by Lou Cadle
Chapter 10
The next day, Curt came by while Sierra was working in the garden. Zoe was in the barn with Pilar, winnowing the amaranth.
“What are you up to?” he said. “Planting something?”
“Fixing the olla system with straws.” She held one up.
“Those won’t last long.”
“They’re thin, but out of the sun, so we might get a few years out of them. You never run into reeds of any kind in your wandering, do you? I’d hate to have to use plant-material hoses, and they’d probably have to run on the surface, but I guess that’s our future.”
“There’s nothing I’ve seen like reeds. They’re a wetlands plant usually.”
“The problem I’m having with these is attaching them in a way they don’t leak. We don’t have much in the way of glue.”
“Pine sap?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll have to go harvest more. Or maybe if I double them up?” She demonstrated. “So the water is flowing from this direction. You’re the engineer—tell me if that’ll work or not.”
“You know what you could do?”
“What?”
“Fuse them with heat.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “Like the back of a frying pan heated up?”
“Something small and round would be better. Screwdriver blade, a long nail. Think of it like soldering.”
She smiled at him. “I remember you teaching me that. And how to rivet. That was fun.”
He grinned back. “I’d never seen anyone happier about riveting.”
“I didn’t have to do it eight-hour days. I’m sure as a job it would have worn out its welcome quickly.”
“Speaking of which.” He stood to go.
“I wish I could convince you to stay and chat. I like your company.”
“I like yours. But I want to run the outer trap line today. Can’t leave the animals trapped in this heat. If they’re alive, it’s cruel. If they’re dead, the meat will spoil.”
“How often are you doing it?”
“Every other day.”
“You think we’ll get any rain at all this year?”
“We’d better.” He canted his head back to look at the clear blue sky. “Water is life.”
“Maybe we should learn a rain dance.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t help.”
“Couldn’t hurt. Might be fun to do even if we failed.”
“See you,” he said.
She watched him walk away. From the back, you couldn’t see much evidence of his physical differences. He had a nice butt. Too bad he had no interest in her. If she could have a relationship with him like her father had with Joan, she believed she’d be a happier person.
There weren’t a lot of pleasures in this life. Food tastes great when you’re hungry every day. Long, hot showers were a luxury they didn’t feel they could afford. A single black bagful of a solar shower every evening was all they used, and that was more to keep the sheets from getting filthy. There was laughter, and that was about it for pleasures.
She missed music. No one in the neighborhood played an instrument, and no electronic device still worked to play her a song. Ten years after the end of civilization, digging a tune from her memory took hard thought.
The birds still sang. That was something.
It was not an hour later, having found the leak in the olla system, that she picked out a tiny pebble from the trench and had an idea. Shaking out a fresh single straw from the box, she tucked the pebble in and blew a burst of air through. The pebble flew out, across the garden and disappeared behind the corn. Maybe two straws attached would work better. She hunted for another pebble, closer to the size of the straw. Nope. They kept the garden too well cultivated. She took her straws outside the garden gate and hunted there, among the marigolds and basil and mint that were planted to deter bugs and rodents and rabbits.
She found one, stood, tilted her head back, and the pebble rolled back into her mouth. She spat it out. Wouldn’t do to choke on one. She spat again and coughed. Okay, try that again.
For ten minutes, she experimented with her makeshift blowgun. It was kind of fun trying to hit the garden gatepost, and she quickly improved. As she wasn’t very good with a bow, and there wasn’t a second crossbow, she’d relied on trapping to get small game. But here was an alternative, and something that didn’t need any manufactured ammo. Maybe lengths of heavy wire or tiny brads would make better ammo than pebbles, but pebbles had the virtue of being endlessly supplied and not needed for anything else.
And surely there was something around that would be better than the straws themselves for the gun. A bit of PVC pipe too short to use for anything important? If not, she suspected two straws fused into a double length would be better than only one. Harder to be accurate, but it’d give her more range, she believed.
It’d also be a way to take care of the critters trying to eat the garden. Rabbits, squirrels, bigger rodents, they could cook and eat. No, she couldn’t spend all day out here knocking rabbits on the head with blowgun pellets, but she could always have it by her side and catch enough meat for a soup every day.
She was delighted with her discovery. Once she gained some skill, this would also be something to teach Zoe, who could start with straws and build up to whatever length her smaller lungs could handle. She’d have to make sure Zoe didn’t choke, of course, but once that was taken care of, she thought it was a weapon a nine-year-old could handle and carry with her everywhere. You couldn’t take down a person—or a wolf-dog—with it, but you might make the dog hesitate for a moment or look for less irritating prey. Perhaps even a javelina would turn around under a hail of blowgun darts.
It was such a small victory, coming up with the idea, but it improved her mood considerably. She loaded the grill with wood and lit a fire. Fuse these straws together, repair the bad section of irrigation pipe, collect the eggs, help with the winnowing, make lunch, and she should be able to carve out some more time for blowgun practice this afternoon.
