The Last Layover (9 page)

Chapter 8: Intrusions

Back in Tennessee, Molly was busy managing the kids and trying to keep life for them as normal as possible. With the diesel generator running on demand, most of their daily lives remained unchanged, with the exception of the lack of contact with the outside world. She kept busy taking care of the animals and tending to chores around the house.

A large collection of DVDs kept life for Lilly fairly normal as she was able to keep to the routine of watching her morning cartoons. Molly ran the generator during the day to keep the deep freezers from thawing and to keep the batteries charged. Then at night she shut it off and relied on the twelve-volt DC lights that Evan installed, which were charged during the day by the generator. The twelve-volt DC-powered lights were designed for use in a houseboat or motor home, which made them easy to adapt for emergency in-house use.

After a full day of no power, phone, internet, or satellite TV, Molly pulled Jake aside and said, “Son, you know how your dad is always talking about preparing for things like disasters and stuff?”

“Yeah,” he said, not being much for words.

“Well,” she said taking a deep breath, “I'm not sure what's going on, but I think we are about to be very thankful for what he has set up for us around here. I don't want to venture out away from the home just yet. We have everything we need here, so there is no reason to take the risk. I'm so busy with the girls, I would like you to be my security guard. Here is one of your Dad's .45s, along with three magazines.”

She handed him a small camouflage utility bag with a shoulder strap. He unzipped it and looked inside, taking note of the familiar contents. “I want you to keep this with you at all times. You know how to use it—heck, you've shot thousands of rounds through it at the IDPA matches, so just keep it with you. If anything happens, you're my body guard, okay?”

“Okay,” he said with a proud but worried smile.

“Okay, then. Jake, grab your bag and let's go check on the chickens,” Molly said, wanting to keep him busy.

“Okay, Mom,” he replied as he grabbed his bag and walked out to the chicken coop with her and the girls.

Molly carried Sammy in a baby carrier sling that held her tightly to her chest, facing forward. Sammy loved being able to see up close everything that her mom was doing while she carried her around. Lilly, on the other hand, being two years old, was quite the little helper. She had to have a hand in everything her mom did. She would reach in and pick up the freshly laid egg and place it gently in the basket with a big smile on her face and say, “Hereyago, Mommy.”

After they finished tending to the animals, they all walked back towards the house together. Molly carried Sammy and Jake led his little sister, Lilly, by the hand. About half way to the house, they heard the rumble of an engine and the crunch of the fresh gravel that covered their driveway as an old, full-sized Chevy van crept around the corner. It stopped off in the distance, turned its lights off, and kept its engine running at idle. The shadows from the trees kept it dark inside the van, keeping them from being able to see who or how many people were inside. After a few moments, the van backed out of the driveway until it was out of sight and they could no longer hear it.

“Jake, put your holster on and walk out there and close the gate across the road and lock it, then come straight back,” Molly said in a serious tone.

He pulled the Kimber 1911 out of the bag and slid the paddle holster down into his waistband, locking it securely in place. He then walked down the driveway, moving slowly so he could hear as he went. He listened closely for voices or the sound of the van. Off in the distance, he could hear the van driving away on the main road. He picked up his pace and hurried to the gate, locked it, then rushed back to the house. “I think they’re gone,” he said. “Who were they?”

“I don't know, Son, but I didn't like that they seemed to be checking the place out from a distance. We just need to make sure we lock everything up tight tonight, as well as have all of the security cameras and alarm sensors up and running,” replied Molly.

Later that evening, Molly was cooking dinner and entertaining the girls when the alarm system, which was powered by the DC batteries, gave the alert tone. Jake ran over to the control panel and said, “Mom! Front gate again.”

A motion sensor located near the front driveway gate had detected movement and triggered the alarm. Molly ran to a front window and saw the same van parked in the shadows. Its lights were off and it sat there with the engine idling in the dark just as before. Molly grabbed the Mossberg 590 twelve-gauge pump shotgun out of the three-gun security cabinet that Evan had installed in the kitchen pantry. It was hard to see the details of the van’s occupants due to the failing light of the evening, but she could see the occasional reflection of light from one of the men that had stepped out of the van.

“I think he is glassing us,” she said, borrowing the hunting term for using binoculars or a spotting scope. “Well, I'm gonna show them we aren't gonna be friendly. Watch your sisters.”

