Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (47 page)

He walked
down to the edge of the pond and looked into the water, hoping to spot a fish. 
They had cranes and turtles aplenty and luckily no snakes or alligators—though,
on second thought, he realized that snakes and ‘gators would make for tasty
meals if food got scarce.  But what about the water?

No, we’re
going to have to find water elsewhere or dig a well.
  Erik
thought for a second. 
Of course!  A well…the water table in Florida is only
what...five feet down or so?  Or is it three feet?  Something like that…that’s
why there’s no basements in Florida.
  Erik found Lentz and told him of his
idea to dig a well.  Lentz liked it and passed the job on to Noreen, the
Building 2 rep.  She jumped at the chance to give back something after the
fight and took the details down from Erik before rushing off to start the
well.  They were concerned that the water might be brackish, but left that
issue for when the well was dug.

A few
minutes later, Erik was visiting with Old Bernie, the complex Procurement
Chief.  Bernie explained to Erik how he had set up teams of five men,
volunteers all, to scout the area looking for items the complex needed—food,
water, building materials, and weapons. 

“They can
take whatever cars we got sittin’ around here and if they need gas, they just
siphon it out of an abandoned car on the road somewhere.  Ain’t no one gonna
complain.  If they do, that’s why we got three of ‘em packin’ shotguns.”

Erik
frowned.  “I don’t like the idea of that so much of our arsenal is out roaming
around in the hands of men who aren’t all that trained.”

“Well,
they’ve been training for days now, since all that fightin’.”

“Yeah, but
it still makes me nervous.  What happens if we’re attacked again and there’s a
roving party out.  We’re down three shotguns—that’s a lot of firepower to be
missing, Bernie.”

“Well,”
Bernie said, picking up a clipboard with the raiding schedule posted.  He
scanned the sheet.  “There’s a group headin’ out today at noon.  Was gonna send
‘em over to the big Publix Distribution center south of town.  Figured no one
would have bothered that too much.  Don’t look like a grocery store to most
folks.  We
could
send ‘em over to all the gun stores in town instead…”

Erik shook
his head.  “No, I wouldn’t waste my time with that.  From what we’ve heard
through rumors from people heading out of town, the gun shops have already been
looted.  That’s probably where the people downtown got their firepower.  Last I
heard they were still tearing things up by the Marina.”  Erik thought for a
second.  “No, I’d send the raiders off to pawn shops—“       

“Won’t get
very many new guns that way, son.”

“No, but
used guns should do just fine.  What about that Sports Giant store up by I-75? 
Didn’t they sell guns?  Or Wally World?”

“Them
places prob’ly done been cleaned out.  That’s where I woulda started,” grunted
Bernie, looking up at Erik.

“Well,
we’re in a pickle.  If we had gone after the weapons like I wanted back before
the Battle…”

“Woulda,
shoulda, coulda, son…it ain’t the best of times to be cryin’ over spilt milk. 
Now what we gonna
do
?”

“We can’t
take the raiders off the food run.  That’s top priority right now.  I talked
with Stan yesterday and he said that we’re down to about three days worth left,
because of the added mouths of the bikers.  We need food and we need it now. 
Lentz is going to want to put us on rationed meals otherwise,” Erik said,
grumbling inwardly because he and Brin had plenty of food.  He vowed there’d be
no conscriptions of individual food reserves.  Every family would be provided
for, but no one would be forced to hand over what they had prepared before the
lights went out.  That would be reinforcing and rewarding foolish
short-sightedness.

“Alright,
here’s what we’ll do.  You send your raiders to hit the distribution center and
get us some food.  Have ‘em look for anything usable, but bring back as much as
they can.  If there’s enough there, we’ll send a larger party back with more
vehicles and load up.  Before your team heads out for food, I’ll take Hoss and
we’ll look for weapons.  Sound good?”

