Shadows Of Sanity And Survival (Old Preppers Die Hard Book 3) (7 page)

He beseeched me, he begged me to help him out and all I could do was give him a little bit of biltong deer meat I had for him to gnaw on as I heard his tale. He said they had been walking for weeks trying to get to the lake in hopes of being able to augment their sterile diets of not much more than grass and weeds with fish. They had many confrontations with other survivors, ammo was low and food was almost non-existent as anyone they met or any houses they had come upon were bereft of any kind of sustenance as if a plague of locusts had already passed through before they had arrived. The man joked in a macabre fashion that as far as he was concerned the rest of his party was the walking dead and that he held no grudge against them for leaving him behind. They soon would join him somewhere not far down the road. Movement, constant movement, constant searching and marching was their fate to find a bit or a morsel of anything left or forgotten is what it took and the march that they were on had left many a soul like him behind to die so that others might live along the tragic route that they had undertaken.

He explained that at first everybody’s humanity would never even consider such a dastardly deed and people shared food, carried each other’s packs and helped along the weak and the sick up to the point in time that they realized to do such nice deeds only condemned them to a longer and more miserable death themselves. No one wanted to be a burden to the majority but nobody wanted to die alone either. He had himself left folks behind who were too tired to move on, too weak to take another step and it hurt his soul to condemn them like that, but such was this new thing they called life at the moment. The man had remarked to Farley that he looked in pretty good shape to be existing for so long in such times and couldn’t he stay and help him or take him home with him and nurse him back to health.

He promised he would be a big help once he got to rest and eat a bit. Farley with a teardrop in one eye and a very unsteady voice explained to his fellow survivor that he considered and reconsidered the man’s plea for mercy and assistance and that he had finally decided he could do no more than to give him a large portion of the two day ration he had with himself and wish him the best of luck. He gave him a few fishhooks and some line as well as directions to the lake four or five miles off and then made sure he didn’t look back, you can never look back he reminded himself.

“Why didn’t you bring him back with you? Why didn’t you help him more?” Becky gasped in shock and admonished him like she thought he was vile scum at the moment.

“Because he is not the only person that I ever saw in such a sorry condition over the past months, he was however one of the few I stopped to talk to. I wanted to help him more, I really did. I still see his face and it haunts me, but we cannot take in everyone or feed everyone and nurse them all back to health forgetting our own needs. I decided long ago that we have to live for today and fight for tomorrow. Mercy and humanity are luxuries that are perilously hard to afford.  I did leave him my food, Becky, and that’s all I’ll say. I hunted two days before I could finally feed myself.” Farley said rising and doing what his fellow survivors said was him taking a short walk to clear his head when things became too much for him.

As Farley just wandered around the perimeter of the campground area apparently doing nothing more than stopping to take a whiz on a tree then wandering back towards the assembled meeting of his tribe as he called it. He listened to them as they gabbled and fussed about what they would have done in the same situation and that the least that Farley could have done was park that old man on the edge of the lake and given him fishing pole and left him. Farley had taught them many hard lessons and from what he said about carrying back the sick and dying poor souls that he saw on a daily basis they realized that he was bitterly right and that they would have soon overwhelmed any resources that they had and so to a certain extent they lost their anger with him. Maybe that’s why Farley was so aloof and had such a vacant stare at times, maybe that’s why they said he drank too much from these memories regardless of how much he seemed to enjoy his libations. Could be his hardness around them was tempered with mercy and they questioned themselves could they have done the same?

"Double? No, triple? our troubles and we?d still be better off than any other people on earth."
- RonaldReaga
n
 

I think most Preppers can relate to this thought.

3

You Got To Fly Like An Eagle

Farley got up the next morning and bleary eyed and scratching his head looked out his window towards the fire circle that he shared as kind of a community get-together place with Becky’s cabin. Miss Feng and Becky were already out doing the morning routine of starting out a new day. He saw the coffee pot already brewing and was very grateful for that. It had been a long night of worries and far to much drinking on his part as the group discussed whether to move on away from this place or if they should invite strangers into their midst. The idyllic lifestyle that they had been enjoying was somehow now to be no more, didn’t matter either way they chose to go.

