“I know, mom. But they’ve stayed on their side and they won’t charge you unless you challenge them.”
“That’s not true, Caroline.”
“Sure it is!” she replied.
“And how do you know this?” Barb asked sarcastically.
“Rob told me!” She quickly shot back. She suddenly regretted saying anything about Robert. They had been spending more and more time together and her mom was the last person she wanted to know.
“Rob?” Barb asked with raised eyebrows. “And when did you see him?”
Caroline stuttered as she tried to come up with a convincing story to extricate herself from the quicksand she had just stepped into.
“I, uh. I guess when I went over to watch them work on daddy’s car.”
Barb immediately recognized her daughter’s passive, aggressive answer. Using the phrase “daddy” was the tell, the verbal giveaway that she was doing something she shouldn’t have been.
“Well, I’ll bet “daddy” will be happy to hear that you are spending time with that boy, learning all about the Florida outdoors!”
“NO!” she cried, grabbing her mother’s arm. “I mean, don’t tell him anything. It’s nothing.”
Barb should have seen this coming. With nothing to do other than clean the barn and read books, it was inevitable that two young people would find each other and spend time together. She just hoped it hadn’t progressed beyond spending time.
Barb stopped their progress into the house, guiding her daughter to the patio table.
“Sit down with me,” Barb started.
Caroline reluctantly sat down, feeling like a death row inmate making her final walk to the electric chair.
The two of them began to talk, their conversation moving back and forth over the line that defined the conversation between two grown women and a mother/daughter discussion. After gently prodding Caroline, Barb was relieved to find out that their relationship had only progressed to a few make-out sessions with some gently rebuffed wandering hands involved. Barb finished the conversation with a stern lecture on the hazards of becoming pregnant, especially at a time where modern medicine would be unavailable. She reviewed ways of deflecting the young man’s advances without putting him off. Barb recognized that they needed the Grafton family’s continued friendship, so she promised to visit Ed and Carol Grafton and have a friendly talk about the boy. Both Ed and Carol were on their second marriage and neither had children from their first. Now they were both pushing 60 years old and beyond having their own kids, so both Caroline and Claire had become their surrogate children. Also, Ed tended to take in young drivers that he could mentor, which gave him the chance to be a father to some young men that were also passionate about racing, automobiles and his other man gadgets. The Grafton’s had created a full life with this arrangement and Barb was sure they would cooperate in setting the two kids straight on keeping their hormones in check.
Even so, Barb decided after they had finished their conversation, I’d better check and see if Gerry had any birth control in his pill stash. If anything, Barb was a practical person, and having a backup plan was second nature for her. Caroline was 18 years old, an emotionally precarious age, even in the best of times. Now, the stress of their situation could warp a young person’s logic, and the comfort of a young man’s arms could prove irresistible. Better safe than sorry.
Caroline went back in the house while Barb continued to sit at the patio table. After making the decision on how to handle Caroline’s romantic future, a feeling of unease persisted. She sighed and reclined in the rattan chair, staring at the darkening sky. With the rest of the country burning, and Claire still unaccounted for, she could understand her misgivings. Now Gerry was back and her world was stable once again, and she scolded herself for being ungrateful. She should be thankful, she thought.
And that’s when she realized what was bothering her. She had lost count of the days since the EMP had stopped her world. By her best guess, it was early December or late November. And that’s when she realized that she had forgotten Thanksgiving! Now, with Gerry back, there was every reason to celebrate the holiday.
She jumped from the chair and returned to her kitchen. By God, she thought. I’m going to make a nice Thanksgiving dinner. As far as she was concerned, her family needs to celebrate something, and she was going to see to it that they did!
The next morning, Barb made a big dish of reconstituted scrambled eggs and rehydrated some freeze-dried sausage bits. She had a large stash of tortillas that she used to make breakfast wraps. Their refrigerator was functioning well, running off the power from the solar panels during the day, and she rigged Velcro tape onto the doors to remind everyone that they were not to use the icebox until the sun came out in the morning.
Father and daughter sat sleepily at the table. Gerry had been in the garage the night before, breaking down boxes and stashing their contents in the guest bedroom. There, they had removed the knick-knacks from the built-in shelving and replaced them with the drugs he had brought home. Her husband had spent most of the night cataloguing the medications and writing down the quantities and medication strengths in a ledger. He hadn’t joined her in their bed until well after 3:00 that morning. Now, the guest bedroom looked like a pharmacy.
“Hey guys,” She began as they started to work on their breakfast. “I have an idea! What would you say if I made a thanksgiving dinner for us?”
Her husband stopped chewing his food and thought for a moment. Then smiling, he replied. “That’s an excellent idea. What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” she said. “I could use some of the dehydrated chicken chunks and come up with something edible. Or,” she hesitated, then continued. “We could talk to the Grafton’s and see if they could come up with a wild hog.”
Caroline’s eyes immediately brightened, but she cast them down at her food when she saw her mother staring at her.
Dr. Kramer turned to his daughter and asked. “So pumpkin, what do you think?”
