25th Mile (5) However he did not want to attract attention to himself, he just wanted a place to spend the night since travel would be impossible at night with the presence of ground ruptures and the number of people milling about. He slowly headed up to the hill he picked out earlier from his maps, stopping once while a large aftershock shook the area. The earthquake had shaken the hill, and turned the top of it into a layer of sand about 6inches deep, but the core of the hill was decomposed Granite and it had remained reasonably intact. It took about 30 minutes to reach the top of the hill, and by the time he was at the top, it was dark. Clay chose a position on the military crest with the nose of the Trooper pointing downhill, figuring that if he needed to leave in a hurry, he could push in the clutch and be gone. The seat fortunately tilted back enough to compensate for the downhill angle, so sleep would be possible. Once situated Clay jumped out of the Trooper and scouted around the hill to see if anyone had made it this far up. Clay figured a couple of the smarter ones would climb up the hill, since it offered a view of the immediate area for several miles and semi-protected them from the aftershocks. Clay paused a moment to reflect that he was glad they were 15 miles inland with the hills between them and the Ocean, he was sure that the costal freeways and general areas were completely destroyed and very possibly flooded. Jumping out of the Trooper he opened the rear cargo doors and removed his Wind-up Grundig FR200 Shortwave radio from the Alice Pack, cranking it for 90 full turns he finally turned it on. He had added an 11’ collapsible antenna onto the Grundig for extended range, and usually there was something on the air during the early evening hours. However rotating the dial he only heard static at first, and then he heard a faint Broadcast out of Brazil claiming that California had been destroyed by something called a “Megathrust earthquake” of gigantic proportions and most of the west coast was in ruins. They went on to explain that a “Megathrust Earthquake” was a very large destructive earthquake that can occur along places where the tectonic plates are locked and do not move past each other, causing the stress in the earth to accumulate to extremely high levels. The announcer went on so say that an hour later the East Coast had experienced a large and damaging earthquake as well. Initial reports seemed to be sketchy, but it seemed that both the earthquakes were caused by a previous unknown fault that connected the San Andreas fault in the west and the New Madrid fault in the east. The Eastern United States was devastated, with Missouri, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, Alabama, Arkansas, and Mississippi experiencing the strongest of the quake. “The casualties were expected to be in the millions………..” The broadcast faded off into the ionosphere and Clay continued to scan for information. Most of the regular broadcasts were not working because of extremely poor Atmospheric conditions, but Clay smiled as he imagined several of the short wave “preachers” warming up their doomsday sermons. Deciding that nothing else was available on the Shortwave, because of atmospheric conditions, Clay turned on his IC-R5 - Compact Wideband Handheld Receiver in an attempt to get the local news. He had purchased the radio from a local Ham radio dealer who had access to the grey-market decoder chips that enabled the radio to pick up law enforcement broadcasts and cellular phone conversations. The radio crackled to life, and while the reception was bad, the news was even worse. The police, Fire departments, Search and rescue… all of them seemed to be in disarray. Hearing only snippets of information, he found that Downtown San Diego had been destroyed by a tidal wave estimated to be 50ft high. The wave decimated the emergency center that was located in the basement of Civic Center Plaza and collapsed the tunnel between the city and County buildings. It seemed that the only ones to survive the deluge were the inmates on the upper floors of the County jail. Its fortified walls and small windows enabled them to survive with a minimal amount of damage. Suddenly the radio scanned over to an emergency broadcast, these were not infrequent since everything at the present moment was an emergency, but this one was different. Clay heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire in the background. Then a voice talking over the gunfire, saying “…this is deputy Jackson, at County lockdown……we are taking fire……Bill is dead……..We need help over here at County Now!!” The voice stopped talking and the gunfire grew in intensity, then stopped, there was a scream and a single shot, then a brief silence and the sound of voices. The voices of prisoners, belligerent and dangerous could be heard boasting of how they killed whitey, and how something about how the “Black Guerrilla Family” would continue to kill all the guards. The radio signal was lost and Clay shaken, shut off his radio. The realization hit of that he had just been listened to the sound of several law enforcement officers murdered by a rampaging prison gang. From his work with Homeland Security, Clay tried to recall the name Black Guerrilla Family. He seemed to recall it as an anti-government prison gang founded in the 60’s that was decidedly anti-white