The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse (11 page)

“The word we’re getting is that FEMA, in cooperation with state and local authorities, is establishing shelters for stranded travelers.  The nearest will be about twenty-five miles away, at the junction of I-81 and I-64, near Lexington.  Tomorrow morning, a convoy of chartered buses will begin picking up folks at exits and rest areas.  The buses will transport you to this shelter where you can receive food, shelter, and have any emergency needs seen to.  FEMA staff will assist with developing a plan for getting people back to their own regions, although you need to understand that this may take quite some time.”

“If the buses pass by our town, can we get off?” a voice shouted from the crowd.  It was a hairy man in a white tank top and a red Bass Pro Shops cap.  “I live closer than Lexington.”

“My understanding is that if the bus passes your exit, they will let you off there, although the buses will not leave the interstate to take you any further,” the sheriff replied.

“What if we don’t want to go to these FEMA camps?” asked another man, a bearded trucker in a Harley Davidson t-shirt with a chain wallet.

The sheriff shook his head.  “Don’t go calling these FEMA camps,” he said. “These are emergency shelters for stranded travelers.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to go?” the trucker asked.

“There was no mention of forced relocation,” the sheriff said. “However, I am following suit with the actions of other law enforcement authorities up and down the interstate and taking action to shut down this exit after the buses pass through tomorrow.”

There was more of a rumble as people began discussing this.

“What do you mean by closing the exit?” someone asked.

“I mean,” the sheriff responded, “that it will be like closing time at the bar.  You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.  My force is stretched too thin to have to deal with policing this area.   Everyone here will have to leave tomorrow morning one way or another.  You can take the buses or you can leave on foot, but you cannot enter our town and I would heavily advise against setting out on foot.  Word is that crime is rampant on the interstate as folks are becoming more and more desperate.  There’s word of murders, robberies, and sexual assault all up and down the interstate, and law enforcement is obviously unable to respond to everything.  We’re facing limitations of our own.  It’s likely that things out there will get worse before they get better.”

Gary and I caught each other’s eye.  We’d seen that increased crime and desperation already.  Obviously it was just a little taste of what was out there in the world waiting on us.

“You don’t leave a man many choices,” the trucker spat.  “Trust the government to get you home or take a chance on getting killed on the highway.”

“Yep, that’s about the size of it.  I could put lipstick on it, but it would still be a pig.”  The sheriff nodded grimly.  “If there are no more questions, we’ll be back in the morning to coordinate with FEMA and assist anyone who needs help getting on the buses.  After that, we’ll expect you all to be gone.  And just as a warning to anyone who is thinking they might just stay and get arrested as a way of securing shelter and meals for the duration of this crisis, we are not prepared for that.  Anyone who does not cooperate will be loaded onto trucks, taken down the interstate and dumped off at a spot of our choosing.  So don’t try it.”

With that, the sheriff handed the bullhorn to a fatigue-clad deputy and jumped down from the APC.  The sheriff and his deputies loaded into their various vehicles, started them, and crept off back past their roadblock, closing it behind them with vehicles.

“I thought they’d at least stay and offer some level of security for the night,” Gary said.

“I guess they’ve got their own problems,” I remarked.

“Maybe we should just head back to our room and discuss our plans,” Gary suggested.  “Who knows how long the peace will last with those guys gone?  And I’m starving.”

“You can say that again,” I commented, pointing toward the gas station parking lot where deputies had left the handcuffed troublemakers.  Their friends were now using knives to slice them free of their plastic handcuffs.  They’d be back raising hell in no time.

Ellen stood in front of the gun safe with the children standing behind her.  She was wearing a Petzl headlamp that Jim kept hanging nearby to better see inside the dark recesses of the safe.

“You guys need to remember that we have to be safe around these guns,” she said. 

“We’ve been shooting a lot, Mom,” Pete said.  “We know to be careful.”

