The killing and rebuilding of mankind

This is the beginning of a book-length story. Please be patient! The fucking and sucking will happen…eventually.

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CHAPTER ONE
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I watched the armed men and women through my night vision goggles stalk along the street outside my small, decidedly rundown home. It was about 10 PM, and I didn’t have any lights of any type in my home. It was completely dark. The idea in these times of extreme violence and death was to make my place look unoccupied and unworthy of investigation. The grass was long, weeds everywhere, and all the tires on my truck were flat.

The people outside were searching for food, most likely. Since the sickness spread and killed so much of our population, just remaining alive had become almost impossible, but everyone who hadn’t been killed off by the sickness still tried to survive.

Here, in San Diego, that mostly meant that people had to resort to raiding and stealing what they needed. Gangs had formed to make that a more efficient method of obtaining food, medicines or drugs, weapons, and whatever else was deemed important. Most gangs were small but extremely violent and tended to be territorial.

The first week of the outbreak of this illness, some called it a virus, had probably been the only chance humanity had of slowing the spread. However, people still remembered the total scam that the COVID-19 scare had been and disregarded the warnings coming from the government. Hell, even I had scoffed! Who wouldn’t? To most, it just looked like the government was once again trying to install totalitarian rule through fear-mongering.

However, by the end of the second week of the outbreak, tens of millions of people had died, and nobody scoffed. During the third week, everything began to fall apart. Radio and television stations went off the air because they simply didn’t have enough people to run their operations. Trucking came to a standstill because so many drivers had died. Stores closed because they had no employees left or because no merchandise was being delivered to them. All levels of government failed as more and more of the politicians and government staff died off. There was no police presence and no military either.
Before the beginning of the fourth week, the raiding had begun. People, desperate to feed themselves and their families, took up arms and started raiding stores and warehouses. That’s when gangs began to form and organize. The few people left alive became tribal in every sense of the term.

I had watched the entire thing play out and managed to keep myself safe, hidden, and in good condition. I hadn’t attracted the attention of anyone raiding because of several factors. One, the tiny house I rented looked like the worst of dumps! My landlord was the worst variety of slumlord, so there simply wasn’t any maintenance done other than what I did out of necessity. I didn’t care; the rent was cheap, and I had scrounged every spare dime so that I could plow my money into the trimaran I planned to use for a one-man world sailing tour. Having a seven-plus figure income didn’t mean I needed to waste it on luxury living accommodations or even a moderately decent apartment. As long as it had a roof, walls, and mostly functioning utilities, I was good. I had bigger plans for my money.

Those plans had begun during my ten years in the U.S. Navy. I developed a desire to sail the world. Sail solo along the coastlines of every major continent, documenting the entire journey. To do so, I would need an appropriate boat and decided on using the trimaran design. So, after allowing for “fun money”, I began putting my monthly pay into solid mutual funds during most of my time in the Navy.

By the time I had left the Navy and gotten a job, my investment account had over $50, ooo in it. I kept plowing money into that account, and it grew even quicker with the tech job I had that paid over $250,000 per year.

When Donald Trump became president, he began opening up oil production in the U.S., and the global price of crude oil plummeted! My mutual fund took a slight hit, but not a terrible one. Then, COVID-19 came along. The world pretty much came to a standstill as nation after nation tried using isolation to curb the spread.

Just six months into the COVID panic, Pfizer was making noises about a vaccine. I watched all news sources that I could and caught on that if a vaccine became available, governments worldwide would mandate its use. I pulled 50% of my money out of the mutual fund and bought shares in Pfizer.
Sure enough, Pfizer got the mRNA vaccine approved, and people were being mandated to take it. Pfizer stock prices soared! I watched my net worth skyrocket. But, I was also aware that COVID-19 was a pretty wimpy virus too. The rush to vaccinate would fizzle.

The presidential elections were coming up. Donal Trump really did tend to piss people off, and I was hearing rumblings that the Democrat Party was using the current lockdown from COVID to push through a lot of voting shit that could seriously skew the elections. So, taking a huge gamble, I sold my Pfizer stock and bought oil futures to come due in 2022. I knew that if a Democrat got into the White House, oil production would suffer, and prices would climb. They did. In fact, crude oil prices more than doubled by the time my contract came due. I made millions off of COVID-19 and idiotic executive orders that decimated oil production in the U.S.

