Shadows Of Sanity And Survival (Old Preppers Die Hard Book 3)

  Shadows Of Sanity And Survival

  Ron Foster

  Alabama, USA

  © 2015 by Ron Foster

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:

  978-1522729860

  ISBN-10:

  152272986

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Acknowledgements

  SILKY SAWS

  SILVER FIRE STOVES

  SILVER STAG KNIVES

  TNW FIREARMS

  1

  THE ACQUISTION

  Circumstances will determine what I term the survival value of humankind’s moral compass. Being highly moral in an immoral environment will almost certainly be detrimental to ones survival and vice versa.

  Al-Rodan, Nayef

  “I really do wish that old Dump Truck would hurry his big biker butt up and get here already. That dang fool is already a half hour late now but that’s par for the course with him. He is always late. Bet he will be late to his own dang funeral too!” Farley fumed eying the road anxiously.

  “Bad enough if somebody always had the bad manners to be late in the modern world, but causing me to be worrying myself about him and the cause of his delay and any possible consequences of him not being on time in this grim grid down world are going to get him a talking too” Farley groused.

  “I should go off and leave here for a bit to try to teach him a lesson about being punctual with me, but hey! There is no way I am going to fuss about his constant tardiness today, no Dumpie you get yourself a reprieve today. Now was not the time to mess with him because he finally has managed to get that gun safe of his deceased boss open finally.” Farley mused to himself with a quarter smile while watching and listening impatiently for his frustrating friend to arrive.

  He didn’t know what kind of rifle he would end up getting today but it would be some kind of modern battle rifle he was relatively sure. He liked the hell out of his 12 gauge shotgun set up but for a long hike in the woods it just wore him down too much with its heavy ammo basic load. Farley swore toting that thing around all day made him think of transporting a piece of steel beam. Dump had left word for him at what they called their mailbox a couple days ago to say that he had some guns to trade, but he hadn’t said anything else as to what kind or listed any prices.

  From what little bit Farley knew about Dumps former bosses taste in weapons, he was pretty sure that an AR 15 or an AK rifle variant would be available, but he didn’t know which and how proud of the price of such a luxury old Dumpie would be. He didn’t have a whole lot of trade goods he thought the man might be interested in but he also knew that they would be able to work out a deal somehow.

  The two men had formed themselves a tight bond with each other over the last months mostly based on their mutual love of alcohol and the force of circumstances.

  They had grown to depend on each other quite a bit as well as developed some sort of deeper friendship that had a lot of moral meaning to one another. Oh, he would trade Dump something or they would put it on the growing list of favors and goods owed to one another that was steadily building up on the ledgers between them covering both sides of their easy going credit or friendship favor policies he was sure.

  He kind of hoped that Truck would be bringing along an AK rifle and hope against hope, that is if he was extremely lucky, there would be a spam can of ammo to go along with it.

  This was a rough life and rough conditions that he and everyone else was living under and after much soul searching about what particular kind of rifle he might prefer, he had decided for himself on the AK over the AR platform because of its legendary reliability in hard and harsh conditions.

  His own stint of military duty service gave him lots of familiarity with the AR platform rifles and the inherent accuracies of such a weapon. So at first the answer to the question of what rifle to choose if given a choice was a no brainer. Shoot whatever it is you’re accurate and good with. That was the weapon he had the most practice with.

  Charlie had surprised him though when they were talking arms and ammunition the other day and had put in his vote in for an AK if Farley could finagle getting another rifle during this trade.

  At first Farley thought Charlie was influenced by his experiences in Vietnam with the early versions of the M-16 which became jam-o-matics for a variety of reasons in their development before they got it right but that wasn’t it. Charlie said he had seen all the tests on the U.S. battle weapon under all kinds of conditions and said in his wisdom that there was one condition they hadn’t taken into account.

  He looked shrewdly and smugly over at Farley puzzling over what in the world that might be and Charlie advised him “Let them go try to beat someone to death with their battle rifle of choice and then do the tests; I have no doubt the AK would win.”

  Well Farley couldn’t but agree with that analogy regardless how tough an AR actually was and that an AK was a much better hunting round for large game could not be denied. Still in all, if it hadn’t of been for the concept of being able to share the same caliber ammo together he would have leaned towards the AR platform and stuck to his first choice. He needed for himself a light fast handling carbine and one he could carry a lot of ammo for.

  He had been lucky so far in the minor misunderstandings or skirmishes that he had almost gotten into and had only to hide himself versus haul ass and his chances of staying that lucky were slim.

  Running any kind of distance with that shotgun of his with a small amount of heavy ammo weighing him down while somebody was popping off at him with a high powered rifle was not something he thought he had much chance of surviving.

