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From: "\"oldmudrat\" <oldmudrat<takethispartout>@" <nospamallowed@pa-01.supernews.net>,
	hotmail.com@asstr-mirror.org
Subject: {ASSM} New Chapter: With A Whimper Chapter 7
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Date: Thu, 15 Sep 2005 04:10:03 -0400
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With A Whimper

by

oldmudrat

Posted at

http://www.storiesonline.net

and

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/oldmudrat/


September 14, 2005




Chapter 7




  **********************************************************
StandardDisclaimer:
This story is copyrighted material.  (C)) 2005.  All rights are reserved
by the author, including that of publication.  Permission is given for
re-posting as long as nothing in this post is changed, the author's name is
included, this disclaimer is included, and no charge is assessed to read
the story.  Permission for posting on storiesonline.net,
alt.sex.stories.moderated and asstr-mirror.org is explicitly granted.  All other
use of
this story is expressly forbidden without permission of the Author.

   This story, the people portrayed are fictional.  Any resemblance to
living persons is purely coincidental. .  WARNING: This story contains
material with explicit and sexual content that some may find offensive and
may be illegal in some regions.  You must STOP reading if: you are under
the 'legal' age; you are offended by stories mentioning sex in graphic
detail and 'vulgar' language; if this type of material is illegal in your
place of residence; You must READ the story if: you are curious; have
nothing better to do at the present time; and most of all read the story if
it is you choice.
***********************************************************





Date: February 28, 2016




"I'll try not to disappoint you," I said. "I don't know where this is going,
but I do want you with me for the ride."


"And that is where we will leave it for now," she said. "We like each other,
seem to get along, and are good together in bed. Let's just take it one day
at a time."


Well, at least now I knew how she felt. Didn't I? My own feelings were
somewhat tangled except for one point. I did like Kathy. We had known each
other off and on for three or four years. She was no Jules, but she was a
good person. That was what I thought anyway.


I didn't know her THAT well. I had met her through Doc Caldwell during the
many times I would shadow him. He would be doing his job, making rounds in
the hospital, delivering babies, operating and just hanging out with the
folks at the hospital. I don't think he had a life outside his patients.


Anyway, that is how I met Kathy. Nothing really clicked between us before.
Maybe it was just the circumstances this time around. But...


I mentally shook my head to stop that train of thought. Too damn much
thinking, I told myself.


"One day at a time," I said. "O.K." I gave her hand one last squeeze and
stood. "For today I want to look around the house. Granddad left something
here before... well, before what ever happened to him happened. Apparently I
supposed to know where to look, but I have no idea where or what he was
talking about. So, I'm going to look around and see what I find."


Kathy took the dirty bowls and glasses to the kitchen sink, placing them
with the empty cans.


As she started washing up, she said, "I'll finish up the inventory after I
clean up. By the way, I found a couple of empty boxes in the utility room
and I'm using them for cans and bottles. I don't think we should throw
anything out." She held up an empty ravioli can, now clean. "They're not
making any more of these now, you know." She placed the can on the drying
rack to join the others from last night.


"Good idea. I hadn't thought of that. I don't know what we will use them
for, but you never can tell."


"I'm sure something will come to mind."


----------------------------------------------------------------- 


I wandered the house and found myself in Granddad's office. This was the
sleeping area in the original cabin. About thirty feet square. Along the
walls were bookcases with full shelves. Loose papers were stuck between many
of the books. A massive walnut desk was in the center of the room. One wall
had an antique railroad stove with the flue disappearing through the wall.
There was plenty of clearance around the stove to avoid fire. Kerosene
lanterns were positioned to supplement the modern electric light fixtures.
Granddad's radio equipment covered one table. A couple of tables, a couch,
several chairs and lamps, throw rugs on the wooden floor and a liquor
cabinet completed the room's furnishings.


The room could have belonged in another century if it wasn't for the radio
gear and the computer and large screen TV. Two years ago, Granddad had
bought one of the new ultra-thin systems. The screen was one of those new
three-millimeter thin flexible models. Usually it was mounted on the wall
opposite the desk. But now I could see that it was rolled into a tube
setting on the desk.


Granddad usually had a pile of papers, books, this and that on the desk. It
was not that way now. The rolled-up TV screen was on one side of the desk.
Four pens were also on the desk, positioned in such a way as to point to an
antique desk clock. A leather bound journal was leaning against the desk
clock.


I sat at the desk and turned on the computer. The indicator lights on the
cigar-box sized unit came alive as the system booted. There was a blur of
light beams as the holographic display and keyboard came on-line.


