by AJ Powers
Clay reluctantly got out of bed and reached into his pack. “So, I have something I need to tell you,” he said as he continued to rifle through the contents inside. He pulled out a small bag of food and held it up. “This is all the food we have with us.”
“What!?” Blake said as his eyes widened. “That’s not going to last us!”
“Nope,” Clay agreed. “It’s our dinner tonight, and with a little luck, maybe some breakfast in the morning.”
“Okay, so how do we not starve to death?” Blake asked.
“We hunt, fish, scavenge, forage…” Clay said, tapping a finger with each word. “We do whatever it takes to survive.”
Blake shook his head, his mouth still slack as he stared at the measly helpings inside the bag. “Why didn’t you just bring more food?”
Clay answered with another question. “Let me ask you something, Blake. What would you do if all the sudden you were on your own?” Clay paused for a moment, “Heck, let’s make things more complicated. How would you feed a family if it was just you providing for them? Forget about me, or Megan, or Geoff, or Kelsey, okay? We’re out of the picture. Could you provide for a wife? For kids?”
The weight of the question quickly sank in as Blake’s eyes locked onto one of the countless stains decorating the carpet; he was silent. The prospect of being on his own—or as Clay suggested, having others rely on him for their safety and wellbeing, was not a scenario he had given much thought about since joining Clay and Megan’s group—even less so after they arrived on the farm.
Blake looked up as Clay stared at him, waiting for a response. Blake gave the slightest of shrugs, then shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“And that’s okay, Blake, I don’t expect you to know how. There’s no reason to be upset or ashamed of it. You’re not prepared because I dropped the ball.” Clay leaned back on the bed, eventually finding the wall. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his palms. “When Charlie asked me to show him the ropes, I thought he was too young—that he still needed to just be a kid. With you, it was the opposite problem.”
Blake looked offended.
“Don’t get me wrong, Blake. I’m not calling you immature—far from it. Like I told you a couple weeks ago, your contributions back home have been nothing short of amazing. You work hard, you’re responsible enough to have your own gun, and I know you wouldn’t hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way to keep the family safe…” Clay paused for a moment before he smiled, “I see a lot of Charlie in you.”
Blake smiled as fond memories of Charlie, who worked very hard to make Blake and Courtney feel welcomed when they first arrived at the tower, came rushing to his mind. He took Clay’s comment as a compliment. As an honor.
Clay continued. “You’re willing to do whatever it takes and that’s a good deal of the battle already. But now it’s time to get the knowledge to back up the willingness…to be a provider, to be a protector,” Clay paused, his expression was serious. “Blake, I pray you don’t find yourself in that situation anytime soon—alone and providing for your family—but if you do, I want you to be as ready as you can be.
Blake’s body stiffened as he speculated what the next few days had in store. What had originally started as a camping/hunting trip to celebrate his upcoming sixteenth birthday had just morphed into Survival 101 and that scared him. It was certainly not what he was expecting, and though he wanted—he needed—to learn how to survive in this harsh world, he had grown so accustomed to the comfortable life on the farm that he wasn’t looking forward to the crash course ahead of him.
As Clay’s question, again, entered Blake’s mind, he got queasy as he thought about the prospect of stepping into Clay’s shoes someday. He wondered if he could ever do it as well as Clay does. “Do you ever get scared?” Blake asked, feeling ashamed to continue. “Because…well, I do, and I know if I am going to take care of my family like you, then I can’t let myself be.”
Clay reached into the bag then handed Blake some food before responding. “My mom died a few days after my fourteenth birthday. It was that exact moment—when I heard her take her last breath—that I felt like the weight of the world had crashed down on my shoulders. Even though Megan was older than me, I still knew it was my responsibility to take care of the family; that others relied on me to provide for them. The fact is I was already doing that before my mom died, but it just seemed more…,” Clay hesitated as he searched for the right word, “official once she had passed away. Since then, I’ve lost three of my sisters and more than a dozen others that came to stay with us over the years. Those kids trusted me to provide for them; to protect them from the evils of the world…” Clay trailed off for a moment, his eyes became glassy. “To this day, I still feel like I failed each and every one of them. And every morning, when I wake up, the first thought through my head is, ‘Will I fail someone else today?’” Clay looked directly into Blake’s eyes. “Do I ever get scared?” Clay asked, a heavy breath escaping from between his lips. “Blake, there’s not a day that goes by where I’m not.”
Blake was surprised with his answer; Clay always seemed calm to him. “But you never seem scared of anything.”
“I’ve learned to hide it well,” Clay said as he took a bite of smoked bass. “For the first couple of years, I was terrible at it. And each day I came home empty handed or when one of the kids would get sick, the others saw how scared I was. Fear is contagious; even worse, it’s destructive.” Clay took a sip of water and swished it around his mouth before swallowing. Dried fish was never his first choice, but it was still precious calories and protein. He continued. “After we were forced to leave our house and set out to find a new home—which eventually was the tower—Megan pointed out to me just how much the others looked to me for hope, and whether I was scared or not, I needed to find a way to act like I wasn’t worried about a thing. It was on that day that I found out that Megan, the one who was always cool and calm, was just as terrified as I was. But I had never known it because she kept those worries to herself. Somehow, knowing that I wasn’t alone with my fears made it easier to act stronger than I felt. If only to bring comfort and peace to those around me. Does that make sense?”
