Jernigan's War (10 page)

The weather was still cool so he put on a leather coat and cranked the four-wheeler. He pulled out of the driveway and headed south in the direction the raiders were running. He came to the first main intersection and stopped. He continued when he spotted the car with the damaged engine on the side of the road straight ahead about four hundred yards in the direction he had been riding. He killed the engine and took rest aim across the seat with his rifle. Through the scope he could see three raiders. He placed the crosshairs on top of the first one’s head and
squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him between the shoulders and Dix found the next one in the scope. This one was trying to get something out of the car. Dix caught him in the mid section rolling him onto the road. The other was trying to hide behind the car. Shooting through the rear glass, the bullet traveled straight though the car and out the front windshield. Both windshields exploded and the raider staggered out holding his eyes. Dix cranked the four-wheeler and roared up, knocking him over. The nasty S.O.B. was pinned under the four-wheeler. Dix walked around and put the blade of his Kbar under the man’s ear and let the razor sharp blade make a gentle incision. “You’ve got a decision to make, do I slowly start removing pieces or do you tell me where you guys have set up shop?”

After losing an ear the bastard spilled his guts, they were a bunch of ex-military and had taken over the airport because it was the only place with a generator and a supply of fuel. They would send out scouts looking for signs of people with food and supplies. They would overwhelm the small groups and lay up until the stolen supplies were used up. Dix asked the raider, “How many are left?” “I don’t know man, we lost a lot today. We didn’t realize we were attacking another army.”

“You weren’t. You attacked me.” With that answer, Dix slit his throat.

Those idiots didn’t realize that Dix’s hobby was shooting and collecting firearms. He had been adding to and refining his collection for the last few years. His irrational fear of fighting for his life was coming true and his skills honed over of years of hunting, fishing, and shooting were at his disposal.

Dix rounded up their weapons and strapped them to the four wheeler rack. He found Jake’s AR with the Eotech sight. He also found a dozen of his Magpul 30 round mags still loaded. The one
in Jake’s gun was empty. He didn’t find Jake’s Browning 9mm. Dix put the AR sling over his shoulder and shortened the stock so it hung behind on his back. He put the bag with the dozen mags over his shoulder so it hung to his left. He ran the four-wheeler flat out until he reached the airport. He lightened his load by leaving six of the full AR magazines with the four-wheeler, hidden in a ditch. Proceeding on foot, Dix carried his Springfield and the full bandoleer around the outskirts of the airport fence. The landing lights were no longer on, so unless they had night vision scopes, he was ok. He had to assume since they were ex-military they might have night vision scopes or cameras.

He found an open gap in the chain link fence. It looked like a tracked vehicle had opened it up. He made his way down the side of the runway until he came to a point where he could see the terminal and the control tower. The tower was dark but there were lights on in the terminal. Crossing to the tower Dix found the door unlocked. It was pitch-black dark and there were no sounds from inside. He slipped in and let the door close behind him. He would be a sitting duck if he was cornered in here, but the tower would give him a commanding view of the airport. He waited for an hour to make sure that he was alone in the building. Then flipped on his green LED cap light and proceeded up the stairs. Half way up he switched it off and finished the assent in the dark. Once he was in the actual tower, his eyes adjusted to the near darkness. Several monitors were still powered but all the glass was blown out of the tower windows. He could see the terminal and the activity inside.

Dix could easily make kills from here, but it wouldn’t take them long to realize he was firing from the tower. He decided to take ten shots from the tower and then head into the terminal and kill until he was killed himself. He located his targets throughout the facility. His first shot hit a raider unloading a truck, the second was one sitting in the passenger area eating. He purposely aimed at raiders who were facing his direction. The 30-06 belched fire like a dragon. After nine shots and 4 hits he put the tenth round
through the generator’s radiator. He reloaded his rife and made an 11th shot through the second generator’s radiator for good measure. He reloaded on the way down. Bullets were hitting the tower as he ran out the door into the darkness.

