by Finley, Zack
Our farm animals provided a plentiful supply of protein and fat. And manure. But the livestock needed to eat, too. And we needed to save the seeds and animal stock to do it all over again next year. And the next.
On top of that, weather and pests could destroy any crop. Fortunately, we still had diesel for our tractors, and our food reserves remained in good shape. This was an important planting season, but it was not do-or-die for the Valley.
This spring and summer would be do-or-die for much of America, including our neighbors in Mecklin County.
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Chapter 8
The wheels of justice moved slowly, even without time wasted by posturing lawyers. Most of the newcomers fit in well without a taint of mutiny. Within two weeks, the jury released most of them from detention. After Valley co-workers endorsed them, they quietly slipped back into the old routine.
Matt and Phil held defense drills at Justice to work out the kinks. Matt and his Gamma troop remained stationed at Justice for now. They spent the first days patching the damage done by the .50 cal. machine guns. They also salvaged replacement vehicles, since the .50 caliber slugs trashed the vehicles parked there. Mandy requested enough transport to move the whole population in one trip.
Having a school bus depot nearby satisfied much of that need. They also scrounged several fuel-efficient compact trucks and one gas-guzzling SUV for routine operations.
Despite the internal turmoil, Mandy decided to implement the chick giveaway. Uncle George convinced her to modify the program. Since chickens were flock animals, she agreed to provide up to five chicks per radio group. This resulted in about the same quantity of chicks, but George felt better about their survival chances. Each group would need to care for their collective flock. My mom thought it was a great team-building exercise. Mandy and Zeke were happy; it limited the number of trips.
George felt better since he suspected at least a quarter of the chicks were male. Sexing chicks was more art than science at that age. We routinely killed all male chicks identified during their first weeks. If there was any doubt, George let the chick live. Most other egg-laying operations around us before the crash only kept verified females, killing all others. Not something George was willing to do. Our extra roosters usually grew up until harvested for meat and feathers.
By including a mix of sexes, those in our network could expand their flocks without further help from us.
In addition to the chicks, the Defenders planned to bring garbage cans filled with chick food. Each new flock would receive one scoop per chick to allow an easier transition from incubator to back yard. I left organizing teams for the distribution to Zeke.
I left everything to Zeke and Phil. Leaving the Valley did not interest me, and there was plenty of work here to keep everyone busy. I finally met the German shepherd wolves George still called puppies. They were healthy and huge. Dwayne stepped up to handle their training. Not that he could do it alone, but Uncle George let him take six male dogs away. The three females still slept with George at night, but the six males now lived with their new handlers.
George kept the three females, intending them for herding duties around the Valley. I suspected he was secretly glad all nine no longer slept with him each night. I didn't ask, and he didn't tell whether they all slept together on his bed or if he shifted to the floor as they grew. The mind boggled.
The K-9s-in-training accompanied their handlers everywhere, the pups an immediate hit with Valley children, especially at mealtimes. Dwayne apprised our leadership that such socialization helped both dogs and kids. Everyone needed to understand how to interact with our newest defenders. Even George now took his three mutts with him everywhere.
George planned a dog breeding program from the beginning. Our nine dogs came from three litters, and by keeping the females separate, he hoped to breed them on purpose to maximize the genetic diversity. He was already bugging Jim Smith into documenting the program, although only he knew which dog came from different litters by this point. His hands would be full when the females went into heat, which Dwayne expected any day now.
At this morning's PT, Zeke asked me to drop by the armory after completing my assigned chores. Today, I split wood. After Granny died, splitting wood became my go-to job. The Valley used a lot of wood for cooking, heat, and supplemental hot water. Stacking up splits was like money in the bank. We needed a solid stockpile before planting season began in earnest. I convinced myself this was the appropriate job for me.
The Valley stored the firewood on portable racks that our electric forklifts could drop off at key locations, including the food hut and hospital. Every residence picked up their own wood from the racks for heating. People received wood splitting assignments as needed to meet the Valley demand.
Food preparations and hot water took a lot of wood and were candidates in the coming years for conversion to coal. My ancestors located several medium-grade coal banks on the property. None had been commercially viable, so we avoided the devastation mining brought to many areas of the state. I was in no hurry to shift to coal, since burning coal brought its own set of problems.
Splitting logs mesmerized me. The smooth swing of the maul, landing where you aimed. The clunk-crack when you hit the sweet spot with enough force to part the log. I even conducted mental competitions, how many splits before my maul got stuck, and I broke it out. How many successful splits on the first swing.
Knots were the enemy. I frequently wished for acres of knot-free wood. But that would mean trees without branches, and then it wouldn't be a tree. So, knots were unavoidable, and working around them became another game. Wood-splitting games kept me from thinking about anything important. They allowed my thoughts to remain light and unfocused, avoiding the dark underbelly lurking within. I recognized the signs of depression from my time with Dr. Kyle, but could do nothing to stop it.
