notchman
Curmudgeon in Training
That's nice. I have one of these. You do have to be careful with the Micro Compact, it will pinch your thumb web if you're not careful.
Story Market Day
- Thread starter ComCamGuy
- Start date
That's nice. I have one of these. You do have to be careful with the Micro Compact, it will pinch your thumb web if you're not careful.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Apple calls it 800+, Amazon says 600+, either way, more pages to the dollar.
notchman
Curmudgeon in Training
I'll have to remember that and give that a try.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
notchman
Curmudgeon in Training
Nice, you even have the beavertail on it!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Heavily massaged by a good custom smith before I got it
Knighttemplar
Veteran Member
Way out of my price range, I’ve got a Star PD.
As lonv as you consistentley hit your target, thats good enough.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
At the Cabin
“Barbara, it’s lunchtime.”
Randolph’s voice woke her.
“I’ll be right down. Is there any hot water left?”
“Yeah. Lunch will be ready by the time you get down here.”
Barbara pulled back the covers and shivered. She knew she had to take a quick rinse off before she get dressed. Her eyes slid over to the GPS on the desk. She knew she had to check it first.
She scanned the screen, scrolling through the half a dozen messages. None of them were critical, but they were all important. One of the changes they would do was go fetch her car and make a supply run before all the stores were toast. Depending on the roads and the traffic, they might even swing past so Randolph and Benjaman can get their own trucks and more stuff. Stephen told her to have them go ahead and drive them all the way to the cabin. Better for them to be there than all the way down at the bike lot.
She knew Stephen was taking a risk, having them drive to the cabin before he had a chance to talk to his bosses, but he must have decided the benefits outweighed the risk. She started making a shopping list in her head as she scrubbed down in the small shower they had up here.
She thought first of the staples, mostly because she was reminding Stephen to get those too. She ticked them off in her head, right out of the manual. Hell. If she couldn’t use it for what they taught it to her for, she may as well use it for herself.
While she was thinking, she was washing up. Her brain slammed out of gear as her hands got to her legs. She could feel the puckers of skin. She could see them in her mind, purple raised puckers. The artist did what he could, and the results were beautiful according to others, but all she saw were the scars, like the one along her forehead, down through the eyebrow onto her cheek. Stephen lied horribly and said it was barely visible unless she had a real good tan going, but she knew better.
She violently forced her mind back onto Stephen’s messages. Taken as a whole, they told her their preparations were going forward and hadn’t hit a snag yet.
That was the part that worried her. She knew snags were coming, but not what kind, how many, or how serious. She sent the message she had been composing off and on all through the night of things for him to remember, things to be careful of, things to avoid.
She knew if Stephen was alone, he would probably be OK. She had no idea if his brother and sister would be a help, a hindrance, or a pair of boat anchors. She wished she was there to help him.
“Your food’s going to get cold.” Randolph said from the bottom of the stairs.
“Barbara, it’s lunchtime.”
Randolph’s voice woke her.
“I’ll be right down. Is there any hot water left?”
“Yeah. Lunch will be ready by the time you get down here.”
Barbara pulled back the covers and shivered. She knew she had to take a quick rinse off before she get dressed. Her eyes slid over to the GPS on the desk. She knew she had to check it first.
She scanned the screen, scrolling through the half a dozen messages. None of them were critical, but they were all important. One of the changes they would do was go fetch her car and make a supply run before all the stores were toast. Depending on the roads and the traffic, they might even swing past so Randolph and Benjaman can get their own trucks and more stuff. Stephen told her to have them go ahead and drive them all the way to the cabin. Better for them to be there than all the way down at the bike lot.
She knew Stephen was taking a risk, having them drive to the cabin before he had a chance to talk to his bosses, but he must have decided the benefits outweighed the risk. She started making a shopping list in her head as she scrubbed down in the small shower they had up here.
She thought first of the staples, mostly because she was reminding Stephen to get those too. She ticked them off in her head, right out of the manual. Hell. If she couldn’t use it for what they taught it to her for, she may as well use it for herself.
While she was thinking, she was washing up. Her brain slammed out of gear as her hands got to her legs. She could feel the puckers of skin. She could see them in her mind, purple raised puckers. The artist did what he could, and the results were beautiful according to others, but all she saw were the scars, like the one along her forehead, down through the eyebrow onto her cheek. Stephen lied horribly and said it was barely visible unless she had a real good tan going, but she knew better.
She violently forced her mind back onto Stephen’s messages. Taken as a whole, they told her their preparations were going forward and hadn’t hit a snag yet.
That was the part that worried her. She knew snags were coming, but not what kind, how many, or how serious. She sent the message she had been composing off and on all through the night of things for him to remember, things to be careful of, things to avoid.
She knew if Stephen was alone, he would probably be OK. She had no idea if his brother and sister would be a help, a hindrance, or a pair of boat anchors. She wished she was there to help him.
