Caelyn froze, too stunned to move. “Really?” she said, her voice cracking. “Really. Yes, I remember, Bishop Simpson. Of course.” She moved toward him and they shook hands. She stood back, her face radiating relief, then started bouncing up and down. “Of course! Of course! I remember you. I am so glad to see you. Thank you, thank you, for coming by.” She bounced again, embraced him, then quickly pulled back again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m so glad to see you!” She embraced him one more time.
Simpson smiled at the happy greeting, then wiped a leathery hand across his brow. “These are a couple of my grandkids, Josh and Boyd.” The teenagers waved and muttered “hey” but didn’t get up from the trailer. In fact, they hardly seemed to move. She studied them. Taking in the weary shoulders and hanging heads, she realized they weren’t being rude or disinterested—they were just exhausted. And maybe a little scared.
“They’re good kids,” Simpson said, seeming to read her mind. “Usually they’re more outgoing, but we’ve been up since nearly four o’clock this morning and I’ve run ’em pretty hard. But they’re young, right men,” he looked back over his shoulder, speaking to his grandsons now, “and tough as nails. A hard day’s work isn’t going to kill ’em.”
“Sure, Grandpa,” the oldest one said, though the tone of his voice made it pretty clear he wasn’t sure.
Simpson turned back to Caelyn and studied her. Blonde hair down to the top of her collar. Deep blue eyes. Small frame. Long neck and slender fingers. He frowned and looked around, thinking of the neighbors and others who lived along this road. Dangerous to be so pretty in this unpredictable new world.
She bounced again, not seeing the concern on his face. “What are you doing here!” she asked, her smile so radiant he finally couldn’t help but smile back.
Simpson adjusted his worn-out White Sox baseball cap. “We’ve been going around some of the ward, checking on a couple of folks. Thought I’d . . . you know . . .” He hesitated, looking off at the horizon.
“You knew that I was out here?”
“Not really. I just . . .” Again, his voice trailed off.
Caelyn watched him, waiting for more explanation. Simpson was quiet, seeming lost in thought. Caelyn smiled faintly, then nodded to the house. “My mom and dad are inside.”
Simpson glanced across the grass. “I don’t know your parents very well. Met your mom a couple times. She can be a real rascal.” He laughed. “She’s probably got a deer rifle aimed at my chest right now.”
Caelyn’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t think so. A potato shooter, maybe. Far as I know, my parents have never owned a gun. They came here from California, remember. Not much of a gun culture out there.”
Caelyn’s mother stepped out onto the porch.
“Do you know my dad?” Caelyn asked.
“No, not really. I live five or six miles down the road, then up toward the highway, so our paths have crossed from time to time, but that’s about all. Your parents haven’t ever visited church though, am I right? You’re the only member of your family who is LDS?”
“My husband is as well. He joined the Church in high school. I was baptized a couple of weeks after we met. We visit the ward whenever we come home to see my parents, but I’m afraid that isn’t very often and they never come with us to church. Not much interest, I’m afraid. Maybe someday. We keep on trying.”
“Understand. We keep on trying. Sometimes that’s all we can do.” Simpson stepped to his side and waved to Caelyn’s mom. Gretta hesitated a moment, then stepped off the porch and walked toward them.
“Hey there,” he said when she approached. “Walter
Simpson.” He extended his hand. “We’ve met a couple times, but it’s been a long time.”
Her mother stopped in front of him and shook his hand. “Sure, Walter, I remember. What brings you out here?” Caelyn sensed the edge in her mother’s voice.
“Just out checking up on people, you know, seeing if everything’s okay.”
“You live . . . ?”
“On the other side of Edmondson.”
“Kind of a long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, not too far, I guess. Of course, we’re not checking on everyone between here and my place, just a few members of our ward. I used to be the bishop of the local LDS congregation. I was about finished and ready to head back home when . . .” he paused. “It occurred to me that Caelyn might be out here visiting her parents. Thought I’d come out and see if everything’s okay.”
Caelyn watched her mother closely. Gretta didn’t relax at all. Always too suspicious. Not unfriendly, just overly careful. It was the way she’d always been.
