Going Home Read online

  Looking at all this, it looked like I had a lot of food. But when you stopped to think about the fact that I was over 250 miles from home, I didn’t have nearly enough. I decided to make breakfast my big meal of the day. I would need the energy to get through the days ahead of me. Lunch would be light or not at all. Dinner would be light as well. I fished around and pulled out a single-serve SPAM pouch and an MRE Wheat Snack Bread, more like a Wheat Snack Heels. Nonetheless, I opened it up and sliced it open. I put the piece of SPAM in between and squeezed a packet of mayo onto the bread. This made a decent sandwich. I ate this while looking at the map and thinking about options. Opening the passenger door, I pulled out my stainless water bottle to wash down the SPAM.

  I saw the first person heading west about eight o’clock. A small group in the eastbound lane was heading west. I leaned against the hood and watched them come down the hill. There were five of them. I could clearly see one of them carrying a laptop case. Poor fool, I thought. My laptop was back in the bag lying in the backseat, where it would remain, as far as I was concerned. I stood there watching these people go by. One of them broke off from the group and came across the interstate toward me. It was a young white guy wearing Dockers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a light coat.

  “Hi, there,” he said by way of greeting.

  “How’s it going?” I said.

  “What’s happened? You have any idea?”

  “Well, there are only a couple of things that could cause this to happen. It doesn’t really matter which it was. The result is the same,” I told him. “Where’s your car?”

  He pointed back to the east. “Just over the hill there. It was so damn cold last night. We are looking for some help.”

  “Well, good luck,” I said.

  He looked at the ground kind of nervously and then looked up and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you? My bottle is empty.” He held up an empty Evian bottle and shook it back and forth to show it was empty.

  “I have some water, but it’s not Evian. I’ll fill your bottle for you.” I reached out, and he handed me the bottle. On the outside of the pack were one- and two-quart canteens clipped to the MOLLE. I pulled the two-quart out of the carrier and filled his bottle for him. As I handed it back, I noticed he was looking at the SPAM pouch lying on the hood.

  “You, ah, wouldn’t have any food, would you?” He was nervous when he asked the question.

  “No, that was what was lying around. I have to go find some more food too.” He accepted that answer.

  “Yeah, sure, thanks anyhow for the water.”

  “Good luck to you too,” I replied. I was glad they were close to Tallahassee, or they would have been screwed.

  You would think that leaving would be easy; just grab your stuff and walk away. But I found myself procrastinating leaving. A few more people were heading west; now they were in both lanes. A few of them stopped to talk and ask the same question they all asked, “What happened?” My answer was always the same: “I have no idea either.” I didn’t want to appear any more prepared or aware than the rest of them. So far, everyone was polite and civil. No one was rude. No one was panicked. I knew that was going to change; the question was how long until it did.

  Part of my EDC was an ESEE4. I carried it recon style, horizontally. Only I carried it on my belt where my buckle would be. I would slide the buckle to the right and clip the Tek-Lok on the belt in the front where the buckle would be. I pulled the knife out of the Devildog and clipped it on the belt. I sat down in the driver’s seat and changed into my Bellville boots. They were US issue, GORE-TEX with Vibram soles, and then strapped the Merrells onto the back of the pack. Then I strapped the Carhartt to the outside of the pack, using some paracord to keep it tight. The last thing to add was the foam sleep mat. I slid it under the two straps that held the top flap down. That was it; there was nothing left to do. I stood there for a minute, watching a couple walking in the eastbound lane. The girl was wearing flip-flops; she held a flannel shirt tight to herself. The man with her had on jeans and a T-shirt and a camo ball cap. His hands were shoved into his pockets, trying to resist the cold. I could only think of all the people that were waiting for help to come, help that might never come.

  I grabbed the Devildog and pulled the waist strap out from the pouch in the back. I unclipped the shoulder strap and stowed it inside. Then I pulled the XD and its holster out of my pants and put it inside the pocket in the main compartment. After refilling the SS water bottle from the two-quart canteen, I dropped it into one of the mesh pockets on the outside. Then I strapped the belt around my waist with the bag in the front, kind of a reverse fanny pack. Standing the pack up on the hood, I slipped into the shoulder straps and took a step forward, taking the full weight of the pack.

