by N. C. Reed
***
“So you're staying, then?” Sienna asked.
“My mother wants to stay here, and she is living in a nice little house that belonged to her cousin Freda. Freda hasn't turned up and probably won't if she hasn't by now. Neither has my father,” she sighed sadly. “I need to return to the farm and collect my things, though. Do you think I can ride back to Jordan the next time they come?”
“You can do that, or we can bring your things when we return if you'd rather not leave your mother,” Greg nodded. “Your choice.”
“You really don't mind?”
“We really don't,” Sienna promised. “We're just glad you found your mother. Not many are so fortunate these days.”
“I know,” Mattie nodded. “I feel like I should go back, though, and at least . . . say goodbye and say thank you.”
“That's entirely up to you, but I think I can promise you that no one will think badly of you for staying here,” Greg promised. “Not when it's with your mother especially.”
“If you're sure, then . . . I'd really rather stay.”
“Then we’ll see you in three or maybe four days with your gear and maybe a little something to tide you over,” Sienna smiled. “Is there anything you need that we may can give you?”
“I'd love to have a shotgun for her house,” Mattie nodded. “Other than that, just . . . hand tools, I guess? An ax for instance? Maybe a garden hoe? That kind of thing.”
“Oddly enough, the shotgun will probably be easier to come by,” Greg admitted. “But we’ll look into the rest as well. No promises, though.”
“No promises,” Mattie nodded. “Please tell everyone, Mrs. Sanders especially, Patricia I mean, that I am eternally grateful to them.”
“Will do,” Sienna promised. “On that note, it's time for use to go. Goodbye Mattie,” she hugged the slightly taller woman.
“Goodbye, Sienna,” Mattie smiled. “And thank you so much. For everything.”
“You're more than welcome,” Sienna assured her. “And it's not like we won't see each other again, anyway. We’ll be back in a few days. Until then, take care and enjoy being with your mom.”
“Thank you!”
***
“That should tickle Clay,” Sienna said as she sat next to Greg on the way home.
“Yep.”
“What were the odds? Her finding her mother?” Sienna mused.
“I'd say the odds of her finding someone coming here from out in Texas were a lot longer,” Tandi mentioned from her other side. “Just saying.”
“Good point,” Greg nodded. “Her odds of finding her mother once she got here were pretty good, assuming her mother was still alive. And that's not an assumption we should automatically make these days.”
“All too true, I'm afraid,” Sienna agreed. “All too true.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Clay was indeed tickled, though he hid it well. Mattie was going to be another problem child and now she was gone. Even better, he never had to deal with the problem of her mother possibly being unbalanced at all. A good day in his book.
Angela was a bit put out at the loss of yet another 'assistant', but Clay promised to assign someone else to it as soon as he could. Angela had requested that Callie come back, as she already knew what needed doing. That would require someone else to help out at the orphanage, though, so Clay would have to examine that.
But the answer came from an unexpected source.
“Let me help her,” Olivia Haley said that night. “I can learn quickly and I'm right there,” she added. Greg nodded in agreement with her and stood.
“C'mon then and we’ll go see Clay.”
It took longer for them to find Clay than for him to agree to it.
“You're sure you're up to it, Olivia?” he had asked.
“I'm fine,” the girl nodded. She was still painfully slender, but no longer dangerously skinny. Gordy had told him she had always been slim, so it was probably just her genetics.
“What about your sisters?”
“They're in school now, and they have to stop being dependent on me,” Olivia replied at once. “We aren't living on our own any more. They have to start being part of everything else. If something happened to me, where would they be if they were so dependent on me and no one else?”
“Good point,” Clay had to admit. “Okay then. Greg, let Mom know this is what we're doing. I'm sure she’ll be glad to have your help, Olivia.”
“Why me?” Greg didn't quite groan.
“She's still talking to you.”
***
It was surprising to some how smoothly things were going on the farm. With so many voices that had been creating difficulties now gone, things were actually much more calm. Surprise, surprise.
The monthly 'or so' cookout was on the horizon, and the unanimous decision was made that it would be held, assuming no problems or bad weather, the day after the next trip to Jordan. In the meantime, four older cows were brought up for slaughter and smoking in the newly built smokehouse. Another was placed in the barn and fed on corn in preparation for placement on the spit for the cookout.
Careful attention was given to the food stores being prepared for Jordan. This time, rather than simply handing each person a ration, they were delivering the goods to the new kitchen and mess hall established near the town center. An outdoor kitchen of sorts had been established using chain link fencing and window screens along with a tin roof and vinyl siding for the lower walls. It wasn't perfect, but it would work.
There was no question that the farm could not continue to deliver canned goods to Jordan. They simply didn't have enough to go around, not having planned to support so many. The was some debate over using a small amount of the freeze dried foods to supplement what they gave the small town, but Clay and some of the others had argued flatly against it. The freeze dried stores would keep for twenty years or better and were a hedge against a disaster or a failed crop. Giving any of it away was out of the question so far as Clay was concerned, and he knew Leon felt the same. Pickett had already agreed to have foraging parties working in the area around town for early fruit as well as berries and any other edibles that could be gleaned from nature. That would have to supplement the town's food supply along with strict rationing.
