The Haven Group

Chapter 1

"In the SHTF scenario will you be prepared?  How will you handle the day when everything goes to hell.  It's 2012 people, we all have to be ready, our Bug Out Bags have to be ready.  We don't know what is coming but in this organization, we will be prepared!  We have to cache food, water, and general supplies that will get us through.  Johnson, what are your weapons of choice?" Jim Johnson was now in the spotlight, oh how he hated it.  He looked around the room from his front row seat, all eyes were on him.  He had been one of the founding members of the project in 2008 when the doomsayers came out with their end of the world bit.  He had a family to think of, his wife.  He knew she, above all, needed to be protected in the event of a national catastrophe.  He slowly stood up.

"I carry a Taurus Judge pistol that is capable of firing 45 colt and 410 shot shells.  I also carry a Rossi Circuit Judge chambered for the same cartridges.  Both of these cartridges were originally designed to use black powder, which can be manufactured around a fire if necessary making them ideal for this situation as both defense and a means of gathering food, should there be animals around after whatever disaster occurs." He felt that had been enough of an explanation and it was met with applause from all.

"Excellent choices Johnson.  Now we need to focus on the other aspects of our Bug Out Bag......" the voices trailed off into the distance as Jim remembered the battered face of the man on stage that day.  Craig Murry, or Stag as he was known to most everyone was a haggard war hero.  He had run four tours in the middle east during the war on terror and had a very decorated reputation.  They had elected him their leader by unanimous vote when they started the group, due to his experience in combat and his leadership skills.  He was a strong man with a chiseled physique and square jaw.  He had taken shrapnel on more than one occasion during his tours and bore the scars befitting a soldier.  

........

"Jim!" the voice snapped him back to the present.  He looked around at the rubble ridden streets.  The smell of death invaded his sinuses and made him want to vomit.  You would think that after six years he would be used to it by now, but he was far from hardened to this lifestyle.  "Jim, we gotta go man, now." Jim looked around to see Clyde Angel hunkered down beside him.  He was a small man in his mid thirties.  He had barely turned thirty when it all went down, but he had adapted well.  He had joined the organization at the beginning and took every word to heart.  "The bots man, they are just beyond that intersection.  We need to move, we don't have the ammo to make a stand." Jim looked around the war torn sedan.  Just beyond the corner of the building he saw the scanner as it swept the streets.  Clyde was right, they hadn't come prepared to fight today.  He looked down at his worn revolving carbine clutched tightly in his hands.  It was beat and battered but still functioned without error.

"Where we headed Clyde?"

"There," he said pointing to the corner of the next building, "if we can clear that dumpster, there is a set of doors that leads to the sub basement.  From there we can make it to the main sewer line and get back to the base."

"Let's do it." They slipped from battered car to battered car as they made their way the 400 yards to the dumpster.  They were careful not to be seen or heard as they dipped and ducked, keeping a careful eye on the bots and their scanners.  The last 100 yards was gonna be tough.  They had to cross the street with no cover, they were sure to be caught by the motion sensors.  "Okay Clyde, both together and we might have a chance..... Wait for it." They watched as the bots ran their scanners down the street before turning the other direction and scanning opposite them, "now!" they both carried packs that weighed in excess of eighty pounds, but even with that hindrance they moved very quickly.  They were the best scouts the group had, but even they were not infallible.  At nearly half way across the street the bots motion sensors located them.  They spun quickly and locked weapons.  A spray of bullets riddled the ground behind them as they dove for cover behind the dumpster.  Pieces of brick and paint flew in all directions raining down on them as the corner of the building was torn asunder by the onslaught. Quickly they tore open the doors and dove down the ladder into the abyss.