Gretta hunched her shoulders, thinking. “Maybe that’s not the right thing to do.”
“How’s that, Mom?”
“Maybe you should tell her. I don’t mean tell her everything, but you know, give her some idea why things have changed. You can’t hide it from her forever. She’s eventually going to know. We’ve got no car. No electricity. No running water. We’re scared to go into town. You don’t think she’s noticed any of this already? No, she’s noticed, and she wonders. I think you need to tell her enough so she won’t worry even more. If you don’t, trust me, Caelyn, her imagination is going to kick into gear. And a six year old’s imagination can come up with some pretty scary things all by itself.”
Caelyn thought before she answered. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t want to worry her. There’s no reason to make things any worse.”
“Caelyn, she already knows that something’s very wrong. You need to give her some information, even if just a little. Assure her, yes, we all need to do that, but you’ve got to explain to her that the world has changed.”
Caelyn put her hand out toward the garbage can, exposing her palm to its heat, letting her fingers drift through the smoke that was seeping from the under the heavy lid. “She’ll be OK, Mom.”
“She’ll be OK? Caelyn, are you kidding? What is there about this situation that makes you think any of us are going to be OK?”
Caelyn dropped her eyes, feeling the burden of responsibility once again. “It’ll be OK, Mom. You’ll see. There’s help out there. We aren’t in this alone.”
Gretta stared at her daughter. “I love you, honey, you know I do. I love you more than anything I have left in this world. But you’ve got to understand something. I’ve been alone for almost my entire life. Yes, I’ve had your father, but you know the situation there. He’s loyal and dear, and I love him through and through. If there is any justice in this world—and maybe in the end there isn’t—but if there is, he will die and go to heaven without having to stop at the gates of Saint Peter. He’s that good of a man. But that aside, I’ve been alive long enough to know you’ve got to take care of yourself. And that’s truer now than it’s ever been. We can’t count on anyone to help us. We are alone now.”
Caelyn nodded slowly but didn’t say anything.
Gretta checked the temperature on the garbage can, started to say something more, then cocked her head and listened. “You hear that?” she asked.
Caelyn turned toward the road, catching an occasional sound drifting and fading with the wind.
“Something’s coming,” her mother said anxiously, turning toward the house. Walking across the grass and onto the porch, she told her husband, “Come inside with me, OK?”
Caelyn faced the road and squinted. Her back to the house, she heard the screen door behind her open and then shut. She stepped toward the road. A large, green farm tractor, the raised exhaust pipe belching black smoke, pulled a small wagon down the road. Two young men steadied themselves near the front end of the wagon. The tractor driver was hidden inside the tinted cab.
Caelyn lifted her hand to protect her eyes against the sun. The tractor lumbered closer. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
THIRTEEN
It was a worn-out John Deere, old, layered with dust and tinted with rust spots on the metal fenders that wobbled over the back tires. The glass cab reflected the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun as the tractor turned into the driveway that led toward the detached garage on the back of the house. Caelyn glanced toward the wagon. Two young men balanced themselves beside old cardboard boxes stacked three high. Caelyn tensed as they approached. She didn’t know these men. Somewhere behind her, she heard her mother calling, “Ellie, come on in here.” The urgency in her grandmother’s voice left no room for the little girl to argue, and almost immediately Caelyn heard Ellie’s light footsteps across the porch. Caelyn kept her eyes on the strangers, her shoulders square. The tractor moved toward her and stopped. The driver cut the engine, the cab door popped open, and a white-haired man dropped from the tractor to the ground.
“How you doing?” he called out. He stood beside his tractor, pulling leather gloves from his hands. Caelyn studied him quickly. Weathered face. Dark, drooping eyes. Old Wranglers™. A checkered shirt. Obviously a man who’d spent his whole life on the farm. She answered cautiously, “Doing good. How are you?”
The old man shrugged, then nodded around him. “Been better, I guess. Figure we all have.”
