Mrs. Jackson nodded, but she didn’t set down her needles. “How’d you feel about Anna when all of this happened and you had no way to reach her?”
“I was scared.”
“Why?” she asked.
Thom’s needles stopped; he couldn’t focus on the task at hand, or the discussion. But Mrs. Jackson’s continued as she blazed on, the simple stitches engrained in her muscle memory. “Why was I scared?” he asked back. “I guess I just worried that she’d be hurt. It was hard not being able to reach her. With the phones down, it felt like a she was on another planet. I was scared of the unknown, I guess.”
Mrs. Jackson kept knitting, giving Thom’s thoughts time to gestate.
“I felt useless,” he said. “Like nothing I did would help.”
“Did that help anything?” she asked. “The worrying? The fear?”
Thom shook his head. “No. No it didn’t. But that didn’t stop me from worrying anyway.”
“So there’s your answer. I’ve been a military mother for a long time, Thomas, and before that I was a military wife. You learn pretty quickly that there are things out there that you can’t control, and that no amount of worry is going to fix. Eventually you learn that you’ve got to start trusting, and lose the fear. My boy has training. He’s been preparing for things like this for a number of years now; if anyone is equipped to survive this mess, he’s the one. We may not know where he is, but he knows where we are. He’s going to find his way back to us, Thomas Monroe. It’s our job to make this place ready for him.”
Thom thought about Andrew. He was thousands of miles away from home when the world went to hell. He was prepared for this—trained, battle-hardened, and well-equipped for any sort of fight that would come his way. He was surrounded by brothers in arms who would gladly give their lives for him, as he would for them. And there was absolutely nothing Thom or anyone here at the farm could do for him until he walked through the front gates. He would make sure those front gates still stood, and that this little farm house was well-equipped and ready for a fight if it came their way.
The idea that he was unable to keep Anna safe had been terrifying and enslaving. It paralyzed him at moments and kept him from reacting to situations the right way. Now, the thought of not having to protect Andrew was almost liberating. It freed him from that responsibility and enabled him to focus on the task at hand. Doing so was really the only way to help his friend. A peace came over him.
The needles stopped, and a weathered hand, arthritic but still strong, rested on his own. “Thomas, honey, you understand now?”
Thom nodded, his eyes growing a bit cloudy with tears. He hadn’t realized the tension he’d been carrying in him until it started to lift from his shoulders.
The old woman held up a bony finger and pointed it his way. “Don’t you misunderstand me: ignoring danger is a foolishness in and of itself. But so is being fearful. We will anticipate every danger, and make all of the preparations we can to survive them, but if we let ourselves react out of fear, people are going to get hurt a lot sooner than they need to.”
Thom breathed in deeply, letting the woman’s words sink in. She waited patiently for a sign that he understood and agreed. More than this, she waited for a sign that he would stand with her, regardless the cost.
“It’s a fine line to walk, Mrs. Jackson.”
“But we’ll walk it together, Thomas.”
Thom nodded, holding the warm hand tightly. “Together, Mrs. Jackson.”
Chapter 4 – Projects
The metal blade of Anna’s shovel bit deeply into the loamy earth. She paused only a moment before a heave of her slender frame sent rich black soil into the air. A million thoughts raced through her mind, and almost all of them were telling her to quit. This was hard. Her body felt like jelly, but her skin more closely resembled an Oreo–a gift from the dirt that had pasted itself to her sweat covered body.
She could feel blisters beginning to form on the pads of her palms despite the heavy leather work gloves she wore. She was beginning to despise these gloves. They were horrible; they didn’t breathe, and sweat dripped down her arms into the overly large fingers where it pooled and softened her skin, making it prone to tear.
She set the shovel down for a moment and flexed her fingers. Brian pulled himself up from the ground nearby, “Let’s see those hands.”
Anna gladly slid the gloves off, stuffing them between her arm and body. She’d have set them down, but she knew if she did that, she’d sit down and not get back up. There was too much work to do for that.
Brian took her hands gently in his, examining the fingers and palms carefully. “You’ve torn a blister. It’s time to stop, Anna.” He held her hand a moment longer before letting it go.
“I can keep going. There’s so much to do.”
“And we’ll get it done together, one day at a time. Our bodies aren’t used to this.” He looked over to see Matt working a mattock, and sighed. The sheen of perspiration made Matt’s well-muscled frame abundantly obvious. He was the only one of the University students who could sustain this pace. “Well, most of us anyway.”
“What, you think Matt’s in better shape than I am?” she challenged, her eyes lighting up.
Brian opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. The words weren’t right. He thought a second, and opened his mouth once more, but again the words didn’t seem to fit. Girls and their traps.
Anna was delighted, her white-toothed grin contrasting neatly with her dirt-streaked face. “It’s ok, Brian. I get it. We need to give ourselves time to form calluses, and for our muscles to build. If I keep pushing today, I’ll be useless tomorrow. You’re absolutely right.”
