Dawn of Destruction Page 16

  Once the little fire was going, Josie carefully placed the blade of the knife into it to heat it. As much as she wanted to relax and stare into the fire before falling to sleep, she pulled herself away to search for more fuel.

  Suddenly, she heard screaming coming from within the house that she recognized instantly.

  Less than two seconds later and Josie had burst back in through the backdoor and was in the kitchen.

  To her horror, Ben was wide awake and thrashing about on the table. Roy and Jon were both swearing up a storm as they tried to hold him down.

  “What are you doing to me, what are you doing?!” Ben was crying.

  “Ben, Ben, it’s okay!” Josie rushed over. “They’re with me! We’re trying to help you!”

  “What are you doing to me?!” Ben was screaming in pain and sweating more volumes of perspiration than Josie had ever seen in her life.

  “You’ve been shot, we’re trying to heal you!” Josie grabbed Ben by the face and looked into his eyes. “But you have to stay still!”

  Finally, Ben started to relax.

  “What have you done so far?!” Josie asked Jon.

  “We got one fragment out, but there’s at least one more still lodged in there,” Jon said, scooping up his fallen tweezers from the floor. “This is going to hurt even worse this time but if you want to stay alive another hour you have got to stay still, kid!”

  “Okay, okay…” Ben was teetering again on the edge of unconsciousness.

  Roy reopened the wound cavity with his fingers. Ben grimaced in pain again, letting loose a few more screams.

  “How’s the knife coming along?” Jon grimaced as he fished around in the wound channel for the remaining fragment.

  “The firewood’s in the shed, where’s the key?!”

  Jon glanced around frantically.

  “Shit! Just use newspapers and whatever else you can find. Quickly!”

  Twenty seconds later and Josie was back outside with an armful of newspapers and pieces of cardboard that she had scavenged from the house. The little fire she had created was quickly dying, so she struck another match and ignited a sheet of newspaper into a flame. She gradually added more pieces of newspaper and cardboard, and then set the blade of the knife into the fire.

  She continued to hear Ben screaming from inside, before they became less and less frequent and soon ended completely. Either he was dead or had slipped back into unconsciousness.

  “We got it!” she heard her husband call from inside the house. “Bring us the knife, quick!”

  Through the flames Josie saw the blade of the knife was reddening. She tore off a lower piece of her shirt to safely grab the hot handle sticking out from the fire, and then ran back inside to the kitchen.

  “We got the fragments out!” Roy was yelling excitedly.

  “Is he alive?!” Josie asked.

  “Yes!”

  “The knife!” Jon was now wearing a leather glove over his right hand and snatched the searing hot blade from Josie. “Okay, okay, now both of you hold him down tight.”

  Roy and Josie did as they were instructed. Jon held the glowing knife blade mere centimeters above the site of the wound.

  “You got him?”

  Roy and Josie nodded.

  With that, Jon brought the flat of the knife down over the wound. Josie looked away at the ceiling as she could hear sizzling and smell smoke filling the air. To her surprise, Ben didn’t wake up.

  When she looked back down, the now blackened bullet wound was fully cauterized and to her relief the the bleeding had stopped.

  Jon let the knife fall to the floor with a clang and wiped his sweating brow with the inside of his elbow.

  “Well, now for the arm.”

  * * *

  Jon relaxed in his rocking chair on the top level of the house, looking out of the acrylic glass window and over the defensive wall to view the surrounding neighborhood for any signs of more hostile forces. So far, he had yet to see a single soul, but he could hardly say he was relieved.

  Jon was a diehard prepper with a healthy stockpile of food, water, medicine, and other supplies, but he had also only stored enough for two people: himself and one more in the pRoyable event that he would have to take care of someone else.

  But as fate would have it, including himself he now had five people to feed and take care of, one of whom was badly wounded and who perhaps wouldn’t make it a few more hours.

  Jon had never viewed himself as an insane ‘doomsday prepper’ like they used to make shows about on TV. Rather, he viewed it as an important responsibility. History repeats itself, he knew, so it was only a matter of time before the United States was thrown into long term chaos like it had with the EMP attack. Setting aside provisions and building a concrete wall around his house wasn’t crazy to him, it was just dead smart. But now the fact that he had far more people to feed than he had expected made him severely question his survival strategy. There were only two options left, he decided.

  He glanced at the fully loaded Daniel Defense AR-15 with a red dot sight that was resting at the ready in the corner, and he also had one of his trustworthy Glock 19’s sitting on the window sill, both within easy reach and just waiting to defend his life against whoever would dare to launch an assault on his small fortress.

  That also wasn’t to include the Glock 26 9mm backup gun, or BUG, that he always kept strapped to his ankle under the leg of his khaki cargo pants. That small pistol was his last ditch holdout in the event that every other weapon failed in life-or-death emergencies, and he had never told anyone that he carried a last resort weapon of any kind, not even his old pal Roy. Having a BUG was an advantage that Jon knew could evaporate the moment anybody became aware of it.

  A solid four hours had passed since they had finished operating on Ben, who they had carefully transferred to the old couch in the living room to sleep. It was amazing that Ben had been able to survive considering the immense amount of blood that he had lost. He was a tough young bastard and Jon admired him for it, but the recovery process would be long and painful.