“Your food’s going to get cold.” Randolph said from the bottom of the stairs.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Down South, in the Garage
Stephen pulled the larger of the two plastic boxes from the storage space. It was flat and shaped like a rifle case, but shorter in length and fairly heavy for its size. He set it on the bench in front of him and opened the latches. When he lifted the lid, he still wasn’t sure what was in there. The first thing he saw was loose notes and scraps of paper covered by his father’s distinctive left-handed scrawl. As he gathered them and started stacking them in a pile along with a spiral-bound notebook, other things came into view. Lots of pistol magazines, larger than the ones for his father’s 1911s.
Other parts came into view, a grip, then a barrel. He worked a little harder, pulling out small plastic containers of different sizes with some sort of metal parts in them. When he had everything out of the case and spread out on the bench. He took another, harder look at what was in front of him.
It looked like the bastard stepchild of a pistol and a chunk of pipe. He looked closer and started puzzling out the bits. It kinda looked like a Sten gun, like the ones his toy paratroopers had when he was a kid. He remembered them in all the old WWII movies his father used to watch. He remembered when he pointed out the Stormtrooper’s guns were just a newer form of Sten gun playing dress up for the movie.
The grip looked different and the stock slid forward on two rails instead of flipping and folding under like the movie Sterling’s. And no magazine well on the side he discovered as he turned it over. The grip felt familiar. The thumb safety was in the right place, along with magazine release.
He glanced over at the notebook. Fat magic marker label on the cover said ‘1911 Carbine notes’. Shit. He should have started there. He opened the notebook, and got lost for he didn’t know how long as he read through his fathers pages and pages of extensive notes as he tried to make this thing work. There were drawings with very precise measurements, along with what he found wrong, what he tried to fix, all in his distinctive handwriting. It was like he was in the room here with him.
It was going back in time, and getting to be with him one more time. He saw notes like ‘bolt gritty, interior needs polished’, ‘headspacing off by .022’, ‘firing pin block needs truing’, “Extractor not right, try again’, ‘wet-sand the bolt channel assembly’, ‘ejector still not right, do it again’, ‘extractor right, make five more’, and on and on. He read along as his father micro-metered, and test fit and polished and tuned and went round and round until it was what he thought it should be. Some part called the Para block was made from metal too soft for his liking, and the angle of the ramp was off. So, he made another one for it.
There were pages and pages of these notes. From test firing for the chronograph, to testing some replacement parts he made, his father made sure this was going to work right before he was done. There were no notes on whether he was keeping this for himself, or doing it for one of his friends. He knew his father would work just as hard on it either way. It was an engineering problem to him. Those were like a relaxing crossword puzzle is to others.
He hefted the little carbine in his hands. It was heavy for it’s size, but moved well. The wire stock slid in and out on its rails smoothly. He remembered his father’s notes about the factory on feeling ‘flimsy’ to him and how he made a new one out of one for an 870 shotgun, which explained why Stephen was familiar with it’s operation from his FLETC training, not that they used shotguns much at the park.
He looked at the small stack of magazines on the table, each with precise crisp numbering on the back of each one. His father’s notes said he didn’t put a number onto a magazine until it was tested and tuned for the carbine and was known to run right.
He was still looking and reading when he heard a truck pull up.
Stephen pulled the larger of the two plastic boxes from the storage space. It was flat and shaped like a rifle case, but shorter in length and fairly heavy for its size. He set it on the bench in front of him and opened the latches. When he lifted the lid, he still wasn’t sure what was in there. The first thing he saw was loose notes and scraps of paper covered by his father’s distinctive left-handed scrawl. As he gathered them and started stacking them in a pile along with a spiral-bound notebook, other things came into view. Lots of pistol magazines, larger than the ones for his father’s 1911s.
Other parts came into view, a grip, then a barrel. He worked a little harder, pulling out small plastic containers of different sizes with some sort of metal parts in them. When he had everything out of the case and spread out on the bench. He took another, harder look at what was in front of him.
It looked like the bastard stepchild of a pistol and a chunk of pipe. He looked closer and started puzzling out the bits. It kinda looked like a Sten gun, like the ones his toy paratroopers had when he was a kid. He remembered them in all the old WWII movies his father used to watch. He remembered when he pointed out the Stormtrooper’s guns were just a newer form of Sten gun playing dress up for the movie.
The grip looked different and the stock slid forward on two rails instead of flipping and folding under like the movie Sterling’s. And no magazine well on the side he discovered as he turned it over. The grip felt familiar. The thumb safety was in the right place, along with magazine release.
He glanced over at the notebook. Fat magic marker label on the cover said ‘1911 Carbine notes’. Shit. He should have started there. He opened the notebook, and got lost for he didn’t know how long as he read through his fathers pages and pages of extensive notes as he tried to make this thing work. There were drawings with very precise measurements, along with what he found wrong, what he tried to fix, all in his distinctive handwriting. It was like he was in the room here with him.
