Dan and the Bottle Ch. 24

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Nationwide and beyond.
18.6k words
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Part 24 of the 24 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 10/10/2013
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Jim Archer, jr. sat in the seat of the small tractor, looking over the field they'd just finished picking. He was sore and bone tired from the day's labor, but it was well worth it.... once the beans were properly dried and sealed away in jars, they'd have enough to last through til' next fall.

The hundred acres of fields outside of the town proper, though it hadn't been ideal, had responded well with the numerous tons of compost he'd been prepping with over the past three years, and his first actual crops had been more than adequate. The backyard garden they'd first started with hadn't been.

His wife, Debbie, was in the field next to this one, picking tomatoes, which had also done well. He looked in her direction, amazed at the transformation. Life on the farm agreed with her; she was nearly back to her pre-pregnancy weight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his look and yelled out "Hey! Instead of just sitting there, how about getting your ass over here and giving me a hand!?"

He just smiled, took another swig from his water bottle, and fired the small tractor back up, once again lowering the disc harrow back to the ground and putting the machine back in gear, continuing where he had left off. The old bean plants had to be harrowed thoroughly before he could add more compost to the field, and he wanted to get it all done before the first snow, of course, as it all had to be plowed under within the next month. The work never seemed to end around here. During the winter, he'd be teaching another class of young marksmen, and running some of the senior students through a driver's training course. Between those two duties, he had to fit in running his traplines and getting at least one deer to feed his growing family.

A startled shriek from his wife brought him out of his reverie; looking in the direction of her gaze, he saw what had gained her attention..... three wolves were slinking towards the cattle pen.

Reaching behind him, he grabbed for the scoped .308 rifle he always had slung across the seat back. Chambering a round as he jumped off the tractor, he ran toward her, stepping just past her and stopping, in between the furry invaders and his family. Shouldering the big rifle, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.

The heavy round went through the lead wolf, and by an odd twist of fate, ricocheted off a rib and clipped the second animal in the top of the head. It didn't kill it, but it sent him running and the last of the three ran off, trying to catch up. Jimmy worked the bolt, loading another round, but it was too late.... they'd made it to the treeline and vanished into the woods.

When he turned around, Debbie was standing by the stroller, holding their son to her breast as the little nipper nursed. She smiled as she noticed him watching.

"The gunshot woke him up.... I figured this is as good a time as any to feed him his lunch."

"Save some for me."

"Yeah, right.... you can make do with the cow's milk. Bobby needs this more than you do. Besides, when you finish this field, you need to get on the firewood situation. We're going to need more soon."

He sighed heavily, knowing she was right. He had five standing dead trees currently, that he'd been meaning to drop when he found the time.... they used firewood year 'round, to heat water for cooking and bathing. He would have to get on that after lunch.... and after field dressing that wolf....

Mike O'Connell stood on the stage of the old high school auditorium, proud of all they'd accomplished in the past four months. The first of the trainees had completed their version of basic training, and were now chomping at the bit for a bit of action.

Action they would get, soon enough.... the Cubans had set up another camp, to the east of his ranch, and they'd have to be dealt with before long.

Nobody wanted them getting too comfortable, after all.... of course, he had an ace in the hole. Several of his ranchhands had been taking time off from their farm duties--with his full blessing-- and going out at night, scouting out the camp and occasionally picking off one or two of the foreign soldiers with silenced rifles.

This, of course, didn't sit well with the Cuban Commander, who railed at his subordinates about keeping a better watch. He'd lost nearly fifty men, and nobody had heard or seen a thing.

What's more, every last one had been a head shot, except for one, in which the .308 round had gone through the neck, nearly decapitating the man.

When Mike got that report from his scout, he remarked "Now you're just showing off!"

Far to the north, in Michigan, Jerry was unloading from another moderately successful scavenging run. He'd run across an old automotive parts store warehouse, and had found half a dozen new-old car batteries and four cases of sulfuric acid. Those, he knew, would come in handy; he could use them, after flushing the cells with distilled water, to recondition a bunch of batteries, before hooking them in to the solar cells and three windmills that currently powered his home.

He barely had time to unload all of this in his storage battery charging room when Janet pulled up on her four wheeler, Bear running along behind her.