and anti-government. In the failing light Clay checked the Glock after his adventure with the Mexicans and spent a few minutes buffing out a nick in the butt of the magazine that was suspiciously tooth shaped. Then after checking his gear and the Trooper, He moved the MAC-10 a little closer and tried to get some sleep, trying desperately to keep his mind from turning toward home. When the sun arose the next morning Clay was faced with a surreal landscape of semi-shadow and a patchy black sun. During the night only 6 people had made it up the hill, one couple were well prepared to walk and fortunately had just returned from a backpack trip, 3 others had mountain bikes and the sixth was preparing to wear out his shoe leather. They all gathered around and discussed the quake and life and death in general, and looked out over the destroyed landscape. There was not much to say, they all wanted to be somewhere else. After an uneventful, yet aftershock laden night; Clay awoke and ate a silent breakfast of Granolla bars, a single MRE and hot coffee, cooked over a Trioxane heating Bar. It was not great but it was better than most of the people below would be getting this morning. Breakfast, used up the last of the loose food in the Trooper. Clay had packed enough food for a week into the ALICE Pack for two people but there was only enough water for three days. In this area Clay new how precious water was, and he was now kicking himself for going light on it. After breakfast Clay took paper and pen to the several topographical maps he had of the area; and using a pair of old Bushnell 7x50 Marine binoculars with an illuminated compass and rangefinding Reticle he scanned the area and printed in on the map what he could see of new features and hazards. After he had scouted the area as best he could he began unpacking the Alice pack. Working from top to bottom in the pack he strapped on his money belt, containing three hundred dollars in cash, and 5 silver eagles, and 2 gold eagles, then running the belt through his khakis he then stuck his Leatherman onto the belt on the right side, cinching the belt tight he then removed from the Tupperware box his Essentials vest, putting that on he checked the contents. Ensuring everything was present and accounted for on the vest, he next removed his shoes and socks and from the same box the vest came from he removed a pair of old well-worn hiking boots and thick wools socks. Putting his dirty socks and “work shoes” into the Tupperware he felt much better. Its always a wonder what clean socks can do he thought. Preparing to move, he found himself pretending he was going backpacking or hunting, just so the devastation around him would was not overwhelming. Putting on the socks and boots, he stood up and stretched. He checked the Oil in the Trooper again, read a couple of verses from his New King James Bible said a quick prayer and was ready to go. Jumping into the Trooper he fired up the engine and let it warm up for a few minutes. Starting slowly he descended the hill, making his first real foray into a dangerous landscape permanently altered by the hand of God. Mile 8 Unfortunately, Clay had to parallel the freeway for the next five miles before he could cut across open ground and shorten the trip up. With less than a half mile before he could make what he determined to be a short-cut he was forced to pull onto the freeway. Moving slowly on, he traveled uneventfully for about an hour refusing to offer anything but life saving assistance and taking no passengers. With his main focus being on getting home, he was counting each minute as a precious commodity, not to be wasted. He had lost count of the bodies that were now starting to putrefy in the sun. He had seen several people over the past hour, all trudging along under the oppressing heat generated by the San Diego Sun, heads down hungry and thirsty. Clay saw old men walking alone, young mothers in house slippers pushing baby carriages, young men in dress shoes, doctors lawyers, laborers, Blacks, Whites, Mexicans and Asians. Everyone was there just following the road. Fevered discussions raged about where the police were, how big the quake was and of all manner of items except how to survive the walk home. Overall most people were in good health; however all were in a state of suspended shock. Clay, as he drove calculated that everyone had a minimum of a 20 mile walk. With 10 miles of industrial area and open fields and 10 miles of military base it was pretty simple math. He knew from experience that 20 miles a day with a full pack on even or moderately broken terrain was a good clip for a man in prime physical condition. However this was severely broken terrain, unrecognizably fragmented being traversed by all types of people in a generally poor state of preparedness, in hot air choked with smoke and ash with no food and water. Considering everything Clay expected to be home sometime Sunday, if he kept the Trooper moving. His personal opinion was that most of the walkers would die on the road, walking along in the sun – the smart ones would walk back the way they were headed and find the local REI or one of the local sporting goods stores that was still standing buy and borrow what they could then head back North. It had been some 12 hours since the quake, Clay thought. Another aftershock hit, this one a little stronger than the last. He hoped