Compass Call: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 3) (26 page)

“Yeah. Lucky guy.”

Pete turned his attention back to the list and said, “I’ve got just about everything on your list but the food, and a few of the individual vehicle items you listed. I don’t have a roll of plastic, but I agree it would be good to have.”

“I’ve got a roll of plastic for you, and you know food won’t be a problem,” replied John.

“Do you think that’s enough food . . . forty days I mean?” asked Pete.

“I’d like to take more,” said John, “but we have to see how much food that really is. The smallest car in the group is Paul’s van, and he can stuff a lot into it, but when we start adding all the other stuff the
space will disappear quickly. I’m also interested to hear your thoughts on how much ammo we should take.”

“I’m taking all of mine. Why? How much do you have?” asked Pete.

“I have a lot, perhaps more than I need to take. But I want to take all of it anyway. I have a feeling that ammunition will become a very valuable commodity in the days and weeks to come. We might be able to trade some for fuel, food and water along the way,” said John.

“I thought that’s what you meant by precious metal?” asked Pete.

“I think we’ll be bartering for a while. Silver and gold won’t hold interest until there’s a surplus, and there won’t be a surplus for at least a year, maybe longer.”

“Then why bother? Just bury it in the yard somewhere?” asked Pete.

“I don’t think we’ll be back,” sighed John.

“How much do you have, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Between mine and Corbin’s, I’d say about five-hundred ounces of silver and twenty of gold.”

Pete whistled softly and asked, “Diamonds?”

John snorted and asked, “What? Do you mean like on that post-apocalyptic television series, Revolution? No. I don’t think so.”

Pete nodded and said, “I always thought that was strange. As if people could just look at a diamond and tell you what it’s worth.”

“Exactly. They’re very impractical. Besides, the demand for diamonds will be very low . . . nonexistent really, for many years to come. They’ll be little more than costume jewelry during the survival period. But precious metal will always hold some value, and it can be easily set and divided,” replied John. “Some of my silver is junk . . . pre 1964 dimes, quarters and half-dollar pieces.”

“Why do they call it junk?” asked Pete.

“Those coins aren’t pure silver . . . more like ninety-percent, but they’re still valuable. Last year you could buy ten silver dimes for fifteen dollars, which came to about one-fifty a dime,” answered John.

“You mean one silver dime was worth a buck-fifty? That’s pretty good.”

“Well, that was then. Now . . . there’s no telling what it’s worth today. Silver, like diamonds, was based on demand. The flat price was based on adjusted economic scales, but regardless of inflation or deflation, silver and gold will always hold intrinsic value. I’m just not sure if a dozen eggs will cost me a single silver dime, or an entire ounce of 99.9% pure silver. It really will depend what’s being bartered, and at what cost. But if those who barter are willing to accept silver for their products, then we’ll be prepared.”

“I can see you’ve given this some thought,” said Pete.

“I have, which is why I think bullets will serve us much better when it comes to trade. Personally, I’m not going to miss paper money or credit cards,” finished John.

“I hear you there,” said Pete.

John stood and stretched. “I think I’ll grab something to eat, but while the ladies are preparing the food packs, I think we should dedicate the morning to collecting and sorting supplies and equipment for the vehicles.”

“Sounds like a plan,” replied Pete. “Where do you want to start?”

“In the garage,” answered John.

Jenna stuck her head into the garage and waited for John and Pete to quit talking and recognize her necessary interruption. “Hey Jenna,” said Pete, who was the first to notice her when he looked up.

John quickly turned and said, “Sorry, babe. What’s up?”

“Adam said there’s someone out front with a water bucket.”

