THE TRASHMAN (9 page)

“Looting,” Lucy, said. “That’s what we’ll be doing.”

“You were saying,” I prompted, looking at Jessica.”

“Just we’ll need to wash after we finish getting what we need.”

“We can use bottled water and the disinfectant soap you mentioned.” I stood from the table. “I think I hear the kids getting restless.” I was in the mood for popcorn and I volunteered to be the popper. “Becky, you and I will take first guard tonight.”

“You didn’t say when we should go to Moultrie,” Sam said.

“You all need a couple more days of weapons training and it wouldn’t hurt to have a few brainstorming sessions to make a list of the items we need.” I looked at my watch. “Today’s Friday. Dang, we’re already at the end of the third week of February. I say we go to Moultrie on Monday.”

“Will we leave from there to go to the Smokies or come back here?” Jessica asked.

“We’ll make that decision when we have to.” I turned toward the door and everyone stood to follow me.

*****

I awoke the following morning with a sense of urgency pushing me to hurry through breakfast. I spent the morning cutting human-sized patterns from sheets of Styrofoam insulation Sam had left over from a project. It took a while to form stands with braces to hold them upright in the chill breeze. It wasn’t a strong wind, but the lightweight material had a large surface area.

I moved my bench and positioned the targets so rounds fired by the shooter would have the wide forest-bordered field across the road as the backdrop for the bullets. There wasn’t any other area available and I didn’t have the time or resources to make a proper range.

Sam was my first student. He insisted his son, Bruce, receive training too. I selected a small Browning .22 caliber pistol from the weapons we scavenged from the highwaymen who killed the J’s parents. There were over two hundred .22 rounds from the same source.

I spent thirty minutes teaching the boy stance and grip, progressing to breath control, and dry firing. The boy picked up the techniques without too much repetition. Sam paid attention to his son’s lesson and when it came to his turn, he pretty much had the essentials in hand.

“I think we’re ready for some actual target shooting. Sam, thanks to the ammo we picked up at the rest area, there’s plenty of nine millimeter. I’m going to use Bruce’s .22 and shoot the target a few times. At first, I’ll move slowly from relaxed into a standard stance. Then I’ll pick up the pace. After that, I’ll shift into stance from awkward positions, sitting in a chair, lying down. Then I’ll pretend someone shot at me, do a drop, and roll. That means I’ll hit the dirt, roll away from my position to slow the perp from retargeting me and then shift to a kneeling position to fire.

“I’ll aim at the chest of the target. Always, when you can, pick the biggest part of the body to shoot at.”

During the demonstration, it hit me that I was having fun shooting the pistol at my makeshift targets. The realization brought to the fore my one instance of firing at a real human and game aspect went away.

I did one more drop and roll and returned to the table. After I ejected the magazine and racked the action to clear the chamber, we went to the targets to inspect my hits. I’d placed one of them ten feet from the firing position and the other to the right and at thirty feet distance.

I’d fired a full magazine, and five rounds from a second. As we approached the targets I saw a wide spread of small holes in the chests of the foam silhouettes.

“I hope we find fifteen hits. Bruce, how about you count the holes.”

He counted the hits on the first target and then moved to the second. “I counted eight holes in the first one, and six in the second. Fourteen in all,” he said when he rejoined us. “The holes were all in the chest, but some were near the edge.”

I was a little disappointed with my accuracy and wondered if it was the fault of the size and weight of the small pistol, or if I was simply a bad shooter.

I’m a bad shooter. Bruce took his turn, using the same pistol. All his hits were grouped close together practically centered in the chest of the closer target. The hits were more scattered on the farther one, but none were near the edge.

Sam was proud of his son’s achievement. “You did great son.”

I reloaded the Browning’s magazines while Sam used his Beretta on the targets. After he finished and brought the pistol to the table to clear it and reload the mags, Bruce ran out to inspect the targets. He didn’t look too happy as he walked back to us.

“How’d I do son?” he asked.

“There’re so many holes it’s hard to count them now,” Bruce answered.

Sam managed a weak smile. “How bad was I?”

