Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Ian added bladder fuel tanks to the second Laron, just like he had already done the previous year to his Star Streak. Originally, the Star Streaks only had a range of about 320 miles at 80 percent power. The main tank held fourteen and a half gallons. The bladders weren’t connected directly to the primary fuel system. Ignoring FAA safety regulations, he installed two Black amp; Decker Jack Rabbit hand pumps, attaching them with Velcro cable ties alongside the front seats. Transferring fuel from the bladder to the main tank was time-consuming but fairly easy to do when flying straight and level. The bladder tanks extended the range of both planes to about 480 miles without landing to refuel.

Bloomfield, New Mexico October, the First Year

Lars and Beth continued to stock up by ordering things on the Internet. There, prices were being bid up to the stratosphere. Lars had to pay $14 each for a handful of extra ammunition stripper clips for the M39 Mosin-Nagant rifle that he had inherited from his father. But they did find a few overlooked bargains that most people considered antiques and collectibles. These included two hand scythes and a hand-cranked bench grinder. Lars was also successful at bidding on nine filter cartridges for the ranch’s whole-house water filter.

Laine also bought dozens of three-packs of obsolete Magic Cube flash camera cubes. He explained to Beth and Kaylee that with just a piece of monofilament fishing line and a paper clip, these could be used as an improvised intrusion alarm device. The flash would both startle any nighttime intruders and alert anyone awake in the house that there was a prowler in the yard. He explained that standard flash cubes were set off with a battery, but Magic Cubes were set off with a mechanical striker. An NCO who was a Desert Storm vet had showed him the trick.

Beth did a detailed inventory of the ranch house, barn, and outbuildings. The only serious shortcoming that they found was gas lamp mantles: they discovered that they had only two spares. So Lars e-mailed:

Andy:

The only mantles for dad’s wall gas lamps that work

without falling apart are made by Falks and Humphreys.

When you’re in Germany, can you try to find at least 20 spares for me?

Thx Bro,

Psalm 37,

– Lars

FOB Wolverine, Task Force Duke, Zabul Province, Afghanistan October, the First Year

Andy was able to test-fire and zero the SIG pistol on a hot afternoon two days after he bought it. Because the unit rotation was under way, and the incoming Stryker squadron’s first range fire wasn’t scheduled for another three days, the FOB’s shooting range was deserted. Unlike range fire at U.S. installations in CONUS, which was extremely controlled, things were much more casual in Afghanistan. Andy simply walked to the range and raised its red flag. There were no formalities, no inspections, no safety briefings, and no bullhorned “Is there anyone downrange?” warnings. Andy just stapled up three targets and started shooting.

Firing at first very deliberately to establish “zero” for the pistol, Laine put 250 rounds downrange without a stutter. He made a point of using each of the magazines to ensure that none of them had feeding problems. Andy was very pleased. He knew that he had a pistol that he could rely on.

Radcliff, Kentucky October, the First Year

It was 9:10 p.m., just past Tyree’s bedtime. Jerome had not yet come back. Sheila and her grandmother were getting worried. For the past three weeks, each workday he had carried a nearly empty backpack with him when he walked to work. Then, on his lunch breaks and after work, he went out bartering seeds and some extra hand tools in exchange for canned foods and staples like bags of breakfast cereal.

Now Sheila nervously pulled the shade aside and looked out the front window.

“He’s never been this late.”

“We need to pray,” Emily said firmly.

The next morning, after checking at the tire shop and hearing that Jerome had left at 5:30 p.m. and hadn’t been seen since, Sheila walked to the police department and asked to file a missing-person report. The harried front desk clerk replied, “Yeah, you and about five million other people.” She told Sheila that an informal check would be made and to return at noon the next day to file a report.

Two days later Sheila went again to the police department. After she had waited twenty minutes in the police department lobby, a plainclothes detective came out. After he identified himself, he told her, “I’m sorry, but there’s no sign of your husband. We checked all the usuals: the sheriff’s department, the state police, at the hospital. That took some doing, with the phones out. No luck.”

After a pause he added, “There was one John Doe, though. A black man in his thirties or forties, but they said that he had only eight fingers. Did-I mean, does-your husband have all of his fingers?”

“Yes, he does. He just lost one fingernail, working as a mechanic.”