“Well…”
Bernie thought.  “It’s better than sending all of you out at once…”

“I know,
it’ll leave the complex a little exposed for a while, but we’ll only be short myself
and Hoss.  When we get back, your team goes out.  But they’ve got the gate
repaired and better than it was before.  Short of someone crashing a tank
through the walls, no one is getting in for the time being.  Even if someone
were to set the gate on fire—the big wooden beams would take hours to burn and
we’ve got that big pond there to put out any fires with,” he said, thinking
back to the Battle and blurry images he saw of people carrying buckets up from
the pond to douse the Molotov cocktail fires that had spread through the front
of the complex.

“If’n your
gone…all o’ ya, I mean…if’n you ain’t gone more’n an hour or three…well, might
be it’d work,” Bernie said, nodding his head and planting a look of grim
determination on his wrinkled face.

Erik clapped
him on the back.  “Good.  You see to your raiders and I’ll get mine.  Sound
good?”

Bernie
grinned.  “Good enough for guv’ment work, son.”

BRIN HUGGED ERIK
tightly in the parking lot behind their apartment, not caring if Hoss watched
or not.  “You better come back, or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself—and
if you’re already dead, I’ll resurrect you and kill you again,” she whispered
nervously in his ear, trying to sound calm and sarcastic.

Erik
returned the hug and tried not to wince over his bruised shoulder.  The warm
body squeezing his was all that he could see of his old life—he hadn’t heard
from his parents or friends  or anyone up north since the power went out.

Those were
the worries he had been trying to force from his mind while he concentrating on
survival and protecting his wife.  But he knew at least Brin would be safe
until he returned.  Hopefully in just a few hours.  He untangled his reluctant
bride and took a breath to calm his mind.

“Here you
go, Hoss,” Erik said, handing the large biker his Viking sword.  It had been
cleaned, polished and sharpened after the Battle, during which its previous
user had died.  Hoss hefted the weapon like a knife in his massive hand.

“Ain’t got
much use for a pig-sticker, Erik…I got this,” he said, holding up the sawed off
12-gauge he used so well during the Battle.  “Got a handful of spare rounds in
the saddlebags on my bike.  Besides, I don’t know how to use one of those
things like you do.  I saw you during the fight—you were like a meat grinder. 
I’d probably cut my own damn foot off.”

“Well,
think of it this way.  If you’re on the bike and out of ammo—God forbid,” he
said, hoping to sooth Brin a little.  “You hit someone with that sword going
thirty miles an hour and you’ll cut ‘em in half at the waist.”  Erik raised an
eyebrow.  “And besides, it’s easy to use…just stick ‘em with the point.”

Hoss
laughed and admired the gleaming blade.  “Hmmm…that might be kinda cool to
see.  Okay,” he grunted, his mind made up.  “I’ll take it.”  He bent down and
strapped the scabbard to the side of the motorcycle, so that it would be within
easy reach if he needed to draw it while riding.

“Here’s
some extra water and food, too.”  The food was U.S. Coast Guard approved
survival rations, in a freeze dried brick that Erik pulled from his
bug-out-bag.  “Thirty-six hundred calories and they won’t make you thirsty. 
Plus they  taste somewhat like a coconut flavored shortbread.  All in all not
bad, lasts for years, even in extreme heat and they’re cheap,” Erik explained.

The rest of
the contents of the bag, weeded out for weight, included parachute cord,
matches, a flashlight, and many of the lightweight and handy items a hiker
might need to stay alive and comfortable for a few days before being rescued. 
Erik had packed, repacked and packed again that same bag hundreds of times
since September 11, 2001, practicing over and over again what to do if he were
forced to evacuate his apartment up north in the event of a terrorist attack or
other disaster.  Now he was finally using it.

“We’re not
staying out that long, are we?”  Hoss asked while watching Erik heft the medium
sized backpack and put it in the SUV.

“No, but
this is just in case.  If all goes well, we won’t need any of this stuff, but
why take a chance?”

“Suits.”

“Great.” 
Erik tightened the sheath on his K-Bar, strapped securely to his right thigh. 
His pistol was in its drop holster on his left thigh.  The
katana
he
placed on the passenger seat of Brin’s SUV.  “Okay, we’re all gassed up, we got
food and water, we got our weapons.  All we need are the radios.”

