Thread the Needle
14 Oct
0800
I slept solidly last night, with no interruptions. I dreamt of the noise barrage beacons, or perhaps it was the wind shifting just enough for my subconscious brain to actually hear them. The sun is rising in the eastern sky and I have had plenty of time to inspect some of the other documentation that dropped with the gear as well as have a go at some target practice with the M-4 and G19. Enclosed in the documentation is a map of the predicted hurricane noise suppression target set. The three units were deployed to Shreveport, Louisiana, Longview, Texas, and Texarkana, Texas/Arkansas, and they were set to varying intensities, judging by the SATphone transmission.
I’m currently a few miles north of Marshall, meaning that I’ll need to split the distance between Longview and Shreveport in half to attain maximum threat avoidance. The noise suppression modeling on the map indicates areas of suppression, with red circles surrounding the target areas that show danger zones. There is a green safe corridor area that depicts a recommended path south between danger areas. The circles are not perfectly round where the suppression devices are located, possibly due to terrain and other factors that limit transmission of sound. This map was obviously modeled via computer. Also of interest are the orange overlay areas over Dallas and New Orleans, with the international symbol for radiation displayed on them. The areas cover a significant radius around the cities, trailing eastward at the small end like a teardrop. Looks like the orange shows the boundary for radiation fallout with winds factored.
The Texarkana noise suppression zone is at least 30 percent larger than the other two for reasons unknown. The recommended evasion path takes me skirting southeast of Marshall, across Highway 80 and twenty more miles south by southeast. The safer green area ends fifteen miles east of Carthage. I do not know what will happen when the batteries run out on the beacons in the three cities. The last time these devices were deployed they were blown to bits by nuclear warheads, taking many of the living as well as the dead with them. My best guess is that when the batteries run out the dead will simply start spreading out again in search of food. I can make fifteen miles in a day at best with this gear on my back. I’ll run out of noise cover in about twelve hours, judging from the garbled SATphone transmission.
Also included in the documentation are the estimated infection and casualty rates for North America. Calculations estimate infection and/or casualty rates to be at around 99 percent. The last census I remember had the U.S. population at over three hundred million people. Using some basic math for threat analysis, I think I am outnumbered by more than 297 million undead. That number is undoubtedly growing daily. The undead can afford to make mistakes, they can afford to fall off a cliff or get hit by lightning or get shot in the chest. The living do not have this luxury. Any mistake on the part of the living results in us getting closer to 100 percent infection. My numbers do not include the countless undead I have exterminated or the millions that were instantly disintegrated in the nuclear blasts early this year.
A large folded topographical map of eastern Texas is also included in the documentation. The map is made out of waterproof material and contains illustrations of the common edible plants for the region as well as water-gathering techniques. GPS is gone. This map, coupled with a road atlas that I intend to scavenge, will help me find my way south, back home.
After examining the documents once more I went outside to check the perimeter so that I could test-fire the new weapons. The area was clear, so I locked and loaded and commenced a very short torture test of the M-4. I looked through the optic and immediately noticed how intuitive it was for aiming. I wasn’t going to be hammering nails with this, but it was easily accurate enough for a head shot. I was hitting golf-ball-sized rocks fifty yards out with no difficulty, shattering them into dust. After shooting forty rounds through the carbine I broke her down to check the components, then put her back together and shot ten more rounds to make sure everything was running as it should. I was now down to 450 rounds of .223, which made the load a little lighter in the pack.
Before checking the laser designator, I made sure to clip the beacon to my vest over my left shoulder. I then flipped the designator on and hit the pressure switch on the side of the hand guard. As soon as I depressed the switch, I heard a beeping tone that increased in frequency the longer I held down. I quickly released the switch after counting to three Mississippi. I wanted to make sure the thing worked, not drop a bomb near my position. Satisfied with the M-4, I moved on to the Glock and shot thirty rounds with no difficulty. The last ten rounds I used the suppressor to judge how it affected the accuracy of the weapon. No concerns were noted, sans the time it takes to screw on the suppressor. I am not certain I have what it takes to do this quickly at this time and will need practice. The threads seem fine and one must get it right in the beginning to attach the suppressor correctly.
