The Journal: Ash Fall

by Moore, Deborah D.

  * * *

  I pulled into Mark Robbins’ office parking lot just as he was coming out, and locking up.

  He leaned on the driver’s door. “What a pleasant surprise, Allexa. “What brings you into town?”

  “Well, I kind of cut myself, and thought you better take a look at it,” I tried hard to be nonchalant about a gash I knew was going to need stitches.

  His expression changed to concern as he opened the car door for me. I swung my injured leg out first, and he went pale when the plastic bag slid off, revealing towels completely soaked with blood.

  “What happened? Never mind, let’s get you inside first.” Mark hurried to unlock the door as I limped behind him. He ushered me into an exam room, turning on lights as he went. When he helped me up onto the table, I noticed how warm his hands were. The other thing I noticed was that I was actually feeling lightheaded. I could not have lost that much blood so it must be shock.

  He slipped on a pair of surgical gloves, which for some strange reason made me feel better. As he started to cut away the towels and bandage, he started to talk.

  “So, what happened, Allex? Sorry, Allexa.” He was completely professional as he irrigated the wound after dropping the blood soaked towels into a small metal trash can. Inwardly I was pleased he remembered my preference on my name.

  “I tripped, that’s all. It was just in the wrong direction. I feel foolish,” I confessed. “I fell against a wheelbarrow and the metal rails are calf high. It was full of wood, and didn’t give –however … I did.”

  “When was your last tetanus shot?” he asked, not even looking up.

  “Five, maybe six years ago. I try to get them regularly, considering where and how I live. Ouch!” He didn’t warn me before poking me with a needle. “What was that?”

  “Just something to numb the skin. You will need stitches. Are you allergic to anything?” He finally looked up at me. It might have been my imagination, but he seemed angry.

  “Yes, I’m allergic to penicillin and codeine. They make me sick to my stomach. Are you mad at me for some reason?” His hands stilled and he looked at me again, and then turned to retrieve two sterile packs of sutures, that looked just like what I had in my med-kit.

  “In the few weeks I’ve been here, I’ve gotten to know the people in the town. Interesting folks and they love to talk.” He paused. “Do you know how much they think of you? How much they depend on you?” His back stiffened. “This is a serious injury, Allexa. What would have happened if I weren’t here to stitch you up? You shouldn’t be so careless!” He ripped one of the packages open with unnecessary force.

  “Well, doctor, I guess I would have butterflied it closed, or stitched it up myself, or called one of our capable paramedics!” I knew I was getting defensive, who did he think he was? And now that I think about it, I didn’t understand why I was so hostile toward him, except maybe because I did find him attractive, and I felt somehow disloyal to John because of it. Anyway, we glared at each other for a moment, and then he started to laugh.

  “You’re a tough one. I bet you would try to do your own stitches! I apologize for my gruffness, it was uncalled for. It’s just that most accidents can be avoided.” His voice softened. “You might not want to watch this. On the other hand, maybe you do.” He grinned at me and I smiled back, the tense moment gone. I leaned back on the table and let him work. The cut was deeper than I thought. It took six internal stitches and ten external to close up the gash.

  “I’m normally quite cautious when it comes to my physical safety,” I sighed. “It was the very last of the wood to stack, and then I was going to clean up all the bark that had come loose. Maybe next time I’ll clean up as I go.”

  “What do you use the wood for?” Mark asked casually. Finished with the last of the stitches, he started to bandage my leg.

  “Heat and cooking in the winter,” I replied with a smile, thinking of all the wonderful meals I’d fixed on that stove over the years. I then explained to him about the stove and gave a brief history of it in my life.

  “All done.” He reached out his hand to help me sit up. “I still need to give you a tetanus booster. I’ve also got a Z-Pak of antibiotics for you. Do you want pain meds?” Interesting that he asked, rather than just assumed I would want pain pills.

  “No, I’m pretty good with pain,” I snickered. Then I paused, knowing having a few pain pills on hand might not be a bad idea. “On second thought, maybe just a few in case it gets too bad.”

  “Okay and I’m going to give you a couple of sleeping pills for the night. The next few days are going to be very uncomfortable and you’ll need the rest.” I saw him unlock another cabinet, remove some packets, then lock it up again. Even in a small town like this, it was best to keep narcotics under lock and key.

  “And as for the town, they shouldn’t depend on me so much. That makes me really uncomfortable. I was trained for short term disasters or problems, not for this,” I flipped my hand toward the township hall. “Not for problems that last for months and months. I’m not that strong, Doc.” I could feel the tears prickle behind my eyes. It must be adrenaline shock.

  “But you are,” Mark said softly.

  I slid off the exam table and finally had a chance to look around the office to admire my son’s handiwork. “Jason did a nice job with the rooms,” I commented, changing the subject.

