EMP 1500 MILES FROM HOME (26 page)

We started back for the ranch. The big half-Percherons had no difficulty pulling the loaded freight wagons, even with the extra people on them.

I thought about what I should do better on the next trip. I believed we had been lucky so far on this trip. I thought we would be better off with a few outriders, maybe two in front, two behind, and at least one on each side. The wagons were too slow. Mounted men would be able to respond to threats more quickly and be better able to protect the wagons.

I also thought we needed several trained dogs. The only dog on the ranch was too old for the task, but I was hoping to find some pups that could be trained. I was also worried about encountering roaming dog packs near towns and cities, and maybe even farther out in the countryside. We had not seen any so far, but I suspected there weren't that many dogs in the area. I knew that most cattle ranchers shot dogs on sight because they would form packs and run cattle down and kill them.

Radios would be useful to communicate with the outriders when we had some. That was something I would look into back at the ranch.

We were almost to the turnoff for Mountainair when the sound of a shot broke the morning stillness. I couldn't tell where it came from. I motioned for everyone to get off the wagon and shelter under it. I looked back and saw Dave was doing the same with the people on his wagon. Yeti was already down and searching to the east with binoculars. Max was slumped over in his seat. He was hit.

Another bullet slammed into the wagon by my head. Now I had an idea of where the sniper was. I yelled at Dave and told him to follow me with the wagon and for everyone to stay on the west side of the wagons as we drove toward better cover.

We found a low spot and drove the wagons into it. The horses were still exposed so we unhitched them and Julie and Yeti led them to a safer spot.

I looked at Max. He was still slumped in the wagon seat. He was dead. The bullet entered his left temple and exited the back of his head. I threw up.

I was mad. I knew I was going to kill the sniper. He took my friend away. I dug the Sharps out of the wagon along with a spotting scope we found in one of the 18-wheelers. "Can you spot?" I asked Vern.

He smiled when he realized what I was holding. "Damn straight," he said, "let's do it." So off we went, one old veteran and one younger idiot, looking for a vantage point.

Julie hugged me before we left and said, "Please be careful."

"I'll try. You better be ready here. We don't know what is out there."

It took us almost half an hour to find the vantage point we wanted. It wasn't very far from the wagons, but we didn't want the sniper to see us so we moved low to the ground and very carefully. It occurred to me as we went, that maybe the uniform of the caravan should be some form of camo—if we could find it, that is. I also thought we should paint the wagons in a camouflage pattern so they would blend in and not be as easy to spot.

The sniper fired at the wagons about every ten minutes. I figured he was letting his rifle barrel cool down between shots. We spotted him on his fifth shot. He was about 300 yards away from the wagons and he had a scoped rifle. The idiot was sitting in a chair with the rifle propped up on a folding card table. I estimated we were 350 yards from him. I flipped up the tang sight on the Sharps and set it, chambered a round, tested the wind, aimed with some correction for the slight breeze, and fired.

"You got him," Vern said quietly.

"I looked through the spotting scope and the man was lying on his back in the overturned chair. He wasn't moving. Vern and I made our way to the body. My shot had taken the man in the center of his chest. I suspect he died without even knowing he was hit.

We appropriated his rifle, a scoped 30-06, and everything else that looked useful. We found his shack just behind the hill he fired from. The stench was awful, as bad as in the Boss's barn. From what we could tell, this guy had survived since the EMP by sniping people on the highway and taking their supplies—and more.

The bone pile fifty feet from his camp showed the man was a cannibal. He had been eating the people he killed. After the End of the World, the monsters had come out to play. I threw up again. That was a bad habit that I hoped to get over some day.

Once we got back to the wagons, I sent Yeti and Charlie to the shack to collect anything of use. I wanted them to see for themselves. While they were doing that, Dave and I dug a grave for Max. Fiona offered to help, but I said we would prefer to do it ourselves, as Max was our friend.

"You guys cared about him a lot?" Fiona asked.

Dave nodded his head. "He was a true friend. The three of us went through a lot together. We were a great team."

Max's grave was finished by the time Yeti and Charlie returned. They both looked rather sick as they piled some more stuff on a wagon.

Vern stood guard as we lowered Max into his grave. I said a few words even though I didn't know what to say.

