Wall II
The John Ander's
Experience
Thomas G. Baker
WALL II
The John Anders Experience
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.
WALL II The John Anders Experience
Copyright © 2012 by Thomas G. Baker
Smashword Edition
Produced in the USA
License Notes
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Chapter two The Southern Sky's
Chapter four Trans Florida Air
Chapter Six Operation Cow Catcher
Dedication
This book like the first in the series is dedicated to those few among us who diligently strive in their quest to unlock and understand the human experience and to chart the course of man not only in the past but also into future. They act as the canary in the coal mine, yet their voices are to often drown out by the herd of humanity as it thunders along headed toward the wall, the ultimate wall. To Sue who painstakingly edited my chicken scratchings into a book. Thank You, Sue.
Preface
Over my lifetime I have increasingly become concerned over the growth in world population. I have come to regard it as the greatest threat faced by Humanity. By our failure to recognize and to act we may be condemning future generations to a life of abject poverty in a world unfit to live in. I have therefore attempted to write about one possible scenario. This is the second book in the WALL series, the first being The George Collins Experience.
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Introduction
John opened his eyes; fumbled for the matches in the darkness and lit the candle on the nightstand. He glanced at the small wind up alarm clock it read four thirty-three. He knew it was fruitless to try and go back to sleep as he had been conditioned to rise at this hour for almost his entire life and by now it had become an ingrained habit.
He threw back the comforters and was immediately enveloped by the cold that permeated the room. He quickly dressed, and with the candle as guide made his way down the dark, chilly hall to the relative warmth of the kitchen. He poked the embers in the old Warm Morning range, inserted some small pieces of dry ash and watched with a sense of satisfaction as they almost instantly burst into flame, he replaced the lid, prepared the coffee pot placed it on the stove and sat down at the table to wait.
John Thomson Anders was only forty-five though the years of hard labor running a dairy farm had chiseled rugged features into his weather beaten yet hansom face so that he looked to be all of ten years older, this was deceptive for he retained the strength and stamina of a man half his age.
He sat at the table and watched the shadows the single candle painted dance on the kitchen walls. He mused maybe he was a candle and those he loved were still part of him reduced to just a series of flickering waving shadows.
He poured a cup of coffee and blew on the contents to cool it enough to take a sip, years ago Nancy had broken him from the country habit of saucering and blowing his coffee calling it uncouth.
John had began dating Nancy in high-school, he had counted himself lucky as Nancy was one of the prettiest and most popular girls in his class, luckier still for very rarely does one find their soul mate and fall in love so early in life. A love, which had endured four long years while they had been separated attending different universities. They had married shortly after graduation and for the last twenty-two years had loved and worked in harness raising three children and keeping their small dairy farm profitable even in times of recession and turmoil.
He sat at the table until the light of dawn rendered the candle unnecessary then walked to the back door, and as he did every morning looked out on the row of fresh graves in the old family cemetery at the far end of the garden. He fought back the urge to cry for all those he held dear were buried there, wife Nancy, both sons Fred and Andrew, Andrew's new wife Cary along with young daughter Becky. He would never forget carrying Becky's battered body, her once beautiful face etched with the agony she had suffered.
As so often happened his sadness turned to anger directed toward the ones who had perpetrated the atrocities upon her and his family, of mankind in general for allowing such a situation to degenerate into the state where humans became worse than animals.
He walked out into the yard and surveyed the ruins of what had once been a tidy three hundred and fifty acre dairy farm, both the milking parlor and the adjacent hay barn just ashes and piles of twisted tin only the large equipment shed remained, filled with useless machines.
He glanced at the dwindling wood pile which last fall had almost been the size of the house and how hard he, Fred and Andrew had worked felling the trees, dragging them up, then splitting and stacking the wood; In fact wherever he looked he was met by the memories of a way of life that no longer existed.
John's mind remained numb all winter as he went through the motions of living like some autonomous robot. It was the last of March, in normal times they would be busy readying equipment for the coming season, but this year like last there would be no season.
No pastures to renovate, corn to plant, hay to roll, no bush hogging or fence rows to mend, no more cows and calves to tend, no more barns to clean or the wealth of other chores and problems faced by the average farmer. John Thompson Anders stood a small figure at the center of the desolation that encompassed not only his farm but the whole nation and the world in general. They had ridden out all the other storms yet nothing could have prepared them for the collapse.
Being farmers gave John and Nancy a different perspective on life, they were more sensitive and attuned to the world around them it was essential to keep tabs on such things as milk prices, feed, fuel, taxes and the myriad of things it took to keep a small dairy farm operating.
Though there had been tight spots over the years as the margin of profit continued shrinking, they had persevered winding up in the minority as their neighbors sold off their herds and went out of milking altogether. John had embraced green technology and organic farming early on and by bucking trends and milking only Jerseys and Gurneys instead of Holsteins had managed to cultivate a niche market.