Without looking up from her food, Caroline immediately replied in a monotone voice.
“I think that would be nice. I miss the holiday.”
Her father gave her a funny stare and looked back at Barb.
“I think that’s great! How do you want to do this?”
“Well, first of all, I have a wish list.” She said as she scooted her chair to her husband. “I wanted to talk to you about getting some batteries like the Grafton house has for providing us with some power during the night.”
“I wouldn’t know where to get them,” he immediately replied.
“What about Ed?” She shot back. “I’ll bet he could help.”
“You may be right,” Kramer admitted. “I have the appropriate equipment, we just didn’t get the battery system up and running. Darn it! I wish I had pushed that company to complete their work.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Barb replied. “I didn’t push you either. You work from morning to dark. You didn’t have the time to do it. That one is on me; but I think Ed may be able to help us, don’t you?”
Dr. Kramer smiled. “I’ll get right on it after we finish eating.”
They completed the simple but appreciated meal and collected the dishes. Barb had begun collecting any organic waste in anticipation of starting a compost pile. The Florida weather would permit her to start a garden, but they lacked seed and a prepared plot. As the emergency had stretched out from a minor inconvenience to a life-changing event, she had decided a few days before Gerry made it home that a garden would be advisable.
“You know,” she said as they scraped their plates clean, “I think I want to start a garden.”
“Good idea,” Kramer replied. “I’ll put that on my list as well. Maybe I can scrounge up some seeds from Winter Garden Feed and Seed.”
“You’re going over there?” She said with some trepidation.
“I’ve got an idea,” he replied. “I think I know where I can get some batteries for the house. I know that golf cart batteries work well for solar backup systems. I can scrounge up some batteries from one of the country clubs in the area. I figure we could use anywhere from 10 to 15 batteries to fully power the house.”
“Are you going to get all of them in the back of your car?”
“I might be able to,” he replied with a grin. “But Ed’s restored an old ‘52 pickup with a straight six Stovebolt engine. I saw it yesterday, and it fired up like it had just come off the line.”
Seeing the child in her husband’s eyes, lightened her heart. “Gee,” she deadpanned. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“I know,” he immediately replied, totally missing her sarcasm. “It’s really cool!”
“COOL?” Barb replied. She hadn’t heard him use the word cool since college.
“Well,” Dr. Kramer said, moderating his boyish enthusiasm, “It’s an amazing engine. I mean, they had to do a lot without computers or even efficient small motors back then. Did you know that the windshield wipers run off of the fuel pump? The darned thing compresses air in a line when you depress the accelerator, sending pressure to the wiper motor. It was really cool… uh, interesting because the wipers would slow down when the engine slowed down, but sped up when you pressed the accelerator. I mean, ingenious!”
Barb had lost him when he said motor, but was quietly delighted at his kid-like passion.
“No!” She replied, feigning interest. “That’s amazing.”
Her husband droned on about the engine and how it got its name from the early years. Developed by Chevrolet, it was a radical motor design that was devised to cut costs and provide reliable service. The ruggedly designed engine was so nicknamed for its lengthy 1/4”-20 head bolts that held the thing together, and resembled the massive screws used in stove manufacturing. It provided 6-cylinder power for the price of the Ford’s 4-cylinder engine, and was so successful that Chevrolet became the leading automobile manufacturer from 1931 through the 50’s. During that era, the Stovebolt was the engine design that kept providing super reliable performance for Chevy’s fleet of vehicles. It just didn’t break, and that was why Ed was able to clean his motor and install it so easily.
“Ok already, Dr. Nerd!” Barb finally said as her husband droned on about the old, classic vehicle. “Just be careful. We need batteries, but not bad enough to get hurt over them.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.” He assured her.
“Hey pumpkin!” Kramer called out. “I’m going to the Grafton’s. Want to come?”
His daughter hesitated, but then replied. “No thanks dad, I’ve got work to do in the barn.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied.
“I’ll be back before we leave.” He said confidently. “We’ll have a plan and discuss it before we go.”
“Thank you,” she said and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “See you in a bit.”
Dr. Kramer, cardiologist and now amateur car restorer, jogged over to the neighbor’s garage. As he approached the double sliding metal doors, he could see sparks from a welder spraying out of the opening. Stepping into the metal-walled garage, he saw Rob working on the skeletal frame of a dune buggy, or something similar.
“Hey Gerry!” Ed said. “Come over to work on the dark side?”
A joke between them, Ed always tried to remind the cardiologist that his line of work was similar to Kramer’s. But the good doctor always had the last word when he gently reminded his friend that his patients died, while Ed’s cars just went back in for further repairs. Nothing said was ever meant to hurt; the banter was just a sign of respect Grafton had for his friend’s work.
“Looks like the dark side is winning this time,” Kramer replied. “No one needs a cardiologist if they can’t get out of their driveway.”
Grafton looked approvingly at Rob, his young protégé. The welds he was burning into the frame appeared smooth and strong.
