# Sticky  Five Years Later



## Cindy in NY

It's been five years since an EOTWAWKI event. How do you see yourself? What is your living situation? How are you surviving? How has your life changed? Here's my "vision":

I walk along the row of pole beans collecting the beans in a big cloth sack over my shoulder. My walking stick supports me as the arthritis tries to take me down. A long white braid hangs down my back. Hair cuts and dye are things of another world. The big straw hat keeps the heat off my face.

Each of the homes in our village has what used to be called a kitchen garden. The families living in each home decide what they like to eat and in fact many of the families that joined together did so over the dinner table. After the event, it soon became evident that we werenât going to be able to make it on our own. Most everyone else came to the same conclusion. A large group of us settled into what was once a subdivision with families grouping together in homes.

In our home, there is my husband and I, another older couple, a family with three children and a young couple. Living is tight in a four bedroom home but the garage has been divided into two bedrooms for the two girls and one boy. We have a large kitchen and two dining tables. The living room is our gathering place and holds our library. The how-to books that we were able to bring with us have been an invaluable asset. The basement is used for our large pantry of home canned and dried goods, a workshop for small projects, and a locked room holding our guns and ammo. The other homes in the village are close by and have similar arrangements.

It took a while but each home now has a wood cookstove. These were some of the hardest items to find. When folks started to gather in these homes, all of the cooking was done in a community building. Now each home does their own cooking and uses the cookstoves, outdoor cooking pits, and solar ovens. There are plans to build outdoor wood ovens.

In our kitchen garden, we grow vegetables to eat, store, and a few to trade. Even with the gardens so close there are still things that grow better in one garden than another. It could be a micro climate or it could be the gardener! All of the gardens are fertilized with the aged manure from the community herds and from each homeâs compost bin. We have fruit trees behind most of the houses with plans to put in a much larger orchard.

The larger crops are grown on much larger acreage and oxen and horses are used to work it. Out there are the wheat, rye, and corn fields as well as potatoes, squash, and pumpkins. There are herds of cattle, sheep and goats and of course horses for working and riding. About half the houses in the village have chicken coops and there are geese and guineas roaming about.

Everyone has multiple jobs. There is work to be done at individual homes and then community work. The work for the village may be working with the animals, teaching, farming the large fields, woodworking, grinding grain, blacksmithing, and of course, maintaining sanitation. 

Then there is the matter of protecting the village. Even though we are a bit higher than the surrounding area, we have still built a couple of watch towers. These have to be manned around the clock and there are also watchman walking through the nearby woods. Everyone has had training in handling firearms as well as using a bow and arrow and knife. Our relationships with the surrounding villages are good but there are still a few folks out there that think they can take what they want.

In the evenings, we will sometimes have a large dinner in the one house reserved for community gatherings. Everyone brings food to share and the musicians entertain. Luckily, the home already had a piano and several folks brought instruments with them. The little ones use pots and pans as drums. Someone thought ahead and remembered to bring some song books with them. There are also board and card games and the community library has lots of fiction to read. When the time and weather allows, everyone gets together for a game of football or basketball using a couple of the many hoops left behind.

In addition to learning that we couldnât do it on our own, we also had to realize that we had to give up our idea of having things âjust soâ. Working and living in a close community means dealing with a lot of different relationships and ideas. To survive, all of us have had to make sacrifices.


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## Vickie44

Oh Keep going , I want to read more !


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## beaglebiz

Me too Cindy!!


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## Texasdirtdigger

Me three!!


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## MollysMom

Excellent!


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## chickenista

I am so totally dead by now.


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## mnn2501

5 years after - I'm probably dead.


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## longshot38

keep it going, looks good.

and 5 years on? i see a blend of old and new tech and a lot less people in my AO.

dean


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## Cindy in NY

Thanks everyone! I'll have to think about more writing.

Who else wants to expand on your vision?


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## Guest

Christ it was hot. He stood for a moment in the shade of a tree overhanging the post he had finished pulling staples from before he moved to the next which was in the full sun. Sweat was running in his eyes making them burn. He wiped his face off then moved on. Better to be out here than go back to the house where he'd only end up in yet another argument with Sarah.

At the next post he carefully worked the spike of the fencing pliers under the top staple tapping the face with his hammer. Now that the Smiths had abandoned their place he was recycling their fence so he was taking pains not to damage the wire. Or the staples if he could help it. Everything. _Everything_ had to be saved for reuse if it possibly could be.

Five posts later he was back in the shade again and had reached the jug of water he'd left there covered with leaves. He took off his tool belt and hung it on a branch stub as he sat with his back against the tree. He took a big swallow of the water tasting faintly of lemons. They had sacrificed the ornamentals over the years, but not the citrus. They were a danged nuisance to be moved in and out of the house all winter long every time a cold spell threatened but it kept them in vitamin C when they needed it most so thorns or not he was glad to have it. Made the water taste better at any rate.

He picked up the old butter tub heâd packed his lunch in to keep the ants out and opened it. Just pone and a little syrup. Not a lot of anything else left this time of year, but at least with the longer days the hens had started laying more so it had more protein than usual. He unscrewed the battered lid of the syrup jar and dunked the hard cornbread in. He chewed slowly taking the occasional sip of water. No hurry, it was just going to get hotter.

It was the food that was the real root of the matter. With the drought being so bad last year it had been everything they could do to put enough by to make it through to spring. Everything they could do was what finally put Sarah over the edge into deciding they should do what the Smiths did and go to the camps. Squalid, festering, and oppressive, but they ate regular there if not well. Well, that and her mother dying, but what on Earth did she think they could have done? What did she think they could have done for her in the camp? He was convinced Nanna would have given up even sooner if theyâd gone, but sheâd never believe that.

So now they were here. The family was divided and the kids distraught when the inevitable dinner table argument about whether to stay or go would erupt. Another month. If they could just get through another month without any more sickness things would begin to pick up. Especially if the drought would break. The garden would be coming in good by then. Theyâd have young cockerels getting big enough to slaughter, and things would begin to get better. The Lightwalkers were finished now. Jesus, there couldnât be any more of them left. No more attacks, no more killing. Just one more month and theyâd be part the worst of it.

He ate the last of the pone then carefully wiped out the last of the syrup with his finger and licked it off. That would be better this year too if it would rain. Heâd expanded the cane patch last fall when they harvested so this year they ought to have plenty. If they could keep it watered.

Setting the butter tub down he took another drink of water before getting to his feet. His back hurt from the bending and squatting of taking the fence apart but he was pretty well accustomed to it by now. âEnd of the world couldnât come when I was younger could it.â he said out loud to himself with a dry chuckle. 

Buckling the tool belt he moved on to the next post. Two posts later he was at the corner and could see the house off in the distance. Evie was walking toward the garden. He hoped sheâd gotten the potato rows weeded like sheâd been told because he really didnât want to have to fuss with her over it tonight when he went in. 

At least she was still there. 

Had to be a good thing given the climate lately. If Sarah decided to leave today he would not have been at all surprised. Eight mile walk to the camp but sheâd toned up a lot since the Fall, they all had, so she could do it. Probably take the kids with her. He wasnât sure what heâd do if she did. Presuming theyâd go with her. Evie probably would, but there was no telling what Beth would decide. He didnât think the boy would go.

âWorrying about it ainât helping nothing. Either she will or she wonât. This fence ainât gonna move itselfâ he grumbled. 

As he worked from post to post the afternoon sun made its slow march across the sky until it reached its chore-time position. Gathering up his tools the man walked backed towards his home. When he got there he put away his equipment and washed up at the pump. Evie came out of the hen house with the egg basket and he was gratified to see it was half-full. Definitely starting to increase. By the time he was finished Beth came from the cow shed with the milk bucket and they all went into the house.

Sarah was taking the corn bread out of the oven as he came through the door. In the living room he saw Daddy combing his hair as he stepped out of the bathroom and Eddyâ¦ standing in the cornerâ¦ again. Sarah followed his gaze then answered without being asked, âyour father spanked him a few minutes ago.â 

The man sighed as he went into the living room himself to speak with his father. âWhat did he do now?â

The older man replied, âGot ugly with his mama then threw a turnip at her when she said heâd have to eat them for supper tonight. Heâs getting too big for Sarah to spank, Steve.â

His son shook his head. âYeah, I know. Heâs in a bad place right now, Dad. Reckon we all are. Letâs let him think about it for a few minutes while the girls get the table ready. Iâd like to discuss moving that fence with you.â

Stepping out onto the back porch the two men fell to discussing the move while bracing themselves for the inevitable supper table combat to come.


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## gideonprime

Cindy and Alan,

Thanks for your prose! They are delightful!


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## HilltopDaisy

:clap::clap::clap::clap: Wonderful!


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## oth47

Y'know,Alan and Cindy,if you two spend less time eating and sleeping and other petty stuff like that,you'll have more time for writing..good job,both of you.


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## emdeengee

Both Cindy and A.T. write beautifully and should consider what their futures might be in this line. They certainly write as well (better!) than many published writers.

Having said this my only comment is that the live's they portray 5 years down the road after a catestrophic disaster that would destroy the current society seem much too nice to be realistic. The stories will be more like those coming out of Darfur today and what the survivors of Bosnia have to tell.


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## Guest

*II*​
âPass the water, please.â Steve asked. Aunt Mona handed him the pitcher. âThanks.â

He poured his glass full again then glancing at Sarah whose glass was the only one in need of refilling within his reach he asked, âMore, hon?â

She nodded her head affirmatively and he refilled her glass. âThanks.â

He sopped up the juice from his greens with a piece of corn bread then chewed thoughtfully. No one had spoken after the grace had been said, perhaps afraid to inadvertently spark yet another supper table dispute. Finally Evie said âDaddy, guess how many eggs we got today!â

Her father smiled as he thought back to her carrying the basket in. âOh, I reckon about fifteen.â

âNopeâ 

âOK, fourteen.â

âNo!â with a giggle.â

âVery well then. thirteen and thatâs my final answer.â Which it was by the unspoken rules of the game. If the guesser did not get it right in three tries they gave up and the asker had to tell.

âSeventeen, Daddy! Thatâs the most weâve gathered in a day all year! And Lulubelle is sitting a nest! Thatâs three broodies now!â

He chuckled, âWell, how about that! Things are starting to look up! Good job, sugar! How many eggs does Lulu have under her?â

Evie looked surprised at this. âI donât know, Daddy. I didnât count âem. Sheâs too pecky to reach under.â

âWell, in the morning you put your gloves on and count them. She needs to have at least fifteen eggs under her. Be gentle with her and be careful not to crack any of those eggs. We need everyone to hatch that we can.â

âAw, Daddy! Do I have to? She pecks!â

Her father raised a stern eyebrow at her. âThose birds are YOUR responsibility now, young lady, and managing broodies is part of the job. You do as I told you first thing in the morning. Hear?â

The child poked out her lower lip with a frown, but said, âYes sir. Why canât Eddy gather the eggs? Heâs youngest.â

âBecause I made it your chore, not his. Now hush about it and eat your supper.â The boy wasnât responsible enough to manage the birds yet. A situation his daddy intended to address before much longer.

The aforementioned child looked around the table before asking âWhere is everyone anyway? Whereâs Stu and Danny? Whereâs Uncle Neal?â

His father was chewing a mouthful of food so did not immediately answer. In the interim his grandfather spoke up, âNealâs got the duty tonight. Heâll be back in the morning.â

Steve sighed, âWhich means Iâve got it tomorrow night. Well, at least I wonât be on patrol anymore now that some of the younger men have come up. Eddy, you know where Stu and Danny are. You watched them leave this morning.â

âBut I thought theyâd be back by now!â the boy protested.

His sister Beth replied before her father could, âTheyâre going all the way down to Wekiva Run, Eddy. You know they canât get down there and back in one day what with pulling the cart and all. Besides, theyâre going to set lines tonight. Tomorrow we may have fish for supper!â

All of the children around the table smiled at the idea of a fish fry. Protein had been short in the dark months.

Sarah asked, âDo you think there is still anyone down there? I hate to think of the boys going around where there may be people.â

This was another of their chronic contentions, but he had to admit she had reason. âHon, I havenât seen a foot print or a wheel track go south of the turn off to our road in two months except for the patrols. Stuâs got a good level head on his shoulders. If thereâs any sign at all there is someone still living in those houses theyâll stay well clear.â 

Salvage was a risky business which he would preferred to have nothing to do with, but for the fact there were kids in the family growing out of their clothes. As well as the never ending need for consumable supplies. No matter how careful they were and how much they recycled some supplies were going to run out. Trade goods were too precious now to spend them on anything they could possibly salvage. Stu had seen the elephant already so had learned the value of prudent caution. Danny would take his lead from the older boy.

The atmosphere at the table seemed to be easing so Aunt Mona ventured to ask, âDo you think we should plant the field peas tomorrow or wait in case thereâs a frost?â

The garden had essentially become the domain of his dad and Aunt Mona with the kids contributing labor (and learning) so Steve left it for his father to answer. Being from up north Sarahâs aunt was never certain of the vicissitudes of Southern weather. The older man spoke. âI reckon we can go ahead and put them in. We didnât get any frost at all past the first weekend in March last year and this year has been even warmer so far. We get a late cold snap we can spread pine straw over the rows if we must.â

Mona nodded and went back to eating.

âPass the cornbread, please.â Beth asked. Her mother handed it to her and she took a piece. âThanks, mama.â She crumbled it into her bowl to get the last of the juice then asked, âDaddy, how much longer do you think itâll be before the wheat is ready to harvest? Do you think weâll get enough that we can eat some this year?â

Steve took a swallow of water before answering. âWe might. We just might. What with planting peas there last spring then spreading night soil before we turned the ground it looks like weâve got a good stand. Probably going to be another three or four weeks before we can cut it though.â The entire family was tired of cornbread, greens, and turnips but at least they were eating.

The wheat had been a hard road to travel for the Marshallâs. It started with seed carefully picked out of the last of their chicken scratch feed from the Fall. Theyâd achieved a good stand the first year with favorable rains and some of their dwindling fertilizer supply. The second year had yielded enough seed that they were sure theyâd have wheat to mill for flour by the third harvest. But the drought had begun to set in which hurt their yield then a fair part of the stand was lost in a Lightwalker attack that set the field on fire. Afterwards they harvested what was left along with the kids spending the better part of two days on their knees gleaning every kernel they could find. 

After much discussion over whether they should take a chance and plant everything they had or to save half for just-in-case it was ultimately decided to plant it all and watch the patch carefully. A rare, providential rain had gotten it off to a good start. There wouldnât be much, if any, to eat this year, but it was looking hopeful there would be plenty of seed for the following year. Surely the drought would have passed by then.

The meal drew to a close and Steve gave private thanks for having passed peacefully. The girls went into the kitchen to wash the dishes that Eddy would bring to them as he cleared the table. A chore that he resented as âwomenâs workâ but which drew no sympathy from the men or older boys seeing as how he was not big enough yet to do a manâs or even an big boyâs work yet. Sarah and Mona sat in the living room by the west facing windows to use the last of the daylight to work on mending. The men went to the barn for the late chores. It was the elder Marshallâs turn to sleep in the hay room. There hadnât been a problem with thieving or Lightwalkers in almost a year, but they were not yet ready to take the chance. The four eldest males took the duty in rotation and Danny had been pestering them to let him take a turn ever since heâd turned fourteen. Steve was almost ready to let him and was waiting to see how he performed on the salvage mission before making up his mind.

The chores finished they all washed their faces and hands then Beth read aloud by lamplight for an hour as the daytime world went to sleep around them. The mantle clock struck the hour and they were soon asleep as well.


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## sherry in Maine

Cindy and Alan- bravo! more!


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## Kmac15

I think the two of you are just mean  Now that you have us hook, you should start a thread with the whole stories.


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## Guest

This IS the whole story! {laughing}

I'm writing this thing as I have the time.


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## pamda

A.T. Hagan said:


> This IS the whole story! {laughing}
> 
> I'm writing this thing as I have the time.


 WOW! If this is off the top of your head, it's really, really good! Thanks for the interesting first coffee read of the day. Hope you can come up with the nest few pages when you have time.


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## Guest

*III*​
&#8220;C&#8217;mon, Danny! Get a move on!&#8221; the boy said, &#8220;We get those bush hooks set quick we&#8217;ll have time to check out some of those houses we saw back there before dark.&#8221;

&#8220;Hold your horses, Stu!&#8221; the younger boy replied while zipping up his jeans as he stepped out from around a tree. &#8220;Some things ain&#8217;t meant to be rushed.&#8221;

Stu barked a short soft laugh, &#8220;YOU wouldn&#8217;t get in a rush if your butt was on fire! Now let&#8217;s get those hooks set. Where&#8217;s those grasshoppers you caught? I want to use a few of them along with that squirrel.&#8221;

Danny pulled out a small bag and handed it to the other. They divided the short lengths of stout line with hooks between them then they went in opposite directions along the spring run looking for still waters and eddies to set their hooks. It was hot for only being March and the water looked inviting, but the pull of salvaging was stronger so as soon they were finished they hid their gear under some palmettos and the cart under a ragged camouflage tarp inside a clump of wax myrtles. That finished they made their way through the woods towards the houses they had seen coming to the spring run.

Before the Fall the three houses had been set apart under a wide circle of live oaks in the midst of a large pasture. In the years since the pasture had started growing up so was now knee deep in most places with old grass spotted with brush and young trees. It was still open enough though for good reconnaissance from the tree line. Danny chafed with impatience while Stu slowly, carefully examined the houses through his field glasses. The Zeiss optics were his trophy from his last militia action and had become his in large part because their former owner hadn&#8217;t used them as he should have. This lesson was not lost on Stu. The scars on his left arm would not allow it. 

&#8220;Let&#8217;s go! What&#8217;re you spending so much time looking at?!&#8221; Danny said. At least he remembered to whisper.

&#8220;Shut up. We aren&#8217;t moving till I&#8217;m ready.&#8221;

After another minute the older boy said, &#8220;OK, let&#8217;s work our way to the left until we can see the front of the houses. If it looks good from there we&#8217;ll go in.&#8221;

Danny sighed in exasperation but did not argue. ALL of the men in the family had made it clear to him that Stu was in charge and he was to do as he was told when it came to anything involving potential conflict. Besides, Stu was three inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than him and would not tolerate screw-ups. He still had tender place on the side of his head from where Stu had hit him for talking too loud after he&#8217;d forgotten to keep his voice low.

The sun had settled more to the west from the time they&#8217;d first seen the houses in the distance on their way to the water. The patterns of light and shadow had shifted revealing what had not been seen before. Stu began his visual sweep but had not gone far when a low passionate &#8220;----!&#8221; forced its way through his teeth.

&#8220;What?!&#8221; Danny asked in hushed voice. &#8220;What there? Lemme look!&#8221;

By way of answer the other boy grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed down as he sank lower himself. Again the younger boy said &#8220;what?&#8221; but was cut off when Stu squeezed his shoulder in a signal to be quiet.

From behind the binoculars he nodded his head as he quietly said, &#8220;OK, take a look. Right there in front of the first house.&#8221; He passed the glasses to Danny.

Leaning against the tree the younger focused the lens and saw it almost immediately. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as the air chilled around him. &#8220;Walkers!&#8221; hissed out in a nearly inaudible whisper.

Stu nudged the glasses out of Danny&#8217;s hands and returned to his surveillance. Another moment passed before he allowed, &#8220;There&#8217;s something weird about this. Let&#8217;s work around further to the left so I can see better.&#8221;

&#8220;Work around?&#8221; Danny said incredulously, &#8220;We need to work ourselves the hell back home, Stu! We&#8217;ve got to tell Captain Steuben!&#8221;

The leader pulled the other down behind the tree they had been leaning against until they were almost on the ground. &#8220;I know that, Danny! But we've got to be able to tell him more than we just saw some Crosses. I&#8217;m not saying we go any closer, just that we need a better angle to see from. There&#8217;s something not right about that scene and we need to figure it out before we beat feet. OK?&#8221;

The younger boy was beginning to recover his composure. He silently nodded his assent. With all of their ability they made their silent move to the left.

The tree line began to draw to a point between the edge of the pasture and the road so would not offer them concealment if they went much further and Stu did not want to get caught in a narrow place where they might be forced into the open in daylight. He stopped and hoped he&#8217;d get the better look he wanted from where they were at. They sat very still inside of a clump of myrtles and cat briers listening for several minutes. Hearing nothing but the sounds of birds he took out his glasses again and scanned the houses.

He was silent until he had satisfied himself with his survey and this time Danny did not push him. Finally, &#8220;I think I understand now. Take the glasses and tell me what you think.&#8221;

The other took the glasses not really wanting to look because he knew what he was going to see, but knew that he needed to. He was never going to be taken seriously if he couldn&#8217;t stand up to what needed to be done. Refocusing the optics he once again searched the area in front of that house. His mouth worked silently as he sought to understand what he was looking at then handed the glasses back to their owner. &#8220;How long do you reckon it&#8217;s been?&#8221;

&#8220;Can&#8217;t say for sure. Weeks at least, maybe months. We&#8217;ll know better once we get up there.&#8221;

&#8220;Stu, I don&#8217;t like this. I don&#8217;t think we ought to get any closer.&#8221;

&#8220;Did you see any sign of anything _recent_? I didn&#8217;t see anything that looked newer than&#8230; what&#8217;s on those Crosses. They don&#8217;t stick around. Not since Shiloh they don&#8217;t. I tell you what though. Let&#8217;s stay here and watch for a while longer. We can see the road and two sides of those houses. If there&#8217;s anything still alive we ought to see it. Suit you?&#8221;

Danny had been thinking about it as the other boy spoke and decided this might be his chance to change Uncle Steve&#8217;s mind about his standing the duty. &#8220;Yeah, OK. I reckon it can&#8217;t hurt to watch the place for a while. Besides, we&#8217;ve got to go back down that road anyway if we&#8217;re going to get out of here with the cart.&#8221;

&#8220;It&#8217;s settled then. You take the first watch with the glasses. I want to check my rifle over.&#8221;

The other nodded and took the glasses to resume watching. Behind him he heard Stu softly checking over the worn, but serviceable M4 he carried whenever he left sight of the house. As a Militia member it was a requirement and he took it seriously. 

Minutes later Stu nudged him for the binoculars. The boy handed them over then began a check of his own rifle. The old Marlin .30-30 was not a first choice for combat, but it was what could be spared for an unproven boy. Unproven, but not untrained. He&#8217;d been handling this rifle since he&#8217;d turned twelve and had long since gotten past the screw-up stage with it. Uncle Neal had made it very clear he was not too old for a whipping when it came to careless gun handling or maintenance. Evie had the .22 bolt-action now which would pass in turn to Eddy when Uncle Stu figured he was ready for it. Danny would never admit it, but privately he thought she was a better shot with it than he had been.

After an hour and several transfers of the glasses the sun began to touch the trees of the western horizon. It would be black dark in another hour. Stu asked, &#8220;Well, what do you think?&#8221;

He hesitated a moment before answering being both scared and excited at the same time. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think there&#8217;s anyone there, Stu. Do you think it&#8217;s safe to go closer now?&#8221;

Stu would have liked to have done that at least a half-hour ago, but wanted to give Danny a chance to get comfortable with the idea. Truth be told he wasn&#8217;t entirely certain himself. It&#8217;s one thing to take a chance just for yourself, but he was responsible for the younger boy too. If something bad were to happen to him there was NO WAY he was going back. He didn&#8217;t know who&#8217;d kill him &#8211; Uncle Steve or Captain Steuben &#8211; but dead was dead either way. Still&#8230; those houses may not have been salvaged yet. At least by anyone other than Walkers and they didn&#8217;t have the same interests as he did.

Finally he said, &#8220;Let&#8217;s do it. We&#8217;ll work our way back to the right. There&#8217;s more young trees over there that will let us get closer with more concealment than any other place I can see. I&#8217;ll go first then if nothing don&#8217;t happen I&#8217;ll signal and you come on after. Got it?&#8221;

&#8220;No, Stu.&#8221;

&#8220;No? What do you mean no? It&#8217;s clear enough isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;

&#8220;No, I mean that I ought to go first.&#8221;

&#8220;Why? I&#8217;m the one in charge here.&#8221;

&#8220;That&#8217;s why, Stu. You&#8217;re the one in charge and you&#8217;ve got the most experience as well as the better weapon. If I go first and get into trouble you&#8217;ve got a better chance of getting me out of it than I do of getting YOU out of trouble. Right?&#8221;

The older boy opened his mouth in retort then closed it again without speaking. He was right. &#8220;You know, I hate it when you&#8217;re right. OK, you go first, but stop when you get to that first big tree and let me catch up if it still looks safe. Got it?&#8221;

Danny nodded his head positively and they moved out.

== == ==


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## Guest

*III - cont.*​
== == == 

The evening breeze fluttered the tattered cloth, but there was no smell. What the crows and buzzards hadnât eaten the ants had. Small blessings Stu thought. They had made a quick reconnaissance around the outside of all three houses and outbuildings before fetching up in front of the crosses. By now they were pretty certain it had been months since anyone had been here. Much too late to help anyone now.

They did not touch anything that lay there. It would have beenâ¦ wrong. Looking was enough. Anything more such as burial could wait until Captain Steuben could get a patrol down here. These folks had been patiently waiting all this time. They could wait a little longer.

âWho do you think they were?â Danny asked. He was wondering at his own lack of reaction. Maybe it was because it was all so clean now.

âDonât know.â Stu replied. âBest I can tell from the clothes and the size of the bones that one was a grown man, the other a woman, and the last a girl. Maybe about Evieâs age. Her size anyway.â

âYou wanna go in and check the houses?â The boy did not sound eager, but he knew they could not afford to waste the opportunity if there was any chance at all.

The older boy started to spit then stopped. It would have been disrespectful. âNo, not now. Too close to dark and this place is giving me the serious willies.â

âMe too. Letâs go back to camp.â

âYeah. Nothing here to get in any hurry about. Weâll see what there is to see on the way out in the morning.â

The boys carefully left by a route other than the way they had come. The events of the past were not distant enough for them to be comfortable yet.


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## Kmac15

OH, good job.


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## Jerngen

oth47 said:


> Y'know,Alan and Cindy,if you two spend less time eating and sleeping and other petty stuff like that,you'll have more time for writing..good job,both of you.


I agree!  

You both certainly got me hooked anyways.....


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## Guest

*IV*​
&#8220;That&#8217;s the last of it.&#8221; Danny said as he wedged the box in with the other stuff in the cart.

&#8220;OK then, let&#8217;s go. You pull first then I&#8217;ll spell you.&#8221;

With a nod the boy settled the improvised yoke on his shoulders and they started down the long drive way to the road. &#8220;At least we&#8217;ll be on pavement all the way. This cart&#8217;s heavy enough without having to pull it down a sand road too.&#8221;

Stu did not immediately reply. Now that they were out in the open pulling something that might contain valuables he was watching tree lines. He began to relax a little when they reached the road and its dense tree cover on either side. &#8220;Too bad we couldn&#8217;t get the rest of the stuff this trip. More than we could pull though.&#8221;

The yoke was already beginning to chafe his shoulders and Danny said, &#8220;---- straight&#8221; as he worked a bandanna underneath the right side. &#8220;Gonna take twice as long to get home with all this stuff as it took to get down here.&#8221;

The older boy chuckled. &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you what Sergeant Dubois told me. &#8216;March or Die!&#8217; You&#8217;ll make it. We get to the other side of that next bend and I&#8217;ll take it for a while.&#8221;

When they had reached the designated handoff Stu took over the traction duty. &#8220;You call this heavy?&#8221;

Danny laughed sourly. &#8220;Keep talking big boy. Tell me again how heavy it is when we reach the state highway.&#8221;

&#8220;Hey!&#8221; Stu protested. &#8220;That&#8217;s twice the distance as you just pulled!&#8221;

This provoked a genuine laugh. &#8220;But you&#8217;re so much bigger and stronger than me being so much older and all. Shouldn&#8217;t be no problem for a guy like you!&#8221;

&#8220;WRONG!&#8221;

The boys walked on silently for a time hearing nothing but natural sounds and the occasional squeak of rubber on pavement. Finally Danny asked. &#8220;How many people do you think were living there when the Walkers came?&#8221;

Stu rubbed sweat from his neck as he thought. &#8220;Hard to say since we don&#8217;t know exactly when they may have all disappeared. May have just been the three of them. I don&#8217;t think anyone had been living in that last house. Between the other two I guess seven total judging from the clothes and stuff we found. The three we know of, I&#8217;m guessing two older boys, another man and a woman.&#8221;

&#8220;What do you reckon became of them?&#8221;

&#8220;I don&#8217;t know.&#8221; Actually Stu thought he had a pretty good idea, but did not want to explore it with the younger boy. The inner workings of the Lightwalkers was not something widely known outside of the Militia and law enforcement. 

There were two possibilities. 

Both of them bad.

== == ==

&#8220;Man alive am I ever glad to see that gate!&#8221; Danny said with passion. He had been pulling the cart since they had made the turn onto their road. The dogs came bounding up barking and licking as they came through.

Stu reached for the yoke but the other boy pushed him away. &#8220;Oh sure, sure! Make it look like YOU pulled this thing all the way. Nothing doing!&#8221;

&#8220;OK Braveheart!&#8221; the older boy laughed, &#8220;You can pull it through the soft spot if you want&#8221; then started off down the driveway.

As they approached the house Grandpa Richard saw them coming and went to meet them. With him was a somewhat younger man, Uncle Neal, his younger brother. Richard looked over the cart before speaking. &#8220;Well, looks like you boys did alright. Get any fish?&#8221;

Stu nodded. &#8220;Yes sir, got a cooler full in fact and some good loot.&#8221; He turned to face the other man, &#8220;Uncle Neal, we need to talk then I have to go see Captain Steuben. We&#8230; uhh, found something the Militia needs to know about.&#8221; Just then Evie and Beth came out to see what the boys had brought home.

Grandpa Richard turned to them as they approached to say, &#8220;Girls, the boys here have been pulling that cart for miles. How about you two go and get them a big pitcher of water and a bite to eat?&#8221;

Beth replied, &#8220;Can&#8217;t we see what they brought first?&#8221;

&#8220;Go and do what I told you. There&#8217;ll be plenty of time for looking when you&#8217;re back.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes sir. C&#8217;mon Evie let&#8217;s go get the boys something to drink.&#8221;

Neal watched the girls go until they were out of earshot. &#8220;OK boys, make it quick before they get back.&#8221;

Stu gave the older men a nutshell description of what they had found and seen with an occasional word from Danny. Neal nodded his head in understanding. &#8220;OK then. Doesn&#8217;t sound like something we need to get a patrol down there immediately for, but Nick&#8217;s gonna want to know sooner than later so you two get a drink and a bite then get on into town. Yes, you too Danny.&#8221;

The older boy said, &#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;

Grandpa Richard said, &#8220;I know y&#8217;all are probably footsore. Why don&#8217;t you both ride in on the bikes. It&#8217;ll be dark before you can reach town if you have to walk. We&#8217;ll take care of the fish.&#8221;

Working bicycles were valuable equipment that could not be risked for chancy business such as salvage work, but they were the common way of making relatively short trips such as into town since the Fall.

Uncle Neal clapped the boys on the shoulders as they headed for the house. &#8220;Y&#8217;all get on in and make your report then come back soonest. We&#8217;ll make sure to save you some of those fish.&#8221;

== == ==

On the way home from town the boys rode in a more leisurely fashion than they had on the way. They were too tired for anything more energetic. As they rode Danny asked, &#8220;Captain Steuben doesn&#8217;t cuss at all does he?&#8221;

Stu grinned ruefully, &#8220;Does he need to?&#8221;

&#8220;Don&#8217;t reckon he does. He can make ordinary words get the job done without, that&#8217;s for sure.&#8221;

&#8220;For sure.&#8221; 

The Captain had not been pleased with Private First Class Baker&#8217;s actions in both investigating the scene of the Walker attack or his slowness in reporting what they had found. He had a way of taking the hide off without ever using an obscene or profane word. Somehow he&#8217;d also managed to commend him for his careful reconnoitering at the same time so that now he didn&#8217;t know what to think. He had a suspicion that had been on purpose.

Danny was himself feeling exhilarated, chastened, and nervous at one and the same time. Most of the chewing out had been directed to Stu as an official member of the Militia but seeing as how he&#8217;d been with him he felt like some of it had splashed him as well. Then the Captain had allowed as to how Danny had turned fourteen nearly two months ago why he hadn&#8217;t reported for training yet? 

This had caught him blindsided and he hadn&#8217;t known what to say other than that his Uncle Steve hadn&#8217;t yet said he could. To which the Captain replied, &#8220;I see. I&#8217;ll speak with Steve about it. I&#8217;m sure he will give his consent. You are to report to Sgt. Dubois here Monday morning for training at 0700. Do you understand?&#8221;

It wasn&#8217;t until they were on their way home that it occurred to him this conflicted with both his schooling and his chores as well. &#8220;Stu, if I have to report for training on Monday Aunt Sarah is going to have a fit for me missing school. What do I do?&#8221;

The other boy said, &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry about it. Sgt. Dubois will work it out with everyone so that you&#8217;ll be able to get it all done. Of course this means that your life of leisure has come to an end now&#8230;&#8221;

Danny snorted in sour humor. &#8220;Yeah right, get up at o&#8217;dark thirty to do my chores, hustle into town to train, come home to do more work, then school work, then chores, then what?&#8221;

&#8220;Well, that&#8217;s when you get to do all the other little things like maintain your rifle and your kit to the Sergeant&#8217;s satisfaction.&#8221;

&#8220;Say, what&#8217;s Sgt. Dubois really like anyway?&#8221;

&#8220;Inspirational.&#8221;


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## Guest

Is this story still holding anyone's attention or should I just let it go?


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## AngieM2

Keep going. I've been tied up with the site stuff and hope to sit down and get to completely read this tonight.

Alan - I've waited 6 or 7 years for you to start another story - so please keep writing it.


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## IMFoghorn

I vote to continue this story.


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## lickcreek

Keep going!!! This is the main reason I logged on this afternoon!


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## Cindy in NY

Yes Alan, please keep writing! I'm enjoying the story and it gives me some incentive.

My posting wasn't really meant to be the beginning of a story so I wasn't sure if the following would be Part I or Part II!


PART II


âMrs. P, the clothesline fell down again.â 

âWhoâs been tying it up for you Sarah?â

She looked at me sheepishly and said âYour husband.â At 8 years old, she hasnât yet found the fun in embarrassing adults. 

âWell that figuresâ. Kevinâs theory about knot tying is that if you canât tie a good knot â tie a lot of them! âTell you what, give me a couple minutes and Iâll show you a knot that my Daddy taught me. We called it a slide knot and youâll be able to tighten up the clothesline with it.â

I took the kettle off the woodstove and poured hot water into the teapot, then dropped in the tea ball containing some dried peppermint leaves. On the deck, I could see the Professor reading one of his many textbooks. He looks a bit tired today but at 85 thatâs not surprising. He had spent the morning working with the energy team on the construction of a new windmill. Then in the afternoon he had taught a class in physics to the older kids. The Professor had retired from teaching science at Green Mountain College. His name is Walter Kibbet but he prefers to be called âProfessorâ. 

Handing him a mug, I asked âWhat are you reading Professor?â

âWell, I was dreaming about oranges last night. If only we had some seed, we might be able to get some trees going in the greenhouse.â In his lap was a book on growing fruit trees. His bookmark was a folded up grocery store circular advertising oranges, grapefruit, and bananas. âDonât let the available ladies know that the old man is dreaming of fruit instead of them!â As one of the few bachelors in the village, he was being courted by several of our senior ladies. He was often seen in the early evening walking in the village and stopping to visit with many of his admirers. His cane (which he doesnât need for walking) and the ever present flower in his lapel gives him the appearance of a bon vivant. Even though he had his own home and housemates, he could most often be found dining with one of his âfriendsâ. 

âYou know Professor, some marmalades are made from the whole orange. Do you think those seeds might still be viable?â

âI doubt it but it might be worth a try.â

âWell, thereâs your assignment for this evening. Speak to your lady friends and their housemates and see if anyone has a hidden jar of orange marmalade in their stash!â


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## Guest

Cindy in NY said:


> My posting wasn't really meant to be the beginning of a story so I wasn't sure if the following would be Part I or Part II!


 Of course it's Part II! :icecream:

That's the way these things work! You have to keep writing until you either throw your hands up in exasperation or you finish your story! 

Now, I'm tempted to say I'm not going to post any more of mine until at least one other person also posts a story to this thread...


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## beaglebiz

keep going please!


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## unregistered41671

I am enjoying both. Keep the stories going please.


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## DaveMac

Some are writers, some are readers...Please continue


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## jamala

I agree with DaveMac, I am a reader but not a writer! Please keep going.


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## barnyardfun

Please please keep going! Warmer weather is here and we are outside more but it sure is nice to come in for a quick break and read such great stories!


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## Wags

No threats about stopping now. I'm trying to work something up - but it will be at best a pitiful attempt compared to what has already been presented.


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## Horse Fork Farm

I needed this right now, please... continue!!!


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## unregistered65598

Really was enjoying the story, hope you write more soon.


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## Guest

*V - part one*​
Steve was standing the shade of a tree with his father as they watched Stu crank the comealong to stretch the fence section they were putting up. He had just said, âgood enoughâ when he noticed a group of men coming across the field towards them â Captain Steuben, Danny, a man in Militia uniform he did not know and a man in blue jeans and a blue work shirt he also did not recognize. They waited expectantly for them to get within hailing range.

âGood morning gentlemen!â he said, âWhatâs the occasion?â

âMorninâ Steve.â The Captain answered. âWe need to borrow Stu for a while.â

Steve sighed, âWeâre kinda in the middle of something here. Does it have to be just now?â

â âFraid so. Weâre heading down to the Wekiva run to check out the scene of that Lightwalker attack the boys found. This is Dr. Ben Bradley from the University and this is Private Andy Haskell, his driver. Colonel Harker in Gainesville asked him to come down to examine the site to see if he can give us an approximate date when it occurred. Heâs a forensic anthropologist.â

The men shook hands and introductions were made then Steve returned to the matter.

âWhatâs the importance of that, Nick?â

âWe need to know if they died before or after Shiloh. Intelligence is concerned we may not have got them all.â

The boyâs uncle paused to consider a moment then said, âOK, I suppose we do need to know. Maybe we can figure out who those folks were so we can contact their next of kin anyway. Go on Stu, Dad and I will see to the fence. You boys keep your eyes open, hear?â

Stu answered, âYes, sir.â Then asked the Captain, âMind if I wipe off first?â

âIf it will make you smell better, sure!â came the reply. âDonât forget your rifle and gear. This is in the nature of a patrol today.â

The young man walked away with the others to disappear around the front of the house. Steve and Richard watched them go before the younger asked, âDo you really think thereâs a chance there may be any Walkers left?â

His father took a drink of water before replying. âA few individuals maybe, but Iâd be hard put to believe there would be more than that. Weâd have heard of them by now if there were.â He reached out and tugged on the fence wire to test its tautness. âWireâs tight. Letâs get it stapled. Nearly dinner time.â

Nodding his head the other man reached for his tool belt and they went back to work.

== == ==


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## Guest

*V - part two*​
== == ==

Stu hurried out of the house after a quick wipe with a wet cloth and a two sentence explanation to his mom and Aunt Sarah. He could see already they were going to cloud up and storm on him when he got back. They did not approve of his Militia activity and were further inflamed by Uncle Steve letting Danny start his training. No time for that now though the Captain was waiting for him.

Under the big tree he spotted the transporter with the others standing around it. &#8220;Whoa! Is this one of the new diesel-electric Roo Transporters? I&#8217;ve never seen one before!&#8221;

No one spoke at first then Private Haskell answered a bit stiffly, &#8220;Yes, this is one of the new Australian Small Transporters. We got our first two last month.&#8221;

The boy started to ask questions, but the Captain broke in. &#8220;You can interrogate him on the way, Stu. We&#8217;ve got places to be. Get in. Sit up front so you can tell him where to turn.&#8221;

Doing as he was told he went around to the front passenger door. Rounding the corner of the vehicle he noticed Doctor Bradley buckling on a large holstered revolver. Seeing the boy&#8217;s look he explained, &#8220;I feel conspicuous wearing this thing, but the Captain insisted. No one carries openly in Gainesville anymore.&#8221;

They climbed in and closed the doors. Once he was certain they were all secured the Captain nodded to Pvt. Haskell and the transport pulled out with a quiet hum. &#8220;But you&#8217;re not in Gainesville now, Doc.&#8221; He explained. "In fact once we get south of Steve&#8217;s road here you won&#8217;t be in settled country any longer.&#8221;

He did not elaborate further leaving the anthropologist looking thoughtful. Seizing the opportunity Stu began to pepper Andy Haskell with questions about the vehicle. 

&#8220;I saw a documentary about these Transporters at the library. Are they really as tough as they&#8217;re made out to be?&#8221;

In spite of his apparent distaste for the boy whom he seemed to take for a country yokel he was gradually drawn out by a common interest. &#8220;Yeah, they seem to be. We&#8217;ve only had them for a few weeks so it&#8217;s not like we&#8217;ve had a chance to really see what they&#8217;re made of, but they don&#8217;t seem to have much problems with rough terrain. Fuel mileage is great for as big as it is. Of course it&#8217;s nothing like the Honda Pockets, but you can carry more than your hat with this thing.&#8221;

&#8220;They&#8217;re built with carbon fiber frames right? Really cuts down on the weight.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes. Only a hundred pounds of steel in the entire frame. Not more than that in the suspension either. Mostly it&#8217;s in the motor and part of that is aluminized ceramic. When it&#8217;s empty four men can get it unstuck from just about anything.&#8221;

The transport approached the intersection of the state highway and the driver used his turn signal as he slowed to a stop carefully looking both ways. Stu grinned at this but said nothing. Out here the chances of seeing another vehicle on the road with you were slim, but Haskell was out of the city and more folks drove there. 

Before he could resume his conversation Doctor Bradley spoke again. &#8220;Captain, that was an interesting turn of phrase you used a moment ago. &#8220;Settled country&#8221; is an idea I would have associated more with the nineteenth century than the twenty first. At least here in the United States. Is it really getting that wild out here?&#8221;

Steuben remained silent for a moment before answering. &#8220;Yes Doctor, it is. Things might get better now that we&#8217;ve eliminated the Lightwalkers and removed most of the bandit gangs. Mostly though it&#8217;s the lack of any way to make a living here. The county has lost more than a third of its population since the Fall according to last year&#8217;s census. No one&#8217;s commuting thirty or forty miles to Gainesville or Ocala any more. The retirees have either died or fled with everyone else. Not much left but agriculture and family&#8217;s like the Marshall&#8217;s here trying to get by as best they can.&#8221;

Bradley said nothing but rather nodded his head encouragingly so the officer continued. &#8220;It was the Walkers and the bandits that really wiped out the outlying homesteads. In fact a little over a year ago the Lightwalkers even attacked the Marhsall farm. If Steve had not had such a large family and his immediate neighbors organized the way he had they may not have been able to hold out long enough for the Militia to get there in time.&#8221; Glancing at Stu in front and Danny in the seats behind he went on, &#8220;Not that they didn&#8217;t pay a big price. They lost people. The Flu last year took some as well just as it did everywhere else. The bottom line result is a steady depopulation of the rural areas.&#8221;

Nodding his head in thoughtful agreement the academic contributed. &#8220;I can see how the combination of circumstances would serve to do that. Not that it&#8217;s been a picnic in the urban areas, especially the large northern cities, but there at least they had more organized governmental presence to keep matters from falling completely apart.&#8221;

The driver slowed to a crawl as he negotiated the vehicle&#8217;s way through several trees blown down in the road. Stu had hoped he&#8217;d drive over the top of them to see what the exotic machine could do, but supposed with having just received it and all Haskell would still have the New Car reluctance to scratching the paint.

When the maneuvering was finished and they were coming back up to speed Bradley motioned to the trees falling behind in the distance to say, &#8220;From the looks of things there&#8217;s not much traffic through here anymore.&#8221;

The Captain nodded his head once. &#8220;No. Not now. No reason for it really. It&#8217;s nearly thirty miles to the nearest coastal community. Nothing but woods and a few fields in between any longer. The coast towns mostly communicate north and south where the roads are better patrolled or go by boat. Been kind of hoping that someone would start coming up this way to trade fish, but with fuel still being so high I suppose there wouldn&#8217;t be much profit in it.&#8221;

Stu spoke to Andy, &#8220;In about a mile or so we&#8217;re going to come up on an intersection with a paved road. That&#8217;s the one we want. Turn right onto it. The signs are all gone, but you&#8217;ll see an old concrete power pole that marks it.&#8221;

The driver nodded his head, &#8220;Right.&#8221;

Steuben spoke at this point to say, &#8220;Stop at that intersection and we&#8217;ll gun-up.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes sir.&#8221;

The vehicle rounded a wide bend in the road and in the distance the concrete pole could be seen. Stu and Haskell discussed the transporter as they approached. At the intersection they stopped and the private got out to show the Captain how to unlimber the vehicle gun. A hatch was fitted in the roof towards the rear and there was a swivel mount that could be raised then locked into position. The seat Danny was in could be elevated for a gunner to sit on. At this point the Captain told the new recruit to swap seats with Stu so that the older boy could work the gun if necessary. &#8220;You&#8217;re the most familiar with the area so you&#8217;ll be the look-out as well as the gunner.&#8221; He then chambered a round in his carbine and the driver did the same, both double checking that their safeties were engaged.

&#8220;Is this really necessary, Captain?&#8221; the anthropologist asked. &#8220;From the report I read the attack occurred some months ago.&#8221;

&#8220;This is true, Doc.&#8221; The man-in-charge replied, &#8220;But it doesn&#8217;t cost anything to be ready for trouble. We can always put it away again if we don&#8217;t need it.&#8221;

Danny sat nervously in the front seat. On instructions from the Captain he had not chambered a round which he figured was because he was a new and untested recruit. Besides in the close quarters of the transport the long-barreled lever-action was going to be a clumsy weapon anyway. If they had to dismount there would be time to work the action. If he had to.

With everyone secure again the officer nodded his head and the driver started down the county road. More slowly than they had on the wider, more open highway.

After a time Stu knocked on the roof to signal the driver to slow. &#8220;The pasture opens to the left just around this next bend. Houses are under the trees in the middle about four hundred yards from the road.&#8221;

Coming to the open again Haskell stopped the transporter at the edge of the trees so the Captain could study the area through his field glasses. Stu was doing the same. &#8220;Everything look the way you left it, Stu?&#8221;

A moment of silence then &#8220;Yes, sir. From what I can see from here looks like the way we left it.&#8221;

Nodding to the driver they pulled forward until they reached the driveway and began crossing the pasture. The military men were carefully scanning the tree line and brush clumps. It suddenly occurred to Danny that he was supposed to be one now as well so he also scrutinized every source of cover or concealment that he could spot.

Two minutes later they were inside of the gate in front of the houses. Haskell stayed behind the wheel with the motor running while the Captain stepped out. &#8220;Danny, come with me. Chamber a round in that buffalo gun of yours but make SURE you keep that hammer at half-cock and your finger OFF the trigger. Don&#8217;t shoot at anything unless I do or someone shoots at you. Got it?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes sir!&#8221;

The pair moved towards the first house. The transporter moved slowly, quietly forward so it could cover the dismounted men with the roof gun. A quick check of the first house and Danny assured the Captain it was as they had left it. The second and third houses and outbuildings proved the same. When he was satisfied he signaled the vehicle and the rest got out.

(cont.)


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## Guest

*V - part four*​
(cont.)

Dr. Bradley walked over to where the three crosses stood and the rest followed. He looked at them and the ground underneath for a time before taking out a camera and taking shots from differing angles. &#8220;Best to have a record of the way it was found before I move anything.&#8221;

Once he was satisfied he put on gloves and a face mask then began collecting the remains into bags. The Captain asked, &#8220;Any idea as to how long it&#8217;s been?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes. On the face of it I would say it&#8217;s been at least a year, possibly longer. Andy would you be so kind as to photo the ground here where I have removed these remains? I want to be able to look it when I get back to the lab.&#8221;

The soldier picked up the camera and began to do as he was asked while the anthropologist continued his work. &#8220;On the basis of the weathering of the bones and the condition of the ground underneath I am confident it was at least a year. I may be able to give a more precise answer when I can do some tests.&#8221;

Once all of the ground around the crosses was clear he sealed the bags then stripped off his gloves. Turning to Stu he asked, &#8220;Can you show me around the houses and what you found?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes sir. Which house do you want to start with?&#8221;

&#8220;The front one will do.&#8221;

== == ==

The sun was at the treeline when Steve entered the cowshed to muck out the stalls. Inside he found Beth finishing up with Ellen. The bucket from Daisy stood already full on the bench with a cloth over the top. Looking at the bucket she was milking into he asked, &#8220;We do well today?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes sir. They&#8217;re both starting to fill out with the new grass and all.&#8221;

&#8220;Good! Glad to hear it. Maybe we&#8217;ll have enough butter for once soon.&#8221; He picked up the pitchfork and began forking out the calves stall. The rhythm of the day continued apace.

Presently Beth stood, covered the second bucket with a cloth and set it on the bench next to the first. She stood hesitating for a moment then approached her father.

&#8220;Daddy, can we talk?&#8221;

From her tone and body language he could tell this was going to be something serious so he stood to look her in the face. &#8220;Sure hon, what&#8217;s on your mind?&#8221;

&#8220;Danny told me he was reporting for his Militia training this morning. Is that true? Did you say he could go?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes, I did. Captain Steuben asked if he could and I said OK.&#8221;

&#8220;Is Mama OK with it?&#8221;

Her dad sighed. &#8220;Sugar, you know the answer to that. No, she&#8217;s not. But Danny&#8217;s fourteen years old now and wants to go. I couldn&#8217;t rightly tell him &#8216;no&#8217; now that he&#8217;s old enough. Your mother will eventually come to terms with that just as she did with Stu. You kids are growing up and we&#8217;ve got to let you. It&#8217;s not like there&#8217;s much action any more anyway.&#8221; He wasn&#8217;t sure if her concern was more for Danny or for the already strained relationship between her mom and dad, but he was gratified that she was thinking about someone other than herself for a change. Her transition from childhood to adolescence had been trying for all concerned.

&#8220;So you think she&#8217;ll eventually calm down about it? I mean, like she won&#8217;t decide to leave us because of it?&#8221;

He looked at her unspeaking for a moment then reached over to take a couple of buckets off the top of a post, set them on the ground then motioned for her to sit on one as he was doing. Once seated he looked her in the face again and answered her question.

&#8220;Beth, I don&#8217;t know what she&#8217;s going to do. The way things have been lately I&#8217;ve been half expecting to come home and find her gone every day. Are you worried about having to go with her if she does?&#8221;

The girl looked down scuffing her foot through the straw on the floor. &#8220;No sir. I&#8217;m not going to... I mean, if Mama decides she&#8217;s leaving I&#8217;m going to stay&#8230; if you&#8217;ll let me. I don&#8217;t want to go to the camp. But I don&#8217;t want her to go either! Mama&#8217;s waiting Daddy. You told us in another month or so things will start to get better&#8230; with the food and all&#8230; so she&#8217;s waiting to see. If it does she&#8217;s going to stay. If not she&#8217;ll go. But I was worried about what Danny starting his Militia training might cause her to do. She and Aunt Mona were already upset with you letting him and Stu go salvaging.&#8221;

&#8220;I know they were, hon. But they really wanted to go and Stu is a man now. He&#8217;s proven himself and Danny&#8217;s got to be given his chance as well. They can&#8217;t be tied with apron strings forever. They&#8217;re growing up.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes, Daddy. I know that. It&#8217;s just that&#8230; well, I&#8217;m growing up too aren&#8217;t I?&#8221;

&#8220;You sure are! Your mama&#8217;s been complaining for months that all of your pants are too short.&#8221;

&#8220;Ha. Ha. What I mean is that I&#8217;m only six months younger than Danny. I turn fourteen myself in another four months. I&#8217;d like you to help convince Mama to let me start my Militia training then the way you just did with Danny. Will you?&#8221;

Her father was stunned. This was a wholly unexpected turn of events. He said nothing for a moment then finally, &#8220;Lord God, Beth. Ain&#8217;t it enough that your mama is already fit to be tied over letting Danny go? If I tell her that I said you could train as well she&#8217;d shoot me dead!&#8221;

The girl sighed. This was the reaction she had been expecting, but she had been nerving herself up for the struggle all day so she pressed on.

&#8220;It&#8217;s not like you&#8217;d have to tell her TODAY, Daddy. You could give her a little time to cool off then maybe gentle her into as it were, maybe after the garden starts to come in good. It will be September before the training really gets serious anyway when the school year starts. That&#8217;s when Danny&#8217;s training will officially start too won&#8217;t it? I mean, it&#8217;s started already, but it&#8217;s not really official yet right? Please Daddy, I really, really want to do this!&#8221;

He reached up and took his cap off to run his fingers through his hair to give himself a moment to think. &#8220;Well, it would be the beginning of the school year before you could officially start this is true, but Danny has been champing at the bit for a year now. He carries that rifle everywhere. Listens to everything that Stu has said about training, and well he&#8217;s&#8230; he&#8217;s&#8230;&#8221;

&#8220;A boy? Is that it, Daddy? He gets to do it because he&#8217;s a boy and I&#8217;m only a girl?&#8221;

Steve was beginning to wish for a Providential earthquake or something to get him out of his predicament, but there was no escaping it. He was simply going to have to take the bull&#8230; girl&#8230; by the horns and deal with it.

&#8220;Beth, you know as well as I do that there aren&#8217;t many girls taking the training. Not many at all. There&#8217;s a reason for that.&#8221;

&#8220;Not many is not the same as not ANY, Daddy! There are some! Becky Sanderson is a senior and just got promoted to corporal didn&#8217;t she? You told me you signed her paperwork! I&#8217;m as big as she was at my age and I can shoot better than Danny, almost as good as Stu. You said so yourself! I learned map reading like they did. First aid too! Please, Daddy. I want to join too. Please.&#8221;

His grandfather had told him shortly before he died that he&#8217;d found girls harder to raise than any other creature on Earth and Steve was beginning to realize what he&#8217;d meant. He didn&#8217;t have a leg to stand on and he knew it. Either he could flat out say &#8216;no&#8217; which would fly in the face of the years of raising her to believe she could do anything a boy could do or he could say &#8216;yes&#8217; and place himself well and truly behind the Eight Ball with her mother. He was ----ed no matter what he did. What he needed was time. Maybe he could think of a way out of this.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll think about it. I&#8217;m not saying I&#8217;ll let you, but I&#8217;m not saying I won&#8217;t either. I&#8217;m going to think about it. You don&#8217;t turn fourteen for another four months like you said and it&#8217;ll be September before you can officially enroll anyway so I&#8217;m going to think it over. Now I don&#8217;t want to hear any more about it!&#8221;

His daughter kissed him gently on the cheek and said, &#8220;Thank you, Daddy.&#8221; She stood up, gathered her milk pails and left the shed. Inside she felt satisfied. She knew he&#8217;d let her signup once he&#8217;d had time to come to terms with it. And thought of a way to broach the idea with Mama.

Inside the shed her father hung the buckets up to finish his work feeling worn and tired.

&#8220;She&#8217;s going to kill me&#8230;&#8221;

== == ==


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## Guest

*V - part four*​
== == ==

The transporter turned onto the state highway as the tree shadows were reaching the ditch on the opposite side. Doctor Bradley had wanted to stay longer but Captain Steuben was unwilling to be caught in unsettled country after dark with such a small force. Stu was again in the gunners seat as a precaution against any who might be expecting them to return the way they had come. 

âDoc, you still think that scene was a year old?â Steuben asked. âSee any sign of anything more recent?â

âNo, nothing.â Came the reply. âIâll make some tests when I get back, but Iâm confident it was a least a year and perhaps longer. Of course that still doesnât tell us if those particular Lightwalkers were at Shiloh so letâs not make too much out of that.â

âThis is true. We know some made their way north because the Taylor county Militia slugged it out with a group closing in on Perry. From what I saw there wasnât any sign they had taken Communion. Would you agree?â

âI would agree there was no sign, but after so long a period there may not have been any evidence remaining if they disposed of the bodies off-site or buried them. I think weâll have to leave that one an open question along with whatever became of the others who had been living there. Iâm in general agreement with Stu on that, two older boys, a man, and a woman had been living there at the time of the attack or at least had been there recently. No sign of what may have become of them. Itâs a pity the boys removed so much potential evidence when they came back.â

âItâs what they went down there for in the first place, Ben. I did ask them to keep it packed and untouched once I heard you were coming.â

âIs this common to âsalvageâ property like this?â He didnât say it, but the Captain inferred what he really meant was âlooting.â

âDoc, youâve got to understand the way things are now. No one is ever going back to those homes. Not for years anyhow, if ever. The economy is beginning to come back in some of the urban areas, but out here in the country it is still hard times. Cash money has largely ceased to exist except for the relative few who are lucky enough to have a paying job or can produce something that can be sold for cash such as farming. For everyone else itâs scratch as best they can or go to the camps. We may have finally eliminated the Lightwalkers and the bandit gangs, but this is still unsettled and sometimes dangerous country. Those boys were taking a risk to go down there and if they hadnât done it weâd never have known about that murder scene in the first place.â

The anthropologist did not look entirely convinced but realized with the local Militia commander giving his tacit consent it would be fruitless to pursue it further. âSpeaking of knowing, if I am correct about it having happened a year or more ago shouldnât we have known about it before now? Iâm given to understand the Militia runs regular patrols out here in âwild country.â

Steuben looked grim at this question. âYes, we should have. In fact I did some checking last night on when the last time we should have had a patrol go past there. The county is more than eleven hundred square miles in area and itâs only been in the last year that weâve been able to get enough fuel regularly to push patrols to all parts. Semi-regular patrols anyway as fuel still isnât that plentiful. But, yes, our records indicate that we had a patrol go past there almost a year ago exactly then another six months ago.â

The officer took a drink from a water bottle before continuing. âUnfortunately the records relate that both patrols were led by Sgt. Stan Manley and his men. âStan the Manâ we called him. He and the eight men in his squad were court-martialed five months ago when it was discovered they were providing cover for a group of highwaymen who were hijacking fuel tankers coming down U.S. 19. Now it seems he was lying about his patrol area too. When we get back Iâll be putting in a request for additional fuel and manpower to re-cover the entirety of his patrol area. Some of it has been done already as a natural course since he was removed, but there is a sizable area that we havenât seen yet. Iâm afraid we may have more surprises in store.â

The Captainâs grim mood spread like ink in water through the vehicle blotting out further conversation until they had reached the Marshall farm. 

When they arrived Steve met them in the yard to invite them sit to supper with them. âCâmon in and eat with us. Wonât nothing be open in town now unless you mean to go all the way back to Gainesville tonight. Nick may be a hotshot commander, but even the Army wouldnât want him as a cook!â

This drew a general chuckle as Steuben retorted, âThereâs got to be something for you mere mortals to do! How about it, Doc? You need to rush back or would you care for a bite to eat?â

âAs late as it would be by the time we could make it back to Gainesville weâd be eating crackers and sardines probably. The night-life in Hogtowne isnât what it used to be Iâm afraid. If Andyâs is good with it Iâd be happy to join you.â

The driver said he too would be glad to eat with them so it was settled. âIs it time to eat right now or is there enough time for me to look over what the boys brought back from Wekiva?â

âThereâs time.â Steve replied, âSarah only just now put the cornbread in the oven. The boxes are in the workhop. Letâs go see what there is to see.â


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## Guest

Could we PLEASE do something about increasing this annoying ten thousand CHARACTER limit on posts?


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## Cindy in NY

I've been writing in WORD and copy and pasting. Would that make a difference?


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## longshot38

another good job Allen.


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## acabin42

Alan and Cindy........... great works.

Alan, I keep wondering where I can buy the book, so I can finish reading it at my own speed..........LOL.. I am really into this story. Thanks.


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## Guest

Let me FINISH writing the story then we can think about where to buy the book!

I'm kind of stuck at the moment so will have to think about it over the weekend.


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## Horse Fork Farm

Nooooo!!! Alan, I need my fix NOW, LOL!


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## unregistered65598

Wait for the weekend!!! :nono: :sob: Please get unstuck!!!! I am so loving reading this and yes you should think about making this a book. Was just telling DH that.


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## unregistered65598

Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget about the next chapter


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## AR Transplant

well I am hooked, whats in the boxes? I can't wait to find out!


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## Horse Fork Farm

ugh... why did I never learn patience?!


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## Cindy in NY

PART III

They had an almost perfect plan. With international flights taking off to multiple locations, all they needed was a scientist, lots of money, and &#8220;volunteers&#8221;. Enough people agreed with their radical ideas that they had no trouble getting volunteers or funding. They had to be a bit more selective about the scientist. He had to be smart enough to have the necessary specialized knowledge but not smart enough to realize what the ultimate plan was or if he did, greedy enough to look the other way. The other workers were paid so well that they did what they were told and didn&#8217;t ask a lot of questions. Anyone that did, disappeared.

It didn&#8217;t take very long from concept to execution. That&#8217;s probably why no country&#8217;s intelligence agency picked up on it. By the time anyone was aware of what was happening, it was too late. 

Volunteers received an injection and then paid for a ticket and boarded a plane. The planes landed in major cities all over the world. The volunteers spent a day wandering the city and then rented a car to drive around the country. Within three days, massive numbers of citizens were becoming ill and the volunteer was now a martyr to the cause. Hospitals were overrun with no treatment for this new flu. There were not enough non-infected people. Not enough police to control those that wanted to take advantage of the situation, not enough doctors and nurses to treat the dying, and not enough food source employees, truckers, and store staff to get food to the people.

There was one glitch in their plan. There were weather problems with the last few flights. The planes sat for hours waiting for the storms to ease so that they could take off. After a while, the flights were cancelled. The volunteers and all the other passengers were taken off the planes and told to come back the next day. By that time, everyone on the planes were infected and were now going back into the community to infect the terrorist&#8217;s home country.

The first intentional pandemic had begun.


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## Horse Fork Farm

Thanks Cindy!!! I needed a fix...


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## Guest

*VI*​
The sun was an hour past its zenith as Steve crested the hill on the road out of town then slowed the truck out of deference to the worn tires before he reached the crumbled pavement at the bottom. Tires were hard to come by and new ones cost money.

Once the degraded area had been negotiated he slowly increased his speed as they made their way home. The dayâs trading had been good. Had even made some cash this time which was a relief to his mind since it was coming up on tax day again. Even Sarah seemed content as she watched the world go by from the other side. Sheâd made some good deals trading some of their salvage clothing for dresses for the girls and work pants for Eddy and Danny. Shoes were still a problem, but the weather had warmed enough theyâd mostly be going barefoot anyway.

A few minutes later they pulled up to the gate. Evie jumped out to open as the welcoming chorus of barks greeted them. As they pulled up to the house they could see Grandpa Richard and Aunt Mona in the garden. In the shade by the gate was a basket of turnips waiting to be brought to the house. The family unloaded the truck then Sarah and Evie went inside to get started on altering the new clothing while Steve and Eddy walked over to assist with the weeding.

âDaddy, do I HAVE to help?â Eddy asked. As a deal sweetener for one of the dayâs trades heâd received a stack of worn, but serviceable comic books that he wanted to look at.

âYes son,â his father replied, âyou do. Weâve been at the market all morning leaving just Grandpa, Mona, and Beth to do the garden chores. Your funny books arenât going to go anywhere. You can read them after supper, OK?â

Once there Steve looked around as he picked up a hoe then asked his dad, âWhereâs Beth?â

âGone off with Neal and the boys to the training.â

Steveâs lips thinned as an irritated look crossed his face. âI TOLD that girl she was to work in the garden today since she didnât want to go to the market.â

The older man nodded to the rows of field peas before speaking, âShe got her share of the work finished, son. Hoed every row of those peas then pulled that basket of turnips there before she left. Wouldnât even stop for dinner so she could get done in time to go with them.â

His son sighed in exasperation. For once the girl was really putting forth some effort to do something other than read a book, but did it have to be this? He then decided he may as well laugh than cry about it. With a chuckle he said, âOK. I reckon I canât fault her then. Come on son, weâve got work to do.â

With the realization that none of the other children were going to be there with him Eddyâs disposition turned mulish. âDaddy, I donât want to! Why do I have to weed when none of the other kids have to?â

His father squatted down on his haunches so as to look the boy levelly in the face then fixed him with a stern look. âEddy, you just heard Grandpa explain that Beth already did her part of the work while you were at the market playing with the other kids. Stu and Danny spent the morning clearing and cutting deadfall. You can see the wood stacked right over there behind the cow shed. The only child that hasnât done a lick of work yet today is YOU so itâs time to get with it. Youâre not going to be out here by yourself, Iâm going to be right here with you and so will Grandpa and Nanna M. Now do you want to weed around the okra here or do that row of peppers?â

The boy still looked resistant, but he knew what the look in his daddyâs eyes meant so did not want to go there. âI donât have to pick any peppers do I?â He had learned a painful lesson as a toddler about hot peppers and had never forgotten it.

âNo, Eddy. Theyâre too young for that. Just pull the weeds. Iâll hoe the okra. Weâll be close enough to talk, OK?â

âYes sir.â The boy got down on his knees and started in chattering all the while. The garden soon settled into its normal rhythms as the family provided for themselves.

== == ==

Steve was cleaning stalls in the cow shed when his dad came in to do the milking as heâd agreed to do for Beth so she could go to the training. The older man settled down in the newly cleaned stall to get down to business while his son worked on the other one. They talked as they worked their way through their tasks.

âHad a man make me an interesting offer today at the market, Dad.â Steve allowed. âOffered me a job.â

His father did not look up from this task when he replied. âJust picked you out of the crowd did he?â

âHeh. No. Sounds like heâd been asking around and Nick pointed him my way.â

âWell, what kind of work is it?â

âThereâs a Brazilian ag company interested in expanding into North America. Theyâre looking at farms from North Florida into Alabama. Sounds like pretty much peanut country, but he was also talking soybeans such as what they grow down there that are adapted to our conditions. The gist of what theyâre looking for are local people who can birddog their community relations. Apparently theyâve had problems in other areas they want to head off here by hiring local folks who know whatâs what and whoâs who.â

His dad said nothing for a moment as the milked foamed higher in the bucket. âYou think heâs legit?â

Steve through a forkful of strawy manure into the wheelbarrow then spit. âWell, the company is anyway. I asked Maggie at the market to look them up for me. Her business laptop is net-connected. The Novo Cerrado Corporation is one of the mid-size players in soybeans and other commodities down there with holdings in Central America as well. Couldnât find anything about them being here in the U.S. other than an office address down to Miami. The fellaâs name is Dan Fowler and he was a driving one of those new Ford Galaxy Retros, the natural gas model. Said he was on his way up from South Florida to look for office space in Tallahassee where theyâre going to move their U.S. corporate offices to. Wanted to get the process started of finding local managers as he went. Seemed legit.â

The older man stopped for a moment to rest his hands. He turned to look at his son. âWhatâs Sarah think?â

âShe was there as he was talking. Sheâs in favor of at least checking it out.â

âWell, if heâs some sort of scam artist I canât figure his angle. Heâd be wasting his time with us. If you think heâs for real then I say follow-up.â

âThe catch is that if I want to do that Iâve got to meet him in Tallahassee next Wednesday.â

His dad considered for a few seconds then nodded. âThe truck is in good enough shape for a trip like that but the tires are starting to show the belt steel. Youâre going to have to get new rubber before you can go.â

âThatâs what I wanted to speak with you about. Halâs got four used tires in good shape at the station, but he wonât trade for them. Itâs got to be cash or nothing. Itâll be a pretty good chunk of the family savings. That means Iâd like to have yours, Nealâs and Monaâs OK.â

Richard began to milk again. âSon, this is the first chance of long-term paid employment that anyone in the family has had in what? Three years? I donât see any real choice here. We canât hold on like this forever. Truckâs going to have to have new tires eventually anyway if weâre to continue setting up at the market. Itâs good by me. I have no doubt itâll be a problem with Neal or Mona either.â

âI thought youâd feel that way, but I didnât want to commit to it without speaking with you first. By the way, itâs pork stew for supper tonight. Traded a window for some pig and flour.â

The other man chuckled, âMaybe things are starting to look up after all. Weather man said we were probably going to catch a cold front through tomorrow. Maybe itâll rain.â

The two men discussed the precipitation prospects and what theyâd have to do to keep their necessary plantings irrigated if it did not as their chores wound down. 

Both were thinking it had been a mighty long time since theyâd seen much in the way of clouds or silver linings.


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## acabin42

LOL.......you're Baaaaaaaaaaaack!


----------



## Guest

*VII*​
The stack of logs in the firepit crackled then crumbled into a heap of glowing coals. Eddy looked hopeful as he asked, &#8220;Daddy, can I put some more wood on the fire?&#8221;

His father was stretched out in his chair next to him the heat of the fire pleasantly warming his toes. &#8220;Go ahead. Just small stuff though. Anything big will still be burning when we&#8217;re wanting to go bed.&#8221;

The boy went to the woodpile where he spent time carefully considering one stick over another by a criterion known only to young boys. The entire family was seated around the fire enjoying the alternating pleasures of warmth and coolness whenever the breeze picked up. The front that had come through in the early morning hours had brought two inches of rain filled with drama and tornado warnings. Tomorrow the kids would be occupied with cleaning up the downed limbs, but there had thankfully been no local funnel clouds. Tonight they were all enjoying the change of weather with a fire in the yard in the cool air.

Mona came back from the house with two steaming mugs handing one to Neal before taking her place again. Across the fire Neal asked Steve, &#8216;How&#8217;s the truck handle with the new rubber?&#8221;

&#8220;Just fine. Doesn&#8217;t pull to the right any more at all. I dickered Hal into an alignment and balancing all four tires as a part of the deal by not haggling on the cash price of the tires.&#8221;

Beth looked up from the rope she was working with to ask, &#8220;Daddy, do you really think you&#8217;ll get the job?&#8221;

Her father took a pull at the mug of mint tea they were all drinking then answered, &#8220;I don&#8217;t know sugar. He sounded positive, but that&#8217;s not a job offer. Reckon I&#8217;ll know better when I get done in Tallahassee. Sure hope so. That&#8217;s a lot of gas to get up there and back for nothing.&#8221;

The girl finally put the rope down in exasperation with her inability to make it do what she wanted. She walked over to her uncle to ask, &#8220;Uncle Neal, would you tie that knot for me one more time? I am not understanding it.&#8221;

He took the rope from her then very slowly tied it so she could see what he had done then handed it back to her.

She said, &#8220;Thanks.&#8221; Then went back to her seat. She looked into the fire for a moment then asked her father, &#8220;If you do get the job do you think we can have the power turned back on?&#8221;

Her dad chuckled, &#8220;You tired of hauling water?&#8221; Keeping the house supplied was part of hers and Danny&#8217;s daily chores. &#8220;Yes, I reckon if I can get that job we&#8217;d probably have the power turned on again. I&#8217;m about as tired of living in the eighteen hundreds as you are. It would be nice to rejoin the twenty first century. But until I DO get that job don&#8217;t get your hopes up. OK?&#8221;

She smiled wistfully for a moment before saying &#8220;OK.&#8221;

With the adults not seeming particularly talkative this night the kids took advantage to fill the conversational void.

Evie asked, &#8220;Daddy, what exactly will you be doing with this job? I mean, if you get it.&#8221;

He took another pull at his mug wishing for something stronger than sugar to put in it then replied, &#8220;Well hon, this company isn&#8217;t from the U.S. They want to come in and buy up a lot of land to start farms with. I don&#8217;t know much about real estate law so I would imagine they&#8217;ll have lawyers for that. But they&#8217;ll also need someone who knows folks around here. Who can be trusted to deal with, who can&#8217;t. Where to buy supplies from. Who to hire for farm labor. Someone with a local face to deal with the county and state, that sort of thing. I get the impression they&#8217;ve messed up in this area before down to Central America so they want to make sure they don&#8217;t up here. I&#8217;ll know a lot more about it when I get back next Thursday.&#8221;

Neal thought about then asked, &#8220;You going to go up 27 or the Interstate?&#8221;

&#8220;I figure on the Interstate. It&#8217;s not really any quicker, but it&#8217;s better patrolled. Nick says he gets reports that the local Militias along the way are still seeing occasional highwayman action on 27. One of those things we&#8217;re going to have to do a better job of getting on top of if we&#8217;re ever going to get any sort of investment out here again &#8211; foreign or domestic.&#8221;

His uncle smiled, &#8220;I think we&#8217;re going to see just that. We got a report into the office today that Congress just reauthorized the Conscription Act. Mexico is taking longer to settle than the Pentagon reckoned on so they need more manpower. Anyone willing and ablebodied enough to rob folks is good enough to do it for Uncle Sugar in some other country like they did four years ago.&#8221;

Sarah frowned, &#8220;I cannot believe the Supreme Court allows this. It&#8217;s just not right.&#8221;

&#8220;Well hon,&#8221; her husband reasoned, &#8220;it&#8217;s got to be better than locking them in a prison cell for years and years or forcing them to do hard labor salvaging the inner cities. Even if they don&#8217;t hurt or kill anyone armed robbery is a serious offense. This way at least if they keep their noses clean and do their time in the Army they&#8217;ll come out with a clean record and they get fed, clothed, and free medical care to boot.&#8221;

This was another well-worn argument in the family and no one was really in the mood for debate this night. The full moon was slowly rising over the southeastern tree line as the fire died down. A shooting star briefly flared then died away. Then a minute later another one streaked across the darkness.

Stu had been sitting quietly for most of the evening. It had been a training day and Sgt. Dubois had ridden them hard so that he, Beth, and Danny were beat. But when the third meteor flared he asked, &#8220;Are we supposed to have a meteor shower tonight?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes&#8221; Beth answered. &#8220;Mr. Dickle mentioned it in Science last week, but said it wasn&#8217;t expected to amount to much since the full moon would be up before it could really get started good. Looks like it may be starting now. It&#8217;s part of the debris stream from the Day Comet.&#8221;

&#8220;Really?&#8221; Eddy asked interestedly. &#8220;The one that caused The Fall?&#8221;

His father laughed softly. &#8220;Son, I&#8217;ve explained to you a dozen times at least it did NOT cause The Fall. It was only a comet. Big and spectacular, but just an old dirty snowball out there in space.&#8221;

&#8220;But all the kids at school says it did. Mrs. Trotter says it did! &#8221;

Steve sighed, &#8220;She&#8217;s wrong, Eddy. I know she&#8217;s your teacher, but the comet did not cause The Fall. I know it&#8217;s become part of the folklore that it did, but it was just a light show in the sky.&#8221;

&#8220;It brought the Lightwalkers! Everyone knows that!&#8221;

He glanced at Sarah who just shook her head while Richard chuckled. &#8220;Boy, where do you hear these things? The Lightwalkers were people. Just plain, ordinary, crazy as rabid *****, people. May as well say the Moon brought them as much as anything that comet had to do with them.&#8221;

&#8220;Tell me about, Daddy? I wanna hear about the Day Comet.&#8221;

His dad look at him for a moment considering then decided it might be a way to get him off of talking about the Lightwalkers who he did not want spoiling an otherwise good night. &#8220;OK son, how about since you&#8217;re going to make me talk so much you go inside and get me another mug of tea? Then I&#8217;ll tell you about the Day Comet.&#8221;

The boy took his father&#8217;s mug and disappeared inside. Richard asked, &#8220;Does he remember anything about it?&#8221;

Steve shook his head, &#8220;I don&#8217;t think so. He&#8217;d only just turned three when it first appeared.&#8221; He looked at Sarah, &#8220;Is his teacher really telling them malarkey like that?&#8221;

His wife smiled, &#8220;Mrs. Trotter is a force of nature at that school and nothing is ever going to change her. Since her son was killed and her husband died the school is all she has left. No one wants to take that away from her so the administration just tries to reign in her excesses and wait her out until she finally decides she&#8217;s too old to teach anymore. Besides, there are a surprising number of people who do believe that stuff. Like Sammy did. You remember all the stuff he used to send us about the comet and what it was going to do.&#8221;

Beth giggled, &#8220;Daddy, have your forgotten the way she was like when the comet first appeared? How it was The Sign and all that?&#8221; Mrs. Trotter had been Beth&#8217;s teacher that year. &#8220;Danny says even before then she was always a bit cracked, but she&#8217;s a really good teacher. She makes kids want to learn without threatening them the way some of the other teachers do.&#8221;

Neal contributed, &#8220;You do have to admit that if the Day Comet wasn&#8217;t the direct cause of The Fall it sure helped set things up for it. Sammy wasn&#8217;t entirely wrong.&#8221; Then with a snort he added, &#8220;Just mostly.&#8221;

His nephew grimaced, &#8220;That&#8217;s only because we had so many moonbats in this country. Evil omens. Signs and portents! We may be living in the nineteenth century now, but those idiots are still stuck in the fourteenth!&#8221; The superstitious beliefs of others were a sore point with Steve especially those of his youngest brother.


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## Guest

*VII - cont.*​
Eddy returned from the house with the mug and handed it to his father who took a sip.

âOK son, you kept your part of the bargain so now Iâll keep mine. What do you want to know?â

âWhat did it look like, Daddy? Was it big? Did it really hit the Sun?â

âWell, it wasnât big at first. In fact when the first stories came out you couldnât see it all except with a decent telescope and knowing exactly where to look. Some kid in Iowa spotted it then a rich fella in California then word went around the net and a bunch of people saw it which got the professionals interested. They watched it for a while then sent out a press release stating how they thought it might be naked eye visible if it turned out to be as big as they thought it was.â

He took another swallow before continuing, âIt took a couple of weeks then word got around that it could be seen with binoculars so I took Beth outside one night to look for it. Sure enough we spotted it thanks to an app on my phone that showed us where to look. Didnât seem like much at the time. Just a sorta hazy, dim light but it was the comet. Over a period of a few weeks it steadily got brighter and the tail began to grow so that we could see it without any binoculars at all. By then the astronomers were saying it might be one of the more spectacular comets of recent decades.â

The fire crackled again and a shower of sparks rose seeming to be met by sparks falling from the sky. Steve paused to admire the effects for a moment then continued, â NASA had a rocket they were about to launch to go look at a more distant comet which they changed at the last minute to go see this one instead. Between it and the space telescopes we got some really great photos, but youâve seen all those Iâd expect.â

âWell, yeah Daddy.â The boy admitted, âBut I want to know what it looked like from here.â

âIt looked great from here. The comet trail got longer and longer and brighter and brighter. The Smiths threw a comet party one night and had some friends of theirs with a couple of good telescopes come. We took you but I donât expect youâd remember it now. Beth does I bet.â He turned to look at the girl.

âYeah, it was great Eddy!â she added, âWe could see the tail really well even when the moon was up. It sparkled. The week after the party we could even see it in the daytime!â

âNo way!â The boy protested, âYou canât see stars and comets and stuff in the daytime!â

âSure you can, Eddy.â Neal agreed. âYou can see the Moon in the daytime canât you?â

He stopped to think about this for a moment. âYeah, but the Moon is really big and bright.â

âThe comet was big and bright too!â Beth laughed, âThatâs why it was called the DAY Comet! Oh it wasnât as bright and pretty during the day as it was at night, but you could see it if you knew where to look. The closer it got to the sun the easier it was to see too if you used a piece of cardboard to block the sun glare. Mrs. Trotter took the whole class out and we did that. We all drew pictures of it when we went back inside.â

Stu joined in. âYeah, it was the big thing to talk about in the science classes at my school too. Not here, back in Pennsylvania where my family used to live. Before The Fall I mean. Mr. Cooper, my science teacher, even showed us how to make a comet. That was really cool.â

âYou canât MAKE a comet!â Eddy refused to be taken in. âTheyâre out in space!â

The eldest boy chuckled, âWell, not a real one, but he did make a model of one. He put water, dry ice, ammonia cleaner, and other stuff in a plastic bag, sealed it up, and started mashing it around. Wearing gloves of course. After a couple of minutes the entire thing froze solid in a big, dirty looking lump. He took it out of the bag and said âthis is what the nucleus of a comet looks like out there in the Oort Cloud where the one youâre seeing now comes from.â But itâs what happened when he put it front of the light that was really interesting.â

Danny had a puzzled look on his face as he asked, âIn front of the light? What would that do?â

Stu grinned, âIt wasnât an ordinary light like what was up in the ceiling. Heâd borrowed one of the big spot lights from the Theater Department and brought it into the class. He set the comet lump on a metal stand close in front of the spotlight then turned out the room lights. He turned on the big light and in about a minute the lump began to smoke big time. Mr. Cooper set a small fan behind the light to simulate the solar wind so the smoke even sort of looked like a comet tail.â

Beth asked, âDid it melt and run all over the floor?â

âNot exactlyâ he answered, âSome of the water did drip into the pan he had underneath, but some evaporated from the heat of the light too. It was what the dry ice did that was cool. It made little gas jets just like a real comet nucleus. Not real strong, but you could see them. The ammonia too I guess since it started to stink. After awhile the lump began to turn dark as the dry ice and water on the surface evaporated leaving just the other stuff behind. Mr. Cooper said that a comet without a tail is one of the blackest things there is because the surface is sort of covered with a film of black tar once all the gas and stuff has been driven out. He made a video of the whole thing that was shown in the auditorium once the real one grew bright enough to be seen in the day time. The whole school came to see it. Even had reporters came in from the paper and he did another one for the local television station using one of their really big lights. That one was even better, but the one in our class was the coolest since we were actually there when he did it.â

The youngest boy was fascinated. He turned to look at his dad, âCan we make one too? Like what Stu said?â

His father grinned, âMaybe. If we could find some dry ice and a really big light. I donât think a flashlightâs going to do for that job.â

As the new found expert on comets Eddy turned to Stu and asked, âSo what happened when the Day Comet blew up the sun?â

âEd,â the older boy laughed, âUncle Steve has told you and told you it didnât blow up the sun! The comet was only twenty miles in size. The sun is almost a million miles wide. It wasnât hurt at all when the comet blew up.â

âBut why did it blow up? I thought comets lasted a long time?â

âIt blew up because it got too hot when it fell down real close to the sun. You remember that time Danny made that fire ring with those rocks we dug up and they start exploding after we lit the fire? Same thing. The sun is really, really hot and it heated up all that water and gas inside the comet nucleus until it expanded so much that it couldnât get out fast enough and blew itself to bits. Those shooting stars weâre seeing right now are little bits and pieces of sand and gravel and stuff that fell off the comet when it was going past the Earth. They float around out in space until the Earth comes back to where it crossed the cometâs path way back when and they burn up in our atmosphere.â

The boy looked thoughtful for a moment then asked, âDoes that mean weâll never see the Day Comet again?â

Stu shrugged. âI donât know. The nucleus blew up but it didnât completely vaporize I donât think. We may see bits and piece of it when they come back this way. Mr. Cooper was going to talk about it when the Sun Storm hit.â

âBut the comet caused the Sun Storm!â the boy insisted.

âNo, it didnât.â the older boy corrected, but he sounded uncertain. âAt least I donât think so. Iâm not sure actually.â He turned to look at Steve for an answer.

Steve in turn looked at Neal and Sarah before replying. âI donât know, Eddy. Not for certain. The scientists who study this stuff have been debating it ever since it happened. Last I heard the general consensus was the solar storm that caused the coronal mass ejection which hit the Earth was just a coincidence of timing and had nothing to do with the comet at all. But there are still a minority of experts who think it did have something to do with it, at least in part anyway. All we know for sure is that three days after the Day Comet blew itself to bits close to the sun a big chunk of the power grids and telecommunications networks here on Earth began to blow themselves.â

His father took a swallow of his tea. âThat was the beginning of The Fall actually, but it was only the beginning. It has been playing itself out ever since. Now some are beginning to pick themselves up again. Others are not. Maybe come Wednesday weâll be among the folks who are.â

The boy was plainly trying to comprehend all that he had heard but was still not entirely convinced. âSo if the Day Comet might have produced the Sun Storm and the Sun Storm is what brought the Lightwalkers then couldnât it be said that the Day Comet did? Since it may have caused it all to begin with?â

Steve grunted, âEddy, for the last time the Day Comet did NOT bring the Lightwalkers. No matter what Mrs. Trotter says, or your Uncle Sammy, or anyone else. It was just a comet and they were just a bunch of murderous lunatics. Now itâs getting to be about time for a young man to be in bed. How about you and Evie go and brush your teeth then come and give everyone their goodnight kisses?â

The boy wanted to argue but a massive yawn overtook him so he decided to leave it for another night. He stood and went inside the house with his sister who was holding a candle in a jar lamp to light the way.

âYou see. I told you the comet didnât have anything to do with the âWalkers.â She said as they walked away.

But it did have much to do with them and the adults knew it.


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## stickinthemud

"But it did have much to do with them and the adults knew it."
Ooh, I can hardly wait.
Thank you!


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## Aintlifegrand

What a way to end that part...really good Alan.


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## manygoatsnmore

Some of us aren't talented authors, but we're enthusiastic readers! Please, please keep up the wonderful writing?


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## Macybaby

Here is my attempt. After reading, I got to thinking about this, and came up with a short story. 

I'm an eternal optimist, and living so far from my family worries me at times, me living in South Dakota and my two adult kids in GA.



Kaidi looked down at her hands as she kneaded the dough. She couldnât help it, working with her hands always brought thoughts of her mother to mind. She still remembered the last thing she had heard from mom â "stay with your brother, weâll find a way to come to you."

Five years ago . . . who would have ever thought . . . well, no good dwelling on that, it happened and that was that. Well, one thing for sure, had she ever thought it would be like this she would have learned so much more that her mother had to offer. But back in high school, makeup, boys and shopping crowded her thoughts. She always thought it was neat that her Mom knew how to do so much, make bread, sew, grow stuff and that Mom and Dad raised their own food and all. But Kaidi always thought the stores would be there. She felt a tear forming; there was so much she could have learned from her Mom, now she may never have the chance. She looked down at her own swelling belly, knowing that her own pending motherhood was brining thoughts of her own mother to mind.

Kaidi put more effort into the bread, she had the knack of it now, and could produce bread and pie crust to match Momâs. Mom always wanted grandchildren, and now she had a second one on the way and may never know. At least Kaidi had her brother, and Kyle. She had been living in Las Vegas, and decided to move across country to live with her brother Jon in Georgia. Kyle followed a few months later, he had been a friend of her brothers back in South Dakota, and had ended up in Nevada after graduation. Kaidi and Kyle met through Jon, and though Kaidi never thought of him more than another brother, even after he moved to Georgia. Then It happened, and Kyle had been there always by her side, and now she could not imagine life without him. 

This was their first child, things were settled enough that she felt easy enough with the pending birth. Though seeing her brotherâs little boy running around and made her want one of her own. Little Steven, named after his grandfather, learning to run and into everything. When Jon had moved south to take a job, he had met Andrea and Tom, and their young daughter Jordon. Jordon was only 14 when it happened, and with Tom in a wheelchair, they had moved in with Jon, Kaidi and Kyle to conserve resources. Jonâs place had five acres. Far enough out from the inner city, but with enough neighbors that they were able to form a community and hang on. 

Another legacy from her parents, Jon had a good supply of firearms and ammunition on hand, and reloading equipment. Not that it was ever needed for serious protection, but it gave them an advantage and another reason Jonâs place was a good one. Jordon, Kaidi had to smile thinking of her sister-in-law. At 14 Jon thought of her as a little sister, being 15 years her senior. At 16 Jordon had other plans, and now at 19 she was expecting their second child. Not as far along as Kaidi, but Kaidi was happy there would be cousins for her little one to grow up with. 

Tom, even though he was wheelchair bound, he turned out to be a rock for them all. A retired military chaplain, he had a lot of skills, and a faith they all learned to lean on when things were at their worst. Another thing Momma gave me, Kaidi thought; trust in the Lord, no matter what. Now she could only pray that the Lord was taking care of Mom and Dad, either on this world or in the next. After five years, it was hard not to give up hope, but Mom and Dad were both in good health, not needing any medication , and in their early 50s when it happened. Itâs just they were so far away, and sheâd heard of the problem with people living in the North. At least here in Georgia, they didnât have to worry about winter survival. But Mom always talked about the homesteaders that had settled South Dakota, and how the people who built their house had lived with no electricity and survived. So if anyone could, Mom and Dad could too. But still, in five years you would have thought theyâd have made it south. Things had been settled enough for a few years, surly if they could have they would have . . . Kaidi wiped another tear as she shaped the dough and put it aside to rise. 

Kyle came into the house, breathing hard from a quick run âKaidi, the new people are showing up, you should come and see what they brought!â it wasnât often theyâd accept new people into the community, but Kaidi had heard these ones came with a lot of skills, tools and even some livestock. 

âIâve got the dough rising, you go without meâ she didnât really feel up to meeting new people right now, not with the recent thoughts of missing her own family. 

Kyle persisted âKaidi, you really need to come and see, these people are the answer to all our prayersâ Kaidi let herself be coaxed out of the kitchen. Not all our prayers, she thought, seeing her Motherâs face again. Maybe most of our prayers, but not all of them.

It was a short walk through the trees to the empty house they were given, and most of the other neighbors had already gathered to help unload. 

Theyâd come with a couple of trucks and trailers, and how they managed to get here safely was a feat in itself, while it wasnât real safe to travel, it wasnât like it use to be and a person could barter for fuel along the way. Still, it would have taken someone with a lot of determination. Kaidi saw someone leading a big leopard appaloosa out towards the pasture, she felt a twinge again, âMom had a horse like thatâ she said quietly, feeling her eyes moistening up.

Kyle gave her a quick hug â I know honey, it will be OKâ. Another sad part, she could have learned so much more about animal husbandry as a kid, but she never paid that much attention, why should she ever need to know about raising livestock? She sighed again, and started walking, putting a smile on her face. We live the life the Lord gives us, and bemoaning the wasted chances would not help in the future. Besides, she must have inherited some sort of âhomesteadingâ gene from her folks, she sure did take to it when needed.

Kaidi could sense Kyleâs eagerness, and she quickened her pace, turning the corner to see all the excitement. She stopped, parked off to one side was a white pickup with an older gray stock trailer, and the some of her neighbors exclaiming over the canning equipment being unloaded.

âNo . . .â was all Kaidi could say, in disbelief. 

âI told youâ Kyle said by her side. She looked to see his big smile and tears running down his face to match hers. âAll our prayers. They made it, I donât know how, but both your parents and mine, all the way from South Dakota.â


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## Cindy in NY

Wonderful story Macybaby!!


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## unregistered41671

Very good ALL. Thank you,


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## Guest

Well done, Macy!

Now when do we get the next chapter? {laughing}


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## Aintlifegrand

I like the positivity of your story Macy...Good job


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## beaglebiz

Good one Macy!!

In the old days, "spinning a yarn" was a great talent. I am really impressed. wouldnt it be neat to put together a book of short stories from our authors


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## Wags

Well done Macy!


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## bruce2288

I guess I'll take a swing at this pitch.

Five years later, yea a lot has changed.
Food was never problem for me, as I live on farm. The 70 cows and 100 ewes plus offspring of both was more food than I could eat in a life time. I also had a garden and about 50 fruit trees. These assets have been golden, but I sure would like to eat an orange, have a cup of coffee and a grilled halibut steak before I die.

One of the first things i learned was to ration and prioritize limited assets. It is easier to walk 5 miles than it is to cut a pickup load of wood with an axe. Gas for the chain saw became a big priority. The old one man cross cut saw that used to hang on the wall is now a very valued tool, tons better than an axe. Learning to angle the teeth and sharpen was a heck of a trial and error process. I probably still don't have it right but it works.

Deciding how to use my remaining diesel was one of the most difficult decisions. I ended up planting much of the crop land back to pasture as now the livestock only gets hay in the most extreme weather. The cattle and sheep have to winter graze ofter through a foot or more of snow. Putting up enough hay to feed 4-5 month during the winter is now impossible. The livestock herd now consists of 25 cows, 40 ewes, 4 four old steers that I trained as oxen and 2 horses, plus chickens and rabbits.

The biggest change is the living situation here. I was a life long bachelor, now there are now one single mother with a 8 year old boy and a 15 year old daughter( this girl has tried my patience but more on that later), a young couple and a couple in their late 50's and lovely woman who shares my life. Boy, this brought on some learning experiences for me. I found out that my idea of an acceptable level of tidiness in a house was defineately not an acceptable level. I also learned that my belief that women knew how to cook was somewhat in error. I found out after talking to these ladies if it was prepacked, premade that they could serve a meal, starting with basics they were pretty limited. Let me illistrate this one day I showed kate where the dried red beans that I had soaked over night, dried tomatoes and dried burger nuggets where and suggested that she make some chili. I would be gone all day and back about 6. When I got home she informed me supper in 1o minutes as soon as she washed up some garden vegetables. My first bite of chili, I about broke a tooth, I didn't say anything and munched on some cabbage and a couple of radishes while Kate crunched through a couple of bites of chili.

Her son mike asked "Mom what's so crunchy in here?" Her daughter had already pushed her bowl aside and was eating raw vegatables, but that was not usual. She didn't seem to think that most of the food here on the farm was actually food. I often wondered what the girl actually ate before.