  “Ugh, holy shit, this thing is heavy!” I shouted, and then grabbed the waist belt for the pack and pulled it around me and then hitched the pack up and clipped the belt together just above the other bag, adjusted the shoulder straps, and clipped in the chest strap. The load was pretty well balanced; it didn’t feel as bad now. I hoped to make ten miles a day. I set the goal low on purpose; if I made better time, all the better. After adjusting the Tractor Supply cap on my head, I tucked my thumbs into the shoulder straps and started walking east.

  The weight of the pack settled on my back and shoulders, but I knew that they would be sore tomorrow. Walking along on the side of the road, I passed several cars, some with people and some empty. Some of the people would try to talk; I just waved and said, “I gotta try and make it home.” Most didn’t try any further conversation.

  I pulled the map out of my left cargo pocket and took it out of the Ziploc bag it was in. I was ten miles from Highway 19, give or take. Looking at the map though, I saw that 59 would take me to it in more of a straight line and get me off this damn interstate sooner. People were still civil, but I didn’t want to be around them when they started not to be. I made it to the exit for 59 without too much trouble. Several people were walking on the interstate now. Many of them stopped to ask questions. It struck me as odd; with their normal routine interrupted, they just didn’t know what to do. I knew there was a truck stop at this exit, on the south side, so I walked down the exit and turned to the south. This five or six miles had taken me over three hours, trying to get into the art of trekking with a pack.

  The truck stop was pretty crowded. A number of trucks were in the lot, a few cars, and more people than there were cars. It had only been one day, so no one was totally crazy yet, although from some of the talk I heard, they were getting scared. I got a few looks from some of them; I was the only person there with a large pack. I went into the store; it was open, although there was no power. There was a little Indian guy behind the counter, dot not feather. When I came through the door, he looked at me and said, “Cash only.”

  “No problem. No power, no POS, huh?” I replied.

  “I hope they get it back on soon. I can’t sell fuel without it.” He was totally clueless about the magnitude of what had happened. Who in the hell did he think he was going to sell fuel to? I walked around and grabbed a couple of bags of Jack Link’s Beef Jerky; all I could think about was the Sasquatch commercials. Chuckling to myself, I went to the aisle with the little packs of meds and grabbed a few Excedrin packs, some Rolaids, and two packs of Imodium pills. Since the power had only been out overnight, the cooler was still pretty cold, so I grabbed two Cokes. I was trying to think of what else I would need. This was countered with the thought of how much more I could actually carry. Deciding that I couldn’t carry much more, I took my shopping to the counter; he did the math on a calculator. “Nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents,” he said.

  I pulled some cash out of my pocket and handed him twenty dollars. “Keep the quarter,” I said. I was scooping up the stuff when I had another thought. “Let me have a can of Copenhagen.”

  He reached back and pulled
one down and laid it on the counter. “Six dollars.” I handed him a ten, and he made the change.

  I had quit chew last year; I loved the first dip of the day, and the one after a meal. I figure what the hell now. Not like I would be able to get any more anytime soon. He had put everything in a bag, so I carried it outside and walked around the building. I found what I was looking for on the far end, away from the interstate. I set the pack down and pulled the canteens out. Opening up the pack, I took the Platypus bladder out. I topped off all of these from the hose bib on the wall; lastly, I filled the SS water bottle. The water pressure was still pretty good; I knew that wouldn’t last either, and that gave me another idea.

  While topping off the bottle, I heard a voice behind me. “Where ya headin’?” I looked over my shoulder and saw a large man in a red flannel shirt, jeans, and a Redman hat with what I was sure was a large chaw of the same in his left cheek. He was over six feet and barrel-chested.

  I stood up and said, “Home, if I can make it.”

  “Whur’s home?” He leaned to his left and spit a large brown puddle on the ground; it actually hit the ground before it broke from his lips.

  “Down near Orlando,” I replied as I stood up.

  “That’s a long walk. I need to get to Dothan.”

