WALL II The John Anders Experience

Wall II

The John Anders

Experience

Thomas G. Baker

WALL II

The John Anders Experience

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.

WALL II The John Anders Experience

Copyright © 2012 by Thomas G. Baker

ISBN 13: 978-1465895271

Smashwords ebook edition

License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

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Table of contents

Prologue

Chapter I The Collapse

Chapter II The Southern Sky’s

Chapter III The Raid

Chapter IV Trans Florida Air

Chapter V Logistic Air

Chapter VI Operation Cow Catcher

Chapter VII What Now?

Chapter VIII Lost and found

Chapter IX On the March

Chapter X The Third Degree

Chapter XI War and Peace

Chapter XII Pandora’s Box

Characters Wall II

Dedication

This book like the first in the series is dedicated to those few among us who diligently strive in their quest to unlock and understand the human experience and to chart the course of man not only in the past but also into future. They act as the canary in the coal mine, yet their voices are to often drown out by the herd of humanity as it thunders along headed toward the wall, the ultimate wall.

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Preface

The series title Wall derived from the natural barriers that constrain species and keep them in equilibrium. A species cannot advance or increase in number past a certain point or wall without further evolution or some favorable change in habitat.

Mankind has over his existence on earth managed to successfully break through many of these walls, and though we celebrate our achievements I think most of us acknowledge at least to ourselves that they haven’t come without cost. We are finding the walls ever higher and tougher and nature has begun to present us with the bills for the ones already breached unfortunately these will have to be paid by future generations.

Though humans are amazingly adoptive creatures in many respects it is becoming increasingly clear that we haven’t advanced to the point where we are capable of making the hard and long-term decisions so crucial to the survival of our species.

Wall is purely a work of fiction yet the time is rapidly approaching when we may be facing scenarios even less appealing.

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Introduction

John Thompson Anders and his family were third generation Kentucky dairy farmers though small by comparison to the large agribusiness dairy operations they managed to make a decent living producing high quality milk for select customers. That is until they found themselves caught up in the collapse of civilization and left to fend for themselves.

What follows is John’s experience. His is just one of the millions of experiences told by the survivors of the most tragic event in all of human history.

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Prologue

John opened his eyes; fumbled for the matches in the darkness and lit the candle on the nightstand. He glanced at the small wind up alarm clock it read four thirty-three. He knew it was fruitless to try and go back to sleep as he had been conditioned to rise at this hour for almost his entire life and it had by now become an ingrained habit.

He threw back the comforters and was immediately enveloped by the cold that permeated the room. He quickly dressed, and with the candle as a guide made his way down the dark, chilly hall to the relative warmth of the kitchen. He poked the embers in the old Warm Morning range, inserted some small pieces of dry ash and watched with a sense of satisfaction as they almost instantly burst into flame, he replaced the lid, prepared the coffee pot placed it on the stove and sat down at the table to wait.

Although John Thomson Anders was only forty-five the years of hard labor running a dairy farm had chiseled rugged features into his weather beaten yet hansom face so that he looked to be all of ten years older, this was deceptive for he retained the strength and stamina of a man half his age.

He sat at the table and watched the shadows the single candle painted dance on the kitchen walls. He mused maybe he was like a candle and those he loved were still part of him reduced to just a series of flickering waving shadows.

He poured a cup of coffee and blew on the contents to cool it enough to take a sip. Years ago Nancy had broken him from the country habit of saucering and blowing his coffee calling it uncouth.

John began dating Nancy in high-school, and had counted himself lucky as Nancy was one of the prettiest and most popular girls in his class. Luckier still for very rarely does one come upon their soul mate and fall in love so early in life. They shared a love that had endured four long years of separation while attending different universities. They had married shortly after graduation and for the last twenty-two years had loved and worked in harness raising three children and keeping their small dairy farm profitable even in times of recession and turmoil.

He sat at the table until the light of dawn rendered the candle unnecessary then as he did every morning walked to the back door and gazed out on the row of fresh graves in the old family cemetery at the far end of the garden. He fought back the urge to cry for all those he held dear were buried there, wife Nancy, both sons Fred and Andrew, Andrew's new wife Cary along with young daughter Becky. He would never forget carrying Becky's battered body, her once beautiful face etched with the agony she had suffered.

