by Nathan Jones
The community folded those groups in, and the larger numbers allowed for better mutual defense against raiders. Like any community they were eager for doctors, especially ones trained in trauma surgery and emergency care. They gave Langstrom a generous offer, and he and his family gathered their few possessions and hitched a ride on a convoy heading south.
The family left only nine days before the Retaliation, and listened with horror along with everyone else to the accounts of a direct nuclear strike against their former home. Langstrom considered it an act of Providence that they'd gotten out in time.
Since then the community had been encouraged to relocate to the mountains where it was more defensible. Suddenly lacking prospects, Langstrom had joined up with the military again. That had worked well during the blockhead siege, and he'd saved a lot of lives. Then the blockheads left and the military packed up to chase them, and he was faced with a choice of going with them and either taking his family into danger or leaving them to an uncertain fate, or remaining behind and administering medical care in a refugee camp.
He'd chosen the refugee camp.
In spite of military promises and his value as a doctor, conditions had been poor there. Lodgings were bad, food was scarce, and Langstrom was deeply worried about hygiene in the camp. To add to that, with the blockheads gone people were starting to get restless; they wanted to leave, but not on their own.
What they wanted was for the military to give them a place to go, somewhere they could start building a new life and preparing for the winter. The military, lacking manpower and critically low on resources even with its windfall, could barely keep the camp operational. Violence began breaking out, and criminal activity in the camp exploded. In response the military began cracking down hard, enacting curfew and other restrictive measures.
Which left Langstrom massively overworked seeing to the burgeoning wounded, his staff thinning out as people abandoned their positions since they weren't being compensated for their work, and his family suffering deprivation and in constant danger with their freedoms severely restricted.
“I don't want to abandon the injured there,” he finished in a heavy voice, head down and eyes on his long, graceful hands folded on his knees. “But the situation was untenable. I'm not willing to let my family suffer if I can do anything about it. So when I heard that a town that was doing fairly well was inviting qualified people to join them, I decided it was the chance we'd been looking for.”
“You sound like just what we're looking for as well,” Matt said, “but we'd like to ask some questions.” He motioned. “This is our current doctor, Terry Lynn. He's already looked over your credentials and declared them more than impressive.”
Even though they'd already been introduced Terry offered his hand, and Langstrom shook again. “I was only an intern before all this, Doctor,” Matt's brother-in-law said, almost apologetically. “I have only the utmost respect for your experience, but I need to ask you some specific questions regarding your qualifications.”
“I understand,” Langstrom said gravely.
Terry may have been thrust into being the town doctor when it was all over his head, but he'd risen to the task as well as he was able, and saved lives. And now that he was being faced with replacement or at least demotion by a skilled surgeon, he rose to this task as well. He'd carefully thought out his questions, and presented them respectfully.
Most of it was hard for Matt to follow, a shockingly long list of surgical procedures Terry wanted to know if Langstrom had previously performed or could perform, as well as his statistics for complications during operations or in post-op recovery.
But some things were easier to understand. Like Langstrom's experience in low-tech surgeries since the Gulf burned, and how well the surgeon thought he could operate with limited supplies and in poor conditions, without the aid of any of the usual equipment found in hospital operating rooms.
It turned out Langstrom had a wry sense of humor to go with his experience and skill. “You want to know how well I can cut a person open while blindfolded and using a butter knife?” he asked. “Or if I can suture him up with yarn and a knitting needle afterwards?”
Terry smiled wanly. “In a matter of speaking.”
The surgeon sat back, drawing a deep breath. “I've performed hundreds of surgeries of all kinds since the Gulf refineries attack. I've operated under the worst of conditions, using improvised tools sometimes.” Pain crossed his features, the pain of failure with disastrous results. Matt understood that pain himself. “I did the best I could. The operations didn't always turn out well, and I learned some hard lessons. If you're asking about statistics, I'm afraid mine became far, far worse after the world collapsed around me.”
“Understandable,” Terry said sympathetically. He also understood that pain.
Langstrom straightened. “But I'm ready to make the best of any situation, and do the finest job I can with whatever I'm given. I'll pull my weight in this community, and provide more than enough value to make up for the resources my family needs.”
That seemed to conclude the interview. There were a few more handshakes all around as they headed back out for the next interviewee. That would be Langstrom's wife Bernice: if the surgeon was invited in, which was almost certain, then of course his family would be too, and his services would more than make up for the added resources consumed.
But as Lewis had suggested, if possible the ideal situation was for the family members to also have useful skills. The Langstroms' young son Bryce couldn't reasonably expected to contribute much at his age, but Bernice's hobby before the Gulf burned had been sewing and quilting, and before her marriage she'd been a grade school teacher. Not vital skills, maybe, but they could definitely aid the community.
On the way out the surgeon pulled Matt aside. “I referred members of my staff from camp for recruiting that are here as well, but not everyone was invited. Your interviewing process seems rigorous, so I'm guessing some of them probably won't make the cut either.”