Kate looked at me a said "Those beans you gave me to use are a lot different than what we are used to."

"How long did you cook them?" I asked

"I put them in about 20 minutes ago"

So we had a lesson on cooking dried beans. Actually we went through the pantry and discussed uses and cooking for a few items. This will probably surprize the southern folks, but she had no idea what I would do with all the corn meal I had. She had never eaten cornbread. That was another lesson I learned. Just because I know something, I can not assume everyone does. I was disapointed in the practical knowledge and useable skills that the town folks who came to live here had, but for the most part by the time they ended up here they were mostly willing to work and to learn.


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## Narshalla

Well done, all three of you!

ETA: Sorry, all _four _of you, lol! Bruce, you posted while I was reading.


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## Narshalla

It's been three years since I last talked to another human, and here I am, finally contemplating initiating human contact again.

I don't really have much of a choice; my arm is broken, bad broken, a dislocated fracture of the humorous that's almost 3 weeks old and still moving around on its own.

If I could avoid contact, I would, but I can't. I can't set the arm myself; I tried that and I keep passing out. I live alone, and have since Mrs. G, sweet old biddy that she was, died three years ago. I don't have any neighbors, not since I burned them out after finding out that they were just a bunch of highway pirates. 

I guess I should feel bad about that, but I don't. They had three women in there when I first lit the fire; one had probably died that day. The other two had been dead three-four days at least, but that hadn't stopped them from getting up to what they had been up to. I figured it was something like a Viking funeral for those three women; and they had quite an escort to take with them to Valhalla.

Even if I had felt bad about it, the wealth of loot they had stashed in the various outbuildings would have gone a long way towards soothing my guilt; amongst the goods stored out there were human skins, cured and uncured , and teeth with gold fillings.

I had taken what I needed from amongst their stash; extra cloth, needles and thread, a foot powered sewing machine were amongst my first choices. Bottles and bottles and bottles of unopened OTC drugs, several bags, opened and unopened, of DE, all the seeds available, even of things I didn't like. They also had a dozen chickens and four goats, all pregnant does, thankfully.

And books. Lots and lots and lots of books, mostly how-to, but some abstract math, science, and regular textbooks for teaching grade school subjects.

I took a lot; so many trips that I had trouble finding new paths over the ridge between my place and theirs so I didn't wear down one path too much and leave a noticeable trail. I probably wouldn't have taken that much stuff, but I had to keep going back to check the live trap I set for the cats in that area. I caught three; two young toms and a queen, well advanced in her pregnancy.

They, and their descendents, are all pretty much wild now, but they keep down the small predator population quite well. Weasels that come near the place die a quick death, and I've even seen them teaming up to take on a young raccoon. They also keep the mice and rats away, as well as gophers and moles, but that's secondary; keeping the predators away from the chickens and their eggs is their main job, one of they are very good at.

A week later, the military came through. They took everything that I hadn't, which made me feel better still. I didn't like, and still don't like, thought of any of that stuff going to waste.

I'm about 2 miles north of the encampment. There's definitely a military presence there, but it's not all military; too many women and children. Some of the women might be military, as well, but by no means all; six months pregnant, unarmed, and wearing a skirt means not military.

I can't think much of their training; I've been here for over two hours, they should have found me by now. Once, about a year and a half ago, someone had watched me for a couple of hours, too. I noticed her after about 20 minutes, but then, I know the hills and ridges that surround my valley well.

I had tried to contact her, but she saw me coming and took off running. I followed her until she got to this one steep cliff; she'd already had a rope of some type set up, and was up the face of the cliff with the rope up after her before I could follow. I back tracked her to her last camp; that's how I know she was a she. There certain things that men just don't need, or use, not the way we women do.

And it's not as though I'm being anything that resembles quiet right now; two of my original four does are due to kid soon, one in two weeks, and one in three, and they're both with me. In fact, they are the main reason I'm seeking out help; they've both had difficult deliveries in the past, and I'm in no shape to help them if they have trouble this time, too.

Now is actually a rather good time to get my arm taken care of, really. It's not spring yet, so there's no planting, and anyways, it wouldn't matter if there was; the way this arm is broken, I'm not up to it. My other two does I dried off before leaving, and they are nowhere near the bucks, not that that means anything. I figure to trade the kids from these two does for getting my arm set. It's a good deal for them; the kids from two unrelated does bred to two unrelated bucks means the start of the decent herd, especially if they have goats already.

The two ladies are hollering their heads off, and I guess I've seen enough. Things look okay, but even if they didn't, I have no choice. This arm _must_ be set; it doesn't matter if the encampment is a bad place to be, I'm dead without help, and I know it.

I hoist my pack back up on my shoulders and look down my chosen trail. It's longer, but easier. I've hunted this area before; it's half a dozen or so valleys, most with rivers, separated by ridges that are odd, to say the least. It's also only a day or two from my valley, walking, depending upon the season and the weather. It's all cross country, too, which makes me feel better; it's too easy to follow someone when using a road.

I don't really understand their choice of valley, though. This is one of the ones that doesn't have a river or stream or something, and it has a lot more woods than it does meadows; if they intend to settle, the valley just west of here is probably the best, and two valleys east of here is the biggest. This isn't even the most defensible place; the plateau at my back has only two approaches and has three springs, all of which fall into other valleys. It also has plenty of trees for concealment; the approaches are via switchback trails, and there aren't any trees along the base or tops of the cliffs, which would make it difficult for an enemy to burn them out before help arrived.

Come to think of it, the other valley, the one you have to go through to get to the other approach, is better than this one. It's wider, for one; the river is wide and fast with enough drop to make a grain mill feasible, or so my books tell me. It has fewer trees by far, but that just means that it has more potential crop and pasture land.

At least I thought to bring some protective camouflage. I have 14 unused MREs with me, two for each day for week. But I also have the remains of eleven used MREs, as well; hopefully, they'll think I traveled from much farther away than I did.

With that thought, I start down the hill towards the camp and the future.


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## barnyardfun

WOW! Awesome job EVERYONE! Now I am totally hooked and NEED to know what is going to happen next!


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## Narshalla

barnyardfun said:


> WOW! Awesome job EVERYONE! Now I am totally hooked and NEED to know what is going to happen next!


Write something, too!

Just brief little notes about your day, what happened to your family, how you got from where you were to where you are now.

We all want to know.


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## barnyardfun

Narshalla said:


> Write something, too!
> 
> Just brief little notes about your day, what happened to your family, how you got from where you were to where you are now.
> 
> We all want to know.


Its been so many years since I have written anything. I used to love to write. I had notebooks full of poems and stories. Had kids and I swear my brain just went to mush! Thanks for the encouragement.......I just might try. No promises!


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## longshot38

just a bump to the top


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## justincase

she looked down at her aging hands. how weathered they had become. Each finger tip cracked with cuticles full of dirt and torn. Her whole hands were filled with pain. The years of typing in a took its toll and now the constant manual labor filled her hands and arms with so much pain. The agony in her heart was worse. Her mind was full of praises that her family made it through the collapse but the inner struggles that she faced everyday were bad. She worried all of the time about so much. It is a womans way to worry. She just wanted to know that her children would be able to make it in the new life. Amy sighed as her mind swam in the worry. She was woken abrubtly out of her drifting with a loud noise from the barn. Amy ran fearing her husband was injured, possibly badly, after all there were no docotors in this country and if there were there was no "modern" medicine to be found. As Amy ran heart pounding, she saw that her loving husband was fine, he had just intentionally dropped a beam that needed replacing. He saw the fear and worry on Amy's face and reached out to hold her. His arms made her feal a bit safer. "I am sorry I scared you Hun, I should have told you that I was going to work on replacing that rotten beam," he daid in a gentle voice. Amy had become so jumpy. She pushed through everyday tiredlesly giving love to her two children and husband. Assisted in the revised version of the neighborhood watch. But the new life left her tired. It was hard. Waking up before daylight because every bit of that preciouse light was to be cherished and used to work. Lamplight and candles were used very little as to conserve. She liked rainy days when she could tend to a little less chores and be inside with the children close by. She could breath a little easier then. Her mind drifted back to that life altering day. She and her husband were at work, the children at school. It was a normal day. Time pressured but normal. It was on the radio at work that she heard the DOW dropped, ALOT. Her first thought was to call her husband, but her gut said leave work NOW! Her gut was NEVER wrong. She went to her boss and said she was ill and had to leave. She wanted to cover that base incase she was wrong. She got into her car and dialed her hubby. He said he was leaving work and he would meet her at the house. SHe drove like a mad woman to get the children from school before anyone with half a brain figured out what was going to happen. Any remembered the smell of her car air freshner vividly. She recalled the panic, heart racing,focused, driven. The radio announce that other nations were econmicaly tanking and rioting was starting in major cities across the globe. Amy was glad her and her hubby bought a house in the country 6 years prior, justincase something like this ever happened. She ran to the front desk and signed the children out of class. It seemed like hours as she waited for them at the school office. When thery arrived she gave them the "code" word. The word was "danger." It meant listen do not argue. She got them in the car, floored it as thechildren buckled up on there own. She made it home. Thank God she only lived ten minutes form the school. She heard the police sirens in the distance, not for her but for something else. She pulled into the driveway the same time as her husband. The perfect timing was a Godsend. Amy always worked well under pressure. She attributeted that to working as a unit clerk in a hospital for a few years. she remembered how her whole family hugged and were greatful that the plan they discussed went so well. Amy fell back into how silly she was at that moment thinking her family together meant being okay. She had no idea that what was coming would be so much harder. Amy lifted her face to her husband kissed him on the cheek, " I am sorry Sweetie for being so jumpy," she said to him in his ear. "It is okay I am sorry for not telling you what I was doing," he said again trying to reassure her. Amy turned on her heels quickly as not to let him see her eyes water with tears. She quickly returned to the house to continue prepping her vegetable for storage. her anxiety quickly disapated when whe heard the laughter of her two children playing. She need to accept that this is their new normal. After all thay seem to have adjusted better than her.


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## Wags

*Silver Lining*

She had always tried to impress upon her children the importance of looking for the silver lining in any storm clouds, but lately that was easier said than done.

Their personal storm cloud hit a little more than six months before it hit the rest of the country when an act of terrorism dropped an airliner on their mini-farm destroying everything. Then the silver lining had come when the insurance money finally came and they were able to buy slightly more acreage a little further away from town and pay cash for it. 

The plan was to put up a nice barn, that they could camp out in for a âfew monthsâ while the house was being built. Unfortunately, the economic storm hit the rest of the country just a month after they moved into the pole barn. Which is how five years later she came to be milking a cow, just a few steps away from where she slept. 

The barn was 36x48, and was set up to have horses on one side and a couple of milk cows on the other with hay storage in the center aisle. They had taken over the front half of the barn (18x36) for living quarters and thrown up a temporary wall between them and the two stout ponies and a little Jersey cow and her heifer calf. The barn had a Â½ bath, and since the wash rack for the horses was already connected to hot water, it had been easy to press it into âtemporaryâ service as a shower for the humans. There wasn't really a kitchen, just a double sink and a fridge in the milk processing room. They had installed a small wood stove, in the âliving roomâ but hadn't figured they would ever really need it for cooking/heat since they thought they would be in their new house before fall. And the plan was to use the grill, rather than over heat the barn in the summer. The tack room had been pressed into service as a âtemporaryâ bunk room for the kids, and she and her husband slept in the living area. 

As the milk filled the bucket she was reminded of her one of her father's favorite sayings, "There is nothing so permanent as something that is only supposed to be temporary." She sighed and muttered to herself, "too many temporary things around here".

Quite a bit of the living space was taken up with storage for the replacement preps. Looking back she supposed that was a silver lining too. She had started prepping pretty willy-nilly in the beginning and this time around she had more knowledge, and a sympathetic grocery manager at Walmart who was willing to order in a pallet of wheat and other long term storage items for her. In some cases she paid a bit more, like for the pintos and sugar, but since it came already bucketed and sealed it was easier to keep track of in the barn. She had also started stocking up on canning supplies, even though she knew the odds of being in the house in time to do any canning was pretty slim. As she saw canned veggies and fruit go on sale, she was adding to her pantry, but the end came before she could get much set aside.

And in the end she wasn't just feeding her little family of four. Some brought a little food, but most came without much of anything. Soon there was close to 30 people camped out on their 9 acres. Most were in tents because she flatly refused to move the livestock out of the barn. The stock was worth its weight in gold and needed protection from both two and four legged critters, so she wasn't about to move them out. A few of the teens slept on the hay if for no other reason than to have space to themselves.

The first winter was pretty rough, one small woodstove in the barn was hardly enough to keep things very warm in the enclosed section of the barn. And it was much colder in the rest of the barn. And with the folks that had been sleeping in tents moving into the barn tempers started to flare, including hers. The night someone asked why her family got the only âbedroomâ (they were now bunking in with the kids) she finally exploded and said âbecause this is OUR place, not yours! I warned you what was coming, I even told you how to prepare and you blew me off until you need somewhere to go, we took you in and have fed and sheltered you, but I'll be ----ed if I let you run my family out of OUR place!â


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## Ann-NWIowa

In some ways its hard to believe its been five years, but in most ways it seems 100 years. So many changes so many sorrows. 

We had everything prepped to the max mainly because thatâs the ways weâd lived our lives. Forty acres with pasture, orchard, gardens, wood lots, well with windmill, all the equipment to process food, barn with goats and pigs, chicken house, heirloom turkeys, ducks. Wood heating and cooking stoves. Three ways of doing all necessary and tons of stored preps. Even the weapons and ammo needed for hunting and protection. And Iâm so thankful for all of it because it has meant life for us. Well for some of us. 

At first it was just my darling husband and me, then our son arrived, then our daughter bringing her granddaughter and then finally our grandson with his daughter. My darling husband was the first to die, then my son and finally my daughter. My grandson decided he needed to leave to find his mother and asked me to care for his daughter so now Iâm alone with my two great-granddaughters. My grandson, Ken, is a loving father and grandson so he has not abandoned us and God willing will be back. 

Iâm 73 and worry what will happen to Sarah and Laurie if I am not able to care for them. My mother lived to 97 and her mother to 95 so perhaps Iâll be around awhile yet. 

We are isolated and want to remain isolated. There is safety in being invisible. I do wonder what is happening out in the world but not enough to go off the place to find out. Iâm patient Iâll wait for Kenâs return for news. At first there were people coming around. With my husband, son, daughter and myself we were able to defend ourselves. No one has come by since Ken came two years after the chaos. Iâm glad, but Iâve taught the girls to hide and freeze into absolute silence. They know it is not a game and obey.

Life is funny. Here I am so old with two six year olds in my care. They are pure joy. Smart and sweet and innocent. I keep them with me all the time. I want to teach them as much as I can and the darling girls find such joy in helping Grammy. We have fun gardening. They load wood into their red wagons and then both pull one wagon to the house and go back and pull the second. They laugh like such work is the greatest fun. One thing they both agree is Grammy must get the eggs from under the hens. They donât like getting pecked.

Ironically, if the chaos hadnât happened Laurie would still be with her druggie parents. I never knew what happened to them if they voluntarily gave Laurie to my daughter or if my daughter used the chaos to spirit her away. She had been so abused by neglect that she would have been destroyed had not her grandmother snatched her away. I keep that in mind as one good thing from all this mess. I know that Ken will care for Laurie with the same love and devotion he has for Sarah when I no longer can which is a blessed relief.


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## Ann-NWIowa

Iâve started taking the girls for long walks to collect wood. My husband and son had filled the old machine shed full to the rafters with wood, cut, split and stacked but its been three years and its dwindling away. I have enough for one more winter maybe two if I am careful. So now we pick up small branches to use for cooking to save the good wood for winters heat. When Ken comes back filling the shed with wood is going to be my first request.

Food hasnât been a problem. God has blessed us each year with a good harvest. We had plenty of seeds stored. Its hard digging the garden with a spading fork so I do some each morning, a little more in the afternoon and yet more in the evening. Eventually, it is dug and planted. The orchard is producing although we lost all our peach trees two winters ago. I made cuttings from the grape vines last fall and have set a new row of grapes. I need Ken to put up a fence for the new plants. So much an old lady just cannot do alone. The animals are down to chickens and goats. I plant open pollinated field corn for the hens. I even dug up a new spot and planted some of my storage wheat. Iâve never grown wheat before but I studied on it and decided I should try it. I use the scythe and cut hay. I pile it on a tarp when its dry and ready for the barn and Sarah and Laurie help me pull it. I donât put it into the mow but with just the goats there is room in the main level of the barn so its not a problem. I could get it into the mow but worry about climbing up there. A fall for me would mean death for my darling girls so I donât take risks. 

My husband bought me a new treadle sewing machine for the Christmas before chaos began. Now Iâm using it to make clothes for the girls. Since Iâve always been a sewer and never threw anything away. I have patterns from when my kids were little so the girls are well dressed. Before the chaos I went to auctions and bought many boxes of sewing stuff so I have tons of everything. My husband used to ask me what in the world I was going to do with all that stuff and even I never thought Iâd use all the stuff ... well I havenât used it all yet but Iâm cutting into the stash! I wish I could buy them shoes though. Iâve used my husbandâs and sonâs clothes to make denim shoes and felted an old wool blanket for warmth but its really not adequate. My Laurie and Sarah can have lace trimmed dresses but no shoes. I found instructions for making flipflop shoes from rubber tires in an old Mother Earth News but my old arthritic hands just arenât strong enough. Another job for Ken.

Weâd always read to the girls and after Ken left I decided to start schooling them. They needed a distraction and so did I. They are little sponges and so smart. Both are reading and weâve started simple math. Well, if Iâm their only teacher, the math is going to remain very simple. I remembered we had an old green chalk board hidden away in the basement and found a box of sidewalk chalk leftover from some grandsonâs art project so the girls are using that for their lessons. I read poetry to them and wish I had a way of providing them music. Can you imagine theyâve never heard music. I guess they canât miss what theyâve never known but oh how I miss it. How Iâd love to sit in church surrounded by Christian brothers and sisters and hear the old hymns. I guess soon enough Iâll be hearing the Heavenly chorus but please Lord not before Ken returns.


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## soulsurvivor

Old Gal was slowly coming awake. "Why am I waking up?" she wondered. "Just let me sleep into the next life. Don't make me get up and look at this mess." Time didn't have any meaning, not since the sun had exploded. The impact of that thought brought her fully awake with an enormous pain of grief. She sat up suddenly as the thought of searching for Old Ned became a priority to move herself. "God, please let me find Old Ned alive and well. Amen" and with that she forced bones and muscles to work that had no business being used. 

How could I ask for more she thought. There was still a roof over her head and some food and water. She hadn't seen any sign of life other than herself and her old yellow lab, Pete, who had sheltered with her inside the drainage canal. Pete had half dragged her to the safe zone as the sky fires raged overhead and everywhere.

Hours had turned into days into nights lit only by the red of fires and explosions everywhere. Transformers sizzled and sang and exploded with the fury of a million sparklers, spreading their joy of fire to everything touched. Billows of dark smoke clouds rolled through the atmosphere of red flames licking at the edges of extreme lightening strikes that crashed into the earth without end. The old water tower nearby acted as a lightening rod for much of the electricity that had to ground itself and probably saved her home from being destroyed this go round. 

But the fires and explosions were pampering compared to the deadly gases and fumes. Old Gal followed Pete's instinctive behavior and submerged herself into the nasty water of the canal, coming up only briefly to get air and then resubmerge. Over and over and isn't it amazing what the body will do to stay alive she thought. The stubborn will to live was her angry response to the bad turn Mother Nature had taken. 

Old Gal had to allow a small smile as Pete nudged her on the leg. "Hold on Pete. I'm working on breakfast. I know you're hungry." She was still trying to find one of the manual can openers to open a can of what she hoped was dogfood. The paper label was no more and it was a game of guessing to decide if a can held people food or dogfood, although there wasn't much difference as far as Old Gal was concerned. Still, she was thankful to have food, even really bad food, after all they had been through lately. 

As she and Pete ate their breakfast, Old Gal once again surveyed her home. It was amazing it was still basically intact. It was a small, tightly enclosed brick structure on a concrete foundation with a metal roof. No trees or landscaping were close to the house and the metal carport had sheltered the old truck enough to keep it from burning. It had only enough gas to get to town, which probably helped keep it from blowing up. She caught her breath as she thought of their cat, Ms Cat, dying from the fumes while still inside the garage and unable to get out. She had buried her on the back hill next to Old Dog that had passed away in earlier times. 

As she finished eating yet another can of beans, Old Gal looked the sky over to try and determine if it would erupt in fire again. The sky was gray and almost foggy with the acrid smell of smoke everywhere. She could see, maybe imagine there was still a sun up there somewhere. There wasn't a feeling of heat or humidity. No wind detected, but she had seen a whirlwind yesterday some distance from the house. 

Old Gal worked to get herself ready to go checking on the neighbors today. She really didn't want to do this again. So far, in days and days of walking and searching, she had only found dead people, dead animals. Pete was her constant companion and assisted in finding the exact locations of the dead. All she could do was to make a sign using the marker to make a message on a paper placed inside a ziploc bag and tacked to a door to let any authorities know. It probably wasn't the honorable thing to do, but she took small amounts of food supplies with her when she left. 

Old Gal had exhausted all attempts at establishing communication with anyone. As far as she knew the entire world had died, although she tried to keep positive thoughts, especially about Old Ned coming home. He was her husband of four decades and she knew he'd find his way back home if he was alive.


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## Narshalla

My arm's set, and it didn't even cost me as much as I thought it would . . . the pick of both kiddings, one doeling and one buckling from each doe, if they have that. If not, if one only has doelings, then just one doeling from her.

I'll be here for a while, though, and I'm not sure how . . . stable the Colonel who runs the base is.

The idea behind this place is good. I was right, most of the people are military, but they'll only be that for about another ten months. Then, according to orders they all have in hand, they will be discharged into the civilian population of the area -- which, aside from me, is made up entirely of this encampment.

In between now and then, they are supposed to clear land, build houses, put in gardens and fields, and do all the thousand and one other things that need to be done to create a community from the ground up.

When I get a chance and some energy, I'll ask them why they don't start with a city, or at least the edge of one; I can think of a couple of places on the edge of Portland, for instance, where there are a bunch of houses with yards big enough to build septic systems, buildings suitable for turning into workshops or storage, and fields or clear land nearby for gardens or pastures.

But not right now. Right now I'm tired and finally resting comfortably for the first time in a month; I'm going to sleep.


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## Pouncer

Bravo, everyone  Great reads, thank you!

_________________________________

"Mom, Mom!"

My heart stopped and instantly a knot of fear lodged in my throat. I spun around and caught my balance, with eyes frantically seeking my son. He had taken up a nonchalant slouch against the kitchen doorway, legs crossed in well worn jeans, broad shoulders nearly filling the entry, arms folded and a smirk on his face at my reaction.

"James Joseph Raymond!" I nearly shouted, "You are going to give me a heart attack! You scared me halfway there" For no good reason, tears sprang into my eyes as I looked at the young man my son had become.

"Gosh, Mom, I'm sorry......mostly" He said, with a wicked little gleam in his eyes. With a sense of de ja' vu, I realized I was seeing the image of his father, superimposed on the better than six foot frame with impish blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Can't think about that, won't think about that, just not going there, for the millionth time I echoed my mantra when my thoughts would stray to his missing father. 

"'Sup, dude.........ette?" I asked. Our little joke, but it always put him at ease to talk to me. 

"Today is the anniversary day" He said. 

Yes, I knew that, who could forget? Five years. Five long, hard years. Five scary years and no word at all for two of those. 

"Well, I am not making a cake, forget it. It's nothing to celebrate. Well, on second thought, I suppose we could be thankful we've made it this far, right?"

I snagged him into a quick hug, my 17 year old man of the house turning all twitchy like young men do at that age. Old mothers embarrassing their sons are allowed, I'm sure. I teased him about his facial furnishings, yanked his too long hair, and jabbed him in the ribs, asking "How are things at the barn?"

"Chickens are good, that one hen is still on her ten eggs. I have to clip turkey wings again, that one old hen of yours managed to get over the fence. No, not into the garden! I checked the greenhouses, we're all good there, but I think someone has taken some firewood" He reported.

My stomach turned at the thought of anyone stealing our firewood. We traded for gas and parts for the chain saw, but had none to spare for any reason, especially since I'd long since been using a wood stove year round to cook with. It was so much hard work, getting the trees down safely, then bucking them, then cutting, then dragging them home, cutting, splitting and stacking. Firewood consumed a large amount of time every year now, since buying it by the truckload was way out of our reach these days. If we had a thief, then it meant we had an unknown person or persons in the neighborhood. Ugh.

"Okay, Joe, here is what to do. Take the bike and go make the rounds of the men, and let them know. Ask them to come over before supper and we'll start talking sentry duty again. And Joe, take the mini 14, will you?" 

In a couple of minutes he was armed, a long leg thrown over the reclaimed mountain bike, and he was easing out the driveway to go resurrect the long since defunct sentry patrols and duty. As I went back to cutting up veggies for canning, I thought about the previous five years, and how far'd we come.....and gone.

It had actually been over five years since I'd seen my husband, because he worked at Prudhoe Bay on a rotating shift. Two weeks on, two weeks off, regular as clockwork. After the quakes and tsunami, he'd been slated to come home but ended up staying when a bunch of guys couldn't make it back for their scheduled rotations. At the time, it was hard but something we'd get through, and it would sure help with the bills. Then came the Big One, as everyone called it. The day the Cascadia Subduction Zone let loose, or, as I called it, the day it popped. We could have (and did) handle the 8.7 on the Castle Mountain fault just six miles from my house, and the tsunami that resulted.....but add in the Cascadia pop? No way. It took all the emergency supplies for us staged on the West Coast with it.....heck, just about took the coast too. What the quake didn't smash, the tsunami's washed out to sea and poof! West Coast shipping was history in under an hour. That's about how long it took for everything else to crash along with it....the dollar, the economy, and that whole miserable ball of woes. Right after that the federal government basically ceased to function and no help came to Alaska for nearly a year. 

During that year, oh so long and hard for so many up here, we fared pretty well, all things considered. The house was solid, only cracked a couple windows and we had some minor damage with stuff breaking, but I'd been better set than many. They'd gotten the Nikiski refinery back on line and even today, were lightering products across the Cook Inlet since Anchorage remained basically abandoned to itself. I was still thankful the bridges came down, sealing off that threat. It didn't stop some from coming across in boats, but these days if they showed up, it was on foot-gas and diesel were strictly rationed.

But I had not heard from my Kirk in nearly two years. We'd had spotty contact with the phones, and then nothing after the big solar storm. I always wondered if he was one of the casualties up there, but no one knew and it's not like I could call anyone after losing the phones anyway. At that time, he'd been set to walk the whole way, with a small group of guys who had somehow found supplies. It had been very bad up there, very bad. A lot of sickness, not much food even though they'd resorted to hunting the caribou herds for protein. I just couldn't imagine my guy being able to walk that far, given his poor knees....not over 600 miles anyway.


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## campfiregirl

Yay! All the stories are wonderful! More, please! :bouncy:


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## Pouncer

Joey was back much quicker than I'd thought, as he had found seven of the guys at the former watch captain's house, having an impromptu meeting. He told me they'd all be over before six, and I was glad to know one of them was the neighborhoods' best hunter, Gene. 

As I finished up the ingredients for the night's stew, I was very thankful that the real harvest was just a week or two away. With darned little being available in stores, everything I could put up and away was critical. I sure didn't need a repeat of the third year when a moose cleaned out the garden that late August night. Water under the bridge, I thought, and at least now I have figured out how to winter over some of those veggies for seeds, but it was sure a hard lesson.

With the pot simmering on the wood stove, I asked Joey to scrounge up some super dry wood, so I could bake breads. His eyes lit up, because he knew we'd use the cob oven we'd built together.....and I'd probably make something sweet. I reminded him it depended on the wind, and off he went, this time using the cart, not the wheelbarrow. That cob oven had turned out to be both a serious challenge, and a blessing for everyone close by. The first attempt had cracked and then collapsed, but the second one had been serving as a community oven for a half dozen families for years now. We were scheduled to have our baking day tomorrow, winds permitting. Rain and snow were not so much a concern now that there was a roof and partial walls around it, almost a pavilion, really. Every week we met to talk and bake, men and women, and it had turned into an important social connection for us all.

When he got back, I asked him to run over to get his aunt, and then stop over to Jim's so they could both be in on the meeting. While he was busy doing that, I walked barefoot up to the greenhouses. No sense in wearing shoes when they weren't really needed these days and it had been fairly dry for a week or so. Once again I was reminded of my good fortune in having nearly everything on hand when it all went bust. And my good neighbors who had helped get it up-we all depended on them. 

To my surprise, Big Ed was there, slowly making his way down the aisle turning pots and watering.

"Ed, I didn't see you come in" I said.

"Oh hey, neighbor lady. I know tomorrow is my day but I was kind of bored sitting at home. Besides, you always need help in here"

"True, true! How are the legs today?" I asked.

"Not very good, like every day. Getting pretty hard to ride that bike and I sure don't like depending on you two to help get in my firewood" He said with a hint of despair.

"When are you going to give in and come stay with us?" I asked.

He laughed and repeated his line verbatim-when he can't get out of bed. I laughed along with him, and we both turned to what needed doing. Ed had turned into quite the hand at tending plants, despite his limitations. It took us over an hour to water, prune, and harvest a few early tomatoes and of course we had an over abundance of cucumbers, like normal. The houses and cold frame were full to bursting, with hundreds of plants in pots and containers. Sometimes when I looked over the sea of food to be, I was overwhelmed. Not so much for what I managed to do, but for the responsibility and work it represented. 

"How's the water holding out, have you checked?" I asked Ed.

"Pretty good so far, but we'll be needing rain before too long" He replied.

We'd cobbled together makeshift gutters on the barn roof, and tied them into a collection line of plastic pipe, where it fed down hill to a holding dam. It was not pretty, but even without any engineering training, it worked pretty well. Nearly everyone in the neighborhood had the same set up, or a version of it, attached to their roofs. And nearly everyone had some sort of small garden and small livestock these days, so having ready water stored was critical. 

I relayed that there was a meeting, and why, and his concern was at the surface immediately. Ed lived by himself by choice, in a trailer over a mile away. He had plenty of weapons and ammo, but being alone had huge risks and he knew that from the previous incidents at his place. For that reason he had one of the area radios and a solar charger for it, so he could call for help if needed. 

We left the greenhouse and went up to the main gardens for a walk through. It had been a huge amount of work, but oh so worth the effort. Instead of the small patch I'd had before, I now had nearly 150 feet by 90, and all of it built from scratch right on top of the old horse arena. A lot of wheeling, dealing, and trading to get that done, but thankfully completed the second year. I was still paying off the equipment work with tobacco too. Another on a very long list of projects that never seemed to end.

I must have looked a sight when everyone arrived. I'd lost all the fat I'd carried around for years, so my jeans were baggy and my sweatshirt about worn through. With no way to afford a new prescription I had taken to wearing two pairs, one on top of the other, for reading. They hung on string around my neck, but out of the way of the holster I wore at all times. The weight of the old 45 had long since become normal, along with the single braid down my back. 

I handed out cukes and tomatoes, and after a short discussion of harvest work, the guys got down to business. It turned out we weren't the only ones with missing items, and there was one report of two unknown figures in the woods too. I tuned out the details of the sentry patrols and shifts, and grabbed my sister by the arm.

She too, was greatly changed from the nearly obese woman of years past, into a slim figure that could outwork many. Her graying hair was now cut short, and she carried a monster pistol with spare clips for a weapon. We all carried, these days. My sis was my go to person for news and rumors and, well, whatever I needed that I couldn't get any other way. I didn't ask how she did what she did, no one did.

"Well?" I asked.

A smile broke over her face, and tears began to well. 

"Fairbanks. Last year" was all she said.


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## Narshalla

I've moved out of the tent they're using as a hospital and into the tent they're using as a barn, and now I'm reconsidering the deal.

None of the people here -- not one -- knows anything about goats, and they don't have any books or anything from which to learn, either. I've tried to start teaching them, but every time I do, I get , "But Lt. Danson said . . ." Danson is apparently the officer in charge of the animals. I met him once -- he's also a germaphobe. He doesn't go anywhere near the animals if he can help it, has never even been in the pen with the goats, but because he's "in charge," they do what he says.

What I don't get is that the people I have been trying to teach are all civilians -- never been military -- and yet they jump to orders like the rawest boot private.

I've only managed to teach one person anything; the rest just look at me with stupid expressions. Fortunately, Callie is more than willing to listen, and I got to show her what ligs feel like, and what it feels like when the ligs have softened up in preparation for birth. I'm glad I'm here; Four has always lost her ligs at the last possible moment, so it should be today or tomorrow. Roughly speaking, that's a week earlier than her due date, but well within the right window. Two still has her ligs, and she'll do anything to have her back scratched, including holding still while we poked and prodded her and I pointed out her good characteristics and her week points.

This place makes me wonder. The idea behind establishing this community is to create a stable civilian farming community with a strong backbone of trained soldier/farmers for defense. If that's the case, though, why is everyone just following orders? Why is there no reference materials?

Why pick this spot, where they have to carry water over a mile, rather than any of the other places around here? Even the plateau, windy as it is, would be a better choice, but no-one seems to know it exists. No-one -- none of the adult civilians I've met, anyways -- seem to have any backbone at all; they seem to follow orders unquestioningly.

The way it was put to me, in a little less than nine months from now, they're supposed to have an election to pick a mayor and an advising council, and then a month after that, all of the soldiers (and sailors, airmen, and marines) will be discharged, concurrent with the change in leadership from military to civilian.

If that's so, though, the group needs to cultivate some level of independence; when the change of leadership happens, they'll be making their own decisions about what to do, where and with what. This slavish obedience is scary.


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## Cindy in NY

I think it's wonderful that so many people are writing!!


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## Cindy in NY

PART IV

A few days after the orange discussion, I came home to find the Professor and Sarah on the back deck. When he saw me, the Professor cried out âSuccess! Martha had a jar of marmalade that I can see seeds in and Julia, the younger one, had some potpourri with some dried orange slices in it. Sarah and I were just talking about how she is going to help me grow some orange trees!â

The plan was to re-hydrate the seeds and then plant them. A greenhouse had been built onto the back of the community building a few years ago. The nearly falling down deck had been removed and a rock wall had been put up against the south facing exterior wall. The greenhouse was built with this stone wall at the back to absorb the sunâs heat. It was made from scavenged windows and pieces of plexiglass. The back door to the house opened into the greenhouse to provide extra heat if needed in the winter. There was another door to provide access to the outside. The greenhouse was used to start seeds in the spring and in the winter it provided greens of various kinds, peas, green onions, broccoli, and herbs. 

Sarah was an almost constant companion of the Professor whenever she wasnât in school or working. He had taught her to identify trees and edible wild plants and showed her how to start seeds. She helped him in the greenhouse and she also gathered wild greens for her mother to cook with and herbs that Angela, our herbalist, used to make natural medications. Sarah was fascinated with anything having to do with plants and loved to take the younger children on âfield tripsâ.

Sarah will have a lot more kids to teach in the next few years. The last couple of years have seen a population surge. Some say itâs in the water! I think itâs the realization that humans could be in trouble without a baby boom. We lost so many in the pandemic, especially the very young. There werenât too many young adults and middle aged folks that survived either. The surprise to everyone was that so many of us older folks survived! 

A lot of theories are out there but I like the Professorâs. He thinks that those of us born before about 1960 were exposed to so many chemicals when we were growing up that we developed an immunity. Our parents werenât worried about the by-products of the manufacturing going on around us. They werenât concerned about the non-organic chemicals being sprayed on the crops. They didnât take much notice of the smog that sometimes settled over our cities. Their lack of concern may have saved our lives!


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## Narshalla

You know, I think we maybe should have addressed this question a little earlier, but it only now occurred to be to ask:

Are we all writing in the same universe, five years from the same disaster?

'Cause I'm getting the feeling that we're not.

Not that the readers care, I don't think, but anyways, just a question for the writers.


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## Cindy in NY

Narshalla said:


> You know, I think we maybe should have addressed this question a little earlier, but it only now occurred to be to ask:
> 
> Are we all writing in the same universe, five years from the same disaster?
> 
> 'Cause I'm getting the feeling that we're not.
> 
> Not that the readers care, I don't think, but anyways, just a question for the writers.


I think everyone is writing about this world five years after a disaster. All of our disasters are different and have caused different levels of devastation.


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## Guest

I haven't died or forgotten my story. This is the week of my kid's Spring Break and then the County Fair where I am putting on a hatching exhibition not long afterwards so I'm going to be busy until next week. I'll pick it up again from there.

Great to see so many new stories!


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## Pouncer

I think everyone there had seen me get angry, but few had seen me lose it like I did, hearing my sister's words. I was bawling in an instant, begging for more information, happy and overcome with emotions. Wiping my face and struggling to get myself together, I motioned for Joey to come. He'd been talking to Gene about learning more woodcraft on patrol, and hurried over with a worried look on his face. Soon everyone was crowded around my sis, all of us talking at once. With a sharp yell, I got everyone silent and we listened to her news.

"Okay here it is. And I got this from someone in the old National Guard, who got it from the supply depot up in Fairbanks. Don't ask how, alright? Anyway, Kirk made it to Fairbanks last year, he's been staying at his Dad's cabin, him and another guy. They got there too late in the fall to try for further south on foot and were holed up there for the winter. Word is, they headed south two months ago".

"Two months, two months?" came the chorus. And then a lively conversation broke out between us all, but Joey and I were relieved and thrilled to have some word, any word. I was elated, to put it mildly.

We all rehashed what we knew, or what was rumored, about conditions in Fairbanks. Very grim, of course, they had not been able to get the refinery on line, and a large portion of the area had burned in a wildfire a couple years back. It had split into warring factions there for a while, and was still splintered. Many deaths, a lot from seasonal flu's, and of course untreated diseases and injuries like everywhere. It was pretty much dog eat dog, with little trading taking place-very unlike our area. No fuel to speak of, except what was pilfered from what passed as the state militia, and very little food was arriving from anywhere. 

It was hard not to speculate, but I couldn't imagine my Kirk not being able to just walk the highway in two months. 350 miles, he should have been able to do that and be here by now, I concluded. As I came to that thought, my sis broke in again.

"Listen up, everyone! Here is the big news!"

She continued "Okay we all heard about the explosions on the Slope, right?" 

Yes, we all knew that the CME had lead to a catastrophic series of failures, which resulted in mass destruction of the network up there. Most of the oil and gas production facilities and infrastructure had been destroyed, leaving hundreds of people stranded. The few resupply ships that arrived in late summer had refused to take any Americans off shore, being from other countries. Even then, I always wondered how they got those ships moving, but that was another mystery for another day.

"So, what you didn't know is that there have been several large earthquakes up around Denali. They have pretty much dropped every bridge, and some whackos have taken out the one over the Yukon too. In other words, the highway is....toast" She finished. 

Well, that surely explained how come he hadn't made it home yet. Anyone traveling would need to detour for a long ways in some spots, to get around or over those rivers and streams. Coming through the range, I knew the highway went through some pretty rough terrain and it wasn't like you could just walk across those glacier fed rivers........and it also meant that Fairbanks was pretty much sealed off from the rest of the state, just like us in the Valley. 

The Castle Mountain quake had dropped nearly every bridge, and served to drop millions of tons of material across road ways in landslides. To the east, no traffic was possible at all, with nearly 80 miles impassable. To the north, we'd lost every bridge up as far as Talkeetna, and rail too, of course. Then there was the new courses all those rivers and streams had taken, during succeeding floods in the spring. Heck, the Little Susitna had moved in many places due to uplift, and there was a stretch of very dicey stuff that spewed blowholes at random, even today. It was a jumbled up mess of uprooted trees and debris, that ran almost the whole length of the fault, a couple miles wide. No one liked to think about the number of people and homes that disappeared that day. Then the Cascadia tsunami had rushed a long ways inland, up the Susitna River drainage to the west for a number of miles too. Hardly anything had been cleared, before the CME had fried just about everything. 

Eventually we ran out of speculation, and the conversation returned to setting patrols and watches. This time, I got one of the coveted radios, so I could call for help in an emergency. I knew that this meant I was on my own for at least a few minutes, because it would take that long for anyone to bike or run over. For the umpteenth time, I wished I had had the foresight to clear firing lanes and sniper spots around the house, but it just wasn't possible. With the newly enlarged swamp/pond to my north, and nothing but trees to the west and an abandoned house to the east, I was always going to be an isolated place. 

Joey was assigned to go out with Gene and that eased my worry somewhat. He'd come a long ways from the young kid who walked heavy and stumbled over his own feet. Today he was still on the lean side, but he moved with grace and efficiency both in his hand made moccasins. He'd turned out to be my right hand, my muscle, and my strength.


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## Narshalla

She had quints! That's the first time she's pulled that trick! Two bucklings and three doelings.

And now I'm even more unsure about the wisdom of this deal. Danson came by to see the babies, then started giving orders. Four will be milked twice a day, and she _will_ produce at least two gallons a day, and that's an order. Let me say that again -- he's trying to give orders to a _goat._ Yeah, that's going to work.

And he's picked the two he wants, though I have no idea what he is using as criteria to make those choices. One of the bucklings is an obvious cull -- he has a deformed hoof and a bad angle to his pelvis. The other's pretty good, as near as I can tell. Yup, you guessed it -- Danson wanted the cull.

Of the doelings, one has hips like her brother, one has a very narrow pelvis, and the third is the keeper. He thinks the one with the narrow pelvis is the prettiest, so he thinks she would be a good choice. Her hips are noticeably narrower than her shoulders right now, and while that might change in time, I have found that with my goats, it doesn't. Maybe it does in other lines, but I've done this breeding before, and the narrow hips never corrected themselves; I canned her rather than breeding her and risk losing her during kidding.

I tried to explain about colostrum, and how the babies would need it, about how, even if we did milk her out, we wouldn't want to drink it, about how, for the next three weeks, the babies would take all her milk and that it would be at least that long before we could start weaning them -- and longer was much, much better. It didn't make a difference. He knew what he knew, he gave the orders around here, blah, blah, blah, and it was his way or the highway.

I've also seen their other goats -- culls, every last one of them. Bad hips, bad udder attachments, thick, meaty necks on what were supposed to be dairy goats. Apparently, he was the one in charge of picking out their stock, and while I will admit that they are all very flashy in their coloring, that's all they have going for them.

Also, there's not very many of them. Danson thinks that in the best lines of dairy goats, two gallons a day is average, and there's no reason that the ones he picked shouldn't do at least that well, so the six he chose (though he could have taken more) should produce twelve gallons a day with no grain, and that the twelve gallons a day are more than enough to keep the entire population of more than a hundred in milk. Yeah, right.

The fact that it hasn't worked so far doesn't seem to mean anything to him . . .

They also need copper and worming, and to rotate grazing much more than they are right now, but no, goats will eat anything and produce a lot of milk, copper is poisonous to goats, and intestinal parasites are never as bad as they are made out to be.

I'm beginning to think that I should keep my mouth shut; at least one of their goats will be dead by this time next week because of parasites, and if he pulls the two he has chosen tonight (like he wants to) then they will be dead by then, too.

On the up side, it turns out that Callie is an orphan. She's younger than me -- 16 to my 22 -- but still in charge of her younger brother, who's 14. The way I see it, this means that if she decides to leave when I do, she can, and can take her brother, John, too.

I like John. He's very serious and protective of Callie. He was rather upset that the two of us were spending so much time together until I invited him to join us; turns out, he likes animals, too. It also helped once he realized that I was female, not male -- the scars covering the lower half of my face and my neck make it hard to tell right off the bat, especially if I'm wearing layers, which I have been. A male might be a danger to his sister; I'm not.

I am worried that now that he knows I'm a woman -- most of the camp still hasn't figured that out yet -- he might be interested in me. Not a puppy love sort of way, but in a mature, two people with similar tastes and similar goals choosing to make a life together sort of way. He's nice, but he's also 8 years younger than me. If I was 30 and he was 22, I don't think this would bother me, but 22 and 14? No, thanks, not for me.

I can see why he would start thinking this way, though. The population of the camp is more than a little bit skewed; I thinks there's about 60 adult men, 25 adult women (not counting me,) perhaps another ten teen boys like John and 3 teen girls, though it's hard to tell exactly how old some of them are, and another dozen or so kids too young to be interested in the opposite sex yet.

For someone like John, there simply aren't any choices; by the time he gets old enough, all of the women will be married, even the ones his age. Maybe by then there will be immigrants to the settlement, but somehow, I don't think so. I'm not going to move here, not under any circumstances; the site location is simply too stupid for me to want to settle down. And the leadership doesn't help.


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## Kmac15

bump!


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## manygoatsnmore

I'm so enjoying the stories. Please keep writing, all of you. I didn't know we had so many talented writers here.


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## kimmie4476

Just found this thread and I have been completely enthralled for the last hour reading! Everyone's stories are so vivid I feel like I'm there..please don't stop I'm hanging by a thread here lol


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## bruce2288

The site has an abundance of talented authors. Well done!


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## Pouncer

Everyone dispersed and we finished up the outdoor chores, with my sis electing to stay the night instead of bike home. Well, not her home originally, but an abandoned shop with living quarters that she'd been renting for a couple years before everything fell apart. By this time, we were all pretty sure that any debts signed previous to the collapse were void, with there being no way to collect and nothing to pay them with anyway. Many times I rued the electronic dollars that had accumulated while Kirk continued to draw a paycheck up north, now lost to us forever. 

We discussed possible routes, after I dug out an old copy of the Alaska Gazeteer, a book of detailed maps showing terrain and drainages. We eventually concluded that anyone arriving here from the north, would have to do so through the north side of the Talkeetna range, and then follow the crestline down to the Valley proper. That would put anyone face on to the destruction along the fault line, but it could not be avoided. My sis had heard a rumor that someone had gotten an old, ancient really, dozer working late in the spring and had been attempting to clear out some of the mess, but reports varied as to where that was taking place exactly. But how would they build a bridge over the Little Susitna? There was a lot of debris to work through, and it's not exactly like there was a core of road and bridge engineers standing by to assist either. 

I had to assume that Kirk would take the most direct route possible, as I knew his drive would be unstoppable. That left a fairly narrow stretch for approach, but I wouldn't put it past him to just float the Little Su to a better spot too, so there wasn't much use speculating any more that night. 

The next morning, being baking day, I dug into my stores of flour. I'd been supplementing as best I could with the barley flour that my sis had procured from someone up north (and how was it that things could move around so easy but people could not?) and I was once again, thankful for her efforts. I had two strains of sourdough I tended and shared, plus there was the remaining bulk yeast. I'd had the foresight to vacuum seal some into pint jars and it had somehow proven to be the correct method for long term storage. After a quick breakfast of eggs and garden greens, I sent Joey up to do morning chores, and I got all the pans and whatnot ready and out to the cob oven. 

By around ten, most everyone had shown up, most with lunches in hand, wheeling bikes or carts or whatever they had at hand with their own flour if they had any. The kids were sent to play, and we set to work, lighting the fire and sharing our communal pot of precious coffee I stashed for this once a week get together. By this time, I had figured out how to keep the grinds for the week, and added only a small amount of fresh to the very large camp style pot every time. It sure wasn't the good stuff, but it was better than digging roots and roasting those, then grinding them. As usual, a fair bit of impromptu trading took place between folks, everything imaginable and then some. 

I'd long since learned the art of crafting what would have been called artisan breads in better days, and loaves were being removed by the afternoon in rapid succession. One of the neighbors had brought along a jar of raw honey, and with much happiness, quick sweet breads were readied. Refined sugar was getting to be pretty rare but once in a while someone stumbled across a stash of it in the ruins. Most kept it to themselves but our group tended to share the rewards communally. I fed a few sourdough starters, and then we pretty much all went up to the gardens and greenhouses to work for a couple hours. 

That was my "tax" for using the oven (although I had no problems sharing any day of the week) and after a few squabbles, most everyone was resigned to spending some time on their hands and knees if needed every week. The boys were set to turn the manure and compost piles, the girls to gather eggs and clean the coop, and the adults watered, weeded and pruned. Entries were made into the master notebook that was kept in the main greenhouse. Folks added their own notes to it, on their own garden pages, any changes they'd observed at their homes. In this way we could all review the book and plan our harvesting and preservation together. Between us all, we still had a huge stash of seeds, thanks to a lucky find three years previously when five boxes were found abandoned after a flu death in the neighborhood. We'd divvied up all the seeds so everyone could try their hand at growing something for the community, which is how some people ended up doing herbs and medicinals, others focused on squashes, some on tomatoes and so forth. It'd been a real steep learning curve on how to winter over some things, and have a chance at seeds to replenish the stocks. 

It was a long hard day but as everyone finally trickled away, I was glad to have some time to talk with Joey about his patrol duty coming up. Naturally I always stressed about his being out there, but I also knew that the men would not give him any task he couldn't carry out. Mostly, he spent his time as a spotter in the elevated stands placed around the neighborhood, instead of being expected to use the weapon he carried. He'd finally learned the value of sitting still, and was gaining the respect of others for his ability to move silently through the woods. He was scheduled for the swing watch, and I set the old wind up clock accordingly, after making sure all his gear was laid out. I didn't think he'd need a rain slicker, since it had been so dry, but it went on the pile just the same. I was amazed he could carry all that stuff like a wraith through the woods and brush, but he did. I packaged up some food to go along, just some leftover hard cheese, fresh sweet bread, the water thermos, dried berries and peeled hard boiled eggs. He could sure stow the groceries away, and I smiled that some things just never change. 

After seeing him off at midnight into what passes for darkness in the summer, I fell back asleep quickly, the two old cats alongside. Once again, I felt a deep pang for the loss of the two dogs. Maybe one day the Sheltie might show up again, he'd been gone for three months, since someone started shooting some heavy caliber rounds at something or other. The big dog had been a victim of his own protective instincts, dying of his wounds after a bear encounter at the barn years back. He'd saved my son, but I sure missed the big presence beside me. 


I started awake with a jolt, just knowing, in that way that can't be ignored, that something was wrong......but what? I listened before opening my eyes, and heard nothing. No sounds beyond the wall behind my head, nothing. I eased my arm over and grabbed the big revolver I jokingly called the hog leg. Drawing it up to my chest, I waited. Still nothing. With a sense of foreboding, I rolled over and out and quickly padded into the main room. When I looked outside I could see nothing, it was that time of coming daybreak where everything seems shades of grey. 

I decided I must have just been dreaming and began the morning ritual of warming water to wash up. Water from the cooler, into the water pot, and this time I was able to sit the pot on the small steel rack I'd stumbled across, right inside the wood stove itself. We only lit a fire in the wood stove when needed in the summer, and with yesterday being baking day, I'd needed hot water to clean up-not just the dishes and whatnot, but us too. I made a mental note to get out the drying racks and get them hung as the daily chore, and made for the back door to do barn chores.

I no sooner stepped outside and I knew what had woken me....smoke!


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## manygoatsnmore

Oooo, good cliff hanger, Pouncer!


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## Cindy in NY

PART V

&#8220;Well, I have good news and bad news&#8221; said the Professor as he took another serving of green beans and sliced tomatoes. At the table were my husband Kevin and I and our housemates Jacob, his wife Karen, and their children David, Alise, and Sarah, and also Angela and her companion Marcus. Our other housemates, Will and Martha, were eating at another home this evening.

As a dairyman Jacob had had his share of good and bad news and always wanted to hear the good first. When they returned to their home a few weeks after the pandemic had first struck, they were met on the road by one of their farmhands. After rejoicing to see Allen alive, he gave them the good news / bad news option.

&#8220;The good news is that the cattle, goats, and chickens are fine. Even that old hound, Roscoe is fine. A few of us are still here and we&#8217;ve kept them going. The bad news is, we&#8217;ve lost a lot of good people and your house is gone. It was burned to the ground early on. I&#8217;m sorry, Jacob.&#8221; He didn&#8217;t want to be the one to deliver this news. The old farmhouse had been in Jacob&#8217;s family for four generations. 

&#8220;We&#8217;re just glad you&#8217;re okay&#8221; said Jacob as he clutched at Allen&#8217;s hand. Karen hugged the kids in an effort to shield them from even more bad news. The last few weeks had been so difficult and they had all looked forward to getting home. Just before the pandemic hit, the family had taken their camper and gone to the Catskills for vacation. 

On the final vacation day, they had driven to Howe&#8217;s Cavern before returning home. They were the only ones on their tour led by Will and Martha. He had retired from the military and then worked for the sheriff&#8217;s department for many years before &#8220;retiring&#8221; again. Now they were the caretakers and tour guides for the caverns with Martha normally cooking in the cafÃ© and running the gift shop while Will gave the tours. They had a small apartment in the back of the building. It was an especially hot day with few visitors, so when Will went to give the last tour, Martha closed up and went along to the cool depths of the caverns. The whole week had been slow as they had heard there was a bad flu going around. They didn&#8217;t watch TV or keep up with the news so they generally only heard things when the deputies dropped in for a cup of coffee.

When they returned to the surface, their phone was ringing and Will&#8217;s scanner was noisily sending out messages for all available officers to get to Cobleskill Hospital. They were getting overrun with people sick with the flu and they needed officers to help control the crowd. When Martha answered the ringing phone, she got a recorded message from the police (using the reverse 911 system) that everyone should stay inside their homes and avoid contact with other people. Trying not to panic, she looked to Will to take control of the situation. He discussed the situation with Jacob and Karen and the decision was made that they should stay there. He had Jacob drive his camper around back and put it in the big garage. 

Over the next couple of weeks, the group had to defend their safe haven many times. Will and Martha had prepared for an event so they were stocked with food, water, and ammunition. Usually just the appearance of a gun caused their &#8220;visitors&#8221; to leave but they did have to fire their weapons in the air a couple times. Will, Jacob, and Karen had experience with shooting but Martha wanted nothing to do with the guns. When they thought it was safe enough, Jacob and Karen took 14 year old David and 13 year old Alise out back to practice shooting. They did not have a gun small enough for Sarah to practice with and she didn&#8217;t seem to be upset about that. 

On about the 10th day of their isolation, a car pulled up in the parking lot. A man of about 30 knocked on the glass door. Even though he had tried to clean himself up, it was evident that he was very ill. Will told him to go away that he couldn&#8217;t help him. He pleaded with Will to give him some food and medicine because his whole family was sick. Looking past him, Will could see a sedan with a woman at the wheel and three small children in the back seat. 

&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry but we can&#8217;t help you. You need to go to the hospital.&#8221;

&#8220;We&#8217;ve been there. There was one person at the door and they wouldn&#8217;t let us in. Then somebody shot at me when I tried another door. You&#8217;ve got to help us. There&#8217;s no one else!&#8221;

&#8220;I can&#8217;t help you. You should drive to Albany and look for help there.&#8221;

The man banged his head against the window and yanked at his hair as if he was trying to pull the illness out of him. His face became red and enraged and he screamed &#8220;You have to help us!! My family is going to die!!&#8221;

Trying to stay calm, Will told the man once again to go away.

Struggling to walk, the man went to his trunk and headed back to the cafÃ© with a tire iron. When he was about 20&#8217; away, Will popped open the lock on the door, pulled the 45 out of the back of his pants, and shot the man through the head. He fell on his back and his wife started screaming and began to get out of the car. Will fired a couple shots across the hood of the car. The woman dove back inside the car and took off, spraying gravel over the body of her dead husband.


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## Narshalla

Danson's dead. I'm not morning him any, though.

Two had her babies -- twins, a buckling and a doeling -- and Danson decided it was time that the babies joined the "baby herd." Apparently, he's had the kids pulled from all the does at around a week old and put them in their own herd, quite a ways away from the does. Despite the twins being only a day old, he decided to pull them. Two objected and, according to his sycophants, he kicked her.

Bad idea. She rammed him -- she doesn't have horns, but an angry goat is still dangerous. I came in as he was falling; when he landed and didn't move, I thought it was because he was smart enough to hold still until she turned her attention back to her kids.

I was wrong. He hit his temple on the way down and by the time got Two calmed down and in with Four -- not that I wanted to, I thought that Two needed more time to bond with her kids, even if they are going to stay when I leave -- anyways, when we turned him over, he was already bleeding from his nose. That might not have meant anything, but before we moved him to the infirmary tent, his left ear started bleeding, too.

He lasted about an hour after that.

The commanding officer -- a Colonel named Winston -- has decided to do a "full investigation," whatever that means. He's also ordered that no-one is to leave the camp while the investigation is on-going.

He's as stupid as Danson was, though, if he thinks that not letting any of the goats, sheep, or cows out to graze is going to work, especially when he also won't let anyone go out and gather grass for them. There's maybe three days' hay in the camp -- and that's a big maybe -- and he said that the investigation will take at least a week. I tried to point this out to him, but his reply was exactly what I thought Danson would have said -- that's the way it was going to be, and if i didn't like it, I could leave.

Sunday, this cast will come off, I'll get new x-rays and a new cast. If everything's good then, I'm going to take him up on his offer. Callie and John are definitely coming with me; Sam and his wife Emily are, too.

Sam and Emily are both 20, and Emily in particular wants to leave. If she's been getting the same comments I have, I don't blame her. If one more man who is old enough to be my father makes a comment about the advantages of choosing an "older, more experienced man," I think I'm going to start decking people. Okay, that's unfair -- early to mid thirties is hardly old enough to be my father, but it would be nice if one of them, just once, tried to have a conversation about something, instead of assuming that I _must_ be interested, and ordering the younger men -- men _my_ age -- away.

You know, I wish they still thought I was a man; at least then they'd see John keeping between me and Callie and assume that it was because he was protecting Callie from me instead of trying to make time with me.

In reality, he is doing neither. He thinks that if he's between the two of us, he can protect us equally, or so he thinks. I understand why he's doing it, too, and while I don't think it's entirely necessary in my case, I am smart enough to appreciate his motivation. 

I just hope it isn't necessary here as it was in the camps. As the whole brouhaha with Danson shows, it's harder to explain away a dead body here, with so many fewer people.

I don't like leaving the four kids behind, but a deal is a deal, and the sooner I am out of here, the better; I wouldn't put it past Col. Winston to either try to put me in charge of the goats, or to try to keep Two and Four and the other two kids, and not just the agreed upon four.

Between now and Sunday, though, I plan on trying to get copies of the new maps that the camp has; it will be nice to know where other camps are going to be, so I don't have to come back here again.


----------



## Pouncer

Heart instantly in my throat, I spun around and ran for the radio. Where was the card with the code signals? Ah, there it was, on the fridge. I snatched up both and hurriedly scanned the list, and began the "emergency only" procedures. In under five minutes I had contacted the watch captain, and the handful of outlying folks around the perimeter of our area. Then I switched freqs and spoke with the watch towers, discovering that they'd seen the smoke push in from the west low and slow like fog. They could not see a source but it had to be a wildfire.

I knew that we had a little protection to our west, between swamps, the newly expanded deltas from the Susitna and Little Susitna rivers, and then there was the debris field with all the earthen material all over everywhere. Less than three miles westward, an area that was once mostly very low hills between numerous swampy areas had subsided due to liquifaction, leaving what amounted to a sizable depression. That depression was slowly filling with water as rains and snow melt continued each year, but there were still large stands of mixed spruce and birch all over it. 

That would be our last defense as in between was nothing but woods and rapidly disintegrating paved roads and overgrown trails, dotted with mostly abandoned homes. Coffee forgotten, I threw a leg over the mountain bike and pedaled hard for my sister's place. I knew she had a radio too, and maintained com with many others as part of her trading network. It seemed to take forever to get there, but it took no time at all to wake her up and fill her in. In a flash she was spreading the word, asking for manpower to meet at the old volunteer fire station, the designated emergency response spot. 

That done, I headed home to gather up what fire fighting supplies I had. It wasn't much, just a selection of axes, the two man cross cut saw, shovels and whatnot. I hooked up the light weight garden cart to the bike, and loaded with everything I thought might help. On a whim, I tossed in all three chain saws and extra chains, tool kit, and a few bottles of fuel mix. Probably useless, but there was always a chance someone might have stumbled on some gas. I also grabbed whatever ready food I had on hand and dumped it in a cooler, strapping that to the top of the load. After quickly feeding the birds, I changed into work boots and tossed on a long sleeved work shirt and was out the driveway. 

Panting hard and dripping sweat, I rolled into the fire station to see someone had opened all the bay doors. There was a large group of people already there, and Bill was already organizing the supplies they brought. I was adding my stuff to the lay out area when I heard hoof beats on the pavement. I smiled, and turned to see Jim at the reins of his wagon, his prized pair of Morgan draft crosses in harness. He must have already had them working, I thought, to get here so quickly. And indeed, they were blowing and dripping sweat, as it was a warm morning. I walked over to scratch itchy faces, once again missing my own mount. The horses jumped when Bill gave a blast on his whistle and I snatched for a bridle to keep them from bolting. 

"Ok everyone, I am going to start the sirens, Tom would you wind them up, please?" He declared.

In a few seconds, the piercing wail of a 50s era wind up police siren was blasting the three short, three long, three short pattern of area wide emergency we all knew. This was repeated every five minutes for a half hour, as work crews were sorted out, reports taken, and a plan of defense figured out. One of the kids was sent off on a bike with the siren, to work north, south, and east along the main roads to warn people who weren't in our network. I turned my attention back to the leaders, and listened as they worked out how best to lay a fire break and where it should be. Eventually they concluded that the line should be on our side of the new swamp, fifty foot wide at least. 

I thought about the miles of line that needed to be cleared, and the number of people we had, and knew it wasn't enough. It seemed as though no time had passed at all, and they were all gone, leaving a forlorn pile of assorted chain saws, chains and tools behind. Jim and I had an important task, which was to travel the line, handing out wet cloth to beat down embers. For that purpose, we loaded up everything handy that would hold water and bucketed them as full as we dared from the temporary dam at the fire station. We were to supply the very thin line of folks spread along behind the front, mostly kids and everyone who couldn't wield an axe or saw. 

My sis was in her element, taking charge of all coms at the hastily put together command table. On it, they'd marked the routes and the line itself, all subject to change should wind conditions change. With the most responsible teenagers still on watch tower duty, I didn't have to worry about my son for the time being. I was just checking the weather station mounted on the station wall, when I heard my sister call for me urgently.


----------



## Narshalla

I'm away from the camp. Callie, John, Sam, and Emily are with me, as are Four, Two, and Two's 2 kids that I didn't trade.

We left late Sunday night. My arm is healing well, but it's still fragile; having more people will help.

I asked about maps, and found out something quite interesting. Amongst their things, they have 10 maps of the state and another 50 maps of this area. My place is on it, but not marked. There are four other AO's marked on the map, and other encampments have been set up within those areas; I hope that their commanders have better sense.

As for this area, I was right, they've settled in one of the least suitable valleys in the area; apparently, there are some further south that are better, but I haven't gone much further, so I didn't know.

The interesting part of the maps is that there are so many of them, and that the written instructions on the box says that they should be given to any who ask for them until the run out. What's better, marked on the maps are important things like elevation drops,and there are several places that are specifically listed as a good place to put a grain mill, and one, about seven miles Southeast, where it says that there is enough of a drop in elevation to put a turbine to generate power. They have one, incidentally, which I know because I'm a nosy snoop and they don't bother guarding anything in the camp.

I figured that I should leave them with something to think about, so I made sure that the maps and knowledge of the turbine was widely distributed on Saturday, and by Sunday, sure enough, the protests were going strong.

This place is a mess. So far, the camp consists only of tents, not laid out in any order, with animal tents scattered in every direction, and not always near the edges. No thought seems to have been given to sanitation or hygiene, or the width of paths between tents, or anything like that. What's worse, the ground is almost dry enough to work, and no fields have been laid out, no gardens planned. They don't have enough food to get through this winter, but that's not that big of a problem, because this is the very beginning of Spring. But they don't appear to be planning to plant anything, as near as I can tell, so if they're supposed to become a self-sufficient community soon, they're in trouble.

I can say that that's my reason for making so much trouble, then leaving, but to be honest, I wanted everything to be as chaotic as possible so that my leaving would be less noticeable, and it would be harder to follow me.

I didn't go straight back to my place because I figured that Col. Winston would want to know where I was and would have someone follow me, and I was right. Or maybe those three are following the others or the goats; I don't know, I don't care.

Anyways, we're heading Northeast for a ways, then I'll send the others on ahead for a while and set an ambush for our followers. I don't plan to harm them, not unless it's necessary, but I don't want that base to know where I am located.


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## barnyardfun

BUMP!! Still anxiously waiting more stories!


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## Narshalla

The ambush, such as it was, worked well, not that it was really all that necessary.

Turns out, John and I weren't the only people who had seen the writing on the wall.

Callie's one of the three teen girls. Elizabeth and Mary are the other two -- stepsisters, which is why they look nothing alike. They, and their uncle who's name is also John, were the ones following me. His last name is Conner, and he flinched when he told me, though I don't know why. No doubt there is a joke in there somewhere, but I didn't get it, and he seemed relieved that all Sam and Emily did was smirk a little and let the subject drop.

Anyways, I asked, and it turns out that Conner isn't a blood relative of either Elizabeth or Mary; he's something like the older brother of a cousin's best friend . . . Whatever. It doesn't really matter, though. What matters is that he acts and treats them like he really is their uncle, and protects them the same way John protects Callie and Sam protects Emily.

I've had a chance to talk with him about it, and the story is pretty standard fare. Elizabeth and Mary are both 14, and if she was still alive today, his oldest daughter would be 12. Conner's one of the few who are immune the the plague, but none of his family was; taking care of them is like taking care of his daughter. Like I said, pretty standard.

I, personally, wasn't sure that I wanted them with us, the girls are silly and Conner is a complete unknown to me, but Sam and Emily were both very enthusiastic; they've worked together a lot and trust him completely.

Conner and I have spent the last two days at the second, best ambush point waiting to see if we were followed. I'm not slow on the uptake, I'd caught them at the third point on my chosen path so that I could catch the people following the followers, if that makes sense. If we'd seen anything or caught anyone . . . but we didn't. It started raining mid-morning the second day, hard, washing away any trail we might have left. No matter what the movies tell you, this would not have bothered a good hunting dog, but they didn't have dogs, they had people. I'm pretty sure that if there had been any special forces after us, the rain would not have been nearly as much as an advantage as we wanted it to be, but somehow I doubted that a little camp of about a hundred would have anyone with skills my new group would have to worry about.

I'm not worried about it, though. The camp had too many problems and too few people to worry about eight people and four goats.

It took me less than two days to get from my house to the camp; with the route I used on the way back, it'll take another two days from here to get home, but I think it's worth it. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but the leadership of the camp was so weird that I don't think so.


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## squeak

More please!! :sing:


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## SpaceCadet12364

squeak said:


> More please!! :sing:


Agreed!!  :bow:


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## Pouncer

The urgent news was welcome, and game changing both. My sis had spread the word we needed gas, manpower, and chain saws, in that order. It was two or three hours out, but serious help was on the way, in the form of ATVs, gas (precious, precious gas obtained somehow from the refinery on the Kenai) and a lot of able bodies. It was a huge relief to know that other areas had also pooled resources in case of the wildfire threat, ever present here in the summer months. I mean, we were supposed to have a government, borough and state, but they weren't exactly fully functional. 

People began walking and biking in, and some began trickling in from the west...with everything they could manage-including quite a lot of small livestock. There was quite a bit of confusion as the volunteer fire station was overrun and folks began camping close by. Eventually, it seemed like the entire valley showed up, hundreds of people, a number of older ATVs, many dozens of chain saws and wonder of wonders, two ancient water tankers that had been stashed many years ago at the museum. Add in the gensets that still worked, and we had a fairly effective fighting force. 

Over the following two days, it was a mad scramble of people, equipment, other supplies and managing those in some sort of coherent fashion. I left the organizing to others who were good at it, but I don't think anyone really slept for three or four days. We'd had a smidgen of help when the winds laid down and the humidity came up on the third day, but no rain fell. 

On the fourth day, I was once again home, this time with Joey, to try to catch up on the chores. I was carefully picking anything ripe in the greenhouse when I paused.....what was that? It took me a minute to process what I was hearing-thunder. We often had storm cells form near the mountains and they typically ended up sliding north, north west and we seldom got any moisture from them. I finished my harvest of greens, tomatoes, cucumbers and early peppers and when I stepped outside I could literally smell the rain. 

Oh please, Dear Lord, let us have a rain, I prayed silently. I called Joey and he brought the four days' worth of uncollected eggs along. We washed up as quick as we could, and started loading the bikes again. I'll admit it, I was scared, deeply afraid the fire line would fold and this whole end of the Valley would be lost, all the way to the Inlet. Looking directly north, I could see massive black thunderheads, slowly moving westward. Another prayer for no lightening strikes, and we headed out to check on Big Ed. He'd elected to stay home, and climb his old moose stand on a big old birch, and radio us updates as needed. We were halfway there when we darned near ran over some girl with a bunch of goats crossing the road. A person couldn't see much when the winds were calm as smoke laid thick in low spots. It was just luck we'd heard the bell on a collar and slammed on the brakes. I gave her directions to the fire station, then dodged three cows (cows?!) that came trotting out behind her, and behind that, her father and a couple other kids dragging wagons with poultry inside cages on them. 

There was no time for much talk other than introductions, and we parted ways and sped on towards Ed's little homestead. Pedaling hard, we rounded the corner to his place, and came to a dead stop. Something big and hairy lay in the driveway, and Ed was standing over it, rifle in hand.


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## Narshalla

It's been over a week, and everyone else thought we'd be there by now. The land we're on is part of what I consider 'my' land, but we're not quite home yet.

First thing's first: quarantine and cleaning.

They all have lice (I do, too, by now) some have fleas, which meas we all do, and Mary, at least, has ringworm. I'm pretty sure Elizabeth does, too, but Elizabeth . . . she had a rougher time in the camp they came from. She'll let the other women get closer than me, and she trusts Conner, but she still thinks of me as either a man or maybe a predatory lesbian, when she admits to knowing that I'm a woman. I know it's not me -- she acted that way in the camp, too. When she was around people she trusted, she was a giggle monster, and when she thought that the people she trusted were outnumbered or someone she didn't trust got too close, she'd turn off like someone had flipped a light switch.

I still have some OTC meds for treating yeast infections, which is what we're using to treat the ringworm. They expired a couple of years ago, but it's the best any of us can do. I know the iodine (also out of date) would work, too, but I'm saving that for something more serious.

For the lice and fleas, I stashed a couple of bags of DE at this waypoint because I knew it would be necessary. DE is like salt; it's a chemical that never breaks down or expires, as long as it is kept dry.

Anyways, it's been daily baths for everyone, which would be a luxury if only we could heat the water. But still, getting clean, having clean clothes, sleeping in clean sheets every night -- cold water isn't enough to take away the joy of being clean.

We also had one last family join us, one which is giving everyone else profoundly mixed feelings. Personally, I'm just unhappy about it.

Dale is a carpenter who also knows how to use reloading equipment. He also has a good grasp of most aspects of construction. He's the one who was always arguing with Col. Winston about where to build which building and how soon. His two sons are Alex and Adam, who are 10 and 8, respectively. Both the boys are quiet. I'd say they were sneaky, but that implies a level of bad intent on their parts which I just don't see. They are curious, into everything, and they watch everything and everybody. I know, from talking to Adam, that he was probably eavesdropping on my conversations with Callie, especially about goat care, and I think he probably learned everything I taught her, too.

Dave it Dale's younger brother. If they hadn't been so . . . underhanded is the wrong word, but that's as close as I can come to what I mean. If they hadn't been so underhanded about following us, he's one I'd be glad to have. He knows animals, both domestic and wild, and he's a good hunter; he's brought us enough wild game to have meat every day. He also speaks with authority, and in such a way that the peon followers of Lt. Danson would pay attention to Dave and ignore Danson. That's why, I'm told, that Dave had nothing to do with the animals back in the camp, and nothing I've seen contradicts with this.

Dale, Dave, Alex, and even Adam are good outdoorsmen and can walk through the forest silently. That's not has hard up here as it was around the camp, because the climate around here is temperate rainforest and the camp was much dryer, but still, it's more than the other know right now, even though they are learning.

Jessica is one I am concerned about. Jessica is my age, 22, and is Dave's wife. I guess it's common-law, or something like that, but everyone says they're married, so they are. Jessica married Dave against her family's advice right after they got to the refugee camp, but before everything got so bad for a while, and both Dave and Dale have done their best to protect her. I think they might have done too good a job, because she doesn't seem to have any of the caution that the rest of the women have, or even that I have, though mine is from informed guesses and not first- or even second-hand experience. Or maybe she's just stupid like that; some people were, back before, and I guess that some people still are. The good part is that Jessica has no malice in her. No thought, either, but she is not a malicious person, and after going though highschool with half my face burned off like this, I had gotten pretty good at spotting malice or pity covered up by false niceness. Of course, she could just be better at concealing it than I am at seeing, but I don't think so, not in this case.

Jessica has two nephews and a niece. The nephews, Chris and Matthew Jackson, are cousins. Chris turned 11 last month, and Mathew will turn 11 next month. Them I'm not concerned about. Both Dave and Dale have them firmly in hand. They'd probably get into a ton of mischief if left to their own devices, just like any boy that age, but the men make sure that doesn't happen. Oddly enough, they are both followers, too, and will happily take orders from Alex and even Adam. They'll follow directions given by any of the adults, me included, which wasn't always a good thing in the camps, but they won't listen to their aunt, Jessica, or to their cousin, Cassandra.

Cassandra is the one I'm really worried about. She's rude and uncivil, has no self-control, and likes to start fights. I saw her tease the animals back in the camp and kick them when she thought no-one was watching, she likes to hit the boys when she thinks no-one is looking, and she steals. She also refused to bathe at all until the rest of the women and I pressed the issue, and even then, she was stubborn; it took two application of lye soap and scrub brushes to convince her we were serious.

Everyone else is having fun learning how to cook over an open fire and use a baking pit; she won't quit complaining about the food, she refuses to help with any of the chores . . . I could go on for hours. The absolute worst part is that she's like this, but she's only 8. Maybe something happened to her in the refugee camp, or maybe not, but as it stands, her behavior has to change, and starting tomorrow, it will.


----------



## Narshalla

We've gotten together and decided that Cassandra (not Cassie, if you please,) will be Emily's and my responsibility, not Jessica's any more. I'd feel bad about that, but when we brought up the idea, Jessica latched onto it like the proverbial drowning person handed a life preserver. Mary and Elizabeth are going to help, too, by attempting to provide some peer pressure to positively reenforce good behavior. They might both be 14, but they're still "older," and we think that being grouped with the older, more responsible kids will help.

Also, we're going to have to enlist the help of the boys, though we don't like this part at all. I've seen her hit the boys, some more than once, when she thought that no-one or no-one but Jessica could see. Starting tomorrow, we're going to give the boys permission to hit back. Chris and Matthew probably won't, but I know that Alex and especially Adam will. Adam is the one we'll have to watch the closest, too, because while he's quite a bit smaller than Cassandra, she's picked on him too much for him to let it go easily.

Like I said, we're not happy about it, but what else can we do?

I have to admit, Dale and Dave did show some good judgment showing up when they did. Our second morning here, they walked in, quietly but openly, because they both figured that we stopped here to get clean and, hopefully, not bring any bugs back. They've been thrilled about the set-up, they like how concealed it was on the outside and how it's both water-tight and ventilated, and how there's a built-in system to filter and disburse smoke and other heat waste. Altogether, I think they have guessed what they are getting into, that my isolated little farmhouse refers only to the building I live in, and that I've been leaving out details on purpose.

We've also been talking about schedules, and how to organize our labor force to get all the big tasks done. This season, it's plowing and planting, and in a couple of months, we'll have to start preserving fruits, then vegetables, grains after that, then at the beginning of winter, the root crops and meat. Everyone's thrilled to find out that I have seed potatoes and rather puzzled to find out I have potato seeds; potatoes have not been well managed over the last few years, so they're hard to find, and even if you can find them, Sam said that most of the potatoes are, well, _hot_, and that people buy them to eat, and give no thought to where the potatoes for next year are going to come from. The idea that I have enough seed potatoes to produce enough for all sixteen of us is mind boggling to them; I wonder how they're going to feel after they realize just how many we'll have to put in the ground. Also, this means that we won't really have any to eat this summer, because we're going to be planting the ones I had been planning on eating.

In between all of this, we'll have to teach everyone to cook, how to do laundry, how to sew, we'll have to do some minor repairs on some building and some major repairs on others, almost everyone needs to learn about animal husbandry, first aid, and numerous other things . . . 

And education, let's not forget about that. I was a month away from graduating highschool and already had quite a bit of dual-enrollment credits, but Jessica was only a sophomore, and Sam and Emily were freshmen. All of the others had their schooling stop when the plague hit; the youngest never went to school at all. The boys can read somewhat, and they know their letters, but Cassandra has rejected all efforts to teach her anything; I don't know how we'll fix that.

On the up side, I have all the books we'll need, and several sets of Hooked on Phonics to give the kids' a firm foundation in reading, and another set call Power Builders to get their reading levels up to par. It's actually intended for adults who need to strengthen their reading skills and gets the reading level up to the end of highschool, but I've looked all the way through it, there's nothing in there that is adult content, nor anything that would have been considered objectionable from before. the best part is that by starting the boys at these ages, 8 to 11, they will be better able to learn. Boys general aren't as good at learning things that require holding still until about this age or a little older, and by the time they hit 12 or 13, you can't tell the difference between the ones who started reading at 4 and those that started learning at 9.

I don't like planning _everyone's_ work, though, it seems too autocratic to me, but none of the adults see any choice in the matter; with 7 adults, 4 teens who act like adults, 4 relatively responsible children and one complete brat, we'll all have to work together to get things done. This year's crops are going to be light in some areas already; the pepper and tomato plants I have started already might not have survived my absence. Cassandra objected -- of course she did -- but she's not going to be doing much of the work because of her age, and we also don't expect to get much work out of her anyways. The boys, I can tell, are thinking about it, and about which jobs will be most fun and how they can get to do the 'fun' jobs.

With this many people, though, I might be able to try some of the experiments that I have wanted to do from the beginning, things that would have taken up too much time and really made no sense when it was only two people and then one person.


----------



## Narshalla

We were going to take the last leg of the trip today, and none too soon -- it's getting time to put plants into the ground, especially corn and potatoes.

We can't, though, because Cassandra, the brat, decided that she had had enough of us being "mean" to her, and took off in the middle of the night. What's worse, rather than taking off into the forest where we'd be able to track her, she took off back into the cave. It's a warren back there, with most of the tunnels too small for anyone but the boys to go through, though they lead to some big rooms. there's also quite a few unexpected drop-offs, or so I'm told -- I've never wanted to explore past the part that had been upgraded and made habitable. This part's pretty secure, what with the fake cave-in at one entrance and the kink of gate you used to see on caves that keep people -- but not animals -- out at the other, and man-made blockages or other obstacles that are designed to prevent anything larger than a raccoon from getting in at the others. The best part of the cave is that there are three of those huge metal shipping containers in here, so if someone had to store food here, there's a good chance that it would be safe. I only use the smallest part of one, and there's still some stuff (cooking and camping utensils, mostly) in another, but the third one is the one that makes this place great. It's mostly full of old, dry firewood, several cords' worth.

When dealing with the pirates in the next valley over, I had this place stocked for a siege, so I had some place to go just in case. It wasn't necessary, and since then I've diversified my cashes a great deal, but I could still have spent the winter in here in relative comfort.

But Cassandra's skinny, like most of the people who spent time in the camps, certainly small enough to make it though the grates. We think she went through the one for a tunnel that looks like it goes up to the surface, but only gets close, then heads straight down to some fast water. The water's not deep, according to the hand-drawn maps we have, but it's fast and _cold_. If she went there, then fell in, she might be able to survive long enough to get to another point in the cave where that water spreads out a great deal and goes over what can only be described as rapids; it's one of the places we _can_ get to easily, and also where we do our laundry; all the rocks have been worn smooth enough to work well for the job. She might no be able to recognize the place, though -- she refused to do any laundry, and only went there the two times we took her there to force her to bathe.

We're trying to decide what to do. We can't stay forever, not if we want to eat this winter, but none of us feel that we can just leave here here, not knowing . . .

The two things we're not going to do is either remove or change the barricades to gain access to the area, mainly because we just plain don't have the tools. Nor are we going to send any of the boys to explore; there's too much potential for trouble. When she found out that she could no longer hurt the boys on the sly, she quit trying to hide it.

The boys, given permission to react, decided that it would be better to exclude her, so she started to make trouble in different ways, none of them subtle. Last night, she had thrown a handful of dirt onto Alex's food, so we simply had the two them switch plates and made no other reaction. She threw a fit, and when that didn't work, she threw her food. When she finally realized that she had been served dinner and she wasn't getting any more, her temper tantrum so huge we ended up having to restrain her, mainly using a jacket and a roll of duct tape, one of my last. I don't know how she wiggled her way out, but she did.


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## Narshalla

We've decided. John, Callie, and Dave are going to stay here for at least a week to see if they can find her. Everyone else, including Dale, is coming with me.

Dale's going to leave a subtle trail that will be easy for Dave to follow when the time comes, and in any case, he's probably going to be back here as soon as everyone else settles in.

We'd like to do more, but what else can we do? We also don't hold out much hope that she didn't fall in the water. She missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning; all other food was secure and is accounted for, so she had nothing to eat. She might be stubborn enough to stay down there the rest of the day, but time moves oddly when there is no light to judge by; and with an empty belly, she's probably going to think it's later than it is.

Or so we hope. Like I said, she's been gone enough hours down a tunnel that has only one other exit . . .


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## barnyardfun

Narshalla your killing me! lol Can't wait to read more!


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## jamala

Oh don't leave me hanging, tell us more..


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## Pouncer

Just as relaxed as could be, Ed sang out his normal greeting, "Hey, neighbor lady" as we stared dumbfounded at the moose. "More where that came from, it was running from the fire and stopped to browse on that stand of willow brush which is why I saw it from up there." A broad grin broke over his wrinkled face and then the rest tumbled out.

He had carefully jacked a round and clicked off the safety, and just waited for the moose to take the obvious route-which was right down his driveway. He'd taken a few seconds to scan to the west and saw other large animals coming, turned around, and took his shot from above. A well placed shot as the young bull had dropped without moving. I was just processing that when he went on to tell me that two more were down, in the willows.

Oh great, I thought.....wildfire coming closer and now there's a weeks' worth of work to get done in a couple hours! 

I turned to Joey and told him to high tail it to the fire station and get some men, or whoever could be spared, along with some way to move the remains. I loaded his bike down with the produce and with the eggs transferred into his backpack, and he was gone in nothing flat. 

"Okay, old man, how many shots did you take?" I asked.

"Five, not counting the make sure shots" He replied.

"Five!" I screeched. "You shot five moose? What were you thinking?" I yelled.

With a twinkle and a chuckle, he responded "I was thinking we have a lot of people to feed, is what I was thinking! And it isn't five moose, it's three. This young bull here, a larger bull in the willows and that old silverback cow that didn't calve last year"

"You got a knife and some clean tarps?" I asked, completely overwhelmed by the size of the task ahead.

"We're not gutting in the driveway or the willows, I'll tall you that" He replied. "I'll get my come along and we'll drag it over to that tree and get the hind legs up and we'll start there"

It was a lot of effort for the two of us, even with the come along, to move that carcass over the drive to the tree. With the help of a ladder, I climbed up and rigged up the come along at Ed's direction, in a notch formed by a stout branch and the trunk. I was sweating and shaking by the time we'd managed to get that done, taking turns. We'd been making jokes about being too old to do this, when I heard engine noise coming.

"Yay, the cavalry arrives, just in time!" I quipped, wiping my dripping face.

And yes, it might as well have been the cavalry, for real. Seven men, only a few I recognized, along with several utility trailers and other gear-coolers, tarps, bone saws and whatnot. In short order they had mapped out a plan of attack for quartering the moose and packing it out of the willows. Since there wasn't much I could do, I told everyone I would go see about the ice house and canning shop, and once again, was on the bike.

I welcomed the breeze, even as I nearly cried at the effort to pedal up the rise on the way to the fire station. Joey was there, waiting with my sis and a handful of women who were riding herd on the large group of toddlers and the older children. It seemed to take no time to relay the news about the two additional moose, to have someone take off to see how much ice was left in the "ice house". That was a walk in cooler found inside a super insulated shop on one of the outer loop roads, abandoned years ago. We'd sort of commandeered the place, and everyone used it as the community refrigerator. The whole place was used for cold storage of root crops and so forth, and was where the cheeses were made, etc. 

After that, I just sort of folded up into an old lawn chair and passed out. When I finally came to, I was laying on a make shift bed, under one of the many tarps strung out among the trees. I was so tired I could barely focus, and rubbed my eyes......surely it wasn't snowing?


----------



## Pouncer

Fumbling to get my glasses on, I finally managed to squint hard enough to make out the ash fall......not snow, ash. Looked pretty weird though, big fluffy flakes obviously from the wildfire, and then some other stuff, falling pretty much like misty dust. 

Groaning at over used muscle aches and pains, I managed to get to my feet and stumble out from under cover. Everyone was hustling around, covering stuff up with whatever was handy-tarps, blankets, and so on. Two women were stringing a tarp over the water dam and several others were ushering the kids under the largest tarp off the parking lot. I found my sis and Bill had moved their tables into the doorway of the fire station, and that's where I found them both busy on radios.

I could feel the ratcheting tension rise in their voices as cryptic phrases were barked out and questions asked, answered, and relayed between them. Not wanting to interrupt whatever they were doing, I wandered off to the cooking area, hoping for something to snack on and drink. Melanie and Rachel were tending a couple huge pots of stew, and old Mike was working the skillets, making a huge mess of scrambled eggs. A cup of hot tea was offered and I was happy to have it-raspberry leaf, of course. In short order I learned that we'd had yet another catastrophe thrust upon us. 

Mt Redoubt had erupted the day before, a very large eruption that had been seen from coastal communities along Cook Inlet. That sure explained the gloomy look of the skies, and it was still very black to the north-I must not have slept very long. With little in the way of functioning weather monitoring, it was a miracle that the information was relayed at all, but it seemed the wildfire had unified the area in ways I hadn't imaged possible just the week before. 

I'd taken a small bowl of stew and had another cup of tea in hand to deliver to my sis when I heard the unmistakable booming roll of thunder off to the north. We all about jumped out of our skin, it was so loud. I knew thunder didn't always mean lightening, but it was possible we'd have more strikes-and more hot spots to find and put out. I hurried over to deliver the tea and find out what was going on.

The news was actually good, as it turned out. The fire line had held, and the fight had turned to containment and patrolling for hot spots. It might have been a very different story if the gas and chain saws hadn't been available. As it was, the saws ran nonstop for over two days, felling trees and creating that crucial line. The wheelers and the horse team had been used to drag the logs out, on our side. Dozens of people had supplied water and food to the crews working, and then many had stayed to do what they could. There weren't enough radios, of course, so several kids on ponies and bikes were used as messengers, between watch towers and the growing community at the fire station. 

With Joey back on watch tower duty, I was at loose ends. There wasn't anything I could do, really, that wasn't already being done there. I decided to just go home, and water the greenhouses, so once again I straddled the bicycle. Some chores just can't be overlooked, and watering was one of them. In clean clothes, I set to watering from the little dam we'd built at the bottom of the hill from the barn. It was tedious work, and by the time I was done I was dismayed to see how little water remained. We'd need rain soon, very soon, or I'd start loosing crops that we all depended on. The garden looked pretty good, especially the mangels we needed to feed our small stock, and of course the peas and squashes were gigantic displays, but still....it was getting too dry and while nothing had wilted, it was only a matter of time. 

About then, I just caved in to the overwhelming fear. By myself for the time being, I just let the emotions roll on out, in private. The chickens and turkeys paid me no mind as I sat down on the long bunches of grass alongside the garden, and sobbed. It just seemed like too much. Husband who knows where-if alive. The wild fire, the volcano, the everything. Thieves in the area, strangers all over after being fairly secure in my own neighborhood, the many, many deaths from the quakes, the solar storm, the sicknesses, the flu that almost killed me four years back, and so on. I was just beat down with the weight of it, and no one to share it with. 

Of course, a person can't cry forever, and eventually I got to my feet again, wiped my face, and went to check that the birds had water. I had in mind to make something, a treat....and lo and behold, the girls had gifted me with more eggs. Smiling, I headed to the house.


----------



## Pouncer

I was a couple hours into my baking project when it dawned on me I should lock up all the birds. They'd been loose in their large runs for months, and it took a little doing getting them inside the coop and stalls, but I managed. By that time, I could see a fine coating of volcanic ash on every surface. I could still hear occasional peals of thunder, a little muted but obviously not that far away. The air had that charged feeling from big storms and I again said a prayer for a good rain. Four in the afternoon and it was gloomy and everything just plain felt wrong, and it left me feeling twitchy and nervous.

I was halfway back to the house when I heard, plain as day, something moving through the brush and black spruce to the west. Instantly, I had my hog leg out, safety thumbed off and in both hands, ready. I paused, scanning the driveway on both sides, waiting for more noise to pinpoint whatever it was. Out charged a cow moose, followed by a pair of calves......hightailing it in that rambling gait so unique to moose. They dashed across the drive, headed east at a good clip. Grinning at the release of tension, I headed on up to the house to finish. 

How I managed to get the drop on the pair was more good timing and luck, than from any expertise my part. I was coming out the side door when I heard footsteps and whispering. I backed up quickly, reached around the door frame and snatched up the trusty Mossberg, and quietly checked to make sure I had the right loads in it. I knew I was a goner if I got pinned inside the house, and with more courage than I knew I had, I boldly stepped around the corner of the garage. Two guys, filthy and looking like Mad Max versions of gang bangers were standing over the bicycle trailer, checking the contents. 

"Stop right there! Hands up where I can see them!" I yelled, racking the shell into the chamber. 

Thank goodness for shotguns. If they'd caught me with only the handgun, it might have been very different, but as it was, there was a instant of stillness and then everything exploded into action. In what seemed like forever but was probably only a couple of seconds, one was down with a round through the gut, and the other was on his butt, peppered with shot. My ears were ringing and I was shaking, but they were both down. I jumped to kick their weapons away, and then unsteadily held the barrel pointed towards the survivor. 

"Stop right there, buddy.....next round is a slug, just like your partner got!" I managed to squeak out between pants.

The partner was moaning and rolling back and forth, obviously terminal as blood seeped between clamped hands and onto the ground. The survivor shut right up, and got very still. All I could think was, now what? I needed to tie the guy up but couldn't get too close and didn't have anything on me to lash him down with......oh wait! I undid the belt that carried my pistol in a makeshift holster, and forced the guy to lie on his belly on the gravel. Without even thinking about it, I held the shotgun in one hand pretty firmly against his head, while slipping the loop over his arms and lashing his elbows together behind his back. With that done, I kicked him over face up and backed away a step or two to take a good look at him.

I didn't know him, he was just another 30 something puke who preyed on others like so many we'd already run out of our area. Dirty, long hair, unshaven, bad teeth and a motley collection of clothing and gear, probably stolen from someone else. I needed help for this, and I debated what to do. Okay, lash him to something so he won't take off, first. I had him scoot back to the bike trailer, and using a cargo strap, I ratcheted him right to that, around the chest just below the rib cage-good and tight. He was making all sorts of racket but I wasn't listening, just dashed inside the house for the .08. 

When I came out with that, he got very quiet with wide eyes, but I lifted the muzzle up, and fired off four well spaced shots. Ears ringing, I waited about 30 seconds, and lit off another four. Our universal call sign for help, it was known by everyone in the area. I knew they'd hear the shots at the fire station, and help would be coming. I waited another two minutes and repeated the four rounds, for help in locating the trouble, and I waited.

Standing there, I debated forcing him to tell me whatever he knew, but decided against it. His partner had gone quiet, but was still breathing. So there we stayed, as the ash fell and the thunder boomed behind me.


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## Txrider

Cindy in NY said:


> It's been five years since an EOTWAWKI event. How do you see yourself? What is your living situation? How are you surviving? How has your life changed? Here's my "vision":


No vision.. The one thing life has taught me is that no plan survives first contact, and will have to be adapted from then on.

No telling where I would end up or what I would be doing. More than likely being the go to guy for a small community of decent folks to repair machines and keep em going.


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## Narshalla

Txrider said:


> No vision.. The one thing life has taught me is that no plan survives first contact, and will have to be adapted from then on.
> 
> No telling where I would end up or what I would be doing. More than likely being the go to guy for a small community of decent folks to repair machines and keep em going.


Txrider, you missed the point of the thread . . . this is a _story telling_ thread, and we're all making it up as we go along, in the most literal meaning of the word!


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## Cindy in NY

PART VI

âOkay, Professorâ said Jacob âgive us the bad news first.â

âWell, it appears that the orange seeds from the marmalade have rotted! They had probably already been processed too much. But the good news is that the seeds from the potpourri are holding their own. We may get orange trees yet!â 

Everyone around the table clapped at the news. The Professor gave Sarah a hug and said âYour daughter has been a big help!â which gave Jacob a rare chance to smile.

