Jernigan's War (7 page)

Dix made his way around to each of the dead men and picked up their guns, ammo, knives, belts, and looked at the contents of their pockets. There were gold wedding bands, some gold dental crowns, old silver coins, and diamond engagement rings. He pulled off their belts and stuffed all the small stuff into a large canvas bag that one of them had. After carefully packing away anything of value or anything they could use, he left them to rot. When he got to the barn, all the while looking around, Jake and Heather were coming out. They told him what happened. Dix
said, “Let’s get the truck and load up everything we can haul and head home.” He turned to Heather, “Can we bury your folks here on the farm?”

“Oh yes, they loved this place. This is where Dad was raised.”

“I think we need to consider this as a bugout location. I want to hide the guns and ammo off these guys and some MRE’s and gear here in case we have to make a run for it.” He stopped and looked around, pleased with his plan. “Who is the dead man in the kitchen?”

“That was one Dad killed before they killed him,” Heather explained. “Dad sent us out the back after he shot the one in the kitchen. He told us not to come back for him.”

“What happened to your Uncle Bob and his son, John, Heather?”

“They went up to Granny’s old house trailer to get some tools they had stashed behind her shed; they never came back. Two days later we were ambushed. I’m sure they must be dead or they would have come back.”

Heather’s dad had an old backhoe in the barn that still ran. Dix cranked the diesel engine and dug the graves in the orchard. He dug three graves, one each for Heather’s parents, and one for the supplies they buried. Her dad had made some cache pipes out of six inch PVC pipe with screw end caps; Dix filled these with supplies, guns, ammo and MRE’s. He buried them about a foot deep. He and Jake gathered the remains of her dad and rolled them up in a rug that was in the living room. They wrapped her mother in a rug from their bedroom. They gently placed them in the graves. After a short prayer and lot of tears, they were covered. “We’ll get proper stones for them one day when all this is over.”

They loaded everything in the truck and put the last ten gallons of gas that was stored in the barn into the pickup’s fuel tank. “How far is Granny’s old house trailer?”

Jake pointed, “It’s about a half mile up the road north of here.” They put the barricade back up and headed up the road, all the while keeping a sharp eye in both directions. They pulled into Granny’s driveway. It was broad daylight but they didn’t see anyone outside. They found Heather’s Uncle Bob and his son, John, dead in the yard between the house trailer and the tool shed.

“Let’s see what we can find to wrap them in and get them out of the weather, Jake.” In the shed was an old tarp that had seen better days. They placed them on the tarp, rolled them up in it and carried them into the tool shed. The old shed had a dirt floor, so they dug a crude grave with a shovel from the shed and covered them up.

They looked behind the shed and found where her uncle had cached some freeze dried food and ammo. Dix had outfitted Heather with a holster and revolver from one of the dead men and she had her SKS that her dad had taught her to shoot with. They stayed parked out of sight behind the house trailer in the woods, taking turns sleeping as they waited for night. From where they were they could see the truck and trailer. Dix figured that anyone coming up would be interested in the truck and its contents and wouldn’t notice them until it was too late.

As dusk enveloped them, the light rain turned to snow. The temperature was falling and a rare event was taking place. It was snowing in south Mississippi, something that only happens every ten years or so. They climbed into the truck, Dix pulled it into four wheel drive and they proceeded slowly down the road. The wind coming through the windshield was punishing as they
made their way south. Dix turned to Heather, “What happened to your Dad’s old Bronco?”

“Dad parked it behind the pump house when we ran out of gas.”

“Do you mean it’s still running?”

“Oh, yes, it was running great; it’s just out of gas.”

Dix turned around and went back to the farm. “I think we need to swap into something with a windshield.”

They found the Bronco under a tarp behind the pump house. Heather’s dad had restored it with a newly rebuilt 351 Cleveland V-8. It had a four inch lift and a roll bar. It also had a receiver hitch and a Warn winch. Dix had been envious of Heather’s dad the first time he saw it. There was an ATV trailer attached, so they quickly transferred their cargo and fuel. They left a small amount of fuel in the pickup so they could retrieve it later. They cranked up the old Bronco and headed down the road. It ran great. Dix smiled, “How much do you want for her?”

Heather smiled back at him, “It’s yours. Dad would have wanted you to have it.”

The moonlight reflecting off the snow gave them plenty of light with which to see. They stopped the Bronco about a half mile from where they had the firefight on the road. In the light they could see the barricade beside the roadway. There was no fire and no bodies. Dix said, “We have several choices, we can go though there at about 80 miles an hour, we can sit here and wait a couple of hours to see if anyone shows, or we can do it like before. If we do it like we did before, I suggest that you and Heather work your way through the woods and we do it the same way. I think if anyone saw the way it happened last time they will be ready this time and I don’t want you two to get hurt.”

“How about me and Heather work our way all the way around to where we originally stopped, Dad. I’ll set up a firing
position and radio for you to come barreling through wide-ass open.”

Dix nodded, “Sounds like a plan; but, I want both of you armed and geared out with complete bugout packs. If I’m taken out and lose the Bronco you can at least walk on in.”

It took them almost two hours to walk around and get set up. Heather was back up for Jake who would fire if there were any signs of hostility. Dix cranked the Bronco and rolled down the windows. He had his rifle on its sling over his head so if he left the vehicle it would be with him. He punched it and sped through the open barricade. He never turned on his lights, using the light from the moon and snow to guide him. He was through the barricade and on top of the hill before he stopped just long enough for Jake and Heather to jump in. “I guess we killed all the bad guys last night.” Jake commented, “Six months ago we wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if we killed someone. But after a few weeks of seeing what people can and will do, it almost seems routine.”

