by J. R. Tate
“Might as well give it a try,” Ryan replied, taking a step back to catch his breath. “Where did the covers come from? Is someone going to be without blankets tonight? Looks like it’s going to be pretty cold. I think this is the official unofficial start to winter, if you catch my drift.”
“Off of my cot and a couple of other guy’s cots. It’ll be fine. We’ve got a couple of propane heaters we can kick on. At least the wind chill won’t be so bad down in the cellar.”
Ryan nodded and weaved in and out of the rows, double checking what wasn’t covered to make sure they hadn’t left things that were ready to pick behind. There was a large bucket full of the cotton bolls that they could hopefully work off of. He wasn’t sure if there was anyone in the group that would know how to sew or work with it but there was always a time to learn. They had saved the skin from the boars he had killed – if anything, they could try to concoct something out of those things. It wouldn’t be big enough for a large blanket but they could make hats, gloves, or other winter type protection.
Hoisting the buckets, Ryan carried four down, dangling the handles over his arms as he went. Steve rolled a wheelbarrow toward the cellar they had deemed their storage for garden pickings and animals they had hunted. Stacking everything in the far corner, Ryan inventoried everything in front of him, trying not to feel discouraged at the forced harvest.
It was quite a bit of food but the burning question was if it would last them through the winter. There was no way to know the answer to that. Even if they had a massive surplus there was no way to know. The weather was far too unpredictable to be able to gauge when the cold snap would end. The normal span of winter in their area was usually December until almost the end of February, sometimes into mid-March. Even before Mother Nature had gone completely crazy, they never knew what to expect when it came to length of winter or how drastic it would be.
“Do you think it’ll get warm again before it is all said and done?” Steve asked, both men staring at the unorganized pile of wood.
“I wish I knew,” Ryan replied. “Guess it’s best to prepare for the worst. Which means this isn’t going to get us halfway through. We’re going to run out.”
“Maybe the plants will survive and give us a little more.”
Ryan glanced at Steve and back to their stockpile, a sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach as if he had just swallowed a brick. All of their hard work in rushing to get the crops planted was quickly smashed by the evilness happening overhead. He could still hear the sleet falling, bouncing against the metal door of the cellar.
“We’re gonna have to hunt more often. If it snows, we can store it in the ice. If not, we can take our chances like we’ve been doing with the pork we have. We should probably get to the salt lake soon. There were plans to harvest salt out of it but I don’t think anyone ever went that way,” Ryan said, spouting off orders to whoever would listen.
He still wondered how in the hell he had gotten into a position where they were listening to him. He was just as green as they were when it came to prepping and surviving. This was like a survival reality show, only there were no cameras and people behind the scenes to bail them out when the going got tough.
Hunting meant using ammunition, which brought up the question about making their own. Ryan knew how to do it – he did it often back when he actually had supplies in his garage. That was also when he had gunpowder, shells, and plenty to work with.
“How much ammunition do we have, Steve? Ballpark figure.”
“Depends on which gun you’re wanting to use.”
“Shotguns, rifles, things we can hunt with.”
“I think we are in good shape with those. The only shots we’ve had to take were when you killed those pigs and when...” Steve stopped himself and looked away, dodging eye contact with Ryan.
“When I killed Doug’s brother and the man with rabies.” Ryan finished his sentence, lowering his voice. He hadn’t thought about those deaths in a while and the subject made the imaginary brick he had swallowed just minutes before even heavier in his stomach.
“It sure is helpful that a lot of people around here used their basements and cellars as their gun cabinets. If it wasn’t for that, we’d only have the bullets the guns were loaded with before the tornadoes hit.”
Ryan shook his head and agreed, forcing a smile. “Almost seems too convenient.” With the lingering threat of the looters still circling Harper Springs, they had to save what they could in the means of weapons and protection. He’d have to go as far as rationing even that, which meant whoever went hunting would have to have bull’s eye aim. They couldn’t afford to waste a single bullet, just like they couldn’t afford to let a single piece of fruit or vegetable go to waste.