Brian nodded, glad he hadn’t needed to be the one to say it after all. “There are other things we can do to be helpful. Mrs. Jackson’s planting another row of beans today. Called it ‘progression planting.’ Matt said it’s to stagger out the harvest so we have time to process and preserve everything. There’s also organizational work, inventory, and other stuff we could do.”
“Other stuff?” she inquired with a tilt of her head, eyes wide.
Brian blushed, realizing how that had sounded. “I didn’t mean, I mean, there are lots of things to do.” It came out in a rush. “We should…” he started, glancing around nervously, “…we should talk to Mrs. Jackson.” With that, he headed toward the farm house, shovel in hand.
Anna shook her head and smiled. Boys.
It had only taken the end of the world for them to notice her.
Anna picked up the shovel and headed over to a bucket of well water. She dipped the blade into the water and began to clean it, unaware she’d started to hum a song her mother used to sing to her.
“Why do you give him such a hard time?”
Anna looked up, and saw Matt had stopped to take a break, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked concerned, a look he’d been wearing a lot since the rescue, but thankfully there was a glimmer of the old Matt in those eyes now, too—just a bit of mischief.
Anna shrugged. If she told Matt, it would be game over. He’d tell Brian the first chance he had. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “It’s fun, I guess.”
Matt frowned. “Fun for you, maybe. He looked like he was having a heck of a time trying to get a sentence out.”
Anna nodded thoughtfully.
“He likes you, you know.” Matt said.
“I know,” she said.
“He knows that you know. It’s what makes him such a nervous wreck.”
Anna smiled. “I sort of like that about him.”
“I know,” Matt said. “Me too. He’s a great guy. He’d move mountains for you.”
“That’s what scares me.”
“How so?”
“This whole thing is so complicated
. I’ve never really dated before, not really anyway. What if we start seeing one another and something happens? What if he puts himself in danger trying to protect me and gets himself hurt…or worse?” Anna paused, thinking about what to say next. “And what if I’m not sure I feel the same way about him as he feels about me?”
Matt looked extremely uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, his eyes darting over to his friend, walking to the farm house. “The world is full of ‘what ifs.’” He grinned. “Not so full of electricity, or working technology, but plenty of ‘what ifs.’” He picked up the mattock again, and began to take measured, rhythmic swings. “In any case, it sounds like you need to figure some things out. Decide what you want and have a talk with the poor guy; you either like him, or you don’t. Either way, you need to stop stringing him along. It’s not fair.”
Anna nodded. “You’re right. It’s not fair. I just need to think about it a little first.”
Matt grunted in acknowledgement between swings as Anna picked up her shovel and started to leave. “It’s about finding your pace,” he told her.
“What is?”
“This sort of work. If you rush in and wear yourself out, then you’re done.” Another swing of the mattock. “The same thing happens if you head into it too slowly with all sorts of stops and starts.” Another swing. “Something like that’ll wreck it just as badly.” A pause, and Matt looked over and met Anna’s eyes once more. “You have to decide on your pace and stick with it, Anna.”
Anna nodded. “Thanks, Matt. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Matt got back to work, sinking into his rhythm.
It dawned on her as she walked to the farmhouse that he was talking about more than just digging in the dirt. The thought made her smile.
Chapter 5 – Meet the Neighbors
Herbie nodded toward Red. The young man gulped nervously. “Go ahead.”
“You’re sure?” Red asked.
Herbie nodded. “Go on…it won’t bite.”
This was the second door they’d knocked on this morning in an attempt to contact the neighboring farms. The first visit had been an interesting exercise in ducking for cover when the old man who lived there answered with buckshot rather than a handshake and hello. They had made it out all right; the old codger couldn’t shoot straight, but the experience had left Red understandably shaken.
He stared at the door as if every villain from every comic book ever written waited behind its wooden panels, feeling that any second someone would burst out and spray them with hot lead. He could feel his heart beat a steady staccato rhythm in his chest, like it would grow legs and climb out of his throat any second. His stomach roiled, and he thought, not for the first time today, that he was going to be sick.
Finally, one sweat-covered palm reached out and grabbed the knocker. Red inhaled deeply, and then let the brass handle drop to clang against the door. Cheeks red and eyes wide, he took a step back to stand next to Herbie, looking as if he wanted to run home.
“It’s all right, Red. Relax. You’re wound too tight.” Herbie muttered through a smile. “Right now, someone’s probably looking out a window at us.”
Red tried to smile.
Herbie jabbed him in the side, “You’re snarling. Relax, and look friendly.”
Red tried again just as the door opened an inch. He nearly fainted.
An older man stood in the doorway, his white hair protruding through holes in his straw hat. Deep lines creased his face, reminders of a life spent working outside in the wind and the sun. Herbie placed the man in his early 60’s. Other than a slight beer belly, he seemed to be in good physical shape. His right hand rested on the door handle, his left hand on what looked like an old Colt Navy revolver, pointed at the ground for the time being. “Sorry, fellas,” he said. “We aren’t interested in what you’re selling, be it Jesus or cookbooks. Have a good day.” The look on his face changed to one of confusion as his eyes scanned Red’s face. “He okay?” the old man asked Herbie. “His face always look like that?”
