Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10) by A. American (ebook reader .TXT) 📕

My ride took me over to highway 439 where I turned north. I didn’t want to push my luck in going too far. For one, I didn’t check the fuel in the Harley before leaving and two, no one knew where I was. That and the fact I didn’t bring my rifle with me. This entire thing was a little foolhardy, but I was loving it.

So far, I’d seen a few people, though not many. Most of those I saw were engaged in working some small plot of dirt trying to scratch out a living. Everyone was a farmer of one sort or another today. I cruised down this stretch of road, again seeing only a few people. I was surprised to see a couple of people walking down the road. This was a pretty long walk from town, so I had no idea where they were going. They weren’t carrying packs or anything, so they couldn’t be going far.

The two men stepped to the side of the road as I approached, moving into the opposite lane to give them plenty of space as I did. One of the men raised his hand as I passed, and I replied in kind. I thought of stopping and having a chat with them. But as I was only armed with my pistol and there were two of them, the numbers didn’t add up correctly and I kept going.

At forty-two I turned west and headed back towards Altoona. The first part of this stretch is pretty desolate with no houses on it. I was cruising along at a good clip when something on the side of the road caught my eye. The fence line was covered in wild grape vines and I thought I saw a bunch of hanging fruit, so I turned around and slowly rode back, watching the vines as I did.

As I thought, the vine was hanging heavy with fruit and I stopped the bike and got off, intent to fill the saddlebags with as much fruit as I could fit. This was a great find. While Florida is covered with wild grape vines, only about ten percent of them actually bear fruit. And I’d just found one that did, in abundance.

The fence I was picking fruit on was the northern boundary of a large cattle ranch. Or it had been in the Before. I hadn’t thought of the place since the change, and as I filled my hat with clumps of grapes so dark they looked black, I wondered if the place was still in operation. As I pulled grapes from the vine, I looked the land over on the other side of the fence and was struck by something so obvious, I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it immediately. The grass on that side of the fence was short. Like mowed short. Like, mowed by cows short.

On the ranch, a short distance from where I was picking fruit, was a large bay head of mixed trees. There were some cypress, cabbage palms and other trees associated with low, wet lands. I was looking at this area when I saw something move. Standing up, I strained my eyes to see, before remembering I had my binoculars in my vest and took them out. Putting them up to my eyes, I immediately made out a large black angus cow.

In shock, I lowered the optic and stared in disbelief. Now that I’d seen the first cow, I immediately made out others. And they were all headed towards me. In a few short minutes, a heard of fifty or sixty big black cows meandered out of the swamp. I stood in sheer amazement at the sight before me. I thought cows were gone, at least from around here. And yet, here before my very eyes was a herd!

Moments after the cows came into view, two men on horseback emerged from the same swamp. They were the stereotypical cowboys, broad brimmed hats, jeans and boots. They were busy talking, leaned back in their saddles in apparent ease. After a couple minutes of them not noticing me, I called out to them.

The sound of my voice startled the men and they looked for the source as they each drew a rifle from a scabbard on the saddle. While the men took a moment to find me, the horses looked directly at me with their ears perked. I waved to make sure they could see me and stood in the open with my hands clearly visible. Once they finally saw me, the two men talked for a moment before nudging their horses in my direction.

They approached closer but stayed a fair distance from me. I waved again as they drew near. “Damn,” I shouted. “I didn’t think there was a cow anywhere around here now.”

One of them, wearing a white hat, nodded and replied, “We’ve got a few.”

I looked over at the herd again and said, “I haven’t been out this way since the Day. I was just out riding and saw all these grapes here and stopped to pick some.”

His partner was wearing a very wide brimmed black hat. He nudged his horse and rode even closer to me. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, “You the one calling yourself the Sheriff?”

I looked down at the badge and replied, “It wasn’t my idea. Not something I wanted to do. But the job was hung on me and I guess I accepted it.” The man in the white hat came closer as well and took a handheld radio from his belt and spoke into it.

Nodding towards the cows, I said, “You guys have any trouble with folks trying to steal your cows? That used to be a hanging offense.”

The man in the black hat reached behind himself and pulled out a coiled manila rope. Holding it out, he replied, “Still is. Around here anyway.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear you’re taking care of yourselves.”

As I replied, two side by sides came running up. Each