Dan and the Bottle

Well, folks, this is my most ambitious chapter to date. I know this has been a long time coming, (sorry) but editing, proofing, rewriting, and the sheer size has slowed things down a bit. Needless to say, the muse has been giving me a workout, and I hope it was worth the wait. As always, I refuse to be politically correct, so if any of my conservative libertarian views offend you, complain to someone else... I don't want to hear about it. I'll take constructive criticism any time, but complaining just to nitpick is a waste of time. I hope you enjoy it.

*****

"Caleb, do you really want to stay here?" Jeanine asked.

"Baby, you know I do... this place is a helluva lot more interesting than Kansas."

"Well, yeah, but it takes some getting used to."

He smiled. "You mean the party we went to at Mickey's place?"

"Well... yeah, a little bit... I wasn't real ready for that."

"Well... we don't have to go to any more of those, if you don't want to."

He smirked, and continued. "I notice you loved it when that guy Jeff gave it to you up the butt, though."

She realized he was teasing; two could play that game.

"Yeah... he's got a nice thick one!"

He frowned at her for a second.

She got a serious look on her face again... "Besides, it isn't so much the party that worries me... did you see his scars? You know those were from bullets, right?"

He nodded. "Sometimes freedom ain't free, dear. Some folks have to be willing to protect that freedom... or, in this case, to take it back. I was talking to Mark Culligan the other day about it... he said the Militia's been pretty busy, over the past few years. They've been finding these Chinese camps and destroying them, one by one, since they 'came out'. He never did say exactly what they 'came out' of, but from what I gather, it's some kind of hidden city. These people are willing to risk their lives to make this a free country again. I want to help."

She nodded, but the look of worry didn't leave her face. "I know you do, honey, but I can't stand the thought of losing you."

"Well, don't go borrowin' trouble. I ain't dead yet. Besides, right now, it's just training... Jeff said that they won't allow me to deploy with the troops until they're certain I'm properly trained, and both the shooting instructor and the senior drill instructor say I'm ready, and that'll be at least another four months... unless I go for scout training. If I go that route, I'll be going through at least another six months, and possibly as much as a year. Besides, Mister Reynolds says all of our little group are more valuable as farmers... we already know how the big farm equipment works. The only reason I'm on the wood harvesting crew right now is because they already had the fields planted when we got here, and the road repair crews are pretty much full. Won't be much to do in the fields until harvest time... the younger kids and some of the older folks take care of the weeding. There's only four fields lying fallow right now, and all of them have already gotten their loads of manure and compost for the summer... we won't be adding any more until early fall."

"Well, if we're stayin', we need to find something else to do... the credits are going out faster than they're coming in."

"I know... Mickey said that would happen, until we get ourselves established. You've got pretty much everything you need for the kitchen... what else do we really need?"

Then a few thoughts occurred to him, and he answered his own question.

"I need to get some more tools together... can't do much with that little tool box I've got now. I want to get a set up like they have, too... that 'stereo' of his is amazing."

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like to get one of those 'vacuum cleaners'... Doris says theirs saves her so much time. We need a few more dishes and silverware. I've got most of the pots and pans I need for now."

"I thought you said we had all the kitchen stuff?"

"Well, yeah, if it's just you and me... but if we have people over..."

He grinned and took her in his arms. "Sounds like you want to have a few 'parties' of our own."

She smiled, giving his crotch a squeeze. "It was fun, wasn't it?"

He nodded, giving her a quick kiss. "Yeah... but we need to be more careful... what'll we do if you get pregnant? Especially if the kid doesn't look like me? Try to figure out who the daddy is?"

She laughed at that. "If she looks like you, that'd be a shame... I'd hope she'd look more like me."

He frowned at her for a second, but couldn't hold it.

She smiled again and said "Relax, honey... Doris is taking me to her doctor this afternoon to get a 'happy shot'."

He cocked an eyebrow at this.

"It's a birth control shot... it'll keep me safe for the next six months."

"Well, if this is my last chance..." he reached between them, trying to unbutton her shorts.

