by Lissa Bryan
“Maybe, maybe not,” Justin said. “All Miz Marson’s knowledge about raising chickens hasn’t helped us much.”
Stan was silent for a long moment before he asked, “No hope with the chickens?”
Justin watched as Sam circled the same spot, sniffing one patch of ground in deep whiffs. “They seem to be sterile. Or the chicks aren’t viable. Either way, it doesn’t matter. We’ll get eggs until the hens are too old to lay, and that will be the end of it.”
“Damn.” Stan looked almost nauseated by the news, which told Justin all he needed to know about how precisely Stan had followed the numbers. He knew how close to the edge they were.
Stan shuffled his feet again. “You gonna … should we invest the feed in them when we’re not even getting much in the way of eggs?”
“Carly thinks we should keep trying. She still has chicken feed, which will last her for a while before we have to start dipping into our own stocks to feed them.”
Stan glanced back toward the house. “And Carly’s idea of eating the alligators?”
“Would help for a time. But we have no idea how many of them there are, nor whether they can reproduce.”
“Think anyone will eat it?”
“If not now, they will when they get hungry enough.” Justin’s tone was grim even to his own ears. He started to think of a way he could soften his words but saw an anomaly along the fence line.
Quickening his steps, he approached a pile of brush clustered at the bottom of the fence. Regular patrols were supposed to keep the fence clear of any growth or debris, including the weeds which grew fast in the hot, well-watered environment. These weeds were dead, however, the leaves limp and pale as if they had been wrenched from the ground and piled up a few days ago. A cut in the fence was partially concealed behind it but had been pushed aside when the gator crawled through.
“What is it?” Stan asked.
Justin crouched down and pointed. The opening was just a couple of feet high, so only a little of the metal curled back to announce the breach. It had been cut with a sharp tool, which was no surprise, the edges beveled from the pressure of the blades. He spotted a fiber snagged on one of the ends and removed it. Plain black nylon, likely from a jacket. He rolled it between his fingers while he studied the ground. There were scrape marks in the soil where a person had crawled through, including a deep gouge that had left a scratch on one of the rocks. Metal, likely from a belt buckle. Claw marks and bits of torn grass dotted the earth on either side of the tracks, smoothed out by the alligator’s belly.
Justin stood. “Stan, take a message to Grady. Tell him I want to see him as soon as possible. And bring back some wire on your way.”
“Sure,” Stan said, heading off.
Justin spotted something on the opposite side of the fence and got down on his stomach to wriggle through the hole. There, small and gleaming white against the grass, was a chicken feather. He crumpled it in his fist and shoved it into his pocket, reminding himself he could get angry later. Right now, he had to think and determine his next move.
Carly wasn’t sure she had the stomach for this. Even after all this time, cleaning game still made her nauseated, and butchering an alligator was much worse. The carcass smelled like slightly rancid fish, and it was growing worse as the sun heated the bucket where they tossed the chunks of fat.
Carly had started with removing the hide. She and Justin both agreed leatherworking was a skill that needed to be revived, but she was sort of regretting the decision at the moment. She kept a bucket of crushed sidewalk salt ready should Justin bag a deer on one of his scouting missions. That hadn’t happened so far, and so her first try would be with this gator hide. After she had completed the distasteful and more-difficult-than-expected task of skinning the creature, she spread a thick layer of salt over the hide and rolled it up. She prayed she would be able to get the stink off her hands.
“Make sure you don’t hit his musk gland,” Miz Marson said. “He has ’em under his chin and under his tail.”
“Where under the tail?” Carly peered at the bloody carcass for clues.
Miz Marson shrugged. “Not sure. Just telling you what I was told back when my husband’s friends used to hunt them.”
Carly slapped down her knife onto the six-foot folding table they were using as a butcher’s block. “So you’ve never actually done this?”
“Nope.”
Carly thought about dumping the bucket of stinky fat chunks on her head, but refrained. She tossed a hunk into the bucket. “Why are we saving this, again?”
“To make soap.” Miz Marson’s hands were twisted with arthritis. On bad days, she could barely flex them, but today, she was as nimble as a chef as she sliced the lean meat thin for drying. “Another thing we need to relearn. The Tide isn’t going to last forever.”
“I think our clothes would smell worse after we wash them with this.” Carly smiled at Sam, who had returned from wherever he went with Justin and settled under the table near her feet.
Miz Marson considered. “I can’t say how it will smell once we’re done rendering it. May be that it ends up we can’t use it, but that makes this good for practice, ’cause we ain’t out anything if it doesn’t turn out right. You been saving those wood ashes?”
Carly nodded and tried to copy the deft, economical movements of Miz Marson’s knife.
“Good. We’ll get the lye started after we finish up here.”
“Where did Pearl go?” Carly asked, grimacing as she flicked her hand to try to dislodge a stringy piece of meat stuck under her nail. It flipped off into the air and Sam caught it with a deft jump. He chewed with apparent relish and settled back down, motionless, his amber eyes intense as he watched the table for any scraps that might fall to the grass. There was a small ache in Carly’s heart as she thought of how Tigger used to get bored with these vigils and attack Sam’s tail or bat at his legs to try to get him to chase her, testing his patience. But Sam would not be moved as long as food was out. His opportunistic nature just wouldn’t let him.