I found some plastic shopping bags under the sink in the kitchen. Saying good-bye to the MP5, I wrapped her up with the empty magazines in plastic bags with a fresh coat of motor oil from the old rag I had salvaged. I checked the refrigerator in the kitchen, but it had been cleaned out a long time ago. It didn’t even stink and had not one bite of old food inside. I yanked out the shelves of the fridge and put them in the pantry. After placing the weapon in the fridge barrel up, I marked it on my map and wrote a note that simply said: “Kilroy was here. Check the fridge.”
I left the note on the kitchen table weighted down with a candle I had used the night before.
Rearranging the equipment in my bag, I was reminded of the Iridium satellite phone so I decided to turn it on and give it a shot despite the known time gate. I sat and watched it for five minutes as it attempted to search for a satellite lock. No joy. I set the alarm on my watch to remind me of the gate. I want to ensure that I remember to have the phone switched on with clear view of the sky thirty minutes before the comm window.
I plan to leave in a few minutes and shoot the hurricane path between Longview and Shreveport, but not before I eat two cans of food to lessen the weight of this pack. A can of chili and a can of beef stew should give me some energy for the grueling hump I have ahead of me.
1300
The weight of my pack is really taking some getting used to. I estimate that I have covered about six or seven miles since this morning, moving at an average of one and a half miles per hour. I have consumed about half my water, motivated by the fact that the weight is taken off my shoulders and put into my stomach. I have not seen movement since I left the drop zone. Not a bird. The wind is light and variable, causing the lack of anything to be even more disturbing. I know that the noise beacons are either dead or very near depletion, causing who knows what kind of result. Every now and again I get frightened and raise my rifle to a phantom target that turns out to be nothing. The last nothing was a shirt left hanging on a long-abandoned backyard clothesline. I thought for sure it was one of them.
Chernobyl . . . I remember something significant from before all of this. I remember reading a news article on Chernobyl and reading an explorer’s account of how quiet and spooky it was to her. She carried a radiation measurement device with her and explored the dead city. People had actually booked tours there to see it for themselves. Many requested to leave before the tour’s completion due to the quiet. Now most of the continent is dead and will stay that way.
There’s no discharge in the war!
I stopped an hour ago to wait on the Iridium comms but there were no texts. I tried to call in to Remote Six by scanning received calls and using the callback function . . . busy tone. I am sitting on top of an old armored car in a ditch with a corpse inside, in the driver’s seat. Almost nothing left but bones and a uniform now . . . must have killed himself early. I scan the 360 from here but see nothing around me.
I am feeling sick from the two cans of food eaten earlier this morning and wishing I had already found a safe place to hole up for the rest of the day and night. I plan to keep moving for another two hours before finding a hideout. Sleeping in a vehicle, like the corpse in the seat below me, is not an option. The gore marks around this truck tell me that. This poor bastard was probably surrounded for days and maybe weeks before he gave up and killed himself. My map is folded to the area I am in. The map was not printed recently and is therefore not a completely accurate representation of the region, but it is far better than nothing.
Storm clouds are gathering on the western horizon and chances are that it will be a wet night if I end up sleeping under the stars this evening. I feel like I may be catching a cold and I just hope that’s as serious as it gets.
2134
Someone is following. After I left my rest area this afternoon the SATphone rang. The time was approximately 1355 and I almost missed the call. The phone was tucked under the top portion of my pack with the antenna sticking out the right side. By the time I took off the heavy pack and unfastened the pack buckles the phone had rung three times. I hit Talk and listened for the familiar sound of digital sequencing as the satellite text data was compressed for downlink.
. . . SITREP follows:
Project Hurricane: Successful. Evasion route acceptably clear southwest w/ light undead density.
