by J. B. Craig
The one item from the freezer that he didn’t throw away was a big hunk of pork shoulder. It was still mostly frozen in the middle, and quite cold on the fatty outside. He seasoned it with various spices from the cabinet, and put it on the Big Green Egg charcoal grill on the back deck, fat side up. Once he got the charcoal to a stable temperature of about 225, he set the exhaust vents to keep the temperature there for up to about 10 hours of slow-and low cooking, then went to sleep.
Greg set the wind-up alarm for 1pm and got several hours of good sleep. When he got up, he went out to the river, and jumped in, with a bar of soap. He had several days of funk going on, so he scrubbed in the brackish water. It wasn’t a real shower, but he still felt great, if a bit cold, as it was still April and the water temperature was probably just under 60 degrees. As he got out, it started to rain, and he had an idea. He went to one corner of the house and moved the downspout from the gutters back and forth until they separated at a rivet. Water was flowing pretty well now, and he stood under the downspout to rinse off the brackish water. He was quite pleased with himself and used the soap again on the “stank” parts, like his armpits and crotch. Then his eyes got wide and he said “Oh, Shit – stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Greg was bathing in what could be drinking water. He ran down the stairs to the basement and checked the ever-present heavy duty black plastic yard bag in the corrugated metal trash can. Because the house was not occupied full time, it was up to the visitors to take their trash home, so each family member came to an empty, and clean yard-bag lined corrugated trash can. It held several kitchen trash cans, and was easy to take home to their own trash cans. Greg looked inside and decided “clean enough” and ran up the stairs to where the downspout was still throwing precious drinking water into the dirt. He tucked it under the downspout and ran back downstairs to look around. He found a 5-gallon paint bucket that had been, as always, meticulously cleaned after use by Pop. He Grabbed a hacksaw off the tool shelf and ran to the downspout on the front of the house and made another rain collection bucket. After some more scurrying, all 4 corners of the family home had buckets filling with rain water.
Greg figured that if it rained long enough to overflow the 5-gallon buckets, he would dump them into the 55-gallon galvanized and lined bin, and seal it with the lid, so mosquitos didn’t get into it.
Jennifer was next door watching from the upper deck, and when she saw what he was doing, she pointed to her gutters, and ran inside. Greg ran across the road with the hacksaw as she brought 2 kitchen garbage cans out of the house, and they made the same improvised water collection cisterns at her house. While they were running around and making hacksaw noises, one of the construction workers walked over to see what the noise was all about. He looked, yelled “Si, Amigo, gracias!” and ran back to the other side of the circle. The sound of hand saws and Spanish orders being given filled the next half-hour or so. Greg and Jennifer did the same to several of the adjacent houses, until the rain started to die down. “We need to do this to all the houses before the next storm” said Jennifer.
“I think that’s covered now” Greg said, as he smiled and pointed at the squad of construction workers running from house to house doing exactly that. They would run into the house, gather whatever trash cans or buckets they could, and cut the downspouts at a height to dump into the containers. I think we’ll be good. Let’s go over and help.
One of the neighbors who lived at the top of the circle, where it split from the main road, was also running around her house, doing the same, after watching what was going on. Greg ran over, and helped, since he had a hacksaw in his hand. The woman was tall and thin, with skin the color of coffee with just a splash of cream. She smiled, and said “Thanks for the help.” While her daughter stood on their front porch watching.
When her house was done, she stood in the rain, and shook Greg’s hand. “Thanks, I’m Nellie. That’s my baby, Sabrina. I haven’t seen you around here before.”
Greg said “Pleased to meet you, Nellie, I’m Greg.” He then gave a brief review of his history in the area. She told him the story of her husband and her buying the lot and building it about a year ago. Her husband was on a business trip to California, and she was worried sick about him.
Greg did what he could to reassure her, but knew that he was blowing smoke up her proverbial skirt. After some of the usual reassurances, he said, “Nellie, we’re neighbors now, and in this together. I look forward to getting to know you and Sabrina better. For now, I gotta go dump buckets of little water into buckets of bigger water. He smiled and started to turn around. Then he gasped, as Nellie hugged him in a surprisingly strong and wet hug and thanked him for his help.
“I feel better knowing you’re here, and a good guy. Let me know when and if I can help with anything.”
Greg smiled, and did his best, “Aw shucks” look. He tilted an invisible hat (while wishing he had a real one), and said “Thank ya, Thank ya verra much.”, in his best Elvis impersonation. Nellie smiled, shook the rain out of her dreadlocks, and went to the porch to gather up Sabrina.
An hour or so later, all the houses on Seahawk Circle had rain collection cisterns under their gutters. For the houses that didn’t have gutters, Greg had a plan – for another day. He would get the guys to get some 2x4’s, and nail several of them to the roofs without gutters. They would be nailed down in a V-shape, from edge to middle, and the V would catch most of the water, and dump it out at one place. If they had caulk, all the better, because there WOULD be dry spells, and water is life.
One of the construction workers seemed to be in charge, and was barking orders in Spanish, so Greg and Jennifer walked over to him. He remembered his name to be Angel. Greg shook his hand, and Jennifer started speaking in what, to Greg, sounded like fluent Spanish, to his un-trained ear.