The cat’s death had been a powerful and sobering lesson, a reminder that the Infection could come back at any time if it mutated enough to overcome the immunity given to the survivors by the Cederna flu shots. It kept her up some nights, knowing she could do nothing to protect the people she loved.
Miz Marson shrugged. It seemed she was comfortable with the idea of Pearl roaming around and exploring on her own, which made Carly more comfortable with the idea herself. Like Justin, Miz Marson had good instincts about people.
After they had the meat sliced into thin strips, they soaked almost all of it in salt water and hung each piece on individual hooks suspended from dowel rods. They carried the rods to Miz Marson’s house, where they propped them between sawhorses on her screened-in porch. It was ideal as a drying location.
The rest of the meat Carly laid aside for cooking that night. Several of the townspeople who had stopped by during the butchering had grimaced at the idea of eating an alligator. After smelling the fat, Carly didn’t have much of an appetite for it herself, but she marched down to the little park in the center of the town and set up a fire and began cooking while Justin taught his class. As she had expected, the smell of roasting meat proved irresistible, and soon there was an impromptu picnic going on as people brought vegetables, potato cakes, and cornbread to eat with it.
Pearl rejoined them after disappearing for a few hours, likely doing the same kind of reconnaissance Justin had done when they’d first set foot in Colby a year earlier. She didn’t partake of the gator meat, or any of the townspeople’s food, though it was offered in an attempt to draw her into the group. Everyone was curious, of course, but Pearl stayed back, observing from the small patch of arborvitaes near the park’s edge. She was polite and friendly enough when people spoke to her, but it was obvious she wanted to be left alone.
Justin and Carly sat against the war memorial. She leaned back against him, and he wrapped his warm arms around her
. He nuzzled her neck and pressed a kiss under her ear, sending a delicious shiver through her.
“This was a great idea,” he said. “We needed to come together for something fun and positive, instead of another town meeting over what to do about patrol assignments or water pipes.”
“You’ll have to have one about the fence.” She shifted their sleeping daughter from one shoulder to the other. The baby stirred but did not wake, stuffing her fist into her mouth for a comforting chew.
“Tomorrow,” Justin said.
Carly sighed because she knew that meant he would spend the night watching the spot himself, but he was right. The town had needed an evening just to enjoy one another’s company.
Someone tapped at the door just as Carly extinguished the lamps for the night. She set the last one on the kitchen table and went to answer the door. It was very rare they had visitors this late. Justin lingered in the doorway, one hand behind his back. He nodded at Carly and she opened the door.
Pearl stood there, her huge backpack on the floor beside her. Justin’s hand fell away from his gun. “Evening.”
“Hi.” Pearl looked a little uncertain for a moment. “Can I talk to you guys for a minute?”
“Sure.” Carly stepped back to let her pass, and Justin offered her a seat at the kitchen table. Carly ducked down into the basement, took the pitcher from the shelf, and brought it upstairs. Pearl took the glass of cool water with a nod and a smile of thanks. The sun had set hours ago, but the air was still hot enough that tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead.
“I take it you’ve decided to stay,” Justin said.
“Why do you think that?” Pearl replied, a little smile dimpling her cheeks.
“Because if not, you’d already be gone.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess I would. I’ve still got some reservations.”
Carly refilled Pearl’s glass. “Of course you do.”
“What’s the catch? What do you expect of me?” Pearl pressed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward a little.
“Just that you contribute wherever you can,” Carly said. “We need every pair of willing hands.”
“And you’re the leader, right?”
Justin spoke up. “Carly and I are, yes.”
Pearl smiled at Carly. “You’re, like, the vice-president?”
“More like co-dictator.” Justin poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. “I’ll be blunt—this isn’t a democracy. Carly and I are always willing to listen to other opinions, but our decisions are final. If you can’t live with that, we understand. But that’s the way it is here.”
Carly cast him a reproving glance. “He’s exaggerating. We vote on most stuff. It’s more like we hold veto power. Rarely exercised, at that. We do make some rules, but we don’t boss people around all the time.”
“How can I know what sort of leaders you are?”
“Only by living here, I suppose.” Carly tapped her fingers on the table. “You’re always free to leave if you’re not happy here, Pearl. The fence we have is to keep people out, not keep them in.”
“That’s another thing I wanted to ask you.”
Justin waited for her to continue, but Pearl just stared down into her glass and turned it in her hands.
“The fence is a precaution,” Justin said. “A necessary one, as you saw in today’s events. Fortunately, we haven’t faced anyone yet who wanted to do us physical harm or organized raiding parties, but it’s always a possibility we need to be prepared for. And as the food supply dwindles, it’s going to become more likely.”
“What are you going to do about the fence-cutter?”
Carly exchanged a glance with Justin. He was the one who answered.
“Increase the patrols, set a few traps, and catch the bastard.”