She smiled and let him pull them down, while she did the same to his jeans, and soon he had her hoisted onto the kitchen counter. He kissed her neck while insinuating a hand between her legs. Running a single finger up and down her already-moistening pussy lips, he felt, blindly, for her clit, rubbing the little nub as it peeked out from behind it's little hood of flesh.

She, meanwhile, got his jeans and shorts down far enough to get her hands on his already stiffening cock and started stroking him lightly, tossing her head back as he nibbled lightly at her neck, her breath quickening as his two fingers entered her quim and found her G-spot. Soon she was kissing him hungrily as she reached between them, pulling his hand away and positioning the head of his strong eight inches at the mouth of her hungry cunt.

He slid into her slowly, teasing her as he began pistoning in and out of her tight little pussy in slow motion, knowing that she preferred it hard and fast.

"Would you quit playing with me!" she nearly shrieked, knowing full well what he was doing.

He just smiled, continuing to inch his way in and out of her.

Finally, frustrated by his slow movements, she tried to buck her hips back against back against him... but he had a firm grip on her hips, and just smiled again, continuing his slow motion fucking.

"Damn it, either give it to me right or let me up, so's I can find someone who will!"

He frowned at this. "What's the matter, babe, you don't want it to last? "

He continued with their earlier, more mundane conversation. It was part of the game.

"Anyway... My team's been bringing in a lot of wood, so we should all be getting a bonus in our accounts soon. Mike Gordon said you could probably pick up some extra, watching kids at the daycare, too."

All along, he kept up his slow thrusting, which he knew was driving her crazy.

"Ohhhh, you're going to pay for this!"

He just smiled, speeding up just enough for her to notice the difference.

"Damn it, you can go faster than that! OOOoooohhh! Harder, honey! I'm almost... " She was forced to quit talking as her first orgasm overtook her, shuddering as her pussy clenched down on his hardness. Her arms tightened around his neck and she buried her face in his throat, her moans reverberating in his skull.

He grinned and sped up again. He was starting to feel a bit of urgency in his balls, too.

He began to grunt as his balls slammed into the small bit of her pussy that rested beyond the counter's edge.

She groaned as she came again, drenching him in her juices, her arms wrapped around his neck as her feet locked together, behind his ass.

Finally, with a grunting moan, he lost control, shooting ribbons of cum into her deepest recesses, holding tight to her as his orgasm triggered hers, holding tightly to her hips as he lifted her and carried her to the living room couch, where he turned and sat, her in his lap, his member still buried inside her. She spread her legs as he set them down, still feeling small aftershocks from her own orgasm, then shifted around until her knees were under her and his shriveled cock finally pulled out of her. Realizing what she was missing, she nearly jumped off him, backwards, narrowly missing banging her foot on the coffee table as she swooped down, taking his now limp dick in her mouth, cleaning up their combined juices.

John Davidson, Jim Fulton, and big Mike slowly made their way south, stopping several times to trade along the way, mostly for fresh meat and small bottles of milk to go with their coffee, finding a small village in Ohio that still had electricity from three big windmills, a water wheel in the nearby river, and a large bank of solar panels and collecting four big blocks of ice for their coolers, and soon had all manner of goods in the three trucks.

Crossing into Kentucky, they soon found that moonshiners were as thick as fleas in this area; looking for one specific man was looking for a needle in a haystack.

Wandering traders weren't all that uncommon in this area; three men in military trucks, on the other hand, were unusual, to say the least... so it wasn't unusual for the women and children to stay hidden, at first, whenever they rolled into a new town, while the men generally eyed them with a fair amount of suspicion.

In a small town called Kent, according to the sign outside of town, they pulled in on what was clearly a 'market day'. In a large parking lot in the middle of town, there were tables set up in a haphazard fashion, people trading their excess produce from small farms all over the area. One man had six bushels of corn, and had just, in fact, traded off one for a big bucketful of tomatoes; an older woman, at the table next to him, had dozens of small jars full of strawberry and blueberry preserves. Just a little ways further down the line was a young man with dozens of small jars filled with a clear liquid; John had a feeling he wasn't selling water. Other tables held tools, kitchen utensils, one man was trading a bunch of DVDs, and another had small bundles of firewood, samples of what he had available.