Reaper: Remains FMC w/ two LGBs on rails for deployment.
Threats: Unidentified armed male trails from north. Thirty undead w/ two hot located ten mile radius current location via Reaper sensors . . .
The phone lost synchronization immediately after the last word and I quickly brought out my binoculars and began to scan the area behind me to the north. I saw no sign of an unidentified man following. The phone gave me no chance to ask any questions or direct the text communication. Something isn’t right about this relationship between myself and the unit on the other side of the phone. Perhaps there is a problem with the satellite network only enabling remote relay or something of that nature. There must be a data link from the Reaper overhead to a control area where the aircraft is piloted and the screens are monitored. “Thirty undead with two hot.” This can only mean one thing—Dallas, Texas. I have seen what these types of undead can do and I will double my efforts to evade contact with any of those things now that I know that there are two of the radioactive creatures in my area.
It is raining right now and I am taking shelter in a farm tractor cab left abandoned in a large field surrounded by a damaged cattle fence. The rear axle of the beast is fouled with meters of barbed wire wrapped around it as a result of running over the fence. Another relic from months ago. Every now and again if I squint my eyes just right I can see something out there. Just enough to scare me into leaving my shelter and running as fast as I can in the dark through the Texas night.
My mind keeps playing tricks on me, making me think I see glowing and radiated undead in the distance—moving quickly. It is cold in here and I have my legs bundled into the mummy bag. It seems to be working well. The tractor is John Deere green. Just like the color I see through my electronic relics every few minutes when paranoia takes over and I must look.
I wonder if the man that might be following feels the same fear. Tomorrow I continue south through the temporary safe area back to my home.
15 Oct
0800
Woke up to the sun peeking over the horizon right into my face and pondered once again the message delivered during yesterday’s phone call. Today will be a day of looking over my shoulder as I travel south and west, keeping my foot back just in case. If the situation report from the SATphone proves true, I may be in for some trouble in the near future. The mummy bag that was dropped will be draped around my civilian pack to lessen my visibility to any person who may be following. This man is on foot. Finding a car and getting it running using solar charger, fuel treatment and hand siphon may become my best option for evading the follower. The only drawback to this plan is that using the charger on a car battery would take the entire day for one start attempt, never mind the probability of a hotwire attempt. I’ll need to find a car with the keys in it, which most likely means the previous owner will be too.
0900
I have dug a hole in the overgrown farm soil, using the end of one of my large rattraps. Gathering some small firewood I managed to make a semismokeless fire using a sideways stovepipe technique with shrubs and leaves to diffuse the smoke. I heated up a can of chili today and consumed a quarter of my water stores. I know that having less food is never good, but every time I look at my pack I get anxious to eat any and all of the canned food and then the MREs so that all that is left is the dried food. The limit of my anxiousness to get rid of heavy gear ends with ammunition. I will preserve it to the maximum extent in the event I’m forced to defend myself from the dangers that are ever present around me and far in front. It was probably not the best idea to make a fire, in light of recent events, but I need the morale boost of warm food before I depart.
16 Oct
2143
This is evasion. Avoiding the undead follows a set formula. Stay low, quiet, and plan your movements ahead of time. These rules are invalid when evading a human tracker. Staying low and quiet only gives a pursuer time to follow your tracks and catch you if he is following a different set of rules. Careful balance between the two methodologies is all that has kept me out of my alleged pursuer’s immediate line of sight. I have received no calls from Remote Six in the past thirty-plus hours. I know now that the fact that there is overhead satellite coverage does not mean that this organization will use it. Despite not seeing my follower, I have the feeling that someone is watching me and I cannot decide if this is paranoia or if I am actually sensing the eyes of a stranger watching from a distance. I have no one to share a night watch. I attempted to remain awake during the long night I have just spent sleeping in the grassy loft of a farmer’s barn. Every creak from the wood or flutter from a nocturnal bird’s wings brought me to my feet gazing about by the green glow of my relics and looking at the red dot glowing through my optic as I frantically tried to acquire a target that was not there. I never knew fear until tomorrow. I write this because I thought I knew fear the day before, but every day fear takes a new and more voluminous meaning. I had a friend in the military who took a different path in the service than I did. “The only easy day was yesterday” was not his personal motto, but he often referred to it, and it applies more than ever in these times.
