Читать книгу Last Stand - Robert Ciancio - Страница 9

2

I decided that my best option for now was to bunker in. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure an NEMP had caused a power outage, or maybe I was just in denial. I had to figure out what I needed to bunker in successfully. First was food and water. I wouldn’t consider myself a prepper or survivalist. We had a couple of pretty heavy storms in Maryland recently, and the power had gone out for several days. A few years ago, Hurricane Sandy hit, and the power was out all along the eastern seaboard. In some places, it had been out for weeks. Because of this, I decided to get myself prepared for the next big storm.

I had about twenty-five gallons of water stored in cases in the closet. I also had about four weeks of Mountain House camp food. I also had a camp stove with several canisters of propane fuel. So I was set for food and water, at least for a little while anyway. I also had two ten-pound bags of cat food for Freddy.

The next thing that I needed to consider was shelter and heat. Well, I was bunkering in so that was a no brainer. I was in my apartment so I had the shelter. The heat—well, it was the start of the spring into summer season. Heat wasn’t going to be an issue either. The only problem with my apartment was that it wasn’t very defendable. It was a one-bedroom apartment that had two windows and one door. They all opened onto one patio. So at some point, if somebody tried to come in through any of those entry points, I was screwed for a retreat. I would need to fight my way out. If the power didn’t come back on within the next couple of weeks, I was going to need to rethink the bunkering in idea. As I said earlier, at some point, I expected neighbors to start turning on each other.

The last thing that I was worried about was security. I had my 1911 and about a thousand rounds of ammunition for it. I also had a Rock River .223 that I had decked out with Magpul furniture, an Eotech dot sight, a flashlight, and a laser setup. Rock River .223s had been chosen by the ATF as their go to rifle several years ago. The Rock River rifles were the only rifles to pass all the tests that the ATF threw at them. The barrel and trigger were both Wilson Combat competition parts, and this rifle was spot on at three hundred yards. I also had about three thousand rounds of ammunition for it. Lastly, I had an assortment of knives, to include a custom-made Bowie survival knife that I had made by a knife smith in Texas.

I went back to my closet and pulled out my rifle bag. I got out the .223 and a bag of batteries. I put batteries in all the attachments. My concern was that the Eotech was an electrical piece. A check confirmed that it was shot. It came off; iron sights it was. I then checked the laser. It too was a no go, so off it came. One good thing was that there was less weight on the rifle. The old adage was, ounces equal pounds, pounds equal pain. When I checked the flashlight, for some reason, it worked. I’m not sure why, but it did. That was a plus.

I had an Eberlestock G-4 Operator Ruck-sack. It was loaded with your normal survival gear: 3,500 calorie food bars, Mountain House meals, fire starting supplies, water containers, first aid kit, ammo, etc. It also had a flashlight, headlamp, and a light for my 1911. I checked all of those, and they worked. I’m not sure why the flashlights still worked, but I wasn’t going to complain.

I loaded all my 1911 magazines, six in all. I also loaded all my .223 mags. Those totaled nine. I was set for now. All I could do now was to wait to see what happened.

Over the next few days, things didn’t really change too much. I went out on small recon walks to see how the rest of the neighborhood was handling things. Of course nobody was really prepared, but the reality of what was going on hadn’t really had the time to settle in on them yet.

One of my neighbors whom I spoke to occasionally was an avid camper and backpacker. I suspected that he was handling things a lot better than most. Prior to the event, I had seen him walking around preparing for a trip. He had a lot of the expected gear. Things like Maxpedition bags, hiking boots, and general clothing I only really saw in camping and survival magazines. So I expected that he would fare better than most. I saw him using his grill to cook what food he was eating, as were most of my neighbors. Grills were going pretty much around the clock.

As the first week passed, I could sense things starting to heat up. I could hear and see neighbors starting to get into arguments.

“Come on, man, can’t you spare some water?”

“Come on, brother, just some canned veggies?”

“What am I supposed to do about my kids?”

“Man, fuck you!”

These types of conversations were starting to happen more and more frequently. I tried to avoid contact with anybody because I didn’t want to be caught up in an argument. I may have had the food and water to spare, but how could I be sure? I didn’t know how long this thing was going to last. I needed to make sure I had enough for me to get through as far as I could.

At about the end of week two, I decided to recon the grocery store down the road from me. I moved down the road until I could see a crowd of people who had gathered in the vicinity of the store’s parking lot. I moved off into the field around the store. It was lined with decorative pine trees which would give me some cover and concealment. I moved the last fifty yards or so to the store through the trees. When I got to the edge of the field, what I saw was chaos. There was a huge crowd of maybe two hundred people in front of the store. Citizens were shoving and pushing each other and fights were breaking out. People were begging the managers to let them in so that they could get food for their families. The store managers were only letting a few in at a time, but only if they had cash.

