After the Fall: Jason's Tale (3 page)

The first casualties were the very sick and very old. Next
to die were those who were kept alive by drugs that were no longer available.
It was heart wrenching for everyone who knew people in these situations. Mary
Phillips passed away after six weeks. Jason helped Tom bury her in the back
yard. Tom then set out to walk to town to seek help from the authorities in
charge. Two weeks later, Jim and Cathy decided to go to town with their kids.

“Are you sure you want to put yourselves in the hands of the
town authorities?” Jason asked.

“We’re running out of food and water and we can’t ask you to
support us. You’ve been generous, but it isn’t right to eat up all your
supplies. I hear there’s a regular supply in town. It’s better than starving. You
sure you don’t want to come?” Tom asked.

“No. I can make it through the winter. I’ll see how things
are in the spring. Don’t let them split up your family,” he warned. “And don’t
tell them about me.”

In different trips into town Jason saw order restored under
martial law. There were cops or a militia on every block. People were being
organized by blocks, told where to live, and what work to do. Work was begun on
repairing old vehicles, gardening, digging wells or digging latrines around
town as the toilets couldn’t be flushed. On his trips to town, he was shaken
down for money, then, as that became useless, the stops were to search for
food, weapons, ammunition or medicine. Jason had learned to go to town unarmed
except for a knife. The police and militia would confiscate anything else of
value. As the environment in town became more controlling, he ventured there
less often.

 After saying goodbye to the Millers, Jason retreated
more and more into himself, staying alone in his house as the city became more
controlling. As food and water became more difficult to find, hunger became the
driver of people’s behavior. Autocratic control was the response by those in
power.

Often Jason spent hours at night thinking about Maggie. When
he couldn’t sleep he would take some of her clothing into bed with him and hold
it tight to his body until exhaustion had its way. Waves of sadness would
envelope him without warning. He gradually came to accept that he would never see
her again. This acceptance did not end his grieving but allowed him to move
forward.

One late fall day, Jason heard some commotion on his
driveway. Going to the window, he saw a group of five men and one woman
approaching the house. They were armed with bats, an ax and a couple of
pistols. Quickly grabbing his Ruger .223, he yelled out of his window.

“Stop or I’ll fire! I’ve got an automatic rifle and I can
take all of you down before you get to the door!”

The group hesitated. They looked at one another. Clearly
they had been going from house to house, scavenging what they could, and had
found either little resistance or no one home. They had not expected a
confrontation.

“We’re hungry,” one of the group members called out. Jason
noted the speaker, figuring him for the leader.

“Everyone’s hungry,” Jason replied. “Go to town and get in
line to be fed.”

“They take everything from you when you sign up for a ration
card,” the leader complained.

“Still better than starving…or stealing from others. Trying
to steal from me is going to get you killed.” Jason hoped they understood how
serious he was. He didn’t want to shoot them, but he was not going to let them
steal his resources.

“Can you give us some food?” the leader called out after
considering Jason’s threat.

“Sorry, I don’t have any extra to give you.”

There was a conference among the group. Jason waited for
them to accept that he should not be challenged. “I guess we’ll just be on our
way,” the leader finally called out to the house.

“I’m going to be real clear with you,” Jason answered. “I’m
the last house on this road for five miles and you can bet any people further
out are also armed and willing to shoot trespassers without warning. You need
to turn around and go back. This road holds nothing of value for you anymore.
And if you try to sneak up on me at night, I have power and trip lights rigged.
I’ll shoot you on sight now that I’ve warned you.” Jason was bluffing about
warning lights. He didn’t want them trying the house at night even though he
had secured it against easy entry.

The resolve of the leader visibly sagged. “You won’t have
trouble from us.”

“Good luck, then,” Jason replied as he watched them slowly
trudge down his driveway and off in the direction of town.

It’ll be a light night of sleeping.
He sighed.

As winter approached, wild game got more and more scarce.
The deer population had either been killed or had moved further into the
mountains. Jason began to wonder if he should stay. His food supplies would not
last forever and local game was scarce. He could still survive but only by
going further and further afield to hunt and gather.

He spent many nights sorting out his thoughts, pondering
what to do. Hillsboro was only partly under control. Food was still scarce and
what was available was controlled by the town’s safety committee. There was no
input from the general citizens. The emergency laws were put in place by the
committee which consisted of Frank Mason, previously Chairman of the Town
Council, two other Councilmen and Charlie Cook, the Chief of Police. Jason
suspected that Joe Stansky had a hand in much of what was going on as well. He
had heard his name invoked by the militia on some of his trips to town. Joe ran
a local strip club and was suspected of controlling much of the drugs and crime
in the city. There were still gun fights between either the police or militia
and scattered groups trying to steal supplies. However, most of the public had
been disarmed, if they ever had been.