The system's voice was a sexy alto that brought to mind hot tropical nights
and promises of wonders to come. "Identification required". I placed my
right thumb onto the biometric slot. Less than a second was required for the
system to accept my thumbprint.


"Welcome, James Thomas Greer. Starting system upload." The familiar Windows
HOLO Edition - not so affectionately known as Windows HELL Edition -- logo
appeared with a status bar active along the bottom of the display


The 3-D display soon showed the system icons floating in the air. I glanced
over the contents and file labels. There were less of them than I
remembered. Granddad must have changed the system since my last visit. I
poked the icon labeled 'read me first'.


A separate hologram video display started. It was Granddad, apparently
seated at this desk. The file date, displayed along the bottom of the frame,
was one week previously. February 22, 2016. He looked healthy, although with
a couple of day's beard growth. He was wearing his habitual white shirt and
denim coveralls.


He began talking.


"I am assuming that it is you, James. This system is configured to not boot
unless you pass initial identification. It is good to know that you are
alive. I would have tried to contact you sooner... I should have done it
anyway... but there are more important things I have to do and you are busy
enough. There is still a thing or two I have to do, but I want to get this
file done while I have the time and energy.


"If you are watching this, then it is a safe bet that I am not around. There
is a chance that you will not see this. You probably will, but..." He waved
his hand in a dismissive gesture. "... better prepared than not.


"Time is short and I had better get on with it. There is a lot that you did
not know about me, James. A lot I could never tell you. I cannot even tell
you now, even like this. There is always the chance that it is not you
listening.


"I have done my best the last few months to prepare this home for you. IF
you have survived the Flu - you were still alive when I checked last week -
then you are going to need a refuge. A place to hold up until things
settle.. It is not going to be easy. I could have made it easy, but that is
not the best thing in the long run. Live or die, you are going to have to do
it the hard way. That is the only way it will mean a damn thing. We are
going through a bad time. Only the strong, smart, and lucky will survive.
Hell, we may all go the way of the dinosaurs and wooly mammoths."


He shrugged his shoulders. "It makes no difference to me now what happens
here. I will not be here, one way or the other.


"This place is as ready as I could make it. That is not saying you have
everything you need to survive. You have a long, hard row to hoe, James.
Gather the ones you trust around you. You will need their help and they will
need yours. Pay attention to the place. Look around and you will be
surprised at what you may find. Give your trust sparingly. Defend your best
chance to live against those who would take it from you. I am talking about
those who even now feel that the world owes them something. Those who would
rather take than give. Even with ninety-nine per-cent of the world dead, you
can be damn sure that there will be plenty of that kind of vermin around.


"A couple of important points then I have got to get on with my work and I'm
sure you have better things to do than sit there listening to me. One, don't
be surprised by anything. Two, I am leaving you something that could mean
the difference in a future of just getting by and one giving you a real
chance to keep a decent tech level in place. You know where to look, I would
imagine. Three, always remember the most important part of Life and where I
laid my cherished treasure.


The image of Daniel William Pitt glanced at his watch.


"I wish you luck, James. There is not much time for me now. I have 'miles to
go and promises to keep before I sleep'. I will see you again. In this world
or the next. I love you, James, like my own son. Remember that."


His image disappeared and the computer displayed, System reboot. Format
starting.


There was nothing I could do to stop it.


The file was gone and I feared that I had seen my Great-granddad's image for
the last time.


What did he mean? There was that I would know 'where to look' mystery again?
I didn't know where to look or what I was supposed to be looking. Plus what
was this about a treasure? I will admit Granddad was much better off
financially then he lead people to believe, but he had always told me that
it was the results of prudent investments over the years. Now that I think
about it Granddad never really gave me any solid explanation of how he could

afford the changes he had made to the farm. He always changed the subject.
However, buried treasure was a long reach, even for Granddad.


The computer display had changed to 'Loading From Server. Configuring New
Command Authority.' and a timer counted downward from forty seconds.


I finally reached the conclusion that Granddad had not wandered off, but he
was dead. His body was probably somewhere on the property. He had died while
completing whatever he was going to do after making the video and had not
been able to make it back to the house. I would probably come across his
bones one day.


I wondered why it didn't bother me that much. The only family member that I
ever really loved and got along with was probably, almost certainly, dead.
Why did it not affect me more than giving me a vague feeling of loss and a
wish I could see the old man just one more time?


The computer display showed 'System Reload Complete. New Command Authority
Protocols Engaged. Level Two Security Protocols Engaged.'.


