Fades The Light: The Prepper Reconstruction Read online

  Fades The Light

  Ron Foster

  USA

  © 2012 by Ron Foster

  ISBN-13:

  978-1479344420

  ISBN-10:

  1479344427

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Acknowledgements

  Heliatos Solar

  LowBuck and Cat

  The Real Day Preppers Show

  Cheryl Chamlies

  Sun2Fish by the Meeco Group

  Priority Medical Training

  Vulcan Gasfiers

  SUNRNR

  1

  The Light Recedes

  David sat on a rickety old wooden pier that stood out of the landscape high pretty much high and dry from access to the lake water that had receded from it years ago and watched the day crew of old men and women hauling themselves out onto the a old floating swim platform that had been roofed over and made more comfortable for them to fish from. It was the same weary thing every morning for the past 5 years or so to see the barely functioning elderly survivors make their way out on the lake by ever so slowly pulling on a rope line attached to a old pleasure boat from the shore to the fishing platform. It took them even longer to get themselves out of the boat and get set up with their fish poles after that exertion to their failing bodies.

  It had been a very hard existence and ten long years had passed since a solar geomagnetic storm had taken the electrical grid out and eight or more years since the aging survivor community had seen any gasoline at all to run a boat motor or anything else with a engine for that matter. The gaunt and physically stooped group was composed of the very eldest of the survivors and fishing like this was pretty much the only useful thing they could manage to do to contribute to their upkeep and the community’s survival. The poor souls didn’t usually catch many fish, or for that matter the norm was not even anything at all. But the thing is that they tried everyday anyway as a sort of tired old routine to keep the will to live and keep pushing on for another day. The lake levels were very low on the lake this season because besides the dam gates being frozen open there had been another drought this year.

  The submergible fishing light that used to have lain on the lake floor in front of David’s perch on the pier had long since been left high and dry and had been moved out slowly a few feet at a time over the years to the floating wood structure the old men and women occupied anchored further out in the channel. There were fish out there, but they were some damn smart fish and fish hook experienced by now and usually refused any kind of bait offered on a hook.

  David wasn’t any spring chicken himself at age 64 now, but he was doing better than most and he still got around pretty well and hadn’t had to stop running the animal trap lines or going back and forth in a sailboat to the lake sloughs to try his luck with a fishing trotline for a heap of catfish on a good day.

  His buddy big old Dump Truck had just turned 47 and David depended on him to do a lot of the harder physical work in the camp. Dump used to carry about an extra hundred pounds or so of fat on his big frame before the collapse happened, but now David figured he probably didn’t even have an ounce of body fat anymore as these lean times had taken their toll on all.

  Dump was supposed to meet him here this morning and wait on Boudreaux to bring Lowbuck and Goat Man over from the trading post in the big two mast sailboat that everyone in the community depended on to get around the lake on.

  At 70 years old Boudreaux was still the hard as nails Cajun rabble rouser he had always been, but David had noticed him wincing a lot in pain lately from arthritis when he handled the boats sail lines. Boudreaux claimed the ailment was from hauling on all the freezing wet fishing net lines that our little operation of winter survival required out on the frigid lake. He used to say “as soon as true summer hit again the “miseries” would bake out of his bones”.

  Poor Boudreaux had gone out early mornings several times a week and at windy dusk to cast a small makeshift net on the cold choppy lake from his “Bateau”.

  The word bateau (pl. bateaux) often is used as just a generic French term for "boat," in Cajun Louisiana it can refer specifically to a boat with a flat end and bottom, balanced so that a fisherman can stand upright to handle nets.

  Boudreaux, LowBuck, Goat Man, and David sort of acted as unofficial leaders and administrators for the few remaining survivors that still inhabited what they called “Our end of the lake”. The strategic perspective on how they were going to make it another season was why meeting was called for this particular day.

  As the days turned into months and the months turned into years, David had drawn others to himself; some of whom had were still here and had survived from the beginning of the catastrophe with him and others who’d had been not so lucky and had long since perished over time from age, disease and malnutrition.

  David narrowed his good eye as he saw some smoke rising from the picnic area in the park across the lake inlet. That would be from the young couple who had arrived a month ago most likely. They were his biggest problem at the moment and something that could hopefully be dealt with today.

  When people meet in these post apocalyptic days at the trading post or park, it's customary for everyone to stay together for a day or so, eat, exchange useless goods and useless news, and then part ways. There's never real news to report. This time it was different, these folks over at the landing had some real news and as usual it was all bad, but it was having a profound impact and influence on the few young people David had in his community.

