Role Playing Survival

[MinutemanCO]

Gave it a shot. Not my best work. I think I probably could have written this story for days...
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“Damn it all!!” Briggs kicked the fender out of sheer aggravation. “Friggin’ thing’s never gonna work. What, was I asleep during autoshop?”

He climbed out of the engine compartment of the half ton Ford. Frustration turned to anger. He threw the 5/8 inch into the weeds. After stomping around the yard muttering obscenities, the thirty-nine year old man composed what was left of himself.

“Easy man. You’re losing it.” He watched the dust blowing through the burned out neighborhood. In the distance someone screamed. The sound of glass breaking echoed from a block or two away. Don't want nothin' to do with that.

“I gotta get out of here. I gotta stop talking to myself. Just who the hell am I supposed to talk to? Huh, you idiot? Molly and the kids ran to the shelter in Greeley. Everyone else disappeared or up and died on me. There’s nothing left.”

Matthew Briggs turned and walked the two miles back to his makeshift lean-to at the far end of the wheat field. His walk seemed to take on an air of confidence. He had decided.

The virus hit like a hurricane back in ’14. The missiles fell from the sky like rain a few months later. The flashes on the horizon were overwhelming, something out of a weird movie. Surreal even. Denver… gone. Colorado Springs… gone. Boulder… vaporized… friggin hippies. What do they think now of the global communist movement they loved so much?

Briggs hunkered down in situ for a long time. He tried to get Molly to stay. He succeeded for two years. One day, she just up and left. Said there had to be something better out there and that living in a shithole on the outskirts of Platteville, Colorado was making her crazy. Will and Sarah went with her. He would have had to kill Molly to keep her from taking the kids. He wasn’t that crazy… not yet. For a few weeks, it hurt. The pain came in waves – loneliness, followed by despair, chased by despondency. Briggs was one of the lucky ones. The deep depression didn’t crush him.

He remembered the guy down the street – what was his name? Doesn’t matter. His wife and kids died from the virus, the initial outbreak. He saw the poor dude walking the streets for a few days afterward. He looked like a zombie. After a week, Briggs found the guy in front of his house, splayed out on the front lawn amid a stain of dried blood. The self inflicted wound left him with a baseball-sized hole in the back of his head. Expediency dictated. He rolled the rotting corpse over and found the Beretta half buried in the dried grass. He popped the mag, tucked the gun into his belt and searched the house for supplies.

His stores were dwindling. He harvested the grain that had seeded itself in from the prior year back in September. It was holding up reasonably well, but everything else was bare bones. He had to get moving.

For years Briggs resisted the move to the mountains. The environment was harsh and unforgiving. His hope was that there’d still be an abundance of mule deer, elk, rabbit and trout up there. The summer homes of the more affluent would be open for habitation. At the upper end of Fourth of July Road was a series of well built cabins rarely occupied by the owners. He’d head for one of the more rugged structures he remembered near the treeline. Briggs knew from decades of hunting, fishing and camping how to survive in the alpine forests that dominated half of Colorado, but didn’t want to make the move until it was absolutely necessary.

He caught word from transients that the Chinese were moving in with a huge force from Canada. Venezuelans and Bolivians up from Mexico. They were certain to roll through north central Colorado between the serious hot zones. That would put the bastards right in his lap. Can’t have that.

Briggs packed his loose supplies into the metal frame ruck he’d kept for just such a purpose. He slung the old pack and attached two water bottles to his belt. Damn thing must weigh a hundred pounds. He holstered his sidearm and held onto his shotgun just in case. He already buried what was left of his stored goods. He’d try to come back for them before winter blew in for real.

His thoughts turned to the small church community up near Nederland he’d once been a part of eight or ten years ago. Those folks, the ones who weren’t killed by that stinkin’ virus, were well equipped to ride out a storm like the one that hit the US. He’d have to convince them to accept him into their little group. Might not be as easy as it sounded, even if they did remember him. He had a lot to offer, though – hunting skills, construction experience, survival and tactical abilities.

Briggs walked.

[Malsua]

MinutemanCO, that was pretty good. Don't you wish we could bring these stories to film? Heh.

[MinutemanCO]

MinutemanCO, that was pretty good. Don't you wish we could bring these stories to film? Heh.

Thanks. That would be a blast. A more realistic version of Red Dawn, I suppose.

[Malsua]

One thing that's always stuck in my head is that you can't stock pile for the rest of your life. At some point you have to actively generate food. This is why I think 30 days supply is all you're going to need. If society breaks down completely, within 30 days everything is going to change. The strong and best armed will eat. Its no different than Somalia. Find the strongest guy you can stomach and join his gang. It'll be the best gig you can get.