It was further decided that this would be the last food delivery to Jordan until and unless they could deliver food from their harvest. Most of the canned goods that Clay had hoarded were now gone, and a good bit of the others besides. The rest would be held in reserve or used by them until harvest, if necessary.
One of the problems Clay was seeing in the future was that Franklin George knew entirely too much about the food storage situation at the farm. While he didn't know everything, he knew enough. Hopefully the fact that the Sanders family had twice, and soon to be three times, delivered food to the town would go a long way toward assuming that most of those food stores were gone, now. And a great deal of them were, to be fair. But there was no reason for anyone else to know how much remained.
If Franklin made too much noise, Clay could always point out that the Georges and their entourage were delivered to Jordan with an entire semi-trailer. He would leave unmentioned how much of that had been furniture and personal belongings. Two could play at that game. Besides that, when harvest came in, Clay intended to deliver a fair share to the Georges and the others, commiserate with their labor efforts in putting the gardens in. So far as he was concerned, that would end any obligation the farm might have to any of that crowd. He would not have it said that he or his family were unfair or were taking advantage.
His mother had agreed to once again lead the bread effort, and Lainie and Alicia had both agreed to assist. This time, however, Samantha Walters had also joined in, as had Kandi Ledford. The soldier would be using those same ovens to bake cakes and pies, and Sienna Newell swore Kandi was something of a desert aficionado. In addition, Kandi knew how to make hard candy for the children, and would be doing that work,
with help from the 'bakery' as it was now being called. A little candy for the children was something everyone could get behind.
Meanwhile, there was another project in the works as well.
***
“With so much of the canned food out of here, it's definitely doable,” Deuce nodded, looking around. “We can use that wall over there for the things that need power, and then maybe set tables on the opposite wall for the rest. I don't know about food and stuff,” he shrugged. “You guys have anything in mind for that?”
“What would we do?” Leanne asked before anyone else could answer. “Last I checked, there's no hot dogs or marshmallows to roast. What little chocolate we have is being hoarded for baking. We're going to have to bring our own stuff and just . . . share it.”
“Yeah, that’ll work,” Deuce nodded. “Well, let’s see then . . . ”
***
“What are you guys doing?” Clay asked, seeing a lot of people going in and out of Building One. Too many since they had already loaded the canned goods destined for Jordan.
“A little side project,” Deuce told him, stopping to talk to his uncle. “There's a good deal of room on the ground floor right now, so we're using it.”
“For what?” Clay asked.
“Come and see,” Deuce offered, waving his hand. Clay did just that, stopping just inside to look at the changes.
“None of it is permanent other than that wall,” Deuce pointed out. “The rest can be moved around as needed, anytime. Meanwhile, so long as it ain't in use, what do you think?”
“I think it's a fine idea, kiddo,” Clay smiled at him. “Carry on.”
***
The return trip to Jordan was a little anti-climatic in a lot of ways. There was a brief amount of difficulty at first when the bus arrived at the new kitchen. People began lining up almost immediately, expecting to once again be gifted foodstuffs. When that didn't immediately happen, some began to complain. Loudly.
One machine gun armed Hummer pulling alongside with siren blaring had scattered the malcontents and drawn attention to the Mayor. Pickett had been helped onto the back door step of the bus where he had explained that this food delivery would be stored in the kitchen and would be served out in meals twice a day at six in the morning and again at six in the evening. People were free to save some of what they received during each meal as a snack, but the idea was to conserve food as much as possible. To stretch it until their crops began to come in.
Some were still wanting to be ugly, demanding their 'fair share' of the food, to which Pickett replied, “all you gotta do is take it from the soldiers.” Which had shut down the arguing pretty much completely.
The unloading finished, Sienna loaded into the Hummer with Titus Terry and Zach Willis to find Mattie Simmons and deliver her things as well as a supply of food. While not as much as they had sent with the Georges, Mattie had not contributed much to the farm, nor been there long. Titus navigated the town with familiar ease while Zach rode up top as always.
Mattie had obviously seen them coming as she was waiting for them in the drive of the house she now shared with her mother. Sienna had expected the girl to be in a better mood now that she had found her mother, but quickly discovered this was not the case. She was still slightly churlish and difficult to deal with.
“I expected you guys yesterday,” she said without even a hint of greeting.
“Well, I'm sorry we couldn't meet your schedule, Miss Simmons,” Sienna replied flatly. “We do have other things to get done. Here,” she thrust a bundle into Mattie's arms. “Your clothing, including all that you were given when we arrived at the Sanders' farm. Titus,” she called. The young man stepped forward and thrust a small box into Mattie's nearly full arms.
“A little food, some soap and a bit of shampoo,” Sienna by the greatest effort didn't growl. “Everyone chipped in to give you something. I’ll be sure and tell them how grateful you were. Titus,” she said again, nodding her head for the driver's seat. He returned the nod silently and climbed behind the wheel.
