by Reed, N. C.
“Oh?” she looked at him. “Speaking from experience?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he nodded as he lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes to scan the area around them.
“Where?” she waited to ask until he was done looking around for the moment.
“Where, what?” he asked, glancing over at her before returning his attention to the job at hand.
“Where was it that they wouldn't know the world stopped turning?” she clarified for him.
“For me, a little village about 60 kays north of a town called Zaranj,” he replied after a few moments of consideration. “It had a name, but I could never pronounce it. I think it was the name it had thousands of years ago. It's an old country.”
“Where? What country, I mean?”
“Afghanistan.”
“Why were you there?” she asked.
“Zaranj has a major highway running through it that runs all the way from Iran back to India,” Greg told her. “The poppy trade is huge throughout the region, and there was an effort to interdict the trade. My platoon had a small outpost called Ramh Hadun. It's Arabic for Sharp Spear. There's a Persian name for the village, as well as a Balochi pronunciation, the local dialect,” he explained, “but they're difficult to pronounce. They don't translate well, either. The outpost sat between two mountain ranges, along one of only two routes through the mountains to Zaranj from one of the largest poppy fields in the area. Our job was to make sure none of the poppy made it through.”
“And they wouldn't notice that the lights went out?” she asked, leaning forward in interest.
“Well, they might notice a difference in traffic, I guess,” he shrugged. “But there was no electricity there, or running water. Light came from torches and lanterns and water from a well. The village was about three kilometers off the main road, so traffic didn't actually have to go through there. The traffic was the major way for villagers to get to Zaranj. They would hitch a ride with someone, anyone who would offer, actually, but then usually have to walk back. Take about two to three days if all went well.”
“Did you stop the poppy trade?” she asked.
“No one ever stops the poppy trade,” he replied cryptically. “They never will.”
-
“Those look like marijuana plants,” Olivia Haley noted as she watched Jaylyn Thatcher carefully tend to a row of small plants inside one of the seed garden greenhouses.
“They are,” she nodded as she watered the line. “So are the next five,” she nodded behind her. “After that are poppy plants.” There were six more rows of flower pots.
“Using these to make pain killers?” Olivia asked.
“Among other things,” the doctor replied. “The plants have different elements that can be used medicinally, so long as they aren't abused. What prescription meds we have will eventually be used up, or wither with age. We have to be able to make our own before then. Especially morphine for wounded soldiers, but also other analgesics for less serious uses, and perhaps decongestants.”
“You know how to do all that?” Olivia was impressed.
“In theory,” Jaylyn sounded unsure of herself, which was very rare. “I have the equipment and the chemicals needed to produce a good bit of all of them. What I do not have is experience at it. I have books, and even video instruction, but that isn't the same thing.” She finished inspecting the plants and moved to the next row.
“So, you're trying to get a head start,” Olivia mused.
“I am,” Jaylyn confirmed. “And also trying to get the plants to reproduce for me. I need new seeds for more plants. These can grow fine here, but they aren't necessarily native to the area. If I can get them started, then we should always have enough. Between these and the plants Daisy Webb brought back from her mother-in-law's gardens, we should be able to keep natural drugs on hand for almost any normal use.”
“We need that,” Olivia nodded absently. She had bounced back at least part way from the loss of Kaden Ramsey, mostly by literally burying herself in her work in the gardens. Watching Jaylyn Thatcher tend to plants that the doctor insisted be tended only by her, Olivia suddenly realized the importance of the plants.
“Should we not have these divided among more than one greenhouse?” she asked, and Jaylyn froze in the middle of her inspection.
“I mean, you know, in case something was to happen to this one?” Olivia added, startled by the older woman's reaction to her question.
“Would you go and get Mrs. Sanders for me, please?” Jaylyn asked with a smile.
-
Angela Sanders didn't approve of 'illegal drugs', but she had admitted to the need for them in order to make 'medicines'. When she arrived at the greenhouse, Olivia had already explained to her what had happened.
“-got room in the Number Four garden,” she was saying as the two arrived back in what had been named the Number Six garden.
“Olivia made an excellent point that I should have thought of as well, Mrs. Sanders,” Jaylyn wasted no time. “It would be best if we could divide these plants into at least two places. Possibly even three, assuming it won't bother the rest of your operation.”
“We don't really have anywhere other than Number Four that has any room, tonight,” Olivia noted. “But we can carry half over there tonight, and I can work on making room tomorrow somewhere else.”
“Aren't you concerned about not having them all where you can keep an eye on them?” Angela asked.
“I can't keep an eye on them now,” Jaylyn shrugged. “I have to trust and depend on the others to know how important these are. And right now, only you and Olivia really work here. Both of you are certainly trustworthy.”
Carlene Goodrum had not returned to the seed work, and likely wouldn't for some time yet, if she ever did. The domestic violence incidents between her and her husband, Darrell, had led to Darrell being beaten within an inch of his life by Xavier Adair, with an assist from Zach Willis at the end, and to Carlene being treated for PTSD brought on by years of abuse. For his part, Darrell had turned his attitude around completely and was almost healed from the brutal beating he had gotten for his actions. The Goodrum children were also visiting with Beverly, and were only staying with their parents part time, as Darrell and Carlene worked out their troubles.
