by J. R. Tate
“I… uh...” Ryan muttered, pushing himself up to a standing position.
“Suicide...” Darryl trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Ryan pulled the gun from Doug’s hand and emptied the chamber. It was just a six-shooter, so five bullets fell out into his palm.
“He has a bag,” Darryl pointed beside his body. “Why would he have that with him if he knew he was about to kill himself?” People did strange things when they were desperate. Maybe his initial plan wasn’t suicide. Maybe he just wanted to run away.
Ryan picked it up and unzipped it, sifting through the items inside. A notepad and pen fell out along with a bottle of water, a can of Spam, and two boxes of bullets. Darryl couldn’t tell what caliber they were but it didn’t matter. They’d come in handy.
Ryan flipped the notepad open, his eyes skimming over something jotted down on the paper. He didn’t say anything but flipped it shut and handed it to Steve. Taking a few steps back, he turned and walked away from the scene. Darryl was curious to see what it said but he’d wait his turn. Steve finished and gave it to him.
You believed in me and I let you down. I hope the human race comes out on top. With everyone working against each other and not as a team, I don’t see that happening. And I’m not meaning the looters. There’s so much more to this. Start with who you know. Those who you think are friends are actually your enemies. Don’t trust anyone.
Darryl slipped the notebook back inside of Doug’s bag and followed Ryan, who had stopped at the edge of the creek that spilled into the river. It was completely dry now, the bed thirsty for precipitation.
“You okay?”
Ryan glanced at him from the corner of his eye and didn’t respond. Kicking some dirt, dust flew up under his boot and he finally shrugged.
“What the hell does Doug mean by that?” Ryan asked, his brow furrowed with worry.
“I don’t know. Could just be evoking more panic. His last attempt at getting back at us for something.”
“For me killing his brother?”
This time, Darryl shrugged. “It’s hard to say. We really didn’t know Doug. He stayed pretty private even when he was being talkative. Could’ve been a huge front. Do we really know anyone?”
“I guess we don’t. Just another damn reason to get down to what is really causing all of this catastrophe.”
“You don’t think it’s just the planet finally rebelling against the human race tearing it up?” Darryl was never into that hype but it seemed like a plausible argument considering their current predicament.
“No.” Ryan shook his head and stared out into the pasture. “That can’t be the only thing.”
“If there’s something to be figured out, you’re the man to do it,” Darryl said, glancing over his shoulder. Steve was still with Doug’s body, giving Darryl and Ryan a moment between father and son.
“Am I?” Ryan asked, looking at his father, his eyes red and bloodshot. “Or is this just more bullshit like you said? Doug’s last rebellion because I killed his brother. We’ll never know. And I really don’t have the time to go on a wild goose chase to figure out something that might not even exist. It’s just more crap to clog up my mind. I wish I could just accept this all for what it is. Mother Nature has gone mad. But I can’t let that go, especially after reading a note like that.” Ryan pointed back toward Doug and Steve, his jaw set in a hard line as he grit his teeth.
Darryl looked up at the sky. An orange hue was rising in the east and the beautiful view of the stars was fading.
“The sun will be up soon, Ryan. What should we do with the body?”
Ryan turned on his heel and walked back to Steve, Darryl following behind him. He circled the body, his eyes downcast as they waited for him to answer.
Ryan finally replied, still not making eye contact with either Darryl or Steve. “We’ll strip him down, gather his clothes, and whatever he had in the bag. Then we’ll bury him. No one needs to see him like this.”
Chapter Seven
There’s so much more to this.
Ryan closed his eyes and saw Doug’s handwriting, scrawled out on the piece of paper. He had always suspected that more was going on than just global warming and mankind ruining nature but reading someone else’s thoughts on it made Ryan’s imagination go crazy. When he speculated about it with his father and even Cecilia, he could see the look on their face – they thought he was losing his mind. And maybe he was. Their new way of life was harsh enough to make anyone go insane.