Looking back it had begun two years ago when news began filtering in of droughts affecting many regions of the planet it seemed no continent was speared and not even the US was immune as Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas along with Nebraska became virtual dust bowls. It had been just the opposite in the Midwest where too much rain and wide spread flooding of fields prevented corn planting in Illinois, Iowa, Indiana, and Ohio it continued all spring and into the summer so not even soybeans could be planted. Weather had also been freaky in Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi hindering both planting and harvest. California agriculture was also suffering from an acute water shortage. Then came the outbreak of a super strain of wheat rust which devastated eighty percent of the crop worldwide. It had sent the commodity markets into a tailspin and that had been the turning point for John Anders
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Chapter One The collapse
We sat watching the BBC World News as hordes of famine ravaged Africans desperately attempted to reach Europe and were turned away by force, this coupled with the deteriorating situation in the middle east convinced me that things had begun to unravel.
I turned to Nancy and said, "I think I'm going to take the boys and start cleaning out the old root cellar tomorrow, if things keep going down hill were likely be living out of it next winter. It might be a good idea to start stocking up on whatever it's going to take to feed this bunch over the next year or two."
"You really think it's going to come down to that?"
"Honey I don't know but it doesn't look good, you know how fragile the economy is, a food shortage right now could be catastrophic. We're in a helluva lot better position then most, I think it would be a good idea to go ahead and get prepared anyway."
We worked like beavers cleaning out the old root cellar; it was ideally located on the hill next to the ruins of the original homestead and well hidden from prying eye by a grove of Locusts. We began filling it with enough supplies to last us for a year or more making sure to stock extra those things, which we couldn't raise ourselves.
Nancy, Cary, and Becky worked all summer canning, while we renovated and added on to the old smoke house for we intended to butcher our own hogs around Thanks Giving. Along with the usual farm chores in our spare time we cut firewood. The pile approached the height of the house and Andrew complained, "Christ dad there's enough wood here to run the fireplace for ten years, we really need this much?"
"You won't think it's that much when you see how fast we go through it, besides I'm not taking any chances. I think there's gonna to be an acute fuel shortage next winter and I'm sure you don't wanna be out trudging in the snow with a cross cut saw and ax cutting all day then dragging logs back to the house. Lets just keep on going we damn near got enough."
Nancy wasn't thrilled when I came home with an antique wood cook stove in the back of the pickup, it had been in the old Mitchell house down the road and though it hadn't been used in thirty plus years was in great shape even the hot water reservoir was nigh perfect. After much cleaning and a coat of stove black it was wrestled into the kitchen by a couple of neighbors along with the five of us, the cast iron monster stood next to the modern electric range. Nancy hands on her hips said, "I'm not using that damned antique unless I absolutely have to."
I was worried about the herd I had a barn full of bales and plenty of rolls along the fencerows to see us through the winter there was enough corn and soybeans to grind feed at least until June. I kept the bulk fuel tanks both gasoline and diesel topped off, my supplier helped all he could though rationing had been in place for six months, he told me to expect a complete cut off at any time.
I wasn't sure why fuel was so stringently rationed until the attack on Israel, and then it was if a dam had burst plunging the Middle East into war. It escalated into the greatest catastrophe in human history with nuclear attacks on Tehran and other gulf states followed by conflict between India and Pakistan it became an inferno fanned by the flames of religious zeal and famine which almost overnight grew to engulf much of the world.
We had been right to prepare and found ourselves on our own along our neighbor and friend Arnold Pike. We felt sure that we would be able to ride out the storm. In October the electricity went out Nancy quickly befriended the trusty old wood stove and the kids were thankful for the large woodpile outside the back door.
We were back to milking thirty head by hand, milk pickup became sporadic so we began separating the cream and throwing away the bulk milk at times. The following summer the Army swept through the countryside confiscating all livestock.
They came to the house one morning and loaded up my entire dairy herd along with Nancy and Becky's horses and even took the hogs and chickens we were raising for ourselves. It made no sense that they were so short sighted as to slaughter cows that could provide milk to feed starving children.
I begged them to leave the bull and a pair of unrelated Jersey heifers so we still had the seeds of a herd. But they loaded everything except for a couple of head they missed which always seemed to hang by themselves in the woods at the back of the farm, both were still fresh so a least we would have milk for ourselves.
Our neighbors weren't as fortunate, and all were forced by hunger to leave with the army headed to camps somewhere in Alabama or Georgia. With all but our neighbor Albert gone we were left to our own devises with only two cows left to milk.
We made it through last summer planting just enough to get us by our farm became an oasis surrounded by death and desolation. As I said all things considered we believed ourselves to be in a good position to ride out the storm, that is until right before Christmas.
Arnold and I decided since it was almost Christmas we'd take a ride and visit another friend who had also decided to stay and see how he was faring. Arnold had the idea that we could set up Marine VHF radios and keep in contact with one another. Nancy and Becky had sent along a couple of pies as a Christmas present. Just to be on the safe side we'd take the back roads like we had a couple of months before.
