“Jason, what are your totals?” I asked. I had a pretty good idea, but this would also drive home a point about conservation and about what we had.
“The two metal cans with chick feed are near empty, and there are three bags each of feed and scratch.”
“Excellent! They’re using only one fifty pound sack per month of each. Three more months will take us to spring when they can start to forage again. What else?”
“It looks like there’s six gallons of Bars-oil, and six large bottles of gas mix for the chainsaws. But,” he hesitated, looking a bit sheepish, “one drum of gas is really low, maybe fifteen gallons left. The other drum is still full.”
“We’re not too far off. I think we all realize we will have to be real stingy on the gas, unless some miracle happens that we can replenish the supply. Let’s not count on it though. John, please share with Jason what we added up.”
“I still don’t know how or why you stocked like you did, but I’m certainly not going to complain,” he said. “Other than having at least four more months of wood for the stove, we have thirty rolls of paper towels, nine filters for the water filter on the washing machine, and seventy-four rolls of toilet paper.” He chuckled, and then read the rest of the list.
I added, “Please remember, everything we’re inventorying here might never be replaced. Ever. These are all disposable stocks.” I looked at these two men in my life appreciatively. “It’s been almost three months. I think we’re doing really good. Especially since I had no idea how many of us there would be.” I smiled at both of them, lingering on John. I think he actually blushed.
“Next is the food,” I went on. “We’re in really good shape there. So I think we should celebrate. What would you like for dinner tonight?”
Without hesitation, they both said, “Lasagna!” and we all had a good laugh.
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: January 31
Jason spent some time over at Don’s today. My brother and his wife really prefer to be left alone, so I’m not surprised that we haven’t seen much of them. I’m still glad Jason went for a visit. I took Jacob for a sled ride, and gave John some needed alone time.
The short road I live on is a half mile loop, with both ends connecting to County Road 695. With very little traffic, I’ve found it a very safe place to walk. With Jacob sitting happily in the sled, I walked near the main road, though not up to it. I wanted to stay out of sight from any possible traffic.
Towing a nine year old up slopes was hard work. Still, our walk lasted almost an hour as we stopped to listen to the birds, or for me to catch my breath. We had a pleasant time together, but I was glad to get back to the warmth of the stove.
* * *
“Nancy was really excited about what she’s going to plant this spring in their spot over here,” Jason said when we got back home from his visit across the road.
“Here, as in my garden? They haven’t even asked me if they can use that space again. I need that area this year!” I exclaimed.
“Mom, you can’t hurt their feelings. They’re not only neighbors, they’re family,” Jason admonished me.
“Aren’t I their family and neighbor? What about my feelings?” I was stunned at my son’s attitude. “They’ve never even said thank you for the three years I’ve allowed them that 12x12 patch. For three years I’ve sacrificed what and how much I want to plant so they could have something, and all this time the only thing she plants at their place are flowers. Considering the events of the past couple of months, they need to adjust their priorities, and I need to plant more food!” I declared.
I’m tired of being used.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Friday was the third of the food bank days. Only twelve days since we started, and already things are bare and running low. I try to remind myself that a healthy portion went to the Stone Soup Kitchen and they are feeding most of the people. Nobody is starving. The first box of food that was forced on me I took to the Soup Kitchen. The second box I left with a grateful Bob and Kathy. This next box I decided to divide between my two neighbors, neither of which I’d seen come in to the food bank. It was a good excuse to check on them.
John and I donned our snowshoes and loaded the sled with a box filled with half of the supplies, then set out for Doreen’s house to the north. There were no tracks—vehicle, human, or animal— on the long, sloped driveway. No smoke rose from the chimney. No sounds or movement could be heard or seen whatsoever. When we got near the raised wooden porch I called out. Somehow knowing there would be no answer, I remembered the only other time I’d been here. A few years back Tufts had gone missing for three days, and I was frantically combing the neighborhood for him. I admired and envied the large wraparound redwood deck that had a view of both the woods and the wooded drive that crossed our mutual creek, but my arrival had been less than welcomed. I called out a second time. We waited a little longer and there was still no answer, no movement, no sounds.
“What now?” John asked, catching his breath from the strenuous hike up the hill.
“I think we should try David and Jane on the other side,” I suggested. “From the looks of it, Doreen must have left here early on, but I know David has a generator and wood heat. Chances are good they’re still here.”
My house sits on ten acres, Doreen’s is on twenty acres to the north, and David’s is on twenty acres to the south. The distance between my two bordering neighbors isn’t that great, and it was slow going on snowshoes. The plow has been by regularly, clearing only the road, not the driveways, and snowshoes are a necessity. When we walked past our house it struck me how… lived in it looked. The drive was cleared of snow, there was smoke curling out of the stove pipe chimney, and there was evidence of Jacob’s snow angels everywhere.
Yes, it looked lived in… and happy.
