Going Home (3 page)
He reached back and pulled one down and laid it on the counter. “Six dollars.” I handed him a ten, and he made the change.
I had quit chew last year; I loved the first dip of the day, and the one after a meal. I figure what the hell now. Not like I would be able to get any more anytime soon. He had put everything in a bag, so I carried it outside and walked around the building. I found what I was looking for on the far end, away from the interstate. I set the pack down and pulled the canteens out. Opening up the pack, I took the Platypus bladder out. I topped off all of these from the hose bib on the wall; lastly, I filled the SS water bottle. The water pressure was still pretty good; I know that won’t last either, and that gave me another idea.
While topping off the bottle, I heard a voice behind me. “Where ya headin’?” I looked over my shoulder and saw a large man in a red flannel shirt, jeans, and a Redman hat with what I was sure was a large chaw of the same in his left cheek. He was over six feet and barrel-chested.
I stood up and said, “Home, if I can make it.”
“Whur’s home?” He leaned to his left and spit a large brown puddle on the ground; it actually hit the ground before it broke from his lips.
“Down near Orlando,” I replied as I stood up.
“That’s a long walk. I need to get to Dothan.”
“That’s a pretty good hike too. You driving one of those rigs back there?”
He motioned with his shoulder. “I was drivin’ that flatbed with the Cat on it.” He spit a string again. “I shore don’t want ta walk ta Dothan.”
I looked past him and saw an old Cat front-end loader on the trailer. “Well, why don’t you drop the chains on that loader and drive it till it gives out? Get some fuel out of your truck. If you find enough jugs, you might be able to carry enough fuel to make it.”
“I was thinkin’ the same thing,” he said. “What cha think happened?”
“Well, I would guess it was either an EMP or a CME. The radios are all out, and I guess no one knows for sure.”
He looked at me for a minute and drawled out, “I’ve heard of EMP. That’s a nuke that causes that. What’s a CME?”
“Coronal mass ejection, solar flare,” I replied while putting some of the shopping into the pack.
“I heard about that on the news. They’s been talkin’ about it fer a week now. An’ that would knock out the powar?”
“It could. I heard about it too. Didn’t think it would do all this, though. I guess why doesn’t really matter, though.” I stood up and was looking at him.
“I don’t much reckon it does. Well, good luck gettin’ to Orlanda.” He turned and walked toward his truck.
I shouldered the pack on one shoulder and walked back into the store. “You got a restroom I could use real quick?”
The little guy pointed to the back. “Back there. Don’t piss on my floor, and flush it when you’re done.”
“Thanks.” I figured I should take advantage of the chance to take a dump in comfort.
I walked out to the road and stopped for a minute. In the distance, you could hear chains being pulled through pad eyes on a trailer. I slipped one of the Cokes out of my cargo pocket and took a long drink. Man, I was gonna miss this. After screwing the lid on and dropping it back in the pocket, I slipped the can of Cope out. I tapped the can in the palm of my hand for a minute while I thought about what was lying ahead. This damn pack was freakin’ heavy. I needed a walking stick. I drew the ESEE4 from its sheath and poked the blade through the paper on the lid of the can and ran it around it and sheathed the blade. Popping open the can, I grabbed a pinch and stuck it in my lip. Man, she would piss if she knew; I smiled to myself as I thought about how angry Mel would be if she knew what I was doing. Not that it really mattered at the moment.
I hitched up the pack and started walking south on 59. I needed to keep my eyes open for a walking stick. I knew what I wanted: a piece of wild myrtle. The wood was bone hard and light. It would be perfect. Several people were walking down the road, some coming and some going. At this point, no one appeared panicked; there wasn’t any violence or trouble. It had only been one day, though, so it was certain to change. The walk down 59 was quiet. I encountered no one, only the occasional person who waved from a porch. Even that was rare, as there aren’t that many houses on this stretch of road—lots of acreage. Smoke could be seen drifting from chimneys and smokestacks on some of the houses. About five and a half miles down the road, I came to Highway 19; this would be the road that would take me the farthest on my walk home. Turn south and keep on keeping on.