As so often occurred his sadness turned to anger directed toward the ones who had perpetrated the atrocities upon her and his family, of mankind in general for allowing such a situation to degenerate into the state where humans became worse than animals.

He walked out into the yard and surveyed the ruins of what had once been a tidy three hundred and fifty acre dairy farm. Both the milking parlor and the adjacent hay barn just ashes and piles of twisted tin only the large equipment shed remained, filled with useless machines.

He glanced at the dwindling wood pile that last fall had almost been the size of the house and how hard he, Fred, and Andrew had worked felling the trees, dragging them up, then splitting, and stacking the wood. In fact wherever he looked he was met by the memories of a way of life that no longer existed.

John's mind had remained numb all winter as he went through the motions of living like some autonomous robot. It was the last of March, in normal times they would be busy readying equipment for the coming season, but this year like last there would be no season.

No pastures to renovate, corn to plant, hay to roll, no bush hogging or fence rows to mend, no more cows and calves to tend, no more barns to clean or the wealth of other chores and problems faced by the average farmer. John Thompson Anders stood a small figure at the center of the desolation that encompassed not only his farm but the whole nation and the world in general. They had ridden out all the other storms yet nothing could have prepared them for the collapse of civilization.

Being farmers gave John and Nancy a different perspective on life. They were more sensitive and attuned to the world around them. It was essential to keep tabs on such things as milk prices, feed, fuel, taxes, and the myriad of things it took to keep a small dairy farm operating.

Though there had been tight spots over the years as the margin of profit continued shrinking, they had persevered winding up in the minority as their neighbors sold off their herds and went out of milking altogether. John had embraced green technology and organic farming early on and by bucking trends and milking only Jerseys and Gurneys instead of Holsteins had managed to cultivate a niche market.

Looking back it had begun two years ago when news began filtering in of droughts affecting many regions of the planet it seemed no continent was speared and not even the US was immune as Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas along with Nebraska became virtual dust bowls. It had been just the opposite in the Midwest where too much rain and wide spread flooding of fields prevented corn planting in Illinois, Iowa, Indiana, and Ohio it continued all spring and into the summer so not even soybeans could be planted. Weather had also been freaky in Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi hindering both planting and harvest. California agriculture was also suffering from an acute water shortage. Then came the outbreak of a super strain of wheat rust that devastated eighty percent of the crop worldwide. It had sent the commodity markets into a tailspin and that had been the turning point for John Anders

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Chapter I The Collapse

We sat watching the BBC World News as hordes of famine ravaged Africans desperately attempted to reach Europe and were turned away by force. This coupled with the deteriorating situation in the Middle East convinced me that things had begun to unravel.

I turned to Nancy and said, I think I'm going to take the boys and start cleaning out the old root cellar tomorrow. If things keep going down hill were likely be living out of it next winter. It might be a good idea to start stocking up on whatever it's going to take to feed this bunch over the next year or two.

She said, You really think it's going to come down to that?

I said, Honey I don't know but it doesn't look good. You know how fragile the economy is, a food shortage right now could be catastrophic. We're in a helluva lot better position then most, I think it would be a good idea to go ahead and get prepared anyway.

We worked like beavers cleaning out the old root cellar. It was ideally located on the hill next to the ruins of the original homestead and well hidden from prying eyes by a grove of black Locusts. We began filling it with enough supplies to last us for a year or more making sure to stock extra those things we couldn't raise ourselves.

Nancy, Cary, and Becky worked all summer canning, while we renovated and added on to the old smoke house for we intended to butcher our own hogs around Thanksgiving. Along with the usual farm chores in our spare time we cut firewood. The pile approached the height of the house and Andrew complained, Christ dad there's enough wood here to run the fireplace for ten years, we really need this much?

I said, You won't think it's that much when you see how fast we go through it, besides I'm not taking any chances. I think there's gonna to be an acute fuel shortage pretty soon and I'm sure you don't wanna be out trudging in the snow with a cross cut saw and ax cutting all day then dragging logs back to the house. Let’s keep on going we damn near got enough.

Nancy wasn't thrilled when I came home with an antique wood cook stove in the back of the pickup. It had been in the old Mitchell house down the road and though it hadn't been used in thirty plus years remained in great shape even the hot water reservoir was nigh perfect. After much cleaning and a coat of stove black it was wrestled into the kitchen by a couple of neighbors along with the five of us and the cast iron monster stood next to the modern electric range. Nancy hands on her hips said, I'm not using that damned antique unless I absolutely have to.

