by N. C. Reed
“Well, if you give them both cars, radios intact, then we can dial a receiver in on the county frequency and that can serve as their way to contact us, at least at first,” Greg mused. “Those radios will reach this far just fine even without the repeater. One of the Duo will have to adjust the receiver so it will pull in the car-to-car frequency, but that's nothing they can't do.”
“We’ll let the new girl, Millie, handle that I think,” Clay agreed. “She probably has more actual experience in dealing with radios than anyone other than Robert. It’ll be a good test of her ability.”
“Then I'd suggest giving up both patrol cars to Jordan then,” Greg said firmly. “They can use them sparingly, only as absolutely needed, and use the radio to contact us in an emergency. I think we’ll have to really stress the emergency part. If you don't then they’ll be calling for every little thing.”
“We’ll try and explain it to them,” Clay nodded. “Meanwhile, you two decide what you want to try and teach the new deputies, and get ready for that. I’ll go through the weaponry we've seized since this started and come up with what you need in equipment. We’ll need to try and scratch up something approaching uniforms I suppose,” he added almost to himself.
“Let’s get them trained and get them some tools to work with and then we can worry about uniforms,” Greg shook his head. “For all we know, this little experiment is doomed to fail.”
“Come on man, think positive!” Clay urged.
“I’ll get back to you.”
***
“I'm almost sure that someone is watching us.”
Xavier turned slowly to see Zach staring off into the distance from the turret. They were shadowing one of the tractors, moving as it did. Right now they were sitting still, in the shade of a large oak tree.
“Why do you think that?” Xavier asked.
“I can feel it,” Zach replied. “It's like something crawling on my neck, but there's nothing there.”
“Do you think it's hostile?” Xavier asked, curious. This was an excellent opportunity to try and teach the younger man something new, perhaps.
“I . . . no idea,” Zach sounded a tiny bit frustrated. “I wouldn't know how to categorize that. But I'd bet my Neyland Game Ball that someone is watching us right now. If I still had it, anyway,” he added in a mutter.
“I have had the same feeling for that last half-hour,” Xavier finally admitted to Zach. “Learn to trust your instincts, Zachary. Learn to hone them as well. In battle, your instincts are one of your most important weapons. Even when you're wrong, taking cover as you examine your surroundings costs you nothing. Just a little time. As you progress, however, you will learn to distinguish between someone looking and someone who is an actual threat.”
“How?” Zach surprised him by asking.
“The feeling you get from hostile intent is stronger, and will feel malevolent if your instincts are sharper than most,” Xavier explained. “Remember that people who are afraid of you will watch you from concealment just as an enemy would. Fear also has a palpable presence and with experience you will learn to differentiate between the two. Often times you can smell fear as well as aggression. Hormone secretion will sometimes cause that phenomenon. And, sometimes, if a person is aggressive enough, you won't even need that. You’ll be able to just . . . feel it. You may not be able to explain it to others, or even fully understand it yourself, but you will know it. It just takes time.”
“Well, time is the one thing I got,” Zach snorted. “Thanks,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Of course.”
***
“Over half done,” Pickett said as Robert refueled his tractor. “Already got folks planting, too.”
“Good use of your time,” Shane agreed as Robert stayed silent. “Speaking of time, we can use this time to talk about some other things.”
“Like what?” Pickett was suddenly wary. His attention had left Robert and the tractor, however, which was one of Shane's objectives.
“You're going to need some law enforcement, for security if nothing else,” Shane told him. “For that matter you're going to need a judge, as well. Rather than get into the whole 'lawyer' debate, I'd suggest using someone with some wisdom and common sense to sit on your bench. Eventually you will probably need more of a town government and the ability to create your own laws, but that can wait until you're a little more organized. We can train and equip your choice for police officers, assuming they can handle the job, but you folks need to be the people who select them.”
“That's a whole different kettle of oil than planting gardens everywhere,” Pickett looked contemplative. Not worried exactly but Shane could see some concern there.
“It's not something to do lightly,” he tried to sooth Pickett's concern. “We intend to try and support you whenever possible, but we can't be here all the time. That's why you need your own organization. For that matter, you folks need to be in charge of your own fate, rather than leaving it to others. Having your future in your own hands is better than trusting it to others, even if the others are trustworthy. Just like with us, helping you today. I'd like to think we're trustworthy and that you think that as well, but if I were in your shoes, I'd in no way feel comfortable just turning over everything to a stranger. Or even someone I know, for that matter, unless they lived here, too. And by here I mean actually in town or near it, just to be clear.”
“That does make sense,” Pickett nodded. “Thing is, there aren't . . . there are a lot of people here I don't know that well. People who gravitated here after the fire in town, and then again after the wildfire. Then we had that idiot Greevy running around, bullying everybody. He had a couple friends and they're still here, hanging around. They haven't done nothing yet, but that don't mean they won't. Ain't seen 'em today, probably ‘cause you're here, but they ain't left.”