“Take care Miss Simmons,” Sienna remarked. Before Mattie could say anything else, Titus had the rig in gear and moving.
“What an ungrateful little bitch,” Sienna muttered.
“Yep,” Zach agreed at once.
***
Greg and Sienna put the prospective officers through their paces during the day, teaching firearms safety and etiquette, as well as basic skills in dealing with problem people. They ended by giving the prospects a list of physical exercises to be doing in preparation for their training.
“We can't make the trip here every day, so you're going to have to work independently of our presence and do physical training yourselves. We will spend our time with you studying basic procedures and familiarization with firearms and other tools of the trade. Remember what I said before; this isn't the wild west, but it also isn't the same as law enforcement before the Storm. It's about being peace officers now, and not law enforcement. Your job is to keep the peace and prevent crime against the people in your town. That might be assault or theft or worse.” Greg paused to watch as each person nodded.
“You always, always work in pairs,” he stressed. “The days when you could just radio for help are over. You work together and you watch each other’s backs. If you sense you're in over your head, you get another pair to help you out. If we can add more officers over time, we will. More of you means more per shift and safer working conditions.”
“You guys are the first at this, so it's important you do well and be seen as professionals and also as being courteous and protectors of your township. That will encourage the right kind of people to step forward wanting to be like you. Ideally I'd like to see your number double before winter, assuming we can find that many qualified candidates. That means not just physically able but also mentally. If they don't have the right attitude then you don't need them.”
“Now, we're going to spend the rest of our time today going over how you work in pairs to approach a problem. Pair off by numbers for now. As you work together you may get a sense of people you can work with better than others, and that's fine. We want you to be comfortable with who you're working with. But for this exercise it won't matter. So, let's have One and Two, here, with the rest observing as . . . ”
***
“These packs are pretty complete from a first responder standpoint, but they're aren't bottomless. Remember what I said about judicious use of your materials and supplies. If you can get by without using anything, do it. I'm sure someone around here has a distillery, right?” Tandi asked them.
“More than one, probably,” the nurse snorted.
“Get some of their moonshine to use as a sterilizing agent,” Tandi instructed. “Better yet, have Mayor Pickett see to that. He’ll have less difficulty with it in all likelihood. Kids will want band-aids. Teach them band-aids are for serious cuts, and remind parents to keep their kids from getting cuts dirty. Keep them as clean as possible. I included some soap that is great for killing germs, but it's all I had, so use it sparingly. I don't have any more other than what's in my own bag. There's also a can of sani-wipes in each bag. Again, all I've got, so use them sparingly. If they dry out on you, you can reactivate them with a little distilled water or alcohol. Won't take much, just enough to wet them.”
“What about when we have someone seriously injured?” the nurse asked.
“It depends on how serious,” Tandi admitted. “We've lost a number of people to wounds and injuries that we just couldn't treat effectively. One was a friend of mine. There was just too much damage. I would suggest you have some cloth bandages for times when you aren't sure you can stop bleeding and use them instead of the sterile bandages I'm leaving you. You can always sterilize them with boiling water if you let them dry somewhere relatively clean and without contamination. Packing a bleeder with soft, clean cloth is one of the best ways to stop bleeding, assuming it can be stopped.
“For some injuries, such as a sus
pected broken limb, we may can help if we're in the area. I think the police officers will have a limited way to get in touch with us if we're nearby. For something more serious like a traumatic head wound or massive blood loss . . . I'm sorry, but there's no way we could get here in time. Honestly, even if we were here when it happened, we probably couldn't help. You know that trauma is one of the leading causes of death, and that was when we still had modern hospitals and treatment options.”
“True,” she nodded.
“Teach people to be careful,” he cautioned. “No monkey business, no foolishness, no horseplay. Careful when climbing, careful when using tools, careful cutting wood or anything else. Remind them that we no longer have helicopter evac to lift people to a trauma center. We no longer have trauma centers, for that matter. We haven't quite regressed to the last century, well, actually the one before, in terms of medical treatment, but we're definitely as far back as the Great Depression in some cases.
“Don't ignore older folks and their home remedies. I knew a woman who was a fountain of such things and everything she did worked. Unfortunately she was killed some time back and all that knowledge was lost to us forever. Hopefully we’ll find someone else who knows what she knew, but it's just hope for now. Find a notebook or two around town and when you learn about something, write it down. We’ll do the same, assuming we get anything, and bring it to you when we visit again. It's all we can do.”
“What about babies?” the nurse asked. “Delivery, I mean,” she clarified.
“I've delivered babies, but it's not something I'm trained for any more than you would have been,” Tandi admitted. “Again, I knew a woman who was more or less a midwife, but we lost her in an attack. You may well have someone around here that can fill that role. If you do, find them and get them in your group. Someone like that may well know how to gather the herbs and roots and what have you from your area and apply them to medicinal needs. I'm trying to learn them myself, but as you may have guessed I am not from these parts,” he smiled. The other two laughed lightly at that.