Ever since the event, he had been in a state of worry which had only lessened slightly in the last couple of years. Initially, the worry was that more would fall sick from the flu. Then the worry turned to survival of his family. Not only in terms of food and shelter but also survival in the face of those that wanted to take everything from him including his life. Everyone who had ever had an evil intent, now felt that they could run this new world the way they wanted. Usually these folks were easy to spot especially when they were shooting or attacking you. But sometimes their intent was more disguised. Early on when the village was forming, some folks were taken in who shouldnât have been. Luckily, they were found out before they did too much harm.

My husband, Kevin, told me early on that he had a hinky feeling about these three people. Everyone else thought that there was strength in numbers. These three brawny fellas from the South looked like they would be good assets. Talking with them in their first days here, I started to get that hinky feeling as well. They portrayed themselves as good ole farm boys but their knowledge of farming didnât match their portrayal. They also had that look in their eyes that they werenât quite telling the truth. It was like having the old biddy at church say âBless your heartâ to you and know that she didnât mean a word of it! When these three were caught raiding an ammunition cabinet, the gig was up. Will gathered a few of the village men and took the good ole boys to the woods. Nobody asked any questions.

This was not the kind of retirement that Kevin had been planning on. He had been looking forward to moving to Vermont, finding a place to live away from everyone, and not having to report to anyone â except me, of course! We found the perfect spot, moved in, and started in on our new life. The gardens got plowed and planted, the existing fruit trees had started producing, we had begun our first experiment in raising chickens. Kevin has even had time to start work on one of the model airplane kits that he had been collecting. 

We were far enough back in the woods that the outside world really felt like the outside world. If we wanted to listen to the radio and sing along with âPsycho Killerâ or âMuskrat Loveâ, we could and not worry about anyone hearing us. If we had wanted to walk around the yard naked, we could - but we didnât! 

Because we were only making a trip to town about once every three to four weeks, we managed to miss the initial outbreak of the flu. We caught the warnings on the radio and computer and thought it was best to stay put. After a few weeks, the warnings became more severe but there were fewer of them as communication became sporadic. After a couple months, there was no communication from the outside. We occasionally heard a gunshot so we knew others were alive. We just didnât know if they were friend or foe. 

When we decided that we needed to venture out, we hiked through the woods toward a subdivision a few miles away that we had seen during our house hunting. Our first view of it astounded us. It looked like a war zone! Of a dozen original homes, only five remained intact. The others had either burnt down or were heavily damaged. We could see some chickens wandering around and then we saw a couple of armed men. Kevin took out his binoculars to get a closer look at them.

âItâs Jacob from the feed store!â Kevin had met Jacob when he went to pick up our chicks. âI donât recognize the other man and I think thereâs someone moving around in that corner house. We need to go down and find out how many folks are there.â

After tying his white handkerchief to a long stick, we walked out of the woods towards our new home.


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## Narshalla

Well, we're starting to settle in, and everyone has calmed down after the shock of seeing what this place really looks like.

I didn't lie to them when I described my little 2 bedroom, 1 bath farmhouse with its deep basement and attached cold cellar under the front porch. I told them about the attic, and how it was insulated so that it never got cold enough to freeze so long as the rest of the house was kept warm, but that it had such a low ceiling that even the youngest wouldn't be able to stand up straight.

I told them about the all-purpose barn that I used for when the goats were near kidding, and how the chickens had another part of it, and how the loft was perfect for storing hay.

I didn't lie to them, at all . . . I just left out all the good stuff.

You see, about ten years before the plague, a man named Carson Grant won the lottery. I never learned which state or how much, but I guess it didn't matter by the time I found out. Anyways, Mr. Grant had five sons who said they wanted to be farmers, but had moved away because there were no jobs. Having met the sons, I think that having the ability to be their own bosses was also a part of it.

Mr. Grant bought land -- a _lot_ of land -- three sections, to be exact. That land included all water and mineral rights, because Mr. Grant had the forethought to know that that could be an issue later.

Once he had his land, he started building. This little farmhouse that I call my own is the only original building on the site, and even it has been extensively remodeled, with entirely new plumbing, wiring, and even spray foam insulation. The basement was deepened at the same time, and the cold room added.

After he had finished re-building this place, he had started building the rest of the settlement. His idea was that there would be a fort like central structure, eventually, with room inside for everyone, most of their animals, and enough food and water for as long as they needed it to last.

He started by building three-car garages with 2 bedroom apartments over them. He build ten of these, one for each homesite, with the idea that they would come in handy later, for when his grandchildren wanted to move out on their own. If things got bad enough, the bottom level could be used as living area, too.

He then built all the barns, chicken houses, woodsheds, and all the other assorted buildings each individual homestead would need, as if it was, indeed, an individual homestead. After all of that, he had the foundations for basements and cellars dug for the nine family houses, and had the septic systems put in, too, while he was at it.

After that, he started building the houses for his married sons first, then his plan was to continue until all nine houses were built; given that he had only five sons, I'm not sure who he thought were going to live in the other four, but that's irrelevant now. Anyways, he only got as far as building four houses for families before the plague struck and construction on the houses stopped and construction on the fence went into high gear.

The entire area within the fence is about thirty acres, all told. It sounded huge to me when I first heard about it, until I realized that my highschool, including the building, parking lots, and sports fields, was almost twice that, and we were somewhat on the small side, with room for only about 2200 students.

So the place, altogether, has fifteen livable houses on thirty acres. All of the houses have their own well, septic systems, and cisterns for water; the ones that were build as regular houses have cisterns above the kitchens, too, so the kitchens have running water. _Cold_ running water, to be sure, but still. There are ten sets of barns, chicken coops, and woodsheds; there are twenty areas set up and fences in to be used as garden plots, one for each house or apartment.

In addition, there are three community buildings; one is a combination kitchen and laundry building, one is a mufti-purpose gathering building, and the last was intended as a threshing barn with attached grain silo. The last one is the only community building that has a working solar-powered electrical system; Mr. Grant saw us going back to candles and lamps like we have, and he wanted to be sure that someone didn't accidentally set the chaff on fire.

And all of this was stocked to last forty people for two years. Food, spices, ammo, hygiene items, medicines, both OTC and prescription, clothes, cloth, plus everything that a vet or doctor would need to take care of just about every situation that can occur with animals or people, but he'd stocked up for ten years for the animals.

At first they were upset that I hadn't told Col. Winston about this place. This is just about exactly what they were supposed to create themselves; if they moved here, they'd be ahead of the curve by a decade or more. This quickly gave way to reality; all of the adults except Jessica had left because of his poor management. Would having all of this changed anything? Not a bit.

I think what really upset a lot of people is that I had so much and they had so little for so many years, and the only real reason I had it was because of sheer, dumb luck. I didn't know any member of the Grant family and had no connection to this land. I was simply lucky enough that when it came time to leave Portland, Mrs. G, my highschool science teacher, had a broken arm and a flat tire; I changed it for her, and she repaid me by getting me out of the Hell that the city was sure to become. Our second stroke of luck occurred when, heading south on I-5, we stopped at a rest stop. A toddler, youngest child of Carson Jr., Mr. Grant's oldest son, ran out into the parking lot and I saved him from getting run over by a car driven by drunk bastard who didn't care if he ran over a toddler. I know he was a drunk bastard because he slammed his SUV into the side of a tractor-trailer a couple hundred feet beyond us.

If he had thought that the child running out into the parking lot was an attempt to stop his SUV so someone could rob him, Sonny would have understood. _I_ didn't, not then, but Sonny could have. But nope, he was just a drunken ----- who didn't care who got hurt. What's worse, he had guessed correctly that law enforcement was just about to collapse, and that meant, to him, he could let his inner jerk run free with no consequences. Until he was the one hurt and needing help, that is -- he wasn't wearing a seat belt and ended up with a broken leg. Knowing Sonny, he would have helped the jerk if he hadn't been a jerk.

As it was, he decided to thank me by letting us tag along. He didn't say both of us, at first, of course -- he did one of those transparent tests that you read about, he only offered to let me come. I refused -- of course I did -- and if I had accepted and been willing to leave Mrs. G there alone, without my help, I think he wouldn't have let me come along, either.

It turns out, Mrs. G -- Mrs. Giodorocello -- went to college with Mr. Grant. There was something between them, I think, because they got together pretty quick, even when you take the whole "there might not be a tomorrow" thing into account.

I had told all this to the group when Jessica asked me, point blank, if we had brought the plague with us. I answered her honestly -- yes, we probably did, but there was no way of knowing, at that point, that the incubation period could be as long as four weeks -- twice the length we were initially told. It was probably already there, anyways, which is why I could never bring myself to feel guilty about it. Two of Mr. Grant's sons and their families arrived after us, too, so they might have brought it, not us. All told, there was more than enough blame to go around, for those who found blaming people to be comforting.

We were fine for just over 3 weeks after the last of "the boys," as Mr. Grant liked to call them, arrived. By that time, Mr. Grant and Mrs. G had moved into the larger of the bedrooms in the little farmhouse, and I had been given the smaller bedroom. The party to celebrate their marriage, though they didn't call it that, had happened on day 16, also the day that we thought we were safe.


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## Narshalla

On day 22, they started getting sick.

There are two components for surviving the plague; both involve luck. If you're really lucky, you were born with a natural immunity, like I was, like most of the group I had led back to the Grant Family's settlement was. It tended to run in families, and the Grants weren't lucky in that way. Mr. Grant had partial immunity, we think, but none of his sons, daughters-in-law, or grandchildren were immune.

The other factor is getting good care from the start, large quantities of the best anti-viral drugs, and constant hydration. That's why some of the first to be infected survived; there was still care for them. The Grant Family wasn't lucky there, either. We kept up with the hydration and, not coincidentally, I learned how to put in an IV. Mr. Grant refused to take medication himself, as did his youngest son, Carl, the only one who wasn't married. So did Harry, the third son, and his wife Amber, because they didn't have kids, and the rest did.

It didn't do any good. There simply wasn't enough medicine to go around, and after 3 days, there was only Mrs. G and me to take care of 20 sick people. And then it was 19, because Carson the Third, little Car-car, the little boy whose life I had saved, died. Then his older sisters Maggie and Deborah, his Aunt Rose and her twin daughters, their father, and then the rest died so fast that I'd check on them, and then go back ten minutes later and they'd be gone. I don't feel at all guilty about bringing the plague with me, if I did, but I do feel guilty that I couldn't save them. There's no point, given how fast they died, it was just a matter of time, anyways, but still.

After 4 days, only Mr. Grant was still alive, and him just barely. For weeks after, we didn't know if he was going to survive, and even after the fever finally broke and didn't come back, we still weren't sure he wouldn't just morn himself to death.

Mrs. G knew how to run a backhoe, thankfully, so we were able to bury them in the family graveyard. Each family had to share a grave, there was no other way we could get them in the ground fast enough, and when Mr. Grant was strong enough, and the weather was clear, we held a service for them. It wasn't much, and I wish we could have done more, but by the time we held a service, the dead were being thrown into dump trucks and taken to pits and thrown in with no ceremony or anything else that would mark them as human, or even rating as high as a family pet. It wasn't that people didn't care, it was simply that there were too many bodies and not enough time

Mr. Grant was the only Immune in his family, and that, we think, was compromised by cancer, because Dale said that Immunes usually didn't get sick at all.

Mr. Grant lasted a year, dying right before the one year anniversary of his grandson's death. Mrs. G, as I still called her, lasted another year, then died quietly in her sleep. A month later, I burned out the neighbors.


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## Narshalla

I would have welcomed them, had they been settlers and not highwaymen, but they were what they were, and that's that. Unlike what Jessica suggested, the fact that they were squatting on Grant land didn't influence me at all, and, as I had to point out to her, I had no idea at all about that new law of inheritance, which was a revamp of the old homesteading laws from back in the late 1800's. I had to ask her how, three years ago, I would have known about a law that was passed four months ago. She didn't have an answer, of course, because she hadn't thought that far ahead.

The point she so inelegantly made is that I could lay claim to the entire 3 sections, all 1,920 acres of it. Mr. Grant had owned it, and he had married Mrs. G. When he died, Mrs. G inherited everything, and when she died, it all came to me . . . or so the law states. It's convoluted, but basically, since I've been on this land since before the mass die-off, and I'm the only on who lived here for the last three years, it's mine. If a blood relative shows up, they might have some claim, but the chances of that happening are slim, to say the least.

Conner is the one who told me the reason behind the new laws, though. Many, many people died, so many that much, if not most, land in the US would be in probate while the courts search for heirs . . . but because immunity tended to run in families, almost all of the land doesn't have heirs that can be traced, even when they go back to great-great-grandparents. Corporations, as will, have collapsed, because there are so few shareholders and in many cases, on employees left, so their land rights, equipment, and inventory are also subject to this, where applicable. Given the number of people who died, there are not very many people who object to this, and sometimes rather dubious claims have been upheld because the person making the claim can, in one case, get the canning factory repaired and producing again. The other claimant was equally dubious, but had no ability or even plans to get the repairs done; he just wanted the factory so he could sell it. To whom and for what, Conner didn't know; he was just one of the silly people who though that greenbacks still had some value, so his sanity was certainly in question.

So here they are. It's not their land, and it's not going to be their land, as they see it, but still . . . Sound, weather-tight buildings, running water, septic systems, barns and sheds and fences, a community laundry and sewing room, eggs and cheese and milk, blacksmithing and woodworking and leatherworking tools . . . everything a person needs to start a life, all in one place. It's tempting for them, but I think that, without more incentive to stay, everyone except Sam and Emily will want to move on. Sam and Emily already have the incentive to stay; Emily's pregnant, and even though they haven't told everyone yet, all the adults and teens know.

Not that it matters. I didn't know that if I put in a claim, I'd own the land legally, and I never really have thought of all this land as mine. The house, the few buildings I used, my garden, yes, but not the rest of it.

Tomorrow, I'll stir everything up again when I offer to subdivide the land somewhat, but we'll have to hash out the details. Mr. Grant had the right idea; a person can't live alone, not that I ever wanted to.

But his sons were right, too -- a person needs a reason to stay, and an adult needs, to some extent, to be his own boss and not have his father telling him what to do. This is a good place to start, built to grow and last, but built to stay together, too.

This group, made up of people willing to leave the safety and security of the army camp and strike out on their own -- without being risk-takers, they are all, even Jessica, willing to take risks. They might not be who I'd have chosen, but then, I'd only really chosen two of them, certainly not enough to build a community. I figured that we might not always all get along, but we'd have our own houses, our own space, and soon, our own animals. If they had their own land, I knew that would be enough extra for them to make their start here.

I'll talk to them about it tomorrow.


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## nostawmama

Would love to see all these continued! I have subscribed to this thread but here is a bump to maybe stoke the creative juices of all the writers!


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## Narshalla

John, Callie, and Dave returned right after I finished writing my last entry. They found Cassandra.

The spot I had stopped the group, where we had bathed and got treatment for contagious stuff, had been a system of caves, made livable. Part of making it livable involved closing off areas that were not safe, marking paths and fencing off places with dangerous drop-offs.

We thought she had gone down that one tunnel -- we knew for certain she had, and we were right. But she never made it to the grate we thought she had slipped through. About half way there, there's a little side chamber that had a fence and not a permanent grate like the end because it had one of those sharp drops. Upon reflection, it seemed obvious that debris from chipping, digging, and widening out some areas had been thrown over the edge; it certainly made sense to get rid of waste rock there rather than haul it elsewhere.

Anyways, there's a chain-link fence, but it's not taut, nor is it tied to the floor or ceiling, and the gate, such as it is, is just another piece of fencing that is attached to the wall by hooks. It's also close to the main chamber, more than close enough for someone to listen in on what the people in the main chamber are saying.

Three steps into that chamber, and you can hide in an alcove and never be seen from the main corridor. One more step, and there's a forty foot drop to a pile of rubble, then another hundred or so feet down the slope of the sharp, rock studded debris to the damp, musty floor below. That's where they found Cassandra.

Dave thinks that by the time we woke up the next morning, she was just hiding; maybe she had found the alcove. But he thinks that when we first went tramping all through the cave systems, making so much noise, she probably moved farther back, and over the edge. That's the only way we wouldn't have heard her fall, with all of us moving all at the same time.

So I didn't talk with them last Sunday like I was going to, and we've all spent this week rather quietly, trying to process what happened to her and our parts in it.

Did we, as Jessica said, push her over the edge? Figuratively, we might have, but not literally, like she outright accused us all of.

For the boys, it's somewhat easier; they were never actively mean to her, certainly never cruel or abusive like she was to them. Still, they are civilized enough to know that we morn the dead, but they don't morn her. How could they? She stole, she hit, she lied and got them in trouble . . . They're sorry she's dead, in the most generic of ways, but the knowledge that they won't have to deal with her anymore . . . This dichotomy doesn't bother them.

It's less simple for us. None of us liked her; she seemed to have cultivated being unlikable. But still, we're adults, or supposed to be. Aren't adults supposed to love unconditionally? But we didn't, and we still don't. All I feel is relief that we won't have to deal with her any more.

The rest, though . . . They finally, just today, let me in on something that everyone knows and no-one is talking about, which is also the real source of their sorrow over the loss of Cassandra.

I mentioned the disparity of men to women in the camp, and how I didn't know why there were so few women. Today, John clued me in and told me something that everyone else already knows. There weren't more women because there aren't more women, and the camp was luck to get that many. For reasons no-one has bothered to share with the masses, if they know it, women were more susceptible to the plague than men, they got sick at higher rates and they died more often. Roughly speaking, there's about one woman for every five men. In the camp it was one to three, a great improvement until I showed up and convinced five of them to leave with me. The men -- Col. Winston won't care, they are convinced, if they come back or not, but the women and Elizabeth and Mary, and myself, even, we all have a great deal more value than I had realized.

But not, I found out, Jessica. Jessica is not stable, and it took a couple of days to figure out why. Cassandra was raised by Jessica's oldest brother and his wife, but Cassandra wasn't Jessica's niece, she was her daughter. Cassandra had only become Jessica's responsibility this past Christmas when her brother and mother died from a dysentery outbreak.

Jessica was just 14 when Cassandra was born. Back then, she was incapable of taking care of a baby; she could barely take care of herself. Things haven't changed much since then; she still wasn't up to taking care of Cassandra, and she is having trouble taking care of herself, especially now.

Jessica says . . . She says a lot of things, most of which cannot be verified. What Dave, her husband, did know was that as a result of an abortion -- her fourth, according to what her brother told Dave -- she can't have any more children. Also, she feels abandoned by Dave because he will no longer sleep with her. When pressed, she admits that she slept around in the refugee camp, after she got married to Dave. She also admits to sleeping around at the new camp just south of us. But it's not her fault that she cheated on her husband, according to her, though she can't tell us _why_ it's "not her fault."

I point-blank asked her if she had been raped, and she said no. I then asked her if she had _ever_ been raped, and again she said no, directly contradicting what she said about how she got pregnant with Cassandra. I pointed this out to her, and she dissolved into incoherently blaming me for it all. It turns out, she does that every time someone notices an inconsistency in her story. Inconsistency. That's a laugh. More like a hole big enough to drive a Mack truck though.

It was rude of me, but I asked Dave why he stayed with her, under the circumstances, and his reply was . . . cold, to say the least. He wanted to leave the camp, to go to one of the new settlements like the one where I found them. If you aren't active duty or you don't have a female relative to "sponsor" you, the waiting list is years long. Even with a female relative, it took over three years before they got the opportunity to leave. Staying with Jessica was the only way out; they couldn't leave without her.

I'll be honest -- I've known him two weeks, and that just didn't ring true. It was wrong of me, but I pressed him further, and finally he admitted the truth -- despite it all, he still loves her. He had just turned 20 when they first met, and as strange as it may sound, it was the first time he'd been in love, and he doesn't know how to stop. But he's not dumb enough to risk getting an STD, especially not since most medicine is so rare and expensive.

It's a mess, one we're talking about, but only in whispers. It's okay when the subject is work, or we're planning the day's chores, or someone is teaching, but there are connections we need to be forming, connections to each other, and we just can't seem to connect.

I don't know how to fix this.


----------



## Narshalla

nostawmama said:


> Would love to see all these continued! I have subscribed to this thread but here is a bump to maybe stoke the creative juices of all the writers!


I'm taking my time, because time is passing at the same rate in the story as in real life. Something important doesn't happen every day IRL, so it doesn't in the story, either.


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## Pouncer

It seemed to take forever for help to show up, but I'm sure it wasn't. A whole crowd came, including my sis and Bill, Ed, and some others. Ed took the shotgun from me, and motioned me away and I went, after quickly describing what had happened.

I took refuge in the big greenhouse, pretty much overwhelmed and numb. I just plopped right down in the chair, leaned back, and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew, Ed was putting a glass in my hand, startling me back to wakefulness.

"Drink up, you need it" He said.

Ah, homemade wine, probably currant, and it was wonderful. Immediately, I could feel the flush of warmth and the light buzz of alcohol easing away some of the tension. Taking a seat on the bench, he filled me in on what passed for "frontier justice" in our area. No law enforcement, of course, and no attorneys, or courts, or anything, but we were fair. You got caught doing a crime, you stated your case, and if you were believed, you lived. Or not, as the case may be. Bill and some of the others were interrogating the guy, before passing judgement. 

It turned out that the two guys were not alone, they were working with three others. The survivor turned on them, of course, and their camp was found-along with quite a variety of items pilfered from the area. It didn't take long to catch the others, either, as they had just picked up packs and were hot footing it down a trail to the north when they were confronted by an armed, very ticked off group of men and women. 

At the end of it all, three bodies hung from the old power pole to the east, and left there as a warning. The one guy I'd gut shot was buried in our graveyard, and the last one let loose on foot to warn others. No shoes, no coat, no weapons, no supplies except a water bottle, he was escorted over 15 miles away and released. Harsh and maybe cruel, but we'd come to learn quickly that being so harsh kept us all safe-especially after the banger wars over four years ago.

That evening, I was feeling much better with Joey home, Ed hanging out for dinner, and my Sis fussing around and over me. I headed up to the shower station to take my once a week, gotta have shower. A series of make shift sun showers had been made inside the greenhouse, with the bags up high where they'd get very hot during the day....a small enclosure of old shower curtains gave some privacy, and a tarp and pallet served as a floor. We saved the water, of course, after the second year when we'd basically had a drought. I still had some shampoo and the local soap, but I sorely missed the fancy conditioners and other toiletries of years past. When I got back to the house, squeaky clean and refreshed, I found my sis had dipped into my coffee bean supply and had a hot cup waiting for me. 

We hashed out the events of the day and I was relaxing with a large bowl of stew when I heard a monstrous thunderclap that shook the house. Things actually rattled and we all were startled, it felt so much like an earthquake it was easy to be panicked, there for a minute. By the time the second and third thunder rolled over us, we were all laughing and giggling, and couldn't stop. Tears rolling down my face, I set down my bowl and just howled with laughter-what a great way to relieve stress. A quip from my sis set us all off again, and then Joey piped up, and before we knew it, we were all much better. A contented silence came over us, as we attended our meal. 

I took the opportunity to let them know I couldn't make it without them, each of them, for the help they'd freely given, and were giving every day. Joey, being uncomfortable with praise, eased his way out to go tend the barn. I watched him stride out, broad shoulders and long hair and all, and saw the ghost of my husband within. With that, our conversation turned back to the fire, now well in hand. The ash fall was going to be an issue for however long the winds carried it to us, but I pointed out how good it would be for our soils next year. Some discussion followed about the availability of fuel, and all the help that had shown up. I was still amazed at the amount of people who arrived, ready and willing to help out. I'd always felt we were pretty much our own little enclave, our neighborhood, and that we basically stood alone since law enforcement fractured and folded at the end of the banger wars. It was good to know we weren't quite as alone as we thought we were-and there was help to be had if needed.

Joey came back in, with a bandanna tied over his face. I had him stop at the door and take off his shoes, and shirt, to shake off the ash before it was tracked inside. With ongoing thunder claps up above, he said the birds had roosted early, and all was quiet up there. He had taken the time to pick a few large armfuls of chick weed and whatever else was handy, and tossed that inside to keep them busy in the morning tomorrow. About that time, plain as day, we all saw repeated flashes of lightening through the windows. And then kaboom! More thunder rolled, and kept rolling.

Drawn outside, we stood under the porch roof and watched Mother Nature put on one heckuva show. I could only imagine that the ash had contributed to the electrical charge or something, which is what caused all the action. For every strike, I said a silent prayer for no spot wildfires, thank you please Lord. The roof of the house, the overgrown lawns and bushes, everything outside was already grey from ash, which began falling in earnest as we watched. I knew it was very sharp, abrasive enough to damage almost everything it touched, and tried to think what we needed to cover. There wasn't much to be done about the outside gardens, but I did think to get tarps on the water supplies, at least. We quickly worked to take the collection lines for that water off the house and barn, plus greenhouse eaves. If we did get a big rain, we didn't need all that ash plugging up the works. With that done, there wasn't anything left to do outside, so we headed back to the house, almost trotting to get out of the ash.


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## Narshalla

Just when I don't think things will change, everything changes, and fast.

What passes for the US government these days found us, and started demanding that Jessica, Cassandra, Elizabeth, and Mary -- and myself -- return to Camp Winston immediately. The men could do as they liked; we women were the important ones.

The idea that we had left of our own accord was not something they had even thought of; if we were gone, then obviously we were kidnapped. Also, the idea that I had never been a member of Camp Winston and didn't want to be didn't seem to have crossed their minds. It's not that they had thought of it and rejected the idea, it was almost as though they had never even contemplated the idea, that any scenario other than the one they had in mind simply could not exist.

Our vehement rejection of even the idea of returning stymied the head honcho, a man so special that the had the word "special" in his title. In the brief pause created by his gasping-fish mouth as he tried to figure out what to do next, he glanced around and his eyes lit up. We all knew what he was going to say next; like I've said before, this place is a decade ahead of every other settlement in every way imaginable except livestock.

Conner had apparently been anticipating just such a reaction, and jumped in, though I don't know how to feel about what he said next.

He announced that I had been living on the land for five years, and thus owned it, free and clear. This was true, and it obviously angered the special official though the military guys with him just nodded quietly in acceptance. He also added that we had been planning on traveling up to Gervais, the current state capital, to register my claim just as soon as the corn was in the ground, and that the onions, wheat, and potatoes were already planted. Gervais is tiny compared to many of the cities they could have used, but they don't really need all that much space, it's surrounded by farmland, and smaller means easier to clean out. Also, and this was probably a major consideration, it's really near the interstate, but the interstate doesn't run through the town, so they could, if they needed to, close up the town against a threat without affecting traffic on the interstate.

The next bit, though, almost knocked me over.

He actually claimed that we had been talking, and that there was already an agreement between the two of us that could very well lead to a marriage between us. Later, after I could think again, I realized that he hadn't _quite_ lied -- after all, we had agreed that they should stay for the summer and fall, and then we'd see -- and technically, since he's single and I'm single, we _could_ end up married -- but still!

I managed not to gape like a fish myself, and he finished by ordering the special official -- I don't remember his title, only the special part -- off my land. The special person didn't want to leave, but the escort, including his driver, was more than willing to leave, after they got some information.

They wanted to know the boundaries of the land that I claimed. Obviously, this included all the buildings and the land within the stockade, the really valuable stuff, but they wanted to know how much more I thought was mine. I told them the boundaries -- I'd long since memorized the lines -- and then gave them enough background to support my claim. They'll check it out, I know they will, but my claim will hold.

As soon as they get back to Gervais, the captain in charge of the troops told me, he'll check this out and get the registration process started. When he does, I expect that the special official will get really mad.

On this land, there used to be an old copper mine and an old iron mine. I don't know why they were shut down, but that was back in the 90's, when all the regulations were so bad that it didn't make sense for some mines to stay in business. There's also a few hundred acres of oak and birch planted, and a dozen different places where groves of fruit trees were started years ago, though I have not been able to maintain them. Some areas, hops were planted, and in others, berry vines were started. Mr. Grant wanted the land to produce as much as possible, and wanted to have many back-up sources for food, just in case the ones around the stockade didn't produce enough. They'd know about the mines, of course, but the other things wouldn't necessarily stand out, and I wasn't about to tell them.

So that's what we're going to be doing Monday -- saving the land from a government take-over. Conner will have to go with me, to keep up the appearance of something between us. It's expected; as mid evil as it sounds, generally, men didn't let their women go anywhere alone in the camps. He isn't sure about a city that has been cleared and re-occupied, but he figures that it can't be much different than the camps in this way, and even if it is, since he's from the camps, they shouldn't be surprised if he does.

Monday I _was_ going to start sewing -- everyone needs new everything -- but that will have to wait until Tuesday or maybe even Wednesday, if we have to stay overnight. If it was just me, I'd walk cross-country, and it would take two days, each way, I think. But Jessica is insisting that she go along, too, so cross-country is out; we'll have to take the roads. The roads will be much faster and easier, if less direct, but I don't know how long that will take. Because Jessica is going, Dave is going, too, which is annoying; there's so much else he could be doing. There's so much else the rest of us could be doing, too.

It's not that the roads are bad, even, it's just that one of the neighbors, early on, took out the two largest bridges, and you'd have to be a local or lucky to find the ones still up. I'm not happy that they have been repaired enough for a vehicle, even the little cobbled together, hybrid wannabe thing they're in.


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## PeachyLeigh

I haven't been loggin on for a couple of months, but I come back to this wonderfulness... Great jobs, everyone. Now KEEP going  I am hooked!


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## Pouncer

Joey was playing solitaire with a worn out deck of cards, and my sis and Ed were chatting idly about this and that, and I turned to things that had been put off during the wild fire fight. I had to open the garage doors to get enough strong light inside, but eventually I found my collection of dowel rods and strong cord, that I used to dry produce. Carefully rolled up inside a cloth bag were the screens used for dehydrating. Those were used wherever needed-the solar dehydrator, sometimes in the greenhouse in late fall, or strung tautly between the drying racks in front of the woodstove. Nearly everyone had something similar. I'd played around with the large smoker several times, but hadn't really perfected keeping it hot enough to truly dehydrate. Instead, I had bartered with someone else for a contraption that worked on the stove. Simple bunches of greens were dried at the greenhouse, with a small fire built each night in it's own wood stove. The main garden processing was done at Charlie's place, since he had the water and the proper stoves.

I'd taken to sweeping the floors every night, the old cheap laminate having really taken a beating over the years. I was still amazed at how much stuff could be tracked inside in a day, and now with the ash fall it was important to get right on it. Welcome mats and trays with dishwater placed out for visitors, I was ready to call it a night. Thunder still rocketed across the Valley, occasionally sounding like it was directly overhead. Peeking out, I could see the skies were seething, with clouds racing this way and that, and lighting up with lightening. 

Just beyond the drive, I saw something moving. Sure enough, it was Belle, one of my cats. I'd thought she was inside, but I opened the door to call her. Formerly an obese, lazy indoor cat, she'd turned into a sleek hunting machine with a beautiful coat over time. Carrying her quarry, she dashed across the open gravel, making a bee line for the door. I snatched her up to wipe the ash off and nearly got laid open by claws. As I was wrestling with her, I happened to see a flash out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I was stunned to see Jethro come trotting up, like he'd only been gone a few minutes to do his business. His fancy black and white coat was filthy, matted, and he had the shrinking, scared stance he'd had as a rescue years ago. Carefully, I put the cat down, squatted at the doorway, and gently called his name.

His ears pricked up, he paused, and then bolted into my open arms, all wiggly and happy and making his little sounds. Skinny as a rail, but alive. I had been sure he'd been picked off by predators or shot by someone or just flat got lost and kept going. Shelties are not the smartest dogs around and this one, had issues, as I used to say. We made a bit of a fuss over him, and I refilled his water and food bowls right away. He obviously was thirsty and very hungry, poor thing. After that, he needed to be in my lap while the thunder storm continued outside.

As the dog fell asleep, I thought that all in all, it had turned out to be a pretty good day. We were all safe inside, and as we debated about turning in for the night, the rain began to fall.


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## cc

Can one of the mods put this on as a sticky at least for awhile? I am afraid I am going to lose it, have a post it note with the last # of the post I read as long as I can find it.


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## nostawmama

that would be pretty handy. I subscribed to this thread so I know when the next post comes out


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## Pouncer

Well, the forum logged me out while I was working on my entry Sorry, guys. 

Ugh.


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## Ann-NWIowa

Bump bump bump. Its better to do composing in a word processing program then copy and paste.


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## Narshalla

Ann-NWIowa said:


> Bump bump bump. Its better to do composing in a word processing program then copy and paste.


Sorry, can't do this yet -- Alice Aaronson, my main character (I hadn't actually said her name yet) -- isn't back from Gervais yet. She might be by tonight, we'll see!


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## Cindy in NY

PART VII

The scream pierced through the cool fall air. Everyone had become so accustomed to the relative silence of this new world that a sound like this made your heart beat faster. By the time I got to the road from the far end of the garden, several folks were running towards the community building. The screaming continued and I recognized it as Sarah&#8217;s.

At the back of the building, we found something we didn&#8217;t want to see. The Professor was sprawled on the ground and was making a garbled, moaning sound. According to Sarah they were leaving the greenhouse to tell everyone that the orange seeds had sprouted, when the Professor grabbed his head, said something she couldn&#8217;t understand and then fell to the ground. Someone was already trying to make him more comfortable but every time they tried to move him he moaned louder. At least one person had been calm enough to ring the bell using the emergency pattern. Angela had been working in the cow barn and it would take her a few minutes to get here.

When she arrived, she did her best to check over the Professor and not cause him any more pain. She took Marcus aside and had him go and get some things from their room. Then everyone gathered around her a little bit away from the Professor. In a low voice, she said &#8220;I think he&#8217;s had a stroke and I think that when he fell that he broke his hip. I&#8217;m going to try and ease his pain and give him something to try and keep more clots from forming. It does not look good.&#8221;

As Marcus arrived with her medical pouch, she asked that someone get her a mug of hot water. She removed a couple vials of dried herbs and ground a small amount of each with her mortar and pestle. She added these to the hot water and let it steep for a few minutes. Sarah asked what she was giving him. &#8220;I&#8217;m giving him feverfew for the pain and also some garlic. That is a good anticoagulant. I&#8217;m just not sure if he&#8217;s going to be able swallow the tea.&#8221;

&#8220;I can help you&#8221; said Sarah as she choked back a sob.

&#8220;Okay, Sarah, here&#8217;s what I want you to do. Sit down at the Professor&#8217;s head and very gently lift his head. We&#8217;ll see if he can drink.&#8221; With great care, Sarah cradled his head in her hands while Angela tried to pour some tea in his mouth. Most of it dribbled down his face and onto Sarah&#8217;s hands. You could hear Sarah whispering to him &#8220;Try to drink. Oh please, try to drink!&#8221; but he was unable to do so. Sarah rested his head in her lap and used her sleeve to wipe the tea from his face. 

&#8220;We need to get him inside. Someone go get the stretcher.&#8221; We had managed to procure an older ambulance with the stretcher. It was kept in the garage of one of the homes. Angela supervised loading the Professor onto the stretcher and into the foyer of the community building. She covered him with blankets and checked his pulse. Then everyone except the security detail gathered in the great room.

Everyone considered Will to be our &#8220;mayor&#8221; so he took charge of the meeting. He asked Angela to tell everyone what she could about the Professor&#8217;s condition. &#8220;It appears that he has had a stroke and he also broke his hip when he fell. He&#8217;s in extreme pain now, he can&#8217;t move, and he can&#8217;t speak. He would require round-the-clock care and we can&#8217;t do much for his pain.&#8221;

Will cleared this throat and said &#8220;Unfortunately, it sounds like he can&#8217;t stay. We can&#8217;t help him and we can&#8217;t be with him every minute.&#8221;

Almost at the same time, Marie and Suzanne &#8211; two of the Professor&#8217;s lady friends &#8211; called out &#8220;I can take care of him!&#8221;

Will said &#8220;Neither of you can handle it. For one, he&#8217;s too heavy for either of you to manage. And secondly, you both have work that has to be done. Marie &#8211; the kids have to keep up with their school work. You are the best we have to teach English and writing. The kids have to be able to keep our written history. And Suzanne, you have to manage the sheep herd. Their wool is what keeps us warm and we can&#8217;t do without your spinning and knitting. Finally, I think Angela will agree that there isn&#8217;t any hope for the Professor. He&#8217;s in pain. He can&#8217;t stay.&#8221;

Angela sadly nodded her head in agreement.

Sarah stood up and almost screamed &#8220;We can&#8217;t send him away. We need him. He has to stay.&#8221; She was trying to maintain control of her emotions but she was losing the battle. She collapsed sobbing in her mother&#8217;s arms.

&#8220;It&#8217;s not something that I ever want to do but we have to send the Professor away. Is everyone in agreement?&#8221; There was a quiet murmur in the crowd and a general nodding of heads. 
&#8220;Okay, let&#8217;s get him down to the ambulance.&#8221;

The stretcher with the Professor was loaded into the back of the ambulance. One-by-one everyone came and said goodbye to him. A few said they couldn&#8217;t do it. Sarah and her mother came in and Sarah put a fresh flower in his lapel. When I went in, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him &#8220;Thank you for the oranges!&#8221; I would like to think that he smiled.

Will closed the back door to the ambulance, started the engine, and placed the hose in the window. Then he closed the garage door.


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## rancher1913

Had to re-read that last line a couple times. YOu really know how to make an impact!!

Moldy


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## SpaceCadet12364

It's a sad way for the character to go, but in a situation like they are in, what do you do? Its the most humane way to help in that particular set of circumstances....

I wish I could write as good as all y'all are..... :bow:


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## AmberLBowers

Wow, every thing I have written starts when "the event" happens. Now I'm thinking 5 years ahead...:kung:


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## wormlady

Wow, Cindy - didn't see that coming!!

I'm bumping this up in case any of you kind authors want to provide us with some weekend reading. 

Good job all!


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## Narshalla

I haven't written in a while, mainly because I didn't feel like it. I underestimated how difficult it would be to get used to having other people around again.

Fort Gervais was interesting, but mainly it was crowded. over five hundred people, all in the same place, all moving and talking and rubbing my nerves raw.

Lots happened. I should tell more about what and how, but I was just so glad to be out of there, I don't want to remember it.

We left on Monday and got there late on Tuesday.

Wednesday we filed the paperwork; the military guy -- I think he was a sergeant of some sort -- had already told them I was coming and they had everything ready to go. The property lines that the "special" official -- I found out that his title is "Special Agent," though there are many who feel the need to add extra to the title, to make themselves feel more important, and this guy was apparently one of those -- anyways, he hadn't given them the correct boundaries, though I don't know why he tried to fudge the lines. They have all the records from Before; the Grant land was bought in several parcels that were legally combined into one over a decade ago, separating it out now will take more effort and risk than it's worth. Later this will be different, but right now, having one owner who has a provable claim is the only way to keep the land. Otherwise, the government will take it and parcel it out to people who are supposed to be capable of farming the land.

That took most of the day; the rest was spent learning about how the Fort worked.

There's a section, just the one road, really, that is a permanent, rotating market; what you find varies from day to day. Luckily for use, Wednesday and Saturday are the big days for the market; if you can, those are the days you go to buy or sell.

Then there's the administrative section. Old government buildings are still being used as government buildings; they aren't much good for anything else.

People -- men, actually -- live one area on the edge of the city. Some live in tents outside the city itself, but those, I've been told, are temporary, because most of those in tents are looking for work.

The last section in where we stayed, but Conner and Dave wouldn't have been there without us. It was the Women's Section, and that's with capital letters. It's walled, with only four gates that are guarded at all times, and men can leave if they want but can't enter again without a to escort them or the woman's permission, _and_ the guard knows them, so for us, that meant that if they wanted to come in, we had to be right there with them.

Early Thursday, while I was in the Women's Section, some stupid **** tried to accuse me of touching her and exposing myself to her. It wasn't the first time she's made such an accusation, just the first time that her accusations could be proved categorically wrong, and all because the moron didn't realize I was female. That took all day to sort out, during which time Conner and Dave didn't know what had happened to me.

It was finally resolved; the woman is being shipped out to a work camp. The rumor is that she will go back East where some of the technology from Before is still working to receive fertility treatments so they can harvest her eggs and implant them into women who have good wombs but no eggs themselves. I don't believe it though; production of antibiotics like penicillin still haven't gotten off the ground; fertility drugs don't last as long and making them first puts the women at too much risk, because what if a pregnant woman needs antibiotics? The woman and the baby would both be at risk. I don't know _what_ is going to happen to her, but I doubt that the rumors were correct.

I got out of the "jail" to find that Dave and Conner were at the gate of the Women's Section; they had left with Jessica to look for me, then gotten separated from Jessica and they were being told that there was no-one there by that name. I escorted them in and we settled down for the night.

Friday, the day we expected to be back, I went looking for Jessica, and I found her. She had lied about her name, both first and last. She didn't need to do that; if she had told the guards that she didn't want Conner or her husband in there with her, they would have kept them out. Instead, she hid behind her lies until I found her.

She claimed she was hiding because of all the abuse she had suffered from all of us over the last five years, which hadn't actually happened -- she hadn't met Conner, Callie, John or Sam and Emily until they got to Camp Winston together three months ago, and she hadn't met me until after they left there. Years? Didn't happen, _couldn't_ have happened.

Mental instability isn't uncommon after all that's happened, and Jessica isn't the first person to go over the deep end at the fort; they know how to deal with complete irrationality, thank goodness. They took her away, to the clinic in the Women's Section. They were more than a little glad to know that they don't have to worry about her being pregnant.

The basic result of her tantrum is that she and Dave are now divorced. Because of this, we won't know what happens to her or how she is doing; according to the law, it's none of our business any more.

We did do some trading. My carrot and potato seeds were in high demand, as was the corn and wheat we had. My herb seeds were popular, too, though less so.

But if we lost one, bringing us down to 14 people, we gained another family.

A boy that I knew in highschool is a man now and he --and his family -- has hired on to work for the rest of the calendar year. He's the oldest, the next two are his sisters, both married, and then a bunch more kids, mostly girls, all unmarried, and his parents, for a total of another 15 people, doubling our population. I know the family well enough that I don't regret making the offer, even if all these people, just by their existence, grate on my nerves even more. I don't know the husbands, though, but one has been working as a farrier and blacksmith, as well as one of the city's few auto mechanics, and the other is reportedly good with leather. He also has a peddle sewing machine, which is a plus, but he's kind of stingy on letting the rest of the family use it, though I don't know why, yet -- he could have a good reason, I don't know.

They also brought six piglets with them -- two boars and two gilts who are unrelated to any of each other, and a pair of gilts who are sisters and are from a sow they know is a good mother and comes from good, productive lines. This almost made my mouth water; I haven't had pork since the last of the old sow was eaten. Mrs. G and I put her down after she was injured and the boar was killed in a lightening storm the first winter after Mr. Grant died. We might have kept the sow and caught a wild boar, but neither of us had enough experience to do that and not get injured.

They moved out quickly, but not as fast as I would have liked; we met again Friday, we got all the details straight on Saturday, and we left early Sunday morning.


----------



## Narshalla

We thought that we would be back three or four days earlier than we were, and returned to find that some of the decisions that we, as a group, had put off making had been made in our absence. I have no reason to feel this way, but it chafes that someone else made the decisions. They were good calls -- mainly preparing more fields, fencing more land and building corrals and pens for the wild animals they -- _we_ -- hope to catch this fall for meat. Horses, especially, were prepared for, because Conner knows more than a little bit about horses; catching, training, and selling horses could turn out to be a profitable sideline.

Also, the strawberries aren't ripe yet, though it's already later than they should be, and the raspberries _are_ ripe, though it's much earlier than _they_ should be, so naturally they have been canning what they can, and drying everything within reach. Dale also found three wild hives and has relocated them closer to our walls to provide pollinators for the huge gardens; that was a very good call on his part, especially since we need the honey to can and they still have months until winter to store up enough to last them.

Good decision, all of them, wise and well thought out, and every single one of the decisions are exactly what I would have done in their place, or would have urged us to do if i had been here, but still, after being the only one making decisions in my life for the last three years, it chafes.

About the only decision that I wouldn't have made was the women's -- especially Emily, poor thing -- decision to start trying to sew when they didn't know how. Not the decision itself, really, but _what_ they chose to sew -- they tried to sew bras. I was going to start with nightclothes and wrap-around skirts for the women, and get them used to how the fabric fits together, before moving on to shirts, and then shorts and pants. Emily and Callie made a common mistake -- the size of the cloth that they were supposed to cut looked much too big, so they improvised ad made it smaller than the direction. As a result, even half-way finished, it is clear that there is no way that this will fit any of the women, and because it's too small, we can't re-cut it to make it larger. Also, they chose the wrong fabric -- they chose a stretchy knit cotton that wouldn't have lasted a day before things started sagging.

It was a common mistake -- one I've done myself, years ago, so it's not like I don't understand. What's more, given this cloth, we _can_ re-purpose it for _other_ feminine uses.

One of the big things that upset me was the amount of _food_ they used while we were gone. It really freaked me out to see such a huge dent made in the pantry, or so it seemed. IT was irrational of me, but I was angry that they had eaten so much, what really seemed like so much more than they should have. They didn't say anything, but everyone gave me space until I could get it though my head that 11 people naturally eat more than 1, and that with one exception, they were very careful in their choices of what and how much to make, and that o time really wasn't their fault.

It took a while, but eventually, I did calm down enough to do the math, and I did apologize for my attitude even if I hadn't said or done anything about my anger.

And don't get me wrong, everyone understands, and gave me space to get over my initial reaction. Heck, some of them hare having trouble getting used to not having hundreds of people around all the time. The girls, in particular, look around every once in a while and start to panic because there isn't an armed, safe man around to protect them -- even though there are half a dozen armed _women_ around, and they are armed themselves -- and they start to get antsy, too. But still, the loss of control bothers me.

So Dale, Dave, and Conner have been taking me out and teaching me woodcraft when that many people get to be too much. We have been bringing in a deer, raccoon, or opossum every time we come back, and the one time we had to shoot an overly friendly yearly male bear that was interesting in our food. Tanner, Sarah's husband, the one who works with leather -- yes, that's really his name -- was thrilled about that last one. Bear fur, even one taken in the early summer, is warm and certainly more than big enough for a blanket.

Part of this is to give me space, which I desperately need. Part is to make sure that the other women are learning how to do all the things that need to be done, and actually _doing_ the stuff, and not just relying on me.

The other part, though, makes me wonder Conner what had this in mind all along. You see, I was -- close -- to James, the oldest Muser son, who is only a few months older to me, and I was on good terms with his brothers, the 17-year-old twins. Like John, all three seem to want to see if we have the possibility to make a marriage work, and it looks like Dale and Conner, and Dave, now that he's single again, have decided to keep me for themselves.

Not in a bad way, of course, but it reminds me once again that I wasn't there for some major shifts in the social structure. Mr. and Mrs. Muser -- Lyle and Moira, James' parents -- used to be a stickler for protocol and keeping up appearances. They never liked it that I had my own car and could go anywhere, with anyone I chose, Before. Now, though, as long as any of us girls -- the unmarried women are still girls in their eyes -- as long as the girls are comfortable with the guy, they don't seem to mind when one of us is alone with a man. They haven't even said anything about Deborah and Rebekkah, their 12-year-old twins, are alone with John, Dale, Dave, or Conner, even though the last three are _much_ older and that was a danger in the camps. Nope, if the girls are okay with it, they are as happy as clams at high tide. They don't like that the three men seem to be trying to cut me off from James, their son, but they don't care about overnight hunting trips at all, which is quite a change for them.

We're not going to be able to keep it up for much longer, though. When the apples start coming in, we'll need everyone -- including the men -- to help. All those people around me -- I'm not looking forward to it.


----------



## Narshalla

I suppose I would list who's who, too, because I haven't even mentioned most of the new people.

First, I'm Alice Aaronson (22). I'm an orphan and have been since before my 13th birthday. My cousin and her husband and two children came to live with me in my parents' house while they both finished college, and were in Portland, Maine, in the process of buying a house, when all this happened. They were pretty good about raising me, and never made any pretenses about anything. They also didn't expect anything in return for being my guardians except free housing; some of my relatives thought that they should receive money, too, to take care of me, and none of them were willing to pay any attention to the fact that there wasn't enough money in the estate to pay for more than two years at the salary they were asking.

Then there's the 4 that I actually asked to come along, Callie (16) and John Smith (14), brother and sister, and Sam and Emily Carhart ( both 20). They were in the same refugee camp and knew each other well.

John Conner (32) and the two girls he was guardian of, Elizabeth and Mary, both 14, were in another camp. Conner, as we call him, was just discharged from the military, though I don't know which branch. I also don't know how he managed to avoid the recall that went out. Elizabeth and Mary are actually stepsisters, and not related to Conner at all, but he's their legal guardian and father-figure, and it works.

Dale Pemberton (30) is the guy who knows construction. His two sons are Alex and Adam (10, 8). Dave Pemberton (25) is Dale's younger brother and he was Jessica's husband. Jessica was 22, my age, but she's not with us any more, so . . .

Anyways, Dale is also in charge of Jessica's nephews, Chris and Matthew Jackson (11, 10 Â½), cousins who are three months apart in age, and Cassandra Eliot, who was 8, and was also, we learned, actually Jessica's daughter.

Both Dave and Dale were avid outdoorsmen and are still very good hunters, though Dave is better with stock animals than Dale is.

I didn't invite Dave or Dale or any of their group, but other than Cassandra and Jessica, they have fit in well.

From Gervais, we picked up Lyle and Moira Muser, who are the parents and head of the Muser family. There children and sons-in-law are James (23), who was my friend in highschool, Hannah (21) who is married to Justin Carter, the smith, farrier, and mechanic (29), and Sarah (19) who is married to Tanner Smith (27), the leather worker.

Their other children are Paul and Simon, 17âyear-old twins, Rachael (14), Rebekkah and Deborah 12âyear-old twins, Martha (9) and Ruth (7).

One of the things that I noticed in Camp Winston and Gervais, both, was the lack of older people. I don't know exactly how old Lyle and Moira are, but they were among the oldest in the city. It makes sense, really, that older people didn't survive as well, but it seems that "older" meant 50's, when a lot of the people that age should have been still vigorous. I expected that there would be few -- if any -- people in their 70's or 80's, but the lack of people in their 50's and 60's surprised me.

One other thing I found out, something that everyone knows and no-one really talks about, something that isn't visible on the surface like ages and gender are -- the background of who survived. Most of the people who lived had at least one great-grandparent or closer direct relative who as full-blooded Jew. I knew about my Great-grandfather, Lyle's father and Moira's mother are both half, though they are Christians, and the rest of the group either knows or suspects which relative they owe their life to.

It's not much talked about, especially, the Musers said, by the few blacks in the camp or in Gervais, and not at all by the _very_ few Muslims that survived, but it's true none the less. I guess this is the world's revenge on Hitler, you know?

It turns out, all the medicines, especially the antibiotics, that are available come from Israel, which is no longer a surprise, given the facts.


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## JMx4

Thank you!


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## lynnabyrd

Bumping in hopes of another installment from any of you talented writers... :bow:


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## Geek

Your stories are all so wonderful! I was inspired to write a short story of my own 


The woman stood on her back steps. She carefully held a bundle in her arms as she watched the sun begin to crest over the trees that surrounded the homestead. Tears slid slowly down her face but she made no move to brush them away. Her heart ached with more feeling than she'd had in as long as she remembered. A whole lifetime had passed in the years they'd struggled through. A lifetime that she wasn't always sure they would survive. A lifetime she wasn't always sure she wanted to survive, but here she was holding a bundle that changed everything for her.

Her granddaughter moved slightly in her sleep. The child put her fist up against her mouth and sucked a bit. The woman smiled at the babe as the tears continued to fall down her face. She had no words for the feelings that grew in her. This was such a bigger thing than when she had her own child. Her child was not a product of five years of surviving the worst events that had ever happened to the world, and while she loved him with all of her heart and soul and had spent her whole adult life making sure he grew into the strong man he was today, this was different.

This child was the culmination of all of the hope she'd kept buried inside of her heart for five years. Hope that everything she had worked so hard to hold on, that every vile moment that she and her family had lived through would lead to something bigger and better if only they could get to it.

She turned and walked back into the house. She quietly went into the bedroom and laid the baby in the bassinet her son had made. She glanced at the bed and saw her son's arms wrapped firmly around his wife tucking against his side. Her daughter-in-law had been in labor for fourteen hours before the birth, but her face was smooth and peaceful as she slept. 

As the woman walked quietly from the room her son opened his eyes and smiled. He reached out his hand and caught hers as she passed. She pulled her hand away and reached to smooth his hair away from his forehead. Her son was her greatest treasure and now her daughter-in-law and granddaughter rounded out her beautiful family.

âThanks, Mom, for everythingâ he said. âHow is she?â

âShe is perfect,â the woman smiled, âgo back to sleep because soon enough sheâll be awake and wanting you both.â

As she left the room her heart swelled and more tears fell. She had no idea what the future would hold for them but she had a heart full of love and hope to move into it with.


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## Pouncer

Three weeks later, and we were into full harvest mode in the community. Charlie's stoves were being tended around the clock as canning commenced in earnest. Anyone who could process something at home, was doing so. I'd already pulled about half the mangels and gotten them down into my crawl space for the winter-the only place I had that worked. Without those mangels, I don't think a quarter of the livestock would have survived, as there was precious little cooking oil left for the older tractors, for planting and harvesting.

The way the canning worked was this: You grew what you could, and kept back what you could process at home. The rest went to Charlie's and was processed on his large stoves, and plentiful hot water. There was a small stock of canning supplies there, such as canning salt, pickling spices, old boxes of SureJel and so forth. There were also boxes of lids and rings and a wide assortment of jars, provided by the gleaners. It got rather complicated, keeping track of stuff, but essentially you took home a bit of the variety, donated some from your own place, and the rest went into the community larder. The larder served as a hedge against a bad growing season, as a food bank of sorts to help people who fell into personal disaster for whatever reason, and so on. Charlie and his wife were in charge of it all, pretty much, and I was always thankful that responsibility fell on someone else's shoulders.

About the time that canning was in full swing with the earliest things already jarred, it was salmon time again. We'd had next to no returns for a couple of years but it was said that this one should be much better, based on the numbers of previous years. A bunch of guys took off with coolers, ice, nets and other gear, packed into the horse wagon or on bike trailers. It was 21 miles one way to the closest good stream, so they'd be gone a while, sending the salmon back with runners if they were successful. 

It turned out to be a good salmon year, for which we were all supremely grateful. A couple folks put together traditional drying racks, and after expertly making precise cuts in the fillets with their ulu knives, fires were built adjacent and smoking began. The rest of us worked like dogs to jar the first run of reds, along with a few silvers. Naturally, we all feasted on this staple of Alaskan households until we couldn't eat any more. The carcasses were collected and distributed to garden compost piles, and the entrails fed out to poultry, with the remaining scraps cooked and fed to pets. A couple women saved the slimy, bloody water for applying to their gardens, and that was it-pretty much everything used somehow. Over the course of the first six tides, an astounding number of jars were processed, with every canner in the community used around the clock. In between, anything that could be processed by boiling water bath was done over outdoor cook fires-sprinkles and skeeters and all. Then, just like that, the run died out. When the filthy, tired fishermen returned, they reassured us that they'd only taken a minute percentage of what had been running, even with (previously illegal) nets being used. It was another two days to finish processing it all, but eventually that added bounty was safely in jars for the coming year.


As the days slid into August and we continued with harvest, the fall trading picked up at the fire station. Oh, I still had plenty of help on baking days and for processing, but trade was on everyone's mind. This is when you traded off some trinket or tool you'd found for something else you coveted-with ammo being a hot item as usual. I never offered up ammo, preferring that no one know the amount of 22 shells I had stashed away, or shotgun shells, or even hunting loads for that matter. I'd pretty much expended the larger handgun calibers during the banger wars, as had everyone else. Until someone found a stockpile of powder, my stash of lead for casting bullets would remain hidden under the small brush pile at home. Funny thing was, there was plenty of some things, and nothing of others, due to the timing and scope of the emergencies and disasters of previous years. With at least a 60% drop in population, there was plenty of kitchen gear, bedding, clothing, footwear, and whatnot. There was even a relatively decent stash of OTC meds remaining, after I'd convinced most folks not to toss it all away after expiration dates. 

At any rate, most of the trading revolved around labor, and most of that for either breaking new ground for gardens, or firewood. Always firewood. We'd expended the fuel provided during the fire and made a small dent in the number of trees felled for firebreaks, but it wouldn't be much good to burn until next year. A couple families specialized in firewood, and they were busy nonstop from the fire, to snows, cutting, splitting and delivering wood-using the horse wagon, of course. Every tree that came down during winter winds, was harvested, and quite a number of "empty" lots had been cleared of birch over the years. Yes, we all knew the lots belonged to someone, some where, but what else could we do? Even with most of my house shuttered in, I still went through easily 10 cords myself, not counting what I needed for the greenhouses. 

So one day at the fire station, my sis brought some very curious news. None of us could believe it when we heard it....I mean, we'd heard rumors, but not facts, you know?

Alaska had seceded from the United States of America.


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## kasilofhome

Wow....Thanks for writing I love stories.


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## Pouncer

Without any formal elections for years, and with most of us not knowing whether or not any state government truly existed-despite the emergency responders, surviving state troopers and so forth-the notion that we were free from federal oversight was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Quickly it was decided that we needed a community gathering, so the horns were sounded and the word carried by kids on bikes. In a reasonable amount of time, a goodly portion of the area residents had gathered. My sis handed off her stack of notes to Bill, which he scanned quickly.

A strange look came over his face, and he shouted for quiet. Eventually, all the chatting and rustling died away, and he began.

"Okay folks, it's true....we've seceded from the United States of America" he stated boldly. Immediately there was a large outcry, and voices were raised shouting questions and he motioned for everyone to pipe down.

When it was so silent you could nearly hear people breathing, he spoke again.

"I'll tell you everything you want to know, or as much as we do know, but please save the questions and stuff until I'm done. This communication originated from the new provisional government. We're now known as the Independent State of Alaska" He raised his hands for calm, and continued.

"Here's the story. Back when everything went to crap, we lost the majority of the legislature, and in fact nearly all branches of state and federal government, including the military bases as most of you know, lost almost everyone when the tsunami hit Anchorage. When the feds back in Washington could not be contacted, we were left pretty much to fend for ourselves. Yes, old news for us, right? Never did have much use for the feds anyway" which was met with a few catcalls.

"Now, our Governor Johnson is still in office because we don't have the means to hold elections-as I'm sure you know. He may be stranded in Juneau, but he does have radio communications with others. This is how he's been able to figure out what we've got left, what needs fixing, and what resources we have ready at hand for trade. Normally, we wouldn't be able to enter into trade agreements because that is a federal function. But, without any support from Washington, we still need the supplies and equipment for repairing our infrastructure and so on. And I don't need to remind you all, we have plenty of natural resources right here in the state"

"What you don't know is that the federal government has basically collapsed. There are military units mobile of course, but they're limited to protecting Washington, DC itself and that's about it. With Congress being in recess when the sun storm hit, nothing much gets done there, so they cannot enforce the tax code......" Raspberries arose from the assembled crowd "so they have no money to pay for anything, in a nut shell" he continued.

"Our Governor has spent the last two years researching how to legally proceed with real trade agreements, including maintaining the autonomy of the state to serve it's residents. It's taken a while, but a resolution was drafted, tweaked, submitted and finally ratified two weeks ago" 

The crowd broke out into a babble of noise as everyone attempted to figure out what it all meant. It got so loud and seemed to be about ready to explode into violence, that I walked away to the radio desk. I listened with half my attention as a long list of changes was recited. 

We'd have our own currency, backed by the resources of the state. All bank charters were negated, with a new branch of government to loan at 2% All mortgages, notes, and instruments of debt were cancelled. If you occupied a home, you owned it-until a survivor arrived that could prove prior ownership which could be verified through the existing property records. All adults over 18 years of age were subject to community service...we'd started our own armed forces too, including an air force and navy. 

Parts were en route to re-establish communications and electrical power, paid for by the oil and gas at tidewater ports-once those were repaired as well. Several cargo ships were already preparing hundreds of containers full of supplies, and would return with whatever we could barter. Plans were underway to repair the main rail to the Interior, so that coal could once again be shipped, and on and on and on.

I was just stunned. There was much more, of course, but I just couldn't process it all at the time. An impromptu party ensued after Bill got through, with much laughter, some anger, and lots of speculative questions that couldn't be answered right then. I was just awash as to what it might mean for us, because while we might all feel independent here, so far from the rest of the states.....we were still Americans. It just didn't feel quite right, somehow.

I found Joey hanging around one of the girls who'd appeared during the fire, and dragged him away. No time for that foolishness just now, we had chores to do and stuff to get dried and so home we went, monumental news or not.


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## celina

i'm up to post 78, love them ALL...way to go...someone mentioned that AT had written another story? is it true?? and where would it be??? goodness knows i've PAID for worse writting than most have showed here..INSPIRING...

keep at it...(im going to work more through this thread as baby allows


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## Cindy in NY

celina said:


> i'm up to post 78, love them ALL...way to go...someone mentioned that AT had written another story? is it true?? and where would it be??? goodness knows i've PAID for worse writting than most have showed here..INSPIRING...
> 
> keep at it...(im going to work more through this thread as baby allows


Celina - here's the link to Alan's story - it's in the vault:

http://www.homesteadingtoday.com/ge...ault/192640-fiction-we-interrupt-program.html


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## celina

thank you so much...i'm reading it now!


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## SpaceCadet12364

Cindy in NY said:


> Celina - here's the link to Alan's story - it's in the vault:
> 
> http://www.homesteadingtoday.com/ge...ault/192640-fiction-we-interrupt-program.html


I sat up and read this one all the way through last night....think I went to bed around 2 a.m.??? :whistlin:

All y'all write so GOOD!!!! O.O :bow:


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## Pouncer

For the next week or so, the new state of our new country was the only topic of conversation. Work was proceeding as rapidly as possible on ports and roads, with jerry-rigged older equipment now that fuel was becoming available from Kenai. Thank goodness for the inventiveness of a lot of mechanics, as there were quite a few older and museum type pieces available, including single engine aircraft, even a few ultralights and experimentals, plus numerous older cars and trucks. Diesel generator repairs were the hot ticket, many were slagged during the sun storm but there were older models which had been repaired and used until fuel ran out a few years back. Of course, it was mostly transport by wheeler for much of it, due to road conditions. I never did discover how they bypassed the circuitry on those things, but someone figured it out. 

I remember clear as day, sitting at the old picnic table with Joey, Andy (Joey's girlfriend), Ed, and a couple other people, sharing a lunch of greens and bread. We were all taking a break from harvesting the tomatoes and other goodies in the greenhouses, when we were silenced by a buzz off in the distance. I am sure we looked a hoot, mouths hanging open, as we listened to the increasing sound of an airplane in the skies. We all broke out into spontaneous whoops and hollers over that one, just incredibly happy that something we used to hear as a normal backdrop in our lives, had returned. 

The next trading day was great, a huge turn out, as people began to be optimistic about the future for a change. Bug dope was the hot item of the day, as someone had found three or four cases of Cutter and a couple of coils. My gosh, I was so excited I traded tobacco and promised a bunch of starts the following spring, for a box of coils and a spray can of Cutter. I threw in some dried berries as a deal clincher and walked away a happy customer. The big announcement was that they'd gotten the port partway open at Pt MacKenzie, with work continuing on the Anchorage Port. It's unfinished, high tech walls were a jumble of wreckage and it could be years before anything other than a beach landing could be made there. The port on the west side at the Point was very lucky in that most of the tsunami waters had roared up the inlet on the east side, but they had taken out the cargo handling facilities. There were two dredges on barges working already at clearing debris and reopening a channel for container ships to dock. 

Along with that announcement, came news that the federal workers-all of them-were being offered positions within the new governmental framework. National Guard and military members who wished to return to active duty, were welcome to do so, under the new flag and colors, for example. There were some positions lost for good, such as with the EPA, Education, HUD, and so forth, but it looked like most anyone who wanted to work, could. Also instituted was a rather simple monetary system, using FRNs for the time being, until new bills could be printed and traded for the old ones. If you worked on infrastructure, you could take your wages in the new currency, a script for energy, or gold at an established rate. 

Of course, that stirred up even more conversation and I couldn't keep track of all the opinions, questions, and arguments about what was right (or wrong) with any of it. Two other major developments were a call to anyone who could, to head to the Pt MacKenzie Ag district, to help ready fields and greenhouses for the coming year. No mention was made of wages or housing, but it was generally understood that folks would somehow be accommodated and fed. Maybe even at the Goose Creek correctional facility, which had been abandoned years back. The Governor made a strong plea for Alaskans to work feeding fellow Alaskans, and I found this hilarious...what did the Gov think? That we weren't already doing that? Besides, a whole bunch of the area had opened up during the quakes, being mostly sandy gravel on top of glacial till and silt. Those who had trekked out from the Point had made it clear that except for the new, wider Little Susitna River, everything had changed out there. It wasn't even known if anyone still lived out there at this point, although I was pretty sure there were a few holdouts. There were many thousands of cleared acres out there, originally for hay production. Most of it would be coming up in brush by now, and I was just thinking it would make for some danged fine moose hunting if we had gas for our own wheelers, when Joey took the wind right out of me by announcing he'd like to go work out there.

"What? Why would you do that? We have so much to get done here, Joe" I just about screeched.

"Mom, I have to do this" He stated.

"It's time, Mom, I need my own place" He said, casting a glance over to where Andy was talking with several other girls. 

Well, that shut me up right quick. Of course he needed his own home, he couldn't stay with me forever and 17 was an adult by anyone's standard these days. He needed to start a life of his own, with Andy or someone else, and by gosh he'd certainly learned how to work hard and long and do things completely and thoroughly and..........well, I felt the tears begin to well up and I turned away. 

After a few seconds to get my thoughts together, I turned around and told him I thought it was a fine idea, it was about time, and how could I help him make it happen and so forth. With a huge smile, I got wrapped up in a strong hug and we discussed the work and everything else. I was quite surprised to learn he already had a house picked out (currently empty) and that Andy was willing to share it, if her Dad approved....it seemed my baby boy had thought this through fairly well, on his own. He'd get the firewood done, help with the digging of root crops, and stick around to make sure we got everything dried we could, and then he'd head out around the first of September. When work shut down, he'd be back, and the couple would move in together. With a lump in my throat, I smiled my approval to him, and we grabbed our bikes and headed for home, laden with our trades.


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## kasilofhome

Aw............they do grow up.


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## celina

SpaceCadet12364 said:


> I sat up and read this one all the way through last night....think I went to bed around 2 a.m.??? :whistlin:
> 
> All y'all write so GOOD!!!! O.O :bow:


i know , i did nothing for a few days but read that when i could....very VERY good story


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## Pouncer

After that, everything went sideways for a while. One bake day, Ed did not show up as usual. I sent a couple teens to go check on him, and they discovered he'd passed away. He was buried there on his property and old Bill took to dividing up his tools and whatnot. We knew he had family down south, but it was a sure bet he survived them all, and his only son had died of a drug overdose just before the tsunami. We all grieved for the loss, not only for our good friend, but for his knack with fixing small things, and his reasoned discussions and advice. Joey was very upset, as Ed had stepped up to be his mentor, and father figure, since. He was nearly incoherent with grief, and there was little I could do to comfort him, really. This from the kid who faced armed intruders with stead fast resolve, bore many minor injuries without so much as a wince, and who could outwork many adults any given day. I think Ed kind of served as a solid connection to his father, as they'd been good friends for years. 

Andy's father was having nothing doing with the kids living together, but I persuaded him to let the girl stay with me while Joey worked at the Point. Her mother had been one of the medicated ones that just couldn't cope with life in general and our circumstances in particular, and she had walked out one winter night and died of exposure-presumably on purpose. Andy was very much into small livestock and with her help, I agreed to take on goats again for the winter. She spent a lot of time cutting and tying up wild grasses, then transporting it to the barn for storage. 

Some sort of respiratory something made the rounds, and most everyone ended up with a nasty cough that seemed to stick around forever. It made working outside doing firewood, collecting plants, and harvesting the garden much more effort than was normal, but thankfully we'd all had a pretty good year so there was plenty of food to go around.

Greg and his family decided to cut back on their rabbit breeding operation, and offered up pairs and singles for folks who wanted to get started breeding themselves. Rabbits weren't that easy for me, so I let Andy take charge of that project too, while I worked on sorting the poultry. I had plenty of birds to process, thanks to a number of large clutches earlier in the spring. At trading day, a bunch of us decided to wait until after a few good frosts to knock down the bug population before starting that chore-again, to be done at Charlie's. 

A few guys went out to their old hunting stands, and saw nothing, nothing at all. No return calls from experienced callers, either. It was tossed around a bit, and folks concluded that most of the moose must be holding well north of the wild fire area, which meant it was too far for most. I asked my sis if there was any way to get more gas for wheelers, but she wasn't hopeful. Everything was rumored to be tagged for construction and nothing else. A party of nearly a dozen decided to try for it anyway, on mountain bikes and hauling trailers, hoping to be back in a week.

News from up north had dried up and disappeared after heavy rains in the mountains took out foot bridges, or swamps swelled with minor flooding. When I thought about it, I hoped my husband somehow managed to get down near the Valley, and soon. I wasn't sure I could stand a winter without both my guys, you know?

With cold season not being that many weeks away, what time wasn't spent canning, was spent with firewood. I'd have given about anything for gas for the splitter, but of course there was none. Joey did the lion's share, even though we did get quite a pile that was already cut. I put plenty in the greenhouses, and then started stacking the wood shed, and finally, at the house. The wood bin in the garage held about a quarter of a cord or so, and I'd since made it much larger. After that was full, I carefully worked at kindling, and of course all scraps were raked up and put in totes. After that was finally finished, we buttoned up the wood shed for the winter by stringing up the tarps on the windward side. We'd learned how critical that was after a late spring snow squall had soaked quite a bit two years back. 

Suddenly, everything was about done, except the spuds and the mangels and a few cabbages and whatnot. There wasn't any reason for Joey to stay, and with that, Andy and I packed him up with plenty. I dipped into my stash, and tucked away vacuum sealed packages of trail mix, gorp, and chocolate, added in bar soaps, a couple tubes of toothpaste and a new toothbrush. Footwear was always an issue with size 14s, but I'd snagged on to a couple new packages of wool blend socks, and those went in also, along with plenty of gloves, jeans, bib overalls, and sweatshirts and work shirts too. It was so big, we had to add the panniers to the mountain bike so he could carry it all. Of course it included our version of a bug out bag, which held fire starters, emergency blankets, a Bic lighter, finger saw, some energy bars, water bottle, dry socks, gloves, etc. At the last minute, I added the old two man tent and a couple tarps, just in case. It was hard watching him peddle away, maybe for months, all of us teary eyed and fearful. 

Andy and I got to know each other over the next week, as we continued to pull mangels, dry seeds and everything else, and I delivered the promised tobacco to those I owed. I'll say one thing, she's not afraid of work. Not stuck on her appearance either, keeping the auburn hair tightly pinned in a bun most days, it was long like most everyone wore. She was a quick study on those things she wasn't familiar with, and I was happy for that, because Joey had the same happy quirk. We were enjoying a cup of tea between tubs of kitchen rugs we were washing, when we heard the sirens go off.

We bolted to our feet, and I shushed Jethro inside, snatched a hat and a jacket, and a spare box of ammo for the 45. I handed Andy the .22 rifle and a brick of shells (and why hadn't I asked if she could shoot?) and we were down the drive in nothing flat. Legs burning, I pumped as fast as my old self could manage, and still get in enough air. Coughing in spits and sputters, we made pretty good time down to the fire station, though we weren't the first to arrive. Standing at the open bay doors, was a small crowd in a circle. No one seemed really upset, so I was puzzled. 

I jumped off the bike, toed the kickstand down, and shouldered forward. There, sitting on a bench, were three guys unknown to me. Torn and filthy clothing, boots in shreds, bitten up by bugs something fierce, and with that hollow look that comes from not eating much. They stunk a good bit too, and needed shaves and a shower and bunch of hot meals. Bill set a couple women to starting a fire and getting some hot food going, while someone else handed out drinks to them. 

The short version is that they were refugees, from the Interior. It had taken them months to travel on foot, from outside of Fairbanks at a small compound, across the mountains and on down. My heart was instantly hopeful, because if they could do it, surely others could, and that meant maybe Kirk would too. But the tale they told, of tolls over creeks, lunatics with guns, washouts and other obstacles-well, it sounded worse than in pre Gold Rush days to me. It seems some enterprising men, if you want to call it that, charged a toll for crossing "their" land, or road, or creek, or bridge, or whatever. If you didn't have what they wanted in trade, you'd be put to work and subject to....well, whatever. Some places were pretty much chain gangs under armed guard, a couple were open for reasonable trades, and one or two allowed free passage for news. So that explained why news could pass and people didn't. 

The upshot was, they'd escaped some jerk up in the Talkeetna mountains, with a bunch of people scattering after a coordinated attack on their captors. Some had grouped together for protection, but many had just headed straight into the Bush in a panic, except for a small handful that headed downstream into the heavy brush there. None of them had any gear except for what they wore, which was pitiful enough. They'd heard a lot of gunfire, but had just kept low and kept going until they couldn't go any more, then holed up around a big deadfall. After some rest, they followed a valley on down, and crossed what had to be the Little Susitna the previous day, using logs to float it. They'd headed southwest, and ended up in our neighborhood pretty much by accident. They'd been run off at gun point everywhere along the Valley floor and had just quit when they came across the fire station, done in.


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## wormlady

Bumping this back up - loyal fans are anxiously waiting for our talented writers to continue their stories....

Thanks Pouncer for the latest installments!


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## AngieM2

(stuck it so it will be more easily worked and read)


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## goatlady

Really, really good stuff, guys!


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## Pouncer

Thank you, Angie  Some good reading here, and I am enjoying sharing my story too.


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## Pouncer

News of the situation up north was relayed to the new area admin in Anchorage. There wasn't a lot that could be done immediately, but we heard back within a couple hours that a contingent of the new armed forces would be arriving on this side of the Inlet within three days. Prior military folks who were without other obligations were asked to meet there, sign up, pledge, and accompany an expedition to "rout the outlaws". A small cheer was raised at that, since we all knew that running down and disposing off criminal elements was paramount to peace. The memory of the banger wars was still fresh for most of us, even though it was nearly four years past now. Along with that came a plea to outfit the responders with what we could-food, gear, weapons, and ammo.

So while a small group continued to quiz the escapees, and another to discuss the new developments, I got with some others and we made up a list of supplies that might be needed, trekking north at this time of the year. It didn't take long to figure out that not many would be able to go, since the one group took off looking for moose. And some had headed out already to Pt MacKenzie, like my son, for work. That left a few widowers, a handful of unattached men and women, and a passel of teenagers who were itching for adventure. If we pulled too many out from the area, then we couldn't very well stand firm for other challenges, could we? My sis passed along the requests down the radio chain, along with a plea for folks to bring their own gear. 

The three guys who'd escaped, had been fed, and provided a place to bed down right there at the fire station. They were obviously in no shape to be taking off anywhere for a while, not without some rest and meals under their belts. Bill decided to stay there, and my sis also, to tend the radios, and that left me with not much to do but go home and see what I could contribute to the upcoming expedition. I got Andy's attention and we left, chatting the whole way.

Once there, we tended chores quickly, and then turned to the task. I knew I had plenty of canned supplies, but none of it would travel in glass jars with Tattler lids. That left dried only, and to that end, I finally shared with someone else, my stash. It was hard to do, and not even Joey knew what I had squirreled away, but hidden behind a false partition in the crawl space were quite a few totes and buckets and milk crates full of this and that. Just stuff I had been putting down there and deliberately forgetting for years. I had to extract a promise of not telling a soul, or else, but it still made me very nervous when I heard Andy's gasp.

Out came a lot. Yes, a lot. Dried soup mixes, good ones. Well dried and salted moose jerky, vacuum sealed. More gorp, trail mix, and chocolate chips-also vacuum sealed. I dug out some TVP, a few spices, dried milk, quick bread mix, and so forth. Berries and ground coffee and some tea packets. A small selection of OTC meds like aspirin, ibuprofen, bandaids, antibiotic creams, some old fire starters and matches, just lots of stuff, crammed into a couple totes until every space was taken up with something useful. It took some serious effort to get the totes back out, but we managed.

Not being able to talk for an hour of sorting, I told Andy to stay put and work on readying the stalls for the livestock to come, and I took off, snagging a huge bundle of dried tobacco to top the load with. To say my load was met with some stares would be an understatement, but I did see a few other people arrive with items from their own stashes too, so at least I wasn't alone in that. While I had been gone, someone else arranged that supplies would be transported by horse drawn wagon and travois, so the quantity I'd drug with me would all go where it was needed. I strode over to my sis, and with arms crossed, blurted out the old line about armies travelling on their stomachs, and with that, she started giggling, and then that infected a couple others, and pretty soon everyone was having a good laugh and folks were going through the totes, bags, and boxes that had arrived with some excitement. Not a few envious glances were cast my way, but I chose to ignore them all. My sis had somehow snagged on to some 22 cal bricks and a wide variety of boots (boots??) and socks. Someone else had a pile of camo rain gear, another person had boonies hats and a variety of gloves, and so forth. There wasn't much doubling, really, except everyone tossed in some sort of dried food. A couple young kids brought gun cleaning kits and fire starters they'd made themselves. We all made a big fuss and then that was that, no reason to wait any longer. The wagon was loaded and tarped, then lashed down for the trip. They kept out cooking utinsels and several tarps and sleeping bags, not to mention water bottles. It seemed like no time at all before they were off, hoof beats fading down the road with 14 adults and 7 teenagers walking alongside. 

We all fell quiet after that, what could be said? We had some working at the farms, a bunch off hunting, then this. I looked around at the people, many of them older than I am, or young men with large families, basically the aged and infirm and the young. I quickly said a prayer that any trouble coming would wait until we had more bodies back home.


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## Pouncer

It seemed like everyone disappeared into the twilight zone. Nothing was heard, day after day...just snippets were picked up on the ham radio and not much of that because it seemed the new military had it's own gear and it was probably encrypted. Word had already spread for people in the valley to be on the lookout for other people who had escaped the one big stronghold, and that was about all that could be done.

A full 12 days after they'd left, a runner came from the hunting party, to let us know they'd finally had success. Immediately, we put into action the same set up we'd used with the moose taken earlier by Ed during the wildfire. Tables were readied, ice was moved to the cold storage locker, and knives sharpened. In another 18 hours the weary group finally staggered in, laden with more moose than I could imagine we could handle-two old cows, all silver backed, a couple young spike fork bulls, and three amazing specimens with huge racks. They'd used coolers with bags of cold water to keep things chilled as much as possible, and had been wetting down the larger pieces (well protected with plastic) several times a day. It had been dropping into the 30s at night, so that helped. 

After inspection, several pieces were hung to age a bit more, a few were tossed due to condition, and the rest processed on the spot. Boy was that a lot of work, and then some. Right about the time grinding was needed, I was really regretting not having more older teenagers around to help with that. We were all taking five minute spells at it when one of the refugee guys, Jim was his name, came up with this brain storm to hook up the crank shaft to a belt, and the belt to another gear thing, and from there to a stationary bike. It was pretty rickety, and the belts tended to pop off if you went too fast, but gosh what a work saver it turned out to be. Towards the end, I had Andy run home to snag spuds, carrots and a bunch of other stuff, and started a big pot of moose stew for everyone. We'd all worked pretty hard as that is a lot of meat to cut up and process in jars, many loads in the canners and the dryers and smokers going too. I was pretty sure it was literally a couple tons of meat, to be divided up between families, with the requisite 20 percent laid back into our food bank. Andy had thought to grab the fixings for quick bread so we all chowed down on thick, hot, moose stew and skillet biscuits, washed down with either tea or berry flavored cold water. 

Five of the hides had made it back, and the one guy in the area who functioned as the local tanner was contacted. He was delighted to have them, and I knew that many people would end up with something made from them. Moose didn't wear as well as some other leathers, but it worked for soles on mocs and shoes, the fur went around hooded collars, and so forth. Even with so much stuff still being traded, gleaned, and used, home made items were always in high demand. 

I was about completely worn out by the time I made it home, I really was. It had been the dickens of a couple months, and I was looking forward to spending the evening by the wood stove, with my Jethro in my lap, and doing nothing at all for a change. After cleaning up the kitchen, doing chores, and putting away miscellaneous stuff, I told Andy I was taking a long shower, and asked her to do something for me while I did. I toddled on down to the greenhouse and was happy to find the sun shower bags full and still hot. I reveled in it, I really did. We may not have had the water pressure of years back, but it was wonderful to feel the aches and pains draining away and a luscious contentment settle over me in their place. Toweled off, I donned a robe and my old slippers, grabbed my hair brush, and walked up to the garden to comb it out in the remaining sunlight. The temp was dropping but I felt so refreshed, I was amazed at the simplicity of "clean" again. 

When I finally made it inside, I found the three items I had asked for, neatly lined up on the king sized bed I seldom slept in these days. One tote contained fresh linen, complete with dryer sheets to keep the blankets and sheet set smelling decent inside the trash bag. One tote contained the best of Kirk's favorite clothes-jeans, slippers, favorite shirts and hoodies and so forth. I set that one aside. The third contained what I had gathered and stuck away just for him, the special treats he enjoyed. The expensive bean coffee, carefully double sealed in vacuum bags. Chocolates. His favorite soap, hair products, and shaving equipment. Another wrist watch, this one a solar powered one that only needed a few hours of sunlight to start working. A selection of OTC meds that worked especially well for him, plus an assortment of reading glasses in various strengths. His prized pocket knife, and wallet and comb. Hair bands, and slipped inside a small bag, his wedding ring.....the sight of that caught me a little off guard and I held on to it like I used to, when I was scared and felt his absence so terrible. 

I laid everything back where it belonged, and made up the bed. Nothing seemed to smell too musty, but I did dig up a couple branches of dried lavender that I'd been saving back for a while. Those I just laid between the pillows after taking them out of the container to make sure they still had a pleasing odor-and they did. I made sure I had a couple extra candles and one oil lamp in the room, and a means to light them, and padded back out to the living room.

I didn't realize I was smiling to myself until Andy mentioned it a while later.


----------



## Pouncer

It seemed like everyone disappeared into the twilight zone. Nothing was heard, day after day...just snippets were picked up on the ham radio and not much of that because it seemed the new military had it's own gear and it was probably encrypted. Word had already spread for people in the valley to be on the lookout for other people who had escaped the one big stronghold, and that was about all that could be done.

A full 12 days after they'd left, a runner came from the hunting party, to let us know they'd finally had success. Immediately, we put into action the same set up we'd used with the moose taken earlier by Ed during the wildfire. Tables were readied, ice was moved to the cold storage locker, and knives sharpened. In another 18 hours the weary group finally staggered in, laden with more moose than I could imagine we could handle-two old cows, all silver backed, a couple young spike fork bulls, and three amazing specimens with huge racks. They'd used coolers with bags of cold water to keep things chilled as much as possible, and had been wetting down the larger pieces (well protected with plastic) several times a day. It had been dropping into the 30s at night, so that helped. 

After inspection, several pieces were hung to age a bit more, a few were tossed due to condition, and the rest processed on the spot. Boy was that a lot of work, and then some. Right about the time grinding was needed, I was really regretting not having more older teenagers around to help with that. We were all taking five minute spells at it when one of the refugee guys, Jim was his name, came up with this brain storm to hook up the crank shaft to a belt, and the belt to another gear thing, and from there to a stationary bike. It was pretty rickety, and the belts tended to pop off if you went too fast, but gosh what a work saver it turned out to be. Towards the end, I had Andy run home to snag spuds, carrots and a bunch of other stuff, and started a big pot of moose stew for everyone. We'd all worked pretty hard as that is a lot of meat to cut up and process in jars, many loads in the canners and the dryers and smokers going too. I was pretty sure it was literally a couple tons of meat, to be divided up between families, with the requisite 20 percent laid back into our food bank. Andy had thought to grab the fixings for quick bread so we all chowed down on thick, hot, moose stew and skillet biscuits, washed down with either tea or berry flavored cold water. 

Five of the hides had made it back, and the one guy in the area who functioned as the local tanner was contacted. He was delighted to have them, and I knew that many people would end up with something made from them. Moose didn't wear as well as some other leathers, but it worked for soles on mocs and shoes, the fur went around hooded collars, and so forth. Even with so much stuff still being traded, gleaned, and used, home made items were always in high demand. 

I was about completely worn out by the time I made it home, I really was. It had been the dickens of a couple months, and I was looking forward to spending the evening by the wood stove, with my Jethro in my lap, and doing nothing at all for a change. After cleaning up the kitchen, doing chores, and putting away miscellaneous stuff, I told Andy I was taking a long shower, and asked her to do something for me while I did. I toddled on down to the greenhouse and was happy to find the sun shower bags full and still hot. I reveled in it, I really did. We may not have had the water pressure of years back, but it was wonderful to feel the aches and pains draining away and a luscious contentment settle over me in their place. Toweled off, I donned a robe and my old slippers, grabbed my hair brush, and walked up to the garden to comb it out in the remaining sunlight. The temp was dropping but I felt so refreshed, I was amazed at the simplicity of "clean" again. 

When I finally made it inside, I found the three items I had asked for, neatly lined up on the king sized bed I seldom slept in these days. One tote contained fresh linen, complete with dryer sheets to keep the blankets and sheet set smelling decent inside the trash bag. One tote contained the best of Kirk's favorite clothes-jeans, slippers, favorite shirts and hoodies and so forth. I set that one aside. The third contained what I had gathered and stuck away just for him, the special treats he enjoyed. The expensive bean coffee, carefully double sealed in vacuum bags. Chocolates. His favorite soap, hair products, and shaving equipment. Another wrist watch, this one a solar powered one that only needed a few hours of sunlight to start working. A selection of OTC meds that worked especially well for him, plus an assortment of reading glasses in various strengths. His prized pocket knife, and wallet and comb. Hair bands, and slipped inside a small bag, his wedding ring.....the sight of that caught me a little off guard and I held on to it like I used to, when I was scared and felt his absence so terrible. 

I laid everything back where it belonged, and made up the bed. Nothing seemed to smell too musty, but I did dig up a couple branches of dried lavender that I'd been saving back for a while. Those I just laid between the pillows after taking them out of the container to make sure they still had a pleasing odor-and they did. I made sure I had a couple extra candles and one oil lamp in the room, and a means to light them, and padded back out to the living room.

I didn't realize I was smiling to myself until Andy mentioned it a while later.


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## Pouncer

I've tried three times to delete the double post, and it won't stick. Sorry, readers!


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## wormlady

That's okay! I don't mind reading it twice!


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## goatlady

Where did I miss that DH was coming home then?


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## longshot38

Pouncer said:


> I've tried three times to delete the double post, and it won't stick. Sorry, readers!


no worries, i thought it was me:hysterical:


we've all done it.

dean


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## goatlady

If I promise not to comment, will somebody start posting stories again? Please, pretty please. You writers are really good and I miss new installments.


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## Narshalla

Oh no! I didn't realize how long it had been.

I'll post something later tonight.


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## Narshalla

It's well past dark now, and right now we're waiting -- all the women and most of the men -- are waiting for the trouble to start. James, Paul, and Simon aren't, but that's because they've been too stupid to smell a trap.

I would have written about what's really been happening, about what's been ripening and being preserved for later, about the decisions we've been coming to, individually and as a group, even about how I am -- finally -- getting used to having people around again, but there are other things that are more important.

Round about noon today, while most of us were out in the far orchard trimming and inspecting, the three boys were on watch. I know, I shouldn't call them that, but when they pull stupid stunts like that, what else can I think of them as?

Anyways, a caravan of travelers or gypsies or whatever they called themselves came through, looking to trade, they said. They had some things that would have been nice to have, if we had needed them, like salt and nutmeg. They also had something they said was penicillin, but the guys were smart enough to realize the price on _those_ trade goods was much too low for it to be the real thing.

The other thing there were selling, though . . .

You see, the group of people had this little song and dance that they put on about how, at a certain age, the women leave the group and go to another one to find husbands. Sadly, though, this cannot happen, even though they have some daughters who are years past the age they should leave, because they are the only group of their people left . . .

Yep, that's a three-day-old fish, indeed and it is, but the boys didn't smell it, and still don't.

They fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, and traded the better of my two bucks, half a dozen chickens, and a hundred pounds of rice for five women, aged fifteen to twenty-two.

The up side, if there is one, is that the fifteen-year-old is from that last settlement they used this on. One of the other women is also not a member of the group, but they had her quite a bit longer, so though she's been part of the group for less than two years, she's mentally one of them -- Stockholm Syndrome or something just like it.

Alicia, though, knows darn well that they'll keep trading the women away, then having the women disable the sentries and let them in that night. They sack the place, take the most valuable goods -- and women and sometimes children, too -- and then burn it to the ground and move on. I hadn't heard about them, but the Musers had. The also know Alicia's father -- she has his nose, poor thing -- and have met her twice. That's really what made her tell us -- she knows them, knows that they will take care of her like a daughter, and keep the men away from her as long as she wants them to.

And she wasn't raised on a diet of Hollywood, either, so the whole idea of her doing what her captors want because she thinks there's no other choice . . . She didn't buy into that nonsense, thank goodness. As she said, if they lied to her family to get them to let their guard down, then how does she know that they're not lying to her?

But she's locked up, too, because even with this warning, we can't be sure she won't change her mind or something. The door has a separate lock on the inside, too, that we can't open without taking the door off the hinges, so she doesn't care.

So we're waiting, probably not for much longer; Alicia said they attacked just after midnight. The three from the group switched to profanity as soon as Alicia started talking, and the other woman, who might have been described as a captive at one time, doesn't have enough brains to fill a tea cup, or maybe that's just a defense mechanism. Not that we're taking any chances; they're all locked up, regardless.


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## puddlejumper007

:bow:i know everyone is real busy this summer, but sure would love to read some more of these.. great writers...please....some more reading...


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## rickfrosty

A.T. Hagan said:


> Is this story still holding anyone's attention or should I just let it go?


C'mon, you're kidding right ? Seems very good so far - - - 
By the way, I obviously found it again - I had PM'd you asking where this was.


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## Narshalla

I'm finally capable of writing again, which is a relief. For a while there, I thought I would have to learn to write with me left hand.

We were right, the raid came shortly after I put down my pen last week. Actually, it was two weeks ago, I guess.

Over forty men -- but only men -- attacked our compound, obviously using information that James, Paul, and Simon let slip, information that they had no business telling outsiders. In fact, they should have noticed that the questions they were being asked were much too focused on our security measures and not focused on things like living facilities, or gardens, or anything that the 'girls' they 'sold' to us would need to know.

Anyway, they attacked, but we knew they were coming and we have that wonderful wall, too -- and because we had men _and_ women defending, they only outnumbered us three to two or thereabout.

So strike one was the Wall. Strike two was the fact that we knew they were coming. Strike three was that their women were locked up and couldn't sow confusion on the inside. Strike four, that they were facing many more defenders than they thought.

Strike five was something that they couldn't have known about because only myself, Conner, Dave, and Dale knew. You see, we had tree pairs of working night vision goggles. There are actually two dozen pair, but only three work. Now, they weren't a magic bullet, that's for sure. First, there were only three, and it takes practice to use night vision goggles and a rifle at the same time -- after all, these weren't scopes, which are designed for this work. That said, though, all three men are fantastic shots to begin with, and all three have had to kill humans before, so there was none of that Hollywood hesitation that was always included to improve a plot line.

The bad news is that the attackers had a 50mm gun -- in a wheelbarrow, no less -- and another four wheelbarrows full of ammunition. On the up side, they were obviously used to relying very heavily on that one weapon, so as the gunner went down, someone kept rushing to replace him. Conner was, it turned out, concentrating on the gunner of the moment, while Dave and Dale went after the ones who were trying to re-load it. All in all, they accounted for a total of twenty-one attackers between the three of them. The rest of us got ten, total, before they broke and ran. We got three more in the back as they ran, and no, we don't feel the least bit guilty about that.

The rest of them did, I mean. I actually didn't even get a shot off, though that's not really my fault. One of the first rounds of the 50mm hit me in the right arm. Not bad, mind you -- just a bit deeper than a burn, so the skin was broken, but not so deep that it hit muscle. That doesn't matter, though, because it hurt like you wouldn't believe and I bled like the proverbial stuck pig. Elizabeth bound it up, fast, and I was back on the line soon enough to realize that though there were still targets, my arm wasn't up to using a rifle, and I'm only really good with a handgun with my right hand -- or I was, anyways. I've made pretty good headway in changing that. And besides, it wasn't handgun range, anyways.

Instead, I went to check on the prisoners, the boys who were supposed to be guarding the prisoners, and the rest of the kids. Outside was a fight; what I walked into was best described as a war.

James, Paul, and Simon -- I've taken to calling them The Three Stooges -- had fallen for the tearful pleas of the females they had traded for, and wanted to let them out. They _weren't_ out, of course, but only because Rachael, Rebekkah, and Deborah were armed and had drawn on their brothers. Matthew and Chris were in the process of tying them up when I got there.

