by John Grit
“I’m not a farmer,” Donovan said, “but I’ve been told by people who should know that the rough plan they’ve worked out to irrigate the lowland there will probably work. Also, the land seems plenty fertile enough to grow beans and vegetables on. There’s a lot of rich black peat there, so the lower part of that land is very fertile. They’re planning an extensive network of irrigation ditches that’ll be several feet below the lake’s water level and will be controlled by locks. Basically, they’re going back one hundred years and using old methods. If it works, they’ll be able to irrigate over two thousand acres of land without use of pumps or the consumption of any energy whatsoever.” He smiled and shrugged. “Every damn bit of it would’ve been illegal before the plague, as they’re committing a hundred federal and state environmental crimes. The land is part of a state nature preserve. It seems all of the environmentalists must have died in the plague, since no one’s protesting about it.”
Meyers smiled back and nodded. “Even environmentalists like to eat.” He immediately became serious again. “If they have a severe protracted drought, they’ll have to dig the ditches deeper when the lake’s water level drops, and that’ll make it necessary to use pumps to get the water out of the ditches onto the fields. Chances are there still won’t be much fuel for tractors or other equipment for many years, so they’ll have to dig the ditches deeper and pump the water by hand. Even after they’ve had a few successful harvests, these people will not be out of the woods. The days of a guaranteed full belly in America are over. At least for a while.”
“Yes sir,” Donovan agreed. “These are a hearty people, though, and I expect we’ll not have to stay here long before moving on to help another population center. They’ll probably have a police or sheriff department up and running soon. They’ve already proven they can protect themselves.”
Meyers watched another heavily loaded truck go by. “They’re taking everything they might possibly need, aren’t they?”
“Yes sir. There’re a resourceful bunch, accomplished scavengers. It’s one reason why they’ve survived for so long with no help from us. After what I saw in Miami and Orlando, it’s refreshing to see people so self-reliant. They remind me of people I’ve read about in history books, those who pioneered this continent. It’s also gratifying to see people not slaughtering and robbing each other. Instead, they’ve worked together to expel a violent gang.”
Meyers nodded in silence. He looked out the window and saw people determined to survive and provide a future for their children. The clinic caught his attention as the convoy went by, because it had military vehicles parked in front of it. “Is that clinic your doing?”
“Yes sir,” Donovan answered. “But Col. Hewitt had already gotten the ball rolling. He wanted the clinic for our personnel only, though. Also, there are two or three civilian doctors and a dozen nurses who’ve been helping since I gave them permission to treat civilians.”
“Turn around. I want to see the clinic.”
The driver heard. “Yes sir.” He slowed and hooked a U turn on Main Street. The rest of the convoy followed his example.
Before Myers got out, he said, “From the looks of your face, you might want a doctor to take a look at you while we’re here.”
Donovan smiled, then grimaced from the pain. “What I need is a dentist. Col. Hewitt kicked a tooth out. I think the root broke off, and the remainder needs to be removed.”
“You definitely need stitches,” Myers said. “While you’re being looked after, I’ll take a look around; see what I can do to help as far as supplies go.”
~~~
Nate heard a commotion near the entrance of the clinic. He momentarily forgot his troubles when he saw a general coming his way. His first instinct was to stand and salute, but he stayed seated. It had been a long time since he was in the Army. He did stand when Donovan and Meyers approached.
“General,” Donovan said, “this is Nate Williams. Nate, this is General Myers.” The two shook hands. Donovan said, “I heard about your son. How’s he doing?”
“There’s a blood clot on his brain from a splinter of his skull causing bleeding. They’re operating now.” Strain was evident on Nate’s face. “They tell me he’ll probably be okay.”
“Who’s the doctor?” Donovan asked.
Nate answered, “Major Millhouse is operating.”
Donovan tried to reassure him. “Major Millhouse has been known to work miracles. If he says there’s a good chance, there is.”
Nate nodded and swallowed.
Myers gave Donovan a questioning look, as if he were asking why he had bothered to introduce this civilian to him.
