TEOTWAWKI: Beacon's Story (2 page)

"Ya reckon this is the big one Mountain Man?" Pete called out to Beacon. He was in front of his house closing window shutters like they used for hurricanes in Florida but heaver because they were made of steel and the fancy painting disguised loopholes in them.

Beacon called him "Prepper Pete" and he called Beacon "Mountain Man" during their endless friendly debates over whether the world as they knew it would end with a sudden decisive bang or a series of gradually worsening whomps.

The two had frequently discussed what they would do in the event of a truly big disaster. Pete teased, "Ya gunn'a go live in the woods an' eat beaver tail?"

"It's gunn'a be true TEOTWAWKI Pete, The End Of The World As We Know It. The governments aren't going to recover from this one."

"Naw, this is only a Shit Hits The Fan event. It'll just take a little while longer for the government to reform, hopefully with new people this time – 'Then I'll get on my knees and pray we don't get fooled again!'" he sang the Who's lyric off key.

"But if it is TEOFWAWKI there'll be no government to reestablish control and your food will eventually run out. Then you'll be forced out of the house onto the mean streets."

"But by that time most of the die-off will be over and we'll have been eating freeze dried and canned food and fresh vegetables from our backyard for a year while you've been subsisting on squirrel-sickles."

"You can Bug In if you want to, but I'm Buggin' Out while the Buggin' good!"

Pete and his wife expected a When The Shit Hits The Fan event. They planned to sit it out with their two sons. In other words they planed to Bug In; just sit out whatever happened in their fortified cinder block house with its ceramic tile roof while sitting atop their mountain of food in the garage and pumping water for themselves from a hand pump in their large back yard which was essentially one high walled big garden.

Pete was the only man Beacon knew who had a 500 gallon propane tank for his backyard barbeque. He told the neighbors he didn't like going to the store for those little tanks and didn't mention the special valve he had that allowed him to refill his propane lanterns from the big tank nor the underground line he'd secretly installed that would fuel his kitchen range once the utility supplied natural gas ceased to flow. His wife, Ann, was inside getting out all the parts to convert the stove from natural gas to propane when the time came.

Neither Pete nor Beacon wanted the neighbors to know of all the stores they'd built up over the years. Beacon handed Pete the key to his house, "Anything you want in there is yours. Think of me when you eat the stakes from the freezer. Then turning to Ann he said, "And remember there's a bunch of those religious style candles in glass jars in the hall closet."

Pete and Ann, together with their sons, would be hard targets. Unlike most people who were going to remain in their homes because they had no idea what else to do. Those people would be easy prey for looters, but any uninvited guests attempting to loot Pete's house would get a load of buckshot for his trouble.

Bumpers forgotten, the husbands and wives finished their frantic runs to and from their houses and peeled out again narrowly missing another rear end collision. In both cars frightened women and children peered around fishing rods and camping gear as they roared around the corner.

Gunshots sounded a few blocks away. Beacon realized he'd been greedy and waited to long to head for the hills. He jumped in his pickup and waved to Ann as he peeled out of the driveway without bothering to close the front door to his home. TV, stereo, computer, microwave, washing machine and dryer; as far as Beacon was concerned none of them was worth locking up now. He almost stopped when he remembered the books. Damn! He wished he could have made one last trip inside for an armload of books.

As he'd anticipated, off in the distance he could see the freeways and paralleling access roads turning into giant parking lots. Desperate drivers were driving down the embankments into residential neighborhoods trying to find a way around the city wide traffic jams. Now they'd be trapped in the city but away from the resources they'd abandoned in their homes.

Beacon had mapped out routes to the mountains that bypassed main roads in favor of utility rights of way, fire trails and logging roads. The radio announcers were repeating the same news stories about world wide calamity, interspersed with statements by world leaders claiming everything was under control as Beacon drove the 4X4 pickup slowly up over a curb at the end of a cul-de-sac, crossed a field and pulled onto a farm road.

He couldn't count on his GPS functioning much longer, of course, but he'd downloaded and printed out Google maps and satellite pictures of his planned route and alternate routes. He had to pull the handmade book of maps in plastic page protectors from the glove compartment several times when he was forced to plan B and later to plan C as even the small side roads near towns filled up with refugees and stalled cars.

Using only his parking lights, partially covered with duct tape, Beacon drove all night and through the next day without sleep. The hundred gallon auxiliary gas tank installed behind the cab in the pickup's bed enabled him to avoid gas stations which had been swamped with desperate refugees as soon as the exodus from the cities had begun and were soon out of gas in any case.

Driving nonstop kept him ahead of the spreading tsunami of refugees pouring from the cities despite the slow going forced on him by the poor conditions of the dirt roads. He'd left the paved roads for good after a man offered him one hundred dollars for a gallon of gas. Beacon had opted for trade goods instead; a high end self-winding diamond encrusted gold watch powered by the natural motions of the wearer's body.

Late the on second afternoon of the second day Beacon was hurrying to a spot off the dirt road he'd long ago decided would be a safe place to sleep.

The Rich Guys Survival Club

Then he noticed the tire tracks of many vehicles turning onto the dirt road he was on. From the large tread marks he guessed they were 4X4 off-road vehicles which meant the occupants were probably better prepared (and possibly better armed) than most of the sheeple about to discover the joys of third world living.

Wanting nothing to do with them Beacon followed carefully hoping they weren't planning on using the same roads and trails he intended to travel but knowing neither he nor they had much choice in this rough country.

Turning a corner around a hill just before sunset he saw they'd turned off the dirt road onto the dirt track leading to his first planed hunker down spot.