“I know all that,” Ellen said. “This is different.  Your dad’s not here and guns may be a bigger part of our life until he gets home.  You need to not touch them unless I tell you to bring me one or unless you are supposed to be using one.  Do you understand?’

Pete and Ariel nodded seriously.

“There may be a time that I ask you to bring me one.  How do you handle one safely?”

“Always point it in a safe direction,” Ariel said.  “Where there are no people.”

“That’s right,” Ellen said.  “What else?”

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger,” Pete said.  “Never put your finger inside the trigger guard unless you are planning on shooting it.”

“That’s right, too,” Ellen said.  “Always treat them as if they are loaded and ready to shoot.  I’m going to get a few out and we are going to put them around the house so we can get to them easily if we need to.”

“Why?” Ariel asked.  She was always the practical one who required an explanation.  Pete took you at your word; she did not.

“Because we have to be on the lookout that no one wants to come take any of our supplies,” Ellen said.  “People may want our generator, our food, or our gas.  We may have to protect ourselves.  If people come down this way – if
anyone
you don’t recognize comes down this road –you come get me and you lock the doors.  You do not talk to anyone.  You do not answer any questions.  People may do crazy things, and we need to stay away from them.”

“That’s scary, Mom,” Ariel said, scowling at Ellen.  “Why are you telling me scary stuff?”

“I know, honey,” Ellen said.  “It
is
scary.  That’s why we have the guns.  They are for protection if we need them.  We’ll be okay.”

When the kids had no other questions or comments, Ellen unlocked the combination lock to the gun safe.  As the door swung open, she realized she had not really paid a lot of attention over the years to what was in there.  She recognized guns they’d shot and had all been trained on when they went target shooting as a family.  It also appeared that there were a lot more guns than she knew about.  She wouldn’t be surprised if Jim went and bought guns and never told her about it.  She knew he also traded different things for guns.  He was always concerned about seeming paranoid, or worrying that she’d say something about the money he spent on them.  She would never have said anything about it, though.  She understood why he bought guns.  It was because he loved his family and he wanted them to be safe.  That, and he really, really liked guns.

Her plan was to take a few guns she was familiar and comfortable with and place them at strategic locations throughout the house.  She began with Jim’s customized Remington 870 shotgun.  It was a 12 gauge with a short barrel and a magazine extension that nearly reached the end of the barrel.  It also had a collapsible M-4 style stock and a single-point sling.  Jim had outfitted it with fiber optic sights that were inexpensive but collected a lot of light.  They were fast to acquire and made it easy to track a moving target. 

Jim had told her that he always kept this gun loaded with 00 buckshot.  Utilizing the training Jim had given her on this gun, she drew the pump action back slightly to open the chamber and confirm that there was indeed a shell in the chamber.  There was.  She double-checked the safety.

“This is a very dangerous gun,” she told the children.  “They are all dangerous, but this one is very loud and the shot spreads out over a larger area than regular bullets do.”

“Of course it does,” Ariel said confidently.  “It’s a shotgun.”

“Yes, dear, it is,” Ellen said, realizing Ariel had absorbed more of Jim’s training than she thought.  “Pete, I want you to take this gun and slide it behind the couch by the back door,” Ellen said.  “Put these shells with it, too.  Push it up under there to where we can reach it easily but no one can see it from the back door.”

“Got it,” Pete said. 

Ellen reached back into the gun safe and removed a bandoleer containing more rounds of 00 buckshot for the weapon and placed them over Pete’s shoulder.  She then handed him the shotgun and he left to carry out her instructions.

