by Ron Foster
“Where do you think Gents, that people like us and our backgrounds most likely be found at and they be willing to help us along?” he questioned.
“Why the churches of course, but the few we’ve seen so far haven’t even had the doors open.” Rogers said gruffly deeply disturbed that the magnificent religious edifices they had passed offered no signs of life and offered only locked doors to their knocking.
“We already discussed those places, Mate, those old cathedrals are dependant on folks driving downtown from their suburban houses, and even if they wanted to come here on a holy mission you aren’t getting in or out of this city even if you still got a moving car unless somebody organizes a bicycle brigade. No, the place for us, me road march weary Bucko’s, is an AMVETS or VFW club. Maybe a Masonic Lodge or some other fraternal organization if you be a member of such. Let’s get us a phone book and figure out where some of these places might be and don’t forget the gun shops, pawn shops and other places of interest like toy stores that might be on the way.” Farnsworth declared.
They had all jokingly laughed when evaluating their situation that even a kids bow and arrow right now would be more comforting than trying not to get slashed by the kitchen cutlery they were trying to wear in their belts and that if they were danged lucky they could come up with anything from a BB gun to one of those new high powered air rifles that might be in a sporting goods or toy store or something.
By then it had been almost a week or so since “lights out” had been visited upon them and fires could be seen raging at night all around them in the distance. The concrete jungle they were trying to survive in did have its advantages as far as fires spreading first in the ghetto areas but there was little solace taken in that.
They were just stuck in the inner city, no goals, no true directions and they needed to evaluate what was next instead of thinking only about their next meal. Farnsworth was at a loss to say what they should be doing next. None of these men were from within 500 miles of here and they all lacked every kind of basic necessity. Ten bottles of water remained from the stash they had carried with them. A half box of overlooked crackers from a diner they had passed that the looters forgot about and some packets of mustard and ketchup originally wrangled from the hotel they were formerly staying in was all that remained.
“Ok, from the signs that I see around here we are sort of dead ass in the middle of town. Walking is the easy part; where we go from here and which direction is now what matters. I done me some calculations last night on guard duty and by the time we walked anywhere North, East or West winter will be here so I say we go south and play migration like a bird. I don’t feel like studying any snow without power or food this winter.” Jasper declared.
A Zen moment occurred as everyone agreed and brave thoughts of surviving the apocalypse on bikini beaches and fishing made the old codgers bucket lists coalesce into agreement to be southern bound, but just to get to the coast would take them almost a few months possibly if they were walking it all the way.
Arguments arose to find their loved ones but it was suicide to break up this pact that they had made out of desperation and necessity to stick together through thick and thin.
Male egos and false bravado said trying to reach dear people was most important but survivability and wasted efforts doing so said move as one towards the south. A tearful day spent walking and guzzling wine pilfered from an Italian restaurant while heading ever southward caused confusion in the group.
To cut across and go west the southern route to their loved ones was studied and dismissed by some. It was still the same distance, still the same threats. Success was what mattered to just live another day and surely their loved ones could see it that way was argued and bantered about until a division was created that couldn’t be mended and farewells were said with one party going one way and the other another.
Farnsworth’s mad crew he ended up with only sought to trudge down a highway and try to make Florida as a goal. Further and further they pushed themselves ever southward, stealing what they needed and avoiding fighting as best they could.
The highway was a dangerous place filled with dangerous people. Most would walk past you in mutual misery heading their own way to one place or another but some criminal minds made it their playground and you never knew when an armed bandit of some sort would stop you and demand what you had.
Farnsworth’s raggedy group of foot sore souls didn’t command a lot of attention thankfully. They were too dirty, too old and too worn out looking for the general criminal element to do anything more then mess with them with taunts as they did their zombie march ever further south.
Many abandoned cars still had goods in them that people had left behind after escaping the holocaust of the cities that had spewed them. If you couldn’t carry it, you dumped it, then it was left behind or forgotten by the wayside as it seemed all of humanity did the “Trudge, trudge, trudge” down the road trying to get home as they faced likely or unlikely deaths.
Embittered faces were passed by and ignored night and day. Corpses left rotting in the sun were a daily occurrence; you just hoped they died of natural causes versus the mayhem they sometimes saw from afar or hid from. Begging, pleading people, masses of mindless humanity on the move became too much and for survivability sake they got off the main roads. Onwards and upwards and get up and do it again every day, sweat by day and freeze by night with the wolf at your door and danger always in sight made them all stumbling bumbling shells of themselves as they put one foot in front of the other through this journey through hell.
There wasn’t any road kill to think about eating, the cars didn’t work anymore, the rodents and deer were safe in the woods and it was the dead humans that were stinking all along the roads. On and on they went eating dandelions, clovers and other delectable morsels hoping and wishing they could live long enough for their stories to be told someday when they could finally quit walking this death march.
