The Fall of America: Premonition of Death (3 page)

We walked in silence a few minutes, and then Tom asked, "Have you ever seen those spikes that police officers used to throw on the road to puncture a car tire? I think they're called ninja stars or something like that."

I chuckled and replied, "Not really, except in the movies. Why?"

"I want the women to make us a few hundred so we can scatter 'em around the house."

"They'd only work at night." I stopped walking, and gazed into his eyes.

"Not if someone attacked us on horseback. While I don't like the idea of hurting an animal, I suspect those things could do real damage to a horses foot."

"Isn't there a soft area toward the rear of the hoof?"

"Yep, but doing this bothers me."

I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, "Tom, I don't like the idea any better than you do. I love animals much more than people, because they're innocent and loving, but we've got to do whatever we can to stay alive."

Over the next few days the women spent long hours turning out our little ninja stars, and I was satisfied with the quality. No matter how I tossed them, they always landed with one sharp barb up, so I knew they'd work.

While they worked on the stars, Tom and I filled hundreds of sandbags and placed them almost waist high around the lower level of the house. I knew they'd stop most rounds and we had them in a double row, around every room on the ground floor.

Finally, Tom said, "Get the backhoe and dig me about four or five pits in the front and back yard. Make them about five feet deep, four wide, and close to six feet in length."

I knew a lot of different things could be made in holes like that, so I had to ask, "What's on your mind with the pits?"

"Some we'll fill with snakes, some will have sharpened barbs sticking up, and in others we'll place maybe five or six rows of toe poppers. farthest from the house I might place some napalm, so when they go off at night we'll have nice dark silhouettes to shoot at."

I had a silent laugh, because a pit with any kind of snake in it would scare most people to death, while the toe poppers, depending on how you landed, could really mess a man up. I had an idea that Tom intended to fill the snake pits will copperheads or rattlesnakes, which were common to the area.

"If we dip the sharpened barbs in human waste before we place them, it's a guarantee of someone getting a serious infection."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"My dad was an airborne trooper in Vietnam and he said the V.C. did it all the time. If a soldier stepped in a punji pit in Vietnam, he was always airlifted out and put on an I.V. with antibiotics."

"Well, that sounds like a good job for you, my man, because I'm not into human waste. But, on a more serious side, I think the napalm pits will have some broken glass, nuts and bolts, rocks or other junk thrown on top of them."

"I think that would give us maximum casualties for the buck and while fire scares, stuff flying through the air cripples, and kills. I've some commercial grade fertilizer in the barn, add a bit of it to each napalm pit, say five pounds or so. It'll cause a huge explosion, and it's than flour for burning properties." I chuckled to myself, because most civilians never realized common household and garden items could be turned into deadly explosives.

Within ten days we had the place as fixed up as we could make it with what we had on hand. We'd also made a slight change to our usual guard duty. Now we'd place one person out in the dark, near the road, with a portable two way radio so we could be informed before anyone attacked us, maybe. While I had a generator and could charge the radio batteries repeatedly, I had to use it sparingly, so it would last as long as possible. I wasn't worried about gas, but a mechanical breakdown. Like most farmers, I had a large 500 gallon gasoline storage tank behind the barn that I'd used in peaceful times to fill my tractors and pickup truck. In the evenings, I now chained my meanest dog, a huge Doberman with a nasty attitude, to the tank and knew Skillet would warn us if anyone came looking to steal gas.

It was a little after midnight, as I sat in the living room monitoring the two-way radio, when I heard Sandra report from near the road, "I'm coming back in. I hear many people moving down the road from the east. Copy?"

"Copy. Return to base."

A few minutes later she stood in front of me and reported, "Sounded like well over fifty men from what I could tell. I didn't count them or see them well, but they were noisy, and I heard a couple talking and one fool laughed."

"Wake Tom and Sue and be sure to let them know we have visitors coming. Tell Tom I said to lock and load."

As she disappeared into the darkness, I said a silent prayer for God's guidance. While not an overly religious man, I've always been a believer, and think I survived my combat tours in the service because of God. Once again, I'd turned to my Father.