“Just another reason you need someone dependable to be your security,” Shane seized on Pickett's concern. “You don't have to be fair or considerate about the choices, either,” he added. “You have good people in mind who can get the job done, then that's who you should appoint. When you get to the point where you folks are ready to elect an actual town government then you can consider making a town marshal one of those posts, and let him help select deputies. I'd not leave it just to him, mind you. I'd require him to get the town council's approval on new hires, just to keep things honest.”
“Damn shame that Holloway boy ain't around no more,” Pickett observed sadly. “He was a fine boy and a good deputy. Lived here in town. I heard he got shot up pretty bad during the ruckus in town, though. Supposedly he came through it, or was close anyway. Sanders bunch came and got his things to take to him. Seems he had managed to drive out to their farm before he passed out. Him and that youngest of theirs was friends in school if I recall. Them and Jake Sidell. He used to own the truck stop out on the freeway.”
“Have you tried to contact him?” Shane asked, knowing the answer but playing his part.
“Just got this job three days ago,” Pickett reminded him. “And ain't thought about having a town marshal until just this minute. I imagine if he's with the Sanders he's in better shape than we are, though,” he continued after a brief pause. “That's a good bunch. Hardworking, honest, trustworthy as you like to call it. Even old Leon, though he tends to enjoy making a crooked dollar when he can. Assuming he's still around, anyway,” he added almost to himself.
“Any contact with them?” Shane asked, jiggling the bait a little.
“They came here not long after things had turned to shit,” Pickett nodded. “Brought a truck load of food and a couple cows. Damn fools around here tried to take their truck, complained they hadn't brought enough, demanded more on a regular basis. Typical kind of bullshit you get from folks used to having things handed to 'em. Funny thing, speaking of it. You notice Greevy had a missing front tooth? Well, he lost that when he ate Clayton Sanders' elbow trying to take his truck. I will have to confess I was wont
to remind Greevy of that on occasion, whenever he got more high and mighty than I could stand,” he chuckled in the way only an old man seemed to be able to do.
“What happened to him?” Shane asked. “After we left, I mean?”
“His two buddies came and hauled him away, screaming,” Pickett shrugged. “Kinda been expecting them to come and threaten us all at least, but like I said, so far that ain't happened. Maybe we got lucky and Greevy died. That would at least slow the other two down a minute. Well . . . probably.”
“If you give me their names, maybe we can do something about them,” Shane offered. Pickett surprised him by shaking his head.
“No. There's five hundred people here or better. If we let them two bully us and push us around, hell we deserve it. Like you said, we need to be managing our own business, and I reckon them two is our business.”
“Are you armed, Mister Mayor?” Shane asked, concerned.
“I am,” Pickett raised his shirt to allow Shane a glimpse of a 1911 Colt. “And I know how to use it, too,” the old man added as he lowered his shirt again. “Too old to fight and too slow and broke up to run, so I know how to shoot,” he said firmly.
“Makes sense to me,” Shane nodded. “Well, our tractor is moving. Think about what I said, Mister Pickett. Someone else will probably be in touch with you in a day or two. Less than a week I imagine. They will be able to better help you put things together on that front than I can. I'm just a meet and greet sort of person.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Pickett snorted. “Thanks, son.”
“You bet.”
***
“Clayton, I need a word with you, please,” Clay heard his father say. He tried not to let it show but this was last thing he needed at the moment.
“Dad, for God's sake, what now?” he asked in exasperation. “I have got three dozen things going all at the same time and way too many people off and away from here. Can whatever you're here to complain about now wait just a little while?”
“I'm not here to complain, son,” Gordon replied calmly. He deserved his son's attitude and maybe a bit more. “I am here firstly to apologize to you. I've put a great deal of strain on you son, adding to a heavy burden you already carried. And I'm sorry for that. I will admit that most of it I did at your mother's behest, but that just makes it worse in a way. I had promised I'd not put you in such a position any more, but . . . well, I did. So, I'm sorry and I will not do it anymore. I had a brief talk with your mother last night about it, in fact.” When Clay just looked at him, Gordon decided that meant he could continue and did.
“The other thing is that I have informed your mother and told her to tell the others that from now going forward, if they have the urge to complain about something then they're to bring it to me instead of Leon. If I decide it's a genuine concern then I’ll bring it to you, or else to Pa if he's back up and able to make decisions. From now on, no one just barges in and makes demands of the Old Man. His health is just too fragile.”
Clay honestly didn't know what to say at that point. Later on, he would recall that his face had to have shown his shock.
“Son, did you hear me?” Gordon asked after nearly a full minute of silence.
“I think so,” Clay replied slowly. “Just . . . you just caught me by surprise is all,” he finally managed to admit.
“I'm sorry for that being so, Clayton,” Gordon exhaled heavily. “As I said, I shouldn't have done it. I don't know why your mother and the others are doing things the way they are. It's as if they refuse to grasp that things have changed. I thought she had realized how things were, but I'm wondering now if her earlier calm wasn't something more akin to shock.”
“Well, that . . . that's possible.” Clay hadn't considered that.
“I don't know what it will take to jolt them into reality, but until it happens they aren't going to be talking to Leon. Or to you either, assuming I can get to them first. We’ll have to see if I can. But just so you know, I'm trying to take at least some of the burden off you. I'm sorry you had it to start with.”
