by Wilson Harp
“Maybe you can see what is busted and figure a way to fix it,” Dad said.
“I just don’t want to feel like I’m not doing work on one of the digging crews or working the field.”
Dad dumped the bucket and looked back at me. “Now you know how I feel.”
I walked back into the garage with him.
“Nice job on the car, by the way,” I said. “You did that with just a rag and that bucket of dirty laundry water?”
“That’s how we used to have to wash cars. You remember, that’s how we washed cars together when you was a kid.”
“I remember. Just seems so long ago.”
“Looks like your mom has lunch ready,” Dad said as we went in the kitchen.
He was right. Mom had set out two bowls of soup. She looked at me with surprise.
“David, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were going to be home for lunch.”
“That’s okay, Mom. I didn’t tell you.”
“Let me get another bowl and I’ll split some of this up. I just wish we had some crackers left.”
“No, Mom. I’m fine. I had something to eat in town. You two enjoy lunch, I’m going to go work on the radio.”
I wasn’t sure Mom bought the story that I wasn’t hungry, but she made no more mention of dividing their meager meal with me. I wasn’t all that hungry, anyway. I was more concerned about opening the radio and seeing if I could somehow figure out what was damaged and worried if I could figure out how to fix it.
I put my satchel on the bed and took out the case containing the radio. Ted had given me a pack of four AA batteries the radio could run on if needed. I set them aside on the end table by the bed and opened the case itself.
It was smaller than I imagined. It had an attachable hand microphone, like an old CB from the trucker movies I watched growing up. It also had a hand crank to provide a charge in case the batteries were dead. I took the radio over to the desk I had cleared off that morning in preparation.
That looked like a good place to start, so I turned the crank. Nothing. No indication the crank did anything. I pulled out the small tool kit I had in the second desk drawer since I was ten or so and started dissembling the complicated device.
I had been working on it for at least an hour when I heard shouting coming from the kitchen. I stopped and listened.
Mom was screaming and swearing at Dad for some reason. I couldn’t understand Dad’s replies, but it sounded like he was trying to calm her down. She was angry because the refrigerator was broken and he had been promising all week to get Sears to come and deliver a new one.
I sighed as I tried to focus on the radio again. I still had no idea what was wrong with it, but I did have most of it pulled apart correctly. One small plastic tab had snapped off, but that was typical when messing with electronics like this. I pulled out a plastic bag from the desk and selected several bundles of copper wire. I had found them while going through Dad’s toolshed and thought they might come in handy at some point. They likely were from when I was a kid and played with electronics.
A few of the components of the radio had a strong odor, like burnt plastic. I figured those were probably the parts that had been damaged during the EMP. I set those aside and tried to figure out what I could do with the rest.
“David!”
I jumped out of the chair and was at the door to my room before I realized it. My name had been shrieked by Mom and it was full of panic and fear.
I threw the door open and was down the hall in three quick steps.
“Pat? Pat! David! Wake up Pat!”
Mom was in the garage. I raced through the kitchen and saw Mom kneeling over Dad as he lay on the garage floor beside their car.
Tears were streaming down Mom’s cheeks. Dad’s eyes opened and he blinked a few times. His right hand raised and then fell back down.
I hurried down the few steps and moved behind Mom.
“I’m here. Did he fall?” I asked.
“Oh David, he’s awake. He’s awake.”
“Did he fall, Mom? Did he hit his head?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Help me up,” Dad said. His arms started moving and his eyes opened. He shut them again and exhaled deeply. “To the sofa. Get me to the sofa.”
I reached down and tried to pull him up, but he was dead weight. I was able to get a good grip under his arms and was able to lift him most of the way up.
“Grab his legs,” I told Mom.
She nodded and picked up his legs.
“Good,” Dad said. “I don’t think I wanted to lay there anymore.”
I worked my way up the three steps into the kitchen. Once my feet hit the worn linoleum, I slowed to give Mom time to navigate the steps. We carried Dad into the living room and laid him on the sofa.
“Go get him some water, David,” Mom said as she kneeled by Dad’s head.
I went to the kitchen and poured some water from the large pitcher into a glass. Mom and Dad spoke to each other, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
I brought the glass to Mom and handed it to her.
“On our dresser is a medicine bottle. Get a pill out of that and then go and get a baby aspirin from the medicine cabinet,” Mom said.
I nodded and went back to their bedroom. I was amazed Mom was so clear and determined. The adrenalin of seeing Dad on the ground must have sharpened her attention and focus.
I found the bottle on the well-organized dresser and opened it. As I shook out one of the pills, I realized Ted was right. Billy had already told me he would only have enough pills for Mom for another few months and none for Dad at all.
Dad would need to really watch his stress level and not exert himself. We also needed to find more meds for him, and that likely meant rooting through the possessions of people who no longer needed them. Stealing from the dead was not how I wanted to survive.
I got the aspirin from the medicine cabinet in their bathroom and went back to where Dad was laying. He was propped up a bit and watched me as I came out of the hallway over to the sofa.