The ones who wanted to be fed, who signed up for ration
cards, were stripped of all weapons and forced to abide by a set of emergency
regulations set up to control them. The regulations directed where they could
live, where they could eat and the work they had to do on the town projects.
Top down control was established in the name of civic order. Most people went
along with it since it meant regular, if limited, food to eat. In addition the
town was building up its defenses—walling itself in—to keep out wandering
refugees and roving gangs.

On his last trip to town, Jason was stopped by some of the
militia. They wanted to know where he lived and why he didn’t have a ration
card. When Jason protested that he didn’t have to answer such questions they
grabbed him and handcuffed him. During the struggle a crowd began to form.
Finally a man came up who seemed to be in charge.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“This guy doesn’t have a ration card and won’t tell us where
he lives,” one of the militia replied.

The man walked up to Jason who was glaring at everyone. “Why
the reluctance to tell us about yourself?” he asked.

“It’s none of your business,” Jason replied.

“Well it is. I’m in charge of the town, my name’s Frank
Mason. We have to restore order, so questions like these are necessary. We’d
like you to cooperate.”

“I don’t live in town. I live outside, in the western
suburbs,” Jason lied. I don’t have a ration card because I don’t need one. I
can feed myself.” He glared back at Frank. “So is that enough information for
you?”

Frank looked thoughtful. “That explains a lot. But you
should know that you may not be able to enter town soon. If you’re going to be
on your own, you’re not going to have the town to lean on. We can’t have people
using our resources and not joining our team and becoming part of our
rebuilding work.” He turned to the militia man in charge. “Let him go and see
that he leaves town. If he comes in again, arrest him.”

They released Jason and escorted him west out of town. When
the militia departed, he circled back to the south to arrive and arrived at home
much later that night.

Jason knew it was only a matter of time before the militia
showed up at his house. He guessed he would he be forced to give up his food
and his weapons; forced to move into town, to ‘donate’ his resources and be
stripped of everything for self-sufficiency. He would become a ward of the
government with this new system, under the control of those few in power. He
wanted no part of it.

What to do? The choice was to either submit to the
dictatorship of martial law in town and be stripped of his independence…or…head
out into the deep forest, on his own, alone. Jason was comfortable in the
woods, but living alone? And how would he get through the winters? Would there
be anyone out there who would accept him into their household? He thought about
his own situation and decided it would not be likely. Most people were probably
just hanging on, even in the countryside, and they would be suspicious of
strangers, having had to rely on themselves to defend against any gangs.

After a few more run-ins with wandering scavengers, Jason
knew he had to leave. Word was going to spread that he had supplies. The
stories would get passed around, growing as they circulated and soon the
authorities would focus on him. He would put his trust in his own survival
skills. He would head north, into the Appalachia Mountains, away from cities
and the corruption that came with them. With his food supplies, his camping
gear and weapons, Jason figured he could find a remote place to hole up until
this catastrophe passed. And if it didn’t, he would at least be safe, if alone,
in the mountain woods. While confident of his skills in the woods, a kernel of
doubt still remained in the back of his mind about being so alone.

With his decision made, he set about building a travois. He
made a modern version of the old Indian device, working day and night, racing
against the day when the militia would show up. The travois would allow him to
carry a large store of supplies until he could set up a new living situation.

One morning in late February, Jason stepped out of his front
door. He breathed in the crisp air; clear, still without the rich smell of
spring to come. He walked over to the garage and opened the door. Then he
brought out his travois loaded with two large packs. He had a third backpack
that he shouldered himself. Setting everything down in the driveway, he paused
and stood looking at his house; his and Maggie’s. His mind raced over the
memories of their time together. There was so much joy and laughter. The house
had been filled with it. Now it was only memories and emptiness.

He stopped himself from locking the door.
I’m not coming
back. There’s no need to keep anyone out.
He was leaving behind his
possessions, things from a world now passed. A wave of sadness swept over him
flowing deep into his bones. He shuddered, trying to shake it off.
Maggie’s
gone. Life as I have known it is gone. I love this house but there’s only
memories here now. It’s time to leave.
He turned away with a sigh.
Got
to look forward.
Then he shouldered his backpack, hitched up his travois
and headed down the driveway.

He had packed his camping gear and all the food rations he
could fit on the travois. For weapons he chose the Ruger .223 rifle, his 9mm
pistol and his hunting bow and arrows. He included the bow because it was
stealthy and the ammunition was reusable. A survival knife, a multi-purpose
tool and small camp ax rounded out the hardware. He packed as much ammunition
as he could carry, which increased the weight of his rig dramatically. Weighed
down with 50 pounds of backpack and 120 pounds on the travois, he was not going
to move fast, but as he got the hang of controlling the load, he managed slow
but steady progress.