"Max," I said, "we are going to miss you. You were as good a friend as any man could ever ask for. Both Dave and I owe you our lives. I don't know what to say other than friendships such as Dave and I shared with you come along rarely. Most people never have as good friend as you have been. Thank you for being you. You will be missed and your memory will certainly be alive as long as Dave and I live." I saw Dave nod. "And we will tell our children of you as well. I only wish it could have been me instead of you." By now I was choking up and could no longer speak.

Dave threw the first shovelful of dirt in the grave and soon Max was buried. Dave took some sticks and made a cross and placed it at the head of the grave. I could feel the tears flowing down my cheeks as we drove away.

Death came quickly and unexpectedly after the End of the World. In spite of my guilt about cheating on Lucy with Julie, Julie was right. There was no guarantee either of us would ever reach Indiana; in fact the odds were probably against us. I didn't figure things were much better at the ranch either with that mob of soldiers so close.

I hoped there had been no attack while we were gone. I hoped the soldiers had simply moved on to easier pickings and would leave the ranch alone.

Our trip back to the ranch was uneventful. We skirted Mountainair and saw no one. We were a tired crew when we rolled in. George met us at the gate. He didn't seem too surprised at the newcomers. The first thing he said was "Where is Max?"

"Max is dead, George."

"How?"

"Sniper."

"Damn. He was a good man. I really liked him. By the way, that girl you brought back shot herself. She just grabbed a pistol and shot herself, right in the yard by the house."

"That is too bad," Julie said. "Is she alive?" George just shook his head.

"She went through more than she could handle," I said. "That is sad."

"Did you find much stuff?" George asked.

Yeti was now beside the wagon. "Yes Sir, we made a really good haul."

Louisa, Dorothy, and a newcomer woman came out of the ranch house. They were all wearing aprons and I figured there were three cooks now. With so many people at the ranch, I was sure they were needed.

"Let's get these folks settled," Louisa said. She motioned to Yeti to gather the new folks and take them into the ranch house. I had no idea where they were going to bed them down, but I knew they would find a way.

I looked around. Since the End of the World I met more good people than I had known before. Maybe that was because I seldom got very close to people before the EMP. I also met more bad people then I had ever known before. It seemed to me that society would be socially stratified for a while yet to come—us against them, them being people who wanted to kill us for what we had, or to enslave us.

Community was far more important now than it was before. I did not think very many people could survive this new world without help. There was safety in numbers right now and would be for quite some time to come.

Two days later they came.

Wayne

We have been back at the ranch for two days. The latest newcomers are settling in. Both bunkhouses are full. Except for George, a couple of the first newcomers, and me, the ranch house is full of women, while the men fill the two bunkhouses. George told me that back in the day, the ranch had 20 hands and could bunk another dozen. The ranch house had been added on to numerous times and now had eight bedrooms. Most of the women were doubled up, either with another woman or their husband and/or, of course, children. There was talk of either adding on a wing to the ranch house, or building more houses at headquarters. Yeti wanted to see the entire ranch compound enclosed in a ten foot palisade. However, there wasn't enough timber available for that, or to build onto the ranch house, for that matter.

As best I counted, there were now 46 men, women, and children at the ranch. It was developing into a real community.

The Double H had little good ground for planting, although George assured me that, with work, a good-sized garden could be irrigated and made to grow. Otherwise, the main food on the ranch had always been, and would continue to be, beef.

When we took the caravan east in the spring, I was hoping that some of the people would go with us. George thinks a total of 30 to 35 people on the ranch will be just fine as there were that many living there during the late 1800s.

We are planning several more expeditions to raid stranded 18-wheelers before spring. These expeditions will be better armed and have outriders. We are hoping to find canned goods, and other foods that are not be spoiled.

George and I were going to try to trade with a couple of local ranchers for more freight wagons. George knew of a few still tucked away in barns. There were still more than a few buckboards and smaller wagons around as well. One of the neighboring ranchers and his family had visited a few days ago in a buckboard, surrounded by armed cowboys on horseback. I should have thought of outriders before we went to raid trailers. If I had, Max might still be alive.

"Trouble coming!" One of the sentries in the watchtower nailed to the roof of the barn shouted. The watchtower sat directly on the peak, and was armored with all manner of wood and sheet metal. It had been tested and a 30-06 round would not pass through the walls.

I ran into the barn and climbed the ladder to the watchtower. The sentry pointed out the dust column on the ranch road. It looked like there were a number of vehicles coming our way. I assumed it was the bad actors we spied on at the nearest ranch, but I wasn't sure.