The three traders pulled into the parking lot slowly, careful not to hit anyone, and pulled to one side, so they could open the liftgates and drop the tailgates and trade straight out of the backs of the three old trucks. Five men walked over as they were getting out, all armed in one way or another, to ask why they were here.

"Afternoon, gents... not to worry, we're just traders; it looks like we came here on the right day." John replied to the obvious question.

"Well, sir, as long as you're friendly about it, you're more than welcome." The oldest man in the group said. He was clearly the one in charge, probably some sort of village elder. "What have you got to trade?"

John smiled and replied "Depends on what you need. We have a fair supply of ammunition, a couple of generators, a few boxes of tools, a couple of alternators for Fords... new in the box, those are, got 'em up in Michigan yesterday. We could use some fuel, if anyone has any."

The younger man with the jars of moonshine perked up at the mention of 'ammunition', speaking up for the first time.

"Depends on what them trucks of yours run on... what kind of ammo do you have?"

John looked over at him. "These are 'flex-fuel' trucks... we can run 'em on just about anything, but they've been runnin' on 'shine for the past couple of thousand miles. We've got all kinds of ammo, but mostly .22s, .223s, .270s, .308s, .410 and 12 gauge shotgun shells, and 9mm and .45 pistol rounds. Got some kitchen stuff, too... a couple of good coffee makers, some food dehydrators, and a couple of pressure cookers. A few dozen jars of honey, got that in southern Ohio, yesterday, along with about fifty beeswax candles. Got a few cans of Hawaiian coffee, too, but those'll cost ya." he concluded with a grin.

The younger man smiled. "I can set you up with some 'shine, and I can always use more ammo... I'll swap ya... fifty gallons for three hundred rounds each of .308, .22, and 12 gauge, either double-aught buck or slug loads, if you've got 'em."

John knew he'd have to bargain a bit, or he'd look like a soft touch.

"Make it seventy-five gallons, you've got a deal."

Seth Jones thought over the stranger's offer for a few minutes, and frowned. That would take up almost his entire stock, and he still needed to get some food stores for the winter. He could do without some of the ammo, and if it meant trading less of his moonshine, he could live with it.

"Tell ya what... cut the ammo in half, and throw in a can of that coffee, and three jars of honey, and I'll swap ya sixty gallons... seventy five is just about all that I've got, and I still want to get a few things here."

John looked over to big Mike and Jim and nodded. Both started digging around in the backs of two of the trucks, shifting boxes and crates aside and bringing out ammo cans, checking the contents and setting some aside, while shoving others back into the trucks.

Jim came over with a small cardboard box, full of 12 guage shotgun shells, while big Mike brought out the .22s and .308s. Seth looked them over and did a classic double-take.

"Factory loads?! Where the hell did you find those?"

Mike grinned... "We find 'em all over the place, but generally in places you wouldn't expect to find them... these," he said, pointing at the assortment of shotgun shells, "came out of a couple of different places, mostly hidden away in the stockrooms of old hardware stores and a few of the old department stores. These," indicating the .22s, "came from another trader... he said he found 'em in an old storage locker. These here," pointing to the .308s, "we've been carrying the longest... the armory in our city reloads them. Same thing goes for our .223s, for that matter."

Seth smiled slightly. "How much do you trust your armory, though?"

John got a serious look on his face. "With my life... and it's come down to that, once or twice."

Seth saw the look on his face and nodded. "Ok... I can live with that. We have a deal, then?"

John held out his hand. "Just tell us where to pick up the rest of the 'shine."

Seth shook his hand, then nodded toward the other side of the parking lot, and started walking over to his ancient Chevy. Unlocking the two padlocks on the tailgate, he reached into the back, hauling out two milk crates, each holding four one gallon jugs and setting them on the ground, followed by two more, and two more, until there were sixty gallons lined up behind the old truck.

John and Mike began carrying the fresh 'fuel' to the three big trucks, while Jim got out funnels and began refueling each one in turn.

While they were doing this, Seth caught a look at something in one of the Hummers, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Holy ol' Lucifer! is that what I think it is?"

John caught the direction of his gaze and grinned, nodding.

"Yeah... if you think it's a minigun. Fires .223s."