Simpson saw the reservation on her face. “So, you’re doing okay?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”
Gretta squared her shoulders a bit too proudly.
Simpson saw it and grinned again. “No, Gretta, we’re not out inviting people to come to church and get saved, although,” he nodded toward the small town of Edmondson off to his right, “there’s plenty of that going on at some of the town churches, from what I understand. But anyway, like I said, we’re just out checking up on everyone.”
Gretta shook her head. “We’re doing fine. Thanks for asking, Walter, but there’s nothing we need here.”
There was the sound of footsteps crossing the wooden porch and Caelyn turned around. Her father had walked out of the kitchen and was standing near the screen door, holding it open. Ellie ran out of the kitchen, jumped off the porch, and fell onto the soft grass, then pushed herself up and ran toward her mom, grabbing her by the knees. Simpson knelt down to look at her. “Holy cow, what a little cutie!” He looked up at her mom. “The spitting image of you. People must tell you that all the time.”
Caelyn smiled proudly, patting her daughter gently on the head. “Thank you,” she said, pulling Ellie close.
Simpson glanced back toward his grandsons.
“How’d you get your tractor working?” Gretta asked.
“Mostly because it’s so old. Not much as far as electrical wiring and fancy stuff for the EMP to burn out. All the new tractors, heck, they’ve got more wiring and computers than the space shuttle, I think. But these old things, they’re pretty simple. Easier to keep them chugging along.”
Gretta nodded toward the road. “I haven’t seen any tractors or other farm machinery up or down the road. None of ours is working, and we’ve got some old stuff too.”
Simpson shrugged. “I don’t know . . . it’s kind of a long story.” He glanced at Caelyn as if somehow he expected her to help him explain.
“A long story?” Gretta said. “I think we’ve got time to hear it, Walter.”
The older man shifted from one leather boot to the other. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
Caelyn’s mom kept her eyes on him, waiting.
“Okay, I guess it’s not so hard to accept if you’ve a mind to. A couple weeks ago I was into the Farm Supply in Edmondson getting some sheer bolts for the plow when,” he paused, reached down, pulled a long blade of grass from the ground, and put it in his mouth, holding it between his teeth, “when I heard a voice,” he continued. “‘Pick up parts to rebuild the wiring on the old John Deere tractor,’” it said.
“At first, I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to come back again. ‘Pick up parts to rebuild the wiring on the old John Deere tractor.’
“Kind of weird, huh, hearing voices when I’m out shopping for farm parts. But there it was. I figure, who am I to argue? So I bought some electrical parts. Turns out I got everything I needed to get Bertha running after the EMP attack. None of the secondary electronics on the tractor work—the wiring for the lights and stuff has been fried and I had to wire the battery directly to the starter—but, as you can see, I got the old girl running.”
Caelyn watched him, a new understanding in her eyes.
Gretta’s face was disbelieving. “You heard a voice?” she asked.
“Kind
of,” Simpson answered sheepishly.
“Really? It helped you with your shopping list?”
Simpson kept his eyes on her, a friendly smile pasted on his face. “God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he, Gretta.”
She started to answer but Caelyn quickly interrupted. “Bishop Simpson, are you telling us that even when something’s been destroyed by the EMP, it can be fixed?”
“Certainly. If you have the parts. But that’s the problem, of course, no one has the parts. Not near enough to go around. How much of our farm equipment will we have replacement parts to fix? I don’t know. Not too much, I guess. Maybe a dozen or two tractors in the county. Two dozen out of two or three hundred. That’s not enough to make much of a difference, I suspect.”
“But if we can get the parts, we can rebuild things? And replacement parts can be made, is that right?”
Simpson sucked the piece of grass. “Yeah, but think of this. All the factories are down. No electricity anywhere. Most of these kinds of things are made overseas anyway. Now, that might be good news or bad news, depending on how this works out, I guess. Will the Chinese or whoever sell us the things we need right now? How will we get it shipped here? How long will it take? Can we ever get enough? We’re left without any transportation systems. No computers. No banking systems. No communications to coordinate the effort.” He spit out the chewed piece of grass, a tiny speck of green sticking to his lower lip. “So yeah, Caelyn, I think we’re going to be able to rebuild, it’s not like the entire country has been destroyed by a nuclear bomb, but it’s going to take some time. A couple months to get started. Half a year to make a difference. Maybe a full year, maybe more.”