Molly turned the light off in the room in order to hide her silhouette. She slid the window open and fired a shot in the general direction of the van; she then racked another shell into the chamber and fired a second shot. She stepped away from the window and listened. “Wow, that was loud,” she mumbled, having never fired a gun indoors before now. Although her ears were ringing, she heard the van’s doors slam shut as it backed out of the driveway, throwing gravel from its frantically spinning tires.

She went back into the kitchen where Jake was trying to calm the crying girls. They were both startled by the shotgun blasts and could sense something was wrong. “Did you shoot them?” asked Jake in a frantic manner.

“No, that buckshot would barely reach them from here. I just fired a few shots to let them know that if they were up to no good, this house wasn't going to be easy.”

“Who were they?” he asked again.

“My guess is some low life is looking for easy prey to loot and rob. With the power and communications down, a lot of people will be easy pick'ns, but not us. Now while I finish dinner, you go around the house and close and lock all of the security shutters. And don't forget to take your gun. When you get done, we will eat.”

Jake ran throughout the house, closing all the reinforced shutters and double-checking all the locks on all the doors. He kept one hand on his Kimber .45 as he made his way to each of the windows and doors. All of this was getting way too real, way too quickly.

That night after dinner, they put the girls to bed. Then Molly and Jake turned on the HAM radio and sat there, listening to the static.
Where are you Evan
, she thought. We need you here. She and Jake cuddled up on the couch as they listened, hoping and praying to hear something from Evan, or just something from anyone out there who could tell them what was going on.

As the morning sun began to peak through the cracks in the shutters, Molly awoke to realize she and Jake had fallen asleep to the soft sound of the radio static. She nudged him awake and said, “Rise and shine, messy head.” He rose his head to look at her, with one eye open and his hair a matted down mess.

After the events of the previous night, Molly wanted to cook the kids a good breakfast and try to make things seem as normal as she could. She opened the kitchen shutters to let the sunlight in and fired up the generator to get things going. She put some biscuits in the oven and began to fry up some bacon and eggs.
Bacon makes everything better
, she thought jokingly to herself. Just as she started to crack open the first egg, she heard the alert tone from the alarm system again. 

“Mom! Front gate again!” yelled Jake.

“Get your sisters,” she replied instantly, as she grabbed the shotgun and headed for the front window. She felt her stomach twist into knots from the stress and fear of getting into an altercation. She peeked through the cross cutout in one of the shutters and saw a familiar Ford F150 with a Jeep Cherokee behind it, both of which were loaded down with luggage and supplies. A man stepped out of the pickup and waved towards the house.

“It's the Vandergriffs!” she yelled with excitement. “Stay with your sisters, I'm going to go let them in.” She threw on her shoes, grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door. She ran to the gate, unlocked it and gave the man a big hug. “Oh, thank God you're here! Come on in, you’re just in time for breakfast.”

Chapter 9: Reinforcements

No matter how much planning and prepping Jason and Evan accomplished at their respective homes, they still had several great hurdles. The first, and most common, one shared with other preppers is their distance from each other. At over four hundred miles away, a lot of risk would be taken just accomplishing the linkup between the two families. With this in mind, they knew they had to enlist other families into their plans to make it work. In the event the Jones family needed support during their journey south, Evan couldn't simply leave his own family to fend for themselves, especially with two small children, while he took an uncertain journey to help.

Luckily, like-minded individuals tend to gravitate towards one another. Over the past year, Evan had been building a relationship with an old acquaintance from his Navy days. Mike Vandergriff, or simply “Griff,” as most people called him, was a former Marine who had served as a sergeant on board the USS
Enterprise
as part of the ship's Marine Security Detachment (MARDET). MARDET’s primary mission was to be the physical security for the ship's nuclear arsenal. Evan and Griff had both served on board the
Enterprise
during a deployment to the Middle East shortly after the Gulf War. They had met merely by chance, but it was an encounter that would change both of their lives.

At the time, Evan was a young Petty Officer First Class serving as the command career counselor for the EA-6B Prowler squadron that was embarked with the Carrier Air Wing on board the
Enterprise
. During a port visit to Antalya, Turkey, Evan lead a small group assigned to shore patrol duties that patrolled an area not far from the liberty boats that were chartered to take sailors back and forth to the ship. Aircraft carriers are very rarely moored pier-side when making a port call overseas, as the ship is either too large, or the host nation simply wants to keep a safe distance from the ship’s nuclear reactors. In cases like this, the ship is anchored out in the harbor with a ferry boat service charted to provide shuttle service to and from shore.