The next weapon Ellen removed from the gun safe was Jim’s M-4. She didn’t know what brand it was, but knew it was one of Jim’s favorite weapons.  He’d told her once they were like Barbie dolls for men because of the amount of accessories that could be put on them.  Jim’s had a few tricks on it but was not nearly as elaborate as some he’d shown her in magazines.  There was a 30-round magazine inserted into the weapon, though no round in the chamber because of a yellow plastic safety device that protruded from it.  She picked up the weapon, checked that the safety switch was in the safe position, and then drew back on the charging handle slightly.  While she had the chamber open, she removed the plastic safety round from the chamber, made sure the magazine was seated, and then pressed the release button to allow the bolt to fly forward and chamber a round.  There was a satisfying sound to all those actions and a comfort in knowing that this weapon was now hot and available to protect them.

Atop the weapon was a folding set of back up iron sights which she knew how to use.  There was also a fairly inexpensive, but very functional, Primary Arms optic that she’d purchased one Christmas for Jim.  She twisted a knob on the optic and confirmed through the clear lens caps that the red dot inside the optic illuminated.  She turned the red dot back off, hung the single-point sling from her shoulder, and took a few spare magazines from the shelf in the gun safe.  This reminded her that there was an entire ammo can of empty magazines in the basement for this rifle.  She also knew that Jim had thousands of rounds of the 5.56 ammunition that this rifle used. 

Even though Jim had more powerful rifles, she had shot this rifle many times and knew exactly what to expect from it.  The recoil was tolerable for her.  She understood the operation.  She would have the children fill those empty magazines from the basement tonight.  That would be a good late night activity that they could do by lamplight.

Ellen handed the full magazines from the gun safe to Ariel.  “Carry these, sweetie.”

To Ellen’s surprise, Ariel did not complain about not getting to carry the weapon.  They went to the front door and Ellen propped up the weapon in the corner, where it would be within reach behind the front door.

“Put those magazines on the floor beside it,” Ellen said.

Ariel stacked them carefully on the floor and they went back to the bedroom where Pete was waiting on them.

“What next?” he asked.

“The Mini-14, I think” Ellen said, looking though the contents of the safe.

Ellen withdrew the Ruger.  It was a 1970s police model with Detroit Police Department stamped into the barrel.  It was a mostly stock weapon with a leather sling and an extended 30-round magazine.  There was also a stack of polymer Tapco magazines to go with the weapon.  Only the magazine in the weapon was loaded.  The rest would have to be filled tonight.

The safety on this weapon always confused Ellen, as it was not marked.  She finally remembered how it worked and was able to confirm that the weapon was safe.  She checked the chamber and found it empty.  She curled a finger over the metal hook beside the chamber, drew the action back, and allowed a live .223 round to cycle into the chamber.  She confirmed the weapon was safe again and handed it to Pete.

“Put this on the kitchen counter.  Make sure the barrel is pointed in a safe direction.”  She handed Ariel the spare magazines.  “Put these on the bed.  We’ll need to fill them tonight.

Ariel carried out her duties and she and Pete returned about the same time.

“Can we get out my gun, too?”  Pete said.  “We may need it.”

Ellen considered for a second.  “I’ll get it out,” she said, “but you have to leave it wherever we put it unless it’s needed.  You can’t carry it around or play with it.”

“Geez,” he said.  “I know all that, Mom.  I’m not a baby.”

Ellen smiled at him.  “I know you’re not,” she said.  “You both are very big and are a lot of help.”

They beamed.  She couldn’t help but reach out and hug them both tight to her.  When they broke the embrace, she turned back to the gun safe and looked for Pete’s gun.  It was a Ruger 10/22, shorter than most of the long guns in there and took a second to spot.  When she found it, she drew it out and checked the safety.  There was no magazine in the gun.  She drew back the action and found no round in the chamber.  She handed the gun to Pete.

Digging back in the gun safe, she found a trio of the black rotary magazines that the weapon used.  She handed those to Pete and then removed three large clear banana clips for the same rifle.  They were Butler Creek magazines and held a lot more rounds than the smaller rotary clips that came with the rifle.  All of those magazines were empty and she knew they’d need to fill those tonight, also.  Fortunately, she knew that Jim kept tens of thousands of rounds of .22 ammo because they used it so frequently target shooting.  With the four of them shooting, and with Jim owning nearly a dozen rifles and pistols of that caliber, they could easily shoot a thousand rounds in a few hours of target practice.

