by N. C. Reed
“Gordy is closer to my age and a bit less mature in terms of emotions and stability,” Samantha's face felt like it was about to catch fire. “Assuming that he. . .that he and I…assuming anything of that sort was to happen then I think I could deal with it. He isn't likely to encounter some of the things the rest of them walked in to in Africa and other places. And if he was to have that same problem then I'd be there as it started, not after it was done. I can help him deal with it as it happens. Assuming it happens at all,” she added yet again.
“Your face is so red,” Abigail giggled and for a moment she sounded just like the childhood friend that Samantha had loved like a sister for as long as she could remember.
“Shut up,” Samantha muttered, though she was glad to hear Abigail sounding like her old self, even for a minute. “Why is this so much fun for you? Tormenting me about this?”
“He's my little brother,” Abigail shrugged. “He's three years younger than we are and a jock. Let’s be honest, Sam. He's not the type you usually go for.”
“I've never much went for any 'type', Abigail,” Sam's face went a bit redder. “Your uncle Clay was the first man I've paid more than a passing fancy to since my eight-grade crush on Mister Howard.”
“Wait, wait,” Abigail raised a hand as if to stop Samantha's confession. “Mister Howard the science teacher Mister Howard? Tall, glasses, starting to go bald and still had acne at. . .at. . .whatever age he was then? That Mister Howard?”
“Yes,” Sam muttered, aware that she'd said far too much. “And that isn't the point, Abby. The point was that your misrepresentation of my 'type' is just that. I've never had a type.”
“So, you've got a type now and it's Gordy?” Abigail teased, enjoying Sam's squirming.
“I don't. . .I mean I like. . .maybe,” Sam settled for saying after stammering for a minute. “I never noticed Gordy to amount to anything until he carried me out of that awful place,” she admitted. “He was always just your little brother. I didn't have anything against him mind you, but he was your little brother and when we were in high school he was just a kid. And he isn't a kid anymore.”
“No, he isn't,” Abigail admitted. “Whatever else he may be, Gordy is a man now.” It as a reluctant admission to be sure, but Abigail had never denied that Gordy was unique among his peers. Mature, focused and intelligent, which put him ages ahead of most of the men she had encountered thus far, the rest of her family exempted. Well, most of them.
Still, Gordy was also her little brother. He was also succeeding in fitting into the new dynamic around the farm while Abigail was struggling. She would admit, so far just to herself, that most of her difficulty was her fault. But she refused to accept that the origin of her problems was her attempt to rescue her best friend from a horrible situation. She had done nothing there that Clay wouldn't have...
That notion jarred her train of thought to a halt.
“Abby?” Sam's voice brought her back to the present.
“Yeah?” she refocused on her friend.
“Abby is it. . .is it not okay that I might like Gordy?” Sam's voice was concerned as she looked closely at her oldest and dearest friend.
“Of course, it's not okay,” Abigail replied at once, but laughed as she said it. “He's my brother. He's. . .he. . .well, he's my brother,” Abigail settled for laughing again. “Sam, I don't care,” she turned serious. “Do I think it's weird? Yeah, I do. But you don't need my permission. You don't need anyone's permission. Well, other than Gordy's I guess,” she chuckled. “If you really like him, then by all means keep after him. He's a good guy even if he is my little brother. You could do a lot worse.”
“Yes, I could,” Sam's face was now approaching the same color as a fire hydrant.
“Well, I hope things go okay tomorrow. . .do you smell that?” Abigail's head came up suddenly, sniffing the air. Sam blinked at the non-sequitur but from habit sniffed the air in response to the question.
“What am I supposed to be smelling?” she asked after a moment. “All I can smell is faint wood smoke.”
“That's what I'm talking about,” Abigail nodded. “Wood smoke.”
“Abby, you know they're cooking, right?” Sam looked at Abigail a bit wary.