“What will you do when you catch him? Assuming it’s a ‘him.’ ”
Both Carly and Justin had been using the male pronoun as an assumption, but the more Carly thought about it, the more she was almost sure it wasn’t a woman. Perhaps it was just her own prejudices, but the theft didn’t seem like something a woman would do. But she was always willing to consider the possibility.
“That depends on who it is,” Justin said. “And why they did it.”
“Is there a scenario where you would kill someone for stealing?” Pearl set her empty water glass down.
“Yes.” Justin met her eyes, cool and level. “It’s not like we can call the police, Pearl, and have them put in jail. It doesn’t work that way anymore.”
Carly couldn’t tell whether Pearl was unsettled by that response or not. She traced her finger in the condensation on the table.
“But you can’t prevent people from breaking in.”
“No, maybe not, but we can try. And we can be ready to deal with it when it happens.” Justin sat back in his chair. “Is your interest in this subject an indication of the area where you’d like to contribute?”
Pearl was startled. “I hadn’t thought about … I mean, I just wondered—”
“We can use another sharp pair of eyes in the Watchers.”
Pearl copied Carly’s tapping fingers. “I have to admit, this makes me nervous. You guys seem to have a really good thing going here, a prime target. Do you know what it’s like on the outside?”
“All too well.”
Pearl gave them a somewhat skeptical look.
“We were on the road for almost a year before we came here.” Carly took a deep breath. “We realize our security isn’t perfect, but we’re doing what we can with what we have. We are trying to prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best.”
Justin grinned at her. “You’re hoping for the best. Optimism is your job. I’m the heavily armed pessimist.”
Pearl laughed. Justin gave a little smile and shrugged.
Carly sat back in her chair. “He was probably better prepared to deal with this crazy new world than most. In the army, he saw what happens when social order breaks down.”
Pearl gave him a questioning look. Carly saw his jaw muscles tense a little. He didn’t try to hide his background, but he didn’t like to talk about it, either.
“She’s right. I’ve seen the worst of it. Iraq, Afghanistan, Darfur, and a few other places I don’t care to mention right now. I’ve seen what happens when things fall apart. So, yeah, I admit to being a little bit of a cynic when it comes to human nature.”
Carly gave a significant glance at the handguns strapped to Pearl’s hips. “I think you’ve found another.”
Justin put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I told you she would be a perfect addition to our community.”
Truthfully, he’d never said anything of the type, but she’d known he was thinking it. Carly pushed her chair back. “Pearl, if you’re going to stay—at least for a while until you see if it’s what you’re looking for—I’ll take you to a house you can use.”
Pearl opened her mouth to say something and Carly held up a hand. “Just for tonight. You don’t have to decide right now if you’re going to stay or not.”
Pearl hesitated just a moment but nodded.
They stepped through the screen door out into the warm, humid night. Sam followed, his nails clicking on the sidewalk. His ears were erect, swiveling as he scanned the darkness for threats. Carly patted him to try to reassure him, but Sam was as paranoid as Justin these days.
“Let me ask you something,” Pearl said. “Why do you want me to stay? I’m sure you don’t have a shortage of people asking to come in.”
Carly fell into an easy pace beside her. “We need good people. We don’t need dependents. We need the dependable. We’re trying to choose stones.”
Pearl raised a brow. “Stones?”
“To build a foundation.” Carly looked up at the stars, peeping between the gathering cloud cover. “We want this community to last, so we need to choose good people to be the basis of it.”
Pearl smacked her arm and swore.
“I
’ve got some mosquito repellant,” Carly said. She pulled a small spray bottle out of her pocket. “I spray our mosquito netting every night to try to keep them away.”
Pearl sprayed it on, the scent of the tea tree oil sharp in the humid night air. “I heard that Mrs. Marson lady say that alligator fat was once used by the Native Americans in this region to repel mosquitos.”
Carly wrinkled her nose. “And every other living thing. Ugh.”
Pearl scratched her arm. “I think I’d rather stink than get eaten alive. This doesn’t smell too bad, though.”
“A bunch of essential oils mixed together,” Carly said. “We’re going to have to learn how to distill those out of the plants.” She sighed. So many things they needed to learn how to make and do before the manufactured stuff ran out. It was a deadline that always loomed large in her mind. Books only went so far, and Miz Marson’s knowledge sometimes had gaps they had no choice but to fill with experimentation.
At the end of the block was a small bungalow house. It had been empty before Carly’s group arrived in Colby, so they hadn’t needed to clear it of victims after the Infection they’d brought with them swept through town. Carly shoved away those terrible memories and reached into the rectangular metal mailbox beside the door. Her fingers patted around until she found the key.
The house was stuffy and smelled a little musty from being closed up for so long. Carly scanned the living room, preserved just the way it had been Before. Her gaze lingered on the dark television set. She hadn’t seen one of those in a while. Most people had shoved them into storage, those who still clung to some faint hope they’d be able to use them again someday. Others had thrown them out despite Justin’s suggestion they might contain components they’d find useful someday. Many electric lamps had gone the same way, tossed into the garbage pit on the edge of town.