While patrolling on a rather run down street where there seemed to be a dive bar scene of sorts, Evan heard a commotion up ahead and decided to investigate. As his shore patrol team approached the source of the commotion, he found a young American in his twenties swinging fists wildly, fighting off two local Turkish police officers. It looked like the shore patrol had missed most of the action; there were a few locals who looked like they had been pummeled by a small army and were trying to regain their composure. Tables and chairs were strewn about and broken glass covered the floor and the doorway leading out to the alley. Although the young American was in civilian clothes, his haircut was a dead giveaway that he was from the ship and more than likely a Marine.

Evan quickly intervened and yelled in a commanding voice, “Marine! Stand Down!” He knew that recognizing the man as a Marine may catch him off guard and get him to comply. Marines are well-trained and disciplined, with a heavy respect for the chain of command. However, a few hard drinks mixed with adrenaline can take the commonsense out of anyone, so he didn't want the situation to escalate with the police. Evan calmed the situation down by putting himself on as being much more important than he actually was with the police officers.

A lot of confidence goes a long way in a situation where those involved aren't sure who they are dealing with. Even though the Turkish police officers spoke little English, Evan was able to get the point across to them that he was a military police officer and that in his custody, this belligerent American would be punished much more severely than the mere drunk and disorderly charges they would be pursuing. In an effort to avoid any sort of political confrontation with higher ups in the police department and the Navy, the officers reluctantly turned custody of the young American over to Evan.

The young American turned out to, indeed, be from the ship. He was Marine Sergeant Mike Vandergriff. On the way back to the ship, Sergeant Vandergriff, who insisted on being called Griff, explained the story to Evan about how he had gotten jumped in the alley.

He said, “Thanks man, that was on its way to being a real shit storm back there. I was just going out for a few beers to decompress after getting a Dear John letter from my girlfriend. We were supposed to get married after this deployment, but now she's leaving me for some college douche that's an assistant manager where she works. Anyway, I was on my way to get some love from some hops and barley when those local punks must have thought they had an easy victim.”

Evan chuckled and said, “Yeah, what they thought was a lone sailor from the ship was really a Marine with his two best friends, anger and rage.”

Griff laughed and said, “Yep, I introduced them.”

Evan laughed and then Griff went on explain that he had taken on five attackers and was about to take on the police who were called by the bar owner. They naturally sided with their fellow Turks and blamed him for the brawl.

When they got back to the ship, Evan and Griff shook hands, and as he was walking away, Griff turned around and said, “Oh hey, I owe you a beer.”

Evan smiled and said, “I’ll take you up on that if I see you when I'm off duty.”

With that, Evan and Griff went their separate ways, not to see each other again, other than in random passing on the ship, until years later.

One day, while shooting in an IDPA pistol match at the local sportsman's club in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, Evan and Jason were assigned to the same shooting squad. The two men immediately recognized each other and couldn't believe just how small the world was. Back in their military days when they had met by chance, they had no idea they were both from east Tennessee. Some things just seem meant to happen, they both thought.

Over the next year, Evan and Griff became good friends. They also shared similar concerns for the state of their country and the world, just as Evan and Jason had. Griff, who was now married and lived with his wife, Judy, and his nineteen year-old stepson, Greg, had begun prepping as well. Given their friendship and common interests, it was only natural that the two families link up. The Bairds, knowing that they would need help in a SHTF scenario, especially before the Jones family arrived, brought the Vandergriffs into the mix.

Evan and Molly invited Griff and family over for grill out nights on a regular basis. Evan and Griff would use these opportunities to go over possible defensive strategies for the Baird's property. They had planned to have the Vandergriffs meet up with them on the Homefront in the event of some sort of a crisis, as Griff and his wife lived in a suburban Knoxville neighborhood that wasn't at all defendable. Evan had eventually planned to get the Jones family down to the property for a visit at the same time as the Vandergriffs. That way everyone could meet and greet since the three families were now a part of the same team, so to speak. Up to this point though, scheduling just hadn't worked out. Having an airline career and a life seemed to be two conflicting concepts at times. Evan wasn't worried though, Jason and Griff were cut from the same hardcore cloth. These were two men he definitely wanted on his team. In the event of a SHTF scenario, once all three families were together, security watches and a regular division of duties could be established to keep the property running as a life-sustaining homestead for as long as need be.