  The shotgun had its uses and they were many and varied, but with all the possible range wars and folks toting rifles that far exceeded his range and ammunition count he longed for something better as his everyday carry.

  Thinking of retiring his beloved scatter gun back to a more appropriate role as a mainstay weapon of home defense or as a squad support weapon made more sense to him under current conditions. He would miss however having the capability that the big boomer had though of making anyone duck or go down dead in the dirt trying to ambush or surprise him.

  Farley changed what he carried loaded in the gun rarely, but he did give lots of thought to what to put into the sidesaddle shell holders at different times. That was the cool thing about shotguns because there is a round for most any kind of circumstances or game one encounters or hunts for. His basic load for his brush gun was combinations of wisdom, availability of shells and ultimately the purpose he had in mind for expected and unexpected circumstances.

  He had been lucky enough so far to find or trade for a variety of shotgun shell loads. Not everything that he would have liked to have had on hand or for that matter the specific brands he may have wanted, but certainly he had more shells than he could carry or find any fault in uses for.

  His basic setup for loading order was something he taught to his fellow survivors. The first shell you load in the shotgun for defensive purposes made sense to him to be a slug. This would be the last round to go off and this shell was your indicator that the magazine was now empty. If you were shooting rapidly and going bang, bang, bang etc. and then BOOM, the added sound and recoil from the slug would tell you that you needed to reload. Keeps you from going click click!

  Farley liked to carry in his shotgun a 3 inch Remington express shell with 41 pellets of no 4 buckshot as the first round out and down the barrel. Mostly his logic was because of the area it could cover and the devastation it could produce at a reasonable distance should he confront a person shooting
at him through a window as he approached a house for a look see or someone tried to bushwhack him in the heavy cover of the woods.

  A hail of 25 caliber lead balls whizzing through the leaves and cutting twigs and branches off all around and falling on your head would definitely spoil your aim even if he missed and the big plus was it gave him time to seek some cover.

  The rest of his tubular magazine on his weapon was normally filled with standard 2 ¾ inch buckshot for distance and penetration at reduced recoil over a 3 inch.

  While Farley sat against the aged old bark of what he called the meeting oak tree while waiting on Dump, he let his mind wander over the state of affairs that he found himself in and grew somber.

  He pondered on the current conditions where everything you wore or carried said what kind of man you were and the state of your chances of survival. You don’t need “Stuff” to survive; you need knowledge, but every bit of functional gear you have on hand and know how to use certainly helps. He didn’t need any high tech crap to assist him, he needed more low tech and practical knowledge to repair and repurpose and reinvent things from basic household items.

  That he could always continue to survive and provide for himself and others just by trying to trade a little, farm a bit and trap a hell of lot wasn’t working out to be that great of a viable option anymore and this caused him some deep regrets.

  As screwed up and difficult as this backwoods lifestyle was to accomplish and practice on a good day with access to modern goods, it was 10 times harder to perform in a SHTF situation continuously and that fact began to vex him.

  There was no time for learning curves, no answers to look up on the internet or neighbors to ask, no stores to get stuff from if he ran out a staple or found him just needing a simple something or a bit of instruction or clarification on a project.

  It always seemed to him lately that just as he got the hang of it and got good at something producing predictable results, a series of calamities always seemed to occur to put him back in the mode of just barely living one day to the next.

  Far too many days had passed of outright ill luck plaguing them or slowly starving from lack of game of no snares, traps or fish catches, hard to deal with and kill organically voracious bugs in the garden, plant diseases and crop failures as well as hostilities complicating the survivors with occasional bouts of malnutrition, age and health were wearing them all down fast.

  He couldn’t keep up this pace anymore and needed to do a rethink on how in the hell he was going to come up with a new plan. What exactly that was he wasn’t sure. That he could keep following the same path was not an option. There is nothing idyllic about just surviving and never having any surpluses of food or anything else. Changing hunting grounds or fishing spots could be dangerous so that wasn’t the answer, he soon found himself sulking a bit thinking in his attempt try to formulate some new answers.

  The tribe’s first garden was somewhat of a fiasco because the soil they had planted in seemed to be constantly working against them. It wouldn’t hold water (particularly because a drought was going on and most water had to be laboriously hauled by hand), it also lacked a lot of basic essential nutrients to grow any kind of decent sized vegetables and the over stressed plants seemed to ring the dinner bell for some of the oddest insects that he had ever seen.

  Next year’s crop he assured everyone would be better because they would have time to amend the soil this winter but that still wasn’t any guarantee the weather would cooperate and they now had a seed shortage to contend with in comparison to what they had planted this year. Trying to save seeds hadn’t gone well but they learned a lot.