  “Nice? He’s a wizard. It was a delight to explain what I needed and he just went to work. He was done in half the time it would have taken a whole crew.” The good doctor was obviously impressed. “And the upstairs looks even better. Would you like a tour?” he offered.

  “I think I’ll take a rain-check.” When he looked disappointed, I added: “I’d rather not tackle the stairs with fresh stitches.”

  “Of course not, what was I thinking?” He laughed, then got serious. “What is your home situation?”

  “Excuse me?” I’m not sure what he meant.

  “Are there many stairs to deal with? Can you move your sleeping to the first floor? Is there someone to check on you?”

  “Ah, I see. It’s all one level once I get up the three steps to the door. My older son lives just across the road. I’ll let him know about my little mishap.” I hobbled toward the door. “Thanks for seeing me so quickly, Mark. It’s good to have you in town. What do I owe you?”

  “We’ll discuss that another time.” He smiled gently and walked me to the car.

  I’m not sure I liked being in his debt, then again I was glad he was here.

  CHAPTER 10

  JOURNAL ENTRY: May 31

  I woke this morning to the faint sounds of peeping and realized I had baby chicks hatching! It’s an exciting thing to watch as they force their way out of the shell. As much as I get tempted to help, I know the baby chicks need to do this for survival. I checked on their progress, disappointed that John wasn’t here to witness this event, so I sent him a text with the news.

  Not all of the eggs have hatched, because they were started at different times, spread out over several days, and so far so good. I’m hoping for a good turnout. It will be hard to tell for sure the sex of the chicks for a few weeks, and they are all active and look healthy.

  * * *

  I called Eric as soon as I had dressed for the day. “We have chicks hatching! Do you and Emi want to come over and watch?”

  Eric used to have chickens down in Florida and showed me an old-time trick for sexing baby chicks by holding the chick in cupped hands, with the chick on its back: a female stays there, passive, while a male will struggle to right itself. It’s looking like we have more hens than roosters. I was pleased.

  I then had Eric retrieve a large cardboard box from the barn that would be their temporary home for the first week. Spread with old newspapers and a lamp positioned overhead, they would be cozy and protected. In a few days I’d have him get the brooder cage down and sterilize it. The chicks would stay in there for a month, letting them acclimate to the older hens. They g
row really fast and will be able to defend themselves quickly. In a month, Jason can take his pick, and I will keep some and then offer the rest to the town. As soon as all the chicks finish hatching, I’ll start another batch right away. With three dozen eggs in the refrigerator, it will be easy to start saving new eggs without restricting our own egg usage.

  * * *

  The same urgency about hatching more eggs hit me as I surveyed the garden. The first row of greens beans that survived the hail storm are several inches tall now and the second row is pushing up through the soil. Although I had told John I would do a wide staggering of plantings, I feel the need to plant the rest right away. It might be a foolish mistake. The worst that could happen was I had a lot of work all at once to can them for the winter. It also occurred to me that I should plant a crop of something for the chickens’ winter feed.

  June 1

  I limped into Anna’s office and sat down across from her. I had already driven by the new community garden to check on the progress and noted that it had been plowed several times. Two teenagers were raking the ground level and were followed by others planting something.

  “Bradley’s Back Yard is really taking shape, Anna. I see it’s being planted now. That’s great!” I winced when I bumped my shin into her desk.

  She sighed. “What did you do now?”

  “Just a small cut. Mark stitched it up for me. Its fine.”

  “Stitches? How many?”

  “Sixteen,” I murmured under my breath.

  “Sixteen stitches is not a small cut! You have to be more careful, Allexa,” Anna admonished.

  “Why is everyone getting pissed at me for an accident?” I retorted.

  “Because we need you, and you of all people should know how even the smallest of injuries can be major in these times.”

  She was right, of course, things were still bad. The only thing that had changed from six months ago was we’d had our power restored and the outside air was now warm instead of bitterly cold. We were still short on food, we were still short on medical supplies, and we still lacked many of the normal things that we were used to for civilized living. And our safe little community was still in danger from those who would take what little we had.

  I looked down at my bandaged leg. It was a harsh reminder, and I looked up at her, contrite. I admit it was hard, I know I’m a stubborn person. “Okay, Anna, I agree to be more careful.” For some reason that left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Aside from that, Anna, the people of Moose Creek need to rely more on themselves and less on me. I can’t always help them! I need to be helping myself and my family right now. Besides,” I looked her straight in those soft gray eyes, “long term disaster planning is not part of my job description. I may know a lot about prepping and food storage, except that’s personal prepping, not mass prepping.” I leaned back and stared at the white and black speckled ceiling tiles for a minute, the silence pounding in my ears.

  “You know I will do whatever I can for Moose Creek, however, it might not be enough, Anna, not without everyone pitching in. There are no more free rides. We will need every person helping.”

  She was startled to hear that, although I think she understood what I was getting at. We lost a lot of people in the past seven months, and I hope those that were left were strong and were survivors.

