by S A Ison
“No, but he did trip over his own feet. She had to catch him before he fell. Was he always so clumsy? Or just around Jennifer?” Lydia laughed, shaking her head.
“I think she has made him all discombobulated. Where is Yuma?” Phoenix sat at the small table to watch the couple outside. He was chewing on a carrot, his square white teeth crunching away. Lydia thought he looked handsome in profile.
“He’s out in the barn with Miles, the two of them are trying to figure out a way to get hot water into the house.” Lydia said, covering the biscuits with a cloth towel. They would bake later, when it was closer to dinner. She set the tray on the stove. Going to the sink, she pumped the old fashion pitcher pump. She like it, and was glad that Jael had left it when she and Rich had renovated the kitchen. It was a wonderful bit of arcadian technology, and the fact that it still worked a hundred years later was saying something.
Lydia grabbed the teapot and filled it with water, she shook it questioningly at Phoenix, who nodded. She set the pot on the stove to boil and grabbed a couple of cups.
“Is Jael with them?” She asked from the pantry.
“Yes, she is supervising them.” Phoenix laughed.
“Miles doesn’t stand a chance either. She has her eye on him.” Lydia grinned and came to sit at the table. She shifted the holster, she now carried Miles’ Sig Sauer 226. She no longer thought about it. After their first day at the farm, all had been on pins and needles, wanting to become proficient with a weapon. Even Yuma wanted to learn. The next day, Miles and Jael had set up a training session. Every day since then, they’d all gone out to practice. Yuma carried the Colt 1911 and Jael had given him Rich’s old cowboy hat, a brown Stetson, which Yuma now wore everywhere.
There had been no more trouble after that first day, that had been nearly three weeks ago.
“Oh my god, I just realized it, Christmas is three days away. It’s almost been a month since the crash.” Lydia said, looking at Phoenix. His face lost the smile.
“Wow. You’re right, I’ve just been so busy with everything, I’d forgotten.”
“I know, getting Yuma better with his hand. Learning how to handle the weapons and shooting. Getting the washing machine set up. Getting all of Miles’ things over here. I still can’t believe he had you guys break down that outdoor furnace.” She said, brushing back her hair from her face. Miles and Julian had also dug out an old 1950s washing machine from the barn. Miles had taken the electrical plug from one of his lamps and rewired the machine. On sunny days, they hooked the washing machine to one of his solar generators. They had all been amazed and happy. Now he and Yuma were tinkering with the outdoor furnace, trying to bring hot water into the house, but also extend the heat to the greenhouse, so they could grow vegetables all year round.
“Look, I’ve been thinking. I really want to try to head to Seattle, I want to find my family.” Phoenix said suddenly and Lydia looked at him. She got up from the table and turned off the heat to the teapot, killing the whistling. She poured the hot water into the cups and set the pot back on the stove. Peppermint filled the kitchen and she wrapped her hands around the steaming cup.
“It’s going to be dangerous. How will you do it?” Lydia asked, interested. She wanted to see her sister, she wanted to go too.
“I was thinking, now that Miles is living here, and now that we have all his things here, he won’t need his jeep. I was going to ask him to let me have the jeep. I think I can make it to Seattle in a couple days. It is a little more than six hundred miles. That’s about a ten to twelve-hour trip on good roads. Give or take, maybe a two-day trip, if I drive on secondary roads. If I stay away from the larger cities, you know, go around, I think I could make it there.”
“What about gas?” She asked, sipping her tea cautiously.
“Jael has two, five-gallon cans I can siphon gas into. Miles has his gas cans. I can load the jeep with the cans and siphon gas until I have enough.” He shrugged.
“I want to go too.”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s gonna be dangerous. I’m okay with risking my own neck, but I don’t think I could deal with you getting hurt or killed.” Phoenix shook his head. Lydia felt her cheeks heat up and her eyes narrowed.
“I’m just as capable with my weapon as you are. Besides, we can watch each other’s backs. When do we leave?”