  Like all young folks everywhere, they had their younger generations desire to see what was over the mountain or down in the valley and desperately wanted for a better place or a new beginning for themselves. David had had several little talks with the various generations in the past and had persuaded some to stay while others had gone off to seek their own path to fame and fortune or most likely death out in the big outside world.

  That new couple who had moved in , despite the bad news they brought with them, made it sound like some of the cities in the heartland of America that had been reconstructing under some government program were the place to be for any and all enterprising youth. They had real electricity, real food and other folks their age to interact with. That’s a huge draw for anyone but no facts about the places were really known or could be confirmed.

  Most of the younger adults on “Our end of the lake” could barely remember, or had not even ever seen modern conveniences before that actually worked so all this sounded like utopia to them.

  Blake and Marcy were the young couple’s names that had moved into the community. David had not expected them to stay any longer than the few wanderers that sometimes showed up on the crossroads, or got cast up on their shores somehow. These folks however were appearing to be setting up a semi permanent camp.

  So far, David interactions with them had been brief. He had told the couple that no one on his side of the lake has trusted anyone else enough to team up with them for a long time after several misadventures in the past with strangers. We're all on our own. I live out in the woods on the other side of this slough. If you choose to settle here, you won't be bothered by a welcome party coming over to bother you or your goods if you respect our hunting and fishing boundaries." He had said warningly.

  They didn't strike David as nice people, not that it matters he supposed as long as they observed the few rules the community had. Surviving the solar storms immediate infrastructure breakdown was a matter of chance and often times shear luck. Enduring the bitterness and loneliness and darkness that followed it took, well, hard won experience to keep on going. If he had to describe the bigger cities of
the world as it is now to someone from the “Before Times”, He would have to say just knock over or burn about half the structures in a town, cover it all with Kudzu, weeds and cats. (Incidentally, if there are enough cats in one area, they swarm. No one knew that before.) The packing up of dogs everyone was all too familiar with though.

  “Counting the newcomers that made three strangers he had seen all this year. These two young strangers reminded him a bit much of that crazy apocalyptic preacher who had tried to get some followers from the prepper lake community awhile back. Come to think of it, it was their constant outspoken Christian fundamentalist references that bothered him so much they expresses while equating the government civilian workforce camps to being a blessing. Like these places was heaven sent or something by the great god government. Everyone in this community knew how most of them FEMA camps were hell holes and the news of riots happening in them trickled through with some frequency.

  News of civilian labor force press gangs also kept the younger generation in the community closer to the boundaries of home and had them not wandering very far off unless it was on one of the few armed forays that necessity forced the community to venture out on.

  Several civilian Militias of different beliefs and stripes when they were not fighting with government forces also made it unsafe to venture very far from home. Everything starts to corrupt and die at some point. The same happened to humanity. The millions… maybe billions of people who are laying dead everywhere some said they were the lucky ones. David knew better, the majority of the dead had gone to their demise by slow painful starvation. Panic and violence had got the rest. Panic was the emotion that started filling the FEMA camps voluntarily in the beginning.

  Panic isn't a rush to find a way out of a situation. Panic is what you do when you find there ISN'T a way out.

  “Speaking of panic” David mused. The last time he and Dump had made a scavenging foray into a big city it had reminded him of a running battle seen in a Tarzan movie as his little band had beat feet as quick as they could away from what they thought might have become a cannibalistic community. Heavy loses had occurred on both sides and the area was now avoided at any cost.

  He remembered a dirty jumble of mangled cars and motorcycles filled the road as they came down the interstate exit ramp and that sight had been their first warning that something loathsome was particularly not all right about that end of town. Faded torn curtains and blinds blew in and out of the smashed-in windows of the buildings in the square of what used to be a decent section of downtown. The remains of a smoldering bonfire of tires and debris could be seen in the distance.

  “That smell, that God-awful smell was everywhere. You think eventually I would get used to it, but I just can’t. It smells like rotting garbage and meat left out in the sun for a few weeks too long.” David said thinking it was reminiscent of a battlefield stench he recognized from long ago.

  That’s what David told himself it was, the garbage that was never taken away, but deep down he knew the truth. It was rotting bodies that had been burned and charred by flames not very long ago he reminisced with a mental shudder.

  Dump walked up behind David’s house and startled him terribly as he stepped on to the pier causing David to fumble for his rifle quickly returning to reality.

  “Whoa there David, what’s got you so jumpy this morning?’ Dump Truck said as he walked down the creaking boards or the much patched pier.

  “Sorry Dumpie, I was just remembering that disastrous little foray we went on into the forbidden zone.” David said recovering from his fright and settling down as the hair on the back of his neck still tingled.