[American Patriot]

This is turning into a good brainstorming project, huh?

[American Patriot]

Oh, I found it quite AMAZING you hit the "genetically altered virus that picks a certain group" and it "went haywire".

That's EXACTLY one of the things that is in the original manuscript I wrote. The storyline doesn't actually involve the survival of the people on the planet, only those who lived on a space station and decided to "go home" as the station's orbit was decaying, the fusion reactor was failing and the food sources were getting too weak to continue in a limited space environment.

Of course, the population didn't get any smaller on the station - and there were nearly 400 - 450 living people up there and less than ten of the shuttles left.

[Malsua]

I've always had these ideas and much more rattling around in my head for a long time. I've always wanted to make that movie. heh.

As to the Mutated virus, I didn't exactly invent that. It's been a fairly common theme in literature. As much as we hear about mutating viruses these days, how can you expect a tailored virus not to mutate?

[American Patriot]

You can't. Which is exactly why it would.

[Malsua]

I would love to do a screenplay of all this but maybe we'll get some of this in the upcoming Shakey cam version of Red-Dawn.

[American Patriot]

haha

[Beetle]

This won't be as good as Mal's (GREAT JOB MAL!), but I threw something together:

I just did a bullit count. I only have 2000 rounds left. I have been eating good, but I am using up ammo in the process. Lots to eat around here though. I am going to have to use the crossbow more often and save my ammo for defense purposes.

Last night, I was starting a fire in my fire pit when I heard something behind me. I turned and saw a german shepard with two black labs. I thought to myself, looks like Chinese for dinner tonight. I had been wanting to take these dogs out. I imagine these are the dogs that have been hunting the deer in my area. I don't like compition. I wouldn't mind making a pet out of one of them so I could have a watch dog. But once they have a taste of deer blood, they will hunt them. I'll find a dog one day. I might sleep better knowing a dog is watching out for me.

The last humans I saw were three men who were rummaging through my AO about two and a half years ago. I could have announced myself to them, but they didn't look like the type of people I wanted to get close with. They saw my camp fire and clothes line, so they knew someone was around. Maybe they think I am not the kind of person they would like to get know. They looked around but didn't find anything and finally left the area. I wondered if they knew someone had them in their cross hair. I had already gone through everything and hid all the items that I can use. I hide almost everything, just for these kinds of occassions.

When the war started, the campground was putting in a few new sites. They had some large PVC pipe they were going to use for the sewer lines. I use the PVC pipe to hide ammo and other things in. I cap the ends off and bury the pipe. Speaking of digging, I have several foxholes dug and I am working on a bunker. I don't know if the commies or muzzies will come my way, but better to have them and not need them. The bunker is going to be well hidden when I am finished. I think the bunker will make good shelter.

Since my gasoline dried up, the only form of tranpartation I have is a horse I comendierd. There a plenty of places to let him graze. I think I can keep him well fed. Mostly, I use him to bring water up from the lake. The hill is pretty steep and it is nice to have a work horse around. Sometimes I go rummage through other areas. If I find a lot of stuff, I go back and hook a wagon up to Wyatt (that is what I named my horse).

Before the war, I was on this mountain top alone. So, I have faced the last four years without people around. I sometimes miss my family, but for the most part I am happy that all I have to worry about is me. I had learned that George Washington used to pray for one hour in the morning and one hour at night. I started this practice and this is about the only time I actually do any talking. I feel better after I pray. Knowing that the Lords walks with me takes my fears away. So, I lean on the Lord often.

Well, I have to go now. I gotta dig some worms. I am looking to have brim for dinner tonight.

[Beetle]

Gave it a shot. Not my best work. I think I probably could have written this story for days...
____________________________________

“Damn it all!!” Briggs kicked the fender out of sheer aggravation. “Friggin’ thing’s never gonna work. What, was I asleep during autoshop?”

He climbed out of the engine compartment of the half ton Ford. Frustration turned to anger. He threw the 5/8 inch into the weeds. After stomping around the yard muttering obscenities, the thirty-nine year old man composed what was left of himself.

“Easy man. You’re losing it.” He watched the dust blowing through the burned out neighborhood. In the distance someone screamed. The sound of glass breaking echoed from a block or two away. Don't want nothin' to do with that.

“I gotta get out of here. I gotta stop talking to myself. Just who the hell am I supposed to talk to? Huh, you idiot? Molly and the kids ran to the shelter in Greeley. Everyone else disappeared or up and died on me. There’s nothing left.”

