by John Grit
“Just for that, you can shovel the cow crap out of the barn.”
“I do that every day anyway.”
“And put a rope on her and put her in the pasture so she can walk around some. She’s been in that stall too long.”
“Must be nice to have a slave.” Brian’s tone made it obvious he was joking.
Nate folded the ladder and followed him into the barn. “Maybe if you get everything done, including your laundry, we will have time to go down to the river and catch some fish.”
Brian’s face lit up. “Fish is better than shoe leather hog.”
Three hours later, Brian came out of the house, holding two fishing rods and a tackle box. He was able to get his clothes clean with water warmed on the wood stove. He hung them on a line behind the house.
Nate pumped more water with the hand pump for dishwashing after dinner. When finished, he picked up the bucket and saw Brian standing on the porch with the rods and a tackle box in his hands. “Hold your horses while I get my rifle and lock up. You need your coat too. It’ll be colder by the time we get back.” He took the bucket to the kitchen and set it down in front of the sink.
Brian leaned the rods against a wall and headed inside to his bedroom and grabbed his military surplus coat out of the closet. When he came out, he was also wearing the boonie hat his father gave him.
They walked down to the river. Nate was alert for any sign of people. It was not the egg thief he was worried about. His thoughts were on the fact they were exposed as they went about their daily routine of farm chores and trying to survive. It was impossible to maintain security and do the things necessary to keep from starving. Brian, he noticed, became more at ease with each week that passed since those two men came to kill them. This was both good and bad. Good for his psychological well-being and bad for his safety. He too, had become less diligent. But, goddamn it, he could not keep Brian locked in the house the next two or three years. Would it be that long? Or would it be even longer? He had no idea how long it would be before civilization pulled itself up out of the mud and came back to life. Until then, there would be no law and no justice but the bullet that comes out of your gun barrel.
Nate went the long way, skirting the field just inside the tree line, the way deer do, except at night when they feel saver. Brian noticed, and he knew Brian noticed. A boy his age shouldn’t have to worry about dying, about men coming to kill him.
Brian caught the first bass. “It looks like about three pounds. Not too big to taste good. But I like smaller blues better.”
Nate reeled his lure in. “Who doesn’t like blues better? If you want small catfish, take that Rapala off and bait a hook with a piece of that pork and sink it in the deep hole by that log. It’s been cold. But you might wake up a cat with that greasy meat.”
“Okay. I’d rather have catfish than bass.”
Glad to see Brian enjoying himself, Nate put his rifle by Brian on the log he was sitting on as he tied a hook and sinker on his line. “Keep this handy. It’s loaded with the safety on. I’ll be around the bend about thirty yards where that old snag churns the water up. I’ve caught a few bass there many a time. See anyone, grab that rifle and run for me.”
“No one’s coming out here.” Brian tied a hook on while he talked. “Just about everyone is dead by now.”
“I doubt that everyone’s dead. We’ll listen to the radio tonight, might learn something about what’s going on in the world.”
“Great. It’s better than reading the same old books and outdoor magazines over and over.” Brian looked up at his father, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Admit it: You want to catch bass for fun. And here I am fishing for food. You’re just a big little boy.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll eat the bass and you can have the catfish. But I haven’t seen you bring one in yet. So far it looks like bass for supper, not catfish.”
“Yeah, well, at least I caught something. Where’s yours?”
“Under that snag.” Nate started around the river bend where he could not see Brian. Subconsciously, he told himself it was only a few yards.
The largemouth bass hit his plug while he was jerking it along the surface so it would look like a wounded shiner. It hit hard, throwing water several feet, and fought for a few seconds before throwing the hook. Nate cast again, letting the current bring it under the overhanging log and into shade. It was still early enough in the afternoon the sun was bright. He stopped concentrating on the plug and looked around at the wintery scene. The naked branches of hickory, oak and dead cypress forked upward, forming a scrim between his eyes and the bright blue of sky. A squirrel jumped from branch to branch, stopping to scold him for intruding, then jumping to the next tree and scurrying away. The snow had melted into the ground except under the shade of trees and brush, but it was already starting to get colder again as the afternoon faded. Finally doing something he and Brian did for enjoyment before the world went to hell made it seem like things were almost normal again. He was hoping this little diversion would be good for Brian, but found himself savoring the day too.