“Sorry about that, Davey,” he said. “I guess I lost my balance.”
“You had a heart attack, Dad,” I said as I gave him the pills.
“No,” said Mom. “It wasn’t a heart attack. If it was, we would need to call an ambulance and we can’t do that.”
“It was a heart attack, Abbey,” Dad said. “And we can’t call an ambulance. We’ll just have to make do with what we have.”
Mom’s eyes swelled with tears. She had been crying before, but now the tears flowed like little streams. They dripped off her chin as she sobbed.
“Don’t you say that Pat. Don’t you say that. We have to find a way.”
My jaw slid open as I didn’t know any words to comfort her. I looked at Dad and he waved me away. His arms pulled Mom close to him and he mouthed “it’s okay” to me.
I didn’t feel right leaving them when he was so weak and Mom was in tears, but I retreated to my old room. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. Thoughts of losing one or both of my parents overwhelmed me and I began to cry. Then thoughts of Emma and Lexi came into my head. Had I already lost them? What possible way could I reach them? Could I ever know what happened?
I found myself laying on my bed, sobbing into my pillow. I had pushed my wife and daughter out of my mind as much as I could. I pretended it was because I had so many other pressing issues. But I didn’t want to deal with the thought that, as bad as things were in Kenton, they were likely ten times as bad in Oak Park.
We had every modern convenience there, and that meant nothing after the EMP hit. There was no farm lands. There were no survivalists like Ted and Kenny. There weren’t even people like Lester.
I prayed then. I hadn’t prayed that hard in years. I prayed that the EMP would never have happened. That I would wake and discover it had been a very long, very real dream.
Then I prayed Lexi and Emma were safe. That they wer
e somehow making their way down here. Or I could make my way up there.
Then I prayed I could just get some news of them. That I could talk to them and tell them I was okay. Find that they were okay. Find a way to let them know I loved them.
As I prayed this last bit, my head turned and I looked at the dissembled radio on the desk.
If I could fix the radio, I could find someone near Chicago who could let me speak to my daughter and my wife. If I could fix the radio, Luke Carter could speak to his wife in Houston.
That’s why the radio was so important. That’s why Anne had told Ted I could fix it.
Because I had to.
Chapter 10
The sweat made my t-shirt stick to my back as I knelt in the row of beets. Today was the first day of harvesting a new crop. I never cared for beets, but anything that would add a different flavor to the soups and stews we were eating would be a blessing.
“How are you doing, Kenny?” I asked.
Kenny looked up from his side of the row. “I don’t mind working to harvest crops, I just wish it was a little better than beets I was digging up.”
“Soon we will be eating better,” I said. “Just a few more weeks.”
I looked over at the wheat and corn fields. It would be a month before those would even start to produce even the smallest of kernels, but I knew many people, like myself, stared at the knee-high fields and imagined what it would be like to have some bread or corn.
I stood up and my t-shirt was caught in a stray breeze. It pulled the fabric away from my skin and gave me a blast of what almost felt like an air conditioner. It was my Dad’s shirt and six weeks earlier, it wouldn’t have fit me. My stomach and arms would have been too pudgy to be enclosed in his smaller clothes.
Now the shirt flapped in the breeze. I would have hoped for more muscle, but a growling stomach was part of my day. Malnutrition had been kept at bay thanks to the Hansons and their pharmacy. They doled out vitamins where they could and treated the worst cases of intestinal ailments from a closely guarded stock of medicine.
Sharon Little had also been a source of great help when it came to keeping people healthy. That wasn’t completely true. Her books on natural living had some valuable information about how to make home remedies for various sickness and conditions, but Sharon herself had been a pain in the ass to anyone she spoke to.
The instructions on the use of plants to create teas and tinctures were very helpful though. Sharon’s young sons were pleasant children who did their best to help, so most people held their tongue about her complaints and unreasonable demands.
I looked at the bucket at my feet and realized I still needed another half row of beets before I was done filling it. The greens would be washed and lightly steamed. The beets themselves would be stewed and cleaned and added to the soups for the evening meal.
The sound of a horse whinny drew my attention and I looked to see Clyde and four men with shovels walking along the edge of the field toward the knot of evergreen trees. Beyond that was the communal burial spot. The trailer the horse was pulling had three sheet-wrapped bodies. One about five feet long and then two smaller ones.
“Luke,” I called to the men attending the sad procession.
Luke Carter waved back at me and signaled me to come over.
I put down the bucket of beets and joined the group of men. I heard Kenny behind me and slowed so he could catch up.
“Three at once?” I asked as we drew near. The town was losing eight to ten people a day. Starvation, exhaustion, and weariness was taking its gruesome toll. Occasionally we would find a couple of dead in a single house in the morning, but most families and houses had not been touched.
“Sharon Little and her sons,” Luke said.
I shook my head as if I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“I… I just saw her and the boys yesterday. They all looked in good health.”
“Someone gave Tyler a bit of roasted squirrel. He liked it,” Luke said. “It’s in her note.”
A note. That means it was a suicide.