No weapons, no worries because they had sticks and knives while others didn’t, however it seemed recently everyone else had a gun at times and warned them to fear for their lives if they got too close. Thunderous rain pelted them and smirks of animosity greeted them if they ever asked anyone for acceptance or a place to stay for a night.
Anger, it was ever abiding anger that always accompanied them. They had anger towards each other, towards their oppressors and to whatever caused them to think they could ever make this journey. One day their group risked too much driven by this anger and two people had gotten killed. Three men survived, Farnsworth included, who was clutching a knife with no hope included when David from the lake had happened upon them and asked about their circumstances at the point of a gun as a big bear of a man named Dump Truck searched them and what goods they had left.
They begged forgiveness for straying on what he referred to as his territory and promised to be good if allowed to pass through, but David had heard about their little hell of a Hulla Ballou up the road and wanted some answers.
“You boys sure picked the wrong damn place to ambush somebody at, those damn Sikes boys bedevil us all the time but you went a bit too far trying to catch and rob granny going to the out house.
“I take it those two boys carrying broomsticks from the way I heard it got a surprise from her .38 snub noses. That’s one mean old grandma to reckon with if even if you ain’t got larceny in your heart.” David had stated as 19 yr. old Bobby boy, as he referred to Silas’s third cousin’s nephew or something, spit a wad of chewing tobacco in their direction.
“We just needed to eat, governor!” Farnsworth started to say before David grinned at the accent and cradled his shotgun over one arm.
“Ha, Dump Truck he sounds like Stewart! I bet that man’s got a story to go with that danged accent we need to hear before we decide his outcome. They got any stolen goods on them Dumpy?” David asked giving them an evil redneck ‘toying with ya’ grin.
“Naw, they about as threadbare as their clothes,
lemme look in their suitcases though.” And Dump commenced to rifle through the battered, ragged bags.
“Naw, they appear ok, haven’t profited off of any mischief I can tell.” Dump said pointing his .45 pistol back in their direction.
“Where you all headed?” David asked walking over to a fence line and taking a precarious perch on the wire next to a post.
“South, just south.” Rogers began before Jamie who was standing next to him just took off running.
David casually pointed his shotgun up in the air and blew a round off and hollered halt which the man took as good advice and came back to the meeting like he had his tail between his legs all a shivering from the scare and excitement.
“We ain’t gong to harm you all none, relax a bit. I can understand how you got desperate enough to thinking about robbing an old woman but at the outhouse? All guns point at the outhouse, boys, in times of stress because the devilment of you thinking you were smart is already understood. Now if you had harmed that old lady in any way, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. That’s my pie baker by the way and I would take her loss quite personal.” David said breaking in to his fake super southern ways and accent for such events.
“Mister, we didn’t mean anything and wouldn’t have hurt her.” Mayfield began before Farnsworth interjected something about them making him help.
”You are a sorry lot! I am sorry you got your friends killed over stupidity, hell that old woman, if you had hollered a hello greeting to her, might have done nothing more than say here’s some water be on your way or found this Brit’s accent enchanting enough to offer pie to. You’re in the south, boy, they still tell stories of confederates offering Yankees fine Southern hospitality even under the occupation after the war. Enough said, what do we do with your scroungey asses? First off you got to bury your buddies or at least get them off this here property. Next, after you apologize for seeing her lift her skirts and getting shot for it, is deciding if you are a menace to the community. I don’t think you are, but I don’t know what you been up to until you crossed my gun’s sight. You all mosey back the way you came and if Miss Winters and my lineman say you’re ok, I will just boot you on down the road after you take care of the dead, ok?” David suggested.
“Th..th..they were our friends..” Rogers began looking back horrified at the scene they had run from.
“And she is my friend and under all of our protection. If you got something more than simple assault and attempted thievery to answer to it will be hers and mine decision what to do with you. If you are just foolish and desperate that’s one thing, if you need to be dead or sent on your way down the road that’s another. So march!!! Get along, boys and walk back towards her house, I got a rider coming by in an hour or two that might tell me you got other sins or crimes to answer for!” David declared fiercely and with a deep sigh and heads bowed, his new prisoners walked the miles back to the place where so-called justice awaited them.
After a review of the facts and calming down the old woman that they couldn’t think of any penalties suitable for just giving her a scare and seeing her tushy especially since she had shot the two that actually had the view and caused the commotion, the bodies were buried and the prisoners released.
They were grateful and happy to be on their way with nothing more than a tongue lashing and some graphic threats as they were digging their former friends graves but David insisted after hearing a bit more of the story from the group that Farnsworths had to talk to Stewart and that was that before leaving the area.
