Part III—IV

It took a few seconds but the locks unhinged and fell open. The clank of the steel echoed in the hall of the old Armory. Doors swung open. Like a treasure chest from days of old. There it stood. The Armory.
“ I am going to get my ass canned for this.” Jackson said.
Niel and I slapped him on the back and told him to shut up. We went in.
“ You want to go mobile.” Said Niel. “Small arms, take an M-16.” He pulled out clips full as he tapped them on the wall to make sure.
As silly as it may sound I dressed in my old Camo with my CAP insignia and strap packs for Search and Rescue. This time they would hold food, water, first aid and ammo for our ride. I knew where I was going, no need for GPS this time.
Niel pulled out a 203 to attach to his M-16..
Jackson pointed, “Ah, I don’t think..”
Niel loaded it and gave Jackson a ’look’.
“OK..Ahh what the hell..Jesus Christ..”

We all loaded up. Even Jackson gave up and got ready. We were on a mission and we all got prepared.
Niel also took several boxes for the 50 Cal on the Humvee. Jackson just waved him off. I took the keys and gave them to Niel.
We gave a shake and held eyes. I hope to see you soon my friend…


Winter was not yet ready to let go. Streets no longer were plowed so we slogged through the back roads. All major highways were blocked and patrolled by town security and ad-hock police patrols. Jackson was from Worcester and was city raised. He was nervous every time I took a trail through the woods. Especially if I was making it myself.
The horses were as good as Mike’s word. Full males and strong. Carried our sleeping and camping gear for two nights with no effort. By car the trip would only be an hour going north on Rt. 495. Things were different now, we had to take the back roads and forest trails by horse. That translates into one day to your destination. One day to gather that information. Still yet, one more day to get back home, the same way, unless we met any one who wanted to steal our gear. Welcome to the days of yore.

Late spring snow met our faces.
“So much for Global Warming.” That was me.
Rt. 85 north was blocked at the Rt. 117 intersection by militia. We showed what ID we had and thankfully Jackson got some balls, they let us through, so we trekked east and north through the backroads and woods to come up through Stow and Harvard Mass.
I remembered the old museum at Fruitland’s in Harvard Mass., we decided to camp just west of it in the valley looking north-west to Mt. Wachusett. As we rode into the night valley we could see the flights coming in and out of Hanscom.
The airstrip still was more north and east our site along the I 495 corridor. We had a great vantage point looking down the valley. C-130’s, Galaxies, Star lifters, they all cruised in from the west and sloped around the hills to land. The valley roared with the jet wash.
We set camp in some one’s back yard. Once a third of a million dollar home now empty, grass overgrown. I thought of the many times I would see landscapers on their deck mowers grooming the lawn..No more. The entire street we came down was empty, overgrown.
“Why do you think so many flights here to central Mass?” I asked, adjusting my binoculars.
“Inland flights away from the coastal bases..Just in case.” Jackson was setting up the tent.
“Hey, why don’t we just kick in the door and sleep in the house?” Jackson asked.
“It’s some one’s house.” I said and focused in on an outgoing flight.
Mmmmmm ..Star lifters come in and C-130’s pull out going every which way.