It was a mess, but short-lived, because as before, when they realized that their so-called "charms" weren't going to work, they turned back to profanity. The Three Stooges quickly realized their mistake -- _again_ -- and changed their minds about letting the women out.

I sent The Three Stooges out to the Wall because I didn't trust them not to be idiots again, and Moira and Emily soon came in to take their place. That actually made all of use feel better. Moira's old and her night vision is not good, to say the lease, and Emily is pregnant, so a little farther back is better for both of them. Moira was very proud of her daughters, and more than a little ashamed of her sons. She was also very careful to praise Chris and Matthew, too, especially because they thought she'd be angry at them.

She didn't look at me, though, and it wasn't until much later that we had a chance to talk about why.


----------



## Narshalla

Anyways, nine of the attackers got out of our range alive, we think, though there may have been some that were further away that we didn't see.

They headed back to their camp. If they had had any real idea about how to fight, they'd have set an ambush for us, but they didn't. Anyway, we were prepared for that, and the goggles would have given us enough of an advantage, we think, if they had tried.

But we also had a good idea where they had holed up, and we were right -- they were using the cave that we had stopped in to clean up, all those months ago.

The good thing about that cave is that it relies entirely on natural ventilation, so no fans were necessary to keep it habitable. In order to do this, there had to be quite a few intakes and exhaust vents, and they had to be carefully placed to create natural air flow. It's not hard, really -- prairie dogs and meerkats do it all the time, for example, by instinct. But the caves had to be set up intentionally, with ventilation build in sufficient quantities for humans, and that took a lot of vents, so you can see that getting them out, what with the supply of water, food, firewood, and space, was going to be a problem.

Or it would have been, if we didn't have three advantages. First, we pursued them, but we weren't entirely stupid,s o it was well past dawn before we caught up to them. Rushing headlong after them, like The Three Stooges started to do, would have been something akin to suicide. Second, I actually had the plans memorized, though that was entirely unnecessary, because we also had all the copies of the plans present and accounted for.

The third advantage was one that I wasn't expecting.

It stands to reason that, even if they had been killing everyone they hadn't taken with them, news of this group's existence and activities would have caught someone's attention, and it did. After all, how many groups actually have a 50mm gun, or the ammunition to use it? Ours, now, it turns out, because we certainly weren't going to give it up.

But other than that, only one group of marauders, _this_ group, had that kind of firepower, and there was a high priority placed on finding them, which is why, about an hour after we started plugging the exhaust vents, the military showed up.

Among them was the gunnery sargent that was so helpful when we were dealing with the 'special' inspector, and about a hundred troops led by a Colonel Manson. He was quite young for the job, I think, but smart enough to let Gunny handle just about everything, and smart enough to defer to the locals -- us -- and take our advice when we gave it. He was smart enough to listen to Gunny when Gunny said that there was no way they would have found all the air vents without us.

There was also another Special Agent with them who knew his place -- Special agents are really just field bookkeepers, and have the authority to ask an endless number of questions, but no authority to demand that we actually answer anything. I asked, by the way -- the last 'special' agent that he escorted, the one who gave us so many problems? Yeah, he was too special for his own good, and ended up getting himself shot. Not killed, though, because the kid aimed for his foot, but still. This one, though, is smart enough to hear the difference between Special Agent and 'special' agent, which is nice. He still asked questions like a hyperactive six-year-old, though.

By the time they got there, I was winding down. Any injury, no matter how insignificant, _hurts_ and will wear a body down after the adrenaline wear off. I was, thankfully, the worst injured, but not the only one who ended up bleeding. Someone -- who shall remain nameless -- pinched his finger in the bolt action of his rifle, though I don't know how, and took off the skin on the tip of his finger. We're watching it for infections, of course, but still, it's funnier than it is serious. There's also a sprained ankle, a bruised wrist, and someone took a tumble because he wasn't watching where he was putting his feet, but all told, we came out of the shooting in really good condition.

It was afterwards that the real fun started.


----------



## Narshalla

Like I said, I have the plans memorized, because Before, I wanted to be an architect, or maybe an engineer, or something like that. As a result, I was leading one of the groups and unfortunately we had to wade through a patch of poison ivy to get to one of the vents. We couldn't have just gone around, either, because there was poison ivy covering it.

Back Before, maybe one in four weren't allergic to it, but I wasn't one of the lucky ones. Now, though, the only people who are not allergic to it are the lucky ones who got sick early and managed to live because of medical attention. Pretty much everyone else is reactive to one degree or another, but we were dressed for the job, with ling sleeves, gloves, long pants, and everything else necessary to protect oneself from that green menace.

And the prevention methods worked, for the most part, because instead of reacting immediately, I didn't have a reaction until hours later, when the army doctor changed my bandage. Somehow, though I have no idea how, some of the oil from the poison ivy must have gotten into my wound, and then into my bloodstream, and things went downhill from there.

Thankfully, even if Doctor Goldstein didn't understand _why_, he was more than capable of recognizing anaphylaxis when he saw it, and treated me quickly, not that I knew what was going on by then.

My arm swelled up while he was intubating me and calling for more help. The next day, Thursday, while the military was negotiating with the marauders, I was unconscious while Conner, Dave, and Dale were refusing to let the doctor amputate my arm.

Two days after that, while there were testing to see if I could breath on my own -- I couldn't -- the marauders agreed to send out six of their children, which they did the next day.

All six had bombs strapped to them, and were killed by head shots while Moria was asking if there was priest that could give me Last Rights, though I'm not Catholic and neither is she.

Three days later, five bodies of the oldest women came out from the underground stream. They had tried to leave the cave by the stream where we got water but had underestimated the distance -- well over three miles -- and had drowned in the attempt. I was breathing again on my own, though, which made everyone happy.

The next day Alicia talked to the remaining marauders, and that night, five of the women who had been taken captive in the two raids before Alicia got taken and her family destroyed.

Just after dawn the next day -- last Friday, actually -- I was lucid enough to recognize Conner and Callie. They were kissing, or so I thought, and it turned out later that was was -- they had been in love for a while, but the age difference and Conner's implied promises to me had been in the way. Not that I cared at the time, though -- all I wanted was pain killers for my arm.

So I'm writing now, and can somewhat use my hand, though I have no strength yet. Conner and Callie still haven't talked to me, though their attachment has been confirmed from several sources, including John, Callie's brother.

I also talked to Moira, mother of The Three Stooges. She was hoping that I would marry James, which I knew, but I didn't really know how _much_ she was hoping I would marry into her family, and all the reasons why.

You see, James was a cherry chaser, to put it as politely as possible, and had chased me for that reason. Actually, as coldblooded and calculating as it sounds, that's why I let him chase me -- I wanted a good first experience, and his reputation told me that's what I'd get. Moira knew about his reputation, but thought, when he started pursuing me, that he had finally decided to get serious with a serious girl, and in the time since we -- her entire family and me, I mean -- met up again, she had allowed that previous relationship to assume a large importance than it really had in her mind.

The idea that she would get a daughter-in-law who she liked and respected, who was smart, well read, and self reliant was something that she couldn't help but hope for. The land part was nice, of course, but I know her well enough to know that if she didn't respect me, all the land in the world wouldn't be enough to gain her approval.

Now, though . . . Well, I call her three oldest sons The Three Stooges, and with good reason. Having more women in a settlement means having more stability, and if they were looking at if from that perspective, the boys could be forgiven, because they weren't really looking at the women themselves, but at the added value to the community. So being fooled once is . . . forgivable, barely.

When they listened to the women's pleas and were going release them during the fighting, though, because they didn't understand that the women might have been in on it, that women, as a group, aren't helpless, the lies can sometimes sound better than the truth . . . you know, I don't know _what_ they didn't understand, really, all I know is that they still refuse to believe that the four women were part of the marauders and had been sent in to distract us and, if possible, attack us from inside.

They refuse to believe that the group has done this before despite ample evidence. They refuse to believe that the women were using their sex, or sex itself, as a weapon, despite the evidence of the women's own words and actions. They won't believe that they are anything other than helpless victims, and as a result, were caught trying to help them escape -- twice, which I didn't know about until Moira told me.

Moira knows, now, that there's no way I would have any of them as a husband. What's worse, Mary and Elizabeth won't even look at them and refuse, point blank, to talk to them, Callie's taken, I'm never going to be interested, and that's every unmarried woman in the group.

They aren't going to get married, not unless they leave, and with every member of the military knowing about the situation, there is little to no chance that another group will have them, even if they could fool a woman into accepting courtship. In fact, they'd be hard pressed to get _jobs_ if they left.

They are planning to leave, though I have no idea where they will go. The military has been stripped down to the bones and is paid mostly in food and some trade goods upon discharge, and it still has more people than it needs or can afford. They are a security risk, or would be seen that way by other groups, and with good reason, so they would probably never get hired or accepted into a group like ours. They have good general skills, but nothing that would make them attractive to a place like Fort Gervais.

But they're determined to leave when the military leaves to go back to Fort Gervais.

But if we're losing three, there are more than enough volunteers amongst the army guys to replace them. Dr. Goldstein wants to stay. He's one of the few who got sick and still survived the Plague, and he mentioned that he needs to be careful who he marries. I'm still waiting to hear what he meant by that, though I don't think I'm going to like it. He's an Israeli Jew, incidentally, on loan from Israel; he can stay if he wants to, or take his wife, if he finds one, back with him. More than a few women would be happy to do that, I'm sure. Israel still has electricity and running water, and working hospitals and all the comforts of Before, but without the constant threat of terrorism.

He doesn't keep Kosher, though, because he's not observant, but he did inspect the kitchens before he let any of the soldiers eat anything that had been prepared in there. That was wise of him, but unnecessary, as Moira told him, at volume. In fact, don't let her know that I agreed with his actions; she'd serve _me,_ well done.

Gunny has expressed an interest, too. He's in his fifties but looks much younger. He's a good shot and knows construction, or so the guys tell me. I think they might want him here.

There's one man that Elizabeth likes, which is a breakthrough. For all that they are The Three Stooges, I'd trust James, Paul, and Simon to behave themselves as much as I wanted them to, or at least I would have before this debacle. They're harmless in that way, though, but Elizabeth still didn't trust them and didn't want to be left alone with them. Maybe she was imagining things, letting her past experience get the best of her, or maybe she just saw something the rest of us didn't.

The guy she likes, though, is one of Dr. Goldstein's assistants. He's the perfect lab rat, obsessive about cleanliness when it matters and was only a couple of months away from getting his Masters in Chemistry, Before. Truth is, he has a lot to offer any group; I'd be concerned that if he did stay for Elizabeth, some time in the future, some other group would offer him more than our little farming community and he'd leave, taking Elizabeth with him.

Not that she would _have_ to leave, of course. Thing are settling down along very matriarchal lines; if a husband wants to go and the wife doesn't, or vice versa, the woman gets her way. The man can leave the family if he so chooses, but the children stay with her, regardless, and he has to support them. Not that many men are willing to give up their families, because it's not like he'll get a chance to get married again.

Then there's about half of military guys. They're mostly Navy this time, actually, with a few Marines and Air Force thrown in, but the lines have been blurred. Like most military men, though, they go where they're told. Knowing what I know about Navy firefighter training, though, I wouldn't want them fight a forest fire. This is the wrong place and wrong season for that, though.

Listen to me, I'm rambling. You know what? It's time for another pain pill and a nap.


----------



## celina

thank you , thank you , thank you...

yes it holds our interests..(if i may speak for the group)

these stories are as good and better than some, i've paid for...so please continue when you all can.


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## puddlejumper007

celina said:


> thank you , thank you , thank you...
> 
> yes it holds our interests..(if i may speak for the group)
> 
> these stories are as good and better than some, i've paid for...so please continue when you all can.


yes thank you very much


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## campfiregirl

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU all!!!


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## SpaceCadet12364

Thank you all from me too!

.......(patiently but yet anxiously waiting for everyone to finish their harvesting and canning and such....so they can continue on with their most EXCELLENT stories! ).......


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## Narshalla

Oops! Forgot about this . . . .

I'll write more, soon, I think.


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## GREEN_ALIEN

If I could write anything other than my name... I too would contribute a story. But since the gift of storytelling is not one of mine, WRITERS PLEASE CONTINUE YOUR WONDERFUL STORIES. PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE. CHERRIES ON TOP.

Thank you for your stories.

Ted


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## Narshalla

It's been a long couple of months.

The remaining raiders gave up shortly after I went down for my nap. By the time I awoke, the men were swinging from the trees, and the women . . .

Well, I had been wondering what happened to that little git back in Fort Gervais, but not enough to bother asking about her.

Turns out, if a woman of childbearing years has too many mental problems, they've taken to using the same solution they used back in the 1920's -- they are give lobotomies, then placed in situations where they can kept safe while they bear children who are then raised by other families.

Of the group, seven of the sixteen adults who surrendered were part of the raiders' group, while the others were prisoners. The prisoners are still mostly mentally all there, but the seven women had all been lobotomized by the next morning. The rest are being held until it is determined weather they can ever be a part of society again; if the damage is too great, then they'll get the same treatment.

I don't like it. I don't like it at all, but the problem is, we simply _can't_ support a prison population. It _can't be done._

We're working, every single one of the twenty-nine people in little Fort Grant, our walled settlement. Well, twenty-nine if you count Alicia, which I do. It's actually nice having her around; she and Elizabeth are pretty much inseparable for reasons I certainly didn't see coming. Alicia isn't leaving, probably ever, and neither is Elizabeth.

By never, I mean that they probably won't even go to Fort Gervais willingly.

No-one's going there now, anyways. The day the army was going to move out, they got word -- there was a fever of some kind in Fort Gervais, and the area was -- is -- now quarantined. That hasn't changed, because the fever hasn't gone away, and having it once doesn't seem to protect you from the next time.

So they've spent the time patrolling between here, Winston Settlement, and three other settlements that don't have names yet. Oddly enough, the place that is closest to us is also the hardest to get to, because the army won't cross the river that comes closest to Gervais. Two settlements downstream of Gervais have also gotten the same fever. Eventually, the Pudding river empties into the Willamette River, and by the time it gets to Portland, it appears to be safe. Also, a settlement upstream of the river has it, too, so they might be the source of the fever, instead of Gervais.

So anyways, we've been working as hard as we can, trying to get enough put away for what will probably more than thirty people.

The strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries are done, while the blackberries are just coming in. Some of the apples and pears are ripe, which means that they are early, and the tomatoes are coming in hand over fist.

The seven women who had the operation are useful for carrying things and that's just about it, but with this many people working, that's okay; once they learned how to walk back and forth from the berry bushes, we could keep a group outside, picking berries, all day, while another group is inside, preserving them.

We're not keeping them, though. In fact, we're not keeping anyone except Alicia. Mostly because only Alicia will fit in well in our group and understands the legal dynamics of the situation.

The legal dynamics of the situation. Well, that's one way to understate things. Conner implied that we were engaged to be married without actually saying as much, which gave me some breathing room at the time. Well, the time is passed and so is the breathing room.

Men outnumber women by quite a bit, which means that women are in high demand. Obviously. People with as much land as I have are in high demand, as well. Combine the two . . .

The colonel command the troops is married, so I don't have to worry about him, but the second-in-command is not, and as with the bad old days in Camp Winston, he seems to believe that his rank makes him more attractive to me. Major Dalton also thinks that his business degree and career as a corporate executive from Before means that he is just the help I need to run my huge tracts of land. The worst part is that he thinks his looks give him an advantage -- he's tall, over six foot, with golden blond hair and shapely, beautiful blue eyes. His teeth are straight and even, making his smile quite eye-catching and memorable. I have to admit, this is the first time that a man's looks have cast a spell on me.

Fortunately, though, the spell his looks cast is instantly broken whenever he speaks. As Moira joked, he'd be perfect if only we could get rid of his words.

I liked Dr. Goldstein a bunch, but it was somewhat marred when I finally found out what he meant when he said that he had to be careful where he married. Still, he's fun to be around, and can tell a joke well.

Gunny is staying for sure. He's polite to me, but makes sure to keep his distance, though he tries to give off a paternal air. Turns out, he has two sons, and if he settles here, they'll join him. The paternal thing is cute, because for him, it's a numbers game -- we have half a dozen unmarried women, and the settlement is almost half women, so the odds are better here than anywhere else for him to get grandkids.

Actually, the fact that Grant is half women is causing problems. Men outnumber women by quite a bit, so the roughly fifty-fifty split is not viewed favorably by what passes for the rest of civilization. Many of the military men seem to take it for granted that we're going to accept at least twenty men -- yeah, um, _no_, that's not going to happen. We will accept some, maybe as many as ten, but maybe not; more than numbers, we're going to accept _people,_ individuals, based on who they are, what they can contribute, and how they fit in.

Jan, for instance, was actually in the Scandinavian Navy. he's good with the pigs and the horses we've caught, and he's trustworthy around the women and children. He's pleasant, and a hard worker, and has indicated a desire to stay. What's better, at least in Moira's opinion, is that he's gay. If he's not interested in women, that increases our numbers without upping the pressure. Personally, I consider that to be a _dis_advantage. He's not as good looking as Major Dalton, but he has a better figure . . . sigh. And he's nice, too, so I guess some things don't change -- all the good ones are taken or gay.

Elizabeth's tech is staying, too. Richard Morris is a decent sort, though it has taken me a while to warm up to him. There's still some distance, though, because I remind him of his sister. She didn't have burns like me from a car accident; she was paralyzed instead. I remind him of her because, he told me, we both are strong, we keep pushing, and we never give up. From what he has told me about her, if she had been immune, I think I'd have liked her. But she wasn't immune, and he thinks that he probably brought it into quarantine with him and, indirectly killed her. I've told him that he doesn't _think_ that, he _feels_ it, because there's no way to know, and like me, there were others who arrived after he did; they might have brought it with them, instead of him.

So, we aren't close, and anyway, he's interested in Elizabeth and that's not going to change, but i think we understand each other.

So that's an additional five we have to prepare for, for this winter. Maybe six, because I'm still on the fence about Tobiah -- Dr. Goldstein, that is.

I can't figure out if it's just because my feeling are hurt, though, and that's pushing me away, or because he's a doctor in a time when there are so few that's making me think that he would be a good choice . . .

I don't know. I'm probably just thinking about it too much.


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## celina

thanks....i love these ..they are so refreshing and very good...

(i know appocalypse stories...refreshing???? i love the stories of surviVING!!!!! making it through)


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## Narshalla

Well, the Three Stooges are gone.

They took off sometime last night, right after dark. I'm more than a little angry at them because they took some stuff with them that wasn't theirs to take, namely about eight pounds of various spices, namely cinnamon, cloves, and allspice. They also took a wide variety of seeds with them, too, but they didn't label any of them, the idiots.

I told the military about them heading out with the stuff, and was presented with a difficult decision. I could let them go -- after all, there's still freedom of movement, even if there's really nowhere to go -- or I could file a stolen goods report.

If I officially reported it to them, yes, they'd track the boys down and bring them back, and I'd get the spices back. The seeds weren't that important, because we've been saving seeds and have enough to trade. But the 'street' value of those spices, especially because they are all whole and are still potent -- ground spices, if they were produced back Before, have lost all thier flavor by now -- those eight pounds will buy about five years worth of dried food, at the very least. People just plain aren't importing spices, nor are we exporting food, and the areas that grow them need that land for food, plain and simple.

But if they are brought back, they will be under arrest. We can't go into Fort Gervais, but we can go down to California. The vast overwhelming majority of the farms and orchard in Cali are gone -- it takes a _lot_ of technology to keep those desert fields irrigated, and all it took was one year of neglect to kill just about everything.

But there's still some farms down there, though not as many, and they need workers. If the boys are arrested, they will be convicted -- no-one in their right mind would believe that they came by those spices honestly -- and they will be sentenced to hard labor down in Cali and shipped out.

I did the only thing I could think of in this situation -- I talked to Moira, their mother, and she told me, bluntly, that if they could be caught before they got into the quarantine area, then they should be arrested, so I filed the report, and they were brought back, the spices returned, and they'll be shipped out this coming Friday.

Moira and I have an interesting relationship. Before, I was her son's girlfriend, the latest in a long line, and she was my boyfriend's mother. We like each other, but weren't really close.

Things had already changed when I met them again in Fort Gervais last spring. Before, Lyle had been the Patriarch, and she had been his wife. she kept the house running, and he kept the Family running. But by the time I met them again, she was the Matriarch, and he was her husband, but not the Patriarch any more, if that makes any sense. She ran the Family, and though both Justin and Tanner, her sons-in-law, run thier own households, they bow to her when it comes to decisions for the Family. I don't know if there had been a discussion about going with me or not, or weather the discussion had already taken place and they were just looking for the right situation when I came along, but they had no objections at all, just packed up and followed their wives when we all moved.

Of course, this place is pretty much everything they could have asked for, and a lot more than they were expecting.

Moira still runs her Family, but I own the land, and so I run it.

I didn't realize it at first, but what I say, goes. Most times, in fact, every time except one, we get together and discuss a situation, come up with the best solution, and move on from there.

The individual 'house' gardens was one case of this. The Grants had planned that each house would have a leach field in front, buried deep, and a the wells, gardens, and animal pens in back. I had kept the grass and weeds under control, but I hadn't bothered to plant anything in most of the gardens; but overall, the way the Grants had planned things just plain made good sense to me, so I unintentionally presented the plans as though the decision was already made, and I thought, when everyone went along with it, that they agreed. They _did,_ of course, because the plans were good, well thought out, and as equitable as we could make them, and everything like that.

I hadn't noticed that there was a subtle emphasis on doing things my way, though, until the discussion of herb gardens came up. I thought -- and still think -- that every house needs its own herb garden. I knew, looking at our supplies, that we'd be out of most of the herbs that grow easily around here by the middle of next month, at the very latest. Because of this, I thought that we either needed to plant a big herb garden, or a whole bunch of little ones. I favored the little ones, with each house having thier own, because next year, when we had the time, they would, anyways, so we might as well do it this year. Further, I _knew_ we'd run out this year, well before winter but well _after_ we could be harvesting from the plants started this spring. But the rest of the group, Moira included, was calculating how much they'd use based on how much was used in the camps.

I stated that I thought it was a much better idea to get them started this year, in individual gardens, because we'd need them this year. I said this even knowing that just about everyone had already decided not to do herbs this year, but to wait until next.

And just that quick, Moira, the driving force of her family, started planning where we'd plant seedlings and where we'd plant seeds, how much of the greenhouse to devote of herbs, which porches to turn into greenhouses because we didn't have enough greenhouse space.

I didn't quite get it, not right then. But looking back, I realized that they all gave a greater weight to what I wanted than to anyone else, mainly because Moira did and does.

Not that I throw my weight around. Pretty much everyone agrees with all the plans, and pretty much everyone cooperates most of the time. It will be different next year, I think, when each household is established and we're all not so dependent on each other to get ready for winter. But not as much as the Three stooges thought; one household simply can't do everything needed, especially not when the gardens are coming in, or the orchards, or the field crops . . .

Moira and I are no longer from different generation, it seems. We talk, laugh, and joke together, I'd even go so far as to say we're friends, but there's a bit of a distance. I own the land. She owns everything she produces, but I own the land, and she never forgets it, I think.

Hannah, Sarah, and Emily, being married, are also included in the group she considers adult women, but not Callie, Rachael, Rebekkah, or Deborah, or Elizabeth, Mary, or Alicia. In fact, it seems that I am the only unmarried woman she considers an adult. I think I'm getting her to change her opinion on Callie, who just turned 17, after all, but not the younger girls, even though they're all as reliable as any of the adults.

The boys, of course, seem to have endless energy. Having them in charge of the Ten seems to help them focus on the task at hand, finally, and they were more than willing to climb the untrimmed fruit trees to get the highest fruits. All in all, they're doing well -- and finally relaxing into being boys.

I mentioned the Ten. When they came out, the most hardened of the raider women were lobotomized, all seven of them. Since then, three more have been added to that number. There is a wide range of acceptable behavior, up to and including leaving altogether to go off and make thier own way in the world, and a few of the women have done that.

One of the one who didn't got into the habit of attacking any non-raider person she saw. As near as we can tell, she was one of the captive not part of thier original group. But she has Stockholm Syndrome, and only wants to identify with the raiders. After the second attack, she got the same treatment.

Two of the women left together, and then started carrying out attacks against us. Big mistake, for several reasons, namely that both the military and our settlement are better trackers than they are. The military caught them, which is good for them; Callie and I were part of the patrol looking for them, and we wouldn't have been nearly as nice if we had found them. But the military did, and they were careful to take them alive.

They don't call it lobotomizing, by the way. Instead, they call it "Gentling" them. It doesn't make a difference, though, it's still revolting, and if I had any other solution, I'd insist we'd try that, instead.

But I don't. We're running as fast as we can just to stay in the same place, and we will be cutting into the saves supplied quite deeply to get through the winter. There's just no way around it; we can't support a prison for murderers. We _can't_. So the men, because there are so many of them, swing, and the women get "Gentled." Not for lesser things, or course -- the Three stooges will be transported, serve thier sentences, and then they can ask to return, and that happens for women, too. But for those who truly have symptoms of being destructive sociopaths, there is not other choice. If you can't fit in, or are not capable of taking yourself to somewhere where you can, or even better, away from everyone, then what choice is there? Prisons are a thing of the past, and maybe the future, but not the present.

So we have the Ten who have been Gentled. They can follow orders, and carry things, and usually keep themselves clean, but no more, not without direct supervision. Walking wombs, that's really all they are now. With only a few million people left in the world, that's all they're valuable for.


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## Narshalla

I wonder if they knew what would happen if they gave up, or if they thought they would swing with their men. Or if they thought they wouldn't be punished at all. Probably the last.

It was during a discussion about the Ten that I learned a bit more about the genetics of Plague survival. Actually, they were eight at the time; the other two had started attacking but hadn't yet been caught.

DNA is an interesting thing, really. There's a lot of information in there, and we don't know what the vast overwhelming majority of it does. Oh, we had identified some genes, but most of the space between the genes we'd identified was considered . . . well, space. The same genome codes filled that space, but it didn't actually _do_ anything. And yet, there it was, repeated again and again, almost identical from person to person.

_Almost_ identical.

As it turns out, if you are immune to the Plague, then you have eight particular gene sequences on six different chromosomes. To be precise, there is one on each of the first, ninth, eighteenth, and twenty-second chromosomes, and two each on the thirteenth and twenty-first. They've actually created a numbering system for it, which I wrote down so I could learn it; everyone else had memorized it a long time ago. It's pretty simple, actually.

Chromosome -- name
First -- 1
ninth -- 2
thirteenth -- 3,4
eighteenth -- 5
twenty-first -- 6,7
twenty-second -- 8

As far as scientist knew, all of these genes were either in the area between the genes whose purpose we were already aware of, or were genes that scientists thought had nothing at all to do with the immune system. The facts are undeniable, though -- _everyone_ who survived without medical intervention has these eight genes. Everyone, no exceptions.

Oh, some people did survive with fewer than that eight, if they had enough medical help. Some survived, barely, their bodies severely damaged by the fever, if they had seven -- like Mr. Grant. Six or fewer? Unless they were one of the very lucky ones, Like Tobiah Goldstein, they died.

Tobiah is what is called a Four Pointer -- he has four of the necessary genes, and he's homogenous for the gene found on the first chromosome. He is also a doctor, and was, luckily for him, one of the first to get sick. He lived because there was still medical care available for him, and he's one of the very few who did.

That's also why his wife divorced him. She's an Immune, a Nine Pointer, H5. I had no idea what they were talking about when I heard that, and had to ask -- she has one copy of all eight, and a second copy of the gene found on the eighteenth chromosome.

This confused me for a moment until I remember that genes have two halves -- one inherited from each parent. Lyle and Moira are both only Eight Pointers, as is James. The rest of thier children are anywhere from Ten Pointers to Rebekkah and Deborah, who are H3,4,6,7,8, or Thirteen Pointers, and lucky little Ruth, who is a Fifteen Pointer. She didn't inherit a second copy of 2, but she is homogenous for all the rest.

Tobiah is H1, 3,4,5. It's a code of sorts, but one that everyone knows, and everyone is very concerned about.

The infant mortality rate was really, really high in the camps. Given that many people in that little space, with that little food -- though the people in charge mostly did their best to provide what they could -- this was predictable. It was only two years ago that they figured out that if the baby wasn't an Eight Pointer, it wouldn't survive. It _couldn't_ survive.

That's why, even though Moira is still capable of getting pregnant, little Ruth, who was born Before, is their youngest child. Or youngest _living_ child, anyways, and after the first stillbirth, they've made sure that she didn't get pregnant again.

It is also why Tobiah is interested in me and me alone among the women.

You see, just over a year ago, they -- the Israelis, that is -- developed a special wash that can be -- that _is_ -- used to treat sperm. Each spermatozoa is half of what a person will be, and can only carry eight of the necessary genes if it is normal and viable. When used on sperm, this treatment kills all the sperm that are not already Eight Pointers. That's usually most of them, as it happens, and sometimes all of them, but it's also cheap at twice the price.

Ova are rare and much more fragile, and a pregnancy is expensive to maintain, so the best chance must be given to ensure that the baby will live. The mother may or may not pass on all eight of the relevant genes in her ova, but weather she has or not, the ova are already formed. It's done, they are what they are, and they can't be changed, so if the baby is to live, the sperm has to be selected so that it carries the genes.

That's what the wash does, and what Tobiah can do in his mobile hospital -- wash the sperm to make sure that any that don't have all eight genes don't implant into the ovum and produce a baby that might not survive.

Since he got here, Moira, Callie, Hannah, and Sarah have each chosen to received IUI at the right time, and all of them have joined Emily in being pregnant. That's one of the reasons that Moira wants him to stay -- because it not having to travel to Fort Gervais or wherever he decides to set up shop is a decided advantage. Though she will travel, if she has to, to make sure her baby is born alive.

Alicia and Elizabeth are both Fifteen Pointers; they're not H4, but Elizabeth's tech, Richard Morris, _is_ H4, so that's not a problem. In fact, Jan is also H4, as are both Dale and Dave, and so are Chris, Matthew, and Alex. If they want to, there's a bunch of men that can safely father children on them without worrying about the babies at least being Eight-pointers. Actually, given everything else, they probably would prefer technology, not that I blame them.

Tobiah has good reason to be interested in me. I'm one of the few Sixteen Pointers, with double copies of _all_ the right genes. 

Tobiah has to wed a woman who is at least a Fifteen Pointer. She doesn't have to be H1, because he is, but she has to be homogenous for all the other markers. The wash will, of necessity, kill all his sperm if it is used, so he has to marry someone who is guaranteed not to need it, and so far, that's me.

I didn't know it, but they drew blood back in Camp Winston and sent it to be tested. The 'special' agent who contacted us, trying to get the women to go back, knew the results of the test. He might even have been trying to impress me with his (imagined) power and authority, the same power and authority that ended up getting him shot.

The leadership at Fort Gervais knew it. Lyle and Moira knew before they left the Fort with me, Conner, Dave, and Dale knew when they followed me, it seems that _everyone_ knew _except_ me.

And it explains a _lot._ I have all this land, and that's nice and all, but I have something that is much more valuable -- of all the people, of all the _women_ in the state, _I_ am the most likely the have healthy, living children without medical intervention. Truth is, there are _many_ people who are ambitious enough to claim large tracts of land, and they have. Yes, this set-up is sweet, but the prospect of healthy babies is so much more important than the land.

The women who have been Gentled, by the way, have also been tested. Right now, they have received vaccinations to get them current, and when they are healthy enough, they will be impregnated using the wash. Sex with a woman who has been Gentled is supposed to be illegal, and they're only supposed to get pregnant with the help of technology . . . Call me a cynic, but I'll believe that when I see it.

And this is also at the heart of my ambivalence about Tobiah. Does he care about _me_, or is it just that I'm one of the very few women he's met who can, if they chose to do so, give him children that are guaranteed to live? Certainly I'm the only one who isn't formally _attached_, and I'm not romantically emotionally attached, either, which makes things easier still.

This is tearing me apart, and what's worse, it's making me wonder if there is any chance that he influenced the Three Stooges, the men closest to my age, to run off like that. Dave was never really interested in me, but Dale was; he's been pulling away, though, and I'm hoping it's because he has set his sights elsewhere, and not Tobiah's influence.

But I don't think that he would, though, and that's what's bothering me. Where did this idea come from, that he'd try to run his rivals off, when I don't think he would, even as I'm wondering if he _did_?

This is too much thinking. Why do I insist on writhing things down when I'm already too tired? I think I'll drink a cup of chamomile and go to bed early tonight; I'm still not up to 100% from two months ago.


----------



## Narshalla

I'm awake again. I'll go back to sleep soon, though.

When I last wrote, I was wondering if Tobiah had said anything to warn the other men off. As it happens, I got the chance to ask him yesterday.

I went to sleep right after I stopped writing. I woke up on time yesterday, dressed, had a drink, then apparently laid back down for just a moment.

When I woke up next, it was noon, and Alicia was sitting next to me. She had sprained her ankle, and Tobias thought it was more convenient to have both his female patients in the same place.

You see, I started to run a fever again because I wasn't taking enough breaks. Tobiah put me on bed rest. I can knit, or read, or do accounts, or sew by hand, but I'm not allowed up until services on Sunday. I wanted to protest, but i keep falling asleep before I can form a convincing argument.

Yesterday, Thursday that is, as I was eating dinner with Alicia, Tobiah, and Jan, I asked Tobiah if someone had been warning the men away from me, and told me, honestly, he said yes, someone had. James.

I didn't have enough energy to pursue it then, but this morning, before the detachment left to take them down to Cali, I asked James about it.

He said a lot of things, most of which weren't true, but he didn't start lying, I don't think, until after he realized that his gloating about warning the other men off and how stupid they were for listening to him wasn't working.

His brothers heard, and so did all the rest of the men who are being transferred to Cali, or shipped down there, or are riding down with the military because they need to find jobs.

James is the leader of the Three Stooges; he's always been the leader of his brothers, Paul and Simon. This, though . . . I think his own words might just break them of their following him. They've always looked up to him, and his words included insults to them, as well -- he is the reason neither of them tried their luck with me. They wouldn't have succeeded, anyways, because I think they're too young for me, but they certainly would have tried.

And it was James Idea, and his alone, to take the spices and leave without saying good-bye. Simon wanted to know, and I had to tell him sadly that yes, if they had said they wanted to leave, we could have outfitted them with all the food and supplies they needed, more -- and better labeled -- seeds, and yes, some of the cocoa and cinnamon, too, as trade goods. They didn't have to steal it, and if they'd taken just a small amount each, we wouldn't even have sent someone after them.

James mocked them, insulted me, and generally made an *** of himself until the guard came in and gagged him. They also put him in a separate room, away from the others, for his protection. Insulting women isn't a _wise_ idea, not nowadays, and especially not when you're in the wrong and they've done nothing to deserve it. I think that if the guards leave them alone too soon, James probably won't end up happy.

Paul and Simon . . . I feel sorry for them. Eventually, they might be allowed back, but not any time soon. 

As for James, never would be too soon.

The walk back was considerably longer than the walk there, and I found myself wishing I had asked for a ride before I was halfway back.

Not much further, and the bushes started rattling, and I started wondering if the dogs that we'd had so many problems with were back. I thought the military had taken care of them, and gave us the hides, too, which was nice of them.

But it wasn't dogs, it was people -- two of them, right at the age that Before, we would have called them children, and now, responsibility has more than shown them to be adults.

I figured who the boy was immediately -- he has his father's nose, but it's not nearly as bad on a man as it is on his older sister. The other was his twin, who shares their coloring, and their eyes, but thankfully, doesn't have the same nose.

They are twins, just turned fourteen, and they are also Alicia's only living family members. And they're smart, _scary_ smart.

They hadn't been in at their farm when it had been attacked, and they had followed the raiders until they could rescue thier sister. Like I said, they're smart, and they never made the mistake of underestimating the raiders, or the military, or us.

But Alicia's been here two months, so I was curious as to why they didn't at least try to contact her before this. Like I said, they are smart -- they'd been in the quarantine area, and had waited six weeks to see if they were going to get the fever. They didn't, so they figured it was safe to contact Alicia.

Except that Alicia never leaves the walls of Grant, not if she can help it, and never, ever alone. They'd been waiting tow weeks, observing, trying to see if she was being kept against her will. Thursday, before I would up, they saw her gathering apples, and then take a willow switch to a man who was rude to her. He ran, realizing that he had stepped over the line, and she chased him, and that's how she sprained her ankle.

He's one of the one heading down to Cali, of his own accord, incidentally.

They figured that if she was allowed to take a switch to someone, she probably wasn't being oppressed, and decided to contact us.

The problem was, they didn't really know how. They didn't want to contact any of the obvious adults, and they didn't want to contact anyone in groups.

I was the obvious choice. They weren't sure if I was male or female, but I was obviously not up to keeping them here if they didn't want to be -- and I appeared to be friends with Alicia.

Their plan was to have Alicia leave with them, but that's not happening. Alicia now has Elizabeth, and acceptance, and a clear place here in Grant. What's more, she knows darn well that Theresa, at the very least, isn't going to be allowed to leave, not if anyone can help it, because she's a Sixteen Pointer, too. So is Max, but there are so many more men that that's not really an issue.

Not that I think we'd have found them, if they did leave. The twins' fieldcraft is as close to perfect as you're going to find, and they're _smart,_ book smart, that is, too.

Neither had intended to g into the medical field, Before. Both have chosen it now, though, and Tobiah says that they need hand-on experience, but their knowledge of the chemical, mechanical, and electrical workings of the body are second to none. Altogether, he thinks their medical knowledge is somewhere close to the end of the second year of med school.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm smart, too. I was set to graduate highschool just after my seventeenth birthday, with enough college credits for an associates' degree in science. I didn't graduate, of course, but that was hardly my fault. Max and Terry, as she prefers to be called, had never even attended highschool, but that makes no difference.

Alicia was ecstatic to see them again.

I'll write more later; I'm about to fall over from exhaustion. Tobiah was right, I need more rest.


----------



## Narshalla

Still resting, and the twins are handling my care. Three people came out of the quarantine zone, and they are now isolated with Tobiah and the four soldiers they had contact with.

We still don't know what caused the fever. From all reports, it is no spread by insects of any kind, nor my animals. It is definitely spread through water and waterways, but doesn't spread easily through human contact. From all descriptions, it might be the same kind of fever that made the rounds before and after Henry VIII was king, and then, eventually, faded away. but we don't know, because there are no sample to compare.

We still don't know why I'm so tired all the time,either, but I've been relegated to sewing and mending and such. I'm forbidden from knitting for as long as I keep falling asleep unexpectedly. It's a real pain to lose count and then try to figure out where you were in the pattern, hours later.

Add to the list of things we still don't know, we are having odd gaps in our gardens. It happens at night, and only two or three bushes are stripped. What's more odd is that it's never the ploant on the end, but a plant somewhere in the middle, instead.

Actually, we think we know what is happening, but we won't say anything until we know for sure.

The twins are doing well with my care, but it is obvious that they've never had to deal with a patient who is not family. They give me orders, just like real doctors, and I question them -- both the twins and the orders -- just like I would if they came from a real doctor. They're trying to adjust, but "Because I said so, that's why" just doesn't work with me.

Honestly, though, I don't think they are going to fit in here, and I don't think they've really figured that out.

We're a farming community. protected by a nice, sturdy wall, and we produce meat and wool for trade. eventually, we will add other foods, and maybe fabric or sewing, and most certainly we'll be adding herbs. By the end of next year, we will produce just about everything we need, with enough extra to trade for what we don't and to pay the taxes. We're happy this way.

Max and Terry, however, can see this becoming a place where goods can be manufactured on a whole sale scale, a trading and manufacturing center of the West Coast, and have not idea why we don't think that is the best idea.

They also haven't figured out that this settlement, Grant Settlement, has no need for three doctors, and that after they complete their training, two of the three of them --Tobiah, Max, and Terry -- will have to leave. Sure we want them to stay -- we'd _love_ for them to stay, but we don't have the _need_. And we know it, but they don't.

Even Fort Gervais, if it were functional, would have a hard time explaining why they need two doctors. In fact, there are very few cities left, and just about all of them are small enough that, given the scarcity of trained medical personnel, two doctors is a luxury that we can't afford, any of us.

Max and Terry don't seem to realize that.

Their main plan is to leave Grant Settlement with their sister, Alicia, and Elizabeth, as well, and they don't seem to realize that the kind of relationship that Alicia and Elizabeth have is simply not going to be accepted nowadays.

And Alicia doesn't want to leave, either. She's no slouch in the brains department, either, and is working of getting the communications equipment we have up and running. Plus, she likes me -- not like she likes Elizabeth, of course -- and we've become friends.

And Elizabeth isn't going to leave, nor will her sister, Mary. Both of them wanted to be farm wives, with some individual variations, of course, and why leave to find what they already have?

But really, it's Alicia's situation that they don't understand. I may not have made this clear, but Alicia and Elizabeth are an item -- a _romantic_ item, and, really, that's just not allowed.

You see, before, being a lesbian was mostly accepted, especially if you didn't rub it in people's faces. Being a gay man, or any hint of it, was strongly disapproved of by most part of society, even if no-one said anything. Or at least, that's how I saw it. And in high school, especially, there was a tendency for girls to be LUGs -- lesbians until graduation. and parents, it seemed to me, didn't care, because at least their daughter couldn't get pregnant. Personally, I can't imagine it, but some girls did. Whatever; it was their choice.

Now it's reversed; Moira doesn't want her unmarried daughters alone with another girl, but has no problem with them being alone with boys -- or men, for that matter. Being gay isn't anything really big, not any more, but being a lesbian -- oh boy, don't let that out, or there _will_ be fireworks!

Alicia and Elizabeth have agreed to partner up, but to accept several "husbands" to get them pregnant and then hang around while the children are small. Right now, they're talking about having about five different men father their children, or maybe more. Personally, my reaction to the entire idea is "yuck," which I'm sure they know, but I won't tell them not to; I am aware that as soon as I start telling other people how to live thier lives, that gives them the right to do the same to me. So I don't comment about thier plans, and they don't tell me which guy I should choose, and we're all happy.

Not that we don't gossip and talk and share secrets. Sure we do, and make suggestions, and all the things that girls out age used to do; Mary and Moira's girls do, too. But we don't give orders to each other. There's a difference, but I'm too tired to explain. I should have time for a nap before dinner, and hopefully this time, the twins will let me sleep rather than waking my up to check on me.


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## debmal1

Thank you!


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## rickfrosty

Narshalla said:


> It's been a long couple of months.
> 
> The remaining raiders gave up shortly after I went down for my nap. By the time I awoke, the men were swinging from the trees, and the women . . .
> . - - - - - -
> I don't know. I'm probably just thinking about it too much.


 *"trying to get enough put away for what will probably more than thirty people."*
Whoa, what would that be - like 7 dumptrucks of food ?


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## Narshalla

rickfrosty said:


> *"trying to get enough put away for what will probably more than thirty people."*
> Whoa, what would that be - like 7 dumptrucks of food ?


Yes, plus tax -- fed.gov isn't taking taxes in cash right now!


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## BethB

Do any of you know the link to the page from the gentleman that wrote a long story for us. I can't seem to find it and I had it but I didn't save it and it logged me out. He posted the link to his whole story and I thought it was here but now I've lost it. It was so interesting and I hope that one you may have it saved, PLEASE?


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## nostawmama

BethB said:


> Do any of you know the link to the page from the gentleman that wrote a long story for us. I can't seem to find it and I had it but I didn't save it and it logged me out. He posted the link to his whole story and I thought it was here but now I've lost it. It was so interesting and I hope that one you may have it saved, PLEASE?



If you look in the vault it is a sticky. We interrupt this program by a.t. hogan


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## Narshalla

Life sure is interesting, and boring at the same time.

The crops are in, before the rains started, thankfully. The corn mostly cured in the field, but we moved it into the cribs early just to be safe. The wheat got in on time, but the potatoes were still curing in the fields when it started raining. That was no loss, though, because we just pulled them into the one barn that will, eventually, be used for milking cows. Since it's empty right now, it worked perfectly.

If we hadn't had it, we'd have had to use the common gathering room, instead. It was good to find out that we'll need another covered outdoor space _before_ we actually needed it, and with plenty of time to build it.

We have the milk goats, and we've traded for three more. In fact, once Fort Gervais went into quarantine, we be\came the defacto main city of this area, with just about everyone coming here to trade, or look for work, or whatever. This hasn't set will with any of us, because the attitudes that were prevalent at Fort Gervais showed up here, too. Three in specific were quite annoying.

First was that they thought of the walled part of Grant as the Women's Quarter, and any woman who showed up thought she could get free food and lodging there. Not true, not true at all, and it took quite a bit of convincing to make sure everyone understood the difference. The other flowed from the first; the men thought that if the compound was the Women's Quarter, then naturally, every time a woman left it, she was looking for a husband of one sort or another. Not true either, but it didn't keep them from acting like it.

The third was simply a sign of the times. There a lot of abandoned land -- a _lot_ -- and much of that land still has some resources growing on it. There are places where strawberry plants have taken over whole fields, and where fruit trees come ripe every year with no-one to pick the fruit. Generally, if you're there and it's ripe, you can take what you like, to eat, preserve, trade, or whatever. Bit I have a lot of land, so if it's around here, it's probably on my land, not free for the taking. That hasn't set will with many of the people, and they haven't liked being told that they need to ask first.

The military finally had to put their figurative foot down; they have been camping in a few clearings just on my land, right near the caves, and as part of the rent, they've had to guard against idiots who can't figure out that the land isn't up for grabs. There's been some grumbling that one person owns so much, but not by many, fortunately. The really good thing about those who survived is that they can see the opportunity behind the tragedy. Most people have figured out that if they complain about how much I have and get that situation "fixed," when they are prosperous, _they'll_ fall prey to the same treatment.

Having the military around hasn't been that bad, but it hadn't been that great, either. Part of the problem we had with people picking from our trees is that we -- I -- gave permission to the military to pick what they needed, provided they didn't hurt the trees. They've taken me at my word, and have been picking everything as it comes ripe and preserving it as best they can, usually by drying it. They've been taking care of the trees, as they go along, and they've been clearing the land around them, too, and we knew we couldn't have gathered all of it this year, anyways, and had no plans to, so all in all, it's a good thing. It's worked to our advantage in another way, too, that I wasn't expecting at the time, but as usual, any advantage still creates complications.

The trading is an advantage, and a complication, too. We've traded for goats, salt, and rice, mainly, though we got a nice lot of dried lemon peel, too. But we never actually guessed what we'd be trading away.

Cats! That's right, there are very few cats living, though I have no idea why, and neither does anyone else. I have a nice colony going, though, and we'd already taken steps to make some of them more friendly, too.

Last spring, right after the first group arrived with me, we caught a few pregnant queens and kept them confined, relatively speaking, until they delivered. We were lucky; the smallest litter was six, and the largest litter was thirteen. Thirteen it too big for them all to survive, but luckily, that wasn't in out plans, anyways. I have two inside cats for my house, yawn and stretch, both boys, both fixed. What everyone else wanted was their own inside cats, fixed as well, and that meant boys. It's entirely possible for someone with a layman's medical background to fix a cat, but only if it's a boy.

Since we didn't want to waste our time and effort with the girls, who wouldn't be living inside anyway, and we had plenty of girls anyways, we got rid of the female kittens early. With the queen who had thirteen, we did it that first day. Luckily, she only had four boys, so after the nine girls were gone, it was a manageable litter.

All told, we had eight queens raising thirty-five kittens, all safely caged until the queens were quite a bit more tame, though still not tame enough to be house cats.

We were concentrating on the kittens, though, making sure they saw humans as the source of food and love and everything good, and it worked well. Even after they started learning to hunt, most of them stayed tame.

Mid July, right at the beginning of that cold snap, we gathered the boys together and fixed them all, then disbursed them to various houses to recover and settle in to thier new lives. There were far more than we needed, of course, but we figured that we'd keep the tamest for inside duty, and the rest would be no real loss, because they could still do thier jobs and hunt.

Except that thing don't always work out how we plan, and this time it was to our benefit. People wanted cats, and we certainly have enough. We _still_ have enough, even after all our trades.

Most of the people we are trading with are just as clever as we are, so rather than trading one cat, the standard trading unit is three cats; one tom, two queens. The trio costs extra if the queens are pregnant, of course, but a trio itself is quite expensive to begin with.

It's worth the price, I was told, many, many times. And the fixed boys, the 'indoor' cats, are a necessary item in most people's minds.

That's how we got the first bit of rice, actually. One of the indoor boys has a horse fetish, it seems, and likes nothing better than to perch on a horse's butt as he surveys his kingdom in a way that only cats can. He fell in absolute love with one trader's Percheron, and when they left without trading with us because they didn't have enough goods to buy any of the cats, Otis the cat went with Milo the horse. The trader tried to bring Otis back, but it didn't work; he kept leaving to find his one true love, or so we called it.

Since we didn't have the set-up for the horse (even if the trader had been willing to trade him away, which he wasn't,) and Dan wasn't willing to keep the cat without paying, even if the cat was more than willing, he paid us a hundred pounds of rice for Otis. Cheap, I know -- _really_ cheap -- but it was a good deal for both sides, since Otis keeps their trade goods fee from pests, and we wouldn't have been able to keep him here against his will, anyways.

Dan and his group have been back three times since them, once with salt, twice with rice to trade. Otis is one of the best advertisements they've ever had; he's friendly and obedient (for a cat,) and given that he's fixed, no-one has to worry about him spraying all over everything. Dan's group meandered their way south to where they could get rice, letting everyone see Otis, then hot footed it back up here once they had the wagons full.

They accounted for nine trios each trip, and another seven indoor cats, too; it was a good deal for both of us, really, because we don't have the set-up to grow rice, and salt is a necessity. We got to see Otis each time, too, perched there on Milo's butt, happily purring away. He only goes in the wagons when it rains, or so Dan said.

We're 'setting' another batch of queens again, so that the boys will be fixed, taught, and ready to go next spring. We only had one idiot complain that we shouldn't be killing the female kittens, but he moved on when he couldn't find a job around here. No surprise there.


----------



## Narshalla

I sort of wish that Max and Terry would move on. The feeling is about equal for both of them, but for different reasons.

Terry has nothing that has any relation to empathy, tact, or discretion. She was the only who blurted out the results of some of the test they had done on my blood in the middle of the dining hall during dinner. _Everyone_ heard, and it's a good thing that none of us are given to panic, because otherwise some might have.

You see, I'm still tired; sometimes it worse than others. We know it's not several things, like narcolepsy, because the symptoms are wrong. It's not malnutrition; I've had the best nutrition of anyone here for the last five years. My broken arm, as bad as it was, is completely healed.

While Josiah was still in quarantine with the escapees from Fort Gervais, the twins did some tests on me; blood test, mainly, because that's all they really could do with the supplies and equipment they had.

Well, the tests came back that my red and white blood cells were perfectly normal in size, shape, and count, thought I am a little anemic. My platelet count, though . . . My platelet count was more that four times as high as the top range of normal.

And Terry told me that at dinner, practically announced it to the entire group.

There was a stunned moment of shock and dismay; we are, none of us, stupid, and it takes no medical knowledge to know that a really high blood count could mean leukemia. I paused in horror because I knew the reaction that most of the group would have, and I didn't want to worry them unnecessarily.

In that pause, Moira started laughing. One of the things that Lyle, Moira, James and I would do together was go donate to the Red Cross. Blood was the fastest, but we preferred giving platelets, instead, because even though it took about two hours for the entire process, they showed movies while we waited, and those movies were usually still in the theaters.

Two beats, later, Lyle joined her, because he remembered, too, that I had a really high platelet count Before, and also remembered that I had mentioned that my high platelet count was documented all the way back to when I broke my leg when I was four. Between guffaws, he relayed this to everyone, and the laughter had a relieved edge to it.

Terry turned puce at this news, and went even darkened when it was pointed out that _this_ is why a patient history is necessary. She tried to defend herself, but someone else pointed out that even if she hadn't dropped this bombshell in front of everyone in the middle of dinner, she wouldn't have anything to be embarrassed about.

Max does have something that resembles tack and discretion, but not too closely. Max is smart, has pretty much a perfect memory, and solves problems better than just about anyone I've ever met, provided that they don't involve emotions. He also just turned fourteen, which makes him quite a few months younger than John, Callie's younger brother, who will turn fifteen any minute now.

John was interested in me, and I'll be honest, if he was closer to my age, I might have been interested in him. He's also smart, he had a good sense of humor, he gets along with everyone, he's responsible . . . He has every characteristic I've ever looked for, except that he's seven years younger than me. He's just plain too young, and we both know it, and now that Lyle and Moira are here with their girls, he's dropped his relationship with me like a hot rick, except that we never actually had that kind of relationship.

Max is even younger, but he seems to think he's perfect for me. I have no idea _why,_ but he does. The worse part about it is that if he just bothered to look around, he'd see that there are quite a few girls his age -- but all his concentration is on me, instead. I hope he gets over it soon, because it is _really_ annoying, and it's cutting into my time with Tobiah.

Tobiah . . . Being with Tobiah just feels _right_, and the more time I spend with him, the more right it feels.

The quarantine time was really what made me make up my mind. I'd seen him every day for months, but the month that I didn't see him because he was in quarantine made my mind up for me. Being around him just makes me smile, but I don't notice until I look around and see everyone smiling back at me in one of those shared, isn't-love-grand smiles that sometimes happen.

I don't like to dwell on it too much, though, because it makes me feel a bit silly, you know?

Of the three people who escaped from the quarantine around Fort Gervais, it turns out that two were women, sisters, and the man was their brother. They didn't carry the fever with them, thankfully, though there was no way to know that. They might be staying through the winter, but maybe not; if the traders come back through, they say they'll head down to California. I don't have an opinion one way or the other, though Jan wants the brother to stay, at least. Fruitlessly, as it turns out; Bob is as interested in Jan as Jan is in me.


----------



## Narshalla

The biggest kerfuffle right now is taxes. Taxes are a necessary evil in life, and always have been, but right now they are both more necessary and more evil than normal.

Unfortunately, a lot of the problem is that there are very, very few people who have enough extra to actually _pay_ taxes without starving, especially in this area. Camp Winston can't afford it, most of the isolated farmhouses that are still occupied are barely scraping by, the traveling workers obviously can't . . . It is very much a case of "from each according to his ability." The only good part is that there's no corresponding "to each according to his need." _Everyone_ has need, without exception, even us, though we are by far the most prepared in the area.

So now we're negotiation taxes. Technically, _I_'m the only one who really is going to be paying taxes, because everyone else here can't afford it, but the only reason I have as much as I do is because everyone here has been working their buns off to stock up.

There are a lot of factors to consider. I'm the biggest land owner hereabout, and the most productive, but I have more people than any place except Fort Gervais. 

I've let the military pick food from our land, and they've very carefully stripped the trees bare, saving as much as they possibly could, but they also protected my land from those who wanted to pick without asking permission first.

Josiah has officially moved his medical trailer onto my land, which is a huge advantage, but it's still not mine.

There's been a defacto trading post on my land, or close enough as makes no difference, which the special agent was quick to point out, but I wasn't an agent and got no rent or other consideration of any kind from it.

We have a bunch of grain ans salt, as well as fruit, but we got those in trade, which the special agent _could_ have taxed, as they do in other places, but he chose not to, and is that my fault?

They cleared out most of the wild dogs around here, and gave us the pelts, but the wild dogs were bothering them just as much as us, and they had no way to cure the skins as leather or fur, anyways.

I also have a bit of a trump card that they don't know about. They've been hunting deer, elk, and moose around here and on my land. they haven't wanted to tell me, which means that we didn't get any of the skins, which went to waste. But more importantly, they were hunting on _my_ land, and without permission.

The hunting itself isn't all that bothersome, really. After all, there's been just about no hunting, relatively speaking, for the last five years, and the deer population has increased to the point that they only reason they hunted on my land was that it was easier to have a clear line of sight and be sure of your backstop. And the fact that there are moose around here is perfect evidence that there's an abundance of game; Before, this would have been really, really far south to see moose. _Really_ far south.

But they did it without asking, and the skins probably went to waste so they could avoid telling me, which actually upsets me a great deal more than the hunting itself, not that I'm going to tell them that.

All I really need to do is find out how many they've taken, really, because three deer per person should last through the winter, if it's preserved properly. It bothers me more that they might not have preserved it properly,; food of any kind going to waste and not to waist is bad.

Also, I would have preferred for the military to team up with Grant to hunt; if I'm any judge of the seasons, there'll be a bachelor herd moving through this one valley in about two weeks, and if we work together, we can probably take most or all of it. Before, that would have been considered wasteful, but now? Given that it's a bachelor herd we're talking about, that's just a sound plan.

That's one of the things that I'm going to 'compromise' on, which makes me laugh just thinking about it, because he's started making hints about it already, asking me for something that I have every intention of giving.

The special agent also has his little tricks, as well. He's talking about how the stores of LTS foods and especially the rarer spices should be part of the tax, as well. That's not going to work, to put it mildly, but he's put it on the table so that later he can graciously agree to take it _off_ the table. Tit for my tat, really, and all part of the game.

On thing I'm probably going to hit him with tomorrow is the bears that Tanner shot. Last Saturday, the mother and cubs were wrecking _their_ camp, and tanner took out two of the cubs and wounded the mother, while two other people got the last cub and finished off the sow. Tanner let them have the meat from one of his cubs in exchange for all the furs. He thought he got a pretty good deal, but he didn't take into account the expense he saved them by stopping the rampage. I'll bet the special agent will counter with the fact that the tents were pitched on _my_ land, and I'll counter that we could have used the meat, and he'll point out that we have the _firs_ instead . . .

You know, there's football season, and basketball season, and baseball season . . . Right now, the most interesting spectator sport is watching the two of us bargain, barter, and negotiate the taxes.


----------



## Catshooter

Alan,

I would like to post a piece I'm writting but I need some help from you. I'm tying into your new milita recuit Danny, and I need his and Steve's last name, if it's alright with you.

I was going to PM you but for some reason I couldn't. Maybe because the board is listing you as a 'guest'? I don't know. Probably just me.

Anyway, if it's ok with you. This is my first time writting and dang, it's *hard.*


Cat


----------



## Narshalla

Catshooter said:


> Alan,
> 
> I would like to post a piece I'm writting but I need some help from you. I'm tying into your new milita recuit Danny, and I need his and Steve's last name, if it's alright with you.
> 
> I was going to PM you but for some reason I couldn't. Maybe because the board is listing you as a 'guest'? I don't know. Probably just me.
> 
> Anyway, if it's ok with you. This is my first time writting and dang, it's *hard.*
> 
> 
> Cat


Oh my goodness _yes_! It's very hard to write, much more so than many realize!


----------



## mollymae

Thanks Narshalla! I've been checking every few days to see if you had added anymore to the story. I really enjoy reading it! Hope you have checked into doing some professional writing. You could make some big bucks I'm sure. Thansks again!
Shannon


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## anahatalotus

Great stories! I think I just found my new favorite thread.


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## Ozarks Tom

Narshalla, thanks for the great reading.
Tom


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## txliberty

Great stories everyone!! I hope to read more soon.


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## Narshalla

Things have been busy, to say the least.

We were supposed to have Thanksgiving last week, but it got pushed off due to circumstances.

I'd talked about going after a bachelor herd of deer and harvesting all the youngest, but hadn't really gotten any reply for the military contingent in the area. Well, they changed their minds just over a week ago, mainly, I think, because they were told that they would need to supply their own meat this winter. The special agent I had been negotiation the taxes with had expected to get some supplies from back East, Texas, mainly, but we found out that that wasn't happening, and they were left short of meat.

They're lucky, though, because the taxes I paid were made up mainly of dried fruits, vegetables, and some herbs and spices; with grains from the Great Plains than they just received, they're set even without any extra meat. Not _happy_, mind you, but they can live off of what they have.

But they want meat for the winter, and we at Grant need more people to pull off the hunt that I had planned.

My plan -- and it _was_ my plan, no matter what that little pipsqueak Max said -- my plan was to catch most of a bachelor herd as it went through this one valley and take most of the animals. Actually, I wanted to take every one that had eight points or fewer, but we talked about it and agreed to only take the ones that had fewer than five points per antler. We had to get really specific about the number of points, too, because some of the hunters are from areas of the South were a buck with three points on each side is called a six-pointer, and some are from far enough north that they don't even mention the points until they hit about ten on a side.

We also had to leave some of the soldiers at the camp because they couldn't quite figure out why we were planning on taking all of the youngest, and leaving all of the trophy animals alone. In general, this lack of comprehension just produced shrugs; eventually, they'll figure out why, or not, but as it stands, we didn't have time to make sure that everyone understood the philosophical choices behind the plan.

It wouldn't have worked, though, Before. Yeah, there were deer before, and they even traveled in herds to some extent, but with so many people and roads and such, they really didn't have any migration patterns any more. Now, though, they've started migrating again, and the herds have gotten very segregated. This time of year, after mating season is over, the does are congregating in their own herds and heading towards a set of valleys just West of here, while the males have been gathering in bachelor herds and doing a lot more traveling. I've been paying attention to where they go and when, and sooner or later, they always go through this one valley.

It's a weird little valley, maybe a quarter mile long and only a couple of hundred feet wide at its widest, and its walls are quite steep. Not so steep that a deer can't get up them, of course, but more than good enough that we can safely place people at the top of both sides and get the herd in the crossfire. Not that we did that, this time; I hunted with all of those from Grant and some of the soldiers, and don't necessarily trust everyone to keep a cool head when we start firing. There is more than one person who I think will forget what area is supposed to be the kill zone and might try for a deer that is fleeing up the side of the valley. Better safe than sorry.

Anyways, we had been watching the valley for a while, and last Monday, the bucks moved in, so we did, too. Just after dawn on Tuesday, we executed the plan, and took every buck that met the minimum requirements. We let over a dozen get away unscathed and we were good; we only took one of the larger bucks, which was better than I thought it would be. All told, we took 57 bucks, most of them yearlings, and despite what some of the nay-sayers said would happen, yes, they were all bucks except for on rather old doe. Or at least, we assume she was old; she was certainly big enough.

So since Tuesday, we've been processing deer, drying it, smoking it, salting some in barrels, pickling some of it . . . Did you know that you can make picked deer feet, same as pickled pigs feet? Yeah, neither did I, and I could have lived without knowing that, too.

Tanner's on Cloud Nine, too, because we've gotten all of the firs. It only makes sense, though, because the military doesn't have the facilities to preserve them properly, and they've been told that they're not allowed to trade anything away, no matter how much they need or don't need something. Rather than let the hides rot, they just gave them to us. All that salt we traded for is really coming in handy now.

We have traders coming through at least once a week, now, which is nice, but mainly they don't have anything we need, and frequently they don't have anything we even want. The adults have gotten together, though, and started a sort of trading fund and learning exercise for the younger people, mainly Adam, Alex, Chris, Matthew, Rebekkah, and Deborah. They work just as hard as we do, and they get some free time, but things are busy and serious enough that they don't have a lot of play time in their lives. The plan we've been following is almost like play to them, though all of them are smart enough to know that this is really just another type of training.

See, we have some extra of some things. Not a lot, certainly not enough to waste, but enough that we can let the younger ones take some thing and make trades, to learn how and practice their skills They make the trades, and try to get good deals, and in addition, they sometimes get treats that they don't have to share. Martha, for instance, traded some rawhide shoestrings for a couple of oranges; it was a very good trade, considering that the shoestrings cost us just about nothing, and it's still too soon for orange season.

At first I was not too happy that Grant was so well know and visited, but the risk of actively hostile visitors is not very high. To put it bluntly, there simply aren't enough people for parasites to prey off of, and we're too widely scattered and out communication is too good. Sure, there are still thieves, but not many, and they get found out pretty quickly; word of their name, actions, and description usually makes it to their next stop before they do, which ruins their chances of continuing that line of 'work.'

Max is being a pain, but Tobiah has been working on a plan for him, though we haven't let him know.

Tobiah is a doctor, and he comes from a family of doctors, so he's contacted his father to see if there's a chance that Max can go to Israel to study medicine. Max has what it takes to be an excellent clinician and researcher, and eventually, he might even grow into a human being and be able to work with people.


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## Narshalla

Terry, on the other hand . . . she's having a crisis of . . . something, I don't know what, though, as she is forced to reconcile how things were Before, when she was a brilliant child, After, when her family really only required her to study, though she did participate in other activities, and now, where she is viewed, first and foremost, as a walking womb, and secondarily as a member of the community, and only _after_ all of that is she viewed as an intelligent person with the potential to be a doctor or engineer or other mentally demanding field. She's used to being a brain, and being viewed as a brain, and being useful as a brain and only a brain, and this interest in her reproductive tract is hard for her come to terms with.

Added to that is the fact that she's not maternal at all, and has never wanted children; she's never even really been interested in boys, or girls, or anything like that. Eventually, she'll figure out something that Moira, Tobiah, and I have already discussed and then she'll have to come to terms with it. Or not, the important thing is that even if she's annoying, here, at least, she's safe; other places, her . . . how she is would not be taken well, nor accepted at all. I hope she's figured that much out, at least.

Gunny Hoffman's sons arrived yesterday, and I think they'll fit in well. Adam and Timothy are jacks-of-all-trades, and smart enough to give it some time and get the lay of the land before making any decisions; even if they don't end up settling here, they'll probably only end up as far away as Camp Winston, but more likely Fort Gervais.

One of the transients who came through looking for work might stay, too. He's originally from Japan, and Before, he worked as a celebrity chef on this one TV show. That's still the work he'd like to do, if he can get it, so we're thinking of giving him a chance or two. We're good cooks, here in Grant, but we're not what you'd call inspired, though the latest idea is going to be a work of art, or of indigestion, I'm not sure which.

We didn't have Thanksgiving on time, but we're going to have in on Monday, instead, because by then, all the deer meat will be taken care of.

In addition to the deer, though, we also managed to take out a huge sow before she took any of us out, though it was a near thing. Given her size, she would either be sausage, or roasted whole, so we came up with a crazy idea that we probably won't get another chance to try.

There's this thing called a turducken, which is a deboned chicken stuffed in a deboned duck, stuffed in a deboned turkey, all roasted together until perfectly cooked. Well, we made two of those, and we're putting them into one of the bucks which was deboned, and then putting that all into the pig. It should take about fourteen hours to roast, so it's going in the ground Sunday evening. All told, there should be more than enough meat for all of us to make complete pigs of ourselves. I'm looking forward to that, actually. The fancy chef looked horrified when he found out, though, which made us all laugh. I have a feeling that he's going to be fun to tease.


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## unregistered168043

Though I write this now in my laptop's personal journal, I fear I endanger my own safety. Yet I cannot refrain from writing it because my fear of forgetting or becoming confused is even greater than my fear of being found out;

After the dollar collapsed it was pandemonium. At first, it was just a report on TV, but then the food started disappearing off the shelves. Gas jumped to $10 per gallon within the week, our great leader ( then on his 5th term ) promised to open the reserves but for some reason he never did.....that reason became evident later as government vehicles seemed to be the only ones left on the streets. From $10 it went to $20...$20 when it was even available because people ran out and bought up every single drop when the trucks arrived. Then one day they didn't arrive. Then the rationing started. They rationed the food and the fuel at first. Our leader declared a state of emergency, then Martial Law. Our constitution was suspended ( what was left of it ). Some people tried to rebel and restore the freedom and prosperity that they once knew, but we had been disarmed years ago. We learned quickly that hunting rifles with 3 round clips and double barrel shotguns were no match for the semi autos being carried by the Brown Shirts. Oh, who are the Brown Shirts? A domestic army of inner city youths loyal to the death and committed to what our great leader promised would be a 'new great society'.

Most people lost it all in the first drop. The money became essentially worthless. Those who were smart enough to hold gold had an advantage in the beginning. But before too long they got wise to that and confiscated and/or banned the possession of gold altogether. The dollar was replaced by 'government credits'. There was no cash, only electronic credits...all of it 100% traceable. The astonishing thing was how fast they seemed able to put the new cashless system into place. They banned the use of any other method of trade...including barter.

Most rural people who had any type of land suitable to farming lost it. The taxes went up 500% that first year. Through executive order, our leader promised to use the confiscated farms to 'feed the needy', he staffed them with inner city youths through government work programs. Crime and drug use in rural America soared. One by one our industries fell. Their failure was quickly heralded as the failure of 'capitalism', the result of greed. Our great leader rushed in to replace those industries with government. Almost every industry is run by government now, the fact that they operate at a loss we are told is irrelevant. Credits and therefore profit come from government, so as long as an industry serves the 'common good' of society it is deemed profitable.

Media is now openly run by government though many of us suspected it had been that way for many years before. All broadcasts must be government approved and most are produced by government itself. One of several themes must always be present; Conformity to the new society and our leader, criticism of capitalism, individualism, and greed, the great new prosperity that we are experiencing ( or will experience ), or how our great leader saved us from the calamity brought about by the greed and avarice of the past.

All internet time is rationed and content is strictly monitored. Any criticism or open discussion of our government is considered an act of terrorism. People are taken away for 're-education' and they usually never come back, when they do they are...different. We are encouraged to tell on our neighbors if we see anything that suggests terrorism or terrorist motives...bartering, possessing gold, firearms, making or building their own goods instead of receiving it from the 'collective'. We are no longer individuals, we are told we are something greater, we are members of 'the collective'. All our efforts must go into benefiting the collective and all we need will be provided by the collective...the word 'I' or 'me' is frowned upon. I've learned you don't want to raise too many eyebrows...people disappear. 

We are given all the necessities of life through the great benevolence of our leader. We are even given an allowance of 100 credits per week to spend on 'extras' ( when the stores have them ), but we are not allowed to save those credits for more than 1 month or they get 'deleted' from our accounts. We are told this is to prevent greed and selfishness which is the sickness that leads to terrorism. Everywhere we are told we must watch out for terrorists...they hate us, we are told, but never much of an explanation of 'why'. Such discussions are considered unpatriotic or worse. But they tell us the terrorists are everywhere, they could be the guy working next to you, or your neighbor who you've known all your life. It might even be you because terrorism begins in the heart and mind, with bad thoughts. To protect us from this threat our great leader has installed government cameras everywhere. They also have drones that protect us by listening and watching.

I keep this log so I can hold on to a piece of myself, so I can remind myself that I am NOT a piece of a collective...but an individua...wait....whats that?? I hear footsteps marching up the stairs...who are they taking away this time? They are banging on MY DOOR! It can't be! I haven't done anything wrong except write in my journal...how can they know? HOW CAN THEY KNOW!!!


*Attention citizens, this is a message from your leader:* *The above is an entry from a dangerous terrorist who was planning on blowing up a school. After arresting him we found hundreds of pounds of explosives and detailed plans to commit this heinous and cowardly act*. *This entry will be left up as an example of the type of rhetoric that is common amongst modern domestic terrorists. It is clear that this man harbored right wing radical views. WARNING: This post will be highly monitored and all those issuing 'likes' will be suspect.*


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## Ozarks Tom

Darntootin, good story, but I think you've placed it too far into the future.


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## unregistered168043

Not very far Tom. I estimate 10-15 years. Most of these measures are already in place.


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## blaundee

I'll bite 


It's 2020, mid summer. My sister is getting married in the fall, and we have a lot to do before then. I take care of my own garden and animals by the time the sun is up, then stop by to say hi to my sisters-in-law before checking in on my parents-in-law, as we all live on the same ranch (SIL's and their families moved back after the societal collapse). I tie a workhorse to the back of my buggy, and sing to myself while driving my pinto horse the 2 miles to my parent's ranch, where my parents, sisters, brother, and their families live (brother and inlaws moved back, too, after the collapse). I normally ride one of my horses to my parent's ranch, but today we are working on building a cabin for the newlyweds, so I'm bringing some roosters, tools, what materials I have, and my work horse who is good for logging- I'll leave him at my parent's ranch until the cabin is finished. Hubby is already cutting down logs with the other guys, he would rather walk the 2 miles than ride one of my horses lol

It takes 30 minutes to get to my parent's place, since I dont want to trot the workhorse- It usually only takes 5 or 10 minutes on my riding horses, but I want this guy fresh and ready to work all day. When I arrive, Mother's pack of Weenie dogs runs out to greet me, and I grab my little favorite, Bitsy, who is getting on in age now. I love her, and she loves me. My sisters have already started butchering some chickens, so I get my roosters and set to work alongside my sisters- we'll have a BIG lunch ready when the guys get back! 

The guys wash up and we all have lunch, then we all go out to start limbing and dragging in the logs the guys have cut. We "girls" do all the horse work, each with our own work horse, and drag the logs to the homesite. We catch up quick to the work the guys have done, and about 2 hours before sundown, we have almost all the trees we need for the cabin- we'll have to get a few more, but from a different ranch that we've traded a couple of lambs to for the trees, so that will be done tomorrow. We go up to Mother's for supper, a stew we put together this morning before lunch.

The guys sit around the fire while we girls quickly put away the dishes, then my trusty pinto mare pulls Hubby and I back home in the dark- he's tired enough to ride in the buggy this time. Tomorrow, we'll be back at it all again- except I'll ride instead of drive, and we girls will split up- we'll leave the older ladies at home to make supper (we'll take sack lunches), while us younger ladies take our workhorses to bring the logs home- if we hop to it, we can be done shortly after noon thanks to our new logs skids!


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## blaundee

Geek said:


> Your stories are all so wonderful! I was inspired to write a short story of my own
> 
> 
> The woman stood on her back steps. She carefully held a bundle in her arms as she watched the sun begin to crest over the trees that surrounded the homestead. Tears slid slowly down her face but she made no move to brush them away. Her heart ached with more feeling than she'd had in as long as she remembered. A whole lifetime had passed in the years they'd struggled through. A lifetime that she wasn't always sure they would survive. A lifetime she wasn't always sure she wanted to survive, but here she was holding a bundle that changed everything for her.
> 
> Her granddaughter moved slightly in her sleep. The child put her fist up against her mouth and sucked a bit. The woman smiled at the babe as the tears continued to fall down her face. She had no words for the feelings that grew in her. This was such a bigger thing than when she had her own child. Her child was not a product of five years of surviving the worst events that had ever happened to the world, and while she loved him with all of her heart and soul and had spent her whole adult life making sure he grew into the strong man he was today, this was different.
> 
> This child was the culmination of all of the hope she'd kept buried inside of her heart for five years. Hope that everything she had worked so hard to hold on, that every vile moment that she and her family had lived through would lead to something bigger and better if only they could get to it.
> 
> She turned and walked back into the house. She quietly went into the bedroom and laid the baby in the bassinet her son had made. She glanced at the bed and saw her son's arms wrapped firmly around his wife tucking against his side. Her daughter-in-law had been in labor for fourteen hours before the birth, but her face was smooth and peaceful as she slept.
> 
> As the woman walked quietly from the room her son opened his eyes and smiled. He reached out his hand and caught hers as she passed. She pulled her hand away and reached to smooth his hair away from his forehead. Her son was her greatest treasure and now her daughter-in-law and granddaughter rounded out her beautiful family.
> 
> âThanks, Mom, for everythingâ he said. âHow is she?â
> 
> âShe is perfect,â the woman smiled, âgo back to sleep because soon enough sheâll be awake and wanting you both.â
> 
> As she left the room her heart swelled and more tears fell. She had no idea what the future would hold for them but she had a heart full of love and hope to move into it with.


 
I absolutely LOVE your story! Such depth of emotion, tells of the heartache involved but gives such a happy, warm, hopeful feeling!


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## blaundee

Darntootin said:


> Though I write this now in my laptop's personal journal, I fear I endanger my own safety. Yet I cannot refrain from writing it because my fear of forgetting or becoming confused is even greater than my fear of being found out;
> 
> After the dollar collapsed it was pandemonium. At first, it was just a report on TV, but then the food started disappearing off the shelves. Gas jumped to $10 per gallon within the week, our great leader ( then on his 5th term ) promised to open the reserves but for some reason he never did.....that reason became evident later as government vehicles seemed to be the only ones left on the streets. From $10 it went to $20...$20 when it was even available because people ran out and bought up every single drop when the trucks arrived. Then one day they didn't arrive. Then the rationing started. They rationed the food and the fuel at first. Our leader declared a state of emergency, then Martial Law. Our constitution was suspended ( what was left of it ). Some people tried to rebel and restore the freedom and prosperity that they once knew, but we had been disarmed years ago. We learned quickly that hunting rifles with 3 round clips and double barrel shotguns were no match for the semi autos being carried by the Brown Shirts. Oh, who are the Brown Shirts? A domestic army of inner city youths loyal to the death and committed to what our great leader promised would be a 'new great society'.
> 
> Most people lost it all in the first drop. The money became essentially worthless. Those who were smart enough to hold gold had an advantage in the beginning. But before too long they got wise to that and confiscated and/or banned the possession of gold altogether. The dollar was replaced by 'government credits'. There was no cash, only electronic credits...all of it 100% traceable. The astonishing thing was how fast they seemed able to put the new cashless system into place. They banned the use of any other method of trade...including barter.
> 
> Most rural people who had any type of land suitable to farming lost it. The taxes went up 500% that first year. Through executive order, our leader promised to use the confiscated farms to 'feed the needy', he staffed them with inner city youths through government work programs. Crime and drug use in rural America soared. One by one our industries fell. Their failure was quickly heralded as the failure of 'capitalism', the result of greed. Our great leader rushed in to replace those industries with government. Almost every industry is run by government now, the fact that they operate at a loss we are told is irrelevant. Credits and therefore profit come from government, so as long as an industry serves the 'common good' of society it is deemed profitable.
> 
> Media is now openly run by government though many of us suspected it had been that way for many years before. All broadcasts must be government approved and most are produced by government itself. One of several themes must always be present; Conformity to the new society and our leader, criticism of capitalism, individualism, and greed, the great new prosperity that we are experiencing ( or will experience ), or how our great leader saved us from the calamity brought about by the greed and avarice of the past.
> 
> All internet time is rationed and content is strictly monitored. Any criticism or open discussion of our government is considered an act of terrorism. People are taken away for 're-education' and they usually never come back, when they do they are...different. We are encouraged to tell on our neighbors if we see anything that suggests terrorism or terrorist motives...bartering, possessing gold, firearms, making or building their own goods instead of receiving it from the 'collective'. We are no longer individuals, we are told we are something greater, we are members of 'the collective'. All our efforts must go into benefiting the collective and all we need will be provided by the collective...the word 'I' or 'me' is frowned upon. I've learned you don't want to raise too many eyebrows...people disappear.
> 
> We are given all the necessities of life through the great benevolence of our leader. We are even given an allowance of 100 credits per week to spend on 'extras' ( when the stores have them ), but we are not allowed to save those credits for more than 1 month or they get 'deleted' from our accounts. We are told this is to prevent greed and selfishness which is the sickness that leads to terrorism. Everywhere we are told we must watch out for terrorists...they hate us, we are told, but never much of an explanation of 'why'. Such discussions are considered unpatriotic or worse. But they tell us the terrorists are everywhere, they could be the guy working next to you, or your neighbor who you've known all your life. It might even be you because terrorism begins in the heart and mind, with bad thoughts. To protect us from this threat our great leader has installed government cameras everywhere. They also have drones that protect us by listening and watching.
> 
> I keep this log so I can hold on to a piece of myself, so I can remind myself that I am NOT a piece of a collective...but an individua...wait....whats that?? I hear footsteps marching up the stairs...who are they taking away this time? They are banging on MY DOOR! It can't be! I haven't done anything wrong except write in my journal...how can they know? HOW CAN THEY KNOW!!!
> 
> 
> *Attention citizens, this is a message from your leader:* *The above is an entry from a dangerous terrorist who was planning on blowing up a school. After arresting him we found hundreds of pounds of explosives and detailed plans to commit this heinous and cowardly act*. *This entry will be left up as an example of the type of rhetoric that is common amongst modern domestic terrorists. It is clear that this man harbored right wing radical views. WARNING: This post will be highly monitored and all those issuing 'likes' will be suspect.*


 :goodjob::goodjob::goodjob::goodjob::goodjob::goodjob::goodjob::goodjob:


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## margoC

bump for more!