that the aftershocks would stop; the earth moving constantly was starting to unnerve him. There was a collapsed bridge ahead of him, recognizing that bridge as the Barker Canyon bridge, the one before the merge to bridge that transitioned from the 57 to the 15, he prepared to go around it. After realizing he would have to circumvent the bridge, he slowly approached it and pulling up near it parked on the berm on the side of the road, while 200yds off to his right a gas station burned merrily, its underground tanks long ago exploded and collapsed buildings were visible in panorama. On his left, the direction he needed to go, was the city landfill. It looked different somehow. Then Clay realized the landfill had changed shape, it appeared the earth of the landfill had liquefied in the quake and demolishing some small outbuildings filled some of the small canyons around the landfill with tons of dirt and old garbage. It was then that Clay saw what looked like a good route for the sturdy trooper, it was a steep climb to the top of the berm, but moving slowly he should be traverse the top of the berm at an angle and bypass this bridge. It was a bit dangerous with the loose earth and rocks but the Trooper was up the task. Making his way carefully up the berm Clay reached the top. Looking around further he saw that he had been right about the second bridge, it was down and down hard. Off in the distance a line of 50 or 60 people could be seen in the distance walking north, heads down stumbling in the heat across the broken pavement, towards homes they might never reach, and might not exist any more. Reaching the junction of the second bridge Clay saw that the heavy steel “earthquake proof” reinforcements had twisted and bent under the pressure of the earth like small sticks. Proceeding across the berm Clay had a couple of close calls when the earth shifted under him, then without warning just when he was moving to the far side of the berm another aftershock hit, instantly collapsing the berm he had come across and destroying his way back. Well Clay thought “In for a dime, In for a dollar” there is no turning back now. Mile 13 Scanning the top of the open ground he looked North across the Marine Corps base and to the east and west. What he saw was sheer hell. The ground had been broken into large canyons and crevices that were visible from where he stood on the berm. Clay was sure that there were hundreds of crevices and canyons that were not visible. With a sudden start Clay noticed that the freeway was gone. In its place was a crevice hundreds of feet deep that crisscrossed the remains of the road in several places. He would have to travel around it by a circuitous route almost 2 mi to the west. With a heavy heart Clay realized that driving through completely would probably be impossible. Then with a thud Clay’s thought of the people walking, he had seen a earlier in the day. Without water, food and navigational equipment they had only a small chance of surviving. With a sudden inspiration, he pulled out his Sharpie and on a large piece of Cardboard Wrote, Danger, Road gone Go West 2mi. He then quickly, ran back down to the highway and in a prominent place put up the sign, taking the time to hang a red bandanna from it. Looking at his handiwork, Clay decided that all but the most obtuse traveler would fail to see the sign. Turning around he headed back to the Trooper in a quick jog. After starting the Trooper and descending from the exposure of the berm, Clay moved across the Freeway to a moderately secluded area a mile up the road, to stop and rest. After inspecting the general area and covering the trooper with a small camouflage tarp and making sure it was semi-secure from prying eyes, Clay opened the rear of the Trooper and from the Alice pack removed a small Coleman Exponent Multi-Fuel Camp Stove and a small tin pot. Clay liked the Exponent stove, It was not the best stove he had. But with its 1.5lb weight and ability to burn white gas, unleaded gasoline or kerosene at 8,000 btu’s it was well worth the money. Pumping the stove 60 or 70 times Clay lit it with a flint from his vest, then placing the pot on the fire, opened two cans of soup of Cream of Mushroom soup he had found under earlier under the seat. As the soup was heating up, Clay prepared his equipment for the inevitable walk, he new would come. Then after a small lunch comprised of soup, a can of tuna and some fruit cake from an MRE, Clay was ready to go. As he was putting away the stove he heard the sound of an airplane approaching from the North. It was a large and slow moving slow C-130J with the logo of the San Diego County Search and Rescue Unit on it. It was a welcome sight, since it was the first emergency vehicle he had seen. As the plane faded into the north, obviously inspecting the damage caused by the giant quake, Clay wished them Godspeed. Finished with lunch, Clay cleaned and secured his gear, using his Glock entrenching tool to bury the trash. The Glock entrenching tool was a gift from his wife, and Clay had never used it before in a real-life situation, other than to test it out to make sure it could dig a hole. A mistake probably, but Clay had been immediately been impressed with its hardened steel body and polymer handles. Clay reviewed and updated where he could his now near useless topographic maps. By his calculations he was a little over half