An Old Man And His Axe: A Prepper fiction book of survival in an EMP grid down post apocalyptic world (Old Preppers Die Hard 1) (3 page)

“This sucks, I got winter clothes, a rocket stove, lanterns, gardening equipment and a ton of other shit that is just going to get left right here by the wayside waiting on me to get back or get stolen. Maybe I ought to just go scout my area a bit and set up my new home right here where I washed up at?” Farley fumed to himself.

He could go scout the area better and have a better camp than he could hope for as far as supplies went or he could go on this crazy road march to hell and play survivor man when he got wherever he ended up at. No telling if he was on the right track to find that old cottage anyway. If he screwed up and took the wrong roads etc., it wasn’t like driving 15 minutes in a car either way could get him un-lost and correct any mistake he made in direction. Covering those distances on foot took days and what if he had overshot the place to begin with? One tired, trail-worn, sweaty old man in the big scheme of things wouldn’t matter to anybody except to make them worried that he was up to no good as he trudged down the road and if folks didn’t set the dogs on him, then some stupid ass kid playing zombie killer like one of the mindless videos they liked might just take a shot at him thinking he wanted the food that might be in this old dudes’ pack.

“You better think about that aspect, Farley, kids and folks in general ain`t what they used to be. The internet gamers that enjoyed whacking everybody and everything in their little made up post apocalyptic worlds had no idea how to interact with new modern day survivors let alone take care of themselves and that made them very dangerous. Shit, it’s been 10 weeks or better since this crap hit, how many starving dogs we got on the loose now besides them addle-headed zombie apocalypse believers?”

“I best cut me a staff before I leave here. I could shoot any dogs that might attack me but on the other hand, you got to remember that this is the country and everyone just lets them run loose in normal times and I am used to dealing with that.

You talk to the dogs nicely, you holler at them, you give their territory in front of a house as wide of a berth as you can while talking about them and watching them. You tell them no, you stay on your way so they know you’re leaving and not threatening the family they might be protecting, etc. Hey zombie boys, can you walk the country roads and get along with the dogs in the best of times?” No, this was some serious shit to have to think on and Farley didn’t like any of it.

“Damn crazy men and women getting off their mental medications or becoming paranoid was also a consideration. So was the number of so called sane people that would be over reacting to any perceived threat being real or otherwise. Maybe he should go night hunter mode?” Farley thought wondering how dark these woods would get shortly and knowing he probably wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face most likely.

Damn, he couldn’t even remember what phase the moon was in let alone think about walking up on a rattlesnake crossing the road in the dark. Do what comes naturally and what you know, Farley, and hopefully nature will eventually take over and teach you what she wants you to do. He considered many things in a whir of memories and once again began envisioning how long it would take him to shrug off his civilized manners and learn the way of the woods and jungle again.

Farley was tired, he had spent the night before in fitful late night sleep only to rise at first crack of dawn to begin his perilous bug out. Every turn, every creeping through darkened stop lights had played on his nerves and psyche as he white knuckled the steering wheel in bad areas. What fate had in store for him tomorrow he didn’t know, it felt like the dawn before another battle and he reminded himself to get his mind and any doubts or jitters under control before needing all his wits about him to see him through another day safely.

At least there were no mortars, missiles or artillery to face in the morning. No hidden machinegun nests to overcome but he needed to keep the threat of snipers in mind. Snipers were something that nobody ever got used to but he reminded himself you never hear the round that hits you.

“Enough with the war stories, Farley, you got a new battle ground and no team of brothers to assist you now. Ha, you always did want to try your hand at playing Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett and now by special arrangement you’re going to have to learn how to play with the Indians.” He thought bemused.

Farley was part Native American himself and the thought of him referring to the savages he might encounter as such irked him but he still talked and thought a bit like the Hollywood black and white westerns he grew up with to describe a frontiersman point of view.

