Pierre walked over and stuck his finger into the jar, then into his mouth. "Merci, mon amie. I hope I enjoy eating squirrels because I enjoy hunting them."
"With Marceau cookin' 'em, you'll enjoy 'em. That girl is a wizard in the kitchen."
Pierre smiled and said, "Oui. We agree on that, my friend George."
Four hours later, they had two more squirrels and a ground hog.
"We have had a good day hunting, n'est pas, mon amie?"
"We had a great day huntin'. I'd been happy with the first two squirrels."
"So what now, we go back home?"
"Yeah. Remember those traps Marceau bought when we first got here? I started settin' 'em out a few weeks ago. Let's swing by and see if we caught anything." George headed down the slope to the small valley below. In a few places the path was narrow and dropped off suddenly, but George knew his way and cautioned Pierre to watch his footing.
The first trap was tied to an oak tree with a wire and was empty. "Crafty critters. Probably a squirrel got in and wasn't heavy enough to spring the trap."
George put some more peanut butter on a piece of bread and put it in the trap with two more pieces nearby, then he used a stick to test the mechanism. "A little stiff." He reset the trap and then put some peanut butter on the catch. "A little lubrication will make it more sensitive. Peanut oil works fine." He pushed the stick in and tested the trap again. "Perfect. Light as a feather. Maybe tomorrow, we'll find another squirrel."
The next trap was not sprung and the bait was still inside. George replaced the peanut butter and threw around a few more pieces of bread with peanut butter on them. Ten minutes of hiking later, they saw the third trap. It contained a raccoon, almost as big as the trap.
"Now you see why I tie the trap to a tree with a wire. Used to use rope and the coons would eat through the rope and walk off inside the trap. Would have been funny to see. The coon walkin' with the trap around him. Then you have to go huntin' for the trap. Harder than you might think. One time, I found one over a hundred feet away, buried in a pile of leaves. Coon was inside, looking sheepish. Knowd he'd been caught, I guess."
"What do we do, mon amie?" Pierre said raising the pellet gun and pointing at the raccoon's head.
"No. That won't work. Need something more powerful. Skull's too thick." George pulled out his twenty two and fired. "I really hate shootin' coons. They always look so cute and friendly. I trapped a skunk once years ago. He looked friendly too, but he wasn't. That's a lesson you learn the first time. Had to live in the barn for a week and shower three times a day. My mom poured tomato juice and lemon juice all over me, but it didn't help. Made me itch, too," George said, scratching his chest as he remembered the skunk treatment.
"Marceau will be happy with this one," Pierre said, looking at the big raccoon as George pulled the coon from the trap, put it into the bag and then reset the trap. How much does it weigh?"
"Ten pounds, maybe more. Marceau won't be the only one happy with this one. I'll spread some peanut butter all around to help cover our scent. This trap still may not be good for days."
They continued down the valley another quarter mile to the next trap. The trap was empty and sprung and next to it was a human shape, covered with leaves. George gave Pierre his gun and then turned over the shape with his foot. The shape was a man and his face was contorted with so many bumps and sores that it was hard to distinguish any specific features.
Pierre jumped back and dropped the gun. "Get back, mon amie. Get far away."
George hurriedly grabbed the gun and followed Pierre fifty feet back. "What is it? The virus?"
"Oui, I think so. We may have been exposed."
"What do we do?"
"We should bathe quickly and we should not be around the others for three days."
"He wasn't breathing."
"He had open sores. We have not seen anyone else with the virus and with open sores. He had more than one disease or the virus has mutated."
The late July sun was hot and the idea hit both at the same time that they should go to the creek and wash. The creek was small, but flowing. After they washed themselves and their clothing, they laid out their clothing to dry. An hour later they headed back to camp. As they approached camp, Fred saw them carrying their full bag of game.
"Looks like you guys did all right," he yelled.
Pierre raised his hand to stop Fred fifty feet away. He yelled across the distance, "We are contaminated. We must be quarantined. We saw a man with open sores. Tell the others. We will go to the barn and shower again. I think the bag is safe. You can take it to Cho."
George and Pierre lived in the barn and in the outdoors for the next three days. Marceau brought them cooked meals from the squirrel and raccoon. Marceau was upset, crying, worried that Pierre could die. Harry was comforting. Iris was also upset. After the three days and several antibiotic injections, Pierre decided they were healthy enough to return to the compound.
When they returned to the lodge, John was sitting at the old kitchen table drinking a glass of tea. "Nice to see you guys again. What about the guy you found, George?"
"Don't know, John. Don't know where he came from or anything about him. We skedaddled out of there as soon as we saw him. We went back and put us up some signs nearby to keep people away."
"Well, anyway, we enjoyed the meat. Marceau said she gave you an extra portion. She said she didn't think you could ever kill anything with that air gun."
"Air guns are not toys," George said. "Not this one, especially. It weighs over ten pounds and it takes fifty pounds of force to cock it. Pierre got his arm sore practicin'. A few months ago, people were sellin' air guns that shot fifty caliber pellets and used scuba tanks and compressors to pump them up. Cost over a thousand dollars. I read somewhere that high powered air guns were popular on big game hunts before firearms were cheap."
