Read Online Walking in the Rain: Surviving the Fall by William Allen - Free Book Online
Authors: William Allen
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guns. Stealing, raping, and killing…just another gang. You know, just about everywhere I’ve been, there’s been groups of assholes trying to set up their own little kingdoms. Doing the raiding and pillaging thing. Doubt Harrison is any different.” I paused.
“And I figure these four guys had friends somewhere in the area, so we need to haul ass.”
“So how are you planning to keep this truck if we can get it running?”
“Gun up with what we recovered from the dead bandits and kill anybody who looks at us funny. I may even have to suspend my three raider bag limit with you and the Schecters along for the ride.”
Amy started to laugh until she looked closely at my face and saw I was dead serious.
“Well, okay then,” was all she had to say after that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The truck, a mid 70s Ford crew cab pickup with a cracked topper shell, started easily enough once I located the keys. I hated digging in the pockets of the dead, just because of the stink, but the proximity to a corpse no longer fazed me. I was never very squeamish, but now I had to wonder at how desensitized I had become that I barely thought about the dead around me, even the ones I caused. Hell, especially the ones I caused.
I shelved the Dr. Phil speculation as I listened to the big diesel engine rumble for a few minutes before shutting off the key and moving on to salvaging. Which means stripping the raiders of anything else of use, and they had a lot of useful items for sure. To the victor goes the spoils and I was surely entitled to the spoils off three of those four corpses, but nice guy that I am I was already planning to share. Within reason, of course.
While I turned out pockets and stripped off belts and boots, Ruth and Amy made a quick inventory of the contents of the camper shell and then started loading our gear. Stan sat on the front porch with a scoped hunting rifle in hand, his bad foot propped up and Sophia resting in her kid carrier on the ground next to him.
“Amy, keep your backpack on the floor in the truck,” I cautioned her as she was in the truck bed, and all three adults turned to me for an explanation.
“In case we have to bail out of the truck, keep at least your little pack close to you at all times. Just like your weapons, if you need it and it’s not there, then you never had it to begin with.”
Amy nodded but Ruth gave me a look before asking, “No offense, but how does a sixteen year old know all this stuff?”
“Well, that saying was something my daddy always said, and he was a Marine for most of my life. My dad was always teaching me stuff but now it really comes in handy. Plus, I’ve learned if you gotta run, don’t take time to mess around packing.”
“He sounds like a smart guy. I’m sure him and your mom are just fine,” Ruth said, and I thought she really meant her words.
“That’s what I am hoping. Now, who wants more guns?”
I said the last part with a silly voice, like I imagined a used car salesman might sound. Stan had already said he was sticking with his hunting rifle, a Savage Axis, chambered in .308 Winchester. Inexpensive and reliable, the Savage matched calibers with the CETME battle rifle I retrieved off the first raider I stripped. Along with five loaded magazines and four empties, and with the ammo being the same, I figured either Stan would snatch it up or failing that, Ruth, so she could replace the shotgun she now carried.
Ruth, too, had other ideas.
“Luke, that thing is huge, and I don’t know how it works at all. Plus with that charging handle thingie on the side, what the heck were they thinking?”
Of course, she was talking about the left side charging handle, which was different from most systems. At least, American systems. The style was right popular with European military forces for a number of years in various incarnations.
“And I figure these four guys had friends somewhere in the area, so we need to haul ass.”
“So how are you planning to keep this truck if we can get it running?”
“Gun up with what we recovered from the dead bandits and kill anybody who looks at us funny. I may even have to suspend my three raider bag limit with you and the Schecters along for the ride.”
Amy started to laugh until she looked closely at my face and saw I was dead serious.
“Well, okay then,” was all she had to say after that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The truck, a mid 70s Ford crew cab pickup with a cracked topper shell, started easily enough once I located the keys. I hated digging in the pockets of the dead, just because of the stink, but the proximity to a corpse no longer fazed me. I was never very squeamish, but now I had to wonder at how desensitized I had become that I barely thought about the dead around me, even the ones I caused. Hell, especially the ones I caused.
I shelved the Dr. Phil speculation as I listened to the big diesel engine rumble for a few minutes before shutting off the key and moving on to salvaging. Which means stripping the raiders of anything else of use, and they had a lot of useful items for sure. To the victor goes the spoils and I was surely entitled to the spoils off three of those four corpses, but nice guy that I am I was already planning to share. Within reason, of course.
While I turned out pockets and stripped off belts and boots, Ruth and Amy made a quick inventory of the contents of the camper shell and then started loading our gear. Stan sat on the front porch with a scoped hunting rifle in hand, his bad foot propped up and Sophia resting in her kid carrier on the ground next to him.
“Amy, keep your backpack on the floor in the truck,” I cautioned her as she was in the truck bed, and all three adults turned to me for an explanation.
“In case we have to bail out of the truck, keep at least your little pack close to you at all times. Just like your weapons, if you need it and it’s not there, then you never had it to begin with.”
Amy nodded but Ruth gave me a look before asking, “No offense, but how does a sixteen year old know all this stuff?”
“Well, that saying was something my daddy always said, and he was a Marine for most of my life. My dad was always teaching me stuff but now it really comes in handy. Plus, I’ve learned if you gotta run, don’t take time to mess around packing.”
“He sounds like a smart guy. I’m sure him and your mom are just fine,” Ruth said, and I thought she really meant her words.
“That’s what I am hoping. Now, who wants more guns?”
I said the last part with a silly voice, like I imagined a used car salesman might sound. Stan had already said he was sticking with his hunting rifle, a Savage Axis, chambered in .308 Winchester. Inexpensive and reliable, the Savage matched calibers with the CETME battle rifle I retrieved off the first raider I stripped. Along with five loaded magazines and four empties, and with the ammo being the same, I figured either Stan would snatch it up or failing that, Ruth, so she could replace the shotgun she now carried.
Ruth, too, had other ideas.
“Luke, that thing is huge, and I don’t know how it works at all. Plus with that charging handle thingie on the side, what the heck were they thinking?”
Of course, she was talking about the left side charging handle, which was different from most systems. At least, American systems. The style was right popular with European military forces for a number of years in various incarnations.
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