by N. C. Reed
“I think you're right,” Clay nodded.
“Your mom already told me I'd be living with her when I got outta here,” Greg grinned at him. “No way do I say no to her cooking.”
“Don't blame you,” Clay laughed. “And there's no question we can use you. We're starting our own little town, so we may need a lawman at some point ourselves, if for no other reason than to give us some legitimacy. Things are all screwed up everywhere and to be honest I don't know what might happen at this point. Just have to play things by ear I guess.”
“Well, I will definitely be around,” Greg nodded. “And thanks to you I got all my stuff, too,” he smiled. “More than some can say I'm sure.”
“Lot of people lost everything,” Clay nodded. “Picked up five of Gordy's friends today that were off fishing the day of. They finally managed to get back home during or right after the fire.”
“Let me guess,” Greg lost his smile. “All gone.”
“Whole neighborhood,” Clay confirmed. “Up in smoke, nothing left. And no sign of their families to be seen. They may be dead, may be hiding, they don't know.”
“Man, that's tough,” Greg sighed. “I did all I could, man,” he told Clay softly. “I tried, but...”
“You're just one man, brother,” Clay waved his concerns away. “In the end, all you can do is still all you can do.”
“Old man Parker used to say that,” Greg chuckled, but there was no real humor in his voice.
“Whatever happened to him, anyway?” Clay asked, trying to change the subject to something brighter.
“Ah, man, he had a heart attack about six, maybe seven years ago now,” Greg shook his head. “Doctors say he never knew what hit him. Gone like a snap.”
“That's too bad,” Clay sighed. “Always did enjoy his shop class. He was a cool old man.”
“That he was,” Greg nodded. “So, what you doing now?”
“We 'll start bringing in new people tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”
“Have to be careful, running the roads like that,” Greg warned.
“Don't I know it. On top of that we 'll have to run everyone through a basic firearms class before we issue rifles and side arms. That will take several days.”
“What kind of rifles?” Greg asked.
“AK mostly.”
“Good rifle, and pretty forgiving of someone who doesn't know much about rifles. You got an instructor?” Greg asked.
“Not per se, no,” Clay shook his head. “Don't tell me you're a firearms instructor.”
“Department paid for it,” the deputy nodded. “So, I could teach in-service on the range each year. I'm also SWAT certified, though I admit there was no real reason to get that one. State taught it a couple years back and Pepper agreed to pay, so I went.”
“Well once you get better, that will definitely be your job,” Clay told him.
“Bring them here and I can do basic instruction now,” Greg offered. “Just set them up inside here and I can sit at a table and teach them everything they need to know before they ever hit the range.”
“Yeah,” Clay nodded thoughtfully. “That would take a lot off of us if you can do that.”
“I can do it,” Greg promised.
“Consider yourself hired then,” Clay bumped fists with his friend. “And on that note, we're headed home. I've had a long day and got another one tomorrow.”
“Be careful brother,” Greg urged. “Nice to meet you Miss Harper.”
“I will,” Clay promised.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, too,” Lainie smiled. “And I 'll see you in class if not before.”
“Looking forward to it.”
-
The next ten days were exhausting for Clay and most of the rest. Running and moving, running again and moving some more. Meanwhile, trees were felled, notched and skinned into building logs to create cabins. Without the aid of one Franklin George that task might have taken months, assuming it was finished at all.
The twins had sketched two cabin designs. One was a two-story design that had a fireplace and a loft with a simple stair. Simple in design anyway. Building it was another matter, but George was equal to the task. With his expert instruction, the first cabin was up before the second day was out. As they began work on the second cabin, George started men working on splitting logs for the roof material. Modern tools made this task far easier than it had been in years past and faster as well.
The other design was a single story with four rooms and fireplace. These smaller cabins would be used for small families, couples with one or no children, and in the case of Gordy's friends, a bunkhouse type dwelling for the five teenagers.
By the end of two weeks, just a few days before Christmas in fact, seven loft cabins were completely finished and five more single cabins were done all but the roofing and 'chinking', or filling in cracks with wet clay that would harden as it dried and provide an excellent sealing. The buildings were organized into a large, loose square. Space was left for building new cabins if the need ever arose, and the center 'square' was laid out with a one lane road encircling a central bathhouse and kitchen.
Shutters were cut for the windows as there was no glass for the moment, but the opening were left large enough that at some point they might be able to scrounge windows from more modern houses somewhere else and use them in the new accommodations.
The central bath house used the same materials and design, though the inside was completely different. Gravity fed water tanks could be filled with water heated over the fire to provide a warm shower and flush toilets from empty and abandoned houses were cleaned and installed as well.
Without access to modern septic tanks, a more rustic approach was used as waste was piped from the bath house to a large plastic tank buried under ground in the field behind the cabins. From there, sewage would break down and be carried through a series of barrels buried further along, and finally into an underground pit lined with rocks. Careful to ensure that this would not threaten any ground water, this approach would allow them to have modern facilities with no more threat to the environment than an outhouse would present and with far more comfort. All agreed that having to trek over to the central bath house rather than a cold trip to sit in a cold outhouse latrine was much more preferable.