Taking the stairs back up to ground-level, Ryan’s first observation was that the sleet had transitioned to heavy snow. The wind had died down but the air was still very cold, making him shiver due to lack of warm clothing. He took a second to admire it – it was a blessing and a curse all in one.
Heading back to the main shelter, Ryan joined his family that was awake and eating. Cecilia greeted him with a smile and hugged him and Ty followed suit, clutching his leg.
“Daddy, is it really snowing?”
“It is. Lots of it.” Ryan tried to act like everything was okay but Cecilia stood back, the look on her face proving that she was onto him. Her brow creased and her smile quickly faded.
Ryan followed her away from Ty, his father, and Margaret and Cecilia wiped a couple of snowflakes from his shoulder. Neither spoke at first – Ryan wasn’t sure what to say and Cecilia was likely waiting for him to break the silence.
“Do you know how to can vegetables without a pressure cooker?” he asked, getting to the point. She was definitely mad about something but he didn’t have time for marriage drama.
“I need a pot with water in it and a way to boil it. It’s not as safe as if I had a pressure cooker, though.”
“Not as safe? What do you mean?”
“Boiling it won’t get it hot enough to possibly kill botulism. A pressure cooker gets hot enough. But doing a boiling water bath will seal the jars and keep it fresher than just letting it sit to rot.”
“So there is a chance that we could get botulism if we can everything?” Ryan asked, the discouragement growing.
“Yeah, a little, but what other choice do we have? Has anyone found a pressure cooker? How many vegetables and fruit are we talking about?”
“Not as much as I hoped we would get, but enough that will go bad if we don’t do something about it.”
Cecilia folded her arms over her chest and took a deep breath, glancing past Ryan at other people as they talked about the weather change.
“We can take our chances with the boiling water bath. It’d be a shame if it all went bad if we didn’t do something. When we cook the vegetables we’ll just have to make sure we do it thoroughly. That’ll help tremendously. We can also put a little salt in them to help with acidity. That’s important when it comes to killing off any food-borne illnesses.”
“Good,” Ryan replied, putting his hands on her shoulders, kissing her forehead. “We have those jars we found at your parent’s cellar – that should be enough, but if not, there is another box somewhere around here. We can get started on that as soon as the snow tapers off some… if the snow tapers off some,” Ryan said, correcting himself. He was good at predicting tornadoes and droughts but winter weather was a whole new ball game he wasn’t the best at.
“Happy to help, Ryan.” Cecilia smiled. “And when we have a moment, we’re going to talk about what’s on your mind. Something is bugging you. I can tell.”
Ryan didn’t respond to her observation. He had never been able to hide anything from her, and his concern about what Mike Rayburn was up to was no exception. He had to be careful what he disclosed to people, including his wife. He trusted her completely but until he got it all figured out, he’d have to keep it concealed. There was too mu
ch risk involved off of what if’s and speculation.
Chapter Eleven
Cecilia kept a close eye on Ryan for most of the morning. She felt like a stalker, watching him without his knowledge and attempting to not be so obvious to others. It was a challenge with them all cramped up around each other in the shelter. The snow continued to fall and with no real winter clothing, Ryan’s hands were tied when it came to going out and getting some work done.
The storm shelter was a little cold but the body temperature of everyone inside helped keep it from getting too miserable. The biggest issue was everyone getting cabin fever. It was times like this that Cecilia loved putting something in the slow cooker or whipping up a beef roast. The thought of snuggling on the couch with a good book or movie made her mood crash downward. Instead, she looked around – kids were getting cranky, parents were annoyed, and Ryan couldn’t sit still.