It was going back in time, and getting to be with him one more time. He saw notes like ‘bolt gritty, interior needs polished’, ‘headspacing off by .022’, ‘firing pin block needs truing’, “Extractor not right, try again’, ‘wet-sand the bolt channel assembly’, ‘ejector still not right, do it again’, ‘extractor right, make five more’, and on and on. He read along as his father micro-metered, and test fit and polished and tuned and went round and round until it was what he thought it should be. Some part called the Para block was made from metal too soft for his liking, and the angle of the ramp was off. So, he made another one for it.
There were pages and pages of these notes. From test firing for the chronograph, to testing some replacement parts he made, his father made sure this was going to work right before he was done. There were no notes on whether he was keeping this for himself, or doing it for one of his friends. He knew his father would work just as hard on it either way. It was an engineering problem to him. Those were like a relaxing crossword puzzle is to others.
He hefted the little carbine in his hands. It was heavy for it’s size, but moved well. The wire stock slid in and out on its rails smoothly. He remembered his father’s notes about the factory on feeling ‘flimsy’ to him and how he made a new one out of one for an 870 shotgun, which explained why Stephen was familiar with it’s operation from his FLETC training, not that they used shotguns much at the park.
He looked at the small stack of magazines on the table, each with precise crisp numbering on the back of each one. His father’s notes said he didn’t put a number onto a magazine until it was tested and tuned for the carbine and was known to run right.
He was still looking and reading when he heard a truck pull up.
Last edited:
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
12-16" barrel, 20-24 rd mags.
I'm in for two. No optic required (I have some spares)
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
16" is the sweet spot for the most FPS
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Nice PCC! Thanks, CCG!
larry_minn
Contributing Member
I considered a tat for some scaring. But a worm/butterfly was only thing that might work. If people don’t like, they can look elsewhere. I’m not paid to be pretty.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Pretty sure most of us would be way overpaid if we were . . . . .
Speaking for myself only
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
North, at the Cabin
“Well, hello Medusa.” Benjiman said, looking up from where he was loading his plate.
Barbara tried smoothing down her hair again, raking her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to get it under control. No such luck. The static won and her brown hair went back to floating all around her head.
“Stop it, otherwise she will go back upstairs, spend another hour with her curing wand and a gallon of Aqua-Net, and we will never get to eat.” Randolph said as he put a plate down in front of Barbara’s chair.
At this, Barbara blushed and Benjiman laughed. They all sat still at the table and bowed their heads for a few silent moments before continuing to load plates, fill glasses and all the other things for the start of the meal.
“So, what’d Stephen have to say? How is he doing down there?” Benjiman asked as he had a fork of salad hoisted.
“He’s still working to pack his brother and sister up, but he’s trying to hurry them up now.” Barbara said as she stirred her coffee.
“Did you tell him about what we heard on the radio?” Randolph asked.
“Yeah, and he heard some other stuff too. He wants us to do a supply run, get as much as we can and drive it back here to the cabin.”
“Drive it back here I hope.” Benjiman said.
“Yeah, we go down, grab my car and we can head over to your place,’ she looked over at Randolph, “and grab your truck so we can get more. He’s bringing his brother and sister here so we will need more stuff, especially food since we will probably get stuck here past Christmas if things in town don’t shape up.”
“It’s a long ride to do this evening. Probably best to get things set, hit the rack early and launch first thing in the morning. Those trails on the bikes by headlamp wouldn’t be a good idea.” Benjiman said.
Randolph looked from Benjiman to Barbara. “If ‘damn the consequences, full speed ahead’ is recommending something for safety, we probably ought to listen.”
“You got a point. After we eat, we check the bikes. I know I need to swap out the tube in mine. I don’t want to trust a patch right now.”
“And we can take bags and the extra racks off, since we will be driving back.” Randolph said.
“No, leave them on. They are already set up with no good reason to change them.” Benjiman said.
“Well if you two take care of that, I’ll clean things up from lunch.”
“Deal!” the other two said.
“Well, hello Medusa.” Benjiman said, looking up from where he was loading his plate.
Barbara tried smoothing down her hair again, raking her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to get it under control. No such luck. The static won and her brown hair went back to floating all around her head.
“Stop it, otherwise she will go back upstairs, spend another hour with her curing wand and a gallon of Aqua-Net, and we will never get to eat.” Randolph said as he put a plate down in front of Barbara’s chair.
At this, Barbara blushed and Benjiman laughed. They all sat still at the table and bowed their heads for a few silent moments before continuing to load plates, fill glasses and all the other things for the start of the meal.
“So, what’d Stephen have to say? How is he doing down there?” Benjiman asked as he had a fork of salad hoisted.
“He’s still working to pack his brother and sister up, but he’s trying to hurry them up now.” Barbara said as she stirred her coffee.
“Did you tell him about what we heard on the radio?” Randolph asked.
“Yeah, and he heard some other stuff too. He wants us to do a supply run, get as much as we can and drive it back here to the cabin.”
“Drive it back here I hope.” Benjiman said.
“Yeah, we go down, grab my car and we can head over to your place,’ she looked over at Randolph, “and grab your truck so we can get more. He’s bringing his brother and sister here so we will need more stuff, especially food since we will probably get stuck here past Christmas if things in town don’t shape up.”