“Cooking fires don't smell like. . .never mind,” Abigail shook her head, cutting herself off. “I need to go do something. Like I said, I hope tomorrow goes okay for you, Sam. I know you'd like to have your things around you.”
“Thanks Abby. Where are you going?”
“I need to go talk to someone.”
-
“What's up little Sanders girl?”
“Will you ever stop calling me that?” Abigail asked Jake Sidell. She had found him in one of the shop buildings Clay had built before the Event. Working on some kind of medieval looking truck. “And what the hell is that?”
“No, and this is the Beast,” Jake replied with a smirk.
“What is it for?” Abigail asked, her irritation at Sidell's old name for her killed by her curiosity.
“It's for going on the road in this new and exciting world we live in,” Jake told her as he finished tightening the screen across the new light bar he had installed. “Safer for the driver and stronger for the road. She can run over almost anything that might get in her way, around here anyway, and is practically bullet proof, though bullet resistant might be a better term.” He finished a final turn on the bolt and stepped down and back to admire his handiwork.
“Beast is a good name for her,” Abigail nodded, taking in the sight. “What a monster.”
“Should take the trip to the Walters' girl's home pretty well,” Jake nodded. “Did you need to see me about something?” he turned to face her.
“Oh, right,” Abigail nodded. “I need your help. You used to work on the truck and plow we used with the Forestry Service?”
“I did the service work, yeah,” Jake nodded. “It was usually too much to take it all the way to the state's regional garage so they contracted with me to do it. Why?”
“Right before the light hit I took the electronics off both of them and drained the radiator on the truck,” Abigail surprised him. “I thought we might make use of them at some point and didn't want them ruined. I couldn't just take them though, since if things stayed up then I'd be having to explain why I did. See what I mean?”
“I do indeed,” Jake nodded. “So, what then? You want me to help you get them running?”
“Yes,” Abigail nodded emphatically. “Without access to modern firefighting equipment that plow might be all that saves us if a wildfire gets started while it's still dead and dry from winter. I want to bring them here.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Jake agreed at once. “When did you have it in mind to do all this?” he asked.
“If we can round up some help we can go now,” she shrugged. “If we had a winch strong enough I guess we could just pull the truck and plow up on that flatbed and haul it back here to work on it. With things like they are-”
“Hold up,” Jake raised a hand to stop her, a thoughtful look on his face. “That truck that hauls the plow, it has a winch don't it?”
“Yeah,” Abigail nodded slowly. “But even if I hadn't stripped the coil-”
“We don't have to have the truck running to use the winch, maybe,” Jake interrupted her again. “And even if we can't get the winch working, I have another idea we can run with. Let’s see if we can gather some assistance for this little project. What we can do. . . .”
-
“Fire plow, huh?” Jose Juarez rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah, I can see where that would be helpful. What made you think of it now?” he asked Abigail.
Abigail had been hesitant to approach Juarez after the disaster that had been her doing babysitting duty. She had expected him to ignore her at best, while at worst…
But he hadn't. He treated her in a cordial, business-like manner that showed while he might not like her, he didn't let that decide how he acted. And
though relieved by his cordiality, Abigail didn't let her guard down at all.
“I've been smelling wood smoke all morning,” she told him quietly. “I can't find where it's coming from either. Made me think of how we would fight a fire if there was one, and that led me to thinking about the plow.”
“You know they're cooking, right?” Juarez asked the same question Samantha had.
“It's not the same smell,” Abigail said firmly, with the conviction of someone who fought fires for a living. “The smell of cook fires is more clean. You smell the specific wood burning and nothing else. A true brush fire has a different smell. Wood of all different kinds, mixed with leaves, litter, plant matter, even animal flesh if the fire is big enough and moves quick enough. Anyway,” she shook her head as if to clear it, “that's what made me think of this.”
“And how far is it to this station?” Juarez asked.
“Ten miles through the countryside,” Abigail replied. “There's an old fire tower there, though it's not in use anymore.”
