Red Rover, Red Rover
Episode 4
I’ve survived Covid 19, then the real killer, Covid 22; January 1st 2022 that’s when it all fell apart. I had loaded my little house down with supplies; water, fuel, pretty much anything and everything I could think of that I might need. I was ready to sit this whole damn thing out regardless of how long it would take to get things back to normal. Folly; it’s clear it’s never going to be normal again.
I’d never shot a person or even envisioned it in my whole life, never thought I’d have to shoot three; but saving a neighbor I didn’t even know was alive three houses down my street changed all that. Then came the hoard; an army of thugs kicking in doors, killing people and enslaving others. I made a run for it leaving everything behind but my rifle, bug out bag and the clothing on my back.
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Red Rover Red Rover
I made camp in a boulder field above the tree top just before dark last night. I could see smoke from a number of camp fires along with light dancing in the tree tops from a big encampment not more than a half mile from me.
4:30am; haunted by dreams of being caught, chained and dragged behind a truck made sleeping nearly impossible but I was sound asleep when the first explosion rocked the valley below. Peering over the rim of stone into the valley, I can see smoke raising up through the tree tops; had to be close to an area I’d nearly died via land mines yesterday. A second, third and then two explosions sounding nearly as one shook the rocks I was leaning against, little dust demons jump to life from the shock waves dancing in circles. Smoke is pouring through the trees tops in a straight line from the first detonation. Oh yeah, that was the land mines I’d nearly set off yesterday afternoon; turned out to be a large well planned killing field of multiple mines. Some group had just stumbled into the trap and by the number of mines they’d set off it was a large group.
Below my hide out I can see people moving through the short scrub brush and trees; a line of people as far as I can see to where the trees blocked my view; hundreds of people, ten to twenty deep being pushed forward by a couple hundred heavily armed men. They’re being used as human shields; the screams and cries reach me, I’m chilled me to the bone; this is why they had been rounding people up, it’s a full attack on the camp.
The screaming crying mass only made a few hundred feet beyond my hiding spot when automatic weapons opened up from the Camp’s defenders cutting rows of people to the ground. I watched in horror as the herders spread out hitting the ground just to pop up and fire into the backs of the people they’d been kicking forward; it was a slaughter.
I watched as the battle ebbed and flowed in front of me; finally, the Camp seemed to be getting the upper hand as they fought the herders back North and out of my direct line of sight. The roar of automatic weapons the whoomph of mortars never slowed for a minute over nearly an hour.
It was time for me to move.
I slowly crawled through the boulders keeping low or even down in the bottoms between them as I moved South skirting the camp and battle ground below. I found a spot I could see down into the killing fields as sporadic gun fire would break out occasionally. I could see a couple camo clad people searching through the brush looking for people that hadn’t been killed and were lying wounded; they were shooting them as they found them, the slaughter was complete.
Three hours of hard hiking brought me to end of the mountain range and the steep hill side with large rocks changed into rolling lava flows with lava mounds spaced every few hundred feet. I hurried from one to another pushing South away from the Metro Areas as fast as I thought was safe. I could no longer hear the fighting; I took a break and thought how many times in the last couple days I should have died; luck, just plain luck has kept me alive so far.
It was getting late and I was exhausted, I found a lava mound standing a good twenty feet above the surrounding sage brush with a few stunted trees clinging to life on top. A sunken area in the center looked like the crown had cooled and sunk in leaving a nice flat area pretty much smooth about twelve feet round. It was a perfect for an overnight camp hidden from anyone unless they walked up and stepped on you.
I dumped my pack; standing in the center of the mound I could see about a hundred yards in most directions and up to a couple hundred yards depending on how heavy the trees were in other directions; it was a perfect. I spread out my gear and decided it was a good time and place to have a hot meal. I broke open my jet boil and heated water for a couple hardy freeze dried meals.
Sitting on my bed roll fighting to stay awake until full dark I heard a twig snap. I carefully grabbed my rifle, pushed the safety off. Rolling to my aching knees, I inched my eyes over the top of the depression; a doe was standing twenty feet from me, she was as surprised as I was. I had been sleeping with my eyes mostly opened as a herd of ten deer fed up and on to the mound; surprised but not startled they slowly fed away giving some distance. I’m pretty sure I’m in a safe place.