“General,” Donovan said. “We have a situation with a sergeant who went AWOL when Col. Hewett issued her illegal and immoral orders that she could not obey. She feared the Colonel would have her shot, and for good reason. Col. Hewitt, in fact, ordered that I be hanged. A noncom stepped in and saved me. It’s all in my report.” He touched his throbbing jaw. “The short of it is she had to flee for her life and is now on the run. I have reason to believe her action saved the lives of this man, his son, and a teenage boy.” He motioned with his hand. “I believe Nate knows where she is. I was hoping you would reassure him that if she were to return on her own accord, she would suffer no repercussions. Personally, I feel she did the right thing under the circumstances.”
Myers nodded as he listened. “Mr. Williams…” he turned to Donovan. “What is her name?”
“Sergeant Deni Heath,” Donovan answered.
Myers continued, “You have my word no charges will be filed against Sergeant Heath, and there will be no punishment of any kind, if she returns to post as soon as possible.”
“That’s good to hear,” Nate said. “There’ll be no way to get in contact with her, at least until tomorrow. She has a long way to travel by foot to get to a radio. The plan was for her to try to get in touch with the National Guard and inform them of Col. Hewitt’s mental illness and his crimes.”
Donovan asked, “What’s the earliest she could reach her destination?”
“She’ll have to travel no more than a mile or two per hour to be safe, since she’s traveling alone,” Nate answered. “But I suspect she’ll throw caution to the wind and get there as soon as possible, because she still believes innocent people are in danger. I would start listening for her transmissions on HAM radio tomorrow afternoon. I don’t know exactly what frequency she’s going to be on.”
Donovan said, “I’ll see that it’s done.”
The two officers left Nate standing in the lobby, relieved that it appeared Deni wasn’t in any trouble, but still worried sick about Brian.
Chapter 12
Tired of staring at the clinic lobby walls, Nate got up to stare out of the window. A voice from behind caught his attention.
“Hey.” Doctor Brant’s smile was broader than Major Millhouse’s. Nate knew the operation must have gone well.
“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Major Millhouse said, “but Brian’s chances of a complete recovery are good.”
Nate had to sit down. The sudden release of stress seemed to suddenly drain his energy. “I would like to see him.”
“Okay,” Major Millhouse said. “But only for a few seconds. He’s going to be pale from the operation, but you know that. After you’ve seen him, though, you need to take care of yourself. Get a warm meal in you and find a place to sleep. There are plenty of empty homes in this town, so that shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Sleeping is what will be difficult,” Nate said. He stood. “Thank you both for your help. I would like to see him now.”
Doctor Brant glanced at Millhouse and saw how exhausted he was. “I’ll take you to him. We’ve got a tired surgeon here who needs rest as much as you.”
Chesty Johnson walked into the lobby. Seeing Nate and Doctor Brant, he walked over. “I just heard about Brian. How is he?”
“They tell me he has a good chance,” Nate answered.
&n
bsp; “Good.” Chesty seemed relieved. “We can’t afford to lose any more good people, and Brian is obviously going to be the man his father is.”
“I’m on the way to see him now.” Nate took a step and then stopped. “Why don’t you come with me? There are a few things I want to talk with you about before I get some shuteye.”
Chesty nodded. “Sure, I would like to see him myself. He’s a good kid.” Doctor Brant led the way. As they walked down a hallway, Chesty asked, “How’s that teen, Kendell, doing?”
“He’s safe at the MacKay farm.” Nate kept his voice low, so as not to disturb resting patients. “He wouldn’t leave those kids he’s taken under his wing.”
“That figures,” Chesty said. “He’s another one we can’t afford to lose.”
