His family gone, it was all there was to do: wander the world. The bodies stacked like wood alongside the highways – the roads – the hospitals. He had to get away. He drove the roads he remembered from the days when he camped. The towns like Concrete, Marblemount and Rockport; places he took pictures of eagles. Now, the eagles floated on the water with the fish – dead – all dead from the plague.
Stopping at old gas stations like this he was able to sometimes pump some gas out to make it to the next day. Traveling only at night was safer. Although he saw no other live people and heard no communication from anyone what frightened him more than being the only one that survived was that he had not yet met another one that had.
Old gas stations, police stations, hospitals were the best sources of supplies. Having reserves there he often found food, ammunition, medicine and sometimes some things that brought comfort – magazines, books or movies he had not seen. With the solar charger in the trailer he could keep the DVD player charged and was tired of watching the same movies he carried with him for the seven months it had been since he had been alone.
Although he had encountered no people he knew better than to ever be far from a weapon. Whether it was the Glock 22 in a drop holster on his belt or is S&W M&P AR15 that was racked in the cab of the truck – he knew better than to think that a chance encounter might be something other than pleasant. His stop today – the old gas station – was a bonanza! After pulling the cap off the tank he found a spare fifty gallons of gas. Although he only had room for ten in the tank and another six for three of the four Rotopax containers in the truck he dropped a pin in his Garmin 62s GPS for later return if he ran low.
After retrieving the siphon pump hose from the FrontRunner Bundu box in the bed of his truck, he set about to fill his tank and the Rotopax containers. Making sure to count to himself to ten – then scan – the back to filling the tank and contain….seven, eight, nine, ten…scan — he stopped. His gaze caught some moving brush east of his location. It appeared to be on the end of the rustling – it was slowing – whatever made it move had moved on. Wind? Deer? Human?
Probably not human – he had not encountered anyone since the "Day." The counting of seconds turned into a full minute – he thumbed down the release that held the Glock in its place. Frozen. The minute was interrupted by another movement in the woods. This time he saw it – a dog. He had heard that there were no dogs that lived – he was ready to put the dog down if it started across the street. The dog, he decided it was a she, walked out of the woods toward him. His hand started to guide he Glock out of the holster. She stopped at the edge of the road. He could see her clearly now. She looked to be a Border Collie – or a mutt of largely Border Collie influence. He did not know much about dogs but this is a breed he had long taken note of.
As she sat her head cocked from side to side. He was sure that she was as curious about him as he was about her. A full minute – maybe two – he made a conscious effort to scan and be aware of his three hundred sixty degree threat zone. He mentally chastised himself for being so careless. "Complacency kills," was all he could think to himself. Never again! His scan complete he finished his fueling while keeping an eye on the dog. She looked well. Her eyes clear and her coat shiny. He wondered.
He secured the Glock back in the holster. Replaced the nozzle on the gas pump and closed the gas cap on the Tacoma. He opened the driver door and then the access cab door and reached in for a piece of jerky. He was lucky enough to still have some long term snack food – crackers, peanut butter, jerky, Charms candy – to keep near him in am Eagle Creek bag. The bag was one of a line that was well built, was see through mesh and came in various sizes for all sorts of tasks and this was his food module. He tossed the dried steak piece more than halfway across the street. She looked at it but did not run to it. She was as curious about him as he was about her. She stood. Walked toward the jerky and quickly sniffed it and deciding to trust him – possibly because it had been so long since she had eaten that if it was poison she didn’t care – gobbled it down. She sat and he could have sworn she smiled at him.