“OK, tell him I’ll be right there,” said John, as he dropped one of three tightly packed tents onto separate piles of camping gear. The tents were his favorite, and by far the most important pieces of field equipment he owned. After having spent countless nights on the
ground, John learned to appreciate the attributes of a fine small tent. The one in his hands was called a Bunker, made by a company called Snugpak, and it lived up to its name. At first he balked at the idea of having to spend three-hundred dollars on a three-person tent, but after testing it in the field, he bought two more to add to his preparedness supplies. John always believed in the adage that you get what you paid for, and the Bunker proved its value many times over. He was greatly impressed with its durable construction, ease of assembly and disassembly, and compact size when packed. He also liked the dark green color, having come to loathe the common neon colors popular with most tent makers.

“This is the best three-man tent I’ve ever had,” said John, as he dropped the last one onto a pile.

Pete made a checkmark on the list and said, “But three, three-man tents won’t be enough for all of us.”

“Sure it will,” replied John, as he studied the list over Pete’s shoulder. “We won’t all be sleeping at the same time anyway, not with guard duty and all. But you’d be surprised how many people you can cram in a three-man tent if needed.”

“No. No I wouldn’t. There were eighteen of us packed in a twelve-man tent when we were doing winter training in Alaska,” said Pete. “It was cozy, but cozy was a good thing when it’s forty-below,” finished Pete.

“You’ll love these tents. They’re very well made,” said John, as he walked to the door in response to Adam’s needs.

“I never realized you had so much gear,” said Pete

John paused in the doorway and said, “I’ve managed to collect a lot of it when working with Adam’s Scout troop, but yeah, I have a camping gear fetish.”

“I see that,” said Pete. “I also recognize a lot of this gear from deployments, like the goggles. They look brand new.”

“They are. Never been used. They were too bulky, so I bought my own pair,” said John.

“I think everyone did,” said Pete.

“Why don’t you come with me and we’ll see what’s going on with the water,” said John.

Pete set the clipboard on the workbench and said, “I’m right behind you.”

They found Paul standing in the entryway, talking to Adam in the alcove. “Adam. What do you see, son?” asked John as he stood next to Paul to peek through the door’s peephole.

“Not much, dad, it’s really blowing out there. I can barely see him. There’s a man standing by the mailbox,” replied Adam.

“What do you see, Marcus?” asked John. The boy jumped at the question and quickly moved to look out the window through the curtain.

“The same thing as Adam, Mr. A,” replied Marcus.

“What about you, Corbin?” repeated John.

“Same here, Mr. A,” replied Corbin.

Paul leaned close to John and whispered, “Can I take Adam with me? I’d rather have someone who can back me up with a gun.”

“That was my plan, but for a different reason,” said John, in a normal tone of voice, “I want to hand Corbin and Marcus over to Pete for training this morning.”

“Only those two?” asked Paul, surprised.

“Yes. It will be marksmanship training. He wants to bring them up to your level first,” said John

“Oh. That makes sense,” said Paul.

John looked up and saw three smiling boys staring down at him from the alcove above. “I definitely think it’s time to give Corbin and Marcus a firearm, but they have to learn the basics first. I have an air-rifle they can train with, so what do you think? Pete, can you teach them how to shoot?” asked John.

“I sure can . . . and I think it’s a great idea,” said Pete. “I can take them through basic marksmanship training in the garage, and then later, when the air clears up, we can go out back and shoot.”

“Paul? Are you okay with Marcus learning how to shoot with an air-rifle?” asked John.

Paul glanced over at the kitchen and then back to John before he said, “I’m okay with it, but I don’t know if Marissa will be.”

“I’ll talk to Marissa,” said John. “We need to get the boys ready, and it’s best we do it before we leave,” said John.

“I’m fine with it!” yelled Marissa from the kitchen. Paul raised both eyebrows in response to Marissa’s approval and said, “Thanks, Honey!” John stifled a chuckle and saw Pete swallow one of his own. The last thing John wanted was to come between the family principles of another group couple, but he was glad Marissa capitulated to their group’s overall security needs. Allowing her teenage son, Marcus, to learn how to shoot was a big deal for her, and it spoke of her trust in John. It also meant they would have another armed member in the company.

