Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Busy

Its been almost a week, but its been really busy around here. Since the Nelson's died either Jack or I have had to make the three mile one way walk over to their yard to look in on the grain, and work on the clean up and salvage of whats left. Jack didn't want to send me, but after the second day he was so exaughsted he didn't have a choice. He'd met with the other farms, but they're all 'overcapacity' and since we have an extra set of hands, figured we should beable to handle it. Jack figures they're not thinking ahead enough - but if we can get through this year, then move the production to our own land - of which there is plenty - we should be ok.

Annabelle is still settling in, but she's a good worker, and has taken over about half of my normal morning workload so we can continue to work on the salvage. So far we've brought back two carts, a colt that walked into the yard, a few hundred pounds of feed, and seed, some preserves, and a box of what Jack called 'a happy little surprise.'

Which probably means he found something that blows up.

The Nelson's also had a battery system in place, which they charged with a hand crank. Talk about work - but I suppose it works rain, or shine. Jack wants me to see if I can haul most of the batterys home tomorrow as its my day to head over there. Today he burned horse carcasses so I'm sure its going to smell just wonderful. After the batterys, it'll just be deciding what to do with the remains of the house - which is a little shot up. Jack seems to be at a crossroads with that. He'd like to tear to place down for building material, seeing as we have a couple horses that need shelter and our own little animal shelter is woefully small for them.

But on the flip side, if a family comes through thats able to work the land, having a place for them to live would be good.

In the end though, it'll be up to him. I'm sure he'll throw my back into the labor though.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

And work goes on

Well, it quit raining today, so we've gotten back to work. Jack disappeared this morning, obstensively to make the rounds to the neighbors and deal with the remaining bandit corpses I suppose.

Annabelle helped me move the goats over to fresh grazing land and she milked Steaksupper. Way better at it then me. This afternoon we have to get to weeding the garden. I'm keeping my rifle close at hand - but no one's ever shown Annabelle how to shoot - I'm jusre Jack will see to that soon enough if she stays around.

She doesn't talk much just yet - not that I blame her, considering what she's survived.

I guess we've inherited a horse and cart. Gonna have to figure out how to squeeze the horse into the animal shelter, and what we'll do with the cart when we aren't using it.

And it appears there are other people out there. To Rose... Jack isn't really my uncle. Not by blood anyway. Long story and I might tell it some day - but he was a friend of my family before my parents died. Zombie got them. I don't really remember much, and don't like talking about it. At this point, I'll settle for being alive. Better then being one of the other two options, anyway.

It sounds to me, not that I have much experience in the matter like your being shaken down by a thug, or gang of thugs. If you can't fight back your only real option there is to perserver. But at least if it were me, I'd strongly consider shooting the bastard, and his friends. No one should have to live under someone elses heel, even in the days like today.

Out here you don't meet many who are adverse to such anymore - but it does happen. Typically they don't survive long. Someone comes at you wanting to take what you earned the hard way - you can't talk them out, or just let them take. You gotta show them whats yours is yours. Ain't fun. I know that now - but sometimes you gotta do it.

Tonight I gotta start tearing down them rifles. Look like AK knockoffs. Dunno what we're gonna do with them, but it'll be a good project.

More tomorrow if the sun stays out today.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Annabelle

We went over to the Nelson's yesterday... it wasn't a good trip. Jack had given me a mild talking to after we had finished burying the bodys of the bandits in the section of the garden plot we're resting this year about wasting ammunition.

It wasn't angry, just a gentle prod. It was my first time under fire and I'd be lying it I hoped it wasn't my last. In the space of less then four minutes I went through ninety rounds of .223, and I don't even remember reloading.

Jack considered leaving me behind when heading to the Nelson's but I wouldn't let him. So we headed out fairly early yesterday morning, both of us humping a light pack and a rifle. Jack was carrying one of his prized pistols too. I don't know what he was expecting to find, but we were as prepared as we could be without hauling the farm with us when we went.

About two miles down the road we found the 'technical' from the day before. Five dead guys inside - apparently they hadn't done such a great job of uparmouring their truck, and between the two of us, we'd mortally wounded most of them while they tried to escape. That left four unaccounted for.