Gretta shook her head and muttered, then stared toward the quickly setting sun. Shadows had grown long now, stretching dark and thin across the deep green grass, and the house cast a dark outline almost to the fence along the backyard. “A month is too long,” she whispered in desperation. “A couple months is hopeless. A whole year! Don’t make me laugh. None of us are going to make it, not if we have to get by on our own for that long.” She turned to Walter. “Don’t you think the government is going to step in and . . . I don’t know, do something!”
The old farmer hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know, Gretta. I’m no prophet and no civil servant, so take everything I tell you with a great big ol’ grain of salt, but I think the government is pretty much like you and me, completely overwhelmed. I just hope they can keep control of the people, keep some sense of law and order . . .” his voice trailed off. “Do you have a radio?” he asked.
“No. At least not one that’s working.”
“You hear about things out in California? L.A. and San Francisco?”
“We haven’t heard anything,” Caelyn answered, brushing her hand through Ellie’s thin blonde hair.
Simpson glanced down at the little girl, who was looking up at him, her eyes wide, listening to every word. “Maybe we can talk about that later. Just know it’s kind of a mess out there. Like I was saying, I only hope the government can keep a lid on things. Keep things a little bit under control.”
“Surely they’ve got some plan, some kind of program for such a time as this?” Gretta’s voice was angry now.
“Are you aware of any government programs that could take care of everyone within the U.S., or even part of us? I wish there were. Water, of course, is a huge problem and the most urgent need for most people, and it’s going to take every resource the government has just to provide the most basic water service. Even with that, I think pretty much everyone’s going to eventually end up drinking from the rivers and the lakes. After that, I just don’t know, but it’s my opinion that the government isn’t going to step in and help us. They just aren’t prepared. It’s too big a job.”
Gretta kept her eyes on the dropping sun. The sky was turning red now, a deep, fierce, unnatural glow. “So you’re telling me we’ve got to make it for a year on our own.”
“Who knows? Maybe it won’t be that long. It’s too late in the fall now to plant anything, but we can plant again in the spring. Everyone can grow a garden—”
“But that’s next year. We’re not even talking spring, you’re talking about harvesting in fall!”
Simpson shrugged, his face pained.
“I don’t have a year’s supply of food, that’s for sure.”
Simpson and Caelyn glanced at each other, a knowing look between them. A moment of silence followed. The little girl hanging on her mother’s knees looked up with blue eyes, then motioned toward the tree swing. “Can I, Mom?” she said. Caelyn nodded toward it and the little girl ran off, her cotton skirt rippling behind her in the breeze. Caelyn watched her go, then turned back to Simpson.
“What happened out in San Francisco?” she asked quickly.
Simpson bent for another blade of grass. “There was an earthquake. A real beauty. Lots of damage throughout the city, but the worst thing was the fires. Once they got started, no one could stop them. Sounds like the entire city is in flames. The whole thing might be burned. Same down in L.A. It’s an unbelievable thing, from what I heard.”
Gretta turned to him, a sick look across her face. She had spent much of her adult life in California and had many friends out there. “How do you know that?” she demanded as if the whole thing were Simpson’s fault.
“A lot of wards have coordinated some training with members who own shortwave radios. Enough of them are still working that we get some word.”
Gretta hesitated, not understanding but too tired and discouraged to press. “The entire city of San Francisco . . . L.A., such a beautiful city . . . so many, many good people . . .” she whispered.
Caelyn put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”
Simpson waited a moment, then kicked his boots through the long grass at his feet. It’s worse, his face seemed to say.
“There are a couple other news items you might want to know about,” he went on after a moment of silence. “Things are kind of tough all over. Other cities are in shambles. New York is completely deserted, they’re saying. Chicago’s got some fires, though not like out in L.A., but I’ve heard they’ve got a dysentery epidemic, too. St. Louis has been torn apart by a week of race riots. South, the borders have burst open. Millions of Mexicans are making their way across the Rio Grande. The government simply doesn’t have the people or equipment to stop them from pouring into our country. They said two or three million illegals have come across the borders already. Some of them are led by Mexican drug lords with their private armies. They’re coming up in old trucks and cars. I guess a lot of the vehicles and equipment in Mexico were far enough away from the EMP that they weren’t damaged in the attack. There’s lots of looting, lots of violence.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Some of the border towns have been destroyed.”