  Ben wasn’t somebody who Jon could just throw out onto the street. If that happened, he most certainly wouldn’t survive, and Jon couldn’t live with himself knowing that after all the terribly wounded men he had witnessed screaming and begging for help in the infirmary tents in Iraq and Afghanistan. And besides, he had enough supplies for two people, so that wasn’t an issue.

  But Roy, Josie, and Alex? Now that was a different story entirely. Jon’s supplies were designed to last two people for a full year, or one person for two years. But between five hungry mouths, his hard earned stockpile would be lucky to last a few short months at best, no matter how well they could ration it.

  It was either that scenario, or the three of them would have to leave.

  Jon’s mind raced back and forth trying to come up with alternative scenarios. It wasn’t that he wanted the Foster family to leave. There was always safety in numbers, and it would be easier defending their position with five people versus only two. But they would need to keep themselves replenished by launching repeated scavenging missions into town and the surrounding countryside, which was hardly a reliable way to find food or other necessities, not to mention it was extraordinarily risky to venture out from the walls.

  Jon rested his bearded chin in the palms of his Yeti-like hands. Roy was his friend, one of the few he had. Ordering him to leave would be difficult. Roy would naturally be resistant and try to persuade him otherwise, and an open argument that could possibly turn to physical blows wasn’t something Jon was too keen in getting involved in.

  Maybe, instead, he could let them stay for a few days more, once they had seen that Ben was recovering. By then, Jon wondered if he could make a more effective case to Roy that his family staying longer was not logistically feasible considering their limited resources. He could offer to protect Ben and help nurse him back to health, and to further sweeten the detail he could even offer to let the three
of them visit intermittently.

  Jon reclined back in his rocking chair and tried to relax, but the thoughts of the dilemma swirling around in his brain prevented him from feeling any peace at all.

  It was either allow Roy’s family to stay for two to three months and use up his stockpile, or force them out and keep everything for himself and Ben for the long term.

  Choosing between the two wasn’t a decision Jon wanted to make, but it was one he knew he had to.

  Jon stood up from his chair, put both hands in his pockets, and stared outside the window at the abandoned town. He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly.

  He had made his decision.

  Chapter 26

  Since the emergency operation had been completed Ben had stayed fast asleep. Alex watched over him from a chair across the room, curious to see when he would wake up again. She had nothing else to do since arriving in Jon’s house, so watching a wounded man sleep on the couch was her only real way to pass the time. She also was already spending an increasingly significant amount of her time at Jon’s house sleeping, due to fatigue from her lack of insulin.

  Ben was deathly pale and the pillow and couch were both soaked completely through in his blood, tears, and sweat. If it weren’t for the shallow breaths he was taking, anyone would have thought he was dead.

  Meanwhile, Jon, Roy, and Josie were gathered around the table feasting on MRE’s, though ‘feast’ was hardly the appropriate term to use. Nobody who had ever eaten an MRE had exactly looked forward to eating them again. Roy and Jon were more than used to chowing them down from their time in the military, but Josie was consuming her meal much more slowly. As hungry as she was, the MRE was hardly appetizing, and she only ate it out of necessity to refuel her body.

  Upon completing his meal Roy got up to go set his plate in the sink and then returned with his Beretta 92FS and one of Jon’s cleaning kits.

  “Mind if I use this?” Roy asked.

  “Go for it,” Jon’s mouth was filled with food.

  Roy removed the 15-shot magazine from the Beretta and ejected the live round from the chamber. Inserting the round back into the magazine, he set it aside and then disassembled the weapon in one swift, fluid motion. He proceeded to spray the cotton swabs with gun oil and began cleaning the dirt and grime from the internals of the gun.

  Roy had much experience with the Beretta. It had been his issued sidearm when he was an officer in the military, and upon returning home after active duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, one of his very first acts was to head down to one of the local sporting goods stores and purchase a nearly identical civilian model for himself, along with ten spare magazines and over a thousand rounds of bulk ammunition.

  The Beretta was a large and heavy all-steel Italian-made pistol with a manual safety on the slide and a double action/single action trigger, meaning the first trigger pull was long and gritty but all subsequent pulls were short and crisp, at least until the weapon was emptied or decocked. The gun was nearly twice the size of Jon’s favored Glock 19, despite firing the identical caliber and having the same capacity.

  Jon watched Roy clean the pistol as he finished up his MRE.

  “I gotta ask,” Jon said. “Why do you still carry that big slab of metal these days?”

  “It’s a good gun,” Roy was running a cotton swab through the barrel. “Served me well for a long time, as well as our country.”

  “It was a good gun for its time, I’ll grant you,” Jon cleaned his mouth and fingers with a napkin. “But it’s indisputably outdated now. With a Glock 19 you get half the size and weight and yet equal the firepower. Not to mention superior reliability.”

  Roy chuckled as he turned to cleaning the inside of the slide. “You know, Jon, I think if the Glock truly were the better weapon the military would have chosen it over this so-called ‘slab of metal,’ don’t you think?”

