After getting their packs out of the Bronco, they moved three hundred feet uphill to establish a camp. After all this, it was nearly 4 o’clock. Kevin told Dan that he was still too agitated to get to sleep. While he remained on guard, Dan pulled out his heavily patched down sleeping bag and laid it out on a poncho.
Just before he drifted off to sleep, he said to Kevin, “Good job, Kev.”
Lendel shook his head, as he replied, “No congrats are necessary. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. We just gave them what they honestly deserved. Now go to sleep.”
Dan awoke at 7:30 to find Kevin cleaning his Model 870. Kevin said to Fong, “I don’t know how you could sleep like a rock after what went on last night.”
Fong laughed quietly and said, “Au contraire! I’d only be sleeping light if those S.O.B.s were still alive.”
While Dan put on his boots and stuffed his sleeping bag, Kevin finished cleaning his shotgun. After giving its barrel a final inspection, he slipped it back into place, slid the extra long magazine spring into position, and screwed on the extension magazine. He then reloaded the gun, carefully inspecting each number-four buckshot shell before loading it into the gun’s magazine. He told Dan, “I already cleaned and reloaded your H and K.”
“Thanks,” Dan said.
Kevin snapped back, “No problemo.”
After splitting an MRE and some dried apples, they cautiously moved back to the Bronco, took down the camouflage, and loaded their gear. While Kevin was warming up the engine and refilling the radiator, Dan consulted a road map to again familiarize himself with the day’s route.
When they stopped to disassemble the roadblock at the ambush site, they decided to pile up some of the railroad ties and set them ablaze. They dragged each of the bodies—most still in their well-ventilated and blood-soaked sleeping bags—and heaved them onto the fire. They kneeled and said a brief prayer.
The remaining drive to the Prines’ farm was peaceful. Because the entire region was dominated by well-prepared Mormons, there was far less disruption caused by the Crunch. Morgan City was easy to find, and appeared undisturbed. In fact, the only evidence of disruption was the town’s inoperative traffic signals, and some dirty windshields and flat tires on parked cars and trucks.
As they slowly pulled up to the Prines’ farmhouse, Ken recognized T.K.’s Bronco and ran out to greet them. He was wearing a huge grin. “What, only two of you came? I figured you’d have at least three or four guys.”
Kevin sadly replied, “We were three, but we’re just two now,” jerking his thumb at the small pair of jungle boots protruding from the end of the rolled up ponchos.
“Who?” Ken asked with wide eyes.
After a few moments, Kevin blinked his eyes heavily and said, “It’s T.K.”
The expression on Layton’s face melted.
Ken walked back to the tailgate and stared down at the shrouded body. With his voice wavering, Layton said, “If I’d known something like this was going to happen, I’d have never sent word to the retreat. This… this is all my fault.”
Dan Fong shook his head and said, “It wasn’t your fault, dude. It’s rough wherever you go out there. We all knew the risks. But we’re your friends. Some things are a lot more important than your personal safety. It was a matter of honor.”
Ken stood looking into the back of the Bronco, still disbelieving that Tom Kennedy was dead. Kevin and Dan stood a polite distance away. After a few minutes, Ken turned back toward them, tears running down his cheeks, and shared a three-way hug. Just then, as Terry was hobbling out of the door on a pair of homemade crutches, Ken said, “I’ve never been so happy and so sad at the same time before in my life.”
While refueling and packing up the Bronco early the next morning, Kevin Lendel gave the Prines the sealed plastic buckets of food that they had brought along, as well as four gasoline jerry cans, one of which was still partly full. After making their goodbyes, packing Ken and Terry’s gear was relatively simple. All they had were their rifles, web gear, and Army surplus ALICE packs. None of the four could avoid occasionally looking at T.K.’s shrouded body. It served to subdue what otherwise would have been an animated conversation.
The trip home was uneventful. With the experience of the trip down, Dan and Kevin knew how to pick their return route to avoid trouble. More than halfway home, they made another “cold camp” about ten miles from where they had camped two nights before. They consciously avoided the opportunity that they had to camp in the same spot twice. The drive on the second day of the trip back was nearly as quiet as the first.
As the Bronco drove up the hill to the Grays’ farmhouse, Shona barked repeatedly, but her wagging tail revealed that these barks were of the happy variety. Everyone at the retreat house ran outdoors for what turned out to be a painful reunion.
Soon after they arrived, Kevin gave the captured coins, weapons, and ammunition to Todd for safekeeping. Like the equipment captured previously, these items were secured in one of the wall lockers in the basement.
CHAPTER 19
Hello
“Pressure makes diamonds.”
Todd set aside the entire afternoon for Ken and Terry’s debriefing. Ken told most of their story, with Terry filling in the spots that Ken glossed over. Ken began, “As I’m sure you all figured out long ago, Terry and I waited too long to ‘get out of Dodge.’ We thought that once they suspended trading on the stock market that the government would do as it promised and take steps to put things back in order. I guess we violated Rule Number One: Never trust anything the government says. Anyway, we tried leaving town the night after Dan and T.K. bugged out. Unfortunately, as I’ll explain, we didn’t get very far.
“We spent most of the last day packing up the Bronco and the Mustang. The power was out, so I couldn’t use my compressor to adjust the gas shocks on the Bronco for the heavier load. I ended up using a hand pump. We had everything loaded by about ten o’clock. Luckily we had pre-positioned most of our gear here at the retreat, so we didn’t have any trouble fitting in what we had to take with us. As we were packing we had heard a few shots. I told Terry that I thought it was just a few guys taking advantage of the blackout to settle some old scores. Actually, I was just trying to make her feel less nervous. As I look back on it all now, I think I was more nervous than she was. Terry led off in the Mustang and I followed right behind her.
“We had planned to take the Eisenhower expressway, but we ended up not even bothering trying to get on the on-ramp. It looked like a parking lot. I could also hear more shooting going on and even see some muzzle flashes. So, I clicked on the TRC-500 and told Terry we’d try getting out through the West Side, using the surface streets. We went along fine for about ten blocks. The only problem was that it was dark. I mean D-A-R-K dark. No streetlights, no house lights, nothing. Occasionally you’d see dim candlelight in a window, but that was about it.
“As we were approaching one corner we had to make a sudden stop, because just as we got there, somebody rolled out a big Dumpster from one side, and one of those giant metal wire spools like the phone company uses from the other. We both had to slam on the brakes. All of a sudden, the whole world exploded. There was almost continuous shooting going on. They shot out all of the windows on the Bronco, and I felt the passenger-side tires get blown out. I flopped down toward the driver’s side seat to get out of the line of fire, and in the process, I smacked my ribs against the Hurst floor shifter. It pretty well knocked the wind out of me.