By now the alarm had been sounded and everyone was taking up defensive positions. At the speed the vehicles were coming, I thought we would have fifteen minutes before they arrived. I thought there might be infiltrators coming on foot from other directions as well, even though none had been spotted.

We waited. Cap always told me that waiting was the worst part of any battle. I understood that all too well now.

The line of vehicles grew closer. Soon I could make out individual vehicles through my binoculars. There was a Jeep, four Humvees, two medium-sized military trucks, and two armored cars that looked to be from WWII. What worried me was the field piece towed by one of the trucks. I wasn't expecting to see that. While the machine guns on the Humvees were bad, there were now tunnels connecting the buildings on the ranch and several buried bunkers that could keep us safe from machine gun fire. We had nothing that would protect us from a cannon. I went to find Yeti just to be sure.

"Yeti, will the tunnels and bunkers withstand a direct hit from that cannon out there?"

"Yeti was studying the enemy through a pair of binoculars. "No Wayne, I don't think so."

"Thanks," I ran to the ranch house where George and several others were gathering maps and stuff to take to the command bunker. "George, they have a cannon. We need to take it out before they can use it on us."

"OK," George said. "But don't damage it if you can help it. We can use it to defend the ranch if we can capture it."

"I will see if I can nail the gun crew once they have picked their location."

"I will spot for you," Vern said.

"Thanks Vern, I will meet you at the escape tunnel with the gear in five minutes."

"See you there," Vern smiled.

I couldn't help but laugh as I left. I was planning on incapacitating a modern cannon with an antique, black powder rifle.

We had discussed the possibility of employing snipers outside of the ranch compound if we were attacked and we now had three designated snipers. I was one. The Sharps was my weapon, the other two snipers had scoped 30-06s. The rest of the longer-range rifles were to be used from within the compound.

Vern and I slipped out of the hidden escape tunnel entrance. Yeti locked the door from inside as we spread dirt over it once more until it looked just like the rest of the high desert ground. We made our way to the top of a hill where a camouflaged sniper pit awaited us. We were concealed in the pit and watching the enemy column long before the vehicles split off into attack formation.

They set the cannon up almost a mile from the ranch headquarters and over four thousand feet from our position. That was much farther away than I expected. I was sure our other snipers were also in place, but they were covering the back and flanks. We covered the front, and the cannon was our responsibility.

For the thousandth time since the End of the World, I wished Cap were here with me. He would know what to do. I wasn't sure in spite of all of Cap's teachings.

We watched the attack begin. The Humvees each had a machine gun. Through the binoculars, I could tell that two of the machine guns were 30-caliber and two were 50-caliber. I prepared the Sharps and estimated the range to the closest Humvee with a 50-caliber machine gun. It was just under 500 yards. I fired and the machine gunner collapsed. Almost immediately the other 50-caliber sought us out and rounds struck all around us while we hunkered down in the pit. Return fire was one of the hazards of using a black powder smoker. We stayed there for five minutes after the machine gun fire ceased. I hoped by then they thought they nailed us. Then we climbed out of the pit and made for another position on the next hill.

Easing up from behind the hill, we heard the boom as the cannon fired and part of the ranch house collapsed. They were using explosive rounds.

The range to the big gun from our new position was still over 1000 yards, or over a half mile. I took aim at the man directing the cannon fire and squeezed the trigger. We watched as the bullet struck him and he collapsed like rising dough in a bouncy room. I got off another shot before the 50-caliber started firing at us. We rolled back down the hill and sought another position closer to the cannon.

By now the ranch house was mostly destroyed and one of the bunkhouses was on fire. I could see our people returning fire from behind our bulwarks. If we didn't silence the big gun the enemy would win for sure. Even if we silenced the cannon they stood a more than even chance of winning.

Vern and I needed to capture the cannon and turn it on the enemies' vehicles. Vern agreed, so we began working our way behind the cannon and its crew. We had two pistols, an A4 carbine, and a single-shot Sharps rifle. We would need some luck as well. Cap didn't believe in luck, but he wasn't here and I wanted some.

It took us twenty minutes to get behind the gun crew. By the time we did, most of the ranch buildings were destroyed—except for the barn. I figured they wanted any horses we might have in the barn. Our defenders were still returning enough fire to at least force the attackers to keep their heads down.

By now the attackers must have discovered that the only way a vehicle could enter the ranch headquarters was along the drive because they regrouped their vehicles near the drive. Deep ditches and barriers blocked all other vehicular access. Our Humvee and several other vehicles blocked the gate.