He took the luxury of stopping to catch his breath. The generators soon fell silent. He pulled the AR around and put the Springfield in its place. His eyes were usually accustomed to the darkness, but the only bad part about shooting was that the muzzle blast blinded him. He slowly made his way toward the terminal. If they had night vision he would be under fire right now. They were as blind as he was. He silently approached the rear of the terminal. A light switched on and someone shouted, “Kill the light! You want to get shot?”

The light went out. The voice had come from 20 yards away. Dix sat for about 20 minutes, tried to keep from breathing. As he grew more accustomed to the darkness he could make out four of them sitting and looking out into the night. If he could see them, then they could see him, especially if he moved or opened fire.

He eased the gun sling off his shoulder and then the magazine pouch, the Springfield, and finally his leather coat. He took his Kbar and cut one of the sleeves off his leather coat. He inserted the barrel of the AR into the sleeve and folded the excess under. He then cut the shirt sleeve off his shirt and cut a couple of strips from it. He tied the coat sleeve in place over the end of the rifle. He eased the AR up and put the Eotech sight on the first raider. In quick succession he killed all four. The coat sleeve had muffled the flash and a little of the sound.

He had killed eight, which was wildly more successful than he could have imagined. He moved back into the darkness and sat in the shadow of an abandoned fire truck. The moon was bright and he could see into the night. He was freezing cold but
the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins. He thought of his wife and family lying dead at the house; he had absolutely nothing to live for but the desire to kill every single man in this facility.

He removed the magazine in the AR and replaced it with a full one. He loaded back up and proceeded slowly back to the spot where he just killed the four raiders waiting in ambush. He knew this would be the last place they would suspect him to be. Several raiders were busy milling around and picking up guns and checking their comrades. Dix emptied a magazine into them and replaced it. He walked though the dead and dying and into the building, shooting another that was running for the door.

Dix bolted up the stairs into a shadowy spot behind a column. Emergency battery powered lights had come on inside the terminal when the generators died. From where he waited in the shadows he could see the entire length of the terminal. He sat quietly and waited. He lost track of time as he sat with his back against the wall. It was warmer here and his mind wandered while he waited. The Springfield dug into his back and his arm was aching, he remembered that it had a gash. He knew it was full of dirt and that infection was likely, but he hadn’t planned on living this long.

He saw several raiders working their way through the terminal. One would move while the other two stayed behind cover. Dix waited until they were half way down in case others were backing them up. He heard a noise off to his left in the area of the escalators leading up to the second level. A rifle bumping the metal side broke the silence. They weren’t sure where he was hiding and that was enough for Dix.

He took aim at the one bringing up the rear who kept his head out a little too far when he was covering the lead. Dix waited
until the one coming down the escalator had almost reached the bottom.

He shot the one he was aiming at through the head and turned and dropped the one on the escalator. He killed the one nearest to him down the corridor but was hit by the middle raider who got off a shot. Dix’s last shot killed the raider who shot him. The bullet had hit his leg halfway between his knee and ankle; blood was gushing from the wound. Dix stuffed a handkerchief in the hole from the front and the cuff of his old shirtsleeve in the exit hole on the back. He then secured them in place with the remaining sleeve of his shirt. He got to his feet and tested the injured leg. It was definitely weak but there was absolutely no pain. His toes felt funny, so there was probably nerve damage. Dix was not upset that he was injured; he was upset that his wound might interrupt his plans to kill every single one of the S.O.B.’s.

He was still dribbling a little blood but it was coagulating, so the worst was over. Other than being a little light headed he felt pretty good. In fact he felt almost euphoric. He had gone quite awhile without eating or drinking and he had lost a lot of blood. He shot the emergency lights that were nearest him and found some jugs of water and food cached against the wall. He drank his fill and found some canned fruit. He popped the top and drank the juice before eating the contents. A package of crackers topped it off. He drank some more fruit juice and soon felt better. He found it odd that his arm hurt worse than his leg. He found a quiet place behind a counter and hid. He didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until he woke up in the middle of a dream where he was trying to revive Mattie. A horrible void filled him when he came fully awake.

The sun was just coming up and he could hear voices. One of them shouted, “I want them found! They can’t hide forever.”