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It’s now been two full weeks since I left the killing fields around the Metro area and I’m catching up on my journal in the down time; I won’t bore you with the details but after clearing the Castle Rock area heading South it’s been pretty easy going towards Colorado Springs. I plan on skirting that Metro area keeping a good distance up on the Pikes Peak Mountain side as I’d done getting away from the Denver area.
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Another week, I’ve just entered the Cripple Creek crossing Hwy 24 a few days ago. I’m moving through areas that have a number of houses or cabins but I haven’t seen a soul. I’m starting to think these areas must have been hit harder than others with the Covid 22. I’m not seeing anything that looks like trouble, nothing to make me think people have been herded up or forced to move out of the area, no signs of any battles here. I need to resupply and I think I’m going to carefully enter a house or two and see if I can find some canned food stuffs.
I’ve been watching a small house sitting all by its self-way out in the trees, no other houses or buildings around that I can see. It’s more like a cabin than a house but looks to be two bedrooms and then a great room. Lying flat in the pine needles it’s hard to keep from falling asleep; I’m tired from the miles being on guard every minute.
There’s no movement and no cars that I can see, no recent tire marks in the narrow two track coming through the woods; this is a pretty safe bet.
I left my pack and my rifle laying in the pines needles where I’d been watching the house, I didn’t want to look aggressive or dangerous; those kinds of people are getting shot first, talked to later. I did however pull out my shirt tails to cover my .45ACP that I was apex carrying, I’m not going unarmed.
Slowing walking up the last few feet of the two track onto the gravel of the garage apron I called out to the house. “Hey…. hello! Anyone home, I’m looking for water and a couple cans of food if you have any to spare.” Nothing. Very slowing I moved up to the front door standing just to the side, calling out again repeating what I’d been yelling. Nothing. I knocked on the front door fairly hard… still nothing. Moving out few feet from the house I walked around the right side keeping my distance from the windows, I couldn’t see anything moving inside. I stepped in to the little coved area protecting the back door from the weather and knocked on the back door… nothing.
One more side to cover then I’m going to try the front door, I’ll push my way in if I’m still sure no one’s home. I round the back corner and move along the left side of the cabin; large window on this side, sticks out about a foot or maybe eighteen inches, like a garden window in a kitchen but large, a full-sized window with little windows on the sides. I decide to go ahead and risk it and take a closer look in this window, it should allow me to see the full width and length of the great room.
Ugh… someone’s home alright; I see a man in his sixties or maybe seventies hanging from the upstairs railing, face black, neck kinked from the short rope, belly bloated way out. I just stand there looking, survive Covid 19 and probably the 22 just to hang yourself? “WTF” slips from my lips; what a waste.
The front door is unlocked but has that little security chain across the jam, I pull the door the two inches it opened back closed and push it hard, the little chain snaps like nothing. I swing the door all the way to until it hits the wall, I’m in no hurry to step inside; air rushes out making the hair on my arm stand up. It’s hot like an oven at 350, the scent isn’t anything like an oven should smell like; I clamp my sleeve over my mouth and nose but not before I get a little whiff, yuck you can taste it. I rush off the porch; “just let it breathe a little” my little voice says. I replied “Lets open the back door and let it breathe really good, how bout that?” Funny how little things will make you laugh; dead man hanging rotting on the vine and I’m talking and laughing with myself. God, I hope I’m not losing it.
The back door is locked so I shoulder it open; I pushed the door fully open and blocked it with a laundry basket I grabbed off the counter, quickly escaping back into the fresh air. “Time to let it breathe;” “Yep, thank you for reminding me.” Sometimes that little voice is a real ass.
I retrieved my pack and rifle and sit on the porch far enough away from the door to be out of the air flow. The faint breeze outdoors is coming from the back of the house to the front so the air should be fresher in the kitchen by the back door as the wind chases out the hot air. I wrap a bandana around my face; “Time to make the donuts.” I’m losing it for sure…
I step into the kitchen from the back door and peek into the refrigerator, yep powers been off for a while. Nice little pantry built into the cabinets just to the right of the refrigerator, fully stocked with all kinds of canned goods in perfect condition. I fill every open space in my pack to the rim; couple boxes of cracker that haven’t been opened jammed in also. Bottom shelf has a case of water; I fill my water bladders and bottles, squeeze a couple bottles in side pockets. This could be a life saver for me, I won’t have to go near town for quite a few days with this refill.