I was worried about the herd I had a barn full of bales and plenty of rolls along the fencerows to see us through the winter and there was enough corn and soybeans to grind feed at least until June. I kept the bulk fuel tanks both gasoline and diesel topped off. My supplier helped all he could though rationing had been in place for months and he told me to expect a complete cut off at any time.

I wasn't sure why fuel was so stringently rationed until the attack on Israel, and then it was if a dam had burst plunging the Middle East into war. It escalated into the greatest catastrophe in human history with nuclear attacks on Tehran and other gulf cities followed by conflict between India and Pakistan and as the flames were fanned by religious zeal and famine it grew into an inferno that quickly grew to engulf much of the world.

We had been right to prepare and found ourselves on our own along our neighbor and friend Arnold Pike. We felt sure that we would be able to ride out the storm. Electrical service became unreliable and we were back to milking thirty head by hand. Milk pickup became sporadic so we began separating the cream and throwing away the bulk milk. Nancy quickly befriended the trusty old wood stove and the kids were thankful for the large woodpile outside the back door.

Autumn came and the Army swept through the countryside confiscating all livestock. They arrived at the house one morning and loaded up my entire dairy herd along with Nancy and Becky's horses. They even took the hogs and chickens we were raising for ourselves. It made no sense why they were so short sighted as to slaughter cows that could provide milk to feed starving children.

I begged them to leave the bull and a pair of unrelated Jersey heifers so we still had the seeds of a herd. But they loaded everything except for a couple of head they missed that always seemed to hang by themselves in the woods at the back of the farm. Both were still fresh so a least we would have milk for ourselves. We could have evacuated with the army but decided to stay.

Our neighbors weren't as fortunate, and all were forced by hunger to leave with the army headed to camps somewhere in Alabama or Georgia. With all but our neighbor Arnold gone we were left to our own devises with only two cows to milk.

We were making it and had put away just enough to get us by and our farm became an oasis surrounded by death and desolation. As I said all things considered we believed ourselves to be in a good position to ride out the storm that is until right before the holidays.

Arnold and I decided since it was almost Christmas we'd take a ride and visit another friend who had also decided to stay to see how he was faring. Arnold had the idea that we could set up Marine VHF radios and keep in contact with one another. Nancy and Becky had sent along a couple of apple pies as a Christmas present. Just to be on the safe side we'd take the back roads like we had a couple of months before.

Both of us were armed, Arnold brought his 12 gauge shotgun and I had a 45 colt automatic in a holster lying in the seat.

We were approaching the cross roads by the old Haggy place when I noticed a string of pickups stopped in the road about a quarter mile ahead. They begin moving toward us. Arnold said, This doesn't look good maybe we ought to get the hell out of here.

I was just about to take off when suddenly we were caught in a hail of gunfire the windshield shattered and Arnold slumped forward. I could see that part of his skull had been shot away. Another bullet grazed my shoulder I stepped on the gas but the engine died. I grabbed the pistol dived out over the bank and rolled down the hill until the bushes along the creek bank stopped me. I got up and started running down the creek bed.

I had hunted this part of the county and knew there were thick woods just ahead. I heard a shot and a bullet clipped off a small branch a couple of feet above me. I was thinking who in the hells doing this we had driven right into an ambush but for what purpose?

I reached the safety of the woods even in winter there was enough vegetation to provide cover. I was thankful that I was wearing my old brown coveralls for they blended in making me all but invisible in the thick buck bushes. No one pursued me, I crouched aware of the burning from the round that had grazed my shoulder.

I could hear people shouting and in about fifteen minutes several vehicles started and drove off in the direction from which we had come. It was then that I began to worry about Nancy and the clan. I started cautiously making my way back toward the truck I crawled up the bank keeping a low profile raised my head for a look. The pickup was still where I had abandoned it the hood and both doors were open. My eyes were just above the level of the berm. Looking under the truck I could see Arnold's body lying in the roadway.

I waited listening to make sure there wasn't anyone hanging around then made my way to the truck. The battery was gone there was the smell of gas and a stain on the asphalt indicated the gas tank had been holed and drained. I was almost five miles from the house and all I could do was start walking but first I moved Arnold to the side of the road. I would come back and bury him later but for now I felt the urgent need to get home.

