Aug. 25, 2009 - 11:35pm

News from the outside world, but it is not good.

TV station that had been showing the color bars test pattern has
gone off the air along with all the others. Even though it was
useless for information, there was something oddly comforting
about being able to turnon the TV and at least see something on
the screen. Now it's all just useless static.



All the AM news stations are also off the air, but there's one
FM station that's still broadcasting. Unfortunately, it's
playing an endless loop of obnoxious '80s music and
advertisements for sales that ended days ago. If I hear
"Walking on Sunshine" one more frickin' time. Ill use the
radio for target practice to sight and tune in my RPK.
I opened the 720rnd.spam can of Brown Bear 7.62x39, which I
never thought I would open.

I just wish I could figure out what's going on out there
and how widespread this aberration is.

Wait a minute. What an idiot I've been. What about my
Fathers old HAM radio?

Read this article that made me remember I had one all along.

- Transmission from an anonymous writer
Back when I was a kid, my Dad did everything he could
to get me interested in HAM radio. He was hardcore.
Only Morse Code ('CW', he called it) for him. Anyone
that used a mic and actually talked to other people
was a second class citizen, as far as he was
concerned. I studied for the tests and actually
passed them, but I could never get the hang of Morse
Code so I never got my license.

Dad tried to keep me interested by using his radio to
tune into all sorts of shortwave broadcasts from
around the world. I used to listen to the BBC World
Service, Radio Free Europe and Radio Afrika
International. I'd think of the exotic places these
radio stations were reaching and the folks that were
listening in. It distracted me from my mundane
suburban existence, at least for awhile.

Just before my Dad passed away, he was gearing up to
work another "Field Day" with a bunch of his HAM
buddies. He did this every year and told Mom that
it was all about "being prepared". I suspect it was
as much that as it was an excuse to go camping
with some buddies, play with his radio toys and maybe
drink a beer or two.

Right. Enough nostalgia. Back to the situation at hand.

Let's go see if I can bring it back to life.

Aug. 25, 2009 - 7:42pm

- Transmission from fargo007

“TARGET”

I'm momentarily reminded of how much I enjoyed watching her tiny but precise fingers form guitar chords when I taught her to play. Now, even in these dire circumstances I still feel that same pride as I see her tiny fingers rotating the large elevation knob on the NightForce 3.5-15x50, as she counts off 3.25 Minutes of elevation.

“Got it Dad.” She exclaims, as we watch the edges of the lonely glow on the ground, cast there by the only remaining street light. I Milled the stop sign right next to it. It is exactly 350 yards away.

“Keep that bolt up until we have a target kiddo. Got that?”

I'm looking through my own Nightforce down the same alleyway of houses that leads to a more populated street. Both rifles are condition 1, with a round in the chamber, and each sporting a fat AICS mag of nine 175 Sierra Matchkings underneath. This distance is a joke for these rigs, but the cases of water and canned food downstairs remind me we're paid to be here, people are depending on us, and we need to follow through on what we promised we would do.

“Ughhhh!!!.... Dad... you don't have to keep telling me every single .....”

“TARGET. “

350 yards, 11 o' clock, left edge of the intersection, no wind, slow mover, center hold is fine!”

I had tuned out her pre-teen diatribe, as Dad's are apt to do.

I hear hear “prepare” breath escape gently as the bolt knob of the FN SPR slowly and precisely drops into place. I recognize the faint sound of shuffling as she finds her natural point of aim.

“Shooter Ready”

“Send”

“Sending”

The rifle barks loudly, and the recoil causes her 11 year old frame to slide to the rear about a half inch on top of the series of dressers that we have set up as a shooting platform next to the window. This is foreign on so many levels... Ordinarily I'd be in the back of the room, shooting through a hole I'd gouge into one of the dressers or other furniture. It's not like that this time. We don't have to worry about light discipline, a barrel being spotted, or any other target indicator. I've not grown lazy. These issues don't matter, and that's good, because I haven't had a chance to work with her on them yet.

“HIT!” I exclaim, the cheerful excitement of a father in my voice as I watch the shock from 175 grains of hurt smash hard into the high torso of the humanoid figure, almost bending it 90 degrees back from the legs in an grotesque contortion before its head slammed into the ground with significant force.