David’s drive wasn’t steep like Doreen’s, but it was just as long. I could see a heat signature waving around the smoke stack, and then heard a dog barking inside.
“David! It’s me, Allexa, from next door,” I called out knowing he had his shotgun already pointed at us.
“What do you want?” he asked with a muffled voice from behind the closed door.
“We’ve only come to check on you and Jane. I brought some supplies from town. Do you need any food?”
“Leave it there and go,” he demanded.
“No, David, I won’t do that. We’ve been neighbors for eight years. You should know by now that I would do you no harm. I just want to talk to both of you for a few minutes, that’s all.” When I heard a chain scraping against the door, I asked, “May we come closer?”
“Are you armed?” he asked.
“Of course we are, David, you know better than that,” I replied. “You still have nothing to worry about from us.”
He didn’t move and didn’t answer. “Do you want this food or not? I can take it back to the food bank if you don’t, and we won’t bother you and Jane again.”
We kept our hands visible, and soon he lowered the shotgun. We walked closer and stopped fifteen feet from the house. The smell kept me from going any further. Unwashed bodies, cigarette smoke, wet dog, dog crap and dog piss.
“Stay here,” I whispered to John as I reached for the box. It was light, but full. I took a deep breath and ventured a few more steps to set the box down. When I stood, I noticed the antenna tower behind the house.
“David, do you have a ham radio?”
“Yeah, but it don’t work. No gas for the generator. It needs electricity to power up.”
“I could get you some gas, if you would let us listen to some real news.”
Jane stepped up behind her husband. She looked awful. I could see how thin she was even through all of the layers of clothes that she wore to stay warm. Her hair was matted and dirty and her movement sent a fresh waft of eye-watering smells my way.
“Gas just to listen?” David asked warily.
“How long have you been without the generator? What else d
oes it run?”
“It runs everything, especially the well,” Jane said. “We ran out of gas around Christmas. Siphoned some from the car, but there wasn’t much there.”
“You’ve had no water for the past six weeks?” I asked, astounded. “Why didn’t you ask for help, David? We’re right next door!”
“Why would you help us? Besides, we got along. We melted snow,” he answered, “Though it does take a long time and it’s a lot of work.”
“Don’t I know it,” John muttered.
“Because we’re neighbors, that’s why! You got an empty gas can? I’ll get you some gas and another box of food from the pantry. We’ll talk about the radio when we come back.” I tossed the empty can he handed me into the sled and we left.
When we were up on the road and out of earshot, John said, “I don’t know if I can go in that house. The smell…”
“I know, but I’ve got a plan.”
* * *
Back home, I took the other box of supplies that we had split and added hand soap, shampoo and deodorant from my own supplies.
“If we give it to them this way, they won’t know that it didn’t come from the pantry,” I said in answer to John’s questioning look. “Will you run into town and fill that gas can?” I found my wallet with the extra gas ration tickets, pulled out two that were printed with “two gallons” and signed it. “Four gallons for now and more if this works out.”
John smiled. He says so much when he says nothing. It tells me he trusts what I’m doing. I don’t know if he realizes how much that means to me.
* * *
Two hours later we reloaded the sled with the gas and the other box. Although we didn’t really need our snow shoes for walking the road, we wore them anyway. David’s drive was covered with several feet of snow. He won’t be driving out until after meltdown.
When we approached the house, I called out again. David opened the door immediately, and again we were assaulted by the rank odor.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be back,” he said.
“Well, we had to get the gas from Fram’s. There’s only four gallons here because gas is rationed.” I set the can in the snow, and then picked up the box. “Here’s more food and supplies. Since it looks like you won’t be driving out for a while, I can get your share when I pick up mine, if you want me to do that for you.”
“That would be great,” he said hesitantly. “You want me to fire up the ham now?”
“No,” I told him. “Why don’t you use the gennie to pump water? I’m sure that you and Jane would love to have a hot shower, get cleaned up, have something to eat and run the vacuum. We’ll come back tomorrow.” We turned to leave and I glanced back. “Oh, and David? You’re welcome. Neighbors do help each other.”
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: February 7
I waited until the afternoon to go next door to give David and Jane more time to clean things up. Armed with surgical masks sprayed with a touch of perfume, John and I made the trek through the snow to go next door.
When I called out our arrival, it was a different person that answered the door, so it seemed. David was shaved, showered and had on clean clothes. He smiled when he opened the door, though it faded quickly.
* * *
“Come on in, you won’t believe what I’ve been hearing on the ham,” David said, opening the door wide. We put on our masks and went inside. I had never been in their home before. A small mud room blocked the main entrance from the weather, and led into the living room, which held the woodstove, a now silent flat screen TV, a couch with a floral sheet pulled over it, various end tables, and the ham radio set up in a corner. Off to the left was the small kitchen, made smaller by the battered table and two mismatched chairs. A hallway was along the outside wall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. A pile of dishes was still soaking in the crowded sink, otherwise the countertops were clear and clean.
