ordinary. The voice had rattled off the information so quickly he couldn’t write fast enough to get it all down and was embarrassed he had not done his job. The static had not helped, but he now understood it was lightning causing the interference.

He looked outside and saw that it was
almost dawn. He could see the flashes of lightning and hear thunder close by. This was important information, and he had to let someone know quickly. Maybe Rosie would know what to do. She was always up before the sun.

Rosie
lived alone too. She had lost her husband to a heart attack years ago, and Bob and she had become friends. He had found that they had many things in common, and he enjoyed spending afternoons with her just sitting and talking about “life back in the day.” He hated to admit it, but her mind was sharper than his, and she helped him with his mail, bills and other business.

They had been sitting together complaining about
doctors and healthcare, when she mentioned her heart medication. After comparing the labels on their prescription bottles, they learned they took the same drug. After the electricity had stopped working, he went to visit Rosie, and she did not look well at all. She had not filled her prescription and had run out a few days before. He went back to her house later that afternoon and took her his pills, along with a little white lie that he had several months’ worth of tablets and was glad to share.

He
would take the radio and his paper to Rosie’s house. She would help him write it all down so he could do his job. If he hurried, he could make it there before it started raining.

Bishop was running around the house setting up rain traps. The city water had finally run out a few days ago, and they had been using the water stored in the bathtubs to flush the toilets. He shuddered to think about the sewers failing. There were a few in-ground swimming pools in the neighborhood, and he knew they would be used for flushing and laundry next. H
ow long will those last,
he worried.

As he came around the corner, he saw Old Bob walking down the street
, carrying something. He seemed like he was in such a hurry. Bishop thought it was odd that he was going to visit Rosie this early. As he watched him moving down the street, Bob suddenly stopped walking. He seemed to take a minute to catch his breath and started again. After about 10 steps, he stopped again, and this time Bishop could see him hold his chest. Bishop ran to the door and yelled for a sleeping Terri to come quickly, then ran to assist Bob.

This is not good
, thought Bob. His chest was tight, and he was having trouble taking in air. He thought he would be all right if he could just get to Rosie’s and sit down for a bit. She would get him some water and show him pictures of those grandkids of hers. He forced himself to keep walking a few more steps when a sharp, stabbing pain went through his chest.

He
sat down, hoping this pain would pass. He looked up to see someone running toward him and was happy to see it was his son!
What was he doing here? What a wonderful surprise!

By the time Bishop reached
him, Bob had already sat down right in the middle of the road. Bob was smiling at Bishop as he made it to his side and said, “My son! What a wonderful surprise! I have to tell Rosie about the news on the radio, and then I want you to tell me everything! Can you help me get to….”

Bishop caught him as he
fell over. He gently laid him down on the pavement and felt for his pulse. Nothing. He listened to the old man’s chest, no heartbeat. He was going to do CPR and ripped open his shirt. He looked up at Bob’s face and saw he was still smiling and wondered for a second what had made him so happy. Bishop put his hands on Bob’s chest in the proper place and started to push down. For some reason, he hesitated, mesmerized by the serene look on the face of a man he respected so much.
Even if I revive him, we can’t help him recover,
he thought.
I wonder if he would ever be this happy again.

Bishop pushed down once on the old gentleman’s chest and felt his ribs give a little.
Bishop’s ribs were not fully mended themselves, and the thought of breaking bones stopped him cold. Bishop could not bring himself to do it.
Go with your dignity and that big smile, Bob. I hope someone does the same for me one day.

It started pouring rain
. Bishop just sat in the street next to Bob’s body and really didn’t notice the downpour. Terri came running to them and could see what had happened. She sat down next to Bishop and held him in the rain. For the first time since it all began, Bishop wept.

Funeral for a friend

The storm lasted almost all day, and despite everyone staying inside, news of the radio broadcast spread quickly along with word of Bob’s death. The following morning everyone gathered at the makeshift cemetery. At Bishop’s request, the lot being used to bury the dead had been divided into two sections. One, often referred to as the “Happy Hunting Grounds” was for friends. The other, referred to as “Hell’s Gate” was for looters and other predators.
I wonder which side will fill up first
, Bishop had thought when they first labeled them.

After someone said a few kind words, the crowd slowly moved to the cul-de-sac, and a neighborhood meeting started. Each council representative was responsible for certain critical items, like food or medical care. As they
ran through their reports, it became clear that the group was running out of food and medicine. Rosie told everyone that Bob had given her his heart pills, and a somber mood came over the little assembly.

Bishop was not surprised when his neighbors started tearing each other apart at the meeting. Minor bickering, pointed questions, and even a few insults contributed to the already low morale of the group. Eventually, one of the neighbors suggested making a plan to head downtown to the Army encampment. “After all, we are all going to go, aren’t we
?”

A couple of others commented the radio broadcast seemed to describe a Nazi labor camp, and they would die before
going to a concentration camp.

This sparked a huge debate that lasted over an hour. One of the council members finally got things back under control by standing on his chair and yelling at the top of his lungs.

The conversation settled down a bit, and another council member took the floor, saying, “We have two options. Either we stay here together, or we all head downtown, and let the government take care of us. If we split up, there will not be enough people left to guard the neighborhood and do the work. I suggest we take a vote.”

Bishop stood up quickly and said, “If I may, those are not our only two options. Some of us may decide to try and make it to family or other locations. That is a third option.”

Bishop’s statement caused another round of arguments to surge through the meeting. Before long, people grew tired of the fighting and began to drift off. A shoving match broke out between two of the men, and someone fired a pistol in the air to break it up.