“Kid’s good,” he quietly said to Kramer. “He’s meticulous. I’d trust his welds any day.”
“What’s he building?”
“I got an old V.W. bug engine in trade from one of the other teams. Haven’t had any use for it until now though. It’s an older engine, so no computers. Uses an older mechanical fuel pump, so the EMP wouldn’t affect it.”
“You’re going to wedge that engine onto that frame?” Gerry asked.
“Sure, we’ve already measured it and reinforced the mount to hold the engine.”
“There’s no room for it,” Kramer exclaimed when he saw the front of the vehicle’s thin, tapered car frame.
“No, silly. It’s mounted behind the driver. Just like the old VW beetle. Remember, the engine was in the trunk?”
Kramer had an “aha” moment, remembering the old beetles and the rear engine hood. The Germans had named their company well. Volkswagen meant “The People’s Car” in English, and were manufactured to provide their owners with ease of maintenance and reliability. The old “bugs” were reported to be able to float because they were so light. And rumor had it that if you lost an engine belt, a bra strap could be substituted. Kramer doubted that last story, but like any good fable, it had an element of believability. He remembered that the “bugs’” engines sounded like they were just one step above a lawnmower. So anything was possible when compared to the American cars that sported giant, heavy duty engines at that time.
The welding suddenly stopped, Rob standing from his kneeling position and flipping his shield up.
“Done, Mr. Grafton.” He said with satisfaction. “It’ll hold over a thousand pounds now.”
“Good job, Rob.” Ed replied. He turned to Kramer and continued.
“The engine weighs about 250 pounds; so with everything installed, we should be able to hold two large adults without a problem.”
“When will you be finished?” Kramer asked, already itching to take a ride in the buggy.
“Huh!” Ed replied. “Haven’t seen you this excited since the hospital installed that coronary CT scanner you had been bugging them to get.”
“Well,” Kramer replied. “I am! So how much longer?”
“We’ll be done tonight. We have the fuel tank and pump installed, and the transmission is in as well. Other than dropping the engine in and installing the cabling, we’re done!”
Kramer smiled and patted his friend on the back.
“I take back everything I’ve ever told other people about you.” He joked.
“Yeah,” Grafton replied. “You aren’t as bad as everyone says either. But what brings you over here other than a healthy male curiosity?”
“Barb wants to make Thanksgiving dinner, and I want a favor.” He said.
“Really!” Ed exclaimed. “I forgot all about that. Thanksgiving was almost a week ago.”
“Well, she just remembered; and who am I to turn down a good meal. Problem is, we only have dehydrated chicken chunks, and it’s TVP, not meat.”
“I could take down a hog!” Rob volunteered. “There’s enough of them around here.”
Florida had a hog problem for sure. The area around Central Florida used to be a bastion of orange production. But several severe freezes in the 80’s had decimated the citrus industry, and the growers all moved about a hundred miles south, leaving hundreds of square miles of abandoned citrus groves throughout the area. Wild hogs flourished in these groves, multiplying exponentially. One sow could have two liters of piglets every year. And when each liter produced anywhere from one to a dozen offspring at a time, it didn’t take long for the hogs to dominate the countryside. Groups of female hogs or sows traveled with their offspring in packs for protection. These maternal groups, call
“drifts” or “sounders” uprooted vegetation and destroyed the surrounding farms. The infestation was so bad, that the state allows hunting of these wild varmints without the need for a license.
“I heard some boars tussling in the tall grass the other day,” Rob reminded Ed. “Shouldn’t be hard to track one or two down.”
“That sounds great!” Ed replied. “When does she want to do this?”
“I think, once we secure the hog, we can plan on a Thanksgiving dinner the next day!”
“I’ll dress it,” Ed said soberly. “I’ve done enough of them to know how to stay safe.”
“I can help,” Rob eagerly replied.
“I don’t have more than one protective suit,” Ed stated. “Too risky if you aren’t protected.”
Wild hogs were loaded with potentially deadly bacteria or viruses. Brucellosis and Hepatitis were just two of the communicable diseases that the hog’s blood could contain.
“I’ll make a processing post for you to hang the carcass on,” Ed said. “Just bring me a nice one. Nothing over a hundred pounds if you can. Anything bigger, and we’ll have to soak it in brine to tenderize it.”
“Get what you can,” Kramer said. “I think the more meat, the better.”
“You thinking what I am?” Ed said, catching his friend’s drift.
“Smoker!” Kramer replied. “Had one in West Virginia growing up. We can make a smokehouse and cure some meat.”
“I like the way you think!” Ed replied. “Even if we strip it and dry it on some racks, we’ll be able to preserve the meat.”
They continued their “man-talk,” planning the smokehouse and talking of the coming feast. Eventually, Ed prodded Kramer about his oldest daughter.
“How’s Barb handling Claire?” He asked.
“Not too well,” Kramer admitted. “And to tell you the truth, neither am I.”
“You’ve always been one to be in control,” Ed said. “Not that I’m judging you. I’m the same way.”
Charlie's Requiem: Democide Page 21