Two of the vehicles blocked the entrance to the primitive campground he'd reconnoitered years ago. Obviously Beacon hadn't been the only one scouting bug out routes and camping locations.

Beacon stopped. He could see figures with long guns standing atop large plastic boxes the size of steamer trunks in the back of one of the 4X4 pickups. The other had a camo painted camper shell. Being on the higher than normal beds of the pickups with oversized tires the boxes gave the figures an unobstructed view of the surroundings and they were looking at him through binoculars. Detouring around them would involve significant backtracking and add days to his journey, but he was unsure whether they'd let him pass or try to rob him.

One of the men on the pickups was talking into what appeared to be a walkie-talkie. Beacon didn't like the odds and put his pickup into reverse. Just as he'd backed to a turnaround point a figure on a dirt bike inched around the roadblock and approached him its rider holding one empty hand high to show peaceful intent. Beacon unsnapped the retaining strap on the holster of the forty-five on his hip and waited.

It was a girl about seventeen dressed from head to toe in MultiCam camouflage and armed to the teeth with double shoulder holsters containing a Glock 9mm semi-auto on each side and a 12 gauge Remington 870 with Choate folding stock shotgun with extended magazine in a scabbard attached to the rear of the dirt bike. She had a Cold Steel Tanto knife sticking out of the boot that he could see and he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd had a tomahawk sticking out of the other boot.

Beacon kept both hands on his steering wheel to show his good intentions as she pulled along side.

"Nice hat!" she said with a big friendly smile looking at his MultiCam camo pattern boonie hat. Unlike most dirt bikes that roared like a chain saw, hers had a huge muffler on the side of the rear wheel opposite the Remington 870 that all but silenced the noise of her engine.

"Thanks, I got it at a surplus store, looks like it's a popular pattern," he added nodding towards her MultiCam cammies.

"I wouldn't have come down here if you'd been wearing any other pattern; we thought you might be one of ours who got out late."

"Sorry, it's just me. No offense, but I've already got a destination in mind."

"None taken, where ya' headed?" she asked.

"Got a cabin up north," Beacon didn't want to be too specific about his destination.

"No problemo amigo, Keith and the boys are just here to make sure we don't get any uninvited guests at our barbecue. Doc Savage would'a plugged ya' with his elephant gun if we thought you were a bandito." She said nodding towards the hill to Beacon's right.

"Looks like you folks are prepared."

"Yup, loaded for bear, my folks spent years getting ready for this. Now the unit gets to play with all our toys for real." She seemed happy about it.

"There's another pull-off with room to camp about a quarter mile up the road, I'll camp there and if I see any bears or banditos coming your way I'll give a coyote howl."

"Hey thanks, mister! I'll tell Doc. You can go ahead and pass now if you want." She grabbed the walkie-talkie microphone clipped to her collar and keyed the mike; "Rich Bitch to Adonis, the guy in the pretty sombrero is good to go" then she circled the MultiCam pattern painted dirt bike around his truck to lead him up the road. Beacon assumed she was referring to his MultiCam camo pattern boonie hat as he followed her as far as the MultiCam vehicles, stealing a look at the two trucks as he passed.

Both were late model 4X4's that had lots of aftermarket off-road modifications. Both were professionally painted in the MultiCam camo pattern. What would have been the chrome trim on both trucks was flat black just like on Beacon's pickup, but their bumpers were professionally done while his chrome had been painted with a spray can in his driveway. A few days ago their vehicles would have drawn stares in the city while his dark gray truck with tan over brown camper shell would have gone unnoticed.

Everyone around the trucks wore the same MultiCam pattern camo and carried an expensive black rifle or shotgun with large magazine and they all had at least one pistol. Beacon half expected to see "Doctors, Dentists, Lawyers and Bankers Survival Group LLC" or at least DDL&BSG LLC hand painted around a professionally designed logo on the doors of the group he decided to think of as the Rich Guys Survival Club for short.

He had to get some sleep or risk running into complicated problems while in a fatigued condition. He'd be too easily spotted parked while sleeping in the daylight. He had to get some sleep tonight. These people were obviously better prepared equipment wise at least, than he was. Beacon doubted he was in any danger from them. So he looked for his markers to the pre-selected backup hunker down spot. The trail to it had been easier to find in full daylight a year ago.

As the last of the day's light faded from the sky he parked next to a small tree surrounded by bushes with the vehicle pointing downhill toward the now invisible dirt road, Beacon grabbed the iron sighted M1A rifle, main bug out bag and two plastic pint bottles of water before locking up the truck with the push of a button on his remote. If anyone messed with it the alarm would wake him. Stars were twinkling in the darkening clear night sky; there'd be no rain tonight.

Walking 20 yards upslope he deposited the BOB on a small flat shelf surrounded by bushes. He had to use an LED flashlight in the red light mode to return to the truck for a can of peaches and one of Vienna sausage as well as the OD surplus sleeping bag he always carried in the back of the truck. There was no use unpacking the three part camo sleeping bag from his main BOB when he had this backup/trade bag so close at hand.

Sometime during the night all broadcasts from Asia ceased, several European governments fell and worldwide GPS died.

At dawn Beacon did a visual recon of the area before going back to the truck. Unlocking the truck he threw the OD sleeping bag and two irreplaceable empty plastic bottles in the back.

The now ubiquitous and soon to be rare plastic bottles represented the end of an era. The long supply chains, electricity and factories that made paper, pens and pencils; plastic bottles, barrels and boxes; steel for knives, rifles and pistols were closing down as their personnel fled for their lives. Beacon knew it would be a generation or two, maybe never, before the factories reopened most likely as mere ghosts of their former selves. Beacon planned to use the bottles as canteens and for trade.