His mind was still in chaos, trying to understand the attack on his country. He had failed to wrap his mind around the vast destruction and the coming catastrophes that would hit them all. Weeks away from winter, the cold would kill many of the survivors. He shivered, empathy swamping his body. He had to move past that fear and sorrow. He had to focus on the here and now. He had to get his head right and start thinking of his new future. He also needed to try and figure a way to go home. His intelligence said there was no way to get home to his family, but his heart said otherwise, the confluence ripping him apart. The pull home was irresistible, he was torn, and his heart was broken.
THREE
Franktown, CO
Quinn was out in the back of his home when he heard the rumbling sound of an old tractor. It was an odd and incongruent sound, since the power had gone out. It had been abnormally quiet in his world. He’d been used to having the TV going, as background noise. Zoe had been a chatterbox and when she’d passed away, their home had been horribly quiet. So quiet that it was nearly unbearable. He’d kept the TV going from the time he woke, until he’d gone to bed, when he wasn’t working. Now, since the power was gone, he was no longer working and there was no distraction from the deafening silence of the house.
He was still not used to the quiet and had tried to keep himself busy. Thankfully, the old farmstead had an old stone well. He’d been able to bring up water from the well for the toilet and drinking water, keeping busy with survival. Unfortunately, the stove was electric, and he had to build fires in his grill. He kept busy chopping wood, scrounging for food. He’d kept a fire going in the fireplace, that was a pain in the ass, but he was managing.
He’d gone fishing after the first day. There was a small pond about a quarter mile away. He enjoyed fishing and it whittled away several hours. He’d gone through the little food that was left in the freezer. He was now heating up cans of food from the pantry. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once that was gone and once the pond froze over. He figured he had about another two weeks’ worth of food left in the house. He’d have to go hunting or ice fishing. It was too late in the season to grow anything. Zoe had done that, he knew very little about farming, it was Zoe who’d wanted to live on a farm.
He’d not known what had happened, but he was guessing it wasn’t good. No power, no vehicle, no phone, no computer. He knew that the United States had been attacked, but by what extent, he didn’t know. He’d heard shooting last night and had brought out his guns and cleaned them by candlelight. Shit was getting real, now. He didn’t have much, but he’d defend it. He had a Remington pump action shotgun; Zoe had given it to him for Christmas one year. He treasured it. He also had a Kimber micro, 9mm. It had been Zoe’s gun and he’d kept it in her nightstand. It was small and easy to conceal carry. His own weapon of choice was his Glock 17. He carried that on him now, after hearing the gunshots last night.
He’d been slow to admit that his world had changed and not for the better. Walking around the house, he looked up the road. He grunted in amusement. It was Bart, on an old green tractor. It was belching out black smoke but was moving at a good speed. He walked out to the road and waited for the man to pull up. He lifted a hand in greeting, grinning. Though Bart was some twenty years older, the man hadn’t let the years slow him down. He was a jarhead from another mother and Quinn felt a kinship with the man. Bart and Milly had been there for him when Zoe had died. They’d brought their granddaughters, Alexa and Allain, whose constant chatter had helped ease the pain and silence of the house.
Bart slowed the tractor down and then shut it off. Quinn grinned up at the man.
“What brings you out this way young man?” He asked.
“Well, figured I’d bring a little news and a proposal.” Bart grinned, waggling gray caterpillar brows.
“Oorah!” Quinn grinned and stepped back to let the older man climb off the tractor.
He shook the older man’s hand firmly and his dove gray eyes crinkled in humor and appreciation for the company. He’d been lonely without the noise of the TV, acutely bringing back to him, just how alone he was. His job, working on telephone lines and repairing phone lines, was now a thing of the past. He enjoyed working by himself or with a small crew, but at home, it seemed so empty and lonesome. The TV had helped with that. He was glad the power had gone out when he’d been home. He’d have hated to have walked home; he could have been days from home.
“So, how goes it, Devil Dog?” Bart asked.
“Slow and quiet. I take it you know what’s going on?” Quinn asked as the men walked back to the front porch, indicating a wooden rocking chair. Each man took a seat and Quinn waited patiently for his friend to speak. It must be important for him to come all this way out.
“Got some intel, not sure how much of it is reliable, but I figure enough of it is more than likely true. We’ve been hit with nuclear weapons, North Korea. From what I understand, word