My back is sore and I am suffering from fatigue. After last night’s torturous experience in the barn, I awoke to the sight of one of them standing in the field facing the loft window where I stood. Pulling out my binocs I watched it look right at me and lurch toward the barn. The thing was one of the originals. It had been dead for a long time and its skeleton showed in numerous places about its body.
I did not wish to let it get to where it could make noise and attract others so I quickly pulled out the pistol and attached the can so that I could make quick and quiet work of this thing. I was happy that there seemed to be only one of them. Once I was sure that I had not misthreaded the suppressor, I chambered a round and started shooting. It took two shots to bring the thing down, the first shot hitting the neck and the second hitting the bridge of the nose. The thing fell and I examined it from the safety of the loft window to determine if it might have anything of value. It had nothing left but a leather belt holding up rotting pants, and I decided that whatever the thing had in its pockets it could keep. While eating my last can of chili cold in the loft of the barn, I noticed that I had only one item of canned food left (beef stew). I think I might save it for a couple of nights.
Canned food was getting old, and I despised it cold, but eating it was giving me the excuse to listen to my surroundings before climbing down the loft ladder. I didn’t want it to seem like I was doing that for my own sanity. I sat and dined and nonchalantly listened for any sound that would keep me in the loft any longer.
I set out this morning knowing that the Project Hurricane coverage must be abating, as evidenced by the fact that I was now seeing the things in close proximity. This really put me in a bad mood as I began moving and forced my mind to wander to my most recent good memory of hot chili. I suppose a good meal is the only thing I have to look forward to and the one guaranteed motivator I have to get home. I remember deploying to the desert all those times. I remember the war and how much I missed home and how much I always had something to get me through. The thought of camping with my family or the thought of purchasing that new rifle with the tax-free money I had earned from the tour I was on or the idea that I’ll actually get a weekend off someday if I just keep my head down and get the job done.
I’m reduced to thinking about warm food. That is my pick-me-up for today. Tomorrow perhaps it will be that I can lament the fact that the helicopter I crashed in had substandard maintenance and was built by the lowest bidder with no living certified mechanic for hundreds, possibly thousands of miles. Chip light. I was forced down in nearly uninhabitable territory because a flake of metal in the engine casing caused a catastrophic failure in the aircraft’s ability to remain in the air. Any landing is a good landing if you can walk away from it, unless you walk away from it dead.
Tonight I found shelter in an abandoned gas station, the type of oasis that was out of business long before the fall. No sign of life but the remnants of rats from months or years before. The place was cleaned out. Looked to be decades old and had probably been a profitable place back in the day. The pumps were analog readout and there were no security cameras installed above them on the roof. Under the old wood counter inside the store was what looked like an old shotgun rack from days gone by when that was perfectly acceptable.
Like today.
There was an old used set of snow chains that worked well to secure the entry points. They would slow a human assailant and downright stop one or two undead. I set up shop in an area with visibility to both access doors. From either heavy door I could see fifty feet to the tree line. The grass was very tall beyond the old, cracked blacktop parking spots but afforded enough visibility. The wind is howling and I hear an old piece of tin barely flapping on the gas pump roof. It is getting colder and I think that this winter will be a challenge if I make it that long.