Jane emerged from one of the back rooms and saw our masks on. There in front of me stood the woman I remembered. Her shoulder length chestnut brown hair was clean and brushed, and barely sweeping the dark pink sweater she wore. Her weight loss was more obvious with how the clean jeans hung on her hips. She no longer had the matted hair and vacant eyed look.
“What’s with the masks?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure what we would find in here. When I got close yesterday, it smelled pretty bad. It’s not my intention to offend you, but we all do what we gotta do, ya know? Besides, you probably don’t know about the flu epidemic in Moose Creek. We just don’t want to take any chances.”
“I know it was a mess in here. I’ve been cleaning all day. It was impossible to wash anything without water, and what little we melted we had to use for drinking.”
“I was listening to the radio some last night and again this morning,” David said in a serious voice. “There’s a gang on ATVs working their way up 695, heading this way.”
“Was there any word on where they are now?” I asked in alarm. It’s a long road between here and Marquette, over thirty miles.
“They were last seen at Ravens Perch.”
Ravens Perch was a long bypass off of 695, several miles away. There were some nice homes and some older homes, and there were at least fifty and that would keep a gang occupied for a few days. There was very little between Ravens Perch and Moose Creek, only a small settlement of a dozen houses called Midway. The gang was close.
“David, this is valuable news. I need to get this information to Ken and Karen. Maybe we can set up roadblocks or something.” My mind was reeling. If the gang was heading to Moose Creek, we here were first and on their way.
“Ken and Karen?” he questioned. “I thought they were retired.”
“Once all this started, they were pulled out of retirement by Sheriff Lacey. Law enforcement just doesn’t exist up here, you know that. They’ve been doing a good job and we’re lucky to have them.” I turned to John. “You can stay and see what else you can find out. I have to get to town and warn them.”
“I’ll go with you, and we can come back later,” he said, not wanting to stay. David and Jane were strangers to him.
“That okay with you, David?”
“Sure.”
“Keep listening and write down anything that you think we should know,” I reminded him.
Our first stop was Ken and Karen’s house; they weren’t there. I wasn’t hopeful about the township offices since it was so late in the day, so we tried Anna’s place. George said that she was at the office.
When we arrived at the township building, Anna, Ken and Karen were all there. I wasn’t the least shy about interrupting their huddled conversation.
“Have you heard yet about the gang coming this way?”
“We found out a few minutes ago,” Anna answered. “We really need to get you a radio or some way that we can reach you.”
“How did you find out?” Karen asked.
“David Myers’ ham radio. The latest word was the gang is at Ravens Perch,” I said. “Have you thought of anything yet to stop them?”
“We were looking at the maps to see where the best place for a blockade would be,” Ken said.
“I would suggest Big Guppy Creek. It’s swampy on both sides. A load of timber would seal it off,” I said. When he raised his eyebrows at me, I said, “Hey, it’s my job to think the worst case scenario. The Little Guppy is too close to where they are now and we need as much time as possible. Next we need to seal off 150 at the Hairpin, though that will depend on if it’s been kept open. The snow is our best barricade if not, but that’s secondary. The Big Guppy is our best hope of stopping them.” I tapped my finger on the map. “We need a logging truck, already full would be ideal. Who’s left in town?”
“I’ll go talk to Danny Greenwald. Danny always has a few hundred logs stacked nearby,” Ken replied.
“You look troubled, Allexa,” Anna said when she sat down across from me.
“If we can’t stop them, they’ll b
e heading for Moose Creek, pillaging everything in their way. My plowed road is like a neon sign,” I stated. “Is there any chance of getting reinforcements from Marquette?”
Anna scowled. “We tried that first, with no luck. In fact, it was Lacey who called to warn us. That was less than an hour ago.”
“It’s time that we organize our own militia.”
It troubled me that the county sheriff waited to tell us about this threat.
“I agree. I think we certainly have enough guns in this town,” Anna chuckled. “But do we have enough ammo?”
“Our shooters will just have to make every round count.”
I mentally calculated what I had for our weapons, thankful that I had stocked up before the government controls went into effect. I hoped others had done the same. The government knew that they couldn’t take our guns, so they took the ammo instead.
“Why would Sheriff Lacey warn us then not help us? That’s confusing to me,” Anna said, resting her chin in one hand.
“Anna, they want everyone in Marquette. They don’t want us rogue communities functioning, that’s why our power was shut off. It’s a matter of control. Control the power, the food, the gas, everything, and you can control the people.”
She stared at me in disbelief.
“Have you had any communication with other officials?” asked. She nodded.
“I’m going to bet that in spite of the surface helpfulness, they really haven’t done anything.”
She nodded again.
“I’ll venture that they suggested that everyone should come to Marquette, where they will be taken care of. Of course, don’t forget to bring any food that you have and all of your guns.”
The Journal: Cracked Earth Page 22