Since the attack, I withdrew from everyone except Jennifer and Melissa. I knew it was unhealthy, but couldn't force myself to change. Even they didn't need a clinging father. Alice's girls were 16- and 14-years old, and her boy was Jennifer's age. They got along well, with none of the Ellie issues. My nieces and nephew usually went to the recreation hut for an hour each evening, and they now took Melissa and Jennifer with them. I couldn't even argue with it, especially since they nearly always came home smiling and laughing. Although they tried to charm me into coming with them, I stubbornly stayed behind.
After a few days, I caught up on events in Alice's life, leaving us with little to discuss, except the kids. My nieces and nephew were relative strangers in the Valley; they barely knew Granny. Alice was a fashion designer before the crash. Now she experimented with using old tires to replace boot soles. From our discussions, my teams would likely be gathering needles, threads, clothes, curtains, towels, and bed linens in future salvage operations.
Alice was always a sewing whiz, but as a typical male, I barely acknowledged her skills growing up. After all, what teenage boy cared about fashion other than the more revealing, the better? Worrying about replacing boot soles seemed a more substantive focus for her creative juices going forward
Before the crash, her husband Alex worked as a corporate executive. I didn't even recall what company employed him. We were effectively strangers. Our paths seldom crossed through the years, between his life in Chicago and mine in the Army. We saw one another, mainly at funerals.
Since the CME, he stepped up to help my mom manage the Valley's inventory, adjusting to post-apocalyptic life rather well. My parents spoke highly of his organizational skills. I suspected his business acumen helped with his new job as the Valley inventory czar.
Alex reached out to me after we moved in with my folks, but I rebuffed his friendly efforts. Despite my snub, he continued to include me in conversations, refusing to take my sullenness personally.
After the attack, I shirked my share of the leadership load, leaving my burdens to others. Zeke, Phil, Roger, and others soldiered on, while I played wood
splitting games in my head. I suspected Zeke intended to call me on that, today.
Waiting wouldn't make the issue easier, so I jogged over to the armory about an hour before supper.
Zeke examined a yellow-tagged AK-47 disassembled on his bench. The main parts one normally dealt with when field stripping the rifle lay to one side. Zeke wore a jeweler's magnifying lens and light focused on the receiver, trigger, and an assortment of springs and parts arrayed on a blotchy white linen. Depending upon what Zeke found in the receiver, the weapon would either be reassembled and put on green status or saved for parts. He did not like having any weapon in our armory, which couldn't be relied upon in combat. We acquired a variety of weapons since the crash, and Zeke personally certified each one.
I could field strip and clean a large assortment of weapons, but I hated to go beyond that. While the AK was klutz friendly, if I went beyond the basics, I always expected to lose a spring or end up with a part left over. I didn't want anyone relying on a weapon I completely disassembled, if at all possible. We were lucky Zeke came to the Valley when I invited him.
"I'll be just a minute, Jeremy," Zeke said. "This is in better shape than I expected. Small pits in a few locations but not that serious. I'll buff out the pits later, lube it, and it will be back in business." Zeke brought out a large dish towel and covered the work-in-progress.
Zeke used a rattier towel to wipe his hands and joined me at my table. "We need you on an operation planned for tomorrow."
"Why me?" I asked.
"You know the recruit, and he knows you. We are looking for Dr. Kyle. He is Dr. Jerrod's first-priority recruit. The address for him is in Robbins. It isn't a neighborhood we visited before, so I suggest taking a Humvee and at least three people."
I couldn't see Dr. Kyle shooting at a stranger showing up at his home but after five months of hell, who knew what anyone was capable of. Robbins was a tiny community about 8 miles south of Huntsville on US-27. We drove through it on our journey to Chaney Gap.
"Okay. I'll be ready to leave after breakfast. Who are you sending with me?"
"Buzzer wants to drive the Humvee, so I'll send Mike and Tank with you. Mandy will want you to take a few solar radios and pamphlets for recruiting purposes," Zeke said. "She wants to expand our sphere of influence south."
"Any others in that area on Phil's plumber list?" I asked.
"No plumbers but a farrier, some welders, hunters, and carpenters. No veterinarians or other doctors that Dr. Jerrod knows of," Zeke said.
"How is Mike doing with his first aid training?" I asked.
"Dr. Jerrod keeps trying, but he is still a work in progress. Why?"
"Offering some medical treatment during the outreach might open a few doors," I said.
"Mike isn't ready, and I doubt Tom is available on such short notice; he is in hot demand," Zeke said.
"See if Lois is free, Mike can be her assistant and expand his skill set."
"I'll let you arm wrestle Dr. Jerrod for Lois, but I think the doctor would give up a lot to get a decent therapist in here."
"I'll go over to the hospital and see if they are both amenable," I said, moving toward the door.