Nate’s mind wandered back to before the plague, when his family was complete, and he realized once again how much he missed his wife and daughter. The plug was hit by a five-pounder and he returned to the present. Nate was enjoying the fight and starting to really relax for the first time in months. In the back of his mind, he thought he heard voices. The fish was getting his attention, and he did not let it sink into his consciousness. Brian must have caught a big catfish. Then one voice was louder and angry. Now he was sure. Dropping his rod in the mud, he ran for Brian.
A pistol shot rang out. It sounded like a .22 rim fire to Nate. He pulled his .44 magnum revolver as he ran. Brian was screaming.
Brian!
“Come out from behind that log kid and I’ll let you live.”
Brian answered, “Come and get me you bastard!” Nate’s M14 boomed.
The .22 fired twice more.
Nate exploded from the brush. Two men, who were watching the log Brian was taking cover behind, the same log he was sitting on when Nate told him to keep his rifle close, heard him coming and turned to fire on him. One had what looked to Nate to be a cheap 22. rifle, the other a small pistol. Nate shot them both without taking time to aim, just looking over the sights, and shot them again as he ran past them and to Brian.
Nate scanned the area for more men, looking over the revolver’s sights while holding it in the Weaver Stance, ready to shoot, but saw no one. “Brian, I’m coming up on you, don’t shoot me.”
Brian looked up from behind the log. “Did you get them?”
“Yes. How many are there?”
Before Brian could answer, Nate jumped over the log and snatched his rifle from Brian who was lying on his back. “How many are there?” He shouldered it and swung it in tandem with his eyes, swiveling his upper body as he searched for enemies.
“Two. I didn’t see any others. They were in a canoe. One of them shot me.”
Brian’s words knocked the breath from Nate’s lungs. He fell to his knees beside his son. “Where?”
He held his right foot up. “My leg. It hurts like fire.”
His pants leg was soaked with blood. Nate quickly pulled it up the leg so he could see, with no concern for hurting him. Brian yelled from pain. The bullet went into the calf one inch from the back edge and out the other side. There appeared to be no blood vessels hit, and the wound was not near any bone. He moved Brian around so he could prop both his legs up on the log. Brian’s face was contorted with pain. Nate’s was wet.
One of the men started to scream. “Help me! Oh, don’t let me die!”
Nate stood up, abject hate on his face. He walked over to the man who was holding his entrails in with both hands.
Nate stood over him, his eyes blazing. “You shot my boy, you son of a bitch!” He squeezed off two rounds into the man’s chest, then turned and shot the other man twice more.
Brian kept talking all the way, explaining what
happened, what the men said, and how one shot him as he dove behind the log and grabbed Nate’s rifle. His words were not registering with Nate.
He looked up and saw his father crying as he carried him to the house. “I’m all right. I’m all right,” he kept saying.
Nate did not hear. “I should never have left you alone. I let my guard down.”
Once in the house, Nate put Brian on the dining table and rushed for the first aid kit. He used shears to cut his pants away and cleaned the wound. After laying Brian’s leg on a clean towel he said, “Now just lie still and don’t get it dirty.”
Brian asked, “Aren’t you going to sow it up or at least wrap it in a bandage? It’s bleeding a lot.”
“You haven’t bled enough to cause problems, don’t worry about that. It will stop bleeding now that you’re not moving around. The wound will need to drain later though when it starts healing. The last thing it needs is to be closed up.” His face was strained. “Your only real danger is infection. We’re lucky it was just a .22.”
Brian looked up at him. “There’s no way you got it cleaned all the way through.”
“The bullet probably pushed some small particles of your pants into the wound and there is a little bloodshot flesh around the exit. A doctor would probably cut some of that away. I have a scalpel, but I’m not about to try that. Just be still while I get your bed ready. Then I will bandage it.”