No collar but clean. He decided that she trusted him so he decided to trust her. He beckoned her. "C’mere." She didn’t budge. Take his food but not his orders. He decided not to waste any more time, "If she wanted more, she could ask nicely," he thought to himself. Then he chuckled internally as it occurred to him that he just did two things he said he would never do: talk to himself in a tone that implied a conversation and also suggested that a dog could ask him something – and ask nicely? As if on cue just as he finished securing the gas cap, the tops to the Rotopax and closing the gear in the Bundu Box she stood and took a couple of steps closer. Instead of closing the tailgate he left it open – and put another piece of jerky on the edge of the tailgate and the got in the truck to check the maps, make sure he had logged this spot with all the information and checked the waypoint in the GPS. He glanced over to see that she had made it over to the back of the truck. She hesitated then jumped on the tailgate and quickly woofed down the jerky. She took a seat. He slowly got out of the truck and walked back. She remained seated and he extended a hand for her to sniff. They were both cautious. For the first time in a long time – seven months to be exact – he could feel his mood elevate a bit. A companion was just what he would need and there was no better companion than a bright, healthy and friendly dog. Well, there would be one but that was definitely too much to hope for!
Introductions out of the way he had to think of a name. She had no collar so nothing familiar could be used. He thought briefly then it came to him – almost regrettably because of the cliche of it all. "Hope." He hesitated for a bit then said, "Yes, Hope it is." She sat back down next to him on the edge of the tailgate. After a minute or two he tossed another smaller piece of jerky into the bed of the Tacoma. Hope walked to consume it and seemed to know what was next. He slowly closed the gate but left the canopy back open. If she wanted out she could. It was her decision to go along with him. He climbed back in the cab of the truck, started the engine and made a U-turn to head east. He decided they would head back into the safety of the Cascades. He knew of several campgrounds that he could easily get to and provided all he needed – defensible, good escape routes, roads that would discourage all but 4X4 vehicles, water and plenty of firewood. His thoughts turned to the tasks that included his new friend. She seemed matted so a bath and good "going over" was first. He needed a bath too and decided they would head to the Gorge Campground near Gorge Lake. It was a favorite of his and has all the necessities that he and Hope would need. He also added to his mental checklist dog food in his foraging. The stores, hospitals, police stations, pharmacies he had stumbled upon over the months had been treasure troves for him but he had passed up anything he did not have an immediate need of. His space, although generous, was limited.
He drove on and descended on the floor of the valley near the turn off for the lake. About a quarter mile ahead of the split for Diablo Road – the road to the campground – he stopped. He got out to stretch and to make sure he wasn’t followed. The former for his own sake and the latter out of habit. He dropped the tailgate and Hope jumped down and scurried off into the woods to take care of business. He quickly looked in the back of the truck – "Good dog" – he thought to himself. No accidents and nothing chewed on or destroyed. As he stretched he fished out another piece of jerky to place on the tailgate. If she came back it would be her choice but he would not hesitate to sweeten the pot with a bribe or two. Sliding out the bed he reached for the drone that he kept near. The AR.Drone had proven to be very helpful. Operated from a rechargeable battery kept topped off by solar power, he could use it to scan areas not familiar or, like this one, to insure no one had happened by to find traces and set up an ambush. The iPad mini, also kept alive with solar, was they eye and control of the drone and it was always worth a chuckle to think about how much money the government had spent on similar technology — billions probably – and here he was with very similar equipment having survived what had been the mother of all fuck ups of that bloated bureaucracy.
The drone revealed nothing in a three-sixty recon of the area and he packed everything back up. Hope had come back and sat near the edge of the road. Had she changed her mind? He looked at her and whistled while pointing to the jerky. It was all she needed and she hopped up and into the bed of the truck and enjoyed her treat. Tailgate closed, gear secure it was time to head on into camp. Lots to do once there.