Matt nodded. “We appreciate the recommendations, but while doctors are always valued our resources are limited. We have to prioritize specific specializations like your trauma surgery, dentistry, and a couple others.” He looked at the man's slightly uncomfortable expression. “Was there someone you wanted to make it?”
Langstrom nodded. “Ideally everyone, of course. They're all friends and trusted colleagues. But my main concern is Margaret Johnson, who's my wife's good friend. She'd be crushed if Maggy had to go back to the camp.”
The name made Matt relax a little. “Well the town also has a serious need for OB/GYNs. While I make no guarantees, just as we still haven't agreed on accepting your family even though your chances are almost certain, I can safely say your wife and her friend probably won't be separated.”
The older man relaxed too, and smiled. “Thank you for the reassurance. Dr. Johnson really is one of the most qualified OB/GYNs I know, with decades of experience in childbirth and numerous house calls.”
Matt felt a surge of relief. He'd read Dr. Johnson's resume, of course, but it was much better to hear from a reliable source, which Langstrom seemed to be. “I am very, very glad to hear that.”
The surgeon noticed Matt's expression and seemed to make the connection. “Ah. Your wife?”
“Not just my wife,” Matt said, trying not to sound defensive. “But yes, she's due in a couple months.”
The older man clasped his shoulder for a moment in understanding. “She'll be in good hands, you have my word on it.”
Matt nodded gratefully. “Thanks.” He nodded out the door, where the committee was waiting. “Speaking of wives, we're looking forward to meeting yours and getting acquainted with her. And you're probably ready to eat.”
* * * * *
Trev felt like a third wheel during most of the interviews that took place over the next few hours. He had a few questions to ask about fighting experience, of course, but most of these refugees were being brought
in for other skills besides combat experience and marksmanship.
From what he could see most of the potential recruits were exceptional people who tended to have a full college education and/or extensive medical schooling. They'd been picked out by Lucas and Ben from among thousands, not only for their skills but also for their integrity and hardworking nature. Most tended to be older, in their late twenties at least, since a formal education combined with work experience in their field took some time to gain. But there were some exceptions.
One of the applicants, a lovely woman in her early 20s named Hailey Nelson, had roughly the same level of education as Trev. Her draw for the town was that she'd grown up in a family that raised goats. They'd processed the milk into homemade cheese, soap, kefir, and yogurt, which they'd made a modest business of selling to satisfied customers. They'd also butchered excess animals for meat and made rugs out of their hides. More importantly, they'd harvested and woven goat fibers, and Hailey's resume spoke to her skill working with wool as well.
Her knowledge of what could be done with the animal products was far more extensive than the Watsons', who'd mostly just bottled the milk and slaughtered the animals. She'd also personally assisted with every task involved with the family business, including preserving the meat and making the rugs, as well as assisting with kidding and tending sick animals.
After quizzing her on her practical skills Chauncey was very enthusiastic about inviting her in. Being able to process and store what the goats and sheep produced long term would be important, especially in the summer when refrigeration wasn't available. And it was better to know how rather than resorting to trial and error, even if Lewis had books on the techniques to help out.
Hailey's family had raised other animals at various points as well, similarly doing their best to get the most out of what they produced, and that was another plus. They'd also had an extensive garden, including seasoning and medicinal herbs, and being from Gunnison she was familiar with raising plants in the dry, poor soil of this area.
Although the young woman's skill set wasn't quite as vital as, say, Dr. Langstrom's, she seemed earnest and hardworking. It also helped sell her case that her family had been killed in the chaos and her situation in the refugee camp was very tenuous. With none of her skills useful in that setting she'd helped with the camp's cooking, using her knowledge of edible plants in the area and her family's frugal spending habits to make decent meals with what was available. Still, she seemed desperate to get out and find something more stable.
Other applicants ranged from a dentist to a professional farmer to an OB/GYN with decades of experience in childbirth who Matt immediately threw his support behind. In the end Trev and the rest of the committee settled on 22 people to invite into the community, all of whom they were satisfied had far more to contribute to the town than the resources they'd require.
With the decision made they returned to the pavilion, thanking those who hadn't made the cut and wishing them a safe trip back to the refugee camp. The rejected applicants were all disappointed, of course, and many complained bitterly about being led on, but none tried to start any trouble.
After the other refugees started on their way home Matt faced the group of new Aspen Hill residents. “For those of you who still have possessions or family waiting back at the refugee camp, we have a handcart we can send to help you bring them back. As for lodgings, we've found people willing to take you in temporarily until enough houses can be built for everyone. Is there anything you need to know right now?”
There was a bit of hesitation as the group tried to figure out what qualified as an urgent question, which lasted long enough to indicate no one had any. Matt smiled. “In that case welcome to your new home.”
There were some cheers at that, from the former refugees as well as the townspeople, and then the two groups began mingling as the new townspeople were introduced to the families who'd be taking them in, as well as to their new neighbors.
