Sharecropping The Apocalypse: A Prepper is Cast Adrift (28 page)

The very first meeting Crick and LowBuck called for the community was about a funny or necessity minded thing they had both experienced that had explained to them the hazards of close living with humans that haven’t experienced the woods as a sustainable habit that must be nurtured.

Crick walked away from his camp for a call of nature and accidentally stepped in someone’s poo and had himself a conniption fit that some A-hole hadn’t buried their crap and now he had it on his shoes. Generally speaking, in his days of camping, a shovel with a roll of toilet paper shoved down the handle was an indication and the tool to go take care of your business off in the woods when there were no crappers available.

Apparently someone thought shitting in the woods was a squat and forget but with 75 folks in the area of operations that dog would never hunt. LowBuck had grabbed his shovel and his wiping gear one day headed towards a likely spot when he came across a buzz fly smoking heap of somebody’s excrement uphill from him that would have washed over his campsite next rain that also set him off.

Ramro was pissed because whatever kid had crapped close to his muskrat hole he was attempting a trap at evidently looked like there was a grizzly bear in the area and had run them off and it was decided that sanitation was equal to salvation and we must do something about establishing a general sanitation order for the camps.

Latrine duty was not a subject or duty any one was willing to undertake outside of the military-minded experienced boys and girls trained in the protocol with it but all the campers acknowledged the need. Digging a slit trench is easy, getting everyone to use it with the stench and the bugs was another thing, so as we say in the military, being a screw up was punished with duty to maintain them things but such discipline needed to be enforced with logic, reasoning and a bit of attitude adjustment and a hierarchy was formed.

Somebody needed to enforce rules and a prescribed penalty needed to be stated. Weird how crap got everyone together to enforce rules and choose leadership but it happened. Caught pooping in a non-designated area would give you shit detail of throwing extra wood ash from the campfires onto the sewage pits. Collecting ashes for the task was considered a minor reminder of what was in store for you for a minor infraction of the rules of this community they seemed to need to enforce daily.

People just don’t tend to think outside the box daily unless there is a penalty and shit was getting out of control as folks scented a trap or walked a trail that would discourage game being taken daily. A bunch of preppers with survival on their minds would transgress on other people’s efforts inadvertently as they learned distance and recognition meant more than an apology when all the chips were down.

The only solution to so many prepper efforts they thought could assuage their hunger or anyone else’s, was to get organized and try the community effort thing Crick and LowBuck had said.

The two men and many others in this community of castaways advocated was a joint effort of getting things done by allocating duties to the best prepared to undertake the tasks at hand. Of course, personalities came in to play but it was decided that it was best man or woman to do it and no complaints would be broached unless simple reasoning could tell you different.

A man like Neil or his wife who could hit that target with that 22 Rough Rider pistol of his consistently, was on squirrel detail. He would wander the camps, question occupants to the mannerisms and habits of the observed wildlife in the area and move on or take shot. The ‘hey asshole don’t shoot a squirrel with a 9mm that would vaporize a squirrel’ when his 22 was best suited for the task went unsaid.

7

ANCHORS AWAY

“Hey Crick! You about ready to shove off?” LowBuck bellowed from the shore where he and most of the prepper community had gathered to see the wayfarers off.

“Just about. Let me make sure these things are going to hang together first!” Crick yelled back about 50 ft. from shore and proceeded to gingerly bounce the questionable wood frame up and down on his side of the raft.

“Dang boy, don’t swamp us!” Cowboy prepper groused while holding onto the wood slats that were already sloshing far more water over them than expected.

“Yea settle down Crick, I ain`t trusting that outrigger not to let go before it’s supposed to anyway.” The bondsman complained but was still grinning as he held on to his makeshift sail mast trying to keep his balance.

“Better to get dunked out here than when we get to the middle of the river.” Beauregard aka “One Ugly Guy” on YouTube declared bouncing his butt up and down while holding the makeshift tiller.

“Holy Crap! Stop that Beauregard, you are going to bust the slats out of the decking.” Ben said watching his rudder man now doing a walrus rocking motion to the rig that caused everyone to hang on for dear life.

“Don’t be trying any of that shit midstream you all! I saw your centerboard come out of the water and if that is all it takes to do that then both of us ought to think twice before trying set a sail.” Crick said pondering the usefulness of the improvised dagger boards they had just recently affixed to their rigs to try and add some stability to the rickety rafts.