The voice was coming from a wiry little man with a greasy mullet. He had on a biker outfit, and you could see the tattoos
on his neck. He didn’t see Dix sitting next to the counter in a shadow. Dix shot him in the gut with the AR, knocking him to the ground. He kept shooting with great prejudice until the one giving the orders and the four with him quit moving.

Dix replaced the empty magazine in the AR and limped down the corridor. There was a lot of activity outside. He could hear a truck cranking up and saw three men through the window throwing gear into a pickup. Dix opened up with the AR through the large plate glass window. Its glass shattered and fell as he emptied the magazine on his targets. He killed one trying to jump in the back. The other two took off and he concentrated his fire until the magazine was empty. The truck was almost to the opening in the airport fence where Dix had come through last night. He dropped the AR and reached for the Springfield, putting it to his shoulder and started shooting. The 150 grain bullets were not deterred by the cab of the pickup. They passed though the cab, through the occupants and out the front. The truck veered to the side and hit the fence. It rolled to a stop. The passenger door opened and Dix put his last round through the man trying to get out. He reloaded and waited to make sure that no one else was coming. After a long while, he got up and began to look around.

He spent the next three hours limping and looking around the airport. He found a medic’s bag and was able to clean his arm and leg and put a pressure bandage on the leg. He found the Bronco and proceeded through the door it was parked beside. A stringy haired woman tried to shoot him from the side of the door. Dix knocked her arm aside just as the gun went off. With his ears ringing he snatched the pistol from her hand and backhanded her in one motion. She fell back and Dix got a closer look. She had a bullet burn that went down her face and through her ear and was wearing his wife’s favorite scarf. He shot her in the chest with the Browning 9mm that he realized had belonged
to Jake. He let her lay suffering while he kicked the door open into a hallway. A half dozen or so other trashy looking women tried to run. He emptied the AR though the cloud of cigarette smoke, sweat and cheap perfume. He knew they were with the raiders, and killing them was like killing rats as far as he was concerned. Human vermin is what they were. He took the scarf, taken off the dead woman, and gently folded it, he would place it with Mattie when he got home.

He loaded up the Bronco with everything he thought he could use. A trailer he found nearby helped him carry all the extra gear, canned goods, and MRE’s. He loaded up their cans of gasoline and found a 55 gallon drum that he filled with six quarts of motor oil and topped off with jet fuel. Jet fuel is very clean kerosene. When you mix motor oil at the rate of about one quart per 11 gallons, you have the equivalent of diesel fuel. This would fill up the catamaran when he needed it. He found their cache of valuables and helped himself to a bag of gold and silver coins. He reloaded all his magazines from their cache of ammo and headed back to the four- wheeler. He loaded the four-wheeler in the back of the trailer that was hitched to the Bronco. He wasn’t worried about hiding in the night because it didn’t matter if anyone tried to stop or kill him; he had nothing to lose. He couldn’t explain or understand why he took the time to gear up. He had a deep primordial fear and hate that was resonating from the very bowels of his soul.

He was half way home and the nightmare was not over. Two young guys with their pants down below their buttocks had the road blocked with a garden tractor and trailer. Dix stopped the Bronco and limped out. He looked at the young idiots, “What do you want?”

The nearest one said, “Give us your truck,” while holding a pistol sideways like they saw on TV. Dix just limped on around behind the Bronco and grabbed the AR off the rack on the four-wheeler.
They looked in disbelief when he came back around and started shooting. It never occurred to them that a little grayed haired crippled man could take his time and shoot them. Dix had forgotten that he was wearing his Browning 9mm. He cranked the lawn tractor and pulled the trailer out of the road. He could see movement in the trees next to the stop, but he ignored it.

He made it home and proceeded with the grim task of laying his family to rest. It took him two days to dig the graves and bury the dead. He put the scarf on Mattie and kissed her goodbye. He covered her and the kids with blankets. He put Heather and Jake together on one side of Mattie, and Maggie and Bill on the other. He placed the little schnauzers with them as well; after all they were family too. He covered them all with a deep layer of soil. The work was slow and agonizing, not only was he in extreme pain but the mental anguish was exhausting. He placed them all around Gretchen Oak in the back yard. Gretchen Oak was planted over the grave of Gretchen, a treasured family pet.