And now, with the suicide of someone they knew, it was more of a reality. Everyone was getting even more desperate as each day passed. Would more people resort to ending their lives?
“What are we going to tell everyone?” Steve asked, glancing at Ryan as the three men walked back toward Harper Springs.
Ryan didn’t know so he didn’t answer. Ducking his head, he kicked his boot through the dirt, the sand exploding in a large cloud under his weight. It was a good question and unfortunately, one that had to carefully be considered. He didn’t want to lie to everyone – it would be easy for someone to figure out the truth to Darryl’s death. But Ryan didn’t want to put it out there and give others ideas. It was a sensitive time and though suicide was a touchy subject with most people, desperation always made people make hasty decisions that they wouldn’t ever consider when things were normal.
“I still want to know why he had his bag with him. Why not leave it behind?” Darryl wondered, shaking his head.
“It’s a good thing he had it and we found it. There were some useful things in it,” Ryan replied. It came off as uncaring but it was the world they lived in – it was all about survival, even if it meant pillaging off of the corpse of a man you once knew. It was also his way of keeping up a wall. He had his reservations about Doug but he was developing a trust and enjoying the man’s sense of humor. Even in that short time, he had gotten attached to him.
“So, we are almost to town. Any ideas?” Steve inquired again, definitely more sensitive about what happened than either Darryl or Ryan.
“We tell everyone he died.” Ryan made a quick decision since Darryl and Steve seemed to be waiting for him to make the decision. “It’s not a lie.”
“They’re going to want details, Ryan.” Darryl wagged his finger toward Ryan. “You know how it is. When someone that young passes, that’s the first thing people ask. What was the cause of death?”
Ryan heaved a deep sigh and looked toward the horizon. The sun was coming up and people were probably already waking up for the day. “Then we tell them the truth if they ask. Only if they ask. There’s no sense in giving details voluntarily. But guys, keep the note a secret. That stays completely private.”
Steve cocked his head to the side. “Why keep it a secret?”
“Because I need to figure it out, Steve. It could be nothing but I can’t just leave it alone. And with everyone knowing what it says, we may never find out who Doug may be referring to, okay?”
“Got it.”
“I have it in my pocket. When I finally get a chance to think and organize my thoughts, I’ll see what I can come up with. Until then, when asked, Doug is dead. If asked how, it was a suicide. That’s all that needs to be said.”
Steve gave a thumbs up and Darryl shook his head yes in agreement. Ryan patted his pocket, feeling the crumpled paper beneath the top layer of fabric. He trusted Cecilia with his life but he wasn’t even going to tell her about it.
Getting back to the cellar was bittersweet. Ryan felt like he could sleep for days but there was too much work to get done. The crops needed watering and he was still researching a way to recycle ammunition. He also wanted to make sure the meat from the wild boars wasn’t going bad. Smoking was a great way to preserve it but they also needed to find other ways.
Ryan went straight to the camp shower and washed the dirt off of his face. His eyes stung and were dry like sandpaper. Rubbing them, he blinked and no moisture or tears helpe
d lubricate them.
“Ryan, what happened?”
Turning, he glanced over his shoulder. Cecilia was right behind him, her mouth set in a hard line as she waited for his answer.
“It’s Doug, Cecilia,” he whispered, turning back to the water. It felt good on his skin and droplets formed on his beard, which was getting long enough for a trim.
“Doug? What happened?”
Turning completely around, Ryan grabbed a towel and dabbed it on his face. Walking to their cots, he lifted the bag of food and pulled out a package of crackers. They were stale but he was starving, so they tasted like a delicacy. Ty was playing with an action figure someone had concocted with wood, oblivious to everyone else.
“Hey, Ty, can you run over there and grab me a package of toothpaste?” Ryan didn’t need one but he sent him away for safe measure. Kids heard more than they let on. Turning his attention back to Cecilia, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Doug committed suicide.”