A bit disgusted with myself, I pushed the chair back and picked up
Granddad's journal. Many, many times I had seen him writing in these
journals. He had done that for as long as I knew him and he once told me
that he had started doing so after he resigned from the army. He never let
me read them. It got to be a game between us. I would sneak off and purloin
one of the journals, but he would also find me before I could even open it.


Turning to the bookcases, I searched until I found a shelf of old journals.
These were only a fraction of those Granddad had completed. I did not know
where he stored the others. There always seemed to be just that one shelf,
even though the journals themselves varied from visit to visit.


Settling myself on the couch I began to read the first entry that was dated
at the start of the year.


Most of Granddad's writing concerned things that he had done on the farm,
repairs he had made, new construction, seed and fields to be prepared for
planting. Several pages were dedicated for various expenses; each item was
itemized and dates of delivery were noted. There were many references to
such-and-such item 'completed processing' on such-and-such date. After each
of these of entries there was also a note that the 'sample chamber' had been
reloaded. I had no idea what that meant.


There was one entry for each day. It may have be en only a couple of lines,
but Granddad had written something each and every day. It took a couple of
hours for me to read and re-read the entries from January 1, 2016, until his
last entry dated February 24, 2016. Four days ago.


Granddad was alive four days ago, two days after he made the video. Some
time within the last four days Granddad had been a victim of the Flu, his
age or an accident somewhere on the farm


Four days. I had missed seeing him by that little time. So close. I mentally
kicked myself for not coming home sooner.


It was during this time of self pity that a small red light over the doorway
into the hallway began flashing. Each doorway in the house had such a light,
as did each of the outbuildings.


"Jimmy!" Kathy yelled from the kitchen. "There is a red light flashing like
crazy in here." She came hurrying down the hallway. "What's going on?"


I met her at the doorway.


"We are having visitors, Kathy," I said. "It's probably the others
returning, but let's not take any chances." I pointed into the living room.
"Behind the couch is a thirty-thirty Winchester rifle. Can you handle one of
those?"


"I deer hunted with one when I was a kid," she answered and rushed to get
it. "I was in the army, remember? They gave nurses weapons training, too."
She picked up the rifle. I saw her open the lever action, eject a cartridge,
and close the lever seating a new cartridge into the barrel. After lowering
the hammer on the live round, she retrieved the ejected cartridge from the
rug and pushed it into the loading slot. "Now what?"


I pointed to the front window of the living room. "That's your post. We have
about ten minutes before whoever it is gets here. I'm going upstairs and get
my Glock, and then I will be across the hall here at the office's front
window. Just keep an eye out. I'll be right back."


Kathy nodded and kneeled by the window looking down the driveway, her weapon
ready.


I made a mad dash to the bedroom upstairs and grabbed the pistol and an
extra magazine.


Coming back down stairs I took the time to tell Kathy that if it was our
returning friends for her not to shot them. That got me a real sarcastic
reply and a suggestion that I knew was physically impossible.


The wait seemed to last forever before the first vehicle topped the hill and
started down the driveway. It was huge and not one that our friends had at
the hospital. As it got closer I recognized it as an army surplus M-813, 6X6
transport truck. They had been phased out of active service five years ago.
At twenty-five feet in length, it could carry a payload of five tons.


Oh, Shit, I thought. We've got problems now. Just the two of us here.


Then from behind the M-813 Kathy's Jeep pulled out and passed the truck. I
could now see an ambulance and a couple of loaded pickups top the hill and
start down the drive.


As they got closer I could see that Tim Wilson was driving the Jeep with Doc
Caldwell in the passenger's seat. I did not recognize the driver of the
M-813 as it pulled to a stop in front of the house. It looked like he was
wearing military garb though. Not a good sign as far as I was concerned.


The other pickups carried Sarah and Sam Miles and Jennifer Nolan and four
other people. There were three women and one child. All of them looked like
locals and had that haunted look about them that seemed to identify
survivors these days.


I stood and walked into the hallway. I told Kathy to keep her post. I wasn't
sure about the military guy.


After things had really gotten out of control, the Army and the rest of the
nation's armed forces had pulled out of major cities. They could not control
the rioting. Their own personnel were dropping like flies and command
authority decided to pull any surviving military forces into secure areas.
The plan had been to re-emerge from those areas after the Flu had burned
itself out.


Well, the secure areas proved to be not so secure. The military forces died
just like everyone else.


I knew - in my head I knew -- that a military presence in the areas of the
worst rioting would have changed little. But I was still pissed-off that
they left us on our own.


Holding the Glock behind my back I stepped onto the front porch. By now
everyone had gotten out of their vehicles and was walking to the house.