CHAPTER 3

S
andra returned a few minutes later and said, "They're both up and moving. Tom said they'd cover the front and rear of the house from the upstairs."

"What's the weather like outside now?"

"It's around 65 degrees, overcast, with a light mist falling. Why?"

"Well, if your mist turns to rain, they may call the attack off until daylight."

"I have a feeling they're pretty sure they can take this place, and I'm not so sure they can't."

With my right hand, I gently stroked my wife's face. I felt her fear, but there was a side of me that she'd never seen, and I could protect her. Her eyes could barely be seen from the small candle burning on the coffee table and I said, "Baby, Tom and I have this place ringed with traps, and I think we have a better than good chance of surviving this. Many of the men tonight will be lightly armed, most will have bows and arrows, and few will only have clubs and knives. Stay strong and we'll survive this."

Lowering her head she replied, "There are so many of them and there are only four of us."

I gave a weak chuckle and said, "Keep in mind, Tom and I are both combat veterans and we're way up on them in experience. But, just to be safe, I want you to put the packs you made up for us over here, right beside me."

"Base, two, over." I heard Tom on the radio.

"Go, two, this is base."

"I have spotted movement all around the front of us and four reports the same behind us. Are you in position, yet?"

"Negative on position, two, give me two minutes."

His radio clicked twice, so I knew he'd understood. Turning to Sandra I said, "You need to get to the back of the house. No matter what you hear out front, stay in position. Do you understand?"

She nodded, stood, and as she walked into the dark hallway, I worried about her. Some people aren't able to kill another human being, or so my drill instructor had yelled one morning during basic training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Would Sandra be able to kill if need be? Or would she freeze and die? I knew the answer only time would tell.

I picked up my radio and spoke, "Two, this is one."

"Go, one."

"In position."

"Copy you are in position. I think they're holding off just outside of the yard and planning something. Over."

I heard one, then two shotguns go off, but they were off to the side where we'd placed the toe poppers and I suspected they'd tried to move in on the side of us. Screaming came from the general area, and then I heard a man distinctly crying for help.

Unmoving, I scanned the area in front of me, because I knew Tom would be doing the same. We would die if we became distracted. After a long period of maybe ten minutes, another shotgun shell exploded and a second man added his cries for help.

Most likely,
I thought,
the second man went to help the first and stepped on a toe popper.

My thoughts were disrupted by a huge explosion of fire right in front of me, followed by screams of pain. Tom had ignited one of the napalm traps. A man ran from the fireball, completely engulfed in flame, right toward me. I pulled the trigger on my shotgun and watched him knocked back to the dirt hard, as a full load of 00 buckshot struck him in the chest. He lay unmoving, but still burning. I quickly changed positions to another window.

It was at that point a small band of about six on horseback raced for my porch, only to encounter our ninja stars. Horses reared, riders fell, and I could hear Tom's old deer rifle, a 30.06 with a mounted scope, firing slowly from the window above me. I added shotgun blasts to the night air. The men on the ground were easily seen, as Tom had predicted, by the burning gasoline behind them. I, like Tom, continued to fire until the last man fell.

Silence followed, with light from the burning gas casting eerie shadows that danced on the walls inside my house. Occasionally a moan or cry for help was heard, which instantly brought a single shot from Tom. I spotted movement less than 70 feet from the porch, but smiled and let the man continue to crawl toward me.

Forward he crawled. I watched closely as he'd move an inch or two, then stop. He was good, and I almost felt sorry for the man. He'd been well trained, obviously prior military, police, or security, because he knew what he was doing. As I watched, he moved to less than 50 feet from the house. He pulled something from his pocket, a flame was instantly seen, and I knew he had a Molotov cocktail in his hand. Still, I didn't move.

The man was instantly on his feet and running right for me, when he disappeared. A loud scream sounded and the man stood from one of our pits. From the light of the burning rag in his Molotov cocktail, as well as the flames of the napalm fire, I could see the snakes hanging from his body. He twisted and turned in all directions, as his screaming grew louder.

