Chapter 2

December 3rd, 7:15am  – Grove City, PA

Tom led the convoy into the now abandoned Grove City Outlets, keeping an eye out for other people as they approached their destination. Five vehicles followed his SUV: another SUV and four pickup trucks. A total of 21 militia members filled the vehicles with plenty of room for any supplies they found.

As they approached the off-ramp, Tom picked up the CB receiver. He was the leader of a militia based out of Slippery Rock, and he had to ensure everyone was clear on their part of the mission and what to do in the event of anything going wrong. The result of their expedition would affect the lives of hundreds of people within two colleges, a town, a camp, and others scattered around the area on farms and isolated properties.

“We’re almost there, folks,” he said over the radio. “Team One, head to the nearest gas station and use the drill pump to fill canisters. Don’t get the diesel and the gasoline hoses or cans mixed up in haste! If they’re empty, move to the next station. Team Two, head over to the outdoor recreational store on the other side of the outlets and take whatever is left. Team Three, follow me to the outlet mall. Make sure at least three guards are on watch at all times. If there is any sign of trouble, let us know over the walkie talkies and head back to the rally point. We’ll be close behind.”

Once they reached the first intersection off the exit, the teams parted ways. Tom led his group to the far end of the outlets, the building shielding his SUV and two of the trucks from the view of nearby hotels and houses. There was no way to know who was still living in this area, and he had to ensure they drew as little attention to themselves as possible. Fortunately the windows had been smashed during the initial post-Blackout pillaging, so accessing the stores stealthily wouldn’t be a problem.

Grove City Outlets was an outdoor mall with dozens of shops containing the latest brand-name and designer merchandise at a fraction of the cost. These discounted goods brought in multitudes of people—especially after both Great Recessions devastated the economy—who desired to radiate wealth but either didn’t possess the financial means to do so or just enjoyed to bargain shop. This area once thrived, bustling with those visiting its nearby shops, restaurants, and hotels, but it was now a ghost town. As soon as people realized that the Blackout was a long-term problem and that their credit cards and bank accounts were worthless, the entire area had been raided and picked apart by looters looking to hoard the last of the supplies. Luckily, most people didn’t think in the long-term, so many stores remained stocked with any goods that weren’t edible.

They quietly piled out of their vehicles, waiting for instructions. “Okay, guys. I’d like two of you to guard the vehicles with me. The rest of you, we have a few wagons and baskets with us; I want you to load them up with anything that might be useful to our people. We’re not looking for designer goods; we’re looking for useful supplies: outerwear, backpacks, warm clothes for both adults and children, shoes and boots, toiletries, wind-up or solar powered devices, blankets, batteries, and so on. There are several stores that are known for high-quality products like soaps, waterproof boots, backpacks, and coats.” He pointed out the storefronts that were their primary targets, the shop blessedly grouped together in the back corner. “Focus on those. Also search that high-tech gadget store as they usually had hand-crank and solar powered flashlights and lanterns, and they should have batteries. Grab as much merchandise as you can and bring it back here. Just pile it into the truck beds and go back in; we’ll worry about arranging it all when we get back to the rally point. Also make sure to check the back rooms. There may be food and drinks back there that no one took in the initial riots. If anyone sees any trouble our way, whistle three times so we know to get back to the vehicles quickly so we can get out. Everyone get started.”

As they rushed into nearby stores, Tom noticed the silence enveloping this once boisterous area. With the exception of his people ransacking the stores, the only sounds he heard were birds chirping and the occasional whir of the drill pump being used in the distance. They raided thrift stores and antique shops a few weeks back to look for energy-independent items—cast iron pans, percolators and French presses, coffee grinders, hand-crank mixers, wind-up clocks, and manual tools. They were fortunate enough to find a hand-crank drill which they connected to a pump and a long hose to attain fuel from the nearby stations; with enough elbow grease, this method had allowed the militia to begin accessing the fuel stored deep within the ground at all the nearby gas stations. This new supply of fuel helped to both allow the militia to keep meeting and the local residents to keep going to the trading post for supplies and visiting nearby family members.

All of the gas stations near Slippery Rock were soon depleted, so the militia looked for more whenever they ventured outside of their territory. Some people started swapping cars for bicycles to conserve fuel while others with the means had returned to horseback riding, but most people were still reliant on their vehicles. Because the militia was responsible for locating fuel, it was also responsible for the storage and management of the supply, allotting some for missions while rationing the rest to the various groups within the area. Once it was given to the group, it was up to them to ration it carefully amongst its citizens until additional supplies could be found.

The first wave of plunder was thrown in the trucks, their arms overflowing with winter coats, scarves, hats, and gloves. Tom hoped that the truck would be full to the brim with goods once their mission was completed, a tarp and bungee cords waiting on the passenger seat to protect their riches on the way home. Soon after, the next wave came with backpacks, fanny packs, and tote bags, two of which were stuffed with supplies. “We found bottles of water in their breakroom as well as a half can of coffee and some snacks,” declared one of the militia members, Sam. “There’s a bicycle store around the corner, too.”