“I appreciate it,” Clay nodded. “Every thing helps,” he added.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to work, then,” Gordon made a small waving motion with his right hand. “Maybe we can have lunch sometime, where we can not talk about all this and just . . . visit.”
“I'd like that, Dad,” Clay smiled. “I really would.”
“I’ll see you later, son.”
***
“Well, that was a whole lot easier than having to turn all that by hand,” Pickett noted as he watched the tractors being loaded onto the flatbed. “We're nearly half-way to planting it all, too. We should be done by tomorrow and the day after if not. It's a bit late to be sure, but better late than not at all. We should have a good little crop, Lord willing.”
“I hope so Mister Pickett,” Shane replied. “I hope so. Hopefully we’ll be back this way before long,” he extended a hand and Pickett took it. “If not then I hope you have the best run of luck you can possibly get. Things are bad, but they're not that bad. People lived like this for thousands of years. We can manage for a little while until things maybe get back at least partially on track.”
“You know it ain't likely I’ll see that, son,” Pickett chuckled darkly.
“If it makes you feel better, our estimates are that we won't either,” Shane admitted. “The sun hit us full broadside with an EMP wave strong enough to fry everything it could reach. The grid is down hard, and we don't even have the parts to repair it. We don't have the parts to repair the machines to make the parts to get the grid off the ground, for that matter,” his frustration showed a little.
“So we do what we can with what's left,” Pickett was nodding. “Like you said, people did it for millennia. We should be able to get by for a bit. We're going to start opening houses that aren't occupied. Moving people around, salvaging anything that's left. We're going to assume that anyone not here by now isn't likely to come back. We’ll appropriate whatever is left to try and make a new start.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Shane nodded as others finished strapping down the tractors. “Someone will be by in a few days,” he promised once more. “Take care, Mister Pickett.”
“Thanks again to you boys,” Pickett waved.
Five minutes later the small convoy was on the way out of town in a direction different from the one it had arrived from.
***
“Abby, can I talk to you?”
Abby Sanders looked up to see Mattie Simmons standing nearby. Abby stood up from where she had been working on her uncle's backhoe to face her . . . friend? She shelved that for that time being.
“Sure,” she tried to sound neutral at least. “What's up?”
“I . . . I guess you heard by now how I acted when your brother and the others tried to get me home,” Mattie's face was red and she didn't look directly at Abby.
“I heard,” Abby had to try harder to stay neutral this time, but she remembered all that she, herself had done and forced herself to have patience. Anything else would make her a severe hypocrite.
“I shouldn't have said all that, Abby,” Mattie finally managed to look at her. “I'm sorry I did it. All I can say is . . . finding things like that was a blow I couldn't deal with. All this way, everything I went through to get home, and then to find nothing but ruins . . . I lashed out at the closest thing I had to blame, and that was you and your family. It was wrong on a dozen different levels and if I could take it back I would, but I can't. And I'm sorry.”
“You aren't the first person to blame me for losing something to a fire,” Abby told her after a moment of consideration. “Bringing my family into it was wrong, as all they were doing was fighting to save their own homes. And, had my plow not broke down, I'd likely have taken it to try and help out across the highway. But it did and nothing I could do would get it started again.”
“They told me,” Mattie nodded. “Zach and Gordy I mean. I should have sto
pped but I . . . I couldn't,” she admitted softly. “It felt as if I was broken. Like I was outside, looking at myself. Like it was some macabre dream and couldn't be real.”
“I know,” Abby replied gently. “I saw you in the infirmary when was there to see my mom. You were out of it for a long time.”
“I just wanted to say I'm sorry,” Mattie straightened suddenly. “And thank you. Your family has been nothing but kind to me. You deserved better from me and I'm ashamed I didn't . . . that I couldn't give it. It's a weakness that I regret, but can't go back and change.”
“Well, let’s just try and set it aside,” Abby shrugged easily. “We've got too much else to worry about right now. We all have to work together to survive. Let’s concentrate on that.”
“I’ll see you later, then,” Mattie smiled weakly and went on her way. Abby watched her go in silence.
“You handled that well,” Lainie's voice startled her and she whipped around to see the redhead move out from behind the truck that Ronny used to haul dirt and gravel.
“Thanks,” Abby replied, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. “How long were you there?”
“Well, I was coming to offer you this,” she held up a water jug and a pair of sandwiches that made Abby realize how hungry she was. “But she got here before I could deliver, so I waited,” Lainie finished as she handed over the goods. Abby took them gratefully.
“Mom said she was in pretty bad shape when she got back,” Abby shrugged as she bit into the first sandwich. “No reason to kick her when she's down.”
“A very mature decision considering how badly she attacked you and your family,” Lainie approved. “Well done. And speaking of well done, I have more to get done,” she laughed. “Enjoy,” she waved as she started back home.
“Thanks again!”
***
“Well, it's done,” Shane reported. Vehicles were still rolling into the yard and behind the buildings as he stood in front of Building Two, reporting in.