Blake nodded along. It did make sense and he immediately understood the relief Clay felt when Megan told him that she, too, was afraid. Blake saw all the adults around him as strong, brave, unwavering individuals. He didn’t feel like any of those things, but knowing he didn’t actually have to be those things—at least not all of the time—eased his mind.
Clay handed Blake another piece of food and looked down in the bag. “You want to eat the rest tonight? Or start tomorrow with a little food in our stomachs?” Clay asked, giving Blake the choice.
He thought about it for a moment. Even though his stomach was not satisfied after the small portion, Blake knew they would fare much better with some fuel in the morning. “Save the rest for the morning,” Blake said.
“A wise choice,” Clay said as he tied the bag.
Clay turned off the lantern and they both lay down in their beds. A loud slapping sound from across the room broke Clay from his drifting slumber. “Stupid mosquitoes!” Blake said with a hushed voice. After another moment of silence, Blake added, “You still awake?”
“Yeah,” Clay replied groggily.
A silent minute passed. Clay started to wonder if there was a reason Blake had asked, but then he finally spoke. “You remember what happened to my mom before you found me and Courtney?” Blake asked.
He remembered. They were on the brink of starvation and their mother had gone out to find some food. She came back with a fresh-baked loaf of bread and a bullet in her stomach. After handing the bread to Blake, she told them both how much she loved them, then decided to take a nap.
She never woke up.
It was a heartbreaking story—one that was way too common. Clay cleared his throat. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well,” Blake said, “that was only half the story.
I never told you this, but until about a month before my mom died, my dad was with us.”
Clay wasn’t optimistic with where this was going.
“Even though things were hard, I always felt safe knowing both my parents were there for us; that they would protect us. But one night, after Courtney and I had fallen asleep, I woke up to hearing them arguing. I heard my dad say, ‘We’ll have much better odds if we aren’t having to worry about them every day,’ and that’s when I saw Mom burst into tears. I could barely understand what she said, but the more I repeated it to myself, the clearer it became. ‘How could you say that about your own children?’ I ran back to bed after that, and the next morning my dad was gone. Mom told me that he went out to try and find some food, and when he never came back she said that he must have died trying to provide for us or something like that.” A loud sniffle came from Blake’s bed as he battled through the painful memories. “I knew she was lying to protect us more than him, which is why I never said anything about it—to my mom or Courtney.”
Clay was horrified. Tyler had been abandoned, but it was by his aunt, not his parents. After Clay became a “dad” to these kids, he couldn’t fathom how a parent could do such a thing. But especially after Charles was born, Clay would rather face off against a legion of Screamers than leave his children to fend for themselves. “I’m sorry, Blake.” It was all he could say. He wanted to comment on Blake’s father’s cowardice behavior, but regardless of how Blake felt about his own father, it wasn’t Clay’s place to say such things.
“I do love her, Clay,” Blake said. “Lona, I mean. I love her and she loves me, too. I plan on marrying her someday, but I want you to know something first…” Blake’s voice trailed off, then suddenly, a bolder, stronger—if not angry—voice broke the silence of the room. “I will be a better man than my father. I will never abandon her or our kids.”
“I know that, Blake,” Clay responded immediately. “Circumstances reveal the true character of an individual,” he said, a subtle jab at Blake’s father while also acting as a compliment to Blake. “You have already shown me what kind of man you’re going to be and I have no doubt in my mind that you will make a great husband and father someday.”
The room went silent and Clay drifted to sleep. Several minutes later Blake whispered, “Thanks, Clay.”
Chapter 13
Clay departed Northfield a day earlier than he had originally planned so that he could go around the wildlife preserve in lieu of going through it. He justified his decision by identifying several promising spots on the map along the wide path around. He was confident he would have some good luck searching the area, but he knew that was a copout. He just wanted the reason to avoid the eerie forest again. As creepy as the forest was, however, punching straight through was on track to save eight to ten hours of travel time, which had to be factored into Clay’s decision-making on future trips.
Though, this morning, Clay had timed his departure from the pit stop well, a heavy afternoon storm mucked up almost two hours of the day. He considered pushing through the rest of the way, but images of the two bodies he found on the side of the same road earlier that month forced him to abandon the idea.