The military guy was walking behind Doc and Tim. Doc and Tim were keeping up
a conversation, but I was not really listening. I was watching the military
man. A captain, I could see his rank insignia. He looked surprisingly
healthy. He had not missed too many meals and if he had been down with the
Flu it had been several months ago. The typical Flu survivor took many
months to regain their pre-illness weight and appearance. The uniform looked
as if he had spent more than one night sleeping in them. He had faded-blue
eyes that expressed no emotion except a controlled alertness. His eyes swept
the house and made a quick glance to the barn. He was scoping out the
terrain and situation in my opinion. He had no visible weapon, but he did
keep his hands in his jacket pockets.


"Hey, Doc," I said. "I see you brought an ambulance."


"Yeah. It was the easiest way to carry the med supplies I wanted."


By now they were only a few steps from the front porch.


"Who's the army weenie, Doc?" I asked. I motioned them to stop. "Captain,
mind taking your hands from your pockets. No offense meant, but I don't know
you."


The Captain stopped. He ran his gaze over me. I could tell that he had also
noticed Kathy at the window with a rifle pointed at his head. From this
range there was not much chance that she would miss.


"Whoa, there, Doctor Greer," the Captain said pulling his hands from the
pockets. "I'm just a soldier without a country looking for a place to land."
With slow, deliberate movements he pulled his jacket off and dropped it to
the ground. Then he made a slow circle, turning to show that he had no
weapons visible.


I motioned for Doc, Tim and the others to come on up. The Captain took a
step forward, until I glared at him. He was left standing there out in the
open.


"Who's in the eight-thirteen?"


"The what?" Doc said.


"The big truck, Doc. Who's in there? How many soldiers did the Captain bring
with him?"


"No one, Jimmy," Doc said. "This is Captain Peter Hill, formerly U.S. Army
Corps of Engineers Reserve."


"How did you find him?"


Captain Hill had a patient look about him now. You know the kind a parent
gets when dealing with a stubborn child as he waits for the tantrum to
subside.


"He pulled into the hospital yesterday, while we were out here. Peter is
from here, Jimmy. I delivered him myself years ago. His parents were good
people -- dead now, of course."


"Yeah."


"I vouch for him, Jimmy," Doc said. When I did nothing but look at Captain
Hill, Doc repeated, "Jimmy, I vouch for him. He brings news. You should at
least hear his story."


"O.K., Doc. If you say so." I motioned Captain Hill to come on up to the
porch.


Hill picked up his jacket and, carrying it over his arm, he walked over.


I slipped the Glock into the rear waistband of my jeans. "Again, I mean no
offense, Captain Hill; but I'm gonna have to pat you down."


Hill nodded, spread his legs and held his arms out. "I would be disappointed
if you didn't, Doctor Greer. Have at it."


So, I patted him down. Arms, neck, torso, legs, boot tops, even ran a hand
over the Captain's groin feeling for a weapon.


I held my hand out. "Your beret, Captain. Please."


Hill handed it over. When I was satisfied that there were no hidden weapons,
I handed the beret back to Hill. He fitted to on his head at a rakish angle.


"Am I safe, Doctor Greer?" Hill asked.


"Oh, I doubt that you are safe, Captain. I cannot find any weapons though."


Hill smiled knowingly. Looking at the window where a gun barrel was pointed
at his stomach, he said, "I'm safe enough, but I'm no fool either, Doctor
Greer."


"Well. Come on in, everybody," I said.


The others did just that. I held Hill back and he and I entered last.


Kathy stood in the living room door still holding her rifle.


"Kathy, meet Captain Peter Hill," I said.


"Captain."


"Ma'am," Hill said with a slight bow. "A pleasure, I'm sure. Thank you for
inviting me into your home."


The others had kept on walking back to the kitchen as we stood in the
hallway talking.


"No invitation has been issued yet, Captain Hill," I said. "A meal and a cup
of instant coffee is the most I'm offering right now and a chance to tell
your story. What's in the eight-thirteen, Captain?"


"Mostly food, water, and camp supplies, Doctor Greer," Hill said. His tone
carried a great weariness with the questioning. "Some weapons and ammo, but
mostly food and water."


"Well, come on back to the kitchen and we will get you that coffee," I said.


Kathy eased the rifle's hammer down and followed us.


To Be Continued . . .






Note to Readers:

Chapter 7 was edited by Oldfart and Patrick. Their work, help, and
suggestions are greatly appreciated. Any errors are my own and I proudly
claim them! Chapter 8 is complete and will follow with a couple of days.
Chapter 9 is almost half complete. Right now I am hoping to finish this
story in about 20 chapters.


Thank you for reading. Thank you for your emails. Thank you for your
suggestions.


oldmudrat

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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