"Hi, Honey.... find anything good this time?"

He smiled at the question.... for a grown woman, his girlfriend could be a bit childlike at times.... 'Daddy, daddy, what did you bring me!?'

"Not much on this run, Babe.... found a bunch of brand new fishing lures in the stockroom of an old sporting goods store, and a couple of boxes of .38 special ammo.... useless to me, of course, but I can use them for trading. Did find something for Bear, though."

The big hound's ears pricked up at the mention of his name. Jerry grinned, throwing the big dog a rawhide chew toy, in the shape of a bone, nearly a foot long.

Janet smiled as the dog ran off with his prize. "Good... he has something to occupy him for a while.... maybe it'll keep his attention away from the chickens."

"He's been going after the chickens?" He asked, while he continued to unload the big truck. The next things out were a big box of fan belts and a small spool of heater hose.

She nodded.... "I think he's just playing with them.... he'll chase them across the yard, then lay down with his head on his legs, but as soon as they come back, and start pecking for worms around him, he jumps up, barking his head off and chasing the nearest one across the yard again. It's like a game to him."

"Well, does it keep him entertained?"

"Yeah, but it makes the chickens nervous.... and nervous hens don't lay as many eggs."

"Time to build a chicken yard, then... " he muttered to himself, wondering where he could dig up some chain link fence that wasn't all rusted to shit. With Bear, ordinary chicken wire would be worse than useless.... even if he could find any.

Three old, new in the box radiators and four sets of car stereo speakers joined the small pile behind the truck, followed by two car stereos... the radios themselves were useless, but the CD players were still usable... and he'd been wanting something to listen to in the garage and in his workshop for some time now. Behind these were several cases of oil, fuel, and air filters, and his biggest prize of all, a half full thirty five gallon drum of motor oil.

He flipped his keys to Janet, saying "Do me a favor, hun.... go inside, unbolt the garage door, and bring me out that wagon... gotta get this stuff inside." He went back to unloading, next grabbing a boxful of preserved foods that he'd traded for in a small town in Indiana. It was a fair amount of food, but he was a long way from being prepared for the bitter Michigan winter. Two cases of plastic 'cans' of coffee followed these, followed by two big boxes of pasta dinners, an assortment of alfredo, mac and cheese, and stroganoff in sealed foil bags. Both big boxes were wrapped in shrink wrap, so it might still be good. He'd found these hidden away in the back of an old, mostly looted grocery store. The last thing he pulled out was his rifle and two pistols.

Janet came out of the concealed door, pulling the big wagon behind her, and the first thing he loaded into it was the big barrel, struggling with the twenty-odd gallon weight; getting it into the truck had been so much easier, considering he'd had a ceiling mounted chain fall to lift the weight..... meanwhile, she jumped in the now-empty truck and pulled it around to the lean-to and parked it. He had to make five trips with the wagon, but before long everything was put away.

He grabbed several packages of the alfredo pasta, a can of coffee, and two jars of the homemade jams and headed for the kitchen. Inside, she opened up the fridge, showing him the gallon of fresh milk and three pounds of butter she'd brought over the day before.

After dinner, they sat in the living room, and Jerry was just about to pull out his big water pipe when he slapped himself on the forehead and jumped from his seat. "Be right back!" he said, as he ran from the room.

He was back in a few minutes, three long wooden boxes in his arms. When he set them down, she realized they were cabinets; each of them had two wide, short drawers, side by side. He pulled out the first drawer and started pulling out DVDs, muttering "Got that already" or "Seen that one.... it stunk." He piled up nine like this, figuring he could use them for trading.

He pulled open the next drawer and whistled, long and low, at the contents.... all thirty of them were copies of concerts by groups long dead.

Pulling out several and setting three of them on the DVD player, he turned on the power for it and the 52" Plasma TV he'd scrounged the year before. Flipping on the power for the ancient home theater stereo amp, he chose an old Rush concert and moved to the couch next to Janet. Pulling a small plastic bottle from his pocket, he emptied it on the table and picked up some small chunks, putting them in the bowl of the water pipe, using a long, thin stick held in the fire in the woodburning stove to light it and taking an experimental hit. Nodding to himself, he handed the hose and mouthpiece off to Janet, watching her eyes light up as she tasted it.