“It’s a long ride to do this evening. Probably best to get things set, hit the rack early and launch first thing in the morning. Those trails on the bikes by headlamp wouldn’t be a good idea.” Benjiman said.
Randolph looked from Benjiman to Barbara. “If ‘damn the consequences, full speed ahead’ is recommending something for safety, we probably ought to listen.”
“You got a point. After we eat, we check the bikes. I know I need to swap out the tube in mine. I don’t want to trust a patch right now.”
“And we can take bags and the extra racks off, since we will be driving back.” Randolph said.
“No, leave them on. They are already set up with no good reason to change them.” Benjiman said.
“Well if you two take care of that, I’ll clean things up from lunch.”
“Deal!” the other two said.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Down South, Outside the Garage
Stephen met the truck in the driveway. A man he thought he recognized climbed out.
“Damn Stephen, you’ve grown up. I remember helping you with your Pinwood Derby cars.”
“How are you doing, Joseph? What brings you round?”
“I ran into your little brother. He said you guys were going to head north.”
“Yeah, well with the house going back to the bank…”
“Real sorry about your mother. She was a real sweet lady, and we are all going to miss her.”
“Thank you, sir. Yes, she was. She reverse-mortgaged the house back to the bank to keep ahead of the bills after dad died, so with her passing, it kinda left Sam and Gab in a lurch. I got room up north and I promised Mom I would take care of them.”
“I understand, but I hate to see them leave all the same.”
“We appreciate that, we really do.” Stephen wasn’t sure where all this was going, but he heard Barbara’s voice in his head. ‘Make ground or make preparations. Either way, never be still.’
“So, you were saying you ran into Gabe?”
“Yeah. He was loading up on stuff for you guys to take with you and I told him I had some stuff to drop off.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I had some stuff I had on order years ago for your father. It came in after he passed, and, well, I wasn’t going to drop it off with your mother since I thought you might want it. I just never knew when you were in town until after you had already left. I always said ‘next time’. Well, I don’t know when ‘next time’ would ever be at this point.”
“OK,” Stephen didn’t know what to say beyond that.
The older gentleman opened the rear door of the pickup and pulled out a canvas bag about twenty or so inches long. He placed it on the hood of the truck and unzipped it. Inside was something pretty. It seemed to be the day for firearms. This one wasn’t something for fighting or defending however. This was something else.
The little rifle was familiar, but different. It looked a lot like the little Browning takedown 22 his father taught him to shoot with, the one he used for the shooting Merit Badge. He knew it wasn’t that one though. That one was nestled securely in its case in the closet of the cabin up north.
This one was like it, but a lot different too. The barrel was separated from the buttstock and receiver, making a trim little package. It looked smaller than his, both barrel length and stock length. Joseph was talking again.
“It was in real rough shape when your father got it. The stock was chewed up, the front sight was missing and it didn’t work at all. He went through and chopped the barrel down to get rid of the bad muzzle, and cut down or replaced the magazine tube for his idea. We knew this old boy over in Riverside who made custom rifle stocks. Well, your dad used to do some metal work for some of his customers, and got him to agree to make a new set of wood for this here rifle, even got him to do it out of a slab of Teak he had tucked in a corner. When the stock was done, the whole mess was shipped off to a friend of mine down in Arizona for refinishing inside and out with some special sort of hard Nickle coating. The guy with the stock did things at his own pace, what with his health not doing well, then shipping it off and working through that backlog, your dad never got to see it.”
Stephen picked it up. His first impression was it was lighter than his. The stock was at least two inches shorter, as was the barrel. The metal was a slick grey under his fingers as he snapped the barrel into place. The grey metal complemented the silver-grey of the weathered Teak. He snapped it to his shoulder. The front sight popped out at him, a stark white ball through the hole of a round peep sight, unlike the standard ‘V’ rear on his own.
“There’s a leather sleeve for carrying it in the field, and a sling from an old ’03 Springfield in there too. He even had me get a pisspot full of ammo for it, two full cans in the back seat.”
“It’s a hell of a piece of work. I’m sad he never got to see it.”
“I’m sure he saw it, Steven. I just hope the rest of us were able to make it match what he saw.” Joseph wiped his face with his hand. “So, when will you guys be heading out?”
“Day after tomorrow.” Stephen put the rifle back in its case and leaned it against the garage door.
“I’ll swing by sometime before you leave. I want to say a proper goodbye to the three of you.” He said as he set the cans from the backseat down on the chair by the garage door.
“We’ll be here…and thank you.”
Stephen met the truck in the driveway. A man he thought he recognized climbed out.
“Damn Stephen, you’ve grown up. I remember helping you with your Pinwood Derby cars.”
“How are you doing, Joseph? What brings you round?”
“I ran into your little brother. He said you guys were going to head north.”
“Yeah, well with the house going back to the bank…”
“Real sorry about your mother. She was a real sweet lady, and we are all going to miss her.”