Both of us were armed, Arnold brought his 12 gauge shotgun and I had a 45 colt automatic in a holster laying in the seat.
We were approaching the cross roads by the old Haggy place when I noticed a string of pickups sitting in the road about a quarter mile ahead. They begin moving toward us. Albert said, "This doesn't look good maybe we ought to get the hell out of here."
I was just about to take off when suddenly we were caught in a hail of gunfire the windshield shattered and Albert slumped forward; I could see that part of his skull had been shot away. Another bullet grazed my shoulder I stepped on the gas but the had engine died. I grabbed the pistol dived out over the bank and rolled down the hill until the bushes along the creek bank stopped me. I got up and started running down the creek bed.
I had hunted this part of the county and knew there were thick woods just ahead; I heard a shot and a bullet clipped off a small branch a couple of feet above me. I was thinking who in the hells doing this we had driven right into an ambush but for what purpose?
I reached the safety of the woods even in winter there was enough vegetation to provide cover, I was thankful that I was wearing my old brown coveralls for they blended in making me all but invisible in the thick buck bushes. No one pursued me, I crouched aware of the burning from the round that had grazed my shoulder.
I could hear people shouting and in about fifteen minutes several vehicles started and drove off in the direction from which we had come. It was then that I began to worry about Nancy and the clan. I started cautiously making my way back toward the truck I crawled up the bank keeping a low profile raised my head for a look, the pickup was still where I had abandoned it the hood and both doors open. My eyes were just above the level of the berm; looking under the truck I could see Albert's body laying in the roadway.
I waited listening to make sure there wasn't anyone hanging around then made my way to the truck, the battery was gone the smell of gas and a stain on the asphalt indicated that the gas tank had been holed and drained. I was almost seven miles from the house all I could do was start walking but first I moved Albert to the side of the road, I would come back and bury him later but for now I felt the urgent need to get home.
I walked down the road wary that at any minute I could again become a target; I searched the fencerows and buildings for any movement.
Even walking at a fast pace it would be after dark before I reached the house. I tried to figure out what had happened but could make absolutely no sense of it except that whoever they were had been efficient, they had drained the twenty-gallon tank in less than fifteen minutes and had used cutters on the battery cables. I had heard rumors that there were thugs roaming the countryside stealing fuel and food but that had been a year ago I couldn't believe it could happen now especially this far out in the sticks, none the less I stepped up my pace even more.
Darkness approached I had a little over a mile to go when I noticed a glow over the ridge a jolt of adrenalin surged through me for I knew that it could only be coming from the farm. I heard a couple of shots and started running not slowing until I reached the brow of the ridge overlooking the house and barns.
It was too late there were around two-dozen men loading up into pickups and pulling out of the yard onto the main road. The hay barn along with the milking parlor were burning fiercely lighting up the evening sky, I could make out from the light of the fires at least four bodies laying in the barnyard, I felt helpless as I waited until the last truck vanished then rushed down the hill to the scene of carnage.
The first three bodies I came to were strangers the forth was that of my youngest son Fred he had been shot a least three times. There were two more strangers then I found Andrew who had been shot in the chest, not far away was his pregnant wife Cary, a wound in her neck she had been partially stripped her jeans and panties hung on one ankle but apparently she had died before they could molest her.
I ran to the house almost in the front door was my Nancy laying on her stomach head turned unseeing eyes staring at me as if to ask, "John where were you?" I felt for a pulse but knew by the exit wound in her back it was hopeless. I was frantic as I rushed into the dark house hollering for Becky.
I found a candle lit it then ran to her bedroom the dim light illuminated the scene, laying across the bed was my precious girl child of barely seventeen, naked, mutilated, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, face expressing all the terror of her last moments of life. From the marks around her throat it was evident she had been strangled. Two of her fingernails were all but torn off indicating she had put up a violent struggle.
A wave of Nausea overcame me; I rushed from the house and fell to my knees vomiting, my entire world which that taken generations to create, had in an instant ceased to exist.
The next day with numb mind I dug graves in the frozen ground and laid my loved ones to rest, first Becky dressed in her prom gown, next Andrew and Cary then Fred, I placed Nancy in the center and left a place for myself beside her. I had gone back for Albert and placed him alongside the rest. I stood over the graves searching for something appropriate to say but words eluded me, in the end I left it up to my tears, for they expressed an elegance words could not.
Andrew, Fred, and Cary had put up a heroic fight we had an ample supply of weapons that were kept in the office beside the barn they had been able to reach them and had dispatched six of the attackers and I was sure had wounded several others before they were overrun. This stiff resistance probably accounted for the fact that the marauders had pulled out with virtually nothing more than forty gallons of gasoline and a couple of grocery bags of food.
I couldn't bring myself to bury the scum that had killed my family, I so I tied their legs together and dragged the pile of them off my property and left them to rot.
