The Search For Home
Page 31
“Are you kidding? Everyone would love to hear you. Could you come to the town center in Willsburg? It’s only a few miles from here and the only place that can hold us all. We can put you up in a cabin and you won’t go hungry while you’re here.”
“We don’t sing for pay, but I would appreciate a few provisions to get me to the next town. I’ll be heading for Farmington.”
Mark stood and moved to the chair behind the desk. “That will be no problem at all. Hey Derek!” he called out. “You can put down the bow and come on in here.”
A scruffy looking man entered the room carrying a crossbow. His curly, brown hair hung limply and his beard was uneven. “Hi, I’m Derek.” He stuck out his hand and it almost disappeared in the Stranger’s large grasp.
“Mark, I finished tuning up the engine on the Cessna. I’m going to go up to Willsburg and let them know this gentleman’s coming. Tomorrow night?”
“Yes, that’s perfect. Thanks.”
Einstein, or Derek as he preferred, waved and went out the door.
“I’m going to put the baby down for a nap,” Lori said, “I’ll be right back. I want to make sure Mark gets the story right.” She went into the next room.
“We live in a house across the street but we spend so much time here at the airport that Lori has a crib here. Will is eleven months old and we’re expecting him to take his first step any day.”
After a few minutes Lori returned and pulled up a chair next to Mark’s.
“Where do we begin?”
***
The coffee pot sat empty and three glasses were on the desk, each half filled with whiskey.
“So, what ever happened to the motorcycle gang?” The Stranger asked.
Mark chuckled. “They never went through Taos, and Terry Holcomb says they never saw them in Raton, so about the only way they could go is south to Albuquerque. Probably went down the 64 and 84. We’ve checked the radiation levels and the highway past Angel Fire is still pretty hot. Albuquerque was hit hard, so they would have had to get supplies in smaller towns. If they actually went that far, by the time they started to get sick, it would’ve been too late to get out. They were already dead.”
“Serves them right,” Lori said. “Jon, up in Farmington, told us some horror stories about when they came to Durango.”
“Did you ever find out what happened in Lompoc?”
“Yeah, Jimbo and the other guys stayed behind and helped the residents drive back the military. They all got back here just in time for winter. That was a year and a half ago. Sheri stayed with Carla and Doug.”
“And the sub?”
“Nobody knows for sure but Jeff Hunt says a group of guys came through Farmington, and he heard one of the men call a tall guy ‘Dombrowski’. There can’t be too many men with that name. I suspect there’s a nuclear sub at the bottom of the ocean somewhere off the California Coast.”
Lori added, “Or they could have just left it moored off the oil rig. It’s not like anyone can use it.”
The Stranger nodded and took a swig of his whiskey. “How many planes do you have here?”
“I have three. The old biplane we used to escape from California, a Cessna 172, and a little Cherokee 140. I fly the biplane for fun, and we use the other two for transportation. There isn’t much gas so I don’t get to fly the biplane very often. Einstein and I take up the Cessna and we’re mapping the hot zones using a Geiger Counter.” He turned and pointed to the large map on the wall behind his desk. It was a map of the United States with lines drawn with a red marker.
“The red lines show safe limits around the hot zones. I hope to get the entire Southwest map before the gas runs out.”
“I thought they had a refinery going in Gallup, New Mexico and I know I saw oil wells operational in Texas. Why do you say the gas will run out?”
Mark paused, took a swig of his whiskey, and said, “Well, Doctor Laskey has a theory. He thinks we’re in a honeymoon phase. He says things will get better for a while, until parts begin to fail in the generating plants and refineries. You see, every town and city has a certain number of working automobiles, trucks and other machinery. Here, in the New Mexico colony, we have generators and gasoline and even computers. Doctor Laskey thinks we may have ten years.”
Lori took up the explanation, “There’s a blacksmith in Willsburg that can make small metal parts for Mark’s engines but he doesn’t have the ability, at least at this time, to make larger parts like car engines. Doctor Laskey says we don’t have enough people to staff all the factories that are needed to make parts for the refineries and generating plants. The trucks will wear out, and won’t be able to transport the oil. Only a few pipelines are in use and they are getting old. The old, pre-war government shut down the last lead processing plant in the United States, believing we could get all the lead we needed from, of all places, China.”