Dix agreed, “Our job is to stay alive until there is some semblance of order. Then our job will be to restore the constitution and then hunt down and punish the politicians and their backers. But before then, I’m afraid we’ll be fighting foreign troops.” It only seemed logical that there would be some communist countries that would not lose control of their populations. The prospect of fighting UN troops was a sobering fear.

They made it home without incident. Jake radioed the house and told them they would be arriving in the Bronco and not to shoot. William radioed back, “We’ve got a sniper in the house next door. We’ve been taking fire from him all day. Someone is upstairs and we don’t want to waste ammo shooting blind.”

Dix radioed back, “Get a couple of the 22’s and start peppering the hell out of the windows in the house. Lower the barricade
on the south side of the property. Jake and Heather will come on in. They are going to drop me off on May’s road. I’ll get to the house on the north side while you keep them occupied. I’ll set it on fire and shoot them as they come out.”

They stopped up the road just long enough for Dix to fill up a beer bottle with gasoline. Once he heard the gunfire from the house he ran up to a window on the north side of the building and punched a pane out with his rifle barrel. He poured in the bottle of gas, lit the empty bottle, tossed it in and soon had a good fire going. He ran back into the darkness and waited. With all the windows shot out on the south side the fire had plenty of air. It was soon blazing out of control; two men with rifles came out of a window on the second floor and attempted to get off the roof. Dix hit them both, knocking them off the roof. He heard the deep boom of heavy rifle shots from the south side where he and the boys were waiting. After it was obvious that no one else would be coming out, Dix radioed that he was coming in. The fire was too hot to get the weapons off the two he killed so he continued on to the house.

Dix walked into the house, and in the candle light he hugged his wife. “Make Heather comfortable. I think we’re going to have a daughter-in-law soon.”

CHAPTER 9

MORE MOUTHS TO FEED

P
orter motored down the road then turned up a gravel road that headed up into the mountains. The GPS given to him by Big John had told him where to turn. The bike ran strong and smooth as he wormed his way up the road. His destination was a trail that led east down out of this range of mountains, across the next valley and up into the second of the three ranges of mountains that lay between Los Angeles and the desert southeast. Porter’s destination today was a campsite that Big John had used the year before. He drove down a trail and came to a small clear stream. A ring of rocks was ready for its next fire. The temperature was hovering around 40 degrees and the musty Chinese coat felt good. He walked back up to the top of the trail and carefully brushed out the tractor tread tracks with a pine limb.

That evening he sat by a small fire. Snow flurries were drifting by and he wished he was at home with his family. He mourned quietly as he rolled out his sleeping bag and lay under the tarp that was hung over a rope suspended from two trees. He slept with his rifle next to him. He used his mother’s canvas bag filled
with pine straw as a pillow. Under it he placed his Chinese pistol. He nibbled on his last Chinese cookie before dozing off.

The next morning he awoke to find the ground covered with snow. Large rocks lay behind him the fire was in front. Three large dogs were looking at him from across the fire. They were trying to get to the goat meat on his trailer. Porter pulled out his pistol and started shooting; the dogs took off trailing blood and yelping. He had just learned a valuable lesson. He remembered from his boy scout lessons that he should hang food out of the reach of predators while camping. He had almost lost his only food before he could make a kill. He replaced the empty magazine in his pistol and wished he hadn’t wasted all the ammo. One or two shots would have been plenty to get the dogs on their way or possibly just throwing rocks. He considered trailing the wounded dogs. He had read that the Chinese eat dogs, maybe he could also; but, he wasn’t starving yet and the thought of eating a dog was repulsive.

The snow was coming down steadily and it was cold. He considered staying put but decided that it was probably better to travel during the bad weather. The bad guys were probably holed up next to a fire someplace. He put his ball cap away and pulled on a stocking cap. He put socks on his hands after he cut some finger holes. He packed up his gear and ate a handful of the salty goat meat. He drank from the stream and hoped that he wouldn’t catch a bug. “Maybe the dirty living will bolster my immune system,” Porter thought to himself, “so I could eat and drink from less than desirable sources, if things get really bad.” He consulted his map and the GPS. The map book and chart Big John gave him helped him plan his trip. He headed down the mountain trail on the Rokon, its engine was running strong and smooth. The wind was cold on his fingers so he ran it less than wide open. He was glad that it was snowing; his trail would be covered up in a matter of minutes. The little motorcycle easily
tracked up the trail as he wormed his way east. The warmth from the engine radiated on his legs and made the travel bearable.

He stopped for a rest break and pulled out his .22 and reassembled it. Several times he had spotted birds, rabbits and squirrels but couldn’t shoot because the AK47 would have vaporized them if he shot them. He twisted the AK47 around behind his back and held the 22 with his left hand. It wasn’t long before he had two fat rabbits gutted and tied to his back rack. He finished the day without incident and took a trail up the mountain. He set up a camp out of the wind and out of sight of the road and trail. He built a small hot fire using pine cones and dead pine. He topped this off with some oak limbs. Once it had settled down to coals he suspended the rabbits over the fire to let them cook. He fashioned mittens from the rabbit skins with the hair on the inside. He used some twine to sew up the slack. He decided that the next rabbit he killed he would skin prior to gutting so that he wouldn’t have to deal with a damaged pelt. The rabbits were delicious and he went to sleep feeling full and satisfied. His bag of goat meat was suspended in a tree away from the camp but within range of his AK47.

The night was cold but he was comfortable in his sleeping bag next to the fire. Nothing bothered his food suspended in the tree. Once again, he dined on goat meat for breakfast as he packed up his gear. According to his GPS he would be heading into the Joshua Tree National Park. After traveling most of the day he made his way down out of the mountains and left the snow behind him. He was heading into the desert country. The mountains had done their job of squeezing the moisture from the air. The humidity was lower and the temperature was rising.