For a man that had spent his entire life surrounded by loving family and friends, and had kept to the same routine for decades, I found myself utterly alone grieving for my loved ones. It wrought within me mental changes I dared not confront least I should go mad, instead to maintain my sanity I descended into a daze all winter.
March was almost at an end and around me nature had once again began her annual rebirth with a touch of green and a dandelion braving the last cold gusts that rustled the leaves piled up against the yard fence. A robin perched in a water maple sang the song of spring it was answered by his mate.
Like the waning of winter the fog which had shrouded my brain had began to lift and slowly the realization came over me that life as I had known it was never to be again, gone was my family along with the farm and my livelihood. I could never pick up the pieces and start for there were no pieces left nor had I the will or want to do so, maybe one day when I had time to heal I would return but for now all I wanted was leave this accursed place.
Where was I to go? Somewhere south where the winters would be kinder on a broken man, I had been working on an idea it seemed foolhardy but in my present state was just what I needed. My plan was simple head to Florida, why Florida, it was supposed to be warm, there was good fishing and it was about as far from Kentucky as I could get.
How I was going to make the trip was the only remaining question. Fred's almost new Chevy pickup was the only diesel left; the raiders had missed it. They had also missed the almost five hundred gallons of diesel and three hundred gallons of gasoline hidden in the barn on the backside of the farm that had been reserved for spring planting.
It would be the easiest way to go, load up the fuel and take off, yet from what Albert and I had encountered within ten miles of home making the seven hundred mile trip safely would be improbable, no telling who or what would be laying in wait. I was pretty damn sure a pickup with hundreds gallons of diesel in the bed would make a tempting target.
No I intended to bypass anyone left on the ground and fly to Florida, besides it would allow me to see the country and I could get an idea of how it had fared.
The next morning I drove over to the hanger Albert, dad and I had built which housed the 180 Cessna we owned in partnership. Albert had been a retired aircraft mechanic and lovingly kept up the maintenance on the airplane, we had virtually restored the Cessna and done a major on the Continental so it could better live on auto gas, I had put a little less than a hundred hours on it and had encountered no problems.
Range would be the deal breaker the Cessna could make it non-stop but there wouldn't be much if any reserve and it was a fore gone conclusion that there would no gas available when I arrived. It would necessitate taking enough to fill up at the end of the trip, which meant carrying it in the cabin. I wasn't in such a desperate state of mind as to relish sitting in a flying bomb. I knew there were bladder tanks specifically designed for ferrying aircraft but had no way to come by one.
I went searching for suitable tanks and right off the bat I came across a poly tank in an old runabout parked under a shed down the road. It was square and held twenty-two gallons if I removed the right yoke it would set in place of the right seat.
It took two more days before I found a 30-gallon poly water tank in a travel trailer with the right dimensions to fit behind the front seat and still leave enough room to store the seat in the baggage compartment.
I set about arranging and strapping them in I made sure to loop the vent hoses install a siphon break and run them out underneath the aircraft.
Weight wouldn't be a problem the old Cessna would get airborne with damn near anything you could stuff in it and still close the doors that left me only to work out the CG (center of gravity) in the end the way the tanks were situated conformed to about four average adults. I would be fine as long as the right was first to fill last to empty.
While I had wrestled with the problems of the tanks an idea struck me, the Cessna had full tanks, and there was over two hundred gallons left in bulk. Why not make a trip south close to half the range of the Cessna drop off fifty gallons that way when I was ready I could leave and fly to the stash fill up and still have half tanks and fifty gallons left when I reached Florida. In the end I abandoned the idea as just too much flying for not much gain. If I left with a full load made a stop to check and maybe topped off somewhere south of Atlanta it would still give me an ample reserve when I reached Florida.
Next I had to select a destination, major cities had turned into graveyards, small towns would be better I decided that I would try one I knew on the St. Johns River named Astor.
Dad and I had gone fishing there a few years before he died, we had flown his Cessna one eighty two into a small grass strip in Pierson and had stayed in Astor for a week of Bass fishing with a local guide.
Nancy, Becky, Fred and I had flown into Deland and rented a houseboat for our seventeenth wedding anniversary and spent the week at the popular Silver Glen Springs the water was crystal clear and stayed about seventy two degrees year round. Nancy and I had talked about maybe buying a houseboat there when we retired and Andrew and Fred were running the farm.
Astor would be my first stop and hoped I would find friendly natives as I would bring only the essentials like a toothbrush, change of underwear, along with enough food to keep me going for a week or so after that I would have to live off the land.
Navigation would be tricky all the modern aids to navigation were gone no GPS, VOR, ADF or even NDB so it was going to be back to using landmarks. I poured over the old Sectionals we had used on our previous trips carefully picking out and marking landmarks along both sides of my intended route and jotting down additional notes in a spiral binder.