Matthew Briggs turned and walked the two miles back to his makeshift lean-to at the far end of the wheat field. His walk seemed to take on an air of confidence. He had decided.

The virus hit like a hurricane back in ’14. The missiles fell from the sky like rain a few months later. The flashes on the horizon were overwhelming, something out of a weird movie. Surreal even. Denver… gone. Colorado Springs… gone. Boulder… vaporized… friggin hippies. What do they think now of the global communist movement they loved so much?

Briggs hunkered down in situ for a long time. He tried to get Molly to stay. He succeeded for two years. One day, she just up and left. Said there had to be something better out there and that living in a shithole on the outskirts of Platteville, Colorado was making her crazy. Will and Sarah went with her. He would have had to kill Molly to keep her from taking the kids. He wasn’t that crazy… not yet. For a few weeks, it hurt. The pain came in waves – loneliness, followed by despair, chased by despondency. Briggs was one of the lucky ones. The deep depression didn’t crush him.

He remembered the guy down the street – what was his name? Doesn’t matter. His wife and kids died from the virus, the initial outbreak. He saw the poor dude walking the streets for a few days afterward. He looked like a zombie. After a week, Briggs found the guy in front of his house, splayed out on the front lawn amid a stain of dried blood. The self inflicted wound left him with a baseball-sized hole in the back of his head. Expediency dictated. He rolled the rotting corpse over and found the Beretta half buried in the dried grass. He popped the mag, tucked the gun into his belt and searched the house for supplies.

His stores were dwindling. He harvested the grain that had seeded itself in from the prior year back in September. It was holding up reasonably well, but everything else was bare bones. He had to get moving.

For years Briggs resisted the move to the mountains. The environment was harsh and unforgiving. His hope was that there’d still be an abundance of mule deer, elk, rabbit and trout up there. The summer homes of the more affluent would be open for habitation. At the upper end of Fourth of July Road was a series of well built cabins rarely occupied by the owners. He’d head for one of the more rugged structures he remembered near the treeline. Briggs knew from decades of hunting, fishing and camping how to survive in the alpine forests that dominated half of Colorado, but didn’t want to make the move until it was absolutely necessary.

He caught word from transients that the Chinese were moving in with a huge force from Canada. Venezuelans and Bolivians up from Mexico. They were certain to roll through north central Colorado between the serious hot zones. That would put the bastards right in his lap. Can’t have that.

Briggs packed his loose supplies into the metal frame ruck he’d kept for just such a purpose. He slung the old pack and attached two water bottles to his belt. Damn thing must weigh a hundred pounds. He holstered his sidearm and held onto his shotgun just in case. He already buried what was left of his stored goods. He’d try to come back for them before winter blew in for real.

His thoughts turned to the small church community up near Nederland he’d once been a part of eight or ten years ago. Those folks, the ones who weren’t killed by that stinkin’ virus, were well equipped to ride out a storm like the one that hit the US. He’d have to convince them to accept him into their little group. Might not be as easy as it sounded, even if they did remember him. He had a lot to offer, though – hunting skills, construction experience, survival and tactical abilities.

Briggs walked.

GREAT WORK MMCO! You and Mal should write a book together! Good job fellows!

[Beetle]

More role playing:

I dug my third out house now. It is not covered, so you still go where God and everybody can see you. I do keep the hole covered though. I don' want flies getting in it and then landing on my food or something. I still have plenty of toilet paper. Every place I go rummage through, I nab all the TP I can. I store the roles in my PVC pipe. The PVC keeps my roles dry. (Hey Rick will PVC work as a storage unit? I think it will keep stuff dry.)

I finally took the wagan into town. I was thinking that I would be able to pick up some supplies there. I hadn't been to town in over four years. I don't know how long I should stay where I am before it is safe to go out. So, I have stayed away from town thinking the virus may be active there. But I need more tools and lumber to build my bunker with.

Well, the town is a ghost town and the shelves are emptied. So, I went from house to house for a while. I found some tin foil, plastic bags, trash bags, toilet paper, duct tape, wd40, books, some bandages and other first aid items, rope, chains, tools, axes, shovels, and some lumber to help build my bunker.

I found some clothes, sock hats, and blankets but I did not take them. I didn't know if someone had the virus and was using the blanket or clothes, if the virus would still be in the blanket. (Is this the right thing to do, or can you use these kinds of items? On a can of Lysol, it says it can be used on soft surfaces now. So, does that mean a blanket could hold a virus or germ? I don't know, and since I don't know I wouldn't gather items like clothes and blankets. I would mend my own. I think I would still use a bandage if it was wrapped in something and toilet paper and other items if it were wrapped. So, this little exercise is good because it may answer questions I have or correct me when I am wrong).