John wanted every capable person in the company to know how to use firearms, or at least know how to handle them when they’re loaded, but he wouldn’t force the issue. Everyone in the company possessed a basic proficiency with firearms except for Marissa and her three boys; thirteen year old, Marcus, eight year old, Michael, and five year old, Anthony. Corbin wasn’t as proficient as Adam, but he was getting close. Adam was dedicating all his spare time to teaching Corbin what he knew, which was probably more than most Soldiers right out of basic training. Everyone else’s gun skills ranged from Jenna’s and Bonnie’s basic proficiency, to John and Pete’s advanced proficiency.

When Paul first mentioned to John that Marissa was opposed to firearms, John never considered asking for her permission to train Marcus, or even Michael for that matter. As far as he was concerned, Michael was old enough to learn how to shoot. John was seven when he first learned, but he was wise enough to know not to get between a mother and her concern for her children.

John touched Paul on the shoulder and whispered, “Ask her about Michael, too.”

Paul nodded and said, “Marissa, honey, I think we should train Michael too.”

John caught himself holding his breath as he waited for Marissa to reply. He was hopeful for Michael in many ways, but mostly because he knew the boy wanted to participate. After a several second delay John whispered again, “It’s OK. Give her time to think.”

Paul nodded and they were about to walk away when Marissa yelled, “I’d rather not expose Michael to guns right now, Paul, but I’m fine with Marcus. Can you just start with him?”

“Sure thing, honey. We’ll be careful,” replied Paul.

John nodded and said, “All right. Let’s get started. “Adam, you go with Paul and take care of the water detail. And keep your eyes open. Radio me if you have any questions. I’ll lock the front door when you step out.”

“Got it, dad.”

“Paul? You good?” asked John.

“Yup, I’m good.”

“Excellent. Again, radio me if you have any questions. I’m going to the shop with Pete, but we’ll use the side door.”

“So we should come in through the side door?” asked Paul.

“Yes. That’s the plan,” answered John.

“Got it,” said Paul, “Let’s go Adam . . . duty calls. Goggles and masks on.”

Paul and Adam slipped on their disposable N95 breathing masks and pinched them down over their noses. John had given them each a pair of army surplus, sun, wind, and dust goggles, and they slipped them on as well.

With eye and breathing protection in place, Paul and Adam stepped out. Wind buffeted John as soon as he opened the door, and he turned his head to avoid the blast of ash to his face. He quickly ushered Paul and Adam through and shut and locked the door. “The side door will work better in this weather, I think,” said John, as he paused to look through the peep-hole.

“I agree,” said Pete. “Do you have more sets of goggles?”

“Plenty,” replied John, as he continued to watch through the hole in the door. When Paul and Adam reached the middle of the walkway, they were little more than ghosts in the blowing cloud of gray sand and dust. John pushed the talk button three times and waited. Adam came back with a push, a pause, and two quick pushes. He just told John that he heard his signal and that they were alert and ready to communicate if needed.

John stepped back from the door, stood at the base of the alcove ladder, and said, “Can you see them, Corbin?”

“I little bit, Mr. A,” replied Corbin.

“OK. Keep an eye on them the best you can. And holler if you see anything unusual.”

“Got it, Mr. A.”

Pete wanted to work with Marcus in the shop because the garage was too cluttered with John’s camping gear to move around freely, but after restarting the generator, John decided against it. The shop would have worked with the doors open, but with the blowing ash it was problematic. After considering their options, John offered up the use of the entryway. It was more than long enough for an air rifle and a steel target box.

Armed with the air-rifle, a can of pellets, a half sheet of plywood, and the target trap, Pete set up the range and began running Marcus through basic marksmanship training. John took the opportunity to refine his packing list, and only half listened as Pete bestowed his expertise on Marcus. “Safety is important,” said Pete, “so never point your weapon at anyone you don’t intend to kill. It’s called muzzle discipline, so always be aware of the direction your barrel is pointed.”