She watched him pace back and forth, following the perimeter of the small box they were all trapped in. Someone would talk to him and he’d nod, pass by, and keep walking. It wasn’t just the weather and not getting any work done that was making Ryan act that way. She had known him for years – something was bugging him. One thing she had learned was the way to approach it with him. Sometimes his defenses were up and sometimes he’d vent away. There was no real process to tell what kind of mood he would be in.
Taking him a cup of coffee, Cecilia handed it to him and tried to corner him. To her surprise, he stopped without much effort on her part and took a long sip from the cup. She waited a few seconds, aware of his delicate mood and his frustration. It had been so long since she had seen a genuine smile on his face.
“Everything okay, Ryan?”
He nodded and finished the coffee, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’re wasting time just sitting around here.”
“What do you suggest we do? If you go out there you’re going to get frostbite.”
“So, we just sit on our asses through the whole winter? We can’t let things get behind. We’ve got vegetables to can and...”
Cecilia put her index finger over his lips to quiet him down. Leaning in, she replaced her lips where her finger was and gently kissed him, hoping the seductive route might help her edge when it came to getting him to talk.
“You’ve been working non-stop for days, Ryan. When are you gonna tell me what else is going on in that head of yours?”
Ryan’s eyes darted around the room and stopped when his gaze met hers. Leaning back against the wall, he heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Cecilia was right in her assumption – it went well beyond his worry of staying busy. It was something bigger than she could imagine and she pondered if she even wanted to know. Sometimes ignorance was bliss but this involved her husband. She had to know – if anything, to keep him out of harm’s way as best as she could.
“I...” Ryan trailed off, looking around the room again. “I can’t really talk about it here.”
“Why?”
“Too many people around.”
Cecilia took his hand and kissed the back of it. “That bad, huh?”
“I’m not really sure yet.”
Cecilia arched her eyebrow and laughed, though she didn’t mean to. “Listen to yourself, Ryan. If you’re not sure, then why are you letting whatever it is drive you so crazy?”
“I can’t explain it.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “Have you seen Mike?”
“Mike who?”
“Mike Rayburn.” His tone was filled with annoyance and Cecilia legitimately didn’t know who Mike was until Ryan said his last name.
“What happened to calling him Chief?”
Ryan’s brow furrowed and his mouth set in a hard line. Evidently, this had become a sore spot with him.
“He’s not a Chief anymore. We’re all on an even playing field now. Have you seen him?”
“No. Not since yesterday before we all went to bed. Why?”
Ryan shrugged. “No particular reason. I was just curious.”
Cecilia took a few steps back. It wasn’t solid evidence but whatever was bugging Ryan had to do with Chief Rayburn… correction, Mike Rayburn. She’d have to pry it out of him later. If she kept pushing for information, his shortened fuse would make him explode and the last thing she wanted to do was cause a scene in front of everyone.
“I’m sorry. I really can’t talk about it right now but trust me. You’ll be the first one I tell once I can completely figure it all out.”
Ryan walked away from her, and had she had a response to it, he didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. She rejoined Ty and her mother, the two of them playing with a toy that Ty had somehow concocted out of some string and some sticks from a tree.
“Can I play?” Sitting beside Ty, she pulled him in for a hug and kissed the top of his head. It was the side where his arm had gotten amputated and it was still odd to not feel his arm hug her back. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the adjustment. She wished she could be as resilient as he was about everything.
“There’s one extra action figure right there.” Ty pointed at the other literal stick figure. “I’m the good guy, Grandma is the bad guy.”
“Well, what does that make me then?” Cecilia picked it up and pretended to make it walk toward them.
“Do you want to be good or bad?” Ty’s eyes were bright with excitement. If only they could all be so easily entertained. Cecilia was certain it’d wear off soon and he’d want to go outside.
“I’ll be a good guy with you. Sound good?”
“Yep!”
Cecilia kept one eye on Ryan and one eye on her adventures with Ty. It felt as if they were dealing with a good guy, bad guy situation at that very moment in real life, and it didn’t involve the looters they had already encountered. Unfortunately, her husband was somehow stuck in the very middle of it all. Ryan wasn’t a miracle worker – Cecilia wished he knew that.