There was also a central kitchen, with fireplaces at both ends and a fire pit in the center made of rocks. Smoke from this pit would filter into a stack that exited overhead to a protected flu. A covered 'porch' off one side would eventually feature three of the Cherokee clay ovens designs like the one Angela had in her outdoor kitchen. These would make it possible to bake bread even if all modern convenience was lost. After taking a look at the kitchen it was decided that a similar one would be erected at the Troy farm for use by the residents there as soon as things slowed down any.
Teams of men were out cutting wood for fireplaces right up until Christmas day and cooks were baking goodies in advance of what might be their last at least somewhat modern Christmas.
No one knew what Christmas next year might look like. At this point, no one knew what next week might look like. All they could do was the best they could.
-
Leon was not idle during that time either. Despite his fatigue, he had Clay take him on one more trip.
Luther Spence was a few years younger than Leon and just as ornery. The two had been up and down, round and round over the decades they had shared, but had maintained a grudging respect for one another if not an outright friendship.
Spence owned a good bit of land around the county, several thousand acres in fact once it was totaled. He leased that land out mostly these days to farmers like the Sanders and others, leasing hunting rights as well to pay property taxes. Leon doubted anyone for fifty miles in any direction owned more land that Spence, but he was only interested in one piece of it. A tract of about nine hundred acres that lay adjacent to Sanders' land. Leon had tried more than once over the years to purchase that land, but Spe
nce had always refused
Leon was going to try again. He needed that land, especially since over half of it was trees.
He had Clay pull about half-way up the drive while leaving the Cougar on the street. Spence lived in a spacious two-story house on the outskirts of Jordan. He had no close neighbors, the nearest being a half-mile distant.
“This is good,” Leon said as the Hummer eased to a stop at roughly the half-way point. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Brick, you're up.” The former bouncer once more exited the Hummer and circled behind it to open the door for 'Mister Leon', then assist him in getting to the ground.
“Thanks,” Leon nodded. Leaning on his staff with Brick hovering behind and carrying a small satchel, Leon started for the door. He was over half-way there when said door opened and a man stepped outside with a shotgun. Clay tensed but stayed put as ordered.
“Luther Spence, I know we ain't always seen eye-to-eye, but don't you reckon meeting me with a twelve gauge is a bit much?” Leon asked, continuing his slow walk.
“Leon?” came the slightly confused reply. “Leon Sanders? When did you join the Army?”
“It's my own army,” Leon replied with a near smirk. “They work for me. I don't join nobody, Luther. They join me. Now I came to talk business with you. Are you gonna hear me out or just stand there with that scatter gun, yammering all day?” Spence threw his head back in laughter, lowering the shotgun to his side.
“Even the end of the world won't change you, will it you old coot.”
“Not if I can survive it,” Leon nodded. “With things changed the way they are, I came here to make you an offer on that spread next to me,” he got right to business.
“Fields and timber as I recall?” Spence thought about it. “About a thousand acres or so just down from you? Yeah, you've tried to buy that before. What makes you think I'd sell it to you now?” he asked.
“This,” Leon said, tossing Luther Spence a single gold coin. Spence caught it and a low whistle escaped him as he studied it.
“One-ounce gold coin,” Spence nodded appreciatively. “Hate to tell you old boy, but no matter how high the price of gold is, one ounce won't buy that place.”
“How many will buy it?” Leon demanded. “And don't start a bunch of negotiating hogwash and gouging neither cause I ain't got the time or the inclination to dicker over it. I want it, and I'll pay gold to get it provided you don't try to get a king's ransom for it and can provide a valid bill of sale. Reckon a man can't be registering deeds or researching 'em either, these days.”
“Come on up,” Spence waved to a chair on the porch. “Who's this big fella?” he asked.
“My butler,” Leon retorted as he climbed. He settled into a chair and withheld a sigh of relief at being off his feet.
“Now then,” he took a breath. “What's it gonna take for me to leave here owning that piece o' land?”
And so, the 'dickering' started. Spence named a price in gold coins. Leon spluttered and claimed that Spence was trying to rob him, then countered. Spence then angrily demanded to know who the thief was and came back with another price. Leon replied he was looking at the thief but raised his offer.
Back and forth the two went for over fifteen minutes, jabbing at one another over and over even as they hammered out a price both could live with. Finally, the two seemed to meet on a price, not that anyone could have told that from listening to them.
“You're a damn pirate, Leon Sanders, practically stealing a man's land out from under him,” Spence noted even as he prepared the deed and wrote out two copies of a Bill of Sale.
“And you're a robber baron trying to get rich off a working man who's trying to raise food to end world hunger!” Leon snapped back as he counted the coins he was paying for the second time. “I'm surprised you didn't charge me for just parking in your damn driveway while you robbed me blind!”
“Who says I didn't?” Spence retorted, placing the deed and Bill of Sale before Leon for his inspection and signature. Leon handed over the coins and took his glasses from his pocket.
“Wouldn't surprise me,” he continued his rant. “I figure I paid at least four gold pieces more for that land than what it's worth.”