By the time she was ready that afternoon, Zoe was out of chores too, and so she coached her daughter through staying safe with the weapon. She set up a target in the shade of the pines and they practiced hitting it. Zoe loved it. She laughed when she hit the target and laughed when she missed. Her laughter was worth more than the value of the weapon, and Sierra felt for that hour like something better than a failure as a mother.
Chapter 11
Dev was as surprised as anyone when his mother called a family meeting five days after the pregnant woman had been put into Zoe’s room. “We should let them stay down there.”
“What?” his father said. “And give up the grain?”
“Not give it up. Share it. But yes, give them the land. And the last harvest of grain, or half of it, less than one-tenth our total for the year, so they can plant again.”
“And rabbits and chicks and guns, I assume,” his father said. “No, Kelly. Absolutely not.”
“Seeds only,” she said. “I was talking to Pilar, and he pointed out that with making less power, if the weather doesn’t cooperate, we’ll eventually have to walk down there and back anyway. Without enough electricity, the car is useless. It just makes more sense at this point to move the grain farm up here.”
“Too much work,” his father said. “And I don’t want strangers that close.”
“They’re okay,” his mother said. “I like Janine. I’ve gotten to know her. They’ve had a rough go of it.”
“So have we!”
Dev said, “Not really, Dad. Not as much as some. Not even as much as Payson did.”
“You’ve forgotten what it was like at first.”
“Probably true,” he said. The best way to deter his father from arguing was to agree with him—even when you didn’t entirely agree with him. “But we made it. And we’ve been lucky. We haven’t lost but one fruit tree.”
“We’re out of flour, yeast, rice, sugar, powdered milk, powdered butter, coffee, tea,” hi
s father said, ticking off the items on his fingers. “We’ll never see milk or cheese again. We’re damned lucky we have grain at all.”
“Mom’s doing,” Dev said, smiling at his mother. She didn’t smile back. She seemed lost in thought. “What are you thinking, Mom?”
“That it wouldn’t hurt to have more friends. And remember way back when the boys lived down there that few months we had an early warning system if an attack came up the hill?”
“We don’t have walkie-talkies any more,” his father said. “And if they don’t have guns, how many attackers could they stop?”
“Maybe none,” his mother said. “But what if they ran up here to warn us while attackers were looting the houses down there?”
Dev said, “I don’t know that we’ll see any more attacks.”
“There’s this one,” his father said.
His mother shook her head. “Arch, they didn’t attack. They wanted to rest was all. And if it weren’t for having a pregnant woman with bleeding problems, they may have only stayed a night. We might not have even noticed they stayed there except it happened to be the day we harvested.”
“They could steal from us up here.”
“They haven’t. They must be worried about Janine, but they haven’t even come hunting for her to make sure she’s okay. In fact, I’d like to go down there today and tell them she is okay. And maybe bring back Becca.”
“Lesbians,” his father said. “In my house.”
Dev said, “Doubt they’re going to be having wild lesbian sex, considering.”
His father glared at him.
Dev had to fight a smile. His father was so old-fashioned.
His mother said, “Love is love, Arch. Don’t be small-hearted. Joan thinks it’s fine, and she’s a priest.”
“She’s changed you.”
“She has. And my beliefs.”
Dev said, “Do you talk to her about God?”
“From time to time. But back to our new neighbors.”
The sound his father made was close to a growl.
“Arch, you know things will change.”
His father’s expression shifted. Dev couldn’t figure out the shift or its meaning.
His mother went on, “At this point, the more people we have working together on problems, the better. They have children—I don’t know how many yet. Janine’s careful about that. Two or three. I’d like Zoe to know other children. And we don’t have to give them much. A handful of vegetable seeds at the end of this season. Tell them we get the grain from this year, but they can build it back up from the final field in the future. Let them eat half the amaranth leaves for now, so they can get some good green food.”
Dev said, “Won’t that make the grain heads smaller, if you eat away at the leaves?”
“After harvest,” she said. They’d always picked a few early leaves, but mostly they’d left them until after harvest, when they were bitter and tough. Still edible, but not the best-tasting food.
“I’m willing to give up the old leaves,” Dev said, “and I’m pretty sure Zoe is too.”
His father said nothing, just looked at his mother.
She took his hand. “I know you don’t like it, Arch—not any of it. But I believe that the right thing to do, the moral thing, is to let these poor people rest. Maybe they won’t want to stay for long. Janine wouldn’t talk about it, but it’s possible they had a destination in mind. At least let them rest for long enough for the baby to travel.”
Dev said, “Have you changed your mind about Janine’s chances?”
“No. I still think it’s no better than 50-50 that she’ll survive. I’ll do my best. I have raspberry tea ready to go. In fact, I’ll brew some today and put it in the fridge in case she goes into labor today. And then I want Dev to go down and get Becca so they can be together.”
“Where will she sleep?” his father said. Whatever fight he’d had in him had drained out.
“I’ll put a pallet on the floor in Zoe’s room,” his mother said. “I’m sure it’s better than she’s had some nights, from the sounds of it.”
