William Weber - Surviving America's Collapse

Another few minutes up the gravel path brought them to the private road which led to the cabin. It was only one of three cabins on this side of the mountain, which meant very little traffic came up that dirt road. When he had time, John and Gregory would come down and lay some obstacles over the path. A log would work. Either way it needed to be something that could block a vehicle from driving right up to the cabin’s front door. In addition, John would also look at camouflaging the turnoff to his cabin. That way it might hide them from would-be attackers or raiders looking for an easy target to plunder.

Up to now, most of John’s energy had been spent supplying the cabin with food and an ability to filter water. More weekends up here would have meant more time to build defenses and booby-traps. In the end it meant he and Gregory and the girls would need to hustle.

Betsy hummed as she clawed her way up the steep dirt path. A second later the cabin came into full view. A smile spread over John’s face. She was a sight for sore eyes. The eye in the great storm that was tearing the country to shreds. And that was when his smile began to fade.

Diane was already pointing at the cabin. “John, am I imagining things or is that smoke coming from the chimney?”

He slammed the brakes and stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Before him was a simple, two-story wood beam log cabin. John had liked that idea since the sixteen-inch walls would stop small-caliber rounds. Two windows on the main floor. One on the top floor for each of the three bedrooms. There was room enough for each member of his family, but the smoke coming out of his chimney meant someone else had stumbled onto the cabin and claimed it for themselves.

There wasn’t any sign of a car or even bikes out front, but those things could just as easily be parked in the open space behind the cabin. There also weren’t any police or local sheriffs John could call. It was every man for himself and every prepper’s nightmare. John backed the Blazer up until it was just beyond view.

“What are we gonna do, Dad?” Gregory and Emma asked at almost the exact same time.

Diane was looking at him with a “what now” sort of look. They all wanted to know and their panic and fear was making it hard for him to think straight.

“You three stay here,” John said as he got out and went to the back of the truck. Once there he opened the hatch and removed his tactical vest and two-point sling. In the front mag pouches were four thirty-round magazines for his AR. The S&W was already in his drop-leg holster.

Gregory turned around. “You gonna go blow them away, Dad?”

John shook his head. “I hope I don’t have to. But one way or another, whoever’s in our cabin is about to get an eviction notice.”

He closed the hatch quietly and went back to the driver’s side where Diane handed him the AR which he clipped to the sling.

“Fall back if you’re outnumbered,” she told him.

“I will, honey. You just be ready with that shotgun in case I do. Love you.”

Amillion scenarios were running through John’s head as he approached the cabin. The front windows were dark, making it impossible to see how many intruders were inside. He set himself up along the tree line next to a patch of overgrowth and dug around for some rocks. He would start by throwing them at the cabin door and wait to see who came out.

The first two rocks skittered over the front porch. The next two struck dead on, creating a loud bang. A face appeared briefly in the window and John removed the safety on his AR and took aim. Then the face disappeared and the door opened. A single figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. It was a man and he was holding a small-caliber pistol.

“I’ve got you dead to rights,” John said. “Now set the gun down and kick it away before I blow your head off.”

The man hesitated.

“I know what you’re thinking,” John continued. “You’re wondering whether you can slam that door shut in time. I promise that you can’t. Now do as I say before I drop you right now. Do it!”

The man complied.

“Kick the gun away.”

He did.

“Is there anyone else in there with you? And don’t even think of lying to me.”

“Yes,” the man said. He sounded scared. Fear was exactly what John wanted him to feel. Fear was what gummed up all the works in men’s brains, prevented them from thinking straight. Humans tended to fall back on their instinctual habit of following orders when that happened. It was why police stormed a suspect’s house shouting for them to drop their weapons.

“How many others?”

“Three.”

“Men or women?”

“My wife and two kids.”

John wanted to curse, but bit his lip. Why couldn’t it have been a group of bandits instead of a family?

“This is private property and you have no business being here.”

The man in the doorway paused and then said, “John? Is that you?”

Now it was John’s turn to be stunned and surprised.

The man came into the light and John’s jaw nearly dropped.

Standing before him was Tim Appleby.

Minutes later the two families were in the kitchen and the awkwardness was thick enough to cut with a Bowie knife. The only ones who were happy with the present situation were Emma and Brandon. She’d practically jumped into his arms, tears running down her face.

John wasn’t the least bit happy with any of it, especially the long hugs Emma and Brandon kept sharing. The Applebys didn’t seem to mind those. In fact, they thought it was cute. Maybe if it was their daughter instead of his, they might not have been so keen.

The rest of them stood around, Diane trying to catch John’s eye, to tell him as usual to be nice.

“Would you like some coffee?” Kay Appleby asked.

She was only trying to be polite, but being treated like a guest in his own home by people who’d broken in and been eating his food for days was boiling John’s blood something awful. Diane put a hand on him and he shook it off.

“Let me start by saying I’m happy none of you were hurt,” John began. “The rest of us on Willow Creek thought you’d been kidnapped by Cain and his men.”

“Cain?” Tim asked, looking puzzled.

“A real bad man,” Diane said. “John… killed him.”

“His thugs were probably the ones who broke into your home. We assumed the worst the next day when you were gone. Your car was missing too. Figured you’d been killed or carted off for God knows what.”

“The car’s here,” Tim said sheepishly. “Parked it around back so no one would see it.”

John drew in a deep breath. “What I really wanna know is how you found out about the cabin in the first place. And how you knew how to get here.”

Tim hesitated and then seeing the deadly seriousness on John’s face acquiesced. “Brandon told us.”

John and Diane both looked to Emma at the same time.

If looks could kill.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emma started, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Yes, you did,” Diane cut her off. “But don’t bother with excuses, we’ll discuss it later.”

“Here’s the thing, Tim. If you’d been anyone else I probably would have shot you dead. You broke into my house. Been living here for a better part of a week. We could have also run away, but instead we chose to stay and help defend Willow Creek from a pack of drug-dealing murderers.”

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You should have stayed. That’s what I’m telling you. You fled when you didn’t need to. When the community needed you the most.”

Tim’s eyes fell. “So why are you here now? I mean, what changed your mind?”