way home. The desire to be at home with his wife and children burned deeper and harder the closer he got, and to see the devastation that lay ahead was almost to much to bear. At the distinctive sound of gunfire close by, he was suddenly broken from his internal reflection. Snatching up his binoculars he scanned the area from behind the Trooper. Seeing nothing, he grabbed the MAC 10 off the seat and double-timed up a small berm nearby. Dropping to his belly he scanning the area once again when he reached the top with the bushnells. He was just in time to see a man a little over half a-mile away holding what looked like a old .45 APC Caliber colt return fire while hidden from view from behind a large 4x4 that had one of those new hand cranked siphon pumps going from the Truck to underneath a newer model car. It was obvious what was happening with just a quick glance, the man’s truck undamaged by the quake was like Clay - making his way home, when running out of gas he decided to liberate some fuel from an abandoned vehicle. Seeing the opportunity for a free ride home, a gang of youth had decided to remove the truck from the man by force. Clay counted 4 attackers, one had a .12 Gauge shotgun, and another with a small automatic. However the others seemed to be unarmed. It was without a doubt a hasty ambush. Then without warning the Shotgun boomed and blew the tail light out of the truck, the man behind the truck fired two quick rounds back, but hit nothing. Suddenly from the right side of the man, Clay saw movement. A fifth gang-banger carrying what looked like an old cowboy pistol, had crawled in close and hidden behind a wrecked car had outflanked the man with the .45. From behind his cover the thief raised his revolver the man fired two shots at the man with the .45 hitting him both times at close range. It was over, the man had lost his truck and Clay was sure his life. The gang started jumping and yelling to each other in victory. Moving out into the open Clay had his first good look at them. There were 5 of them. The gang was composed of two blacks, Two Mexicans and one skinny white guy in dreadlocks. After ripping the Old Colt from the hands of the previous owner the slimy looking white guy raised it in the air and started waving it around and chanting. “Dis is mine. Dis one is mine.” Clay felt the bile rise in his throat, to far away to do anything but watch the murderous thieves as they went about their grisly work. Looking up Clay was in time to see them pore over the Truck like cockroaches throwing anything they thought was worthless out of the vehicle. The white with the .45 said something to the black guy and he raced off, to a nearby white Ford E-350 van. He returned to the truck in a few minutes with a “push dolly” sparsely loaded with food, water and clothing from the van. Loading the truck, they removed the gas siphon and drove off North with greasy dreadlocks blowing out the passenger door window. Clay didn’t move until they were out of sight not wanting to give his position away. Using cover and concealment he moved to a location about 10 yards from where the man lay after being shot. Watching the man closely with the binoculars he noted what looked like a faint movement of the chest. With shock Clay realized he was still alive. Without a doubt he was gravely wounded, and maybe mortally wounded, but the fact remained that he was still alive. Quickly surveying the area for further ambush, Clay low crawled over to the man, who lay unconscious on his side. Without rolling him over Clay gently checked his wounds. He had been shot twice, once through the chest and once through the upper arm, with the hand of the arm showing a defensive wound channel. Using a torn piece of the mans torn shirt Clay plugged both the hole in the mans chest and with his belt placed a tourniquet on the wounded arm. Ensured that the man was breathing and the bleeding had been stopped, without regard for anything around him he ran back to the Trooper and grabbed the first aid kit from his backpack. It was a smaller version of the Larger Trauma kit he had used yesterday. Racing back to the man he unceremoniously dropped the kit next to him and after making sure the stranger was still alive, opened the kit. With shaking hands, and out of breath he pulled a pair of scissors from the kit and cut the remainder of the mans shirt from his upper body, observing the bleeding wound as he worked. The man had miraculously started to regain consciousness and Clay spoke quietly and gently to him and urged him to stay alive. The man was gasping for breath and the blood leaving his wound had a pink froth to it. Working fast Clay recognized that the man had a punctured lung. Praying to God that only the lung was damaged, Clay felt around the back of the man for an Exit wound, Not finding one he prepared to bandage the lung. First cleaning the wound he inspected it further, finding no signs of other trauma, he took a plastic backed gauze pad and smeared it with a small vial of Vaseline he had in the first-aid kit. Placing the gauze pad directly over the wound, Vaseline side down, he duct taped the pad down on three sides, leaving only a corner of one side open, creating a “flutter valve”. This valve allowed the man expel air, but sealed the wound when he inhaled enabling his lung to fully inflate.
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