“Thank you, sir. Yes, she was. She reverse-mortgaged the house back to the bank to keep ahead of the bills after dad died, so with her passing, it kinda left Sam and Gab in a lurch. I got room up north and I promised Mom I would take care of them.”
“I understand, but I hate to see them leave all the same.”
“We appreciate that, we really do.” Stephen wasn’t sure where all this was going, but he heard Barbara’s voice in his head. ‘Make ground or make preparations. Either way, never be still.’
“So, you were saying you ran into Gabe?”
“Yeah. He was loading up on stuff for you guys to take with you and I told him I had some stuff to drop off.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I had some stuff I had on order years ago for your father. It came in after he passed, and, well, I wasn’t going to drop it off with your mother since I thought you might want it. I just never knew when you were in town until after you had already left. I always said ‘next time’. Well, I don’t know when ‘next time’ would ever be at this point.”
“OK,” Stephen didn’t know what to say beyond that.
The older gentleman opened the rear door of the pickup and pulled out a canvas bag about twenty or so inches long. He placed it on the hood of the truck and unzipped it. Inside was something pretty. It seemed to be the day for firearms. This one wasn’t something for fighting or defending however. This was something else.
The little rifle was familiar, but different. It looked a lot like the little Browning takedown 22 his father taught him to shoot with, the one he used for the shooting Merit Badge. He knew it wasn’t that one though. That one was nestled securely in its case in the closet of the cabin up north.
This one was like it, but a lot different too. The barrel was separated from the buttstock and receiver, making a trim little package. It looked smaller than his, both barrel length and stock length. Joseph was talking again.
“It was in real rough shape when your father got it. The stock was chewed up, the front sight was missing and it didn’t work at all. He went through and chopped the barrel down to get rid of the bad muzzle, and cut down or replaced the magazine tube for his idea. We knew this old boy over in Riverside who made custom rifle stocks. Well, your dad used to do some metal work for some of his customers, and got him to agree to make a new set of wood for this here rifle, even got him to do it out of a slab of Teak he had tucked in a corner. When the stock was done, the whole mess was shipped off to a friend of mine down in Arizona for refinishing inside and out with some special sort of hard Nickle coating. The guy with the stock did things at his own pace, what with his health not doing well, then shipping it off and working through that backlog, your dad never got to see it.”
Stephen picked it up. His first impression was it was lighter than his. The stock was at least two inches shorter, as was the barrel. The metal was a slick grey under his fingers as he snapped the barrel into place. The grey metal complemented the silver-grey of the weathered Teak. He snapped it to his shoulder. The front sight popped out at him, a stark white ball through the hole of a round peep sight, unlike the standard ‘V’ rear on his own.
“There’s a leather sleeve for carrying it in the field, and a sling from an old ’03 Springfield in there too. He even had me get a pisspot full of ammo for it, two full cans in the back seat.”
“It’s a hell of a piece of work. I’m sad he never got to see it.”
“I’m sure he saw it, Steven. I just hope the rest of us were able to make it match what he saw.” Joseph wiped his face with his hand. “So, when will you guys be heading out?”
“Day after tomorrow.” Stephen put the rifle back in its case and leaned it against the garage door.
“I’ll swing by sometime before you leave. I want to say a proper goodbye to the three of you.” He said as he set the cans from the backseat down on the chair by the garage door.
“We’ll be here…and thank you.”
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Later
Stephen barely had most of the stuff from the garage organized when Gabe drove up. He didn’t even wait for Gabe to get out before he had the tailgate down and unloading started. The first thing Stephen saw was four gas cans on one side of the bed. They were the big five-gallon ones, and they were full. Even better.
“Any trouble?” he asked as he was moving boxes of stuff.
“No, but they did look at me funny for some of the things on your list. Oh, if Mr. Johnston asks, we are starting to help take care of a cousin’s horse was the reason for the drugs and vet wrap.”
“But he gave them to you, right?”
“Yup.”
Stephen looked into the boxes. Penicillin, Povidone-Iodine, Chlorhexidine Solution, Betadine, Metronidazole, Azithromycin, Sulfamethoxazole, Ivermectin, Triple-antibiotic paste, vet wrap, it looked like he was able to get a lot more than Stephen hoped for. One of the things he was real happy to see was the wound repair cream. He had a small tube of it back at the cabin, but none with him. It was a mix of Manuka Honey and MicroSilver and did a wonderous job on healing wounds quickly. He looked at the other boxes in the bed of the truck. They would have to break a lot of them down and compress things to make room for the rest of their stuff.
“What else did you buy?”
‘Since we were bending mom’s credit card. I got some other things, like winter clothes for me and Sam like pants, shirts, gloves, socks, and whatever else I saw to throw into the cart, along with my big purchase, a real tool kit for the truck since the ones I have now are all flea market finds.”
Stephen almost said something but Barbara’s voice in the back of his head reminded him ‘preparation is better than improvisation.’ Instead, he decided to remind him of the goal.
“Remember, we only have so much room. We are going to have to find a good way to pack all this in without overloading things.”
Gabriel just grinned.