“This is Angel”, Jennifer pronounced it “An-hel” or something close to that.
Greg inclined his head and said “I remember. Buenos Dias, Angel”, as he pointed to himself and said “Yo soy Greg.”
“Si, nice to meet you – again, Greg”, said Angel in his accent. Greg’s best friend, his daughter’s God-Father Roberto Campos, was from Mexico, and he was used to (even charmed by) Roberto’s family members mispronouncing his name. Whenever Greg heard “Gadeg!” come from Roberto’s house next door, he would smile, because mama Campos was most likely calling him over for some delicious delicacy from Mexico City, like Molletes, Haysstacks, or Chilaqulies. Yummy, yummy food. Greg was just as sure his butchering of their names would be understood, without criticism. “Bueno on la agua!”
“He says” started Jennifer.
“I got the gist of it, Jennifer”, replied Greg. Then Greg looked at Angel and said “Hablo poquito Espanol, pero entiendo mas.” This was Greg’s stock answer to anyone speaking Spanish. He understood it to mean “I speak a little Spanish, but understand more.”
“Muy Bien, Greg!” Angel said as he smiled. He called over his crew, and introductions were made all around. Most of them had very little English, with Angel being the most fluent. Jennifer and Greg communicated to the group, and Greg asked Jennifer to explain his gestures, because of some of the confusion the group of Hondurans, it turned out, were backing off a bit as Greg flailed the arms of his 6-foot-tall, 300 Lb body around. The largest of the Hondurans turned out to be the only non-Honduran. Esteban of the jalapeno sandwich fame. They called him Este, and he was Angel’s nephew from Mexico City. Este didn’t say much, but was a giant presence, as he looked to be at least 6’6, and with his bulky frame, probably weighed in at 350 lbs. Despite his size, he moved quietly, and watched everything with an intellect that went beyond language.
Most of the rest of the Hondurans came in at about 5’5, plus-or-minus an inch or two, and they were all very fit, a wiry and strong sort of thin-ness. Greg was getting a very good vibe off this group and did not think there would be any problems. To the contrary, their being on the peninsula may have been one of the best strokes of luck to t
he community. They were very friendly and tried to communicate as each of their language levels allowed them. In addition to Angel and Este, the rest were named Luis, Jaime, Manuel, Domingo, Carlos and Alberto, who was introduced as “Betto”, to Greg’s ear.
“Tell them I’m sorry for my flailing, but my dad is deaf, and my first language was Sign Language. When I try to communicate, I use gestures to close the communication gap. For example, if I do this… (Greg mimicked casting a fishing rod), I’m trying to communicate ‘fishing’. I don’t know the word, but casting a fishing rod crosses all languages.”
“Si, Pesce!” yelled Carlos, who pointed at the water, and smiled broadly, before Jennifer had to translate. She communicated the rest of Greg’s message, and one of the Hondurans, Manuel, started scuttling backwards, making his hands look like claws, and smiling.
“Si, Amigo. That’s a crab.”
“Crab?” he asked.
“Si.” Greg nodded. Then mimicked pulling a crab open, busting up the claws, and sucking the meat out. “Crabs are Bueno!”
“Si, Muy Bueno Crabs”, said Este, and rubbed his belly.
Before this devolved into a sign-language fest, Greg asked Jennifer to tell the men about the HOA meeting this evening, and asked if Angel and any of the others wanted to come to the meeting. He explained that it would be much better to have the community know who was on the peninsula and didn’t want any confusion if any of them were found walking the streets by an overly paranoid gun-toting resident. They agreed to meet at 5pm, an hour before the meeting, so that they could talk strategy. Greg also needed them help him carry some things. Greg’s head was coming up with a plan that he thought just might make this peninsula a little more secure. The group of Hondurans understood Jennifer and agreed to Angel and his apparent second in command, Carlos, to the meeting.
The Hondurans came to Greg’s place, and between English, Spanish and Sign language communicated their appreciation of the view, but especially the smell coming from the Big Green Egg.
Greg said “Carne” and was pleased with himself for remembering the word for “meat”.
Carlos said, “Si, Cerdo, Greg, Correcto?”
Greg Said “Yes, I think that’s ‘Pork’, right?” and looked at Angel. Angel nodded and smiled.
Greg went into the house and brought out a few warm beers and a platter. He opened the Green Egg, and pulled out a perfectly cooked Boston Butt, or pork shoulder. The juices were glistening on this huge cut of meat, and the platter was filled to overflowing. As Greg’s Spanglish Sign language was mostly understood, Angel finished his beer, and grabbed the platter. Greg asked them to wait a second and ran down to the basement to get one of the old soft-sided coolers. Greg then ran to the house next door, and retrieved the insulin from the freezer, and various non-narcotic medications from his stash. Angel saw what he was doing and sent Carlos off to fetch more of the medicine that they collected in the night.
Greg had an almost-full 90-day prescription of his own blood pressure medicine, and didn’t see any matching prescriptions, so everything else went in the outside flap of the soft-sided cooler. He was going to go to the meeting bearing gifts.