With my late start and the stop at the store, the day was getting late. I looked at my watch; it was almost four. I figured I would look for a place to sleep for the night. Since this was my first night out, I wanted time to sort out camp. On the southeast corner of 19 and 59 was a wooded lot. It looked like a good place to spend the night, so I walked into the tree line right beside a sign that said, Perry 35 Miles. There was a field wire fence off the road behind the sign, I undid the straps on the pack and dropped it over. It felt like I would float away with the load off me. Crossing the fence, I walked out into the woods a little and found a camping spot. While there was still light, I took a minute to do a quick recon of the immediate area. All was quiet; no other sounds indicating people were on the air. The area I was in had no houses in the immediate vicinity; this satisfied me that I should be alone tonight.
Back at my pack, it was time to decide what kind of shelter I wanted. In my pack were my Eagles Nest Outfitters hammock, Slap Straps, and bug net, as well as my seven-by-nine tarp and rigging. Since I was going to be moving every day, I wanted an expedient camp, something quick. For tonight, I decided on something real quick. I pulled out the sleeping bag and set it aside. Then I unrolled the sleeping mat, pulled the bag out of the compression bag, and unrolled it on top of the mat. Then I pulled out my GI poncho and threw it over the whole thing. The outer bag of the sleep system is Gortex, but I didn’t want dew all over it, as I planned to be off early in the morning. With my camp set, I decided to build a small fire. I didn’t really need one, but since this was only the first day after, after what?
I guess I’ll call it the Event.
I figured I could do this and not draw any undue attention. Later this would probably not be advisable.
I pulled my U-Dig-It trowel out and scraped a small fire pit after scraping the fallen pine needles away from a small spot on the ground. The combination of mostly pine and scattered oak provided plenty of firewood with very little effort. Using a butane lighter, I had a nice small fire in no time. I cut several palmetto fronds and made a break between the fire and the road, probably unnecessary but better to get into the habit now. I opened the chow pouch and fished around, pulling out everything in it. There were nine MRE entrées, six side dishes, six crackers, four pouches of MRE bread, six cheeses, five peanut butters, five packs of crackers, five accessory pouches, two pouches of MRE shake mixes, half a dozen drink mixes, and seven heaters. There were also four Spam single-serving pouches and four foil packs each of tuna and salmon. Add this to the stuff in the mess kit pot, and it was not a bad start.
I was hungry; that Spam sandwich wore off hours ago. I wanted to eat something else but didn’t want to because once I did, it would be gone—the only food I had was what I was carrying. Finally, I settled on a pouch of cheese squeezed onto some crackers. While munching on this, I went through the pack and pulled a couple of other things out—my Steiner Predator binos and the night vision, and a Pulsar Edge GS20. The bag for the Pulsar had four sets of batteries in it, plus the four spares in the Devildog bag. I should have plenty of batteries. There was also a Goal Zero Guide Plus kit; this would keep batteries charged for flashlights and whatnot. I wish I had found a way to charge the CR123 lithium batteries with it but hadn’t got around to it. I started putting things away so that I could access them easily later. I pulled the mess kit out of the side pouch and took a bouillon cube out and then pulled the canteen and cup out of its pouch, poured in some water, dropped in the cube, and set it beside the fire. I figured a hot cup of broth would be nice before going to sleep.
After finishing up my broth, I rinsed out the cup and stowed all the gear. I had the NVGs lying beside me and pulled the XD out of the Devildog. Climbing into the sleeping bag, I laid the XD on my chest and threw the poncho out to cover me and everything else up. I pulled out the NVGs and slipped them on. Looking up into the sky, the stars were magnified and washed out. I looked over to the side and could see into the woods. Happy that they were working, I put them in their pouch and set them down. I flipped the hood up on the sleeping bag and covered my face with the poncho.