“So maybe a half hour to get there, more or less?” Juarez was clearly considering. “Jake, how long you think to get loaded and ready to head back?”
“If I can get the winch to work, maybe thirty minutes,” the bigger man shrugged. “If we have to use the semi, then it depends on how easy we can maneuver the trailer around to where the truck is.” He looked at Abigail.
“If no one has bothered it, the truck and the plow should still be in the barn,” she told them. “Backing the trailer in to them should be fairly easy for someone who knows how to handle it. I don't know that I could do it myself but I've never driven a semi, either. The area around the barn is clear and the whole front is packed gravel.”
“Sounds good,” Jake nodded. “Assuming no problems getting into position then, about the same, time wise.”
“And you're certain that we can haul that rig onto the trailer with the semi?” Juarez asked.
“No question,” Jake's answer was firm. “It is a lot of weight, but a semi is made to pull weight. If nothing else we can take something else, maybe another rig, and push from behind to get the truck and plow rolling.”
“The barn is tall enough for that and the rear is open to allow pull-through parking,” Abigail assured him.
“Then we can do it,” Jake promised.
“Then I'd suggest we abandon trying to use the winch and just go with that plan,” Juarez said after a moment of calculating. “If the winch doesn't work then we have to do it anyway, so let’s not waste that time. We go immediately to the idea we know will work, get the equipment loaded and get back on the road. You know, this little trip would be a good trial run for the Beast, wouldn't it?” he asked Jake.
“I thought the same thing,” Jake agreed with a nod. “Couldn't ask for better, really.”
“Then let’s get this moving,” Juarez said suddenly. “Half-an-hour and we're rolling,” he told them.
“Works for us.”
-
“What are you doing?” Clay asked as he surveyed the preparing crew.
“Your niece,” Juarez nodded toward Abigail, “has access to a fire plow and we're going after it. If there's a fire around here it might come in handy.”
“How are you going to repair it?” Clay asked. “There's no way it's electronics survived the storm.”
“I took them off and stored them here,” Abigail replied to that one, though she continued helping with the preparations.
“I'm gonna help her put them back in working order,” Jake added.
“Long time to be out if you can't repair it quick,” Clay pointed out.
“Not even gonna try out in the field,” Jake shook his head. “We're just gonna load everything on the flatbed and haul it here. Once we get it here, then I 'll fix them both.”
“Them?”
“Plow and the truck that hauls it,” Jake clarified. “Abby's right about the fact that if we have a fire, a wild fire I mean, then that rig might make the difference in surviving or not.”
“Ronny has a-” Clay began.
“Ain't set up to fight wild land fires,” Jake was shaking his head as he cut Clay off. “It's just too big. The state's rig is just right to maneuver in and out of trees and has a fire plow already attached. We need this one.”
“Who all's going?” Clay asked Juarez, accepting that the retrieval of the plow was going to happen.
“Me, Jake, Abby, and three of the newbs,” Juarez answered. “Plus, Ellen and Tandi. We're using this little jaunt as a test run for the Beast, too.”
“Why are you taking Abby?” Clay frowned.
“Because she knows where the rig is and how to operate it,” Juarez explained, shooting his boss a quizzical look. “And it was her idea.”
“You shouldn't take her,” Clay told him. “You don't need her to get the plow and bring it back. Jake should know where it is. He can guide you there and back without any trouble.”
“No reason not to take her with us,” Jake said as he finished a final adjustment on the truck's brake line. “How's that, Ellen?” he called up to the cab.
“Much better,” the truck driver replied with a wave. “That's got it.”
“There's every reason,” Clay told Jake crossly. “She 'll just cause trouble. It's what she does.”
“I've had just about enough of this shit!” Abigail yelled suddenly, her red face showing her anger. “I am sick and tired of it and I'm not going to take it anymore. If you don't want them to help me that's fine. They may work for your arrogant ass, but I don't. I'm going to get my plow because we're going to need it sooner or later. I'm trying to do something to help us, and I don't have the time to put up with your bullshit any more. Got it?”