"Oui, mon amie. We will go out many times with this weapon. I expect great things of it. And many more great dinners."
Chapter 50 - The Return
It was a gloomy day. Cloudy. Dark. Rain pelted the windows from time to time. It was also hot. August was always hot, but on a rainy day, it was particularly oppressive. Civilization came with air conditioning. When it went away, it took the AC with it but left the oppressive humidity behind.
John had finished lunch, but didn't want to leave the table and walk away. At the table, he knew what to do. Eat. But, what to do today? It was too wet to farm. Too wet to cut trees. He had no great ideas to develop. Ideas that would save the group. Ideas that would bring back civilization. Ideas that would make everyone feel better. Nothing. His mind was empty and as dark as those clouds in the sky. As he sat at the table, sipping his cup of tea, Cho walked in from the living room.
"Someone at front gate. Car look familiar. What to do?"
"Screw them. I want to finish my tea."
"Fourth cup of tea," said Marceau, washing dishes.
"Let them wait. Dissolve in the rain and flow into the creek for all I care. Why is this my problem? Let someone else worry about it. I've done my share. I was just thinking about going on vacation."
Cho picked up a magazine from a side table and swatted John on the back of his head.
He swiveled and grabbed Cho's arm before she could whack him a second time. "Hey. What gives? Who made you boss?" He dropped her arm and stared into his tea.
"John be boss or Cho be boss. No matter. If Cho boss, then John go see what give. If John boss, John go see what give." She swatted him again with the magazine. "I call Pierre. He ready. John wasting time."
"This argument isn't over," he said, standing up and walking toward the stairs leading to the basement. He crawled through the tunnel and into the garage. George, Iris, Fred and Masako were working on a car.
"Another car, George? The last one was a winner. How's this one different? It's white."
"The other one was a nighttime car. This one is a daytime car. Still electric. But no night vision. It does have bui
lt-in machine guns, front and rear, with video sights and a rocket launcher."
John looked at Fred, who shook his head. John didn't think George had access to a machine gun, except for the AK-47, but it didn't have many bullets. However, he didn't doubt that George could make one if he wanted to.
"A genius. George. That's what you are. I've always believed that. You are a bloody genius, as Elspeth would have said." Recollections of Elspeth only intensified John's depression and he hung his head.
"Miss her, don't you, good bud?"
"You know how you feel when you've had a bad headache and you take an aspirin and the headache begins to go away. There is a short period of euphoria, almost joy, as you feel the headache is not hurting any more. That's how I feel about Elspeth."
Masako put down the book she was reading and smiled. "John, you are exaggerating. She wasn't that bad."
"Maybe, but she was nice looking. And totally off the wall. Always off the wall. Never knew what she'd say or do next. I always worried about it, but I usually ended up laughing."
"'So 'sup, John. I know you didn't come here to talk about Elspeth."
"Reality. That's what's up. A car at the gate. Cho wants me to go see what they want. They probably want food. I'm going to go tell them to go to hell." John raised his voice a little. "I'll say that I need all my food and they can all starve to death in the gutter." He paused before saying, "Then, I won't sleep and I'll feel like hell for a week. Why do people do these things to me? I'm not a bad guy." He furrowed his brow.
"It's not your fault, John. We have to do what we have to, if we're to survive," said Iris, softly touching her hand on his arm. "It's not your fault. You've done more than your fair share."
"That's hard to remember when starving people are asking for food."
John climbed into the tractor as George opened the barn doors. "I'll keep watch with a rifle," George said.
"Thanks. Pierre is watching too. At least the rain has stopped."
John drove slowly and methodically down the muddy winding driveway, through the two right angles and to the front gate. He peered through the hole in the half inch steel plate covering the front of the tractor cab and saw a familiar face. Two of them.
"Carla. What a surprise. You made it. You're still alive."
"Just barely. I need help, John. Before you say anything, this time, I can help you." She noticed John's constant surveillance of her vehicle and the surrounding area. "No one is with us and no one followed us. I watched and made sure. I know security is important to you."
"It's important to us all," John said as he stepped down from the tractor and leaned into the car, looking around. No one else was inside. He stood upright and glanced up and down the road. No noise and no one in sight. He again leaned into Carla and nodded.
"OK, that's a change, you helping me. How are you going to help me?"
"With food. The same food that kept my son and I alive. The same food which killed Isaac and James. I found a giant cache of food. More than a year of food for four people. About ten miles from here. In Big Gap. More than one hundred cases of canned food. Beans, corn, soup. Plus, a dozen giant bags of rice and beans. It was a retirement home for the elderly. Dozens of people lived there."
He mulled it over a minute. What was the catch? "So, why share? Why not keep it?"
"We were attacked, last night, by a gang. Isaac and James were killed. The bastards will come back. They must have known the place held lots of food. Could've been somebody who used to work at the Home. You can go and bring the food here. You can defend it. I only saw seven of them. Isaac shot one and I shot one. Isaac and James had gone to check out a noise. Five should be no problem for your outfit. Go back and talk to everyone. Make a decision. But, don't wait too long. Tonight may be too late."
