Well, this definitely worked as a stockpile. The fences had even been plastered every 20 feet with warning signs about Zolos contamination, obviously freshly put up in preparation for Nick unloading infected supplies here.
He rolled down the window as Darrel guided him towards the first unit. “Find anything?” the surly man called, as if half expecting that he'd spent the day goofing off.
He pushed down his irritation. “Filled the truck,” he called back. “All sorts of great stuff you'll find nothing to complain about.”
Darrel grunted. “Sounds like a challenge.”
Actually, it was sarcasm. You seem like the sort who could complain about anything. No sense antagonizing the man even further by actually saying it, though.
Even so, Darrel must've seen some of what he was thinking in his expression, because his expression darkened. “Listen, Statton,” he growled, “it's obvious you don't like me. Most people don't, and to be honest I don't much like most people, either.”
The man took an almost threatening step towards the truck, which was made a bit less impressive by the paranoid distance he was keeping from it. “But I want to make one thing very clear . . . I love my town, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect it and make sure it gets through this crisis.” He took another step forward, eyes narrowed. “If you're going to help with that, you and me will have no problems, no matter how much we don't like each other. But if you threaten my town, even accidentally, we're going to have a real problem.”
It was hard to think of a good answer to that, but before he could Darrel stepped sharply to one side and once again pointed at the first unit, continuing briskly. “Mark the units you load today with a 1. They'll be our first stockpile, to be decontaminated and unloaded in 21 days.” He motioned vaguely. “Tomorrow's load will be stockpile 2, and so on.”
Nick pulled the truck forward to where he could easily unload it into the unit. “What are you going to do about the fact that I might get this area contaminated with Zolos on each trip?” he asked as he turned off the engine and opened the door to hop down.
He saw Darrel grimace through his faceplate. “Head back to the roadblock once you're done here. You can park the truck at the Norsons each night.” The man waved at the storage complex again. “Once you're gone, we'll spray down the area you were working in with water mixed with bleach. As you work your way through the complex you won't be going near the places you've already been, so they should be safe to unload once the 21 days are done.”
That made sense, he supposed. Especially since he'd be working inside the hazmat suit as an added precaution. “You probably want to hear what I found, huh?”
“So we know what we're waiting so eagerly to get our hands on in three weeks?” Darrel said wryly. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a pack of permanent markers, tossing them onto the hood of the truck from twenty feet away. “Just write on the outside of each unit what's inside. Doesn't have to be too detailed, just a quick rundown.”
Nick couldn't help but notice that the man was saying a lot of “you” about the task ahead. “You're not going to help me unload, are you?”
Darrel visibly recoiled and stepped back, holding up his hands. “Sorry, I'm taking my life in my hands just coming this close. I'm going to go spray down now . . . don't hang around once you're done, just head straight back out. We'll make sure you have fuel for your trip tomorrow.”
Well, that certainly didn't make him feel like some sort of leper. “I'm going to hold back some of the supplies I scavenge for my family and the Norsons.”
The surly man's eyes narrowed. “Oh you are, are you? What makes you think that's okay?”
“Because I'm busting my hump doing this job, and I want to make sure my efforts will help my loved ones.” Nick held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Not much, just enough to make sure we can survive the next few months until things calm down. The vast majority will go to the stockpile.”
“You and the Norsons can come get your share along with everyone else,” Darrel growled.
“Then have fun unloading this truck, and you're welcome to come grab what I take for my family and friends,” Nick said. “Also good luck finding someone else to go scavenge in a town wiped out by Zolos in the future.”
The man gave him a hard stare for several seconds, then seemed to give up. “Make sure it's reasonable,” he snapped. “You're doing this to aid the town, not personally enrich yourself with things taken from our fallen neighbors.”
You don't have to tell me that. Nick was already conflicted enough about the job. “I know, which is why I'm doing it in the first place,” he said sharply. “And why I won't take any more than strictly needed.”
Darrel sighed. “Good enough, I guess. Fair pay for honest work.”
That sounded slightly sarcastic, but maybe that was just Nick's imagination.
He got to work as the other man beat a hasty retreat. As he'd expected, the job of unloading went far more quickly than loading. Although that didn't make it any less exhausting, especially after working hard since early morning.
The work was made even more stressful because Tallie, who'd been resting most of the day, was wide awake and bored and finally out of patience for sitting in the cab. Nick eventually gave in to her complaints and carried her outside, propping her against the outside wall of the unit in her nest of blankets. That way she could watch as he worked, and they could spend some time talking whenever he could spare the breath.
Which was less often than he would've liked; on top of already being exhausted, the suit restricted his movements and was so stifling he sometimes felt like he was suffocating as he panted hard enough to fog the faceplate. Just wearing it was a chore, to say nothing of doing heavy manual labor in it.
Although looking on the bright side of things, it was nice to hear his daughter's chatter as he steadily emptied the truck.
She'd always been able to talk nonstop about everything that came to mind, for as long as anyone was willing to listen, and his brief replies every now and then were enough to keep her going. When she did expect a response, it was mostly to ask what he was carrying and why it was useful.