Dump thought he was batty but he liked hearing that old British accent this far south and David had already started talking the Army buddy crap to the rest of the survivors so he decided that they weren’t so bad to have around at the moment either. The two dead men also pained them a little, but it was what it was. They had gotten a bit calloused about such things these days and in their minds calming the old woman down after she had defended herself and had to shoot somebody to do it was more important than any stranger’s loss. The poor woman was beside herself as the shock and realization that she had taken lives began to set in after her initial exuberating that she had done right and as trained.
They waited for the night rider horseman to say that all was mostly well in the community and confirm that Stewart should head this way before bedding down for the night. The so called not guests but “no longer prisoners” that were expected to stay in place awhile longer did what they were asked and awaited the community’s Englishman’s arrival.
It is funny how loose truces and dire threats turn out but everyone complied played nice and early that next morning Stewart come riding up on an old swaybacked mule to see what was going on. Much laughter and much remorse was the course of the conversation as Farnsworth and the others told the tale of woe and it was decided a few fish poles, an empty cabin and a labor exchange and security pledge could allow the former prisoners a place on the fringes of the community to stay or be asked to move on later.
David and Stewart were used to judging hearts and souls as for disposition of survivors that came their way. They kind of were in the same opinion about people as they were about dealing with trade goods.
Knowing a cracked plate will last as long as a sound one, they found the value in people many others couldn’t see. A simple explanation of ‘you work, you eat’ and the tasks that would be required of the disheveled half-dead folks thrown on their doorsteps was enough to allow them a probationary place in the community. There were tasks to be done like gathering dried cow pies for a garden, standing sentry and fighting with sticks if need be so they could all survive, it was understood and a pact was made. The survivors would be taken in and fed for performing work to benefit the community and nothing more. Thus a strange band of alliances was made and an addition to their security force, if needed, was understood.
Challenges, prejudices, coveting food or goods and lots of other petty jealousies occurred but it was all under one banner, one hierarchy of leadership and it sorted itself out somehow. A three musketeer moment at best, all for one and one for all became all of us staying at the lake and if you eat, I eat and I will defend that.
The two men that had died attempting to steal were no longer spoken of, the harshness of the experience was forgotten and a new daily survival regime began. The dead had gotten what they deserved even if they didn’t deserve it, the alleged criminals got a new lease on life and the matter was never more to be uttered or spoken about. The days were far too hard and long and life was short. As far as Farnsworth was concerned, their search for likeminded people was over.
8
MESSING WITH METALS
The only thing on anyone’s mind today was moving metal, precious metals, the stuff that bound the trades together. David took the golf cart over to the landing looking for Jock and awaiting the mail riders returns in case there were any last minute messages to take into account. A convoluted and deceptive path of intrigue and danger snaked its way across many maps today as like back in the days of the Wild West stagecoaches and wagons of old, a variety of vehicles and boats carried strong boxes of gold bullion and silver coin.
Armed guards were common on trade wagons and cars full of people with guns, when there was gas to be found to run them, were common to be seen on the roads heading to Rendezvous or anywhere else for that matter. It was probably the safest time of the year to be going anywhere for most people because of the amount of friendly and well armed traffic blazing a trail. For others it could be very dangerous because not blending in with the rest of the trade caravans or being in the wrong one if a large armed force attacked one. It was an extremely rare but not an unheard of event to hear of someone that decided to risk such an ambush.
“Jock, you got any metal in that RV or are you waiting on gold delivery or what?” David asked.
“She has bag of small amount of jewelry, no more, Philburn say he comes this way after Rendezvous to stay for a few days and this be his house for then. The metal
she goes on deposit with you in the community bank and settles up on notes when he gets here. Me? I need you to arrange transport to get me to Rendezvous. Philburn says charge him ticket for feed and transport.” Jock said in his thick French accent.
“Ok, I was wondering about that, just consider yourself guest of the camp and I will get you a ride later no charge. Did you already talk to the banker or do you need an intro?” David asked.
“Oh, he came by himself within an hour after I arrived. I thank you, David; boo coo good show last night!” Jock said and David agreed before leaving to go find his banker they called the Weatherman.
David went to the general store and saw the Banker sitting out in front on a bench chatting with the storekeeper and an assortment of regulars who were hanging out gossiping and looking for news.
“Morning, David! You are making the rounds late this morning. I figured you would be on my doorstep early this morning raring to get the show on the road.” Weatherman greeted.
“I had to check on Philburn’s man and was slow moving anyway this morning. I am just not feeling up to snuff these days, let me get me some coffee and I will be ready to rock and roll with you here in a minute.” David declared going into the general store that generally kept a pot on.