17 Oct
0800
I slept poorly after waking up to a series of disturbing dreams. I dreamt of hundreds of different things but could only remember two. It seems like the ones I really wanted to remember escaped my grasp. I was on the top of a hill looking down on millions of undead. There were several 20mm gun emplacements manned by what looked like U.S. military personnel in various different types of uniforms. I looked at myself as if I was a third-person spectator and looked into my own eyes as I gave the order to fire. The undead were still a mile in the distance but the 20mm barrels were spitting shells downrange so fast that a moat appeared below the feet of the disintegrated ghouls. I saw AC-130 gunships flying low and taking out thousands with their guns. Old F-4s and A-4s flew low and dropped napalm, decimating the enemy, but they still moved forward. I flashed to the next dream, inside Hotel 23 with Tara. She was alone in the environmental room crying as she looked through a box of my belongings. As the tears slowly dropped from her cheek I heard her say, “Where is it?” and I faded from my subconscious back into the reality of the situation. I had tried my best not to think of her since the crash. It only complicates my situation.
Waking up, I was reminded that I was down to only one can of vegetable beef stew, which in a way is good news as that is the last of the heavy food besides the two MREs that I have broken down, throwing out the heavy cardboard to lighten the weight. I lit the candle once again to cook the can of beef stew. I didn’t feel well this morning and I could not decide if it was the broken sleep or the onset of a cold that made me feel weak and aching all over. I drank half my supply of water and consumed the entire can of food before repacking my pack for the day’s travails.
1200
I have made good time today despite my apparent weakening condition. I’d love to drink a gallon of orange juice right now, as that always seemed to help in a less f*cked-up world. About two hours into my hike this morning I spotted a glint behind me from the direction I had come, just a subtle reflection. Pulling out my binocs I could see nothing. The wind was blowing colder by the day and off in the distance at around a thousand yards there was no sign of movement besides the swaying foliage. In case there is a call, I have the phone hooked into the solar charger hanging from my pack as I make my way toward the bottom of the map. I’ve accepted that they are not daily occurrences.
I spotted random pockets of undead in the past two hours and observed them in the various fields and areas around me. None seem aware that I am in their vicinity. I keep scouting ahead, readjusting my course to maintain safe distance from the enemy. Anything closer than a hundred yards would most likely result in contact with them, depending on the wind and their level of decomposition. I have the pistol and suppressor at the ready, strapped to the outside of my pack, in the event I need to neutralize one of them. I can’t take the chance of making noise if I am being followed or tracked.
1600
No call today. I feel that my paranoia has cost me some time, as I kept looking over my shoulder to see if I could catch a glimpse of my alleged follower. I could see no sign. I feel as if I am being watched, but it is difficult to tell if the feeling comes from the warning or if it’s a bona fide sixth sense. Hell, it could be both. Tonight I take refuge in an old tavern right off the road. I took shelter early, as I feel I am about to be stricken very weak by this bug I have caught. I cannot eat but I am forcing myself to drink the rest of my water. I hear thunder on the horizon and the feeling of approaching rain is in the air. Numerous bottles of alcohol remain on the shelves, never looted. I picked out a dusty bottle of Maker’s and unsealed it, drinking directly from it. It stung but soothed my throat and made me feel warmer than I actually was. I sat in a corner booth in this old hole-in-the-wall tavern known only as River City Liquor and Eats. Some people preferred a booth when going to eat out. I suppose I’m a corner-booth man.
I know all these bottles of alcohol have medical value for disinfection and pain killing. I wish I had the room to take more than a small fifth of whiskey. The wind is kicking up and the rain should follow, not long after this sentence.
18 OCT
0900
I was able to refill my water supply three times last night due to the heavy rain. Checking the drawers of the manager’s office, I discovered a bottle of prenatal vitamins. I checked the back label to make sure they wouldn’t make me grow breasts and popped the top and took a double dose. They were about to expire, meaning they were probably weak in effect. I needed vitamin C in my current condition. My appetite was down but I kept forcing water into my system (two-hundred ounces since last night). It seemed like I was at the tavern door with my rifle in one hand and my gun in the other taking a leak every fifteen minutes. I feel it prudent to make River City Tavern my home for one more night so I can regain some strength.
