Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (12 page)

Feeling better
about the gas, Bishop and Terri started for home, but had to take a different route because the police had shut down the main road. “Probably an accident,” he told Terri.

They were driving throug
h a neighborhood when Bishop noticed a patrol car come up behind them quickly. The lights flashed on, and Bishop pulled over. A man with a hat and shirt that said “Police” on them exited the car and walked up to Bishop’s truck. He paid special attention to the gas cans in the back as he walked by, while Bishop paid special attention to the man’s sidearm, which was not standard police issue.

“License and
proof of insurance, please.”

“What’s the problem
, Officer?”

“I noticed the gas cans in the truck
. We have had reports of looting in the area. May I see your license and proof of insurance please?”

Bishop made sure that his hands remained in plain sight on the steering wheel. He said, “I have proof that I obtained this gas legally sir
. If you would like, I can reach into the console and show you the receipt.”

“I would like to see that, but first I need your license and proof of insurance.”

Bishop smelled a rat. The guy was nervous and wasn’t wearing a badge. Considering the day’s events with law enforcement resources stretched thin while having to protect every gas station and bank, what cop would have bothered with them? Besides that, most would have accepted the proof and been on their way to more important tasks.

Bishop said, “I
’ll be happy to provide you those, and no offense, but I’d like to see your ID first please.”

A strange look registered on his face before he replied,
“Look buddy, I am a reserve deputy. I got called up this morning early, and I don’t have time for this. Are you going to cause me trouble?” The man reached to his side and unsnapped the holster of his pistol.

“No
, sir, not at all. Here, let me give you my papers.”

As Bishop slowly reached for his wallet, Terri opened the glove box and
found the insurance card. Bishop handed both over, and the cop merely glanced at them and handed them back. Now Bishop was almost certain the guy was not a real cop. A real cop would have taken the documents back to his car and either used the on-board computer or called in the numbers. He thought about just putting the truck in gear and taking off but figured the damn fool might pull his weapon and start shooting at them.

The “cop” said, “I
will need to confiscate this fuel. If you want, you can go to the station tomorrow and show your receipts, and it will be returned to you. We have orders to confiscate any goods that may have been looted.”

Bishop watched as the guy gave his little speech and noticed his right hand drifted down to his side, in easy reach of his weapon
. He was absolutely sure now that he was not a real officer.

“Please step out of the vehicle
, sir.”

“I would prefer not. I have a busted leg
, and it hurts like hell.”

“Sir, please step out of the car
-
now
.”

“Ok, ok…no need to shout
,” and Bishop got out of the truck, faking a bad limp and pain.

The officer asked Bishop to stand by the hood of his
patrol car. He then reached in his window and popped the trunk. As Bishop limped back to the patrol car, he noticed the emblem on the door was for a private security company and had the word “Neighborhood Patrol” written underneath it.

The man opened the gate of Bishop’s truck bed and grabbed two cans of gas
. He proceeded to walk by Bishop with a can in each hand. As he passed, Bishop took one quick step, and pulled the guy’s sidearm out of his holster. “What the fuck…” the guy said, and dropped the cans.

Bishop threw the pistol as far as he could into the weeds
. The guy paused and then took off running after the pistol. Bishop reached into the patrol car and took out the keys. He threw them as far as he could on the other side of the road. He then picked up his two gas cans, loaded them back in his bed, hopped in the truck, and took off as fast as he could.

When he was sure
they were clear, he looked over at his pale wife and said, “Thanks babe. You got me out of a ticket.”

“What the hell are you talking about
?” she asked with a clearly puzzled look on her face.

“He told me he was going to let me go with a warning because he felt sorry for you being stuck with an ugly fuck like me.”

“Bullshit. Why did he go running over to those weeds?”

Bishop said,
“I told him you had lost a pair of your panties over there the other day,” and braced for the impact of her punch.

“Bishop, that doesn’t make any sense
,” she smiled. “He already has lots of my panties at his house.”

They drove straight home and unloaded the gas cans. Then,
Bishop got busy. The incident with the “reserve deputy,” combined with the crowds of people at every bank, gas station, and grocery store, had shaken him down to his core. He wondered how long it would be before the real police officers themselves had to do something – anything – to feed their families. Even if the cops held to their oaths, would they show up on the job or begin to scavenge food for their hungry kids? How long would the police have gasoline for the squad cars? Without any threat of arrest by the police, how long would it take before anarchy took hold?

Terri’s house, as he often call
ed it, had a quality alarm system installed when it was built. Bishop upgraded the system with alarm screens and better glass break sensors a few months after they moved in. For years, he had been comfortable with their security despite an overall increase in crime.

Then
two separate events occurred that caused him to rethink how secure their home really was.

The media attributed the first event to
the worsening economy and had been termed “Flash Mobs” by the press. A flash mob consisted of a group of twenty or more people who would enter a store individually. At a pre-arranged signal, normally sent over cell phones, everyone would pick up something of value and rush out of the store with it. The store’s security, designed for individual shoplifters, couldn’t cope with the “mobs,” and they easily escaped with the loot. The mobs used social networks, cell phones, and other technology to coordinate their targets, rendezvous times, and greedy schemes. Initially, only retail stores had been besieged. It didn’t take long before smaller, more ruthless groups of armed home invaders formed and began using the same methods. Media reports of upscale homes being mobbed by small gangs of five to eight burglars became common. Some entire neighborhoods had been plundered.

The second event was a training class that
Bishop and several other HBR personnel attended. That class completely changed his outlook on home security. The subject had been breaching, a term best explained as the forcible method commonly used by law enforcement and military to enter a home or building. Like most people, Bishop had seen films of the DEA or other police units busting down the front door and pouring into drug dens and terrorist hideouts.