“He what?” Her eyes widened and she squeezed his hand. “How did...” Biting her bottom lip, she stammered on her words.
“I couldn’t sleep. I noticed he was gone and since we were worried he was going to backstab us, I went to see if I could find him. Steve went with me and we saw him walking.” Ryan recounted the details, closing his eyes when he got to the part where Doug completed the deed. “It happened so fast, Cecilia. He did it right in front of us.”
“Oh my God...” Cecilia put her hand to her mouth and a single tear trailed down her cheek. “I’m sorry you had to see that. That is so terrible.”
“It is.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the note but there were too many people around and he swore to himself he wouldn’t bring it up until he could find more out.
“We thought he was going back to the looters. Never would I have imagined it would be suicide.”
“We were just going off of what we knew about him, Cecilia. Don’t feel guilty about that.” Ryan stood up and dumped the contents of his bag on the bed. In the past few months, he had gotten into the habit of carrying it everywhere he went. He never knew when he’d have something good to carry home and having it with him helped aid in gathering needed supplies.
“What’s all of this?”
“Stuff we got from him. His clothes, boots, and he had a few things in a backpack. The most important is this.” Ryan lifted the box of ammunition. “This is more precious than gold now.” He dug through everything. He had a hairbrush, thread, needles, and some ibuprofen. It wasn’t much but enough not to waste.
“Where is his body?” Cecilia asked.
Ryan watched Ty to make sure he wasn’t coming back yet. The child had gotten sidetracked and was playing with one of the other boys he had made friends with.
“We buried him. It’s just a shallow grave because the ground is so hard. It won’t be long before an animal finds him. They’re getting hungry too and coming around. I debated on telling anyone what really happened. Thought maybe we could pass it off as him running off but I didn’t want everyone to worry about it like I was. Someone would eventually find out and I don’t want people to not trust me.”
Cecilia cupped the back of his head and kissed his forehead. Her touch was soothing and it calmed his nerves. “You did the right thing. It’s a shame it happened but it’s over now.”
“I’m going to head up to the crops. They probably need attention.” Ryan’s mind was racing with the events that had transpired within the past twelve hours. Getting out and working would hopefully help him project that nervous energy into something productive.
Though he was expecting a different outcome, the vegetation was looking strong. Small tomatoes were forming, still a few weeks from being ready to be picked. The corn was growing tall and the cotton was producing bolls. Ryan walked down the rows like a proud farmer who was about to cash in on his bumper crop. But it was nothing close to a bumper crop – this was bare minimum that would hopefully get them through the winter months. It was a push in the right direction and they had to start somewhere. The worry was how harsh the winter was going to be.
Steve joined Ryan on their walk, each surveying the plants and the soil moisture. Ryan was glad he had Steve there. He had gardened before and was brought up around farming but Steve knew what he was doing. Having his guidance was why they were having success, even if it was minimal.
“It’s a good thing the plants are maturing, Ryan. You smell that? Fall is here. I would be willing to bet our first freeze is right around the corner.”
“That soon, huh?” Ryan knelt down and sifted through the leaves on a cotton plant, making sure they weren’t being overrun with boll weevils.
“You’re the weather guy. But I used to read the farmer’s almanac from cover to cover. If memory serves me right, we are in for an early winter.”
Ryan stood up and arched his eyebrow, looking up at the sky. “You remember if it said how harsh the winter was going to be?”
“I think it said the El Nino was going to stick around.”
“Shit. Colder and wetter than normal. Wet is fine. Cold, not so much.”
Steve was accurate in his speculation – Ryan could smell autumn in the air and the few trees that survived were transitioning with the season. Leaves were turning orange and yellow and starting to fall. The temperature during the day still lingered in the mid-eighties but fell almost thirty degrees when the sun began to set. The days were also getting shorter. Ryan had lost track of what exact day it was but it was about the time of year when time change was about a month away.