Arriving at the campground he set about to get the most important tasks done first. Dropping the tailgate on the Tacoma, he stepped out of the way as Hope bounded out and scurried off into the woods. Long trip he thought. He slid the bed out and picked up the tube that contained the spare Mossberg 500 shotgun. It was a handy way to package things and he was glad he bought a couple while he could. It was called the, "Just In Case," the JIC for short, and he got two at the local Cabela’s long before "The Day." He thought they were a very good idea at the time and they had proven to be brilliant in this kind of scenario. The JIC came standard packaged as a waterproof/weatherproof PVC tube that was sealed on one end and had a screw cap on the other. It contained a pistol-gripped Mossberg 500 12 gauge pump shotgun. The "Mossy" was never his favorite, he had carried a Remington 870 for too many years and it was his primary tactical shotgun he kept with him always, but the way it was packaged and convenience of it as a "fallback" gun was just too perfect. In the tube, along with the shotgun, he had placed a trauma kit from Imminent Threat Solutions, ITS, on the thought that if it was the kind of situation he was digging for his fallback shotgun, he might be in need of some medical assistance. Of all the "off the shelf" trauma kits he was familiar, and he was familiar, the "Tallboy" from ITS was superior in every sense of the word. It was pre-packed with all the supplies to get him through just about any trauma. Along with the Tallboy was his favorite multitool, the Skeletool CX from Leatherman, he never left without one and had several others. Rolled up pants, shirt, socks, t-shirt and underwear (sealed in a vacuum bag) along with an MRE First Strike Ration added to what he had packed in the JIC tube. Wrapped in the bundle of clothes he had a few very small items: a button compass, commando wire saw, flint/steel and a small bic lighter. He had two identical JIC tubes. One was for concealing where ever he made camp and one was to leave in the truck – just in case.
He made his way about two hundred yards up the road to the "Y" that the road split from Diablo Road to the campground. He found the largest tree at the "Y" and with his Cold Steel shovel set about to dig a hole to place the JIC in for the night. Digging down about two feet and about three feet long got him where he needed to be. He placed the JIC in the hole and refilled it with the dirt, topping it off with pine needles and scrub to completely conceal it. He tapped it with the shovel and noted, "Just in case I never need it." A smile crossed his face as it occurred to him, once again, he was talking to himself. Seven months is a long time and he wasn’t becoming too concerned at what had been his mental checklist for signs and symptoms not only of the "plague" but for what he was afraid might be his inevitable mental breakdown. Finding Hope might have been the key to survival he thought. Having a friend and companion, someone to talk to, would help immensely! He walked back on the high part of the "Y" not only to not walk back to camp the same way but to get a different perspective to assess what to conceal when he finished his camp setup. A fast walk took him down to the teardrop trailer and he noticed Hope had placed herself at the back of the truck, between the truck and trailer, as if to let him know she was ready to go. "Not yet," he said to her. It felt surprisingly good to have someone to talk to. Refreshing. He had been having internal conversations with himself for too long, and the conversations he had with his iPad and iPhone, Siri, were anything but rewarding. Without internet service the ability of Siri to carry on much of a conversation were about nil. He had backed the trailer between the two trees he had used before giving him a convenient way to hang the camouflage netting he kept in the tonguebox of the trailer.
His first task complete he set about to establish camp for he and Hope. The teardrop unhitched and ARB awning deployed, along with the all important ARB camp chair and folding plastic step, he decided to take a break. His initial security measures were all in place and it had been a very long day. It would be dusk soon and he wanted to have his supper before the sun went down – no fires after sundown was the rule! Even though he had not seen a single living soul, human or animal, for seven months it certainly did not mean that any remaining would not hone in on the light of fire or smell of cooking food faster than he could say, "Off like a prom dress," because that would be just what he would be if he thought his camp was being overrun. But putting those thoughts somewhere else for now he went back to the task at hand: taking a break! Sitting down he reached for his stainless steel cup from GRAYL. It was a very handy contraption and one he had picked up just before his last camping trip – which had turned out to be his last camping trip! This wasn’t camping because this was now his life. The cup from GRAYL was very handy and used a similar technology as the french press did to make coffee although this was used to filter water. He had purchased the black and gray cup along with a couple of filters and several purifiers to distribute between the truck and trailer. The filters were for tap water and the purifiers worked on the water to the level of chemical additives or survival straws but without the kneeling, sucking and wondering how to store the water. The cup was convenient and each element was good for three hundred uses. He had not even gotten through his first purifier yet. He also boiled water when he thought he needed to but was more hesitant to do that since he had seen the end of his propane. His butterfly stove was easy to use with the MSR tea kettle but he needed to begin to conserve. Save the propane for his much enjoyed coffee in the mornings! Sipping from the cup he suddenly thought of his new "guest." "How rude of me!" he mentioned to Hope. He walked to the rear of the trailer and lifted the back to expose the galley. Reaching to the top shelf he grabbed a stainless steel bowl. He had a couple of them for mixing, the stainless steel did not take the taste of what was mixed in it and easy to clean. He would use this for Hope’s water bowl. He set it on the ground a couple of feet away and poured some of the water from the GRAL cup into the bowl. If it was good enough for him to drink it was good enough for her. She walked over and sniffed the water. He gestured to her and muttered, "It’s OK." It was all the encouragement she needed as she lapped a few tonguefulls of the water then plopped down next to her newest possession. They both rested.