“At least those old pioneers didn’t have to deal with feral dogs that had no fear of humans. I would take a bear or a pack of wolves over them domesticated dogs gone wild.” Farley thought, wondering how long it would be before all those strays everyone was probably letting loose on the world because they couldn’t feed them started packing up and getting a taste for human flesh from either the dead on the roads or their own hunting skills, he thought with a shudder.

“Wasn’t that time of the apocalypse yet mate, things were still kind of normal but with a disaster twist. Wasn’t that what he kept reminding himself? Ok, survival rifle remains packed, gun in normal but awkward ready position and I will keep one of those “whopper choppers” I got handy instead of carrying a staff.” Farley decided. A staff was sensible and wouldn’t give folks the cringes at him toting it versus that apocalyptic axe thing he was deciding on but on the other hand a long stick wasn’t as good for digging up tubers or looking Billy bad ass with walking up on somebody, even in a non-threatening manner.

It was our late great President Roosevelt that said “speak softly and carry a big stick” but Farley didn’t want to have to carry a staff and an axe on this first leg of his road trip. He considered carefully that he had seen many edible plants on the side of the road where he was at and it was going to be a long walk to where he was going.

Acclimating his body to consuming wild foods he would begin doing tomorrow because they were not as digestible to his city living body. Many plants and herbs possess characteristics that either aid or detract from the digestion. Many people might even be allergic to some of them. Farley figured that small doses of the wild foods that to his trained eye might be found in patches here and there abundantly could be introduced to his diet very slowly and also extend his long term storage food.

Now then, which ‘Whopper Chopper’ to take? Dang, that’s a hard question to answer. He liked the utility of the survival model Little Trucker multi tool axe but he also liked the reach of its full scale older brother. He had trapping, shelter building and defense in mind so he settled on the Big Boy, remembering just how mean a live bobcat could be in a snare that needed dispatching and all he had was a short stick to try to whop it with. Having settled on what he would carry on his person as for walking around gear, he cast his eyes towards his pack. What kind of food do I have in there anyway, he said to himself thinking that it’s contents of 72 hours worth of meals didn’t make too much sense because it was going to take him three days just to reach his destination and so he needed even more.

“Crap!” He thought. “Might as well get up now and go get more chow. I have been half ass thinking about it for some time now. MOUNTAIN HOUSE SEAFOOD CHOWDER! I am going to carry a whole damn can of that stuff with me! It doesn’t weigh much and I can get a bunch of meals out of it and hell, that’s my favorite comfort food! I ain`t keen to think the lid will stay on it toting’ it around in my pack so I better stick it in a big zip lock or something so it doesn’t matter if it comes loose.” Farley thought as he exited the van and started digging through his stash for the umpteenth time today.

“What about that idea I had of eating up some of my storage before I left here?” Farley said to himself with a grin thinking to himself after all that a bowl of chowder would be pretty great to celebrate his success in getting to this side of the post apocalyptic world and hugged a can of it like a Teddy bear. Farley really likes that stuff.

I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring but I’ll be eating pretty well for a little bit. Now then, canned goods: that stuff weighs heavy but I didn’t buy any of the camping size portions of the dehydrated food, so canned stuff that doesn’t require water also has its plusses.

Farley was from the era of the military that started out on C rations. Daily rations of tin can food packed military style. This modern day version he created for himself with cans of chicken or turkey or what not were adequate but he forlornly remembered his favorite C-rat pork slices that you could no longer get in any form or fashion.

He also wished for some of that giant can size rice crispy infused chocolate discs that were great for barter that he hadn’t seen in a couple of decades but he augmented that with one of his old mainstays of hiding some pouches of fortified cocoa mix here and there about his person.

That cocoa mix is great stuff eating it straight out of the pouch and a great pick me up in vitamins and energy but the main thing it does for you is to fortify your soul if you have such a treat on a long march. Now when it comes to the new army stuff, he thought MRE peanut butter was the best thing that ever happened. Not only was it nutritious, it was also the most highly nutritious thing he could think of because he could probably bait at least 20 or 30 squirrels with it and still have him a taste.