“And she took her boys with her?” I asked.
Luke nodded. “She did. She didn’t want her boys to be polluted with our world. I guess if she couldn’t keep them from the impure foods and animal flesh we were polluting ourselves with, she wanted them dead.”
“Dear God.”
“Yeah, we sent the letter on to Ted. He and the council might be able to figure out a bit more. A bad situation.”
I walked with the men a few more minutes. I didn’t look at the wrapped bodies. I couldn’t after knowing who they were.
“I better get back to the beet field. We’re taking every fifth one today,” I said.
“Good,” said Luke. “Beets will be a good addition. You know the Ellison’s left this morning, don’t you?”
“I saw the car heading out. I can’t believe Ted let them take it.”
“There was some loud talk with him, I was there,” Kenny said
Luke shrugged. “In the end, it wasn’t Ted or the council’s decision to make. He knows it is dangerous, but they have family in Little Rock and with Barb dying last week… well, without his mom around anymore, I guess he figured he would try to get back home and see what it is like down there.”
“Maybe we will get word from him one day,” I said.
“Maybe. If you can get that radio up for more than a minute at a time, we can try to give him a call.”
“I’m working on it, Luke,” I said. I got the radio activated, but it kept losing power for some reason after a few seconds. There was only static in those moments, so I wasn’t even sure if the receiver was working. Just static in the speaker. But it was a start.
“I know you are, David. I just want to be there when we hear news of the outside world.”
“You will be, Luke. Well, I really do need to get back to digging these beets up. We will be starting on some of the green beans next week, they say.”
“Looking forward to it. You take care, David, and tell your folks I’ll stop by tonight.”
“Hey David, I’m going to go into town now, can you take my bucket in?” Kenny asked.
“Sure, will you be back tomorrow?”
“I will, unless something comes up.”
I gave Kenny a wave and watched as he turned toward town. He filled in wherever there was work to be done, but lately he had taken to working in the fields with me. I asked him about that and he just responded he liked talking to me.
I walked back to the beets and picked up Kenny’s bucket. I carried it over to where I had left mine and emptied Kenny’s beets into what I had gathered and then set back to digging. After twenty minutes I had the third bucket of the day done.
I picked up my bucket, slid it into Kenny’s empty bucket, and headed toward the Marsh’s house where the women of the area were gathered in a small camp.
I don’t think there was a specific day when it was decided cooking communally was the best way to feed people. It just happened, and within a few days there were little knots of women cooking and tending to the laundry on Millie Marsh’s front yard. Clothes had to be washed by hand and mended with needle and thread and that work seemed to go smoother when there was talk.
I wondered how Lexi was dealing with this new world. She was a feminist to her core. Although I think it had more to do with not wanting to do dishes than any aspect of equality. She would not have been one of the women who dug latrines or graves. She would not have been with the hunters or the teams who cut wood. She might have been in the fields tending the crops, but I bet she would have fit in best with the women sewing, cooking and washing. They were the happiest people in the town. At least they laughed the most.
The women in the small camp in front of the Marsh’s house were subdued when I arrived. The edges of whispers I could hear were about Sharon Little and her boys. Mostly about her boys.
There were a few women talking about the Ellison’s and what they hoped they would find when they
got home. Some were convinced the people down in Little Rock were doing just as well, if not better, than us in Kenton. Others argued Kenton had its head together and other places were likely falling apart. A good many of those believed we would see the Ellison’s car back in town before too much longer.
I grimaced as I thought about the loss of the car. It was a 1961 Oldsmobile. It had originally belonged to Jerry Ellison. His widow, Barb, only drove it around town since his death. I was still in high school at that time. It was one of only three cars that still worked in town and was, by far, the most dependable and biggest.
But Bill Ellison had two daughters in college back in Little Rock, so he loaded up his wife and two teenage girls and set off to see if he could reunite his family.
Maybe the grimace wasn’t so much over the loss of the car as it was jealousy of what he might be able to accomplish. I set the bucket of beets down by Millie Marsh.
“That’s one out of five in the first two rows,” I said.
She looked at them and waved over a teenage girl. It was Sarah Johnson. She had changed so much since I had seen her the night of the EMP, I didn’t recognize her at first.
Millie took out about a third of the beets from the bucket and set them on a large towel on a low bench.
“Take this bucket up to the Davidson’s and Leferney’s. Split it evenly between the two,” she said to Sarah.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.
“Take a seat and a knife. Cut off the tops of the beets and put the greens in this bowl,” she said.
I smiled and took a knife that was sitting on a nearby table. I then dropped next to the beets and started doing as I was told. That was the best way of dealing with Millie Marsh. Do what you were told.
I cut the tops off of the beets and then took the bowl of greens over to a woman who was cutting up radishes and onions. She had already blanched a large pile of dandelion greens, so I figured she was the one who would portion out our salad that night.
She took the bowl with a nod and went back to chatting with the woman on her other side. I didn’t know her name. Even after a month of seeing her several times, I had no idea who she was or what her story was like. I didn’t want to know.