They entered the room and approached the bed. Brian was as white as the sheet he lay on, his head bandaged and an oxygen tube in his nose. Doctor Brant and Chesty left after staying only a few seconds, so Nate could be alone with him. He touched his son’s chest to feel his heartbeat and his chest move when he breathed. “Everyone’s okay at the MacKay farm and Deni will be back soon. The townspeople are hard at work moving to the lake. So don’t worry about anything, just get better.” He bent down and whispered in his ear. “I’ve got to get some rest, but I’ll be here when you wake.” He wiped his face and left the room.
Chesty waited in the hallway. Avoiding looking at Nate directly, he said, “Doctor Brant was called away to help with a patient.” He finally looked at him, ignoring the anguish on his face. “You should get some rest now. I’ll take you to a house nearby. It’s within walking distance.”
Nate acquiesced. He knew it was time for him to get some sleep. Brian wasn’t going to wake until the drugs he was being given to keep him unconscious were reduced.
Outside the clinic, Nate picked up his weapons and backpack. He followed Chesty to a house down the street. To Nate’s surprise, old Atticus and his adopted black son Deputy Tyrone were waiting for them with dinner ready to be warmed up in a camper’s oven on a fire in the backyard. He had met them both when they were forced to deal with a violent gang in town.
The four men, all widowers who had lost family members in the plague and its after math, discussed the vast improvement in the townspeople’s relations with the Army since Hewitt had been relieved of duty and arrested.
Tyrone washed down his rice and beans with water. “No one who isn’t causing trouble has been disarmed, and no one has been prevented from leaving town and coming back for more scavenged supplies. The Army being here is actually turning out to be a good thing, so far.”
“Yeah, but wait until they get a new officer or new orders from Washington,” Atticus warned. “I don’t trust the government, and after everything that’s happened I trust them even less.”
Nate didn’t have much to say. Exhaustion and worry had drained him. “I think I’ll hit the sack. Thanks for the meal.” He got up from the table.
“Uh,” Chesty said, “pick any room. We’ll wake you if there’s any news of Brian. I doubt he’ll be waking anytime soon, though.”
~~~
The next day found Nate back at the clinic. After checking on Brian, he decided to help Chesty and Tyrone coordinate efforts to protect the townspeople from the criminal element. Later in the day, Atticus joined them. Several more dependable men were needed to form the foundation of a sheriff department. Nate was asked to be a deputy but declined. “I’m not planning on staying long,” he said. “As soon as Brian is well, we’ll be heading for the sticks. There’s just too much excitement around here to suit me.”
Tyrone and Chesty tried to talk him into staying, but he would have none of it.
The Army worked closely with the fledgling sheriff department and learned a lot about the town’s crime problems, mostly theft of needful items such as food, weapons, and tools. Since the gang had been run out of town, the crime rate had dropped drastically. There was one rape that had been committed six days before and remained unsolved. Chesty and Tyrone had exhausted all leads. The victim was only fourteen years old and of no help, not wanting to talk to anyone but her mother and unable to give any description of her attacker. Until she was able to provide more to go on, there was nothing the two men could do.
Donovan seemed genuinely interested in the welfare of the people and ordered his soldiers to treat everyone with respect but be ready to handle the troublemakers, stepping in only when necessary to keep the peace. There had been a few minor problems with parentless teens getting mouthy with the soldiers at checkpoints late at night, but things had gone smoothly enough.
The next day at the clinic, Doctor Brant asked Chesty when there was going to be an election. “After all, sheriffs are elected,” she said. “They don’t appoint themselves.”
Chesty looked at her and the others sheepishly. “I guess it was a little presumptuous. My old position as Town Marshal was mostly symbolic. Tyrone should probably be Sheriff until we can arrange an election.”
Tyron threw his hands up and shook his head. “Oh no. I don’t want the job. Besides, the pay is terrible.”
“It’s exactly the same as a deputy’s pay,” Chesty quipped.
Tyrone came back with, “Yeah, exactly zero.” They both laughed.
Nate wasn’t in much of a mood for joking. “Once a harvest is realized at the lake, you can be paid in food.”
Doctor Brant said, “That’s more than I’ve been paid for my services. I wonder how many tomatoes setting a broken arm is worth in the current market.” She massaged the back of her neck. “Speaking of broken arms, I’ve got to get back to work.”
