Liberators: A Novel of the Coming Global Collapse

23 SIGNALS COLLECTION

The days continued to get shorter and the nights were colder. It was not common to see other people in the state forest, but when they did see anyone it was usually one or two people hunting for food.

The long times together in the cave off shift gave Megan and Joshua time to really talk about their spiritual, political, social, and any other kinds of beliefs they held. Joshua joked, “You know, maybe when this whole Crunch blows over, we can start a couples’ wilderness retreat and do premarital counseling—this is great!” The large overlaps were comforting to Megan, and the points where they disagreed were not fundamental orthodox doctrine, so they could be mutually overlooked. Joshua was strict during watch, but on his off time he diligently worked to carve two wedding rings out of the core (or what would be called “quarter sawn” lumber) from an oak branch.

Jean would often go fishing with his auntie Malorie, and although it was not enough to subsist on, everyone was able to get his or her fill of sushi that winter. Leo and Jean were both becoming quite adept at finding edible plants, although they would stick to the ones that the group could positively identify, using the description from the survival apps on Malorie’s phone until the battery ran out.

The three adults would train to stay in shape four times a week doing hill sprints and floor exercises. Each adult learned all the parts and the manual-of-arms for every individual firearm, in case someone had to pick up someone else’s weapon to return fire. Jean and Leo were taught the parts of every firearm as well, but were strictly admonished not to touch one if it was loaded—and all weapons were assumed to be and were, in fact, loaded. The group slowly learned how to successfully move over terrain in two-person patrols, staying together and communicating with hand and arm signals. They knew that when they headed west in the spring they’d be traveling at night and sleeping during the day.

The winter had in fact come early, just as the farmer’s almanac had predicted. One cold December morning while Megan and Malorie were out on a deer hunt, Megan left a plan with Joshua that they would head due west to recon the nearest road, gather any information possible, and see if there was still any vehicle traffic. Both Megan and Malorie kissed the boys and headed out to the west. With all of the cold and hunting pressure, it was hard for Megan and Malorie to get a shot at any game. Megan suggested that they make the most of their time and survey Clear Creek Road, which ran parallel to Route 211, to see if there was any traffic.

“You have to admit, this is boring, Megan.”

“I freely admit that! I can think of better things I’d rather be doing than lying here on my stomach in the snow looking through Joshua’s scope for signs of life.”

Malorie asked, “Say, do you mind if I take a spell?”

Megan answered, “Be my guest. There is a patch of leaves over there that looks a little dry—I’ll be right back.”

Malorie scanned from south to north up and down the road. At that distance, she would not have been able to successfully pattern any deer by spotting the tracks through the snow, but she held out hope that she might at least see some movement along the narrow valley floor. As Malorie was just about to give up, she noticed what looked like a man sitting back against a tree along the east edge of the road.

“Pssssst, Megan! Psssssssst. Over here, I see a guy.”

“I’ve seen one of them before, too.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that?” Malorie was not in the mood for humor. “He’s sitting up against a tree right down there on the road.”

Megan reached in the breast pocket of her jacket and got a pad and pencil. “Okay, let’s take a SALT report: size, just the one guy?”

“It appears to be just him by himself, yes.”

“Activity, what would you say that he’s doing other than just sitting there?”

“Tough to tell; with these optics it looks really shadowy, but he has something in his hand that’s flat, a book maybe? I’m really not sure, that would be mere conjecture on my part, but it looks like he also has some kind of handwritten sign on a piece of cardboard up against his leg.”

“That would make sense if he was hitchhiking, but I can’t imagine that there are too many vehicles looking to pick up people these days. Okay, I got that written down for activity. How about location? Still the east side of the Clear Creek Road?” Megan spread out the map of the state forest. “Can you point to it on the map here?”

“I would say right here, north of the junction of Leatherwood Road.”

“Got it. Now the last is time, and I’ll mark that at thirteen-forty-six. We can share this with Joshua later, but for now let’s get back to our primary task; how about we stalk our way back to camp along the south side of this ridge here? We may be able to find a fat doe sunning herself.”

“Sounds good to me. No four-wheeled or four-legged traffic to be seen here today—that guy down there does give me pause, though.”

“I’m not so weirded out when it’s a klick or more away and my boys are safely in the other direction.”

“Gotcha. Okay, put your game face on; Papa would never let us get this chatty on a hunt—zip that lip, sis.”

Phil soon worked into the routine at the McGregor ranch. With all liquid fuels now considered precious, a lot of their formerly mechanized tasks were laboriously performed by hand. So Ray and Phil’s extra manpower were greatly appreciated. With the many chores—including lots of manure and sodden-straw shoveling—there was very little spare time available.

The precious free time that Phil did have in the evenings was spent listening to shortwave broadcasts on his Grundig G6 Aviator radio, trying to catch news reports. He was troubled that there were fewer and fewer stations operating each week, as the global economic collapse slashed the budgets of most stations, or as power grid failures took them down. But there were still many hams operating in the U.S. and Canada—some of whom had photovoltaic power systems—and he greatly enjoyed listening to their chatter. He even heard some radio amateurs in Japan and Siberia talking in English to hams in Alaska. With his training as an intelligence officer, Phil regularly took down detailed notes about what he heard.

Whenever he heard a callsign that began with a V or C, then he knew that it was a Canadian ham. A, K, N, or W prefix callsigns meant they were in the United States. The wealth of information that the hams imparted over the course of several months was amazing to Phil. But like all other raw intelligence, their reports ranged from reliable to wild speculation. Piecing together their reports, he was able to establish the severity of power outages and level of societal breakdown in most of the United States and Canada.

It became clear that the eastern United States had been the hardest hit. With its high population density, there simply were more mouths to feed than there was food, and the chaos was intense. He expected a massive die-off, especially in the frigid Northeast. Canada’s large cities—particularly Toronto and Montreal—had enormous riots that had been quelled only with machine-gun fire. Alaska was completely isolated. Because it had long been dependent on air transport, there were thousands of deaths due to starvation and hypothermia. In Alaska’s larger cities, there was even some cannibalism.

The McGregors were anxious to hear any news about the conditions of their daughters’ locales in Tavares, Florida, and on Samar Island in the Philippines. The only concrete things that Phil heard about Florida and the Southeast were that the eastern power grid had gone down and stayed down, and that there was uncontrolled looting all along Florida’s southern Atlantic coast from Coral Gables to Delray Beach. There was also continuous looting throughout the Tampa, Orlando, and Jacksonville metropolitan regions. He heard a secondhand report that the City of Ocala had barricaded itself and was fending off large bands of looters from Orlando. He hoped that Tavares, a slightly smaller town in the same region, had taken the same precautions.

Because they still deemed the threat of looter gangs minimal in the ranch’s remote region, the McGregors didn’t institute twenty-four-hour-a-day security, as they’d heard the families in Kamloops had done. They did take the precaution of doing some target shooting to confirm the point of aim for every rifle and pistol at the ranch—except for the old “flop top” single-shot .577 Snider carbine, for which they had only seven cartridges. Since neither Alan nor Claire had any military experience, Ray and Phil taught them the basics of patrolling, ambushes, and “fire and maneuver” team tactics. They did quite well, considering their age.