  * * *

  I cut away the gauze bandages to inspect the wound. It sure looked nasty, though I didn’t see any signs of infection. The antibiotics and pain meds Mark gave me were safely stored away in my medical bag. If I didn’t use them then they would be available for someone truly in need of them. However, I also didn’t want to risk an infection myself. I went outside to the herb garden and plucked off several leaves from the comfrey plant to make a poultice.

  In one of the boxes I have for medical supplies, I had stored several poultice bags. They are just new washcloths folded in half and sewn on two sides, leaving a pocket. I used white for these so they could be boiled and bleached. When I pulled two out, I spotted the red washcloths, also washed and stored in zipper bags to keep them sanitary. Mostly for children, it was discussed that cloths already red in color would be less traumatizing if saturated with blood. I smiled, knowing several adults who would need the red cloths too. Though I’ve never had to use them, there were at least a dozen in the box, and a couple in my medical bag.

  I tore the comfrey leaves into pieces and stuffed them into the white bag, setting the bag into a shallow bowl. I poured boiling water over the bag and let it sit for several minutes to release the healing oils. Wringing the cloth gently, I captured the water in the same bowl. It would make a good infusion for a second application. I set the timer for a half hour, got my current book, and a notepad and pen. I set my injured leg to rest on a second chair and covered the wound with the now warm poultice. It instantly felt soothing. I read maybe five minutes, then set the book aside and started making notes. I know I’ve got a few extra bean seeds I can give to the community garden, just not as much as I planned since I had to replant what was destroyed.

  June 3

  It occurred to me that I hadn’t received any calls from my clients at The Resort. In the past I’ve always had at least one busy week in May before things picked up in June, so I gave the gate a call this morning. I was startled and disturbed to discover that The Resort was not opening this year, not until things normalized in the country. I suppose that made sense, since most of the members were scattered across the nation, however, it also meant that the recovery wasn’t going as well as the government was telling us, not if the wealthy were so restricted.

  * * *

  I was washing dishes while the bread was rising and heard engine sounds getting closer and closer. Eric had decided to cut our lawns with my brother’s riding mower. I stopped him just as he was starting on mine.

  “I don’t want the front part cut, Eric.” The desperation and near panic in my voice caught his attention.

  “You weren’t here yet when the neatly plowed roads and driveway attracted the attention of that gang, and it’s what got your uncle and his wife killed. I don’t want us to look too lived in.”

  Visions of that day sent a chill up my spine. I’ve tried hard to block out the sight of Don on his porch, falling backward from the impact of the .223, and of the red blossom on Nancy’s yellow shirt, her heart ripped apart by the next bullet, while we watched helplessly from this side of the road.

  “That’s over, Mom,” he assured me. “Things are getting back to normal now.”

  “Don’t be lulled into a false sense of security, Eric. Things are not back to the way they were, and they may never be that way again.” Maybe I was overreacting. Still, it had to be said. “Eric, listen to me. The only thing that is back to normal is having the electricity on, and even that we can’t be sure of. It could go out again any minute. Food is outrageously expensive when it’s available; gas prices have gone through the roof; and any city of over a hundred thousand is still under martial law. You think that’s normal??”

  He cast his eyes down and away.

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you cut the grass near the house and the side yard? That will help keep the bugs and ticks down.”

  My brother’s yard was well hidden from view with lots of mature trees and underbrush, so keeping it cut was now Eric’s decision.

  “Besides, gas is too expensive, and cutting the grass is wasteful.” That point he didn’t argue with. After he was done cutting, I raked up all the clippings to mulch down the garden; the extra nitrogen would also help build the soil.

  * * *

  “I don’t know what to do, Mom,” Jason said. “I’m thinking we might be better off scrounging around some of the vacant houses and salvaging windows for the greenhouse. In fact, that definitely would be better. It would give us more options for the ventilation.”

  I was delighted at how quickly Jason worked once he got started on the greenhouse. He laid the entire area under the floor with heavy plastic and ston
es to keep any weeds from growing up through the slatted wooden floor. The joists were strengthened to handle the weight of the water for the fish tank and the tons of soil needed for the growing boxes, and then covered with closely spaced decking to allow any water spillage to seep down. It might be chilly on the feet in the winter, then again, maybe not, we just don’t know yet.

  “I’m holding off doing any more on the area around the grow boxes on the south side until the dirt is delivered, which should be this afternoon,” Jason told me. “I figure it will be a lot easier shoveling the dirt ‘through’ the wall as opposed to walking one wheelbarrow at a time through the door just to fill up the boxes.”

  He’s so smart. It’s a very logical order of doing things, and I told him so.

  “We’ll use as much of the load of the composted black dirt as we need for the six, 12” deep 4x4 beds, and the rest we’ll bank against the wall from the outside to insulate against the snow.”