The Mechanic

by Jerry D. Young

  “In this entire time there’s been nothing on the Amateur Bands about Federal or State authorities trying to take over, or even maintain control. A few cities, mostly smaller ones, the local government is working to make things better for survivors. And at least one case of a War Lord type take over.”

  “I don’t know, guys,” Jennie said quietly. “We safe here, with food and supplies for years…”

  “Though certainly not right now, I’d like to go to Reno at some point and see what I… Jennie and I have left there.”

  Sterling nodded. “What about locally?”

  “I think we should check it out. There could be opportunities in town we need to look at.” At Jennie’s rather shocked look, and Sterling flat look, Jocko continued hurriedly. “You know. To be able to help people better.”

  “Yes,” Jennie said. “We have it good here. I don’t intend to give the farm away, but there are undoubtedly families with children that will need help making it through the first months of the aftermath.”

  Sterling nodded. “Another thing. Do you want to try to bring in some manufactured housing or stay here in the shelter.”

  “The shelter is fine for a time,” Jennie said. “But I’d really like to get something above ground.”

  “I don’t know, honey,” Jocko said carefully. He was already on some thin ice and knew it. “It’s not so bad in here. Perhaps we should maintain the status quo as far as housing goes and pursue other aspects of surviving the aftermath of this war.”

  Jennie frowned. “We should at least be on the lookout for something suitable for us.”

  “We’ll do that,” Sterling said. The last thing he wanted was to get in the middle of a family squabble. “What if Jocko and I do a little clandestine exploring tomorrow, while you keep a watch here, Jennie?”

  Jennie didn’t particularly like the idea, but knew it was best to have someone on the property at all times, if it was possible. “Okay. I guess that’s the best immediate course of action.”

  A mutual decision to use the Suburban was made the next morning, and the two men, heavily armed, took the trail down to the dirt road that led to Winnemucca. Jocko went slowly, at first, but the closer he got to the city, the faster he went.

  “Might want to slow down… In case of a road block or something,” Sterling said, rather urgently.

  “Yeah. Okay. Guess I’m just a bit anxious.”

  There was no road block, per se, but the two men did see several people out and about with weapons. The people looked like they were more than ready to use them. The first group they came close to, Sterling had Jocko stop.

  “Hello,” Sterling told the three men. All three held hunting rifles at the ready.

  “If you’re from Reno, just keep going. We have all the refugees we can handle. Don’t even think about looting any of the stores. We have people all over, keeping watch.”

  “We understand,” Sterling replied, weighing his words carefully. He didn’t want to give away too much information, but wanted to make dead sure he and the rest at the retreat would be considered members of the community and not outsiders. “We’re part of three families that just moved in north of town. Didn’t really have much chance to get acquainted after we moved before the war.”

  “I know him,” said the third man of the team. He’d been standing back, keeping an eye on the surroundings. “You’re the one with the stretch pickup. Worked on Juan Ortega’s junker of a truck. Got him running again. That was good work. Good price, too.”

  “Yeah. A 1967 Chevy.”

  “That’s the one,” the man said. He stepped forward and shook Sterling’s hand. “Holt Cumberland. I don’t suppose you can get some of these dead cars running, can you? Anything under twenty years old just won’t run. Even some of the diesel farm equipment won’t.”

  “I’ll take a look at anyone’s vehicle that wants me to. Chances are it was the EMP that got them. Without parts… May not have much luck.”

  “This rig seems to be running mighty fine,” said the first man. It sounded almost like an accusation.

  “Got an old diesel in it. Non-electronic. EMP didn’t seem to bother it,” Sterling explained.

  “We might have to borrow it, to use as an ambulance, if we can’t get ours going.” This was from the second man.

  Sterling could see Jocko tense up. He didn’t like the idea of the Suburban being ‘borrowed.’ Sterling didn’t either, but now wasn’t the time nor place to discuss it.

  Quickly, to change the subject, Sterling asked, “Is there anyone selling or bartering food and other supplies?”