Ω
Fargo, GA
The days were meandering for Blake, there wasn’t much of a routine. He and Alice had taken a drive toward Homerville, he had let her drive while he kept watch. They had driven along Fargo Highway, on the 441. The landscape had been the same, rural and forested. There were small farms that peppered countryside all along the drive. He and Alice had seen cows and horses in the pastures.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say life hadn’t changed. The fact that there aren’t any other cars on the road says otherwise.” Blake observed. They passed few people on the road. They’d only seen a few, who stood by their homes, watching as his truck had passed. When they came across an abandoned vehicle, Blake got out and siphoned the gas, while Alice kept watch. They had not been bothered.
“I think you chose the perfect place Blake; I have to admit. We’re off the beaten path, and if what you say is true about no grocery stores and such, these people must grow their own and can sustain themselves.”
“In the storage unit, I’ve got seeds and gardening equipment. We’ll be able to raise a garden, hopefully. I think that will help us in the long run. I tried to think of every eventuality, but I just don’t know.” He shrugged.
As they drew closer to Homerville, they had seen more activity. There was also a fug of smoke in the air, acrid and heavy. The people they now passed had a desperate expression. Warning bells began to ring in his head and some of the vehicles ahead were overturned and smoking.
“Pull over, Alice, I think I’d better drive.” He had advised but then a shot busted the window beside him and he screamed for Alice to turn the vehicle around and get them out of there. Alice was screaming, but she was doing what he had told her. He was angry with himself; he’d been so foolish to get near a town. The more people, the more trouble. His curiosity and conceit had gotten the better of him. He felt the warm trickle of blood, flowing down his face. The shards from the window had cut him somewhere, but his adrenaline was pumping.
He searched out the culprit, but could only see burned out buildings, burned out vehicles and trash along the streets. He felt the Chevy rocking and felt the speed increase. There was another shot and it tinged off the bed of the truck.
“Faster, Alice, go faster. We’ve got to get out of range.” He yelled over the wind that was blowing in. He looked out the rear window, and heard another shot, but it must have missed the truck. He began to breathe easier when they were out of sight of the town. He looked over at Alice, who was dead white.
“I’m sorry Ali, I am. We shouldn’t have come out this far. We shouldn’t have come to a town.” Blake said, checking his weapon. He wiped at his face and there was a smear of blood that stained his hand.
“I wanted to come too, Blake. I think a tiny part of me wanted to see, really see if it was true. I got my answer.” She said, looking over at him, her mouth trembling in a smile. Her eyes grew large when she saw the blood.
“Were you hit? Oh my god.” She cried.
“No, just got hit with some glass. Don’t worry. Let’s just get home.”
That had been a week ago, and neither had wanted to venture out. He was fishing for their dinner now. He’d shot three squirrels yesterday and part of that had gone to Fiasco, who was growing and getting stronger. The puppy’s coat was also becoming glossy. The other two squirrels went to their neighbor, who had chickens and had offered to trade six eggs for two squirrels. Mamma Kena, a shriveled black woman of unknown years had heard the shooting and had come to investigate. She had also brought half a dozen eggs with her.
“I ain’t got no one to hunt for me. If you keep me in
meat, I’ll keep you in eggs. Maybe a chicken from time to time.” She had grinned, her teeth strong. Her snow-white hair was kept in a tight bun at the top of her head. She was bent from osteoporosis, and as thin as a blade of grass. She wore heavy black boots with thick wool socks and floral pedal pushers and a lavender, heavy cable knit sweater. She had charmed them both. Blake had promised her fish today and she told him if he caught it, she would fry it. She said she would also make fried kudzu, kudzu salad and baked kudzu. When Alice had asked her about it, the old woman had laughed and said she’d show her.
Alice was in the house now, knitting something for Mamma Kena. Christmas was in a few days and Alice had wanted to make something for the woman, to keep her warm at night. Mamma Kena was a wealth of gossip and information about the area. She lived about a quarter mile up the dirt road and her home was situated like theirs, on the banks of the Suwannee. She had outlived one son, Milton. Her other two sons, Arnold and Perry, along with their wives, children and grandchildren, had moved away, to Atlanta. They visited her each summer.
