by N. C. Reed
“Well, I kinda wanted to offer you a deal,” Clay told him.
“What kind o' deal?”
“We're set up decent like, though nothing like it used to be. Got some power, though again not like when the electricity was on, but enough to do a few things. We got a few running vehicles, too. I wanted to see if you wanted to come out with us, Jake. I can give you a good place to live. We've got food and water and a little comfort. I grant you it ain't four star by no means, but it ain't bad, either. Man can get a hot shower once in a while and it's warm at night.”
“And what would a man have to do to get all that?” Sidell's voice as skeptical.
“Old Man said you was good people and we needed to check on you,” Clay replied. “Dad says you're a grade A mechanic and stood by your work, and it was reasonable. If you're willing to help keep our stuff working we'd appreciate it, but. . .I was gonna offer either way,” he admitted. “Sides, we can always use someone as big and ugly as you are to scare bears away,” he added.
“You little ass wipe,” Sidell's voice betrayed his mirth. “What about my place?”
“Up to you,” Clay shrugged. “Got a good, safe place for you to stay. Got a trailer for you to load what you want into it and carry with you. Got an apartment for you to stay in. It ain't huge, but it's nice. And it's warm. And we eat my mom's cooking,” he added.
“Really?” that sparked interest. “Your mom sets a fine table, she does,” Jake said.
“She does that,” Clay nodded. “I got Gordy and some old friends of mine with me to help load if you're in. If not then I guess we 'll be on our way.”
“It ain't just me,” Jake told him. “I got a daughter, Clay.”
“That's fine,” Clay hid his surprise. No one had told him that. “There are several kids at the farm already. She 'll have company.”
The front door to the house opened and Jake stepped out, shotgun in hand.
“She's only seven, Clay,” Jake said.
“Got one a year younger than her, and one just a year older,” Clay told him. “Another is thirteen, my niece and nephew are fifteen. One sixteen, another eighteen. Regular Brady Bunch.”
“And all I gotta do is work?” Jake asked. “I can do more than mechanic work. But I don't want to be out like you are.”
“You won't be,” Clay promised. “Might have to help protect the place, though,” he warned. “Can't promise that won't happen.”
“I got no problem with that,” Jake promised. “Just don't want to go looking for trouble, that's all. Gotta think about my girl.”
“That's our job,” Clay agreed. “Wanna throw in?”
Sidell looked at him for a moment, clearly weighing his options, and finally nodded.
“Yeah. Sounds better than waiting for something to happen here. I'm in.”
-
“Can we take her bed and stuff?”
“If we can get it loaded, we can take it,” Clay promised. “Whatever it is.”
“I just want her to have her things if I can,” Jake said. “Her mom died when she was three. Ovarian cancer. Just been me and her since then. Katie's parents tried to take her from me, but I managed to keep custody. Surprised they ain't out here with the law already trying to get her after this. Whatever it was.”
“It was a massive solar storm,” Clay told him. “The twins can explain it better than I can, but basically the sun spit an electromagnetic missile at us. Killed the grid and most electrical things with it.”
“How is it you still have things that work?” Jake asked.
“Luck of the draw,” Clay replied, more or less honestly. “We were preparing for something else that we were afraid of and got lucky. Protected us from the storm. Well, for the most part,” he amended. “We lost some stuff, and we don't have anything that the rest lost. We don't have electrical power except from solar panels. We don't have city water anyway, but if not for solar pumps we couldn't pump water from our wells, either. Stuff like that.”
“Lucky you, then,” Jake nodded. “What about my tools?” he asked. “Have you seen my shop?”
“Locked up tight as of yesterday morning,” Clay assured him. “ Went there looking for you and found a mess at the diner. Kinda had to take care of that first.”
“Sounds bad,” the big mechanic raised an eyebrow.
“It was. But we can come back there and get your gear. You 'll need it in your new shop after all,” Clay grinned.
It took an hour-and-a-half to get Jake and his little girl, Jacqueline, loaded and ready to go.