“Don’t worry. They had a couple beautiful golden-colored real canvas tarps. We can put one over the bed, and I’ll chop the other one up tonight and make some quick tool rolls before I pack my machine.”
“Good. Any luck on sleeping bags?”
“No, but I have plenty of wool blankets. I can use the rest of the one canvas tarp to make some old west style bedrolls when we get north if we end up needing them before we can find some more.”
“Great, but if it’s not too hard, at least cut the three sections for us and pull some of your wool blankets too. We might end up camping under the stars on the drive north. There might not be good motels along the route, and besides, I’d rather catch four or five hours sleep at a rest stop and get back on the road north than lolly-gag. And we never stay the night where we get gas.” Stephen wasn’t sure why he said that last part, but he was sure it must be a Barbara-ism, something about never staying somewhere the enemy was sure to look or some shit like that.
“OK, I can do that, no problem.”
“Before you work on that too much, though, make sure you help Sam unload when she gets back. I’m going to run over to the drug store. Which one will be my best bet?”
“Hadley’s. The others will probably be picked clean of most stuff.”
“Old man Hadley still running the place?”
“No. His daughter runs it now.”
Stephen hadn’t thought about her in ages. Then again, Junior Prom was a long time behind them both.
“Cool. I’ll be back.”
Stephen barely had most of the stuff from the garage organized when Gabe drove up. He didn’t even wait for Gabe to get out before he had the tailgate down and unloading started. The first thing Stephen saw was four gas cans on one side of the bed. They were the big five-gallon ones, and they were full. Even better.
“Any trouble?” he asked as he was moving boxes of stuff.
“No, but they did look at me funny for some of the things on your list. Oh, if Mr. Johnston asks, we are starting to help take care of a cousin’s horse was the reason for the drugs and vet wrap.”
“But he gave them to you, right?”
“Yup.”
Stephen looked into the boxes. Penicillin, Povidone-Iodine, Chlorhexidine Solution, Betadine, Metronidazole, Azithromycin, Sulfamethoxazole, Ivermectin, Triple-antibiotic paste, vet wrap, it looked like he was able to get a lot more than Stephen hoped for. One of the things he was real happy to see was the wound repair cream. He had a small tube of it back at the cabin, but none with him. It was a mix of Manuka Honey and MicroSilver and did a wonderous job on healing wounds quickly. He looked at the other boxes in the bed of the truck. They would have to break a lot of them down and compress things to make room for the rest of their stuff.
“What else did you buy?”
‘Since we were bending mom’s credit card. I got some other things, like winter clothes for me and Sam like pants, shirts, gloves, socks, and whatever else I saw to throw into the cart, along with my big purchase, a real tool kit for the truck since the ones I have now are all flea market finds.”
Stephen almost said something but Barbara’s voice in the back of his head reminded him ‘preparation is better than improvisation.’ Instead, he decided to remind him of the goal.
“Remember, we only have so much room. We are going to have to find a good way to pack all this in without overloading things.”
Gabriel just grinned.
“Don’t worry. They had a couple beautiful golden-colored real canvas tarps. We can put one over the bed, and I’ll chop the other one up tonight and make some quick tool rolls before I pack my machine.”
“Good. Any luck on sleeping bags?”
“No, but I have plenty of wool blankets. I can use the rest of the one canvas tarp to make some old west style bedrolls when we get north if we end up needing them before we can find some more.”
“Great, but if it’s not too hard, at least cut the three sections for us and pull some of your wool blankets too. We might end up camping under the stars on the drive north. There might not be good motels along the route, and besides, I’d rather catch four or five hours sleep at a rest stop and get back on the road north than lolly-gag. And we never stay the night where we get gas.” Stephen wasn’t sure why he said that last part, but he was sure it must be a Barbara-ism, something about never staying somewhere the enemy was sure to look or some shit like that.
“OK, I can do that, no problem.”
“Before you work on that too much, though, make sure you help Sam unload when she gets back. I’m going to run over to the drug store. Which one will be my best bet?”
“Hadley’s. The others will probably be picked clean of most stuff.”
“Old man Hadley still running the place?”
“No. His daughter runs it now.”
Stephen hadn’t thought about her in ages. Then again, Junior Prom was a long time behind them both.
“Cool. I’ll be back.”
Knighttemplar
Veteran Member
And this too shall be revealed in good time.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Oh, me..., prom night! Thanks, CCG!
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thank you,CCG.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Shooter you know that can be construed in multiple ways?
Of course you do!!
I was wondering if I had been too obscure!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
In Town
Stephen hadn’t done much driving around nearby recently. This trip has all been hospital, Neptune Society, church and other focused things mostly involving hopping on the freeway and going to downtown San Bernadino, Downtown Riverside, down to the hospital in San Diego and such. Even though this was the town he grew up in, there wasn’t much he recognized. Corona, La Sierra, Arlington, Norco, Chino, Ontario Ranch, Mira Loma, they were all just names on a map and arbitrary lines in the urban sprawl, instead of each having their own distinct little communities.