A couple of doors had been sawn in half with a bow saw and had been shoved down the slots in the rafts once they cleared the shallows to reduce the lean of the rafts and keep them from tipping if the sails caught a strong wind. Since the rafts were basically not much more than floating wooden squares, sailing or steering them was doubtful and the sailors depended more on the current like the old flat bottom river trading barges of old to arrive at their destinations.

The use of sails on the tiny craft was hotly debated, because most folks saw no problem giving them a try but those that had some experience from their childhood remembered all too vividly how easy it was to tip a purpose built sailboat let alone something that resembled a wooden pallet with a log attached. The naysayers offered some half remembered sailor tips and tricks to avoid such a catastrophe and the centerboard addition was their inspired idea.

“Let’s get this rodeo on the road, Crick. You about ready?” Loomis said impatiently.

“I am ready, how about you all?” Crick said to the other rafts’ occupants.

“Anchors away!” Ben declared and smiled as Loomis gave his ‘wagons ho’ signal to LowBuck and Morgan to payout line and let the rafts drift into the channel.

The first 50 or so yards was pretty uneventful but as soon as the makeshift craft started to enter the deeper channel, it picked up momentum and water sloshed across the flat decks of the somewhat unstable craft.

LowBuck end Morgan quickly wrapped the line around a tree to relive the strain of holding the line and keep it from burning their fingers as they paid out line much faster than they had anticipated.

“This thin line ain`t going to hold.” Morgan said worriedly and then started laughing with the rest of the group as Crick struck a comical Captain Morgan pose on his raft and Loomis and the rest pretended to be galley slaves rowing with their improvised 2x4 paddles.

“”Well, looks like they are having fun anyway,” LowBuck chuckled before calling out to the raft they were getting ready to let go the line because it wasn’t going to hold.

Crick quit his clowning and told them to heave the line as he made ready to pull it and the buoy in.

“So much for their lifeline.” Crick mused and told Loomis to throw the sea anchors out to try to slow their downstream progress.      

“Make ready to separate.” Crick called over to Ben and Beauregard on the other raft as he and Loomis started to loosen the knots on their side that would allow the two rafts to split and become autonomous.

“All set! You all be careful and good luck there, Captain Crick!” Ben yelled back smiling.

“See you when you get back!” Beauregard said waving farewell and throwing out his snag line buoy into the river far to their front.

When the rafts separated, the unburdened raft of Ben and Beauregard picked up speed heading further downstream.

8

LANDFALL

Crick and Loomis finally poled their raft to a likely landing point and surveyed the steep slope up from the river.

“This is about as good as it gets I guess.” Crick stated flatly surveying the steep wooded incline.

“I guess you’re right, let’s land this thing and get going then.” Loomis said pushing along the bottom with his makeshift 2x4 oar.

They tied off the raft to a tree to keep it from drifting and began their steep ascent, grabbing branches and bushes for handholds to assist their progress up the slippery slope.

“Any idea where we are at?” Loomis asked puffing along climbing up after Crick.

“That’s kind of a yes and kind of a no. What I mean is, I know what general direction to go but I have no idea how deep these woods are until we get to a paved road  and figure out exactly where we are at.” Crick said unsure of what lay in front of them.

They had drifted a couple miles from where he hoped to have landed at and the terrain they were surveying looked pretty primitive. There was no telling whether or not they were on private land or they were in part of lakes adjoining the National Forest.

Crick and Loomis had created for themselves sort of a hybrid overboard and get home bag for this little jaunt they found themselves on and neither one of their kits contained any food. Well that wasn’t exactly true, they both had two MRE foil pouches of fortified Cocoa scrounged from the starving prepper community that were wistfully donated to their important cause.

These would give them some much needed energy and help assuage some of the hunger pains they already felt. Double portions of food had been allotted for them to have a bit of an edge in escaping from castaway island but the days foraging for the community hadn’t produced anything more than some oxalis leaves and green briar roots flavored with a couple fish in a watery stew.

Fifty people and two fish doesn’t divide well and the lucky fisherman who had caught the two small pan fish had announced that at the next meeting this policy of community sharing had to be adjusted or no one was going to be strong enough to perform any of the tasks needed to survive around here.

Besides they loudly declared that it was just plain unfair to expect them to always donate their hard won bounty when sharing was so useless in the long run. There were just too many people and several folks proposed going to more of a squad support system where members of a squad were depended on to support the individuals it contained.

