Bleeding (Oil Apocalypse Book 2)

by Lou Cadle

“That’s fine.”

  His mother stuck her head in the door. “I’m going to look through Dev’s old clothes I have stored in the shed, see if there’s something that will fit you. That shirt you have on is getting pretty threadbare.” It also was stained with tomato juice.

  “Okay,” Rudy said. He sounded tired.

  “You want to sleep?” Dev said.

  “Can I? It won’t be rude?”

  “No, go on. Bathroom is across the hall to your left, remember.”

  Dev’s father woke Rudy for supper, and he sat, bleary-eyed, as Dev’s father said grace. They didn’t always—and recently they’d done it less often than usual. But Dev figured his father was establishing for Rudy that it was a Christian home. Rudy crossed himself at the end, as he’d done at his cousin’s grave, and Dev saw the glance his parents exchanged. Rudy picked at his food at first, but after a few mouthfuls he grew more enthusiastic. At the end of the meal, he thanked Dev’s mom with a sincerity that couldn’t be doubted. “This is the best food I’ve had in, like, months.”

  Dev’s mom beamed at him. “You’re very welcome to it.”

  Dev said, “You are a great cook, Mom.”

  His father grunted his agreement.

  “Practice makes perfect,” she said.

  “I can help if you need me to. I did the cooking for Oliver and me,” Rudy said. And then his face fell as he remembered.

  “Thank you,” his mother said. “That’s nice of you to offer. For now, I’m sure Arch will have work enough for you to do to keep you busy outdoors.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll start on that,” Dev’s father said.

  Rudy looked from one to the other. “Whatever you need. It’s nice of you to take me in. I’m sorry if I didn’t say thank-you before.”

  At least you couldn’t fault the kid’s politeness. But it was the sort of characteristic that you needed in order to be an asset in a firefight that Dev worried he might not have.

  In the middle of the night, Dev was woken up by something. He tensed up and was about halfway to falling out of bed to go for his rifle when he realized that Rudy was crying, and that’s what had woken him. Remember you’re in the top bunk now, he told himself, scooting back from the edge. He debated if he should say anything. But the kid sounded so awful, so forlorn, he leaned down and said, “You okay?”

  “M-m-m,” was all Rudy could get out.

  Dev lay hanging half over the bunk bed and waited it out. Should he get his mother? No. No reason to wake his folks up. As little as he liked it, he was going to have to deal with this on his own.

  Rudy sucked in deep, shaky breaths. “My mother,” he said. “She’s dead too, isn’t she?”

  Dev rolled back and lay on his bed again, wondering what was the right thing to say. He went with, “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No, we can’t know how she is, or even where she is.”

  “Not that.” Rudy was getting frustrated and getting control of his tears because of it. “I didn’t know what it was like, people shooting at each other like that.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, that’s not the first time for you, right?”

  “No. Third? Fourth? Something like that.”

  “But that’s what it’s like out there. In Payson too, right?”

  “Right.” He remembered the guards and their rifles. And the head shot that had taken one of them down.

  “My mom didn’t have a gun with her. She didn’t even know how to use one, I don’t think. And she went looking for food, and probably someone shot her.”

  Dev said nothing.

  Nor did Rudy, for several minutes. Then he said in a small voice, “Does it hurt? To be shot?”

  “I don’t think Oliver hurt.” Not for long. He had taken a skilled or lucky shot to the chest, a heart shot.

  “Your dad was shot?”

  “Right.”

  “Can I ask him if it hurt?”

  “You can ask,” Dev said. “But maybe it’s better if you don’t think too much about it. Okay?”

  Rudy sniffled. “Okay.”

  “Try and get some sleep. There’s a lot of work to do tomorrow. And a lot for you to learn.”

  Chapter 17

  Sierra put breakfast in front of her father, two thick pieces of French toast. “Time to do canning again,” she said, cautiously elbowing aside a pile of yesterday’s harvest of tomatoes so she had room enough to eat.