“They don’t like the rustic life, I guess. Was good enough for me and my late husband.” She grouched. Blake grinned at the memory. He yanked on the line, feeling the familiar inquiry. He began reeling in his catch. Catching movement up the river, Blake leaned out on the dock and watched as a thin man stood on the flat boat. Blake had seen people moving along the river, on flat boats, on his previous visits. This was a common way to travel up and down the Suwannee. The man was using a long pole to move the boat along. Blake stepped back and checked his weapon, then covered it back up. He reeled in the fish and put it with the other fish on the line that hung off the dock and into the water.
He waited as the scow drew closer. There appeared to be bundles behind the man, who rhythmically dipped the scull in and out of the water. The man wore filthy denim overalls, which were shiny with a long buildup of grease. The man had been filthy long before the EMP hit. He wore a dingy long-sleeved cotton shirt, of indeterminate color. He had a greasy baseball cap that was backward and a cigarette hung off his lip, the deep grooves in his face, bracketed heavily around his mouth. His brown beard was patchy and there were dirty grooves down his face, where he’d scratched himself. His skin had that deep tan, from years spent in the sun.
The man nodded to Blake and Blake returned the nod, keeping his face neutral. As the flat boat got near, he now saw that one of the bundles was a child, thin as glass. His face was pinched and his hair stuck up stiff, from filth.
“You’re new here, ain’t ya?” The man’s voice was like a rusty door hinge. Years of smoking hadn’t been kind.
“Owned for a long time, just couldn’t get down as often as I liked. You?”
“I move up and down the Suwannee, trading. You got anything to trade?”
“Maybe. What you got?” Blake was noncommittal, something about the child bothered him.
“I want momma. I want daddy.” The small lump whined.
The man turned and kicked the child, not viciously, but with enough force to rock the child.
“Shut up young’un.”
“What’s the matter with the child?” Blake asked, an edge to his voice. It would seem that this man wasn’t the child’s parent.
“None of your concern, do-gooder. I’m here to trade, otherwise, I’ll be moving on.”
“What will you trade for the kid?” Blake asked bluntly. The man’s eyes narrowed, though Blake wasn’t sure if it were the cigarette smoke that wafted into the man’s eyes or the mention of the child once more. The man seemed to consider, looking down at the small wretched humanity. He blew a solid stream of smoke from his nostrils, then shook his head.
“No, ain’t for sale.” He said flatly.
Blake opened his mouth to argue, when the man’s eyes opened wide and then the loud crack of a gun exploded by Blake’s ear. He jerked as though a bullet had torn through him, but he noticed that the man on the boat jerked too. Shock mirrored Blake’s own. Then a deep and dark bloom of blood spread out on the chest of the man. He looked down, and dropping the pole, both hands came up and touched his chest.
Blake could hear nothing but the high-pitched ringing in his ears. He turned, numbly and looked just behind him. Mamma Kena was standing beside him, a small clay pipe hanging off her lip and an AR15 cradled in her arms. Blake looked from her to the man, who now fell overboard, into the river. It was then that Blake noticed that the child had his mouth open in a scream, but Blake could hear nothing but the piercing ringing in his ears. It was like something out of some kind of nightmare that just didn’t make any sense.
Mamma Kena was saying something, Blake could see her mouth moving. He shook his head, blinked and shook it again. He opened his mouth to yawn, to clear his ears. He now heard the screaming of the child and turned. Then he heard Mamma Kena.
“Go get that boat and tie it up. Get that child too.” She ordered. Blake turned and handed Mamma Kena his weapon and then jumped into the river. It was waist deep and he moved quickly to the boat, reaching up and grabbing the coiled rope on the low bow. He moved back toward the dock, pulling the boat behind him. He hoped to Christ, there weren’t any alligators or water moccasins floating close by. He noticed that the man was floating away, face down in the river. The child had stopped screaming and was now whimpering. He saw Alice standing beside Mamma Kena, her face as white as curds. Fiasco was sitting at the end of the dock, his tail wagging madly.
Blake hoisted himself onto the dock and tied the boat off. Then he stepped onto the flat boat, his arms out to steady himself. He went to the child, who was now shrinking down into the bottom of the flat boat.