  “I’m just saying,” Jon pressed. “I see no reason as to why you would continue to use archaic weaponry when there are far better options available.”

  “That’s your opinion,” Roy said, not looking up this time from cleaning the Beretta.

  This gun debate may have started off friendly, but he was getting more and more annoyed by it by the second.

  “Well, I have plenty of Glocks in the safe,” Jon relaxed back in his chair. “Once you wise up, just let me know and one of them can be yours.”

  Roy rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve chosen my weapons carefully.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Jon. “But all I’m saying is if I had a family to take care of I’d want the best weapons and equipment I could possibly get my hands on.”

  “What’s your pRoylem, dude?” Roy set the cleaning tools down firmly on the table and looked up confrontationally.

  “I don’t have a pRoylem as much as I’m making an observation and speaking my mind.”

  “Well, I think you mocking me for not having the same gun you do is about the most immature way of speaking your mind that you can possibly do.”

  “Oh come on, this is absolutely ridiculous!” Josie loudly interjected from her position on the table. “Why are we arguing over guns when we have far more important things to discuss?!”

  Roy and Jon both shut up. Josie continued: “Ben and I had insulin for Alex, but we were forced to leave it back in town when we were fired upon. So unless if you’ve got a healthy supply of insulin here, Jon, heading back into town to retrieve it needs to be our top priority.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but by now, I’m guessing somebody else has taken it,” said Jon.

  “You don’t know that,” Josie growled. “None of us do, but the only way to find out is to go back and look for it. Because listen, if she goes long enough without it, Alex…she’s just going to get worse and worse, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Roy assured. “We’ll head out as a team tonight under cover of darkness.”

  Jon stood up from the table and carried his plate and utensils into the kitchen.

  “There isn’t just any way you can manage her complications without it?” Jon asked as he deposited the plate and fork in the sink.

  “Jon, we need the insulin,” Roy said firmly. “You can make her more comfortable, yes, but you can’t fix it on your own. She’s already gone too long without her medicine and quite frankly I’m surprised she isn’t doing worse already.”

  “I’m feeling fine!” Alex had overheard their conversation from the living room and walked into the kitchen. “Just a little more tired is all.”

  “Go back into the living room, hon,” said Roy, admiring his daughter’s spiritedness and tenacity. “We’re talking.”

  “I can hear everything you guys are saying anyway,” Alex held her ground.

  “You need to watch over Ben,” said Roy flatly. “If he wakes up or moves at all, let us know, okay?”

  Alex rolled her eyes and retreated back into the living room with a hefty sigh. In any other scenario Roy wouldn’t have tolerated even the slightest sign of disrespect from his child, but considering the circumstances and the subject matter of the conversation he didn’t feel like delivering a parental lecture right now, so he let it slide.

  After a few seconds of silence, Josie spoke up again: “The simple fact of the matter is we need that insulin, Jon, and Roy and I are going to have to go get it. Whatever you want to do is up to you.”

  “And don’t forget about the bows,” Roy pointed out the two compound and crossbows that he and Jon had hidden in one of the buildings in Carleton. “It definitely wouldn’t be wise to just leave them behind. We can pick them up while searching for the insulin.”

  Jon could see there was no convincing them otherwise.

  “Alright, I’ll go,” he decided. “But no matter how small of a unit we may be it’s important to maintain discipline and keep a chain of command. So I’m in charge, alright? That means I say what to do and where to go and the moment I decide it’s too risky out there and say we need
to return back here, I expect the two of you to do it without question or delay. Deal?”

  “Deal,” agreed Roy. “And one more thing that Josie and I have been wondering. These hostiles we’ve all been encountering, who are they? Any idea?”

  Jon shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”

  “We think they’re working together,” said Roy. “In addition to the guys we’ve all been fighting, Josie said she and Ben encountered another armed group while working their way here. And like I told you earlier, Alex and I had a run in with three or so guys on our way up as well. These guys are all armed with semi-automatic weaponry and decked out with camouflage, tactical gear, battle rattle, you name it. These aren’t regular dads and husbands defending their families or anything like that. These are militia members working the area as one big organized unit. And from what we’ve seen so far, it appears they’re looking for trouble.”

  “It doesn’t mean all these little militia groups are united,” Jon returned to the dining room table and sat down. “They could all be separate and working independently.”

  “That’s possible,” said Roy. “But possible does not necessarily equal pRoyable either. They’re all in the same area, and using similar gear and tactics. Because of that we have to assume they’re working together. You know the area, so do you of anyone or any organization in the general vicinity who would have a small private army like that?”

  Jon thought for a moment.

  “No, I can’t say I do,” he said.

  “In that case, the next time we have a run in with them we need to take one alive,” said Roy. “We need to find out if they’re all working together as one force, and if so, who their leader is.”

  “He’s waking up!” Alex called from the living room.

  The three of them rushed from the kitchen to the living room to see Ben was indeed stirring awake on the couch.

  Josie kneeled down next to him. “Hey, tough guy.”

  “Hey,” Ben could speak only quietly and with great effort. “Thank you.”

  “That’s what friends are for, right?” Josie asked.