Nick mostly used his breaks catching his breath to answer her questions, plopped down bonelessly on the pavement beside her with his back against the storage unit, every muscle rubbery and burning with overuse. She spent the time resting with her head on his knee, looking up at him as she asked about tents, and backpacks, and flashlights, and crossbows, and all the other stuff he was moving into the storage space.
He would've loved to sit there for a half hour at a time resting, ideally eating some food to give him more energy. But aside from one hasty meal he shared with Tallie when the unloading was half done, he resolved to wait until they got back to the Norsons' house to see if they'd saved anything for them.
The sun was a couple hours from setting by the time he finally closed the truck's rolling door and wearily went to gather up Tallie, carrying her back to the cab. She seemed to have forgotten her earlier boredom and impatience with this adventure, and was now excited to get home so she could brag to Ricky about everything she'd seen.
The roadblock let Nick through without a hitch, and in no time at all he was pulling up to the Norsons' house, circling around to park next to his car near the shed.
The sound of the truck rumbling up drew Ricky out of his tent, as well as everyone in the house out to the porch. Ricky and Billy both jumped up and down excitedly, while Gen waved with a wide smile. In contrast to the others, the Norsons both watched Nick park with grim expressions.
“How'd it go?” Gen called as Nick went around to grab Tallie and set her down on her lawn chair under the picnic umbrella, so she could enjoy the warm late afternoon air and be around the rest of them for visiting.
He hesitated. “Found lots of stuff,” he finally answered. “Still have some doubts about where it came from, but there's plenty of supplies out there to help Stanberry.”
&nbs
p; “You aren't the only one,” Bruce said. He'd made it clear yesterday that he didn't like the idea of scavenging, at least in neighboring towns. Then he relented slightly. “But it's good that you found plenty of stuff out there . . . our food isn't limitless, either, and if you can bring some back for us that'll make a huge difference.”
“Actually, I already did,” Nick said, moving around to open up the back so he could show them the stuff he'd left out. Some of it he'd grabbed to make his and Tallie's stay in the shed more comfortable, like one of the propane stoves, but the rest he planned to use to start a personal stockpile that the group at the Norsons' house could share.
Bruce edged around to where he could see the truck's contents, then nodded in approval. “Camping food should last as long as we'd ever need, and if for some reason we have to evacuate it'll be ideal for taking with us.”
That had been Nick's own reasoning. But although the man approved of the items themselves, the big question was where to put them.
After some discussion they settled on a similar method to Darrel's for each day's haul, using the basement for storage. Nick would put the supplies he scavenged first closest to the inner stair leading into the house, then work his consecutive days' stockpiles steadily closer to the outside door.
Hopefully that would mean he wouldn't need to go anywhere near the first stockpiles after he put them in place, giving them time to go through the 21 days. Although he couldn't do anything about air flow in the basement, which might end up keeping everything contaminated for as long as he was working down there, even using a hazmat suit.
Which was why the second part of the plan was to take a larger portion of the truckloads for the first several days to quickly fill out their personal stockpile, which he would then thoroughly decontaminate. Then he wouldn't go anywhere near the basement for a full four weeks, just to be safe. After that the family could cautiously begin using the supplies closest to the stairs.
Bruce made his way back into the house, duct taping around the inside basement door to prevent any airflow. Once he gave the all clear, Nick dragged himself back into action moving the last items of the day.
Compared to what he'd already done it was a laughably small amount, and most of the camping food was light and portable. Even so, he felt dead on his feet by the time he finally finished arranging the pile by the basement stairs and trudged back outside.
He hauled his exhausted body back to the moving truck one last time to strip off the hazmat suit, turning it inside out to let it air out. Then, after locking up and pocketing the keys, he unofficially called it a day and headed back to the shed.
There he was confronted by a pleasant surprise and a tantrum.
The surprise came in the form of Gen bringing out a plate loaded with a venison steak and cooked greens, as well as a cup of pureed greens for Tallie. Bruce had traded for the venison from a hunter friend and grilled it up a few hours ago, and while the meat had cooled and dried a bit since then, Nick could tell it was well seasoned and perfectly cooked.
The tantrum came from his son; apparently while Nick had been unloading the truck, Tallie had been telling her brother about the delicious snacks they'd found that she'd been eating all day.
“Why does Tallie get to eat all the awesome stuff treats you brought back, but I don't?” Ricky whined while glaring at his sister, who sat smugly sipping her pureed greens as Nick held the cup. The eight-year-old folded his arms sullenly. “I'm sick of eating the yucky stuff Gen brings me.”
“I thought you loved their food,” Nick protested. “Weren't you super excited about the macaroni and cheese?”
“I was the first time they gave it to us, not the tenth,” his son muttered.
He bit back a sigh; even with the world ending, kids were still kids. “Well I'm sorry, but you can't have any of what I scavenged yet. I collected this food from a place that's been hit hard by Zolos. Any of it might have the virus on it, at least until we've cleaned it and let it sit for three weeks to make sure it's safe. Until then these treats could kill anyone who hasn't survived being sick, like your sister and me.”