Brin handed
one to Erik and one to Hoss.  “Here you go, boys.  I set ‘em both on channel 4
and put them both on the same security code.  I’ll have one here tuned to the
same channel.  Me and Alfonse will be listening.  If there’s any trouble, say
so, and we’ll send out the cavalry.”             Both Hoss and Erik knew that
meant the rest of the bikers would come roaring down the road to rescue them.

Erik gave
his wife one last kiss before climbing into the driver’s seat of the big black
SUV and starting it up.  Hoss sat astride his bike and kick started the Harley
to life with a thunderous roar.

“Let’s
ride!” Hoss bellowed, giving the hog some gas and heading for the gate with
Erik right behind him.  Upon reaching the gate, Erik saw that the carpenters
had been ready.  They pulled the two cars out of the way and let the massive
new gate stand on its own for the first time since the Battle.  A team of men
on the ground then swung the reinforced gate wide for the two raiders to leave
the complex.  Erik honked the horn as they turned onto the street and headed
for the main drag through town. 

They
ignored the shallow graves where the gang-bangers from the Battle had been
covered across the street under some trees.  By the time they were at the north
corner of the complex wall, the gate had already been secured behind them.

“
Alright,
man, where to?
” asked Hoss’s voice coming out of Erik’s radio in the
passenger seat.  The background rumble of the motorcycle was incredibly loud
but Hoss’s voice cut through it easily enough.

“Hit the
intersection up ahead and go right.  We’re gonna follow that road to the last
intersection before the interstate overpass,” he replied.  “We’ll check out the
sporting goods store first.”

“
You got
it
…” was the crackly reply.  Hoss waved his right arm in a standard
motorcycle ‘turn signal’ and pulled on to the main drag, heading east towards
the interstate.  Even through the nicely soundproofed SUV Erik could hear the
roar of Hoss’s motorcycle as the biker gunned it. 

A few tense
minutes later, Erik and Hoss pulled up in front of the obviously ransacked
sporting goods store.  They had seen only a few people out and about on the way
there—mostly dirty, hungry looking people who were drawn to the noise of a car
and motorcycle. 

There were
a handful of abandoned cars along the sides of the road, many with windows shot
out and a few with drivers still inside.  Erik tried not to think about
that…all those bodies, swollen and bloated in the summer heat.

Trash had
piled up in front of many of the houses they passed, a sure sign that the
people who still lived in town were cowering inside but tried to go about the
normal routine.  Obviously the trash men didn’t share that hope because it
looked for all the world like no one had collected trash in about a month. 

The
strangest part to Erik, was how everything appeared to be deserted.  He had
expected to see more people milling about, rummaging through stores, looting,
doing
something
.  Evidently most people either fled, as the rumors had
it, or went to the National Guard ‘safe zones’ like the radio had reported a
few days before the Battle.  Erik shook his head.  The government asked people
to go to the ‘safe zones’ and they did, just like good little sheep.  He noticed
that no one that had gone to one of the ‘safe zones’ ever came back.  Something
to check into with the other people in the neighborhood surrounding the complex
when they got back.

Erik
scanned the parking lot and saw no movement and only a few cars, parked
haphazardly here and there.  Most had bullet holes.  “See any threats?” he
asked, holding the radio tightly.  He watched Hoss, just in front of his SUV
look left and right and over his shoulder, straddling the motorcycle for extra
height.

      “
Nope.
 Looks deserted, man
,” came the static filled reply.

“Alright,
let’s go around to the back and see if we can find a way in that won’t leave us
so exposed,” Erik said, thinking that anyone watching the store would notice
two new vehicles parked out front.

They worked
their way through the trash and debris left in the road by looters and parked
at the rear of the building.  The fire door was slightly ajar.  Erik said a
silent prayer of thanks and put the SUV into park before turning it off.   He
gathered his radio and sword before exiting the vehicle.  He put the backpack
on, then strapped his
katana
to it vertically and settled all his gear
for comfort.