He had a hard time finding his way over to Hadley’s Drugs. He took a wrong turn a few times. Between the redesignation of some two-way streets into one-way streets, and the demolition and replacement of key landmark buildings in his memories, he would have been better off punching it into the GPS in the truck.
The gas station owned by family friends was gone from the corner, bulldozed and replaced by a coffee shop. The Bakers Drive-Thru, gone. All the little places he remembered were different now. Some of the changes happened years ago from the looks of them, and some were this week. Like the drug store.
He finally found the right block, but what he was looking for wasn’t there. Well, it was there but not in the condition he was expecting. Several buildings in this block were gone. Burned to the ground. Some of them were still smoldering, including the drug store. Shit!
Something wasn’t right in his mind now. With a major, multi-structure fire of the size this must have been, the area should still be cordoned off, and firetrucks still pouring water on it, or there should be danger tape keeping people back while it’s investigated. There was none of that. He was able to drive right past it.
He heard something odd. He rolled down his window and it got louder as he crept along. It was a metal on concrete scaping noise. He leaned out the window and looked down, trying to solve the puzzle. What he saw sent a chill down his spine in spite of the autumn heat of Southern California.
Spent rifle casings, a lot of them.
Stephen hadn’t done much driving around nearby recently. This trip has all been hospital, Neptune Society, church and other focused things mostly involving hopping on the freeway and going to downtown San Bernadino, Downtown Riverside, down to the hospital in San Diego and such. Even though this was the town he grew up in, there wasn’t much he recognized. Corona, La Sierra, Arlington, Norco, Chino, Ontario Ranch, Mira Loma, they were all just names on a map and arbitrary lines in the urban sprawl, instead of each having their own distinct little communities.
He had a hard time finding his way over to Hadley’s Drugs. He took a wrong turn a few times. Between the redesignation of some two-way streets into one-way streets, and the demolition and replacement of key landmark buildings in his memories, he would have been better off punching it into the GPS in the truck.
The gas station owned by family friends was gone from the corner, bulldozed and replaced by a coffee shop. The Bakers Drive-Thru, gone. All the little places he remembered were different now. Some of the changes happened years ago from the looks of them, and some were this week. Like the drug store.
He finally found the right block, but what he was looking for wasn’t there. Well, it was there but not in the condition he was expecting. Several buildings in this block were gone. Burned to the ground. Some of them were still smoldering, including the drug store. Shit!
Something wasn’t right in his mind now. With a major, multi-structure fire of the size this must have been, the area should still be cordoned off, and firetrucks still pouring water on it, or there should be danger tape keeping people back while it’s investigated. There was none of that. He was able to drive right past it.
He heard something odd. He rolled down his window and it got louder as he crept along. It was a metal on concrete scaping noise. He leaned out the window and looked down, trying to solve the puzzle. What he saw sent a chill down his spine in spite of the autumn heat of Southern California.
Spent rifle casings, a lot of them.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Sometimes you wake up without knowing it, sometimes sleep walking is dangerous! Thanks, CCG!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
At the House
“Well, here he is. You can ask him yourself.” Sam told Gabriel as Stephen came into the house.
“Ask me what?”
“I was just looking at all the food you had her by, and what kind of food. Don’t they have food stores up north?” Gabriel asked.
“Yeah, they have food stores, but if we show up with plenty, then it’s not a rush to get it. Besides, some of this stuff is a lot cheaper and easier to find around here.” Stephen said as he looked at the stuff piled on the dining room table.
“They had most of the stuff on your priority list, and even some of the ‘extra’ list, not that I understand some of the choices.” Sam said, her tone shifting as she watched Stephen. “OK, Stephen. What’s going on? You are barely paying attention to what we are asking.”
“I’m trying to figure out if we want to repack it here before we leave, or instead worry about the repack once we get north and just pile it higher on the truck and throw the tarp over it so we get out of here sooner.” Stephen looked over at his siblings. “This place is coming apart, fast. The block with Hadley’s in it? The whole block burned down, a couple more two. And it seemed like nobody cared. No firetrucks, no cops, no anything. Well, that’s not true. There were a bunch of empty shell casings, like the gangs just cut loose on each other, or people were just taking what they wanted. We need to get out of here.”
Sam was the first to react. “We were talking about leaving tomorrow night or Monday morning if we got everything packed. Gabe and I have most of our stuff we were taking with us in the garage already. We just need the rest of the house stuff, like pots, pans, this pile of food and supplies you had us buy,” she waved her hands at the stacks and stacks on the table and the plastic totes on the floor under it. “If we push hard tonight, we can get a lot loaded into the truck, then back the truck into the garage, get some sleep and leave maybe mid-morning tomorrow?”
Stephen looked from Sam to Gabe and back.
“I wish we could get out of here even faster, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense, to push too hard and screw up because we are exhausted.”
“You know what Mom and Dad always said. ‘if you go so fast you make a mistake and have to redo something…”
“…it wasn’t that fast.” The other two chimed in.