Officially, I was rich. Well, at least I was a multi-millionaire. I kept working at my tech position and began the search for the perfect ocean-going trimaran. I ended up purchasing an older 45-foot trimaran that had slight issues. It was structurally perfect. The boat was watertight but needed a lot of work to make it what I wanted.

I got with a yacht builder and gave them my specs. I needed a sailing vessel that one person could sail around the world. I demanded a system be designed to motorize everything having to do with the sail and that it be interfaced with the autopilot system. Propulsion, when not under sail, was two-fold. I would have a diesel engine in addition to an electric pump to power water jet thrusters for maneuvering in port and for docking. The design team at the yacht builders started to protest until I showed them that I could pay for it all, and then they got to work!

I named my boat Excursion. Not the most clever name, but it fits the purpose. All of the modifications on the boat had been completed just six months ago. I have taken it out four times so far. Two times were to receive instruction on all the systems and give the boat a shakedown. The next two times I took it out were each six days of sailing off of Baja so that I could get even more familiar with the operation. It was during those two long voyages that I renamed my boat “Naked Excursions” and vowed to never again wear a stitch of clothing while out of sight of land. I felt more free than I had ever felt in my life.

Don’t get me wrong. The nudist type of life wasn’t new to me at all! I had gone to nude beaches and nudist resorts quite a lot, but I simply didn’t fit in a lot of the time. The “problem” was that any time I was even slightly near a pretty female, my cock got rock hard! My only way to remedy it was to sort of isolate myself until my erection went away. It made other people uncomfortable and made me embarrassed.

However, alone on my boat, out of sight of land, I could strip down and actually enjoy it! Total exposure to the sun really wasn’t much of an issue for me, even though I was a redhead. I had already spent so much time exposed to the sun that my body naturally tanned rather quickly.

After that fourth trip out, I began preparing for my world tour in earnest. I bought two years’ worth of freeze-dried meals that I stowed in the outboard hulls, keeping two months’ worth stowed in the center hull. I constructed a huge first-aid cabinet filled with antibiotics, ointments and pills, bandages of all sizes, tourniquets, and even adhesive strips that can act as stitches.

Since I would be sailing into waters known to have pirate activity, I took other precautions as well. I had black sails installed so I could run undetected at night. I also bought two AR-15 platform rifles with night vision scopes, two 12 gauge semi-auto shotguns, and four Hatsan .30 caliber select-fire air rifles.

The air rifles were the PCP, or precharged pneumatic, variety. They could fire in either semi-auto mode or full auto mode and were charged up with 3,800 PSI air. I had decided to get those particular air rifles because they were almost silent when fired, unlike firearms. Sure, the range was limited, but if stealth was needed, those would fit the bill.

Now, as the midnight hour passed, I felt ready to make my move. The world wasn’t what it had been. From my perspective, well over half of the population had died, either from illness or from violence. Other than the occasional raiding party, the streets were empty. Nobody had any of the creature comforts they were used to having. There was no electricity, water service was nonexistent, there weren’t any communication channels other than satellites, and the few amateur radio operators still able to power their HAM rigs.

I had a pack prepared that didn’t rattle at all when shaken. I was dressed head to toe in camo, and every inch of exposed skin was covered in camo makeup. My Hatsan .30 air rifle was fully charged, and I had three spare magazines in tight pouches on my belt right beside my 8″ hunting blade. Strapped to my pack was one of my .223 AR-15 platform rifles. Strapped to my head were my night vision goggles.

Silently, I snuck out of my back door and made my way to the alley behind my rundown house. The whole “world tour” thing had evaporated with the mass deaths and total loss of civilization. Now, my focus was on personal security. I would need to find someplace that hadn’t fallen into total chaos, and I felt that the islands scattered near the equator in the far western Pacific region would be my best bet.

It would be just a five-mile hike to the marina, but it would take me a long time to go that far. In order to lessen the chance of being seen or heard, I would use good hunting techniques. Take one step, stop, look, listen, take the next step. I figured making one or two miles per night would count as fantastic progress.

During daylight hours, I planned to hunker down and hide someplace where I could get some sleep with little chance of discovery. Then, in the wee hours of the next morning, do it all over again. All I had to do was avoid other people.