We crawled on our bellies toward the gun crew. I counted eight men. Four worked the gun and four were standing guard with rifles. Vern was on the other side, and when I fired he would too. I found a vantage point and, still lying on my belly under as much cover as find, I picked off the Guards with my sixgun. It took five shots. By then the gun crew was scrambling away from the gun. Vern nailed two of them as they ran. I reloaded the sixgun and picked up the Sharps. From a prone position I knocked the closest runner down at 200 yards. The second fell at 350 yards. Neither moved.

"How the hell do you operate this thing?" I asked Vern.

"Just bring me some of those shells over there. I got to play with one of these once, let's see how much I can remember." There was a wicked grin on Vern's face I had not seen before.

Vern's first shot missed. I don't think the enemy recognized it for a cannon shot. Vern's second round nailed a Humvee with a 50-caliber machine gun. Vern's third round was loaded and he was adjusting the gun when the second big fifty started firing at us. I dove for cover. Vern stood calmly behind the gun checking his adjustments as if no one was shooting at him. I think I witnessed true valor for the first time. It is the doing of one's duty with no fear for one's own life. I didn’t know if I could ever be that brave. Even though I had been in a number of tight situations, and had fought back fairly well, I was not sure I could do what Vern was doing now.

Vern fired the big gun and a couple of seconds later the Humvee with the second 50-caliber machinegun exploded. Both of the Humvees with the 30-caliber machine guns were firing at us but they were too far away for any accuracy. I loaded the big gun for Vern as he destroyed the remaining two Humvees.

By now the trucks, armored cars, and the Jeep were heading into the desert to try to get away from the cannon. Vern calmly destroyed or disabled each in turn. We could see the enemy running off into the desert in small groups. A group of ten or so was surrendering to our men at the blocked entrance to the ranch.

I looked at the carnage through my binoculars. The only remaining working enemy vehicle was the truck used to tow the cannon. I estimated at least half of the enemy had been killed outright. I appropriated an A4 carbine off of a dead enemy and Vern and I watched over the cannon from a secure position.

"Vern, I am amazed at how you returned fire when that big fifty was shooting at us. A single hit would have ended it for you."

"Or you," Vern smiled. "You didn't desert me."

"No, but I sure hunkered down."

"There is nothing wrong with that. There was nothing you could do anyway. You would have brought me the next round if it was needed."

"I would like to think so, but I am not so sure," I said.

"I am," Vern said. "I have watched you. You are a brave man."

"Not like you, Vern," I said. "Not like you."

"Bravery is just giving up everything you have to live for and accepting your death while doing the best that you can," Vern smiled. "It get's easier the older you get because you have less to lose. I don't have much left to lose."

In a few minutes, George and several others pulled up in our Humvee. Vern and I joined George in the Humvee while the others backed the truck to the cannon and fastened it to the hitch. "How many people did we lose?" I asked George.

"The last count I had was 11."

"What about Julie?"

"She is safe."

I was relieved. "What about Yeti and Dave?"

"I don't know yet."

What should we do about those who escaped? I think there may be as many as fifteen of them."

"We counted 21," George said. "We think there were at least 60 of them when they attacked."

"That is a small army," I said.

"There will be larger groups than that," Vern said. "All it takes to build a mob like that now is a charismatic leader with a military background who has access to food and water."

The ranch headquarters was a mess. I was relieved to find Yeti and Dave both unharmed. Julie was in tears staring at the remains of the ranch house. It was completely destroyed. She folded herself into my arms and cried on my shoulder, or would have if she had been tall enough.

George looked at the damage and shrugged his shoulders. "It can all be rebuilt," I said.

"We can't bring back the dead," George said.

"No, I am afraid we can't.”

Two of the dead were children killed by a cannon shell where they were hiding. We had one big funeral for all. They were buried in individual graves in the ranch cemetery. I was on grave-digging detail for two days, so was Dave. We mostly dug in silence.

I was on guard duty with the Sharps so I didn't attend the funeral. Most of the men were on guard duty as well, except for one who lost his wife in the battle, another who lost a brother, and George, who officiated.

We had not seen any intruders since the attack. George thought they would not be back since we destroyed or captured all of their vehicles and now had the cannon. I thought they might attempt a night attack. The ex-military guys agreed and set up extra sentries at night.

The only building left intact was the barn, so everyone was sleeping either in the barn, or underground. Most of the activity over the next few days involved salvaging everything of use from the collapsed buildings and from the destroyed enemy vehicles.