Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

No. No reason. Nothing left there.

Ah come on! Mike replied. Let’s stop by for old time’s sake!

No, Sarge replied.

You never let us have any fun. Mike replied.

Mikey, kids are meant to be seen, not heard. Sarge said.

But, you can’t see me.

Exactly. And I shouldn’t hear your prepubescent ass either!

Prepubescent? Mike asked.

Look it up, Einstein.

We continued on our path in the constant rain. Both a hazard and a comfort. As we passed through Chiefland, I looked for signs of people. Much like in Altoona and Umatilla, I saw what must be the local market. But the soggy tables and tarps covering them sat empty. There’d been other signs of life. In a couple of places, I saw crops planted and some that looked as though they were either in the process of or had already been harvested. It was heartening to see. Life does indeed go on.

We took highway 27 out of Chiefland towards Williston, which would eventually take us to Ocala. From there, I imagined the old man would take highway 40 through the forest to highway 19 and home. It was nearly the exact same route I had taken home. And again, I was struck by the difference. We’d be home today. It took me nearly a month to make the same trip.

I started to think of all the differences. Like the day everything changed. I’d just left a drive-through where I grabbed a burger and a Coke. A burger that contained probably forty or fifty cows. Maybe more. And a Coke, which I do dearly love, made with shit no one should put in their bodies. Though I and millions of others did it daily.

I was riding in a car at seventy-five miles an hour. Just the thought of what it took to make that happen could vapor-lock your brain if you really got into it, and not just everything it took to build the car. But the fuel, the road, the GPS system used for navigation. Millions upon millions of moving parts. But of course, at the moment I was sitting in the cab of a massive truck hauling a load of fuel. So, these things certainly weren’t gone. But the idea that everyone would again be zipping down the highway would be decades away, if ever.

And maybe it wasn’t all bad. Life was certainly simpler in some ways and immensely harder in others. You didn’t have to worry about taxes or light bills. But you had to worry about how to produce light. Budgeting for the grocery bill wasn’t so much of a problem. But coming up with food was. And in most cases, the food we now ate was far better for us. It was certainly organic and free of pesticides and chemicals. But it took far more effort to produce.

Unlike the old world, to put calories in required putting calories out. But then, that’s the way the natural system works. We perverted that, making it too easy to input calories. We created calorie-dense foods when at the same time we were reducing the need to expend them in every facet of life. And that is why we became so unhealthy.

Between Williston and Ocala, the rain stopped and for an instant, the sun peaked through the clouds. I leaned forward to feel it on my face. To look up and see the sun. It made me smile and brought me out of the funk I was wallowing in. It was kind of funny. When the sun was overhead and baking you, you wished for it to abate. For some clouds to move in and offer some relief. But go without it for a day or so, and you longed for its return, knowing full well it was going to make you uncomfortable again.

Alright, everyone. Ocala is coming up, and with this break in the rain, things could get western. Keep your eyes open, Sarge called on the radio.

I saw Dalton pop up out of the turret of the Hummer and man the machinegun. This would be the biggest town we drove through. Of course, Tallahassee was bigger, but we never left the interstate. We’d be driving right through the heart of Ocala’s south side. Not the best part of town, even in good times.

The rain picked back up as we crossed under I-75. I smiled to myself, watching Dalton as the rain pelted him. He didn’t appear to take any notice and continued to scan the sides of the road. Since I wasn’t in a position to shoot back if anything happened, I paid attention to the town itself.

Interesting things happen to an urban area once man no longer rules over it. Grass grows in the cracks of the road and sidewalks. Weeds take over everything. They climb buildings, utility poles and anything their tendrils can reach. Seeing grass pushing its way up through the road in large clumps was the most interesting to me, as it was just so improbable in normal times.

But there were other things that showed the presence of people if you looked carefully. Worn paths through lots that were otherwise weed-choked. Lines of drift changed from roads to the shortest distance between two points. As a result, you could tell where people were moving. Even in parking lots and roads, the paths used would be clear of debris. In that light, signs of life were everywhere, though subtle.

It made me wonder how many people were still living in urban areas after all this time. They’d certainly lost their appeal at this point. The entire reason to live in them was ease of life, proximity to work and shopping, and where entertainment opportunities were plentiful. Maybe not so much for Ocala, but cities in general. But all that was gone now. Food had to be grown or hunted, and that required open land. Not to mention, municipal water supplies were a thing of the past. And most cities,