John gazed into Carla's eyes. Her face appeared twenty years older, with dark circles under her eyes. It had only been a month, but life had been bad for her. What should he do? Go back and convene a meeting? Ask everyone's opinion? Find a consensus? A majority vote? That would take hours. If she were right, he didn't have hours to waste. It was eight hours until sunset. Was she lying or not? The only question was 'did he trust her?'
John pulled out his radio and pushed the button. "Cho, get George, Fred, Charles, Harry and Pierre together. And the women who aren't busy. This is a priority. We have to leave in ten minutes. Tell them to make the van and both SUV's ready. We'll need weapons. I'll be back. Figure out who will stay to protect the place."
"You come and explain?"
John's reply was immediate. "No. I will come back in a minute. But no explaining. Bring plenty of weapons. We leave in ten minutes."
John opened the gate and motioned to Carla. "Follow me back and park on the side of the barn. I'm trusting you, Carla. If you are screwing around with me, I swear I'll kill you."
Carla stopped smiling and looked scared. "You wouldn't."
"I would and I will. You look like your life has been hard. Well, mine has been hard too. If you are lying to me, now is the time to explain, because you will have no other."
Back at the lodge, everyone was running around. Fred and George stopped when John arrived.
"The van is gassed up and ready," said Fred.
"The SUVs are ready," said George.
Charles was standing at attention with a rifle. "We're ready. I'll take a cycle and run point. It sitting out front. Where are we going?"
"Charles, you take Carla. She will lead us. Go ahead of us three minutes and if all is OK, call on the radio." John leaned close to Charles and said, "If you have any trouble, your first priority is to save yourself, but after that, put the next bullet into Carla. Understand."
Charles looked startled, but then stood back at attention and said, "Right."
"Marceau, you are in command of the lodge. Take little John. Watch all around the lodge. Shoot first and ask questions later."
"What about me?" said Cho.
"You're with me in the van. Bring rifles and shotguns and enough ammo for a small war. Harry, and Iris, you're in the white SUV with George. Pierre, in the black SUV with Fred. We roll in two minutes. Everybody, mount up."
Charles started the cycle and Carla hopped on, holding tightly. Before leaving, Charles turned and looked into Carla's eyes. "If this is a trap, girl, you will be the first casualty. You will never see another sunrise. You understand that?" Carla tensed, her grip on Charles tighter.
Whenever Charles wanted to be serious, nobody ever questioned that he was. He had that secret agent/military bearing that made everyone believe whatever he said. The Scottish accent helped. Carla, swallowed hard, with tears in her eyes, and nodded.
Charles headed for town with Carla holding on. At each intersection, Charles looked around and she nodded in the required direction. Charles then radioed back instructions to the others. Twenty minutes later, they were in the northern section of the county seat and were approaching a large group of single story brick buildings on the left side of the highway. Across the highway was farmland with dark clouds hovering overhead. Charles slowed to a crawl, looking all around.
"What is this place?" Charles said.
"They called it the Big Gap Retirement Home for the Elderly. From records we found, everyone died just after the virus hit. The staff became scared of the virus and abandoned the place. Isaac and I hauled them all out back and buried them."
"Nice of you."
"Isaac found a backhoe. It wasn't pretty. I sanitized the place with bleach and soap. Took a week. I was afraid the boys would be susceptible. We slept in the car for that week. Everything was good until last night, when we were attacked. We shot two of them. They killed Isaac and James. I knew I wouldn't survive another night. John and you all were my last hope."
"What about the food?"
"They had over a hundred people living here. Lots of food. At least a month's supply for the bunch of them. We figured it would last us years. Everything was fine for weeks. Then we were attacked. I
saac took James out to check a noise. Thought it was a fox or a coyote. Isaac wanted to shoot it for fresh meat. He was beginning to think he was some kind of mountain man. Then, the fool caught a bullet. James took the rifle and fired back. I think he wounded one. Then he was shot. Isaac carried him back inside, crying and then passed out. I kept shooting. I shot one and they left."
Charles turned around and looked at Carla. Tears were streaming down her face, but she otherwise kept her composure.
He pulled out his radio and pressed the button. "It looks safe. No cars or cycles. Windows shot out. Hard to defend such a big place. Several buildings."
"Ten-four."
He turned to Carla and said, "Does the kitchen have a separate entrance?"
"Around back of the main building. Over there," she said, pointing to the left.
Charles pushed the button on his radio again and began to speak as he wheeled through the parking lot and drove around back, "Looks OK. Going in the back way. Left of the largest building. The one in front."
"Ten-four. Two minutes."
Charles jumped off the cycle and grabbed Carla's arm. "You're coming with me, girl. Inside." Charles said, holding the back door open with his gun hand and pulling Carla with his other.
"Somebody might be in there. I might be shot." Carla's face was drawn and her hands were shaking.
"Better you than me. Remember what I said about a trap?" he said pulling her to the building and shoving her through the doorway. "And keep quiet," he whispered.
Charles maneuvered Carla ahead of him like a shield as he entered the kitchen. He looked right and left. "Point the way to the food," he said quietly.
Carla pointed to the right.
The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set) Page 51