It would be necessary to keep track of where I was and to use Dad's old E6B flight computer to calculate wind, heading, and track and to monitor fuel consumption, as a stiff head wind would cut back on my range. Weather was another factor without any forecasts I would be at the mercy of Mother Nature even back in the late eighteen hundreds you could telegraph Atlanta and ask what the weather was doing now I would have absolutely no idea of what lay ahead.
It took almost two weeks before I felt comfortable that all the variables had been covered. I had come up with three small airports to use as a refueling stop.
I would have preferred grass strips but by now they would all be overgrown and though the Cessna was rugged it wasn't going to be able to cope with three-foot weeds and bushes so I was going to be restricted to paved runways. The more I thought about it maybe I'd be better off stopping at a major airport where I could sit down, on an eleven thousand foot runway and have a mile of clear visibility around the aircraft if someone approached I would have ample time to jump in and hightail it.
Before I filled the tanks in the cabin I decided to take the Cessna up for a test hop, it was the first time I had been in the air in over a year and a half. I left at daybreak climbed out into the early morning sky and flew ever increasing circles anxious to see what was going on in the county.
It was early April there should be evidence of fields being prepared for planting but not one fresh furrow could I see, in fact there was no sign of human activity anywhere not one car or truck moving on the deserted roads and highways.
I could see evidence that other farms had been plundered it was easy to tell for wherever the raiding parties had gone they systematically laid waste to barns and houses leaving a path of destruction in their wake, there was no telling how many farm families had met the same fate as mine.
I found only one isolated farm where I saw a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney, what looked to be four adults and three children came running out into the yard I circled wiggled the wings and they waved back. I saw a few cows and a couple of horses in the pasture along with some new ground turned up ready for planting I also noticed the wooden bridge leading from the main road had been burnt making it difficult for anyone to reach them, I thought good idea, burn your bridges behind you.
I flew down the river as far as Greater Cincinnati Airport; once bustling it was silent a few airliners sat at the gates. I turned on the radio and called the tower knowing I would get no reply. The surrounding cities were desolate and deserted I could see no movement just general destruction and at intervals along the streets were what I took to be random piles of corpses. Hundreds and hundreds of people reduced to just clothing and bones some neatly stacked others strewn about like discarded rag dolls almost blocking the streets and intersections, it gave testament to just how horrible things had been.
It was evident that there were less people in the area than there had been at the time Daniel Boone first entered Kentucky and I wondered if this was the situation across the whole country, surly those who had gone with the army to the camps had survived.
I made my way back home and landed, the flight had filled me with new resolve to find some place where hopefully I could bury my memories and live out what was left of my life for I couldn't go for much longer reliving everyday the nightmare that haunted me each morning as I looked out on the graves.
At one point last winter I had started to dig a grave beside Nancy with the intention of crawling into it covering myself as best as I could then shooting myself. That night Nancy came to me in a dream. She spoke, "John darling you must go on living, and tell of the love and goodness we shared between us. Live to bare witness to the atrociousness of man, live for the children for as long as you are alive we shall dwell within you. It had been so vivid that when I awoke I felt she was in the room and though it was nearly freezing I was drenched with sweat. All I was doing now was marking time waiting until I thought the weather would be right.
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Chapter Two The Southern Sky's
The twenty first of April I awoke at my regular time of four-thirty had coffee walked to the graves and said goodbye to Albert, Nancy and the kids drove to the hanger and rolled out the Cessna did a careful walk around and last minute checks, pulled Fred's pickup in and closed the hanger doors. Before getting in I took one long slow look around at the only home I'd ever known, a feeling crept over me that It might well be the last time I ever saw it. I climbed in fastened the belt and arranged my maps on top of the makeshift gas tank and prepared myself mentally for the coming adventure.
I hollered clear out of habit even though there wasn't anyone within twenty miles then cranked up the Continental checked the gauges and controls set the trim cycled the prop. I took a deep breath advanced the throttle the tail dragger shook and begin to roll it gathered speed and lifted off as if happy to be free of the earth.
I circled once around the farm etching the picture of it in my mind then pointed the Cessna's nose one hundred and seventy degrees and climbed to five thousand leveled off trimmed the airplane then leaned the mixture a little then looked for my first checkpoint.
I wasn't worried about maintaining separation or contacting Air Traffic Control nor was I worried about flying through, any restricted airspace as I figured the Cessna was likely the only thing flying in the whole southeast US except for the birds.
The morning was uneventful there wasn't much to do I had out of curiosity played with the avionics but to no avail. I had to make just a few minor heading adjustments to account for a slight crosswind which kept wanting to push me east of course. I had enough landmarks circled that even if I missed a couple I had no trouble keeping situated.
In early afternoon I reached Macon the plan had been to land there but when I made a flyby the runway was littered with vehicles so I flew on over to Middle Georgia regional and Robbins AFB. The runways there were clear and I saw no activity in the area, I could find no windsocks or flags and I guessed that the wind was still coming from the west.