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## WV Farm girl

I straightened up holding my side. At least these coughing spells are spread out a little more. I breathed shallowly, praying that my lungs would take the air without complaint. I walked over to the fence post where my water was, sinking down beside it. I took a small drink, then a slightly deeper breath testing my lungs. A small cough but not too bad. Every year since the plague my colds got longer, coughing harder to shake. Still I knew I was lucky. Lots of people never made it out of that first year. Smokers with their damaged lungs, others with compromised immune systems, never got through the sickness, my Joe and mother among them.
Every winter I struggled. I always got a cold with a cough that lasted months. My lungs got infected and with no antibiotics to knock it out, it took the warmth of the sun and dry weather to finally clear me out. It always came back though, worse with each passing year. I knew my lungs were damaged. I got winded easily and couldn&#8217;t work like I use to. I laughed it off to my family, telling them I was getting older and couldn&#8217;t work like I use too. They had enough to worry about without knowing the truth on this issue.
I tipped my head back. The sun felt good! I lay back on the ground. I&#8217;ll just close my eyes for a minute I thought. This corn can wait for a bit. I could feel the sun warming my chest, my face, God it felt good&#8230; &#8220;Aunt Shannon, Aunt Shannon?&#8221; 
&#8220;Yeah, buddy.&#8221; I sat up, my hands wiping my eyes. I must have dozed off.
&#8220;You were sleeping on the ground! You&#8217;re not supposed to sleep on the ground.&#8221;
&#8220;I know. I just dozed off. It&#8217;s OK. Help me up my little big man and you can help me plant the rest of this corn.&#8221;
**************
Corn planted. The afternoon gone, I walked slowly up the hill to the house Parker happily chattering away. I love that kid, love all 3 of my nephews. If it hadn&#8217;t been worrying about them I might have given up and lay down beside Joe and died too that first year. I pulled my shoes off in the garage and walked into the house.
&#8220;Aunt Shannon was sleeping on the ground!&#8221; Parker was telling his mother.
&#8220;She was?&#8221; My sister, Brandi asked, giving me a concerned look. 
&#8220;The sun felt good. I dozed off. No big deal&#8221; I replied sinking into a kitchen chair, willing myself not to start coughing.
Brandi set a big bowl in front of me and then poured steaming hot water into it. I put my head over the bowl covering all with the towel on the table. I breathed in the steam letting it open my passages. Coughing as it sunk in. I remained over the bowl several minutes, hearing voices of my Dad and nephews coming in. Finally I sat up, flipping the towel over my head. Worried faces looked at me.
&#8220;How you feeling today, buddy?&#8221; I asked my nephew Spencer. &#8220;Ok, how are you? Parker said you were sleeping outside&#8221; he replied.
&#8220;I&#8217;m FINE. I just dozed off in the sun that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
&#8220;You still have a pretty bad cough&#8221; my Dad said, a worried look on his face.
&#8220;Dad, I&#8217;m OK. It&#8217;s better. It will go away it always does&#8221; I said getting up. &#8220;Come on boys, let&#8217;s get ready to eat. Your mom has supper ready.&#8221;


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## Bret F

I would read these stories, then milk the goat, my best thinking time of the day and think about five years down the pipe. It just started growing and expanding like a seed infertile dirt as I thought, so I started writing down my thoughts. Bret

_The Danged Rocks_
_A story of Hard Times in the Greater Depression_

*Part I: Amandaâs Story Part 1*

Chapter 1: Amanda

March 2, 2018

_Iâve held it all inward, God knows Iâve tried_
_But itâs an awful awakening in a country boyâs life_
_To look in the mirror in total surprise_
_At the hair on my shoulders and the age in my eyes_ 

_Amanda, light of my life_
_Fate should have made you a gentleman's wife_
_Amanda, light of my life_
_Fate should have made you a gentleman's wife__
âAmandaâ, Performed by Waylon Jennings_
_ Written by Bob McDill_

A light breeze blew stray strands of Amandaâs brownish-blonde hair into her face as she finished the last notes of Amazing Grace and flowed flawlessly into Ookpik. The plaintive notes from her fiddle brought tears from her reddened eyes and from a number of other people at the gathering as well, but she played to the end. Her Dad deserved nothing less on this day- it was one of his favorite tunes. And what a day it was. It was one of those perfect spring days: the light breeze blowing; mourning doves were calling from the top of the cottonwood tree; the sun was bright in a cloudless sky, raising the temperature so the gathered group could _almost_ remove their jackets. It was the type of spring day that made gardeners want to dig in the dirt after a gloomy winter; it made the kids want to start an outdoor game to burn off pent-up energy; it made housewives want to open the windows to air out the house and hang the sheets out on the clothesline. In the past, men would be getting out dusty golf clubs and fishing poles. It was that kind of spring day.
After she finished playing, Amanda took a few moments to wipe her eyes while she looked into the hole in the ground and fought to maintain her composure. She pulled her eyes away from the sight as a sob and shudder went through her. After a bit she handed her fiddle and bow to her Aunt Carla and picked up a nearby shovel and, carefully avoiding the river rock mixed in the dirt pile, she gently poured the first shovelful of dirt onto the shroud wrapped body at the bottom of the grave. â_Thatâs not Dad_,â she thought to herself. â_Thatâs just his shell. Jesus has a new helper in His garden now_.â Amanda handled the shovel with practiced ease as she continued to move dirt into the hole; tears running down her face that mixed with the dust she raised and made dirty tracks down her face. She was 17 years old, tall and slender with an athletic build from playing basketball, running cross country and lots of hard work following the crash.
Amandaâs younger brother Brad reached out and held Amandaâs arm to stop her action, then took the shovel from her and began to add more dirt into the hole. Bob and Alan took up additional shovels and stepped to the grave and added their efforts to the process of burying their brother. 
Amandaâs Cousin Melissa looked her sister in the eye, nodded, and they started to sing in clear voices that reflected their many years of practice. Melissaâs contralto harmonizing with Tammyâs lower voice in a lovely blend: 

_âI come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses._

_And He walks with me, and He talks with me, 
And He tells me I am His own; 
And the joy we share as we tarry there, 
None other has ever known.â_

â_Well Dad, itâs as you wished_,â Amanda whispered to herself, barely hearing the song. â_You always said that when you went to just turn you into fertilizer for the garden, so that we might still get some good out of you. Well, here you are._â
It wasnât exactly as he had often joked. They were in a corner of the garden that was used now just to grow flowers, where his parents had also been laid to rest. â_This was all so unnecessary_,â Amanda thought. â_If we just had medical care in this country, we could be out here together, planting seeds_.â
The medical system had crashed with the rest of the economy nearly five years earlier. After years of reckless government spending and corporate greed where most good jobs had been sent overseas, government and personal debt skyrocketed. To fuel ever more spending, the Federal Reserve commenced with unprecedented flooding of the system with steadily more worthless âmoneyâ. The President, who would only fight with Congress on the budget with no intention of compromise, made spending reductions strictly on the domestic side. He was trying to cause the most pain at home possible in order to get the other party to agree to raise taxes. Most people continued their lives as if all was well, too deeply immersed in reality TV to see reality, although there were some astute folks who recognized the economy was on a precipice, just waiting for the right nudge to push it off. And then the real damage had struck. With the government so crippled and dysfunctional, some less than desirable people that had escaped their overseas cesspools felt the time was perfect to turn America into a cesspool. They started by hitting supermarkets, bombing them in locations all across the country, making most people afraid to go shopping. Then they disabled the majority of the power grid. It was so simple, blowing up a few key locations in the system that was linked together nationwide. Little food and no power were the ingredients necessary for a catastrophe. Commerce came to a lurching stop. It was merely symbolic when the Meadowlands was blown up prior to the Super Bowl being held there. The economy was so bad â not to mention the lack of television - it was questionable if the game would be held anyway; even as it was hoped to give an emotional lift to the hurting populace. Not that many people even heard about it. But it definitely put an exclamation point on the bombings.
*****​The song ended, the men finished filling the grave and stepped away. Amanda, her mother Amy and her Aunt Francis went to the fresh grave with a box filled with small plants â wild phlox and lupine, arrowleaf balsamroot and sage brush - and trowels to plant them in the freshly turned dirt. âIâ¦. canâtâ¦. doâ¦. it,â Amy said as her body wracked with sobs and the trowel fell out of her trembling hand. Brad came to his mother, helped her to her feet and wrapped her in a strong embrace. Amanda and Francis continued to plant as their tears flowed. All of the plants were native plants that Brad and Amanda had scoured the nearby foothills for that morning. â_Dad sure loved the smell of sage brush_,â Amanda remembered as she tenderly planted a small bush. â_I just wish we could have found some wild onions. He always pointed them out when he would see them and loved their little bloss_oms.â Amanda was momentarily lost in memories of hikes with Dad in the foothills looking at the spring wildflowers. A few of the plants were also placed over the graves of Amandaâs grandparents. Amanda and Brad had looked for plants that would grow without care in the hot, dry summer conditions of the area.
*****​_While the teens had been in the hills, Alan and Bob had dug the grave. Alan was humming lightly while they worked. The tune running through his head helped him to deal with the gravity of the task at hand; it also helped distract him from the rocks that were growing ever more numerous as they went deeper. _Who decided graves had to be six feet deep?_ Before the crash, they had just taken grave-diggers and their backhoes for granted. This was definitely a back-wrenching job. _
_âWhatâs that song?â Bob asked._
_âJust a song for this morning,â Alan replied. âItâs The Hollies,__"*He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother*â.â _
_âYeah, that fits.â Bob answered as he paused in his digging to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead and stand straight upright to stretch his back muscles. He thought back to some of the hunting and fishing trips the three brothers had been on together. Even when they were all busy with jobs and family, they had managed to get together for a few outings each year. He smiled when he remembered that someone usually had a fish brushed across their face or dropped down their shirt collar - totally on accident of course. They continued to dig; now both of them hummed the melody, cursed the rocks and talked sparingly of some of the more memorable trips. Those trips often included rain down-pours, poor nightâs sleep, unexpected snow storms and packing elk out of some brushy hole they regretted going into. The trips that went without a hitch just werenât as memorable._
_âYou know,â Bob said as he was working around a particularly big rock, âHe could have at least got the danged rocks out of his garden.â Actually, Bill had developed a nice layer of fertile soil over a deeper layer of river rock and sand, but he had hauled buckets of rocks to the driveway each year that managed to work their way up as he tilled the soil. _
_Once the hole looked adequate Alan clambered out with Bobâs help and they looked down at the hole together. âThis really bites,â Alan said with obvious anger in his voice. âFirst Dad, then Mom, and now Bill. Is this what we have to look forward to now, burying our family. Welcome to the new American dream! We shouldnât be burying our younger brother. Thanks Mr. President and the rest of the SOBâs before you!â_
_After an awkward silence, Bob picked up both their jackets, handed Alan his, and put his own on. âThat just might be what we can expect now,â he said. âBetween the Prez, Congress and the puppet masters that pull their strings, theyâve pretty much screwed everything up big time. I just hope itâs not permanent but I wonât hold my breath on that.â After another pause, he finished, âWe better go get cleaned up.â_
*****​


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## Bret F

Amandaâs neighbor Mike led the gathering in a final prayer. Mike was a large man with a full bushy beard that had earned him the nickname âBearâ although like most of the populace, he was a much slimmed down version of his former self. Prior to the crash he had been the information technology director of a small company â a dyed in the wool computer geek - and knew nothing about providing for himself without takeout food â even a supermarket stretched his boundaries. Bill had seen the sorry state Mike and his family was in and had taken them under his wing. Mike had become fiercely loyal to Bill and sorely missed his good friend.
Mikeâs booming voice concluded with âAmenâ and the group slowly left the garden and proceeded to the garage, Amanda and Brad lingering at the gravesite a while longer. Mikeâs wife Leslie and some neighbor women had laid out a modest but filling meal for the group. Brad had butchered two roosters the previous afternoon and had started them slowly cooking in a Dutch oven before he and Amanda had gone into the hills. The chicken was simmering in a sauce Amy had concocted from Bills homemade wine â Amy had told him his wine was better for cooking than drinking - , butter and onions and garlic. A second Dutch oven was filled with scalloped potatoes. The ladies had put together a nice salad of a variety of greens, green onions and radishes, harvested that morning from the mounds of dirt that had only recently been beds in the greenhouse. The third Dutch oven the ladies set out contained sourdough bread, made from Amandaâs Grandpaâs starter; he had claimed it was over one hundred years old. The meal was accompanied by quart jars of peaches, picked from the garden orchard and canned late the previous summer. It was all washed down with well water and fresh goat milk. 
During the meal, which Amanda and Amy were not inclined to eat,- â_It all smells so good but I donât think I could hold anything down_,â Amanda thought, the two went to their friends to thank them for coming to the service. They both struggled to put on a calm demeanor. They heard the same message echoed from all of their neighbors, âWe donât know what would have happened to us without Bill. Either we would have starved or gotten some disease from drinking bad water, or something else. He taught us so many things to help us get through. It was a true honor to know him and he would be deeply missed.â 
Amy thanked them for their kind words. However, instead of comforting her, many of the comments added to the sense of dread that was growing inside her with Billâs absence. She also had little idea of how to cope with the changed world. She had just followed his lead. It had been such a struggle; more mental than physical, although the physical change was evident. Her hair had gone totally gray in less than a year. Her clothes now hung loose on her even though she had the best muscle tone of her life. It was only through Billâs calm guidance and knowledge that they had come this far. The prospects of continuing on without Bill terrified her so much that she was afraid she would begin screaming at any moment if she dwelled on it.
Amanda also thanked the neighbors for their kind words then took her mother by the arm and led her to the makeshift table where much of the extended family had gathered. The familyâs talk was centered mostly about the final preparations for tomorrow. Amandaâs eyes began to tear again, thinking of leaving her home so soon after losing her Dad. â_Jesus_,â she murmured, â_Please help us all through this time and give us the strength to bear the burden. It is so hard without Dad and now, to be leaving home feels nearly overwhelming. So Father, please give us your blessing on the move and travel mercies tomorrow. It is through your Grace that we are here at this time and I thank you for all you do in our lives. And please make sure Dad knows how much we all miss him! Amen._â 
Bob looked to Amanda and said, âIâve got my stuff pretty much loaded, just a few things yet to grab in the morning. Iâll be here just before first light so I can help get the livestock loaded.â âGet hereâ wasnât that difficult since most of the family lived within a short distance of each other on the same street. The four siblings â Bill, Bob, Alan and their sister Carla - had all grown up there and as the crash deepened, the two that had moved away had both returned. All of their children were also here so they would be leaving as a large group. 
âThanks Uncle Bob,â Amanda answered. âWe can definitely use your help. Mom and Aunt Fran will be getting the rest of the house stuff put together so it will be up to you, me and Brad to finish up outside. The animals probably wonât care for leaving their beds that early so Iâm sure weâll have our hand full.â They continued to discuss the next dayâs plans while Bob worked on emptying his plate up his plate of food.
 After the meal was cleaned up the neighbors again offered the family condolences and wished them well on their impending move as they began to make their ways towards home. Amy, Francis and Amanda gave Mike and Leslie hugs as they were leaving. Mark, their son, a pained look on his face, looked on with teenage awkwardness; hands deep in his pants pockets, his weight shifting from foot to foot; avoiding eye contact with everyone, not knowing just what to do or say. Mark had idolized Bill and hung on his every word. When the crash hit, Mike was bewildered in how to care for his family. Mark had gravitated to the quiet confidence Bill showed in teaching the family about beginning self-sufficiency. His hurt was as deep as if for one of his own family. Amanda looked at him until he finally made eye contact. âMark, thank you so much for being here with us. My Dad was so proud of you for everything you did and learned to help your family.â
Mark looked back down at his shoe tops and tried to shove his hands even deeper in his pockets as if it were possible. He was barely audible as he mumbled, âThanks Amanda. Iâll really miss him.â 
Brad held out his hand to shake and Mike grabbed it and pulled him into a bear hug. âYouâre the man of the family now Brad,â he said, as he released the embrace and held Brad by the shoulders looking him straight in the eyes. âItâs going to be up to you to take care of these ladies. I know any son of Billâs will be up to the task.â Brad gulped hard at the thought, doubtful that he could ever fill in for his Dad, but thrilled at the recognition Mike gave him. With that, the families bid one last good bye and Mikeâs family went to the road and started walking to their own home, the air noticeably cooler as the sun descended in the western sky.
After the last of the neighbors had gone, Amanda and Brad changed into work clothes and set about taking care of the evening chores. Amanda got the milk bucket, a bucket with some grain and went to the goat shed to milk. She also had a plate of scraps from the meal for Maggie, their dog; she had been forced to stay with the livestock following the crash. While Amanda was feeding Maggie and milking the goats, Brad gathered the dayâs eggs, gave hay to the goats and cows, chopped some mangles that he mixed with grain and soured milk to feed the pigs, then made sure the animals all had water. The feed had been loaded onto a trailer, secured for leaving the next morning, making it less convenient than it had been. Amanda joined Brad and took over the hand pump and pumped a final bucket with water for the house. They walked to the house enjoying each otherâs companionship. They had that special sibling relationship where at one moment they were each otherâs best friend and the next moment worst enemies, although always in a playful-bickering-pestering mode. The crash had drawn them even closer together. The bickering had slacked off and they now relied heavily upon each other. 
âAmanda,â Brad said tentatively, âYou know, Iâm scared about leaving. This is the only home weâve ever had. It is just so, I donât know,â¦ unknown at the cabin.â
âYeah, I know. But weâll all just work together and get along fine. Itâll be tough, for sure, but probably not much tougher than what weâve already been through. Iâll cover your back â you cover mine, and we will both look after Mom and Aunt Francis. Dad always said that if the two of us pulled together, we could pull off anything. Iâm finally starting to believe it.â 
Once in the house, Amanda strained the milk while Brad cleaned and cartoned the eggs, then she cleaned up while he took the milk and eggs to the root cellar. With the temperature staying so cool at night, it was as effective as the refrigerator had been in the past at keeping things cool. It wasnât nearly as effective in the hot summer months, but it helped. After using the hot water from the pot that was always on the wood stove, Amanda re-filled it from her fresh bucket and set it back on the stove to heat.
*****​


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## Bret F

Chapter 2: Falling out of Heaven

_The farmer stands out in the corn
All dried up from drought
Says oh Lord what can I do
The sun's gonna burn us out
You've been faithful to provide
And I believe you will
Just give me some kind
Of sacred sign
And I can pay my bills
âFalling Out of Heavenâ Performed by Kate Campbell_
_ Written by Kate Campbell and Walt Aldridge_

With all of the dayâs activities and evening chores taken care of, Amanda put the last of the chicken meat on a slice of sourdough bread, then she and Brad joined Amy and Francis where they had settled into the sparsely filled living room. Bob and Bill had already moved most of the contents of the house that would be needed to the cabin. Much of what remained would stay there at the house.
The room was faintly illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle and the fire-light through the glass of the wood stove. Amanda sat on a folding chair, mesmerized by the dancing shadows on the wall as she began eating her light meal. Amy looked to her and asked in a voice that skirted the edge of panic, âOh Amanda, really? Are we really doing the right thing, leaving home? Can we really make it isolated up there on the side of a mountain? There is still _some_ functioning government. They have to get everything cleaned up before long. Are you certain this is the right thing?â Amy still desperately clung to the hope that things would right themselves any day; that the last five years would turn out to be just a dream â a very bad dream. _It couldnât have changed things forever, could it?_
Amanda slowly chewed her mouthful of bread and chicken while she collected her thoughts on how best to answer â a trait she had inherited from her father. He had held to the saying â_Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt,â __and always made sure of his answers before talking. _ Judging by the unsteady nature of Amyâs voice, the words needed to be just right this time.
âIâm not *certain* of anything, Mom. However, I feel in my heart we are doing the right thing, but I donât like leaving any better than you do- this is the only home Iâve ever known. I know Dad thought hard and prayed long about it. When the canal failed last year it really changed things. To go from having the water flow to us to having to carry water just to finish the growing season totally altered our circumstances. Dad and the other men couldnât get the washout fixed. Unfortunately we live in the high desert. And it will return to desert without irrigation. He said it would need heavy equipment to fix the washout that we just donât have access to. The government farms are getting all of the priority now. A bunch of subsistence growers just donât have the same clout. We could stay on and live on the starvation diet they hand out. That doesnât sound very appealing to me. Besides, the amount they have been giving has dropped way off. I get the feeling we are about to see the end of food shipments. I pray Iâm wrong, but just look at how they have changed recently.â 
âBut I just want to go back to how it was before. I want to turn on the faucet and have water flow. Flick a switch for lights. I want to get in my car and drive to Wal-Mart or Albertsons and buy what I want. I want to take a hot shower without heating water first on the stove. I want to sit down with a box of your Girl Scout cookies and veg out to some mind-numbing TV show. I just want â¦..things right and your Dad back,â she said in a quavering voice as she wound down, sobbing as the weight of it all closed ever tighter on her.
Amanda handed the remains of her meal to Brad and went to her mother and pulled her tight. âI know Mom, I wish things were the same as before too, but theyâre not.â Amanda held her Mom at armâs length and looked her in the eye as she forcefully continued, âI miss all those things too. I miss my friends and I pray they are still safe. I wanted to go to high school â I dreamed of high school. I wanted to do a lot of things besides working so hard to eat.â To herself she added â_and I wanted to see Dad with my children, loving and teaching them as he taught me_,â then had to fight hard at the emotion that flooded her before she could continue. âBut Dad thought this through and decided it would be best for us to leave, so thatâs what we are going to do. And remember, with the spring and the generator at the cabin, we will have running _cold_ water and some electricity again. Until the day comes you can jump in the car and go to the grocery store for what we need, weâve got to keep providing for ourselves. The government isnât going to do it â they canât do it. Itâs up to us. Dad and Uncle Bob have got the fields set up to irrigate at the cabin. We can still grow our food without spending every waking hour packing water to the plants.â
The shadows cast on Amandaâs face, coupled with the tone of her voice gave her words extra weight. Amy was buoyed by the strong confidence in Amandaâs response and looked back at her. âYou know Honey, I always said I was there at your birth, but from then on you were your Dadâs girl. I can just hear him making those same statements. You are wired just the same as him and it is really showing through now. He would be so proud of how you are dealing with everything,â Amy told her daughter. âYou two adapted to the changes effortlessly while it has been such an ordeal for the rest of us. If he just could have made his medication work effectively,â she finished in hushed tones.
Amanda didnât respond as she wiped at her eyes, but her mind was active, _Yeah, I am trying so hard to comfort you but I sure wish Dad was here to do it. Iâm nothing but knots inside. I donât know how Iâm going to be the strong one when I miss him so much. But itâs like he always said, âSomebody needs to do it and I donât see anybody else stepping forward.â_
Brad and Francis looked on quietly, both fearful about the coming move. Brad was nearly 15 and had been the typical pre-crash kid: more interested in video games and skateboarding than learning anything about the garden or animals. Bill had been especially proud of the transformation he had made. Prior to the crash, Bill had seriously wondered how Brad would make it in the real world without someone to pick up for him. He had learned a lot since the crash, but didnât embrace the change the way Amanda did and longed for the easy life he had led. Amanda had always been the one interested in every project Dad had gotten into: the garden, chickens, the goats; Brad looked at them as distractions. Then after the crash, she was his number one helper and sounding board, learning new skills to cope like she was born to them. Brad had made great strides but still, he would much rather go the pantry and grab a bag of chips than nurture some plant or chicken for what he could get out of them. As much as Amanda had emulated her father, Brad had developed many of the habits and attitudes of his mother.
Francis was like her sister Amy â a city girl through and through. She had fled to her sisterâs house âin the Idaho sticksâ, barely escaping Las Vegas when the riots erupted and torched most of the city. She had come to Amy and Billâs house for safety with only what was in her car and wasnât looking forward to leaving their home so soon. The road had been a very fearful place. She felt it was providence Bill had called her and insisted â no demanded â that she make up what he called a bug out bag and have it and twice as much spare gas as was needed for the trip on hand as well as a full tank in the car. Not just on hand, but in the car, ready to leave at a momentâs notice. He had tried to talk her into coming to their house right away but she brushed him off as being reactionary. So he badgered her to have the BOB, gas and an escape plan with alternate routes â and those routes better be on physical maps, not some computer or GPS program. Then he called twice a day and would not let up until she sent him photos of her preparations. He still wanted her to come right away, but relented after reviewing everything she had ready. 
Amy and Francis also had a brother who lived â or had lived - in Ontario, California. No amount of badgering him or his wife could make them prepare for an emergency escape from their home, not even giving them a guilt trip to at least plan for their kidâs safety. They flatly stated that the President would send the necessary help if there were problems. Besides, all the stuff on the news about FEMAâs response to disasters being inadequate, âWell that was just stuff the media made up to make them look bad.â Bill decided if they stocked up at all it would be at the liquor store. _They were rarely short on that provision._ The day the cell towers lost power was the last they had been heard from. Bill had learned through shortwave radio that the entire Los Angeles area had deteriorated into a burnt out war zone with the gangs having better fire power than the authorities. â_Good thing the state government enacted all those gun control laws_â, he thought. â_That definitely made the law abiders safer, yeah right!_â Soon after that, even shortwave transmissions from the area dried up. Added to everything else, not knowing if their brother and his family were safe or alive had Amy and Francisâs nerves raw and constantly on edge.
Amy, though she had been married to Bill for nearly twenty years never understood his actions. She would rather not know the state of the world and just stay within her own cocoon, insulated from whatever was going on. She would humor Bill in most of the stuff he did â it was definitely better than his co-workers that spent their free time at the bars, but she didnât âgetâ him. She grudgingly agreed to some of his purchases, but then would spend an equal amount on the kids, just having fun. His efforts at self âsufficiency were also a challenge: she would much rather pick up a chicken from the deli ready to eat than have one of his home raised birds. _And raw milk; that stuff was even worse than those stringy chickens_. But he had eventually convinced her on many vegetables. When they were married, she called him a veggie snob. But after eating the fresh produce from his garden, she had to admit the flavor far surpassed anything she could buy. She also preferred his free-range chicken eggs, but didnât know why he needed so many hens.
Following a long awkward silence, Amanda finally said, âWe should all get to bed. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.â 
Brad and Amanda made the final evening trip outside to secure all of the livestock for the night and check that everything was locked up. They had locked up the chickens at night prior to the crash for raccoon and fox protection. Now they were more concerned about two-legged predators for all of the livestock; and raccoons were viewed as just another food source. Maggie came to them as they made their rounds. She had accepted being delegated to the goat barn but still craved the interaction with her people. She had earned her keep though; her menacing bark had frightened off night-time visitors on numerous occasions. Amanda and Brad each gave her some pats and ear scratching before leaving.
When Amanda and Brad finished and returned to the house, Amy had banked the wood stove for the night and everyone made their evening bed-time preparations, and bid each other âGood nightâ and retired to their beds.
*****​


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## Bret F

Amanda went to her bed and stretched out looking in the dark towards the ceiling. Her mind was racing with the events of the day and the upcoming move. And then she broke down, tears flowing and sobbing at the loss of Dad and home. She had tried to keep herself in control for her mother and Bradâs sake. Now alone she finally let herself totally go. âItâs not right, God,â she moaned. âWe still need him here. Itâs only been a couple of days and I miss him so much, Iâm empty inside. I donât know what we are going to do without him.â
Amanda cried until the well of tears dried up and she sniffled, wiping her nose often. Finally she closed her eyes, just to see the image of the shroud covered body at the bottom of the grave, prompting even more tears and nose wiping. She lay awake into the deep hours of the night with the same image returning each time she closed her eyes. Eventually exhaustion won out, and she fell into a fitful sleep. 
_Amanda awoke with a start at hearing her Dadâs pained voice. She jumped from her bed and rushed to the living room. There he was, sitting hunched over in a chair, an agonized moan coming from his lips. His forehead was covered with sweat and his face was twisted in pain. She rushed over to him and knelt at his feet. She reached up to take his head in her hands; if she could just hold him, it would help relieve his pain; and he dissolved into blackness; then she was again standing, looking down at the shroud in the bottom of the grave. _
Amanda rolled and tossed in her bed coming instantly out of sleep, gasping from the vivid images of the dream. She frantically sought peace â realizing it had just been a dream, and slowly started to calm down and bring her breathing back under control. Slowly, ever so slowly as she closed her eyes, her mind shut down and she eventually dropped into sleep once again. 
 _Amanda finished milking the goat â _where are the rest of the goats_ â and looked into the bucket. _What a pitiful amount of milk_. She shook her head at the thought and let the goat out of the stanchion. She stepped out of the goat shed and started towards the house. She felt a tugging on her leg and looked down to see a cocklebur attached to her frayed jeans, the well-maintained pasture overrun by burrs and thistle; where did those come from? As she looked up, she froze in her tracks. The roof of the house was caved in and an elm tree was growing from somewhere in the living room, rising far above the walls. Every window was broken out and there were large holes in the walls. _What happened to that? I just came out a few minutes ago._ She slowly turned and saw the corner of the garden; the burial corner was overrun by poison ivy. She dropped the bucket, milk splashing onto her legs as she pulled away from the burrs and hurried to the garden gate, and over to the corner. Heedless of touching the plants, she reached for the base of the first plant to yank it from the ground; a vine snaked out and wrapped around her wrist. As she fought it, another vine wrapped her other wrist. The vines began exerting pressure, pulling her steadily down, down, down._
Amanda awoke in a sweat, fighting for breath. She looked around the dark room illuminated only by a slight gloom from the window and recognized she was in her bed in her room. It was just a dream. She sat up in the bed and leaned against the wall, afraid to fall asleep again; afraid of what her mind would conjure up next. Slowly she calmed down, sleep coming on her stealthily as the frightening images slowly faded from her mind.
_Amanda slowly got out of bed and walked to her door. _What had disturbed her sleep_? She opened her door and looked around. There was bright light from the kitchen. She hadnât seen that much light at night since the power had gone off. She stepped to the kitchen and saw a familiar sight: Dad was sitting_ _at the table with a coffee cup, his head bent over his Bible, reading by lamp light. _That kerosene lamp shouldnât put off that much light_. He looked up, saw her and smiled, his face seeming to light up. âAmanda, come sit with me Darling.â He said._ 
_She did as he said; confused after the dreams, this feeling so real, but in the back her mind thinking it couldnât be; _didnât we bury him?;_ and sat in the chair he pulled out. âUhh,â¦.Dâ¦Dad, wâ¦what are you doing here?â _
_âIâm really not sure. But Iâve been reading about Joseph. You know, he was a great prepper. He understood Godâs message that in the times of plenty, you put aside for the times of little. Iâm now at the section where the rest of Jacobâs, also known as Israelâs sons, except Benjamin, have gone to Joseph and asked to purchase food. If we read far enough, the sons of Israel will leave Canaan and stay in Egypt. Iâm wondering to myself if there are any parallels here to them and you leaving home. I donât know; thatâs too deep for me to figure out. But I would like to think we are being guided by The Lord in this. And if we continue reading, we will see that eventually, they will need Moses to deliver them from Egypt. _
_âI still think it is right for you to leave and go to the cabin. But be cautious and when the time is right, return home. Think your situation through and be ready to change your plan if it looks like you need to. The answers are all here,â he said, gently tapping her forehead. âJust look deep for them and always ask The Lord for guidance. If you need help with Mom, read this section together and reason with her. Iâm sure that if you lay it all out to her after going over this, it will be easier for her to accept. But she is right to be concerned. Nothing is a sure thing. Now give me a hug and go get some rest. You have a busy day tomorrow.â _
_Bill kissed her softly on her forehead and Amanda wrapped her arms around him and they held each other tight. A tear ran down her cheek as she relished the feeling of his strong arms holding her and drifted into her first peaceful sleep of the night._
 *****


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## JMx4

Please keep it up. I really enjoyed this.


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## Deena in GA

I've just started reading this thread last week and want to say a huge THANK YOU! to all the authors who participated or will participate. Some very good reading/writing here! I'm sorry to see that Alan didn't finish his though.


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## Bret F

Chapter 3: Leaving
_When you see that you're leaving_
_And you see that you're gone_
_And you see there's no saying_
_Goodbye_
_
All the trees are in mourning_
_The light is late from the sun_
_Casting shadow on shadow_
_Now and from the sky_
_
And it's hard not to want to turn around_
_It's hard not to want to back on down_
_We're only as strong as our hearts within_
_Only as strong_
_
And all you know of where the road goes_
_Is someplace far and unknown_
_You would think you would have gotten_
_Used to it all by now_
_
But each day just gets harder_
_Every journey alone_
_Never knowing if you'll make it_
_Back home somehow_

_âLeaving Songâ Performed by Mary Chapin Carpenter _
_Written by Mary Chapin Carpenter_


All too soon the first light of predawn came through Amandaâs window. She groaned, looking outside, remembering fleeting bits and pieces of her dreams. She dismissed the first ones as anxiety from losing Dad and her home, but the last one: was that really him coming to talk to her? She didnât know but it had felt so real and comforting to sit with him again; to get the last hug in and hear his words of support. She got out of bed, stretched and went out to the kitchen, her eyes lingering at the table and wondering, _was it_? 
She went to the wood stove, opened the draft, then the door slowly, giving the smoke a chance to vent up the chimney and not into the room. She placed some fine kindling from the bucket in the coals, blew on it lightly to get the flames started going. The flames hungrily consuming the small kindling, she added some larger pieces of kindling, and sat back and watched the growing fire for a few minutes. With the dancing flames going good, she put two larger pieces of wood on the kindling â wood to take the chill out of the house and provide heat for cooking breakfast. _Mom and Aunt Francis sure had trouble learning to cook on wood heat. I didnât think they would ever stop burning the food. And Dad would shift three or four pans around on the stove without missing a beat and it all came out just right._
She went to the sink, filled the wash pan with water and washed her face, the shock of the cold water draining some of the weariness from her. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling like they were full of sand; then dumped the water in the herb bed outside the door and refilled the pan and set it on the warming wood stove. _Mom sure doesnât like to wash with cold water_. 
A mischievous smile came to her face as she went back to her room for a packet. The family had been officially out of coffee for nearly two years. Dad had taken her aside and showed her one last sealed one-pound package he had hidden in an out of the way place. He had explained that someday Mom might need an extra pick-up treat; Amanda would know when the time was right if he wasnât here to brew it. She had stashed it in her bedroom anticipating that the day of leaving would be the perfect time. 
Amanda located the coffee pot where it had been packed away; _Mom didnât think we would need it any longer;_ cleaned it and filled it with water and coffee and set it on the stove to heat. Personally, she didnât understand the appeal of coffee. She had tried it once and nearly gagged on the bitter taste. _And the look on Bradâs face when I spewed it over the floor and then he helped me clean it up before Mom saw it. _ _Iâll take an herbal tea over that stuff any day. No wonder Mom always filled her cup half way with cream and sweetener._
As Amanda dressed the aroma of coffee began to fill the house. _Well, at least it smells better than it tastes._ She went to her Momâs room and gently shook her awake and told her there was a treat waiting for her. She could hear Aunt Francis stirring in her room. After that she woke Brad, and then went out to begin the morning chores. She had liked to sleep in until her Dad had started getting her up early to help him post-crash. He said that early morning was the best part of the day. She came to treasure their early mornings together, seeing the sun rise over the mountains.

*****​Amanda was milking the second goat when Maggie let her know Uncle Bob was coming. She was still feeling the effects of lack of sleep and crying during the night: her throat burned from the sinus drainage and her eyelids still felt raw, but she was feeling better with the solidness of the goat. It was a familiar feeling, accompanied by the odor of the fresh milk mixed with the earthy barn smell; a welcome comfortable feeling after going through the previous day and night nearly in a stupor. It didnât totally free her mind, but the familiar activity helped to soothe her frayed nerves.
The other two does and the jersey cow had not yet freshened. Bill had staggered their breeding so he could always have at least one animal in milk. Amanda finished and turned the doe out as Bob came in. âGood morning, Uncle Bob,â she said, her breath condensing in the air. Despite the glorious conditions of the previous day the early morning air was brisk enough to remind everyone that winter wasnât retreating without a fight. âBrad is getting the chickens crated and we can work on getting all of the animals loaded after breakfast. Mom is getting something ready, and I know she has a plate for you. She called out that we all need to start today with a good breakfast. She didnât know when you would let us stop to eat again. Youâre such a taskmaster,â she grinned at him. âWe have the pickup hooked to the trailer and ready to load; the wood is all ready to go in the gasifier but we havenât lit it yet.â 
*****​After the bombings began, Bill reasoned that if the terrorism continued â â_Yes, Mr. President, I consider it terrorism even if the FBI has yet to declare it so, political correctness be ----ed_â, he thought â that gasoline would become very scarce for the common people. He had set his father Cal up to watch a youtube video on how to make a wood gasifier for a vehicle to run on wood produced gas. He had also given him a book with full plans, descriptions, and photos; written by one of the most experienced users of wood gas fuel. Cal was a die-hard tinkerer and was starting on the first unit the next day. By the time Billâs concerns about fuel shortages were proven true, the family had five working gasifiers on their pickups and they were only slightly fazed by the lack of gas. It even became a great barter tool, trading ideas and labor on additional gasifiers to some of the farmers in the area.
Bill had stumbled onto an article in the Mother Earth News archives years ago about the magazine staffsâ efforts to run their pickup on wood and been very intrigued. He spent a lot of time researching the process and was especially impressed to see that many farmers in Europe had converted their tractors to wood gas during World War II. He continued to print and file every article and âhow toâ he could find on the process and had accumulated a large collection of materials that could be used to make one. By the time he needed one built, between his and Calâs junk piles, they had most everything needed to make numerous systems. 
*****​


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## Bret F

Amanda and Bob met Brad returning from the chicken house and they went together to the pump house and pumped a bucket of water that they took with them to the house. They were greeted by the aroma of fresh sourdough pancakes â â_Aunt Francis must have mixed it up while we did the chores last night, how did I miss itâ Amanda wondered_ - smoked salt pork and fried eggs andâ¦. 
âIs that coffee,â asked Bob? âI havenât had any of that for two years. Whereâd you get it?â 
Amy handed him a mug full and explained about Billâs secret stash and Amanda brewing it that morning. âI think sheâs just trying to make the trip uncomfortable,â she said with a grin. âDrinking coffee always made me need to pee, so it will make for a long trip to the cabin. I hope you are planning on making a couple of rest stops.â
Amanda was happy to see the emotional lift the coffee had given her Mom. _Comfort food sure is a good thing._ _Just the idea of something from the past has lifted her up, and judging by Aunt Francis, and Uncle Bod, itâs contagious._ _Just wait till we get to the cabin and I give them the Hershey bars Dad had squirreled away._
Bob raised the cup to his nose and inhaled deeply. âWow, that smells good,â he said and lowered the cup and took a sip. The contented look on his face transformed into a grimace. âOkay, as I said, itâs been quite a while since I had coffee, but is this stuff just old or lousy? I remember it tasting a lot better. 
Amy chuckled and handed him the jar of milk. âWell, didnât you always drink that foo-foo stuff? You better try doctoring it up. Iâm saving the sugar thatâs left, but you can try to sweeten it with honey. Thatâs what I put in mine; it sure tastes different than the Sweet and Low I used to use.â
Bob added milk, honey, took a sip, added more honey. With the next sip, he declared, âItâs not what I remember but I think it will do.â
They all set down at the table, joined hands, and Brad led the family in asking the Lordâs Blessing and then they dug in. The smoked pork wasnât quite like the bacon of the old days, but it was a good substitute. And the pancakes were nearly like Bill used to make them. Brad would have preferred store-bought syrup to put on them but there was none to be had. Bill didnât stock it once all of the corn was genetically modified âFranken Foodâ as he called it. Instead he stocked lots of cane sugar and recipes for making syrup from juices they could harvest. This morning they had chokecherry syrup (Billâs favorite) and honey. Amy and Bob each placed an over-easy egg on their first pancake, and spread the runny yolk all over it. They all ate heartily; Amy and Amanda hungry from little to eat the previous day; no one sure of when they would be able to eat again with the busy day ahead of them. Brad ate with the gusto of a growing teenage boy involved in hard work: one hollow leg and the other with a slow leak; making Amanda wonder if there would be enough pancakes for everyone to get their fill before he was done.
Bob took the final drink from his coffee and ended up with a mouth full of grounds, courtesy of the old-fashioned percolator. âAmy, donât you know the ground coffee is supposed to stay in the basket, not in my cup?â
âI thought you needed more fiber in your diet. Besides, youâre becoming a mountain man; itâs time to toughen up.â
âNope, Iâm planning on sitting on the porch and letting you ladies serve me nice meals like this one. Tough is over-rated.â
After everyone finished, Bob thanked Amy and Francis for the meal, quickly echoed by Amanda and Brad; then the three washed and headed outside to load the livestock; leaving Amy and Francis to clean up from the meal and pack everything that was left in the house that was going with them. 
The day was looking like it would be another nice spring day. In the growing morning light, the sky was mostly blue with a few light wispy clouds. The air was already beginning to warm. Amanda was thankful for the nice weather; inclement weather would have made an already stressful day nearly intolerable. 
Mark was standing at the cow and goat pen as they went out. âGood morning, but what are you doing here,â asked Amanda.
Mark took a deep breath, shored up his courage and looked directly at Amanda, âWell, I just thought you could use some help; not that Iâm in a hurry for you to leave or anything,â he added sheepishly. âAnd you donât think Iâd let the goats leave without seeing them off, do you?â
Amanda flashed him a smile, her vivid blue eyes twinkling in pleasure, as she started for the gate, making him stumble and turn red as he started to follow. She smiled again at the effect and said, âSeeing the goats off, huh? Thanks, Mark, your thoughtfulness means a lot to me. And we could sure use the help. Iâve never seen a cow or pig yet that will do what you want, and very few goats that will.â 
The livestock consisted of a jersey milk cow and young milking shorthorn bull calf; a boar, sow and gilt; the goats: four does, a buck and two weathers; and about forty chickens. Besides the does Amanda was milking, the rest of the female animals were heavily pregnant. Amanda prayed that the trip and relocations wouldnât cause any problems. Soon after the dry goats kidded, Amanda would dry off the two remaining does in anticipation of their own kids.
 The jersey and the calf were loaded into the front of the stock trailer. The divider gate was closed and the pigs and chicken crate were loaded into the rear section. Amanda was sorry to be disrupting the chickens: the daylight hours had lengthened enough that the egg production had greatly increased, and she guessed the move would set them back again, as well as mess up the goatâs milk production. _Oh well, it canât be helped._
The goats were loaded into the back of the pickup with their leads secured. For years Bill had been training the weathers and the young does as packers. Each time he would remove the pack saddles, he put a scoop of grain in a feed box in the pickup, making the goats jump in for a snack. They were so well trained to jump in that the weathers always jumped right into the pickup hoping for a snack even when Bill had not set one out for them. The only one that gave them any trouble was the buck â of course. â_Itâs just orneriness, him making us grab him to load and getting his stink-pretty on our hands_,â Amanda thought. The milk stand and the feeders were secured on the feed trailer. The remaining household items were loaded onto the back of Bobâs pickup with his gear and tarped over, and then they hooked the feed trailer to his pickup. 
As Amy came out of the house for the final time, Amanda took her hand and asked Brad to accompany them. Mark stayed behind and talked with Bob and Francis, not wanting to intrude on the family. Amanda, Amy and Brad took a slow walk through their home noting the emptiness that now greeted them. Amanda tried not to let any of the disturbing images from her dreams creep in as they looked through the house, pointing out all of the things Bill had done to remodel it over the years as the family grew. Going out the back door, Amanda looked at the area the bee hives had been and remembered taking the introduction to beekeeping class with Dad so many years ago. They looked where the greenhouse had been and could picture Bill sorting his collection of sliding glass doors and building the greenhouse from other peoples cast offs. They could imagine him inside it, working at the benches, transplanting young plants; working at nurturing more crops he could harvest during the cold months. They walked through the deserted work shop, missing the clutter of tools Bill always dropped on the bench, instead of returning them to the tool box, until it was too piled to work on a project. Amy had always wanted Bill to clean up his âclutter and junkâ. Now it seemed so empty to her without his many projects scattered around. They noted the silence at the chicken coop with no roosters telling them the day was here. They walked through the garden noting Bill would have cold frames out and cool weather crops starting to sprout by now. They saw the blank areas where the hoop-houses had stood before being taken down and packed to the cabin. Bill had done so much at the home, that seeing much of his work dismantled and already looking neglected, it was just more of a reminder that he really was gone from them. They walked to the corner of the garden where he had been laid to rest and joining hands, each said their own prayer and personal good bye. They silently went to the pickup, joining the waiting family members, still holding each-others hands. Amanda noted the anxious look on Markâs face before he turned away from her gaze, blushing.
While Bob and Amanda had been loading up, the rest of the family had been loading the other pickups. All told there were twenty one members of the extended family that was making the move, ranging from Carlaâs five year old granddaughter to sixty three year old Alan. They were in five large pickups- extended and king cabs - all equipped with wood gasifier units; four of them pulling trailers. 
Neither Amy nor Amanda felt comfortable pulling the trailer so Alanâs son Ken would be driving it. Each pickup carried at least two semi-auto rifles with high capacity magazines at the ready. Bob did not think they would be needed, but since they had them, they might as well be handy. Most of the thieves working the area were opportunists that preferred to work under cover of darkness. Then they came out in steadily increasing numbers, carrying off anything that wasnât secured. During daytime, however, they kept hidden. There had been one gang deeper in town that had operated openly during the early days of the crash, emboldened by the lack of police presence. But they hadnât counted on the heavy concentration of National Guardsmen living in the area that still communicated with each other. The Guardsmen had made a pact to monitor illegal activity and form up and deal with it in a decisive manner if anything appeared. They had a strong belief in the Constitution and were determined to defend and enforce it. They managed to maintain limited communication with the governor obtaining official approval on any actions they undertook. The gang had been dealt with in a convincing manner â prison no longer an option following the crash - before they had a chance to grow too strong. It had sent a strong message to other thieves to stay hidden: this area would not slide into anarchy. 
 ***** 
With the vehicles pulled onto the road, Brad was just securing the gate when Mike joined his son standing with the group. âI know we said goodbye yesterday but I wanted to see you off,â Mike said. Mark had shuffled behind and slightly to the side of his Dad during the conversation, his awkwardness at the situation returned, hands deep in his pockets, looking at his feet, but would glance up and quickly look away if anyone was looking in his direction. 
Amanda noticed Mark and stepped over to him. âI really appreciate your help this morning Mark. It means a lot and you have such a way with animals. Youâre a special friend. You take care of Belle now,â Belle was a goat that Mark had gotten from Bill, âAnd take care of yourself; and hereâs a goodbye you wonât get from the goats,â she said with a gleam in her eyes, then surprised Mark by giving him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. Mark stood there petrified in place, red cheeked Amanda got into the pickup after her Mom. While Amanda had talked to Mark, Amy had given Mike the keys to the house and all of the locks on the gates and outbuildings. She also told him the milk and eggs in the root cellar were for his family to use. Mike and Mark would try to watch over the home and use anything they had a need of that had been left behind.
*****​


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## puddlejumper007

love reading these, thank you


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## puddlejumper007

guess the authors are real busy, but i am going through withdrawls here...:yuck:
please someone write something.....


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## Bret F

Chapter 4: Starlight on the Rails; The Moon and Saint Christopher
​_âOh God, we have been in exile in our own country and a stranger in another land._
_We walk down little roads in Cumberland, stooped because the sky hung down so low,_
_And no place that we went was far._
_And always returned to us that terrible hunger that haunts and hurts Americans_
_And makes us exiles in our own land and strangers wherever we go._
_âStarlight on the Railsâ Performed by Rosalie Sorrels_
_ Written by Utah Phillips_


_When I was young I spoke like a child and I saw with a childâs eyes_
_And an open door was to a girl like the stars are to the sky_
_Itâs funny how the world lives up to all your expectations_
_With adventures for the stout of heart, and the lure of the open spaces._

_Thereâs two lanes running down this road, and whichever side youâre on_
_Accounts for where you want to go or what youâre running from_
_Back when darkness overtook me on a blind manâs curve_

_I relied upon the moon_
_I relied upon the moon_
_I relied upon the moon_
_And Saint Christopher._
_âThe Moon and Saint Christopherâ Performed by Mary Chapin Carpenter_
_ Written by Mary Chapin Carpenter_


Bob pulled away first, towing the trailer with all of the stock feed, followed by Amy and Amandaâs pickup with the stock trailer. As they passed Carlaâs familyâs home, they pulled in behind. Further down the road, Alan and his son Jim were each waiting with their families in front of their houses to join the caravan. 

It was quiet in the pickup as Ken pulled away, a grim look on his serious face, each person reflecting upon leaving their home. Amy looked at the empty house and remembered Amanda and Brad coming home as infants and growing into the fine people they now were. _Could it really be seventeen years ago that she brought Amanda home from the hospital; fifteen years since Brad had first come home?_ Bill had been so nervous that first drive. While Amy had just wanted to hold the baby tight but had to content herself with looking into the back seat child carrier, Bill drove like someone embarking on his first solo drive. He was so cautious, white knuckled on the steering wheel, making sure they made it home safely with their precious cargo. The usually twenty minute drive had stretched to thirty; extra-long stops and checks for traffic at each traffic light and stop sign, slow gentle starts, driving just under the speed zone. Amy clutched Amandaâs hand â her rock of support and comfort. 

They drove slowly down the road, Amy so familiar with it, more memories coming to her. She and Bill had taught the kids to ride their bikes on that road, running alongside them, ready to catch them after the training wheels were removed. In winter Bill had taught them all to cross-country ski there, before tackling the hills. Grandpa had pulled them on their sleds with his 4-wheeler. She looked at Billâs parentâs house as they passed; dark and lonely. It had been the location of so many gatherings; birthday barbeques that evolved into water fights, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas gatherings, Easter egg hunts. So many of the family activities had taken place in the home; it looked so sad now. She reached to her pocket and found it empty. Amanda saw her action and pulled out a clean handkerchief for Amy and another one she used to wipe away her own tears.

Amanda couldnât keep her thoughts in line. She was thinking of Dad and something they had done in their home when a thought of Mark replaced it. _âNow why on earth did I kiss him?â She asked herself._ He was extremely nice and polite, but he was just so quiet. She would walk out to where her Dad had been working with Mark, teaching him something, and they were both talking away. Then, as soon as Mark saw her, he clammed up. He would sometimes ask Amanda about something to do with the goats or gardening that he didnât understand, but it was so hard to engage him in a real conversation. He seemed to think two or three words strung together made a sentence. When he first started coming to their house, she could have conversations with him, but he had seemed to grow muter by the day. With her mind spinning, she barely saw her grandparentâs house as they went by.

A solitary figure stood in the road at Amandaâs house watching as the last vehicle turned onto the connecting street and was lost from view. He slowly turned, dejectedly looking at the empty house, back at the empty road, and then, head down, made his way back towards his own home. 

The group made the turns on the connecting streets and eventually turned onto the main north-south state highway. The roadbeds were cracked with dried up stalks and vines from last summerâs weeds sticking up through the cracks and encroaching from the sides, slowing making their way across the roads. Some of the weeds had been crushed, but traffic was sparse allowing the weeds to get a good hold. The roots were making steady progress breaking down the asphalt. Some low spots were marred by large broken up sections where rain water had settled and frozen, breaking the asphalt with ease. This had been helped by the heavy truck traffic of the past that had worn deep grooves in the roadbed. Nature was flexing her muscles without the constant maintenance of the road crews. Bob set a slow pace over the rough roads. _No need to jostle the load and animals more than necessary_. _We donât want the goats to give whipped cream tonight._
*****​The family was moving to Bobâs cabin in the low mountains about forty five miles to the north of town. Bob had bought the forty acre site many years ago as a place to get away to but still relatively close to home. It was on the south east slope, up a long gravel road that in some places felt like it was just clinging to the side of the mountain face. Many first timers over the road refused to look out the side windows when going up the road, before it âflattened outâ on gentler slopes of rolling hills. The road led to six other private parcels besides Bobâs. The road was impassable during the winter and Bob had routinely snow-shoed in to make sure the load on the cabin roof was not too great. While the state highway could be seen from a few vantage points in the area, the spot was secluded due to the steep brush covered slopes and its location across a major river from the highway. Bob had made the trek up the mountain and used his bulldozer to push the snow off the road. It had taken a fair amount of the precious remaining diesel, but he thought it was worth the effort. Pushing most of the snow off the road allowed them to make the move about a month sooner than waiting for the snow to melt on its own.

Bobâs forty acres abutted the national forest on one side. On one of the other sides was a forty acre parcel whose owners had never been seen in the fifteen years Bob had owned his place. The property on the other two sides was owned by a snowbird couple. They had not returned to the mountain since the crash. Two of the other homes were occupied: one by an elderly woman who had lived there for sixty years; â_and Iâm going to die up here, by Godâ, she said_; first arriving on the mountain as a newlywed. The other home was occupied by a couple that had escaped the rat race and had been homesteading for about ten years. The elderly woman was helped by a grandson who was torn between duty to Grandma and the lure of an area with more people.

The cabin was in a vegetation transition zone where the sagebrush grudgingly gave way to light pine forests, with a good mixing of the two. There were heavy concentrations of thorn brush, alder and choke cherry mixed in. The ground was very steep in some places; other places were gradual sloping, covered in low grasses and patches of brush. Two spring fed creeks flowed through Bobâs property: they both fed into cisterns that sent piped water to the tillable areas. Over the years, Bob and Cal with some occasional help from the rest of the family had run water lines to the open gentle slopes, creating irrigated meadows during the summer. Bob had also purchased a large amount of sprinkler lines at farm auctions. He had a double row of sprinkler lines around the cabin area that he kept green and succulent in the summer in case of wild fires. Bob had always grown a nice garden at the site, but once the crash hit, the family had increased its size substantially and grew a large amount of their produce in the surrounding meadows. A barn had been added early on where Bob kept his small bulldozer and Ford 9N tractor. Soon after the crash hit, Bob and Bill had built a second barn to be ready if they ever had to bring the livestock up.

One of the cisterns piped water to a building next to the cabin. Inside it was a small generator that charged a bank of batteries. It didnât produce a large amount of power but had always produced more than was needed for Bob to stay at the cabin. Another buried water line ran from a spring-box to the cabin to provide clean drinking water. The cabin itself was a single bedroom when Bob purchased it. The family had built onto it, adding four bedrooms and a larger kitchen â dining area. Travel trailers had been pulled in and set up to be the bedrooms for everyone else. It wasnât ideal living conditions, but it would work.


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## Bret F

The line of pickups moved up the highway with no problems into the town of Horseshoe Bend, roughly the half-way point. The town had been populated with a large number of commuters that drove across the hills to their jobs in the larger town. After the crash, the population had dwindled to a small number of highly - sufficient individuals and families. They provided what they could to the sheriff in order that he could continue to keep tabs on the county.

Few people were out as the group went through town, but they looked at the line of vehicles with interest. As Bob came to the sheriffâs office, he came to a stop when he saw the sheriffâs pickup parked out front. Bob and Cal had fostered good-will with the sheriff: they had come to him with material and equipped his pickup with a wood gasifier. They wanted to do what they could to keep the route to the cabin as safe as possible, and what better way than guarantee the sheriff could still get around the county.

That first gasifier had led to a large number being made until there were no scrap tanks or pipe to be had in the town or the surrounding farms. The people were extremely grateful, being able to run much of their machinery while so many elsewhere were idled without fuel. 

As Bob went into the office the sheriff looked up and smiled in recognition and stood up from his desk, offering his hand. âBob, he said, good to see you. Is it moving day?â
âHi Tom,â Bob said, taking the sheriffâs hand and shaking. âYep, weâre going up today with everyone and the livestock.â Bob stopped in each time he went through town, checking on the general status of the area and sharing his plans and any news with the sheriff.

âWhat about Bill? Is he with you?â

âNo. We buried him yesterday,â Bob answered softly.

âIâm very sorry to hear that,â Tom said. âHe was a good man. I donât know what would have happened to everyone up here if he hadnât gotten all of that gasifier information and shared it with us. Not to mention his greenhouse ideas and off-season harvesting.â 

âThanks Tom. He would tell you that none of those ideas were his own; he was just drawn to it by God. But I know a lot of the stuff was his adaptations and some of the stuff he came up with on his own. We sure will miss him.â

After a bit of silence, Bob asked, âSo how do things look here and up-country? Anything we need to be concerned about?â

âWell, we had a real gulley-washer a few days ago but I havenât been up that way since. It caused some washing and slides around here. Thereâs a good chance you might run into a slide where that fire cleared off the hillside a couple years ago. Other than that, things have been pretty quiet.â

âSounds good, Tom, thanks. I better not stay around and chat. If we have some road to clear it might make for a long day.â

Tom accompanied Bob outside and looked at the line of pickups and trailers. He saw Amanda and Brad where they were checking on the livestock after making sure the rest of their and Bobâs loads were secured. He nodded in their direction and asked Bob âThose are Billâs kids arenât they?â

âYep. And you wonât find two better kids anywhere. If I would have had kids of my own, I could only hope they would have been near what those two are. Theyâre holding up pretty well so far. It has to be a hell of a burden on them. 

âWell, we better get going. You make it up our way, Iâm sure weâll have a pot of soup on if not something else. Youâre welcome anytime. I probably wonât be back down for two or three weeks.â

 âAlrightâ, Tom said. âYou guys take care and drive careful. Iâll swing up the hill next time Iâm up your way.â

They shook hands again and everyone got back into the pickups. Alan and Jim had also been checking loads, making sure nothing had shaken loose.

Bob led off the group again and once they were well underway he took his CB radio mike and let everyone know what Tom had said. Besides the CBâs in each pickup, they had three portable CBâs Alan and Jim had prior to the crash and ten portable two-way radios. They kept all of the radios batteries charged with solar chargers. 

Bob drove slowly up the river canyon, avoiding as many of the broken spots as he could easily. As he went around one bend in the road and looked ahead, he let out a groan. Sure enough there was a slide. He radioed to everyone what he saw: a patch of mud, rocks, and brush with at least two large pine trees a good forty feet across. He called for everyone to grab shovels and for Alan to bring his chainsaw. They had some hard work to do before going any farther.

Everyone joined in and started digging. Being too crowded for everyone at one spot, Bob, Alan and Jim managed to make it through the mud at the lower section of the slide so they could dig from the opposite side. Despite the cool temperature, jackets were quickly shed under the effort of digging the muck. In no time at all, the sticky clinging mud was coating boots, pant legs shovel handles, hands. Brad soon went back to the trailer and found some empty five-gallon buckets that he could use to carry mud off the side of the road. Alan waded out into the muck; the sucking action of the deep mud engulfed his feet and tried to pull his boots of with each step. Mud to his knees and breathing deeply, he made it to the first pine tree. After catching his breath he started his chainsaw and began cutting the tree into manageable sections. 

After a fair amount of mud had been moved, Brad called for some help. âI need a couple of you to give me a hand rolling these dang rocks out of here. They are bigger than I can handle.â Amanda couldnât resist the comment and started to clap for Brad.

âBigger than I can handleâ was an understatement. The largest rock required the winch on Bobâs pickup to drag away. The rest were moved out of the road with three people working on them. 

It took nearly three hours to get a track through the slide wide enough to drive through. A tired, muddy crew went to where Amy had set two buckets of water with the instructions: the first bucket is to get most of the easy mud off, the second bucket is the rinse water. Still, the second bucket was full of grime when it was dumped and packed away. With everyoneâs hands somewhat clean, Francis passed around bags of dried fruit for a snack. Amanda decided the group needed a pick-me-up now and went to her backpack and pulled out her secret stash of Hershey Bars, then went back to the group and started breaking them; a half bar for each person.

âIs that what I think it is?â Amy, a devoted choc-oholic asked. âWhere have you been hiding those? Donât you know you shouldnât keep secrets from your mother?â

âWhere you couldnât find them, obviously. Dad thought you might need an infusion someday so he let me know where he kept the_ real_ emergency food. It just seemed like this is a good time.â

The chocolate had a white powdery outer layer from sitting in storage for so long. Many of them were globs, some sticking to the wrappers from melting in hot weather but no one complained: it had been a long time since they had eaten a candy bar. 

A half hour later, after no further obstructions, the family turned off the highway to begin the slow trek up the mountain road. There had been two more minor slides on the highway, but they could be driven around. Bob stopped and everyone put the drivetrains into four wheel drive. As they drove up the hill, they encountered a few patches of snow that remained in the shady sections. They were able to drive right over them since Bob had run the bulldozer through it already. The water bars Bob kept in the road had done their job, diverting most of the water from the recent rainstorm and melting snow. Some of them were shaved off when the stock trailer crossed, the wheels dropping into the ditch while the back end drug across the top. There were places where accumulations of forest litter and rocks would need cleared later, but they were able to make it past.

At last they reached the cabin and parked and everyone got out. Ken had backed the trailer to the pen next to the stock barn. The women went to the cabin to get the fire started and start heating wash water and a meal. Amanda stayed at the trailer and helped to get all of the stock into the pen and settled and the chickens moved into the barn. Bob and Brad walked the fence from opposite directions, first making sure the solar fence charger was operating and to check for shorts in the line or breaches wild animals might have made. Once the fence was given the OK, everyone walked wearily to the cabin, anxious to wash, get into clean clothes, and fill their stomachs. 

Amanda lingered at the barn, absently scratching the old milk goat Mischief and looked slowly around. She would give the animals a chance to get settled while she cleaned up and ate before she came back and did the evening milking. She had a wide view down toward the river canyon and the hidden highway. The tree covered slopes behind her were showing lengthening shadows as evening was rapidly approaching. _It comes on so much faster up here._ She pulled her jacket tighter and closed the zipper to the top. She had come to the cabin many times with her father for various activities: cutting firewood, working in the garden, hunting elk, family picnics, but she had never anticipated that she would one day call it home. As she looked out across the hills; not registering the majesty before her; she wiped away a tear and thought of everything had transpired to bring them all here.
 *****


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## Bret F

Sorry about being slow to write Puddlejumper. "Labor Day" was aptly named. It's been very busy.
Now back to the fresh goat ice cream and corn for Dad's 85th B-day barbecue.

Thank you very much for the encouragement.


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## txliberty

I'm really enjoying all the stories. Hope to read more soon.


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## Bret F

*Part II: Billâs Tale*
Chapter 5: Brigham Young
_Brigham, Brigham Young_
_Itâs a miracle he survived_
_With his roaring rams and his pretty little lambs_
_And his five and forty wives._

_Number forty fiveâs about sixteen_
_Number one is sixty and three_
_Along such a ride how he ever keeps them quiet_
_Is a downright mystery to me._

_For they cackle and crow and they jaw jaw jaw_
_Each one has a different desire_
_It would aid the renown for the best shop in town_
_To supply them with the half they require._
_âBrigham Youngâ Performed by Rosalie Sorrels_
_ Written by Rosalie Sorrels_

Thursday, September 11, 2013
Bill had just completed his latest project and decided to go on the web for a bit before jumping onto his next job. He wanted to go on the fish and game website and see if there was any information on chukar counts â the season was opening in a little over a week; and he wanted to see if there was anything worth reading in the news. It was September 11th and he was sure the news would be dominated by stories commemorating the 2001 bombings, but there might be something of interest to see. He was still embittered at each news story of another of Americaâs bravest dying in Afghanistan when most of the bombers had been Saudis. That is, when he could find the real news that was hidden behind all of the mind numbing pabulum from Hollywood. _Oh Well, thatâs politics for you_. _Hadnât one of the presidents made a great show of proclaiming victory years ago, yet we are still over there? I have all the respect in the world for the people on the ground over there, but I sure question the ones that make the decisions to send them over._ Bill opened the browser to Fox News and saw a distressing photo that dominated their home page. It was the front of a supermarket with a large section of the front missing, thick black smoke boiling out of the opening, fire fighters spraying water into it. It was accompanied by the headline âApparent Firebomb at Waterloo, Iowa Wal-Martâ. He clicked on the story and began reading the very incomplete early account of what authorities believed happened and the suspected injuries and damage. There were thumbnails for a number of other photos attached to the story. It looked like bedlam. Numerous photos showed medics attending injured shoppers. It was reminiscent of the triage scenes from the old MASH television show. After being pulled totally into the news, Bill promptly forgot all about the upcoming chukar hunting season. 

Bill was nearing the end of the news story when the browser refreshed and a new photo appeared with a headline in bold red copy: âSecond Supermarket Bombedâ with the tagline indicating a store in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico had just been bombed in the same manner as the Waterloo store. He noted that Fox had dropped the âapparentâ from the headline. _Was the change because of information from the scenes or an executive decision by Fox?_ Bill opened the story and quickly scanned it, noting the similarities to the other bombing. Details were still scarce, but there were enough from each location to determine they could very well have been coordinated attacks. _âLord, they are at it again,â he thought, âAnd I think they have raised the ante in the game.â_ He continued reading with a sickening feeling rising up inside him â a feeling of empathy for those hurt and a nagging feeling of dread about what it all meant. He also felt extreme anger for the perpetrators. _Jesus had said to love his enemies, but they just made it so hard._

Bill clicked back to the Fox News homepage and linked to the live streaming thread and switched from his ears buds to his external speakers. While the page was loading he said, âHey guys,â over the room divider to his co-workers. âThere have been some stores bombed.â

âBombs? Where?â Steve asked from over the divider as Greg was asking something at the same time Bill could not make out.

âWaterloo, Iowa and Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Hold on, Iâve got the news coming on to streaming,â he said as he adjusted the speakers so everyone could hear. The guys got quiet as they listened in to the disturbing news, making curses at the perpetrators quite regularly as events unfolded. The news was not good. Whoever had set the bombs had done a very thorough job of it, the entire front of the stores engulfed as well as the back entrances.

Billâs feeling of dread strengthened as he listened to the news report. It began to overwhelm his thinking to the point he could no longer concentrate on what the news was saying. He stopped listening and concentrated, mentally arranging his thoughts; then turned to his shelf and pulled out a binder. He often carried it with him between home and work and added to it constantly from items he found on the internet. He thumbed through the dividers to the section labeled âEmergenciesâ. He opened the section and began to read through the material he had put together over the years. 
 *****

Bill had once been accused of being a prepper by his friend Steve at work. Steve had been telling Bill all about his Saturday golf game and the NASCAR race on Sunday when he asked Bill what he had been up to. Bill told him he had canned a few things from his garden and tried to leave it at that, but then Steve asked, âSo what are you, one of those nut job preppers that is planning on sitting out the end of the world in you bunker?â

Bill groaned. _Of course all of the information Steve had about preppers was from that TV show where those fools came on and showed the world everything they had._ Bill had never watched it but he had heard it didnât portray preppers in a flattering way. âPrepper, what are you talking about? I just like to grow as much of my own food as possible and save some for eating later. The Good Lord gave me a curiosity to learn how to do for myself and I sure donât want to argue with Him. Besides it tastes better and I know whatâs in the food I grow. Iâm sure not in a hurry to poison my family with all of the chemicals that the big ag-companies are polluting your food with. All that goes in by veggies is sunshine, water and good old chicken manure,â he said with a smile. _I sure canât explain cost savings to someone that eats out for two meals every day. Getting what I did from Mom and Dadâs garden was the only way I made it through the lean times._

Another friend, Greg who had been listening to the conversation and was a Latter Day Saints jumped into the conversation, âNo, Steve, Billyâs not a prepper, heâs just a good Mormon, working on his two year supply.â 

Bill wanted to move the conversation away from him possibly being a prepper so he answered Greg, âYou know, I like admire many of the things you Mormons do, but I just canât believe in a faith that was started by such a lunatic.â _Not to mention there some doctrinal issues too but Iâll keep those to myself right now_.

 Greg naturally took immediate offense at the remark and demanded âAnd just what do you mean by that?â 

âWell,â Bill said with a twinkle in his eye, âYou know I love women, but only a lunatic would think he could be happily married to more than one at the same time, let alone thirty-something.â Bill took a guess at the number of wives Joseph Smith had. âAnd then there were what, fifty or sixty that Brigham Young had. That guy had to be a total nutcase; either that or he was deaf. Shoot, itâs a full time job for me with just one wife.â

âBoy, you arenât kidding there,â Greg began, eagerly jumping on the change of subject. He was currently unhappily married to wife number two. âWait till you hear what my wife pulled last night. You wonât believe this crap.â Bill smiled inwardly at getting the conversation away from his busy weekend. _And they donât know the half of it_. _I guess next time Iâll just tell them I tinkered in the kitchen all weekend_. Greg and Steve started trading gripes about their wives spending too much money, and making demands of them. 

Bill thought to himself as he left the two to their complaining how glad he was that he was married to his best friend. He and Amy might not see eye to eye on everything but they were always able to discuss issues together and come up with agreements that both could accept. He actually felt sorry for Greg and Steve that they found the need to gripe about their wives. _Itâs too bad they canât have honest open discussions with their wives and work that stuff out instead of airing their dirty laundry._

Bill truly did not consider himself a prepper, _Iâm just trying to be as self-sufficient as I can like I grew up_, but he had worked diligently on his garden and the chicken flock, adding milk goats and honey bees. At the same time he continued to read and research other aspects of self-sufficiency, but with money always tight for the growing, active family, he didnât jump full into everything. He did regularly check on Craigslist for certain building materials for projects he hoped to build, purchasing them when the price was right, and picking up some items at the local auction house. Amy had accused him of never passing a barrel or piece of PVC pipe without getting lustful looks in his eyes.

Something else that kept Bill focused on self-sufficiency rather than jumping into full prepper mode was certain members of his family that lived in the same neighborhood. His brother Alan was among the many people who decided that once Barack Obama was elected, access to guns and ammunition would become threatened for the general public. So Alan began purchasing ammunition at every chance he got and added a few guns he had wanted. He had purchased so much ammo, that when the shortages began following the Sandy Hook shootings and the gun control talks Alan had no need to add any more to his stock. Barring all-out war, he was stocked for life with plenty to share.

And then there was Jim! In a family of gun owners, Alanâs oldest son was considered a full-on gun nut. Jim had been fascinated with guns at a young age and that fascination had only intensified as he grew. Once he started working he spent nearly all of his paycheck on different guns and the ammo for them. When his best friend tried to get him to start dating, his stock answer was âI donât have any money for a girlfriend. Once I get all of the âtoysâ I want, then I can start looking for the right girl.â He stuck with that strategy until one day he saw a young woman in his favorite gun shop. She was deftly handling an SKS rifle and asking the salesman about accessories. Jim already had four SKSâs so he was more than happy to lend his opinion. The two of them left the store together to go shooting and he had been wrapped around her finger ever since. He decided he had enough weapons and ammo collected to keep him satisfied â _at least until it was time to find his bride annual birthday and Christmas gifts_ - and settled contentedly into marital bliss. 

For his part, Bill had his basic guns: a big game rifle, 12ga shotgun, a pistol and two 22 rifles. For his preferred hunting methods he also had a muzzleloader and a longbow. He kept enough ammo on hand for hunting and a little plinking but not a lot beyond that. He knew he should probably have more but held back after a conversation with Jim. 

âHey Jim,â Bill said, âIâm thinking about getting a so-called assault rifle. What do you recommend?â

âWell, that depends, what do you want if for? Do you want it for just fun shooting, hunting, or what?â

âI want to have one at hand for emergencies, home defense type stuff.â Bill answered. âI donât see a lot of promise in the direction our economy is headed. I donât want one for hunting and Iâm too cheap to go run through thousands of rounds of ammo just for fun. So I just want the rifle and ammo for regular practice and a good supply of ammo if the world goes haywire.â 

Jim took about thirty seconds to think, then said, âCome with me.â He took Bill into his spare bedroom and started opening gun safes and taking out rifles. âOkay, which ones do you want to borrow?â

âHuh, what are you talking about,â Bill asked?

 âWell, you know I love to collect guns, but other than the Barrett and the Uzi, there isnât anything special about these. I just like them, and the different versions. So hereâs my deal: Iâll loan you enough of these for your family, but only after Iâve taken all four of you out and taught you everything about them. Then we will all go shooting every couple of months. That way you stay proficient with them. Theyâll still be mine, just kept somewhere else. If your emergency ever happens, we all have to stick together and I canât use all of these guns. Unlike the movies where Arnold carries twelve different guns, I would prefer to have one gun and twelve magazines. I would much rather have the other guns in use helping protect the family than getting dusty in the safe. I have enough AKâs or SKSâs now that you could each have one, then all of the magazines and ammo would interchange. If you wanted the AR, then you are getting into different ammo, although its ammo fits the Ruger Mini 14. Personally, I would recommend you take those four AKâs to make everything simpler for you. They might be a little big for Brad and Amanda but theyâll grow into them. So what do you think? Oh yeah, you need to get the ammo for whichever you choose. I only have about 5000 rounds on hand.â

All Bill could think was â_Wow_!â So he had given Jim money for more ammo, learned all he could about the AKâs with the rest of his family and taken four to store in his gun safe. Brad was pretty small for shooting them, but he learned to dis-assemble and re-assemble faster than anyone else in the family. After the first day of shooting, Bill could see how easy it would be to get hooked and run up a big bill on shooting. _No wonder Jim waited so long to get married._


----------



## Bret F

*****​Bill did a thorough review of his âEmergenciesâ information, put a marker in the page and closed his binder. He went to his supervisorâs office and tapped on the open door as he entered the room. âHey Tomâ, he said, âI finished up that project I was on and I was hoping to get the rest of the afternoon off.â

Tom looked up from the papers he had been reviewing and acknowledged Bill, then pulled out his production schedule and scanned it. âYeah, thatâll be alright Bill,â he said. âIt looks like we are ahead of things right now. You wanting to do something fun?â

Bill didnât want to seem like an alarmist or reveal too much of what he was going to be working on, _I could always be way off on this anyway_. _If it does escalate, Iâll talk to everybody about getting some things set aside. I donât think they would pay any attention now. And I sure donât want to hear their âIâll just come to your houseâ nonsense. _

 âTurn your radio on. Some lowlifes have bombed a couple of grocery stores to celebrate 911. Iâm not sure I could concentrate on work while I am listening to it and Iâm just trying to be fair to you. Plus Iâve got a few things I want to pick up before I make it home this afternoon.â

 âThose dirty rat âbags!â Tom exclaimed. âYou want to make any bets on their religion? Just when will the stooges in Washington learn those bastards arenât coming to our country to embrace us and our way of life. Our borders should have been tightened up a long time ago. And they should have rounded up every one of them after the Boston Marathon and kicked their collective butts right back to where they came from. So whereâd they do it?â 

While Bill explained what he knew at this point, Tom leaned over and turned his radio on. Bill cringed at what he might hear, but Rush Limbaughâs over the top ranting had been replaced by another man; one that was covering the bombings. Bill thanked Tom and excused himself and returned to his desk.
 *****


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 6: Hold it up to the Light 

_Now as soon as I'm moving - my choice is good
This way comes through right where I prayed that it would
If I keep my eyes open and look where I should
Somehow all of the signs are in sight
If I hold it up to the light

I said God, will you bless this decision?
I'm scared, Is my life at stake?
But I see if you gave me a vision
Would I never have reason to use my faith?
âHold it up to the lightâ Performed by David Wilcox_
_ Written by David Wilcox_


Bill returned to his desk and resumed looking over the information in his binder. As Bill looked over the material, he began to put small check marks by the items he felt he had covered and highlighted the items that he knew he was lacking. After that he consolidated much of the information into a needs list and prioritized it. 

Bill had his priority list mostly arranged when he heard Greg loudly exclaim âThose rotten sons of camel-jockeys!â He instantly pulled his attention back to the news and checked the screen. Another store had just suffered the same fate as the previous two, this one in North Hollywood, California. Bill read the latest posting then bowed his head, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together and began to pray. He prayed for healing and comfort for those affected by the devastation as well as for their families. He prayed for skill and knowledge for all the care givers. He prayed for safety for the emergency personnel on the scenes. He prayed for guidance on his own thoughts and actions. Then he prayed for the wrath of a vengeful God on the perpetrators of the dayâs activities. He was still struggling with âlove your enemyâ. He prayed that his own family would remain safe in the midst of the craziness.

After he finished praying, Bill looked back to the list before him with a clarity and resolve he had not had before. He turned to another section in his binder and found the phone number for his financial advisor. He muted his speakers: Greg had turned his computer to live streaming. Bill punched in the phone number and waited as the line rang.

 âGood afternoon,â a cheery voice answered. âThis is Gretchen, thank you for calling Bradford investments. How may I help you?â

âHi Gretchen,â Bill said. âThis is Bill Moser; I need to talk to Jack please.â

âHe is on another line right now. Can I take a message for him?â

âSure,â Bill replied. âPlease let him know that I need him to close out my IRA today, pay the taxes and penalties and get everything thatâs left into my bank account.â

 âOhh-kayâ¦.â Gretchen replied, not nearly as cheery. âI think you will have to discuss that directly with Jack.â

âAll right, but he needs to call me within the next few minutes. Iâm going to be unavailable for the rest of the day,â Bill answered. âYou have a good day, Gretchen, and Iâll talk to you later.â

Bill hung up and studied his list planning out the rest of his day. He wondered just how irritated Amy was going to be at him for closing his IRA account. _Please Lord, give me the right words to make her understand and accept this when I tell her._ She was always urging him to contribute more to the account and his 401K. He countered to her that his garden and everything associated with it was his retirement fund, besides it was better to go into retirement with no debt. It had remained a sticking point for them, neither able to sway the other. So he contributed some to retirement savings, but also put money towards his projects as he was able. He would like to cash out the 401K also, but reasoned at this point if the bombings did not lead to an escalating problem, he would still have that account. If the violence did intensify, the account he was closing should finance everything on his priority list barring a sudden total collapse.

Bill could pretty much anticipate how the conversation with Jack was going to go. Once Jack had someoneâs money invested, it was extremely difficult to get him to relinquish it. He held onto investments like a dog held onto a fresh bone. He used all of the reasoning he could come up with: not enough money at retirement, extra taxes now, penalties, loss of earning power, a down market and laced it with as much emotion as he could muster. Jack was generally very persuasive: he could paint a mental picture of his clients ending up on the streets, destitute, that made many of them change their mind and allow the money to stay in place. 

In a very short time Jack returned Billâs call â he was always quick to return calls when someone wanted to do what he didnât want - and it went pretty much as Bill had envisioned. Bill stood his ground however; he didnât make up a story nor did he tell Jack his reasons, just stressing to Jack that it was vital that he had his funds. He would, however, re-establish another IRA at his earliest opportunity. Eventually, Jack grudgingly relented and began the process to liquidate the account.

Bill finished the call with Jack and then found the phone number and called his family doctor. He asked for an appointment at the earliest convenience and was able to schedule it for the following week. He asked about Amyâs annual visit and found she was close enough that they scheduled her for the slot following Billâs appointment. Bill finished the call and wondered if he would be able to convince Amy to keep the appointment. â_I just need to trust in Godâs guidance,â _he thought, â_And that the right words will come to me.â_

Bill looked back at the news to see if there was anything new, and then turned in his binder to the âGardeningâ section. He found the page with his seed inventory he had compiled during the summer and started making notes on a scratch paper. He tried to keep at least two yearsâ worth of seed on hand but some varieties had dropped below that level after planting his garden and hadnât been replenished. He turned to another page titled âAmounts of Vegetables to be grown and Preserved for a family of 4 Personsâ and thought over quantities and decided that if the bombings escalated two years supply was not enough. http://preparetodaywardnewsletter.blogspot.com/2012/03/how-much-should-you-grow.html Bill had originally found the chart on the "Granny Miller Blogsite" but when he could not locate it again, he was glad he had printed it out.


----------



## Bret F

He thought long about what would happen in the neighborhood if the local stores were destroyed or shut down. Finally he started calculating the quantities he thought he would need of each variety.

After compiling a partial shopping list base on the first chart, he turned to two other charts that contained vegetables not listed on the first chart. 

The first chart he referenced was the fall winter planting guide. Ever since he had discovered Elliot Colemanâs books and articles he had been inspired to expand his gardening. Although he was a long way from obtaining the kind of results as Mr. Coleman, he had made modest gains each winter. A fair number of his plants had overwintered â with one winter being exceptionally harsh for the region. He allowed as many plants as possible to develop seed. He was slowly adding more seed from plants that could survive the winter weather.
http://territorial.commercev3.com/lettercast/b_lc.php?c=E__IeaOUA 
http://www.territorialseed.com/product/14108

Going through the three separate charts was pretty time consuming. He mentally kicked himself for never putting all of the information together in an excel spread sheet. If he had just done that, it would only require a few numbers in-put to show him how much seed he needed. _Oh well, live and learn. _

Finally, Bill opened the web site of his favorite online seed company and began pulling up seed types and filling a shopping cart. He stuck to heirloom seeds on everything but had a mental battle with himself at the sweet corn. He was very fond of one of the sugar enhanced hybrids and would sure like to have some of it, but for this order he stuck with heirlooms. _The old corn was good, Dad just always said to have the water boiling before you went to pick it._

Bill had been working at saving seeds for a few years. Most of his annuals were from his own seeds, but he was still having trouble with some bi-annual crops. He had managed to get some seed, but for the most part it seemed his storage conditions were never just right for holding them over the winter. _âThat has to be remedied if this escalates and things start to unravel,â he thought_. _âI guess Iâll have to be more careful about fencing sections and turning the chickens in for the winter.â_ So his order, while covering a lot of crops, was very heavy in the bi-annuals. One thing he was hoping for but could not get was asparagus crowns. They were sold out for the year and would not have any more until spring. _Well, if I can still order in spring, Iâll get some then_. Instead, he ordered enough seed to plant a large field.

Bill liked asparagus and other plants in its special category: plant once, harvest for years. Besides asparagus he had artichokes, rhubarb, grapes, berries, fruit trees, walking onions and oregano that provided each year. Every year he tried to add more to that. The artichokes were something he had enjoyed learning about. While they sold locally as annuals, he knew they were perennial in California. So he tried to fence around them and add a thick insulating layer of leaves over them each fall. He had achieved about 75% carryover â_when I can keep the chickens from messing with the leaves_ â and was able to harvest much sooner on the established plants than the new replacement plants. 

Besides vegetables, he ordered a large amount of a variety of green manure crop seed. His current garden was fertilized with composted manure from the chickens and goats. If he had to expand his growing, he reasoned that the soil would need more nutrients than he currently had available.

After he completed his order he lowered his head to ask the Lordâs blessing once again on his actions. The final amount owed just about floored him. _Well, one more thing to include in the Amy talk tonight. If the other stuff wonât make her think Iâve gone over the deep end, this just might do it. But if the power stays on and I freeze all of this, I donât think Iâll ever have to buy another seed._ With that thought he clicked the âConfirm Orderâ button.

He went to two other seed company websites before he was done. One was a small company he had found that sold heirloom field corn â _wasnât that an endangered species in the modern farm world._ The other company sold mangle seed. He had grown some of each the last two years for his animals since it was getting so hard to find non-GMO feed around home.

After those two orders he looked at some of his collected material in his binder for a bit more and thought. â_Oh why not,â_ he finally said and found a company where he ordered hoop house poly cover. The next site he went on was Amazon. He ordered Eliot Colemanâs books on âFour Seasons Harvestâ. He had one that Amy had purchased for him on the Kindle, but it was just not the same to him. He liked to hold the book in his hands, put book marks in it and highlight important parts. The Kindle just seemed like more trouble, but he did admit Amy had a lot of information stored in a small package. _Iâm just too old school I guess. _While he was on Amazon, he remembered a blog entry he had read by âFerfalâ. He had gone through the rough times in Argentina when their money became worthless. Someone had asked him what he regretted not having. He had replied that he wished he had more DVDs. They had spent a lot of time inside and he would have liked to have some time fillers. So Bill searched and found a number of videos he added to his cart. A few of the videos were music instruction. He and both kids were playing â to varying degrees â the guitar, fiddle, mandolin and banjo. If they were stuck with lots of time on their hands, he thought playing music would be a great distraction. From another website, he ordered Jackie Clayâs books on canning. What he had seen of it, Jackie had a number of meals that were just heat and serve. 

Bill again referenced the âAmounts of Vegetables to be grown and Preserved for a family of 4 Personsâ sheet. After more calculations, he made a quick search for Tattler lids prices. After finding a decent â in comparison- price from a company he had ordered from before he placed an order for eight cases of twenty four dozen wide mouth lids, and eight cases of regular mouth. _Wow, thatâs a lot of money, again, but if we are all doing our own food, they will be invaluable._

Bill made one more online order: a solar fence charger. He had desired one for years but never felt he could justify the cost. All of his fences were within an extension cord of one of his outbuildings. _Well, if I donât use it at home, I can always take it to Bobâs place and we can use it to keep his garden safe. _

Bill looked over his priority list and decided he had done what he could from the computer; it was time to go shopping. He looked at the things he wanted to get done before making it home and jotted down his order of stops. Then he compared notes on the stored foods he had at home and did a quick comparison with the LDS worksheet on food storage. http://www.thefoodguys.com/foodcalc.html His personal list wasnât up to date, of course, but it gave a reference point to start from. He made some guesses and put together a shopping list.

After checking the news-site one final time he shut down his computer and gathered his lunch box and binder and left the office. He had debated whether to go to Costco or Cash and Carry and decided on Cash and Carry. It was about twenty minutes closer, the prices were comparable and it was quicker to get in and out. He liked the large restaurant size quantities sold there, especially for what he had in mind today.

Bill owned a small car that got excellent gas mileage that he generally used to commute to work. He also owned a Ford F350 king cab pickup that sucked down fuel like guys at a frat party consumed booze. The pickup was parked most days but he had driven it that day so he could get chicken and goat feed after work. _Providence or coincidence?_ He definitely didnât know the answer to that one. He got in and drove to the store.


----------



## Bret F

At the store he loaded up heavily on the items from the LDS sheet that did well in long term storage. He bought 400 pounds of cane sugar â _I hate to buy cane when so many beets are grown locally, but they made the decision to get in bed with the devil, dang you GMO companies_. He found everything on his list and made a large number of spontaneous purchases. Once he was done shopping and had everything loaded, the back seat of the pickup was packed. _Thereâs just enough room for âone thin wafer_â he thought and chuckled that that thought would come to him at this time. He was afraid a sudden stop would unload some of the contents into the front seat.

Bill got into the driverâs seat and took a long pull from his water bottle, wiped his brow and looked at his to do list, started up the pickup and drove to his credit union. He left the checking account alone but withdrew everything he could from his savings, leaving just the minimum balance. He asked for a large amount of smaller bills. If it came to paying cash for everything he didnât want to overpay if someone could not make change for large bills. The teller, always chatty, wanted to know what he had planned with all that cash. Bill just grinned and said he was planning to find some real deals over the weekend at yard sales. _Frankly, itâs my money and none of your business! And itâs going home to be locked up in the safe._

After leaving the credit union he entered the freeway and checked his watch. Amy would be leaving work in a few minutes and picking up Amanda and Brad at school. He debated with himself for a while about calling her. He finally decided not to. She could stay oblivious to what was happening for a while longer. Once he got home would be soon enough to tell her what was happening and his fears of what it could lead to. _The Bible said you should not fear but put all faith in the Lord. Sometimes that was pretty hard. Okay, then, he would tell her his concerns of what it could all mean_.

Bill turned the radio on, a 70âs tune blasting from the oldies station, and tuned in the station that carried Fox News and listened to the ongoing reports as he drove. He had exited the freeway and was traveling down the country road through farmland when the news reader issued a breaking news bulletin. Bill let out a rare curse when the report came across. _Those dogs did it again_. This time they had hit sin city itself; a supermarket in Las Vegas was fully engulfed in flames following an explosion. As the news started to unfold Bill felt suddenly sick to his stomach. _Lord, please let Francis be safe_. Amyâs sister lived there! Saliva flooding his mouth as he got off the road, he barely made it to the side away from traffic when he began to heave. He emptied the contents of his stomach, sweating heavily, holding the side of the pickup for support. Finally, his stomach empty, the retching stopped, he went to the passenger door and reached in for his water bottle. He rinsed his mouth and spit, then did it again before swallowing a sip. He dug out a napkin and wiped his face and took several deep breaths. Feeling better, he walked back around the pickup and got in. _Maybe I should just turn the radio back off_. But he didnât; he started the engine, listening to incoming reports from each bombing location as he went to the ranch where he bought his grain. 

The ranch grew a lot of grain and also bought grain from farmers in the region for re-sale. They also made regular trips to Walton Foods and brought home truckloads of storage food that was very popular with the local LDS population. Bill went into the office to make his order. Usually he told them what he wanted, wrote a check, and then loaded. Today would be different. âI donât know how much I want,â he told the woman at the desk. âI want to get a full pickup load of oats, barley, wheat and some home storage food, but I donât know how much I can carry.â In the past he had also fed corn but he had stopped that when the farmers all switched to GMO. âHow about I leave you a signed, blank check, fill up, then finish the check?â he asked.

âSure, thatâll be fine. Iâll just give you a note for the guys when they load you.â 

Bill drove to the building where the bagged grain was and they started to load. He kept a careful eye on the space available and the springs. The back end was full with the springs still looking pretty good when he called a stop. _Iâm glad the guy I bought the pickup from put those overload springs on for his camper._

Bill drove to the storage food building and they filled the remaining space in the cab with twenty five pound bags of pinto beans, rolled oats, hard red wheat, white and brown rice and pearl barley. 

Bill wrote the check, thinking yet again about the upcoming conversation with Amy. After he heard the news of the latest bombing his resolve had strengthened. He was now sure of the right words coming when he talked to Amy and just hoped she would be strong in the coming days. 

Bill got in the crammed front seat and started slowly for home. â_Okay, there might be more weight on here than I thought, this thing is soft on the steering wheel,â_ he thought as he drove slowly down the road, the rear end much lower than normal, the front lifted. As he drove his mind was running through what else he wanted to get done that night. _It might be a long one, but I donât want to wait on this_. He turned the radio volume down and took out his phone and called Amy. She answered after the first ring and said, âOh bill, have you had the news on? When are you going to get home? I canât get ahold of Francis.â

_âWow,â_ he thought, âA_nd I was sure she wouldnât have heard.â_ âYeah, Iâve been listening to it. It sounds pretty bad. I would guess that a lot of people are trying to call in and out of Vegas so the lines are overwhelmed. Vegas is a big city. Why donât you go online and find where the store is in relation to Francisâ house, and her office. At least it will give us a guess on her status.

âIâll be home in about forty five minutes. When I get there Iâd like to talk with everybody at Mom and Dadâs. Would you be able to make the calls and see if everyone can get there? Iâll call Bob and Alan but I donât have anyone elseâs numbers. Maybe in about an hour?â 

âSo you think this is going to get worse,â she said quietly, between a question and a statement.

âIâm concerned that it might, so Iâd like to have the family discuss the possibilities and our options.â 

âOkay, Iâll try to get ahold of everyone. Be careful out there, and get home safe. I love you.â

 âLove you, and Iâll be careful. Bye.â 

Bill made the calls to his brothers. Alan lived two doors down, across the street from their folks and said he would be there. Bob was already on his way to their parentâs house and would hang around. As the folks were slowed by age, Bob had made himself available to help them out with anything that needed done. This was easier for him, being single and recently accepting early retirement from the revenue-strapped county emergency medical system.

At the last gas station before home Bill pulled in to fill up. It was busier than a normal Thursday, more like what he saw at the start of a three-day weekend. Some of the vehicles were loaded as if the drivers had just finished a large shopping trip. The people waiting were all patient, though many had concerned looks on their faces and glanced often at their watches. â_Well, I donât think everyone here are sheeple_,â he thought. One man looked a little closer at his load and gave him a nod. Once his tank and spare gas cans were topped off he pulled away from the pump island and parked. Then he came back to Bill to inquire where he had bought the grain and how the prices were. The man wrote it down, thanked Bill and left. 

A sigh of relief came from Bill as he pulled onto his road. When he stopped in front of his driveway gate, a blind moved in the living room window and Amanda ran out of the house and beat him to the gate. She waved him through, closed the gate then followed as he drove to the feed shed. â_What a great girl,â_ Bill thought, â_Lord, I donât know how I ever deserved those two kids, but I am so grateful to you for them._â He nearly started to cry right then, thinking of how wonderful his life had become despite his best efforts to make it otherwise. Amanda and Brad were such a pleasure for Bill. He was still shocked that he had such a wonderful wife and children. He had given up on that ever happening.
*****​


----------



## biggkidd

You are ALL WONDERFUL writers thank you for sharing with us.

Larry
A World Away


----------



## Bret F

_A sigh of relief came from Bill as he pulled onto his road. When he stopped in front of his driveway gate, a blind moved in the living room window and Amanda ran out of the house and beat him to the gate. She waved him through, closed the gate then followed as he drove to the feed shed. âWhat a great girl,â Bill thought, âLord, I donât know how I ever deserved those two kids, but I am so grateful to you for them.â He nearly started to cry right then, thinking of how wonderful his life had become despite his best efforts to make it otherwise. Amanda and Brad were such a pleasure for Bill. He was still shocked that he had such a wonderful wife and children. He had given up on that ever happening._

Chapter 7: Red Solo Cup 

_Now a red solo cup is the best receptacle _
_For barbecues, tailgates, fairs and festivals _
_And you, sir, do not have a pair of testicles _
_If you prefer drinking from glass_

_A red solo cup is cheap and disposable_
_And in 14 years they are decomposable _
_And unlike my home, they are not foreclosable_
_Freddie-Mac can kiss my ---. Woo!_

_Red solo cup, I fill you up_
_Let's have a party, let's have a party_
_I love you red solo cup, I lift you up_
_Proceed to party, proceed to party_

_Now I really love how you're easy to stack_
_But I really hate how you're easy to crack _
_Cuz when beer runs down in front of my pack_
_Well that my friends is quite yucky_

_But I have to admit the ladies get smitten_
_Admiring how sharply my first name is written_
_On you with a sharpie when I get to hittin' _
_On them to help me get lucky

Red solo cup, I fill you up_
_Let's have a party, let's have a party_
_I love you red solo cup, I lift you up_
_Proceed to party, proceed to party_
_âRed Solo Cupâ Performed by Toby Keith_
_ Written by Brett and Brad Warren & Brett and Jim Beavers_

 



Bill was forty one years old when he first became a father. He had been married to Amy for a little over two years at the time. That fabulous moment was followed by the birth of Brad nearly two years later. It shocked him to think that everything had come together as it had so many years later than most of his schoolmates and friends. For some reason he could not fathom, God had blessed him although he had taken a rough road to that realization.

Bill was nearly married once before, at the age of twenty. Like so many decisions he had made in the time period, he was just doing something without thinking about it or the consequences of his decisions. He would look on that time period later in life and wonder âWhere did my brains go?â He had moved in with a girl he thought was his girlfriend. She wanted more, he didnât. _Why buy the cow when the milkâs free, right?_ As she pressured him more and more to get married, using every weapon in her arsenal, he relented. Then as the time of the wedding approached, his job needed him to work out of town for a time. Of course he had do go. Needless to say, his decision was not well received. The relationship ended as soon as he told her he had to leave. Later he would reflect on this as one of the luckiest moments of his life. He was going to marry for all of the wrong reasons and would have ended up as just another statistic in divorce court. _And her temper! I really wouldnât want her raising my kids. _He also came to realize he most likely triggered that also. She was really a wonderful lady, just not _The One_.

Looking back, that part of his life seemed to him like it must have been someone elseâs life. When he was in his early teens, he had a good idea of what he wanted to do in life and had it all planned out how he was going to get there. He had researched his chosen field, knew where he needed to apply for college and what scholarships would be available. It would be hard work, but he knew how to accomplish it. Billâs parents had never had much money, but he never considered them poor. They grew a large garden, raised chickens and beef, milked cows. âPoor peopleâ went hungry. Billâs family never went hungry; they just didnât have any spare money. He had grown up with a strong work ethic instilled in him. 

Then he had gone to high school, discovered girls and beer and all of his earlier ideas disappeared like burned off fog. He sleep-walked his way through high school without direction, then had gone on to college with no plans or directions. No plans, enjoying beer entirely too much, and he drifted even farther off course. He took a part time job with a construction crew and loved the money but he managed to spend most of what he made. The part time job overlapped with school so he never went back â _what was the point_? 

At a party one night he met a girl that he moved in with in two weeks. Life became a cycle of work and party, and then more of the same. When the relationship ended, Bill really didnât care. There were always more girls at the parties. He was mostly bummed out about the inconvenience of moving.

He did good enough at work that he eventually became a foreman of his own crew. Now instead of them being his drinking buddies, he had to reprimand them for behavior that he had enjoyed so much himself. He clashed with his friends and he clashed with his boss while defending his friends. The first time he had to fire a man for unsafe performance, he bought a bottle of whiskey and drank it until it was gone. The rotten feeling in his gut from the firing was just pushed aside by, but not replaced. The man had a wife and two kids. Bill knew they had lived paycheck to paycheck like most of the people in the trade. Bill woke up with a pounding head and was lucky to make it to the toilet before he started throwing up. 

Bill became more and more morose, spending his free time alone drinking. He managed to be mostly sober for work but his job performance was rapidly plummeting with the rest of his life. If a positive could be found in his life, it was that drinking alone at home cut down on his alcohol bills substantially. He could go through his entire paycheck in a week at the bar. That was much harder to do when buying beer at the grocery store.
*****​


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## Bret F

Bill woke slowly, his body aching, a rank smell in his nostrils. His mouth had a taste like something had crawled in and died. His head pounding, the odor nearly overwhelming, he tried to open his gummed-up crusty eyes to try to locate the stench. He managed to get his eyes open and could not register what he was seeing. Finally the eyes and brain got in synch and he realized his left eye was seeing an up-close view of rocks and dirt laced with vomit. He retched at the realization that the side of his face was laying in his own vomit. He pushed himself slowly up to his hands and knees, dry heaves wracking his body, lightning bolts of sharp pain stabbing his brain, not registering the rocks scraping raw tracks across his hands. At last his body stopped revolting and he very slowly lifted his head to look around. â_Where in the heck am I_?â

He grasped a nearby bush to try to help pull himself in lurching stages to his feet. His fuzzy brain did not register the shiny poison ivy leaves as it was spread down both arms. Involuntarily, he reached up to rub at his gummed up eyes and scrape the crusted vomit from his face. His eyes and face started to itch and burn as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He finally came to the realization what the bushes were, and stumbled away, stumbling on an empty whiskey bottle and falling back to his hands and knees. He jammed is wrist, pain shooting up his right arm as he fell against some lava rocks. âDang rocks,â he exclaimed as a second one ripped the knee out of his pants and cut a long gouge into the skin. He struggled to his feet again, this time mindful of rocks and anything else that might trip him, dizzy, barely managing to stay upright. 

Slowly as he looked around at the rocks and bushes surrounding him he registered the sound of running water. He turned to it and a slow to form realization came to him. â_The Snake River? What the heck am I doing here?â_ With his face and arms burning and itching, he found a track down to the water and started down it, stumbled, and then tumbled down the embankment into the water. As he went under, he cracked his bleeding knee on a rock at the waterâs edge. Gasping and sputtering he got his head out of the water and grasped the rock. He hung on and got his breathing under control and his thoughts back in line. _Dang this water is cold_. Despite the cold, he remained there, the cold water soothing the burning in his arms and knee and his pounding head. He stayed there clinging to the rock until his body began to shake from the cold. After cleaning his face the best he could, crawled on hands and knees out of the water, a jolt of pain shooting up his arm each time his weight rested on his jammed wrist, quickly echoed by the knee. There was a pile of driftwood nearby so he crawled to it and found a stick that would serve as a staff. He pulled it free of the pile and used it to get back to his feet.

The embankment Bill had rolled down was about twelve feet high, and with the aid of the staff he managed to stagger to the top, falling once. After he was at the top he again tried to figure out where he was. Although his face still burned and he could feel a tightness as it was swelling up, he could see better than he had all morning â _or was it still morning_? 

Stumbling through the brush to the spot where he had lain, Bill stopped and looked around, searching for anything familiar, anything at all. Something blue caught his eye and he staggered towards it, eventually making out the top of his pickup. He managed to make it to the pickup, and then checked his pockets. _Dang, where are the keys_? He opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief to find them in the ignition. Bill climbed into the seat and slumped with his pounding head in his hands against the steering wheel. He dozed in that position until the pressure in his bladder aroused him. He half rolled out of the seat and promptly fell to the ground when his stiffened knee refused to bend properly. He retrieved the staff where he had dropped it and pulled himself to his feet and relieved himself where he stood. The foul taste in his mouth registered through the pounding in his head, he leaned back into the pickup looking for something â anything â to drink. All he found was a couple of cans of warm beer. He grabbed one up, and found his aspirin bottle in the jockey box. He fought with the child proof lid, mentally cursing the people that had brought about that change in packaging. Finally, the lid popped off and aspirin showered the ground. He bent, nearly toppling from the bum knee, and picked up four tablets, mixed with a liberal amount of sand and dirt. He popped them in his mouth and took a chug of the beer. The beer hit his churning stomach and immediately made an about face and he heaved it back out onto the side of his pickup. Not just the beer and aspirin, it felt as if he was trying to expel everything he had eaten for the last week. He grasped the side of the pickup to keep from falling while he spewed and spasms wracked his body. When he finished puking, he carefully kneeled to the ground, not able to keep the dizziness away, and located two aspirin, left mostly whole and dry, and popped them in his mouth and chewed them up with a handful of grit and swallowed them dry. With his head pounding and spinning he located the beer can where it had fallen, now just a mass of foam, and angrily threw it into the brush. 

Bill considered the last can of beer, and decided to keep it, then climbed into the driverâs seat, reclined it and closed his eyes. He passed out rather than falling asleep, but it was rest nonetheless.

Sometime later Bill awoke; he had no idea how much later. His head didnât pound as bad so he was able to string his thoughts together. Whatever he was doing there, he needed to get home, clean up and get some real rest. He started the engine, put it in gear and let the clutch out. Nothing happened. He revved the engine, but the pickup still did not move. He put it in neutral, slowly got out, mindful of the vomit, still unsteady on his feet. He carefully lowered himself to the ground while clinging to the door and looked under the pickup. The rear axle was resting on a rock, just high enough to keep one wheel off the ground. Looking carefully, he couldnât see any other obstructions. He grasped the door and pulled himself upright and returned to the seat, shifted into four wheel drive low range and slowly eased off the rock. A sickening screech of metal on rock sounded but he kept going until the sound stopped and he was clear of the rock. He wanted to just keep driving, but a voice in his mind made him stop and get out to make sure he hadnât damaged something that would make him regret going on. He eased himself out, walked gingerly to the back and slowly lowered himself to his hands and knees. The hurt knee didnât make it easy, but he gritted his teeth and fought through the pain. Once on his hands and knees he looked under the pickup and couldnât see anything that appeared damaged. Lurching back upright, he walked unsteadily to the cab and got back in. Putting it back in gear, he slowly pulled away, not hearing anything to cause concern. 

Bill could see faint tracks in the dirt and drove through some scrub brush to get to them, avoiding rocks while scraping the paint on each side as he went. Once on the dirt track, he followed it until it he got to what passed as a road in the river canyon, put the pickup back into two-wheel drive and started up the road. He began to recognize landmarks of an area he came to fish for channel cats. _Well, at least I know where I am and how to get home_. He drove to a paved road and went to a nearby store. Luckily there was some cash in his wallet, so he went in and purchased bottled water, saltines and more aspirin. The cashier wrinkled his nose and gave him a funny look. If he looked as bad as he felt he could understand it.

Back at his pickup but not getting in he opened the water, rinsed his mouth and spit. He tried just a slight sip and it settled so he climbed into his seat. He slowly ate a saltine making sure each nibble would stay down before having another. After eating three saltines he chanced washing down three aspirin with water. It stayed, but left him unsettled so he didnât try to eat or drink more and started for home. On the way, he nibbled at the crackers and took tiny sips of water.

Slowly as he was driving, he began to remember the day before. He had gone to work with a better attitude than normal for a change. Things were going well until the company bookkeeper came to the job site. The management group had just been arrested for defrauding customers, all assets were frozen, and the company was officially defunct. As everyone cursed, they picked up their tools and left. Bill had driven to the liquor store, bought a bottle and proceeded to drink himself into ignorance as he mindlessly drove. He wasnât able to recall going to the river canyon.

By the time Bill got to his apartment, his headache was down to a strum rather than a pound and his stomach was much settled. He went in and took a long shower, ate a bowl of soup, took more aspirin and collapsed in bed.

When Bill awoke and looked outside, he saw it was close to night, long shadows being cast by the setting sun. _Okay, the drinking is getting out of hand. If I donât stop now, I never will._ He went to the fridge hoping for something to eat. All he saw was an open case of beer. He went to the cabinet and was greeted with one can of sardines and a can of stew. _Stew it is_. He warmed it in the microwave and sat down to eat and think. A full blown pity party was about to blossom and he was considering how deep he could get into the case of beer when the voice in his head stopped him. _Drinking put you here; itâs time for another approach_. He looked wistfully at the fridge then filled a glass with water and sat down to figure out how to proceed.

The following morning, Bill showered shaved and made himself look as presentable as he could. He filed for unemployment, getting all of the information on jobs he could. Unfortunately the recession was getting worse and construction was on life support. He had considered himself lucky to still have a job for some time. Now it was obvious how lucky he had been. He went back home and went online to look at job prospects. As the day drew on, he went to his sister Carlaâs house to enlist her help in making a resume. That was something he never had, starting work out of school and never having a need for one. 

Bill slipped into a routine: unemployment office looking for job opportunities and online searching. With no prospects, he signed on with a temporary agency taking small jobs as they came. While he still wanted a beer, he didnât feel like the need to drink into oblivion each day. Instead he stopped drinking altogether. His bank account was shrinking: drinking was for guys with money to throw away. 

As the bank account dwindled, he came to the decision that given his current situation, without wholesale changes he would soon be broke and homeless. If he didnât fix it now â right now â he was in for some very tough times. It would be better to go into it as he directed rather than be forced. He thought hard about how he had grown up. Dad never seemed to have extra money, but they always got along fine. The more he thought about it, it boiled down to two main points. Dad did everything possible he could do himself, not relying on others for services, and made as many things as he could himself, reducing purchases. And all purchases were needs, not wants. Sometimes it was easy to blur the two, but he was going to have to stick very strictly to the NEED principle. 

