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

in their infinite wisdom, had banned the drilling of private wells. Can’t allow people to have even a modicum of self-sufficiency.

In the end, Ocala was like every other urban center we passed. Nearly abandoned and virtually destroyed. In the early days after the Event, some people went on an orgy of looting and senseless destruction. That eventually morphed into the desire to simply survive, which sent people into every structure in search of sustenance. This led to further destruction, either from the search itself or possibly in frustration at coming up empty-handed.

In the end, it turned into a long car ride. There were no issues driving through Ocala and we were soon on the other side, headed into the forest once again. And it would be here that we would see the most people. We encountered several people on the road pushing carts or pulling wagons loaded with unidentifiable plant matter or covered loads. They would always move to the side of the road as we approached and watch as we passed with a look of shock or wonder. Some were afraid and took to the woods at our approach.

As the Ocklawaha bridge came into view, I saw Sarge brake. This was the same river I swam to avoid a Stryker company set up on top. And now, I had one following me over it. Granted, I didn’t use this bridge on my trek.

What’s up?” Mike called.

There’s something sitting on top of the bridge, Sarge called back. Mikey, come around and ease up there and have a look.

I heard the big armored vehicle’s turbine engine spin up as it lurched past me. I leaned forward, trying to see what the old man saw, but could only make out a faint blob. Whatever it was, Dalton was certainly watching it closely. Looking around at the sides of the road, I realized this would be a good spot for an ambush, and I pulled my carbine closer.

Nearly all modern military trucks were sufficiently armored against small arms. So, I felt I was safe in the cab. But one can never be too careful at such moments.

Do not use that main gun unless it’s armor! Sarge barked into the radio.

Ah, come on! Mike shouted back.

Don’t worry, boss. He’s driving. I’m on the coax and Doc is on the deuce, Ted said.

Good. Don’t let him near anything with a trigger, Sarge replied. It takes three men to run that bucket. Make sure he stays on the steering wheel.

I can do the work of three men! Mike replied.

Yeah, you can. Sarge replied, Moe, Larry and Curly. You could hear the laughter on the radio. Hell, I was laughing in my truck.

I’m sure Mike wanted to say something else. But before he could, the fifty-cal manned by Doc started firing on the bridge. It was quickly joined by the coax that fired 7.62 rounds. From where I sat, I watched as tracer rounds skipped off the bridge and whatever else they were hitting. But it was over quickly and everything went quiet except for the engine of my truck rumbling beneath me.

What the hell was it? Sarge asked.

It used to be a truck. They had a roadblock set up. They actually took a shot at us. Can you believe that?” Ted replied.

Did you get ‘em all?

Couple of them. Others went over the bridge into the river.

Alright then, let’s move out folks. We’re too close to home to stop now.

I’ll lead the way, Mike replied.

You couldn’t lead yourself to a blowjob in a whorehouse with hundred-dollar bills stapled to your forehead. Get that thing out of my way!

Mike drove the Stryker to the other side of the bridge and pulled it off to the edge of the road so we could all pass. As I went over the bridge, I looked at the handy work they had left behind. There was a Toyota pick-up sitting at the peak of the bridge. A bad idea in military terms. Doc had done a hell of a job on it with the fifty. There was no glass left in it and the front fender was shot up. There was no way it would ever run again.

There were two men lying dead on the pavement where they’d taken cover behind the truck. An AK clone of some sort lay beside one of them. The other had a scoped bolt-action rifle. There were a few spent casings scattered around them. An utterly futile attempt against the Stryker. What would possess someone to take a shot at something like that with a damn rifle?

A sense of relief washed over me once on the other side of the bridge. Like some barrier had been crossed and I was now safe. Not that we’d encountered any danger on the entire trip. I couldn’t count what just happened as danger to us. I put the rifle back in the middle seat and relaxed.

As we passed through the Mill Dam area, I saw Dalton duck in the turret. When he came back up, he immediately began firing at the sides of the road.

Someone must have just volunteered for the Darwin award and taken a pot shot at Dalton. “Keep your eyes open”, Sarge called out.

I didn’t see anything and doubted Dalton had either. But he was certainly giving the vegetation at either side of the road hell because of it. I could imagine some redneck sitting under an oak tree seeing our convoy coming and, out of boredom, taking a crack at it. Just for shits and giggles. He was probably lying behind that tree now, laughing his ass off. But then too, ammo was a precious commodity today and one was not wanting to waste it for entertainment.

Dalton eventually stopped shooting as we continued eastward. Seeing a sign for Juniper Springs, I wondered if those dirty hippies were still there. It would really be an awesome place to stay. All the pure fresh water you’d ever need. Great woods that have never been hunted. Fish, gators,