After the brief respite it was time to take care of supper, chores and bedding down for the night. Supper was easy. For him, he decided to make it a convenient night and just zip open a bag of Mountain House Chili Mac. For Hope it was a bit more difficult. He rummaged around in one of the zippered bags in his Camp Chef Sherpa that sat next to him, legs extended, and found a can of Vienna Sausages. Voila! He decided to be equally lazy in her supper preparation and pulled the ring on the can of "meat product" and, after tossing the water out of the stainless steel bowl, forked out each of the tubular pieces into the bowl. She sat, patiently, not sure if it was for her or him. He placed the bowl on the ground next to him and tapped it with the fork and let out a low whistle. She understood and bounded over to the bowl and, literally, swallowed each of the sausages. She must have been starving and, he supposed, living on what she could forage and dig up in the woods. It was the first time he had seen her tail wag or anything that looked like anything other than suspicion and he was quite pleased with his decision to bring her on board.
So, supper out of the way and about an hour of light left it was time for some chores. First, bath time. He stripped down to his Docker’s briefs and rummaged around in another Eagle Creek bag – hygiene – and pulled out a bottle of shampoo/soap. He motioned to Hope to follow him and after grabbing a towel and pulling the Glock 22 out of its holster made his way down o the lake. Setting the towel and Glock as close to the lake as he could he walked in and noticed Hope not following. It seemed as though she responded to the whistle but she sat – he whistled – she cocked her head signaling her hesitation. "Come on – we’re filthy and we have to get clean!" This she understood, or seemed to, and walked into the lake to join him. It was the first physical contact they had. She looked up at him and seemed to trust him. He lathered her up and rinsed her off then did the same to himself. A quick bath then out to dry. He with a towel and she the old fashioned way. Walking back to the campsite he got dressed and cleaned up everything he had taken out for supper and disposed of the garbage in a green plastic bag that he took about twenty yards away and put against a tree. He did not have trouble with stray animals, he supposed they were all dead, but there was a chance and he also knew that the smell could carry to any human remaining and wanted to take no chances at any encounters late at night with anyone, or anything, he did not know.
Supper and chores out of the way it was time to get some sleep. They had had a very long day and the rest would be welcome. He decided he would not, ever, tie Hope to anything or restrain her in any way. Her decision to come along was hers and her decision to stay would be hers as well. He secured the Sherpa in the back of the truck, slid the bed closed, put the butterfly stove and kettle away and closed and locked the tailgate. He checked the solar panels for the trailer he had put out; the green light indicated the battery was trickle charging which meant all was working correctly. Taking the battery out of the drone he placed it in the charger and plugged it in the galley outlet of the trailer and closed the galley for the night. He opened the door of the trailer and reached in for the sleeping bag and Therm-A-Rest sleeping pad. He walked to the driver door of the truck, unracked the AR15 and wandered about twenty yards uphill from the trailer. He usually slept away from the trailer. Although very comfortable with its king size bed, DVD player and light for reading it was just these things that made him aware that there would be few nights that were comfortable since comfortable also meant vulnerable. Finding a spot of pine needles under a tree he blew up the air mattress just a little, spread the sleeping bag onto it, crawled in and set his Eagle Tac flashlight, AR15, Glock, boots all arranged diagonally on his right side and put his head on the pillow. Hope had made her way near his left side and sat to watch this ritual. Once he was settled he could see that she had laid down, head on paws, and had already fallen fast asleep. He looked up at the stars and gave thanks for his day – another day to live – another day to stay safe and another day that brought him the blessing of a friend. He was truly thankful for Hope.