The tactics and procedures
taught that day had been far more encompassing than a simple “stick” of men using a ram to knock down the door and follow each other in - shooting the surprised bad guys. Bishop learned that the real methods used were far more complex than what was shown on TV. An example given at the class was called an enveloping breach, meaning more than a single entry point into the structure is used. The instructor discussed a tactic where the police would make noise and have men at the front door, but the actual breach would be via the back door - what Bishop had called a head fake in basketball.

The sheer speed and force
demonstrated by the professionals during the class made Bishop think hard about his home. When he learned that drug cartels, gangs and other organized criminals used very similar methods, he decided to devote some time and money so that he could sleep well at night.

Bishop wasn’t a drug dealer or terrorist, so there had never been any concern about the police raiding his home
. While their neighborhood was not affluent enough to be a target of flash mobs just yet, there was an undeniable trend of attacking more modest areas. The wealthier communities had the funds to increase security and take other precautions to counter the new crime wave. This invited the criminals to lower their expectations and target areas of modest housing. A neighborhood of slightly more expensive homes than Terri’s had been recently raided less than a mile away.

After hearing of that incident, Bishop decided that
they needed a better plan for the security of their home. While he didn’t anticipate a complete collapse of society, he understood that if things got worse, they might have to take extreme measures to protect themselves and their property.

He
had analyzed several solutions ranging from high-tech and high-dollar electronic devices to cheap plywood covering all of the doors and windows. The problem for Bishop, as an occupant, was having enough warning or time to react to the breach. The more warning the occupant has, the more likely the breach will turn into a bloodbath for the entry team, or invaders. Bishop’s alarm system, if not bypassed, would give him less than three seconds to react. If he were in bed, watching television, or practically anywhere in the house, that just was not enough time to make a difference. He shuddered at the thought of Terri being there by herself.

Boarding up windows and door
s would buy time, but it also eliminated some important benefits. You can’t open a window to let in the breeze if it is covered in plywood. Covered windows are just not practical or enjoyable to live with. The same logic applied to doors. He didn’t think Terri would accept all of the doors and windows being covered with plywood and the resulting dark home. Her new curtains would most likely be an issue as well, and Bishop was not brave enough to even think of going there.

A few weeks after the class,
Bishop settled on a solution that cost him less than $50.00 and wouldn’t cause Terri to refuse him sex for the rest of his life. He purchased a few bags of steel picture hooks that screw into the wall. They were not heavy duty, or individually strong, just common little hooks - $2.00 for a bag of 20. He then found cargo nets used to secure items in the back of a pickup truck. The thin mesh nets were made of nylon and stretched slightly.

Bishop could screw 20 or so of the picture hooks around a door or window frame and then hang the net
. The contraption let in sunlight and could be removed in a few minutes to open a window to let in plenty of air. In each net he threaded 5 to 10 small “jingle bells,” used as Christmas decorations, to serve as noisemakers.

For anyone trying to “breach” the door or window, the nets
would be a nightmare. They could not be cut or removed without the bells ringing. The nets would hold a door in place even if an explosive charge defeated its hinges and locks. While the individual hooks were not that strong, 20 of them would withstand a tremendous amount of force. The entire system could be removed once the threat had passed leaving only a few, small, easily repaired holes.

After the
ir experiences of the day, Bishop didn’t even hesitate. He spent the rest of the afternoon screwing in the small hooks. Terri didn’t protest at all.

As the situation unfolded and the fog began to clear, the president and his staff realized that the United States had been attacked on a scale that made 9/11 look like a minor skirmish.

The primary
task immediately concerning the staff at numerous federal, state, and local agencies was to determine the residual life of the nerve gas. Boston was expecting rain in a few hours, and there was anxiety over the deadly gas affecting the water supply.

The Army’s
CBRNE team, a military acronym for Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear, and High Yield Explosive; was on-site in Chicago. The Center for Disease Control (CDC) sent their team to Boston. Los Angeles was basically frozen and waiting on the results from the other two cities. The Marines from Camp Pendleton, being the only force of any size in the area equipped with complete hazmat operational capability, were on their way.

It was seven hours before the CD
C identified the agent as a VX nerve gas derivative. The White House was advised that the active agent, in a completely exposed state, would become ineffective after 14 hours. Furthermore, water would actually weaken the agent and was an effective neutralizer. Suddenly, everyone was praying for rain.

After it was made public that it was a nerve gas attack,
the president’s order to close the roads was, as a practical matter, unnecessary. Most people would not have left their homes or businesses regardless. In that way, the confirmation eased the situation. The run that morning on gas stations, grocery stores, and pharmacies stopped as suddenly as it had begun when everyone rushed back to their homes in case of another attack.

From a pragmatic perspective, it was
impossible to fully implement the executive order. The police blocked off all of the bridges crossing major rivers with relative ease, but closing roads exceeded their resources. After several calls with quite a few prominent elected officials in the president’s circle of influence, the decision was made to declare martial law and to establish a curfew. This action gave would give workers and travelers the time to get back to their homes and families and then stay put. Of course, there would be exceptions. Employees at hospitals, nursing homes, prisons, and power plants, as well as, law enforcement officers and first responders had to be allowed to go back and forth. Processes to enable this movement were established.

It
quickly became clear that these exceptions were not going to work. The police on the ground realized that their roadblocks, searches, and questioning of drivers created long lines of potential targets. In more than one location, nervous police officers anticipating another attack shot at an impatient driver who tried to bypass the line of cars. Tensions were running high.