Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

The packs also contained a Chinese-made LED flashlight, a cheap pocketknife, a bag containing marijuana and cigarette rolling papers, two bottles of insect repellent, and three pairs of socks. There was also a large plastic bag containing two dozen tortillas in an old bread bag, a half pound of some foul-smelling chicken meat, some refried bean paste in a Ziploc bag, and some rice. This food was suspect, so he buried it along with the marijuana eighty yards outside his camp, so that it wouldn’t attract scavengers and so that Prieto wouldn’t get into it.

That evening Andy had difficulty getting to sleep, so he put on some insect repellent and spent an hour braiding a sling out of seventy-five feet of parachute cord, praying as he worked. The resulting sling looked presentable and functional. He made it extra-long so that it would be usable when the rifle was slung across his chest. Then he crawled back into his bivy bag and zipped the mosquito net closed. As he tried to get to sleep, the events of the night before kept replaying in his mind. He concluded that there was little that he could have done differently. If he had tried to warn them off, he probably would have been shot and killed. If he had tried to flee, he probably would have been shot and killed. And even if he had surrendered and handed over everything that he owned, he probably would have been shot and killed. Andy whispered out loud, resignedly, “Same, same.” Then he prayed, “Forgive me, Lord, for taking those lives. You know your Elect. I doubt they were saved, but I pray that they were. And please grant me rest, O Lord.”

Andy searched his memory. After a pause he quoted: “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through Our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.”

Then he asked himself, “Were they saved? I have no way of knowing. You can sort ’em out, Lord.”

The next morning he awoke feeling more sore than usual. He tied the new sling to the folding-stock AK and oiled the gun thoroughly. He folded the stock closed, leaving the gun in its more compact configuration. Once it was rolled inside his extra sweater and raincoat, the AK was unrecognizable to the casual observer. Andy felt better, knowing that the gun was there and could be loaded fairly rapidly if he ever needed it. He decided to get into the routine of loading, oiling, and inspecting the gun each evening when he made camp in the woods. But he decided the risk of arrest was too great if he carried it openly when riding. It would be wrapped up strapped atop his pack each day.

The additional gear made getting on and off Prieto even more difficult than before. Raising his right leg over the pack was an almost gymnastic feat. From a standstill, it was in fact often easier to dismount in reverse, by twisting his left foot in the stirrup while lifting his right foot over the saddle horn instead of over the back of the saddle and pack.

While riding in the open country between Las Norias and San Fernando, Andy started looking at the trash by the side of the road. He was searching for a scrap of cardboard or a large flat cardboard box. After half a mile he found an eighteen-inch-square cardboard box that was just four inches deep. He dismounted and picked it up, saying, “This’ll do nicely.” Walking and leading Prieto, he took a one-mile detour from the road.

Laine hobbled his horse and pulled a pen from his saddlebag. He drew a one-inch dot in the middle of the bottom of the box. He switched to the magazine with the pitting, henceforth designated his “target and hunting only” magazine. Laine left Prieto grazing and walked a hundred yards ahead. He set up the target box and stepped back twenty-five paces to zero the AK. After digging out the earplug case that he had brought from Afghanistan, he got down prone and deliberately fired a three-shot group. He found that the AK’s sights were correct in the left-right axis, but the rifle shot high. He cranked up the front sight with his Leatherman tool until the rifle shot dead-on at twenty-five paces. Then he stepped back to seventy-five paces and fired again. In the entire process, he fired just seven rounds. Satisfied, he rewrapped and stowed the AK.

Still saddle sore, he rode only another ten miles before leaving the road to make camp northwest of San Fernando. He had to camp farther off the road than before to be out of sight, because the clumps of trees were becoming thinner and more infrequent.