Tom fired a single shot and the incendiary device exploded, which covered the man in flames. I immediately grew frightened the man might run to the house in his panic driven pain and pulled the trigger on my shotgun. I had the satisfaction of seeing him go down and stay down.

I heard a whistle blow three times and then silence. Waiting a few minutes, I looked the area over carefully with my binoculars, only there was no movement. Fire from the pit, as well as the man, had died down, but the smell of burnt flesh was heavy in the air. Off in the distance I heard Skillet barking. Two horses that were severely injured lay in my front yard and I felt my heart break each time they'd blow or cry in pain.

Picking up the radio I said, "Everyone stay in position. The whistle blasts might mean anything. Tom, take out the horses."

Two shots sounded and the horses grew silent. I lowered my head for a second and asked God's forgiveness for killing the horses. To ask Him to forgive me for killing the men or women never entered my mind. They'd come looking for a fight, and we'd given them a good one.

After more than an hour, Tom said, "One, two, I think they've gone, because I haven't seen anything move since the whistle."

"Roger. I suspect they're gone, but we'll stay in position until first light."

"One, this is Sandra, I mean three, can you do something about the smell?"

"Not until daylight, three. We all stay where we are." I replied and knew she'd either thrown up or was fighting not to do so. I'd smelled it many times during my wars, only I'd grown used to it, and it no longer nauseated me as much as it once did.

I felt a hard gust of wind come through the open window and watched as the curtains danced wildly along the wall. The wind was followed seconds later by a spattering of raindrops. The rain gradually increased until a full-blown storm was beating a loud tattoo on my roof. Long fingers of lightning flashed across the sky and then exploded in all directions. Thunder cracked and boomed all around me, and I knew then the attack was over.

I picked up the radio and said, "Everyone come to my location. Repeat, come to my location now."

I closed the windows on the bottom floor and by the time I returned, everyone was in my living room.

Tom spoke before I could, "This storm looks serious."

"It's times like this I wish we had a weather station or some way of knowing what's happening." I replied and then turned to Sandra, "Are you still ill?"

"N...no, but I was sick back about an hour ago."

The wind was howling now, and I could only hope we weren't getting part of a hurricane or tornado. Since we lived in Mississippi, a little over 200 miles from New Orleans, either one was possible. Something blew across my porch and it banged continuously as it traveled.

It was then I remembered Skillet. "I've a dog by the gas storage tank and have to bring him in."

Tom nodded, but Sue asked, "Are you sure you want to go out in weather like this for
just a dog
?"

Her comment angered me, but I held my temper as I replied, "Sue, our dogs are family in this house. We love them, and Skillet is scared and wet right now."

I grabbed a raincoat from the hook on the wall, put it on and said, "I want all of you to move to the basement. I'm not sure what this is, but if we get a tornado, you'll be glad you're down there. Sandra, take the other dogs down with you. I'll be right back."

Outside the wind was terrible and I estimated it at around 40 miles an hour, with gusts that had to be in excess of 60. I held my flashlight in my left hand and my shotgun in the other as I approached the storage tank. The rain was falling so hard it actually hurt as it struck my face.

Skillet was under the tank, but the poor guy was soaked, and he stood wagging his tail as I approached. I knelt, pulled his wet head to me and said, "Sorry, big guy, but I've been busy and forgot about you."

I pulled the leash from my pocket and attached it to his collar, which is hard to do in darkness with rain pounding me. I picked up my flashlight and shotgun and then stood. Skillet was happy to see me, and wagging his tail as we moved toward the house.

Nearing the house, Skillet began to growl a warning, and I stopped. Someone, I was sure, was out there. I switched the flashlight off and squinted, hoping to see better. With the weather like it was, it was impossible to hear or see anything, so I reached down and released Skillet's leash. The dog left me at a hard run slightly off my left.

I flipped the safety off my shotgun and followed my dog.

About fifty feet away I came upon man fighting with Skillet, only he wasn't doing well. My big dog was chewing on the man's left forearm like a t-bone steak and jerking his head from side to side viciously. I approached and screamed into the wind to be heard, "Skillet, come!"