Clay's face was growing progressively redder as Abigail yelled in his face and he started to reply but she cut him off, not yet done.
“I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done!” her voice was calmer now and more steady. “My best friend of a lifetime was in danger and I went to help her because you couldn't be bothered to do it. I don't care why!” she raised her voice again as Clay began to explain his reasons once again.
“Why is irrelevant to this discussion because the fact remains you didn't want to help her,” Abigail told him flatly. “That's your decision to make, so fine. But I was not going to leave my friend in the hands of animals like that, so I went to try and help her.”
“And got caught,” Clay's voice was flat.
“Yes, because unlike you I didn't know what I was doing or getting into,” Abigail was ready for that one. “That was on me for thinking it would be simple or that a bunch of thugs in town wouldn't be smart enough to have guards up. I'm not trained for that shit so I fucked up. And that's on me and no one else. I've never, not one time, blamed anyone for that but me.”
“Your actions got a good-” Clay tried again but Abigail wasn't having it.
“Good man killed,” she cut him off once more. “Yes, I know. Only my actions didn't really get him killed, did they?” her voice was frigid. “I didn't ask you to help me. Didn't ask Mister Barnes either. You refused to help my friend so there was no one for me to ask for help. I could either try and get my friend back or leave her there! Don't try to tell me that if your best friend was a prisoner somewhere you wouldn't try to get them back!”
“Only you fucked up and got caught!” Clay almost snarled. “And we had to come after you!”
“No, you didn't,” Abigail's voice was flat now. Cold. “You could have left me. You said yourself you wished you had. I wish you had too,” she spat out. “I'd probably be dead by now or worse, but at least I wouldn't have to put up with your stupid bullshit, and Mister Barnes would still be alive. But I didn't ask for your help or his. I didn't ask anyone for help for that matter. I went alone to try and get my friend fully prepared to accept the consequences for myself if I failed or worse.”
“Your dad-”
“That's between you and him,” Abigail once more cut Clay's
statement off. “I'm sick of hearing about it. I didn't ask his help either. I asked you to help Sam because you were the one who could get it done, and you flat out refused. And that was your choice. Fine. I shouldn't have expected you to help her since it would be a problem for you with your girlfriend, but I didn't think about that at the time. I only thought about my best friend for life being in bad trouble. No, I didn't think about what could happen, what could go wrong, or anything else like that. I thought I could handle anything I ran into. Stupid I know, but I wasn't really thinking about anything but getting Sam out of there. So, I tried to do it myself and got hammered. First by them and then by you! But like I said, can you honestly tell me if the situation had been reversed that you wouldn't have done the same thing? Would you have left a friend or comrade in enemy hands?”
“I think she's got you,” Juarez said gently into the abrupt silence. He was seeing Abigail Sanders in a new light suddenly. He still wasn't sure he liked her, but he was starting to understand a lot more about why her attitude had been so bad since the incident.
“She hasn't got shit,” Clay muttered, fury seeping into his words. “And Bear is still dead and it's her fault.”
“Not really,” Juarez kept his voice soft. Clay's head whipped around to look at his second.
“What?”
“We weren't supposed to go, remember?” Juarez reminded him. “It was Bear's idea for us to support you. Wasn't for that we would have waited here. We didn't go because of her. We went because of you, and because Bear was going. We all volunteered. Nate about had a fit that he had to stay behind.”
“That doesn't change the fact-” Clay was shaking his head.
“The fact is that we had the option to leave her, and we didn't take it,” Juarez butted in gently. “Once we all decided to go, whatever happened after that was on us. And I have to admit, we were all having fun until Bear got it. And that includes Bear if I recall right.”
Clay shut his mouth, still fuming but unable to counter his friend's argument. Finally, he stalked away, rigid with anger.