Before he carried Brian to his bed, Nate bandaged his leg and gave him an antibiotic capsule his wife had been prescribed seven months before her death and just before the pandemic reached their county. She had cut herself and it became infected. She did not use all of them because the infection cleared up soon after. It was all he had. There were five capsules left.
“You can take another pill in the morning.”
“Can I have a couple aspirin? It’s hurting worse.”
“It will thin your blood and make you bleed more. We used almost all of the nonaspirin stuff for your mother and sister.” The look on his son’s face caught his breath. “I’ll give you two when I get back. That way you can sleep later. I need you awake for now.”
“I know I’m supposed to be tough, but it hurts.”
“You’re not supposed to be anything but yourself. And I know it hurts like hell. Don’t think that soldiers don’t scream and cry when they’re wounded; they do. When I’m gone, if you want to yell go ahead. Sometimes it helps take your mind off it.”
“You were wounded.”
“Yes. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Did you yell out?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you didn’t.”
“Your dad isn’t as tough as you think. Maybe somewhere below half tough. I served with some who were though. Don’t be worrying about how tough I think you are. You’re my son and all I have; that puts you above everyone else in the world. I’m not trying to raise a tough son; I’m raising a good one.”
Most of the pain washed from Brian’s face for a few seconds. “Where are you going?”
“Back to the river.”
“What are you going to do, shoot them again?”
“I would if they could feel it.” Nate left the room.
Nate took the magazine out if his rifle and reloaded it from a military ammunition can on the floor of his closet. He stuffed another loaded magazine in his coat pocket even though he already had six magazines on his load-bearing harness.
When Nate walked back into Brian’s room he noticed his pain was getting worse. “Be back as soon as I can, maybe forty-five minutes. I will get anything that might be useful and dump their bodies in the river.”
“You can use one of their packs to carry their guns in.” Brian tried to sit up.
“Hey. Don’t move. Just lie still.” Nate gently pushed him back down. Thinking of something, he brought a plastic trash can in from the kitchen and put it beside the bed. “If you get queasy, throw up in this. Don’t worry if you miss. Just let it go and make sure you don’t get any in your lungs.”
“If I throw up the pills, they will do me no good.” Brian held his stomach.
“That’s one reason why I’m waiting to give them to you.” Nate felt a little queasy himself. His hands had been shaking since he saw Brian was shot.
“I forgot to tell you they had a canoe,” Brian said. “They came from downstream. There’s more stuff in the canoe. Also, they talked funny, like they were from New Jersey or New York.”
“Well, it’s good you noticed details like that. It may make a difference some day if something else happens.”
Brian rolled his eyes. “But not now, huh?”
“The main thing is there were only two of them. Right?”
“There were only two in the canoe for sure. And that’s all I saw.”
“And they’re both dead, so they are no threat to us. By the way, you did tell me about the canoe. Now relax and I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Let me have the shotgun.”
Nate handed it to him. “Remember, I’ll speak up when I come through the back door as soon as I have it locked and barred again. When I get back I’ll give you a couple pills. Tomorrow I will go to Mel’s place. He probably has all kinds of painkiller stored away somewhere.” Nate’s face softened. “We’ve got enough for tonight so you can sleep.” He started out the bedroom door.
“Bring back my two catfish and one bass I caught,” Brian said. “I earned them and I’m damn sure going to eat them.”
Nate suddenly stopped, turned, and looked at him from across the room. “I will cook them for you tonight if you’re hungry. But I expect you’ll be sleepy soon.”
“This leg isn’t going to let me sleep.”
“You lost enough blood you’ll sleep after the pills go to work.” Nate left the room and locked the back door once outside.