I turn to congratulate her on the shot only to be pelted in the cheek by hot brass, as she smartly resourced the rifle with her eye still on the glass, and the target still in the crosshairs.

“C'mon Dad....... You're goofing off again.”

I can see it still writing, but only from about the shoulders upward.

“Should we hit it again?” She wondered aloud, her eye still rock steady on the Nightforce. "I've got a clear outline of the head against the curb now.”

“Holy Mackrel!!!” I roll my eyes, as I drop back onto my own glass. The McMillan A5 feels like home to my shoulder as I tuck tight into the rifle glass the area for other threats. Finding no other, and knowing she's ready to show me something, I catch her cheek straining a wry smile as I give her exactly what she's been waiting for.....

“TARGET.”

- End of Transmission

Aug. 25, 2009 - 3:12pm

- Transmission from lblair57

All hell is breaking loose and people are freaking OUT!. There are now mobs of refugees filling the roads. SUV’s, pick-ups, RV’s and cars with bundles of crap tried on top and on the sides and the trunks dragging low from the weight of whatever they could take with them. It looks like a mass exodus from Bombay. Some of them are on foot. They are dazed and dirty with smoke blotched faces and torn clothes. They just wander around aimlessly trying to keep moving in the same direction as the mob. The more coherent ones say that the army was keeping the populace from moving west, but the army has been overrun. They say a virus started in NYC. They think is was the jihadist. The virus kills living flesh and then energizes the central nervous system basically creating walking dead. The sole purpose of these decomposing corpese’s is to feed on and infect other carbon based life forms.

- End of Transmission

Aug. 25, 2009 - 2:45pm

Absolute desolation.

Right outside my door.

Everything is foreign. Nothing looks the same. I thought I was prepared for what I would see, but I was not. This is already the next day after I went out, and I am still at a loss for words on how to describe this. I have been working non-stop.

When I went out, it was through the backyard kitchen window. I did not want to risk breaking the seal on the barricaded doors located in the front and back of the house. It would cause to much noise, so I quietly removed the 5 redwood planks from the window, took a deep breath, kissed my wife hard, and then climbed through the window as quietly as i could. She sealed it up after me with the deck screws, the batteries on those ryobi cordless tools are really starting to get low. They suck up so much juice.

I could still hear her cursing silently about leaving her alone as I silently stalked away in the early dawn. But I needed to know what the situation was outside, I had no choice. She knows how to defend heyself and plus she has my Stag Arms AR-15 w/eotech holographic sight and 25 stacked mags to back her up. Shell be fine for 2 hours. Dressing in my khaki eotac operator pants, desert tan USMC Boots and OD T-shirt, the gear I wore was only what I absolutely needed, or what I would consider ruggedly essential. Considering what I could see from the view of my house, the panic on the net, and the fact that the word on the street is the DEAD are RISING, I took protection very seriously.

• Ak-107 dark plum Grips and triangle folding stock
• 8 - 30 round 7.62x39 steel magazines
• Multicam Esstac Bush Boar Rig holds 8 30 round magazines.
• xd 45
• 4 - 13 round .45 acp magazines
• K-BAR D2 Knife Cutting tests prove that D2 is one of the toughest steels used in knife making.
• Oakley "Gascan Frame" prescription glasses for eye protection, ear protection is foam plugs but i left those in my pocket.
• 100 feet of paracord
• Camel Back Hydration bladder 50 oz.
• Bynoculars
• Digital camera
• Backpack with various small items such as first aid kit, ect. I really should consider with more time, everything I should have in this to keep my wife and I alive. If we ever needed to get out fast.
• Chewy Granola bar hey its still food
  

But those 2 hours turned into 6. As to why, that will be for anouther journal entry. I am exausted. Just to survive, takes imeasurable energy. Then to recount everything I have witnessed.....

As soon as I returned, nervous and full of panic. Remaining as low and tight to the fence as possible, I tapped the window 5 times in a specific order. (i cannot describe to you how much hell i got from my wife being 4 hours late) When I was inside, I then determined our house is not nearly fortified enough for what is out there.

Just go on the net and read for yourself.

The quarantine zones are gone.

They are real.