The Last Layover Read online

  As they continued down the street, what appeared to be a MRAP (Mine Resistant Armor Protected Vehicle) with Department of Homeland Security (DHS) markings, drove by a crossing street in the distance. It then made a turn onto the street just paralleling them. Damon said, “Oh here we go.”

  As the vehicle approached the crew, it began playing a recorded message over the loudspeaker. The message said, “Attention, the United States is under a state of emergency. By order of the president, all food, water, and medical supplies are to be surrendered to the nearest FEMA Emergency Response Unit. FEMA Emergency Response Units are being set up in each burrow and county. More information will be provided upon surrender of said items. Failure to comply will be dealt with under the strictest penalty of law in accordance with the executive orders of the president. All persons are hereby ordered to remain indoors unless transiting to a FEMA location as directed.”

  As the truck went by, Jason said, “What the hell? Who do they think they are saying that you have to turn in all of your food and water? How the heck are you supposed to survive?”

  “You survive at their discretion,” Damon chimed in. “He who controls the food, controls the people. Just remember how the Soviets did in Russia. They starved out the towns where there was resistance to their brutal regime, while rewarding those who supported them. It's a pretty basic dictatorial tactic. Besides, Executive Order 10988 gives the president the ability to seize all food, food production, food distribution assets, and so on. And that's not all, Executive Order 10997 gives him the power to seize all fuels and forms of energy, and Executive Order 10999 gives him the power to seize all transportation assets. Looks like he finally found an excuse to use them. They may only be talking about food now, but they will get to the other ones soon, if I had my guess.”

  “Well, we’ve gotta keep up the pace then,” said Evan in a very agitated manner. “This urban hell and others like it will be easier for them to control right off the bat. They won't worry about the rural areas until they've got these places locked down.”

  Peggy responded in a stressed voice, “But I don't get it. Where are the regular police? Why aren't they the ones handling all of this?”

  “My guess is they are at home with their families protecting them. That, and the federal government doesn't have direct control over local police, unless, of course, the politician that appointed the chief of police is in bed with them politically. But as far as sheriffs go, they are constitutionally elected office holders and answer only to the people. So if the government wants to get heavy-handed, using their own forces is the surefire method to get the compliance that they may not automatically get from the locals,” answered Damon.

  About another mile down the street, the neighborhood started to deteriorate into an economically depressed area. Evan and Jason began to notice that most homes had bars on the windows and there was graffiti all over all of the dumpsters and most of the store fronts. They began to get an uneasy feeling by the change in their surroundings.

  Evan said, “Okay, we need to jog over a street or two to get out of this rat hole before something happens.”

  Peggy looked at Evan. “Rat hole? Are you some kind of racist or something?”

  “No, not at all, Peggy. It’s got nothing to do with race, and everything to do with reality,” Evan replied. “I don't care what color the people are who live here. To put it plain and simple, if we were walking through a neighborhood of multi-million dollar homes, we wouldn't be in any danger. Those people, whether scum bags or not, probably have the means to continue to provide for themselves for a while. I would say their personal chef has the pantry stocked quite well. However, in this neighborhood, these people were probably barely getting by when things were good. No doubt, some are good people who, for whatever reason, never got out of this sort of situation in life. Others are just dirt bags who are in this place for a reason. They probably already didn't have anything extra. So when everything started to fall apart a few days ago, they were most likely down to their last loaf of bread. By about now, they are probably getting desperate. Short of some magical FEMA office showing up to feed them with food they confiscate from us, these people are probably at a breaking point. We don't want to be the ones they try and hit up for food, because I doubt it will be a friendly request. It's gonna be dog-eat-dog around here soon, and I'd say some of the dogs around here are already rabid.”

  Peggy seemed to understand what Evan said, although the expression on her face made it evident that she didn’t want to accept the reality of such things.

  They took a crossing street to try and get a block over, while still heading west in order to handrail the POW/MIA. As they walked around a corner, a group of men ranging from their late teens to their late twenties stepped out of the alley and said, “Hey, who the hell do you think you are coming through our hood without paying the toll?”

  “Toll?” Jason said. “We didn't see any signs for a toll.”

  “Well here is your sign.” The thug who seemed to be the alpha male pulled a three-foot long piece of pipe out from behind his back. The other men then began to block them in by taking up a position around them in an intimidating manner.

  Evan said, “I don't think you really want to go there. I promise you, we won't pay a toll.”

  “Take their shit and cut that—”

  POP! POP! POP!

  Before the man could finish his sentence, Evan drew his pistol and put three rounds directly into his chest. One of the other men pulled out a pistol grip pump shotgun from a gym bag, but before he got it in a position to fire, Jason put two rounds into his chest, throwing him back onto the ground. Another of the men went for the shotgun and Evan and Jason both tore into him with their .40s, putting at least four shots into his torso. He fell dead on top of the other assailant with both men bleeding out so profusely, the pool of blood beneath them ran out onto the pavement like out of a scene from a Tarantino movie. Realizing they had messed with the wrong people, the other thugs turned and ran as fast as they could.