“That's about how I figure it,” Spence cackled, nodding. “That's a surcharge for putting up with your ornery old ass!”
“Ornery!” Leon looked offended. “If that ain't the pot calling the kettle black I ain't never seen it!” he roared, signing both copies of the Bill of Sale and handing one back to Spence while keeping the second along with the deed.
“Doubt you can see much at all without them glasses,” Spence nodded again, accepting the Bill of Sale and examining it before placing it in the folder the deed to the land had come from.
“Truth to tell, I can't much,” Leon admitted with a chuckle. “You faring okay out here?” he turned more serious now that business was concluded successfully.
“So far,” Spence did the same, leaning back and running his hands into the straps of his overalls. “Miss electricity but I got a small generator for stuff like listening to the radio, not that there's anything on it to amount to. I got a solar rig a few years ago to help cut down on the light bill. Won't run the whole house but it does a fair bit. You?”
“We're okay for the moment,” Leon nodded. “We got the same set-up with a generator and some solar power. Have to be careful with the generator but we had just topped off our tanks when all this happened so for now we can run it. It's a gas hog though.”
“Mine ain't so bad but it's small, too,” Spence nodded in sympathy. “How is it you got vehicles that run?” he nodded to the Hummer.
“My grandson's,” Leon replied. “He got it when he left the Army. Damn thing was proofed somehow against nukes, and that kept the light storm from screwing it up. But again, it drinks fuel like a sponge. Seems you can't have a convenience what you don't have to get an inconvenience to go with it.”
“Always the way of it,” Spence nodded. “My old farm truck still runs so I can travel, but I ain't in no hurry to go nowhere. Furthest I been is on into Jordan and that bunch is plum crazy,” he shook his head. “Nothing I need from down there that I can recall.”
“Same here,” Leon agreed. “We took some food, all we could spare from what Angie and the girls put up this fall, and give it to the church and while it was being unloaded I'm damned if people wasn't looking at it and complaining it wasn't more!”
“Ingrates all,” Spence sighed. “Whole world seems to be turning that way. Reckon this here is how it's gonna be now? With all the stuff off and not coming back on?”
“My great-grand kids think so, and they're probably the smartest kids in this part of the country,” Leon allowed a bit of pride to slip into his speech as he answers. “They claim it's likely the damage was so extensive that it ain't gonna be possible to just bounce back. Have to relearn everything and a lot of people may not make it that long.”
“Well, take care of you and yours, Leon,” Spence stood and extended a hand. “I hope that land is good to you. As I recall it was a fair piece of farm land and had some good timber, too.”
“Mind yourself, Luther and take care,” Leon replied. “There's some pure bad people running around these days. Keep that scatter gun handy.”
“Will do.”
-
“I have never seen anything like that,” Brick commented after they were in the car and headed back.
“Like what?” Leon looked at him. “Good old-fashioned horse trade?”
“I didn't see any horses,” Brick chuckled and Leon did too.
“Just what folks in my day called it. Once I knew he wanted to sell, or at least was willing, I just had to get the lowest price I could. That's all.”
“Did you?” Clay asked. “Get the price you want I mean?”
“I did,” Leon cackled. “I'd have give him another ten gold eagles to get that deed but I wasn't gonna let him know it. I'm right pleased with the price, boy. Right pleased.”
>
“Well, if you're happy then I guess we can all be happy.”
“Right,” Leon nodded firmly. “Now let’s go home.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
-
Three of the Webb boys, Gordy, Abigail, Kade Ramsey and Heath Kelly all disappeared into the woods the day before Christmas Eve, hunting. They returned before midday, hauling two deer and four large turkeys. The animals were quickly prepared and added to the food already in line for Christmas, including a roasted beef courtesy of Gordon Sanders and a smoked hog courtesy of Harley Jessup. The Jessups had brought with them a small herd of swine when they relocated, consisting of one old boar and two young, a dozen bearing sows, and the last feeder hog of the previous year, grown to a nice one hundred fifty pounds. It smoked up nicely in a hole dug by Ronny Tillman.
The ladies meanwhile were baking bread, making cookies and pies and preparing the copious amounts of vegetables needed to feed such a large group. Angela had met with everyone and they had decided to hold the dinner in the building where the apartments were located since it was heated. Tables and chairs were brought from all over the farm and placed inside on Christmas Eve so that they would be there ready on Christmas Day.
Seth Webb was getting around with no more than a slight limp and was pleased to be up and about finally. Greg Holloway was using a cane, actually a hardwood staff similar to Leon's which he leaned on with his good arm to take pressure off his bad leg. His recovery was going much better than had been estimated, due in part to the fact that he had been in excellent shape when injured.
Christmas Day dawned cold on the new community, making everyone glad they had labored so hard the two weeks prior. New cabins were warmed with newly cut wood and everyone was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. Considering the state of the world at present, all agreed they had a lot to be thankful for.
By ten or so everyone was gathering around and a chain formed to bring in the food. Everyone had brought a plate and utensils if they had them, leaving anyone without to use those provided by the Sanders. At ten minutes after eleven, ten minutes later than Angela had predicted, everyone gathered around and bowed their heads as Gordon turned thanks.