How management was tallying up the price of the goods, and what people got, I wasn’t sure. As people came out of the store with a few bags of supplies, they were attacked by others in the crowd and their supplies were stolen. Then the inevitable happened. I heard gunshots. Who fired I couldn’t say, but the crowd scattered and people began to run. As the crown parted, the area where the shots came from, I could see the body of a young woman with blond hair on the ground rolling around in obvious pain. Pandemonium broke out, and people started to force their way into the store, rushing past the managers and other store employees. Fights broke out all through the crowd with everybody trying to take whatever they could in an attempt to sustain themselves for a little longer. I didn’t want to be a part of any of this. I backed into the tree line and made my way back to the apartment.

As I walked into the apartment I was greeted, as usual, by Fred. She was purring, and rubbing up against my legs. She had no idea what was going on. Ignorance is bliss. I was hungry, so I cooked up a scrambled eggs and bacon mountain house meal using the propane and camp stove combination. Breakfast for dinner was one of my favorite things. It wasn’t too bad considering it was cooked in a bag with hot water.

It was the end of week two, and as I sat in my chair, I started to ponder my next move. The electricity didn’t seem to be coming back on. There was no difference in the functionality of any of my electronic items, and things were starting to heat up around the neighborhood. I had already seen somebody get shot. People were starting to steal from each other, and arguments were breaking out amongst neighbors. Soon, my safety was going to be harder to ensure. As I thought about my options, I soon fell asleep, listening to the little internal motor of the furball beside me.

I jumped awake. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was getting dark out. I could hear arguing just outside my door. I grabbed my 1911 from the end table beside me and moved to the door. As I looked through the peephole, I could see my neighbor, a fifty-year-old black male who I knew worked for a construction company before this event. He lived across the courtyard from me. We spoke several times a week, but I didn’t know his name. He was a small-statured, quiet guy who worked hard and never bothered anybody. Now he was in an argument with a guy I didn’t know. The second guy was also a black male, about 185 pounds and he was irate. He also had a bat. All of a sudden, the second guy swung his bat striking my neighbor in the shoulder. As the thug swung the bat a second time, I threw open my door.

Several thoughts were running through my head. You need to ignore this and let it play out. Don’t get involved. The world is different now. But I’m not like that. I’m a cop. It was ingrained in my DNA to confront aggression and to protect those that can’t. Batboy swung a third time, knocking my neighbor to the ground.

“Drop the fuckin’ bat!” I yelled. My front sight aimed center mass.

“What? You gonna shoot me? I don’t think you got the balls…cracker!” You could see the contempt in his eyes.

“That’s not something I think you should bet on,” I said as I stared at him. He lifted the bat up and started to walk toward me, rage and anger in his eyes. He kept repeating over and over.

“You ain’t got the balls, cracker.”

“You ain’t got the balls, cracker.”

Each time he said it, I ordered him to drop the bat, but he kept walking toward me. He was about four feet from me when he raised the bat to swing it at me. I pressed the trigger four times, ba-bang, ba-bang. Two double taps, center mass. Batboy stumbled back and landed against a wall. Blood immediately started to drain from the holes in his chest and shirt. He had a look of bewilderment on his face, like he couldn’t believe that I had just shot him. He had been warned. He slid to the ground, dead.

I changed out the partial magazine for a full one, placing the half-used mag in my pocket. I scanned the area for any more threats. Once I was sure there were no more, I walked over to where my neighbor was lying on the patio in front of his door. I wish I could have remembered my neighbor’s name, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was. I looked him over and saw some blood on his head.

“Brother, are you okay?” I asked. He grumbled a little, rubbing his head and shoulder.

“He got me good a couple of times, but I don’t think anything is too serious.” He looked over at the body lying beside his apartment door. “Man, if it wasn’t for you, that could be me lying there with a bashed-in skull. Thanks, man.” He reached out his hand to shake mine. I extended the courtesy and holstered my 1911.

“Brother, things are getting bad here.” In my world, bat boy was just another casualty caused by the event and society’s decline into primitive behavior. I knew an attack on me, in my apartment, was not far off. I made the decision at that moment that I needed to leave. I knew this decision had been coming but had hoped to avoid it. Bunkering in is fine if you’re in a rural area that is easier to defend, but living in a metropolitan community opens you up to the possibility of attack. I decided that humping my way back home to Pennsylvania and the friends I had back there was my best alternative.

“Listen, brother, I’m getting out of here. I’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. I’ve got extra food and water in my apartment that you can have. Once I’m gone, it’s yours.” I reached out my hand to shake his again. “Be safe,” I said as I helped him up and headed to my apartment to prepare to go.