  “Yeah,” her father said. “I should be able to clean and pare, though you might need to do all the heavy lifting.”

  “And I’ll tighten the lids. Don’t hurt yourself again.”

  “Hmm,” he said, focused on eating.

  She retrieved the strawberry jam from the refrigerator. “How much propane do we have?”

  “Plenty. Remember, the guy was here in April to top the tank off. I’ll check later if you want.”

  She shook her head as she spread jam over her French toast. “I was just wondering in case we had a patch of calm days and needed to switch over to propane for refrigeration.” She knew it had happened several times during her life, but she hadn’t paid strict attention to when or how long. Now she should.

  “The freezer is more important to keep running than the fridge. Especially now that we don’t have things like milk or cheese. Lots of food will be fine at room temperature.”

  “In January, we can freeze things in the barn, can’t we?”

  “Not meat, and not if the weather is what it was last year. Too much thawing.”

  “I guess I need to put on my list asking Arch to teach me to smoke meat.”

  “Good idea. When I’m better, we can make a list together of what we both need to learn.”

  “Do you think we have enough propane to heat the house this winter?”

  “Yes, though we might want to conserve to make it last two or three years. I’d say we should stop when we have a third of a tank left and save it for cooking for a couple of years. Neither of us wants to learn how to cook over wood in the back yard, do we?”

  “One day I guess we won’t have heat at all, not for cooking, not for anything.”

  “Except for the electric coils that keep the pipes from freezing, maybe not. And we have a crockpot. It’s electric and draws little power, so that’ll work to cook food. And somewhere on the computer I saved a web page on how to build a solar oven.”

  “I guess we’ll adjust.”

  He speared the last piece of French toast from the plate between them. “Want half?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  She drank her cup of hot tea and watched him eat, thinking she must be getting better as a cook because he’d gone for seconds. Or maybe it was that his taste buds were adjusting to her awful cooking.

  When he was done eating, he said, “Do you ever wonder about those people in the abandoned neighborhood? Where those boys were staying?”

  “Not really.”

  “I have. I had plenty of time to think while I was in bed.”

  “What do you wonder about them?”

  “Where they went. If they had relatives somewhere up the mountain, or in a totally different state. If they ran out of gas on the drive there. If they hit a roadblock, like we heard there was up at Flag, and got shot at it.”

  “Yeah?” Sierra wasn’t all that curious about things happening farther from here than the distance a person could walk in a day. “You ever thought that gas being gone means we’re safer from attack, once things settle down?”

  “I have. Maybe that’s the only reason they haven’t come up from Payson to attack. Maybe even someone who knows one of us told them how small we are, and they figure we’re not worth spending the gas or the bullets on. But anyway, those other people. Let’s say they had a cousin up near Show Low, or out in the White Mountains, somewhere more remote. They thought it’d be safer there, so off they went.”

  “Could be.”

  “Is it, do you think?” he said
.

  “Safer there?”

  “Right.”

  Sierra tried to think it through. “Well, for one thing, if you were in the White Mountains, that’s really far from anyplace else, true?”

  “Yes. A lot of Indian reservation land. Maybe for once the Indians got the right end of the stick.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Reservation land is often remote, off rail lines and roads, and so maybe now it’s also safer. I wasn’t thinking when I bought this land about this kind of world, or I might have bought farther away.”

  “You mean you and Theda weren’t thinking about how close we are to Phoenix?”

  “Your mom and I discussed it, but we were thinking it was a good thing we could get to Phoenix in a couple of hours. Big hospitals, cultural events, big art museum to take you to. Stuff like that. Those were positives. It was far enough away that in no way were you influenced by the big city and all that rush-rush-rush attitude they had.”

  “I remember what jerks they were in the summer when they came up to camp in Tonto.”

  “Paid a lot of traffic tickets, though. Good for the economy of Payson.”

  She thought about that. “Is there an economy any more? Or anything like that?”