A door directly to the right as you enter the kitchen goes into a small one stall garage; family type sedan is setting there nice and clean, I’d bet it would start instantly; you’d be dead shortly as everyone would hear you coming, so that’s out of the question. Short hallway with two doors on the right, one as you enter and one just before entering great room, on the left is the stairway to the loft. The first door is open and is clearly a small sewing room and storage. Second door is closed. Okay this is a problem… there are only a couple things I’m going to find behind this second door; One, a 12ga pointed at my head or…
She’s lying in the queen-sized bed with the bedding pulled up to her chin, blankets and pillow are stained brown with decay, her face has caved in on its self; she’s been there much longer than the old guy hanging in the great room. The “why” is now perfectly clear to me; nothing is funny now.
I gently pull the bedroom door closed with barely a click; I wondered around the kitchen and little dining room looking at all the pictures of family. From left to right the pictures tell a story; two young people at a prom, two at a lake laughing, then wedding pictures, vacations, all laughing at the camera or making funny faces. Then a series of baby pictures; in the crib, sitting with Mom and Dad, school. Child number two, fewer pictures but all happy and each growing up. Farther over wedding pictures and babies. Finally, on the far-right, pictures of the whole family; all so happy. I want to scream; the only reason those kids didn’t run out to check on and help their mom and dad has to be because they’ve lost the battle to Covid or the gangs, nothing in this world would keep them away, the pictures of love prove that.
I shut the back door as tight as I can since I broke the frame getting in. I shut the front door and lock it. I sit on the porch thinking strange thoughts; should I cut the old guy down and try to make things right, better, or just move on? Is this any of my business, who’s going to know or care. I drink a bottle of hot water and decide I’d better just move on; the chances of things getting really messy are just too great, maybe a week or two ago I’d a given it a try, but now…
I’m some place close to halfway between Cripple Creek and Florence following Hwy 67 or Phantom Canyon Road. It’s a good name of this stretch of pavement, so curvy that I’m in the woods most of the time. I’m hugging the shoulder areas and cutting into the woods before walking around all the sharp curves so I can see what’s beyond before marching into a problem, it’s slow going but I’m not in much of a hurry since the weather has been holding. I’d like to be up on the side of the mountains but the terrain is just so steep and rough I have to risk being on the road.
There is no sign of human life on this winding road; deer and elk crap spot the areas where their trails cut across the narrow Highway. A small bridge announces the name of the creek as Eight Mile, I’ve been walking along it for a hell of a lot more than eight miles.
Little information sign on the side of the road says “Free Campground, one mile” Will that’s just what I need, some free camping lol.
I smell smoke; the winds blowing from the South and up the canyon in my face. I immediately disappear into the woods skirting the little highway. Goings easy on this side of the road with the creek being on the other side for at least a few hundred yards before crossing under the highway on a hundred crossings. Canyon is widening out some making enough room to build a small campground away from the road; I’m as far to the right as I can up against the Canyon wall here moving slowly watching as far ahead in the thick brush and fir trees. This will put the campground between me and the highway as I near.
Two things… Camp fire smoke and wood being chopped. Closer… I can hear children…
I’m finding little trails cut in the woods and thick brush; very close to the campground now I’m hearing but can’t make out words, people talking, children yelling and screaming during playing, happy sounds.
I slide into the cover of the thick brush as I hear running feet coming down one of the small trails. Two kids run by not five feet from me “Wait for me!” a third screams and bounds by my hide.
Clanging of a pot lid so close I have to be nearly standing on top of them. “Kids… dinner, come on now!”
These people aren’t hiding, they are making noise as if the world is normal; that’s what’s so weird… normal noise; kids playing, wood chopping, people talking in normal voices.
I slowly back into the woods not making a sound; time to make a plan.
Moving silently, I slide right of the camp having dinner and listen to conversations of a number of adults and the chatter of children. Sitting still for a half hour as dinner is finishing, I see what I’ve been waiting for.
A rather large fellow gets up from the table and heads a few yards into the woods out of sight and sound of the dinner table.
I wait until he’s fully into relieving himself and whisper in his ear.
A few minutes later we walk into camp and he introduces me to the group.
From the Ramblings
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