  Evan and Jason were both high on an adrenaline rush like they had never felt. They wanted to finish off the whole group, but since the men turned coward and ran, they knew it was not the right thing to do. The attack was stopped, and that was what really mattered. In this state of things, though, they knew leaving guys like this out there to terrorize the next group of passersby didn't feel right, but they had a mission and they needed to get on the move before their gunshots attracted any unwanted attention from other armed thugs or authorities. This was not a good time to get into a tangle with law enforcement or locals. Do what you need to do, then press on was the prudent course of action.

  Jason grabbed Peggy by the arm as she stood, frozen in shock from what had just happened. “C’mon, we gotta go.” They all took off running down the street for a few blocks and then cut another street over before they slowed down.

  Evan noticed that Damon's limp seemed to be getting worse after the run. He said, “Are you okay man?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he replied. “I'll keep it together. Besides, once we get to the boat, I can just kick back on the bridge and drive. I only have to hold out until then.”

  Jason turned to Evan and said, “Hammer pairs, man, hammer pairs. You’re wasting ammo!”

  “Yeah I know, I just get caught up in things and wanna shoot till he drops. I'll get it together for next time.”

  “Next time? Next time?” Peggy shouted. “What's wrong with you two? Why does everything have to end up in a gunfight?”

  Jason responded sharply, “Peggy, we could just let you negotiate for us the next time some dirt bags want to rob us and do who knows what else. Do you remember the last time you saw a regular cop around here, or anyone else in uniform?” He didn’t need to wait for her answer. “Me neither, and the other people around here are noticing it too. I don't know how many times we have to go through this with you, but in a situation like this, if you aren't aggressive enough, you won't make it very far.
”

  Damon interjected, “Yep, it's like Marine Corps General James Mattis said, ‘Be polite and professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.’”

  With that, Jason turned to Damon and said, “Here, I got you a present.” He handed Damon the pistol grip pump shotgun he grabbed from the dead assailant as they ran from the scene.

  “Thanks!” Damon said. He looked it over and said, “A Mossberg 500. Nice! Looks like a full tube of ammo is in it too. It's the extended tube so eight in the pipe and one in the chamber for nine rounds.”

  “Sorry, I didn't have time to search the guy for more ammo,” Jason said. “But even with just one loaded magazine tube of ammo, it's better than nothing. The way things are getting, you’re likely to use it sooner rather than later.”

  Chapter 6: The Jones Home

  The morning of Jason's flight a few days earlier, had started out as a normal day back at the Jones household. Jason left a little early to swing by Evan's hotel to pick him up for their trip, while Jason's wife, Sarah, got their two boys ready for school. Wrangling two rambunctious young boys in the morning, while trying to get ready for work, could be quite a chore, and today they had put her a few steps behind. She dropped them off for school on her way to work at the Belleau Woods Apartments, where she was the front office manager. Since she didn't get off until five o'clock in the afternoon on the average day, the boys would simply ride the school bus to the apartment complex along with the other kids who lived there.

  Today was her least favorite day of the month at work. It was the day she had to knock on doors and post late notices for those residents who were two weeks or more behind. With the economy the way it was these days, her delinquent list seemed like it got longer each month. She dreaded the possible confrontations and excuse-filled stories she would get. She had heard it all over the two years since she started working there. These days, with the unemployment rate being so high in Ohio and only getting worse, she truly had sympathy for them. How would she handle it if she and Jason were faced with the same situation? How would they be able to face their children when it came time for a potential eviction? Seeing the heartbreak and embarrassment in the eyes of people who had to face this dilemma was often too much to bare.

  She saved her “bad news” rounds to do last that day. She didn't want to be in the middle of a heated discussion when her sons got off the bus, so she figured if she posted them on the doors on her way out, she wouldn't have to deal with anyone until the next day. She met them at the bus stop and led them to the playground, where they could play until she made her rounds. She welcomed them with their usual group hugs and kisses and said, “Oh, my handsome little boys, how I've missed you. Mommy loves you so much.”

  They both smiled and said, “Love you too, Mommy!”

  As they walked to the playground, she asked, “So how was your day?”

  Michael, their older son responded, “It was good until we got on the bus.”

  “What do you mean until you got on the bus?” she said.

  “Well, one of the older kids called you some bad names and said you've been bothering his mom, making her mad. He said when she gets mad she takes it out on him. He said you better stop, or he will kick my butt until you do. Only he used a different word for butt that I can't say.”

  “Oh, Michael,” she said. “I'm so sorry he said that to you, but it's Mommy's job to make sure people know they have to pay their rent. If people don't pay their rent, the apartments would have to close and then where would everybody stay?”

  He shrugged his shoulders as if he understood. She said, “Why don't you boys just play in the office break room and I'll be back in just a few minutes.” Considering the event on the school bus, she figured they would be better off not going to the playground until she finished her rounds.