  “I think Arch was right all along about a lot of that stuff. If there is an economy going forward, if we could develop trade with anyone, it’d all be barter-based. Ammunition. Spices, sugar. Tools, hardware. Not that I’d want to trade any of that away. But we might have enough excess food with the three gardens in the other neighborhood that we could trade food in the summer.”

  “Not that we can get close enough to anyone to start trading with them.”

  “That might change. Come winter, when things have calmed down, we might be able to approach someone.”

  “Or maybe not. If they approached us, wouldn’t we shoot them?”

  “I’d honor a white flag.”

  Sierra worked that through in her head. If she was trying to ambush someone, a white flag might be how she started. Send someone you’re willing to lose with a white flag, encourage the people you approach to open the gates or otherwise let down their guard. While they’re busy with talking to that person, hit them from the side or rear.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing good. If someone does come up with a white flag, be careful, would you? Keep your eye out in all directions.”

  “How would you do that? Try to start bartering with another group?”

  “I guess leaving a bag of groceries, like I already did. Or leave something else useful, and a note.”

  “Not that you can exactly leave a phone number in the note.”

  “Well, you could, for all the good that would do. You could designate a meeting place.” She frowned. “But you’d probably go there and get shot for your trouble. So I’m not sure exactly how you’d do it.”

  He shook his head. “This is not the world I wanted to leave to you.”

  “Not your fault, is it? You’ve done your best. Now I do my best.”

  “Your best is pretty good, you know that?”

  She shrugged. “Getting better, I hope. To change the topic, it’s pretty calm out there this morning. You want me to turn on the middle turbine again?”

  “Sure, until the wind picks up. If I’m not here, keep an eye on that, okay?”

  “Think it’ll rain today?”

  “Hard to say. It sure has been clouding up every day, but not a drop yet.”

  “I haven’t even smelled that pre-rain smell yet. You know that smell?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay.” She finished her tea. “Can you handle the dishes?”

  “Sure. And I’ll start washing vegetables for canning. My guard shift is at three this afternoon so I need to be done by then.”

  Sierra’s shift had been in the middle of the night. Pilar carried a revolver and the whistle, but when she thought of him out there unable to protect himself normally, she felt nervous. She pushed the thought aside, because they’d already argued about him standing watch, and he wasn’t going to budge on the matter. “Eleven o’clock then. We’ll snack on the imperfect vegetables for lunch while we do the canning.”

  “It’s a plan. See you later.”

  As she went out to tend the hens, Sierra thought of how mundane the breakfast conversation had been. A normal morning, though yesterday there’d been shooting, and Oliver had died. She hadn’t known him, hadn’t particularly liked what she’d seen of him, so she wasn’t in mourning. Did it make her a bad person, that she still hurt more over her dog’s death than over Oliver’s? Could she blame the world around her, say that the world had made her what she was? She didn’t like that sort of thinking. It didn’t sit right, to shrug off the responsibility for what she felt onto someone else.

  She didn't want to be a bad person, truly she didn't. But even more than that, she wanted to remain a living person. And that seemed to take most of her energy these days.

  Chapter 18

  Even though he wasn’t on guard duty, Dev was walking the perimeter of their property, or the three sides of it that didn’t border the Crocker land. He had Rudy with him, trying to teach the kid more about woodcraft. Rudy had hiked quite a bit and camped out several times, which was helpful, but he had never hunted or fished, not once. He wasn’t a fast learner, but he was anxious to please. It was an uncharitable thought, but to Dev, Rudy seemed a little like Jasper the dog. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it.

  “Watch out for the tripwire,” Dev said again. Rudy had tripped over it nearly every day, one time bringing it down. Dev had made him re-string it, and that required training on tools and basic shop skills. The kid had a lot to learn. The good side of that was it made Dev appreciate his father as he never had. He’d taken for granted that most guys had someone to teach them shooting and mechanical skills. Even his mother was pretty good at such things, but Rudy’s mother had obviously not been, or Rudy would have learned more. For the first time, he thought about the value of public schools, that had Rudy gone to Payson schools, he probably would have had a shop class at some point. “Stop,” he said, as Rudy nearly tripped over the wire again. “It’s right there.”