He made out a budget with expenditures as tight as he could feasibly come up with. The first cuts were easy: the cable went first. It was bundled with his phone line, high speed internet and TV. He really didnât want a cell phone with the monthly bill, but needed to be reached instantly if a job came his way. So he ditched his old phone and service at the end of the contract and went for a prepaid phone. In place of the internet, he became a regular at the library, using the computers there for job searching. He also read and checked out magazines and movies and books. The library was certainly different than it had been in his youth. 

Also cut was his newspaper and magazine subscriptions. He could get magazines at the library, although not always the ones he had subscribed to. _Oh well_. He had considered keeping the newspaper for the Sunday coupons, but after checking them closely, the majority was for prepared foods. If he bought basic ingredients and cooked himself, he could still save even more than if he bought the coupon items. It just took more time, and he now had that in surplus. He quit eating out, bought basic ingredients and went to produce stands for his fruits and vegetables. If he was going to be out, he made something at home and took it with him to eat later. Though he longed for beer, he continued to refrain from drinking any alcohol, sticking with water and whatever the cheapest coffee was when he went shopping.

The next big item was his pickup â the payment and insurance. He listed it and sold it for less than he owed, leaving him to make up the difference, but it still helped with his cash flow. While looking for a car he could buy for cash, he bought a slightly used bicycle at a thrift store and began peddling everywhere. Not only was he saving money, he was getting healthier, the beer belly dropping off rapidly with his changes. He found two laptop computer bags at a thrift store, that when combined with some webbing from the Army-Navy Store and some heavy sewing soon became bicycle panniers.

He had never been much for clothes shopping, but now he watched for items his size at the thrift stores. He wanted clothes that looked good for job interviews. Most of his wardrobe consisted of worn work clothes. 

Another benefit of his changes was the relationship with his family. While he was drunk, he had avoided his family, embarrassed to show them how far he had fallen. Although awkward at first, his parents were happy to have him around: he began working most days in the garden and helped in the hayfields. He was able to stop buying at produce stands. His mom always sent him home with fresh vegetables from the garden.

Occasional temp jobs came to Bill, and less occasional were real job interviews. He stopped looking at jobs just in construction and began filling out applications for any job. He was to the point he needed a job not a career.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret, i have watching for more...:clap:


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## JMx4

Awesome job. Please keep it up.


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## Bret F

Chapter 8: Busted


_I called up my brother to ask for a loan cause I was busted
Now I hate to beg like a dog for a bone but I was busted
My brother said, "There ain't a thing I can do
My wife and the kids are all down with the flu
And I was just thinkin's 'bout callin' on you
Cause I'm busted_
_

Now I'm no thief but a man can go wrong when he's busted
The food that we canned last summer is gone and we're busted
The fields are all bare and the cotton won't grow
Me and my family's gotta pack up and go
I'll make a livin', just where I don't know
Cause I'm busted _
_âBustedâ Performed by John Conlee_
_ Written by Harlan Howard_


Despite all of the spending changes Bill had made, it was not enough. He had been unable to get any solid employment and his savings was continuing to decline. He was running out of options. The apartment would have to go; he just didnât know where to turn next. He started searching for a studio apartment. He certainly didnât need the large apartment any longer. About the only thing good news was his employment benefits had been extended. This really galled Bill. He had finally begun to grow up. He didnât want to be taking unemployment; he wanted to earn his own way. 

Bill was riding his bike to his parentâs house from the opposite direction he normally went when he saw a âFor Saleâ sign in the yard of a neighborâs house. _What a dump. They better have a low price or theyâll never sell that dog_. When he got to his folks place, his dad was hooking the baler to the tractor so he went and helped him get it on and the power take off hooked up. While Dad checked the twine and put in two new spools, Bill took the grease gun and pumped all of the certs full. Bill watched Cal start baling, and then hooked the trailer to the pickup and drove to the field and began loading the bales. His mom joined him and took over driving so Bill stuck with loading the bales orderly on the trailer. His mind drifted from the mundane repetitive action, and kept going back to the house for sale. He pictured the lay of the property and began to picture it planted with a large garden. He continued to paint a mental picture of the place, where the fruit trees would go, the grape vines, the hen house and pen. The place looked to be about an acre, but with proper planning and layout, it could be very productive. 

When Bill had stacked the first trailer load of hay and was loading the second, Cal, having finished bailing, joined him at the trailer. As they worked, Bill asked his dad about the neighbor house. âWell, I think the inside looks even worse than the outside. But look close, it is solid built. The outside just need cosmetic work. The inside however, needs gutted and totally redone.â 

They continued to load hay in silence and drove to the hay yard to unload and stack. âSo what are you thinking about that place?â Cal asked.

âIâve got to get out of the apartment, the rent is killing me. I donât know how I could ever get a loan to buy that place, not having a job and all. I could do the entire remodel and turn it into a livable house. But I still couldnât get the loan. Just thinking out loud I guessâ.

They got the last bale on the stack and returned to the field for the final load. âWhat about you make payments to me?â Cal asked. âI could buy it and you could pay me.â

Bill was overwhelmed. âThanks Dad. I donât know what to say. But if I canât get a job, youâll be stuck.â

âWell, some months back I would have let you end up on the streets. You were a drunken jerk. And that was your better side,â he chuckled. âBut youâve changed. Your head had been in the clouds for years; I havenât known who you were. But this has made you into a better person. Iâm betting it sticks this time. Donât disappoint me,â he looked Bill sternly in the eye.

Bill and Cal finished the hay, went to the house and washed up. âI need to run Dad, Iâve going to go to the library and see if there are any new job postings.â Bill said.

âOkay, Iâll see you later. And Iâll look into that house.â

Bill got on his bike, noticing the panniers had been stuffed with fresh produce from the garden. There was enough there to feed him for nearly a week. _Thanks Mom_. 

As he was nearing his apartment to drop off the vegetables, his phone rang. He stopped at the side of the road and got the phone out and looked at the number. He didnât recognize it. âHi, this is Billâ he answered. 

âBill, this is Tom Roberts. I work with your brother Bob at the county.â

âHi Tom, what can I do for you?â

âBob tells me you are looking for a job. Iâve been moonlighting on my days off and the thing is getting too big for me. I need some help and Bob said now that youâve gone on the wagon, you were a good handâ. 

_There it is again. First Dad says I was a jerk, now Bob recommends me since Iâve quit drinking. I must have really been a piece of work. Maybe itâs good that I donât remember a lot._ âTom, I would love to talk with you about it. Just tell me where and when.â Bill got the information, pedaled quickly to the apartment and put away the vegetables, then went to Tomâs house.


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## Bret F

Tom had a small operation that had continued to grow despite the recession. He did remodel work, handy-man work, and general small construction projects. The job Tom offered was Jack of all trades. Bill would work with Tom on job sites doing all phases of work: rough and finish carpentry, plumbing, electrical, drywall, painting, and roofing. He would learn to do hand drawings â not nearly as detailed as an architects, yet with enough detail to pull permits and be fully understandable to perform the work. He would learn Tomâs methods of purchasing. It was an invaluable position that would give Bill knowledge in most every aspect of building with overlap into other industries.

Bill took the job on the spot. The pay was less than he had made in the past but he didnât care. The way he had changed his lifestyle, he could do well with the pay. He started working for Tom the next day. The only drawback he saw was transportation: he would have to carry tools and materials to jobs. It was time to start driving again. _But no drunken driving this time._ He found a used pickup that looked fair, ran fair and was affordable. 

When Bill called his Dad to say he had a job and would like to go ahead and purchase the house he got another surprise. Cal had known about the job offer before Tom had called. Tom had talked to both Bob and Cal numerous times to be sure Bill would be up to the job and be a dependable worker before talking directly with Bill.

Cal made a cash offer on the house that was accepted right away in the down market. Cal closed on the house and Bill moved out of his apartment. When he stepped into the house for the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake. âDumpâ was a kind word for what was behind the walls. He didnât think animals could live worse than the previous occupants. He wondered if the stench would ever leave, even with gutting the house. But the stench did leave as Bill gutted and rebuild the house. The exterior repairs went fast; the interior not so fast. 

Bill continued with his spending habits, sticking to needs only and used that same philosophy on the house. An auction house in town regularly had building products. Bill had priced most all of the items he needed for the house at the big box store and had it all written in a pocket notebook. He was able to pick up much of the material he needed for a reduced price, including a full set of kitchen cabinets. They werenât perfect, but with some effort they turned out fine. 

Bill spent all of his free time on the house. He was living in his Dadâs wall tent in the back yard while doing the work. He really wanted to be done before winter. When he saw he would never beat the changing seasons, he made sure he completed the plumbing and the bathroom. He could do one room at a time and make do as needed. With one paycheck he picked up a used woodstove. He had to purchase new triple wall chimney that ended up costing more than the stove, but he gladly paid the price. Every scrap of wood was saved from his job as well as the house remodel and would keep the house above freezing through the winter. He would consider comfort heat the next winter. He also picked up any pallets he saw with a âFreeâ sign in the warehouse part of town. 

By spring, the interior was complete, just in time to work on the ground. During the more mundane parts of Billâs work, he continually thought about the ground layout and had a full plan when spring arrived. He borrowed his Dadâs tractor, ripper and disc and worked up a section of ground for fruit trees and garden. He laid out areas for the shop-garage he would build and the area he hoped to put up a green house. He spent one weekend and made a simple chicken house and pen and purchased broiler chicks and Rhode Island Red pullets and a rooster chick from the local hatchery. He spent more than he would have liked and put up strong, tight fences around his pasture area and supplemented their feed by allowing the chicks to free range. The broilers didnât grow as fast as they could have if they had been confined and stuffed with feed, but he liked the trade-off of money saved on feed, for in his opinion at least, healthier birds than confined ones. He planted the garden with a wide variety of vegetables, with enough to can or freeze the surplus. He bought a new upright freezer. He bought hundreds of Mason jars at thrift stores. When the chickens were large enough he butchered and froze them. The young pullets had begun to lay eggs. When the garden started producing he began to live mostly on what he produced. 

With the garden in control and growing, Bill built the shop - garage with bays to park two cars and that much more area as a work shop. One section was built with heavily insulated walls with closeable vents and shelves to store his canned produce. One outside wall had a lean-to added on for wood storage. He went with his Dad and brothers on weekend trips to the mountains and they all got enough firewood for the winter. Bill would have comfort heat this winter. 

Having been employed by Tom for a full year, Bill secured his own mortgage and paid Cal for the home on top of the paymentâs he had made to Cal for the previous year. Bill tried to pay him more but Cal kept tearing up the checks. Billâs mortgage was for fifteen years. Each payment he sent on it contained whatever he could afford to pay extra. Some months it was a substantial amount, other months not. He wanted to work as hard as possible to never be faced with losing the home. In the end, his extra amounts cut four years off the mortgage. 

When fall came, Bill went elk hunting with Bob and Alan for the first time in many years. _Wow, I missed these trips._ They had success, getting a spike bull and a three point. They split the meat equally between the three brothers, their folks and Carla. Along with the chickens and garden produce, Billâs freezer contents looked impressive. The trips to the grocery store would be minimal.

Bill was sitting in his rocker by the wood stove one evening sipping an herbal tea when he reflected on his life changes. He had been on a path of self-destruction when he lost his job. Out of that he had grown and matured. He couldnât remember being this content since he was a kid. He didnât feel complete, but he did feel contentment.
*****


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## puddlejumper007

nice work, i will be watching for more.....thanks


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## Bret F

Chapter 9: Kisses Sweeter than Wine
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine_
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine_

_When I was a young man and never been kissed_
_I got to thinking it over what I had missed_
_I got me a girl, I kissed her and then_
_Oh lord, I kissed her again.

_
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine_
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine_

_He asked me to marry and be his sweet wife_
_And we would be happy for all of our lives_
_He begged and he pleaded like a natural man_
_Oh lord, I gave him my hand._
_
Oh, kisses sweeter than wine_
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine _

_I worked mighty hard and so did my wife_
_Workin' hand in hand to make a good life_
_With corn in the field and wheat in the bins_
_I was, oh lord, the father of twins.

_
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine_
_Oh, kisses sweeter than wine
__âKisses Sweeter than Wine: Performed by Aiofe Clancy and Bobby Clancy_
_ Written by The Weavers_


Bill took the drawings for the latest project Tom had secured to the county to apply for a building permit. When he turned in the paperwork he noted there was a new woman working in the department. He gave her his best smile, _wow sheâs pretty_, and got a smile in return. He drifted through the day; that smile returning to his thoughts over and over. The next morning, he asked Tom if he needed anything at the county that he needed because he had to take care of something in that area and it would save him time to do two things on one trip. Tom did in fact have another job to permit and Bill went to the permit office with a smile on his face. _Great, sheâs here_. He went to the new woman, _Amy her badge said_, and turned in the paperwork, chatting with her while she worked. When she had the paper work done and handed him the permit, he asked her if she would like to go with him for lunch one day. She looked at him, studying him sharply. He was feeling like he might melt under her scrutiny, when she answered, âTell you what, meet me at my church Sunday at 9:00 and we will see how it goes from there.â

âChurch?â he asked. Sunday was for hunting, fishing, gardening or any multitude of things. He hadnât been to church since Mom had let him off the hook when he was ten. He looked at her as he thought and saw the triumphant look on her face the longer he mulled. âSure he said. Where is it and where do I meet you?â 

Her triumphant look was transformed into a look of surprise. âReally? Do you go to church?â

âWell, itâs been a while, but what better time than the present, right?â 

She gave him a quizzical look, and then gave him the information and he left. He was wondering the whole time back to the job if he had made the right decision. _A church goer, huh? Definitely different than the girls I used to run with. Thatâs got to be an improvement._

Bill attended services with Amy, then convinced her to have lunch with him. Keeping to his frugal habits, he drove her to a nearby park and brought out a cooler with the lunches he had prepared at home. Amy gave him a puzzled look at the situation but did not question him: he was sure she had been expecting a restaurant lunch. As it was, they were able to hold a nice conversation in the quiet park. Indian summer was in full effect, but it was certain not to last long. The trees were gold and crimson with a fair amount already on the ground. 

When Bill returned Amy to the church, he asked to get together again. Amy said, âOf course, Iâll see you here next Sunday at 9:00.â

So they began a pattern each Sunday of attending services, finding a place to eat the lunch Bill had prepared. As they got to know each other better, with the weather turning colder, they began to have lunch at one of their homes. Amy eventually relented and began to see Bill other than Sundays. The day she agreed to become his wife was joyous for him, only surpassed by the wedding. He often reflected on his life changes and was amazed at the path he had taken. He was thirty nine years old and a newlywed for the first time. He knew he could have easily been on number two or three. 

Following the birth of Amanda, he was sitting in church one morning thinking how he would rather be teaching Amanda to fish, _so what if she is too young, sheâs gotta start sometime._ He was gazing into the babyâs angelic face, the Pastor was talking about something, Bill wasnât sure what; he frequently tuned out. _What was that he said? Something about Godâs love, Jesus, children?_ Bill had been going through the motions so long he rarely paid attention, but he tuned in to what was being said. The pastor spoke of God the Fatherâs love with the same feeling Bill had for Amanda. Suddenly it all clicked together. _I get it now_. He again tuned out, but instead of thinking about fishing, he spoke to the Lord and accepted Jesus as his personal savior. He was filled with peace and contentment. He was still prone to slip into a daydream during services but it was much easier to pay closer attention to the message from that point on.

Bill continued with his frugal ways after becoming a family man. He felt it was even more important now than it had been before. He had people depending on him that he did not want to let down. And the more he learned of mass produced food, the more he wanted to limit that to his family. Amy still liked the comfort of prepared foods, but they managed to limit the amount they used. 
*****​


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## Bret F

Bill pulled out of his reverie and looked at Amanda trotting down the driveway, and saw Amy and Brad coming out the back door to greet him. He got out of the heavily loaded pickup and pulled them all together for a group hug, tears running down his face. These three people meant the world to him. He would do everything he could to keep them safe. 
âDad, they said at school that somebody is blowing up stores,â Brad said. âWhy are they doing that? If they donât like the store canât they just shop someplace else?â

âI donât think itâs quite like that, Brad. There are some people that donât like America and our way of life. They are trying to hurt our country, not necessarily the stores. Creating fear is one of their main weapons. It looks like they are trying to make people afraid of going shopping.â

Brad got a serious look on his young face while he mulled it over. Bill had never believed in hiding the ugly part of the world from the kids. He wanted them to know there was always danger and be prepared to face it. Some times when he would tell them about a news story of a child predator, Amy would ask just why he told them about that. He wanted them prepared. He always drilled it into them that if anyone ever grabbed them they were to kick, bite, scream with every ounce of effort they had; targeting the tender spots like the eyes, throat, groin. Finally Brad came to a decision, âWe donât have to be scared. We just have to look out for the bad people.â

âThatâsâ right. We canât let them change how we live, but we need to be aware those people re out there. The more we can be normal, it keeps them from winning.â

Amy gave Bill a fierce hug, separate from the group hug. âIâm so glad youâre home. And thanks for the map idea for Vegas. The store was on the opposite side of town from Francis. So if she was at work, she should be fine. Iâve got sandwiches made. I figured you would want to eat something before we go to your folks. And I suppose you want to go hang out with your goat first too.â The goats were still a bone of contention for her. She didnât like them and wanted them gone. Brad agreed with her except when there were babies. Amanda loved them. They were at a stalemate on the goats so Bill never requested Amy to help with them at all. He figured if they escaped from their pasture, she would let them into the road in hopes they would leave.

âWell then we better eat, and not let your efforts go to waste,â he told her after finally giving her a greeting kiss. They went to the house, washed, went to the table, prayed and began to eat. 

While they were eating, Amanda asked what would happen now. Amy gave her an irritated look. _That is not proper dinner table conversation_. But Amanda didnât notice, or chose not to notice. 

âThat is the puzzle we have to figure out,â Bill answered. âIs this a one-time big statement or is this just the beginning of something bigger? This was different than what they usually do. Most of the time it is someone acting on their own that will plant a single bomb like those knuckleheads at the Boston Marathon, and that is it for a while. This time there was more coordination and at numerous places across the country. The last time I remember this much coordination was on 9-1-1. The targets that time were very specific. But this time; wow, grocery stores are everywhere. It would be very easy for them to continue this. There is sure to be beefed up security at the big stores, but not everyone can afford extra guards, and the police are stretched pretty thin in a lot of places all ready. I suppose the National Guard and army could be used at the stores, but Iâm not sure about that. It would feel almost like we have become a police state and our freedoms lost. The bombers would sure love that.â Bill did see the irritated look Amy shot him and let the rest of his thoughts hang. âBut we donât need to discuss it now. We are going down the Grandpa and Grandmaâs in a little while. We can talk about it then.â

âAnd while the adults talk, you guys can read,â Amy told them. 

Bill turned at her with a serious look, âThey can listen to the discussion if they choose. They have to know what is happening, and I would rather we direct their contact to it than kids on the playground. We can present the facts as we know them. Who knows what stories are going to be going at school tomorrow?â

âBut Bill, they are so young.â

âYes they are, but they are smart, thinking people. I wouldnât put it past them to think of something the rest of us miss.â 

Amanda smiled down at her plate for her Dad to have included her. Bradâs eyes were down-cast, but he looked back and forth between his parents. They didnât argue like some of his classmates said their parents did, but Dad usually let Mom get her way. This was pretty important stuff.

Bill excused himself, thanked Amy for making supper and picked up the milk pail and went to the door. Amanda jumped up, âCan I help you Dad?â

He looked at the table; _not much to clean up, Amy can have it done before Iâm done milking_; and looked at Amanda, âI would be glad for your help.â They went out the door together, while Amy looked on, exasperated at events.

Amanda got the grain bucket and managed to get Mischief into the barn while Bill closed the gate to keep the rest of the goats from coming in. They put her in the stanchion and Bill settled in to milk, waiting quietly.

âSo without Mom to shush us, what do you really think?â Amanda asked. 

âI think today was just the tip of the iceberg. Look at the places they hit: they werenât the large population centers where they could probably get even more notice and take more lives. Waterloo, Truth or Consequences, Sin City, Tinsel Town. I think those names and locations are meant to send a message. I have prayed that I am wrong, but I feel pretty strong about it.â

Amanda mulled it over. Bill again had to admire how sharp she was for twelve. âAll right, so what will happen if they do set off more bombs?â

Bill had finished milking, stood up, hung the bucket, then released the goat and put his T-stool back on the shelf. âThatâs the big question, isnât it? Give it some thought. Weâll go down to Grandma and Grandpaâs house and discuss it as soon as I take care of the milk.â

They went to the house together and Bill strained the milk, put it in the refrigerator and washed his bucket and strainer cloth. He washed up and refreshed his water bottle, then went to his book shelf and pulled out some material. âOk, letâs get this going,â he said and headed for the front door.
*****​


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## puddlejumper007

hi. i am watching for more...:shocked: love the story...


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## Bret F

Chapter 10: Bad Moon Rising
_I see the bad moon arisin'_
_I see trouble on the way_
_I see earthquakes and lightnin'_
_I see bad times today_

_Don't go around tonight _
_Well, it's bound to take your life_
_There's a bad moon on the rise

_
_I hear hurricanes ablowin'_
_I know the end is comin' soon_
_I fear rivers overflowin'_
_I hear the voice of rage and ruin

_
_Don't go around tonight_
_Well, it's bound to take your life_
_There's a bad moon on the rise_

_Hope you got your things together_
_Hope you are quite prepared to die_
_Looks like we're in for nasty weather_
_One eye is taken for an eye

_
_Well, don't go around tonight_
_Well, it's bound to take your life_
_There's a bad moon on the rise_
_âBad Moon Risingâ Performed by Creedence Clearwater Revival_
_ Written by John Fogerty_


Bill, Amy, Amanda and Brad walked the short distance down the road the Billâs parentâs house. There were a number of vehicles parked out front. It looked like most of the family was going to be involved with the discussion.


The television was on, broadcasting more coverage from the bombing sites, currently covering the California store. The adults took chairs around the kitchen table, with Billâs mother muting the TV. Bill started the discussion, âSo I think this is the start of something bigger, judging by the towns they hit, what do you all think?â

Bob was the first to answer, âI called some friends that are still with the county. They seem to have that same feeling. They are gearing up for something big, and have reports of some online chatter to back it up.â

No one else had anything to add to support or detract from the possibility of escalating violence. âSo what do you think we should be doing, Bob?â Alan asked.

âLetâs look at it two ways. First if the bombings are a one- time statement, no one knows that, but will react as if it is continuing. The stores will put on heavy security, you will be scrutinized in the parking lots and especially entering the stores. All of that is going to cost a lot of money and you know they are going to pass that on to the consumers. The government will certainly jump in somewhere, and you know they hate to stop a program once it is in place. The second scenario is if they continue or escalate the bombing. Security gets tight, it is inconvenient to shop and it all costs us more. Maybe they will disrupt the supply lines too. I think the bottom line no matter what, is it will cost more, be inconvenient and we may face shortages. Throw all this on top of the never ending recession and a bad situation just got very ugly. I think we should fill every nook and cranny with groceries as soon as we can and be ready to grow even more in the gardens next year.

 âAnd they could have something a lot worse planned. They might have gotten ahold of some of those missing Russian nukes and got the right people to alter them so they could launch and fry all of our circuitry, throwing us into the dark ages. Or maybe just set off some dirty nukes in the right places. If you noticed on the news, the secret service has stuffed the Prez in a rabbit hole somewhere. They think itâs going to get worse. I say we think and prepare for the worst and hope we are wrong.â

âThat follows my thoughts too,â Bill added. âI think all gas tanks and spare cans should be filled. Propane tanks, kerosene bottles, lantern fuel and any other fuel containers need filled. On the garden thought, if it comes down to us providing more of our own food, we need to preserve as much as we can. I think we all need to see what canning supplies we have, get more if we need it and make sure everything is cleaned. Alan and Jim, you should make sure you have as much chicken feed as you can handle. Besides animal feed, they also have sealed bag of long term human storage food over there. As another precaution, I want to get my hand pump mounted on my well. We should get Dadâs and Alanâs pumps on too, in case there is a disruption in power.

âAnother thing we should all think about and try to stock up on are any prescription medicines we need. I already set up a doctor appointment for next week to try to get as much as I can.

âI would also like to go the livestock auction this Saturday. Butcher hogs should be coming in and we could get some of them and try for an old sow to grind for sausage. And it would be nice if we could get a cow to grind into burger and another younger one to cut as normal. The weather is too warm still to let them age, but if we canned everything, the long time in the pressure canner makes about anything tender.â

There was more discussion about that, Bill and Amy being the only ones who used a pressure canner. Amy did voice her opinion that she didnât especially care for home canned meat. In the end, they came to a consensus that Cal and Bob would go to the auction and try to buy everything they wanted. They would wrap and freeze as much as they could and only can that if the power was disrupted. Bill reminded them that they better make sure all of their propane tanks were full if they had to can on camp stoves. If it came to that, he hoped that his gas stove would continue to work for a time by lighting it by hand, but he didnât know how the booster pump stations functioned. Alan had access to butcher wrap at reduced prices so he could get enough paper for everything. Bill mentioned that he should also pick up some parchment paper, so they would have it on hand if they had to can the bacon. Alan could also get sausage seasoning.

Everyone mulled it over and mentioned a few things they would do individually. As they were breaking up, most planning on going to the nearby Winco store, up, Bill gave his Dad the literature he had brought down âHow to build and run the GEK Gasifierâ. âWhy donât you look this over? He also has a good website. Another place you can spend some time is on YouTube. http://driveonwood.com/

 There are a bunch of videos on gasifiers. One guy, I think he calls himself âMr. Teslonianâ, has posted a lot. One is the step by step building of a unit he made and runs on a small pickup. He used mostly scavenged materials for it. If the fuel supply gets messed up, this could be a pretty useful set-up to have.â [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3KipK49v7g"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3KipK49v7g[/ame]

Cal took the literature and began thumbing through it. âIf I can drive without supporting the bloated fuel companies, why did you wait till now to give me this?â He was irritated each time he fueled up and then read of the big profits the gas companies raked in.

âWhat, and miss out on hearing you sing the praises of those guys, not to mention supporting the countries that send the bombers to us? What fun would that have been?â

Bill excused himself, and he started for home with his family. âI want to go to Winco and get whatever looks like it will store for some time that we would eat,â he told Amy. 

âAll right. You and Bob made it sound like a sure thing. Should the kids and I go with you?â

âIf we all went, we could push three carts and make a major load of it. It might just be the only family time we get today.â

They went to the garage and emptied everything out of Amyâs van, laid the back seats down and made the short drive to the store. They stocked up heavily on canned foods, soap, extra bleach and lots of toilet paper. Bill also picked up a large amount of individual hard candies. He looked wistfully at the beer cooler. _Iâd sure enjoy a beer this evening, but one is never enough and I donât need that tonight or the aftereffects tomorrow. Besides, that money could be better used elsewhere._ He turned from the cooler and continued to load the cart with items everyone in the family would use. The load mostly filled the back of the van. Once back home, Amy and the kids started to unload the van and put things away. Bill would start unloading the pickup. 

Before he got started unloading, he had one other thing he wanted to do. He went to a shelf in the shop and took down his incubator. It was a small, inexpensive model that he had purchased with an egg turner that held forty one eggs. He filled the water trays, and plugged in both the incubator and the turner. Then he carried a bag of groceries into the house and picked up the egg bucket. _This is one time Iâm alright with the kids not putting them away right after gathering them_. He filled the incubator half full and pointed it out to Amanda and Brad and asked them to put the next dayâs eggs in also. Then it was time to get to work unloading.

Bill had a number of barrels he kept the animal grain in. He filled them all and had a lot still to go. He cleared a spot in his storage shed, laid out boards to keep everything off the floor and stacked the bags, leaving ample space all around them. He had some excellent mousers, two of which lived in the shed. He might still get some losses to mice but hopefully it would be minimal.


----------



## Bret F

By the time he had the grain put away, Amy and the kids had finished with the van load. He looked in the food pantry he had built into the corner of the shop. The shelves were full from the just completed trip and full Mason jars. The space between the shelves was the only open area. He found a wooden rack he had made to keep things off the cement floor, set it on the floor between the shelves, and then stacked all of his purchases from the cab of the pickup. Despite the cooling evening air, he was covered in a sheen of sweat, his shirt clinging to him with each bend. Amy asked what she and the kids could do to help so he directed them to do a rough inventory of empty canning jars and start a load of them running in the dishwasher. When the last bag was in place, Brad met him at the door with a large glass of cold water that he gratefully accepted and drank most at once.

Once Bill had parked the pickup he went to the chicken pen and shut everything up for the night. The small door sized for the chickens and the walk through door for people into the chicken house were both secured. The gate to the pen was closed and latched, but Bill figured it wouldnât be much of a deterrent for a hungry animal. The wooden house was the chickenâs safety at night. Raccoons were thick in the neighborhood as well as occasional foxes and they liked nothing better than a fresh chicken dinner. Coyotes were often seen and heard in the nearby foothills, but at least he hadnât seen any at home, not that he would be surprised to see them. Sometimes the free range chickens decided not to roost in the house, opting instead for the nearby apple trees. He usually found their scant remains the next morning.

Glad to have everything done for the evening, Bill got two lawn chairs and set them up in the back yard. Amy saw what he had done and getting her own glass of water, and a refilled one for Bill joined him. âI guess with the chairs, you want to talk.â 

âYeah, I do. The kids can join us if they want; you know I donât try to hide stuff from them.â

âOK, if they want to listen Iâll let them. But I still wish they could stay young a while longer. It would be so nice if they could just have a normal quiet childhood like we did.â

âI wish they could too, but the world has changed and they have to change with it. I donât want them blind-sided because we sheltered them.â As it happened, the kids stayed at the kitchen table with their school books and notebooks open, the laptop computer open, taking turns to use it for that portion of their homework.

âAlright, Amy said. So what do you want to tell me?â

âYou know I think things are going to get a lot worse. The first thing, I set us up with the doctor for this coming Wednesday for our annual check-ups. Take you phone out right now and put it in your calendar so we donât forget. I want us to get the blood work and make sure on our prescriptions and anything else she recommends. Then I want to try to get her to prescribe as many years-worth of meds as we can get. I have no idea how open she will be to longer than a year, but I have to try. If she will help us, of course the pharmacy will tell us that insurance wonât cover it, so we will pay for it all with cash. Besides that, I did some things today to make it a little easier on us if everything falls apart. I asked Godâs guidance in what I had to face and everything felt right, so I did it without talking to you first. And then I closed out my IRA.â 

The look on Amyâs face showed she didnât agree, âThe IRA, but Bill, weâre going to needâ¦â

He broke in before she could build up momentum on her protest. âI left the 401K accounts alone. But the IRA, I directed Jack to close and put the money in our checking account. The money will still be there if nothing happens and we can always re-invest. But if this stuff continues and things go bad, we may need some things that we have to pay cash for and now we will have it available. I know it would be nice to slide into a nice and comfortable retirement but the terrorists are trying their hardest to prevent that. I want to be ready to face the future they are dictating.â

âOK, I donât necessarily agree, but I see your reasoning. What else did you do?â

âWell, I did my darndest to spend as much of the money as I could.â The look he received told him he wasnât funny. âI looked at things as if we are going into a long term crisis; then I made a huge order of garden seeds, reusable jar lids, hoop ho..â

âDid you say reusable lids?â

âYeah, this company called Tattler makes canning lids that they say can be used over and over. Iâve wanted to get some, but didnât like the prices and we still had some regular lids from those four cases we bought a couple years ago.â

âOk, those would be nice if you can use them over and over. And you said âHuge orderâ of seeds. What is huge?â

âAt the rate I garden now, it is enough to last the rest of my life. But,â¦if things fall apart, we can plant most of the neighborhood for a number of years. After that, I got some books and videos from Amazon, hoop house cover material, and.â

âWhatâs âhoop house materialâ?â

âYouâve seen those greenhouses with the flexible plastic type covers on hoops?â At her nod, yes, he continued, âThose are hoop houses. The covers are a plastic that holds well up in wind and sunshine.â

âUh huh, so what about the hoops? I take it you are planning to grow a lot of food in the off season. â

âI donât have anything for the hoops yet. I have seen some made with pipe, some with conduit, some with PVC. I hope to get something in the next few days.â 

âIs there more?â

âWell, you saw the pickup: I got a lot more grain than usual and a lot of storage food and I got a bunch of stuff at Cash and Carry. I also ordered an electric fencer and I gutted the savings account. â

âOK, one at a time. You gutted the bank account? Really? I understand the food and hope I never have to eat the storage stuff. But why did you get a fencer? You have one already. â

âThe fencer I ordered is solar. If something happens to the power, we can still run the fences. And the bank account,â he pulled a large roll of cash from his pocket, âI got this to put in the safe. We will have it on hand if we need to make purchases we canât write a check for. I hope it doesnât come to that, but it is just one more layer of insurance. Plus all of the IRA money should be in the checking account tonight. â

âWell, youâve thought about it a lot, I guess. Itâs going to take me a while to wrap my mind around it all. You donât think you are being reactionary at all do you? You always thought there were a bunch of kooks with the Y2K non-event. Now you are doing about the same as a lot of them.â The sun had set and it was getting quite chilly sitting in the yard. Crickets and frogs were making the night air ring with their songs. When her comments did not bring a response from Bill, she finally said, âLetâs clean up and get to bed.â

They went in the house. Amanda and Brad were still at the table working on their homework. They would have normally been done by this late hour, but the eveningâs circumstances had set them back. 

âYou guys about done so you can get to bed?â Amy asked. While addressing the kids, she had her cell phone, tried to call Francis again and had a pained expression when she was still unable to get through.

âIâm done,â Brad said, âBut you still need to sign off on my reading.â

âFour more problems in algebra, then Iâm doneâ Amanda said.

âWell, better get them. You donât want to turn in incomplete work. Then you need to get ready and go to bed. Brad, brush your teeth,â she told him as he was headed for the television.

âBut Mom, Amandaâs not ready. Iâll brush my teeth when she does.â

âBrad,â Bill said and looked at him sternly.

âAlright. Boy, you guys sure arenât fair.â But he did as he was told. 

When he finished and started for his bedroom, Bill asked if he wanted to discuss the events of the day. Brad thought about it and said no, he would just say his prayers and go to bed. Amy accompanied him to pray with him like every other night.

Amanda finished her problems, and got ready for bed. âGood night Dad, I love youâ she said as she hugged Bill. âAnd thank you for making it so we should be safe.â

âLove you, hon. And Iâll try my best to keep you three as safe as I can. Good night.â

Amy came out of bradâs room and followed Amanda into her room. Bill showered, scrubbing of the afternoon and evenings sweat, shaved, brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. He sat in the living room and then waited for Amy with the news turned on low. There was really nothing new to report. The authorities were speculating as to who and why and there was little to connect the bombings. _Yeah right_, Bill thought. The White House spokesman had made a statement asking for the populace to remain calm, donât try to take vengeance, we donât know who did it. Donât automatically come to the decision it was Islamic terrorists. _Yep, about what I expected._

Amy came out of Amandaâ bedroom and prepared for bed. She joined Bill, âAnything new?â

âNope. They are just rehashing what they said earlier. If they know anything else, they arenât admitting it. And the prez says donât assume it was Muslims. How are the kids taking it?â

âI donât think Brad is looking at any big pictures. He sees it as a long way from here and not affecting us, but he prayed for all of the families of the people hurt. Amanda feels badly for everyone involved and thinks we are going into hard times, but you and Grandpa know how to handle it so we will all be fine. She has loads of confidence in you. Come on, turn that thing off and letâs go to bed.

They went to bed and Bill held Amy close. âBill, do you really think itâs going to be bad?â 

âYes I do. It is like Bob laid it out; they hit us in a vulnerable spot and it is going to take some effort and pain to fix it. And thatâs if things go easy. If they continue, well, itâs going to be ugly.â

Amy lay quietly thinking about that. She was afraid to admit Bill might be right. She liked her life orderly, with little change from day to day. Bill was soon snoring softly while she continued to lay awake, her mind running over the events of the day and the familyâs response to it. _Amanda was right. Bill, his dad and brothers do know what to do. I just hope they are wrong and we donât fall apart. I hope Francis is safe somewhere, far from danger._ She pulled Billâs arm tighter around her and eventually slept.
*****​


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## puddlejumper007

thanks,,,,still watching,,,:teehee:


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## Bret F

Chapter 11: Ready For The Storm

_O the waves crash in and the tide pulls out
It's an angry sea but there is no doubt
That the lighthouse will keep shining out
To warn the lonely sailor
And the lightning strikes and the wind cuts cold
Through the sailor's bones to the sailor's soul
Till there's nothing left that he can hold
Except the rolling ocean

But I am ready for the storm, yes sir ready
I am ready for the storm, I'm ready for the storm

Give me mercy for my dreams
For every confrontation seems
To tell me what it really means
To be this lonely sailor
But when the sky begins to clear
And the sun it melts away my fear
I'll cry a silent weary tear
For those that need to love me

But I am ready for the storm, yes sir ready
I am ready for the storm, I'm ready for the storm
âReady For the Stormâ Performed by Dougie MaClean_
_ Written by Dougie MaClean_
_


_Bill lay awake, trying to allow sleep to take him again. He shifted his position and finally opened his eyes and looked at the clock. _4:45: the alarm will go off in fifteen minutes. Might as well quit fighting it and just get up_. He sat up on the side of the bed as quietly as he could so not to disturb Amy, stretched, turned off the alarm, gathered up his clothes and went into the bathroom. He had to step softly around Maggie, a darker shape on the dark floor. He left the bathroom dressed and headed into the kitchen.

When he turned the light on over the sink he was greeted by a chorus of calls from the goat pen. If he was up, they were ready for treats and milking. He reached for his prescription bottle and took a pill out. He did a quick estimate of the remaining pills, about two weeks- worth. I sure hope the doc will let me get enough of this to weather a long term problem. He washed down the pill with a large cup of water and reached for the coffee pot, chuckling as the goats called again for him to get out there. _Iâm coming, but some of you will be disappointed_. He got the coffee started to brew, took the milk bucket out then glanced at the thermometer. _Jacket morning, but still warm for this mid-September_, he thought as he went to the hanger and took down his well-worn sweat shirt. Amy and his mom both tried to get him to throw it out. It had two large tears, the cuffs were ragged and it was covered in paint and stains that would not wash out. He didnât see the need to toss it and start trashing another one. _Chores were tough on clothes so why wreck something good._ He was sure he could get one more winter out of this one. 

As Bill opened the door, Maggie joined him and went out into the darkness, the smell of smoke on the air. _I wish we could get rain to help get those fires out. We donât need the bombers for fires around here._ The west was in yet another drought year with late summer forest fires raging in many locations. The thick smoke rolled in and settled into the valleys, trapping the heat from the previous day and making for generally unhealthy breathing conditions.

The dog did a quick circuit of the back yard, her nose up checking for anything out of the ordinary. Once Bill opened the back gate, she trotted towards the chicken pen to investigate for varmints. Bill went to the feed shed to get his grain. He normally gave each of the goats a morning treat even though they sure didnât need it. This time he scooped just enough grain for Mischief and a much smaller amount than usual for the rest. He poured the extra grain in the feeder to occupy the goats, grabbed Mischief and went into the barn and closed the gate. Before he had Mischief secured, Rand and Perrin, the two pack weathers were standing on the gate wanting more grain. As Bill settled in to milk, he began to think of what he wanted to accomplish during the day. He did some of his best thinking while he was milking on a peaceful morning. The previous day had felt hectic even though he had accomplished everything on his immediate âto do listâ. 

The milking complete, Bill went to the house and started the milk to strain. While it was dripping, he filled a cup with coffee and took a drink before he placed a sheet of paper in his clipboard and started noting down everything he wanted to get done that day. As soon as his basic thoughts were recorded he emptied the dishwasher, refilled it with canning jars and started it running. If the power went off he wanted the jars clean as possible. He finished up the milk, put the jar in the fridge and washed his bucket and strainer cloth and put them away to dry. Too bad Amy wonât have anything to do with my goat milk. 

Billâs guts clenched and he picked up his pencil and clipboard and went into the bathroom. The second area he had to himself each morning where he could think. While answering the call of nature he pondered how his activities might be different if the terrorists popped an EMP or something worse. Well, the first place is right here. With no power, all the water would be hand pumped. _I donât want to spend that much time pumping. The urine would be easy, at least for me and Brad. And I can use it as fertilizer. Better find that âHumanureâ book by something Jenkins, I think his name was._ As Bill thought about that, he figured both kids would get on board even though they might not like it. Amy, probably not. _As backup, better plan on some packing of water for the toilet and maybe build an outhouse. Did I ever download plans on composting toilets? I wonder how the septic tank will work with just a minimal amount of water going in._ _Ok, toilet paper. We would never be able to stock enough for long term, not that I wonât try. Dad said they used to save corn cobs and would use a red one first, then a white one to know if they heeded another red one. My hemorrhoids hurt just thinking about that. Something I read once had people each with individual cloths and a way to clean them, then some bleach water for final cleaning and letting them dry. That would be better._ Bill finished up and washed his hands while he relished the fact that he had some very soft two-ply and a self- filling tank on the toilet. 

Back in the kitchen, Bill picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. Cold. He put it in the microwave to warm while he opened the fridge to see what would work for lunch. He pulled out a container with some left over elk roast, an apple and a jar of milk. He cut off some of the meat and put it in his lunch bag with the apple and filled a pint jar with milk, then returned the containers to the fridge. He got two ice bottles form the freezer section and put in the bag next to the milk, added some mixed nuts to a baggie and put it in the lunch bag and closed the zipper. For his breakfast that he usually ate at break time at work, he started a cup of water heating in the microwave while he put a half cup mixed rolled oats and wheat in his wide mouth thermos with some cinnamon and honey. When the water came to a boil, he poured it over the mix, secured the lid and shook the thermos well and set it with his lunch bag. It would be perfectly cooked in less than an hour, but by using old fashioned oats, would still be excellent hours later, well, as excellent as hot cereal could be compared to ham and eggs.

After he brushed his teeth and brushed his hair, Bill checked the time and saw he had about twenty minutes before he normally left for work. He refilled his coffee cup and sat down at the computer with his binder and the clipboard at hand. He searched for PVC pipe, metal tanks, barrels, cinder blocks and bricks. He responded to two posts. The prices were higher than he normally paid for used but beat new prices. If things fell apart there were still some things he wanted to get materials for.

After logging off the web, Bill rinsed his coffee cup then went to wake Amy, opened the kids bedroom doors grabbed his lunch and headed outside. He let the chickens out and got in the car and headed for work. The radio had to be tuned to a news station, and as he listened, there wasnât anything new to report. And even better, there had been no further incidents.


----------



## Bret F

At the office, Tom was lining out the work crews for the day when Bill arrived. He got a cup of coffee, started his computer, checked his email, and looked at his work for the day. Steve and Greg both arrived and Tom joined them. âWhat a mess. They ought to find the guys that did that and strap a bomb on them,â Tom spat out.

âThatâs not good enough, it would be instant. Did you see all the people burned? Those desert rats need to suffer for a long, long time,â Greg added.

âThoughts of justice aside, have you given any thought to the effects of yesterday on each of us?â Bill asked.

âWhat do you mean us? We werenât around there.â Steve responded.

âWell, Wal-Mart lost some stores yesterday. How do you think they will respond? Are they just going to issue a press release that all their stores are safe â come shopping, no worries. Or are they going to try to put in security to try to make sure those stores are safe. And how much security do they need. Remember flying before 9-1-1? Look at the security at the airports now. Are they going to have scanners to enter the store? What about the possibility of car bombs driven into the front door? How much security will it take to make you really safe, or at least the appearance of safety? What will that do to the cost of groceries?â

Bill gave them a while to think on that, all of them silent. âNow what if we get a few more stores bombed? Let me ask you a personal question. Do you have home owners insurance? Do you have health insurance, car insurance, or any other insurance? Think about eating insurance. Tom grows a large garden for a lot of his food, but aside from that, what kind of insurance do you have that you will eat tomorrow? Do you just assume that Wal-Mart will always be there and have nicely stocked up shelves? Greg, what does your church say about that? You know, the two-year supply that you are all expected to have, although you have told me you only have a few days-worth.â

Again, there was a long period of silence while each of them thought of their own circumstances. Steve was the first one to speak, âSo, it looks like weâre screwed.â

Tom looked at Bill and asked, âSo youâve thought about it. What do you think?â

Bill took some time to look them each in the eye before responding. âI think you are only screwed if you donât do anything. I think we should all have enough supplies on hand to go through a long rough patch. Some stores will be slower to act, or canât due to the cost. Maybe the terrorists will be picked up today, maybe not. Maybe there will be a slew of copycats. If we all get things that we will use, and can be stored for long term, it is just what I call food insurance. Greg should have all kinds of information on what to do there.â 

Tom and Steve turned to Greg. âWell what do you think?â Tom asked him.

âBillyâs talking sense I guess.â

âGet us the information on storage food. Weâll take the morning off, get the flat bed and go to Costco.â He turned to Bill, âAnything else?â

âIâll work with Greg on his information. I may have something to add.â

Relieved that they were taking the situation seriously, Bill sat with Greg at this work station and they put together as much information as they could. Tom called the outside crews back and laid out the gist of the completed discussion and the plan to stock up.

âBut I donât have any money for stocking up, âJimmy, one of the outside crewmembers said.

âTell you guys what,â Tom said. âThe cash I would give for a Christmas bonus, plus the cost of the Christmas dinner, Iâm putting into this shopping trip.â He turned to Jimmy âAnd no, you canât have the cash instead. Itâs a one- time offer, take it or leave it. Iâll pay for what Greg and Bill have recommended. Anything else is on you.â

Jimmy had a sour look on his face, âAll right. Iâll take it.â Jimmy rarely had two coins to rub together in his pocket. Tom often had to turn him down for advances on his pay. 

Excusing himself from the Costco run, Bill went to his computer and started looking though the information he had downloaded, thinking about each of his coworkers. He burned discs for each of them based on their own circumstances as much as possible. The information contained everything he had collected on water filtration, distilling and collecting rainwater. There was additional information on gardening, native edible and medicinal plants. Rocket stove mass heaters. Food preservation techniques. Fishing and trapping plans. Trapping methods and recipes for raccoons, rock-chucks, squirrels, fish, and crawdads. 

 Tom had the best situation by far, living far outside the city limits, with the garden, ten acres of alfalfa, a well, septic, barn. Jimmy, on the other hand, reminded Bill of what he called âDark-Side Billâ, the part of his life he regretted ever happening. He was in an apartment with nothing but his bar stool and tools. If the world fell to pieces, Bill was concerned that Jimmy would slip into the mode of a predator.

Bill was just burning the final disc when his cell rang. He looked at the display and saw it was Amy. âHiya Hon. Whatâs up?â

âWell nothing. Really, nothing. Have you been listening to the news? Theyâre just rehashing stuff they said last night. Do you think itâs too late to have Jack get the IRA back invested?â

Head shaking, and taking a deep breath, Bill answered, her, âNo, itâs a done deal. I had the confirmation in my inbox this morning. It showed what he sent of the IRS, what went into our account and the small print on what he kept.â

Amy was quiet for a while. âOk, I just thought we might still be able to save the account since nothing is happening. 

âI still canât reach Francis. I got her voicemail and told her to call. Her office phone also goes straight to voicemail.â

âIâm sure it is still just full lines from everyone checking in. You should be able to reach her later. Whatâs the work atmosphere like today?â Bill asked her.

âNot much work getting done. A lot of discussion about yesterday.â

âI know you arenât totally on board with what I did yesterday, but you might try to point some discussion to what Bob said last night.â He also mentioned to her the âfood insuranceâ but could tell by her lukewarm response, she would most likely remain silent. _Yep, donât let them know your husband is a nutcase. Thinking that might be more effective than lecturing her about keeping quiet._ âWell, we better get back to it; maybe get some work done today. Love you.â

âLove you too, bye.â 
*****​


----------



## Bret F

Bill thanked Tom for what he had done with the Costco run and transferred his portion into his car. He noticed that everyone in the morningâs discussion as well as two down-to earth types from the outside crew had extra. Jimmy was already trying to offload some of his for cash, before it was even stowed in his car. _Yep, he will be trouble for someone._ Bill gave everyone the discs he had prepared. Jimmy gave a shrug upon receiving his. 

At lunch time, Bill went to the nearest Kinkoâs printing location. He ordered numerous copies made of the information stored on the discs he had burned. _If the power goes out, I donât want all of this lost on the computer._ Later when he picked up his order, it completely filled two copy paper boxes. It was much more than he needed but a lot of the information was to share with others.
*****​At home, Bill was greeted by Maggie and an empty stall on Amyâs side of the garage. _Thatâs right; they had a youth group barbecue at the Jones house today. Iâll figure out something to eat when Iâm done with all of this._ He checked the incubator and saw the kids had finished filling it as he had asked, and the temperature was right. After he got his newest load of food from Costco put away, Bill parked the car and switched to the pickup. He drove to pick up some barrels from the morningâs Craigslist search and made another stop for a pile of cinderblocks. On the way home, he stopped at the Home Depot and purchased enough heavy PVC for the hoop houses he had planned and a new well cap. His final stop was the recreation vehicle store where he topped off all of his propane tanks.

When everything was put away, Bill hunted through his shop and found the box with his hand pump and fittings. In another corner was the PVC pipe to drop down the well casing. He had purchased everything years earlier, but had never mounted it to the well. It now had a nice covering of dust. He cleaned everything thoroughly and ran a bleach solution over and through it all. He drilled the new cap for bolt holes and the larger hole for the water line and bolted the pump to the new well cap, made the pipe connections and went to the pump-house. After pulling the well cap, he had to find a stick to wipe some spider webs out of the top of the well casing. He dropped the PVC with its newly attached foot valve down the casing and secured it with a twine. The pump and well cap was hung over it and the pipe union joining both sections was screwed together. He lowered the full assembly down and secured the well cap to the casing. After placing a bucket under the spout, he primed the pump with the nearby garden hose and began to pump. After just a few pumps he had water plowing and half-filled the bucket. _Iâm glad thatâs done but I really, really donât want to have to rely on it._

The bucket was dumped out the door, a hand rag dropped into the bottom, then the tools dropped into the bucket and returned to the shop. He set the bucket on the floor in front of his work bench, briefly considered putting everything away, but instead went to the garden and picked corn, tomatoes, cucumbers and pulled a carrot for his supper. This was his favorite eating time of the year, picking the vegetables fresh and eating them within minutes. He always wondered how vegetarians could live, but there was this one period of the year he could _almost_ go meatless. 

After he had eaten and fed Maggie, Bill showered. _Ah, something else I would really miss if it is gone. What are my alternatives?_ When he was younger and helping Dad in the hay fields, his Dad had rigged up an outside summer shower. It was a black barrel on a stand with a valve and pipe to let water out. They filled it with the garden hose. By late evening, the sun had warmed the water enough for a very comfortable shower. His parents also told him about their first home together. They bathed in a galvanized wash tub in the kitchen. Another possibility that he came up with was the camp showers- a black rubber bladder with on outlet. He could always fill them with warm water and hang them in the shower stall. All viable options, but each meant hand pumping water, and heating it without the water heater. _I guess that would be the end of long showers._ He was shaving under the shower stream and realized that would end also. It used way too much water. 

After Bill was dressed, he went online and searched Craigslist again. This time he went to the livestock section. He needed to locate a buck goat; _wonât Amy love that_. He was also searching for a jersey cow. He wasnât sure he wanted a cow at the moment â it would add a fair amount to his morning and evening chores. However, since Amy turned up her nose to the goat milk, maybe she would be more open to raw cow milk. He wasnât sure. The rich raw milk was far from the stuff she bought at the grocery store. He found a couple of bucks that might work and jotted down the information. The cow was not to be found but there were some heifers. He also noted them down. He wasnât going to purchase today. This was mostly for comparison. He would ask his dad to look for each at the auction the next day and decide how to proceed from there.

Logging off, Bill picked up his note pad and headed for the front door. Maggie saw him and raced out the dog-door and was waiting impatiently for him at the front gate. They made the short walk to Calâs house where they found him watching a video on the computer on wood gasifiers. Bill confirmed the plan for Bob and Cal to go the livestock auction the next day. He gave his dad the notes on bucks and heifers. âWhat do you think about us getting a jersey cow?â he asked. 

Billâs mom had come over, âHeâs wanted to get a cow for the last two years. But I donât think he needs to be milking twice a day.â Cal was eighty three years old and slowed by cancer surgery and treatments although he didnât want to admit it. 

âIâd just as soon not be adding one more animal to milk right now either, but I think we should look in case we see something good,â Bill replied.

âI can still milk twice a day, it just might take me longer, Cal said. He _really _didnât like to admit he had limitations. Bill had noticed that Bob now drove him to all of his doctor appointments.

âIf we decide to get one, Iâll milk her and Amanda can take over milking Mischief,â Bill answered. Amanda sometimes milked the goat when he was busy. âWhy donât you check out bucks tomorrow too? This is what is available now on Craigslist,â he pointed on his note paper. âAnd if you find a good one, Amy can be mad at you instead of meâ, he said with a smile. 

âAlright, weâll see what they have. Come out to the shop with me. Iâve got something to show you.â 

âHeâs been out there playing all day,â Billâs mom said. âYou gave him a good challenge.â

Bill was impressed with the progress Cal had made. âI think a couple more days on this and I can have it ready to put on the pickup. Letâs get the old Jimmy out this weekend and park it by the shop.â Cal, having grown up with little of anything hated to depart with something once he had it. That included motor vehicles. He had three parked that were still running when he bought their replacements. The Jimmy was a half-ton pick-up that was too light for the loads Cal had begun to carry. So he parked it and bought a one ton extended cab pickup. Every so often, he would go out and start it and check all of the fluids and air in the tires, but it hadnât driven five miles in the last ten years.

They discussed the project a while longer, then Bill excused himself, whistled for Maggie and started for home. _Dad sure looks tired tonight. I hope he didnât overdo it. Iâd try to take his place at the auction but he wouldnât stand for that._ Cal loved attending auctions. He had taken the boys to many over the years: livestock, junk, farm sales, they took them all in. It was rare for him to leave one early.

The house was still empty when Bill got home. He got a glass of ice water and set it on the stand near his recliner, picked up a pair of reading glasses and went to his book shelf. _Need to remember to go by the dollar store and pick up a big variety of readers._ He searched until he found two books on livestock anatomy and veterinary techniques and returned to the chair and began to look for some specific information. He took a drink of water while he paused between pages. _Ice makers and refrigerators â thatâs something else I sure would hate to do without_. He went back to searching the books.

Maggieâs happy barks at hearing Amy drive up accompanied by the slap of the dog door flap woke Bill. His early wake up time combined with the comfortable chair made him fall asleep easily once he was done with his work for the day. He picked up the book where it had fallen into his lap and marked his page with a bookmark and rising, returned the books to the book shelf. The backdoor opened to a flurry of squirming, tail wagging dog followed by Brad, Amanda and Amy. He got a hug from each and a kiss from Amy and got to hear all about the barbecue. 
*****


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret,,,still watching for more


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 12: Donât Worry Be Happy 
_Here's a little song I wrote,
You might want to sing it note for note,
Don't worry, be happy

In every life we have some trouble,
When you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy

Donât worry be happy now_
_âDonât Worry, Be Happyâ Performed by Bobby McFerrin_
_ Written by Bobby McFerrin _
_ 


_Saturday morning dawned unseasonably warm for mid-September and very smoky. The firefighters were not making much headway on the raging forest fires. Most of their efforts had been defensive for home protection â the result of the affluent building multi-million dollar homes where they had no business putting in houses. After his morning chores, Bill stood in the back yard and looked to the foothills, just a blurry shape. _Iâm not looking forward to spending the day in this skunky air, but Iâm not going to waste the day either._ He figured he had about six hours before his dad and brother returned, so he was going to make the best of it by starting the expansion of his green house. Alan and Jim would be preparing everything for butchering. It was nice to have a brother that had spent fifteen years on the kill floor of the local meat packing house.

Wanting a greenhouse for years, Bill had scrounged a number of used sliding glass doors. Most of them came from Freecycle, two stacks from people that had scrounged them to build their own greenhouses, and then abandoned the idea. His lumber for the framing was from an auction where he had picked up a number of full bunks of 2x4s and 2x6âs. They werenât number one quality, but with care, pre-drilling, extras supports, most were able to be straightened. And the price he paid could not be beat. When he first made the greenhouse, he had the front doors extend to the ground, later obscuring the bottom section with planter boxes. It was a classic âDUHâ moment when he looked at the covered over glass and determined he could greatly increase the size by building a short base wall and adding the doors to that. 

Bill got the pages from his binder where he had the plans for the larger greenhouse. He had everything he needed to do the expansion; it had just not made it to the top of the priority list to actually get it done. It should have however, since he was nearing the end of the planting window to get a viable crop before short daylight hours and cooler temperatures put a stop to any growing. He would pour a new concrete footing for the short wall, and with luck, could have that part accomplished before the butchering began. Bill set up his outside radio to entertain him while he worked. He considered, briefly, whether to tune in the news, college game day or music. _News: nah, I just donât want to hear any more of that this morning. _He had turned the television on while he dressed and again while he was taking care of the morningâs milk. The commander in chief was on both times, stern faced, making an address from an undisclosed location. He assured the nation there was absolutely nothing to worry about. The perpetrators would be dealt with, blah, blah, blah. _ Game day: very tempting. _ College football was his favorite sport, but he was sure the radio would be on the game broadcast that afternoon. The Broncos would be playing Air Force which had the potential to be a very tough game with their unusual option offense. _Really, a full day about the games might be a tad too much_. In the end, music won out. The local public radio station ran a program on Saturday mornings with music that would not be played on any of the popular music stations. Amy told him there was a good reason for that. He enjoyed hearing the eclectic mix they came up with: folk, blues, Celtic, country, rock, blue grass, and some he had no idea how to classify. 

After the radio was set up and playing John Prine 
_âI don't want your big French Fry,_
_ I don't want your car,_
_I don't want to buy no soap, _
_From no washed-up movie star, _
_You are so much louder, _
_Than the show I wanna hear,_
_ With your sugarless gum, _
_Gee but I'm dumb, non-alcoholic beer, _
_It's enough to make a grown man _
_Blow up his own TV, _
_Quit hollerin' at me, _
_Quit hollerin' at me_â, 

He hummed along â _good song, John_ - as he measured everything and staked it, then measuring again â only moving one stake â he got his bar, pick and shovel and started digging. Once he moved the loose leaf and dirt surface accumulation be began encountering river rock and sand mixed with the soil. _Just once, Iâd like to dig something around this place without running into all the danged rocks._ 

Brad joined him and said Mom and Amanda were making breakfast and offered to help him out. They made great progress and were ready to start putting up concrete frames when they were called to the house. Bill restrained himself as he wanted to say âQuit hollerin at meâ; he knew no one else in the family was familiar with the song. 

They cleaned up and settled at the table to scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and fresh cantaloupe from the garden. After the blessing, Amy sweetly asked, âSo what are you working on today?â

_Uh oh, whatâs with the tone?_ Bill told her about the greenhouse expansion, what he hoped to get done before his dad and Bob got back. 

âSo do you know what Iâve been doing?â she asked, then gave him the answer before he could make a guess. âIâve been straightening up the house with the news on and then I was working on our bank account. Do you know what was on the news? Nothing new. They are just going over the same stuff as the last few days. The president made a short statement. He says the FBI has assured him that the bombings were isolated attacks and they will be making arrests soon. There is nothing to worry about. We should all go back to our normal activities. He also urged everyone to call their congressmen and demand an end to the budget stalemate. He insinuated this would never have happened if not for the sequester, or whatever they called it. See, business as usual. Then of course you know what I saw with the bank account. I canât believe you spent all that money without discussing it with me first. You gut our account, throw away our retirement account. And for what? Just some isolated incident like the Boston Marathon bombing. It was a one- time deal, this will be too. Bill, you over reacted and now we donât have an account to go into retirement.â

He waited patiently for her to vent. When she was quiet he asked, âIs that all, or do you have anything else?â Her answer was a flat stare.

âAlright then. I had hoped Thursday night we had this covered but I guess I was wrong, huh. What part of my spending is setting you off the most? The garden seed? I buy seed every year. If the good ole boys at the FBI are right, I wonât have to buy seed again for years, if ever. With inflation, I just saved us money we wonât have to spend in retirement. How about the food, animal feed? Again, everything I got was stuff we will use, and you know prices are always rising. I spent money now to save money later when we arenât bringing in a paycheck. The hoop house? I can raise more of our food and save even more money later. So what exactly is it?â He didnât tell her maybe she should go back to not knowing the news and was very glad he hadnât answered her call to breakfast as per John Prine.

Her eyes were glistening when she looked at him. âIâm scared,â she said very softly. âIâm scared you might be right. Iâm scared you might be wrong and are jumping at shadows. No one at work or on TV has come to the same conclusion you did.â He didnât tell her if she checked different media, she would find many who did agree. âIâm scared for Francis. I still havenât been able to reach her. You didnât know my dad and I never talk about him. He died broke and homeless. The county buried him. I donât want us to be destitute when we retire. Everything is just scaring me right now, I donât know what to think.â

He reached across the table and took the shaking fork from her and grasped her hand. âIâm not going to give you false assurances. I can only tell you what I see, from study of more angles than the happy-talk guys on TV. Now, Iâm not your dad. I had my rough stretch but thatâs in the past. Look around. See this house? It is ours. We donât carry a mortgage. We arenât going to lose the place and be homeless. Now, look down at your plate. Those eggs, the cantaloupe, the milk in my glass. We produced them here, right here at our home. After tomorrow we will have a freezer of pork along with the elk meat. We arenât going hungry. I wonât let that happen. I will take care of you and the kids. Like I just told you, even if nothing comes of this, everything I have done will actually help us later. I pray that I a wrong, and if I am, I will be the happiest guy around. But if Iâm right to some degree, we will all be better for it. I donât think Iâm crazy just yet.â

She sniffed, wiped her nose and fought to regain her composure. âAll right. Iâll try hard to support you, but stop surprising me. I have to be part of things and not be blind-sided.â

Just then, Amyâs phone rang. âFRANCIS!â Amy nearly shouted into the phone. âIâve been so worried about you.â She was quiet while Francis started talking; got up from the table and went into the bedroom. Bill hoped that finally hearing from her sister would relieve some of Amyâs anxiety. He finished eating his lukewarm eggs and had an additional slice of the cantaloupe. _This has so much more flavor than those ones the stores sell that were picked green and shipped hundreds of miles. _After he was finished he thanked Amanda for breakfast, washed and went outside to continue the greenhouse project.
*****


----------



## Bret F

The wood forms were in place and Bill was just getting ready to start mixing cement when Amy came out. She pulled him in a tight embrace and held him. âSheâs fine. The store was quite a way from her house. She was at work when it happened. She said it has been pretty crazy there since. There is increased police and security presence everywhere.â 

âIâm glad to hear it. And Iâm glad to see you are a little less wigged out.â

âThanks for putting up with me. I was so scared when I couldnât reach her. It looks like you have a lot of stuff going on today. What can me and the kids do to help?â

âIâd like one of the kids here with me. The other one can help you. We need to go through the freezers. See what needs fed to the chickens, get everything arranged so we can find whatâs what, and make room for a pig and some beef. Also, we need to keep washing canning jars. If you get that done maybe you could go shopping. The reader sign on the pawn shop I pass on the way to work said âthirty DVDs for $30â. Maybe you and the kids could find something we would like. And when you are out, fill the van with gas, and I have one empty can that needs filled too. One other thing, when you are in the kitchen, we need the sourdough set out if we are having pancakes in the morning.â Bill always let the starter reach room temperature before mixing in more flour and water. 

âAll righty then, and what shall I do after lunch?â she asked, some of her sass returning. 

âFetch me my chair, a tall glass of lemonade and my clipboard and Iâll make you a list. No, on second thought, writings too much work. You write, Iâll dictate. â

âThanks Babe, but maybe I better just get these things done first. You get back to work.â She flashed him a smile and went to the shop to clean and arrange the freezers.
*****​With the cement footing in place, tamped in and the top trowelled and anchor bolts placed, Bill cleaned up the cement mixer and rolled it out of the way. The mixer belonged to Alan. He had purchased in true family form: at an auction. Some cleaning, bending welding and a new drive belt later, it was a very dependable machine. He and Brad cleaned up the rest of the tools and put them away. Bill had been pleasantly surprised at Brads help. He had enjoyed working the cement once it was dumped into the frames, and getting a smooth top.

They both cleaned up and Bill switched into a dry shirt. He found one with the elbows wore out and the collar stained and frayed. All four of them had a sandwich, heavy with fresh tomatoes, thinly sliced cucumbers and onions before they separated to continue their dayâs work. 

 Bill went to the bookshelf and pulled the two books he had studied the previous night, and then he and Brad made the walk to Billâs parentâs house. Alan and Jim had most everything ready for the task ahead. Cal had a pipe A-frame with a winch mounted to it that was high enough to hang a butchered beef. It was in position with a neck yoke and chains ready on the winchâs cable. On a table nearby was Alanâs knives, the meat saw, the Sawzall reciprocating saw with a new 13â wood blade, wash tubs, dish pans and the twenty-two rifle. Bill never bothered with his own knives. Alanâs had been purchased over years in the meat backing plant and all were sharp enough to shave with. 

âHey Alan, I want you to look at something here,â Bill said. He set both books down and opened them to pages he had marked the previous evening. âThis is a hog thyroid,â he said pointing, âand this is the one in a cow. We need to save them. The pigâs is located pretty much where you stick them to bleed. Do you think you could work around them?â

Alan studied the photos carefully. âYeah, I think I can miss them. You think that you wonât be able to get your prescription?â

âIt might happen. I found some literature that early thyroid medication was from the pig gland. Unfortunately, I didnât find any good clinical information on preparation or dosage. Everything I found was modern use of what they sell as Armour Thyroid. Maybe I can find some old medical texts that cover it, but so far I havenât had any luck.â

âWell, we better make sure we get them out undamaged. Are you going to freeze them?â

âNo. If it comes down to having to experiment with it, the freezer wonât do me any good. I think Iâll dehydrate them all, and then vacuum seal them in canning jars and hope and pray for the best.â

While they were waiting and discussing home medications, they located their dadâs hand pump and looked over his well cap. They were searching through his plumbing parts, hoping to find what they needed to get it operational on the well when Cal and Bob returned. The stock trailer had six hogs, five of which were prime butcher size, an older cow, a young Hereford steer and a jersey heifer. 

âIt looks like you found everything we wanted,â Alan said. âI was almost hoping you might miss something. Thatâs a lot of work in that trailer.â

âYeah, and look whatâs in the camper shell,â Bob said. âYou can clean and deodorize it after we are doneâ he told Bill.

Bill went over and looked in. There was a buck goat looking back at him. He appeared to be a mix of Nubian and alpine. âNice goat you got there. He should take good care of your backyard. Hopefully your neighbors will be understanding when his perfume starts wafting in their window.â Bobâs home was on a small lot with a very well maintained backyard flower garden and container vegetable garden. 

âIf you want him in your yard, thatâs where Iâll put him. It probably wonât take him anytime to figure out your dog door.â

Knowing the nature of goats and his brother alike, Bill could actually picture it all happening. âNaw, just slip him in the pasture gate. Youâll have me in enough trouble as it is.â 

While they looked at the goat Alan had changed into his rubber boots, put on his rubber apron and hooked the chain around his waist holding his metal multiple knife sheath. âHey, if youâre done flapping your jaws, weâve got a bit of work to do here.â He directed them to get one of the cows in the makeshift chute he and Jim had set up. He took up the rifle, pictured the point where the animalâs ears and eyes made and âXâ and shot it from four feet. As it dropped and started to kick, he directed the panels moved and pulled a sharp knife and expertly cut along the windpipe being careful to avoid the thyroid. He opened the throat from the tongue to the brisket, and worked the knife into the chest cavity to get the blood draining. He went from there to the hind leg in the air, sliced down along the bone and quickly skinned a section off , then finding the hidden joint, cut and broke the foot off, tossing it to one of the waiting dogs. The animal was rolled onto its back with 4x4s stuck alongside to hold it up. Alan started on the other back leg while Bob began to skin the one Alan had already opened up. All the men in the family were good at butchering, but let Alan with his years in the slaughterhouse get everything started. Soon each person with a knife was skinning while Cal got the hind legs chained to the neck yoke and began to crank the winch. With the rear end at good working height, Cal stopped cranking, and then he and Jim went to get the next cow ready while Bob and Bill continued on the first one. 

When the first cow was at the proper height, according to Alan, he came back over, opened the cavity and dropped the guts out into a waiting wash tub. The liver and heart were removed and put in one of the dish pans. He examined the liver, made a couple of cuts and looked closer. âFluke worms. This one is dog food.â He went back to the other beef, leaving the first for Bob and Bill to complete skinning. When the carcass was hanging at the top of the winch with all of the hide bunching around the head, Alan removed the head then found the thyroid gland and cut it out and handed it to Bill. âHereâs what you wanted, hope you donât come down to needing itâ, then picked up the head, placed it on the nearby table. He removed all of the head meat and the tongue then carried the head away from the work area and dropped it. One of the dogs dropped the leg bone it had been gnawing on and started to chew on the head.

Bill went to another dishpan and dropped in the thyroid, used the garden hose to fill it with water and rinsed his hands off. He looked it over closely, his thoughts echoing his brotherâs; _I sure hope I never need this._ With his hands mostly clean, he scratched the itch he had been ignoring, and for the first time noticed the smells in the air. The odor of fresh blood was mixed with manure, fresh raw meat smell, and the offensive smell from the tub of guts. _Well I donât notice the smoke right now_. He wiped his hands once more, ran the knife he was using across the sharpening steel a number of times and rejoined Bob at the beef. 

Someone had brought out the radio and tuned it in to the football game. Whatâs Saturday in the fall without college football, after all? The Falcon option was giving the Broncos fits, but the Broncos were holding onto a slim lead. Bill quit concentrating on it and went back to assist Bob.

Bob had the Sawzall in hand and was standing on a step ladder beginning to cut down the middle of the backbone. In the past they had done this step with a hand meat saw. _Wow, I like electricity. Iâd hate to go back to splitting them by hand_, Bill thought. He has doing his best to hold the carcass still for Bob to cut. Once it was split, individual chains were placed to hang each half separately and the neck yoke dropped and transferred to the second animal. Bob put the saw back on the table and took up the hose with the sprayer attached and began to wash the beef halves, picking any hairs he saw and thoroughly cleaning it. 

The sun was on the horizon when the last hog was hanging on the rail. It had proven to be too short for everything, so Cal had directed his boys to hang three hogs from a beam in his shop. Once the last pig was out of the trailer, Cal and Brad had taken the heifer and goat to Billâs house and put them in his pasture. While the trailer was there, they had shoveled the manure out, into a pile near the garden, then sprayed out what had remained, and hosed out the back of the pickup. It would take a while for Mr. Buckâs odor to fade. Brad picked up Billâs roll of electric netting fence and put it in the pickup, and then the trailer was returned to its parking spot. The fencing was strung around the rail of meat and hooked to an electric fencer and plugged in. It should keep and animals away for the night, especially with all of the scraps and remains that were dragged off to the side. The radio was turned off and put back in the shop. The Broncos had eventually won by double digits in a tough fought game. The broadcast was now fans calling in: some bragging up the team, others griping about every miscue and missed tackle. The quiet was welcome. Once everything was cleaned and placed in the shop, the weary group trudged into the house. Bill did a final rinse of the thyroids and put them in a plastic bag in the refrigerator until he was ready to head home.


----------



## Bret F

Bob had removed a loin from the first hog they had butchered and sliced it into chops. The women had fried up the chops and added to the bounty from the garden, had a delicious meal waiting.
After finishing a bite of the pork loin, Cal side, âThatâs good meat; you did a great job of preparing it. They sure look good hanging out there. Bob, did you tell them about our conversation at the auction?â

âNo, I didnât. Why donât you go ahead?â Bob didnât want to waste time talking when he could be eating.

âWell we were sitting by an old fellow at the sale and it turned out it was his hogs we were buying. He said he still had a good bunch of them. He would sell us some breeding stock if the world goes to pieces. He can feed for quite a while but recognizes that things might get dicey and he would be hard pressed to keep all he has. We got the directions to his place if we need it.â

Brad asked about the heifer and the goat. Bill wanted to kick him from the flash of anger in Amyâs eyes. Yep, sheâs not happy about another goat and what his presence means. Cal answered Brad, âThat little cow will be calving in about six months. She should give four or five gallons of milk a day, of which weâll give the calf a couple of quarts. As you know, some people arenât exactly fond of goat milk, so we will be able to have the best cow milk around. The jersey also has lots of cream so we can all have butter. She will invaluable to us. The goat, well, if you are going to have babies, youâve got to have a buck. You can always trade or sell any extras.â 

Amy was thinking sell or trade them all now, when Amanda told Brad, âRemember Prim in The Hunger Games? It said in the book the goat gave her wealth, having the milk and making cheese. Our goats give us the same chance if things get badâ. Although loving to read dystopian novels, Amanda had a hard time picturing their world actually falling apart, and she was sure Brad couldnât. She just wanted to stand up for her dad. She was crazy about the goats, especially new babies. 

After cleaning up everything from supper everyone left for their own homes, planning on returning at 8:30 the next morning to cut and wrap all of the meat. Bill, Amy and the kids would have to skip church. Bill got the bag of thyroid glands. Once he was home, he took a dehydrator from the shelf, laid out the glands and started them drying. Amanda and Brad had come home earlier and taken care of the chickens and goats. Bill was so glad he didnât have to milk. His back and hips were hurting from too much bending in one place. All he wanted to do was sit down in the recliner with a bowl of popcorn â of course he still needed to make it. If Bill had his way, popcorn would be its own food group. âAmy, why donât you call your brother and see how things are there after the bombing?â While she made the call, he started some butter melting on the stove, poured the sourdough starter in a glass bowl, mixed in flour and water, and covered it with a damp cloth. He got the air popper out and was just getting the kernels flying out, spooning butter on as they accumulated in the bowl when Amy returned to the kitchen. 

âWhatâs the mood in Ontario?â he asked Amy following her call to her brother.

âFestive. They are either at a bar or a very loud party. I could barely hear anything he said. He said heâll call tomorrow sometime.â Her face showed both irritation and concern. She did not approve of excess drinking.

â_Like when he sobers up_,â Bill thought, but kept to himself. âSince you are done with the phone, Iâm going to call your sister.â

âWhy? I told you after she called sheâs fine. The bomb was across town from her.â

âYeah, I know. But what about the next one? She needs to get out of that hole into a safer place.â He could read the expression on Amyâs face. It was one thing to go along with Bill and his family, but she still wasnât sold.

Bill made the call and offered Francis a place to stay in the spare bedroom. She refused. He told her to at least be ready to get out of town. She shrugged him off. It was about what he expected, however the seed was planted. He gave her a number of things to think about. Perhaps next time she would be more receptive.


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## Ozarks Tom

Very good read, thanks.

And thanks for reminding me I need long wood blades for my Sawsall!


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## katy

Thank you, Bret. Very nice work. Do you have other work on this site ? Thanks again, looking forward to more.


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## puddlejumper007

still watching for more.....:thumb:


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## biggkidd

Good reading Thanks

Larry


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## Bret F

Chapter 13: Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning

_Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day?
Out in the yard with your wife and children
Workin' on some stage in LA?_
_
Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke
Rising against that blue sky?
Did you shout out in anger and fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry?_

_Did you weep for the children who lost their dear loved ones
Or pray for the ones who don't know?
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below?_
_
Did you burst out in pride for the red, white, and blue
And the heroes who died just doing what they do?
Did you look up to Heaven for some kind of answer
And look at yourself and what really matters?_

_I'm just a singer of simple songs, I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I could tell you the difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God and I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us
And the greatest is love_

_Where were you when the world stopped turning that September day?
Teaching a class full of innocent children driving down some cold interstate?
Did you feel guilty cause you're a survivor
In a crowded room did you feel alone?
Did you call up your mother and tell her you love her
Did you dust off that Bible at home?_

_Did you open your eyes, hope it never happened or close your eyes and not go to sleep?
Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages or speak to some stranger on the street?
Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow go out and buy you a gun?
Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watching and turn on I Love Lucy reruns?_

_Did you go to the church and hold hands with some stranger stand in line and give your own blood?
Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family thank God you had somebody to love?_

_I'm just a singer of simple songs I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I could tell you the difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God and I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us
And the greatest is love_


_âWhere were you when the world stopped turningâ Performed by Alan Jackson_
_  Written by Alan Jackson_

_
_When Bill went out to do his chores it was still dark, but the air was noticeably cleaner and cooler. A slight breeze was blowing against his left cheek and had cleared most of the smoke from the valley. He looked up and could see the stars for the first time in a week. _Boy thatâs nicer breathing, but I sure hope itâs not pushing the fires faster_. The catch 22 of wind in fire season: cleaner air or flames that are being pushed. He breathed deeply, enjoying the clear air, feeling the bite of approaching fall now that the smoke didnât trap the heat in place. 


Once the milk was running through the strainer, he washed, filled his coffee cup and took a sip, and set the large frying pan on low heat, filled it with bacon. He set the pancake griddle on the other side to start warming while he got the pancakes going. Two cups of starter were poured back in the Tupperware container and put in the fridge. He mixed an egg, milk and oil and stirred them thoroughly into the sourdough. Sugar, salt and soda were mixed in a small dish and folded into the batter and then the bowl was set aside to allow the sourdough to work. While he was working on breakfast he had the I-pod on, humming to some songs, singing with some and skipping past others.


When breakfast was nearly ready he rousted the rest of the family out of bed to eat. Bill especially enjoyed Sunday morning breakfast. It was the one morning of the week they always sat down together and the break from oatmeal was almost as nice. The pancakes and bacon were accompanied by fried eggs, milk, melon and chokecherry syrup. The chokecherries had come from the road leading to Bobâs mountain cabin. 


Pushing away from the table, satisfied, but not overly full Bill chuckled when he looked at Brad. Brad could be a picky eater and subsist on very little when the food was something he didnât care for. But he sure made up for it with sourdough pancakes. He had finished three and was reaching for his fourth. Also gone was the bacon he had started with. 

âWhy donât you go on down and start, Iâll clean up here,â Amy told Bill. She did not like meat cutting day, and tried to just wrap, tape and label the packages. The smell of the room full of fresh meat nearly overwhelmed her. The kids, on the other hand, loved to feed strips of meat into the grinder.

âAll right. You guys can join us as soon as you are done.â He washed, brushed his teeth and hair and made the short walk to the parents. 

The shop had been transformed that morning. Bob and Cal had moved all of the equipment into a corner and set up tables for cutting and wrapping. In one corner, the meat band saw was set, having been brought from the storage shed and cleaned up. The meat grinder was set up nearby. The saw, the grinder and a cuber that wasnât set out had come from an auction at a grocery store that had been pushed out by the chain stores. Each had a new light coating of white oil wiped onto their surfaces. Two hog carcasses lay on the table ready to be cut. The radio was playing on the country station Cal always listened to. Bill noted Bob must have turned the volume down. Cal, not ready to admit he needed hearing aids, usually had the radio loud enough for the neighbors to listen to comfortably.

Alan came in and was soon directing his brothers where to cut. Quickly Alan removed hams, bacons loins and started Bill to work cutting chops on the band saw. All fat was put in a tub to be rendered for lard. All small meat scraps would be ground for sausage. By the time Amy and the kids joined them with Billâs mother, Alanâs wife and Carla, a large pile of meat was ready for them to wrap. Other members of the extended family trickled in; Alan would direct them to what needed done. 

Bill turned off the band saw from cutting another pile of chops and in the momentary stillness, the voice from the radio came across, ââ¦ authorities on the scene have been very tight lipped. They only confirm that it was a Christian Church with a large congregation. It is still unknown if anyone was able to escape the blast and ensuing blaze.â All work stopped as everyone was transfixed by the news, frozen in place. Bobâs knife was suspended in the air, nearly grazing his other hand holding a loin.

Cal broke the trance. âThis aint gettinâ the work done. Letâs get back at it.â He looked to Carlaâs Daughter, âMelissa, you go in the house and see what you can find out.â Melissa was glad for the break. She was nearly white from looking at all of the meat and animal carcasses. Any piece of meat she handled was with just two fingers, acting like it was something she had scraped of the bottom of her shoe. For her, meat should come in a Styrofoam container with shrink wrap covering, if it didnât come to her already cooked. 

They did get back to work, but without the friendly banter and conversation of before. Bill begrudgingly turned on the band saw, not wanting the saw noise to overwhelm the radio. 

When Melissa returned, she looked even whiter than before, tears streaming down her pale face. âThereâs been bombings and fires in at least ten places. They hit two football â¦ stadiums just as the â¦ games were starting. They â¦ hit the NASCAR race, â¦ four mega-churches. Three â¦ grocery stores. Everywhere a lot of â¦ people are â¦ gathering. There are other â¦. reports coming in but â¦ they arenât all confirmed.â The last was delivered in broken phases, laced with sobs. The tears were flowing freely. 

Her grim news was greeted by stunned silence except for the radio that announced yet another NFL stadium ablaze. Authorities were trying to evacuate all other stadiums before more could be attacked. Cal sent a message to the still group by turning on the meat grinder, drowning out the radio, and started feeding meat into it. Bill said a silent prayer for everyone involved and prayed that the violence would not escalate.

When everyone broke for lunch, it was obvious Billâs prayer request was not honored. At least twenty seven separate bombings had taken place in locations spanning the country. And each one had been placed for maximum damage. A large church bombing in Flint, Michigan had the effect of inciting even more violence. Where all of the previous bombings had been done in secret, a mob formed in Flint in front of a mosque, openly burning the building and firing upon anyone that showed themselves. The news across the nation was disheartening to see the images of what people could do to each other. Every few minutes a report would come in of yet another bombing. The news anchor had many lapses while trying to pass on the news he was receiving. After one paper was given to him, he read it slowly, his hand shaking and making the paper bounce around. He dropped the paper, and put is face in his hands for a few moments; stood and left the news desk. Bill turned from the TV and went back to the shop.


----------



## Bret F

All of the meat was packaged in serving sizes except the slabs of bacon meat and the hams. Bob would take them the next day to a local meat plant that did custom curing and smoking. The packages were split up into boxes for everyone to take home and put in their freezers. Bill took all of the pig fat home to render for lard. âYou are not doing that in the house!â Amy informed him. He had made lard previously and she still complained about the smell years later. 

âNo, Iâll put it in the slow cookers in the shop,â he answered. He also had the extra beef fat. Somewhere he had a paper that discussed beef tallow candles. He planned on attempting to make some if time allowed. They were supposed to be inferior to wax candles, but when it was black out, any light helped. If he didnât get it done, Bob could always take the fat to the mountain. That was what they were doing with all of the remains of butchering and processing the animals. Bob regularly dropped off bad food that bears obligingly cleaned up.

After Bill and Amy had all of their meat packed away, they went to the house and checked the news. The list was sickening. Every state in the union had been struck. Many houses of worship had been firebombed: Christian, Catholic, Mormon. A Catholic Church in Boise had been bombed during mass. _That stuffs not supposed to happen here_. Large sporting events had been targeted. Besides the football games and car race, a baseball stadium had also been bombed. The whole thing was unbelievable. Bill and Amy were silent as the local scene was aired, tears streaming down Amyâs face. _OK, I was planning for the worst, but I really didnât think they would hit here. I figured they would target larger areas_. Planning for disaster and having one stare you in the face were two separate things. More grocery stores were destroyed; also some grocery warehouses. In some locations government buildings were the targets. It was a dark day in America reminiscent of December 7th and September 11th. Amy tried time after time to reach her siblings, but the calls did not go through. The kids took it upon themselves to take care of the evening chores. Only Amanda had registered Mischief calling for them for grain and milking. 

While they were watching the video feed went to the state house where the governor was making a statement. _Wow, was it really just a month ago I saw him at the rodeo? Riding through the arena, then smiling and glad-handing people in the stands_. This was a sterner, older man than Bill had seen so recently. His statement was not the âdonât worry, weâre okâ talk that had been coming from Washington. Instead, his message addressed the fact the nation was under attack. The assailants had not been apprehended and could be anywhere as evidenced by the dayâs actions. He asked the people to be extra diligent in observing their surroundings. The authorities couldnât fix this without help. _What kind of politician is he if he admits shortcomings without blaming them on the other party_?

Before watching more of the news coverage, Bill went to his car and got out his âGet Home Bagâ. It was a midsize back pack that he had put together and carried in the car and he had hoped it would never be used. He set it out on this work bench and one-by one, checked each pocket and its contents. Many of the contents were in gallon zip lock bags, labeled by category. 


First Aid
Thyroid medication
Aspirin
Benadryl
Ibuprofen
Triple Antibiotic
Sinus Medication
Imodium AD 
Childrenâs Tylenol
Moleskin
Bandages
Alcohol Swabs
Triangle bandage
 Gauze
 Sanitary pads
 Tape
 Sunblock
 Chapstick
 Floss
 Laminated emergency contact card with doctors, medications, listed for the family

Light LED Flashlight (2)
 Light sticks

Fire Road Flare
 Bic Lighter (2)
 Magnesium fire starter
Starter kit: pitch slivers, cotton balls infused in Vaseline, wrapped in aluminum foil squares
 Candle
 Strike anywhere matches

Shelter 6â x 8â tarp
 Mylar safety blanket (2)
 Clear plastic sheet

Clothes 
Wool stocking cap
4 hand/foot warmers
Gloves
Bandanas (2)
Thick wool socks
Light socks
Broken in tennis shoes
Poncho
T-Shirt
Underwear

Water Water bottle with filter, filled
 Stainless Steel bottle, filled
 Small bottle of bleach
 Sierra Cup

Food Cliff Bars
 MRE
 Instant Tea
 Instant Coffee
 Powdered Gatorade
 Tin of tuna
 Hard Candies

Misc. White cotton Towel
 Road Map, Topo maps
 Notepad and pens/pencil
 Thumb drive with emergency info
 Handheld FRS / GMRS Radio
 Toilet Paper
 Cellphone battery
 $200 cash
 Phone Card
 Cell phone battery
 Sewing kit
 Gorilla Tape
 Para cord 50â
 Hand sanitizer
 Whistle
 Zip ties
 Rubber bands
 Safety Pins
 Wet Wipes

Tools Fixed Blade Knife
 Cable Saw
 Compass
 Multi-Tool
Signal Mirror


It was a lot, definitely overkill, but its presence comforted him. Most of the items had been removed from the original packaging when possible and grouped and put in zip lock baggies. He had packed it some time ago. All batteries were replaced with new ones, even though they had been kept separate. He would take the cell phone battery in the house to charge. The water bottles were dumped, rinsed and refilled. He got familiar with everything that was in the bag, which pocket. He checked the integrity of the straps and zippers. He checked the two carabineers on the outside that had another 50â of Para-cord wrapped between them. He returned the pack to the car and checked the jacket he had folded next to it, and then added a stout walking stick. He pulled Amyâs bag and in the house, went over the contents with her. He considered the kids lunch bags. So much was not allowed in school these days and their school was within a mile of the house. They each carried extra food, some money and Amanda had the emergency use cell phone. He said a prayer that they make it home safely if something else happened. They had been lectured many times on getting out of there if there was danger.

*****​Aashif Akil took a long drag on his cigarette and smiled â an action so rare for him it would have been considered a grimace by most onlookers. He was sitting in a room illuminated by several wide screen televisions mounted on the wall. The drink in his hand rattled as he took a drink of the strong liquor. He mentally cursed the decadence of the infidels and their liquor and women, and his own weaknesses. He would be glad when this country was brought to its knees and he himself would find his way to the afterlife. He did not delude himself about how it would turn out for him. The west had corrupted him and he had been too weak to stop it.

The televisions were tuned into different news stations reporting the success of the day. He chuckled and turned up the sound on a shot of a burning Mormon temple, then snarled as the next camera shot was of a mosque littered with bodies. He was interrupted by the sound of a cleared throat behind him. âYes?â he asked without turning.

âThe day was a great success, Allah be praised. The infidels have been dealt a great defeat. All teams have reported in but two. It is unclear if they carried out their missions or not. All are awaiting orders for the next phase. Is it time to turn out the lights? Is the party over?â

âRelay the information they are to proceed according to their previous instructions. We will let the dogs cower in fear of the might of Allah before we give the killing blow. The will come to fear each bump in the night.â His usual unreadable face carried a look of ecstasy.


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## puddlejumper007

thank you, great story


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## puddlejumper007

Bret, i know you are busy, but i am still watching. lol:whistlin:


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## Bret F

Chapter 14: Little Road
_How can there be trouble in this world?_
_With the __color in these hills, the blue October sky,_
_This little road that winds along the river._
_Dusty barns and tractors in the fields._
_And families sit in front yards, or stand outside the churches._
_Kids are throwing footballs and pulling carts of pumpkins_
_And the morning sun is sparkling on the water _

_How can there be such trouble in this world?_
_Where the mountains roll so gently,_
_Deer graze on the hillsides, birds chat on the phone lines_
_The whole wide worldâs a prayer for Sunday Morning_
_The geese inspect the stubble in the fields_
_And all along the roadside, families stop to wonder_
_At the new October morning_
_And a red tailed hawk is circling_
_And a father hugs his daughter_
_And an old man holds the car door for his wife to come and see_
_Then they turn and smile at me._
_How can there be such trouble in this world? _

_I know of course I know that this is not the only picture_
_I donât of course I donât know what to do_

_But the road keeps winding through the afternoon_
_And it doesnât know the sorrow or an inkling of the shadow_
_Or the rage across the water, the hatred and the horror._
_It just wanders through this valley with the river by its side_
_As the light fades from the sky_
_The beautiful light fades from the sky._
_âLittle Roadâ Performed by Cheryl Wheeler_
_ Written by Cheryl Wheeler_


His internal alarm woke Bill, still clothed in his recliner, the TV still on, images of the carnage currently onscreen, the ticker at the bottom running through the locations that were affected. Amy was asleep on the couch. The kids had not wanted to see any of the news and had gone to their bedrooms soon after supper. Amanda was visibly upset by the daysâ events; Brad was too but seemed more confused about it. Bill squinted at the corner of the screen to see what the time was: 4:55_. I guess itâs time to get up_. But he didnât get up right away. He was glued to the spot watching the different scenes as they came across the screen. _Lord, but those guys were efficient. _Opening first Bradâs bedroom door, then Amandaâs, he stood and looked in, the rooms illuminated by the dim glow of the night lights; the kids sleeping soundly, peaceful looks on their faces. He breathed deeply, absorbing everything he could from the scenes: the shadows across the dim sleeping shapes, the smells of the closed up rooms, the creaks of the bed when Brad shifted. _God, please keep them safe. They are my world._

When he stepped out the back, milk bucket in hand he stopped on the step. Again he breathed deeply; only a very faint smoke smell; gazed at the stars in the sky; the dark shapes of the cottonweed trees shifting slightly in the breeze; felt the soft breeze on his skin, a cool sense of impending fall on it, a welcome change after the record setting heat of the summer. A rooster crowed, telling all that morning was imminent. A coyote yapped in the hills, quickly echoed by another; answered challengingly by a number of neighborhood dogs. _It feels so normal, and Iâve been taking it all for granted. It could all end in the blink of a madmanâs eye._ For a long while he stood, savoring the peace of the moment with the awareness others were in far more unfortunate circumstances. The goats began a chorus to hurry him up.

After morning chores were done, Bill checked the weekâs calendar. He really wanted to get work on the green house expansion, but with two active kids he didnât know that he would have time. They were both in scouts, each had music lessons, Amanda had youth group and cross country. It made for a lot of taxi time for him and Amy. It looked like this night would be free, other than getting Amanda home from cross country practice. He tried to be as involved as possible in their activities as he could. All too soon they would be grown. With all that had happened, he wanted to keep the kidâs routines as normal as possible, while also keeping them safe.


Amy was woken by the smell of fresh coffee accompanied by Billâs noise from the kitchen. She greeted him with a good morning kiss and long-strong hug. âIt wasnât just a bad dream was it? It was real?â

âIâm afraid it was real, and everything that will happen because of it.â He filled her a cup of coffee and they sat together at the kitchen island. âI was thinking this morning; I want to put in a full root cellar. The storage room in the shop just doesnât stay cool enough for long term storage. It holds the stuff well enough over the winter, but I am hoping for some longer storage. If we wanted to get it done fast, which I do, I would hire it out so I donât know about the cost. I have seen articles of septic tank companies making them with basically two septic tanks â minus the baffles, set one on top of the other and sealed between them.â

Amy thought about it while tears began running freely down her face. âI donât want to revert to a root cellar. I want those people caught and made an example of and everything back to normal. But Iâm not going to get my way, am I?â She paused and wiped her eyes. âDo you have a place picked out?â

âI was thinking about the space between the shop and the greenhouse where it has a lot of shade. I can go by the septic tank place today and talk to them and get an idea of cost and timing.â

Again Amy thought, taking a drink from her coffee. âOK, see what they say, but letâs talk about it again and show me your plans before you do it,â¦..please?â

âAll right. Well, Iâve got to be getting on to work.â Amy gave him a longer hug before he headed for his car.

