Our End Of The Lake: Surviving After The 2012 Solar Storm (Prepper Trilogy) (26 page)

“I seen it a week ago and remembered you had it, so I walked over here to maybe cut a deal.” I offered.

“You from the neighborhood then, well ok. I will be out in a minute. He said and dropped the curtain leaving Jack and I to look at each other and wonder what was next.

We heard the side door open on the carport and turned to walk that way, as this little man rounded the corner wearing shorts and of all things maroon leather cowboy boots.

“Don’t mind the boots boys; they were the easiest thing to slip on. Now set me a fair price on that moped and you can have it.” he said crossing his arms and looking up at all 6ft 2 of me.

I hate deals that start like this, whats the old saying? ‘The first one that names the price loses’
I contemplated, before engaging the old Hobbit looking character in a little horse trading.

“Well, what’s she worth to you.” I said standing off and pretending to examine it and somehow get in the conversation about how it ran up to this point.

“Well, I was wanting $900, until the other day.” he said noncommittally.

“Well that was when it was running good, how many miles you got on it?” I said and bent to look at the speedometer

“Who asks how many miles is on a bike? That’s what you want it for isn’t it?” he said thinking he was being a smartass trader

“True, true, just curious, it ain’t exactly a bike is it, so miles would show wear and tear.” I volleyed back.

“It only has 650 miles on it, if that matters anymore. You got a hundred dollars? “He asked like he wasn’t sure if I had that kind of money.

“Well, yes I do, but I like $75 better.” I drawled out.

“$90 and not a penny less.” he said firmly, as I fought myself not to go for my wallet immediately.

“Do I get the helmet, too, for that price?” eying the cheap head bucket sitting on the seat.

“If you want it.” he said and stuck his hand out to seal the deal.

“Hang on a minute; I am going to pedal that thing for a test drive first.” I objected and he obviously didn’t like the notion of me possibly keeping on going.

“Here you can hold half the money and Jack will stay here.” I offered.

“Just go ride It.” he said dismissively and I did.

I came back and counted out his cash.

“We square?” I asked extending my hand for a shake.

“We are, but damned if I know why you wanted that old helmet.” he said shaking my hand.

“I don’t know either, I guess I got caught up in the moment of trading and had to make you give me something extra.” I said laughing.

“Well, take your goods and thanks.” he said smiling and turning back to his house on those ridiculously oversized goat roper boots.

As I pushed my moped down the drive way, Jack nudged me and said “Kaching!” imitating an old cash register.

“You got that right Buddy.” I said smiling, but still being careful not to talk about my deal of the century yet.

“Hey, Son!” The Hobbit was back and waving some bit of paper.

“Something wrong?” I asked,

“No it’s your title, gotta be all legal, she’s yours now, no returns.” and he scurried back to the house, as Jack and I looked at each other smirking.

“Any other good deals around? That was fun!” Jack said, as I got on the scooter and proceeded to pedal it home.

“Let’s keep our eyes peeled.” and I pedaled off and did little loop de loops back to where he was walking and we held brief little conversations.

Plotting and Scheming

I managed to fire up the engine on the scooter on the way home, and after a very brief zip around the Church parking lot, before shutting it down and going back to pedaling it along.

I parked it next to the side door in the carport and Jack and I walked in the house.

“Here Mom. Put this somewhere.” I said before she could question me.

“What is it?” She asked while reading every line of the paper.

“Bill of sale and title on that Moped I bought for a hundred bucks.” I said flopping down in a chair and having some fun watching my mother find a suitably safe place for my receipt, like it was some all important document.

“I might bike over to Sherry’s today and see if any fresh vegetables are in the garden.” I said, searching for an excuse to get back over there and discuss a few things over a drink of more than instant drink mix.

“Are you sure David? Its dangerous out there, you said so yourself and you just got home.” My Mom said anxiously and a little peevishly.

“Well, it’s the only garden we got access to and I need to see about it. I also got some preps over there that I will be bringing back.” I said hinting I might have something interesting stored there.

“Why would you store something over there and not here?” She replied, like she didn’t really know, but I wasn’t taking the bait to argue.

“Jack if you want to come, you can ride her bike and I can pedal the scooter.” I said in his direction to see if he needed an excuse to escape also.

“Well, if you don’t need me, I will stay here and guard the home front.” Jack replied getting brownie points with my Mom and Lois, knowing full well he’d be napping somewhere within the hour.

“Jack, come to think of it, I need that scooter over at Sherry’s and I need you to ride the bike; so we can double up on it on the way back here.” I said spoiling his already cat like stretch to settle in for a nap.

“What? What?” he managed seeing his master plan foiled, now with physical exertion included?

“It’s not good to keep all the eggs in one basket anyway buddy, and we got some deliberations to do.” I said ruining his day and poking him to action.

“Ok, I will go, but you peddling back.” he said resolutely and giving me mental hernia thinking about biking his big ass back home.

“Be glad it’s not a rickshaw!” he said seeing the discomfort on my face.

“I am going to turn that bike into a Pedi cab one day so don’t look so smug, if I find you a new job.” I said as a weak retort.

“Let’s go look at that rain barrel setup I was working on before we leave, in case I need to bring something back from Sherry’s.” I said and headed towards the backdoor and my room/aka garden building.

We went inside my room where part of my arsenal was stashed and I thought a weapon change was in order. I found what I wanted and told Jack “Here, put this on,” and produced an Astra 9mm and slide holster that was basically just a loop of leather that would keep a gun from falling down inside a waistband or could be worn on the outside in any position.