“Bruce!” Jake yelled suddenly and let out a piercing whistle.
“Uh, Jake?” Clay asked carefully. “Someone else you didn't tell us about?”
“What? No, no,” Jake shook his head. “Bruce is my-there he is,” Jake's voice changed. “Come on, buddy. Maybe Clay here can whistle you up some beef and rice!”
'Bruce' was a monstrous German Shepherd dog who was clearly hungry and in need of a bath.
“Ran out of food for him so I've been letting him forage,” Jake admitted. “Okay to take him, ain't it?” he sounded desperate.
“Hell yes,” Clay was thrilled. “We've been bemoaning not having any dogs. Even one will be a big help. I take it he's a good watch dog?”
“No, he's a guard dog,” Jake corrected. “Watch dogs just watch. Guard dogs protect. He's trained especially to watch over children.”
“Even better,” Clay was excited. “If we can get a female, maybe he can make little Bruces for us?”
“He's not fixed, so yeah,” Jake nodded. “He's only four. Got him when Kaitlin was first. . .when the doc gave us the news.”
“Well, hell yeah Bruce can go,” Clay got back on track. “And I bet a diet of beef and rice will fatten him right back up again.”
“Come on Bruce,” Jake told the huge dog. “Going for a ride!”
Tail wagging, the huge shepherd clambered into the MRAP and sat down next to Jackie.
“Let’s move!”
-
Brick was on hand to help unload, having wandered over from Leon's house to see if there was work to be done.
“You don't mind helping with this that would be good,” Clay agreed.
“Not at all,” Brick promised. Once more Brick found himself sizing up competition as Jake Sidell got down from the MRAP with his daughter. In Jake, however, Brick saw someone who was likely his superior. Clay had not been exaggerating. Jake Sidell probably could wrestle a bear.
And win.
A poor man's elevator had been rigged with a railed platform hooked to a 8,000 pound winch. Using this device it was a simpler job of moving furniture and other heavy gear upstairs in the building where the apartments had been built. Jake and his daughter were given two adjoining rooms.
“Might come a time when you have to share,” Clay admitted. “For now, though, keep her door locked and let her go in and out through your room.”
“Good deal,” Jake had agreed.
“Soon as we can get you squared away here, we 'll load up and go get your tools. My sister-in-law is over here most of the day so your little girl will have a friendly face here, or she can go stay with my mom. She might like that better,” he admitted.
“She knows your mom,” Jake nodded. “That's a good idea.”
One hour later the two vehicle convoy was ready to go again.
“We 'll be back,” Clay told his parents.
The ride to Jake's shop was quiet, everyone watching the road and surrounding areas. Jake noted several bodies in front of the diner but made no comment about them as he unlocked the doors to his shop.
“I'm surprised someone hasn't broke in by now,” he admitted. “Doesn't look like anyone even took the fuel,” he glanced toward the tanks.
“Most folks ain't got a way to get anywhere,” Clay shrugged. “What goes first?”
The next hour was spent loading Jake's gear onto the trailer. Tools, supplies, parts that might still work, oil and other lubricants, pretty m
uch any and every thing he used in his daily routine. Tires were piled atop the trailer and both vehicles and a tire changing rig muscled onto the trailer along with a manual balance machine and the weights needed to make it work.
“I paid a bundle for that damn thing,” Jake looked at the computerized balancing machine. “Just scrap now.”
“Lot of other stuff is too,” Clay sympathized. “We 'll lock back up when we go. Maybe one day it can work again.”
“Boss, you need to come out here,” Mitchell Nolan's quiet voice came over Clay's radio.
“I'll be back,” he told the others as he made his way out to where Nolan was on watch.
“What's up?” he asked, noting that Nolan was staring at something in the distance.
“What-” Clay started again but Nolan's hand shot up as he head cocked to the side.
“Hear?” he said softly. Clay turned his head slightly and then stopped. He heard it then. Popping sounds. Rattling.
Sounds that distant gunfire made.