The drive to work was another opportunity to really look at and appreciate his surroundings. The sun was just sending the first light over the mountains, long shadows being cast. Trees were beginning to turn yellow. A blue heron stood motionless in an alfalfa field hunting mice, while at the far side a group of mule deer were eating, an older doe watching for impending danger, ready to bolt for the security offered by some nearby elm trees. Lights were coming on in the subdivisions that he remembered as hay and corn fields. The route he took was not the main thoroughfare; normally with more joggers and bicyclers than cars. This morning it was nearly devoid of traffic.


Tom was at the office with the coffee made. He lookedâ¦rumpled, was the best word Bill could come up with. âThose dirty â¦â¦., I just canât think of words rotten enough for them! They really hit us, didnât they? And our exalted leaders were telling us how everything was in control. Yeah, right, somebodies in control and I donât think itâs the Feds.â


Bill got his coffee cup, filled it and sat down across from Tom. âThe full scope of it really concerns me â no, it scares the daylights out of me. They had to have cells everywhere, and to get so much coordination in spite of all the NSAâs spying. I think they are better organized and apparently a whole lot smarter than the guys looking for them. The fox is in the henhouse with no sign of leaving.â


The front door opened and Greg and Steve came in together discussing the previous day, followed by the outside crews. Jimmy, his eyes red and puffy, was complaining about missing the race and football. âCan you believe that, I couldnât find the race or any games on TV yesterday? What kind of Sunday is that? I threw my beer bottle at the TV and busted something. I couldnât get it to work after that so I just got plastered. So do any of you know if the Cowboys won? Dang, I need some aspirin.â


Tom just shook his head in wonder as Jimmy walked past on his way to the medicine cabinet, not bothering to listen to the reason why the games werenât on.


âGentlemenâ, Tom began, looking at all of his workers. âAs all of you obviously know, our nation is in a crisis. I really donât know what is going to happen, but it is a strong possibility our work will dry up. We have a few jobs on tap, and I expect you all to work hard on them and do the best you can. I donât want you dragging your feet. And I know you will all want to talk about yesterday, but remember the job comes first while you are here. Heck, Iâd just as soon watch the coverage instead of work myself. Now, letâs get to work.â


They all did as they were told, one of the guys trying to get through to Jimmy what had happened while they were walking to the work truck. 


Steve and Greg kept a running conversation throughout the day, Bill joining in occasionally, but trying hard to stay on task. This was especially difficult when yet another supermarket was bombed, this time in Arkansas. He left at his normal time, noting that he had not heard the phone ring all day.


----------



## Bret F

The septic tank manufacturer was very interested in the papers Bill showed him. As most of the new developments had been hooked to city sewer systems, his business had been steadily declining for years. Any opportunity to expand was welcome. He assured Bill he would have sketches and prices ready at the same time the next day, and would also try to have installation costs from a backhoe operator he preferred to work with.


At home Bill poured off the cooked down lard and refilled the slow cookers. The hot lard was filtered through cheese cloth and poured into sterilized Mason jars, and fitted with lids straight out of nearly boiling water. When the jars had cooled, Bill would check all of the seals, date them and put them in the pantry. He would do that each day until all of the fat had been processed into lard. After that he would work the beef fat, if it had not yet gone rancid.


With the lard taken care of, Bill filled the water trays in the incubator and checked the temperature, then went to work on the greenhouse. The framing was in place when Brad called him in for supper. The kids were loaded with homework, the next night being music lesson, so Bill took care of the goats and chickens instead of getting back to the greenhouse. He would have liked to get Amanda to milk and Brad to do the eggs, but oh well.


As he milked another thought came to him. After the chores were done he told Amy he was going to talk to some neighbors. He did want to talk to all of the neighbors on his street, but at this time he had one in mind. Mrs. Woods raised and sold Bantam chickens. It seemed she always had a hen setting a clutch of eggs or raising chicks. Billâs hens were dual purpose â larger hens than made a good meal as well as good but not great egg production. A couple of the Buff Orpingtons tended to go broody each summer, but, if things continued the way they were, he wanted more chick hatching, without using the incubator. As soon as this strain of bantams had weaned a batch of chicks, they laid a clutch of eggs and started right back in to setting. 


Bill stopped at Mrs. Woodsâ gate and admired her yard. Only one small patch of lawn remained, with a round table on it with an umbrella and four chairs nestled under it. The rest of the lot had raised beds, a raspberry patch, and vegetable plants in every spot that was not occupied by the chicken pens. She raised more produce on the small lot that Bill got in his larger spread out garden. She would be a wonderful store of knowledge. 


Once Bill let her know the main purpose of his visit, luckily, she had two pullets for sale. After making the deal, _I canât believe I paid that for two little chickens_; they talked about what was happening. Mrs. Woods followed her churchâs teachings and always had a minimum of two years storage food on hand as well as the vast quantities she put up from her garden. He had to admire her efforts even more when she told him the number of quarts of tomatoes she produced in what had been the front yard.
Darkness was falling when Bill returned home. He put the two pullets in the chicken house and made a mental note to keep them all penned up for a few days. The pullets would most likely have to hide out in the chicken house during the day as the pecking order was impressed upon them.


âAmy, have you talked to your sister or brother?â Bill asked after he had gone into the house.


âI tried earlier, but couldnât get through,â she answered. âI was thinking of trying again.â She took her phone, found Francis in the contacts and pressed âCallâ. The call made it through this time and after assuring Amy she was fine, Bill asked to talk to her. Again he offered her a place in their home and tried to get her to leave Las Vegas, but she wouldnât budge. Once Amy reached her brother, he was even more adamant about staying in California. It would become conversations that would be repeated numerous times over the coming weeks.


The next day was more of the same: another supermarket bombed â in Wisconsin. Bill picked up the prices and plans for the root cellar that were ready as had been promised. No work was done on the greenhouse as he took the kids to their music lesson instead. Once he made it back to his neighborhood, he showed the root cellar plants to Alan and his Dad. They both liked what they saw. The ever frugal Alan wasnât sure about the price tag. He thought he could make one himself and save money, but the time frame promised nearly swayed him. Finally, he said if the price could be negotiated lower by getting three at the same time, he would go for it. Bill showed Amy the plans and prices for the root cellar, and where he wanted it to go. Surprisingly Amyâs response was â_Letâs do it. When can they get started_?â Bill was able to get one end of the greenhouse complete before the lack of light caused him to stop for the night.


Wednesday brought a firebombed supermarket in Oregon and another in Nebraska. Bill and Amy both made their doctor appointments. Despite Bills reasoning about the crumbling infrastructure, the doctor was hesitant to extend the prescriptions out for numerous years. At last she agreed to write the scripts for three years for Both Bill and Amy. When he went to the pharmacy, cash in hand, he was told how unusual the request was, and the insurance company wouldnât cover it. The manager had to be called in, who called the doctor. After yet another wasted hour, Bill was told the prescriptions would be ready to pick up the following day.


 Bill was able to get the root cellar price lowered and time frame nailed down. He was offered a further reduced price if his cellar could be shown to prospective buyers. He turned down the offer. He had no desire for strangers to be paraded around his home. He and Amy had to split up with kid activities: scouts and youth group happened at the same time. Bill spent his time at the scout meeting trying to plant more seeds with the parents to prepare for the worst.


Thursday had firebombs in Texas, South Dakota and North Carolina. It seemed the terrorists were operating at will, that the authorities were helpless to stop them. Bill did see extra security at the entrances to the local grocery stores, and heard rumor of National Guardsmen being called upon. 

For the first time in days Billâs evening was open. He worked hard on the greenhouse, completing the expansion and setting up the planter boxes. One corner was left without planter boxes. He planned on adding a rocket stove there, with stove pipe buried in the ground between the planters. The rocket stove mass heaters he had studied had inspired him. Although not complete, one video he had found on YouTube resembled and inspired the project he wanted to complete. [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtFvdMk3eLM"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtFvdMk3eLM[/ame]

He felt that heating the ground with a small fire each evening should keep the greenhouse warm enough for winter gardening when the sun did not reach the valley during winter inversions.


Friday, Tom did not have enough work and sent everyone home at noon. Bill took full advantage of the extra time. He planted all of his winter crops and had the walkway of the greenhouse dug out for the mass heater portion for the stove by nightfall. 


By the time the weekend was over, the rocket stove mass heater was done and rain catchment was set up with a drip system run to the beds. The walkway between planter boxes was completed with large flat stones Bill had collected over the years and the gaps filled with sand. They were the final stage of the mass portion for the rocket stove mass heater. The stones were much better heat reservoirs than the dirt they covered. He was certain there were improvements to be made, but they would come in time. He was grateful that the family had helped get everything done. 


Although the television was never tuned on over the weekend, the radio kept him up to date with news of daily store bombings, scattered throughout the country. All large sporting events had been canceled, not wanting the terrorists to have targets rich with victims. The terrorists had rocked America at its core.


A surprise came Saturday evening in the form of Bob. He and Cal had gone to a potato farm in harvest and come back with a full pickup load. A sack was delivered to each family memberâs home. The rest were being stored in Calâs pump house until the root cellars were complete.


----------



## Bret F

The following week, work was again scarce. Tom put everyone on half days, splitting them between morning and afternoon so they were covered in case some work shook loose. Bill worked the morning shift. Each day when he left work, he made a circuit of thrift stores and pawn shops generally located between home and work. He noted ironically that when the economy tanked, both pawn shops and thrift stores had become a growth industry. _Not exactly the kind of economic growth all you guys promised on the campaign trial._ The news still carried more stories of daily bombings. At one location, suspected bombers were shot and killed by armed shoppers. Even though they could not be positively identified, they were known in the Muslim community.


Bill also purchased more material from Craigslist ads. With the news of daily bombings, Bill was prompted to gear up material purchases. More candles and kerosene lamps were purchased. A trip was made to Harbor Freight where he purchased more solar chargers and some led lights and drivers, additional solar charged LED lights. He picked up two batteries from the nearly deserted golf cart shop.


Each day, Bill also made it a point to talk to one of his neighbors, slowly expanding out. Without revealing the preparations he had, he encouraged them all to get as prepared for further problems as possible. Most could see the logic in his talks, and he was sure a few might actually act.


The septic tank manufacturer came on Thursday, and starting at Bills, and then proceeding to Calâs, and then Alanâs, had the three root cellars set up by late Friday. Bill breathed a sigh of relief when they left and hoped they would be putting in a lot more root cellars and forgets about his and his families. The knowledge that the cellar was there was something he wished no one but family had. 


A number of cold frames were constructed and set up in the garden area. He used the remainder of his glass doors for tops. They were all planted with varieties he had found to be cold resistant. Cold frames had always been a challenge for him in the past, getting too hot while he was at work and not being vented early enough in the day. _Ah, the benefits of working part time_. After they were done, he began laying out the first hoop house.


The garden was nearing the end of production, but every day, Bill made a thorough search picking anything that was harvestable. When there was enough of something, he canned it; when not, he dehydrated. As much as possible was laid out on racks in the pickup, using solar heat as his drier. With the temperature still unseasonably warm, he was picking the pole beans in his shorts. He felt a sting on his leg and looked down to see if he was being bitten. It was just weed abrasions, so he gave it a quick rub and got back to picking, forgetting all about the scrape. He finished picking, snapped the beans and filled the electric dehydrator. _Yes it takes electricity, but they will be done by morning_. He completed the garden circuit, picking two cucumbers and zucchinis he had let grow to save seed from, cut them and laid the seed out to dry. The chickens were in a frenzy around the sections he tossed to them.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks, very interesting..


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## biggkidd

good read enjoying it 

Larry


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## Ozarks Tom

Thanks, all very believable.


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## Bret F

Chapter 15: The Flu 

_Wouldnât you like to stay in bed all day_
_Wouldnât you like to stay at home_
_And not go to school_
_Lie around the house in your pajamas_
_Well, it seems Iâve got good news for you.._
_Youâve got the flu._

_Thereâs a bug inside my body_
_Living underneath my skin_
_I donât know how it got there_
_I didnât let it in_
_Camping in my capillaries_
_Surfing through my veins_
_Trampolining in my stomach_
_Messing with my brain_

_Iâm sick to my stomach_
_Iâm tired and achy too_
_(Sniff) (Achoo)_
_The flu_

_Multitudes of microbes are trampling over me_
_Battalions of bacteria are marching sea to sea_
_Viruses in vehicles are speeding coast to coast_
_Stopping to make camp wherever it can hurt me most_

_Iâm drinking lots of liquids_
_Iâm getting lots of rest_
_Iâm forgetting all my homework_
_Iâve ignores my spelling test_
_Iâm doing everything that everyone_
_Has said for me to do_
_Iâm waiting for this flu to fly_
_Where flus have always flew_

_Iâm choking on warm chicken soup, Iâm drowning in hot tea_
_No one else whoâs had the flu felt half as bad as me_
_A million milligrams of medicine are sitting on the shelf_
_But I feel so much better feeling sorry for myself._
_âThe Fluâ Performed by John McCutcheon_
_Written by John Mcutcheon _


A need to use the toilet â quickly â pulled Bill from sleep an hour early. He went into the bathroom, his right leg aching like he had pulled a muscle, but only half noting it as he was overcome with shivering. _Cold! Iâm freezing._ He got the electric heater set on high, and draped a bath towel across his shoulders as he settled on the toilet. The shivering got stronger, his whole body shaking violently before the warmth from the heater finally started to soak in. When he was finished, he flushed the toilet and dashed back to bed, shivering again before he made it under the covers. He snuggled tight to Amy, his shaking waking her.


âBill, youâre freezingâ, she said and got out of bed, throwing two more blankets over him, then crawling back in to share her body heat. Eventually he warmed enough to quit shivering and Amy left to make him a cup of hot tea. She noted the house had cooled down to 73 degrees overnight â not exactly shivering temperatures. 


When she returned with the tea, she set up pillows so Bill could sit part-way up. His arm was cold as it came from under the covers and shook as he tried unsuccessfully to grasp the cup without spilling any. He took a sip, slopping the hot contents down his front. âDo you think you could be more comfortable in the recliner?â Amy asked. âYou could be more upright and might be able to drink there.â


âYeah, Iâll try,â he said weakly and got out of bed and hobbled into the living room, dropping hard into the recliner, and pulling the nearby blanket over him. Amy brought the heat pad, plugged it in, set it on high, and slid it under the blanket onto his shaking chest and abdomen. Then she added a stack of blankets over him. Once the shivering abated, he dozed off, awoken to pans rattling in the kitchen. 


âI donât think I can make it to church again today,â he softly said, and picked up the tea. It had cooled, but Amy had microwaved it recently to keep it warm for when he awoke. âI think after Iâve done the milking, Iâll crawl back in here.â


âYou just stay there. Amanda and Brad are already outside taking acre of the animals. You are going to stay there all day. Youâve been doing so much lately; you have to be exhausted, so today is a day of rest.â


Bill groaned, half from his aching body, and half from the idea of lying around wasting time. There was so much yet to do before winter and it galled him to skip a day. By the time the kids came inside, he was pulling off layers of blankets and removing the heat pad, sheen of sweat all over his torso. Amanda came over to him and told him in a stern voice, âNow you just stay there. Weâve taken care of the goats and chickens, and fed the cats. You rest up.â 


Amy offered Bill a plate of French toast and bacon, which he debated over before accepting a half slice of two and two slices of bacon. _Iâve never been too sick for bacon_. He nibbled at the toast, not eating it all, but finished off the bacon. While he was eating, Amy and the kids were at the table eating their own breakfast. âDo you think you will be alright if we go to church and leave you here? Iâm supposed to teach today,â she said.


âYeah, Iâll be ok,â he said, and reclined the chair back all the way and fell back to sleep. He had a faint notion of Amy giving him Tylenol and then telling him bye, but he just could not keep his thoughts straight. He drifted in and out of sleep the rest of the day, pulling up blankets or pushing them off as his body fought with whatever was inside it. He had a little to eat at each meal, but had no appetite, instead drinking lots of water. At bedtime, he stayed on the recliner.


The next morning Billâs fever was raging and it hurt to walk. He managed to use the bathroom, but not much more. Amy called to let Tom know what was going on, and got his blessing to stay home and get better. She and the kids left, leaving him to sleep through a second day. By the time they all arrived home after school and work, his fever had abated. He stumble-walked to the bathroom and took a shower. It was while he was drying off that he saw his leg. 


The lower leg had large patches of angry red skin that was hot to the touch. Red streaks were extending up his leg, disappearing at his groin. _This is not good_. âAmy, come in here,â he called. She came in and he pointed and said, âLook at this leg. What do ya think?â


âI think that there is something really wrong with you. How long has it been like that?â


âI donât know. This is the first time I have seen it since I took a shower Saturday. Iâve been stuck on the chair since then.â


âYou said Sunday your leg hurt. Is it the same one, in the same place?â


Bill thought for a bit, the last days being kind of hazy. âYeah, thatâs the places.â


âOk, get some clothes on. Iâm taking you to the Urgent Care and see what they can do.â


Bill put on sweats, a t-shirt and loose socks and shoes and started for the car while Amy gave the kids instructions on what needed done while they were out. On his way to the car, Bill found one of his walking sticks and used it as an aid as he got into the van.


The wait at the urgent care facility was short. Bill was taken to an examining room and had his vitals taken by a nurse and was soon seen by a physicianâs assistant. He told the PA about picking the beans, and thinking he had a spider or insect bite while he was being examined. The PA listened and then told him, âYou have what appears to be a bacterial infection in the leg. Technically we call it Cellulitis. There are different bacteria pretty much everywhere. All it takes is a slight skin opening for them to get in: be it insect bite, scrapes from plants, a fingernail scratch. Pretty much any skin opening can let the bugs in. 
The most common bacteria we see in this is staph and strep, but there are others and they are all very nasty. Left untreated, it is life threatening. You can see how it has gone in you in only two days.


âSo for treatment, we are going to give you a shot of strong antibiotic,â he thought for a while and named off the specific shot. âAnd I am going to give you a prescription for an oral antibiotic. Take it three times a day. Start just before bed tonight. You are to lie around the rest of today and tomorrow, keeping this elevated.â Then he rattled off symptoms Bill was to watch for and if he had any of them he was to get right back in. With his head spinning from all of the information Bill responded he didnât have any questions at the proper time although Amy had some. _But all I did was scratch my leg in the garden. Itâs not even a bad scratch._ The PA left, telling Amy and a stunned Bill the nurse would be in soon to administer the shot. 


The nurse came in and had Bill drop his pants âthat he had just put back on â for the shot. _Wow, that hurts_. She said after they observed him for five more minutes to make sure there wasnât an adverse reaction to the shot, he would be able to leave. As he and Amy waited, she stated the obvious, âSo, I guess you didnât have the flu this week.â


They left the facility, going to the next door pharmacy for the prescription to be filled. It would take about fifteen minutes, so Amy took Bill home with strict instructions to follow the PAâs orders and lay down with the leg elevated. _This really bites! More time on my back when Iâve got so much to be doing_. But he followed instructions, just taking time to fill his water cup, use the toilet, and pick up his newest library book before settling in.


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## Bret F

The next day was the longest day Bill could ever remember. The outside was sunny, a slight breeze, upper seventies, low eighties: perfect for doing more garden work and there he was on his back. It couldnât have been windy and rainy. He read his book. He played a little fiddle but that was awkward in his chair. He watched a little TV and wondered how on earth the couch potato crowd could do this every day. And he watched the clock; man it was moving slow. Late in the afternoon, he felt the leg tightening up, and getting out of his chair he was lightheaded. He walked to the bathroom with pain shooting up his leg at every movement. He dropped his pants and looked at his leg. The leg below the knee no longer had blotches of angry red skin; instead everything below the knee was red, the leg swollen much larger than normal, and the skin tight like a drum. The streaking up his upper leg that had diminished over night was replaced by a full patch on the inside of his thigh. 


Bob answered his phone on the second ring, âHi Bill, howâs the leg?â


âThatâs what I was calling you about.â Bill then told Bob about the changes in his leg. 


âWell, cellulitis has all different bacteria related to it that it takes different antibiotics to treat. It sounds to me like the shot in the butt was the right stuff, but the pills arenât doing anything, or arenât powerful enough. Did they tell you some things to look for to go back in, or did they say to âtake two of these as long as you last?ââ


That got a chuckle from Bill. âYes they said what to watch for. I just wanted to get your thoughts before I went in.â


_Oh boy. Do I wait for Amy to come home or just drive myself in?_ He tried walking around some and decided he could make the drive. _She canât be too mad if Iâm just driving to the doctors can she?_ He took up his stick, slipped his phone in his pocket and headed for his car. After pulling through the gate he really wanted to leave it open, but forced himself to get out and close it.


He was seen right away at the urgent care facility, before he had an opportunity to phone Amy and let her know what was happening. He was examined by a different person this time. The diagnosis was the same, but it was time to raise the level of treatment. The nurse drew blood to be cultured then delivered an intra-venous array of anti-biotics. While he was in observation Bill finally made the call to Amy. While she was irritated that he had driven, she accepted his reasoning, even though her work load would have allowed her to leave work. The oral antibiotic dosage was increased and a second antibiotic prescribed. 


As his leg slowly healed Bill reflected on the timing of the infection and its implications. A simple scratch in the garden had laid him up for over a week, and if there had not been the current medical care, it would have killed him. It was very sobering to think about. One simple scratch from a weed! Where he had always ignored all but the more serious cuts and puncture wounds, he resolved that any scratch would now get an alcohol prep wiped across it, and maybe another wipe with iodine.


The eggs in the incubator were nearing the hatch time, so from his âdirectorâs chairâ, Bill instructed the kids to remove the egg turner and the air plugs. Two days later they were rewarded by pipped eggs and over the next four days had 30 new chicks under the brooder. Of course they would have liked to have a 100% successful hatch, but the 75% range was about what they usually achieved with the small incubator. As soon as the incubator could be cleaned, the egg turner was put back in and a new batch of eggs started to incubate. 


While Bill was laid up, he decided to try a different tact with Amyâs siblings. He found a list of contents for a bug out bag online, copied it and emailed it to each of them and followed up with a phone call. Amyâs brother did not even answer the call, letting Bills message go to Voice mail. The voice mail would turn out to be the last time Bill ever heard his brother-in-lawâs voice, as he had blocked both Bill and Amyâs lines. 


_The Basics__: backpack, ultra-light sleeping bag_
_Clothing__: Running/walking shoes, socks, underwear, stout pants, t shirt, fleece jacket, waterproof jacket._
_Hygiene Kit__: soap, shampoo, comp, toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, nail clippers_
_Food Pack__: energy bars, foil pouches of fish, dried fruit, nuts, jerky, instant soup, tea bags_
_Supplies__: candle, matches, water purification tabs, knife sharpener, spare batteries, all-purpose stainless cup, whistle, fishing kit, lighter, aluminum foil, fire starter, rope, spoon, work gloves, space blanket, chemical hand warmer, large black trash bag, Ziploc bags, duct tape, flashlight, bandanna, towel, binoculars, toilet paper, can of Stern, can opener, repair kit, tarp, maps, compass, solar/ battery tri band radio, FRS radio, water bottle, first aid kit_


Bill argued, pleaded, insisted, and just discussed everything that was going on before he convinced Francis that having a packed bag would be a good idea. He also got her to agree to find maps and mark out different routes to his and Amyâs home and have them laminated. The last concession he got was to have the car filled with gas and a number of spare cans on hand. âYou know Iâm going to keep bugging you until you send me photos right? I want to see everything laid out, then packed in your trunk, and the full gas cans by your car.â


âIf you promise to quit hounding me, Iâll do it tomorrowâ, she answered. Itâs my day off, so I will take care of it all then. As it turned out, she was glad to have a day off work to accumulate the items on the list. Many of the items had become rare since the bombings had begun. It appeared Bill wasnât the only one out there who thought things were falling apart. It gave Francis pause to contemplate that, then decided to watch even closer for signs she needed to leave Vegas. That evening, she emailed Bill the photos and the scanned image of the map with highlights and requested his input on the routes. 


The terrorists were not idle while Bill was. They continued to destroy grocery stores at will, although the FBI claimed to have apprehended or killed the members of cells in six different states. While the bombings continued, other commerce was slowing down, the economy made lurching motions as it was dying.


As the leg healed, Bill continued harvesting the garden, dehydrating, canning, and drying seeds. He made large stock pots of vegetable soup: whatever was ripe at that time was thrown in it, and then canned into quart jars. Everything was done slower and more deliberate now. He no longer wore shorts into the garden or the chicken house. His shirt or pants pocket always contained alcohol and iodine swabs. The hoop house was put on ignore while smaller hoop frames were constructed over the tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis and beans. He didnât know if it would pay off, but he would never know unless he tried.


*****​


_Authorâs Note: This story is of course fiction. This segment was not planned in the mental outline I have, however the leg infection portion is about 80% true, recently happening to me. Just something more to think about and be concerned about, so I thought to include it. A simple scrape on my leg from a weed, for goodness sake. Not included was yet another trip to the family doctor and having the antibiotics extended a few more days. Sheesh! At the time of writing, the leg was still red and sore more than two weeks after it was scraped. If the stuff does hit the fan, it might be the little details that count._


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## plowhand

Maybee , that was another reason folks used to wear long sleeves and button that top shirt button! Really enjoying reading this, keep up the good work!


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## biggkidd

Get well soon great story!

Larry


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## Ozarks Tom

Glad you're healing.


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## Bret F

Chapter 16: Meet me in McCall 

_Thought I heard your voice
Out on the oak brush rim
Cold rush upon my face
But it was just the wind
And a bugle down the draw
From somewhere in the pines
Like twenty years ago
Branded on my mind

Somewhere above McCall
And it was early fall
Good horses and our rifles and that's all
We rode the golden aspen trail
'Neath timber dark and tall
Somewhere above McCall
In the early fall

And I wish I could disappear
Every now and then
Not a day goes by that I don't wish you were here
So I could tell you once again

To meet me in McCall
And make it early fall
Bring a good horse and a rifle and that's all
We'll ride the golden aspen trail
'Neath timber dark and tall
So meet me in McCall
In the early fall
Meet me in McCall_
_âMeet me in McCallâ Performed by Brenn Hill_
_ Written by Brenn Hill _


Bob walked down the driveway to where Bill was assembling PVC hoops over his tomato vines. âSo what you doing Tuesday?â he asked.


âI donât know, figured to go to work if we have any, and then tinker around here.â


âYou better look at your calendar. My elk hunt starts on Tuesday, then yours two weeks after that.â 


âReally?â Bill asked. He had been so wrapped up on the bombings, preps and then his infected leg, he hadnât considered elk hunting. He and Bob had both drawn on controlled hunts for antlerless elk for the fall. Even though they didnât actively hunt during the others season, they always went together for safety purposes.


âYep. Tuesday morning. I have been seeing lots of tracks in the aspen grove above the cabin and this weekend one was bugling above the old garden, one near where the beaver dam was and probably the herd bull in the aspens. It sure was good music. I pulled the card from my game camera at the aspens, and there were a lot of elk on it. They have been spending the nights there and leave about 10:00. Give Tom a call and see if you can skip work. We can take your goats, and you and them work towards the aspens as fast as your gimped up leg will go quietly, about a half hour behind me.â Sometimes Bill thought the camera was cheating; it sure helped the odds on the hunt knowing where and when the elk were around.


âThat sounds good. But help me out with the goats now. I havenât had the packs on them for quite a while and it will be easier to adjust them here.â


Bill led the way to the shed and handed down the two saw-buck pack saddles he used, and then got out the saddle blankets and packs. Bob was directed where to drop the saddles and took the rest of the gear from Bill, while Bill got a feed box with a scoop of grain in it and two leashes. They went to the pasture leashed Rand and Perrin, and got them through the gate, fighting the other goats to stay in while closing the gate. The remaining goats quickly began a chorus letting everyone within hearing know how they were being discriminated against. The goats were secured to the fence above the grain and Bob and Bill each laid a blanket on the respective goat, followed by the saw buck. Bob had Rand, and long and lean like his namesake from the âWheel of Timeâ, the straps were still adjusted properly. Perrin, on the other hand, had filled out more, requiring the saddle straps to be lengthened. The cheap daypacks were strapped on then covered with red towels and secured with bungee cords. They rarely saw other hunters near the cabin, but Bill tried not to take chances with some knucklehead mistaking the goats for a game animal. 


Everything looked good, so they put gallon jugs of water in each pack and led the goats down the driveway and out the gate. The goats acted like they had been packing every day and took the entire activity in stride. They were led back to the fence and secured and the loads removed. After giving them each a quick brushing, Bill put another scoop of grain in the box and put it in the back of the pickup. The goats had eagerly followed his actions and once the leashes were released, trotted to the pickup and jumped right in. âThey might not carry what we used to on the mules, but that was sure easy wasnât it? And when they step on your foot, it doesnât hurt near as much,â Bill said.


Bob rapidly agreed. They had packed numerous elk out of the mountains on mules, most of them memorable for all of the problems. The time the mule barrel rolled down a steep draw with a half elk was especially etched in their memories. Bob also had less than fond memories of being kicked and his entire thigh turning black before the day was out. 


Once they had finished their treat the goats were returned to the pasture, the others acting like they had been separated for days. Bill had Bob put all of the pack gear, minus the jugs of water in the back of the pickup for easy access and closed the shell. While that was being done, Bill called Tom and to no oneâs surprise was given the day off. 


*****​ 
The mornings had been noticeably cooler when Bill went out to milk. The morning he was leaving to hunt with Bob, there was a coat of frost on the pickup windshield. _Glad I got the hoops done and covered. I wonder how long it will keep the plants going._ There were usually a number of frosts and a temperate Indian summer before the killing freezes hit.


After chores, Bill put all of the pack equipment, the grain box and two sour-cream containers of grain in the wheel barrow, added his hunting pack, framed back pack and rifle and rolled them near the road. He was just leashing the goats and fighting them through the gate when Bob pulled up. He managed to get the two goats out while holding off the others â they sure wanted to go to wherever Rand and Perrin were going â there might be food! With the gear and goats loaded, the wheel barrow put away, the brothers got in the pickup and started for the cabin. It was usually an hour drive and Bob had planned on getting there just before shooting light, so he could work his way slowly up the trail.


Bob started quietly for the trail at the edge of the timber, frost heavy on the grass in the meadow, his breath showing in small puffs of mist as he walked. Bill got the goats out, tied them near a brush pile and saddled them With everything secured, he checked for stability and noise, then shouldered his pack, picked up his rifle and released the goats, putting their leashes in his jacket pocket. He called to them and they kept eating until he was twenty feet away, then they quickly caught up. They would follow like that until he took a break, grabbing bites on the way. 


The sky was lightening as Bill reached the timber beyond the cabin meadow. He had just entered the dark shadows when a rifle fired on the hillside above him. Already very alert, his senses raised even more as he watched for movement and sound. So far, his leg was doing fine moving at the slow pace. The FRS radio in his pocket crackled to life and Bob said âI got a big cow. Sheâs down right in the meadow by the aspens. Iâll give it a few more minutes before I go over. Are you coming?â


âYeah, I just got out of the meadow. But I think Iâll go back to the pickup. Iâll change my hunting pack for the big pack and just bring up what we need to work with. Do you need anything else?â


âNo, Iâve got my knife and steel. Just need you with a strong back. Hope your goats are feeling strong too. She is a nice big cow.â


âOk, Iâll be up there in a bit. You know having the camera and knowing right where they would be is cheating.â


âTell me about cheating while you are eating fresh meat.â


The radios were quiet after that and Bill changed out his pack then started back up the trail. When he arrived at the aspens, he whistled, and listened to Bobâs return whistle to pinpoint his location. Once he got to Bob, he took the bags off the goat saddles, but left the saddles on and re-secured the red towels. They sniffed briefly at the dead elk, then went to a nearby bush and started stripping leaves and bark.


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## Bret F

Bob had a back leg nearly skinned and continued to work while Bill took a new blue tarp out of one of the packs and spread it out in the shade, weighting the corners with rocks. When Bob had exposed a large enough area he cut the large muscles free of the bone and laid them out on the tarp to begin cooling. It was still cool enough the flies and yellow jackets were not bothering them yet, but Bill was sure it wouldnât take long. Bill began on the front leg. They would skin the raised side cleanly, taking off the muscle groups when they were exposed. Once they had done what they could from one side, they would pull the skin out and roll the carcass over onto it, then do the same with the other side. With the majority of the meat pulled off and cooling, most of the obstructions out of the way, Bob would then remove the guts and they would both go to work on fine boning. They were very thorough, though not quite as thorough as Alan. They often accused him of working twenty minutes for one burger patty. When they were packing elk out, they only carried meat, and left all of the bones for the bears and coyotes.


While they worked, Bill asked, âSo how much pressure do you think the game will get if things fall apart?â


âBob mulled it over while he worked. âWell you know there are a lot of Rambo wannabes out there that think they can live off the land. Personally I think they are idiots. Look how hard it is to climb these hills quietly. I think the people that already live in the country will hit the game hard, but by the time they figure out they are in trouble, most of the town dwellers wonât have the fuel to get here. The amount of hunters we have seen over the years attest to that in my mind. This area is ignored while people go by on the bottom and the top. Thatâs not to say there wonât be pressure. Iâm sure the game will take a hit but not hard. On the other hand, what happens if the yahoos wipe out the wolf food in other areas? Then the wolves will come here in force. Weâve been pretty lucky so far that only a few wolves hunt here. Either way, there will be a hit. Maybe we can get a few wolf pelts and not take an elk unless we really need it.â


Bill figured Bobâs thoughts were pretty accurate. He had only seen four hunters in fifteen years of hunting the area. He hoped it remained a skipped over area. 


âWell, with all of the meat we have now, Iâm not going to hunt for my elk. Letâs leave her to raise another calf next year. We might need her more then.â


âSounds good,â Bob answered. âWe can definitely pass this time. My freezer is already full. I think Iâll let you help me try canning my portion of this one.â


âWe can do that, and I think weâll can mine too. Although Amy doesnât really care for it canned, I think it is great with some brown gravy on bread.â


With all of the meat laid out on the tarp, they had to **** the few flies off that were out in the cool morning. A few yellow jackets had come to the fresh meat. They would cut a small bite of meat off and fly off to their nest. The meat was packed into bags. Bill had a fishing scale that they used to fill the four goat packs with twenty pounds each. That left about forty pounds each for Bob and Bill. They split the remainder between Bill and Bobâs packs, loaded the goats, shouldered their own packs and started back down the trail. The goats contentedly fell in behind Bill easily walking under the load. 


The table at the cabin was in the early morning sun, so it was moved under a large pine tree and the bagged meat was laid out on it. The temperature in the shade was hovering around forty, so the meat would continue to cool off. The early October hunt was always interesting for having meat down. One year they had to take care of an elk at eighty degrees, one year they tromped through six inches of unseasonably early snow. They spread the meat as much as possible to allow it to further cool. The goats had gone straight to the brush pile to begin pulling off leaves as soon as their packs were removed. While they laid the meat out, Bob said, âNot too bad, boned out by noon. Are you in a hurry to get home or can we work in the garden for a while?â


âNo, Iâm free all day. Letâs pull the saddles off the goats and Iâll give them some grain in the pickup so they can be used to having a reward after working. Not bad, huh, Iâve fed them for a full year and they earned there keep for today at least. Is there anything in the garden we can have for lunch?â


âIt looks like it froze good, but we might find something. Thatâs about one week before last year. Remember how warm it was the first day we hunted?â 


Bill could remember taking off his jacket and long sleeved shirt and walking in a t shirt. He had been happy they hadnât gotten an elk that day. 


After the goats were cared for and they had cleaned themselves up, they went to the garden. The goats looked up as Bill walked away, and then trotted to catch up. Once they realized Bill wasnât going any further, they went to a nearby thorn bush where they could eat while keeping a watchful eye on their boss. 


The electric fence had been effective at keeping animals out of the garden. Most everything was frozen but they found a few tomatoes and cucumbers to slice with their sandwiches. Bob had already pulled the onions and taken them home, but he had left a few in the cabin, so they added thick slices to their sandwich. By the time they were eating Bill stated they had âDagwood Sandwichesâ. They had placed their chairs in the sun and were enjoying the direct heat after the cool air of the shade.


They spent the afternoon digging the potatoes. The ground was very hard with a liberal amount of clay mixed in. The spuds grew well, but it was tough work to get them out. âDid I tell you how I did my potatoes this year?â Bill asked.


âProbably but I donât remember. What did you do?â


âThe day we had the scouts on the yard raking service I took my pickup and filled the entire back with leaves. At home I put them all on one area, about a foot deep, then kept the chickens out of that section all winter. In the spring, I made a hole in the leaves and dug in the dirt just enough to cover the seed potato, then filled everything in. They did great. I got the biggest and most spuds Iâve ever grownâ. Bill held up the largest potato from the hill he was digging. âIt would take four or five of this one to be the size of my big ones. And they were real easy to dig, not like this modified concrete you grow in. I will definitely try that method again.â 


They continued their work, chatting until the potatoes were all dug. They put them in gunny sacks and put them in the generator shed. With the water flowing through to run the small generator, the temperature stayed cool and the humidity high. Potatoes stored very well there. Bob had even brought up a few sacks from the recent purchase he and Cal had made. 


âSo what about the carrots, do you want to dig them?â Bill asked. 


âHow did you say you store yours?â


âWell, if I keep the chickens away, I leave them in the garden and put about a foot of leaves over them and then I can dig them all winter as I need them. If I put the chickens in the garden, well, I canât keep the leaves in place. Then I dig them. I take a box and put a damp sawdust layer, then carrot layer and go like that until Iâve got them all in. I cover the top with a damp gunny sack. I have to re-wet the sack over the winter a few times but that keeps them nice and crisp. I do the same with the parsnips.â Bill noticed Bobâs grimace. Bob did not like parsnips and always wondered why his brother wasted garden space for them. âThe beets too. With the humidity in your generator shed, maybe you wouldnât need to do that. Iâm just not sure. We could check in my root cellar book when we get home.â


We do have some sawdust where we cut up the firewood. Letâs dig them and see how far the sawdust goes.â


The long shadows had begun to spread across the garden as they worked, and the temperature that had crept into the sixties was dropping quickly. That was a big difference from the cabin and the valley. At home, evening was long lasting with the temperature dropping off slowly. The goats, meat, and all gear were loaded up and they headed for home. As they drove towards the highway, Bill pointed and saidâ Hey, look over there. Across the valley a sow bear was making her shuffling way up towards the ridgeline, two coal-black cubs walking and running along with her.


On the drive home, Bob inquired as to Billâs canning. Bill had the âBall Blue Bookâ and also had a binder he had printed from the internet. His top online resource was the University of Georgia: National Center for Home Food Preservation. http://nchfp.uga.edu/

 âI donât remember the specifics off the top of my head, but I like to use wide mouth jars. I cut the meat into strips that would fit the jar, and then slice it. I brown the slices in the frying pan, and then stack them into the jars. While Iâm doing the browning, I have some beef broth heating in a large sauce pan, then pour it over the meat. Iâll have to check about headspace. Fill them past that and your jars wonât seal. Then I do lids the normal way and fill the canner. My big canner, I have stacked pints to do twice as many jars at a time. I do burger pretty much the same: brown it, add broth, and can. Processing time is pretty long for meat, but if we get all of my pressure canners and Alanâs, we can have some ready to start heating while others are cooling down. Unlike water bath canning, you have to leave these canners sealed up until the pressure has dropped back off.â


The radio brought them back to the real world after their hard but relaxing day. The terrorists had hit four more stores, and the FBI thought they had apprehended the members of one cell. _Wow, four to one for the bad guys_. It had been so peaceful on the mountain. As they drove and listened, they discussed their plans for processing the meat the following afternoon.


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## Bret F

Thanks all for reading and thanks for the well wishes for the leg.


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## 355946

Thank YOU for the interesting story! Glad your leg is better.


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## Ozarks Tom

Thanks for your hard work. I hope you're enjoying it at much as we are!


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## puddlejumper007

thank you Bret, i look forward to you writing....nice read...:dance:


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## Bret F

Chapter 17: Halloween 
_
__Boys and girls of every age
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?
Come with us and you will see
This, our town of Halloween

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Pumpkins scream in the dead of night
This is Halloween, everybody make a scene
Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright
It's our town, everybody scream
In this town of Halloween

I am the one hiding under your bed
Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red
I am the one hiding under your stairs
Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!
In this town we call home
Everyone hail to the pumpkin song

In this town, don't we love it now?
Everybody's waiting for the next surprise
Round that corner, man hiding in the trash can
Something's waiting now to pounce, and how you'll scream

Scream! This is Halloween
Red 'n' black, slimy green
Aren't you scared?

Well, that's just fine
Say it once, say it twice
Take the chance and roll the dice
Ride with the moon in the dead of night

Everybody scream, everybody scream
In our town of Halloween

I am the clown with the tear-away face
Here in a flash and gone without a trace
I am the "who" when you call, "Who's there?"
I am the wind blowing through your hair
I am the shadow on the moon at night
Filling your dreams to the brim with fright

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!
Halloween! Halloween!

Tender lumplings everywhere
Life's no fun without a good scare
That's our job, but we're not mean
In our town of Halloween

In this town
Don't we love it now?
Everyone's waiting for the next surprise
Skeleton Jack might catch you in the back
And scream like a banshee
Make you jump out of your skin
This is Halloween, everyone scream
Won't ya please make way for a very special guy

Our man Jack is king of the pumpkin patch
Everyone hail to the Pumpkin King now

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!

In this town we call home
Everyone hail to the pumpkin song
La la-la la, Halloween! Halloween! (etc.)_
_âHalloweenâ Performed by the Citizens of Halloween from âNightmare before Christmas_
_ Written By Danny Elfman _


As October progressed, Billâs paying work continued to diminish with the rest of the economy, but he filled the time at home. Security was tight at the local chain stores, but they were unable to prevent a Wal-Mart Superstore from being firebombed. Bill pushed hard on getting the first hoop house up and planted. The daylight for growing plants was rapidly diminishing; the season changes quickly approaching the ten hours of light per day threshold that plants needed that hit this latitude around November 7th. He augmented the greenhouse with solar charged LED lights but had no idea how effective they would be. Inwardly he doubted the effectiveness, but, oh well. The hoop house was planted in peas, spinach and Swiss chard. Previous winter gardening in the greenhouse had shown him that when he planted those specific plants too late for a fall-winter harvest, they gave him a very early harvest in spring. The plants got started, appeared to die, then grew rapidly with the first warming of spring. He covered all of the rows with floating row crop cover for added protection. The spot where the second hoop house would be set up was planted with a green manure crop.


The remainder of the firewood was split and stacked in the wood shed. He had made it a priority to go into each winter with two winterâs worth of wood. There was no way of knowing when something would disrupt his summer, preventing wood cutting. 


The garden still produced beneath the hoops he had set up, but it was greatly reduced. The flavor also left something to be desired, at least when compared to the full flavor of the vegetables harvested in the height of summer, but they were still better than anything sold at stores. The greenhouse had also begun to produce fresh greens and radishes that were full of flavor.


Cal, with a lot of help from Bob, had made great strides on building the wood gasifier units. They had one operational on the GMC pickup and had fine-tuned it and made design tweaks for future units. They had three more units nearing completion, but it was going slower now. Cal could not restrain himself from driving around and showing off his wood powered pickup to anyone who would listen. He also made sure to grumble at Bill for not giving him the information years ago. The big test came on a Saturday when Bob and Cal were in the wood fired pickup while Bill and Alan followed in Billâs pickup, and they made a trip to the cabin. The gasifier performed as billed and made the drive easily. While at the cabin, they spent the day winterizing it: they drained all static water lines, put anti-freeze in the toilet, pulled the fresh water line from the spring, and placed the snow boards along the walls. Without the thick plywood keeping the snow off the walls, the snow weight, once it slid from the roof, would break windows. For the drive home, they loaded each pickup with firewood. During the summer, they had cut up some winter killed trees and left the wood on the bare, arid hillside above the cabin to dry. 


With all of the pride Cal had in his new wood fired pickup, that didnât stop him from stocking up on fuel. His fuel tanks that had been empty since he had quit actively farming were cleaned and filled, one with diesel, the other with gasoline, and stabilized. 


Billâs root cellar was starting to look like a root cellar instead of a concrete tomb. He had put in permanent steps leading down to the cellar. A heavily insulated door was hung and a cover added to help prevent snow build up and rain falling into the entrance area. He had put in shelves and covered the floor with wood slats. He had run lights, both standard 120 volt and also a set of 12 volt LEDs. Potatoes were in one area, filling burlap bags. Near them were boxes with other root vegetables from the garden: carrots, parsnips, beets and an additional box of kohlrabi, all packed in damp sawdust. The winter squash had all been harvested and were laid out in a manner that he could monitor them for spoilage. He had moved some items from the shop pantry than should be able to withstand the higher humidity in the cellar. 


The honey had been taken from the bee hives, extracted, filtered and put in Mason jars. The ventilation holes were opened in the hives and wind breaks put in place for winter. Upon inspection he had not verified the presence of varoa mites, so was pretty sure the bees would go into the winter healthy. He did however make sure he had treatment on hand if he detected any in the spring.


One afternoon, Bill had driven to an area in the valley where fruit was grown. He purchased bushels of apples for everyone in the family. Recalling from his root cellar book not to store apples and potatoes together, he put his boxes of apples in the newly cleared space in the shop pantry. As he was working at the sink peeling apples to can for pie filling, he looked out at his own trees, irritated that bores were killing the peach trees. After they had started to fall off, he had found information on organic protection for stone fruit trees. An article he had read said planting chives around the base of the tree was a deterrent. He had started a number of new trees that would produce in another year or two, if he could keep them free of the bores. They were each circled with two rings of chives and so far did show signs of damage. The pear trees were doing better but a spring freeze had wiped out his crop before it had a chance to produce. There were heavily producing pear trees at Bobâs cabin, but they had to time the harvest to beat the local bear population. They had also suffered from a spring freeze when they were in full bloom.


The plums had done better than anything else, but they had also attracted numerous birds and wasps that had greatly diminished what he could pick. He had however gotten two full dehydrator loads taken care of.


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## Bret F

The grapes had done exceedingly well in the hot summer. Picking some clumps that still clung well to the stems, he had hung them on racks in the root cellar. They would keep the family in fresh grapes for a time. Many more had been picked, washed and laid out on wire racks and covered with cheesecloth in the sun. Each evening he set them in his shop and always watched intently for rain. _I wish I had gotten to that solar dehydrator, but add it to the list_. Yet more grapes were juiced and canned. 


The raspberry patch had been cleaned of all the dead canes. The remaining canes that had grown fresh that summer were beginning to produce. They would continue until the cold stopped them. They could withstand frosts, but a hard freeze would stop their production. Although not quite as big as the spring grown berries, they were still very good. Bill filled more Mason jars with raspberry jam and dehydrated more of them for additions to cereal and baking. As he made the jam, he noticed his pectin on hand, and then bought out everything that remained on the shelf in two stores. He also made sure he had a printed out copy of how to make pectin from apples printed and in his canning book. 


The small parcel of field corn had been harvested and shucked, the ears laid out in the shop to further dry. The stalks were standing near the goat pasture to be fed a few at a time. The mangles were dug and in wooden crates in the root cellar. The best were packed in damp sawdust and covered with burlap in hopes he could replant them and get a seed crop from them the following year. A few had been left in the ground, circled with a wire fence and packed with insulating leaves. _Maybe one way or the other I can get some to make seed._


One afternoon was spent with the kids in one of his favorite fall activities, brought forward from his own youth. They all put on their irrigator boots picked up their fishing nets and a five gallon bucket and walked to the nearby irrigation canal. Bill had monitored it daily since the water board had stopped the irrigation flow. The water came from the Boise River and had the potential for carrying game fish. The water had dwindled down to just scattered pools. They walked from pool to pool, fanning out across the pools, chasing any remaining fish ahead of them. Once the fish were in a small area, they could be scooped out with the nets. Quite often the fish would get past them, creating a wild dash and run; water splashing amidst much shared laughter. Hours later they trudged home, their pants and socks soaked, the bucket close to full of trout and white fish. The sun was nearly gone and the air was chill on their wet bodies but they were all happy. Brad and Amanda kept reliving a chase for a particularly elusive trout that was large enough to feed the entire family a meal with side dishes. The pools would be gone in a matter of days; any remaining fish would become raccoon food. After the fish were cleaned, Bill and the kids took them around to share with the rest of the family members on the street.


Buoyed by his success in growing potatoes in leaves, Bill increased his efforts to get even more leaves. On the day of the scouts participating in rake-up, he not only filled his pickup with leaves, but also loaded his Dadâs flatbed trailer. The church youth group raked yards the following week and he was able to take home all of the treasure from that dayâs effort too. One yard was full of leaves from walnut trees. He kept those leaves separate and once at home spread them out in a thick layer along a fence row where he was having trouble with quack grass invading from the neighbors. _Maybe these will slow that stuff down_. Many days would find him stopping along the street and picking up bags of leaves that were set out for garbage collection. Some of the leaves were placed in a woven wire fence circle with layers of chicken and goat manure, while others were spread in heavy layers over what open spaces remained in the garden.


A local shop made stove pipe and various fittings for chimneys. One day, bill purchased a pickup full of various parts and additional flat sheet metal. As he had talked to the neighbors about what else could possibly happen and their level of preparing for hard times, he found many would be facing a cold winter if there was a power disruption. Although he didnât want to outfit the neighborhood, he also didnât want them burning their houses down to keep warm. If it came down to it, he wanted to be able to help out as many people as he could. He looked at his shrinking bank account as his supplies piled up and was thankful he had made the decision to close the IRA.


As Bill had aged, he had needed to wear reading glasses. He claimed it wasnât age; it was âstaring at the computer screen all dayâ. A local dollar store had two racks full of readers. Bill stopped in one day and left with a bag full of glasses. _How on earth can they sell these for a buck?_ The power started at 1.5 for his regular reading, up to 3.5 for fine work in the shop. He purchased every pair of glasses in that range that fit his head and didnât fall off when he bent over. 


The second batch of chicks came out of the incubator â thirty two of the forty one eggs. He was very pleased with the success. The chicks were put under the brooder with the earlier hatch. After cleaning the incubator, he debated starting it with another batch of eggs. In the end, he decided against it. By the time they hatched winter weather could have arrived and he just didnât want to deal with baby chicks in the cold. He could start again in spring. As it was, he thought he might be pushing the envelope by having a new hatch this late. At the local hatchery, he purchased a large stock of leg bands in green and red. He had been toying with the idea for some time of using the bands to keep track of the chickens age. All chickens hatched this year would get a red band on the right leg. Next year, he would go with green bands on the right leg, and would change the band or leg each year.


The beef tallow candles had been made and stored. Bill had cooked down the beef suet the same as he did the lard, then mixed it in a thrift store sauce pan with some paraffin wax. He had read of different things that were mixed with the tallow, but not having any of them, or the desire to find them, he just used the paraffin. His molds were cleaned individual yogurt cups with cotton strings suspended in the center. He poured the liquid into the cups, and then popped them apart once they had hardened. The whole bunch was packed into a box, labeled and shelved. The one he tested worked alright, but he sure preferred his electric lights.


A small supply of winter clothing was showing up at stores. Bill got the kids sizes figured out and bought stacks of long johns that would fit now and many years to come, as well as a few new pairs to fit both him and Amy. He filled a box with new wool caps and winter gloves in a range of sizes. He also loaded up on work gloves. Insulated winter boots were slow to come to retail stores, but he had found a variety of sizes at thrift stores.


The calls with Francis continued almost daily. She was getting more concerned about the living situation in Las Vegas. Despite the heavy police presence, areas of the city were quickly disintegrating into lawlessness. Francis had made contact with a group that believed chaos was going to erupt. The group was getting out on Halloween morning. Francis had seen enough and decided she would follow their lead. Halloween would be her final day in Vegas, making the drive on the following Friday. She had talked with her brother and shared her plans and pleaded with him to get out of southern California. He countered that she had been brainwashed by that Idaho ******* nutcase. The government would soon get everything under control and they could all resume life as before. Besides, he and his wife had stocked up on two cases of wine. He also quit taking Francisâ phone calls after that.


*****​ 
The pumpkins were set up on the picnic table; Brad and Amanda, and Amandaâs friend Mandy were drawing their designs on them prior to carving. âHave you guys decided what you want to be this year?â Amy asked. 


âMom, I think I am too old for trick-or-treating,â Amanda responded. She had been acting more mature after entering her second year in middle school. She had also started looking at boys in a new light, which didnât exactly fill her dad with joy. âI mean, I like carving my pumpkin and all, but asking for candy, thatâs like a kid activity, you know. Mandy and I were talking, like maybe we could walk with Brad and wait behind him, but not actually trick or treat.â Mandy was in Amandaâs class at school and they were spending more and more time together. It was becoming rare to see one girl without the other.


Amy smiled at the suggestion. Yes, the girls could still go along without looking childish, but would be sure to accept any treats that were offered. âI think thatâs a great idea,â she said. âAnd you will be able to dress warm without messing up a costume.â It was always a challenge matching the costume with the weather. Many years, the best costumes were covered up by heavy coats. Amanda continued with her pumpkin. She was going with a full moon over a creepy tree silhouette this year. Mandy was drawing a witch flying on a broom. Brad was carving the shape of an owl, to accent his Harry Potter outfit he would be wearing. The large black robe would cover whatever coat he would have to wear. The pumpkins insides had all been placed in a bowl and Bill was going through it, sorting all of the full seeds onto a cookie sheet. After he rinsed them, he would sprinkle them heavily with garlic salt and toast them in a skillet on the wood stove.


When the carving was complete, Amanda asked if there were candles. Bill said he might be able to find two and led her to his shop. From a shelf he took down a box that was full of new bags of tea candles. âWow Dad, you like might be able to find a couple, huh? There must be like a thousand in there.â


âWell, pretty close. I wanted to have them if we lose the power. Letâs go put them in the pumpkins and get them in a dark place and see how they look.â


The pumpkins were illuminated and the kids did a little fine carving to finish them. They were all lined out on the picnic table in the front yard and Amy presented them with mugs of hot chocolate and sliced apples with a bowl of dipping caramel. The kids sat down to enjoy the snacks and discussed which houses would be the best for Brad to Trick or Treat. 

*****​


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## Bret F

The day of Halloween, both kids, with Mandy in tow walked home from school to get ready for the evening. After whipping through their homework in record speed, the girls fussed all over Brad making sure the lightning bolt scar was drawn just so, the hair with the right amount of unruliness, the glasses on, the robe hanging right and the Gryffindor tie knotted, and the scarf settled fashionably over his shoulders. They might not be active participants in the evening, but they were taking full advantage of the opportunity to help Brad prepare. Brad took the role of âdress up dummyâ well. Amanda had been doing similar activities to him since he was a baby.


The girls, for being âtoo oldâ were giddy with excitement, more excited about the evening than Brad. It was tough making them sit down long enough to eat a sandwich. After Amy made sure to go over all of the safety rules one more time and that they all had working flashlights, she let them go. It was still a half hour before dark, but that didnât deter them. They were off in a rush, barely telling Amy and Bill goodbye. Amy looked torn as they crossed the street. This was the first year she wouldnât accompany them. The girls had assured her they would be fine, too bad Amy wasnât. Bill put his arm around Amy and added his confidence in the kids being fine.


Bill looked into the two bowls Amy had prepared for any beggars, as he called them, that came to their door. One bowl was for the family kids that lived in the neighborhood. It consisted of full size candy bars. The second bowl, for non-family members was fun-size candy bars and individual packs of M&Ms. He made sure the driveway gate was chained and secured, then closed the pet door to keep Maggie from running the fence and barking at everyone. After putting a large block of wood in the stove and opening the front door, while leaving the storm door closed, he got his latest Backwoods Home Magazine, a glass of water and settled into his recliner near the front door.


Maggieâs excited yips at the door brought Bill back from âresting his eyesâ and he looked out to see the kids coming up the walk. They came in all jabbering at once and finally made it known this was just a pit stop to drop off the candy they had collected before going the other direction on the street. Bill chuckled when he saw the girls pulling nearly as much candy out of their pockets as Brad had in his bucket. Almost as quickly as they arrived, they were back out the door in a rush.


Full darkness had settled and Amy was standing at the door watching the latest group of children walking out the gate. Just as she turned all the lights in the house went dark. She stopped where she was and asked, âBill, are you awake?â


âYeah I am.â He got up and joined Amy at the door, looked out, then walked out onto the walkway. He looked up and down the street each way. He was greeted with darkness, the only illumination coming from the stars and a small sliver of moon, just days away from the new moon stage. He had a sinking feeling as he looked around, his first thought, âdid they set of an EMP?â He went back to the house and carefully made his way to the kitchen drawer where the flashlights were kept, greatly helped by the flickering light through the glass door of the wood stove. 


Flashlight in hand, he picked up the box of matches at the wood stove, lighting the candles that had been placed on the entertainment center. The light was better, but very faint. He took the flashlight to the shop and got down two kerosene lamps. While there, he had another thought, then went through the divider door to his car, got in and started it. It started right up. So did that mean it wasnât an EMP? The information on the web ran the gamut of what would be fried in the event of an EMP; he wasnât sure what to believe. He took the lamps in the house and lit them. âIs your phone working,â he asked Amy, âSo we can try to get ahold of the kids?â


She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the display, âNo signal,â she replied.


As she was checking, he had picked up the home phone. âNo dial tone. Alright, Iâm going to look for them. Can you stay here so if I miss them and they show up, theyâre not coming home to an empty house?â


She agreed and he left to try locating them. Walking to the end of the road, he saw two groups of kids, but not the ones he hoped to see. Rounding the corner he saw a group of three flashlights heading his way and recognized his kidsâ nervous, but still excited voices. âHey guy, itâs meâ, he spoke loudly and turned his light on, pointed at the ground in front of him.


âDad, we were like just at the Matthewâs door and all the lights went out. Do you know what happened? It got so dark so fast; it was kind of like spooky you know.â It was all spoken in a rush, with Amandaâs relief evident at seeing her dad. 


âIâm not sure whatâs happening, other than the power being out. But letâs get home, and then see about getting Mandy home. Iâm sure this is making her parents worry.â


They walked back to the house, Bill noting that one of the other groups of kids was nowhere to be seen, the other quite a ways down the road. Most of the houses they passed had faint glows of candle light through the windows. At home, after Amy had hugged each of the kids, Bill took one of the kerosene lamps and asked the kids to accompany him to the shop. He took out a bag of the tea candles and went to one of the bags of aluminum cans he had collected, removing four. He set everything at the back of his bench and lit one candle. âOk, see how much light one little candle puts out. Iâm going to show you a simple trick to get more light, although it is more directional.â He got a utility knife, pulled the kerosene lamp closer and laid one of the cans down on its side. âSo you take a sharp knife and make a vertical cut down one side like this. Then you do a horizontal cut at the top and at the bottom of your cut, making the shape of an inverted âHââ. As he talked, he demonstrated the cuts, making the horizontal cuts halfway around the can. âAfter that you fold the can open, so the cut portions are fins on each side of the open can, and I take this drive punch and knock the roundness out of the bottom of the can. Put your candle in the bottom and the can reflects the light out so you can get a lot more light out of one of these little candles.â Again he demonstrated as he talked, lit the second candle and set it beside the first so the kids could compare. âNow itâs you guys turn to make one.â He handed a can and the knife to Brad. 


âMandy, does your family have emergency lighting?â Bill asked while watching as Brad started cutting. 


âIâm not sure,â was her short reply.


"Well, you can take a few of these home.â Brad had finished with the knife and passed it over to Mandy, past Amandaâs open hand. He smiled sweetly at her glare and let her know it was good manners to allow guests to go first. Bill kept his chuckle to himself; it would take more than a blackout to stop Brad from being the pestering little brother. 


Bill had them each make three candle reflectors and put all but two in a shopping bag with a handful of candles and handed it to Mandy. While they were working, Amy had come to see what they were working on and to express her concern that they get Mandy home soon. As a mother, she would be frantic about now with no contact with her kids. 



Bill went back to the house, checked the wood in the fire, the front door, and left the dark house. Maggie whined at being locked in the house and he made a mental note, hoping he would remember to open the pet door once he returned home. 


As everyone was getting in the van Brad pushed the button on the garage door opener out of habit. âUh, Dad, the door wonât openâ, he said. 


âNo, it needs power. Weâll have to open it by hand. Do you know what to do?â


ââUh, no.â



Almost ready to blow out the lamps, Bill walked over and showed Brad the release, pulled it and raised the door, stopping it half way up. âGrab that short rope on that nail Brad. We need it tied on to close the door; otherwise, weâll have to get the step stool.â Bill tied it on and opened the door the rest of the way. âAfter I back out, you pull on the rope and pull the door closed. You do that, and Iâll pull out the driveway. Amanda, why donât you go get the gate.â Bill got in the van, backed out and waited while Brad pulled the door closed and got in. After re-securing the gate, Amanda got in and they started for Mandyâs house. 


Traffic was minimal on the drive, but Bill drove slowly, being ever mindful of trick or treaters. Very few were out, most had gone home once the power went out. Only a few houses had any light, most of those very faint, flickering. As he drove, Bill turned on the radio to static. He pushed the scan button and watched the digital display going through the frequencies. It stopped on a station; the voice talking sounding more like a station technician than a seasoned on-air personality. ââ¦.on backup generator power. We have no idea at this time how widespread the outage is, as all of our phone systems are down. We have personnel trying to track down key people to try and determine the scope of and the cause of the problems. Following the violence we have suffered recently, I believe it is safe to assume this is yet another act of terrorism.â


Bill reached up and switched the band to âAMâ and again pushed scan. Once again it sopped on a station: a sister station of the single station broadcasting on FM. The same man was talking on the station. He left the radio on, but turned the volume low.


Mandyâs house had a very fain light, and the door opened as soon as Bill pulled to a sop. Mandyâs mother stepped out, walking quickly to the van, and holding Mandy when she got out. âThanks for bringer her home. I was starting to worry when the power and phones both quit working. Do you have any idea how widespread it is?â


âWe didnât see any electric lights anywhere, and the radio is only broadcasting on one station on FM and one on AM. They are on generator power and donât know any more than we do,â Amy answered.


Mandyâs mom thought about that. âWow. I hope it comes back soon,â she finished slowly, quietly. âThanks for having her and getting her home. We better get in the house.â The women made promises to talk soon; Bill started the van and they pulled away. 


As Bill was driving, he said, âI donât want to go home directly. I want to drive up on the hill to where you can see into the valley and take a look.â The kids sat mostly quiet in the back until Bill asked them if anyone had any chocolate to share. That made them a little livelier as they each volunteered up the otherâs candy. Munching on a Snickers bar as he drove up the highway, Bill was confronted by darkness as far as he could see in every direction. At the top of the hill, instead of turning around, Bill drove on until he could see down the next valley. More blackness. He turned around and was soon going down the side towards home. They reached the vantage point where most of the valley could be seen and they usually saw lights stretching from the Boise range to the Owyhee country miles away.


âOh Bill,â Amy whispered and reached for his hand, squeezing tightly, as they looked across the dark valley without a single light visible.


*****​


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## biggkidd

Thanks for another great bit of the story.

Larry


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## puddlejumper007

:kung:watching for more,


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## Bret F

Chapter 18: Iâm no Stranger to the Rain

_I'm no stranger to the rain, I'm a friend of thunder
Friend, is it any wonder lightnin' strikes me
I've fought with the devil, got down on his level
But I never gave in so he gave up on me

I'm no stranger to the rain, I can spot bad weather
And I'm good at findin' shelter in a downpour
I've been sacrificed by brothers, crucified by lovers
But through it all I withstood the pain

I'm no stranger to the rain but when I get that foggy feeling
When I'm feelin' down, if I don't keep my head, I may drown
But it's hard to keep believin', I'll even come out even
While the rain beats your hope in the ground
And tonight it's really comin' down

I'm no stranger to the rain but there'll always be tomorrow
And I'll beg, steal or borrow a little sunshine
I'll put this cloud behind me, that's how the Man designed me
To ride the wind and dance in a hurricane
I'm no stranger to the rain, oh, no, I'm no stranger to the rain

I'm no stranger to the rain, I'm a friend of thunder
Friend, is it any wonder lightnin' strikes me
But I'll put this cloud behind me, that's how the Man designed me
To ride the wind and dance in a hurricane
I'm no stranger to the rain, oh, no, I'm no stranger to the rain_
_âIâm No Stranger to the Rainâ Performed by Keith Whitley_
_ Written by Sonny Curtis and Ron Hellard_


âWhat does it all mean?â Amy asked after she had recovered from the initial shock of the entire valley being thrust into darkness.


âIâm not sure,â Bill answered. Iâve read lots of stuff about EMPs â that is electromagnetic pulses - and it seems everybody has differing opinions of the effects, if that is what caused this. Another possibility is smaller, local destruction. Remember a few years ago parts of about ten states were without electricity when a squirrel shorted out the lines. And a few years before that, I remember a bigger blackout than that. It seems I read about the lines being so interconnected nowadays, that it is almost like a domino effect if the right part shuts down. But regardless of how they did it, we donât have electricity. So, is it going to be long term or short? I think we will just continue to prepare for the worst but pray for the best. As it is though, I think we have been thrown back about a hundred and fifty years without the proper knowledge of how to deal with it.â They drove on, getting back into the valley, treating intersections as four way stops while the signal lights hung dark above. 


After they turned on their own road, Bill stopped at his folkâs house to check on them. He knew they had the knowledge to deal with the situation, but he wasnât sure how they were currently equipped for it. His dad had grown up without electricity, not living in a house with it until after he had returned from his stint in the navy. But that was long ago and they now lived with all of the modern conveniences. Bill stepped into the living room, lit up by a camping lantern. 


âWe were just getting ready for bed,â his Dad said. I got the light for now, but figured I might as well save the fuel since I start resting my eyes out here about now anyway. In the morning, weâll see what the situation is and deal with it in the light of day.â


âOk, Iâll see you tomorrow then. Good night,â Bill said as he walked out the door, making sure to lock it as he left.


At home the kerosene lamps were again lit, Bill taking one with him as he located two clean buckets and went to the pump house to fill them. He had tried to step in and pump a little with the hand pump every day or two, keeping the leathers swelled and the pump primed. With both buckets full he took them to the house, then went back to the shop and located two milk jugs filled with water. He dumped the water in the backyard raised bed, took the jugs in and refilled them from the tea kettles that were always on the wood stove. Asking Brad to refill the kettles and Amanda to accompany him, they went to the small chicken house. The young chicks were already bunching in a corner in an attempt to stay warm; luckily none had been crushed or suffocated. _So why did I want chicks so late in the year_? Bill placed the two jugs near the clumping chicks, and then he and Amanda moved chicks around the jugs. It would hold for a while, but he wasnât sure for how long. âLetâs get a couple of more jugs in the house and fill them and get them down here as soon as the water is hotâ.


As they were walking past the greenhouse he noticed the pile of stones left from the walkway project. _Iâll take a few of these and warm them too. They seem to hold heat quite a while._ He picked up what rocks he could carry and Amanda let him in the back door, then went and found more milk jugs. With the wind up alarm clock set for thirty minutes, he dozed while the water heated. 


With the alarmâs irritating beeping waking him, Bill groggily thought that it was going to make for long nights if this continued. He filled the jugs, started more water heating, dressed for the frigid outdoor temperature, and put the jugs and a hot rock in a canvas bag and went out into the dark. He set his flashlight where he could see the chicks that were just beginning to clump again. The first jugs were warm, but cooler than the brooder light had kept the area. With the new jugs and the large rock in place he has able to spread the chicks out a little more than before. It was an activity he would repeat numerous times before the sun came up. He considered putting the chicks in a box and taking them to the house and placing them near the stove; he knew Amy didnât want livestock in the house, but something definitely needed changed. For the final water jug and rock change at daybreak, he woke the kids and instructed them on what to do and tried to get some uninterrupted sleep. 


Sleep wouldnât come as Billâs mind was just too busy running over the events of the evening, the disturbing view of the darkened valley, the problem of keeping his chicks alive. As he puzzled it over, he decided he really didnât want the house smelling like a chicken coop for the next four weeks any more than Amy did, especially going into winter, so he had to take the wood stove heat to the chicks. By the time the goatâs chorus was too much to be ignored, he had the basic plan in mind. The rocks had stored and released heat very efficiently. He would finish a small rocket stove mass heater he had been working on. The mass would be cinder blocks circling the perimeter of the room with dryer duct running through them, with additional stones on the top of the blocks. He had the prototype of the system mostly put together, as yet untried. It had been planned to heat blocks under his fruit trees in the spring if it looked like frost when the trees were in bloom. In the past he had saved the apricot crop by running two strands of Christmas tree mini lights in the tree. If that small amount of heat could save the blossoms and young fruit, he reasoned that some hot blocks and rocks under the tree might also. 


Before he went out to start working, Amy got up and asked what he wanted for breakfast. âIf the power doesnât come back on soon, we will lose anything in the fridge we donât get eaten. So just do your best guess as to what is in there, and grab stuff fast to try to retain the cold. After we eat, Iâve got some milk crates that the food could be put in and set out in the garage. Itâs just over freezing in there so we can use it for a fridge for the time being.â


Amy called him to breakfast with the apology that she tried, but couldnât control the heat on the wood stove. She had trouble cooking evenly on the gas range, always trying to accomplish something else once the food was started; the wood stove was a bigger challenge. As it was, she couldnât stop herself from multi-tasking and had the refrigerator emptied, with everything moved to the outside cold. Bill would have to remember to get the crates into the root cellar later. The coffee had been brewed â a little too long and strong â in the old fashioned percolator Amy had dug out of the camp box. 


The remainder of the morning was spent getting the chick house heater completed and fired. It did everything Bill had hoped for and soon the chicks were scattered between the circling blocks. He noted the time the fire died out to try to get a hand on timing to reheat the mass. A box was set nearby with fuel; Bill didnât want to be searching for the right sized wood in the middle of the night. The kids watched with rapt attention, eager for their own chance to warm up the chicks. _I hope they still feel that way when the alarm goes off in the middle of the night. _


When they arrived at Billâs folkâs house, they found Bob was there and everything was fine. The wood boxes were both filled, lamps had been cleaned up and filled and water carried in. Billâs mom had a wood cook stove in the kitchen. She had always used it for cooking in the winter months as well as heating the kitchen. It also had a water jacket in the firebox, plumbed with fresh water in and a storage tank for the hot water behind the stove. Without the pump running, that was now disabled â at least until Cal did some reworking of the plumbing. Their biggest inconvenience so far was lack of television. They always sat down at noon with the news on while they ate. They had found batteries and put in the old radio, but the one station broadcasting didnât have anything new to tell, so they soon switched it off.

*****​


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## Bret F

Walking all around his home with a critical eye, Bill tried to figure what to work on next. _Lord, Iâm not sure just where to go from here. I wish I knew if you were testing us for the long haul, or if this is just a short blip. Whatever, I ask you to guide me and bless my actions. Amen. _ He continued to walk and look, when in his shop, he saw the unopened boxes from Harbor Freight containing the solar cells. They werenât much, but they would provide some power for lighting. He got busy and mounted them on the roof of the house; put the golf cart batteries in the attic and wired them together. A short strip of LEDs was mounted above the sink, the wood stove and in each bedroom and bathroom, a switch put in line with each strip and low voltage cable run to the batteries. He had one strip of LEDâs remaining that he mounted above the kitchen table, wired the switch and ran the cable to the batteries. A final wire was run from the batteries to the computer desk with a car power outlet wired in. Amy had long ago purchased a portable DVD player to be used on long road trips in the van. Bill decided they could watch part of a movie after supper. 


Evening was coming on quickly and the smell of cooking had been getting stronger as he worked. Amy had gotten the Dutch oven out of the camp gear, put in an elk roast, added potatoes and onions later, allowing it to cook slowly on the wood stove. Bill had found her a trivet and shown her to use it if the fire was blazing, and which sections of the top cooked hotter or cooler. 


The kids had been diligent during the day, keeping the chicks warm and monitoring the time needed between firings of the rocket stove. They had just heated it up again, refilled the wood box and filled the house wood box. They had heated the ground in the greenhouse â the rocket stoves were fun to feed, and their mom was in the house and couldnât fret over them. She always stood over them, closely watching, and worried each time Bill had one of them put wood in the stove. While Bill packed more water to the house, the kids finished up the evening chores; they went to the house together, tired from a busy day after the poor night of sleep. 


The two largest stock pots they owned were set on the stove and filled with water, and Bill made the trip again to the pump house, hand pumped the buckets full and returned them to the house. _Wow, itâs been one day and packing water is already getting old_. He went back to the shed and found the camp shower â the black rubber bladder with the hose and nozzle. Looking at the shower stall, he saw where he could span the area with a board and suspend the camp shower from it. After he had everything ready, he gave a quick tutorial to the family, âYou fill the bladder from the pot on the stove and the bucket to the temperature you want. Step in and get wet and turn the water back off. Soap up and wash, lather your hair, and then turn the water back on and rinse off. Thereâs not enough water for long showers. Once you run out of water, youâre done. I usually shave under the shower, but Iâll have to put water in the sink and shave there,â he said as he looked directly at Amy, thinking of her time in the shower to shave her legs.


Brad looked at the setup as an adventure. Amy and Amanda both bemoaned the fact that it didnât look like anywhere near enough water for a shower. âWell, Iâm going to see how effective it is,â Bill answered to their complaints. I want to get cleaned up before supper.â He mixed water to the preferred temperature, filled the bladder, and showered. While he also would have liked to stand under a steady stream of hot water, the bladder proved to have enough water for a quick shower. The ladies still appeared skeptical after he emerged from the bathroom, clean and freshly shaved. 


As they ate Brad asked, âCan I use the shower next?â


Amy thought about it and told him she had planned on letting him wash the dishes after supper, but yes, he could shower. Washing dishes was going to be something new for the kids, they were well versed in putting dishes in the dishwasher, but the idea of hand washing was totally foreign to them. Amy had searched for a long time just to locate the dish rack that had been put in the shed years earlier. 


âBill,â Amy said. âIâm worried about Francis. She was going to drive up here today. I know under good conditions it is a long dayâs drive. She should be here by now.â


âWell, she may have gotten out of town later than planned. Thereâs not a lot of population between there and here. Iâm sure she is just taking her time. She had two or three different routes planned; she may have decided to take a longer route to avoid more people. Letâs give her more time before we get too worried.â Brad had come out of the shower, and taunted Amanda about how he had lots of water left over. Bradâs gloating came to a halt when he was informed he was helping wash dishes.


After everyone had showered, dishes were drying in the rack; the chick house warmed again, the family set down to start a movie. The lead in credits had hardly completed before Bill was asleep in his chair. The kidâs eyes were glued to the small screen while Amy was watching but not seeing as she was thinking about her siblings. Finally, Amy shook free of her brooding, and sent everyone to bed. She informed the kids they would be warming the chick house, set the alarm and joined Bill in bed. She lay there awake worrying about any number of problems that could be delaying Francis, and wondered if her brother was throwing a blackout party. _Thatâs the type of thing he would do at a time like this_. At least Francis had a plan to escape the city; her brother might just be a lost cause.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

A low growl issued from Maggie lying beside the bed woke Bill. He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock, the digital display blank and dark. _Oh, right_. He rose from the bed and standing at the window, pulled the blind enough to see out. Everything was dark, the moon not helping at all. He spoke softly to the dog, dressed quietly, and went to get his coat, hat and boots. Operating out of habit, he flicked the light switch on to no results. _Oh yeah, thatâs why Iâve got the flashlight on my nightstand that I forgot to grab_. He walked gingerly across the room to the coat rack and found his chore coat, put it on and checked the pocket for the flashlight kept there. Going by feel to his boots, he found them, pulled them on and went quietly out the back door, Maggie stayed by him growling softly. He rested his hand on the dogâs head, keeping her close by him. 


It wasnât as black once he was outside, but not by much, and he moved quietly without the light along the side of the house. A car was parked in front of his gate so he stopped where he was and slowly looked all around, but saw no movement. He was about to step away from the corner of the house when the carâs interior light came on and he recognized his sister in law. He turned his light on in hopes he wouldnât startle her and went out the walk gate to the car.


âBill?â she asked. âIs that you?â Her voice was high-pitched, nervous and tired all at the same time. âIâm sorry to disturb your sleep. I was just going to sleep in the car until you guys were up and around.â The relief was evident in her voice as she finished.


âYep, itâs me. Good to see you. How was the trip?â


âOh it was terrible getting out of Vegas. The power all went off just after dark on Halloween. I was going to leave the next morning so I had everything in the car ready to go. Just as I was getting ready for bed, I heard shooting. I went outside and it looked like a large part of the strip was on fire and there was lots shooting there. It was like the people all went crazy or something. So I decided to get out then instead of waiting for morning. I tried to get on I-15 so I could come here by the most direct route but it was blocked. I am so glad you had me draw out other ways to get out of town. I was so scared!â While she was relating the story, tears began flowing, and she wiped at her nose with a tissue. âI was able to work around to highway 95 and head north that way. Once I got out of town, I looked back. I think war had broken out at the casinos. Iâm afraid to think what it was like the next day. I tried to avoid any town with much size coming up so it took a lot longer.â 


âWell, Iâm glad you made it safe. Letâs get your car parked and find you a bed. His body told him it must be around 4:00AM and he wouldnât get any more sleep that night. After he had Francis settled in the spare bedroom and filled the sink with wash water, he excused himself and turned off Amyâs alarm clock. He stoked the fire back up and filled the coffee pot and set it on the stove and went back out into the cold pre-dawn. As he went to the chicken house, he scraped his fingers over the pickupâs windshield and came away with frost whitened glove tips. Once he was in the chick house, feeling the temperature change over the outside he was very pleased with the results of the heat system. Three hours since the kids had last burned the rocket stove, the chicks were still comfortable.


The aroma of coffee greeted Bill when he stepped in the house, accompanied by the wood stove heat. _Thereâs nothing like the comfortable heat of a wood fire._ Working by the light of the fire he hung his coat and slipped out of his boots. Carrying the coffee pot to the sink, he used the LED light to illuminate him as he removed the grounds, filled his cup and returned the pot to the stove, sitting it on the trivet at the cool corner of the stove top. As he sipped his coffee, he remembered his thyroid medication and took a pill with a large cup of water. Sitting the coffee on the table, he located a large binder, switched the light to the strip over the table and settled down to read while he drank, waiting for the first jolt of caffeine to hit him.


The binder was opened first to the âHumanureâ pamphlet, followed by the instructions on building a composting toilet. http://humanurehandbook.com/ http://www.compostjunkie.com/composting-toilet-plans.html After reading both over and comparing them, he came up with a plan for the dayâs activity. The real work would come in showing the completed project to everyone and convincing them of its necessity. _That ought to be fun._ With the plan done he switched his light off, drank the rest of the tepid coffee, dressed and went out to milk the goat. 

After chores he had to get to work hauling water. The hoop house and cold frame crops that had so recently been watered by hose would now be watered by packing buckets. The saving grace was that late season growing required much less water than main season gardening. The greenhouse water collection system would last for a few waterings, but he would soon be packing water there also, barring more rainfall. _Well, I had complained about getting soft sitting at the computer most of the day. I guess thatâs done._ The first hints of daylight were showing when he started carrying water, saving him using any artificial lights. He would have preferred to wait for the day to warm up, but felt driven to be doing something â accomplishing something.

Back and arms tired after multiple trips from the pump house to the plants, he went to the house for another cup of coffee. The house was quiet, everyone still deeply asleep so he was as quiet as he could be. He looked in on Amy, considered telling her Francis was there, but decided to let her sleep. She had gotten the best quality rest lately. Grabbing up the binder and his coffee cup, he instantly spilled down the front of his coat and had to stop and clean up the floor and his coat. _Slow down_, he told himself and was more careful as he went outside.

The garage doors were opened, the cars backed out and sawhorses set up for a temporary bench. It would have been much more comfortable working to keep the doors closed and start the fire. But the lack of light prevented that so Bill worked with a coat and light gloves. The solar trickle charger on the batteries for his cordless tools almost kept up with his use, he only needed to use the hand saw only a few times. At least the motion was different than pumping water and carrying buckets. _Now I can have other sore muscles._

The composting toilet was done in the late afternoon. Bill had been able to work mostly uninterrupted while the women talked. The kids listened in as long as their mom let them before being chased out. There was some pretty deep emotion between the two, especially discussing their brother. Bill thought it best to leave the two alone as much as possible.

He was cleaning up everything when his boss came down the driveway. âHi Tom, this is a surprise. What brings you here today?â 

âHey Bill. Iâve been making the rounds to everyoneâs house today. Iâve been letting them know that without electricity or phones, I have no way of operating the business. Unless it comes back, we are done. It just feels with all the recent events, this might turn out to be long term. Itâs not like we had been getting much business recently anyway. I didnât want anyone to show up at the shop and find a note on the door telling them they are unemployed. If we arenât back up on Monday, Iâll see if the state is trying to operate the job service office and see if there is any chance for unemployment. I really donât know what they will do. They are so tied up in the modern conveniences, doing everything electronically, I donât hold out a lot of hope.â

âI appreciate that Tom. I hate to see the business close. You made a nice place to work. It was always enjoyable. So, how are you doing with all this? Do you see anything you need?â

âNo, so far we have got along fine. We are pretty well set up, but donât tell anyone. And thatâs a nice toilet youâve got going there. I might have to throw one of those together.â

âHere, letâs have a seat and relax a bit and have a drink. Iâve been hitting it hard all day,â Bill said, setting out two lawn chairs, and excusing himself to the house to get two cups of tea.

Once Bill returned, the two men sat companionably and discussed the power outage and what it meant, reminisced about their years of working together, enjoying each otherâs company. After a time, Tom requested to see what all Bill had going on. They left the chairs and Bill showed his root cellar, the winter gardening efforts and the chick house heater. Bill didnât point out his puny solar power system. Tom had one that could provide for his household power needs.

 As they talked, Bill realized how much he would miss being around Tom if the power outage continued. Besides helping him out of a rough patch, Tom had become a very good friend and sounding block for a variety of things. The terrorists were forcing unwelcome changes on all of them. Bill recognized it but he didnât like it one bit. He contemplated again on the Bible passages about forgiveness and love. _Jesus, thatâs still pretty hard for me. I donât know that I can do it!_


----------



## biggkidd

Thanks Again good story.

Larry


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## Ozarks Tom

Note to self: Rocket stove, Rocks, Chicks

Thanks!


----------



## Bret F

Tom, 

Bear in mind I haven't actually tried this. I just "wrote myself into a corner" and thought awhile about it. I think and hope it will work, but unlike Bill, I really hope I'm not pushed into checking out it out unless I have back ups.  

I have been intrigued with the mass heater portions of rocket stoves since I learned about them. Soon, we hope to try one at my sister' place. 

Thanks everyone for reading.


Bret


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## Bret F

Chapter 19: Time of Inconvenience

_We're living in a time of inconvenience_
_Compassion fails me with this meanness in the air_
_Our city streets are filled with violence_
_So we close our doors to the city_
_And pretend that it's not there_

_Here I go again back out on these mean streets_
_The evil seems to cling to the soles of my feet_
_'Cuz I'm living in a time of inconvenience_
_At an inconvenient time _
_âTime of Inconvenienceâ Performed by Nanci Griffith_
_Written by Nanci Griffith_

The mounting pressure in his bladder woke Bill: _oh to be young_; he rolled over to look at his alarm clock; _try to get more sleep or get up and start the day_. He was met with a dark display. _Oh, right, I wonder how many days Iâll look for the time before it sinks in that the power is out._ He got up and used the plastic jar near his toilet, making a mental note to dump it on the leaves in the garden later. Going into the living room, he added wood to the fire and checked his watch in the firelight after locating a pair of reading glasses. _Yup, I miss electricity. _Fond memories of the fast brewing drip coffee maker came to him as he filled the percolator and set the pot on the stove.

During breakfast, the radio was turned on. The station had contacted the power company. The official word was that they had yet to determine the cause of the outage and correct the problem. The unofficial word was they were at a loss. Most local government offices would be closed until the power was restored. The water company had one pump running on back-up power. It was not enough to pressure the cityâs lines, but people could go there and fill water containers. Cell towers of course needed electricity. The hospitals were running, albeit with greatly reduced operations on back-up power. The station had made contact outside of their area. The news was grim. The power outage seemed to be nationwide, with only small pockets not affected. The statements echoed the local power company, âWe are working diligently to return to normal serviceâ. Law enforcement had âno commentâ. Rumors abounded that many officers had not reported in: choosing instead to stay with and protect their families. Riots had broken out in many large cities. Large sections were burning uncontrolled. After hearing that much of Los Angeles and Orange County were aflame, Bill switched the radio off. It was quiet at the table for a long time, Amy and Francis thinking about their brother.

After breakfast, they sat at the table discussing the day. Amy wanted to go by her office. After hearing the news, it was almost certain they were closed but she insisted she had to go in to verify it. She also wanted to be certain the school was shut down. Again, it was a near certainty it was closed, but if there was any chance at all of it being open, even on a limited basis, she had to know. 

Bill loaded the kids into the car and drove to the school. A few cars were entering the parking lot, a few more leaving, with kids still inside. As he neared the front of the school, he saw the principal and some teachers talking to occupants of the cars ahead of him. After each talk, the car drove away, kids still inside. When Billâs turn came, he was told âWe wonât be having school. We donât have light or heat, so we will be closed until the power is restored.â

âOk, but what about books? Itâs not that I canât keep these guys busy, but it would be nice if we could continue their schooling, even on a limited base.â He heard a groan in the back set and thought he heard an âOh Dad!â

The teacher talking to them thought about it a moment, and said, âYes, I think we can get their books. Thatâs a great idea. Iâll have to start suggesting it to everyone else from now on. Why donât you go park and one of us will take you in.â 

As Bill pulled into a parking space he definitely heard the complaints. âBut Dad, nobody else is going to be doing schoolwork. Why do we have to?â 

âLast time I checked, no other kids live at our house or they would be doing school work too. But Iâll let you skip schoolwork today; the chicken house needs cleaned and Iâve got too much to do to get to it. You guys can get it done in no time working together.â

âBut I wanted to do my social studies work. Really, I can do school work.â 

Bill smiled as he got out of the car and took his re-useable shopping bags from the trunk to put the books in. School work would always be better than scooping chicken poop. The kids followed along, greeted the teacher and followed him into the darkened hallways, illuminated by the beam of a flashlight. They went first to Bradâs desk and filled a shopping bag with his textbooks, binders and journal, then went to Amandaâs locker and emptied most of its contents into a second bag.


*****​
âUhâ¦Mr. Moserâ¦.sir.â

Bill turned from the shelf at the back of the garage to look at a pale, gangly teenager standing at the open door. _Wow, that boy needs to get outside more_. âYes, what can I do for you?â He took the box of canning jars down and set them where he could reach them easy later. The time was quickly approaching when he would have to can everything that was in the freezer.

âWell, sir, my mom was wondering if you have any extra water we could have. Weâre all out. The people beside us donât have any to spare. They thought you might.â

Bill looked piercingly at the boy and thought. _Dang, Iâm sure everybody is running out of water; why didnât I think of that?_ âSo have you gone through all of the water in your water heater?â

âSir,â¦.our power is out so our pump isnât working. We canât get the water.â

âMy name is Bill, not sir; Iâm not much on formal titles. And you are?â Bill thought he had seen the boy go by in a car a few times but didnât recall ever seeing him out with any of the other kids.

âUhâ¦.my name is Mark, sirâ¦.er, I mean Bill.â

âOk Mark, Itâs a pleasure to meet you,â Bill said as he held out his hand to shake. âWhere do you live?â

Mark told him and Bill recalled that he had never met the people in that house. There was never an answer to the door when he rang the bell or knocked. 

âHang tough here for a bit while I tell the wife where I am going.â Amy had returned home after confirming that yes, her office was closed. She was in the house overseeing the kids while they did schoolwork. âBy the way,â Bill looked pointedly at the boyâs empty hands. âHow did you plan on getting the water home?â Mark instantly reddened at the comment but didnât have a response. 

Before going in the house, Bill pointed Mark to his hand truck and got his hand tire pump off the hook and handed it to him. âYou know how to use one of these?â

âNo sir, er, um Bill.â

One wheel of the hand truck was always flat. It needed patched but had been low on Billâs priority list. After showing Mark how to use the pump he went to the house and told Amy what he was doing and went back out. In his storage shed he got out a six gallon water jug from the shelf of camping gear and handed it to Mark and led the way to his pump house. Once inside, he pointed at the hand pump and asked âDo you know what that is?â

âNo sâ¦. Bill.â

âThatâs a hand water pump. Take the lid off that jug and put the opening under the spout and raise and lower the handle there.â 

Mark filled the water jug, spilling about a half-gallon on the cement floor in the process. âWow, thatâs cool! I wish our well had something like this.â He put the jug on the hand truck as directed and they went out the gate together, Mark pulling the hand truck after Bill had walked right past it on the way to open the gate. 

âSo where do you go to school Mark?â Bill asked as they walked down the road. 

âI homeschool.â

âReally? So, I take it your mother is at home? What grade are you in?â

âIâm in the eighth this year. My mom used to be a school teacher before we moved here; she couldnât find a full time teaching job, so she decided if she was going to be home, I could stay home with her.â


----------



## Bret F

âSo what do you do for fun? Do you have any hobbies, play sports or music?â

âI like to read and build things, you know like models and the Lego kits, and things like that. My dad has been trying to teach me some computer stuff; heâs into I.T., but I think that stuff is so boring. I like to hold pieces in my hands and figure out how everything goes together, you know, kinda like putting together a 3-D puzzle. 

âI havenât been playing sports lately, but I did play soccer for a few years. I wanted to play Lacrosse this year, but my mom thought I might get hurt. She said it is too rough. She was especially worried I might hurt my hands because I have been playing piano for a long time.â 

They had arrived at Markâs house and while going up the walkway Bill mentally cursed himself. _Thatâs what you get for forming first impressions. Heâs not as big a loser as you thought just looking at him._ _Please forgive me father._ Mark opened the front door. âHey mom, Mr. Moser is here.â

A woman entered the room and Mark introduced them âMom, this is Mr. um, Bill Moser. Bill, this is my mom Leslie Williams.â

âItâs a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Williams. Mark tells me you are out of water.â 

âYes, we only had a little bit when the power went off and itâs all gone now.â

âYou know, thereâs a lot stored in your pipes that you will need to get out before it freezes as well as a large amount in the water heater. There should be a pressure tank somewhere too with a lot of water. Have you used any of that?â

âWe havenât, and donât have any idea how to go about it.â

Bill asked to be shown the water heater and showed Mark and Leslie the drain valve. Mark then took him to the well casing. It was capped in the yard with a submersible pump. Looking at the most likely path, they went into the garage and found the pressure tank. It also had a drain valve so the family could utilize that water. Bill pointed out a fitting on the pipes between the tank and the line going to the house. âIf we pull that plug, I have another plug that we can put in there you can hook my tire pump to. Pump it up with a lot of pressure and open the faucet in the sink and you can get a lot of water out still. Make sure you catch it all. Do that with all of the faucets to get as much as you can. Besides getting water, youâll be giving room in the pipes so the remaining water will have enough expansion room not to break the water lines if they freeze.

âSee this,â he pointed to some pipes and fittings. âThis is for your sprinklers. This part stops any water in the lines from back-flowing and contaminating your well water. He turned off the valves leading to the sprinklers then pointed to another plug in an elbow. âThatâs where you hook in to blow out the lines. If you pull that plug and put in a fitting you can hook to air, you can blow the sprinkler line too. Iâll do mine today and show you how I do it,â he told Mark. He addressed Mark and Leslie both, âYou can continue to use the jug for the time being. Mrs. Williams, I have a hand powered pump mounted on my well so you can get water whenever you need it. But there is a cost.â 

Mrs. Williams looked worried when Bill mentioned a cost. âWe donât really have any money. We always used a card and did all of our banking online.â

âIâm sorry, thatâs not exactly what I had in mind. I want to borrow Mark for a while. Iâm guessing a lot of the neighborhood is in the same fix as you. I want Mark to go around and ask everyone to come to my garage at 5:00 today, your family included. Weâll discuss water and I am going to make my pump available and gather up some more information to give everyone. So, do you think I can use him?â

âOf course, you can use him for that. By the way, call me Leslie.â 

âAnd Iâm Bill. Iâll see you and your husband later.â

After telling Mark more about his plan and what he should say, he asked Mark to stop by and let him know the neighborsâ response when he was done, then getting his hand truck, started for home. Instead of going straight home, he went to see the neighbor across from his house, Frank. Frank had a garage full of storage food and also had a hand pump on his well. He had once before offered Bill water during a power outage. Bill hoped he would be as generous with the rest of the neighbors. Frank readily agreed and said he could come over for the get together. Bill wasnât going to tell the neighbors about his Dad and brotherâs hand pumps. Each of them had a lot of storage in their pump houses that no one else need know about. As it was, the two wells with pumps should work out.

Instead of getting started canning the freezer food, Bill went to the box of materials he had printed off from years of internet surfing. He located the instructions on making a well bucket for people to draw water out of their own well. There were many other options, but this was one he had printed. He found the paper work on making a sand filter. A drain ditch ran near the neighborhood, and in case anyone chose to utilize it, he hoped they would filter it first. He had information on making a solar water distiller. Even though he would offer his well for use, he still wanted everyone to have as much information as possible on making water potable. 