“Put your rifle in the kitchen,” she told Pete.  “We’ll fill up some magazines tonight.”

When she started to close the safe, Ellen saw the rack of handguns on the top shelf and decided it might be a good idea to have a few of those scattered around the house.  After retrieving her own Ruger LCP from the vehicle earlier, she’d tucked it in her back pocket but she wanted to make sure that guns were where she needed them.  She removed a 9 mm S&W Shield, another gun that she felt familiar with.  She ejected the magazine and made sure it was full.  She racked the slide and chambered a round, then set the pistol aside. 

She picked up a Taurus PT92, a Beretta clone, and took it through the same process – checking the magazine and chambering a round, then a Ruger MKIII .22 caliber target pistol and Springfield XD in .45 caliber.  She made sure each pistol was ready to fire and placed the pistols where she thought she may need them.  She put the Springfield XD with its laser sight under her mattress, the S&W Shield in the kitchen cabinet, and the Taurus in the bathroom under the sink.  Finally, she took the Ruger .22 to the Daddy Shack and placed it on a shelf just inside the door.

“What can I do now, Mommy?” Ariel asked.

Ellen checked her watch and saw it was dinnertime already.  She didn’t know where the day had gone.  Though they had been constantly busy, she was still surprised to find it was already so late.  She had ground beef in the refrigerator that needed to be eaten before it went bad.

“Would you prefer cheeseburgers or spaghetti?” she asked.

Ariel and Pete looked at each other.  “Spaghetti,” Pete said, and Ariel nodded in agreement.

“Let’s make some dinner,” Ellen said.  “Then we’ll need to get some bullets and start filling these empty magazines.”

Since they needed to run the generator for a few hours to keep the basement freezers cold, Ellen went ahead and started it before dinner.  She ended up having difficulty with it even though Jim had written out instructions on a piece of wood and zip tied it to the generator.  She was able to find the on switch easily enough, but it was pulling on the starter rope that gave her a hard time.  Jim had talked about upgrading to a generator with electric starting but he’d not done it yet.  She finally had Pete come out and give it a shot.  He got it running on the first pull.

“You must have warmed it up for me,” he told her, patting his mother on the back.

With the generator humming away, Ellen went inside and flipped the ten breakers in the transfer switch.  Those breakers routed ten prioritized electrical circuits from grid electricity to generator power.  It didn’t allow everything in the house to run, but it could get them by.  As soon as she started flipping breakers, Ellen heard the hum that indicated the water pump was filling the pressure tank.  She flipped another and heard the hum of the refrigerator compressor over her head in the kitchen.

Even though the generator would power the refrigerator as long as she ran it, she knew that those foods needed to go first.  While the well pump ran, she couldn’t run any other high wattage items or she would risk tripping the overload breaker on the generator.  When she heard the click of the pressure switch turning off the pump, she knew it was safe to start running the microwave. 

In the interest of emptying the refrigerator, their dinner consisted of leftovers heated in the microwave and served on paper plates.  They had spaghetti, leftover macaroni and cheese, green beans, mashed potatoes, leftover pizza, and a few other odds and ends.  Not the most well-balanced meal, but if tomorrow was anything like today they would easily burn through all the calories they consumed today.  Depending on how long this crisis lasted, they may not always be able to eat so extravagantly. The food would go bad in the next day or so if not eaten so there was little choice.

When they finished dinner, they threw their paper plates in the garbage and stacked the emptied pots, pans, and Tupperware in the sink. Ellen made a mental note to remember to wash them while she could use the well water.  The generator was not powerful enough to run the hot water heater along with everything else so she’d have to fill a pot and heat it on the burner attached to their barbecue grill.