Plan C

Chapter 1 part 2

As I drove out of my driveway one final time—the weight of what once was settling behind me—I faced what lay ahead with mixed feelings swirling within me. Driving through town? Not exactly an option I embraced easily—but supplies were needed to keep things running smoothly on the road.

It was indeed a small enough town—the kind where everyone knew each other's business even if they didn't always talk about it openly—and our ranch lay about four miles away from its center—at least a mile from our closest neighbor who often shared waves but little else beyond privacy.

The isolation felt nice some days—a comforting buffer against the outside world—and today? Well today? Today particularly made me grateful for it as memories threatened nostalgiac waves amidst uncertainty about whatever lay ahead.

. Heading past the feed store that I would frequent, Mr. O'Leary's truck wasn't there, so I knew it was closed today, but there were others. Seven large trucks and larger men, they broke the glass door and were looting. Already? This just started. I kept driving, there had to be someplace open. The hardware store had two large black iron gates on the doors. It was clear people had tried to pry them open, but they had been there since the 1950s and weren't about to bend now. Closed. I drove around back, in an attempt to avoid my daughters seeing their town torn apart. Mrs. Calvert was parked in her vintage car behind the building, doors locked, and holding a pistol in her lap. I pulled up close to the window and waved. Hurriedly, she opened the car door and met me at the truck with a huge hug. We weren't close, and I was never a hugging type, but at least she must have felt safe with me. I asked, no begged, if she would open the store from the back door and I would happily pay for the items in the store that we needed. She finally agreed and opened the door, when we were all inside, the door and the gate swung shut with a big clang. Neither of us was taking any chances.

The store was old and musty from the first day I walked in 6 years ago, now with the lights off, it was simply spooky. Four Aisles piled high with hardware and tools, plumbing equipment, and even some animal feed. It was always difficult to locate exactly what you needed, but today was different we needed most of it. All the adults grabbed a shopping basket and started loading up. Anything we needed, may need in the future, could be used for more than one thing, all went into the basket. Mrs. Calvert fiddled with the pistol while watching the looters out the front window. This was her family's store, her father passed it to her and her husband and they ran it together. I couldn't help but wonder where Mr. Calvert was, and worry about her, but like me, she was attached to this building and these shelves, she wouldn't leave it. Even if I could offer to take her with us, in our packed truck we were already breathing down each other's necks, and we had only made it to town. The looters were at her gate, with a pry bar this time. They were a determined bunch, if not completely stupid. We were finishing up and I offered to pay Mrs. Calvert with all the cash that I had gathered overnight. "I wouldn't think of it, love," She told me giving me another hug and patting my youngest on the head. "You did the right thing coming here and if I can help to get you away from here, that's what I will do". Not that money had much meaning now I guess, but I was touched to know there were still good people in the world. Quickly while we ran back to the truck with our new stash, I looked at the looters in the street, my neighbors, already torn apart by this tragedy, and ready to throw civility out the window. Then I noticed again our cramped conditions. A thought quickly crossed my mind. It couldn't have been more than a second. The RV Outlet.

About two miles outside of town, and miles from the highway was an RV outlet, that I had worked at shortly many years ago, it was an older building, with aluminum siding, and about 50 different units parked outside, surrounded by a flimsy chain-link fence. I didn't discuss my next move with anyone, but pulling up to the parking lot, a knowing nod in my rearview mirror told me that my father was way ahead of me. I parked around the back of the fencing, and my father pulled new bolt cutters out of the bag from the hardware store. I had to make sure the girls would be safe so my mother climbed into the driver's seat and locked the doors, as we headed to the fence line. Tall grass brushed against my leg as we walked and I was glad I had chosen to wear my comfy boots and wool socks on that morning. The ground was still wet from the hard rain we had 2 nights ago, as we walked closer, I remembered all the things my father had taught me as a child. Listening, with effort, not just hearing the crunch of the grass, and the heavy breathing of my diabetic father who insisted he wasn't getting older, but expanding my listening. To the animals nearby, the hum of the running truck, and any voices I may hear on the other side of the fence. Walking softly, toe first as to make less noise in the grass and not announce our arrival. Gripping the bolt cutters and picturing the best location to cut the chain link, to not take up our time, and provide easy access to the parking lot.

I was about to commit a felony. That's all that kept running in my mind. After my morning of watching looters in my town, breaking open doors and taking what they needed. Destroying people's livelihoods and judging them for doing so. Here I was, a mere hour later, cutting a slit in the fence, to not only break and enter and trespass, but I had intent. Intent to steal an RV. One large enough to carry my family and all our supplies somewhere safe. The RV inventory rapidly ran through my mind, how to tell the difference between a gas engine and a diesel. Should we take one with a Bunkhouse or would sleeping on the floor of a large living room suffice? We will need one with lots of storage. My eyes swept over the models in the lot, but my mind rushed to the hardest task at hand, getting a hold of a key. We would have to go inside the building to find the key box. The box was controlled by an electronic lock, a code, I frantically hoped that they never changed. We entered through the garage silently, the safest choice we agreed. Anyone who may be hanging around in the building would have guarded the front windows, long before they checked the large open-air garage. Creeping calmly through the service area, we located the key box without seeing or hearing anyone. We were in a great deal of luck, not only was the power still on but the code hadn't changed in the 4 years since I worked there. 4242, you got love geeks. The door swung open with a small click, and we both froze waiting to notice someone moving towards us. Nothing, not a sound. We sighed simultaneously. Looking through the keys I found 3 different ones to large motor carriages. One of these would have to make due. We left through the front door cautiously, and we were certain we were alone. Motioning to my mother in the truck, we opened the front gate and let the truck drive into the garage.

I chose one of the models, a diesel engine, 3 slides, a large kitchen, and many bedding options for the girls and myself, not imagining for a second that we wouldn't all pile in the same bed. It was equipped with lots of storage and a generator, I felt we would need both. Shortly after, my father came to the rig with a trailer for the truck and hooked it to the rear of the RV I had chosen. We drove the truck onto the trailer and attached it well, then transferred to the much roomier RV. The girls were exhausted and hungry. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sent them into the king-sized bed for a rest while my Father started the long drive. I must admit it gave me a sense of relief, even if I was committing grand theft auto, my girls were safe and comfortable. .