Herbie laughed, and Red actually exhaled for the first time since he’d knocked, suddenly remembering to breathe. “He’s all right. Just young and scared. Owner of the last place we knocked at answered us with buckshot and powder. Must have thought we were looters or something coming out from the city.”
The white-haired man nodded. “And you’re not?” His thumb pulled the hammer back on the old revolver.
“No, sir.” Herbie said, keeping his hands in clear sight. “You Mitchell Franks?”
The man nodded. “That’d be me. I’d say you have me at a disadvantage, but…” He gave a quick glance down at the revolver in his hand, allowing it to finish his train of thought for him.
Herbie simply nodded, keeping eye contact with him. “My name’s Herbie, and this here is Red. We’re friends of Mrs. Jackson.”
Mitchell Franks smiled at the mention of the old woman and seemed to relax just a hair, exhaling softly. A look of fondness tinged with concern mingled in the craggy wrinkles of his forehead. “How’s she doing in all of this? I was meaning to make the time to head over there to check on her, but it looked like she had plenty of company already.”
Herbie nodded, a practiced, relaxed-looking smile on his face. So the man had been watching them after all. He filed away piece of information away for later thought.
“She’s wonderful. An excellent hostess, too…she makes us pull our weight, though.”
Mitchell grinned all the wider. “That’s Mrs. Jackson, all right. Never could stand idle folks.”
“Not much time for that these days.”
Mitchell nodded. Silence followed for a moment, before he gently lowered the hammer on the beast of a gun and asked, “So what brings you fine men out to see little old me?”
Now it was time for Herbie and Red to relax, but only a little. Herbie couldn’t remember if that model of revolver was double-action or single action; the safest thing was to assume that a pull of the trigger would send lead downrange without much warning.
“Well, Mr. Franks–”
“Call me Mitch, please.”
Herbie nodded, glad they were now friendly enough to be on a first-name basis. “Mitch it is, then. Believe it or not, several strange twists of fate have led us to be long term guests at the Jackson farm. We’re thinking that we should get out, meet the neighbors, and try and organize a way to split the work to keep us all alive until things get back to normal. Share the load, as it were.”
“If things get back to normal. The way things are looking it might be years.”
“Yes—if,” Herbie agreed.
“Mrs. Jackson still make those mean apple fritters?”
Herbie grinned broadly. “We’re getting ready to find out here in a couple of hours. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having you join us for dinner. Any kin around?”
“Son’s downstairs trying to get his radio to work.”
Herbie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got a radio?”
Mitch nodded. “We’ve got an old ham radio and a couple of walkie-talkies. Son’s been obsessed with them for a long while. He’s a little strange, but a good kid.”
“Any chance the ham works?”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe…maybe not. The boy’s good with electronics. About threw a fit when all of this happened.” Thunder rolled, and the men looked skyward at the darkening clouds. “You all are welcome to come in until that passes. Looks like a big one.”
Herbie and Red both offered their thanks and stepped inside the Franks’ Family Home. The smell of old pipe tobacco hit them immediately and with the smell of fried food still lingering in the air.
“Smells good.” Herbie said politely.
Mitch smiled. “Thanks. Fried up Lucy this morning. She was a tough old girl, but she tasted all
right.” Red’s face paled, and Mitch realized how that sounded. “Tough old chicken; Lucy was one of our old hens. She’d stopped laying, and we needed to stretch the feed for the other girls—also chickens.”
Red started to regain some of his coloring. “You have a restroom I could use?” he asked.
“Down the hall, first door on the right. Use the bucket to flush the commode if it’s a number two. Number one, just let it mellow.”
Red nodded and headed down the hall, disappearing into the restroom.
“Skittish, isn’t he?” Mitch asked.
Herbie just grinned. “It’s been fun teasing him. Feel sorry for the boy, though. No family around.”
Mitch nodded.
“You usually name your hens?” Herbie asked, “I didn’t think that was something farmers did.”
Mitch sighed. “She was the first bird we’d had since Alex moved back home with us. He sort of took a liking to her, and she had a name before I could help it. He’s pretty pissed at me for cooking her.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand soon. Situation is rough. Folks are going to be eating a lot more mainstream house pets before too long.”
“You think it’s that bad?” Mitch inquired sincerely.
Herbie shook his head sadly, his steady exhale setting the tone. “Yeah. I’m afraid so. It’s hard to tell though, being so cut off from the rest of the world.”
“So it could just be our county, right?”
Herbie shook his head again. “We came from Kansas City. Been as far west as Lenexa and up to Columbia. It’s the same all over the state. I’m guessing it stretches much further than Missouri, but without a working radio…”
Breakdown: Episode 7 Page 3