“Well, then I suppose we need to get moving,” Angela agreed. “Olivia, dear, be a sweetheart and get the large wagon. You can start hauling plants that way while I go and make sure Number Four is prepared for them.”
“Okay.”
-
“So, you have to break down the original product from the plants using the acidic supplements,” Olivia was saying an hour later as she and Jaylyn Thatcher finished placing the last wagon load of plants into their new home.
“You seem to be grasping all this really well, Olivia,” Jaylyn noted. “Were you by chance an Honors Chem student in high school?”
“Oh, no,” Olivia shook her head. “No, we were too small for anything like that. I took CHEM 1 and 2, along with some other classes from Columbia State, through the satellite program at CCH. It was a chance for me to get a jump start on an Associate’s Degree in Chemistry,” she explained.
“It sounds like you did just that,” Jaylyn noted. “When I start trying to create our own medicines, would you like the chance to work with me and make that happen?”
“Oh,” Olivia's eyes lit up. “I'd like that very much!”
-
The women who had completed their basic training had been told to report to the classroom with all their gear, weapons included. As soon as they were assembled, they were told to deploy to the pad in full gear, but were told explicitly not to load any weapons.
A uniform groan went up as Nate Caudell came by at a run, yelling for them to follow and keep up if they could. They had run perhaps three hundred yards when they were suddenly surrounded by what sounded like gunfire. In a mild panic, they looked around frantically for where the fire was coming from. It lasted for
five more seconds before Tandi Maseo and Kevin Bodee emerged from a row of nearby bushes.
“That was what we call an Immediate Action Drill,” Bodee informed the group as they tried to reclaim their calm. He was carrying a loud speaker and what looked like an MP3 player.
“Congratulations,” Tandi added dryly. “You're all dead now. All that training, wasted.”
“That's not fair!” Abby shouted, and all three soldiers turned toward her as if on a turret.
“What did you say?” Nate demanded, stalking toward her. “Did I hear the word 'fair' coming from your mouth, Miss Sanders?” he demanded, getting right into her personal space.
Abby realized that she had uttered a forbidden term, but it was already done, so she remained silent.
“Fair does not exist on a battlefield, Miss Sanders,” Nate informed her icily. “Do the rest of you hear me? Fair does not exist on a battlefield! Let me hear you say it!”
The group mumbled through the phrase; their speech disjointed.
“I can't hear you, ladies!” Nate bellowed. “Fair does not exist on a battlefield!”
“Fair does not exist on a battlefield,” they repeated, closer together this time.
“Louder!” Nate screamed. “Like you actually mean it this time!”
“Fair does not exist on a battlefield!” they shouted this time, more or less in unison.
“I better never hear the word 'fair' from any of you again when it comes to training!” Nate demanded. “This is called an Immediate Action Drill. In the event you are surprised by enemy action, an automatic reaction to a particular action can save lives. For instance, while you should never face live artillery, if someone in camp or in position were to yell 'incoming', you would scatter and hunt shelter immediately, without bothering to think it through! That way, two or three of you might avoid getting splattered into bloody splotches on the ground! If you are on patrol and suddenly come under fire, you will hit the ground and immediately hunt cover and look for a way to return fire! This could prevent the ambush from succeeding, and, once again, prevent the untimely death of at least a couple of you that we have worked so hard to train!”
“There can be as many drills and plans as there are scenarios you can think up,” his voice returned more or less to normal after that. “Today, we begin working, among other things, on ingraining those responses into you until they are second nature. Until you can be brought awake in the middle of the night and know exactly what to do. Sound off, one through four!”
-
With harvest finished and the gardens winding down, canning also nearing completion and most other work also ending, it was decided that there would be a return to the 'get togethers' that had fell by the wayside in view of the work that needed doing, the loss of Kade and the wounding of so many others, and the heat of summer. With the 'swimmin' hole' apparently now a permanent fixture, the unanimous decision was that the meal would be on the banks of the little pond.
Roast Beef, hickory smoked pork, and a veritable cornucopia of vegetables and bread were spread among a dozen tables or places on 'expedient platforms' in the form of small trailers or simply boards placed over saw horses. Work details were kept to only the most vital functions and security was two hour shifts of minimal personnel.
The young women rescued from Peabody had not yet experienced a celebration day and were suitably awed and impressed with it.
“What are we celebrating?” one asked.
“Being alive,” Samantha replied. “We're celebrating being alive, and free. Not starving or dying of disease or in some kind of slavery. And for the end of the harvest being brought in,” she added as an afterthought. “We have a lot to be thankful for.”
It seemed odd, in America, to be thankful to such familiar things. Things that they had all long taken for granted and come to think of as the normal state of life. The people who had been in other countries, much poorer countries, knew far better than the others what 'normal' looked like for much of the world.