As I lay there waiting for sleep, I started to think about my wife and girls. I missed them more than words could describe; that’s partly why I tried not to think about them too much. My thoughts were interrupted by the report of several rapid shots drifting up into the night. They were far off, and there were no more; they were the first of many more to come. It was the first indication of the change that was already taking place in people.
Opening my eyes, all I could see was the poncho; it was wet. I pulled it away from my face; drops of condensation fell into my eyes. Pulling the poncho away, the cold swirled around my face. “Damn!” It was cold; the temp had dropped overnight, and I did not want to get out of my sleeping bag. I finally crawled out and shoved my feet into those cold-ass boots, took the Carhartt from the pack, and put it on. My little fire was long gone; the ground was cold. A few steps away from my little camp, I took a leak. I was surprised how dark it was.
Cool weather can fool you; in hot weather, you drink because you have to. In colder weather, you have to make the conscious effort to hydrate. I pulled out some of the firewood I collected the night before and sparked up a little fire, making this one a little bigger. I needed to warm up. Taking the MSR pot from the pack, I pulled out the bag of oatmeal and the bottle of honey. The canteen and cup came out next, then the cup stove. I stuck the stove to the bottom of the cup, put about half a cup of oats in, and poured enough water to cover them. I took an accessory pack out, pulled out the little bag of salt, and dropped in a pinch, then added a couple of big spoons of powdered milk, and set the oatmeal by the fire to heat.
While breakfast was heating, I rolled up my sleeping bag and compressed it into its bag, rolled up the sleep mat, and got them ready to go. One of my two bandanas served as a towel to wipe the condensation off the poncho, and then it was rolled and packed. The NVGs went into their bag and back in the pack. I rooted around in the pack and found an inexpensive pair of leather work gloves from Harbor Freight, not the old rawhide-looking gray ones; these were actually pretty good for only seven dollars. With them was a pair of Poly-Pro liners; I pulled just those onto my hands. By now my oatmeal was ready. I kept a very thick piece of leather in my bag; it’s about ten-by-ten inches and about one-fourth inch thick. I used it as a pot holder to pick up the canteen cup. I drizzled in some honey and stirred it all up. It was good and hot, and good. Did I say it was good? Too bad I only had a little more, maybe three servings if I stretch it. With breakfast done, my canteen cup was coated in glue. I poured it about half full of water and set it on the fire, adding a few more sticks to it. It boiled quickly; I stirred it with my spoon and scraped at anything I saw stuck to the side. After pitching the water, I set the cup and stove aside to cool and got ready to go. I drank all the water left in the water bottle and then pulled the Platypus bladder out, refilled it, stowed the bladder back in the pack, and then wiped out the cup with a bandana and stowed it too.
With everything stowed, I took off the Carhartt and put on the lighter chore coat; that Carhartt would overheat me while hiking. I strapped it back on the pack, hung the binos around my neck, and hefted the pack up onto my shoulders. By now, the fire was all but gone; I stomped it out and kicked the dirt from digging the pit back onto it. There was barely any smoke, and I felt comfortable leaving it. I walked back out to the road; the sign was still there, Perry 35. The sun was still low, but it was a clear and beautiful morning. I glassed the road as far as I could. There were a few cars on the road but no indication of people, so I started heading south. This is a beautiful part of North Florida, very rural and not that many people. The houses that were on 19 sit way off the road, and most were not visible from the road.
Plodding along, I came across, on the southbound side, a car with all the windows fogged up on the inside. I gave it a wide berth as I passed; I was just not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. I kept on walking. The sun was coming up, and I was getting a little warm. Undoing the chest strap, I unzipped my coat to cool down some. I was trying to keep my pace with some Ranger Beads; but, damn, you can’t think of anything while doing that. I would be counting along, and then my mind would wander, and, “Crap, how many paces was that?” Oh, well.