The two young men—she could see now that they were no more than teenagers—moved to the front of the wagon and seated themselves, their legs hanging over the edge. They didn’t say anything. She quickly took them in. Short hair. Clean faces. Old work clothes. Neighbor farmers? Probably. She started to relax.
The older man took a step toward her and frowned. “You alone?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder to the old farmhouse behind.
She immediately grew tense again. “My mom and dad are in the house,” she answered quickly, her voice hard.
He looked toward the house. “Are you sure?” he pressed.
Caelyn’s eyes grew angry. “Of course I’m sure.”
“You’re Caelyn, right?”
She hesitated. “Maybe. Who are you?”
The old man turned away from the house and focused on her.
She knew she had to be careful but, as she looked into his soft face and friendly eyes, she relaxed again. She had a sensitive spirit. It was one of her gifts—she could sense a person’s goodness before that person said anything—and looking at him, she knew instantly that she need not fear this man.
The stranger took a step toward her. “I’m Walter Simpson.” He extended his hand. “You probably don’t remember me. You and your husband were out here a couple summers ago. I used to be the pastor. We met once or twice at church.”
Caelyn froze, too stunned to move. “Yes, I remember, Mr. Simpson. Of course,” she said, her voice cracking. She moved toward him and they shook hands. She stood back, her face radiating relief, then started bouncing up and down. “Of course! Of course! I remember you. I am so glad to see you. Thank you, thank you, for coming by.” She bounced again, embraced him, then quickly pulled back again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m so glad to see you!” She embraced him one more time.
Simpson smiled at the happy greeting, then wiped a leathery hand across his brow. “These are a couple of my grandkids, Josh and Boyd.” The teenagers waved and muttered “hey” but didn’t get up from the trailer. In fact, they hardly seemed to move. She studied them. Taking in the weary shoulders and hanging heads, she realized they weren’t being rude or disinterested—they were just exhausted. And maybe a little scared.
“They’re good kids,” Simpson said, seeming to read her mind. “Usually they’re more outgoing, but we’ve been up since nearly four o’clock this morning and I’ve run ‘em pretty hard. But they’re young, right men,” he looked back over his shoulder, speaking to his grandsons now, “and tough as nails. A hard day’s work isn’t going to kill ‘em.”
“Sure, Grandpa,” the oldest one said, though the tone of his voice made it pretty clear he wasn’t sure.
Simpson turned back to Caelyn and studied her. Blonde hair down to the top of her collar. Deep blue eyes. Small frame. Long neck and slender fingers. He frowned and looked around, thinking of the neighbors and others who lived along this road. Dangerous to be so pretty in this unpredictable new world.
She bounced again, not seeing the concern on his face. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her smile so radiant he finally couldn’t help but smile back.
Simpson adjusted his worn-out White Sox baseball cap. “We’ve been going around the county, checking on a couple of folks. Thought I’d, you know . . . ” he hesitated, looking off at the horizon.
“You knew that I was out here?”
“Not really. I just . . . .” Again, his voice trailed off.
Caelyn watched him, waiting for
more explanation. Simpson was quiet, seeming lost in thought. Caelyn smiled faintly, then nodded to the house. “My mom and dad are inside.”
Simpson glanced across the grass. “I don’t know your parents very well. Met your mom a couple of times. She can be a real rascal.” He laughed. “She’s probably got a deer rifle aimed at my chest right now.”
Caelyn’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t think so. A potato shooter, maybe. Far as I know, my parents have never owned a gun. They came here from California, remember. Not much of a gun culture out there.”
Caelyn’s mother stepped out onto the porch.
“Do you know my dad?” Caelyn asked.
“No, not really. I live five or six miles down the road, then up toward the highway, so our paths have crossed from time to time, but that’s about all. Your parents haven’t ever visited church though, am I right?”
“My husband and I attend the church whenever we come home to see my parents, but I’m afraid that isn’t very often and they never come with us to church. Not much interest, I’m afraid. Maybe someday. We keep on trying.”
