Siege Fall (Siege of New Hampshire Book 2)

by Mic Roland

  “Did he follow you?” Martin asked.

  “I was worried about that too, but no. He turned and went the other way. I found a dirt driveway lined with spruce trees and turned in to stop. It took a good half an hour before my night vision returned enough to drive without lights again. It might have been a good time to catch a few winks, but my heart was pounding too fast for sleep.”

  “When the first hints of dawn started, it was a ton easier to see. I could go faster than a walk. By 5:30, I was up to posted speeds. Even when it was light out, we saw almost no one on the roads.”

  “I was glad to get out from under that towel too,” said Judy. “I tried getting something on the radio, since I didn’t have to navigate anymore, but I couldn’t get anything: no music, no news. I couldn’t get anything on the radio up at the cottage either. I would have happily listened to Swiss yodeling, just to hear something, but there wasn’t anything but static.”

  “I’ve picked up a little news on our radio, now and then,” said Martin. “But the house has always been in a bit of a dead zone.”

  “Have you heard what it is yet?” asked Dustin. “I mean, it’s kinda like Jericho or Walking Dead, but without zombies.”

  “Nothing for certain. I’ve heard plenty of theories, but the bottom line is that random big pieces of the power grid all failed around the same time Monday morning. It’s all across the country, and apparently around the world.”

  “Wow,” whispered Dustin. “So it’s not like a rogue nuke EMP thing, or even a coronal mass ejection.”

  “I guess not,” said Martin. “We can try listening to the radio tonight and see if there’s any news. But, that’s after you’ve had some rest.”

  “Yes.” Margaret stood up. “I’ll get some sheets and pillows and make up the hide-a-bed down in the family room.” She quickly retrieved a stack of sheets and a blanket — all neatly folded in thirds — and led Judy downstairs.

  “We’ll unload the car while you two tend the bedding.” Martin and Dustin headed towards the door.

  “Can I help too?” Susan followed them. “I want to help do something.”

  It took several trips to unload the Subaru, even with three people. The clothes and personals went downstairs. The boxes of food were stacked on the kitchen floor. Margaret insisted on inventorying and putting away the food herself.

  Martin leaned on the back deck railing, looking down at the woodpiles, the shed and the road beyond the trees.

  Susan stepped out the back door, but stood a safe distance away. “She doesn’t want me helping put the food away. Isn’t there something useful I could be doing?”

  “Well, I was just sizing up a task that needs doing, but it’ll be a lot of work.”

  “That’s okay. Country people aren’t afraid of hard work,” she said brightly.

  Martin looked at her. “Country people?”

  “Yes. I decided that I am no longer a helpless city person. From now on, I am a sturdy country person.”

  Martin suppressed a chuckle. “You just decided, huh? Okay, ‘sturdy country person’, do you see that woodpile back there? The far one behind the line of the others?” Susan nodded. “Now do you see the empty pallet over here?” She nodded again. “The task is to move all the wood that’s stacked on that back pallet, to this empty one.”

  “Um. This sounds like busy-work. I want to be useful, not just busy.”

  “No. This is important work. I was about to do it myself. I noticed that that one pallet of wood back there can’t be seen very well from any window of the house. It would be pretty easy for somebody to park up the hill, walk down behind the shed and load up their arms with wood — all without being seen. Remember what Dustin was saying about surprising that guy stealing firewood? Don’t want that to be us.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “You’ll find a pair of leather gloves in the bench by the door. Country people wear leather work gloves.” He winked.

  “Pfft. I knew that.” She smiled and turned to get the gloves.

  Relieved of firewood handling, Martin set himself to clearing out the scrub and brambles behind the shed. He cut down several small hemlock trees near the road that blocked the view. While he was thinking of visibility, he walked slowly around the house, taking out saplings and bushes that blocked the view from the house. The scrubby oak and beech would hang onto their leaves all winter. There were still unavoidable blind spots, like behind the chicken coop or the garden shed, but now, even the approaches to those blind spots would be exposed.

  He stood on the deck and surveyed his progress. The property looked a bit naked after the trimming, but he could see a few dozen yards further into the woods than before. It would certainly not qualify as a military position’s kill zone, but it was better than it was before.

  He stomped the mud off his boots before going inside. Margaret sat at the dining room table with her books and papers. “She’s almost halfway done moving the pallet of wood,” he said as he sat down. Martin thought it best to avoid calling Susan by name. “She is trying to be a worker.”

  Margaret only responded with a hmmm.

  “Dustin and Judy still sleeping?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what are you calculating now?” he asked.

  Margaret pushed the pad of paper away and rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been re-figuring our food supply after adding in what Dustin and Judy brought.”

  “That seemed like a lot, but how much was it really?

  “Not as much as we might have liked,” she said with a sigh. “Dustin has always been fond of pasta, as you recall, and never been one for vegetables. He’s always had a sweet tooth too.”