Small groups that were codependent made more sense and had evolved and been depended upon historically under the direst conditions. From Civil war prisons, Japanese and Vietnamese prisoner of war camps to the Death camps of the holocaust, men and women’s ultimate individual survival relied on the camaraderie and support of small close knit groups to separate them from those less resourceful or resilient than themselves.

Daily tasks of cooking, cleaning, nursing the sick etc. could be shared and free up others to scrounge or defend what meager foodstuffs were brought back under mutual survival pacts that somehow seemed to endure the worst that man and nature could throw at them. Many of the preppers of the community had already formed loosely allied groups while others had decided they would share with no one and thought their chances were better playing lone wolf survivor far distant from the main group.

As the disaster progressed, many others thoughts drifted to taking such a course of action but reason and caution overrode such divisive and ill-informed moves. Better shelter, more resources and survival knowledge was present here and like all indigenous peoples of old they knew that safety and survival relied on community and not outcast individual efforts.

“Loomis, I figure we got about 4 days hard walking if we can make about 5 miles a day and don’t run into any trouble or can’t talk someone into giving us a ride.” Crick said getting a compass bearing and trying to guesstimate where they were at the moment.

“Speaking of trouble, you keep your eyes peeled for hunters and any dumbass playing bug out survivalist.” Loomis said scanning the woods that seemed to go on forever.

“Yea, the brim on that Stetson of yours does kind of look like a deer’s antlers in this light.” Crick quipped back.

“You and everybody else’s damn hat jokes. I tell you what, wait till it rains or we get back out in the hot sun and you will wish you had such a fine bit of hat haberdashery such as this.” Loomis retorted.

“I know man; I am just funning with you. I like that hat but seriously, I guess we need to think about how loud we are talking. On the one hand it allows the snakes to get off the trail or warn hunters of our approach; on the other hand I don’t want to be alerting anyone that might think we got food with us or admire that .45 you got on your hip too much.” Crick said pondering their dilemma.

“I don’t plan on talking too much anyway but you got a point. Hey other than me maybe concealing my pistol, what kind of suggestions you got about approaching somebody’s house when we see one?” Loomis said calling for a break so they could rest for a moment and strategize.

“Man, that’s a hard one to consider. It’s been weeks since this crap happened and folks will be desperate and more fearful of strangers than normal. Outside of hollering at the house when we approach and not looking like we are sneaking about or reaching for a weapon, I don’t have too many other, ideas.” Crick said adjusting his belt.

“I see you got the same problem I do, my belts on its last factory notch now and I will probably be boring me another hole in the morning.” Loomis said observing his traveling companion.

“I ain`t going to say a damn thing about folks that carry extra weight after this shit. At least you got a ways to go before you can fit into my pants.” Crick said only half joking.

“I don’t know there is something to be said about being a bit lean already. I tell you what, all joking aside about my hat, let me approach whatever house we find alone and you hang back and watch. A cowboy hat says something about the man or woman wearing it these days and it beats that ball cap you’re wearing.” Loomis said pondering his Marlboro man caricature and full mustache.

“I hadn’t thought about that point but whoever answers the door around here is likely to have a hat similar to mine on.” Crick advised.

“Exactly! All kinds of southern country folks wear various kinds of ball caps but this fedora of mine says I am stockman, kind of like a straw farmers hat identifies them and that creates a mental picture of a man’s work ethics and honesty in people when they first meet. An expectation, you might say.” Loomis offered.

“Well, at least you ain`t wearing a sombrero but I get your point. It’s an odd one, mind you but we will play the game that way.” Crick said with a smile and stood up and reached down to pull the bigger man to his feet and resume the trail.

Loomis regained his feet chuckling and Crick asked him what he was laughing about.

“I was just thinking about them two heathens Beauregard and Ben having this same conversation, who you think is going to go first or are they going together? Loomis said non chalantly.

“Damn boy, I thought we were going to be quiet! That’s funnier than hell to think about. You know what kind of shirt Ben was wearing today?” Crick said laughing.

“No I didn’t notice, some kind of black pull over thing, oh I got ya! Damn thing had a bail bondsman’s sheriff star and company logo on it!” Loomis said guffawing.

“Man I hope he thinks about that before he knocks on a door for a social visit, I know he will but it’s still funnier than hell to think about a down and out bail bondsman knocking on some fugitive from justices door these days asking for a ride or a food handout.” Crick said following a deer trail through the briars and bushes that formed the under story of this section of rivers normal hardwoods and pines.

“This has been clear cut not too long ago.” Loomis observed.

