Militia by Justin D. Russell Page A

to argue with Mike senior and he had obviously made up his mind. Mike stood up, hugged each of his parents, and then sat down to what he knew might be their last family dinner together. After eating his dad helped him load up the old Ford and took him back to the basement for a few more beers together.
    The next morning Mike awoke a little after four without needing his alarm to go off. He got out of bed, put on his clothes, and headed downstairs. His parents were already up and waiting for him with breakfast. As five o’clock neared they said their goodbyes and walked out onto the front porch together. When Mike looked down at the still dark street he could see headlights all the way down both sides of his road. Parked right behind Mike’s truck was Steve and Mark Gilson.
    “C’mon, Mike, what’s taking so long,” Steve laughed, “I was starting to think that you were gonna chicken out on us.”
    “You don’t get my job that easily, Steve. Just don’t get lost I know how dumb you big jocks can be.” Mike said joking back.
    As Mike pulled out of his parents driveway he waved to his mom and dad and did his best to take a mental photograph of how happy they looked standing on the porch of their home together. This was a memory that Mike wanted to keep as vivid as the memories of that last mission in Afghanistan.

Chapter Seven
    T he drive to Montana took longer than usual. Not just because of the long convoy of vehicles and the loads they were carrying, but by taking all back roads, strategically planned out to avoid being noticed, they had to cover a lot more miles than they would have on the highways. The last thing Mike wanted was to run into a checkpoint and draw attention to the militia or the direction they were heading by getting into a gun fight.
    It was now March and there was going to be a lot of work to do when they finally reached their destination. To avoid having to take the whole group to gas stations Mike had set vehicles that carried fewer people and belongings that were in place to be able to make gas runs and fill up truck loads of gas cans. They had mapped out the smallest towns on the route that would still have gas stations to avoid going into towns that were policed or hostile. Everything about this trip had been planned to the smallest detail, which allowed Mike to focus on their arrival.
    There were so many things that needed to be accomplished before winter set in. They would have to build good shelters that would protect them and their families from the cold. There were a handful of carpenters in the group that had already been placed in charge of that. Next, they would have to go back to their human origins by hunting and gathering as much food as possible. They would also need to fortify their new town, not from human intruders as much as from dangerous and hungry animals.
    As they drew ever closer to Fort Jefferson, Mike became more and more grateful for the diversity of the militia. On top of having carpenters they also had doctors, nurses, gunsmiths, and a lot of well trained hunters and woodsmen. Without that kind of diversity Mike feared that they would not be able to survive long where he was taking them. Diversity was one of the things that had made America such a great country and it was the same that would make their new town work.
    When the convoy finally reached Montana Mike knew just where to start building. There were a few square miles just south of Fort Jefferson that were flat, had a reliable water source and were hidden in the mountains. His old unit used this area to train on and Mike was one of the only people in the world that could find it. Getting to it would be difficult but they would manage as best as they could.
    As they came closer to their destination the terrain quickly worsened. Mike knew that most of the cars in the convoy could not go on much further so as planned he stopped the group and had everybody cross load themselves and their belongings onto the