“A lot of your bullets hit the first target.”

I stepped in to smooth Sam’s feelings. “We’re here to practice, not to compete with each other. Sam, Bruce seems to have the basics down pat. How about you fire another couple mags full. Just the basic stance for now. We can get back to the acrobatics during the next session.”

I turned to Bruce. “Run up to the house and let your mom and Becky know they’re up in thirty, and then come back for a pistol cleaning lesson.”

I waited until Bruce was beyond hearing distance and then spoke to Sam as he reloaded the spent mags.

“You need to slow down. You’re trying too hard for speed. Tomorrow I want you to purposely move at half speed and concentrate on accuracy.”

“I know you’re right. It’s just that I feel weird shooting at the targets and keep thinking if they were real people with weapons, I’m going to get shot if I don’t move fast enough.”

“Sam, I’m not going to pull any punches with you. The fact is, move fast or slow, you will get shot if you can’t hit a man-sized target at the distances I’ve set them. Slow down, aim, and fire. Speed can come later. Pass me a box of nines. I’ll help reload.”

The women arrived as I was attaching pieces of brown cardboard to cover the holes in the chests of my overly shot-up men.

Lucy chose a compact Ruger SR 9 pistol from our stock of weapons. Becky was happy to retain the .22 target pistol Sam lent her. I went through the same show and tell as for the boys and let them have at it with the fresh targets.

I am ashamed to say that Lucy, even with the stubby Ruger, did better than us guys did. No matter what position she was in, she moved smoothly to a firing position and her groups, while scattered, were all potentially killing shots.

Becky, in contrast, moved in an ungainly fashion, but what she lacked in grace, she made up for with deadly accuracy. Every group she fired was tight and nearly dead center of the chest.

Lucy was graceful and fairly accurate, Becky ungainly and deadly accurate. Jessica had the best attributes of them both. She was long and thin and moved like a cat. She chose the same Ruger as Lucy. The first time she fired at the targets, she pulled the trigger so fast that I was sure it would be back to basics for her. An inspection of the target showed every round had entered the same general area as Becky’s and indeed, for some reason, she was more accurate on the farther target, centering a group in the chest tighter than Becky had managed.

Jerold, tall and thin like his sister, stepped to the line with the same Ruger. His movements were more deliberate and his aim slower than hers. His groups, while not perfectly centered, were tight. It seemed the two J’s were destined to be natural born killers.

“I have to say you two are easy studies and by far the best shots of us all.”

“Jessica and I are into sports. I like tennis and she was on the basketball team at Dunwoody High. Shooting involves hand-eye coordination. As long as we follow your rules about breathing out and not jerking the trigger, it’s easy to hit what you point the gun at.”

“Maybe that’s it, but Sam and I are the worst shots of us all. Even his son, Bruce, did better. After we clean the weapons, would you ask Sam to come back out? He and I need to go through the basics again.

“Tomorrow, we shift over to rifles. I have a feeling you’ll be just as proficient with them.”

Sam returned and I lit into him about our ineptitude with weapons. We took turns dry firing our pistols and practicing the other basics. I skipped the fancy cowboy stuff and concentrated on straight up shooting. I told Sam if he went into stance, and felt uncomfortable, to lower his arms and start over. I took the same advice and our accuracy did improve.

That evening after supper, we again had an adult’s only meeting in Sam’s den.

After we settled into our chairs, coffee, or tea in front of us, Sam made a statement.

“The weapon training was a good idea, but we went through a large part of our pistol ammo. Tomorrow, you said we’ll be doing rifles. We have even less ammunition for those than we did the pistols. I say the first thing to add to our need list, is ammo. These are the calibers we need.”

He slid a sheet of paper to Becky who had a yellow pad and pencil ready at hand. She placed it beside the pad and spoke.

“Lucy and I made a list of some necessities, clothing, running shoes, boots, batteries, etc. I printed copies so you all could look them over. You will probably spot things we missed. We kept our list to mainly domestic needs.” She removed several sheets of paper she had tucked under the pad and handed them to Jessica who was sitting beside her. “Take one and pass them around.”