Jack salvaged the machinegun - and then made me carry it - damn things are HEAVY. He said it'd build character or some crap. I got the feeling we'd be dealing with the body's later. We kept walking though, and ended up at the Nelson's about an hour later.

I've seen some pretty horrific things in the history Jack likes to teach - at least I thought they were bad.

What happened at the Nelson's place was worse. Taylor and Gretchen were quite dead, bodies mutilated. It was clear they'd put up a fight, and lost. Part of thier animal shelter/barn had burned down (they'd used wood in the construction, ours is mostly metal)

For all that it was clear they'd not gone out alone. Five more bandit bodies lay where they probably fell. Their store room had been gone through, anythig the bandits didn't take they smashed, slashed or burned.

While we were sorting through what was left, in the back of their cellar, Jack heard something. It took us a few minutes, but we finally found a trap door that led down even deeper into what had obviously been the Nelson's own little armoury and emergency stash. Huddled in the corner was a blonde girl I'd never seen before. Her clothes were torn and she was obviously frightened of us.

Of everything I'd seen, that was the worst. We'd come to help, and she was afraid of us.

It took a couple hours of coaxing, but she eventually came out of the corner. When she did, she hit Jack so hard and latched on that I almost thought she was attacking him. She wasn't. She was crying again.

Jack sent me out to go see if I could find one of the Nelson's horses. I found two of them dead in their back pasture before I finally tracked down a survivor that was limping around so bad I was afriad I was going to have to shoot it. But after coaxing it over with some feed I'd found in a corner of the animal shelter that hadn't burned, I realized it hadn't been shot, just gotten a rather large stone stuck in its shoe. With a little work I got it clear and led the animal back towards the yard. As it got close it bucked in fear - probably from the smells of death, and I left it tied up to a tree near the yard. By the time I got back, Jack had gotten the girl out into the yard, and she'd appeared to have gained some semblance of composure, though there were still tears running down her face.

He introduced us, apparently Annabelle was a hired hand the Nelson's had brought on last year after she'd run from an arranged marriage in Bottineau. She muttered something about dirty fascists at that point, which cause me off guard, I didn't know Bottineau was run by Nazis. Before I could ask what that was about Jack shook his head and I shut up.

We covered the Nelson's with their own extra bedlinens, and stacked the bandits like cordwood off to the side. Jack had me find the Nelson's wagon and hitch up the single horse I'd found, then we loaded the Nelsons, Annabelle, the few bags of feed that we could salvage for the horse, and headed up the road back the way we came. Instead of heading directly back to the yard though, Jack took us to the little church that's about a mile distant from the farm. There's a former priest that's taken up residence there and he holds service every sunday - we go about twice a month. On the sundays we don't, Jack says we're just out in the world, looking after God's creation and he'll understand.

I figure he's right. We dug fresh graves in the old cemetary - really heavy work - and laid the Nelson's to rest that evening with a small service lead by Pastor Hendricks. The Kendalls who are just across the road came across and joined us.

Afterwards, Annabelle asked to come back to the farm with us, she didn't think she'd be able to work the Nelson's plot alone - and she obviously didn't *feel* safe. So she came along. We pulled a cot out of storage and made it up for her when we got home, while Jack cooked some hasty supper. Despite it all we were all famished, ate and crashed without much conversation.

Today, Jack had been hoping to get out and take care of the remaining bodies, and look over the salvage. Some of it he would likely donate to the church - some of it we'd keep, and we needed to talk to the Kendalls and the Schells about looking after the Nelson's crops - the Nelson's grow mostly grains, and are the primary source of wheat and barley for our little area. Someone's going to have to take up the slack - and the Nelson's already have a crop in the ground that will need to be looked after and harvested this fall.

Unfortunately, a hell of a thunderboomer came rolling over the Turtle Moutains, and we're all stuck inside. Annabelle is doing her best to be useful, and is mending some of our older gear - Jack is breaking apart the machine gun we captured and is figuring out how it works, and cleaning it up. Me... I'm doing this... and some other homework Jack came up for me to do.

Today it's Algebra. I hate math. It might be useful... but solving for variables makes my head hurt. Story problems are better. I can relate to those.

Anyway, I best get to it before Jack thinks I'm lullygagging or something. What does that word even mean?