“That sounds like a firefight,” Nolan said quietly. “I haven't heard any rock and roll, but there's a lot of it. Some of it high powered for sure, and some of it likely shotguns from the sound of it.”
“What's wrong?” Jake asked as he came out of the shop, wiping his hands in a grease rag. “What is that?” he asked, frowning as he heard the sound.
“Gunfire,” Clay said simply. “I was trying to figure if it was Jordan.”
“No,” Jake shook his head, looking down as he tried to pin the direction down. “No, Jordan is that way,” he pointed without looking up, slightly behind him. “More easterly from here. That. . .that's coming from Peabody, Clay,” he said finally, looking up at his old friend.
“How close are we to being finished?” Clay asked, feeling a chill come over him.
“All but done now,” Jake admitted. “Another fifteen minutes, probably.”
“Then let’s get done and get home,” Clay ordered. “I don't like this. I don't like it at all.”
Twenty minutes later the group was on their way home.
-
Jody Thompson stood alone some one hundred yards east of the buildings, listening. The wind was against him, but every so often he could hear it.
“What'cha doin'?” he heard from behind him.
“Listening,” he told Abigail Sanders without turning.
“What to?” she asked, stopping beside him. She was disappointed that he hadn't jumped or started when she spoke. She had no way of knowing that he had known she was there even as she started toward him.
“Gunfire,” he said simply.
“What?” Abigail lost her apparent ease, tensing. “Gunfire? Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure,” he nodded, his voice dry. “Heard it before, once,” he added, as close to a joke as he usually got.
“What? Oh,” Abigail snorted. “I get it. You're jok-” she cut off as the wind changed and she could hear the peppering sound herself.
“You aren't joking, then,” she corrected herself. “Can you tell where it's from?”
“That way,” he pointed slowly. She had noticed that all his movements were slow and deliberate. Smooth. He didn't do anything fast. “What is that way?” he asked.
“Peabody,” her voice was tight. “That way is Peabody and not much else.”
“How far is that from where Clay went?” he asked.
“Half-hour,” Abigail replied without thinking. “Well, would have been,” she corrected again.
“Miles,” he clarified. He seemed to spend words like he might spend gold coins. Sparingly and not often.
“Twenty miles, give or take,” she shrugged. “Depends on how you get there. If you mean as the crow flies, it would be. . .more like thirteen, maybe fifteen miles. The quickest way from here take you through Jordan and that swings you easterly before turning north toward Peabody.”
“There's a battle in Peabody, then,” he told her flatly. “You should warn the others,” he finally turned to look at her. “Tell Big John first, please,” he asked her. “Ask him to come out here.”
“Okay,” Abigail nodded, noting that Thompson's eyes were a deep gray color. Something she didn't think she'd ever seen. Gray with small flecks of darker gray maybe. . .or was it green? Maybe it was green. Who had eyes like tha-
“Hurry now,” he urged softly when she didn't move quickly enough.
“Right,” she shook her head, jerked from her introspection over the young soldier's eyes. She took off at a jog toward the houses behind them, leaving him to continue gazing into the distance.
In silence.
-
John Barnes, Jody Thompson, Gordon Sanders and Ronny Tillman were standing in front of 'Building 2', which was their current 'main' building, when the group returned. Using the pull through doors behind, the trailer was deposited inside the building where they would establish Jake's repair shop. Clay and Nolan walked outside to meet the others as Jake and the rest began to unload.
“We heard it,” Clay nodded as Barnes mentioned the distant battle.
“Any idea who it was?” Barnes asked.
“None, and we didn't offer to go see, either,” Clay replied at once. “I don't wish anything bad on anyone there, except maybe Will Tanner, but I don't aim to involve us in anything that's going on there or anywhere else that we can help.”
“Lot of friends over there,” Gordon mentioned and Ronny nodded his agreement.
“Smart enough not to be caught up in that?” Clay asked.
“Most likely,” Gordon nodded.
