The Wayward Axe

The Wild Ride-3-2

He was wearing his well worn-in construction style cowboy boots with a heavy open tread but that new pair of low quarter hiking boots would be better on slippery rocks, etc., down by the lake. He damn sure wasn’t going to try breaking them in on a road march but decided they would go along for the journey in his pack anyway. He had toted a second pair of military issue combat boots in his pack as required by military wisdom when he was in the Army and he had cursed the extra weight then but just about now it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Hell, at least he didn’t have to carry a pair of rubber snow boots to go over them also now. Another set of clothes and 2 pairs of extra underwear and socks, ah add another shirt, a beachy looking civilian one just for the hell of it. He might want to look spiffy someday or just do the blend in vacationer thing. Blue jeans and OD long sleeve shirts was his outdoor camping thing usually but he had CAMO BDU’s (Battle dress uniform) in his gear. He also had civilian camo or what he called his deer hunting suits to consider, hell I bet half the world will be wearing that crap these days.” Farley thought thinking about deer hunting season and the folks that wandered in his Barbecue Joint hang out at this time of the year made it look like a RealTree camo convention.

“Gray man hell, you prepper folks worried about appearances, you should blend in with what folks are wearing or combinations thereof. O.k., no sense me going around full battle rattle looking like I am in the militia, I guess, and standing out though. Bad enough I am going full web gear.” Farley thought thinking of his LBE or military load bearing equipment. He knew the value in that stuff no matter how heavy or awkward it could be.

His field gear for this day was a pared down version of what he used to wear in the military and it was not something he could easily put in his pack or forget about its advantage in weight distribution when worn on the body. He had read a book way back when, called the Rural Ranger, that described a rig that he had taken mental notes on and he had customized them to meet his own needs that could sustain him all by itself if he lost his main pack or if he was just doing a lightweight day hike somewhere.

He had the normal web pistol belt with suspenders as the base to build off of. The thick nylon belt splayed the clip on his little pistol holster if he decided to wear it that way but he usually just left it in his pocket or on his regular pants leather belt holding up his jeans anyway. Main reason he wore it there was that he dumped the web gear every chance he got when resting or doing camp chores because of its weight and even though it was old style Army and open in construction, it was still hot to wear.

He had two one-quart canteen pouches on it. One pouch held water the other carried survival tabs which in a pinch could provide him with two weeks’ worth of food. On the back of his belt he had a military poncho rolled and folded over for ready access secured with the old military boot blousing rubbers he used to wear in the service to hike his highly starched pants up over his jump boots in the old uniform of the day.

A butt pack was affixed to his rig; however, it was empty for now and probably would remain so. Weight was his enemy and every single ounce added counted, o.k., just for the hell of it he would add a couple entrée only MRE’s to it for mental comfort but that was it!

Damn, sure won’t be comfortable a mile or two down the road bouncing against his ass but he could take solace in eating it and lightening his load. Next was his ammo pouch which contained a plastic box of 100 rounds of CCI mini mag 22 and 50 rounds of .380 and an extra clip for the rifle and his pistol.

He had an AK magazine pouch with a carefully assembled survival kit in it that broke his heart to remove but he had his roly bag one in his pack. He did take a few items out of it and added them to his survival vest that he customarily wore at times and winced at the thought that thing was even too hot to put on today and would ride in or on his pack also for deployment later.

He had his battle bandage in a compass case on his suspenders and managed to stick in it some extra water purification tabs and a few extra fish hooks. A beautiful Stag handled knife set on his side topped off the ensemble but he attached an empty M16 magazine to the belt anyway in case he wanted to reconfigure and add more items later.

“Food, food, glorious food, just what in the hell is it that I am going to carry with me?” Farley said to himself thinking of all that wealth he was leaving behind. I could sit around here and eat like hell first but that is just delaying the inevitable. Speaking of which...” Farley thought and stuffed two small rolls of the cardboard-removed camping kind of toilet paper into his formerly empty magazine pouch on his belt.

“This sucks, I got winter clothes, a rocket stove, lanterns, gardening equipment and a ton of other s**t that is just going to get left right here by the wayside waiting on me to get back or get stolen. Maybe I ought to just go scout my area a bit and set up my new home right here where I washed up at?” Farley fumed to himself.