  Once she began her rounds, she made it all the way through the first building uneventfully. There were just a few two-week late notices there. The eviction notice she had to post was in the next building over. As she started up the stairs of the second building, the lights flickered, then went out. The battery-powered emergency lights kicked on, but since they were not good for long, she felt as if she had been saved by the bell. I'll just tell the manager that I couldn't finish because of the power outage, and since I'm off tomorrow, maybe he will do it for me, she thought. With a little more spring in her step, she headed back to the office to gather her boys and head for home.

  As she neared the office, she ran into a tenant by the name of Mark Platt. Mark was one of those fellows that would rope you into a conversation and never let you go. Attempting not to make eye contact, she tried to walk on by when he said, “Mrs. Jones, did you hear about the plane crash?”

  This immediately caught her attention. “What?”

  “Well, I was watching the news where a passenger plane had crashed somewhere around New York. I couldn't catch the whole story, though, because that’s when the power went out. My phone is dead, too, so I thought since your husband is a pilot, you may know what's going on.”

  Fear and anxiety swept through her body as she realized Jason was flying to New York that day and that she hadn't heard from him. She checked her phone, but she had no missed calls. She noticed she didn't have a signal either. She turned back to Mark. “When you said that your phone was dead, did you mean your battery or your signal?”

  “My signal, why?”

  Oh my God, she thought. Could all of Jason and Evan’s paranoia be right? Was something happening? Was he okay?

  Sarah left Mark standing there as she picked up her pace and jogged back to the office. When she arrived, she found her boys sitting out front due to the electricity being out. She grabbed them both and rushed to the car. She drove straight for home, but remembered she had neglected to stop for gas that morning as she was running late. A few miles from their neighborhood, she pulled into a gas station and noticed a sign that said, “We apologize for the inconvenience, but due to the power outage we are unable to dispense fuel.” She immediately got back on the road and continued towards home, constantly checking the fuel gauge.

  After another two miles, the car started to shudder and the sound of the engine was soon replaced by the tone of the systems monitor annunciators; she had run out of gas. Sarah coasted to the side of the road, got out, and looked in the cargo pod that Jason had installed on the top of their car. There she found a five-gallon can of gas, as well as a few other “just in case” items. Plenty to make it home, she thought as she poured the contents of the gas can into the fuel tank. “Oh, Jason,” she mumbled to herself. “I love your annoying paranoia.”

  They arrived home to find the power out there, as well. She fired up the portable gasoline generator in the garage and ran an extension cord to the television. To her dismay, she saw that every channel was nothing but static. Well, she thought, at least if it's happening, the boys and I are in a good place thanks to Jason and his crazy prepping. She was far better equipped to handle what was going on than your average family. Although their home wasn’t upgraded with the security enhancements that the Baird household had, they had plenty of food, water, weapons, and about every other survival supply she and the boys would need.

  The Baird and Jones families were separated by a little over four hundred miles. However, since the Baird's Homefront had everything they would need—and more—to hold out for a longer duration of time, Evan and Jason had mutually planned on having the Jones family bug out to Tennessee to join the Bairds, should the need arise. Not only did they share operational security (OPSEC) type information and planning, they kept each other focused on their preps by sharing and recommending related reading materials and ideas. They were basically long distance prepping partners.

  Like Evan, Jason also had quite the gun collection. Although they both had numerous non-matching guns and calibers at their disposal, they would joke that “disturbed minds think alike” as they both chose the 7.62X39 Russian and .45ACP as their primary defensive cartr
idges. Jason didn't catch the VZ58 bug like Evan had, but over the past year, he had been scouring gun shows and the like to find off-the-record SKSs to stock up on. While an SKS went for a lot more today than it had in previous years, they were still quite a bit cheaper than AR and some AK platform rifles.

  Jason also liked the conventional old school rifle layout of the SKS. Also, with the ability to fit them with thirty-round magazines and optics, he felt they were his best of both worlds. In addition, since the SKS utilizes the same 7.62X39 cartridge as Evan’s VZs, he and Evan were stockpiling the same ammunition. If things ever came to pass where the two families needed to hook up, the collections would complement each other.

  Jason's handgun collection, like Evan's, also revolved around the venerable 1911. This gave them commonality in that regard, as well. Jason's specialty rifle was his modified and customized Remington model 700 in .300 Winchester Magnum. His “Remy” had been a pet project of sorts. He had used an M24 based on the Remington 700 while he was in the Army filling the role of company designated sharpshooter, and felt right at home with the design. He had never officially gone to sniper training due to Clinton era budget cuts. In addition, his observation was that most of the Sniper, Ranger, and SPECOPS school slots were reserved for guys who were buddies with all of the right brass. That was the dilemma of serving during sustained peace time; those who made the calls weren’t necessarily making decisions based on really getting the job done.

  Jason had taken on gunsmithing as a hobby and as an unofficial preparedness skill. He had been working on his rifle on and off over the past few years. It had a stock that fully floated the barrel from Accuracy International, a custom long-range barrel, threaded for use with a suppressor that he had quietly “acquired”, and a match-grade custom trigger job that broke as smoothly as glass. A Night Force 5-25X56 scope rounded out the package. Combined, these modifications made an easy-to-carry, reliable “reach out and touch someone” gun.