1500
I was outside, weary and shaking, waiting on the call that never came. Leaning against an old derelict vehicle in a ditch just up the road from the tavern I spotted one of those things. It spotted me too and started shuffling quickly toward me. I had no time to pull out the suppressed pistol. I leveled my rifle on the thing and put the red dot on its forehead and squeezed the trigger. That was that, only it was very loud and no doubt would draw them to my location. After the satellite window came and went I quietly made my way back to the tavern to think this through. It was becoming more difficult to think as time went on. I felt my fever go up by the hour. I noticed when I got back to the tavern that a propane tank in the shape of a huge aspirin sat in the back. It was possible that this place had the resources for cooking and such. All that was left in my pack was the dried food and MREs.
2200
The propane system in the tavern works. Using rainwater and an old skillet, I made some of the dehydrated food and forced it down. It tasted pretty good despite my body telling me that I was not hungry. It was dark outside, so I decided to get more practice with the M-4 optic using NVGs. I dialed the red dot to the first setting and it seemed to work just fine with the NVGs. It would be fine for a limited engagement, but the muzzle flash would give me away after one shot, maybe two, depending on the observer’s distance. At least I have the capability to use it at night if necessary. As I was peeping through the optic with the NVGs I saw movement out the window. It was pitch black inside so I knew that the things could not see me. I kept my weapon trained, focusing on the dot, making sure that any threat could be neutralized. Then I saw them . . . ten to fifteen of them. They were moving about on the road seemingly aimless. I held my breath and watched them and talked myself out of checking the action on my weapon at least thirty times. I might not survive if they find out that I’m in here. I was weak from a cold, and a night engagement in these small confines would give them the advantage. Too many ways to die here tonight. Remaining low and quiet and unfortunately awake.
19 Oct
0645
The morning looks as if it will develop into a clear day. The creatures left the immediate area around 0200. I didn’t force myself to sleep until 0300. I am operating off of three hours of sleep and I feel like I have a hangover. I continue to drink water and I even found some old sealed-up coffee. Not the best thing in my condition but I need the caffeine this morning. I will not stay here another night. I move today or I may not be moving anywhere again. Where there is one there are two and where there are fifteen there are a hundred. I’ll attempt to do ten miles today.
1200
I’m resting at the military crest of a ridge, with rocks covering my back. I have made a somewhat gruesome discovery. There is what looks like an old grain mill about a klick down into the valley. I would have missed the structure if it were not for the smoke rising from what appears to be living quarters near the mill. There is a separate building that looks to hold livestock or possibly prisoners. I have set up a nest here with the sleeping bag as my hideaway. My gear is safe in the waterproof pack, covered by some branches, and I am observing the area closely, deciding what to do.
There are people walking about, perhaps roving guards. I need to monitor their movements and document their patterns.
Guard 1 (crossbow man): Observed leaving living quarters randomly between 1030 and 1130.
Guard 2 (fat woman): Observed patrolling grain grinder every fifteen minutes between the hours of 1030 and 1130.
Guard 3 (AK-47): Observed standing guard fifty yards from structures, seems attentive. Did not leave guard shack.
1300
Situation: Close observation over time revealed that an armed hostile party is holding captive at least one civilian. Grain mill has been modified to utilize human power. They are using creatures to turn the mill. Not certain if the mill is for grain or for pumping water. Creatures are secured to the mill with harnesses. No mouth restraints, but they are fitted with some modified form of horse blinders. They are stimulated to walk forward by the fat woman, who comes every fifteen minutes.
1330
Observed an uncovered military troop transport truck approaching the compound with only two individuals in the back and one driver in front. They seemed to be part of the staff here at the compound. In my binocs, I could see the fat woman’s mouth open up to a shrill scream at the men after they offloaded what looked like a body (really dead).