  “From your tone, I’m guessing his supplies didn’t add much to our timeline.”

  “Not really. Figuring five mouths now, they brought enough carbs to keep us even. We’ll still run out sometime in mid-January. When it comes to proteins, however, we lost ground. We’ll run out of those a bit after Thanksgiving.”

  —

  At supper, all five were seated at the dining room table. A kerosene lamp sat in the center. Beside the lamp sat a big pot. Margaret took the cover off.

  “Rice and beans?” Dustin said.

  “Spanish rice and beans,” said Margaret. “With some of my own salsa, a little broccoli and canned corn.”

  “Oh.” Dustin tried to conceal his disappointment, but was not successful enough to fool a mother’s ear.

  “What?” Margaret asked.

  “I mean, Spanish rice and beans is good too…It’s just that every time I came down to visit before, you’d make spaghetti or that hamburger-cabbage hot dish, or…”

  “One of your other favorite dishes?” Martin finished his sentence.

  “Yeah…I guess.”

  “Well,” said Margaret as she scooped a serving onto his plate, “We’re going to have to get used to simple meals and probably smaller portions from now on.”

  “But we just brought down a whole bunch of food.”

  Margaret gave Martin a look he knew well. It was his job to deliver hard news, not hers.

  “And you did real good,” said Martin. “Excellent thinking to bring supplies with you.” He almost added instead of showing up with nothing, but realized that was what Susan did, so cut his sentence short. He still felt protective of her feelings.

  “But…” Dustin knew his father’s tones to recognize when there was more.

  “But it’s not as much as it might seem. Since this outage is pretty much all over, there probably won’t be food in grocery stores again for a long time. Maybe months. This might be all there is.”

  “So the sooner we start conserving,” added Margaret. “The longer it will last.”

  The rest of the meal was spent in silence, except for the scrape of spoons on plates.

  Chapter 4: Ruby Arrives

  The half hour was up. Martin stepped out onto the deck and shut off the little generator. It rumbled down to a stop, but had been loud enough to leave an
echo in Martin’s ears. Trouble was, the echo didn’t fade away. It was another motor. A motorcycle was coming over the rise and down their road. Martin felt for the small revolver in his pocket, mostly to reassure himself that he had it with him. He took a few steps down the hill to get a better look at whoever it was driving by.

  A big maroon Harley rolled into view, it’s big throaty engine mostly idling. As it turned into his driveway, he could see that it was pulling a trailer. The big man riding the Harley got off and pulled off his helmet.

  “Pastor John?” Martin said, both surprised and relieved.

  “Hey there, Martin. Fine morning, for the Lord’s Day, eh?”

  “Yes it is, but what brings you way out here, and more importantly, what’s that?” Martin pointed to the homemade trailer. “A Harley with a trailer? There’s got to be something in the Bible prohibiting that.”

  Pastor John laughed. “You might be thinking of Second Corinthians 6: ‘be ye not unequally yoked,’ but I’m pretty sure He didn’t mean Harleys and trailers.”

  Martin laughed. “That’s good, but seriously: a trailer? And it’s made of plywood!”

  “Yeah, well, the bike was a better way to make my pastoral rounds than in my truck. Better 50 miles per gallon than 15. But, not a lot of cargo capacity to the bike, so, my father-in-law got to thinking. You know how he is. ‘Ain’t nothing can’t be done with some plywood and drywall screws.’ Pastor John mimicked his father-in-law’s Canadian accent. “That and Kenny’s old bike donated the wheels.”

  “Pretty sure that isn’t road legal, but I suppose no one’s too fussy these days. But what did you need cargo space for?” Martin peered under the canvas cover bungeed in place.

  “Pastor John!” Margaret called from the front steps. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I was kinda getting to that. Since the power’s been out all over, pretty much everyone in the church as been homebound. I’ve been going around to see how everyone is and whether you needed anything, etc.” He flung back the canvas cover.

  “I’ve been picking up some extras that some people have and letting others take what they needed. Canned goods, water, stuff like that: kind of a care package on wheels. How are you folks getting by out here?”

  “We’re doing good,” said Martin. Margaret gave him a furrowed brow look. “Well, pretty good.”

  Margaret rummaged through the plywood box, but quickly seized a small loaf of bread. “Is this one of Connie’s loaves?” she asked with a hint of Christmas morning in her voice.

  “It is,” said John. “I just came from their place. She just got done baking a batch, so put one in.”

  “Oh, this is so cool,” she said, clutching the loaf to her chest. “I just love her sourdough. I’ll go get some things to add to your supply.” She turned and rushed up the front walk.

  “How are Connie and Rick getting on?” Martin asked. “We got a few calls from people on the land line until it finally gave out, but no word from Connie.”

