During my time marooned in rural Iowa helping my mother at her isolated quasi-plantation last year, I had an excess of quiet time with which to think so therefore understandably spent a great deal of that time worrying about the house being attacked by zombies. True, watching excessive amounts of The Walking Dead alone late at night didn’t help. And my social life existing only as Black Ops Zombie Multiplayer on Playstation Network also may have had something to do with the excessive worrying—though I prefer to think it was just good common sense.
How would we survive and how would we defend the homestead? We had a ton of canned tomatoes, (picked and canned by yours truly thank you very much) but would it be enough and how would we defend ourselves not only from the Zombie Hordes but also from other survivors looking for food? There’s also a generator but how would we defend that??
The simple answer came to me during a late night Black Ops Nazi Zombie session. Guns. Living alone, my mother needs one anyway even if somehow the World Wide Zombie Apocalypse does not come to pass. She is known as “Opera Lady” in those parts, which I have always feared makes her a bit of a target. So guns it would be. But knowing far more about video game zombie killing than actual firearms I knew I needed help. A pro.
I met a guy; we’ll call him Cecil, at a meeting of the local chapter of this international social club to which I belong. He gave me his card -“Freetman’s Guns by Appointment only.” I explained my mother’s situation to him, although strategically leaving out my Zombie Apocalypse fears for the moment, and he told me to give him a call and come on by.
We made two appointments with Cecil that we had to cancel at the last minute, as my mother did not like the way her eyebrows looked. But finally on a Saturday we headed out at dusk to Freetman’s Guns, which, Cecil told me over the phone, was connected to his house.
We drove to the absolute middle of nowhere, which is saying a lot as my mother’s house is just a mile or so from the event horizon of singular nothingness.
It was a little spooky at first as it was overcast and there is almost nothing darker than those country dirt roads at night when there is no moonlight. Absolute inky, only person on the planet dark. We drove in silence, my mother no doubt worrying about the status of her eyebrows while I mulled over the far more sensible subject of homemade Molotov Cocktails as a Zombie Deterrent.
Cecil’s place was located on Shadow Avenue, which seemed appropriate. Although once we found the sign for Shadow and turned onto it the GPS listed it as “unnamed road” which I found even more appropriate.
Cecil’s property was beautiful and expansive. Perfectly manicured cornfields surrounding a lovely farmhouse, and two gigantic barns the size of airplane hangars. He greeted us at the entrance to one of the hangars in fatigues and combat boots. This was at first a bit off-putting but the severity of his military garb served only to underscore his friendly and inviting manner.
Cecil invited us into one of the Hangars which was full of actual working military trucks, jeeps and other assorted vintage and modern military vehicles. He had an ambulance from World War Two, two jeeps from the Vietnam War and one from Korea. All were beautifully refurbished and in working order. The most impressive to me was an armored jeep from Desert Storm with a 50-caliber machine gun mounted on the back. Stenciled above the grill was “Scud Buster”. This was seriously masculine firepower. (And perfect for supply runs with Daryl and T-Dog.)
The actual “store” was a smaller building that connected the two mega barn/hangars to each other. In addition to the display cases and drawers full of guns for purchase there were 15 gigantic safes full of Cecil’s personal collection of firearms. Hundreds of neatly stacked and organized guns. Antique revolvers, modern military grade automatic machine guns and, yes, several hand held rocket launchers. (Just like that handsome Governor has in Woodbury.) Cecil is one of only 5 people in the state of Iowa licensed to possess fully automatic machine guns apparently. His most prized possession was located in one of the New York studio apartment sized shipping containers that house his ammunition stores. A German World War Two fully automatic machine gun that still fires 1600 rounds a minute.
All of this could have, should have really, come off as Branch Davidian Survivalist creepy. But it didn’t. Not at all. His manner was so sweet and inviting that the whole arsenal felt homey. Really what I always imagined a lovely farmhouse in the middle of Iowa cornfields would be like. Albeit one with an enough firepower to take over a small country.
Cecil, who was quite taken with my mother I think, listened carefully and patiently to my mother’s concerns about her strength and the gun recoil. And never NEVER tried to make a hard sell in any way.
We stayed for almost two hours (he even let me smoke in the hangars!) and browsed and listened to Cecil answer our questions and tell us stories. I even forgot my fear of zombies for a while.
After handling over a dozen firearms, we finally decided a handgun that fires shotgun shells would be the best home defense option for Opera Lady. She could handle the weight and pull the trigger with one finger. And it will fit under her pillow far better than an unwieldy full sized shotgun. So for better or worse, Opera Lady will soon be packing. It makes me feel more secure knowing this, Zombie Apocalypse or no. Although I feel more far more secure knowing I can get to a rocket launcher if need be, and I will soon return to finish the canning just to be safe.
-Shawn E Milnes
(The Walking Dead Season Three continues on AMC 2/10/13)
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