I decided to land at Georgia regional lined up on 23 and landed just dragging in over the fence stopped then turned and taxied back to the end of the runway got out looked around carefully to see in which direction posed the greatest threat.
I felt satisfied the coast was clear so a dug out the hose and transfer pump and filled the left tank then went to work filling the right. I was just about through when I saw several people off in the distance running toward the airplane.
I capped the tank throw the pump in the back ran around hopped in and fired up the Continental before I even strapped in or closed the door. I shut the door gave it full throttle and 20 degrees of flaps, they ran onto the runway as if to flag me down but I easily pulled up over their heads and they flashed by underneath. From what I saw they didn't seem threatening and when I circled for a second look, they stared like they were looking at a UFO still I had learned to take no chances.
I had wanted to check the engine and the oil level but I hadn't even gotten around to taking a leak myself, I had brought along a couple of Gatorade bottles for this purpose and when I had the airplane trimmed and on course relieved myself capped the bottle and slipped it out the side window.
I started running into isolated showers around Valdosta looking westward could tell that a front was moving in. I didn't have to deviate much to skirt the showers climbed to seven thousand and after forty five minutes up ahead I could see the St. John's and beyond lake George. I was hoping that I could get into Pierson and the grass wouldn't be so high that I would have to divert to Deland but first I was going to check out the area.
I flew over the West side of the lake to Silver Glen spring in the middle was a large houseboat with a sailboat anchored next to it, there was a garden and some fresh tilled ground which looked to be newly planted.
Out on the lake I saw another small sailboat headed for the spring I made a low pass there was a man and woman on it they looked startled as I whizzed by, on the second pass they waved. Well at least there were some natives and they appeared friendly enough.
I flew on to Astor and was surprised to see a barge and tug parked by the draw bridge with people working unloading cargo along with a couple of trucks moving on the main highway.
I circled and tried to pick out a landing spot but couldn't find anything suitable without some obstacle so I headed back to the lake and skirted the shore.
On the south east side there were a couple of boats and a canoe parked at the end of a road along with a white pickup. It was the only access I saw to the lake so I followed the road to Pierson and judged it to be about three miles I drug over the airstrip a couple of times there were three aircraft tied up and one flipped on it back probably from some storm. The grass looked higher than I liked but I felt that I could get in OK though getting back out might require some trimming, I didn't see a soul in town so I flew back to the spring.
The small sailboat had just pulled in and the man was setting the anchor I thought John you should have brought the hand held marine VHF. I reached for a note pad and scribbled a message and stuffed it into a Mason jar which had held coffee screwed on the top. Lined up with the sailboat and as I passed tossed it out.
It made a suitable splash and attracted the woman's attention she dived in to retrieve it, I circled until she had given it to the man and he had read it. He waved that he understood and pointed toward the east. I wiggled the wings and headed to Pierson.
The note read, John Anders, Warsaw Ky. landing Pierson.
I gave the strip one more good going over then lined up on final hoping there weren't any holes. I thought OK John you might want to make this one a three point for sure and keep the tail down, I was afraid of the grass chocking the main gear and flipping the Cessna over on it's back especially since I still had a fair amount of gas in the cabin.
I came in low and slow with full flaps I don't think the Cessna rolled a hundred feet before it came to a stop. I had to use a lot of power in the tall grass to taxi to the parking area and didn't even attempt to swing around.
I shut down and climbed out stretched and thought well Anders here you are now what in the hell are you going to do? It was too late in the afternoon to start out so I decided to get the remaining fuel into the wings and the poly tanks out of the cabin so I could sleep in the plane, tomorrow I would start walking to the lake borrow the canoe and paddle over to the spring.
I had just about finished putting in the seats when the white diesel pickup I had seen parked by the lake pulled up, there was an attractive young blond and an older man I took to be her father. The man got out and walked toward me the woman opened her door but remained in the truck. The man said, "John Anders I presume."
"One and the same at your service."
He walked over we shook hands. "George Collins, this is my wife Connie." she nodded but stayed in the truck. "What brings you to Pierson?"
"It's a long story and I'm not really sure I know the answer myself, I just felt I needed a change and thought of Astor."
"That's all right we all have a long stories to tell these days, well it's too late to get you to Astor today so you might as well come across the lake with us we'll trade stories and get you to town tomorrow."
"Thanks, I had no idea what I was going to run into when I got here, there's not a sole left around home, let me finish tying this thing down and I'll be right with you."
I tied down the Cessna put in the gust, lock, and pitot cover locked the airplane then climbed in the rear seat of the pickup. We rode down side roads dodging fallen trees until we came to the lake then boarded the small sailboat and made our way across into the Glen.
I learned George was a retired archeologist and captain in the Coast Guard; it was just getting dusk when we arrived at the houseboat. It had been a long tiring day and these were the first people I had spoken to since December.
We had supper, George and Connie told me their history and I related mine, it was true we all had long stories, unfortunately it seemed tragedy had been a companion to us all during the collapse.