"See you at supper," Zeke called after me.
This was my first trip to the clinic since granny died. The place didn't haunt me or anything like that, just one more place full of people I didn't want to interact with. Not that Dr. Jerrod would let that go unchallenged if she got a hint of it. I was unsure whether to talk with Dr. Jerrod or Lois first. I didn't want to put Lois on the spot. I could imagine after her experiences on the road, that she might never want to leave the safety of the Valley. But I didn't want to get on the bad side of Dr. Jerrod either. If she assigned Lois to some important project, our dear doctor would not welcome my interference.
I asked the desk to see Dr. Jerrod, and they ushered me in promptly.
"Jeremy, I usually don't see you here unless you are wounded. Are you injured?"
"No doctor, we are finally leaving tomorrow to recruit some people, including Dr. Kyle. I'm hoping you can spare Lois for the day. We want to provide some basic medical care for people we meet, but Mike isn't quite ready for that. I thought he could learn from Lois."
"Mike is definitely not ready for that. He can sew up a wound and do some basic battlefield medicine, but he is not a natural. I would even suggest Scott is a much better medic. It is too bad Allie is more interested in farming than medicine. If Lois is willing, I don't object. When are you going after the doctors that I told you about in Oneida?"
"After this trip. We are working through the list. It might be beneficial to invite Lois on those trips, too."
"If she is willing, I'll work with her on a schedule."
I backed out of the doctor's office, relieved she didn't ask me how I was coping or something else personal.
The front desk directed me to an office where Lois might be. They told me to wait there, leaving the impression that Lois seldom stayed in her office and preferred roaming the floors. She must not have strayed far because she joined me at the office in less than five minutes.
"Jeremy, I was saddened to hear of your loss," Lois said, grabbing my hands in hers. She looked healthier than the last time I saw her, but still ultra-thin. Protruding knuckles still dominated her hands. Her blue pristine surgical scrubs swamped her; she was scrupulously clean. A far cry from the first time I met her. No baseball cap now. Her brown hair was still extremely short, resembling a soft bur. Her facial scar was still red, but more muted than I remembered. Sincere sympathy softened her searing blue eyes.
"We are moving forward, you know how that is," I said.
"Sadly, I do. As happy as I am to see you, are you just stopping by, or can I help you with something?"
I wanted very much to say that I just dropped by to see her, but that wasn't honest. "We scheduled an outreach mission tomorrow, and having a nurse available to provide some home care would help," I said, hurriedly adding. "Dr. Jerrod said it was up to you whether you went."
"Absolutely, I'll help," Lois said. "Any particulars?"
"We leave after breakfast tomorrow and should be back by dark. If we are back after supper, everyone gets a box lunch. We are taking a Humvee, so it should keep you safe. Mike is coming with us; he'll be your helper. Talk with Dr. Jerrod or Tom for what you should pack in your bag, but don't hesitate to make Mike carry it," I said.
"Great, I will see you at breakfast, ready to go," Lois said, walking with me to the door.
I couldn't decide if her escort was courtesy or whether she was just busy. "See you in the morning," I left. Taking her along on the contact visit came out of the blue. Having her agree to leave the safety of the Valley, after all she'd been through, felt even more amazing. A strong woman who took her duties as a healer seriously.
We needed to keep her safe.
The supper gong sounded during my walk to the armory. I veered off toward the food hut, hungry for the first time in days. A new mission put some pep in my step.
I wasn't the only one happy with the mission, Buzzer, Mike, and Tank lorded over those assigned tomorrow to the baby chicken distribution. I learned the chick giveaway went very well with the last deliveries scheduled for tomorrow. I hoped to chat with Mandy about it when we stopped by Justice to pick up the radios for the Robbins area in the morning.
I also wanted to compare notes on how her kids were coping. My mom acted like nothing happened, but she lacked patience with anyone disagreeing with her. My dad withdrew from everyone, becoming a ghost of himself, just going through the motions. All of us felt broken to some extent. So far, Jennifer and Melissa seemed better than the adults.
"Zeke, do you need any help at the armory this afternoon?" I asked.
"Filling magazines as always," he replied.
"I'll come back with you, you can catch me up on things," I said.
"I'd like that, a lot. We missed you," Zeke said.
Time to get back on the proverbial horse. To sold
ier on.
I looked around for Roger, but he must be taking a late lunch. Grady shadowed him, now.
Back at the armory, Zeke and I settled into a comfortable silence. He disassembled a red-tagged AK for parts. I dragged out several ammo cans of M4 cartridges and piled a stack of empty magazines in front of me on the weapon's bench.
The scent of gun oil permeated the room, with just a faint hint of burned gunpowder.
The need to check each magazine for cleanliness meant we always had plenty requiring attention after every operation. The marksman certifications for the Arkansas group generated even more.