A sudden, violent picture flashed in Caelyn’s mind. Men. Guns. A dark sky. A feeling of cold dread. She almost couldn’t stand to listen anymore. Glancing away, she looked for Ellie, then stared at the ground and thought. There was a scripture, she didn’t know it well, but it seemed to return to her now and she was surprised at the clarity with which it came. She didn’t know it all, but she could paraphrase: If the Gentiles don’t repent after they have scattered my people, then the remnant of the house of Jacob will go among them as a lion among the flocks of sheep, tearing them in pieces.
As the scripture ran through her mind, she shivered with fear. Out of all the things there were to worry her, why did thisscare her so? Out of all the scriptures she could think of, why did this one come to mind? She thought on it a moment, but didn’t know.
“Listen, we’ve got to be heading on,” Simpson said, nodding to the wagon. “We’ve got some emergency supplies. Canned goods, spaghetti, things like that.” He waved to the boys, who stood and lifted a couple of boxes. “Tell me what you need,” he said.
Caelyn glanced anxiously toward her mother, who shot
her a glaring look. “I think we’ll be okay for a week or two, but I don’t know what we’re going to do after that,” she said, ignoring her mother’s angry stare. “Back home, my husband and I have some food storage, enough to see us through, but that’s five hundred miles away from here. I don’t have any way to go and get it and bring it back here, and even if I could, I couldn’t leave my mom and dad.”
Simpson nodded to the boys, who climbed down from the wagon with their boxes and looked at him. “Put them on the back porch,” he said.
“Where’d that come from?” Gretta demanded.
“We have what we call a bishop’s storehouse.”
“Whatever, we don’t need that,” she protested, but the two boys ignored her, moving with the boxes toward the house. “Look,” she continued, her voice angry now, “I don’t know what you all expect from us in return for your favors, but I don’t think you should expect me to be showing up at your meetings in a baptism dress anytime real soon.”
Simpson laughed, not at all offended. “Gretta, we don’t expect anything from you. It’s not like we’re going around trading food when people agree to set up appointments with our missionaries. We just thought we might be able to help. And remember, Miss Gretta, Caelyn is a member of our church. We have an obligation to help her. So yes, we’re going to help.”
Gretta stared coldly, still suspicious. “I still won’t be visiting your church this week.”
Simpson laughed. “That’s a relief.” His voice was teasing.
She scowled, then turned toward the young men on the porch. “I’ll take care of those,” she called out, marching after them.
The old farmer watched her walk away, then quickly glanced to Caelyn. “Your mom’s a real handful.”
Caelyn was dying with embarrassment. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I can handle her. And I think I understand her a lot better than you might think. She’s a proud woman, a woman who’s made a go of it on her own for a long time. She’s been responsible for your father since they were first married, from what I understand, and she takes great pride in the fact that she can take care of herself. Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong at all.” He watched as Gretta walked onto the porch and took one of the boxes from the nearest boy. “Listen, Caelyn,” he said, turning back to her, “there’s a couple things you need to know. First, we’re having a meeting at the ward house next Saturday afternoon. The bishop wants to take an evaluation of where we stand. We’ll be setting up a communications tree, taking an inventory of everyone’s supplies, making a list of the number of people in every household and their needs. Basically, we’ll be setting up a community resource of available food, reserves, medical supplies, tools, generators, working vehicles, everything. We can’t have someone out here trying to scrape by on their own, not if they don’t want to, not if there are others who are willing to help. It’s all strictly voluntary. It’s not like we’re going to go around confiscating people’s food or anything like that, but we recognize that some people are going to have resources that others won’t, and they’re willing to share. I think you’re a pretty good example. From what I understand, you and your husband have done everything you could to take care of yourselves. Now your husband is off somewhere.” He paused. “Where is your husband, Caelyn?”
The Great and Terrible Page 124