“Dad?” Dev said. “Do you want me to go down and get the other woman?”
“Whatever your mother says. Take one of Joan’s kids to be safe. And your rifle in case they attack.”
“What about everyone else?” Dev said. “We can’t decide this on our own.”
“I already talked to Joan and Pilar,” his mother said. “About bringing up Becca, I mean. They said they were fine with it. The rest of my idea, yes, we’ll need to have a group meeting about.”
“You want me to go now?” Dev said.
“Now,” his mother said.
Dev left them at the picnic table, sitting and holding hands, looking at each other but not saying anything.
He went over to get the car, which let him check on Zoe. She seemed to be okay, and she was babbling to him about Sierra teaching her something new. “I want to hear all about it,” Dev said. “I have to run an errand right now.”
“Can I go?”
“Not today, Punkin.”
He drove over to Joan’s, explained what he was about to do, and Joan approved wholeheartedly. “If the woman isn’t going to make it, she should have time with her wife right now. As much time as possible.”
Rod agreed to come along with Dev, and he brought their rifle. “Must not be much ammo left in your place,” Dev said.
“Almost none.”
“I hope we won’t need it.”
“That was the point of having a hostage, wasn’t it? To control them without needing weapons.”
“She’s treated pretty well for a hostage,” Dev said.
“What’s she like?”
“Just a person. Tired, beat up, scared.”
“Hard to hate someone like that.”
“It is,” Dev said. “You want to drive?”
“Can I?”
“Wait—you know how, right?”
“Sure. We all got lessons.”
“Promise to not run us into a tree, and it’s all yours.”
“Thanks!” he said.
Except for a bit of over-steering, Rod got them down there safely. “Should I honk the horn?”
“Sure, go ahead.” It amused Dev that such a simple thing seemed to make Rod happy.
When they pulled up, three of them came running, Becca, Jacob, and Gili. “Is she in labor?”
“No. Sorry,” Dev said, getting out. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Is she okay?” Becca said.
“Well fed, comfortable, and no change medically, so far as I know.”
“I wish I could talk to her,” she said.
“That’s why I’m here. My mother wants you to be with her. We’re going to take you along, if that’s okay with your group.”
“Yes. Of course,” Becca said.
“Wait a sec, sis,” Jacob said. “I want to think this through.”
“We’re not planning anything bad,” Dev said to him. “It’s really a matter of my mother’s compassion. She knows Janine wants Becca. She assumes Becca wants to be with Janine.”
Gili said to Jacob, “At least Becca would know they’ve done everything they can for her.”
Dev said, “Trust me, my mother is dedicating herself to figuring out how to make it all come out right.” He didn’t want to talk to them about his mother’s desire to let them stay beyond the baby’s birth. Not until their whole neighborhood had agreed on it. “We appreciate your not trying to find us, to keeping your end of the bargain.”
“I don’t see as we had any choice,” Jacob said. “You have guns. We don’t.”
Interesting that he’d admitted that. “We haven’t used them,” Dev said. “And honestly, we don’t want to. I’ve heard just a little bit of your troubles from Janine, and I don’t want to add to them. I have a daughter. I don’t know which of you have the kids you’re hiding from us, but I know you must feel about your kids the way I feel about mine.”
Gili threaded her arm through Jacob’s. They glanced at each other, and Dev felt a moment of jealousy. Like his parents, they clearly loved each other. And Becca was nearly vibrating with excitement at the idea of seeing her wife again. He wished it had worked out with him and Sierra…but it hadn’t. No sense regretting what was.
“Anyway, if you want to pack a bag,” he said to Becca, “we’ll take you back with us.”
“I’ll have to check with Saul,” she said. “He has final say.”
Jacob said, “Go on. Find him.”
Becca took off running for the house.
“Lucky he’s home,” Dev said, conversationally.
Gili said, “We had a good morning. Bagged some quail.”
“Congratulations. Good eating,” Dev said. “Hang on, let me talk to Rod and I’ll be back.” Rod had stayed in the car, the rifle near to hand. Dev leaned in. “I’m going to walk them over across the street. Be back in no more than ten minutes.”
“You sure you’re going to be okay?”
“I think so,” Dev said. “They don’t seem inclined to fight.”
“Holler if you need me,” Rod said. “I’ll stand by the car so I can hear you.”
“There’ll be no trouble.”
“Okay.”
Dev said to Jacob and Gili, “Let’s go over to the field across the way.” He also wanted to make sure the next field to ripen hadn’t been messed with. But mostly, he wanted to build the foundation for a different relationship with them.
He walked them to the farthest field, which was topped amaranth plants, fading toward death. “Sometimes, in good years, these get way taller than me,” he said. “But with the drought and all, this is what we get.”
“And you don’t water them?” Jacob asked.
“The last two years, yeah, once a week. But they’re pretty forgiving.” He took them to the wide row that marked the limit of the field. “This field here, this one that’s harvested, you can eat from. Not the grain—none of the grain. But my mom wants you to have the greens.”
Gili said, “They’re edible?”