  “Barely have enough for ourselves,” said the first man. “You aren’t going to find anyone willing to let you have any food. For any price. And we have people out keeping an eye on things so people don’t try looting the Wal-Mart, the pharmacies, and other key supply points in the city.”

  “Don’t blame you there,” Sterling said. He could almost feel Jocko next to him swelling up with anger. “Since we do have a working vehicle, if you plan to do some salvage on the interstate, contact us. We’d be willing to help for a small share of what is found. We monitor CB channels 9 and 19 all the time. Call for… Triple Seven.”

  Sterling hesitated again. But Jennie had asked him to pass on some information. He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t asked Jocko to do it, but he’d promised, so he would do it. “Uh… If there are any babies… or small children… We have milk for trade. I mean, if they really need it… we’re okay giving some to those that really don’t have anything to trade. But mostly what we want is labor to help on our property.”

  All three men’s eyes lit up. Holt said, “There are a couple of families that are pretty bad off. If you could help them out… Well, it would be appreciated.”

  “It’s the civil thing to do,” said the first man.

  The second man agreed adamantly. “Anyone that wouldn’t help a kid wouldn’t be welcome here.”

  “Now see here…” Jocko was ready to explode, but Sterling cut him off.

  “Get the details to us over the radio and we’ll see what we can do. Let’s go, Jocko.”

  “What the blankety blank are you trying to do? Give all our food away?” Jocko asked as soon as they were clear of the men. “You can bloody well take it out of your own supplies if you plan on giving it away.”

  “That’s what I was planning,” Sterling said quietly, more than a little disappointed in Jocko’s post attack reactions.

  Jocko started to head straight back to the retreat, but Sterling suggested they take a roundabout route, to check for someone following. With a frown on his face, Jocko did as suggested. When Sterling pointed out a point where they could get off the main road and head across country, at an angle away from the retreat direction, Jocko muttered something under his breath, but took the route.

  Sterling turned around and watched out the back window of the Suburban. Sure enough, an old car came to a stop at the point Jocko had left the road.

  “Thought so,” Sterling said and turned back around.

  “What?” Jocko asked.

  “Someone was following us.”

  “If the people in town think they can…”

  “Cool down, Jocko,” Sterling said evenly. “You can’t blame them for trying to find out where we are and what we have. It’s up to us to maintain the status quo until some form of authority develops again.”

  “I’ve got the authority right here,” Jocko said, touching the FN FAL leaning against the seat between them.

  “I’d rather not get into a shooting war with the whole city,” Sterling said dryly. “It is in our best interest to work with those in the city. We’ll need them as a market for our products and as a source of labor. I don’t think we can manage all the stock and the greenhouse and the gardens all on our own, with Nate gone.”

  Jocko just grunted. He didn’t say another word as they traveled back to the retreat.

  Jennie saw the troubled look on Sterling’s face, and the angr
y one on Jocko’s. She hurried after Jocko.

  Sterling headed for the apartment over his shop and garage. He’d barely set down with a sandwich in his hand when the CB radio broke squelch. “Triple Seven. Calling Triple Seven.”

  “Go ahead,” Sterling said, keying the microphone of the Cobra 148GTL CB radio. It was set on channel 9. “This is Triple Seven.”

  “Yeah. Triple Seven, this is Holt. You mentioned that milk. I’d like to take you up on your offer on behalf of three families. I can guarantee some labor in return.”

  “How much is needed?” Sterling asked.

  A laugh came from the speaker. “Any amount up to a semi-trailer load.”

  Sterling laughed, too. “Sorry. Don’t have those kinds of quantities. How about ten gallons of fresh milk?”

  “Fresh? You have fresh? How…”

  “Called a milk cow, buddy,” came another voice. “I’d be interested in some of that. What are you asking?”

  “Labor in our gardens and help with the herd. It’s not big but I’m not experienced with the animals.”

  Two or three more voices broke in, asking for milk. Finally, primarily through Holt’s actions, a meeting was set up at the big grocery store on the main drag through town the next day. The arrangement was for those that wanted milk to bring containers. Sterling would bring barter slips to record the transactions. He would use his copy of the slips to keep track of who had done their promised labor. It was one of the original of Triple Seven’s ideas he used often in his stories.