At the river, Nate found both the .22 rifle and pistol had been taken. He looked up and down stream for a quarter mile, but the canoe was missing also. The bodies’ clothes pockets were turned inside out. Their wallets were lying on the ground beside them. Both contained money. He collected both his and Brian’s fishing equipment and the fish. They were still alive. Brian had them on a stringer and left them in the water with the stringer tied to a root on the bank. The bass he was fighting when it all started had broken the line, but his rod and reel were still there. He took the wallets only to learn more about the men. After dragging their dead weight, one at a time, to the water and rolling them off the bank so the current could take them downstream, he gathered everything up and headed home. He felt eyes on him all the way.
Nate opened the back door. “It’s me, Brian. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
He put everything down, locked and barred the door, and went straight to Brian’s room.
Brian quickly wiped his face. He said nothing.
Nate washed his hands and got the pills and a glass of water for him. After Brian took them, Nate said, “I’ll clean and cook those fish for you. If you’re still hungry.”
“I…guess I should eat.”
“Well, if you don’t, what I don’t eat can be put in the icebox.”
The smell of frying fish wafted through the house. The sizzling kept Brian interested in supper, but when Nate mentioned he was baking biscuits Brian answered back, “I probably could eat.”
Nate opened a can of beans. He spoke loud enough from the kitchen Brian could hear. “Someone took the guns and canoe. He took one of the men’s packs too. In fact, he took about everything that could be useful for surviving. If those two had any extra ammo that was taken also. Their pockets were turned inside out.”
“The egg thief?” Brian asked. He grimaced when he tried to move his leg to a more comfortable position.
“I would have to guess yes. Only useful items were taken. Their wallets were left beside the bodies. Both have quite a bit of money in them, a couple grand between the two of them. The most telling thing is nothing of ours was take
n. The tackle was still there. And that certainly would have been useful to him. Seems to be a thief with his own brand of honor.”
“He’s a sneaky bastard,” Brian said. “But he has been no use to us. He hasn’t answered your notes offering him to join us, and he did nothing to stop them from shooting me.”
“What could he have done?” Nate had to talk loud while he worked so his voice would carry down the hall. “He probably was not armed until tonight.”
“Well, now he might shoot us both. He might even be the one who took our boat when the sickness first spread to this area.”
“I doubt that,” Nate said. “He hasn’t been around that long. And so far the only thing he has stolen from us is eggs, and he could have taken a lot more. Everything else he has carried off, we gave him. The guns, canoe, and other things were taken from dead men. I wouldn’t call that stealing. Those men certainly had no use for them.”
Nate walked in the bedroom carrying a TV dinner tray with all the makings of a simple fish dinner. “We need to be more careful. Getting shot, even a little, is serious. We were lucky this time.” He helped Brian sit up with his back against the headboard. “I have seen no reason to believe the egg thief is a danger to us, but we must be more careful.”
Brian wiped his hands on his pants. “From now on I’m going to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“We will talk more about that tomorrow. Wait and I’ll get you a bar of soap and bowl of water to wash your fishy hands before you eat.”
“The pills are working,” Brian said, as he dried his hands on a towel Nate held out for him. “It only hurts like hell now.”
Nate brought his meal in on another TV tray and they ate together in Brian’s room. Nate spent most of the time making sure Brian had everything he wanted.
After Brian was finished, Nate took everything to the kitchen and cleaned up and washed dishes. An hour later, he walked into Brian’s bedroom and found he had dozed off, at peace for now. Sitting in a chair a few feet from the bed, he thanked God Brian was not hurting so much he could not sleep and began to think about how stupid he had been and how lucky he was that his son was not dead or dying. Plans he had made for the coming months were completely abandoned. There would be no fields plowed, no crops planted, not this spring. It was simply too dangerous for that now. As soon as Brian could walk, they would head for Mel’s bunker. What’s the point of growing food if you’re dead from gunshot wounds before you can harvest it? Abandoning their farm meant their future food supply would be drastically reduced. That meant their survivability when Mel’s food ran out would also be reduced. A man who liked to plan way into the future, he hated doing what he knew is the wrong thing under less dangerous circumstances. But he and Brian had to survive the next few months before they could survive the next few years. He sat there disgusted because he knew the ramifications of his decision were going to be painful and long-lasting.