Well, on my way back to my camp, I took a different route. I knew of some Amish in the area. I wanted to go by there and see if they made it. I found them surviving just fine. I traded some items with them. I received some preserves and other edibles. I need to make good friends with them; and maybe I can learn some things that will help make life easier. I may go rummage through town with the wagon more often. Then I can go trade with the Amish. Maybe if I become good friends with them they will help me build my bunker. If the Amish help build my bunker, it will be safe. ;-)

(What do you think live stock would be worth in a trade at this time? If the Amish had it, I would want some chickens, sheep, pigs, cows and bulls, actually almost anything! What do you think one would have to trade for a rooster and a hen? And would this be legal in our survival role play here and would the Amish be survivors? IMHO, I think the Amish have the best chance at survival and they are around my area. So, I would try to look them up. If they didn't make it, they may have some tools and stuff I could scrounge.)

[Malsua]

Cloth materials can generally be used if they aren't visibly soiled(blood, pus, stains, etc). You're going to want to not wallow in them until you've had a chance to launder them and sun dry. Virus's in general aren't tough and just drying out kills them.(they're not really alive in the first place, but not going to go there right now).

As for the Amish, they would have suffered the same fate initially. I would think the death tolls would be about the same. The difference is +30 +90 + 1 year, etc. They will do much better. The Amish also depend on modern society. Don't be fooled. They buy gasoline, they use solar cells, they use phones and electrical equipment. They just cannot personally own it. They will simply be the easiest to adapt to an agrarian society.

As for livestock, it's hard to say what the Amish might trade you for. I'm wondering if you couldn't pledge to the Amish church and simply become Amish. You'd have to commit to it fully and that's no little thing. It really might become a glorious life however. It's hard work, but you gain a community, perhaps even a spouse, children and land. It might be better than the alternative.

[Beetle]

Cloth materials can generally be used if they aren't visibly soiled(blood, pus, stains, etc). You're going to want to not wallow in them until you've had a chance to launder them and sun dry. Virus's in general aren't tough and just drying out kills them.(they're not really alive in the first place, but not going to go there right now).

As for the Amish, they would have suffered the same fate initially. I would think the death tolls would be about the same. The difference is +30 +90 + 1 year, etc. They will do much better. The Amish also depend on modern society. Don't be fooled. They buy gasoline, they use solar cells, they use phones and electrical equipment. They just cannot personally own it. They will simply be the easiest to adapt to an agrarian society.

As for livestock, it's hard to say what the Amish might trade you for. I'm wondering if you couldn't pledge to the Amish church and simply become Amish. You'd have to commit to it fully and that's no little thing. It really might become a glorious life however. It's hard work, but you gain a community, perhaps even a spouse, children and land. It might be better than the alternative.

I thought about 'pledging' to their Church and becoming Amish, but I didn't know if they would even accept you. Or if they would even want to trade or have anything to do with you. I imagine they would trade, if you had something they really wanted.

That is good to know about cloth. I imagine going into a town years after something big like that happened that the place would be emptied of all the good goods. Gas, oil, things like that would be long gone.

Around here they have small oil pumps sitting out in fields. Sometimes I see one pumping, but for the most part they are not moving. I started wondering maybe I should learn how to pump oil out of the ground and then learn how to refine it. I wonder if you would be able to pull that off. You would want a loyal community because once you got it up and running, you would have to protect it. I saw Road Warrior today and it gave me the idear. You wouldn't have nothing but time to give it a try. You may die tryin though. :-)

[Backstop]

OK, so my truck in DNIF.

Seriously, I'd probably be dead within the first year.

If we get nuked AND invaded, which I believe is the correct scenario BTW, I'm packing my guns and heading for the front lines.

I know that sounds like a cop out for your thread, and sorry.

But that's exactly what I'd do.

[Beetle]

OK, so my truck in DNIF.

Seriously, I'd probably be dead within the first year.

If we get nuked AND invaded, which I believe is the correct scenario BTW, I'm packing my guns and heading for the front lines.

I know that sounds like a cop out for your thread, and sorry.

But that's exactly what I'd do.

Well, Mr. Backstop I have to remind you of General Patton's words:

No dumb bastard ever won a war by fighting and dieing for his Country. You fight and make the other dumb bastard die for his Country.