  “Damn thinking about that still makes me shudder, what’s worse was we had to leave the bodies of some good comrades there. Why did that particular incident come to your mind, it’s been what how many years now? You hear some news that got you thinking in that direction?” Dump asked warily.

  “No, I was just thinking about how some of these kids have never been more than 10 miles away from this community and what they might be facing if they decide to leave and try for the patrolled government reconstruction areas.’ David replied worriedly.

  “Well hopefully the government, the militias or some well armed citizens have mopped up most of the worse hot spots. I don’t know about you, but I ain’t going back anywhere near or around those areas to check on the safety of them roads now though. I thought we were going to be goners far to many times from going on them little forays in the past, so I just soon stay in my own little familiar backyard and muddle along like we have been.” Dump said sitting down on the dock and looking over at the floating fishing platforms occupants who appeared to be having some luck today.

  “I agree with you, thing is, there is hardly anything to trade for around here anymore and we need whatever we can get food wise from somewhere too. I am going to be hunting me some batteries again soon for the solar setups. Those batteries we got are pretty old and not charging the way they should. We got to increase our livestock some kind of way also. I don’t know how it is with you, but I am pretty dang lucky if I get to eat a chicken once week.” David said gloomily as he scanned the lake for any signs of a sail.

  “We could try doing a little river running again.” Dump suggested referring to three men sailing the rivers that lead into the lake and scanning the shores for signs of life. “It was a dangerous job but sometimes pretty productive when it came to bartering, that is if you could get someone to talk to you versus shoot at you. Those few folks who still remained on the river banks or lived in the nearest town were all very cautious, if not down right paranoid when it came to meeting with strangers. Hell some of those folks were downright feral themselves by now and you didn’t want to approach the mental ones at all or at any time.”

  "I'm considering organizing a little experiment regarding a possibly different way of doing some river running. I don't know if anything will ever come of it, but I think if we could get everyone on the river shores to come into town to hold sort of a meeting, then we might be able work something out. We will go out and get whoever it is we still know and communicate with to come by at say noon the week after next to meet in the park. There's a large playing field on the water side of that town. We'll all be arriving separately of course for the main event, but we could pick various rally points along the way to meet up at and then maybe position ourselves around the edge of the field and be far enough apart from whoever is showing up from the town side so that everyone feels safe. Then we'll all move forward until we're as close to each other as we can tolerate and get a little parlay going." David said trying to envision how that situation would work.

  "What's the point in all that?" Dump asked, evidencing he was not so sure about this harebrained idea of David’s.

  "Well we will be seeing each other everyday on the river going about business if we just run the river to spread the news. Get folks a bit more comfortable with us. Everyone that has survived so far is all just trying to make their own way and survive day to day life and shouldn’t be that hostile now I hope. This would be a time to for us to exchange names and stories. Maybe mention some problems we could use advice about. Maybe set up another meeting for later. Find out how to access those FEMA commissaries I hear come into the cities once in awhile with a military patrol." David offered as a possible consolation.

  “I haven’t heard of any food drops occurring this far south yet on the radio but there is a lot we don’t know about because of us being isolated so far out here. Takes a week just to get to town and if you don’t want to get press ganged for local labor you got to have three days worth of food on you to pass the guard post coming in. That wasn’t so bad when we had some horses and a wagon, but just using bicycles to transport ourselves let alone goods sucks. You can’t carry enough trade goods or food to make the trip worthwhile unless you are like Hoyt and just don’t give a damn if you’re coming or going.” Dump said referring to one of the enigmatic occasional residents of the
community who would come stay in a cabin for indeterminate amounts of time and then go off exploring or trading with hardly a word.

  For Hoyt`s part and inclinations, he traveled not to go anywhere, but just to go. Hoyt traveled for travel’s sake. The great affair for him was to move and search for other places until necessity or a whim drove him back to our end of the lake and he set up temporary housekeeping again before the next adventure called him.

  .

  Lake living and the solar storm had thrust him into poverty: famine, displacement, the deaths of his wife and his two sons made staying too long in the lake’s close-knit prepper community depressing for him as it highlighted his own miseries. His penchant for moving around did do the community a good service however, by occasionally providing them with some reliable outside news he would sometimes pick up along the way in his travels.

  “Too bad Hoyt isn’t around here at the moment. I have a job in mind for him. We could send him as sort of our emissary out on the river. The few folks I know anymore are only who ever still come by the trading post and half of them people I haven’t seen in months so they could be dead or moved on as far as I know.” David declared as he caught the first glimpse of a dirty white sail out on the lake.