“Understand. We keep on trying. Sometimes that’s all we can do.” Simpson stepped to his side and waved to Caelyn’s mom. Gretta hesitated a moment, then stepped off the porch and walked toward them.
“Hey there,” he said when she approached. “Walter Simpson.” He extended his hand. “We’ve met a couple times, but it’s been a long time.”
Her mother stopped in front of him and shook his hand. “Sure, Walter, I remember. What brings you out here?” Caelyn sensed the edge in her mother’s voice.
“Just out checking up on people, you know, seeing if everything’s OK.”
“You live . . . ?”
“On the other side of Edmondson.”
“Kind of a long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, not too far, I guess. Of course, we’re not checking on everyone between here and my place. Just a few friends and such. I was about finished and ready to head back home when—” he paused. “It occurred to me that Caelyn might be out here visiting her parents. Thought I’d come out and see if everything’s OK.”
Caelyn watched her mother closely. Gretta didn’t relax at all. Always too suspicious. Not unfriendly, just overly careful. It was the way she’d always been.
Simpson saw the reservation on her face. “So, you’re doing OK?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”
Gretta squared her shoulders a bit too proudly.
Simpson saw it and grinned again. “No, Gretta, we’re not out inviting people to come to church and get saved, though,” he nodded toward the small town of Edmondson off to his right, “there’s plenty of that going on at some of the town churches, from what I understand. But anyway, like I said, we’re just out checking up on everyone.”
Gretta shook her head. “We’re doing fine. Thanks for asking, Walter, but there’s nothing we need here.”
There was the sound of footsteps crossing the wooden porch and Caelyn turned around. Her father had walked out of the kitchen and was standing near the screen door, holding it open. Ellie ran out of the kitchen, jumped off the porch, and fell onto the soft grass, then pushed herself up and ran toward her mom, grabbing her by the knees. Simpson knelt down to look at her. “Holy cow, what a little cutie!” He looked up at her mom. “The spitting image of you. People must tell you that all the time.”
Caelyn smiled proudly, patting her daughter gently on the head. “Thank you,” she said, pulling Ellie close.
Simpson glanced back toward his grandsons.
“How’d you get your tractor working?” Gretta asked.
“Mostly because it’s so old. Not much as far as electrical wiring and fancy stuff for the EMP to burn out. All the new tractors, heck, they’ve got more wiring and computers than the space shuttle, I think. But these old things, they’re pretty simple. Easier to keep them chugging along.”
Gretta nodded toward the road. “I haven’t seen any tractors or other farm machinery up or down the road. None of ours is working and we’ve got some old stuff, too.”
Simpson shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s kind of a long story.” He glanced at Caelyn as if somehow he expected her to help him explain.
“A long story?” Gretta said. “I think we’ve got time to hear it, Walter.”
The older man shifted from one leather boot to the other. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
Caelyn’s mom kept her eyes on him, waiting.
“OK, I guess it’s not so hard to accept if you’ve a mind to. A couple weeks ago I was into the Farm Supply in Edmondson getting some sheer bolts for the plow when,” he paused, reached down, pulled a long blade of grass from the ground, and put it in his mouth, holding it between his teeth, “when I heard a voice,” he continued. “‘Pick up parts to rebuild the wiring on the old John Deere tractor,’” it said.
“At first, I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to come back again. ‘Pick up parts to rebuild the wiring on the old John Deere tractor.’
“Kind of weird, huh, hearing voices when I’m out shopping for farm parts. But there it was. I figure, who am I to argue? So I bought some electrical parts. Turns out I got everything I needed to get Bertha running after the EMP attack. None of the secondary electronics on the tractor work—the wiring for the lights and stuff has been fried and I had to wire the battery directly to the starter—but, as you can see, I got the old girl running.”
Caelyn watched him, a new understanding in her eyes.
Gretta’s face was disbelieving. “You heard a voice?” she asked.
“Kind of,” Simpson answered sheepishly.
“Really? It helped you with your shopping list?”
Simpson kept his eyes on her, a friendly smile pasted on his face. “God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He, Gretta?”