~~
Ryan couldn’t sit around and wait on the weather. Mike Rayburn hadn’t been spotted since the sleet and snow had hit and he worried about what he could possibly be up to. They kept the storage cellar locked but it wasn’t as secure as he’d have liked it to be – if there was no one watching, a person could break into it if they wanted it bad enough. And apparently, the looters wanted it, because the danger of them attacking Harper Springs was still relevant. Even if they had moved on to another town, they’d be back – the looting group knew that their little town had a lot to offer and even if it wasn’t food or supplies they were after, they’d be back for revenge.
Ryan sifted through his bag of clothes. Over the course of his travels between his house and town, as well as to Fox Lake and back, he had gathered clothing off of people and out of basements and cellars. Many of the things he had obtained were in various sizes, some too big for him, some smaller, and if he worked it just right, he would be able to layer things to help keep him warm when he went back up to ground level.
He ducked Cecilia’s stare. It was no mystery that she was against him going outside but he had to go – if anything, to make sure their storage was okay. He could also get to work on canning some of the vegetables. It was new to him and he’d make sure to not do them all in case he messed them up. Sitting idle was making him crazy and he also wanted to see if he could spot anyone scoping out the town.
“Where are you going?” Steve grabbed his arm as Ryan approached the stairs, stopping him in his tracks.
“Just gonna go up and check on a few things. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“Need any help?”
“You’ll freeze up there. We don’t have any winter clothing to keep you warm enough.”
Steve arched his eyebrow, looked up at the door, and back to Ryan. “I can layer clothes like you have. I’m sure someone down here can spare me a few things.”
Ryan wasn’t in the mood to put up a fight and he also didn’t want to seem suspicious in not wanting anyone to go with him. Truthfully, he wanted to be alone, but
having Steve with him would at least help if he did get himself in an unexpected bind. He also toyed with telling Steve what his worries were. Cecilia knew some and even that was more than Ryan wanted to give away at the moment. His suspicions were in their early stages and could be nothing at all. The last thing he wanted was everyone running around like crazy, pointing fingers and making everyone turn against each other. There was no way Harper Springs would survive if that happened.
On second thought, Ryan decided to try and keep Steve from going. After his hesitation on letting his real plan be known, he said, “I’d prefer you stay here and make sure everyone stays safe. I seriously won’t be long. I just want to make sure the storage cellar is secure and see what I can gather up to get the canning going. I also want to assess how much snow has fallen and see if I can get a hold on what the atmosphere might be doing.”
“Okay, Ryan. I can stay here and make sure things don’t get out of hand here. Though I’m sure most of the men down here can hold their own.”
“Watch my family for me, okay? They trust you and you’ve done a great job so far.” Ryan winked and forced a smile, hoping to ease the tension some. The more he pushed back, the more Steve dug his heels in and Ryan didn’t want to waste any more time. Going halfway up the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder. “I appreciate your help, Steve.”
“You got it, buddy. We’ll be waiting for you to get back.”
Ryan ignored him and went up, the instant chill from the wind nipping at him instantly. Even the layers of clothing he had put on weren’t enough to stand up against the bitter cold that swept through the area.
His boots crunched through the snow and he estimated that there were at least eight inches on the ground so far. Flakes continued to fall from the sky in heavy bands, making the visibility just a few feet in front of him. The clouds were thick and though it was mid-morning, it appeared to be almost nighttime.
Ryan hugged his midsection in an attempt to keep warm and hurried toward the storage cellar, trying to be quick as he pushed through the howling wind. The temperature was probably in the low teens and with the wind chill, there was no doubt that it was below zero. If he didn’t hurry, he’d get frostbite. His face and ears were exposed and those were the areas that were the most vulnerable. The last thing he needed was losing a body part due to the harsh winter winds.