“I been noticing that and it gives me some hope civilization is not too far off but the park service and power company land tends to do that building firebreaks or conservation projects. Hard to say, lots of land holders sell off wood and don’t replant after cashing their timber in at tax time. It’s too early in the season for me to get any kind of read on the vegetation how long it’s been since somebody thinned the woods around here but I am guessing it was done by one of those wild cat pulp wood operators and that means private landowner.” Crick said, surveying the blazed clearing they were approaching.

“That could mean we are approaching someone’s backyard unannounced instead of politely approaching their front door with a country holler to announce ourselves.” Loomis said grimly.

“Yea, some folks got some funny notions about how they view trespassing. I ain`t worried about it though, no fencing in sight, look for deer stands might be hunting property but most likely someone just sold off the wood to pay on mortgages or taxes.” Crick said, feeling uneasy stepping off into the clearing and looking around for any structures to indicate the lands purpose.

“I say we follow the wood piles and overgrown truck ruts back to whatever road they came in on rather than trying to blaze through. What do you want to do Crick?” Loomis said looking first left then right and back to the woodland on the far side of the field they were traversing.

“Let me get a compass read and I will give you an opinion. Scout around a bit and figure out which direction looks like had the most traffic meantime and we will make a decision.” Crick said trying to make sense of a compass bearing and dead reckoning towards remembered landmarks he hoped he would eventually trip over.

“Ok I will head towards the wood line and most likely swing left, you go the same way once you done with your calculations and look to the right. I’ll meet you back in the center over by where the forest starts again in about 15 or 20 minutes, ok?” Loomis said as Crick started digging out a basically useless map until they found a marked road.

“Sounds good to me.” Crick said looking down at the map pondering and trying to get some kind of read off the little button compass they were using.

The field was covered in scrub oak and bushes and it was easy to lose sight of each other as they undertook their explorations.

Crick eyed the worn trails and tire and tractor tread tracks that dotted his side of the field. It looked like the majority of the traffic followed a trail down the center of the property but were they hauling wood out to the left or to the right? He pondered.

“Hey, that looks like a vehicle or trailer assembly area farther down to his right. That needs closer inspection, Crick considered, and headed down that way to try to make some meaning out of the signs.

Loomis trudged along a caterpillar track that had truck tire prints running parallel towards it looking for wherever they had a skidder yard or loader imprint when he spied an area that had a bunch of turned up red clay weathering under the sun. He was dismayed when he finally got there to find the cat tracks he had been following appeared to end in a boggy marshy area that seemed to have had equipment at one time bogging down coming and going.

“Well this must be an off shoot logging road from the main line. Damn sure wasn’t an entry point off the main road or they would have log road bedded it.” Loomis thought considering the practice of timber crews to use logs and branches to make a more permanent road to a logging area. Well, he and Crick could puzzle it out later, meantime it was time for him to backtrack and tell his buddy what he had found out so far. Loomis thought to himself sweating bullets from his hurried excursion and headed back in the general direction of their rally point.

Crick arrived at what he thought was a truckers rally point or a loading zone and tried to make heads or tails out of the aged and rain deteriorated signs in the dirt. Lots of traffic had been here at some time or another but what it all meant was quite a puzzle. Evidently who ever had been cutting trees out here had themselves some lunch and serviced some equipment he observed from the empty oil and hydraulic cans as well as an occasional sandwich baggie or fast food bag from Mc Donald’s but as to which way the road they came from to the right or left was a mystery. Even though the amount of litter left around by the work crews disturbed him immensely as uncaring lazy fools blight on the land he was glad to see it because it told volumes as to what it was he was trying to discern. The fast food bags were particularly intriguing as those items could only mean one thing. Civilization and town was closer than he expected and this was reassuring. No one sack lunches from happy meal land and because this type of work was normally done on a very brief lunch break, that meant he was within 10 minutes or so from a major thorough fare by car. Most roads around here run anywhere from 55 to 45 mph from the interstate so that put him how far by foot, he began to ponder before a voice startled him.

“What are you doing boy? Up to no good I bet.” A blue plaid shirted grizzled old man called at him from the wood line with a casually held shotgun pointing off handily in his direction.

“Uh, nothing sir. Got myself a bit lost and trying to find my way back home.” Crick said trying to sound friendly but not quite carrying it off with the sudden frog in his throat trying to strangle his voice.

“You lose something? What are you doing poking about on Mc Cloud land son? This land is posted boy.” The old man said slowly walking out of the wood line in his direction.