Several thoughts were running through my head. You need to ignore this and let it play out. Don’t get involved. The world is different now. But I’m not like that. I’m a cop. It was ingrained in my DNA to confront aggression and to protect those that can’t. Batboy swung a third time, knocking my neighbor to the ground.
“Drop the fuckin’ bat!” I yelled. My front sight aimed center mass.
“What? You gonna shoot me? I don’t think you got the balls…cracker!” You could see the contempt in his eyes.
“That’s not something I think you should bet on,” I said as I stared at him. He lifted the bat up and started to walk toward me, rage and anger in his eyes. He kept repeating over and over.
“You ain’t got the balls, cracker.”
“You ain’t got the balls, cracker.”
Each time he said it, I ordered him to drop the bat, but he kept walking toward me. He was about four feet from me when he raised the bat to swing it at me. I pressed the trigger four times, ba-bang, ba-bang. Two double taps, center mass. Batboy stumbled back and landed against a wall. Blood immediately started to drain from the holes in his chest and shirt. He had a look of bewilderment on his face, like he couldn’t believe that I had just shot him. He had been warned. He slid to the ground, dead.
I changed out the partial magazine for a full one, placing the half-used mag in my pocket. I scanned the area for any more threats. Once I was sure there were no more, I walked over to where my neighbor was lying on the patio in front of his door. I wish I could have remembered my neighbor’s name, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was. I looked him over and saw some blood on his head.
“Brother, are you okay?” I asked. He grumbled a little, rubbing his head and shoulder.
“He got me good a couple of times, but I don’t think anything is too serious.” He looked over at the body lying beside his apartment door. “Man, if it wasn’t for you, that could be me lying there with a bashed-in skull. Thanks, man.” He reached out his hand to shake mine. I extended the courtesy and holstered my 1911.
“Brother, things are getting bad here.” In my world, bat boy was just another casualty caused by the event and society’s decline into primitive behavior. I knew an attack on me, in my apartment, was not far off. I made the decision at that moment that I needed to leave. I knew this decision had been coming but had hoped to avoid it. Bunkering in is fine if you’re in a rural area that is easier to defend, but living in a metropolitan community opens you up to the possibility of attack. I decided that humping my way back home to Pennsylvania and the friends I had back there was my best alternative.
“Listen, brother, I’m getting out of here. I’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. I’ve got extra food and water in my apartment that you can have. Once I’m gone, it’s yours.” I reached out my hand to shake his again. “Be safe,” I said as I helped him up and headed to my apartment to prepare to go.
3
Once I decided to leave, I had a very difficult decision to make and a more difficult thing to do. I couldn’t take Freddy with me. I was heading to Indiana Pennsylvania which was approximately 240 miles from Laurel, Maryland. Taking a sixteen-year-old cat in my rucksack was an unrealistic thing to even consider. I couldn’t leave her in the apartment. If I did, she would suffer a slow painful death from starvation and dehydration. She didn’t deserve to go out like that. I had her declawed when she was a kitten, so leaving her free to roam would have been a death sentence for her as she had no way to defend herself. She had been an indoor cat her whole life, so even if she had her claws, she would not have known what to do to survive. I truly believe animals have the same feelings that we have. I found Fred when she was weeks old. I am all that she has ever known. She would have missed me, and that’s the cruelest thing that I could have done to her. The decision needed to be made. Putting her down was the best, most humane thing to do for her.
I went into my bedroom where I had a small .22-caliber subsonic pistol. It was a single shot and, with the subsonic ammo, made virtually no sound. It wasn’t good for much except plinking. I decided that I would wait until she was asleep and do it while she was sleeping. She had been having problems with her hearing and was missing a lot of things lately. There were times when I came home from work, turned off my alarm system, unlocked the door, walked in, and started to put my bags down before she heard me and realized that I was home. I knew that I could do it without her even knowing what was coming.
I decided to take the time to get my gear ready. I pulled my ruck and my High-Speed Gear battle belt from the closet. As soon as I put my ruck on the floor, was normal for Fred, she had to get involved and see what was going on. She had her nose buried in each of the compartments and sniffed each of the items I took out to check as if to say, “What are you doin’, Dad? Come on, let me see what you got in there.” I teared up as I watched her play. I couldn’t believe I had to do what I was going to do. For me, it was like euthanizing my child. I had to remind myself that it was the most humane thing I could do for her.
My ruck weighed about eighty-five pounds. I had all the normal “bug out” stuff in there. I had shelter, water, gun cleaning gear, first-aid equipment, ammo, and a fire-starting kit. I also had gear that could be used to obtain safe drinking water and food, things like traps and a water straw. There was probably some stuff in there that a bush crafter would say that I didn’t need. The way I looked at it was that this bag was an INCH (I’m Not Coming Home) bag and I needed to have the things in it that I needed to survive not just a bush craft outing but also a combat situation. The world as I knew it was collapsing, and people were starting to kill each other for food and water. I wasn’t going to be able to come back. Once I left, that would be it. I was saying goodbye to Maryland.
I checked my battle belt. I had loaded all the rifle magazines with ammo. That was 240 rounds. I put the mags in their pouches and put an additional three hundred rounds in my ruck. That gave me 540 rounds of .223. I had also loaded all my .45 mags. That was sixty-four rounds. I put them in their pouches and put an additional two hundred rounds in the ruck. That gave me 264 rounds of .45. I then checked my knife to make sure it was sharp and ready to go. Lastly, I checked my holster to make sure that it was working as it should and was attached securely.
I then filled my sixty-four-ounce stainless steel Klean Kanteen and sixty-four-ounce army canteen with water and put them in my ruck. I checked my food. I had about a ten-day supply of food. There were several Mountain House meals, beef jerky, trail mix, thirty-five hundred calorie trail bars and miscellaneous food items. To supplement my food supply, I also carried in my ruck a conibear trap, two rat traps, and a slingshot that shot arrows. These would help me hunt and trap for food as my trip progressed. I realized that things would be slim and that there would be days that I couldn’t eat. I also hoped that I would find places to scavenge for supplies and food.
Once my gear was checked and double-checked, I went back out into the living room carrying a candle that smelled like apple pie. I poured myself a glass of water and sat in my chair holding the .22 in my lap. Freddy knew it was getting close to bedtime. She made her rounds, checking the front door and all the corners of the apartment. She then made her way into the bedroom to check things in there. She made her way to her litter box and then finally to the kitchen where she had her evening snack. Tears began to flow as I watched her do her thing. She had been with me for so long. When I got sick fifteen years ago and almost died, she was with me while I recovered, helping me deal with the pain of surgery. When my wife left me, Freddy was there to comfort me. When I came home from a bad day at work, she was there to do something