His plan for getting to the forests was to go around the center
of town on his way north. He knew he couldn’t go straight through town. He
would be stopped, disarmed and stripped of supplies. Three miles down the hill,
his street connected to a county road running east and west. He planned to hike
east for ten miles, avoiding local neighborhoods. He was familiar with the
county roads and planned to go east far enough to avoid the denser parts of
town before turning north. Within two hours he crested a rise in the road and
saw a small, ragged group on the road heading towards him.

Uh oh! Too late to hide.
Keeping his eyes on the
approaching group, he stepped to the side of the road, unhooked his travois,
slid off his back pack and slid everything into the ditch on the side of the
road. Then with the Ruger held at ready, but not pointed at anyone, he watched
as the group approached. They were looking intently at him as they came closer.
When they were thirty yards away, one of them motioned to the others and they
began to fan out.

Jason called out, “Stop! I’ll let you pass, but I’m going to
shoot if you spread out. I won’t let you circle me.” He pulled back the
charging lever on the Ruger. He couldn’t tell who was armed and what weapons
they had, but he hoped his rifle presented a significant threat. The group paused
and Jason took advantage of the indecision.

“If you try to spread out, I’m going to shoot, starting with
you in the blue jacket.” He addressed the one who gave the gesture to fan out,
thinking he might be the leader. “You’ll be the first to die.”

“We’re not looking for trouble,” the blue jacket called
back.

“If that’s true, get back together. I’ll step to the side,
then you can walk past on the other side of the road.”

“How do we know you won’t attack us?”

“You don’t have anything I want. I’m on my own journey and I
don’t have any interest in you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out of town. On my own.”

“You been in town?”

“Enough.”

“Things ain’t good there. They work you hard and don’t feed
you much.”

“At least you get fed.”

“We’ve managed so far,” blue jacket responded.

“Long as you keep ahead of the police and militia.” Jason
suddenly had a thought. “When you’re safely past me, I’ll tell you where you
can find more food and clothing.”

“Where?”

“When you move past me in a tight group.”

The leader turned to the others and they held a whispered
conversation. Blue jacket then turned back to Jason.

“You’re not just puttin’ us on, are you? You’re serious?”
Hope resonated in his voice.

“You won’t know until you go to the place I’ll tell you
about…it’s my home. It’s got supplies. I couldn’t take them all. There’s
clothes and a working well, if you know how to use it. I figure it’s a good
trade. You don’t try to overpower me, I don’t kill any of you and you get to
use what I left behind.”

The group huddled for another whispered conversation.

“All right, we’ll go on by, but if you’re lying, we’ll hunt
you down.”

“I’m not…and don’t try to come after me or follow, I’ll
shoot without further warning.” Jason shouldered his rifle as the group filed
past him. Some stared at him with a dull look in their eyes, others glared in
resentment at him and his possessions.

When they were past, Jason gave them directions and watched
them trudge off, the way he had come. When they were out of sight, he
shouldered his pack, hitched himself to the travois and set off down the road.
He walked late into the night pausing at times to watch the road behind him for
any sign the group was following. The road remained empty. The group probably
was feasting on what they had found. They could stay there for some time, but
the militia would come eventually. He couldn’t help that. The group had to deal
with them on their own. Later that night he worked his way far off the road and
set up a cold camp in a dense cover of trees.

Could he have shot them? Jason didn’t know the answer. He
was glad his show of force had deterred the group. They had reacted the same
way as other scavengers he confronted. Would his luck hold? Jason’s gut feeling
was that if he encountered any of the local militia, his bluff would not work.
He shivered at the thought as he lay wrapped in his sleeping bag and ground
cloth.

After a fitful night’s sleep, waking at every sound, he
started out again early in the morning. An hour down the road, he turned north.
The road cut through the eastern suburbs of Hillsboro, but it led to the
closest point where he could enter the National Forest. That would be his route
north, further into the Appalachia Mountains. He walked more carefully now,
stopping at every rise in the road to scan ahead with his binoculars. Twice he
saw militia patrols ahead. He turned off the road to give them a wide berth,
preferring a slower, more circuitous route to any encounters.

Around noon, he stopped and refilled his water bottle from a
small creek, dropping in the purification tablets. Later in the afternoon, as
he approached a rise in the road, he unhitched his travois, hid it with his
pack in the bushes in front of a house and crawled to the top of the rise to
check the road. He lay in the un-mowed grass with his body pressed down against
the still-hard ground. Ahead the houses gave way to a small strip of stores.
There they were, five armed men purposely checking all the stores in the
center. These were not scavengers; they were armed and moved purposefully as if
they had a job to complete. The stores had most of their windows broken out.
Some had no doors. The men were focused on two of the stores that still seemed
closed up, perhaps protecting something valuable. The doors were apparently
strong having weathered the initial round of looting.