Approaching a semi he had spotted just off the road, Clay hopped up onto the aluminum frame step and opened the door. After pulling himself inside and locking the doors, Clay climbed into the sleeper area and yanked the privacy curtain shut. The cramped space was efficiently designed to maximize every millimeter of space. After a quick search, Clay settled in for the evening. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his dinner—smoked rabbit and a chunk of cheese—which was the last of the food he had brought with him. As he popped the morsels of food into his mouth, Clay wondered if he had enough bartering goods to make a deal with Smith for some food. He would be leaving straight from the camp to head to Liberty, since it didn’t make sense to walk all the way back to Northfield only to get on a wagon and head straight back out for the festival. And since Liberty was barely a three-day hike from where he was—if he went around the forest—Clay only needed a little bit of food to sustain him for the trip. Looking through the items he had brought, especially the ten stripper clips of 7.62x39 ready to feed into the SKS, Clay was optimistic they would work something out.
After getting to know him, Clay realized that as intimidating as he looked, Smith was just another man. Someone who had suffered greatly over the last decade and found the strength to power through. Smith was a fighter, which is why Clay planned on extending an invite for the man to join the Northfield clan. Smith had a nice little fortress setup—there was no doubting that—but what good was a fortress if there wasn’t anything worth protecting? Being isolated out in the sticks wasn’t doing the man any good and, based on their last exchange, he could benefit from some time around a few friendly people. Of course, the added muscle to Northfield’s roster wouldn’t hurt, either.
Amidst the rush to get everything prepared for his journey, Clay had forgotten to pack any form of entertainment; namely, a book to read. He found two paranormal romance novels beneath the bed—an odd find in a trucker’s cab—but had no interest in opening them. However, since Lona was a fan of such fiction, he stashed them in his backpack anyway. He would have to take extra precautions to prevent Smith from seeing them in his possession or the man would rib him relentlessly.
As Clay lay in bed, he began to reflect on the week he and Blake had spent out in the woods. It was astounding how seriously Blake took the opportunity and how fast he picked up on everything Clay had to teach. The boy exceled so much so that about halfway through the week Clay had run out of things to go over—the things he had planned for, anyway—and became more of a spectator. He merely observed the young man in action, only offering corrections or tips as issues crept up.
More than just developing survival skills, Clay witnessed a maturing in Blake’s attitude as well. He suspected that that had more to do with the conversation they had on the night of their arrival than anything Clay had taught him out in the field.
The trip had gone as planned except for one aspect: hunting. Though they had had some luck fishing and a few successful rabbit snares, Clay was discouraged when they failed to spot a single deer the entire week. The spontaneous drop in the deer population was worrisome, and it made Clay even more concerned with their food situation for the coming year. But then, about halfway through their journey back to the farm, they spotted a doe traveling through the field they were in. Clay had pointed it out to Blake, who slowly took the rifle off his shoulder and raised the scope up to his eye. Blake was no stranger to taking down a deer, but the doe was at least 200 yards out, which easily doubled Blake’s longest shot to date. Following Clay’s tips and advice, Blake brought the deer down with a single shot.
After waiting the typical fifteen minutes, the two made their way over to the kill. Once they arrived, Clay wasted no time getting to work, pulling everything he would need out of his pack and laying it on a small plastic tarp next to the body. The field, pockmarked with trees and overflowing with tall grass, provided decent protection from being spotted while they field dressed the animal. Though Blake was familiar with shooting deer, he had never been too involved with the butchering process, so Clay took his time explaining each step. Clay grabbed a heavy cotton sack and soaked it with his bottle of drinking water. Knowing they were only about six hours from home, he was willing to risk losing precious water. With each cut of meat he removed from the carcass, Clay placed it in the wet sack. The sack, or a game bag as it was called in the past, would keep the meat protected from flies and other insects that would quickly ruin the food given an opportunity. And the water-soaked cotton, along with the small amount of blood from the cuts, would act as a sort of fabric refrigerator to keep the meat from spoiling during the rest of the trip. Clay suspected it wasn’t quite warm enough to spoil the meat in that amount of time, but he didn’t want to take any chances. In the past, a few hours of walking could quickly turn into a couple of days fo
r any number of reasons. Having the meat in a bag like this would keep it reasonably safe to eat for a few days as long as it stayed wet. It might be difficult to convince a health inspector to eat meat stored in such a way, but Clay was more concerned with keeping his family fed over the winter months. The cloth bag was worth its weight in gold, a gift he had received from Shelton a few years back.
All in all, the trip had been positive and Clay was already looking forward to doing the same thing with Tyler when the time came. He felt sixteen was too late, but Charlie had been a bit too young. Maybe fourteen would be the sweet spot. In any event, Clay still had a little time to decide with Tyler, and in the meantime, he would start to slowly introduce some of the same skills to the energetic boy from within the safe confines of the farm.
Clay’s thoughts then shifted to Liberty’s festival. If it was half as nice as the celebration he and Kelsey had attended three years ago, they were all in for a treat. Mayor Shelton seemed quite excited for the event, which was infectious. Clay imagined another night out with Kelsey: tasty food, a romantic setting, and no kids…
In the darkness of the stale semi cab, Clay smiled brightly. A “vacation” from his day-to-day life was long overdue.
****
“Smith!” Clay shouted toward the gates as he looked up at the security camera. “Smith? It’s Clay, open up!”