I'd pack my guns and go with you, but I couldn't carry all of them. Let alone the ammo. I am diggin in, set up some ambush positions. Look for opporunities for hit and run or snipe. Anything that will disrupt the enemy. I know they will out number me and I will eventually go down. I won't have anything better to do anyway, and I'll be happy to take some invaders with me.

Let's not run into the lion's den. I say we sneak our way in and fight to live another day and live to fight another day.

I don't know if you ever heard of an ol' boy named Carlos Hathcock? He was the best sniper in the business in Vietnam. He held down an entire Company of NVA for a couple days. Just him and his spoter. You might be surprised at what kind of trouble a couple or few people could cause the enemy.

[Backstop]

Those words of Patton's are grand.

[Beetle]

Yes Patton was great. And may I thank God that there were men who were willing to fight for my freedom.

It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived. - George S. Patton

[Malsua]

I thought about 'pledging' to their Church and becoming Amish, but I didn't know if they would even accept you. Or if they would even want to trade or have anything to do with you. I imagine they would trade, if you had something they really wanted.

Being Amish isn't all about who birthed you although it goes a long way towards it. The Amish will accept Engishers into the Amish church. The issue is, it takes time and they have to get to know you. It may take many years before they'd accept you into the Amish church. Once they let you pledge however, you'd become a full member of their community and you'd be expected to act like Amish, completely. It is a difficult thing for me to think of a circumstance where I'd do such a thing, but my priorities would change drastically in a TEOTWAWKI scenario.

That is good to know about cloth. I imagine going into a town years after something big like that happened that the place would be emptied of all the good goods. Gas, oil, things like that would be long gone.

Cloth will still be around. One thing you do not want to do is to sleep on strange mattresses. Did you see that recent episode of Dirty Jobs? On average a 10 year old mattress weighs 20lbs more than the same mattress new. Yeech.

Around here they have small oil pumps sitting out in fields. Sometimes I see one pumping, but for the most part they are not moving. I started wondering maybe I should learn how to pump oil out of the ground and then learn how to refine it. I wonder if you would be able to pull that off. You would want a loyal community because once you got it up and running, you would have to protect it. I saw Road Warrior today and it gave me the idear. You wouldn't have nothing but time to give it a try. You may die tryin though. :-)

I used to pump those oil jacks when I lived in Ohio. They are pretty basic. Many use a single cylinder engine with a large flywheel that runs off of natural gas. The natural gas is tapped right from the wellhead casing. The motors I'm familiar with are a 110/220 Model number(unrelated to electricity) and have a single large flywheel. They are probably a modified steam design. They are easy to maintain and will continue to run even after the bearings are shot.

The one thing to keep in mind about pumping an oil well is that you can easily pump it dry, specially old wells. This is normal but it must be watched for. The main parts are the outer casing, a 12 inch or so pipe called "The casing". The inner pipe called "The tubing" and inside the tubing is connecting rods down to the bottom of the well called "sucker rods" and at the bottom is the pump. The pump is attached to the sucker rods and moves up and down inside of the tubing. The pump is just a series of rubber cups that act as 1 way values. They collapse inward when pushed down and flip outward when lifted. This lifts the oil and water from the bottom of the well.

At the well head, there is a polished rod, called "the polish rod" (That's polish as in furnature polish, not the country). The polish rod sits inside a housing with some rubber seals so that when oil and water come up from the well it doesn't squirt out right at the top. This is the silvery looking thing you see when a pump jack is going up and down. The sucker rod runs through the polish rod, down into the well. Here's what happens when you pump the well. The oil is cold as it comes up. As you're pumping the well and oil starts to come out, the polish rod gets cold. When the well has pumped off the oil for the day(or whatever period), it starts pumping water. Every oil well has salt water in it, it's an issue of how much oil to water ratio. This is super saturated salt water. If you ever get a chance, taste it. It's amazingly salty.

Once the well starts to pump water, the lubrication on the polish rod goes away and it gets warm due to friction on the bushings. If you continue to pump it, the bushings can catch fire as you can pump all the water out and the bushing will over heat. You tend to learn over time how much a well can pump. When you first start with a well, you have to check it constantly. Even old old wells can usually run for at least 24 hours but you don't know that until you know it.

I would think that you could use the saltwater from the well for something. It has a strong petro chemical smell, but there must be a way to leech out the salts for preservatives or something. If nothing else, a dusty road covered with saltwater from a well will harden like pavement for a while. Re-apply as needed.

Well, enough about that. heh. I'm not sure who has made it all the way to the bottom here, but if you have any questions about oil wells I can probably answer them.