Chesty became serious again. “You need to get some rest and take better care of yourself. We can’t afford to lose our best doctor. I doubt the military is going to stay more than a month or so. Best to let them take some of the load off you while they’re here.”
“Believe me, they have. I’m hoping they’ll leave some of their equipment and supplies behind when they go. Maybe if I impress them, they’ll get the idea I can put it to good use and decide to leave a little more for the town clinic.” She walked away before anyone could reply.
“You know, her energy level makes me feel old.” Atticus could see a smart-aleck response coming from Chesty before he spoke. “Oh, shut up.”
Chesty threw his arms up. “I didn’t say anything.”
Tyrone laughed. “You probably are the oldest fart in town, now that you mention it.”
Atticus feigned insult. “That’s no way to speak to the man who raised you.”
Nate stepped away, lost in his own thoughts.
“Hey Nate.” Chesty said. “We found a couple springs near the lake, right where we want to grow vegetables. Besides irrigating the crops, what else can we use the springs for?”
“Potable water for one thing,” Nate answered. “You can also build a springhouse over them for refrigeration.”
Chesty knitted his brow. “How does that work? The water can’t be that cold.”
“I think most springs in Florida are a constant seventy-two degrees.” Nate’s mind was obviously still on Brian, but he continued. “That’s a lot better than ninety or one hundred degrees in July.”
Chesty nodded. “Oh, I see.”
Atticus chimed in. “Before refrigeration, they used iceboxes. Up north, they would wait until the lakes froze and then saw big blocks of ice, put them on a sled drawn by a team of horses and drag them to the ice house. They usually had ice all summer before it melted. They could keep meat in the ice house without it spoiling. Down here, they used springhouses, but they weren’t cold enough to keep meat for long.”
Getting more interested in the conversation, Nate added, “Certainly, a springhouse will help vegetables stay fresh longer.”
Chesty surveyed Nate’s face. “We could use some help on the springhouses, also advice on laying out the irrigation ditches.”
“I’m sure there are better qualified people in town to design your spring
houses for you.” Nate thought for a moment, remembering a film he saw about farming. It was produced during the Depression, and he remembered how the irrigation ditches were set up. “I might have an idea or two on the irrigation ditches, though.”
“Anything we should be bringing with us from town?” Atticus asked. “I’ll be loading a truck up and heading to the lake with another load this morning.”
“Yeah,” Nate answered. “Pipe. Three-inch diameter and about five-feet long. It needs to have a curve in it. Not a ninety-degree elbow, but like this.” He scribed an arc in the air. “You’ll need a lot of them, hundreds.”
Atticus tugged on his grey whiskers. “Will two-inch diameter do? There’s a lot of that grey stuff for electrical conduit out on the edge of town at a builder’s supply place. No one wanted it I guess, but it’s still there. The scavengers haven’t touched it.”
Momentarily forgetting his worries about Brian, Nate said, “Two-inch pipe’s big enough. Electrical conduit can be heated and bent easily, so it’ll work fine. Just take the stuff to the fields after you have the ditches finished. Cut and bend it to work. Right now, you don’t know how high or wide the mounds of dirt on each side of the branch ditches will be, so it’ll be better to wait and fit the pipe to work properly. That way you’ll only waste one or two pieces of pipe if the first try turns out too short.”
Tyrone narrowed his eyes in thought. “How do you pump the water from the ditch over the dirt mound and through the pipe?”
Nate’s simple one-word answer was, “Siphon.”
Chesty laughed. “Who’s going to suck on the pipe to get the siphon started?”
Nate almost smiled, but Brian was still on his mind. “You don’t. Just dip the entire pipe in the water to fill it and quickly bring one end over the mound and set it down, while keeping the other end in the ditch water. When the water in the pipe pours out, it’ll cause suction and the ditch water will siphon out onto the nearest row of plants. No need to look for someone with a big mouth.”