Monday, June 21, 2010

Bandits

Today sucked, a lot.

We were out weeding - a fairly common occurance when you don't have pesticides, by the way? Those crazy hippies who wanted back in the ninties and the early aughts to go organic? Yah, because they didn't have to do the work.

Idiots. Anyway Jack was up on the driveway getting some of the tools we'd brought along when he spotted a line of trucks coming this way, from the direction of the border. Like I said, I've never once run into a bandit but I've heard stories.

Well now I've seen what they're talking about.

God knows where they got the fuel for their trucks - but the roared up our way, wisely avoiding Bottineau (which is fairly well fortified - mostly against undead, but it'll work against a few guys in trucks too, I'm sure).

We headed for the yard, but they spotted the garden, tucked back fifteen yards from the road, just off the driveway as they got closer. Two of the trucks broke off and headed up the driveway - the rest headed down the road to the neighbors. Jack had meant to get on his radio and warn them, but we didn't have time. The two trucks were loaded with about six guys each, and they faced off against the house - loaded for bear. One of the trucks even had a machine gun mounted on it, though no one was manning it. Maybe they were out of ammo. Jack called it a technical. Didn't seem to technical to me, just a truck with a gun mounted - I think even I could figure out how to do that.

From the look he gave me, I bet there's a history lesson in it for me.

The front of the house is brick, which fades to sod. The front wall is a lot thicker then you'd think it should be, and I never knew why. I know why now. Behind the brick, and before you get to the insulation and sheetrock there's an extra wall... of sandbags.

These bandits opened up, while Jack switched his own AR-15 for an Springfield M1A and sliding one of the windows open, returned fire. The wall freaking held. Was sure we were gonna be dead, but at least when you kept your body behind cover, you were ok. Bullets make a weet noise as they fly by that close.

I really wish I didn't know that. I'm still having trouble hearing now - we didn't have time to put our earplugs in, and it was pretty balls to the wall for a couple minutes. Jack took two, and I got a third, before one of them tried a firebomb. The glass didn't break when it came through the window - pure luck, or gods own hand I'll never know, but Jack grabbed it off the floor as it *bounced* and whipped it back out there where it shattered and started a fire under one of the trucks. I think we wounded another as they decided on the better part of valor - the one truck's tires had started on fire at that point - and the beat feet.

Jack is worried they'll be back. We put out the fire on their truck and with a watch mounted, spent the rest of the day salvaging useful items. It was pretty sparse. Fifteen to twenty gallons of some relatively low grade gas - but it should run the tractor, I hope. A couple of banged up, poorly cared for rifles which Jack has told me will be a project for me, and we dropped the oil in the truck too. Not sure what we're going to do with that - but Jack had us push it into the windbreak for the time being.

We've been trying to reach the Nelson's all morning - but haven't gotten a response. Either the radios broke... or worse.

I think he's planning to head that way tomorrow, its only a couple miles down the road, and they're good people. Not looking forward to that, either way.

Anyway, batteries getting low again. Guess that'll be all for today.

Second

So, Jack says I should talk about my day on this post.

Since he's 'grading' these I guess I will. I get up every morning with the sun, get dressed, pick up my rifle, and head into the livingroom/kitchen. Usually by the time I'm up Jack already has breakfast on, usually some eggs and flatbread toast. We don't have much yeast usually, but one of the neighbors has been growing grain as his trade, so we get flower from him in return for meats and milk, usually.

Our 'house' if you could call it that, is a squat little hut, that was originally built out of brick. Its only four rooms. A central livingroom/kitchen area, with the hearth in the center, made out of rock and mortar. The rooms are built off it to the North, East and West. They're all about the same size, and include a personal closet. They stay cool in the summer and reasonably warm in the winter, though the central room is better. I have the East Room, Jack keeps the West Room, and the North Room is a storeroom and leads into the addition.

While I was still pretty young, Jack added on to his little brick house using Sod. From the outside it looks like our place is built into a hill. It ain't, the hill was built up around it, but apparently those first few years were pretty cold, and the brick wasn't insulated well enough. Like the old days, in the history book Jack has, he used Sod, because it was the most plentiful resource availible. Anyway, I don't know how he managed it alone, but our little hut has two extra rooms now, one is the armoury, the other is cold storage for meats and milk and such. In the Winter we make a trek to the Mouse river and pull out big blocks of ice. Bout six of them, that we shave and fit into places in the wall that Jack made. They do a good job of keeping the place cold all summer, but it does tend to get a bit damp at the end.