“O.K. now, more MRE peanut butter to be added.” He said to himself as he reached for a small get home bag that he’d been salvaging various bits and pieces of survival gear or chow from. “Hmm, Datrex bar! Blue version 3600 calories, well shit that’s three days flavor of coconut cookies if he wanted to favor that. Let’s see now…got one of those SOS bars that taste like lemon cookies that’s another 2400 calories, that’s five days in those packages. That’s probably another pound or two I am adding to this pack and I could be arguing with myself for days on how I’m going to do this.

No, wait a minute now, I’m being a smart puppy about this I guess, and those Coast Guard approved overboard rations that are two and a half weeks of getting by on in a two pound package so I guess they’re going. One can of canned chicken, two cans of deviled meat to go on those Pilot crackers I got and three MRE’s. And I will quit thinking about food for now; unless that counts that can of Spam I’m going to be eating like a caveman when I walk out of here in the morning.

Farley, you old sad-sack soldier, this isn’t making no sense, no sense at all, you could sit here like a king and set up your own little camp with all these supplies but for some damn reason you got your heart set on making it to that lake. Why is that?”

Farley knew, he wasn’t kidding himself. Oh, it was nice to think about bugging in to a nice lake cabin and being able to fish and draw water for drinking every day, but one of the things Farley knew was the key to survival was companionship. Eventually everyone knows that they need others. That’s why a solitary man goes crazy. Humans are not exactly herd animals but they require interactions with others to keep their focus and sanity. Farley had dreams of being able to create some kind of a new survival community but finding even one like minded person to team up with and increase his survival chances these days was just a thought. But maybe, just maybe, fate would cause somebody to cross his path that felt like sharing the daily living and chores together and it would be somebody to talk to, share the dangers with. Someone who would lend a helping hand when it was needed. Also was the thought that he wouldn’t feel like he was going to die all alone.

Not that it really mattered, a person can die alone in the middle of a crowd if there is no one left to mourn him. He figured it wouldn’t be bad to be remembered or share some of his gear with someone else and wanted the company anyway. Life wasn’t all about what one can possess but to share with others was part of his joy. Hell, he had too much stuff! It would be nice if he had somebody that would help him haul it back to where he was going and give them a chance to make it too. But Fate put him out on this dirt road all by his lonesome and except for the squirrel tossing things at him from the tree above; he didn’t have a friend in the world to stand by his side.

It was pitch black dark now outside and the fireflies spooked him as he looked for any kind of telltale lights in the distance that might alert him that someone else shared this part of his world. His arguments with the mosquitoes had been stilled long ago but he still reeked of OFF insect repellant spray in the confines of the van. He waited, he watched, he listened carefully and finally drifted off to sleep still assembling and reassembling that damn pack in his mind that he felt he had to do some more with in the morning.

2

MARCHING DOWN THE AVENUE

Farley woke before dawn and listened wearily to the woods around him. It was cool now, the oppressive heat and humidity of the day had not set in and if he did not have to go on this road march today, he might have just enjoyed this bit of respite.

“What the hell time is it anyway?” He wondered and turned the ignition key in the car on and saw the radio time of 3:45, that’s a hell of a time to be up, he thought to himself. Can’t see shit in here, so I’m not even messing with that pack this morning. I’m tired of packing and unpacking! He declared to the world as he exited the driver’s side noisy side door to his van and grabbed his gear and studied it for a moment.

What the hell am I missing? I know I’m missing something! I know I’m going to get halfway down this road and some damn thing that I probably got four of sitting here I won’t have one of then but Bullshit! If it isn’t in this pack or on me it ain’t going so…Ready, Set…OH, Your left, right your left...” Farley began to sing marching cadence to himself as slung his pack and set off on his journey.