  Sterling finished his sandwich, and then relaxed for a bit, trying to decide how to handle Jocko’s reactions that morning, and what he might say about the milk deals. Sterling fully expected to give away as much of the milk as he traded away.

  He’d been keeping the milk in the chiller in the barn when he milked the three cows that were still producing milk. Three additional cows had been serviced just before the war, according to Nate’s notes, and would be dropping calves in a few months, thus increasing the amount of milk they would have.

  Sterling rotated out the oldest milk each time he milked the cows and put the fresh in the chiller. The older milk went to the hogs’ feed troughs. Finally, Sterling decided to go talk to Jennie.

  He found her in the gathering room in the common area of the shelter. She was folding clothes. Jocko was not present. When she looked up at Sterling, he was sure she’d been crying.

  “You okay, Jennie?” Sterling asked.

  She nodded her head, but didn’t say anything.

  “Look. I offered the milk, like you asked me. Jocko didn’t seem to think much of the idea. I’ve made an arrangement to trade some milk away tomorrow morning. I’d rather you came along with me than Jocko.”

  Jennie bit her lower lip and nodded again. “He said you were too open about things. I’m sorry, Sterling. I didn’t tell him about asking you to share the milk with children in need.”

  “It’s okay. I can deal with it. It’s just… Jocko was really angry, it seemed to me.”

  “He was,” Jennie replied, a pair of pants on her lap, her hands still. Her face was pale. “At you. For… I don’t know, being calm during all this.”

  “I see… Well, I’ll just have to deal with it. You think he’ll let you come with me tomorrow.”

  Some color came back into Jennie’s face. “It’s not his decision if I stay or go. I will be going with you.”

  Sterling nodded, and hearing Jocko walking toward the room, made his exit.

  Sterling didn’t see Jocko again until the next morning. He watched from the door to the shelter as Jennie helped Sterling load up several cans of milk and some boxes into the back of Sterling’s pickup. Jocko made no move in return when both Jennie and Sterling waved goodbye as Sterling pulled away from the property.

  There was only small talk between Jennie and Sterling until they arrived at the grocery store. There were twenty or more people there, most carrying some kind of container. Sterling’s hand was on the M1A SM when he stopped the truck and the people gathered around.

  But he relaxed, slightly, when Holt Cumberland pushed his way through the crowds, trying to guide people back to form a line as he approached the truck.

  “Sorry about the mob scene,” Holt said as Sterling stepped out of the truck, the M1A SM in his hand. Sterling slung the rifle over his shoulder, but his eyes were drawn to several men and a couple of women standing well apart from the others. They were heavily armed, whereas, when Sterling took a close look, he determined that only a few of the almost mob had weapons on them.

  “I’m going to trust you to tell me who is really having a hard way to go, and those that can do some simple work for the milk.” Sterling looked steadily at Holt.

  “Gonna make me work for a share, huh?” Holt asked, but grinned.

  “That’s right. Sing for your supper… in this case, milk. And eggs.”

  “Eggs, too? Fresh?”

  Sterling nodded.

  “Old grouch McFarland has some layers, but his family is using everything they can produce.”

  “I’ll hold a half dozen back for you, and a quart of milk for helping out.” Sterling said.

  Holt nodded.

  “Okay, people!” Holt said again, much louder this time, as he turned to face the crowd. “Line up. You. Marian Blake. You first.”

  There were three children clinging to her skirt when Marian stepped forward, holding an empty gallon milk jug.

  “Is it clean?” Jennie asked.

  When Marian nodded, Jennie filled the jug with a dipper from one of the milk cans. “Wait,” Sterling said when Marian started to turn away, mumbling her thanks. He handed her six eggs when she handed off the milk to the oldest child.

  “Oh, thank you! And… When I can… I’ll help with any work I can do.” Sterling nodded, but hurriedly turned to the next person.

  “Hatch,” Holt said. “He can work. Milk. No eggs.”