Sitting on the other side of Becky, I received the last sheet from Sam and gave it a quick scan.

“Are we aiming for a complete list of things to take with us?” Jerold asked, looking at Becky.

Twisting her neck, Becky turned the question to me.

“That’s a good question. Let’s look at the main goal and take it from there. Per Jessica’s concerns and our concurrence that she’s correct staying here is a bad thing, we’re going to the mountains to find an isolated cabin. The reason is to stay away from other people until the plague runs its course.”

“Not only that, but to avoid dangerous people,” Jessica interjected. “People like the ones my family ran into can kill you the same as the plague.”

“I nodded. “Yes, definitely, for that reason, too. Once we find a place, the more often we leave it to procure supplies, the more chances we have of being attacked or followed.

“Time is of essence. The sooner we find a hideaway the faster we’ll be safe. My thought is to gather enough food and absolute necessities to last at least three months. What do you think, Jessica? Will that be long enough for the plague to run out of those vectors you spoke of?”

“It may be running out of hosts already, so yes, I think that would be long enough.”

Sam said, “That sure makes things easier. I was thinking you meant hide out for a year or more.”

I shook my head. “It may be we hide out longer than three months. It all depends on what we discover the world is like after the plague is finished. I’m hoping there will be enough people left to form viable communities, sort of like back in the homesteading days. Once we’re sure we can’t catch the plague, it would be nice to join with a larger group for mutual protection. We don’t want to spend the rest of our lives hiding and watching our backs.”

Lucy looked from the sheet of paper in front of her. “Only three months to begin with, though. Becky and I can reduce a lot from the list we made.”

“Good. As I said, we need to get away from here as soon as we can. Becky, let’s go counter clockwise from you. Everyone think of things we may need for life cut off from civilization. Don’t worry about something sounding silly. We can weed the list afterward, but we don’t want to miss anything important. Jessica, you’re up.”

“Bows, arrows, some of those powerful slingshots, ball bearings for them, or marbles if we can’t find the ball bearings. She named a few more items and then Jerold took over.

“Jessica named most of the things for hunting, but I just had a thought that pellet rifles would be good for shooting small animals, rabbits, and stuff.”

“Add that to the list for sure.”

The list grew. Solar panels, storage batteries, twelve volt lighting and appliances, traps. Several times Becky had to slow things down while she caught up with writing down the suggestions. The only real snag concerned water. Sam wanted to haul a trailer mounted water trailer with us. I disagreed.

“If the cabins Becky read about are truly isolated then they should have well water. Lots of the camping sites have hand pumps. We’ll look until we find one that does. There are ten of us. We’ll empty a container in no time.”

Talking about the container brought up another snag concerning something Becky had on her mind.

“There may be more than ten of us. I think you should visit Salvo again and convince him to go with us. His family and the old lady he told you about.”

Sam objected. “We don’t know them, especially Salvo. It could be possible he killed some of the people who lived in the homes he’s scavenging from.”

I disagreed. “If he was a cold blooded killer, he’d have shot me just to make sure I didn’t sneak back to steal from him.”

It came down to everyone but Sam sided with Becky. Sam gave Lucy an ‘Et tu Brute’ look, but he yielded to the pressure. “Okay, but at least let’s agree to keep a close eye on him until we’re sure he’s good people.”

“Alright then,” I said. “I want to stick to our schedule of leaving day after tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, instead of two at a time for rifle training, we’ll do it all of us at one go. In the afternoon, I’ll go see if Salvo wants to join us.”

“I’m going with you,” Becky said. “I’ll help convince Salvo’s family, and you may need my help talking the old lady into coming. She’s probably scared to death.”

*****

Rifle training consumed the morning and carried over well past lunch. Most of the time was spent with familiarization with the various weapons. Checking the rifle or shotgun to insure the chamber was clear. Inserting and ejecting magazines, locating safety mechanisms, all took time.

Bring two at a time to stand at the line to dry fire while I checked their stance and grip, watched their control of breathing and squeezing the trigger.

Bring them back to the line to repeat the process in a prone position, using their elbows to support the weapon.