  “They’re doing okay, kinda like you and Margaret. Rick’s a little worried about the Indian Lakes area, though. People have been coming out of Manchester and setting up camps in the woods around the lakes. He’s had to chase off a few that came around begging or trying to take stuff. He keeps his 12 gauge with him all the time now. Have you guys had any trouble like that?” John dropped his voice. “Need any ammo or anything?”

  “No, I think we’re good there,” said Martin. “Thanks, though. Actually we’ve not seen any beggars. Could be our road is too out of the way. Still, we try to be ready.” He pressed on his coat pocket to make the revolver print.

  Margaret came out with a half dozen items in her arms. “Here’s a box of pasta, a couple of jars of my tomato sauce, some jam and some of my green beans. Who are you going to visit next?”

  John cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Actually, I did come to ask you guys something else. I’m…um…going to visit Ruby next. I was at her place yesterday. A lot of the residents in her assisted living building are gone. The manager seems to be gone too. Heat’s out and I’m worried she won’t make it in there alone like that. So, I was wondering if you guys would…you know…take her in?”

  Margaret’s smile faded. Her shoulders dropped too. Her look reflected how Martin felt inside. Another person consuming what supplies they had. Christian duty clashed with self-preservation instinct.

  Martin’s conscience reminded him of his previous inner arguments for allowing Susan to stay with them. It would not take any more lamp oil to have Ruby there. It would not take any more fire wood, either. How were Susan and Ruby any different?

  On a purely rational level, they should be the same, but they were not. He came within hailing distance of admitting that Susan might be more than just another surprise houseguest, but his mind veered off of that admission. Practical objections were a handy refuge. Ruby would not be able to help around the house. If anything, she would become a maintenance chore herself instead of helping with chores. Ruby also tended to be emotionally draining in longer exposure. Yes, he quickly decided. That was the difference.

  “I know, at times, she can be a little…but she likes you guys. You give her rides to church every Sunday and to doctor appointments. I know she isn’t family, but you’re the closest thing she has to family.” John held a salesman’s smile while he looked back and forth from Martin to Margaret, hoping for a ‘yes’ look.

  Driving Ruby to church was a charity-by-default, since no one else in the congregation drove past her building. Martin was sometimes amused by her repeated stories about her childhood in Maine. He knew them so well, he could repeat them with Ruby. She was like a story iPod set to Shuffle. Margaret was less amused, having spent more time with Ruby at doctors’ offices or helping her around her apartment. That is when she sometimes turned cranky.

  Margaret heaved a big sigh. “Sure, we’d be happy to take her in.” Martin could hear the hollow sincerity in her word ‘happy.’ Margaret took her duty to Christian charity seriously, but sometimes the joy part was elusive.

  “Great, great!” John looked visibly relieved. “I’ll bring her around in maybe an hour.” He secured the canvas cover and mounted his bike. “I really appreciate this guys.”

  “Make sure to bring all the food in her cupboards and fridge with her,” said Margaret. “We’ll need anything we can get if we’re adding another mouth to feed.”

  “Will do,” said John. The big Harley roared to life and made a wide circle turning around to accommodate the trailer.

  “An hour?” Margaret said. She hurried into the house.

  “We’re getting another guest,” Margaret told Susan. “I want her to have Lindsey’s room, so you’ll have to move your things into Dustin’s old room.”

  “Um. Okay. There’s not much to move,” said Susan. She followed Margaret to the corner bedroom and began pulling her clothes out of the closet. Margaret pulled all the bedding off the bed with one mighty double-armed scoop. Martin tidied up the desk in the smaller bedroom, putting away his gun cleaning mess and open books.

  “A new guest?” Susan asked him.

  “Yes, Ruby: an older lady from church. Pastor John is going to bring her around in an hour. She’s always been kind of alone, but the way things are, she couldn’t stay by herself. I think Margaret wanted her to have Lindsey’s room since it’s bigger. Ruby’s not too good at mobility. Dustin’s old room is probably too cramped for her.”

  “That’s okay. I kinda like the bookshelves and desk in here. It has sort of a library feel to it.”

  “Heh, yeah. Since Dustin’s been on his own and married, his room morphed into the semi-office…with a twin bed.”

  —

  “I hear them coming,” shouted Martin from the front walk. “Are you ready?”

  “No,” came the reply from within the house.

  Martin chuckled and said to himself, “Well, they’re coming anyhow.”

  Pastor John pulled in, with Ruby ri
ding behind him. Wearing his helmet, she looked like a white polyester bobble-head. Martin stepped over to help John get Ruby dismounted.

  “That was the most fun I’ve had in years,” Ruby said. “We were going so fast!”

  “40,” said John out of the side of his mouth.

  “I’ve always wanted to ride on a motorcycle ever since I was a little girl in Maine.”

  Martin sensed the mailman-on-motorcycle story coming on, but standing in the cold driveway was not a good time for it. “Where’s your things, Ruby. I’ll carry them inside for you.