As It turned out George and I were both Kentucky farm boys he had grown up in Boone County not twenty miles from where I lived, we had both attended UK. When we got around to comparing notes found we had known many of the same people, but that's where the similarities ended he had gone on to become an a renowned archeologist while I had spent my life running the family farm. George invited me to stay with them for a couple of days and get acclimated as he put it.
At first I didn't know what to think they seemed such an incongruous couple George had to be pushing sixty and Connie only in her mid twenties.
He told me about their ordeal of him living by himself for a year in the swamp, and how he had come to rescue Connie from the scum who had murdered her family, then of them spending another year together here at the Glen carving out a little paradise before civilization had once again caught up.
It gave me new insight as I watched their interactions realizing that like Nancy and I, George and Connie had become truly soul mates, their age difference benefited rather than detracted from their relationship.
Their happiness led me to reflect on my losses and as I lay awake in the bunk of the sailboat I fell into a melancholy mood and had to suppress the urge to cry.
George and Connie introduced me to Cathy and Jim Cornett who lived in the old park office and tended the gardens. Jim was a tall lanky farm kid from Athens Georgia, Cathy a wiry hard working gal who grew up on a Montana cattle ranch they had met in the camp and had married at the height of the collapse.
They like Connie and George seemed to be happy, I attributed this to the fact that in times of need such as these men and women pulled together their rolls clearly defined as they teemed up in the common cause of survival, laying aside all the pettiness which caused so many marriages to fail before the collapse. It had always been that way with Nancy and I.
George introduced me to (Gator) Sam Dulles and his gal Joyce Anderson they had come over to see the stranger that dropped in from the sky. I talked to Sam at length he was a rare character who had been an alligator hunter for the state and now was in charge of the heavy equipment, by the time they left he and I had come up with a scheme to put in an airstrip in Astor so I could move the Cessna.
The next morning George and Connie took me to Astor and I met the colonists as they referred to them. They were a varied and energetic lot, most were just kids in their late teens and early twenties.
This day they were busy setting up a pipeline from the river to a series of old storage tanks a mile or so up the road, they would be used to store gasoline and diesel, I got right down to work helping out by running a back hoe.
The next morning Sam took me around town in search of a place to put in a landing strip. We found a road running East and West on the south side of town close to the main highway it would require knocking down a couple of houses and taking out a bunch of utility poles but the road way made a solid dry base for a runway.
We started work and in a week had carved out an 1800-foot landing strip with decent approaches. Sam and I took some gas and drove to Pierson in his jeep found a riding lawnmower, cut a swath down the center of the runway and I flew the Cessna to Astor, I felt better having the airplane close by it was the only possession I had left and gave me a sense of connection to my former life.
I was trying to fit in with my new surroundings, and lent a hand wherever it was needed I had been given a billet in one of the houses along the river, and like everyone took my meals at the Old Backwater Inn next to the draw bridge which had been turned into the community mess hall. It had become the hub for most activity with dinning downstairs and recreation above in the old lounge which I noticed still had some of the same decorations from when Nancy and I had eaten there years ago.
I had been in Astor a little over a week when George informed me that he and Connie would be leaving for Mayport as George had been given Command of a research ship; Sam and Joyce were going with them. I hated to hear this because I had become friends with both men and enjoyed working with Sam. We had a going away party for them at the Black Water.
George took me aside " Your about senior here after me, by now you've seen enough to know that these are good kids but they need a little push once in a while, outside of Sam and Dave Clarkson they're like a ship without a rudder. I'll put in a word for you when I get to Mayport."
George had been gone only a few days when I got a note requesting that I come to Mayport to see a Captain Bright, I flew up in the Cessna the next morning circled the base which was crammed with ships and the airfield lined with carrier aircraft, landed and was taken to see Captain Allan Bright.
He said, "Come in Mr. Anders have a seat." He reached over the desk and we shook hands. "George tells me you flew in from Kentucky, I see by your ring you're a traveling man,"
"Well yes sir I've traveled with Hiram in the company of three."
"So have I, like to get on a first name basis so just call me Allan. Sorry to hear about your family, sadly yours is a story I've heard all too often, I can relate had a sister and her family wiped out in South Carolina under similar circumstances. We sent our youngest daughter to stay with them thinking she'd be safe. Anyway it's not good to dwell in the past we just have to go forward and hope we can build a better future where it won't happen again.
"I guess you noticed there wasn't any activity at the air station, were still waiting for the first load of jet fuel.
"I got shoved in this job and sometimes think I'm omniscient all wise and knowing but it wasn't until George told me about you that I thought why in the hell hadn't I come up with the idea of using puddle jumpers before. I guess I have so much stuff on my mind I get going in one direction and don't see the alternatives; all I could think of was getting the damn choppers flying.