But to those born in America, raised in America, rural America at that, where such things were known but were things that happened to others who were far removed from America, the last several months had been a very abrupt and very rude wake-up call. One many failed to survive.
“That makes a lot of sense,” the young woman nodded at Sam's reply. “And you're right. We do have a lot to be thankful for. But if this,” she waved a hand around her, “is for the end of harvest, among the rest of the things you mentioned, what do you, what do we I guess I should say, do for actual Thanksgiving. The holiday, I mean,” she added.
“Pretty much the same thing,” Sam shrugged. “Before the events that led to you guys being here, we were trying to establish doing this roughly once a month, give or take. To make sure that we all spent good times together as well as tough times, and to encourage everyone to get to know everyone else. It was a great idea then, and just as good now. So, eat up and move around, and make new friends,” she grinned.
-
“Quite the party, Clayton,” Gordon noted as he settled heavily into his chair, plate in hand. “Quite the party.
“Are you okay, Dad?” Clay asked with a slight frown.
“I'm getting old, son,” Gordon shrugged. “Other than that, as far as I know, I am. Just tired a lot more.”
“Have you talked to Patty or any of the others about that?” Clay asked. “There's no advantage to them being here if you're not using their services.”
“No, I haven't,” Gordon shook his head. “Suppose I ought to, but. . .if there's something really wrong with me, well, there won't be much they can do about it. And I'd rather not put Patricia through that, if you know what I mean,” he gave Clayton a loaded look. Clayton was about to argue when the context of that look on his father's face came home to him.
“No, I suppose you wouldn't,” he replied instead. “But I wish you'd at least consider it,” he added gently. His father regarded him for a few moments before nodding slightly.
“Alright,” he replied just as gently. “I'll think on it some.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
-
Olivia sat by herself, watching others around her have a good time. She envied Sam and Gordy, Marcy and Titus, and there was Corey and Terri, and of course Leanne and Heath. Across the way were Leon and Millie Long. She envied them all, but refused to allow herself to be jealous. It would be disrespectful to Kade's memory to be jealous.
But, Lord, how she missed him. He had been the one to draw her out from the shell she had surrounded herself with. The shell that had helped her separate herself from the terrible events that had happened to her family when the sky had lit up. The shell that protected her from that reality as she fought to keep her sisters safe, sheltered and fed.
His constant attempts to get her to laugh, or even to smile, had eventually been too much for her stoic attitude, and had won her over. He had never pushed too hard, but he had been relentless in his pursuit to help her see that life, no matter how bad, was still wonderful if you looked in just the right way, at just the right spot.
She and her sisters were safe. With shelter over their heads from Mrs. Sanders and her family, and plenty of food on the table, even if it got boring to the others, sometimes. Having the same foods over and over might be boring to the others, but for Olivia and to a lesser extent her sisters, who had almost starved through the winter, boring was just fine so long as it was there.
Thus, despite the emptiness caused by Kade's loss, life was still wonderful. Sad, but still wonderful. With a faint smile on her face, Olivia turned to the plate in her hands and began to eat. She could almost hear Kade encouraging her, telling her he could see her ribs through her shirt. From anyone else it would have been an insult, perhaps, but he had always made it sound like a cross between actual worry and good-hearted teasing. Always delivered with a warm smile as he urged her to do something about it.
So, she ate, imagining him beside her, urging her to take anothe
r bite or two, just for him. She shook her head in memory of past exasperation as she would take another bite or two to make him hush. She missed him so much it hurt, but life was still wonderful, so long as you looked at it right.
-
Martina Sanchez sat beside Jose Juarez, watching Rae squeal in delight as someone splashed water on her in the 'pool'. Martina smiled at the sight, more happy than at any time in recent months that she could recall.
“This is a good day,” she murmured to Jose. He nodded, tearing at a pork rib as he did so.
“It is that,” he agreed.
“We really do need to do this more often,” she sighed, turning her attention to her own plate.
“Well, get the ladies organized and start planning your own shindig,” Jose told her. “No reason you can't. And no reason it has to be everyone. There's nothing wrong with just having a small dinner for all of us down here, or for all of them up there,” he nodded toward the collection of cabins on the hill. “Clay's folks get together every Sunday, as I recall. Just them. Start doing the same for us.”
“Hm,” Martina replied, her mind already working. It was a good idea, she decided. But who to get to help her?
Interesting.
-
Jody Thompson sat beside Abigail Sanders, eating his meal with as much care as he possibly could. He was unaccustomed to eating among other people, thus he needed to concentrate on using mannerisms that others would expect at such an event.
“You look like you're afraid that plate is going to break,” Abby teased gently.
“I'm concerned about not appearing. . .well mannered,” he replied quietly. “I do not wish to appear less than civilized in group company.”
“You don't worry about me seeing you that way,” she reminded him, though not in way of complaint.
“That's different,” he shook his head, but didn't look at her.
“Why?” she asked, leaning toward him until she could rest her chin on his shoulder.
“Our situation is in no way similar to a gathering like this,” he explained, still not looking at her.