Farley had gone off by himself eventually and had sorta hung out in his cabin drinking until the wee hours of the morning writing out what he called his will. Actually it wasn’t a will but it wasn’t just his Christmas wishes list either. During his nighttime vigil and drinking bout he had decided for himself that come or go, they all needed to be inviting some folks to join into their circle for protective reasons. He thought long and hard how easy it would be to just pick up and leave for parts unknown on one last big adventure and if it had just been his choice in the matter and not have to worry about the other survivors, his decision would have been a lot easier. None of the people that lived at the resort could really grasp just how dangerous it was on the roads and in the woods these days and it was time they all needed to reach some troubling conclusions. To try to stay alone and live as they had been doing was no longer an option unless by some miracle the people of the lake as Farley referred to the people still inhabiting cabins along the shoreline, managed to get banded together to somehow overcome what amounted to a small army that was already waging wars with the residents of the outlying towns. That the gangs would be traveling this way was an assurance according to the map that is unless they stopped for the winter or found enough resources to sustain them and occupy the countryside where they were currently based at. They would surely be here by spring if they stayed and that was a fact Farley carefully considered.

Farley thought himself a dang fool to even consider going around and trying to raise any kind of troops or militia if you wanted to call them that. Just trying to do that could get you killed. He was happy with just Dump Truck and the Lazarus boys but the need was there for a bigger force. They needed someone to find out just how many people in the lake were available to join up with what he considered the only standing forces around here and they were all pretty much church controlled in his opinion. Having a lake resident force of their own if they fought here or over by the town was something that needed approaching.

There were many small groups of armed men and women functioning as family units with lots of relatives in the surrounding area that had ties to community the churches thought they might be able to get organized together and join them, but that was an unknown at this point. Many people that were still alive and living on the lake were just families that had bugged out of the cities to their vacation homes in hopes of surviving more easily that they could in the city. They all had had hopes of being able to catch a fish or shoot some kind of game every day to feed themselves but all too soon reality set in and it became a horrible dark realization that it simply could not be done under current conditions. Going fishing or hunting at the lake during normal times was no guarantee of success and most of these people had very ignorant or unwarranted notions that somehow they would have been able to survive without any stockpiled food or resources whatsoever to sustain them.

Many, many days had passed of no fish, no game, no food and no hope and this slowly whittled down the numbers of people trying to survive in such a way until the numbers of living, at least on this side of the lake, were ground down pretty thin. Even though most of these people were formally salt of the earth good people that had somehow scrimped and saved enough or were able to buy themselves a vacation home and got along with all strangers before the breakdown, now it was different: no longer were they jovial and open hearted with strangers.

The longer that they viewed their neighbors of many a summer vacation the more they disliked them, a change occurred. Now they were distant to them, suspicious of motives but on more than one occasion some of them had banded together to rob supplies from the less fortunate or less aware former residents on other parts of the lake.

Raiding party meant raiding party and blood was spilt whether it was tried to be avoided or not. They had to have food so they stole.  People were shot for looting, people were shot for no other reason than to settle old issues of contention that the law formerly restrained. Skeletal beings still tried to live a hand to mouth existence testing their luck fishing and their chances with Father Time surviving just a bit longer.

Their days were numbered and Farley occasionally watched from afar to see just how bad they were getting along and estimate if they would be there next time he came around. There was little reason to watch them as he already knew what would probably be their ultimate fates. The main reason he kept an eye on them is that they tended to wander in mass at times like a pack of scavenging dogs. People do not just sit in their homes and die in place if they think succor or sustenance is but a few houses away.

In many cases it’s just like they did regular fishing before the collapse. You had your neighbor’s permission before the collapse to fish off their docks because the fishing was better over there than on yours. As times got harder and needs got bigger, petty jealousies and increased fishing demands caused great rivalries.

A neighbor didn’t have to continue to allow you to share his dock or give you a fish just because you didn’t have one. A man or woman with a gun won’t sit idly by and starve without just deciding one day to go out and take something from those that are weaker or by surprise and stealth. Many little coves and inlets such as the one Farley was on had organized for themselves small community survival groups. Many other developments just dissolved into total anarchy as nobody would look out for anybody else but themselves and they were subject to all the woes that starvation and murder could reproduce.

Many, many people waited far too long to decide to find allies and organize themselves into some form of self sustaining community for defense and provisions. And many others that did organize themselves as such soon found out that no one would take the responsibility of leadership or that it ended up in a malaise of too many chiefs and not enough Indians. People these days were still hanging on here and there though. That’s the problem with starvation; it takes a hell of a long time to die if you can occasionally get some food from somewhere. For Farley to have to walk into any of these areas and openly ask to parley and not retreat back to the safety of the woods at the first threat or warning was tantamount to suicide in his opinion, but somehow he had to come up with a plan to try.

“That was part of why I stayed up so late last night drinking.” Farley mused to himself and reached for a spiral bound book that he had basically written down his last wishes and disposition of his Christmas presents. He wasn’t sure he would make it back to camp this time and wanted to set his mind at ease about a few things.