As soon as my dog was at my side, I saw the man smile at me in a flash of lightning, I have no idea what he was thinking, however I know what I was thinking. I raised my shotgun and waited patiently for the next flash of lightning. With the next flash, I pulled the trigger and saw the man knocked backward, his smile gone forever.

I patted Skillet on the head and a few times and then moved for the house. I'd taken a prisoner in Iraq once, and he'd been struck in the upper shoulder by a bullet. I'd kept him covered while Frank, our medic, worked on him, except I ducked and turned my head when we'd come under enemy fire again. When I glanced back at my prisoner, Frank was on his back with a knife buried in his chest and a pool of blood under him. I emptied my entire clip into the rag-heads body. That was the first and last time in my life I ever took a prisoner. Maybe I'm cold and heartless, but I'm still alive.

Skillet and I entered the house and made our way down to the basement. It was quiet down there and as I neared the group, Tom asked, "Did I hear a shotgun?"

I started to lie to him, but said, "Yep, one of the men that probably stepped on a toe popper was hiding in the dark."

"Look at all the blood on Skillet! Is he okay?" Sandra asked.

"Skillet let me know about the man quick enough and I turned the big boy loose."

Tom, looking confused asked, "Then why the shot?"

"I thought the man might have a pistol. But, just so you all know, I don't take prisoners and never have."

Sandra gave me a surprised look, blinked a few times and then asked, "Never?"

I explained what had happened in Iraq and it was quiet for a long time. I think one of them may have thought I was a killer, another a man without any mercy at all, or that the war had made me a man suffering from severe PTSD. Only one person's thoughts really mattered, and that was Sandra's. I didn't gave a rat's ass what the other two thought.

"I wish you hadn't killed him, but we don't have a place to keep prisoners. Where could we lock them up and really feel safe?" Sandra said.

Sue gave a weak smile and said, "I thought about that and the amount of food we'd have to give them as well. I don't agree with murder, only we have no idea how badly the man was wounded either, so you may have ended his agony. We could have used up a lot of our medical supplies trying to keep him alive, only to have him die anyway."

Tom simply said, "From now on, we'll take no prisoners. But, understand me when I say this, we will kill cleanly and with no torture. I can justify killing in my mind by what's been said here tonight, torture I cannot accept. If any of you have a problem with this, speak up now."

No one spoke up, so I pulled a towel from a shelf near me and started drying Skillet off. He was soaked, but his tail wagged and he was grinning when I finished the job. I squatted in front of the big boy and gave him a hug. As soon as we broke apart, he licked my face from chin to forehead and I broke out laughing.

When I looked around, only Sandra had a smile on her face and that worried me, I didn't say anything. After all, we'd just survive a vicious attack and some folks react differently following combat. I know, because I used to drop to my knees and puke.

"How's the weather out there?" Tom asked, all business once more.

"Winds from the south, I'd guess 40 miles an hour, with gusts over 60. It's raining like a cow peeing on a flat rock, except horizontal, and dark as all get out. I noticed hundreds of lightning flashes and if the television still worked, I'm sure some weather channel would have shown a radar image with hundreds of strikes around us."

"I find it hard to believe after all the effort we made to prepare for this day; we forgot to get anything to help us with the weather. We could have installed a battery operated weather station for less than a hundred dollars."

"All I have is an old thermometer nailed to the barn door and that's it. We either have what we need now or steal it."

"What I'd like to have is a barometer so I could see what the barometric pressure is doing."

There sounded a loud bang upstairs and suddenly the wind could be heard clearly. A number of other loud sounds followed the bang immediately and I knew we had a twister. I could hear things crashing, breaking, and creaking. At one point, I actually heard my home moan.

"Everyone, get under my work bench and do it now!" I screamed as I grabbed Sandra's hand and started moving.

We had to crawl to get under my bench, but once there I said, "We'll stay under this thing until the storm dies down. The frame is solid steel, so even if the house falls on us we'll be safe, maybe."