He could go scout the area better and have a better camp than he could hope for as far as supplies went or he could go on this crazy road march to hell and play survivor man when he got wherever he ended up at. No telling if he was on the right track to find that old cottage anyway. If he screwed up and took the wrong roads etc., it wasn’t like driving 15 minutes in a car either way could get him un-lost and correct any mistake he made in direction. Covering those distances on foot took days and what if he had overshot the place to begin with? One tired, trail-worn, sweaty old man in the big scheme of things wouldn’t matter to anybody except to make them worried that he was up to no good as he trudged down the road and if folks didn’t set the dogs on him, then some stupid ass kid playing zombie killer like one of the mindless videos they liked might just take a shot at him thinking he wanted the food that might be in this old dudes’ pack.

“You better think about that aspect, Farley, kids and folks in general ain`t what they used to be. The internet gamers that enjoyed whacking everybody and everything in their little made up post apocalyptic worlds had no idea how to interact with new modern day survivors let alone take care of themselves and that made them very dangerous. s**t, it’s been 10 weeks or better since this crap hit, how many starving dogs we got on the loose now besides them addle-headed zombie apocalypse believers?”

“I best cut me a staff before I leave here. I could shoot any dogs that might attack me but on the other hand, you got to remember that this is the country and everyone just lets them run loose in normal times and I am used to dealing with that.

You talk to the dogs nicely, you holler at them, you give their territory in front of a house as wide of a berth as you can while talking about them and watching them. You tell them no, you stay on your way so they know you’re leaving and not threatening the family they might be protecting, etc. Hey zombie boys, can you walk the country roads and get along with the dogs in the best of times?” No, this was some serious s**t to have to think on and Farley didn’t like any of it.

“Damn crazy men and women getting off their mental medications or becoming paranoid was also a consideration. So was the number of so called sane people that would be over reacting to any perceived threat being real or otherwise. Maybe he should go night hunter mode?” Farley thought wondering how dark these woods would get shortly and knowing he probably wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face most likely.

Damn, he couldn’t even remember what phase the moon was in let alone think about walking up on a rattlesnake crossing the road in the dark. Do what comes naturally and what you know, Farley, and hopefully nature will eventually take over and teach you what she wants you to do. He considered many things in a whir of memories and once again began envisioning how long it would take him to shrug off his civilized manners and learn the way of the woods and jungle again.

Farley was tired, he had spent the night before in fitful late night sleep only to rise at first crack of dawn to begin his perilous bug out. Every turn, every creeping through darkened stop lights had played on his nerves and psyche as he white knuckled the steering wheel in bad areas. What fate had in store for him tomorrow he didn’t know, it felt like the dawn before another battle and he reminded himself to get his mind and any doubts or jitters under control before needing all his wits about him to see him through another day safely.

At least there were no mortars, missiles or artillery to face in the morning. No hidden machinegun nests to overcome but he needed to keep the threat of snipers in mind. Snipers were something that nobody ever got used to but he reminded himself you never hear the round that hits you.

“Enough with the war stories, Farley, you got a new battle ground and no team of brothers to assist you now. Ha, you always did want to try your hand at playing Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett and now by special arrangement you’re going to have to learn how to play with the Indians.” He thought bemused.

Farley was part Native American himself and the thought of him referring to the savages he might encounter as such irked him but he still talked and thought a bit like the Hollywood black and white westerns he grew up with to describe a frontiersman point of view.

“At least those old pioneers didn’t have to deal with feral dogs that had no fear of humans. I would take a bear or a pack of wolves over them domesticated dogs gone wild.” Farley thought, wondering how long it would be before all those strays everyone was probably letting loose on the world because they couldn’t feed them started packing up and getting a taste for human flesh from either the dead on the roads or their own hunting skills, he thought with a shudder.

“Wasn’t that time of the apocalypse yet mate, things were still kind of normal but with a disaster twist. Wasn’t that what he kept reminding himself? Ok, survival rifle remains packed, gun in normal but awkward ready position and I will keep one of those “whopper choppers” I got handy instead of carrying a staff.” Farley decided. A staff was sensible and wouldn’t give folks the cringes at him toting it versus that apocalyptic axe thing he was deciding on but on the other hand a long stick wasn’t as good for digging up tubers or looking Billy bad ass with walking up on somebody, even in a non-threatening manner.

It was our late great President Roosevelt that said “speak softly and carry a big stick” but Farley didn’t want to have to carry a staff and an axe on this first leg of his road trip. He considered carefully that he had seen many edible plants on the side of the road where he was at and it was going to be a long walk to where he was going.