1400
So much for making ten miles today. I am going to take the diplomatic approach with a five-hundred-pound LGB (laser-guided bomb). I decided this after I observed them attach a living person to the grain mill wheel to further entice the undead to move forward. Stick and carrot. I plan to find a place to hole up for tonight, then observe their daybreak routine and execute preemptive attack. It seems as if they are trying to keep a one-to-one ratio of living to dead on the wheel. They are tied so close to the dead that I thought I could make out one of the ghouls actually touching the back of the living person in front of it with its bony fingertips as they made their rotation in perpetual circles.
Part of me wants to drop high ordnance on them right now, but if I don’t find a place to hole up for the night, I will become even more ill or could succumb to undead attack in my sack here on the high ridge ground. I’ll take out the one in the guard shack first with my rifle. He’s the only threat to me at this range, from what I can see, and one person is not worth the bomb. After taking out the guard, I’ll lase the structure that I deem hostile and try not to cause collateral damage to the wheel containing the assumed friendlies and scattered undead. It’s only a plan at this point. At one point today I witnessed a flash on the opposite ridge but could not spot movement with my binocs.
Another morbid but beneficial aspect of all this is that I can test the functionality of the Reaper flying overhead on an actual target worthy of an LGB. If all goes well I can take out the bad guys without getting within four-hundred yards of the structure. It’s raining and I continue to feel ill and continue to refill my water and drink it to the point of wanting to puke. I have no choice, as there are probably no sterile IVs or saline within a hundred miles not guarded by a thousand undead. No call today, but I did attempt to trickle charge the SATphone with the solar charger while I continued to observe the compound below.
2000
Left some gear at my hiding spot near the mill and found a hiding place for the night in an abandoned unlocked car sitting on a hill. It was a stick eighties Volkswagen Bug. I picked this vehicle because it was off on a side road at the top of a hill. I got inside and checked for keys—there were none. I released the emergency brake and the car quickly started to roll. I only let it go for two feet before I put the brake back on. I could safely sleep inside the vehicle and if I were attacked by the undead in the night I could simply release the brake and roll down the hill. If the car were not a V Bug, I’d attempt to hotwire. The decade is right for the job, but I don’t know where the essential parts are located, as the engine is in the trunk. Last time I did this it was Detroit steel. Wish I had that Buick Regal right now. Sleeping with one hand on the e-brake tonight.
20 OCT
0800
Up early this morning planning the attack and analyzing Reaper documentation. Double-checked the beacon and double-checked the Reaper coverage times. Would have attacked at night if I had the coverage. I slept relatively well with no unwanted interruption besides the local wildlife. An old owl kept me awake for a bit. What I would give to be able to fly right now like that wise old owl.
Change of plans: If I shoot the man in the shack and then the Reaper doesn’t work as advertised, I could be a dead man. I wish I could remember how many inches a 5.56 round dropped at five-hundred yards from a sixteen-inch M-4 barrel.
The Reaper should be on station already or shortly. I tested the laser and heard the beeps resonate. Batteries check good. Aimpoint checks good too—1× magnification will do no good so I’ll need to get to about four-hundred yards to increase my chance of a hit on the guard. No way his AK-47 is more accurate at that range, so I’ll take the chance. Found an old Chevrolet station wagon (bonus cool points for the wood paneling) not far from the V Bug. Checking my surroundings, I popped the hood to check the belts and hoses. Some were cracked but overall serviceable. No keys but I could work with this. Using the same technique I had used months before I should be able to get this old battle horse running all the way to Wally World. I had the phone and charger with me, but I had left the fuel treatment at my observation area just below the ridge line. I needed to scavenge some wire. Disconnecting the battery using my knife I pulled it out of the car and carried it to a clearing just out of sight of any foot traffic. I unfolded the charger so that the cells would get full exposure to the sun. The instructions to charge the phone were to only expose one cell. This was a big battery. The solar cell unit had no name brand markings, which I thought was odd.
I covered the battery with a plastic shopping bag scavenged from the back of the wagon, leaving only the unfolded charger exposed to the elements and the partly cloudy morning sky. I’m taking off in a few “mikes” to do more reconnaissance and possibly bring the pain down if need be.