  The bait store that he used to like to trade at regularly had gotten robbed a time or two and the road going to and from it was fraught with danger. The reference book he had brought with him called “Bug Out Gardening” had stressed the importance of adding Epsom salts to his homemade fertilizer mixtures that he tried to contrive, but it did not state how very hard some of those items are to find in a post apocalyptic world unless you had already purchased and prepped them.

  He had not have much in his supplies even though he had always meant to get around to it, he also had problems finding straight household ammonia but baking soda for now was readily scroungeable to help him make some homemade miracle grow of sorts.

  Wearing the same boots in all kinds of weather everyday with usually too often dirty cotton socks also took its toll on him and others and finding wool socks versus cotton was troublesome. Things people took for granted in the before times now seemed like unattainable treasures that took at least strength, stealth and a good deal of luck to obtain.

  The littlest things like a cheap thimble to help sew leather or fix a nylon pack strap with were now un-producible and unattainable by the members of the tribe and according to Farley’s foraging endeavors, it seemed that no one ever thought about storing such a badly needed and wanted item in a vacation cabin on the lake.

  Odd things that you never thought you would need a lot of, or that you would run out of quickly like cooking oil or flour if frying fish and other foods soon became apparent and a highly valued item. To replace such items was to risk death, disease and further despair in an uncaring land of just what bits are left for the survivors to fight over. You learned to make do, to season and cook foods different or just to do without any kind of condiments and slap it on the fire.

  Being from a modern society used to its mundane luxuries and excesses made it all the worst to have to do without or miserly conserve, The body’s demands for sugar, fats, and oils as starvation or improper diet took it’s toll with unwanted thoughts of treats like fresh milk, cheeses, candy and a multitude of other things was quite bothersome to the psyche.

  “There is that squirrelly goomer!” Farley announced to himself as he spotted a truck in the distance and rose up to go great his obtuse friend.

  That Dump was driving his truck today versus his Harley motorcycle was a good thing Farley reckoned.

  “That meant he had quantity and choices with him!” Farley said to himself gleefully while momentarily forgetting all about how mad he was at Dump for being late again and worrying him so much.

  Farley waved at him good naturedly as he pulled off the road and was rewarded with a big grin and a meaty handshake as Dump exited the vehicle and announced Farley was basically going to get first pick of the bounty of arms he had found in the safe sans the Smith and Wesson MP14 he was now sporting.

  “Ready? Set? Hold on to your shorts and behold the bounty!” Dump announced and motioned Farley towards his front passenger seat as well as its floorboard that was covered with a blanket.

  “You want to do the honors or do you want me to fall for whatever prank you got hid under that blanket?’ Farley said looking at the blanket speculatively for any kind of movement or clue as to what it was hiding.

  “Ah hell, this isn’t any time for you to start playing chicken buddy! I am not trying to prank you, I promise. That’s nothing but guns under there. Have you a look Farley! You are going to be amazed.” Dump said and Farley did.

  “Holy hell! You won the big door prize didn’t you ol Dumpy?! Wow! This is Fantastic!” Farley said looking in amazement at a pile of weaponry that included various gun cases, scoped rifles, a couple shotguns and a few plastic manufacturer boxes of what he knew contained various pistols.

  “Yea I did! Happy days are here my friend and welcome to the Dump’s duly delivered emporium of dastardly devices and weaponry. I got some kind of ammo for most of them firearms and I might add in not too bad quantity either. I got most of it stowed in the back of the truck.” Truck said as Farley continued to stare dumbfounded at so much of what now was allegedly top notch attainable firepower if he could come up with the cash or trade goods to make a purchase.

  “Get your tongue back in your mouth and close your jaw Farley you’re drooling on the merchandise! It’s all there and it’s all for real. Never figured myself as a traveling arms dealer but I g
uess I am one now!” Dump guffawed and slapped Farley a bit too exuberantly on the back causing him to splutter and fuss at him about not knowing his own strength,

  “Well dive in Farley and dig around! I hope you brought a strong box full of money and trade goods because the Dumps Guns-R-Us store is now officially open for business.” Truck said with a smile.

  “Look here Dumpie; I don’t have all that much in the way of stuff you might want. That robbery over at Barnett’s hurt me too, by the way.” Farley said referring to Mr. Barnett’s way of pay for it now and get your goods later as well as what he had lost in consignment goods he had left there for others to purchase. How much are you asking for say this AK? “Farley said digging out what looked like a cold war era military communist issue plain Jane communist wooden stock one out of the bedazzling pile of hardware.

  “I thought you would never ever get around to asking me for some prices for these fine pieces! Now if you will just step around back here to my office, I will show you my current price catalog.” Dump said, escorting Farley back to the pickup trucks’ bed and reaching down for a piece of 2x4 lumber he had affixed cardboard sheets to with crudely drawn with crayons silhouettes of weapons on kind of like a flip board and stuck it in one of the trucks staking slots to continue the banter.