“Then so are we,” Clay said firmly, as if his point were made. “If there's really someone you want to check on, maybe invite out here to stay, then we 'll go and do it,” he relented a tiny bit for his father. “But we're not going to expose ourselves just to be nosy. Defeats the purpose of all the work we did.”
“That is true,” Ronny agreed, reluctantly but without question. His reluctance wasn't in agreeing with Clay, but rather in the need for the caution. It was regrettable, but true none-the-less.
“Well, there isn't really anything we could about it, I guess,” Gordon sighed in defeat, but his eyes strayed to the military vehicles now out of sight in the building behind them. Clay didn't bother following his gaze. He knew where his father was looking.
“Not a thing,” he said instead.
-
The evening was unusually warm for late mid-November, the kind of pleasant evening the area would get in the midst of a change of seasons. The kind of night when everyone wanted to sit around outside rather than be inside.
Supper was an all hands event that evening as everyone gathered into the outdoor kitchen behind Gordon and Angela's house. Amy Mitchell declined to attend but did allow Lisa to go with Patricia. Amy remained in her room, door firmly locked. No one was surprised by her behavior and Patricia had warned them all that Amy's behavior would likely be erratic for some time because of the trauma of what had happened to her.
It was simple food but plenty of it that the group settled in for. Grilled steaks straight off the ranch, corn on the cob from the same source, home made bread and coal baked potatoes served with real butter.
“Wow,” Jake rubbed his hands together appreciatively. “Misses Sanders, ma'am, thank you for having us over,” he told Angela. “This is a fine-looking meal. Isn't it baby girl?” he looked down at his daughter.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the little girl said quietly but calmly.
“You're welcome sweetheart,” Angela beamed. “And so are you Jacob. I remember feeding you more than once as a boy, you know,” she teased.
“Yes 'm, I recall that too,” he grinned.
Gordon gave thanks and the group began to eat. The only people absent were Jody Thompson and Amy Mitchell. Thompson was on watch in the cupola of the apartment building and Amy holed up in her room.
Abigail ate, then fixed a plate for Jody. Angela eyed her granddaughter leaving, heading to where Jody Thompson stood guar
d, and wondered if Abigail was setting her cap for someone. She had always thought it would take a strong man to suit Abby, and that one. . .he was quiet. Her own mother had taught her that still waters ran deep, and Jody Thompson was about as still as it got.
“She's paying a good deal of attention to him,” Gordon said softly at her side. “I think she likes him.”
“I'm sure she does,” Angela told him. “I'm just wondering how much.”
Abigail, oblivious to the talk behind her, eased through the cut through between the two groups of buildings, and made for the center building where the apartments were, as well as a good deal of other things including the small clinic.
She climbed the stairs and then climbed again to reach the cupola. It was dark, all the louvers open, and Thompson was sitting in a corner, looking toward Peabody. She could barely make him out in the light from below her. He had his eyes closed.
“You asleep?” she teased as she closed the door.
“No, just don't want to ruin my vision,” he told her, opening his eyes. “That mine?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she handed him the plate and drink she had fixed for him. “It's a good feed. You should be there,” she told him.
“I don't do crowds,” he told her quietly, digging into his meal even in the dark. She noted that he ignored the fork and simply picked up the steak, tearing the meat with his teeth like a wolf.
“You know everyone over there,” she pointed out. “At least for the most part,” she amended.
“Ain't that I know them or not,” he shook his head gently. Slowly. “It ruins my hearing. I can't hear in a crowd. I need to hear.”
It was the most Abby had heard him say since his arrival with the others.
“Thank you,” he told her softly. “For thinking of me I mean,” he added, lifting the steak.
“You always eat like that?” she semi-teased.
“I don't have much in the way of manners or people skills,” he admitted, returning the steak to the plate. “Another reason I usually volunteer for watch duty.”
“You act like it's hard to just be with people,” Abby smiled in the dark.
“Sometimes it is,” he nodded, looking past her.
“I guess sometimes it is,” she agreed. “Still, though, you can eat with a fork for starters. Cut your meat instead of tearing it. Maybe take the-”