In the spring and summer most of my time is split between working our garden plot - which Jack says is just a little bigger then an Acre square - and looking after our livestock. All I know is its big. We have a garden tractor for this - but we only use it in the spring and fall to til. Gas is hard to come by and doesn't last long.

We have a small herd of goats, about ten strong with one billy and nine nannies. We usually trade off the kids, or slaughter them for meat. Every few years we roate a new billy and nannie in with the offspring, and slaughter the old. They keep the grass down, but boy are they ornery things.

We have one old milk cow that Jack affectionately calls Steaksupper. He's a little twisted. She provides a fair amount of cream that we mostly barter to a family down the road that makes butter from it. We collect her fecese after they've dryed and use them for extra fuel in the winter. Its not great smelling, but its better then freezing.

Beyond that we have a number of freerange chickens, gather eggs from them for consumption and occasional barter - and of course, their also useful for meat. Our Garden is mostly corn, peas, tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, and two types of sqash, and carrots. We have an area of what Jack calls Volunteer potatoes that come up almost every year, and a few heads of onions, which Jack won't eat, but will cook with, and I will eat like an apple when they're young.

In the winter, I take the goats out of their shelter that they share with the cow and the chickens to forage. Steaksupper gets grain and hay that we've traded for in the winter. The chickens get feed that a mixture of extra corn and some of the cow's feed. Jack handles our wood supply, but I occasionally am called in to spell him in splitting. We do most of that in the fall, but not all of it gets split before winter. Its good exercise I guess.

We don't travel much. Go to town about four or five times a year. When we do we usually use space in one of the neighbors wagons. Jack's considered getting a horse and cart, but thats just extra output for little extra input in his mind. When we go, we trade our goods for things we need like preserve supplies, cartridge components, gas, and such.

One of our side 'businesses' is reloading ammunition. I guess for a few years, Jack made good with this - but with the threat of undead mostly died off around here, ammo isn't in as big of a need, and primers are getting scarce. We have a nice little nest egg though, should trouble flair up again - and we do good business with hunters.

Like most people, we carry at least a rifle everywhere we go. Mine is an old AR-15 that I guess belonged to my dad. Its good for killing most of what we run into out here - the occasional hungry Cyote or fox. Headshots will work against your average zombie - though I haven't had to shoot at one of those in years - and it does just fine against your occasional bandit. I missed most of that, but I ain't stupid - a rifle is a good friend to have out here. And I'm a pretty decent shot.

Anyway - I gots to get going. Chores.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

First

...how do you start one of these things?

Hell if I know, but I guess I should start with my name. You can call me Jon. Its not my name, but it'll do just fine. If you're reading this, I guess there really is someone else on this thing my uncle calls a blog. He's not really my uncle... but...


Ah hell, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, I'm what some people call a survivor. I don't know if thats the right term or not, but I'm still alive when a lot of people aren't. Not that I had much to do with it. Hell, as best I can tell it was just because my uncle was in the right place at the right time. I'll be calling him Jack.

Before anyone asks, no I don't know how it all started. I'm fifteen - and this 'blog' thing is a project my uncle gave me to stretch my reading an writing skills and to practice what he calls composition.

All I know is it makes my fingers hurt, and writing these sentences takes forever. I don't know how he makes this box fly like he does.

But just because I don't like it, doesn't mean I get to not do it.

We live in what was Northern North Dakota, according to a map I guess, a little outside a town known as Bottineau. Its quiet here. There hasn't been an attack since I was twelve, and Jack does a good job of looking out for us. Its not an easy life I guess - but its the one I know.

Jack still hears storys of roving bands making their way east and west from the coast on his HAM radio, but we haven't seen none. Just the occasional bandit who ends up under the garden patch. Its not a good idea to try to steal from us, you look hostile, he'll just shoot you. Its a little disconcerting, but then, we're still alive and lots of folks ain't. So I guess it works.

Anyway, I got Chores to do, so I'll leave off here. Maybe I'll think up a good idea for tomorrow.