  The middle aged man glared at Holt, but took and signed the barter slip Sterling had on a clipboard. Sterling gave the man his copy and Jennie filled the two empty water bottles with milk.

  And so it went. Sterling was beginning to sweat a bit as the group disappeared slowly, as the milk disappeared quickly. But of the group that first appeared, everyone got some, those most in need, by Holt’s indications, got four or six eggs.

  Expecting not everyone would have suitable containers, Sterling had brought along all his empty water bottles. He filled two of them with milk for Holt and started to hand him six eggs carefully stacked in a small cardboard box. But the heavily armed group that had hung back was approaching and Holt set the bottles and box down.

  “Okay,” said the man that Sterling recognized as the first man from the day before. “We let this go on. Admittedly there were some that deserved special consideration. We are not disputing that. But if you have enough milk to give it away, we expect to get our share.”

  “There is no ‘your share.’” Sterling said coldly. Then, to Jennie, “Get in the truck and start it.”

  “Hold on there, lady,” said another of the group as Jennie opened the driver’s door of Sterling’s custom pickup.

  “I have two gallons left,” Sterling continued, “eight quarts. It’s an hour of labor per quart. Who wants a quart?”

  “I said, we want our share. You have it, you have to share it. I’m not about to work like a slave for a quart of milk.”

  “Ease off, Jacob,” Holt said, putting his hand on the first man’s chest as he pushed toward the truck.

  “Get your hands off me!” Jacob almost screamed knocking Holt’s hand away with his left hand as his right went for the pistol holstered on his hip.

  “I wouldn’t,” Sterling said, his voice as cold as ice. He had the M1A SM pointed at Jacob. Jacob froze. When someone else in the group made a slow attempt to ease out a gun, Sterling told Jacob. “Anyone else tries and I shoot you first.”

  “All right! All right!” Jacob said, looking scared for the first t
ime. “None of you touch a gun. We’ll get this settled.”

  “We sure will.” Sterling said. “Start the truck, Jennie.”

  This time Jennie was able to get into the truck without a problem and started the engine. “Climb up here, Holt,” Sterling said then.

  Holt looked unsure, but when Jacob said, “You side with him and you’re a dead man,” Holt stepped up onto the tailgate of the truck and unslung his own rifle. It was not quite aimed at the group.

  “Now, I want one thing very clear,” Sterling said. “I don’t believe in messing around. We have supplies the city residents need. And we will be fair with them. But they aren’t there just for the taking. And just so you know I play hardball…”

  Sterling kicked over the last milk can and the milk gushed out onto the tailgate and to the ground. Everyone gasped, including Holt and Jennie.

  “You’re crazy man!” Jacob yelled. His hand was edging toward his gun again.

  “Take this as an object lesson. Anyone that tries to take what is mine and my friends’, will either die, or go away empty handed, for I will destroy what I cannot keep, just to spite you. Let’s go, Jennie. Nice and easy so I can keep my gun aimed on Jacob here.”

  Sterling raised the M1A Super Match to his shoulder and held Jacob in his sights. He didn’t fire, even though Jacob drew his pistol. Only the fact that Jacob didn’t actually try to use it prevented Sterling from shooting him.

  “My family…” Holt said when Jennie turned a corner and the left the group behind.

  “Don’t worry,” Sterling said. “Like it or not, you and them are going with us. You’re not safe here anymore.”

  Holt nodded and guided Jennie to a house on the far side of town. Five people came out when Jennie pulled up and stopped. Holt jumped out of the truck and ran to his family. He spoke to them hurriedly and then they all ran back inside the house.

  Though not too worried about anyone trying to stop them, Sterling began to fret a bit when twenty minutes passed and no one came out of the house. But suddenly the family appeared again. All of them carrying suitcases or cardboard boxes.

  Sterling stacked the items in the back of the truck as each was handed up to him and the bearer ran back inside for another load. Sterling was impressed a few minutes later and the larger than normal pickup truck bed was nearly full of the Cumberland family’s possessions. He noted that several of the boxes were Ball or Kerr home canning jar cases. From the weight of them, they were full.