“OK, Let’s get as much of the food stuff into the bins. If it’s something like the granola bars where they are in packages inside a box, we ditch the box and cram them into smaller spaces, but we don’t do more than that for now. We will worry about it when we get north. We take the full bins out to the garage, have some dinner, then finish packing as much as we can by midnight. We all get some sleep, then first thing in the morning, we pack all the bins, bags and boxes into the truck. When it’s full, we roll out.”
“I’ve been listening to the radio. Fifteen north is all shut down because of the bridges and 18 through Arrowhead is restricted. How are we going to get north?” Sam asked Stephen.
“Hell.” Stephen thought for a moment, trying to see the map in his head. “With Arrowhead out of the picture, that means everyone is going to use three-thirty through Running Springs then head west to one-thirty-eight that way. That leaves us either going all the way out to Palm Springs before we turn north, or we go up the thirty-eight through Big Bear.”
“Thirty-eight to Big Bear is a long, twisty route with nothing on it.” Gabriel said right away.
“Yeah, at least going the other way…” Sam started to say but Stephen cut her off.
“Yeah, the other way has a whole lot of nothing too, but it’s flatter and will be easier on us and the truck. We will try to tank up before we turn north at Palm Springs. There’s a whole lot of nothing till we get to Barstow.”
“Well, this food isn’t going to pack itself. I still have some sewing and packing to do tonight.” Gabriel said.
“OK, we have a plan.” Stephen said as they started working.
“Well, here he is. You can ask him yourself.” Sam told Gabriel as Stephen came into the house.
“Ask me what?”
“I was just looking at all the food you had her by, and what kind of food. Don’t they have food stores up north?” Gabriel asked.
“Yeah, they have food stores, but if we show up with plenty, then it’s not a rush to get it. Besides, some of this stuff is a lot cheaper and easier to find around here.” Stephen said as he looked at the stuff piled on the dining room table.
“They had most of the stuff on your priority list, and even some of the ‘extra’ list, not that I understand some of the choices.” Sam said, her tone shifting as she watched Stephen. “OK, Stephen. What’s going on? You are barely paying attention to what we are asking.”
“I’m trying to figure out if we want to repack it here before we leave, or instead worry about the repack once we get north and just pile it higher on the truck and throw the tarp over it so we get out of here sooner.” Stephen looked over at his siblings. “This place is coming apart, fast. The block with Hadley’s in it? The whole block burned down, a couple more two. And it seemed like nobody cared. No firetrucks, no cops, no anything. Well, that’s not true. There were a bunch of empty shell casings, like the gangs just cut loose on each other, or people were just taking what they wanted. We need to get out of here.”
Sam was the first to react. “We were talking about leaving tomorrow night or Monday morning if we got everything packed. Gabe and I have most of our stuff we were taking with us in the garage already. We just need the rest of the house stuff, like pots, pans, this pile of food and supplies you had us buy,” she waved her hands at the stacks and stacks on the table and the plastic totes on the floor under it. “If we push hard tonight, we can get a lot loaded into the truck, then back the truck into the garage, get some sleep and leave maybe mid-morning tomorrow?”
Stephen looked from Sam to Gabe and back.
“I wish we could get out of here even faster, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense, to push too hard and screw up because we are exhausted.”
“You know what Mom and Dad always said. ‘if you go so fast you make a mistake and have to redo something…”
“…it wasn’t that fast.” The other two chimed in.
“OK, Let’s get as much of the food stuff into the bins. If it’s something like the granola bars where they are in packages inside a box, we ditch the box and cram them into smaller spaces, but we don’t do more than that for now. We will worry about it when we get north. We take the full bins out to the garage, have some dinner, then finish packing as much as we can by midnight. We all get some sleep, then first thing in the morning, we pack all the bins, bags and boxes into the truck. When it’s full, we roll out.”
“I’ve been listening to the radio. Fifteen north is all shut down because of the bridges and 18 through Arrowhead is restricted. How are we going to get north?” Sam asked Stephen.
“Hell.” Stephen thought for a moment, trying to see the map in his head. “With Arrowhead out of the picture, that means everyone is going to use three-thirty through Running Springs then head west to one-thirty-eight that way. That leaves us either going all the way out to Palm Springs before we turn north, or we go up the thirty-eight through Big Bear.”
“Thirty-eight to Big Bear is a long, twisty route with nothing on it.” Gabriel said right away.
“Yeah, at least going the other way…” Sam started to say but Stephen cut her off.
“Yeah, the other way has a whole lot of nothing too, but it’s flatter and will be easier on us and the truck. We will try to tank up before we turn north at Palm Springs. There’s a whole lot of nothing till we get to Barstow.”
“Well, this food isn’t going to pack itself. I still have some sewing and packing to do tonight.” Gabriel said.
“OK, we have a plan.” Stephen said as they started working.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks, CCG!
larry_minn
Contributing Member
It’s better to have gone a week early. The 30 seconds too late. wife has business near 900 road miles West. It’s a constant debate what to do if I am home, or there if SHTF. I can make the round trip with fuel I have in my possession, can haul in pickup. But other people…