As he lay there he gave himself permission to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. It seems that having Hope made him reminisce a little bit and he found his mind wandering. He hadn’t dwelled on the past much, if at all, because it made no difference. It changed nothing and only reminded him of the unfairness of it and that angered him and one thing he knew for certain was that anger was an emotion he could not afford. Anger clouded judgement and rushed decisions. Anger had no positive outcome and he had to be certain that most, if not all of what he did, resulted in something that bettered his situation. He recalled the last weekend that he knew there was humanity. It had been three weeks or so since the news reports had warned of a pandemic. A strain of avian flu is what the CDC called but assured everyone that America was not vulnerable. America had the CDC, US Public Health Service and a host of mechanisms to prevent the very thing that happened. The CDC, in its grandiosity, declared that as long as the borders were sealed and air travel was managed with mandatory passenger checks at the gates along with TSA that the plague would not get a foothold here. It was then, along with everyone else, that he felt relaxed and assured that the plague was something else that would affect "them" but not America. America was strong. America knew better. America had technology. America fell like every other backwater poverty ridden Country anyone could never name. He had gone camping, just to get the trailer out and get some fresh air after working so many hours for so many days. His work was exhausting and his wife had insisted that he get out to his favorite spot for a few days. Everything would be fine. On the third day out he decided to check his iPhone for the news and he followed the trail of events. It was like a wildfire. From Tokyo there had been undetected cases that had flown in to Portland, Oregon with the crew of a FedEx jet. Those jets were not subject to the scrutiny and that was all it took. The infected crew spread the plague to airport staff who took it home and the web was begun. Exponential was something that really had to be seen to be believed: two became four became sixteen became two hundred fifty six became sixty five thousand five hundred and thirty six. The disease spread quickly, airborne, attacked quickly and had nearly a one hundred percent case fatality rate. As far as he knew, for all practical purposes, he was the only human that survived and Hope was the only canine that had. He reasoned there were more but had no proof.
Dreary, he realized he had been whispering all this to Hope who was fast asleep and who probably could care less. It was late and he had talked himself right into a near coma. Relaxed and confident they would be safe for the night – the trip wires were set, the JIC placed and the fact he was not sleeping in the trailer all reassured him that he could fall asleep and get some much needed rest. He awoke once in the night – Hope had moved over to share his sleeping bag and slightly stirred when he unzipped the bag to wander a few yards down the hill and relieve himself. Crawling back in the bag, Hope once again rested her head on his ankles and they both drifted off.
The beginning of a sunrise awakened him and he noticed Hope was not around. He sat up to stretch and saw her. She had wandered off to take care of her business and was on her way back. For just a second he was worried that she had changed her mind and he might have lost the closest thing to a friend he had found in seven months. He offered a quick silent thanks that she had not – changed her mind. In a soft whistle he called her over. The bath had done them both good and she walked over and sat next to him. He petted her for a minute then unzipped the bag. As if knowing that meant breakfast she trotted in the direction of the trailer. Not so fast he thought. There was a sleeping area to put away and today was going to be a long day. He had decided that he needed some supplies for Hope and the closest place for that he reasoned was in Sedro-Woolley. It was the closest largest City and he could forage there for some canine first aid supplies, bedding, food, medications along with some things he needed. The thing that he needed most right now though was coffee. He picked up the AR15 and Glock 22 from the tarp they had been resting on and racked the AR15 back in the truck and holstered the Glock. Sleeping in most of his clothes had its advantages. Just having to put on a shirt/jacket and shoes made it pretty easy. He sat on the sleeping bag and pulled his Keen shoes on. They were comfortable and really did take a beating but he did not look forward to the day when they wore out. It would mean a trip to a larger city to try and replace them. He had gotten along quite well with his Keen shoes and sandals. The sandals were perfect warmer weather wear and also served well