Christmas had been a thing that he was holding up to everybody as a special holiday to remember to keep morale up. Pretty much everyone had already accepted their position in life and that Christmas would be just be another day of drudgery in the life here but reminiscing on Miss Feng’s birthday party and the joy it had brought everyone regardless of circumstances was forever held up as a reminder by Farley.

He had his own system for doing it: there was the public version and the private version of him keeping everybody’s spirits up. He was their self appointed morale officer, if you wanted to call him that and he would sit back and observe what was needed or most appreciated by the people in the group and look for specific things in his travels that he secreted away in his cabin for the special occasion.

Rather than tell everyone individually what they might want to give another person for the holiday that they dreaded anticipating or blew him off with a reminder it was just another day in glum acceptance of their status. He would cajole, plot and scheme and needle them to focus on Xmas present ideas as if they were helping him decide and humor him.

When they finally broke down and made suggestions for what he should give other people, they began to think about what they themselves would like to give or want and the holiday season soon took on its old commercial meaning, but now with the joy of practicality as well as spirituality in their choices. Spirituality in the sense of what would just make somebody happy, nothing more and could be silly or impractical just because that’s how the recipients are.

Like finding shiny, glittery things for Becky who rejoiced in decorating with odd bits of this or that both in her yard and house. Or Charlie’s obsession to learn how to fly fish even though he was yet to catch one that way but studiously reviewed his book guided attempts at its mastery.

Farley had never been fly fishing before; he understood the concept but whipping a line back and forth with a hook on the end of it just didn’t set well with him, particularly when he saw Charlie avoid a rather tragic accident by hooking his own hat in trying to learn the process. But he had found him an old bamboo cane fly fishing pole with a reel that still had plenty of life in it that he was going to give his nephew Fong for Christmas.

To Charlie, fly fishing was something like Tai Chi: he loved trying to learn its fluid movements and controlled measures. Many people do not understand that Tai Chi is also a very potent form of self defense and some of Farley’s favorite moments to giggle abut were when Miss Feng, who seemed to be a master of it, demonstrated some kind of dastardly move on her less coordinated husband.

Farley wanted to try some of that ancient Asian martial arts himself and saw how potent the style of self defense could be, but being an old backwoods brawler wanting to charge in, he just couldn’t get the hang out of what he called doing Chinese ballet.

Farley grabbed his survival vest, his Boonie hat, his newly acquired Aero rifle and his shotgun and headed for the fire.

“So you did decide to finally get up Farley! Coffee is on fire you want some.”

“Ha Farley! You look like you got big head today from drinking too much!” Miss Feng sort of scolded, giggled at him.

“Yea and I don’t need you screeching at me either this morning. Where’s Charlie at? We got to finalize this decision on staying or going today.” Farley said sitting down wearily on the tree stump he declared his own personal perch for this community campfire.

“Oh he off with the boys checking trot line. He be here soon.” Miss Feng said rattling pots and pans next to her in a cardboard box much louder than necessary just to aggravate what she hoped was Farley’s hangover.

“You are the noisiest little woman I ever seen.” Farley grumbled in her direction.

“You no complain last night when you tell me and Becky make you sling out of paracord for your new rifle!” Miss Feng said with a wink towards Becky.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. This single strand I got on this thing will serve me for right now but if ya’ll got enough of that paracord I gave you last night to build one will take about , oh say 50 or $60 off that shopping list you got me working on for Christmas.”

The reason Farley liked being morale officer for this thing was not so much about the holidays lately, it was that he could provide for everybody’s needs and get paid for it to boot with favors or trade goods. He had somehow lucked into a very unique trade position and one he really enjoyed the benefits of.

Say for example, Miss Feng said for him to find Fong a nice warm sweater that she and Charlie could give him for Christmas in a boy’s size that would fit him and a particular color. That’s when the world record dance of bartering and parlaying would begin. Now finding the item in and of itself was one thing, adding that Miss Feng wanted a blue or a red one made it more valuable. That Farley needed her to make him one of her famous food dishes or trade for some soy sauce or something added to the trade.

That he wanted it now, even before he came up with the goods, to him was just like saying I need gasoline for my car to go look or shop for it. To Miss Feng, it was like giving Farley something for nothing that he might never come up with.

Becky for some reason thought Jeremy needed a cowboy hat which Farley thought was funnier than hell because the boy would hate it in his opinion, but he hunted for the best one he could find nonetheless. Hats should have been Farley’s thing since he loved them himself so much it seemed. But there was a also a dark side to this gift hunting thing, going in houses where they might be found occasionally scared the hell out of him.