“Excellent!” Tom exclaimed. “Leave the bags for now and redirect your group there. Get at many bikes as you can and fill another pickup with those along with any hand pumps, spare tires and tubes, and helmets.”

“Will do, Tom!” Sam said as he rushed back.

Another group rushed in with a basket of lanterns, flashlights, and batteries, dumping them into the pickup bed before running back over. A pile of boots came next in varying sizes followed by a pile of children’s clothing and coats. Another person rushed over soon after with a wagon of underwear, sweaters, pants, and socks. The group at the bike shop then sprinted over to the truck, some hauling fully-assembled bicycles while others carried lightweight aluminum frames as well as baskets filled with seats, wheels, chains, handlebars, and other bicycle accessories. Before long, each truck bed was nearly full. Tom was thankful to still see no other signs of life from outsiders; this haul would benefit so many of their people.

“Tom, this is Kenny,” said the voice of his second-in-command and local blacksmith over the walkie talkie. “There’s a little bit of trouble over here at the fishing and hunting store.”

Tom cursed under his breath. “What’s the problem?”

“Three disheveled-looking men just approached us with shotguns. Our guards stopped them, but they told us that we’re on their turf, that they live in the nearby hotel and that we need to leave now. They tried to take what was in our pickup, but our guards convinced them at gunpoint to leave instead. They complied, but we’re afraid they’re gonna be back with reinforcements.”

Tom sighed, irritated. So much for no other signs of life, he thought. “Okay. Finish up there and head back to the rally point. Team One, did you hear that?”

“Affirmative, Tom,” a voice replied. “We’re securing the gas cans now. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“Okay, good. I’m bringing my people back in now, so we’ll be leaving shortly as well. I’ll see you at the rally point.”

Tom whistled three times, and everyone stopped in their tracks. Their hands full with the last of their finds, the militia members rushed to the trucks and worked in teams to hurriedly get the tarps strapped over the truck beds. Within minutes, they were speeding towards the highway onramp, and just in time—they could see a mob of armed people in the distance, running towards the outlets.

* * *

The militia members excitedly emptied the loot onto picnic tables at the rally point, examining the items as they traded stories about what they found. The militia always met at the same pavilion within a nearby park; there were members spread across the region, and this pavilion was both large enough to handle the turnout as well as provided some shelter now that the temperature was dropping.

Several canisters of gas and diesel covered one table, clothing and toiletries were stacked onto the next table, and another picnic table was filled with hunting and fishing supplies as well as assorted gadgets and packs of batteries. Other tables were slowly being stacked with merchandise as it was sorted into supply categories and distribution area. Someone was sitting on the ground, a toolbox next to him, as he assembled bicycles from the parts they’d gathered so they could be distributed to the local residents.

Those who had been on the fishing store expedition recounted their brush with the locals. “Their eyes were wild!” someone said. “I think it’d been a while since they saw anyone else. We tried to tell them we didn’t know they lived there, that we didn’t want trouble and would be on our way, but trying to reason with them was near impossible; all they understood was our guns pointed at their heads. They were dressed so slovenly, too; you’d think with stores full of clothing so close by that they’d get clothes that weren’t in tatters.”

“They probably figured the stores were picked clean so they didn’t bother,” Sam explained. “I’m glad they didn’t, though; look at all this stuff!”

“Did anyone find food?” Kenny asked.

Sam shook his head. “We found a few bags of drinks and snacks in one of the store’s break rooms, but that’s about it.”

 “There wasn’t any food in the gas station, either,” a person from Team One stated. “It looked like it had been picked clean ages ago. Same with the restaurants. We did get some lighters, matches, and CB radios, though.”

“I’m not surprised, but it would’ve been nice to stock up a little bit,” Kenny said. “We didn’t find any ammo in the hunting store, which was to be expected, but we got lucky. Not only did we get several bags of empty brass with which Tom can use to make bullets, but there was a bunch of fishing gear, too, so those near the creek will have a much easier time catching dinner. We also got a bunch of camping gear, camping stoves, propane, and water purification tablets and filters.”

“That’s the last of it,” Tom announced as he set down a stack of backpacks. “I think we got a pretty good haul. I wish we could go back there for more, but those locals are going to be on high alert from now on, now that they know other people are still living in this area. How’d we do on fuel?”

“We filled five cans of diesel and four and a half cans of gas,” one of the other members replied. “We probably could’ve gotten more, but we had to leave.”

“Every bit helps,” Tom said. “Put aside a can of diesel for Elliot in Harlansburg; he has a snow plow, and we’ll want to make sure he can use it once it starts snowing. Everyone, fill your vehicles with fuel, then we’ll figure out what to do with the rest.”

“What do you want to do with the snacks and drinks we found?” Sam inquired.

“There’s nowhere near enough to ration out,” Tom began, “so let’s keep it for militia meetings.” He looked at his watch. “Speaking of, we have drills in a few hours, so let’s get all of this sorted and ready to disperse before everyone else gets here.”