On the way to the community center, Greg gathered up Jennifer. He suggested she leave Annie with Angel’s men. After a bit of hesitation, Este the Giant picked up Annie, and started making SpongeBob cartoon noises with her. Angie smiled, despite her trepidation, with Angel’s men, who were charmed with her own version of SpongeBob antics. It was clear they all had either their own children, or baby siblings. Greg bet that Annie would be safer here than anywhere else he could think of during this Apocalypse, shy of a hardened nuclear bunker. Several of the men had found guns in the houses, so all were at least armed with side arms. A few had shotguns and rifles. Nellie joined them and asked if Sabrina could play with Este and Annie. She wanted to join the circle community at the meeting. There was no problem there, so they all headed towards the community center on foot.
On the ¼ mile walk to the community center, Greg explained his strategy, and got nods of agreement from Angel and Carlos. Jennifer looked at Greg funny, and said “Remind me to stay on your good side – you’re an evil genius.”
“Greg laughed – I’ve never tested out at Genius, but I try not to be evil. I’m sort of a wandering man of many Gods. That said, the best won battles are the ones you don’t have to fight. I’m just trying to solve as many problems as I can ahead of time. We’ll have plenty of problems that none of us anticipate, but Tripp won’t be one of them.”
“Man of God, huh?” asked Jennifer, and the Hondurans looked at Greg differently.
“Padre?” asked Angel.
No, just generic clergy. My friends call me Reverend Greg. I’ve done a few weddings, both straight and lesbian, and I try to help out when people need things like marital advice, and things like that. I like to think of myself as spiritual, but not any particular religion, although I’ve studied several of them, and appreciate every one that basically says “be good” at the root of it.
The HOA Meeting
Tripp scored the first point of the evening. He had told Greg that the meeting started at 6, but everyone from the community was already there, and it looked like they had been for a while.
“There he is. He does NOT belong here. This is NOT his home. And who are those Mexicans? They Definitely don’t belong here.” I move that we expel these people from our harbor. Jennifer, you, of course, do belong.” smiled Tripp.
The crowd seemed to be leaning Tripp’s way, but Greg sensed that many of them were open to a discussion, so he launched into his plan, full speed.
“Folks, Tripp here is right. I have not paid any dues to your association, but my Grandparents did, and their estate still does – well, did until banks stopped being banks. Many of you knew Tony and Evelyn Chambers, and I’m staying in their home – the one my family recently left to me. My family is going to make their way here, and they’re going to stay in the house, too. The family trust pays our dues every year, and you’ve seen many of us at the pool and social events. I’m not here to debate my right to be here. Civilization as we know it is gone. There are no more dues, no more taxes, all we have are the people around us, and nature to feed us. I will help any and all of you who want to work together.”
“What are you saying about Civilization?” challenged Tripp.
“Dude, the lights are out, and they’re not coming on any time soon. You all heard or saw the transformers explode. Your wells won’t pump water, and your prescriptions can’t be filled at the pharmacy. Survival, for all of us, is about what we have up here” Greg pointed to his head, and the compassion you have in here” as he pointed to his heart.
“I’ve spent my life as a prepper. While preppers were often ridiculed, I suspect that they’re not now. The damn shame is that just about all of my supplies are over 600 miles south in Marietta, GA – just Northwest of Atlanta. How’s that for Irony?” This got a few laughs from the crowd. They still seemed mostly to be siding with Tripp, but Greg had a few friends in the crowd, probably based on their knowing his Grandparents.
That said, I’ve studied the things that could go wrong, and I have thought long and hard about how to deal with different challenges. I don’t think any of us here knows WHY the lights went out, but does it matter here, on this peninsula? Unless any of you have a working radio, debating that is a moot point.”
Nobody in the room mentioned having a radio, but Greg felt that he had their attention.
“Here’s what I DO know.” Greg continued. This here Boston Butt is the last viable thing from my freezer, and I’m here to share it with you. I suggest when you go home you look in your own refrigerators and throw away whatever you have that is going bad – it makes great Crab bait, and nobody wants food poisoning without a hospital. I know most of you on the water have crab traps, right?”
Heads around the room nodded, while some with “water view” lots shook their heads no.
Nellie said,
“Look, Y’all. I’m not on the water, so I’ll need some help there. That said, I saw Greg and these guys running around capturing rain water at all of the houses on the circle. Y’all can sit here being all defensive and not letting in outsiders, but they’re good men, and my family is with them. And not just because I need to borrow some crab traps!” Several community members laughed, and Greg smiled and nodded.
Greg added, “Look, there are enough crab traps in Rock Harbor that we can all eat crabs every day through November, Nellie. In fact, we’ll probably get sick of it. Almost all of us have fishing rods, and many of you know the fishing is good, and only going to get better through the Summer. I’ve got a pile of old spinning-rod lures that I can share with you, so a lack of frozen bait, shrimp, squid, or bloodworms is no big deal. We can catch fish and use parts of them for more bait. My point is that we won’t starve in the next few months.”