That made him think of Thanksgiving and the holidays. A roasted turkey with all of the fixings sounded amazing and his stomach growled at the thought of it. Maybe he’d be able to hunt down a wild turkey and they could do their new version of the tradition. With as deprived as they had been of good food, he could probably serve it raw and everyone would be ready to chow down.
Ryan spent the rest of the day working on the irrigation system. He had gathered some PVC pipe from what remained at the firehouse. He had less to work with than he had anticipated but it still would be enough to use. They would have to move it down the rows throughout the day so someone would have to keep an eye on it.
Using a knife, he carefully carved out small holes on the sides of the pipe. They couldn’t be too big or the water would gush out too fast. Too small and the pressure would cause the water to build up and possibly explode the pipe. He also had to be careful not to crack it. One jab into the plastic and it would crack all the way down, ruining it. He didn’t have enough to spare to make that mistake.
He had three pipes that were about seven foot long each to use. He didn’t have any fittings to piece them together and make an extra long system, so he could put each pipe down a row in the pasture and move them down as the ground got saturated enough.
Dragging each pipe out, he gently laid them between the rows of corn since it required the most water. He had to position each one down hill to have gravity aid in keeping the water running through each pipe. Luckily, the pasture was on a gradual downhill slope. The water would move slow but it’d be perfect – it would help the ground absorb the moisture a lot better than just dumping the water on it. The sun would also be less likely to evaporate the majority of it, allowing them to get more usage out of it. With the dwindling water supply, the creation of the gravity-powered irrigation system came at just the right time.
Ryan grabbed a small bucket and ducked it under the wheelbarrow of water. Lifting the far end of the pipe, he cautiously poured the water in, trying to be as precise as possible, unsure of how it would work or if it even would work. The pipe’s circumference was only about four inches total so he had a small window to work with.
The water swirled downward and he lay the pipe on the ground. Water flowed out of each intricate hole he made, flowing toward the plants. It wasn’t perfect and he needed to come up with a better way to get the water into the pipe but it’d serve as useful fo
r the time being.
He continued the process with the other two pipes and stood back, watching his invention come to life. Though it needed some work, Ryan was happy with what he had accomplished. At least the day wasn’t a total waste and he was thrilled that they would be able to start harvesting soon.
As soon as he was finished working, his mind went back to Doug and the note he carried in the pocket of his jeans. Keeping busy was the greatest way he kept his mind off of the multiple issues that crept back up.
Start with who you know.
Don’t trust anyone.
Ryan pulled the note out and unfolded it, the paper wrinkled from being in his pocket all day. Doug’s handwriting flashed up at him. He had the damn thing memorized so there was no need to look at it, but seeing the actual handwriting made it tangible and more realistic.
Start with who you know.
That could be anyone. And start with what? Ryan didn’t even know where to begin on it. Though the population of Harper Springs was cut down significantly, it still left several people for him to keep his eye on. He felt like a paranoid psychotic patient who was watching his back against things that didn’t even exist.
A gust of wind blew through, almost ripping the suicide note from Ryan’s grasp. Clutching it, he slipped it back into his pocket. The air was cold, the temperature instantly dipping at least ten degrees in a matter of seconds. He didn’t have a jacket on so he ran back to the shelter, fighting against the sharp breeze.
Winter was definitely coming. Ryan hoped it’d hold off a few more weeks so they could get their crops to grow a bit bigger before harvest time. A hard freeze would kill everything they had busted their back working on.
Hopefully, one thing would go right for them.
Chapter Eight
Days had passed and Ryan hadn’t been able to decipher much out of Doug’s note. When he wasn’t working on the crops or gathering lumber for the wall, he sat and observed – his surroundings, people, interactions, and behaviors. He felt like a psychology major, studying the human condition. He tried to be inconspicuous, but he probably stuck out like a sore thumb. It was out of the ordinary for him to just sit around. Cecilia had even questioned him because of his unusual behavior.