I walked down the road wary that at any minute I could again become a target and searched the fencerows and buildings for any movement.

Even walking at a fast pace it would be after dark before I reached the house. I tried to figure out what had happened but could make absolutely no sense of it except that whoever they were had been efficient. They had drained the twenty-gallon tank in less than fifteen minutes and had used cutters on the battery cables. I had heard rumors that there were thugs roaming the countryside stealing fuel and food but that had been sometime ago. I couldn't believe it could happen now especially this far out in the sticks, none the less I stepped up my pace even more.

Darkness approached I had a little less than a mile to go when I noticed a glow over the ridge. A jolt of adrenalin surged through me for I knew that it could only be coming from the farm. I heard a couple of shots and started running not slowing until I reached the brow of the ridge overlooking the house and barns.

It was too late there were around two-dozen men loading up into pickups and pulling out of the yard onto the main road. The hay barn along with the milking parlor were burning fiercely lighting up the evening sky. I could make out from the light of the fires at least four bodies laying in the barnyard, I felt helpless as I waited until the last truck vanished then rushed down the hill to the scene of carnage.

The first three bodies I came to were strangers the forth was that of my youngest son Fred he had been shot a least three times. There were two more strangers then I found Andrew who had been shot in the chest, not far away was his pregnant wife Cary, a wound in her neck. She had been partially stripped her jeans and panties hung on one ankle but apparently she had died before they could molest her.

I ran to the house almost in the front door was my Nancy laying on her stomach head turned and unseeing eyes staring at me as if to ask, John where were you? I felt for a pulse but knew by the exit wound in her back it was hopeless. I was frantic as I rushed into the dark house hollering for Becky.

I found a candle lit it then ran to her bedroom the dim light illuminated the scene. Lying across the bed was my precious girl child of barely seventeen, naked, mutilated her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling and face expressing all the terror of her last moments of life. From the marks around her throat it was evident she had been strangled. Two of her fingernails were all but torn off indicating she had put up a violent struggle.

A wave of Nausea overcame me. I rushed from the house and fell to my knees vomiting. My entire world that had taken generations to create had in an instant been destroyed.

The next day with numb mind I dug graves in the frozen ground and laid my loved ones to rest. First Becky dressed in her prom gown, next Andrew and Cary then Fred. I placed Nancy in the center and left a place for myself beside her. I had gone back for Arnold and placed him alongside the rest. I stood over the graves searching for something appropriate to say but words eluded me. In the end I left it up to my tears, for they expressed an elegance words could not.

Andrew, Fred, and Cary had put up a heroic fight we had an ample supply of weapons that were kept in the office beside the barn. They had been able to reach them and had dispatched six of the attackers and I was sure had wounded several others before they were overrun. This stiff resistance probably accounted for the fact that the marauders had pulled out with virtually nothing more than forty gallons of gasoline and a couple of grocery bags of food.

I couldn't bring myself to bury the scum that had killed my family so I tied their legs together and dragged the pile of them off my property and left them to rot.

I had spent my entire life surrounded by loving family and friends, and kept to the same routine for decades. I was now utterly alone grieving for my loved ones. It wrought within me mental changes I dared not confront least I should go mad. Instead to maintain my sanity I descended and remained in a daze all winter.

March was almost at an end and around me nature had once again began her annual rebirth with a touch of green and a dandelion braving the last cold gusts that rustled the leaves piled up against the yard fence. A robin perched in a water maple sang the song of spring, and it was answered by his mate.

Like the waning of winter the fog that had shrouded my brain began to lift and slowly the realization came over me that life, as I had known it was never to be again. Gone was my family along with the farm and my livelihood. I could never pick up the pieces and start for there were no pieces left nor had I the will or want to do so. Maybe one day when I had time to heal I would return but for now all I wanted was to leave this accursed place.

Where was I to go? Somewhere south where the winters would be kinder on a broken man, I had been working on an idea it seemed foolhardy but in my present state was just what I needed. My plan was simple head to Florida. Why Florida, it was supposed to be warm, there was good fishing and it was about as far from Kentucky as I could get.

How I was going to make the trip was the only remaining question. Fred's almost new Chevy pickup was the only diesel left the raiders had missed it. They had also missed the almost five hundred gallons of diesel and three hundred gallons of gasoline hidden in the barn on the backside of the farm that had been reserved for spring planting.