for forays into the rivers or lakes he often liked to explore. It also seemed the best part of the Keen family, for him, were the socks. They were truly bulletproof and could wear for days before even becoming the least bit uncomfortable. Having pulled his shoes on, he stood and grabbed the Columbia shirt off the nub on the closest tree it was hanging. "There! Dressed and ready to go!" he exclaimed to Hope who looked a bit curious not sure what he was cackling about. Now it was time for coffee and in the interest of time he went over to the truck and unlocked the tailgate and slid back the bed to expose the MSR butterfly stove and kettle all set up. He added some water he had filtered in the GRAYL and turned the stove on with a click. He decided it would be a Maple Sausage MRE sandwich for him and he would let Hope enjoy an MRE entree of scrambled eggs and bacon. He dumped the pouch in her bowl and she snarfed it down in record time and sat looking as if she would wait for seconds. "Nope," was all he said and she trotted away to explore or take care of business or do whatever she had done since the last time she had been company to a human. The water boiled and he added it to the powder he poured from the stick of coffee from Trader Joe’s that he kept guarded for special times like this when he was in a hurry but wanted to enjoy a decent cup of coffee. He stirred the concoction and let it cool as he finished his sandwich. It was rare that he would indulge himself like this – the MRE sandwiches were becoming a little more scarce and last count he had only enough coffee sticks for about thirty or so more cups but today was a special day since it was his first full day with Hope and he needed to get started for his trip into town.
Sedro-Woolley was the first thing anyone could call a town on Highway 20 between he and Interstate 5 which connected not only him to Seattle but, in the larger picture,all of the West Coast from the Mexican to Canadian borders. With about ten thousand people it was large enough to have a veterinarian office that he could get some important supplies for Hope and take some time to check around at some of the local stores and maybe pick up some things he needed. Looking at the map it appeared as though Sedro-Woolley was about sixty or so miles away. He checked some of the offline mapping software that he had long ago downloaded on his iPad Mini and saw that there was an animal clinic at the east edge of town. That was good as he did not want to venture too far into any space that he did not know a way out of and, at that, have at least three or four ways out of! Located right on the corner of Highway 20 and Carter he noticed there were a couple of other businesses he could park near and then walk to the clinic and check out activity or anything else that he might have to be concerned about. But first things first, he had to get there. Finishing his coffee and disposing of his wrapper from the sandwich he gave a low whistle for Hope and she bounded out of the woods and took her place near the tailgate of the truck. "You’re learning" he muttered and she let out a low moan as if to say, "Of course!" The campsite tidy he set about to make sure everything was ready for his departure. Making sure the camo netting covered the trailer and it was locked was the main task. That done he checked the status of the truck for the trip. He had removed the drone battery charger from the galley of the trailer and plugged it into the inverter in the back of the Tacoma. This would insure the battery stayed charged for he would be using the drone several times today. He unracked the AR15 from the Big Sky rifle rack and checked to make sure the MagPul thirty round magazine was full and fully seated. It was and a round was chambered and safety selector set to "safe." He dropped the tailgate and took the Remington 870 out of the nylon tactical case and made it "cruiser ready" with a full load of Winchester Defender ammunition. It was his preferred tactical load and with three rounds of buckshot and a slug in each round it was devastating. The 870 sat across the passenger seat for quick access and on the seat next to him he kept four smoke grenades, trauma kit and chest rig with spare AR and Glock magazines. He replaced the case for the Remington 870 and whistled for Hope to take her place in the back of the truck. She hopped in and he closed the tailgate, leaving the canopy back open. He would not be driving more that twenty miles an hour or so and she would be safe. He had made this drive many times and knew the layout of the road, the curves, the spots close to the river and all the potential ambush points that he would have to stop well ahead and either scout or send the drone to check for him. He was pleased to see the gas gauge read full as he pulled away from camp and was confident that when he returned he would have supplies for Hope and some more things that he needed as well.