While Jason was studying them with his binoculars, trying to
decide what to do, he suddenly noticed a sixth man scanning the area, also with
binoculars. His slow swing stopped when he was pointed at Jason. Had he seen
the glint of Jason’s binoculars? Suddenly the man jumped up, called to his
companions and pointed towards Jason.

Jason quickly slithered back down the slope. He could hear
them running towards him. Where to go? He couldn’t get away burdened with his
pack and travois, so he left them hidden
.

He had to lead them away from his gear, so he quickly ran
east, through some of the yards, away from the road. He heard a shout as he
bolted between houses. He was seen. Now he needed speed. He ran across the next
street. On the other side there was an older house, the original property from
which the small subdivision had been created. He sprinted for it. As he rounded
the corner of the house he saw an old wooden shed in the back yard. The urge to
hide was overwhelming. The shed door was ajar. There was a hasp with a lock
left on the loop. Jason ran to the shed and, after closing the door, reached
through a hole in the siding to slip the lock on the hasp.

He had just locked himself in. Panic rose. What had he done?
He had hidden himself, but he had also trapped himself.
They won’t think I’m
in here if the door’s locked. If I’m quiet they’ll stop searching.
Jason
put his eye close to a small hole in the siding and looked out.

The men came around the side of the house and stopped running.

“I saw him cross the street, somewhere around here.” One of
them said. “He can’t be far.” There was a wild energy in his voice.

“See any prints?”

“No, the ground’s too hard.”

“Why are we bothering?” another asked, puffing from the
effort of their run.

“He was checking us out with binoculars. He wasn’t just
another scavenger.”

“You think he’s got some supplies?”

“I don’t know what he’s got, or who he’s with. He may be
part of a gang. He could be trouble. We need to find him.” This was the leader
talking.

“I’ll check the house. See if he broke in.” Another said.

Jason watched through his peep hole. The men had a wild look
in their eyes, inflamed by the excitement of the chase. They were fierce
looking. There would be no negotiating if they found him. He shrank back to the
darkest corner of the shed, listening to the discussion going on outside. He
heard someone approach the shed.

“I wonder if he’s in here.” The speaker tried the lock on
the door.

“It’s locked, ain’t it?” the leader called out.

“Yeah, but something’s not right. He just didn’t disappear.
We saw him come this way and now…no sign of him.” He began a careful walk
around the shed, like a dog hunting for a scent. Jason was sweating in spite of
the cold day. He muffled his breathing in his arm, forcing himself to breathe
slowly though his body was screaming for more oxygen. As the man came by the
wall near Jason, he held his breath. Once past, Jason opened his mouth and
slowly breathed into his sleeve again.

“Gone to ground,” another chimed in.

“The house is closed; he didn’t go in.”

“He’s either in one of these houses, or he got to that patch
of woods.” The leader pointed to a small patch of woods at the back of the
large lot the old house sat on. “From there he could sneak off in any
direction.”

“I didn’t hear him going through the woods.” The man near
the shed declared.

“How the hell would you with all the talking we’ve been
doing?”

“And who’s to blame for that?”

“Stuff it. If push comes to shove, I’ll make you take the
blame for it.”

“So what do we do now?” asked the man who was short on
breath and not looking for more running.

“Check the two houses next to this one; if he’s not in them,
we go back, finish what we were doing and head back downtown.”

The group dispersed to search the nearby houses. Jason lay
back and took large gulps of air, like a man coming up from near drowning. His
heart raced, his head pounded. He just lay there, exhausted from the chase and
the fear that flooded him. Long after the men left, long after the sun went
down, Jason finally stirred.

He wondered about his resolve. He had killed in the army
over in Iraq. But civilians…he wasn’t sure.
These people would kill me in a
moment for my supplies.
He thought about the wild look in their eyes as
they came around the corner of the house, a blood lust that spoke of no mercy.
Remember
that look,
he admonished himself as he set about prying open some boards to
free himself from the shed. The next night, he had his answer as he went
through the underpass.

The morning light had grown stronger while Jason was lost in
reverie. A stray breeze stirred the woods and startled him out of his thoughts.
He sighed deeply from the roots of his body as the memory of the previous
night’s confrontation in the underpass came rushing back to him. Slowly he
stood up and moved to the edge of the woods to peer back down at the highway
with its litter of abandoned cars and trucks. There were no people. The
emptiness, the deadness of it saddened him. Were the men he shot last night in
the underpass dead or alive? He would never know. He knew he should go. It
might not be safe to be here, even up on the ridge, if the militia found the
men he had shot.

Heading into the mountains was going to be a lonely
adventure, but he had no partner. He had to go it alone. Who knew how many
people he would see after this? He turned his gaze from the roadway and went
back to his gear. He drank some more water and ate a cold MRE. Then he slowly
strapped on his gear and without looking back started his lumbering climb into the
mountains.