Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Laine’s team quickly mounted their horses and rode north. As they rode, they could see the majority of the infantry teams streaming over hills, heading east. Lars felt good, knowing they’d be back at their vehicles and out of the area before daylight.

The two squads that attacked Humboldt didn’t fare nearly as well as the Dewey teams. When they threw their Molotovs and started shooting, they were answered with withering return fire. The extent of their casualties did not become apparent until they returned to Prescott.

43 Escape and Evasion

“The moment the idea is admitted into society that property is not as sacred as the law of God, and that there is not a force of law and public justice to protect it, anarchy and tyranny commence. If ‘Thou shalt not covet’ and ‘Thou shalt not steal’ were not commandments from Heaven, they must be made inviolable precepts in every society before it can be civilized or made free.”

-John Adams, A Defence of the Constitution of the United States Against the Attacks of M. Turgot (1787)

Blanca’s instructions were simple: “Stay with the vehicles. If our trucks get spotted by anyone from La Fuerza before the scheduled kick-off time for the raid, then radio the team leaders and let them know immediately.”

She waited, listened, and prayed, clutching her Mini-14 GB. Then she heard shooting and explosions in the distance, right on time. An hour later she heard the teams start to return, crashing through the brush. Ian was with them but Alex was not. In accordance with their plans, all the vehicles departed at 5:30 a.m. Everyone had been warned that if they didn’t make it to the parking area by then, they’d be on their own to E amp;E their way back to Prescott.

Back at the Conley Ranches clubhouse, they had an anxious day of waiting. Stragglers came in, only two of them wounded. At just after five p.m., Ian greeted a man in his fifties who had just arrived. He was carrying two rifles, an M1 Garand in his hands and a Ruger Mini-14 slung across his back. Ian recognized a distinctive camouflage sling on the Mini-14: this rifle belonged to his brother Alex. He asked the man: “Where’s Alex?”

Looking glum, the man shook his head slowly from side to side in response. “He got shot bad, through a lung. We couldn’t stop the bleeding.

“Did he say anything, before . . . before he died?”

“No, sorry. He was just coughing, and then he died.”

Ian’s eyes welled up. “Well, thanks for letting me know. You can keep that Ruger,” he said.

The man shook Ian’s hand and thanked him, and then he turned to go check in formally with Doctor K.

That evening the Four Families began frantically packing up their gear, their clothing, and their meager supply of remaining stored food. Two of the families decided to move to a fairly heavily defended compound in Prescott Valley. They’d take a circuitous route, looping around to avoid La Fuerza’s suspected avenue of advance. The other two families, led by Doctor K., had decided to leave the region entirely. They would travel in two RVs and four SUVs. One of the SUVs was Alex’s Ford Excursion. This vehicle, along with nearly all of Alex’s gear, had been given to Doctor K. by Ian. Ian explained that even if he had wanted it, the cramped space and weight limitations of the two Larons were unforgiving. All that Ian kept from Alex’s room was some 5.56mm NATO ammunition and nine Mini-14 magazines. Previously, Alex had explained to Blanca to beware of using anything except original Ruger factory-made magazines in her rifle. “All of the other brands of magazines-the aftermarket ones-are jammamatic junk,” he warned.

Doctor K. offered to have Ian and Blanca come with him in his Fleetwood diesel-pusher RV. But without trailers there would be no way to take the Larons. Ian answered him quickly, “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather stick with what we know best, and that’s flying. Let’s just wish each other God’s speed.”

Ian Doyle had already toyed with the idea of paralleling the route that they had planned to take the RVs, leapfrogging from airport to airport. But he concluded that his best chance of finding a truly safe refuge before either running out of fuel or running out of luck was to head to Todd Gray’s retreat in north-central Idaho.