Driving at a slow pace he kept a three-sixty awareness and nothing out of the ordinary had been noticed in the first forty five minutes of the drive. The road bent very close to the Skagit River and a couple of hundred yards before a blind curve he slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder closest to the mountain side. He stopped and scanned the area before getting out – front, sides and rear – then wait and check again were an ingrained routine and he lifted the loaded Remington 870 out with him as he slid out of the truck. Walking to the back he dropped the tailgate and Hope lept to the ground and bounded into the culvert to relieve herself then slowly walked back to the truck taking a minute to stop and sniff, well, whatever she was sniffing. With the tailgate dropped he reached in for the ARParrot Drone and hooked up the battery. Along with the iPad Mini he walked about twenty yards closer to the curve and launched the drone. Keeping a close eye on the Mini display he maneuvered the drone up and around the curve working the Drone in a "quick peek" orientation. Noting nothing – no tracks, no concealed folks waiting to ambush him, no vehicles and no other recognized dangers that seemed to wait. This was a routine that was repeated twice more before reaching Sedro-Woolley and all were negative with regard to any threats.
About a mile short of where he was headed in Sedro-Woolley he stopped one last time to take advantage of some cover and took a few minutes to ready himself and let Hope have one final rest stop. He took time for his own rest stop and put the Drone battery back in the charger and replaced the Drone in the carrier he had fashioned in the bed of the truck. Just a few more items to check off before finally heading into town. He had gotten into a bit of a routine when he went on his foraging missions. First he checked his Glock and belt rig. He carried two additional magazines for the pistol on his belt in a T, Rex Arms double magazine carrier, two magazines for the AR in a similar holder that mounted on his left side and a kydex carrier for his Fenix light between the AR and Glock magazines. His belt secured and all gear in place he moved to the passenger side of the truck and reached in for the Voodoo plate carrier that held three more magazines for the AR, a blow out kit mounted on the rear, his Leatherman MUT tool and a small button light. He replaced the Remington 870 across the seat and unracked his AR15. He charged the AR and tapped he magazine to insure its placement and grabbed two of the smoke grenades off the seat and placed them in his cargo pocket of the khaki 5.11 trousers. He let out a low whistle for Hope and she bounded to her place in the bed before he could make it to the back of the truck. Closing the tailgate he awkwardly climbed in the truck and left the AR in its single point sling configuration while he drove the last mile to the bank that sat across the street from the vet clinic.
He pulled to the opposite side of the bank and gave himself the cover and concealment he found best from the recon he did from the satellite photos he pulled up on the iPad Mini. He knew they were dated but gave him a fairly good idea of what to expect for cover, concealment and fallback. He often repeated the mantra in these planning sessions of P-A-C-E…his primary, alternate, contingency and emergency fallback routes. When he had time, and that was most of the time on his foraging or scouting, he would pay attention to these routes and either mark them on a acetate overlay on a map if he had one or keep mental notes. Sliding out of the truck with all his gear was always a bit of a chore and he thought he probably looked a bit like the Michelin Man as he ambled away. He walked to the back of the truck and told Hope that she would be staying behind this trip. He was going into a vet clinic and not sure what he would find in the way of hostile animals or if the animals had been left behind when their human caretakers had perished they may be dead or rotting and this might present health hazards to Hope. Having this thought he added two things to his routine before leaving the truck. He donned an N95 mask and black nitrile gloves.