"Anyway I was wondering if you'd like to do some flying for me, mostly along the St. Johns to the settlements like Astor. Were running barges every couple of weeks but it would be nice if we could move personal and spare parts more quickly when needed. George told me you're a farmer so you know how important it is that we get agriculture going again in Florida."
"Captain Bright, Allan, I'm not a commercial pilot just have a private ticket, I'd be a lot more useful in the dairy business."
"John it isn't what you were, it's what I need. Christ, Collins is an archeologist, hadn't commanded anything bigger than a bathtub when I put him in charge of the Pisces, hell before that I sent him on a pleasure cruise as an observer and he wound up sinking a damned rogue destroyer.
"John I believe that in times such as these the cream naturally rises to the top and people gravitate into rolls needed of them; all I try to do is guide a little. Look stick around for a couple of days think it over see if you can come up with a viable plan, if so I'll give you a couple of guys to work with and whatever resources I can spare. I'll have a driver run you over to the Pisces, George can bed you down on the ship while you're in town and you'll feel more at home, We'll get together day after tomorrow."
I hadn't thought about flying for a living, I was primarily a dairy farmer and had been contemplating starting up a herd somewhere near Astor. The driver dropped me dockside next to a white ship, there was all kinds of activity around the front where a crew was working on some sort of large white dome at the direction of an officer who was shouting orders in a not to kindly fashion.
I stood alongside the ship not knowing just what to do when a young woman in uniform shouted down from the bridge wing asking me what I wanted. I hollered back, "Is George Collins around tell him John Anders is here to see him." About then I spied Sam and waved, he waved back and came bounding off the ship to meet me, "You leaving home to, going with us?"
" Not really, Captain Bright sent me over here to see if I could bum a bed for a couple of nights,"
"Come on We'll squeeze you in somewhere."
We were met by the girl in uniform at the gangway she asked, "Who are you?"
I said offhandedly, " Traveling salesman, need a room for a couple of nights."
"Sorry mister I'm not running a hotel here."
"Captain Bright sent me over to see if George could put me up for a couple of nights while I'm in town, Sam can vouch for me."
Another officer came up and asked, "What's the problem Linda?"
I jumped in, "John Anders from Astor, Captain Bright sent me over to see George and get a bed for a couple of nights but if it's going to cause a lot of trouble I'll just sleep in the airplane."
He said, "Jim Bishop XO" and extended his hand. " If Bright wants you to have a bunk we'll find you one, what's your business anyway, going with us?"
"Hope not, Bright wants me to set up some kind of air service in central Florida sent me here to think it over. Is George around?"
" Captain Collins isn't here but I expect him back within the hour, 'Linda go ahead and put Mr. Anders up in one of guest cabins,' Mr. Anders, Ensign Sanchez will show you to your quarters."
Linda asked, "Got a bag."
"Not even a tooth brush."
"You travel light."
"I was expecting to be back in Astor for supper."
"Sorry I didn't mean to give you a hard time but with all the stuff going on today over the gun deal it's been hectic there are so many people coming and going… I like to keep track of who's on my ship and why."
I stayed in the cabin just long enough to familiarize myself with it then made my way back out to the deck; Linda spied me and motioned to come up to the bridge. I had never been on a ship before and was impressed on how big the bridge was, it was full of gadgets most I could recognize but some I could only guess at their function.
I walked over to Linda and asked, "Where you guys going to anyway?"
"I think were off to the Caribbean, to do some marine research someone said four months worth but we won't know for sure until the Captain gets back."
"What's the deal with the gun out there?"
"See that big white thing looks like an overgrown mushroom, it was supposed to hide the gun but it doesn't work. The Captain is making them take it off, got that one jack ass in the yellow shirt so pissed he can't see strait, see the guy in the navy uniform, he's our third officer, Cindy and I are taking bets Herb will wind up killing somebody before the afternoons out."
I said, "I picked a bad time to drop in."
She smiled and said, "lately it's been like this everyday, but were slowly getting a handle on it."
"How's your Captain holding up?"
"You know Captain Collins?"
" Not really only a few weeks but he seems like a pretty nice guy."
" He is, doesn't get flustered or throw his weight around, lets everyone do their job without interfering. He's not one of those guys who gets mad and blows up it's more like he gets deliberate. I watched him tell the gun guy off, didn't raise his voice once, but got the point across. Just between you and me, Jim and Herb seem to running the ship Captain Collins is more like our Admiral."
I made small talk with Linda and another Ensign Cindy Kottmyre and was standing at the bridge railing when George and Connie got out of the car. They saw me and waved. George hollered up, "What you doing up there, missed us so much you just had to come for a visit."
That evening after dinner I sat down with George and told him about Captain Bright's proposition he listened and when I was through said, "You know I think it's an excellent idea, it took Connie and I three days to get here on the Hunter the first time we came. John there's almost two hundred miles of river, Astor is about half way you're less than an hour in either direction why don't you think about starting regular runs use Astor as a hub maybe get a couple of more airplanes and pilots branch out from there, as things pick up.