Ricky stomped back over to his tent and flung himself down on the grass beside it, folding his arms. “I wish I could just get sick already so I wouldn't have to worry about stupid Zolos anymore.”
“No you don't!” Nick found himself screaming at his son, making Gen and his two children all jump and stare at him with wide eyes. He knew his reaction was overblown, but the very idea terrified him.
If Ricky exposed himself to the virus on purpose hoping to become immune . . .
The boy had frozen like a deer in the headlights. Nick calmed his tone, but walked right up to the edge of the boundary around the shed, staring at his son with his sternest expression. “Listen to me very carefully, Richard Berthold Statton,” he said. “Your sister and I were unbelievably lucky we survived being exposed to Zolos. We should both be dead. If you get exposed to it, it will probably kill you.”
“But-” his son whined.
He raised his voice slightly. “Son, you will not do anything that could put you in contact with the virus. Tallie can still barely move from being sick, and we don't know how long it will take for her to fully recover, if she ever does. And she was lucky. It's better to eat yucky food for a few weeks than to take that risk. Do you understand?”
Ricky nodded sullenly.
Nick made his tone firm and raised his voice even more. “I need to hear it, Ricky. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” his son snapped. Without waiting for more scolding he turned and crawled into his tent.
Nick turned to Tallie, only then noticing that his daughter was staring at him with huge eyes. “I might not get better, Daddy?” she whispered tremulously.
Son of a . . . he hurried over and knelt beside her, putting a hand on her knee. “I was just saying that to scare your brother so he wouldn't do something stupid,” he said quickly. “You're getting better every day, aren't you?” She nodded uncertainly. “Don't worry, soon you'll be running and playing with your brother and Billy like none of this ever happened.”
“Okay.” His daughter made a face. “This smoothie tastes like grass and leaves.”
Nick frowned. “Have you eaten grass and leaves?”
Her guilty look was absolutely priceless. “Um . . .”
Gen laughed. “It probably tastes like that because it's made with weeds,” she said cheerfully. “We made it with dandelion and purslane and pigweed and other edible plants that grow wild around here.” She injected some mock sternness into her tone. “Although your dad's right, you shouldn't eat strange plants unless we tell you they're safe.”
Nick didn't know much about eating wild plants, so he'd have to take her word for it with the ones she'd mentioned; he didn't even know what purslane or pigweed were.
Anyway, he was glad the family was doing their best to be self-sufficient with foraging. “How was Ricky today?” he asked as he finished feeding Tallie her pureed greens and made his way to the boundary to settle down with his plate of food.
His friend sat cross-legged on the grass a safe distance away. “Bored,” she replied, watching with obvious satisfaction as he tore into the venison steak with genuine sounds of enjoyment. “And disappointed about being left behind. But he's trooping along, putting up with all this about as patiently as you could hope for.”
That was good to hear. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him while I was gone.” He paused. “And for, well, everything.”
Gen's eyes softened. “I'm glad you got things sorted out with the Mayor and the town's volunteer patrol so you don't have to leave. You belong here.”
Nick paused taking a bite, reading something unexpected in her sincere tone. Something that made his heart beat a bit faster. He wanted to reply in kind, but pragmatically he couldn't escape the fact that he was a Zolos carrier who was going out scavenging in an infected town.
He wouldn't be able to so much as hold her hand for weeks
, and that would be after he was finally allowed to stop scavenging. Which was anyone's guess how far away. Trying to have any sort of romantic relationship while twenty feet apart would be awkward and ludicrous.
Which didn't mean it didn't have its appeal, whatever the complications. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I feel the same way.”
His friend beamed at him, and their conversation turned to other things as he finished eating, then settled down with her to watch the stars come out.
Chapter Twelve
Small Victories
Ellie woke to find it was still dark out, her troubled and restless thoughts finally dragging her out of fitful slumber.
Unable to get back to sleep, she felt her way into the front room and slipped into Hal's bed to cuddle with him for what little time was available before they had to get up and get going. For his part he made a sleepy noise of surprise, then wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close before apparently going back to sleep, his soft snores once again filling the tent.
Even the comfort of her boyfriend's embrace couldn't completely calm her down, partly because a lot of what was troubling her was her inability to comfort him.
He'd tried to hide it all day yesterday, but she knew him well enough to see just how bothered he was by the news about LA. He was obviously fretting about his dad, but there was no way to reassure him until they actually had definitive word about what was going on in the quarantine camp.
All Ellie could do was be there for him and offer him her support, but it just didn't feel like enough. As someone who'd made an entire career out of solving problems, not being able to do anything about this one, the one she wanted most to solve, really troubled her.
She'd pestered Cathy for news every few hours until the motherly woman literally shooed her away, then gathered up all the information she'd been able to glean and spent every free minute pouring over it, hoping to catch something that might hint at Ned's fate. She knew it was probably pointless, that there were just too many people in the LA camp and she was searching for a needle in a haystack, but it was better than doing nothing.
Isolation (Book 2): Going Out Page 22