  “Oh, yeah, I see. How can you see it? It blends right in.”

  “Well, that’s the idea, so that we trip anyone coming in to hurt us.”

  Rudy’s face fell. Thinking of Oliver again, or his mother, no doubt. Pity for the boy’s loss of his family kept Dev more patient with him than he might otherwise be. He was letting his father take care of the firearms instruction, and he stayed well away, half-fearing Rudy would inadvertently shoot him in the foot. Or worse.

  “It’ll get better,” Dev said. “As the days pass, you won’t think of it so often.”

  “How do you know?” He wasn’t asking in any mean way, but curious.

  “We had two more people living here. I liked them, but they’re gone. And the Crocker dog, which was only a dog, sure, but everybody liked. He was a great dog. To Sierra and Pilar, he was a family member. I think about them less than I did when they first died.”

  “It’s weird you can think of dogs that way but eat your rabbits and chickens.”

  Dev shrugged. “The hens don’t sleep inside with people.”

  “That’d be weird. But rabbits, people keep those as pets.”

  “Probably not anymore,” Dev pointed out.

  “Those babies are something, aren’t they?” A new litter had just been born, ten of them. Ten future pots of stew. “Really cute.”

  “Listen,” Dev said, coming to a halt.

  “What?” Rudy said, his eyes going wide as his gaze darted nervously around.

  “Shh.” He held up a finger. It wasn’t that he’d heard something but that he couldn’t hear any trouble coming if Rudy kept talking.

  Rudy was turning in a circle, looking around.

  Dev whispered, “Listen to the noise you’re making.”

  Rudy stopped,
looking terrified.

  “There’s nothing wrong. I was just making a point. Look, you stay there. Keep your eyes closed, and I’ll walk away. Pay attention to the sounds of someone walking on these pine needles. There’ll be a test. I’m going to ask you to tell me exactly what I did, but without looking.”

  Rudy nodded and then closed his eyes and put his hands over them, looking for all the world like a little kid playing hide and seek.

  Well, the exercise wasn’t far away from that, was it? Hide and seek, but for a serious prize. Dev moved off, taking no care at all to stay quiet. Thirty yards out, he made a right turn and moved more and more quietly, circling around to Rudy’s right flank. He stopped, took off his boots, tied them together and hung them over his shoulders, and approached the rest of the way on tiptoes, taking advantage of the noises caused by a gust of wind to move up quickly while his noises faded into that.

  The next step he took, Rudy turned toward him, eyes still closed. Good. He did know how to listen. Dev walked up normally again and said, “Okay.”

  Rudy’s eyes popped open. “Oh, I see. I lost you for a minute, but you took your boots off. That was smart.”

  “A better woodsman, a lightweight woman, or someone coming in like this might be even quieter.” Dev sat and put his boots back on. “Okay, you try it. Go out, I’ll close my eyes, and I’ll point to you as you move. Keep moving, and see if you can make me lose track of you.”

  “Can I take my shoes off?” He had running shoes with him and only two changes of clothes. Dev’s old boots didn’t fit him, and they hadn’t been back to the empty neighborhood to check closets for boots.

  “Sure.” Dev finished tying his boots, stood, and said, “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “One second.” Rudy took his shoes off, tied the laces together like Dev had, and said, “Okay.”

  Dev closed his eyes. He stuck his arm out, pointing at Rudy, as the boy wove through the trees. Dev didn’t lose him for a moment. Rudy ranged out farther and farther, moving to his right for a while and then to his left. Dev had no trouble at all keeping track of him.

  Especially not when he heard him turn and run back, saying, “Dev. Dev. Dev.”