The sun began breaking the dawn of the forest as he walked along and he began seeing the land’s dark features a little bit better. “Well, it looks like I’m heading towards the lake. This would be a royal bitch if I was headed in the opposite direction,” Farley thought ominously.

“Why is it I can’t remember a clue about how to orient myself with one of these damn button compasses?” he thought as a squirrel skittered through the leaves and underbrush, giving him a start. 

“Hey, squirrel, if you are kin to that scruffy heathen up the road that was throwing leaves and branches at me all day, I already done told him I was moving on!” Farley said joking with the animal that he had definitely snuck up on or didn’t care as he scuffled along in the dirt. Hey, that’s something I should be thinking on, I need to be making me some noise getting down the road so snakes and animals know I’m in the woods. Of course I shouldn’t be doing it too loud, it’s not like I’m in Alaska shouting at the bears.

That reminded me, it’s pretty dang crazy what they can sell to people and its pretty dang crazy what will work but…bear bells! Yup! Some people attach tiny little cow bells from the supply store so they could sound like Tinker Bell going through the woods! Farley always thought such shenanigans might ring the dinner bell for some critters that didn’t understand Wall Street advertising and he dang sure didn’t want one of his hunting buddies calling him any names, so that notion went out the window.

But singing softly or loudly in the presence of any critters he wanted out of his way that might be listening to his frog-like voice sometimes made sense to it. “Going down that dark, dusty road, singing my song…” he began singing and humming softly just to raise his spirits and just in case it did scare off a snake.

Now what in the hell is that? Farley said to himself spotting a bit of white paint in the distance. Somebody’s got them a house way out here in this neck of the woods after all, I gather, he thought to himself squinting into the distance.

He slowed his step and readied his axe that was now his critter getter in response to any chasing car dogs that might think it was funny to put a scare in him. You know them sons of bitches that wait right until you get close to them and then all of the sudden start racing alongside causing you to freak thinking that you’re going to hit him.

As Farley got closer, he noted that the bit of paint that he had seen and the glimpses he got through the woods evidenced a long abandoned ramshackle house of a bygone era that he wished he knew the story or history of.

See, Farley, all you have to do is go right down here and you have a ready-made house you could salvage or move into! But no, we’re going to the lake, right? He knew the place hadn’t seen habitation in Lord only knows when, but he still kept an eye on the place like some ghost or zombie horde was going to rush out after him and he was happy when he finally cleared it.

He thought how foolish that was and how he used to love to find and explore old, abandoned places, but to find this one here so close to his stash was something to consider as he stopped and reconsidered exploring this place. But that place had something dark and ominous about it that just didn’t feel right to him, gave him the creeps you might say. He thought about that feeling and decided to proceed on his way. Besides, its green mossy roof shingles laid decades ago was caving in over one section and the wet looking broken down porch had the same aura about it that told him there was no welcome here.

Funny, he thought, any other time I’d be snooping around that place like no tomorrow if it seemed safe to do. But today is for the living and not visiting the dead and I got miles to go before I probably have to sleep in a place like that tonight. Farley walked along this old piece of God forsaken road about another three miles and the sun was getting high, it was about 10:30 in the morning when he arrived at his next point of consternation.

“Aw hell, boy, somebody’s living over there. I wonder what’s going on? That yap-yap dog up ahead hadn’t had a chance to see me yet, I guess he’s barking at something else.”  Farley considered, slowing his pace.

“Oh, the axe I got in my hand. I ain`t putting it up, I’ll just have to lower it.” He said to himself going off the on-guard position. Damn, it sounded like a good idea to tote the thing but walking down the road trying to say Hi to a neighbor with it in my hand now just doesn’t seem right.

That’s probably a damn Chihuahua or some damn designer peek-a-poo dog that they make these days yapping at a squirrel or something. They run around yapping at everything thinking they’re doing their job! There are definitely some people living over there, though …maybe they got some gas to sell or trade for and that would be cool!

