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

the bunker for us. The boat was connected to it and one of the MRAPs sat idling behind it. It would be our escort and provide fire support should someone get a little frisky.

As we walked up, Sarge asked, “You put that chainsaw in the boat?”

“Yep,” I replied. “And a gallon of mixed gas and a spare chain.”

“Good. Let’s hope we don’t need it. But better to have it with us.”

“I agree. Let’s get this show on the road,” I said as Danny and I got in the truck.

We left the neighborhood and went south to forty-two. We were going to take it east until it connected with forty-four, then take that road to Crows Bluff and launch the boat there. We’d discussed putting the boat into Blackwater Creek, but Danny and I decided against it. Even during good times, that little waterway was very prone to being blocked by fallen trees and it could take forever to get out of there. There was far less chance of the river being blocked along its main channel, so we opted for Crows Bluff. Here, we’d put directly into the river proper and should have clear sailing.

The MRAP led the way with Jamie driving and Ian manning the thermal weapons sight mounted to the turret on top. He could sit in relative safety inside the truck and still offer fire support. Mike and Ted were there as well to drive the Hummer back. It felt strange to be driving down this road. I hadn’t been on it since getting back home, at least, not this section.

We were passing through Paisley and I wasn’t seeing any sign of life anywhere. Paisley was a small community in the best of times, and now it seemed deserted. It reminded me of the many trips I’d made down this very road on my way to the county transfer station, getting rid of trash and junk around the house.

I had to look at the little store, Paisley Discount Beverage, that I had often stopped at for a cold drink or maybe a can of Cope. It didn’t look so good now. The front doors were broken out and there was trash all over the small parking lot. Even the two old gas pumps out front had been torn open in someone’s determination to get some fuel. It reminded me of just how desperate people were….or are.

Leaving Paisley, there was nothing else to see for quite a while. Lake Kathryn was the next small neighborhood we’d come to. It was a small neighborhood of several dozen homes. It’s pretty far out and there isn’t really anything around it. I always found it to be an odd place. While it was out in the middle of nowhere, it was also a conventional neighborhood which would preclude you from doing many of the things that living in the sticks gives you the freedom to do. But to each, his own.

As we passed the houses that lined the side of forty-two, I looked for lights or any sign of life. There was none. No lights, no people seen anywhere. Just another place where people once lived and were now gone. And it made me wonder, as I often did seeing these little abandoned hamlets, where did they go? Where are these people now? How many bodies were lying in houses out there? All of these are just sadly the signs of the times now.

Aside from my ponderings on the whereabouts of the locals, there was no issue on our ride and before I knew it, we were turning onto forty-four. It was less than half a mile to the bridge over the river. A bridge we’d need to cross because the boat ramp was on the eastern shore. The bridge was an old drawbridge that I had rarely ever seen in action.

After crossing the bridge without incident, we pulled into the parking lot of the ramp. There were a couple of people there fishing from the seawall. They looked up very curiously at the sight of the two armored vehicles pulling up in front of them. They continued their pursuit of dinner as we got out to get the boat ready.

Sarge lined the truck up on the ramp and Danny and I got out and released the straps securing the boat to the trailer. I climbed in and prepped the boat as the old man backed it into the river. I’d checked the motor last night. It started right up then, and I expected it to now. I had been surprised when it did start last night. I figured after sitting for so many months, the battery would be dead. It made me think about what else Dave had going on over there if he had the ability to keep the battery charged on something he had no real use for.

As the boat floated from the trailer, I hit the starter and backed off. Having reverse on this motor was a huge plus. Many of these mud motors didn’t have it and that made it difficult at times to run the boat. I nosed the boat up to dock where Danny was waiting. He grabbed the bow and held it while the old man talked to the guys. When Sarge was done giving his final instructions, he grabbed his thermos and walked down the small dock.

Jamie and the guys stood on the ramp and waved as I backed the boat away from the ramp and turned it up river and opened the throttle. We settled down for the nearly twenty-mile trip down to Mom and Dad’s. Sarge sat in the front of the boat with his Minimi between his legs and a cup of coffee in his hand.

It was a great feeling being on the river, the wind rushing by, the smell of the water as it sprayed past. Seeing the birds and other wildlife was also a treat. Herons, egrets, coots and cormorants were easily spotted and seemed to be