“Yeah, that was real smart,” Mark said, sarcastically.
“So we have no way to make batteries for our solar power systems and flashlights, or any lead for ammo. Once we run out of ammo we’ll have to revert to old style muskets or use swords and crossbows. There is just so much more we have to learn. They shut down the last factory that made incandescent light bulbs and now nobody seems to know how to make florescent ones. Once the supply chain breaks down, everything we have now that’s still working will eventually fail.”
“It’s not that we won’t come back,” Mark told him, “it’s just that there’s going to be a period of time when everything that works now will quit working. We’ll return to the technology of the 1800s. In 1870, according to Doctor Laskey, the population of the United States was three million. In only one hundred and forty years we went from having no electricity or other technology, to the highly civilized world we lived in before we blew it all apart.”
He took a swig of the whiskey. “We can do that again. Keep in mind that during those one hundred and forty years everything had to be invented… but we already know the technology exists: airplanes, communications, television, computers, appliances, cell phones, and rockets. We know where were going and we have books and people with the expertise to preserve that knowledge. We have no way of knowing how many people in the United States survived, but in another one hundred and forty years the population will probably be back to the three hundred and thirty million people we had before the war. We’re just really glad that the people in the New Mexico colony are learning to live without technology, because it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Wow, I hadn’t thought about all of that, but it makes perfect sense. I just assumed we were on our way back.” He stood up. “You folks have given me a lot of things to think about. If you’ll show me where I can stay and where I can get something to eat, I’ll prepare for tomorrow night’s performance.”
***
The evening was warm and the town center in Willsburg was packed with people wearing light, summer clothing. When the news of the minstrel spread through the town they made a festive occasion of it. People came from Angel Fire and Eagle Nest and they prepared a huge barbecue for all to share.
Mark and Lori still had their small log cabin in Willsburg where they would spend the night, and the children were there with a babysitter. Mark looked around at the crowd and thought about all the friends that were missing. Friends who found their homes in other parts of the country, and friends who had died along the way.
Chris and Aaron were there, with Karen and the new baby, James. The Yancey brothers brought their wives. All the Thompsons, Doctor Jim and Carmen, Jimbo and dozens of others that Mark and Lori called friends were there to listen to the Stranger’s songs.
He sang of unbelievable courage as people fought to survive, forming communities and pulling together to rebuild their lives. He sang of other colonies he had encountered during his travels, of their struggles and their triumphs. Of dead cities scattered throughout the country.
He told the tale of a mushroom cloud two years
after the war, that ended the threat of tyranny that had slowed the rebuilding of the country and he sang the praises of a submarine commander who disobeyed orders, securing for the fledgling population of the United States, the opportunity to flourish in an environment of freedom and self-sufficiency.
He sang of evil.
Of evil creatures who were changed, transformed by radiation, and of evil humans who tried to take what they wanted by force. Evil men who undoubtedly still existed in the world outside their colony, and would need to be dealt with.
And finally, he sang about the man of vision who had provided for this group, and had provided the tools to begin their new life.
He sang of William Hargraves.
Read about the Humanity Abides Series
Shelter - Book One
Emergence - Book Two
The Search for Home - Book Three
at:
www.carolannbird.com
Facebook.com/humanityabides
If you enjoyed the Post - Apocalyptic Series Humanity Abides, you may also enjoy:
Blood Plague by L.A. Bird
Apocalypse Aurora by Drake Dow
And if you like Murder Mysteries and Thriller you might try:
Dying Vengeance by L.A. Bird
About the Author
Carol has had a life-long interest in all things relating to survival. Joining the Army at the age of eighteen, she was the first woman to attend the U.S. Army Chemical School, and was trained in CBR, or Chemical, Biological and Radiological laboratory techniques. Carol has participated in two 10 day backpacking/survival trips and is a certified scuba diver. She has a private pilot’s license and has completed three 50k races, several marathons and many, many races at shorter distances. She graduated from California State University Northridge with a Bachelor of Science in Biology/biotechnology and has worked as a Clinical Laboratory Scientist for most of her adult life. Carol has three daughters and a son, and lives in Colorado Springs with one of her daughters, and a grandson.