Maybe they’ll give me a friggin’ ride back up the road a few miles with some gas and that would be even cooler! Maybe they’ll shoot my ass and that wouldn’t be cool at all.” Farley considered as he crept up to get a better look at the place.

Farley got off the road and walked in the woods toward what appeared to be a bit of a clearing around an older house with a great big white garage. Whatever commotion was going on appeared to be happening in the back of the house. The little dog was in a fenced in area next to the house and looking at the garage.

He listened more and could hear what seemed to be a screen door slam and an old man hollering “Git!” and some more garbled words that he couldn’t hear. What the hell? Farley thought as he heard the old man holler “I’ll kill you boy!” And some young man hollering “I ain`t done nothing!”

Now this needs investigating but I ain`t getting into any family squabbles over there, Farley thought and against his better judgment headed out from the woods and across to the garage where he heard the voices coming from.

“Steal from me, will you? I will hack your head off!” he heard the old man shout. And something that sounded like “Please!” screeched by a boy.

Farley picked up the pace to see what was going on back there. Farley was about ten steps from the front of the garage and thinking about how he was going to go around the garage to confront what was happening when a streak of lightening in the form of a fourteen or fifteen year old boy came running out with a knife in his hand.

“What’s wrong, boy? Who is chasing you?” Farley said as he leveled his multi tool at him just in case he was a threat to him in his extreme fright.

”That old man back there!” the boy said skirting around Farley, giving him a wide berth and running like the devil himself was after him.

Farley turned his head back from watching the boy pass and saw an old overall-clad man with an insane crazy look in his eyes coming from around the back end of the garage with an old wood felling axe raised over his head.

“I’ll kill you, I’ll kill your daddy too!” The man yelled and started to charge at Farley.

“Hey now, you old bastard, hang on there, I ain’t that boy’s daddy!” he hollered at him but the old man with a wicked look in his eye just kept on coming.

“Ah shit, this son of a bitch is loony tunes crazy!” Farley thought with a momentary glance in back of him to see where the boy with the knife was.

“Calm down! Calm your ass down and back off!” Farley said dancing out of the way with his Whopper Chopper at the ready.

“I’ll kill you deader than hell too! You ain’t stealing from old Finch!” The sweating old man said with a bit of a white froth now forming on his lip and headed again in Farley’s direction with murder in his eyes.

“You’re the one that’s going to die, you old bastard, unless you back your ass off!” Farley said before he got out away from a wild swing of the axe in his direction that said that there was no more talking during this little death dance.

Farley had played with what he playfully called his “whopper chopper, because he used it to whop things and chop things. This was his multipurpose axe tool he used frequently.

He had several times before this day tried to figure out what kind of fighting style do you need to sling something around that is some sort of  across between a battle axe and a war hammer and practiced his own odd style of fighting with it thinking he might have to use it as a weapon someday. .

He had beat the air and a few likely tree stumps and branches in an animated duel with invisible aggressors before but he never thought he would be facing a man with an axe. A damn long handled axe at that!

In his imagination, he had fought off invisible aggressors with Bowie knives and tomahawks but what was facing him now had some considerable reach to it and a crazy man in back of it. His martial arts practice as the karate masters called it “Kata” would include doing figure eights like in a movie or something, but he had never thrown the son of a bitch before and that was what he was thinking now to keep that old bastard from sinking it into whatever part of his body he could get to, so all Farley could do was dance around staying out of the way and looking for an opening to take advantage of.

Farley finally said the hell with this and became more aggressive. He momentarily saw the opening he had been waiting for and stepped in.  He swung his own weapon towards the man as the weight of the axe his aggressor was swinging carried the man sideways and left himself exposed and Farley proceeded to smack him right on top of the noggin with the flat of his own axe.

Farley thought about it later that he would normally have thought to hit him with the blade edge of the axe but it lent itself better to the whack attack like a giant spatula or fly swatter.