In the event that someone did discover me, if I saw anything that indicated they might threaten me, the air rifle would come into play enough for me to escape and disappear again. If I needed to shoot, I would do my damnedest to make every shot a kill shot. The .30 caliber lead pellet weighed about 40 grains and left the barrel at just under 1,000 feet per second. At 50 yards, the pellet would still have over 40 foot-pounds of energy, more than enough to penetrate a human skull.

The first night went by without any major issues. I only saw one large group of people. From what I could see, it looked like five armed individuals were escorting and guarding about twenty other people who were carrying heavy loads of supplies. I couldn’t see that anyone was being blatantly abused, so I just remained hidden until the group passed from view. As the eastern horizon began to show a band of light, I found a small shed in the backyard of a house that smelled of rotting flesh and spent the day sleeping there.

I woke up long after dark and used my red lens flashlight to locate three energy bars in my pack. I can’t say they were filling, but I knew they had all of the vitamins, calories, and protein I would need for another night of sneaking toward the marina. I ate all three, and when I judged it to be past midnight, I crept out of the shed to resume my journey.

At every intersection of roads or alleys, I always took a position in the darkest shadows so that I could get the lay of the land. I would generally stay put long enough to assure myself that nobody was moving in that area and then creep along with my step-look-listen-step method of moving along.

A drawn-out, low whistle caught my attention as I crept up to the corner of a concrete block wall where an alley intersected a four-lane street. I pressed myself to the wall and peered around the corner.

“My, my, my. Once you get them clothes off, you’re downright fuckable, Honey Bunch.” I heard a male voice say.

I slowly moved my head so I could see down the alley through my night vision goggles. Just a bit over fifty yards away, three men stood pointing rifles at a nude female. She had long, wavy hair and looked very short. Her arms were at her sides. I couldn’t discern her expression because night vision goggles weren’t that good at that range. She was facing my way while the men were all facing her. My night vision goggles were good, but not good enough to show a huge amount of detail, but the size and development of the female suggested that she had to be very young, perhaps only twelve, thirteen at the most. Her chest didn’t look very developed.

“Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get on them hands and knees for your introductory fuck.” The same male voice said.

“I don’t want to be one of your gang girls.” I heard the girl say in a very timid, frightened tone.

The men all chuckled. “Well, now, you shouldn’t have come to our hood! It don’t matter one little bit if you WANT to be one of ours. You’re already one of ours! Heck, if ya fuck and suck good enough, you might even get to live a couple more weeks.” The original voice said while the other two men laughed.

As one of the men picked up a small pair of shorts from the ground and started slicing it apart with a hunting knife, he said, “You’re gonna get fucked! Three times right here and now and then about thirty or forty more times when we get ya back to our crib!” The third one picked a t-shirt off the ground and sliced it up, and just kept laughing.

Now, my original mindset had been to ignore any violence I witnessed and just keep going to the marina. However, my blood boiled at seeing this small girl being threatened with gang rape. She had already been stripped naked, other than the sneakers on her feet.

As the man originally taunting the girl, passed his rifle to the one who had cut up the pair of shorts and unzipped the fly of his jeans, I slowly slid away from the wall and put my air rifle to my shoulder. I knelt on one knee and rested my elbow on my other knee as I lined up the crosshairs of my scope on the nape of the man’s neck, just below his skull.

When he took a step toward the girl, I gently squeezed the trigger. The man didn’t make a sound when the pellet penetrated his spinal cord. He just dropped like a limp rag.

“What the fuck? Mac! Mac!” one of the two remaining men exclaimed while I lined up my next shot on the third man.

I squeezed the trigger. The third man let out a grunt, but he also fell dead.

The last of the three dropped into a squat and spun around, looking for the danger. He had his rifle held against his shoulder and frantically started scanning left and right. I quietly pushed the select fire lever to auto. After placing the crosshairs of my scope on his chest, I squeezed the trigger just long enough to fire five rounds. All five pellets hit the center of his chest, and the man dropped.

Not wasting a second, as soon as the third man dropped, I was running toward the nude girl. “Run! Damnit, run!” I whisper-yelled as I ran past her while she just stood there in shock.

I didn’t slow down, but I could hear footsteps and heavy breathing behind me. I hoped it was the girl but didn’t take the time to look. I kept running until I found another intersecting alley. I dropped into the shadows to check it out. The footsteps came up behind me and stopped. I could hear heavy breathing.

(More to come shortly. )

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