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

“Unnecessary, Stumpknocker. We’ll handle this.”

“Teddy, switch back to our freq,” Sarge said.

“What’s going on?” Mel asked.

I shrugged. “Sounds like the guys in Eustis saw something. I know they have an observation post out on the trail, on the other side of Mount Dora. Maybe they saw something over there.”

“Is it still safe to go to town?”

“Oh yeah. There wasn’t any shooting or anything. He said it was a recon unit; who knows what that was exactly. But a recon unit isn’t designed to fight head to head.” I didn’t tell her they could be the lead of a larger force. But there hadn’t been any word of anything larger headed our way. I switched my radio as well to hear what Sarge had to say.

“Teddy, you keep an ear on that net. Let me know if they come up with anything else.”

“Roger that, boss.”

Then Sarge made another comment, “Big Town. What a jackass.” I had to laugh. He cracked me up.

“What’s he talking about?” Mel asked as we started moving again.

Smiling, I replied, “He’s mocking Sheffield’s call sign.” I glanced over at her, “Just being Sarge.”

When the market in Altoona came into view, I said, “Alright, babe. I’m going to hang out near this truck. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you guys.”

She was craning her neck to see where the vehicles were going. “Okay. Look at all those people. I didn’t know there were so many around. You never see them.”

She was talking about the crowd gathered at the market. There had to be close to a hundred. It was the most people I’d ever seen out here. The trucks and trailers with the food pulled into the parking lot as the crowd parted like a wave. They immediately started trying to climb into the truck and trailer. But Dalton had been riding in the back of the truck, lying on the bags of food. He started pushing, kicking and throwing people off the truck.

The radio quickly came to life, “Teddy, get some rounds out of that deuce! Put their heads down!”

The Stryker pulled out into the entrance of the parking lot and the big machinegun started to thunder. It sent the people scattering. Dalton climbed up onto the cab of the truck and started shouting.

“That’s enough of that shit! You’re not animals! Line up like damn adults! There’s enough here for all! But the next person that tries to climb onto this truck, I’ll shoot in the face! Now, line up!”

Between the warning shots and the image of an AK-wielding mad man standing on top of the truck, the crowd calmed down and started to form a civil line. It was then, once things were settled down, I told Mel to go over and help. But I decided the truck was fine. The Stryker was sitting close by, no one would mess with it. I wanted to be close to Mel and the girls.

We moved into the crowd, making our way to the back of the trailer connected to Sarge’s Hummer. There were enough people at the truck. Danny and Bobbie were working from the Hummer, so we went to help them. The people were eager, very eager, and peppered us with questions about what was in the bags.

I stood watch as bags were handed out as fast as they could be. Some people tried to take more than one, but were quickly pushed along and they didn’t resist. I don’t blame them; if you don’t try, you can’t succeed. But I think it was the presence of the kids that contributed the most to keeping things under control. We had the kids in the trailer handing the bags out to the people. As hungry and desperate as they were, they were still struck by the sight of little kids handing them food.

Little Bit handed a bag to a woman. She looked at it and asked, “What’s in it?”

“Pancakes and biscuits! We had biscuits this morning!” Little Bit shouted.

The woman looked at me, the question painted on her face. “There’s a lot of stuff in there,” I said. “Flour, rice, canned meat. All kinds of stuff. Be sure to get a hygiene bag too. They have soap, toothbrush and paste. Stuff like that.”

As she was being pushed by those behind her, she asked, “Where did all this come from? What took so long to get it?”

I gently gripped her shoulder, ushering her along as I replied, “It’s coming from other countries. They’re starting to help.”

She looked at the bag with tears in her eyes, “God bless ‘em!”

It only took about thirty minutes to hand bags out to everyone there. In most cases, as soon as they had their precious loot, they quickly left for home to inspect their packages in private and relative safety. In a couple of cases, people simply moved to the edge of the crowd and immediately tore their bag open. Word quickly spread about what was in them. People were at the same time happy and befuddled by the contents.

Things like canned meat, fruit and veggies were eagerly accepted. The flour though, caused some to complain. Asking, “What are we supposed to do with this? We don’t have ovens?”

I was asked this question by a man and quickly replied, “Make pancakes. Cook them on a griddle. Make bannock, wrap it around a stick and cook it over a fire.”

The man looked at the bag of flour, turning it over in his hand. Then replied, “I remember doing that as a kid in the Scouts.”

I smiled, “Then you remember how good it was.”

The man smiled back, “It was good. My boy’s never had it. He’s going to get a surprise tonight.” He then looked at me and asked, “Are there going to be more deliveries like this?”

I shrugged with uncertainty, “I really can’t say. It wasn’t easy getting this. Don’t plan on it. If it happens, then all the better.”

He thrust his hand into mine, “Thank you for getting