“Hi, I’m sorry we scared you. You’re safe. Are you hungry?” Blake said gently. Blake had never cared for children. He never understood them, and had tried with his own son, but had been away for so long, that with each visit home, he’d had to get to know his son all over again. This child broke his heart. Blake could clearly see the bones beneath the dull and dirty skin. The arms looked like sticks, sticking out from the overlarge shirt. The boy looked up, his gray eyes dull and full of tears. The boy nodded his head.
Blake put both hands out and the boy lifted his arms. The child stank badly and Blake felt his gorge rise. Besides filth, the boy stank of starvation and something else. Fear? Did fear have a scent? Whatever it was, it made Blake want to vomit. Was the boy sick? Blake detected urine, feces, blood and old vomit. He was glad now, that Momma Kena had shot the sorry bastard. How had the man come by this child? Blake stood, boy securely in his arms. He could feel the bones of the child, thin and near the surface. They were not buried beneath chubby shin.
Alice hurried forward and took the child. She hugged the boy to her, weeping softly and speaking lovey words to him.
“That trash was Tate Shift, a rancid man, and better now as gator bait. I saw that poor little boy when Shift floated by my place. Not sure how Shift come by him, but it wasn’t for no good reason. He’s been a bane on this river for years, guess he got himself into human trafficking. Guess I put a stop to that.” Mamma Kena grinned up at Blake, her black eyes glittering with malicious glee.
“Where on earth did you get that weapon?” Blake had to asked. It was nearly as big as she was.
“My boy, Milton, rest his soul. He had a few guns, but this was my favorite. Don’t kick much either.” She grinned a toothy grin, handing him back his KC9. He didn’t bother putting it in his wet holster and carried it back to the cabin. Alice was inside the house with the child and Blake left the holster out in a sunny spot to dry. Coming into the cabin, he went to the bedroom to change. He could hear Alice and Momma Kena talking to the child. Their voices were low and calm, comforting. He could hear Alice pump the armature of at the sink and he could hear the gush of water, into a pot.
He took his wet clothing out and hung them on the line, that he’d strung up for their laundry. Going back into the house, he could see that Alice had put water on to heat. She had also set out a towel,
soap and shampoo. Good, the child stank and needed to be cleaned. He wasn’t sure if washing would get rid of all of the reek. Some, Blake thought, was skin deep. Mamma Kena was holding the boy in her lap and feeding him small balls of rice. Blake caught the scent of tuna and saw that Mamma Kena was making tuna and rice balls. The boy’s cheek was bulged with food as he ate. His eyes were glassy and the boy sat still and unanimated.
“How old do you think he is?” Blake asked, sitting down across from Mamma Kena.
“I’d say no more than three. He was either kidnaped or found or maybe traded. Shift moved drugs up and down this river.” Mamma Kena shrugged.
“The water’s ready. I’ll take him.” Alice said softly, lifting the boy from the older woman’s lap.
“While you get him clean, I’ll go and fetch some clothing. I have plenty from the grandkids.” Mamma Kena said, rising.
“I’ll take you.” Blake offered and the old woman nodded and walked out of the cabin.
“You’ll be okay?” Blake asked and smiled when Alice nodded, a determined gleam in her eyes. Blake grabbed the keys to the Chevy and left. He helped Mamma Kena up into the truck.
“This is a nice truck you got.” She grinned, patting the dashboard.
“Thanks, you can’t go wrong with a classic.”
It only took a couple of minutes to reach the old woman’s home. It was a small neat cabin, much like his own, but had a large wrap around porch. He saw a few chickens scratching around and several cats relaxing on the porch. Blake got out and stretched. It was like his own place, peaceful and quiet.
“Come on to the back, you can help. I’ll get a flashlight.” She ordered and Blake walked to the back of the house. In the back, there were several small sheds. One was a chicken coop and had a wired in chicken yard where there were about a dozen chickens and even more chicks. The soft peeping of the chicks reached him and he grinned down at them, industriously scratching at the ground. They looked like fuzzy golf balls.
Mamma Kena held up a large flashlight and nodded to a shed. He went over with her and opened it for her. Inside were several floors to ceiling shelves with cardboard boxes of different sizes, large plastic containers and odds and ends, shoved up against the walls. The old woman stood a moment shining the light on the boxes and nodded, then grunted in agreement to some musing.