"This is really good."

He grinned and nodded. "The guy I got it from had a small field of it.... about a hundred plants... and not a single male plant or seed in sight. I think he said they were all clones off about thirty mother plants. I swapped him two of those alternators and ten feet of radiator hose for a pound of it."

"Cool."

Eight hundred miles away, in Kentucky, Seth Jones was laying back, in Heaven. His Aunt Julie was slowly riding his hard cock, while her daughter Marie was happily riding his moustache. He had both hands full of the meaty cheeks of her ass, trying desperately to hold her in place while he lapped away at her juicy lips, occasionally taking a swipe at her exposed clit with the tip of his tongue, making her squeal and jump a bit.

Her mother clamped down with the muscles in her well-experienced cunt, squeezing him tight as an orgasm overtook her, moaning in pure joy at the feeling, reaching forward to kiss the back of her daughter's neck.

She loved these little slices of family time.... and her nephew was particularly gifted. He was built a fair bit bigger than her ex, and had a lot more stamina to boot. Frank had always been a 'three minute man'... at best. Seth was good for fifteen minutes or more... the first time. Usually, his second hard on lasted .... forever.

She moaned again as she came, drenching his balls and thighs in her juices, clamping even tighter on him. He responded by thrusting back up into her, hard, again and again, grunting with the effort and picking up speed. Soon, they were fucking along like demented rabbits.

It couldn't last much longer, though; soon he felt that tingling in the nut sack, and he could no longer hold back, pumping cum deep inside his aunt. As soon as she rolled off of him, and lay by his side, on her back, Marie moved over to her, licking the ropes of cum from her mother's still gaping pussy.

Seth glanced at the bedside clock and saw 3:30.... 'Oh Shit!' ran through his mind as he jumped out of the bed.

His Aunt was startled at all of this. "Where the Hell are you goin', boy? We ain't finished here!"

He nodded his head. "Oh yes we are. I'm supposed to be in class in about ten minutes."

"What kinda 'class'? What the Hell are you talking about?"

"I'm taking a driver's ed class for a Bradley."

"What the Hell is a 'Bradley'?"

"It's kind of a tank used for carrying troops during battle."

"Well, what the hell do you need that for?"

"Because we've got four of them right now and I think Sam Martin is gonna ask for a few more. I want to learn to drive one, because it's nothin' like my old chevy."

He ran to his old truck, stabbing the key into the ignition and spinning the tires in loose gravel as he raced towards the old school building. Running through the halls, he barely made it in time to follow the rest of the class into the room.

On the walls were poster size photographs of the Bradley taken from every direction, including numerous pictures of the inside, showing the driver's controls and the gunner's position.

The instructor, Mr. Prescott, watched as the class filed in, taking seats at random, twenty in all.

Mike Levinson, sitting next to Seth, leaned towards him, asking "What had you running---" But then he stopped, sniffing deeply.

"Never mind... I can smell the pussy on ya.... didya get her name?"

Seth just smiled and kept his eyes pointed towards the front of the room.

Caleb and Jeanine, back in Kansas, were finally fully set back up, and Caleb was on his third hunting trip with his younger brother and three cousins, and their campfire talk invariably got around to the Cuban situation. There had already been attacks on a few of the smaller settlements to the east; four families and their farms had been destroyed.

They all knew they couldn't let that continue.

Fred, Caleb's little brother, remarked that they couldn't do much with hunting rifles and shotguns; they were nothing compared to hundreds of soldiers with automatic weapons.... to nods of agreement from the rest.

"Machine guns can be neutralized, though... you guys know the area as well as I do; the Cubans don't. That's one advantage we have over them. I can get the weapons... the question is: Will you guys fight, when it comes down to the nut cuttin'?"

"How? We don't know nothin' about fightin' soldiers. Hell, we're just farmers."

Caleb turned towards his cousin Jeb, grinning. "Don't worry about that none... I can teach you.... and I can get some good guns shipped out here, along with some folks to help me train ya. So I ask you again... are you willing to fight?"