As part of the committee as well as leader of the town's defenses Trev felt it was his responsibility to go around personally shaking hands with all the new residents. They all thanked him profusely, much to his embarrassment. Especially Hailey, who held his hand longer than was strictly necessary and told him she hoped for a chance to get to know him better.
Trev noticed that Deb, waiting nearby as one of the defenders he'd assigned to unobtrusively watch the pavilion in case of trouble, glared at that. To reassure her he immediately went over to ask her how things had gone while he'd been interviewing everyone.
While the brown-haired woman reported on the afternoon's events, Trev noticed that Matt had immediately singled out Margaret Johnson and was ushering the OB/GYN away. Presumably to give Sam a much needed checkup and reassure himself that the pregnancy was going smoothly.
Within fifteen minutes the impromptu party started to die down as everyone got back to work and the new residents dispersed to their temporary homes to settle in. Trev expected that would include baths and laundry, and hopefully even new clothes in better condition than their current rags, gifted from those with plenty to spare.
Rick came around to chat with him and Deb for a while. Apparently while giving his tour of the town to the applicants, the younger man had invited anyone who was asked to stay to come to his wedding.
“How are you and Alice doing, anyway?” Trev asked. “I've barely seen you around lately.”
His friend grinned. “Great. We've just both been super busy. Alice and my mom have been getting ready for the wedding, while I've been working hard to make sure our married life is comfortable.” He glanced between Trev and Deb. “On a completely related subject, Trev, I hear you're making a bachelor pad for yourself.”
Trev did his best to hide his embarrassment. Deb knew about his building project, but they hadn't really talked about it. Also where had Rick “heard” that?
“Yeah, I've started on an extension to the cabin,” he admitted. “Although at the rate I'm going it'll be done by Christmas if I'm lucky.” He glanced at the pavilion, which was now nearly empty. “Speaking of which, I'm going to get in touch with the lookouts to make sure the refugees are well on their way, then I'll probably get back to work on it.”
Rick nodded. “Sounds like a plan. There's always more venison to smoke and acorns to gather.”
They parted ways, Deb walking beside Trev as he briefly contacted the lookouts. Once he was finished the brown-haired woman glanced at him sidelong. “So I guess once you finish your room we'll have a place to hang out when we're not working, huh?”
“Yeah.” Trev cleared his throat. “Or, you know, if I'm busy doing something and you need some peace and quiet you're welcome to hang out there yourself.”
She gave him an odd look, and he wondered if the off the cuff offer had come off as weird. “Sure, okay.” She glanced up at the sun. “My shift's starting soon. Good luck building.”
He waved her off as she started for the eastern ridge and her lookout position on that side. She had the late afternoon to dark schedule, when Trev was usually busy helping with house building. Or, in this case, building his own.
To his surprise Lewis was already there when he arrived, smoothing the logs Trev and Matt had brought in yesterday. They'd already limbed them but the hasty job had left stubs, sometimes no more than an inch long, from the thicker branches. His cousin was shearing those off, as well as any spots where the bark protruded too far.
“Hey thanks for the help,” Trev said, grabbing an axe to start notching the logs to be fitted together.
Lewis shrugged. “It's the least I can do after all the help you've given me with my own room.”
They talked a bit about the new townspeople and their thoughts on them, then eventually fell into a companionable silence as they worked. They were nearly to the point where Trev would need to go out and get more logs when his cousin cleared his throat. “So Linda tells me you're building this room for when you get married. Or actually she tells Mary, who
tells Mom, who tells me.”
Trev's hands were full of the last log they were lifting into place on a wall, or he would've slapped his forehead. “Of course she did.” He set his end in place and shoved it slightly to make sure it was steady. “I'm a bit embarrassed to have you helping me, or anyone for that matter, since I'm building it for myself.”
Lewis got out his knife and began dislodging bits of bark to help the logs fit together better. “Yeah, Linda thinks you should give it to her. Or at least your parents.”
He grimaced. “I still might, depending on how things go.”
That wiped the smile from his cousin's face. “Right. How is, um, that going?”
It was uncomfortable to have to dance around what Deb had been through, and her continuing struggles to recover from it. Especially since everyone, with typical nosiness, seemed to be waiting for her to get over a traumatic life-changing event already so she and Trev could start ringing the wedding bells.
As it stood Trev wasn't even sure she wanted that. Their bonding was mostly emotional, and hesitant at that. She rarely so much as touched his arm, and all physical contact was from her to him; with him tiptoeing around her issues he literally avoided touching her with a ten foot pole.
Sometimes he felt frustrated at the situation, and guilty for being frustrated. He was willing to give her all the time and support she needed, however she needed it, and he didn't complain about that. But it was fair to acknowledge that it was also hard on him, wasn't it?
His silence seemed to have been answer enough for Lewis, who cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right. Well anyway you're going to have to hold off on this project for now.”
Trev blinked. “I'm using my free time, little of that as I have.”
“Yeah, well even so it's more of a luxury project when there are plenty of things we need to do just for survival.”