She started to answer but Caelyn quickly interrupted. “Mr. Simpson, are you telling us that even when something’s been destroyed by the EMP, it can be fixed?”
“Certainly. If you have the parts. But that’s the problem, of course, no one has the parts. Not near enough to go around. How much of our farm equipment will we have replacement parts to fix? I don’t know. Not too much, I guess. Maybe a dozen or two tractors in the county. Two dozen out of two or three hundred. That’s not enough to make much of a difference, I suspect.”
“But if we can get the parts, we can rebuild things? And replacement parts can be made, is that right?”
Simpson sucked the piece of grass. “Yeah, but think of this. All the factories are down. No electricity anywhere. Most of these kinds of things are made overseas anyway. Now, that might be good news or bad news, depending on how this works out, I guess. Will the Chinese or whoever sell us the things we need right now? How will we get it shipped here? How long will it take? Can we ever get enough? We’re left without any transportation systems. No computers. No banking systems. No communications to coordinate the effort.” He spit out the chewed piece of grass, a tiny speck of green sticking to his lower lip. “So yeah, Caelyn, I think we’re going to be able to rebuild, it’s not like the entire country’s been destroyed by a nuclear bomb, but it’s going to take some time. A couple months to get started. Half a year to make a difference. Maybe a full year, maybe more.”
Gretta shook her head and muttered, then looked toward the quickly setting sun. Shadows had grown long now, stretching dark and thin across the deep green grass, and the house cast a dark outline almost to the fence along the backyard. “A month is too long,” she whispered in desperation. “A couple of months is hopeless. A whole year? Don’t make me laugh. None of us are going to make it, not if we have to get by on our own for that long.” She turned to Walter. “Don’t you think the government is going to step in and, I don’t know, do something?”
The old farmer hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know, Gretta. I’m no prophet and no civil servant, so take everything I tell you with a great big ol’ grain of salt, but I think the government
is pretty much like you and me, completely overwhelmed. I just hope they can keep control of the people, keep some sense of law and order . . .” his voice trailed off. “Do you have a radio?” he asked.
“No. At least not one that’s working.”
“You hear about things out in California? L.A. and San Francisco?”
“We haven’t heard anything,” Caelyn answered, brushing her hand through Ellie’s thin blonde hair.
Simpson glanced down at the little girl, who was looking up at him, her eyes wide, listening to every word. “Maybe we can talk about that later. Just know it’s kind of a mess out there. Like I was saying, I only hope the government can keep a lid on things. Keep things a little bit under control.”
“Surely they’ve got some plan, some kind of program for such a time as this?” Gretta’s voice was angry now.
“Are you aware of any government programs that could take care of everyone within the U.S., or even part of us? I wish there were. Water, of course, is a huge problem and the most urgent need for most people, and it’s going to take every resource the government has just to provide the most basic water service. Even with that, I think pretty much everyone’s going to eventually end up drinking from the rivers and the lakes. After that, I just don’t know, but it’s my opinion that the government isn’t going to step in and help us. They just aren’t prepared. It’s too big a job.”
Gretta kept her eyes on the dropping sun. The sky was turning red now, a deep, fierce, unnatural glow. “So you’re telling me we’ve got to make it for a year on our own.”
“Who knows? Maybe it won’t be that long. It’s too late in the fall now to plant anything, but we can plant again in spring. Everyone can grow a garden—”
“But that’s next year. We’re not even talking spring, you’re talking about harvesting in fall!”
Simpson shrugged, his face pained.
“I don’t have a year’s supply of food, that’s for sure.”
Simpson and Caelyn glanced at each other. A moment of silence followed. The little girl hanging on her mother’s knees looked up with blue eyes, then motioned toward the tree swing. “Can I, Mom?” she said. Caelyn nodded toward it and the little girl ran off, her cotton skirt rippling behind her in the breeze. Caelyn watched her go, then turned back to Simpson.
Wolves in the Night: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Seven Page 10