All of the young men nodded in agreement, some a bit nervously. Clark, one of the cousins, shot Caleb a look.

"Where did you get all this, Cuz? These things.... guns, people to teach us to use 'em, that crazy-assed underground farm o'yers... all o' that?"

Caleb grinned, then turned serious. "During the time I was gone, I took basic training with the Wyoming Militia, learning how to track them Cubans, what kinda prints their boots leave, how to set up an ambush, how that needs to change as the enemy changes, how to deal with their armor, the best way to scout out their camps and what to watch for. That militia has been fightin' them for years, and we need to step up and help them. They've already freed half a dozen states, so I'd say they know what they're doin'.... and they helped me out in comin' back here, built that there farm pretty much from scratch, and helped me get set up so's I could start gettin' some folks organized around here. We've gotta get ready for what's comin'. We've gotta be ready to defend our homes."

Most of this was said in almost a melancholy tone, as though he was almost embarassed to mention it. He paused for a moment, judging how his words were being received.

Some of the young men were nodding in agreement, while the rest were, at the least, thoughtful. Caleb could almost hear the wheels turning.

It was again Clark who spoke. "Well, all o' this might be true, but what's in it for us?" He'd always been the practical one of the bunch.

Caleb smiled at this... he'd expected it from his cousin, who hadn't disappointed him.

"What do you get? New knowledge, new skills, it'll make you better hunters... and when the Cubans turn up, you'll be able to deal with them."

Several of the young men took note of his use of the word 'when'. He hadn't said 'if'.

It was Jeb who spoke next. "You're certain of it, then? I mean... you really think they're gonna come here?"

Caleb nodded, a dark cloud crossing his eyes. "With all of the food we're growing? Are you kidding? They invaded us for our resources... food is the biggest resource there is these days, aside from gas.... and the militia is the only reliable source o' gas in a thousand miles. Them Cubans can't get it from them.... I was talkin' to a guy, he thinks the Cubans are gettin' it out of old storage tanks, but nobody's really sure."

There followed a long silence, which Carl finally broke.

"So what-all do they teach you?"

"Oh, surviving outdoors, shooting at long ranges, building a shelter that works as a shooting blind, trigger control and how to save ammo, infiltratin' their camps and killing them without bein' seen.... and you can get into other things."

"Other things?"

Caleb smiled inwardly... he knew right then that he had them.

"Well, I loved the classes on explosives... and jumping out of a plane was an absolute blast. Flying towards the earth from over a mile up, then pulling the ripcord and flying your chute around the sky as you look for your landing zone.... there's nothing like it, I'm tellin' yas."

"You didn't do that!"

"Like Hell, I didn't! I had to make five successful practice jumps to earn these." Caleb replied, peeling back the lapel of his coat, revealing a small paratrooper's wings insignia.

All four of them stared at the small medal, a pair of wings suspended from a parachute.

It was Jeb that finally spoke up. "You really did jump out of an airplane."

"Yup..... seven times. The last one wasn't practice, though."

"What do you mean?"

"My platoon was part of an operation against a Chinese camp. We dropped five miles out, marched to the camp, picked off the sentries with silenced rifles, and moved in with silenced pistols and knives."

His cousin Clark interrupted him. "So you murdered them in their beds."

Caleb ignored the question and continued. "Then we freed a bunch of American women the bastards were keeping as sex slaves."

Carl almost cringed at the way he'd shut Clark down.

Jeb looked thoughtful for a minute, and nodded. "I'm in."

One by one, they each nodded their assent.... even Clark.

Down in Colorado, Jim McCrosky looked over the small class, twenty recruits who had already gone through Basic training and had shown aptitude with a rifle and were now ready for basic sniper training.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you all think you're pretty good with a rifle, because you all qualified at the hundred and fifty yard range in Basic.... now it's time to show you why I say that you don't know what long-range shooting really is."

With that, he pulled back the sheet on his desk, revealing an enormous rifle.

"Meet the .50 caliber Barrett.... based on the Browning M2 .50 cal. machine gun round. This will kill reliably at a mile out, when paired with the proper scope and a master sniper.... and I know a few guys who've made confirmed kills with this type of rifle at ranges getting close to two miles away."