  “That’s a pretty good hike too. You driving one of those rigs back there?”

  He motioned with his shoulder. “I was drivin’ that flatbed with the Cat on it.” He spit a string again. “I shore don’t want ta walk ta Dothan.”

  I looked past him and saw an old Cat front-end loader on the trailer. “Well, why don’t you drop the chains on that loader and drive it till it gives out? Get some fuel out of your truck. If you find enough jugs, you might be able to carry enough fuel to make it.”

  “I was thinkin’ the same thing,” he said. “What cha think happened?”

  “Well, I would guess it was either an EMP or a CME. The radios are all out, and I guess no one knows for sure.”

  He looked at me for a minute and drawled out, “I’ve heard of EMP. That’s a nuke that causes that. What’s a CME?”

  “Coronal mass ejection, solar flare,” I replied while putting some of the shopping into the pack.

  “I heard about that on the news. They’s been talkin’ about it fer a week now. An’ that would knock out the powar?”

  “It could. I heard about it too. Didn’t think it would do all this, though. I guess why doesn’t really matter, though.” I stood up and was looking at him.

  “I don’t much reckon it does. Well, good luck gettin’ to Orlanda.” He turned and walked toward his truck.

  I shouldered the pack on one shoulder and walked back into the store. “You got a restroom I could use real quick?”

  The little guy pointed to the back. “Back there. Don’t piss on my floor, and flush it when you’re done.”

  “Thanks.” I figured I should take advantage of the chance to take a dump in comfort.

  I walked out to the road and stopped for a minute. In the distance, you could hear chains being pulled through pad eyes on a trailer. I slipped one of the Cokes out of my cargo pocket and took a long drink. Man, I was gonna miss this. After screwing the lid on and dropping it back in the pocket, I slipped the can of Cope out. I tapped the can in the palm of my hand for a minute while I thought about what was lying ahead. This damn pack was freakin’ heavy. I needed a walking stick. I drew the ESEE4 from its sheath and poked the blade through the paper on the lid of the can and ran it around it and sheathed the blade. Popping open the can, I grabbed a pinch and stuck it in my lip. Man, she would piss if she knew; I smiled to myself as I thought about how angry Mel would be if she knew what I was doing. Not that it really mattered at the moment.

  I hitched up the pack and started walking south on 59. I needed to keep my eyes open for a walking stick. I knew what I wanted: a piece of wild myrtle. The wood was bone hard and light. It would be perfect. Several people were walking down the road, some coming and some going. At this point, no one appeared panicked; there wasn’t any violence or trouble. It had only been one day, though, so it was certain to change. The walk down 59 was quiet. I encountered no one, only the occasional person who waved from a porch. Even that was rare, as there aren’t that many houses on this stretch of road—lots of acreage. Smoke could be seen drifting from chimneys and smokestacks on some of the houses. About five and a half miles down the road, I came to Highway 19; this would be the road that would take me the farthest on my walk home. Turn south and keep on keeping on.

  With my late start and the stop at the store, the day was getting late. I looked at my watch; it was almost four. I figured I would look for a place to sleep for the night. Since this was my first night out, I wanted time to sort out camp. On the southeast corner of 19 and 59 was a wooded lot. It looked like a good place to spend the night, so I walked into the tree line right beside a sign that said, “Perry 35 Miles.” There was a field wire fence off the road behind the sign, I undid the straps on the pack and dropped it over. It felt like I would float away with the load off me. Crossing the fence, I walked out into the woods a little and found a camping spot. While there was still light, I took a minute to do a quick recon of the immediate area. All was quiet; no other sounds indicating people were on the air. The area I was in had no houses in the immediate vicinity; this satisfied me that I should be alone tonight.

  Back at my pack, it was time to decide what kind of shelter I wanted. In my pack were my Eagles Nest Outfitters hammock, Slap Straps, and bug net, as well as my seven-by-nine tarp and rigging. Since I was going to be moving every day, I wanted an expedient camp, something quick. For tonight, I decided on something real quick. I pulled out the sleeping bag and set it aside. Then I unrolled the sleeping mat, pulled the bag out of the compression bag, and unrolled it on top of the mat. Then I pulled out my GI poncho and threw it over the whole thing. The outer bag of the sleep system is GORE-TEX, but I didn’t want dew all over it, as I planned to be off early in the morning. With my camp set, I decided to build a small fire. I didn’t really need one, but since this was only the first day after, after what? I guess I’ll call it the Event. I figured I could do this and not draw any undue attention. Later this would probably not be advisable.

