Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10) by A. American (best business books of all time .TXT) 📗

eyebolt. He pulled a long chain through it and secured one end around the ankle of one of the men, locking it in place with a pad lock. The other end was likewise secured to another man. The Colonel, drawing the short straw, was put in the middle of the chain. He wouldn’t have nearly as much freedom of movement as the others.

Once the men were secured, Sarge walked in with a bucket and dropped it on the floor. “Here’s yer shitter. Now, I know you’re thinking about how you’re going to get out of here. I don’t think you’ll be able to, but know if you try and we catch you, it’ll hurt. Bad and for a long time. Just hang out here until the decision is made about what to do with you and you’ll be fine. Try anything and your time will be much more uncomfortable.”

“We understand we are your prisoners,” the Russian Colonel said.

“Good,” Sarge replied. Then he looked at Mike, “Get one of those Guardsmen in here. We’ll keep around-the-clock watch on these assholes.”

Mike nodded. “No problem.”

“I guess we’ll deal with all this shit tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going home.”

“I think we’ll be alright for the night. I’m going down to Danny’s for supper myself,” Sarge replied.

There was a chorus of hungry approvals at that idea and everyone started to file out. Mike returned with one our Guardsmen who was going to take the first watch and we all headed down the road toward Danny’s. I stopped at Thad’s truck. The bed was full of Kalashnikovs and I wanted one with the grenade launcher on it. It didn’t take long to find one and I even came up with a set of web gear with loaded mags and the shingle the Russians used to carry the grenades.

Sarge stopped in the road and looked back, “What the hell are you doing?” He asked.

“Getting me a commie rifle and grenade launcher. I’ve always wanted to shoot one of these VOGs.”

He studied me for a minute, then said, “Don’t be blowing shit up around here.”

I pointed to the crowd still walking down the road and said, “You worry about them. I’ll take care of myself.” The old man snorted and turned to catch up to the group.

I found Little Bit sitting on the front porch with her squirrel. She was feeding it from a small syringe that it was eagerly accepting. Mel was sitting across from her watching. “When he’s done, you have to wipe his butt with a wet rag,” she said.

“I know,” Little Bit answered. “He eats so much! How big is his belly?”

“He’s growing,” I said with a smile.

Little Bit looked up and grinned at me. “I can’t wait for his eyes to open!”

I stepped over to inspect the limb rat. “Shouldn’t be too long now.”

“I want to be the first person he sees when he opens his eyes!”

I rubbed her head, “I think Ruckus is going to like you just fine.”

The syringe was empty and Little Bit announced he was done eating. She was wearing a kid’s size Columbia PFG shirt. It’d become her constant wardrobe since the arrival of Ruckus because the pockets were the perfect size for a little squirrel to curl up in. And that’s just what happened. She pulled the pocket open and dropped him down inside. The little critter wriggled around for a moment or two before curling up into a ball.

Little Bit stared down into the pocket and looked up with the wonder and amazement only a child can have, and said, “He likes it in my pocket,” then scrunching her shoulders, added, “he’s so cute!”

Mel got up and came over to me. “So, it’s done then?”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around her waist. “It’s done. As far as we know, there are no more military forces in the area.”

Her reaction was odd. As if I’d just told her I’d rid the yard of a pesky armadillo. “Good. Then that should be the end of that.” She stood up and asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“We have meatloaf and sweet potato greens.”

“That’s sounds awesome to me.”

She headed for the door. “You want to eat out here or in the house?”

It was a nice evening and the mosquitos weren’t out yet. “Out here would be nice.”

She disappeared into the house and returned with a plate and a glass of tea for me. I sat on the porch as Little Bit regaled me with tales of the squirrel. I asked where the two big girls were and was told they were inside listening to music on the iPad. As I was finishing my supper, Drake and Meathead showed up and assumed the begging positions. Meathead had drool running out of his mouth and pooling on the deck beneath him. I laughed, and when I was down to the last bite, I cut it in half and gave each of them a piece. Naturally, they swallowed it without a moment of savoring. All that anticipation, and for what?

When I carried my plate into the kitchen, Lee Ann asked if she could show me something. “Sure,” I replied and followed her outside.

She walked around the shed in the backyard and pulled back a tarp to reveal Jeff’s Harley. “I want to ride this,” she said.

It caught me off guard. “Uh, I don’t know about that, kiddo.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore, dad. I carry a machine gun.” To emphasize her point, she held the H&K up.

“I know. But motorcycles are dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as they used to be. There are no other cars on the road. It’s not like I’m going to be t-boned in an intersection.”

She had me there and I had to admit it. “You’re right about that.”

She looked at the motorcycle and ran her hand over the tank. “It’s just a waste to let it sit here and rust away.”

It was indeed a shame what was happening to the beautiful machine. “I tell you what. Tomorrow, we’ll pull it out