It would be the easiest way to go. Load up the fuel and take off. Yet from what Arnold and I had encountered within ten miles of home making the seven hundred mile trip safely would be improbable. No telling who or what would be laying in wait. I was pretty damn sure a pickup with hundreds gallons of diesel in the bed would make a tempting target.

No I intended to bypass anyone left on the ground and fly to Florida, besides it would allow me to see the country and I could get an idea of how it had fared.

The next morning I drove over to the hanger Arnold, dad and I had built that housed the 180 Cessna we owned in partnership. Arnold had been a retired aircraft mechanic and lovingly kept up the maintenance on the airplane. We had virtually restored the Cessna and done a major on the Continental so it could better live on auto gas. I had put a little less than a hundred hours on it and had encountered no problems.

Range would be the deal breaker the Cessna could make it non-stop but there wouldn't be much if any reserve and it was a fore gone conclusion there would no gas available when I arrived. It would necessitate taking enough to fill up at the end of the trip, which meant carrying it in the cabin. I wasn't in such a desperate state of mind as to relish sitting in a flying bomb. I knew there were bladder tanks specifically designed for ferrying aircraft but had no way to come by one.

I went searching for suitable tanks and right off the bat I came across a poly tank in an old runabout parked under a shed down the road. It was of the right size and held twenty-two gallons. If I removed the right yoke it would set in place of the right seat.

It took two more days before I found a 30-gallon poly water tank with the right dimensions to fit behind the front seat and still leave enough room to store the seat in the baggage compartment.

I set about arranging and strapping them in. I made sure to loop the vent hoses install a siphon break and run them out underneath the aircraft.

Weight wouldn't be a problem the old Cessna would get airborne with damn near anything you could stuff in it and still close the doors. That left me only to work out the CG (center of gravity). In the end the way the tanks were situated conformed to about four average adults. I would be fine as long as the right was last to empty.

While I had wrestled with the problems of the tanks an idea struck me. The Cessna had full tanks, and there was over two hundred gallons left in bulk. Why not make a trip south close to half the range of the Cessna, drop off fifty gallons. That way when I was ready I could leave and fly to the stash fill up and still have half tanks and fifty gallons left when I reached Florida. In the end I abandoned the idea as just too much flying for not much gain. If I left with a full load made a stop to check and maybe topped off somewhere south of Atlanta it would still give me an ample reserve when I reached Florida.

Next I had to select a destination. Major cities had turned into graveyards. Small towns would be better so I decided to try one I knew on the St. Johns River named Astor.

Dad and I had gone fishing there a few years before he died. We had flown dads Cessna one eighty two into a small grass strip in Pierson and had stayed in Astor for a week of Bass fishing with a local guide.

Nancy, Becky, Fred, and I had flown into Deland and rented a houseboat for our seventeenth wedding anniversary and spent the week at the popular Silver Glen Springs. The water was crystal clear and stayed about seventy two degrees year round. Nancy and I had talked about maybe buying a houseboat there when we retired and Andrew and Fred were running the farm.

Astor would be my first stop and hoped I would find friendly natives, as I would bring only the essentials like a toothbrush, change of underwear, along with enough food to keep me going for a week or so. After that I would have to live off the land.

Navigation would be tricky all the modern aids to navigation were gone no GPS, VOR, ADF and even NDB so it was going to be back to using landmarks. I poured over the old Sectionals we had used on our previous trips carefully picking out and marking landmarks along both sides of my intended route and jotting down additional notes in a spiral binder.

It would be necessary to keep track of where I was and to use Dad's old E6B flight computer to calculate wind, heading, and track and to monitor fuel consumption. A major concern was encountering a stiff head wind as would affect my range. Weather was another factor without any forecasts I would be at the mercy of Mother Nature. Even back in the late eighteen hundreds you could telegraph Atlanta and ask what the weather was doing. Now I would have absolutely no idea of what lay ahead.

It took almost two weeks before I felt comfortable that all the variables had been covered. I had come up with three small airports to use as a refueling stop.

I would have preferred grass strips but by now they would all be overgrown and though the Cessna was rugged it wasn't going to be able to cope with three-foot weeds and bushes so I was going to be restricted to paved runways. The more I thought about it maybe I'd be better off stopping at a major airport where I could sit down on an eleven thousand foot runway