“Stick this in your pocket.” I said producing an extra clip that held an additional 17 rounds.

“That’s a clone of a Sig made in Spain and just as well made.” I told him as he examined it.

“See, no safety. That’s the mag release and decocker.” I said, while briefly schooling him in its simple operation.

“Nice.” he said, as he checked the white dot sights.

“You might need the spray and pray capability of that thing, even though it’s accurate as hell in the neighborhoods we’re going through.” I advised him, while putting on a Kangaroo holster for a tiny Keltec 9mm and dropping my Keltec 380 in a similar slide holster at the small of my back.

“I am not the best shot anymore, since I got that cataract in my right eye and don’t have the health insurance to get it fixed. I depend more on stealth for now.” I said to his unsaid question of ‘why he was getting more fire power than me’.

“I got a Ruger 357 Blackhawk over at Sherry’s I can still walk stairs with, because it has that big blade sight and I can easily aim it with both eyes open. But that’s more of an open carry thing, and I have not yet committed to that.” I informed him.

“You always said it only takes one well aimed one, I don’t think you would feel outgunned with that.” he advised restoring my confidence in facing an untrained fool of a gang banger trying to shoot a semi auto sideways.

I added a few extra clips to my pockets and we got on our way.

“Hey, look who still hasn’t caught on yet.” as we passed the Hobbit’s house and saw him peering out the window.

“I am going to fly by his house on this thing before I bug out, maybe even do a wheelie.” I said laughing and continuing to pump the pedals on what was just for appearances sake an overweight bicycle.

“That didn’t take them long, did it?” I said motioning towards a small gas convenience store that still had some people digging through it.

“Even if they do get the grid turned back on in a year or two, what’s going to be left?” Jack said disgustedly eying a group of teens, who were not yet cocky enough to try taking our transportation.

“Jack, are you going to come with us or you going to them crazy in-laws house?” I said hoping he would choose my alternative.

“I have just been waiting for the invitation buddy, I choose to go roll dice with you.” he said smiling and turning onto Sherry’s street.

“Ah hell, that’s great man, no fun playing Apocalypse without my partner.” I said reaffirming our lifelong friendship.

The girls were sitting out on the raised front porch of Sherry’s house, I assumed to beat the heat or trying to get some gossip from the neighbors, when we wheeled up.

“Couldn’t find another Bike?” Betsy attempted to chide me, which produced a guffaw from Jack she couldn’t understand.

“Actually, I couldn’t find a BETTER bike.” I laughed back at her and we proceeded up the stairs to the porch and explained that the thing worked, but I chose not to crank it up just yet just for appearances sake.

Not to be put off, Betsy proceeded to tell everyone how she used to ride a moped on summer vacations.

“You may yet be riding one again.” I said and hushed the responses with the statement that I thought we would be bugging out in a week and half to two weeks and began presenting my case for doing so.

“If the Guard is organizing, it can only be on this local level with some input from the higher ups, if they are on the emergency landlines. That means some sealed orders for continuity of government are being opened and it will take them a bit to take the trucks to every last adress of current enlistees to press gang them back in service, for whatever plan they are going to put into effect.

What that is I don’t know or really want to consider at this moment; all I know, is that supplies for cities will get diverted toward command and control to insure the ‘those in power’ have survivability; and that will be the trigger for halting what little supplies remain from reaching mainstream America, as the elites regroup. Then the real societal breakdowns start, as if things were not bad enough already.

They are not going to fight the populace city by city, they will just pull back what ever aid is available and play the game of cut the head off the body and watch it squirm, as the brutality and ignorance of society commits societal suicide.

Mass starvation, violence and fire will take care of the rest, in this uncoupling of any government intervention, as some places survive and others meet a timely demise.

If you divided all the military trucks in every city by the number of 18 wheelers that no longer run it took to supply the city for a week, you could see the end game was already in sight; and that it was impossible to transport even starvation rations to the populace of any small to medium sized city. The bigger cities are probably toasted already. Our current food and water handouts, are most likely just a fluke, and could be cut off without warning.

As I elaborated the possible consequences and scenarios that were likely to occur, a grim determination came over the faces of my audience not to be left behind in the scheme of things; and would find our own greener pastures, that did not depend on a arbitrary fend for yourself politico agenda.

“All told, IF my storage unit is still ok, between Sherry and I, there’s a little over enough food for a year for two, add one person apiece, that’s six months for four, and so on.” I finished my diatribe with a fact no one had really thought about.

Looking across the table, I could see how everyone’s meal calculators working; I saw it dawn: the abundance they thought we had will have disappeared in a few months; unless we got back to hunting, gathering/farming, preserving for ourselves, the odds of merely surviving here were near non-existent.

“People will start robbing neighbors, pets will mysteriously disappear, when there is nothing left to be looted, and then some people will resort to cannibalism. I plan to be the hell out of here before that starts.” I said, knowing I had my audience’s complete cooperation and attention.

“Let’s plan the big bug out. Sherry, grab me what’s left of that bottle of Dickle, while we will make some plans.” I said with anticipatation of some bracing libation to smooth what we all had to swallow next.

“A displaced Person or a refugee is someone who carries everything they own on their back with out hope most times of gaining more. You have to pretend like you are getting on an airline now with limited weights as we decide what that tractor can pull, you are one of the lucky ones now, and you don’t have to carry a backpack for yourself yet.