  I pulled my U-Dig-It trowel out and scraped a small fire pit after scraping the fallen pine needles away from a small spot on the ground. The combination of mostly pine and scattered oak provided plenty of firewood with very little effort. Using a butane lighter, I had a nice small fire in no time. I cut several palmetto fronds and made a break between the fire and the road, probably unnecessary but better to get into the habit now. I opened the chow pouch and fished around, pulling out everything in it. There were nine MRE entrées, six side dishes, six crackers, four pouches of MRE bread, six cheeses, five peanut butters, five packs of crackers, five accessory pouches, two pouches of MRE shake mixes, half a dozen drink mixes, and seven heaters. There were also four SPAM single-serving pouches and four foil packs each of tuna and salmon. Add this to the stuff in the mess kit pot, and it was not a bad start.

  I was hungry; that SPAM sandwich wore off hours ago. I wanted to eat something else but didn’t want to because once I did, it would be gone—the only food I had was what I was carrying. Finally, I settled on a pouch of cheese squeezed onto some crackers. While munching on this, I went through the pack and pulled a couple of other things out—my Steiner Predator binos and the night vision, and a Pulsar Edge GS20. The bag for the Pulsar had four sets of batteries in it, plus the four spares in the Devildog bag. I should have plenty of batteries. There was also a Goal Zero Guide Plus kit; this would keep batteries charged for flashlights and whatnot. I wish I had found a way to charge the CR123 lithium batteries with it but hadn’t got around to it. I started putting things away so that I could access them easily later. I pulled the mess kit out of the side pouch and took a bouillon cube out and then pulled the
canteen and cup out of its pouch, poured in some water, dropped in the cube, and set it beside the fire. I figured a hot cup of broth would be nice before going to sleep.

  After finishing up my broth, I rinsed out the cup and stowed all the gear. I had the NVGs lying beside me and pulled the XD out of the Devildog. Climbing into the sleeping bag, I laid the XD on my chest and threw the poncho out to cover me and everything else up. I pulled out the NVGs and slipped them on. Looking up into the sky, the stars were magnified and washed out. I looked over to the side and could see into the woods. Happy that they were working, I put them in their pouch and set them down. I flipped the hood up on the sleeping bag and covered my face with the poncho.

  As I lay there waiting for sleep, I started to think about my wife and girls. I missed them more than words could describe; that’s partly why I tried not to think about them too much. My thoughts were interrupted by the report of several rapid shots drifting up into the night. They were far off, and there were no more; they were the first of many more to come. It was the first indication of the change that was already taking place in people.

  Chapter 2

  Opening my eyes, all I could see was the poncho; it was wet. I pulled it away from my face; drops of condensation fell into my eyes. Pulling the poncho away, the cold swirled around my face. “Damn!” It was cold; the temp had dropped overnight, and I did not want to get out of my sleeping bag. I finally crawled out and shoved my feet into those cold-ass boots, took the Carhartt from the pack, and put it on. My little fire was long gone; the ground was cold. A few steps away from my little camp, I took a leak. I was surprised how dark it was.

  Cool weather can fool you; in hot weather, you drink because you have to. In colder weather, you have to make the conscious effort to hydrate. I pulled out some of the firewood I collected the night before and sparked up a little fire, making this one a little bigger. I needed to warm up. Taking the MSR pot from the pack, I pulled out the bag of oatmeal and the bottle of honey. The canteen and cup came out next, then the cup stove. I stuck the stove to the bottom of the cup, put about half a cup of oats in, and poured enough water to cover them. I took an accessory pack out, pulled out the little bag of salt, and dropped in a pinch, then added a couple of big spoons of powdered milk, and set the oatmeal by the fire to heat.