"Hot damn! Tell ya what... if y'all can wait a week, I'll give ya three hundred gallons for that!"

Big Mike frowned, but it was Jim who answered him, shaking his head. "Sorry... that one isn't for sale... it's Mike's favorite toy. He had our R&D crew build it,... a downscaled version of the big Vulcans they used to use on some of the planes. A two second burst from that thing can ruin your whole day."

Seth took one look at the big man and nodded with a rueful grin. "I can see why. I'm guessin' it comes in handy with some of the punks that are on the roads these days. Or the soldiers, for that matter."

Mike nodded... "You betcha... but it eats up a lot of ammo. It fits me, though."

Seth nodded. At 5'10" he was one of the bigger men in his community, but Mike made him look like a dwarf. He guessed the bigger man at 6'9", at least.

John eyed Seth curiously... this was the fourth town they'd stopped in, but the first time anyone had asked about the big weapon; as such, it was the first thing remotely resembling a lead they'd had... and the thin reference to 'soldiers' bolstered the possibility.

After all, a .223 minigun was hardly suited to hunting deer.

Trying to continue to sound casual, he asked, "You have much trouble with the soldiers, around here?"

Seth gave a somewhat guarded nod, looking to see if anyone nearby was listening to their exchange, then continued in a low voice. "Some, yeah... they mostly stick to their own base, though. 'Bout a year ago, they tried takin' a bunch of young kids, took 'em to a 're-education' camp, for brainwashin'... we took 'em back and set their camp on fire. Ain't had much trouble from them since then, but their main base just got re-inforced."

John nodded, then replied in an equally low voice. "Sounds to me like you folks need to get a bit more organized."

Seth got a bit more guarded, but nodded slightly. "Kinda hard to do... not enough people around here, and most are more concerned with growin' enough food to survive on."

John looked around and nodded, answering, "You need to look further out. Get some other towns hereabouts involved. Recruit from every small town within twenty, thirty, forty miles."

Seth nodded. "Sounds like experience talkin'."

John nodded, smiling. "Let's just say I was young once... and I've been trading all over the country. Seen a lot in the past few years." It was his turn to play it close to the vest.

Seth was thinking at top speed. If these guys came from the western states, it was possible they were connected to that militia out that way, or might know someone who was.

Jim was off negotiating with the older woman with all the preserves for a pair of food dehydrators, finally settling on ten jars of each, the strawberry and the blueberry jams, plus five big jars of venison jerkey strips.

Big Mike was talking with an older man about what he had to trade for an older Remington 870 pump shotgun and a few cases of shells. He wanted an even mix of bird shot, for ducks and geese and small game, and buckshot and slugs for Deer and other medium-large game. He was trying to trade a side of beef, but they had no way to keep it cool, even if it were completely butchered into steaks and roasts.

The older man rubbed at his chin in thought. He couldn't really afford to let this chance slip away; his old shotgun was about worn out, and besides, it was a break open single shot... he had a big lawn mower, that he used to cut fields to gather fodder for his bull and six cows, but even if he could afford to give that up, he knew these men had no way to haul it away. He was still racking his brain when it hit him... his son, who had passed a year ago from a heart attack, had left a couple of old Harley engines in the back of his garage.

"Young man, I don't have anything with me that could cover this shotgun, let alone the ammunition, that much is clear; what I Do have, back in my garage, is a couple of old Harley engines. They belonged to my son, who never had the parts to build full bikes out of them. He died last year, and I don't have much use for them. If you could take a break, run over there and look them over, I'd be willing to trade them for that shotgun and some ammo."

Mike nodded and went over to let Jim and John know where he was going, then jumped in the man's old Dodge Ram pick-up and took off to his home. Once there, the both of them had to do a bit of digging, but when they finally got to them, it was all he could do to keep his poker face intact.

The first one was an ancient Panhead, it looked like an early fifties model, and the second was an even older Knucklehead, a very rare and collectible engine. Even if both were seized up, either one of them were worth two of the old shotguns and every round of ammo they were carrying... and then some.

"Well, what do you think? These two engines for the shotgun and enough shells so's I can be huntin' for the next few years?"