He walked to the south side of the bank and "sliced the pie" to check for and threat/movement in the direction of the vet’s office. Seeing none he walked to the north side of the bank and did the same. He did not want to expose himself on the same side that he initially appeared. After his second "slice" he walked along, but not too close, to the wall of the bank to examine the last corner before crossing the street to the clinic. He saw that there was a back door and a couple of windows with "burglar bars" on the back of the building and decided that would be his best way in: through the back door. He quickly closed the distance to the back door of the clinic maintaing, as best he could, his three-sixty awareness and noticing no movement or anything unusual. He got to the back door of the clinic and was not surprised it was locked. The door had a window with metal mesh in and he decided to break that glass, reach in and open the door. Taking the MUT from the holder on his plate carrier he used the hammer end to shatter the glass. With his gloved hand he reached in and took a quick look with the light. Seeing nothing he replaced the light and reached in again to unlock the door. He had remembered from his SCUBA diving days being warned about reaching into places that he hadn’t first examined with a light — finding an eel or sleeping barracuda in a cave would not be a pleasant experience — and equally unpleasant would have been a rabid or vicious dog that had been left behind in a locked animal clinic. No such threat and he felt confident proceeding. With the AR at high ready and the Surefire light pulsing he did a quick building check of the entire clinic. The power had been off for some time and the gas had given out of the emergency generators as well since the emergency lights had long since gone dark. What he did notice was the smell. It was the smell of combined urine, feces and death. He had anticipated this and was prepared for it. As he walked by the cages he noticed two that had contained adult dogs that had long since passed. They had been left for some time before passing and the pile of feces was significant. The cat cages also revealed three adult cats that had passed and all were in various stages of decomposition. The smell, although not overwhelming, was not pleasant and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough but he was there for a mission: he was there for Hope. Making his way to the clinic side he let his AR fall to the front and took his Glock out of the holster. With the Streamlight TLR1 for illumination he spied the contents of the cabinets. He reached in the opposite cargo pocket to the smoke grenades and took out a folding fabric bag that he kept there for his foraging. He tried the cabinet but it was locked. With a small metal pry bar he popped the lock on the cabinets and set about to gather medications, IV bags, syringes and anything else he might need either for himself or Hope. The bag full and his inventory complete he walked out to the store portion of the clinic. He grabbed two thirty-three pound bags of Eukanuba Adult Maintenance Dog Food for Hope and several bags of treats. Also in the shop he noticed the glam accessories for dogs and stopped to get Hope a collar, camouflage of course, and the longest leash he could find. Although he would not restrain her in camp he felt he might want her on a lead if she became a partner in his regular foraging and wanted a way to either restrain her from dangerous situations or as a way to extract her should she become hurt away from him on such a mission.
He left the AR hang on the single point sling and set the Glock on the counter. He tucked the bags of food under his left arm and the rest of the "goodies" in the back cargo pockets of the trousers. Picking the Glock back up he made his way to the front of the clinic. Not wanting to leave the way he came in was important. He unlocked the glass door from the inside and again "sliced the pie" in both directions noting nothing. Having approached the clinic from the north end of the bank, he quickly walked to the sound the bank and carefully checked before rounding the corner to where the truck, and Hope, were waiting. He arrived without incident and before doing anything check the truck — all four sides and underneath for any sign of tampering or anyone being around or having left anything behind. Finding nothing he relaxed a bit and dropped the tailgate. He tossed the food down and could see Hope sniffing at the bags. "Not yet," he muttered. His main priority now was getting out of there safely and quickly. Not the time to let his guard down, he stayed geared up and closed the tailgate. He would empty his pockets in the front part of the truck as he did not want Hope to chew the bags of treats open and get sick in the truck. He would offer anything he found for her in small amounts and make sure she could tolerate it. He was sure that she had been living on small animals and garbage for the last seven months and wanted to reintroduce a regular diet to her slowly. Staying geared up he climbed in the truck and started to drive his alternate route away from the clinic.
From the bank parking lot he turned left and then left again at the first available opportunity. This path took him through a largely residential area that was eerily silent and void of any movement. From his recall of the street he would be passing a couple of businesses and a church – Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints – Mormon. He spotted the Temple but something else caught his eye. A pickup truck – Ford F150 – parked in the lot but that wasn’t it. It was a shadow: a vertical shadow and only something that was standing could throw a shadow that looked like that. He drove by and drove to the south side of the street and got out of the truck and went prone between the two tires with the AR. The shadow was gone and he wondered if he had imagined it or if the shadow was doing what he was doing – preparing for battle.
FOR SOME REASON FLICKR WILL NOT ALLOW ME TO CONTINUE WRITING THIS STORY…..
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