About the time he had everything ready Mark returned and gave him the rundown of his talks with the neighbors. There were a few that were not at home that Mark said he would try once more before the meeting time. 

âThanks Mark. Now if you are up to helping me a while, Iâll show you what to do with your sprinkler lines. This would certainly be easier with an air compressor, but I donât have a generator, so we will use Armstrong power. I always wanted a generator but just never bought one.â 

âSirâ¦er I mean Bill, whatâs Armstrong power?â

Chuckling as he grasped Markâs upper arm, Bill told him âThis is the arm thatâs going to get strong with all the work.â As he let go, the back door opened, Amanda and Brad coming outside.

âDad what can we do to help you? Mom is harder on us than our teachers so we had to escapeâ Amanda stated while Brad agreed. âWhoâs he?â she asked looking at Mark.

After introductions were made, Bill went about gathering up tools and parts. âWe need to blow out the sprinkler lines, but I donât want the water wasted, so you can all learn how to do it while you help me.â He indicated the tool box for one of them to grab. He went to the last sprinkler in the first line, dug it out and replaced the sprinkler head with a straight coupler attached to a flexible hose. The end of the hose was put in another of the camping jugs. âBrad, you stay here and keep the hose in the jug, and if it gets full, holler at us and weâll start on another. Amanda, Mark, you two come with me.â He led them to the control box and showed them how to manually open each individual line, then took them to the pump house. He changed the fitting on the line from a quick connect to a screw in valve stem and hooked on the hand tire pump. âOK, now start pumping. It will put pressure in the line. Iâll go open the line at the box and your air pressure will push the water out where Brad is.â

As each line was drained, Bill had the kids switch off so each one was familiar with every step of the job. After the sprinkler lines were done, he walked them through blowing out the lines in the house. They werenât totally blown out, but at least damage should be minimal if the waterlines froze. Once they were all done, he asked âSo Mark, do you think you can do this to yours?â

âI think so. Since you showed me the fitting to change, Iâm pretty sure I can do it.â

âGood. I thought you guys all caught on. Amanda, Brad, you guys go with Mark and help him out. Iâll put the sprinklers and dirt back here and take the water in.â He watched the three kids decide what they needed to take with them, only adding they might need a pipe wrench, thanked them for their help and wished them luck. He added that he would be around if they needed him, but expressed his confidence in the three of them to work through it.

As the neighbors came that evening, Billâs thoughts were confirmed that many of them were without or nearly without water. It was a grateful group after he gave them the print outs and access to his hand pump as well as Frankâs. Although he didnât have any printouts on rain catchment systems, he showed them the basic set up he had at the greenhouse. The three kids were pleased when Bill volunteered them to show anyone how to drain their lines that needed the help. The show of faith was a great morale booster. Mark already seemed more confident than he had that morning and he Brad and Amanda were hitting it off very well.


----------



## Bret F

Before the neighbors left for home, Bill asked them something else. âAre any of you familiar with the rule of threeâs?â When no one said they knew what that was, he told them âIn a nutshell, it goes like this: in extreme conditions you canât survive more than three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water and three weeks without food. We are here talking about water, now, so for the time being, we are fine with the first two. But with winter coming on, that could change. I encourage everyone to be willing to tell someone if you need help and be ready to help your neighbor out. We might not have the answers and resources to cope with everything on our own, but working together we can do much better.â

Every one left except for Mrs. Williams and a large man with her that Bill surmised must be her husband. The man came up to Bill and introduced himself as Mike Williams. âMr. Moser, Iâm very grateful to you for what you did for us today. I guess we arenât very well set up for not having electricity.â

âCall me Bill. There are a lot of people not set up right for this. Those bas, er, excuse me, people knew how to hurt us and did a mighty fine job of it. Thatâs a good boy you have there, heâs a real quick study. He was good help today. The kids said they got your lines drained and a lot of water available to you. It was a good exercise for them to go through, working it together. 

âYou have any other problems, you just have to ask. I meant what I said to the group. If we help each other out, it will be better for everyone.â Bill noticed the kids had been gone for some time. When he looked around, they came out of the goat barn, Mark carrying the bucket.

âWe let him gather the eggs and taught him how to milk,â Amanda said when she saw the adults watching. âHe even got some of the milk in the bucketâ. All three busted out laughing at that. _Must have been pretty funny_, Bill thought. _I guess you had to be there_. It always was interesting when someone tried milking for the first time. Amanda led the way into the house, the boys following her. A few minutes later they came back out, a Mason jar full of fresh milk and a carton of eggs. 

âIâm giving Mark the milk and eggs so he can learn what real food tastes like,â Amanda said. âOf course heâll probably be like everyone thatâs used to the tasteless store stuff and think something is wrong with it.â

_Thatâs hilarious, since she doesnât exactly like the milk and the eggs have to be scrambled just right_. âSo did you tell him about keeping the milk cool and not shaking it?â

âYes, he said he will put it on the garage floor by the door. The cement is pretty cold there in the shade.â

As Bill walked them to the gate, he told them he planned on canning some of the stuff from his freezer the next day so it wouldnât go bad. Leslie was very interested in learning the procedure and they made plans for her and Mark to join them. Bill bid them goodbye at the gate and wondered how many other people were out there without water, and how many were going to get sick from drinking whatever water was available. It was a very sobering thought.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bred, i was watching...for more.:dance:


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## puddlejumper007

oops, i meant Bret..


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## Bret F

Puddlejumper, That's ok, I've been called lots worse, probably will be again.


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## Wren - TN

Thanks for keeping this story going. I'm really enjoying it...and learning things, too.


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## biggkidd

Thanks again

Larry


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## Bret F

Chapter 20: Diamond and Stone

_Some days are diamonds some days are stones_
_Sometimes the hard times won't leave me alone_
_Sometimes a cold wind blows a chill in my bones_
_Some days are diamonds some days are stones._

_Now the face that I see in my mirror_
_More and more is a stranger to me_
_More and more I can see there's a danger_
_In becoming what I never thought I'd be_

_Some days are diamonds some days are stones_
_Sometimes the hard times won't leave me alone_
_Sometimes a cold wind blows a chill in my bones_
_Some days are diamonds some days are stones_
_âDiamond and Stoneâ Performed by John Denver_
_Written by Dick Feller_

Following breakfast, Bill pedaled his bicycle to his parents to make sure everything was going fine. A cold drizzle of rain was falling, with some snow mixed in. As he snugged his coat tighter around his neck he wondered how the neighborhood would deal with the cold. A number of them had wood stoves and well stocked wood piles, but there were more that didnât.

He had listened to the limited news coverage before he left the house. It was more of the same. No answers on the power problem. Oil refineries had been destroyed or were burning out of control. Food warehouses were destroyed; distribution was becoming a problem. Big cities were in turmoil. He hadnât even waited for the rest of the family to get out of bed before shutting the radio off.

Bobâs pickup had been parked at the folkâs house the previous day and Bill made the assumption Bob would take care of anything that arose. If not for their age, he knew his parents could cope with the situation better than anyone else he knew. Their modest upbringings were deeply ingrained in them. Both of their families had to struggle during the depression.

âHowâre your freezers holding up?â he asked after he had exchanged greetings with his parents. âI see water dripping from my doors, so Iâm going to start canning the stuff today. The cool temps arenât enough to keep everything frozen.â

âWe ran the generator for a while yesterday and got everything cold again. If we donât get power in a few days weâll can ours too. We also ran the pump for a while. The hot shower felt pretty good.â 

âI know youâre nervous about pressure canners, but they donât blow up now days. All of mine have blow-out valves if the pressure gets too high. So if, no, when you decide to can the stuff, we can do it without that worry,â Bill told them.

âWeâll hold on for a while longer. I donât want to run the generator forever though. Letâs just see what happens in the next few days.â

âDo you need anything else? Itâs looked like Bob has been around a lot.â Bill noticed his mom was quieter and more pale than normal. _I wonder if sheâs going to tell us whatâs wrong_. He knew Bob took her to regular doctor appointments but whatever was wrong, she was keeping it secret from the rest of the family.

âNo, weâre not helpless yet, and Bob has been doing whatever we canât do. Alan is going to set us up with a battery charger and one of his radios. He said he was going to get one to you too. Then we can call if something comes up.â

âThatâs a good idea. Well, I better get down there and get started. Itâs going to be a lot of work to get everything done.â As he went home, the rain was falling harder; the temperature hovering just above freezing. _Iâm going to appreciate keeping the stove hot today._

The kids, with help from Mark were carrying boxes of jars into the house when Bill parked his bicycle. Leslie was in the house getting acquainted with Amy and Francis. He overheard them talking about home-school curriculum before he went back outside. 

After setting up the propane camp stove, Bill brought in a box of pork chops and roasts and laid the packages out on the counter. He planned to cut the bones out of all the chops, further trim away any fat and then can the meat in the same method he had done the elk meat. With the wood stove burning hot, his plan was to bring the canners to pressure on the propane stove then switch to the wood stove for the long processing. _That ought to be fun to maintain proper pressure_. Everyone jumped in to help and soon they had two canners on the wood stove and two more ready to go on. Lunch was green beans from the freezer that had partially thawed before being heated, a small salad and fried pork bones, the remaining meat coming off after they were cooked. Amanda had taken Mark and Leslie to the greenhouse and picked some fresh greens and radishes while she showed them what was growing.

After lunch, they continued canning, including the bacon. A document was in the canning book Bill had printed from Backwoods Home Magazine; âCanned Bacon Roll Your Ownâ by Enola Gay. It stepped them through a process the author had used successfully. The smell upon opening the canner reminded Bill of opening a can of Spam. _Iâm ok with Spam but I sure like fresh bacon better_.

âI wish we had a wood stove,â Leslie said, looking longingly at the stove with the canners sitting on it. 

âWhat do you have for heat?â Amy asked her.

âWithout power, we donât have any heat. We have just been wearing more and more clothes as itâs gotten colder.â

âWhat about cooking, how do you do that?â Amy continued her inquiry.

âWe have been using a little camping stove my dad gave me a long time ago. But itâs about out of fuel. I donât know what we will do after that.â

âBill,â Amy said, âAre you hearing this? Weâve got to help them. They canât go through winter without heat or cooking.â 

âOh no,â Leslie said. âI didnât tell you that to give you more work to do. Weâll get by. It just wonât be like we are at a five star hotel. Thereâs no need to trouble yourselves.â

âNonsense!â answered Amy. âBill is good at things like that and will be glad to help, right Bill?â

Bill remembered one of the den leaders from scouts telling how his wife had âvolunt-ordered him as the new leader and looked up from the meat he was trimming to the women and told Amy, âYes Dear.â _But I really will be glad to help._


*****​


----------



## Bret F

After looking over the Williamâs home the following day, Bill showed a folder to them. It contained everything he had gathered on rocket stove mass heaters. After going through all of the information, Mike said, âThis looks good, but I donât have any of this stuff.â

âI have what we need,â Bill answered, âExcept for the cob mass; we would have to make that.â He pointed to one picture. âIf we do one like this you can use this surface for cooking as well as heating the house. It wonât be like your electric kitchen stove, but with practice, youâll figure it out.â 

âWell, I just donât know how I could pay you for everything. I donât have money now that electronic banking doesnât work.â

âYou were at my place the other night. I meant what I said about working together and helping each other out. Iâm not asking for payment, but I may ask for help now and then. So shall we get started?â

Bill recognized that Mike and Leslie wanted to talk about everything so he took Mark aside, giving them privacy to discuss the situation. âDo you have any extra blankets, or are you using them all? If you had more you could put them over the windows to help insulate against the cold.â

âWe might have more, but I think we are using all we have. We even brought in the sleeping bags and have them on the beds now.â

Mike and Leslie had finished their discussion and Mike cleared his throat and told Bill, âWe can start whenever you want, Bill. Iâm just so grateful to you, that Iâll work totally on your schedule.â

âThen letâs get going on it. Actually, Iâve wanted to build one of these and see how well it works ever since I found them on the net. Our living room is kind of small for it and we already have the stove, but yours will be perfect. I have a couple of small ones Iâm happy with but I really want to see a house heater.â 

They went back to Billâs house and started gathering material after Bill showed them the smaller working models he used in the chicken house and green house. Mark and Leslie excused themselves after that, mentioning schoolwork. They went into Billâs house and soon Leslie and Amy had all three kids at the table with open books in front of them. Francis was not to be seen. She had been up through the night continuing the canning process. Everything was in jars just waiting to be processed when the rest of the family had retired for the night. Francis was used to staying up much later and getting up later than the rest so she could stay more alert through the night than anyone else. It was also a help to her when Brad and Amanda each took their turns getting up and heating the little chicken house. The final canner load was currently on the stove. 

The garden cart and wheelbarrow were loaded with fire brick, a metal tank and ducting. A barrel was rolled to the front of the garage and Bill got a hammer and chisel and handed them to Mike. âThe end needs cut out of this first, and then weâll burn a fire in it out here to cook the paint off. We donât want those fumes in your house.â

Mike wasnât sure how to start, so Bill got him going; stressing that it was hard on the knuckles if he missed the head of the chisel. _At least I sure didnât like it the last one I cut off_. With Mike pounding away, Bill found a bag of perlite and added to the load. Once the top was off the barrel and a fire roaring inside, Bill went to the house. He requested that the school lessons be done for the day; he wanted the kids to go the neighborâs homes that didnât have obvious heat and invite them to see the heater being built. He also wanted the kids to be part of it.

Both moms agreed so the kids headed one direction while Bill and Mike went the other. Over the next few hours a few neighbors came in and watched and looked over Billâs information and plans. After getting things in motion, Bill encouraged Mike and the kids to do most of the work. _Iâve already build the small ones, and thereâs nothing like actually doing the work. _

With the rocket stove and ducting in place and ready for the mass, they took Bills pickup and wheelbarrow and drove to a spot along the irrigation canal where they could access a clay bank. They got what they thought was enough, added one more wheel barrow load, then went to a sand deposit and got an equal amount. Back at Billâs house, they wheeled out a large amount of the accumulated rock that had come from the garden over time. _Well, hereâs a use for some of those dang rocks_. They added some straw and returned to Mikeâs house. The kids had a great time mixing the cob while the men put the rocks in the forms, packing them with cob.

With the kids mixing and packing cob, the men returned to the canal and cut a dead cottonwood tree and hauled it to Mikeâs house where they cut and split the wood to fit the firebox. On the third day of work, Mike struck the match for the first fire. The house was soon warming up and the pot of water on top was quickly warm enough for everyone to clean up. The cob would take some time to dry completely but would store a lot of heat in the meantime. Amy and Francis surprised everyone by bringing a meal they had prepared in celebration. 

As Billâs family was making their exit for home Leslie hugged Amy and Bill her eyes red and swollen. âI just donât know how to thank you. This means so much and we can never repay what you have done for us.â

Bill and Amy both assured them no repayment was necessary. âLike we told you before, friends help each other out. Youâll have your chance.â And they bid goodbye for the night.

During the night, the temperature dropped sharply. Maggieâs whines woke Bill at some time and he rose up, glanced reflexively towards the dark clock then felt for the dog and patted her. She continued to whine, so he got up and looked around and then looked out the window. A yellow glow filled the sky down the street. Dressing quickly, Bill woke Amy, told her what was happening and hurried out of the house. A neighborâs house was fully engulfed in flame. _Thank you God that itâs not Mikeâs house. _Then after he reflected on his own thoughts; _Iâm sorry God; I was thinking of myself and helping build that heat system, maybe being responsible for a house fire. Please forgive me. I ask for the safety and well-being of the people that live there._ 

People were standing in the yard watching the house being consumed by the flames. They told Bill that once it got too cold, they built a fire in their garage to try to get warm. After they fell asleep, something, they werenât sure what, had ignited and the fire spread. They had gotten out with the clothes they wore, nothing more. Without phones and 911, no fire department could be called and the house was a total loss. Devastated, the couple drove away at daybreak to go to the womanâs parentâs house. 

Following the fire, the story of Mike and Leslieâs new heat system spread and a number of neighbors were soon asking for Billâs help. He had two wood stoves in his piles: one that had previously been in his house and another that had been given to him. Sometimes he was as bad as his dad about getting rid of something once he had it, much to Amyâs annoyance. They were both given away and set up in homes that already had triple wall chimney through the ceiling and attic; they had taken out the wood stoves because of the extra work and mess. Six more rocket stove mass heaters were put together. Two houses on the street were left without heat. The occupants of each were moving into the homes of other family members to weather the crisis.
*****​


----------



## Bret F

The news seemed to be the same each day, so Billâs radio was turned on less and less. One day, though, there was something new. Three full weeks after the lights had gone dark, little food was available at the grocery stores and what was available could only be acquired with cash. And cash was a very rare item. The government had long had a commodity food program. They were now going to make that available to the general public. The state had been able to print out the information from all of the citizens that were in the tax records or had previously received state aid. Distribution outlets were relayed to the populace by the lone radio station working in the area. No mention was made how they were getting the information out in other areas. 

As Bill contemplated not getting his familyâs allotment, he noticed a box Amy had filled to send to the Williams household. They had been sending food over since Leslie had helped them with the canning. While not wanting any of the commodity food himself, he saw the effect feeding extra mouths was already having. He decided he would take Francis and get what he could and hold it for anyone that came to him needing fed. The nearest distribution would be the following day at the nearby Winco store.

With the Wagon dragging along, Bill and Francis walked first to the Williams house where he was joined by Mike and Mark for the walk. Bill had considered slipping his pistol in his pocket but decided against it. _Really, the food isnât worth anyone getting hurt over, but I donât want to see any innocents hurt either._ Instead they would be in a large group, relying on safety by numbers. Bob fell in with them when they got to his parentâs house, and they were soon joined by Alan and Jim. 

It was a welcome sight, at least to Bill, to see the National Guard vehicles surrounding the semi-trucks. A long line of people were already waiting, so Billâs group fell in with them, waiting their turn. It appeared that most of the people had walked in, although a few vehicles were parked nearby. _Most gas tanks must be getting pretty low by now._ Once they were being helped, Francis was able to get on the list with Billâs family. She had placed a file box in her car at Las Vegas that contained all off her important papers, including tax returns. A mobile generator was running nearby, a clerk entering all of Francisâ information into a laptop computer.

The whole process ran smoothly but there were problems to iron out. Even with the problems, most everyone present was just thankful to have food and were very appreciative. The only complaints Bill heard were from some people that looked like they were having tough withdrawal symptoms as well as a lack of wash water and soap. _I just hope and pray each distribution can run this well. _ Those types would need to be watched out for, especially by people that didnât appear as formidable as Billâs group. The food distributions were planned for every two weeks at the same locations. 

They made the trip back home, parting with Alan, Jim and Bob, and then walked on towards the Williams house. At the last pasture before their home, a large wild rose was growing along the fence row. Bill asked them how they were set up for vitamins. Mike told him that he thought they were out, so Bill pulled a rose hip and began to tell them of all the vitamin C they contained and how he prepared them as a tea. 

âI use dried hips that I put in a pot of water that has boiled and let it steep for ten to fifteen minutes. Then I drink it.â He then pointed out a nearby pine tree and told of its use for tea. âTake a clump of clean pine needles and put in a mug of just-boiled water. Let it steep until the needles start to turn a lighter shade. Although I prefer the rose hips, the needles make a refreshing, vitamin C rich tea too. Donât boil the water with the hips or needles in it. Vitamin C is heat sensitive, so just use water coming off a boil. You can also add a little honey or lemon juice if you have it. Thatâs just a little sample of natureâs vitamin store that drug companies wish none of us knew about.â Mark stated that he would come back with a bag and pick some of the hips and start using them right away. 

The rest of the day was spent canning again. Cal had decided it was time to take care of the freezer contents. Alan and his boys had taken care of all of theirs the previous week. Carla had brought out boxes from her freezer and Bill and Amy had helped her get everything canned she wanted to save.

As they sat at the table for dinner, Bill thanked the Lord not only for the food they were receiving, but for the populace being fed. He knew that desperate people resorted to desperate means. The activity in the large cities was a testament to that. At least for the time being, the people in his area were fed and somewhat content despite the troubles. He prayed that society could hold together and not deteriorate further. âPlease Lord, donât allow the terrorists to be the victors here!â


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret, i have been watching off an on all day for this....:clap:


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## biggkidd

Another good segment! :thumb:

Larry


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## Ozarks Tom

Thanks again, besides entertained, I always learn something.


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## puddlejumper007

watching for more.:cute:


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## biggkidd

puddlejumper007 said:


> watching for more.:cute:


Me TOOOOOOOOOO

Larry


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## Bret F

[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4iEdMMjqdA[/ame]


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## Bret F

Chapter 21: Get Me Through December

_How pale is the sky that brings forth the rain_
_As the changing of seasons prepares me again_
_For the long bitter nights and the wild winter's day_
_My heart has grown cold my love stored away_
_My heart has grown cold my love stored away._

_I've been to the mountain left my tracks in the snow_
_Where souls have been lost and the walking wounded go_
_I've taken the pain no girl should endure_
_But faith can move mountains_
_Faith can move mountains of that I am sure._

_Just get me through December_
_A promise I'll remember_
_Get me through December_
_So I can start again._

_No divine purpose brings freedom from sin_
_And peace is a gift that must come from within_
_I've looked for the love that will bring me to rest_
_Feeding this hunger beating strong in my chest_
_Feeding this hunger beating strong in my chest_

_Get me through December_
_A promise I'll remember_
_Get me through December_
_So I can start again._
_âGet me through Decemberâ Performed by Alison Kraus_
_Written by Gordie Sampson and Fred Lavery_

The approaching Thanksgiving Day would mark a full month without power and no end in sight. Bob no longer went to his own house. The daily strain was showing on their parents. Bob decided the time had come they should not be alone. He had moved everything important to his parentâs house and again occupied the bedroom of his youth. The family had helped him load what he was taking for the move. It was ironic the marks of the modern world that were left in place while they made sure to empty the wood shed. Carla and her husband had also left their home and moved in with their daughter Mellissa, having all four Moser siblings on the same street again. 

They were still keeping Billâs motherâs health problems secret, but Bill could see her weakening each time he visited. He encouraged Amanda and Brad to see her often; playing the fiddle, guitar and mandolin for her. She had always loved to hear the kids play; she rarely failed to tell her friends about Amanda competing in the National Old Time Fiddle Contest; beaming with pride when Brad was finally able to accompany her. Although she never wanted her picture taken, Bill made sure there were charged batteries in the cameras and got as many photos and short videos of her with the kids as she would allow. Someday the kids could look at those and cherish the time they had with Grandma.

Each day Amanda and Brad picked up their school packs and went to the Williams house. Leslie, with Amyâs blessing was not one to let education lag just because of a power outage. After the first week, six more neighbor kids began joining them. Many days, Amy went with the kids to help Leslie out. One morning while they were getting ready, Amanda and Brad picked up their instrument cases. At Billâs questioning look, Amanda told him, âWell, music education is important too. Mrs. Williams is going to include it and wanted to see what we could do. She is thinking of some songs that everyone can participate in.â They seemed happy about working on something new, instead of the same old songs.


*****​

While they were working on fitting a third pickup with a gasifier unit with their Dad, Bob and Bill were discussing Thanksgiving dinner. Despite the problems, they wanted to make the day as traditional as possible. They had canned the turkeys that had begun to thaw in the freezers so there would be no whole roast turkey for dinner. Chickens were available, wild turkeys around Bobâs cabin and a huge wild goose population in the valley. The geese stayed year round, riling golfers and park users with all of their excrement as they grazed. When the temperatures dropped, the easy food dwindled and the geese started flying to surrounding fields to forage. The brothers decided upon goose, if they would cooperate and come in to the close fields.

The following morning as Bill was going to his parents to work on the gasifier, he heard a welcome sound. A flock of geese was coming in and set their wings to land behind the Williams house. He turned around to go back and see if they would be in range. As he walked by a neighborâs house the door opened and a distraught man walked out and called to him. âBill,â he said in a very shaky voice. âCould you come here? I donât know what to do.â

Puzzled at Martinâs state, Bill turned and went to the house. Up close, Bill could see Martin shaking. âWhat is it Martin? Whatâs wrong?â

Rather than answer, Martin sobbed and turned back to the door and entered the house. Even more puzzled, Bill followed, having a hard time seeing in the dark house. _Iâd like to open some curtains and get some light in here._ He followed down the dark hall to a bedroom door, just slightly lighter. The odors that assailed his nostrils warned him instantly that something was amiss. He pulled off his gloves and fished his LED flashlight out of his pocket and shined it around the room. Martin was slumped over the bed, his hand grasping the white hand of his wife, sobbing uncontrollably. Bill directed the light to her face and studied her; she was not breathing. He reached out to her other arm; it was cold and stiff. Trying to sort everything out in his mind, Bill reached out for Martinâs shoulder. âWhat happened, Martin?â

âShe ran out of insulin. We just couldnât get anymore. The drugstores that are running either donât have any or wouldnât sell it. The hospitals are out.â At the end, Bill could barely understand through the sobs.

âWow Martin, thatâs tough. Iâm so sorry for your loss. Coleen was such a wonderful woman and I just loved to hear her Irish accent.â

Martin sniffled and raised his head slightly, âYes my Irish lass. She always said her father was quite the joker, God rest his soul, to name her Coleen. She told me that if I ever found another woman she would have to be an Australian named Sheila.â 

âI really enjoyed hearing her sing the old folk songs,â Bill said. âI especially liked to hear her singing Will you go Lassie and the Fields of Athenry. I could feel the pain in her voice as she sang of the prison ship leaving.â

âWhen she sang that song, it reminded her of her own leaving home and that she never saw her grandparents again. It was painful to her but she never wanted to forget.â 

After a few minutes of quiet Bill asked, âWhat do you want to do Martin? Iâll help you with anything you want.â

Martin turned his tear streaked face to Bill, his words coming out in hiccups as he talked. âShe loved her rose bushes. I want to put her beneath them.â 

âWe can do that. Why donât I get Amy and she and her sister can prepare Coleen for burial. Iâll get some tools to dig with.â Martin didnât answer or look up when Bill stood up straight and left the room.

At home, Bill told the women about Coleen and asked them if they would prepare her. Although reluctant they agreed to do it. He radioed Bob to inform him what was going on, then radioed Mikeâs house to speak with Amanda. Leslie told him, âAmanda and Mark said they were working on a surprise and would be back later. Do you want to talk to Brad?â

âNo, Iâll just tell you. Coleen Jones passed away last night. We are going to lay her to rest in her back yard. Letâs plan on services in four hours. Can you and your group spread the word please?â

âSure, we can do that. Do you need anything else?â

âI could probably use some help at digging, and Martin needs a shoulder to lean on right now. Amy and Francis are going to prepare Coleen.â

âOkay, Iâll see what we can doâ, Leslie finished and Bill left to get his shovel, pick and digging bar.

It wasnât long before first Bob and then Mike joined Bill and the three men took turns digging. _Why canât my ground be as free of rocks as this _Bill thought as he took a break and sipped at a bottle of water.


----------



## Bret F

âHey Dad, surprise!â two voices said at once. The men all looked up to see Amanda and Mark come around the house, each one carrying two geese by the neck and a twenty two rifle. âYou know weâve been practicing shooting and like just before school started we saw those geese fly in and decided they would make a good Thanksgiving dinner. We snuck up the drain ditch until we were like really close and crawled into a bush where we were hid and could still shoot. We did just like you taught me; we had a solid rest and breathed even and squeezed the trigger real soft. We shot together at some on the edges. After the second time they flew. Iâm glad you put the scopes on. We made head shots. And yes, we made sure it was safe behind them so the bullets wouldnât hurt anything else.â Amanda finished in a rush, looking nervously at the men. 

Amazed at what he had just heard, Bill was nonetheless irritated she had taken the guns without permission, but proud of her initiative. Besides the fact with his weakening eyesight, she was now a better shot than he was. _How to proceed here_? âIâm proud of you for seeing an opportunity and taking care of it, but there are rules about the guns. You need to remember and follow them. Weâll discuss it later, alright? Now you need to make sure the rifles arenât loaded and clean them. And you need to get the birds taken care of too.â She and Mark started walking away, some of the elation gone from their steps when Bill, unable to keep the proud smile off his face said, âOh Amanda, Mark, good job.â The two started going again, buoyed by Billâs final comment. _Thatâs pretty cool. Hopefully Amyâs too occupied to chew her out._


*****​

The burial ceremony was short; a nice prayer given by Mike, the kids played Irish Washerwoman in honor of Coleenâs heritage. The neighbors told their favorite memories of Coleen, and Mike closed with another prayer.

âIs there anything at all you need Martin, or anything else we can do for you?â Bill asked.

âNo, thereâs nothing anybody can do for me now,â Martin rasped as tears began to flow again. 

âJust let us know if anything comes up. And we want you to come to dinner tomorrow at my parentâs house. We will eat around one oâclock. We are going to have a traditional dinner; roast goose with all of the trimmings.â

Martin was non-committal as he walked into the back door of the house. Bill and his family returned home quietly. _Just like that, without modern conveniences, Coleen is gone. I wonder how many people we are losing like that. The numbers have to be staggering with all of the diabetics, dialysis, heart problems and God only knows what other ailments. And then thereâre all the people in hospitals and nursing homes. Dear Lord, I ask you to welcome Coleen to you. As you know, she was a fine woman. And I ask for your mercy on us as more run out of their medication_. As he mused, he took Amyâs hand and squeezed tightly.

At home, he took Amanda out to his shop to talk. âI am amazed at you two for going and getting the geese. It was a great thing to do. My only problem with it is that I didnât know. I have full confidence in your abilities and you always follow all safety rules. I just need to know if you are going hunting and where you are going.â He tried to be stern, but he was so proud of her it was tough to keep the look on his face.

âI know Dad. I just like, wanted to surprise you. I know you were thinking about getting some geese. And you are always like working on something, so thatâs why we did it.â

âOkay, just make sure you tell me from now on. I also think you need to dust off your bow and start archery practice along with the twenty-two. I think it would be a good supplement to your school work. But you need to make sure all of the other kids have the okay from their parents.â Amanda and Brad had taken archery in their 4H club. The major stress in the club had been safety and Bill had watched them teach other neighbor kids to shoot, making safety the top priority. He pulled her into a hug as he said, âYou did goodâ. _Iâll have to remember to tell Leslie and Amy and make sure the target and distance markers are up._

âSo do you feel up to a bike ride?â Bill asked her.

âI donât know; where do you want to go?â

âWell, it looks like you might have an extra goose there, and you havenât seen Mandy since Halloween. Maybe we could ride over there and take them some things.â

Amandaâs response was a happy squealing âOh Dad, letâs go!â as she gave him a quick hug and went to get her bike.

He chuckled at her reaction and got his own bike lined out and the trailer hooked to it. While Amanda wrapped the goose in a plastic bag Bill filled other bags with potatoes, onions, carrots and apples; placing them in the trailer. Amanda was back; barely able to stand still. âYou sure are fidgety, girl. Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?â Bill asked, smiling at Amanda.

âDadâ, she drew the word out, sounding like there were about four âaâs in it. âI just want see Mandy. Canât you move any faster?â

âOkay, why donât you go pick a fresh salad to take along while I finish up here?â 

While she did that he filled water bottles and told Amy what they were doing and asked if anyone else wanted to go along. They all declined. Bill went to the gun cabinet and took Amandaâs preferred twenty two rifle out and put a handful of shells in his pocket. They might see more geese on the ride, and the presence of the rifle might deter people that wanted to find out what was in the trailer.

Riding home again in near darkness, Bill reflected on the visit, only half hearing Amanda while she jabbered on about how good it was to see Mandy again. The girls had gone to Mandyâs bedroom while Bill sat at the kitchen table with her parents. Their gratitude at receiving the food was deep and sincere. They were getting by on the government commodities, but that was about it. The press had often had stories about the obesity problem in America; well, it looked like it wouldnât be a problem any longer.

Water was at a premium in the subdivisions. What was provided was barely enough for drinking and cooking with little left over for cleaning. Sanitation could cause a problem once the weather warmed up. Most homes were also without heat; people sleeping huddled in groups with as many blankets as they had available. The problems were big; Bill knew he couldnât help them all. He would have to discuss with Amy and see if they could at least come up with a solution to help Mandyâs family. While Amanda rattled on nearly euphoric after the visit, Billâs spirits sunk ever deeper thinking about all of the suffering people. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

The kitchen was a happy, busy room as the Thanksgiving meal was prepared and cooked. The oven of the cook stove was in constant use, roasting geese, dressing and rolls. The previous day it had baked pies. The goose was accompanied by mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, canned green beans and fresh salad. Two quart jars of turkey were also opened. _You canât have Thanksgiving without turkey, can you?_ Billâs pantry had yielded cans of cranberry sauce and olives. It was very close to their traditional dinner. 

They were joined by the Williams family but Bill noted the absence of Martin. _I hope he is coping all right. Maybe I can take him a plate after we eat._ Carlaâs daughter Mellissa lamented the absence of football. âIt canât be Thanksgiving without football. How can I root for someone to beat the Cowboys?â

Although the outside air was crisp, the sun was shining bright in a clear blue sky; perfect for burning off the meal with some outdoor activity. âHow about after we eat, we go have our own game, since you will also miss your other favorite Thanksgiving activity?â Bob asked. 

Mellissa groaned, âThatâs the worst part! Black Friday was the best!â She usually spent her time after dinner going through the advertisements, planning her midnight shopping trip, at least when she wasnât napping. âWell, I guess we might as well play some ball,â she said in a pouting tone. 

When they asked the blessing, Bill was introspective, thinking over the circumstances, they truly did have much to be thankful for. He guessed they were much better off than many of the residents of the United States. They were warm and prepared for winter. They had plenty of food and good water, even if they had to work for it now. They were mostly healthy, although he could see the drained, exhausted features of his mother deepening daily. Yes they had much to be thankful for. He was still deep in thought when he heard the family say âAmenâ.

After the meal was cleaned up, the younger family members located a football and lugged lawn chairs and blankets to the pasture. The older family members sat on the side and cheered for every play. It wasnât the Cowboys, but it was football of a sort. Most importantly, it was fun. 

After a little bit of the game, Bill excused himself and went to the house and prepared a plate for Martin. As he waited for the food to warm in the cook stove oven, he wished for a working microwave. _Yes, weâre getting by, probably better than most, but wow, I miss the conveniences we had. _He would deliver the plate and do his chores on the same trip. _I not only miss the microwave, but I really miss the heated water dishes for the goats and chickens_. Without electricity keeping the water thawed, he was taking a hot tea kettle to pour over the ice water numerous times per day.

He made the short walk to Martinâs and knocked on the front door. After no answer he knocked much louder. Still not getting a response he went to the back yard. It looked as they had left it the previous day, the fresh dirt at the gravesite with a hand lettered wooden cross at its head. He knocked at the back door and was greeted by more silence. After pounding and getting the same result, he tried the knob. It was unlocked so he opened the door and stepped inside, standing with the door closed while his eyes adjusted to the near darkness. He called out to Martin and walked to the kitchen and set the plate on the table. Still not getting an answer, he looked through the house but didnât locate Martin.

Opening the door to the attached garage, Bill stepped in. âOh Martin,â he whispered. Martin was hanging from a rope that had been tied to a support beam, his face red and bloated with his tongue sticking out; a kicked over ladder near his feet. âOh Martin, we would have helped you, but I guess we couldnât replace Coleen.â He took the radio from his belt and called to Bob to come down and found a blanket to wrap Martin in. Once Bob arrived they lowered him gently to the floor and wrapped him up.

âI guess the crash and loss of his wife was just too much for him,â Bob said. âDid they have any kids?â

âNo, they werenât able to have any and Coleen didnât want to adopt. Most of her family has passed away; Martin never talked about his family.â

They left the blanket wrapped body on the floor and made plans to come back in the morning for another funeral. No need to mess up Thanksgiving for everyone else. Yes, they did have much to be thankful for; but the same certainly could not be said for everyone.


*****​
Following Thanksgiving they fell deeper into their established routines. The kids did school work five days a week, accompanied by shooting practice when the weather was good. Amy tried to provide a nutritious snack each day to the gathering, concerned that some of the kids werenât eating enough. Pots of pine needle tea were served each day. Amanda soon had most of the kids trained well enough with the bow that they at least wouldnât put an accidental arrow in each other. Leslie started the school sessions later to allow the older kids time to hunt many mornings. She appreciated the geese they brought in as an addition to the government commodity food. Many days the hunting was good enough they were able to share with other neighbors. After seeing the despair Martin had fallen into, Leslie made it a point to have the kids visit with the elderly and ask subtle questions about their needs. It was amazing how the elderly would talk more openly with the youngsters. Soon the visits included pulling wagons with filled water jugs, eggs and root crops from Billâs root cellar.

Alan arranged a trip to the canal where they cut the remaining dead cottonwood trees. After the wood was cut and split it was distributed to the people most in need. It wasnât enough to keep roaring fires constantly but they wouldnât freeze if they used it wisely. 

The last gasifier was soon running on the pickups. It was a good thing Cal had filled the gas barrel; they ran the generator many hours when welding the pieces together. Bob took the last one on a long test drive, accompanied by Alanâs sons Jim and Ken. When they finally returned many hours later â after most of the family had stressed about going to look for them â there was a bull elk in the back. After hanging over night, they cut and wrapped it and distributed it to the neighbors with âMerry Christmasâ written on the top. The hide was salted and rolled tight with the plan to attempt tanning it later.

The weather was cool with some rain and occasional snowfall. The morning there was enough snow that Amanda put on her cross country skis, Leslie decided to have ski lessons instead of book lessons. Amanda and Brad went back home and found every cross country shoe, ski and pole they had and got everything Alan had. Prior to the crash Alan had spent most Saturdays scouring yard sales. He had more ski equipment than his grandkids would ever use. The reaction of the students convinced Leslie and Amy it was the right decision. The kids had a wonderful time, barley stopping for the hot chocolate the ladies brewed. 

The greenhouse and hoop house required little care with the low temperatures but Bill and Amy made sure to go in them at the warmest part of each day. They packed water when necessary and harvested enough fresh greens daily for their table and the parents table. They shared some around but there was not a lot to spare. 

Mischief was dried off, to give her the rest of the winter to recoup while her kids grew inside her. Bill regretted not having fresh milk. He had separated the goats for breeding so he could stagger their kidding period. If the crash was long, next winter he could stay in fresh milk while giving each one time off before kidding. The young chicks had feathered out enough that he quit heating their house. While the egg production had dropped dramatically with the short daylight hours, he had enough young pullets that they would get a lot of eggs in the spring; not to mention young roosters for frying. He puzzled over having chicks in the coming year that would be ready to start laying in the fall to alleviate some of the natural drop off. He also wondered about putting a number of the solar powered LED yard lights in the houses to increase their light exposure. _Iâll think more on that one_.

While dwelling on the chickens and egg production the layout of the chicken house and pen began to concern him. It was at the back of the property, as far from the house as possible. He had put it there intentionally, not wanting the chicken odors coming to the house. Now he saw it was isolated and ripe for some night time visitors. Since the chickens were currently free ranging he took down the pen and added extra timber bracing to the walls of the chicken house. He cleared a passageway wide enough for the house from the chicken house to the goat barn. The pen was mostly reconstructed next to the goat barn. The chickens were taken from the house early one morning and locked into the goat barn. Bill had a small stack of round fence posts that he moved in front of the chicken house. With the kids, Bob, Alan and Mike, they jacked up the building and placed posts under it and began to roll it to the new location. The kids would grab the posts at the back and reposition them at the front as the building was rolled forward. Cal stood back and supervised the operation, directing the post placement. Leslie looked on and thought of how to incorporate the move with the use of the rollers into a lesson plan. 

The concrete support blocks were positioned at the new location; the jacks were brought up and the building returned to a solid footing. After the last of the pen was put up the chickens were transferred to the new pen location. They would be secured in the pen for a few days to make sure they knew where to roost before being allowed to range again. Bill would sleep more soundly knowing the house and pen were now in Maggieâs hearing range. 

Soon after the chickens were again free ranging Bill had a new concern. When he looked out the shop door from cutting a sheet of wood he saw a slat ribbed mongrel dog trying to get through the fence. _Of course if people are hungry, they arenât feeding their pets._ As he stepped toward the fence the dog saw him and ran down the road. He went back to working on the solar dehydrator he was making but found he couldnât keep his mind on it. Finally he went to the house and got his pistol and shotgun. He loaded the shotgun with buckshot and made the walk to Mike and Lesliesâ where school was in session. 

Leslie was quick to understand his concerns about the danger of hungry dogs. She had read of the problems dog packs had caused in other areas when times were good. She would send each student home with notes to the parents and pray they took it serious. Bill left the shotgun with Amanda and asked her to make sure everyone got home safely, and to keep the shotgun with her from now on. Still concerned about dogs, he went back to his project, a rifle leaning in the corner, ready if the mongrel came back. 

_Itâs not like we donât already have enough to worry about, Lord. No power, most people short of food and water, now we might get dog packs. I know the Good Book says you wonât give us heavier burdens than we can bear, but sometimes I wish you didnât think I was so tough. _


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## biggkidd

Great Thank You

Larry


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## stickinthemud

Thank you. Plenty of food for thought.


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## udwe

Please keep writing, I can't get enough!


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## Ozarks Tom

As always, a good read. Looking forward to more!


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## puddlejumper007

Bret, if you are snowed in, how about passing the time by writing....:thumb:


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## joe&katie

Really been enjoying this thread, and learning a lot at the same time. Thanks for all your effort!


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## Bret F

Chapter 22: Wintersong

_Geese are flying in a ragged âVâ_
_Honking across the sky_
_The pine trees rustle their song to me_
_As the geese and the night go by_
_The owls that sweep past the swampâs dark edge_
_Hoot as they fly along_
_Theyâre singing their song of the winter_
_Singing their wintersong_

_The old barn creaks as we pitch the hay_
_To the horses who neigh below_
_The bright flames crackle in the burning field_
_Helping next summerâs crop to grow_
_The garden has given her final gift_
_The very last pumpkin is gone_
_Theyâre singing their song of the winter_
_Singing their wintersong_

_All for a reason _
_We each have a season_
_We rise and we lay ourselves down_
_Changing and turning_
_Planting and learning_
_âTil, like the sun, we come âround_

_The trees stand traced against the sky_
_Their arms outstretched and bare_
_The squirrels asleep within their nest_
_Find peace and comfort there_
_In months ahead the spring will find _
_The world renewed and strong_
_Now weâre singing our song of the winter_
_Singing our wintersong._
_âWintersongâ performed by John McCutcheon_
_Written by John McCutcheon_

Bill held the stave he had been shaping up to the light and inspected it. While his official project was the dehydrator, when he was alone he was working on four bows. He had saved some straight sections of elm trees he had cut down, dried them and split them into long nearly straight wedges. While he would have preferred yew or hickory, elm was what he had so that was what he would use. When times were good and he was working full time he had wanted to make a bow but didnât have the time for it. That hadnât stopped him from studying the processes and gathering material. He had watched many Youtube videos and had finally bought the book âThe Art of Making Selfbowsâ by Stim Wilcox. One bowyer he found online used many different woods, and backed them with sinew. After seeing that, he had saved large tendons from elk after successful hunts and now had a shopping bag full of strips.

He wanted to finish the bows by Christmas if possible. They would be gifts to Amanda, Brad, Mark and Mike. Mark had really taken to archery _or had he just taken to Amandaâs teaching_? Amyâs Christmas gift, while always a puzzle what to get her was going to be a stove top oven. _Yeah, pretty special, I know. _He also had some chocolate stashed for her but in his view it was secondary. He had purchased a Coleman camping stove top oven years ago that they used now. It worked but he could see how he could make an improved model that fit the wood stove and cook much better, _I hope_. 

Francis had told him that she was grateful for a safe home and that was all the gift she needed. Bill had told her âOf course, I understand.â Then he traded some canned food for a bottle of wine to give her. The wine was from the same town in California Francis and Amy had grown up in. They both had wonderful memories of that time. Francis had even worked part time at the winery during high school. _Maybe she can remember better times for a while and escape what we have now._

For the rest of the family, he and Amanda had slow smoked a number of geese. They were hung in the freezing garage each night and then wrapped up tight and stored in the root cellar during the day. It was extra work, but after taking the geese from the smoker they had kept frozen.

The stave marked, he put it back in the vice and used the drawknife to remove the wood to his line and did more fine work with the spokeshave. Once each stave was shaped, he would apply the elk tendons; called sinew by the old bowyer. They would be flattened and glued on with homemade hoof glue in overlapping strips. After it was dry he would make a tillering stick and begin the fine adjustment wood removal. With the aid of the tillering stick he would remove wood to make the wood on each side of the handle riser curve and pull equally. A good sanding would follow; then the tips backed up with slices of antler and the string nocks cut. Following the final sanding he would look through his wood stain and oil collection and figure out what would best preserve and protect the wood and apply it. 

It was quite a bit of work but he was relishing it. So much of the activity since September 11th had been geared towards preparing for trouble, followed by the extra work involved in dealing with the lack of electricity. It was relaxing to shape the wood; a useful but not totally necessary endeavor. The brief respite from the real world was a mental vacation.

Amanda had a very good compound bow that was adjustable in draw weight and length. It would serve her even after she reached her full adult size. However he wanted her to have a traditional bow also. Who knew when the high tech gadgetry might fail, while a good straight stick could always be found. Bradâs bow was only a little better than a toy. He always wanted to try Billâs longbow but the draw was too much for him. _I think he will enjoy shooting traditional more than Amanda_. He continued pulling shavings off the stave, lost in the calming action. 

With the stave shaped and ready for sinew, he went to the door and looked out. The snow was falling in nice big flakes adding to the four inches that had fallen overnight. It was so peaceful. One of the goats saw him and let him know she would like more feed. _You guys are as bad as teenagers_. He enjoyed the view a little longer then stepped out, walking in his earlier tracks as much as possible. He put the shaped stave in the rafters of the shed and brought down another unworked piece and returned to his shop.

The calm reverie of shaping wood was broken when Francis called to him that she had a pot of soup warmed for lunch. The soup was a thick concoction canned when the garden was producing heavily in previous years. The extremely hot weather of the past summer had greatly reduced the gardenâs output although he had managed to make some soup. There just wasnât as much as in past years and the variety of vegetable included was less than most years. He was thankful they had put up so much in the years the garden had produced in abundance. For soup, Bill picked whatever was ripe and he and Amy blended it together, seasoned it and canned it. While Bill and Francis were eating, a string of kids went skiing past the front of the house, laughing and yelling, numerous snowballs being thrown. Leslie and Amy were letting the students burn off some of their energy in the fresh snow. _I wouldnât mind joining them, but I better take advantage of my alone time._


*****​


----------



## Bret F

The neighborhood was now on the alert for feral dogs. It saddened Bill to think of a beloved pet abandoned and left to fend for itself, but he had to face facts, there just wasnât enough food for many people. Jim had eliminated two strays that were trying to get his chickens. Bill had seen one other; it had gone near the foothills searching for food and instead became food for some coyotes. _I guess thatâs survival of the fittest in action_. For the time being, no others had been seen. 

The Moser family evenings had developed a routine. After eating, they spent time reading and discussing the Bible. That was followed by Amanda and Brad practicing their instruments, often working on new songs and techniques from the DVDâs Bill had purchased. Many times they would pull Bill into the songs, his rusty mandolin skills steadily improving. After that, the kids were given a short time of movie viewing. Occasionally the adults joined them, but more often they sat at the table and discussed the day or concerns they were facing. 

As Christmas approached, the artificial tree was brought down from the attic and assembled. Donning Santa style hats, a pot of hot cider simmering on the corner of the stove, they decorated the tree much like usual, just leaving off the electric lights. There was a festive mood as they worked. As they were finishing, Bill looked out the window and thought of the electric lights generally strung on the houses and noticed Martin and Coleenâs house standing dark in the lengthening evening shadows. As he looked, a thought came to him that he figuratively kicked himself for not having before. 

Putting on his stocking cap, insulated pacs and heavy coat he went out into the evening. The temperature was slightly above freezing with a cold rain falling. It was turning the accumulated snow into a slushy mess that shot out in globs with each step.

He went to the neighborâs house next to Martin and Coleenâs and told them his thoughts. âI hate to see the house sitting empty like that. Itâs an opportunity for someone to sneak in and squat there and visit our places at night. If we picked someone to live there we could be surer of what we are getting. I know a family that could do to get out of the subdivisions. The husband worked on farms until he left home for college. If things arenât normal in the spring, he would be very valuable if we start growing a lot of food.â 

They discussed the merits of the idea, the neighbors agreeing to meet the family before they would approve the idea. Bill thanked them for their time and visited the family on the other side of the empty house and made the same pitch. He was satisfied as he walked back home, thinking just maybe, he could save at least one family.

Amy and Francis were preparing supper so he asked them to make enough for three more and explained to them what he was thinking. He asked Amanda to get dressed for the cold and go for a ride with him. He went out and started a fire in the pickup gasifier and they drove to Mandyâs house. Telling them he was taking them to supper, they bundled up and were driven to Bill and Amyâs house.

Standing near the wood stove, it appeared Phil and Lois hadnât been warm in a long time. As they savored the heat, then sat at the table to eat, Bill explained his idea. âOh no, we couldnât impose like that,â Lois said. She was quickly echoed by Phil.

âItâs not imposing. It is allowing you to help our neighborhood while we help you.â He explained his thoughts about extra security and one more experienced farm hand. They still werenât convinced but he let them savor the meal. He was sure it had been a long time since they had anything like that. After the meal, Amanda passed around a platter of brownies she had baked that day. 

After they had finished, Bill asked them to at least come with him and see the house. He took a lantern, flashlights and got the house key from where he had hung it. After burying Martin, Bill, Amy and Francis had cleaned the house as well as they could and locked it up, taking the keys with them. Before leaving his own home, Bill showed Phil and Lois the well with the hand pump before starting down the road. âWe have as much water as we are willing to pump and carry. With the wood stove and camp showers, we can have hot, albeit short showers.â

Once in Martin and Coleenâs house, Bill showed them the layout, pointed out the wood stove with the flat top that could be used to cook on as well as a substantial wood pile. He showed them the garden area and the open pasture that could be turned into an even larger garden. Phil appeared to be wavering as they locked up and went back to Billâs home, the cold wind cutting through their coats as the rain soaked their faces. Phil and Lois again stood close to the stove, relishing the heat. Amy gave them each a hot cup of rose hip tea with a small amount of honey in it. As Bill returned them home he noted the rain had stopped and the temperature was dropping. He asked them to at least consider coming back and meeting the neighbors. They got out and headed into their cold dark house, tears streaking Mandyâs face as she hugged Amanda goodbye. Amanda was quiet as they returned home.


*****​

The final coat of oil was being applied on the last bow when Maggie alerted Bill to someoneâs presence on the road. While he was used to that with most of the neighbors coming for water, he still looked to check each time. He was pleased to see the people walking toward his gate were Phil, Lois and Mandy Roberts. Making sure the bow had an even coverage of oil; he hung it to dry, wiped his hands and went to the gate. He shivered as he went outside and glanced at the obscured foothills. The day after the rain had stopped, the valley was engulfed in his least favorite weather; an inversion. Now on its third day, the sky a sick gray. In the past, firewood burning would be banned; now as the only reliable heat source it just added to the unhealthy air. 

Once Bill was close enough he greeted the family and told them, âYou could have picked a nicer day for a walk. But itâs nice to see you. Do you want to come in and have a cup of coffee by the fire?â

âWeâd welcome some coffee and heat, but we really wanted to talk about that house. Is the offer still open?â Phil asked hopefully.

âIt is as far as Iâm concerned. Letâs go in the house and get you that coffee. Then Iâll go see if the other neighbors are still open to it and can talk with you.â They went in the house and Francis set them up with something hot to drink by the stove. âMandy, Iâm sorry but Amandaâs not here. Did she tell you about the makeshift school we have here?â

Lois perked up at that, âSchool? How are they going to school?â

Francis began to explain while Bill excused himself. He went to the neighbors on each side of Martin and Coleenâs and invited each household over to talk over some hot coffee. They followed him over and sat around the table getting acquainted with the Roberts family. When they learned that Mandy was Amandaâs best friend, Mack, the man closest to Billâs home asked if she shot as well as Amanda. He had been a recipient of a few of her geese. The talk went well and soon each family gave their blessing to Philâs family occupying the vacant house.

While they were talking Amy and the kids came home. Amanda was thrilled to see her best friend. Bill asked her and Brad to go over and get the stove lit and start taking the chill out of the air and to open the curtains and let some light in, muted as it was with the thick air. Soon Bill had the family loaded in the pickup and they began the move. He was reminded of Bobâs move, how much stuff was now not worth the bother of moving. Hopefully the stuff left behind would be there if and when the power came back on.


*****​


----------



## Bret F

Christmas dawned clear and cold. It wasnât a white Christmas, but at least a wind had come in and blown off the inversion overnight. The bows were a big hit with everyone. Amy and Francis were thrilled with the prospects of cooking in the improved oven. Bill received a wood carving of a goat from Brad, rough but recognizable, and a poem written by Amanda; it was hard to read as his eyes misted up.

The Williams and Roberts families joined them for dinner at Billâs parentâs house. The extravagant spread even included a roast turkey and ham. Bob had traded wood gas power plans and know-how with a farmer in exchange. After the meal the tables were cleared and board games set up. The group could almost forget about the crash as they laughed and played and accused Mellissa and her sister Tammy of cheating. Just like old times. At the end of one game, Amanda, Brad and Mark performed a mini concert; the arrangements Leslie had worked them on giving each one a chance to show their stuff. The Roberts family was a little uncomfortable; they felt like party crashers but were able to relax as the day went on. The only problem Bill had with the whole day was no fresh ice cream for the apple pie_. Iâll have that fixed by next time if things stay as they are now._ 

No ice cream and the state of his mother, that is. She looked frail enough that a soft wind might blow her over. She had turned her kitchen over to the other women; she usually fussed over the whole meal preparation and only allowed limited assistance. Amy had taken her to the back bedroom and finally gotten her to talk. She had been suffering from heart problems for some time and Medicaid had provided for medication that kept it managed. She had been unable to stock up on medication prior to the crash and now her heart was close to failing. She swore Amy to secrecy, even though she knew Bill would find out that evening. The two talked for a long time; Billâs mom trying to express how she felt it was providence Amy had entered Billâs life and saved him from himself. And her greatest gratitude was for the kids, especially having them spend time and play the beautiful music for her. Amy was quiet and red eyed the remainder of the day.

A happy, overfed group made their way down the street. The sky was so much more vivid with the absence of artificial lighting, the stars uncountable. A large meteor shower had graced the night sky just before the inversion had blocked visibility. The kids watched the sky intently hoping there might be more shooting stars. Just before leaving the Roberts family Brad pointed one out that everyone was able to see. They stared into the dark sky long after its light faded to nothing before Amy, beginning to shiver, shook the mood and got the family headed for home once again.


*****​
When Bill turned on the radio, he found only static. He slowly turned the dial checking for a signal; switched bands and went through the same motion with the same results. _So what does that mean? After two plus months are some of the terrorists still working to make life miserable? Happy New Year!_ He poured a cup of coffee and began poring over his planting time, yield charts and everything he had accumulated on gardening. It wouldnât be long before the daylight hours would be conducive to plant growth. Enough plants had been removed from the greenhouse, he needed to work in some compost and have the beds ready for seeds. He was nearly giddy with anticipation as he studied and thought about picking juicy red tomatoes and everything else in the main season garden. The salads he had been harvesting through the winter were welcome but they just didnât match the summer harvest of flavors.

When the sky to the east started lightening, he took one more sip of coffee and bundled up. He filled one coat pocket with shotgun shells, put two bags in the other and took up his shotgun. He looked at Maggie and asked her if she wanted to go for a walk. Her answer was to stretch out on the floor in front of the wood stove and let loose with a long fart. _All right then. Iâll take that as ânoâ._ 

As he walked past the Williams house the door opened and Mark stepped out. âHi Bill. Are you going hunting? Can I go along?â

âNot exactly hunting, but sure you can come along.â 

Mark opened the door and spoke into the house and then joined Bill. âIâm going down to the riverâ, Bill told him. The river was a little over a mile from Billâs house. âAnd then I want to walk along the drain ditch. Iâve been toying with the idea of some fish traps. I know in good times guys would be out fishing now for fun. I want to see if it looks like the river and the drain ditch have been getting pressure, and if not, if there are some good places to put in traps. Iâve been craving fish lately.â They walked quietly for a while. âAnd who knows? We might see some ducks to shoot.â

Although they never saw anyone, the river bank did show a lot of human activity. As they walked downstream they saw numerous shot gun shell casings. New trails had been tromped through the brush at most of the slow moving holes. âI think weâll pass on the river,â Bill said. âIâd bet that any traps we put here would get stolen. Obviously a lot of guys are using the river as a food source. I just wish theyâd pick up after themselves,â he said as he was picking up more shotgun brass. _And havenât they ever heard of reloading?_

They walked back to a spot along the road where they could access the drain ditch and started walking upstream. Only a narrow access separated the drain ditch from residents back fences. They found very little sign of human activity and jumped two small flocks of ducks. Bill just smiled and watched them fly away. _I donât really need a duck._ He pointed out a few areas to Mark that he thought would be good to place traps. At the next road crossing, they climbed out of the ditch cut and followed the roads back to Billâs. 

Bill got a full cup of coffee and made Mark a mug of cocoa and they went to the shop. Bill pointed to a roll of hardware cloth on a shelf and asked Mark to get it down. While Mark did that Bill found his minnow trap and joined Mark at the workbench with it. âThis is what we are going to make, but about twice as big and the holes in the funnel quite a bit bigger. Do you see how it works?â

Mark instantly understood the idea and the two of them started calculating the sizes of hardware cloth. Bill always tried to turn school lessons into a practical application. Here was a chance for Mark to figure the cut sizes based on the desired diameter. After he had the lengths determined Bill taught him to lay out a cone. He handed Mark a pair of tin snips and let him cut the pieces. While Mark was cutting Bill found a piece of sheet metal to make name tags, his letter stamps and a spool of wire. Even though it wasnât legal to trap fish, he would tag them with his name. Heavy gauge galvanized wire was used to hold the hardware cloth to shape at the ends and the center joints. Four traps were ready to go to the ditch when Amanda found them and said breakfast was ready. 

âDo you have enough for Mark? We went to the river pretty early and he hasnât eaten either,â Bill said.

âI think we have enough. Now hurry up before it gets cold. Oh yeah, did you know the radio isnât working?â

âYep, I tried it this morning and couldnât find a station. Iâm not sure what it means, but probably nothing good.â He and Mark followed her to the house, took off their boots, hung their coats and hats and joined the family at the table after washing up.


*****​

The food distribution was on the regular schedule, although Bill noted it was less food. What was in abundance however was talk and rumors. Once Billâs group made it to the head of the line they were able to discount some stories and confirm others. The radio station was dead in truth. The building and all of its contents had been burnt to the ground. _Good thing that a corporation combined so many of the stations in one building and made it easy for the dirt bags._ On top of that, the communication towers above the city had been toppled. A new spate of bombings had swept the country. The terrorists must have decided too many people were coping following the crash. And once again, the terrorists had acted with impudence while the authorities were left clueless. It could turn out to be a long ordeal if the foxes remained in control of the henhouse.


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## biggkidd

Thanks Again 

Larry


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## Wren - TN

Bret, I'm always so excited when I check in and find you've added new chapters. Thank you!


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## puddlejumper007

Wren - TN said:


> Bret, I'm always so excited when I check in and find you've added new chapters. Thank you!


me too:icecream:


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## Bret F

sorry, puddlejumper, not snowed in here, however


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## Bret F

Chapter 23: Time

_When I was young I dreamed of being older_
_Now that Iâm older I dream of being young_
_I dream of a time that there was no time at all_
_And I wonder where the time is gone_

_When I was young I dreamed of how Iâd spend my life_
_Now that Iâm older I spend my life in dreams_
_The things Iâve planned and never done, the things Iâve done and never planned_
_And all the while itâs later than it seems_

_Time, youâre no friend to me_
_âCause you go ticking by I can hear the enemy_
_Each day you add a number to the things Iâll never be_
_Oh time, youâre no friend to me_

_When I was young the road went on forever_
_Now that Iâm older I see it isnât so_
_Once I took the time now time is taking me_
_And no one has to tell me where it goes._

_Time, youâre no friend to me_
_âCause you go ticking by I can hear the enemy_
_Each day you add a number to the things Iâll never be_
_Oh time, youâre no friend to me_

_Oh, time_
_Oh, time_
_Time youâre no friend to me_
_âTimeâ Performed by Lou Reid and Carolina_
_Written by Chaz Jankel, Tyra Fennell, Andy Williams, Des Morgan_

When Bill stepped into the house from pondering over his latest project he grimaced at the sight. Amy had the washtubs set on a bench in the kitchen, the washboard in one and the foldable drying racks set up throughout the house. The two largest canners were on the stove, heating more water. Doing the laundry by hand was a hard job â like so many things now. The fire was blazing and all of the windows were fogged over. When they had a working washer and dryer, he had accused Brad and Amanda of dropping clothes in the hamper just because of body contact. Now with the washboard in use and all water packed in and back out, the clothes truly needed washing before they were laundered. _We sure were spoiled, taking so many things for granted. And I was so vain to think I could easily adapt to the changes. The daily grind is starting to pull me down._

With the tea kettle, a mug and tea in hand Bill made a hasty exit and returned to the shop. He shifted the stove top oven enough to allow him to set the teapot on the stove to heat, then returned to his work bench. He stretched and knuckled his back before bending back over the open binder. _This sore back nonsense is the pits. And after being on my feet a few more hours, the hips will start in too. Getting old bites! But hey, Iâve still got my hair, even if it is going gray._ 

The binder was open to a page on making a honey extractor. Prior to the crash, he had been a member of the local beekeeper club and had access to the clubs extractors. There was no telling what the status of the extractors was now, so he figured it was time to make his own. _Sure glad I found those plans on the internet._ The thought had come to him one day while he was preparing to make candles from the bees wax left from cutting the caps off the cells to extract the previous batch of honey. He had set up his makeshift double boiler to melt the wax and was cutting cotton string for wicks. Unlike the beef tallow candles he had made in yogurt cups, this time he would use actual candle molds his dad had provided him with. _I wish Grandpa could see me putting his things to use again after what, eighty or ninety years or so?_ As he was almost ready to pour the molten wax it came to him that it might take a lot of work to get the next batch of honey out. He figured if things went smooth he could have the extractor done before most of his time was taken up with gardening.

The extractor and how many other things to get done? Goats, chickens, cooking, plumbing, ditch cleaning, pruning, the second hoop house needed put up, like yesterday. _So much for making a honey extractor now._ He groaned and again knuckled his back. Turning the pages in the binder to a blank sheet he started making notes, a habit he had gotten into as he seemed to forget something soon after the original idea. _Oh yeah, a water collection system would be useful too._

Mischief was getting heavy with kids. In about three weeks she should kid and he could go back to daily milking. Each of the young does should kid in successive months after that. Although the goat had done a great job in the past, he wanted to make sure he had things ready when it was time. _Fresh bedding down, the panels in order to separate her in the barn from the others. What else? Iodine for the umbilical cord, the water bucket ready, burlap bags to clean the kids if needed. And daily monitoring. I know there has to be more. Writing this is at least a start._

The more he had thought of the chickens and light, he had decided he would mount solar lights. A box of yard lights was sitting on a shelf where he had never gotten around to putting them in the yard. He planned to drill holes in the chicken house roof and mount the lights in the house and the solar cells above the roof, sealing everything with silicone. _I hope it will give them enough light to pick up production._ He had delayed mounting the lights, hoping for warmer temperatures.

The cooking was fine now but once the weather warmed, it would be unbearable to cook inside. The solution he had come up with was an outdoor rocket stove and oven. He had enough materials stored to do it, just needing time and warmer weather. _The solar oven I have will help a lot but I need to work on some improvements to it and try to make a couple of more._ _So much depends on the weather, and then everything will need done. _He reached back and knuckled his back again before putting another block of wood in the stove.

The plumbing project he planned was to run a new drain line from the sink and the shower out the wall into the raised beds along the house. This was another project he had always considered even in good times but never done. Now with carrying every drop of water to the house they used, he didnât want to lose it, or carry it again if he could avoid it. 

Bill thought a while about rain collection. The biggest drawback was timing. Most of the high desertâs annual ten inches of moisture fell in the winter as snow. The water wasnât in high demand then, or particularly easy to store until it was. An above ground storage system could freeze and break. A below ground system needed a pump. Of course it would be fun digging in his rocky ground to put in a tank, if he could locate one. He thought of his rain gutters. He had gone cheap and bought the PVC system years ago. Now the gutters on the sunny side of the house had sagged at each joint, leaving low, leaking pools. It would all need replaced. _Okay, rain collection will have to take a back burner to more pressing issues._

And the biggest project looming was growing food. Yes, the government was still handing out food. Yes, you could survive on it if you had to, but it was just reaching base caloric intake needs. It would not leave people with energy to do the physical labor that would be needed. But Bill wanted to do more than survive. He wanted the family and the people around to eat well, with nutritious home grown vegetables. Not only eat well, but he wanted to preserve enough to carry over to the next year and beyond. He had always thought how tough it must be on farmers, so dependent on the weather. The past year had been challenging even for a garden and he had planned on canning more than usual so was well short of his goals. A late freeze had wiped out his tender plants. That was followed by a record setting summer of hot days. The temperatures stayed so hot that beans and tomatoes wouldnât set even if they bloomed until a month later than normal. _Lord please grant us better conditions this year when we may have to depend on it._ At least the snow fall had seemed normal over the winter so maybe they could get enough irrigation water. 

The grape vines needed pruning and he wanted to take all viable shoots and put them in damp sand to start more plants. The raspberries would be sending out their annual new growth. He wanted to dig as many of the new plants as possible and start a new, larger bed. Then the fruit trees needed pruning and he had to set up some frost protection. Involuntarily, he knuckled his back again while all these thoughts came to him.

Squinting over his paper, Bill thought about what else needed done. Once again, he was lamenting the lack of electric lights. His shop just didnât have enough windows and it was bitterly cold outside_. Okay, add another window or two this summer. But that takes away wall storage, dang it._ He had kept the doors closed and had the fire going in the stove. The work area was poorly illuminated by a kerosene light; it could best be called âgloomyâ. It was difficult for him to see clearly, _canât have anything to do with age can it_, but at least he was warm enough without wearing his heaviest coat; his hands only needed light gloves.

The fire was going for another reason too. He was going to have a neighborhood meeting there in the afternoon to discuss spring and summer and didnât want the gathered people to focus on how cold they were. With the planting season quickly approaching, he hoped to involve most of the neighborhood in producing food. The irrigation ditches would need cleaned, possibly all the way to the diversion in the river. Ditch cleaning had always had a poor turnout. Hopefully that would be different this year if the neighbors hoped to produce any of their own food. He planned on literally dangling a carrot before them. Soon he would prepare snacks for the meeting. The stove top oven was on the shop stove, heating. He would bake a large pan of cornbread and accompany it with some of his honey. The remaining carrots and radishes from the fall greenhouse planting would be cleaned and put in bowls. And the topper â hopefully â would be French fries. Everything he planned to serve was to make a point to the gathering. With some hard work, they could all eat like that and not have to subsist on the commodities.

Bill closed his binder and started straightening the shop. His habits were to lay stuff around until it finally got too cluttered for him and became a major project to clean up. He had done better since the crash, but old habits could be tough to break. He got the shop area as clean as possible and set up a number of lawn chairs and some long benches for the neighbors to sit on. The work bench was brushed off and a table cloth laid over it. He took a metal bucket full of large river rocks off the stove and put them in the pantry room, bringing another out to start reheating. As the temperature steadily dropped it was getting too close to freezing inside, making him nervous about keeping some of the stored food safe. _I sure miss being able to just flick the light switch_. Prior to the crash, he kept the room warm with two incandescent light bulbs. Again he was looking for another method without electricity. _At least Iâve found something else to do with some of these danged rocks_. He put another block of wood in the fire, closed the draft down and went to the house to begin working on the snacks. 

In the house, his order of business changed. He delayed his work while he helped Amy empty the dirty wash water tub into five gallon buckets and refilled the tub from the heated canners. While Amy mopped up the water they had spilt, Bill went to the pump house and filled two buckets of water, carried them to the house and refilled the canners to heat and then filled the buckets yet again and carried the buckets in, leaving them near the stove for the next water change. The used water, he carried to the greenhouse, pouring it out into the beds as far as it would cover. He regretted opening the green house to the outside cold so took the time to start the rocket stove to replace the heat that had escaped when he opened the door. Since he was already inside, he pulled carrots and radishes before adding more fuel and leaving with the door closed snugly. 

Once lunch was over and the rest of the wash water had been carried to the hoop house and poured into the beds, Bill and Amy prepared the food and two pots of coffee for the meeting. The fries came out of the grease and were placed on the workbench near the stove to keep warm just as the neighbors started arriving. As he prepped for the gathering he had pondered how best to approach it. He thought about past years; hardly anyone wanted to clean the irrigation ditches but they all wanted their time with the water. It was so much like âThe Little Red Henâ and he started to get mad the more he thought about it. The he recalled the Ephesians chapter 4 verse they had discussed just two evenings ago. âBe angry but donât sin. Donât let the sun go down on your anger.â _Okay Lord, Iâm thinking of my goals and not yours; this is not righteous anger Iâm feeling. Please help me have the right disposition and delivery for this get together._


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## Bret F

The group of people coming in looked pretty ragged, many with gaunt faces. Most of the men now sported bushy beards; _do I hear a duck call_; and body odor grew heavy in the enclosed room. Most of the clothing they wore was splotched with dirt and stains. _I guess when you are packing water, personal grooming becomes a low priority_. When it appeared everyone was present that would be coming, Bill addressed them. âThank you all for coming. I only hope you came for more than just the snacks.â The comment generated chuckles and a call for even more snacks. âSo Iâm sure most, if not all of you are getting the commodities. These things you are eating now, very heartily I might add, are to demonstrate we can eat better than that with some hard work. All of the vegetables you are eating are from my garden. How many fresh veggies have you been getting from the food disbursements?â As people adjusted to the warmth in the room and removed heavy coats, it was obvious many were not eating as well as they had in the past.

The comments were met mostly by silence, and then some loud, open mouthed crunching of a fresh, crisp carrot. The carrot cruncher stopped chewing and said, âBut youâve got a greenhouse. The rest of us donât.â

Anticipating something like this, Bill picked up a box. âBut these were grown in the garden this past summer, not the greenhouse.â He pulled the burlap bag from the top and dug through the damp sawdust and removed two carrots. He handed one to the cruncher and the other to a woman at the opposite side of the room. âSee how firm and crisp these are? It is quite possible to save and preserve a lot of the produce to last up to the next harvest.â

âBut the power will be back on and everything back to normal soon. Why should we work so hard then?â a man asked in a whiny voice.

Trying to keep a calm tone while he wanted to question the manâs intelligence, Bill answered, âYou are welcome to believe that,â Bill told him, _and believe in the Easter Bunny and the tooth Fairy while youâre at it_, but made sure he looked directly at each person before continuing. âBut we have been without power for more than three months. We canât buy gasoline or groceries. How many of you thought that could ever happen here? I didnât, not in our country. But it did. Still, not believing it could ever happen didnât stop me from having some things ready. I have a real basic creed: plan for the worst and hope for the best. I am going to plan and act as if we are in the beginning of a long term crash. Not that I wouldnât be as happy as anyone else if things got back to normal.â

There was some muttering and people talking to each other about what Bill had just said. âSo what are you thinking Bill?â someone asked. âWhatâs your worst case planning?â

Bill finished a sip of tea and set the mug back on his work bench. âI think we should start growing food crops in every available space. I donât plan on being spoon fed by the government, and I donât expect them to be able to keep it up long term. There are a number of empty lots scattered about. I want them planted in tomatoes, corn, beans, squash. Every pasture and yard should be producing food.â 

Motioning for Mrs. Woods to come forward Bill said, âI donât know how many of you know Carol Woods, but she is my inspiration. She has the end house on the north side of the road.â He asked her to describe her gardening on the small lot and how much food it produced. Most everyone present had much larger lots. Once she finished, the room erupted into many different conversations at once while they discussed what they had just heard. 

The talking went on for a while, Bill leaning on his bench sipping his tea. Finally one man stood up and, while addressing Bill, he also addressed the group at large. âWell I for one am dang tired of the cr, er excuse me ladies, the slop that we are being fed and I donât trust them anyway. They are probably keeping a tab on every one of us and will demand payment when we are back to work. Whatâs your plan Bill?â

âWell the first thing is water. You know we canât do a thing here without irrigation. We all have to work on cleaning the irrigation ditches. Iâve talked with Jack Parson who used to be the ditch rider. He doesnât believe the irrigation district will be able to take care of the canals this year so we probably have to clean to the river. Jack and the people past him are willing to pitch in since they have as much riding on this as we do.â Jack farmed a lot of the area to the west of the neighborhood and raised a number of cattle. âThen there is the planting and growing and everything that is involved with it. I think Carol can help us out with that. She has done a much better job than I have.

âThe biggest part of the whole process is labor, pretty much hand labor. I think it is pretty simple: you work or you donât eat.â 

âBut Bill, I want to help, but Iâm just not sure what I can do,â Eunice, an eighty-year old woman answered, clearly distressed.

âI appreciate that Eunice, and I am sure we can find something you can do. It wonât be the most back-breaking job, but there are some things you will be able to do. You might be able to provide water for the workers, maybe watch and entertain small kids to free up others. Shoot, youâve been around long enough, just your knowledge will be a help.â 

Again the room broke into talk. Bill couldnât make out much more than a buzz, but was sure he heard the whiney voice saying he couldnât work because of a bad back. Bill shifted and knuckled his back again. _Yeah, and my back hurts too but thatâs life. Enjoy your handouts as long as they last._

Bill had set up an old set of architect drawings on a stand to use the back side as flip charts. He turned to the first page that showed the whole neighborhood. âI am thinking the bare lots could be planted with potatoes, winter squash, dry beans and corn that makes good corn meal. The main reason for that is because they donât need constant harvest, and are long-term storable staples. As long as we keep them watered and the weeds controlled, they can stay in place until the end of the growing season. Large pastures that arenât in use could be sweet corn, tomatoes, string beans and other vegetables that continue to produce all season. More specialty type plants or family favorites could be grown in your yards and gardens. The things in the large areas would be stuff that could be easily preserved.â Bill stopped then to let the group study the layout and think it over. 

Whiney was the first one to address the group, âI see your pastures arenât labeled for growing anything Bill, but you want all of us to do ours.â 

Biting back the comment he wanted to deliver, Bill instead said, âYes, youâre right. My pastures arenât shown in crops. But you must have missed when I said âpastures that arenât in useâ. Mine are in use for my goats and heifer. And to work with everyone else, I will give the milk to anyone that comes over at five in the morning to milk, once they are producing again that is.â

Whiney made himself look small while Russ, the man who was tired of the handout food responded, âIâll take you up on that. Iâve been missing milk too. The powdered stuff just doesnât cut it. Let me know when and I will be here. My question though, is how to cool the milk once the weather warms up again.â

Glad to have Russ in the group, Bill told him about terra cotta pot evaporative coolers and said he would show everyone that wanted how to make one. âItâs not a refrigerator but sure gets stuff cooler than the surrounding air. We could keep a jar of milk cool in them I think. Iâve only played around a little with one and it cooled some water bottles while I was experimentingâ.

Whiney wasnât done yet. âSo whatâs in it for you? You must have some reason to get everyone else to doing all that work.â

Bill leveled an intense glare at Whiney, making him clear his throat and sink back. âI guess it is peace of mind. The peace of mind that people I know and care about are well fed. The peace of mind that those people are not stealing food from the mouths of my family. The peace of mind that some lazy person might make me choose to SSS. The peace of mind that Iâm not choosing between my kids not eating and turning someone too lazy to work into compost.â Bill bit back on the next words he was about to say. _Lord, grant me patience._

The noise level picked up again, so Bill raised his voice enough to be heard and addressed the group, âSo thatâs my pitch. If this is something you would be interested in we can discuss it further. If not, thank you for coming and have a nice day.â 

âSSS, Bill?â Russ asked.

âYeah, it stands for âshoot, shovel and shut-up.â

Whiney got up and made a hasty exit. 

Russ watched the door close and nodded his head and mulled over what Bill had said. He then asked, âSo what about seed Bill? Iâm all for what you are saying but I only have enough seed for about half my own garden.â

âI think my family will have enough potatoes for seed. Speaking of potatoes, this past summer I read a book about a woman that came here in a wagon in 1864. (âA Pioneer Womanâs Memoirâ, by Judith E. Greenberg and Helen Carey McKeever). She peeled potatoes deep around each eye and planted those peelings. She claimed that she and her brother in law each got a good harvest just from the peelings. 

âMiguel there,â Bill nodded at another man, âalways grows a lot of corn for meal, that between him and me, we can plant a few acres. I bought a lot of seeds this past fall. Hopefully there are some more seeds around but I think we can come up with enough. It might be a good idea for everyone to see what you have at home so we can share around enough to get everyone covered. I have enough tomato seed for the entire neighborhood. I have a bunch of seed from varieties I havenât tried before. They were written about by a woman named Jackie Clay. I donât know if anyone reads âBackwoods Home Magazineâ, but Jackie has been living the life we have been thrust into and writes some very insightful articles we can follow. I was going to plant some trays in the greenhouse in two weeks. I sure wouldnât turn down any help on that.â 

A good productive discussion followed with everyone that remained wanting to be involved. It soon evolved into a general planning session. 

âBill, Alan, are you there?â The two way radio on Billâs belt crackled to life with Bobâs voice. âBill, Alan pick up.â

Alan was talking to a neighbor so he nodded at Bill to answer but kept his head turned to hear. âYeah, Iâm here Bob. Whatâs up?â

âYou guys need to get down here now. Momâs dying.â


----------



## biggkidd

Good deal Thanks Again

I'll be watching for more.

Larry


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## puddlejumper007

thanks again Bret....


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## Bret F

Chapter 24: Bouquet in Heaven

_When it's decoration day up in Heaven_
_There's a bouquet I'm longing to see_
_There's a flower somewhere in this bouquet_
_And means all the world to me_

_Now, tonight the old home place's lonely_
_Since Mother has been called away_
_And I know I can never more see her_
_'Til we meet on that decoration day_

_When it's decoration day up in Heaven_
_There's a bouquet I'm longing to see_
_There's a flower somewhere in this bouquet_
_And means all the world to me_

_I remember the night the angels called her_
_To live on that beautiful shore_
_It left us so lonely here without her_
_It can never be home anymore_

_When it's decoration day up in Heaven_
_There's a bouquet I'm longing to see_
_There's a flower somewhere in this bouquet_
_And means all the world to me_
_âBouquet in Heavenâ Performed by J.D. Crowe and The New South_
_Written by Lester Flatt_

The room had gone quiet when Bobâs words came from the radio. Bill froze in place, the color drained from his face. Alan left his conversation and moved toward the door, shaking Bill from his trance. âMike, Russ, can you guys finish up here? I â¦â¦ have to â¦. leave.â He turned towards the door on autopilot, his feet working but his mind not really functioning. 

Somehow he found himself in the kitchen without realizing he was there. Amy looked up from folding clothes and saw his face. âWhat is it Bill? Whatâs happened?â

âItâs Mom,â he stammered out. âWe need to go there now.â They had known she was failing, but still, it was a shock. Mom had always been there, the glue for the family.

âFrancis, get the kids and Carlaâ Amy told her immobile sister. She hugged Bill tight, not that he noticed, and then bundled for the weather, took Bill by the hand and started to the door.

Bill found himself standing next to his Momâs bed with other members of the family, looking at his mother propped up on pillows, nearly the same shade as her sheets, her breathing ragged. He couldnât remember walking there or taking off his coat and hat in the living room. He reached for the withered hand, noting the skin pulled tight over the arthritic knuckles. âMom, itâs Billâ he spoke softly. Her eyes fluttered and her faded blue eyes focused on her youngest child for a moment before closing again.

âBill,â the word was barely discernible in the quiet room. âYou have made me so happy. You are doing such a fine job, and the kids are the joy in my life.â The words were raspy and slowly delivered. Bill had to strain to hear. âI love you son.â 

He squeezed her hand softly and felt a light squeeze in return as their clasped hands were spattered by the tears running off his face. âI love you Momâ. Amy grasped his shoulder and gently drew him away to give room for someone else. He let her guide him out of the way and fought hard to keep standing as Carla came into the room and went to the spot he had just vacated. He was barely conscious of first Amanda and then Brad pressing in front of him and Amy as they looked on their grandmother. Amy was quietly praying but Bill couldnât understand her words.


*****​
After much discussion, the family decided the funeral would be in Billâs garden. One corner had been turned into a flower bed in the past, attracting honey bees and butterflies. They would use that spot as the gravesite and maintain it in the future as a flower bed. 

The ground was frozen to a depth of twenty inches making the digging very difficult. Added to the ever- present rocks it was a long, hard group effort. Every member of the family insisted on taking a turn at the excavation. As they worked, the sky got murkier as another inversion settled over the valley. The mood was very somber with the heavy skies adding to it.


*****​
Days later Bill was beginning to pull out of the haze he had been in since his motherâs passing. _Has it been a week, or longer? _As he sifted soil and compost to fill flats in the greenhouse he could at last string some thoughts together. Mike had told him about the rest of the interrupted meeting, but for the life of him, Bill couldnât remember anything he had been told. He had gone about the needed chores for the last week automatically but couldnât concentrate on anything. This was the first thing he had worked on since the funeral. It was therapeutic sifting and mixing the soil. _Yes, life goes on and we canât stop for long._ As he worked, the old song by The Birds started going through his head:

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_
_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_
_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time to be born, a time to die_
_A time to plant, a time to reap_
_A time to kill, a time to heal_
_A time to laugh, a time to weep_

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_
_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_
_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time to build up, a time to break down_
_A time to dance, a time to mourn_
_A time to cast away stones_
_A time to gather stones together_

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_
_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_
_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time of war, a time of peace_
_A time of love, a time of hate_
_A time you may embrace_
_A time to refrain from embracing_

_To everything - turn, turn, turn_
_There is a season - turn, turn, turn_
_And a time for every purpose under heaven_

_A time to gain, a time to lose_
_A time to rend, a time to sew_
_A time to love, a time to hate_
_A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!_

The song was based on Scripture and was comforting as he mouthed the words he remembered and hummed the parts he had forgotten. _Yes, a time to mourn, and a time to plant. I can hear you now Mom, saying to quit moping and get back to living. All right then, weâll make the flower corner look the best it ever has._ He had filled two large pots with sifted soil and compost. He set the screen aside and started combining the two in another large pot and dampened the mixture before he began filling his flats as a beam of light came through the glass shining directly on his work area. At last the inversion was lifting and patches of blue sky were beginning to show through the murk. As the haze left the sky, it felt like it was lifting the haze from his mind. He started singing louder as he set a full flat on the shelf and reached for the next empty one.

The shining sun was welcome for another reason. The daylight hours had once again reached the ten hours required for plant growth. It was still too cold for most plants, but without it registering in his muddled head until now, green shoots were showing on the southern exposure of many buildings. He wiped his hands as best he could and made a note on the whiteboard he had attached to the wall. _Make a note before the thought gets lost from loneliness. _He needed to watch the new shoots closely. Some of the earliest greens he usually saw were dandelions, soon followed by button weed. Plantain and purslane would follow when it was warmer. Once he saw them growing, he wanted to lead the school kids for a day of foraging edible greens. He would also get out a message to everyone interested in gardening to be involved.

All of the âweedsâ he was thinking of grew prolifically in the neighborhood, at least they were prolific in his garden, although he wouldnât mind seeing more purslane. He especially wanted the kids to get after the button weed since it was such a pain in gardening, even though every part of it was edible. Another class would involve harvesting cattail roots and bulrushes in the drain ditch. He also needed to show the kids lambs quarter and pigweed when they came up. They both grew in Billâs garden and he included numerous leaves from each in his early salads. A few places in the neighborhood also had burdock. Bill hadnât eaten it himself; when he saw it growing he chopped it out, detesting the burrs it produced. All of it should be welcome to the people that were subsisting on the diminishing commodity handouts.

Bill continued sifting, mixing and filling flats until the shelves were covered. He wiped his hands again and checked his planting charts. In the next day or two he planned on planting artichokes, tomatoes, peppers and asparagus. _I sure doubt I can find any asparagus crowns now_. If germination was good he could furnish the neighborhood with most of the plant starts they would need. It was a little early for starting tomato seeds but he had decided when the seedlings need transplanted, most could be put in hoop houses. It would allow them to roll up the sides and harden the plants off when the time came. It would also give him a head start on tomatoes. Tomato production was a major concern after the previous summer. The only tomatoes he harvested at the normal time were from plants that were already in blossom when he had set them out. The small plants he had set out did not set blooms until the heat wave had passed. Too much was riding on this yearâs harvest to miss that much production time.


----------



## Bret F

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Bill glanced at the thermometer. He had been burning the fire in the rocket stove since he had come in. That would not be further necessary with the sun finally shining in. Not that he wanted it that warm for himself, but he wanted to heat the soil. Everything he wanted to plant had optimal germination of at least 75 degrees so he wanted to give the seeds the best chance possible. He had never paid attention to the soil temperatures in the past but felt the extra details needed followed this year. _The seeds will grow on their schedule, not mine._ He checked the soil temperature and saw it needed to warm substantially to reach 75. He would fire up the stove again as evening progressed. He put his coat on and went into the cool, but rapidly warming outside. 

He paused outside the door and let the sun warm his face. It felt so good after the gloomy air and the funk he had been in. While he stood there a goat bleated causing him to look over. Mischief was very close now. Her udder was full and looking bigger than ever. _How can she look that big and not act miserable. Amy didnât act that chipper when she was that close. Wouldnât she like me comparing her to a goat!_ He went over and looked at the goats and reached through the fence and scratched the base of the old goatâs ears. _Okay, time to get the lights in the henhouse._ 

One cordless drill battery had been outside, hooked to a solar charger while he was in the greenhouse. Bill unhooked it and put his other battery in its place then gathered his drill and a large hole saw, tape measure, four yard lights, a caulk gun and tube of silicone, placing them all in his portable tool box: an empty five gallon bucket. He set the bucket down at the gate and got a ladder and carried it into the pen and leaned it against the chicken house. Thinking he was going to return right away, he hadnât clipped the gate hasp and turned just in time to see Mischief slip the hasp and run out of the gate, trailed by the other goats. It was a lighthearted few minutes getting them all back in the pen. Most times he tended to get irritated at the goats when that happened but this time it just felt fun. Once order was restored and the tube of silicone put back in the bucket from where a goat had dropped it after deciding it wasnât edible, he carried the bucket into the pen and got to work. But not before the snap was clipped on the gate hasp.

The kids returned from Leslieâs and Amanda joined Bill at the chicken house. Mandy arrived soon after, the two girls rarely being seen apart. Brad had dropped his books and walked back towards Markâs house. The project went very fast with Amanda on the roof and Bill inside when it came time to assemble the lights. They were finished and carrying the ladder and tools out of the pen when Amy called that supper would be ready in five minutes. As they approached the back door, the empty buckets were a clue that they needed to bring in some water with them. _And I still have to get a wheelbarrow load of firewood._

Dinner included fresh fish Brad and Mark had gotten from the traps in the drain ditch that afternoon. The traps had been moderately successful giving each family fresh fish, with some extras that were shared about the neighborhood. Many of the fish would have been cat food or fertilizer in the past but people werenât nearly as picky about bones now. Brad and Mark made it a point to check the traps at least three times per week. They enjoyed tromping in the ditch area and had made more traps and expanded their range. The least productive traps had been relocated as they searched for the perfect hole. 

The kidâs relationships had shifted when Mandy had moved to the neighborhood. Prior to that, Amanda, Brad and Mark were much together, doing things as a team. Now they were two distinct pairs. The three years difference in Mark and Bradâs age wasnât an obstacle. The two had shared similar interests before the crash and they would spend hours talking about things that only confused Bill. _Are they even speaking English, or is that some computer code?_ Since the crash, Brad shared a lot of knowledge with Mark. Bill could only shake his head at that. Brad had played the part of not understanding all too well, with Amy letting him out of many chores. He knew a lot more about the garden and animals that he ever let on. _Sly like a fox, that boy._


*****​
The usual day of the commodity food drop rolled around and a large group from the neighborhood gathered and made the walk. Bill always accepted the food, and then stored it to share with neighbors that appeared more in need than his own family. He mostly made the walk for the information that was shared. Once the lone radio station had quite broadcasting, the food drops had become the main news stand. A large sign board had been erected and it was posted with what little news the state officials or the National Guard units had â or at least were willing to share. A few people with shortwave radios posted news that wasnât censored by the government. Many large cities had been mostly destroyed by riots. The president had declared martial law in a number of areas. The National Guard and military was getting stretched very thin trying to maintain order. FEMA had large refugee camps in many locations. _Wow, weâve got it good here, even without power._

Other people had turned the signboard into a âbarter boardâ. It contained posts of many needs and a few of things people had in excess and what they were willing to accept for it. It was commerce of a sort and seemed to be working well. Most of the actual trades took place in view of the Guardsmen. The people with items to trade generally traveled in well-armed groups.

When Billâs group arrived at the parking lot, the scene was different than usual. No semi-trucks were parked there, only one Humvee with a group of Guardsmen in their desert-camo fatigues. Many of the people around the Humvee were clearly agitated and yelling at the men in the Humvee. A new poster was on the news board. Bob worked his way through the crowd to read it and then had to force his way back out, shouldering past the shouting people. âIt says there wonât be any food today. The feds have underestimated the need and are starting to run short. Can you imagine that, the feds getting something wrong? They were sure the power would be returned and everything back to normal so they went through the stock faster than anticipated. Now after further review, the distributions will occur monthly. 

âBut wait, they can still take care of you. FEMA has a couple of camps in town now. They will distribute food to the people that are checked in. No weapons are allowed in the camps and everything you take in will be searched. 

âAnd then there is the part about the National Guard on patrols watching for thieves and looters. They have been authorized to shoot any obvious looters. There you go; judge, jury and executioner all in one, making a life or death decision in a quick glance.â

âWow, I can see why there are some ticked off people. They have been indoctrinated all their lives into believing Uncle Sugar will always be there for them and now when they need it the most, thereâs no help.â Alan said. âThink how fun it must be in the FEMA camps about now.â

âWhy donât we get out of here,â Bill said. âThings could get ugly.â Some people in the crowd were pushing against the Humvee and started rocking it. The engine fired up and it started slowly pushing its way through the massed people. As they made their own way out of the gathering crowd, the Humvee cleared the mass on the other side and started moving faster as it was subjected to a hail of thrown rocks. âWow, it looks like those Palestinian kids on the news,â Bill observed. âOnly those arenât kids chucking the rocks.â

As they made their way back towards home, Alan stopped and called some of the people to the barrow ditch beside the road. He pointed out some plants growing and started lecturing everyone on their uses. While Bill knew most of the edible weeds that grew in his garden, his knowledge paled in comparison to Alanâs. Alan had been Billâs first exposure to eating wild plants and liked to spend weekends living off what he could forage. Soon, he led the group to another patch of green and started telling them about the growth there. He explained the parts that were edible, how he harvested them and how he prepared them. As they neared the first personâs house, Bill mentioned the drain ditch to Alan.

âGood idea.â He stopped everyone and told them, âThere is a lot of good eating in the drain ditch too. If you have rubber boots, get them. Bring bags, a paring or good pocket knife and a garden spade if youâve got it. Iâll get a shovel. Letâs meet in a half hour at Fredâs house. He has good access to the ditch.â

They continued on, Bill knocking on the few doors of families that hadnât joined them on the trip to the store and telling them about the morningâs activities. Occasionally Alan would see a plant poking out of the ground he hadnât addressed already. Bill also stopped at the âschoolâ to get all of the youngsters involved. 

At the drain ditch, Alan showed the group about harvesting cattail roots, and explained about leaving enough for continued growth. A few new shoots were sprouting so be broke one off and popped it in his mouth. _Nothing like a real demonstration if they doubt you_. He also told them about eating the young stems and later, the pollen heads. He was quite thorough in his explanations. 

A short distance away a clump of dried bulrush stems were sticking out. He went to it, still lecturing and pulled some new shoots that he also began eating. There were other plants along the waterâs edge growing that he pointed out. They were a little further developed next to the moving water than the plants along the road.

Brad told his Dad that one of the fish traps was close, so Bill asked him and Mark to get it. They came back with the basket holding a few fish. Bill had them take the fish out and split them up with the group. He sent them off to check all of the traps and split the fish among all of the neighbors. Bill told Brad not to bring any home this time. Everyone else had greater need of them. 

Bill climbed to the top of the ditch bank to start for home, but paused at the top. The neighbors were spreading out along the ditch foraging and digging cattail roots. It wasnât going to be a gourmet spread, but it would hopefully fill them enough until they got more food. _I bet itâs far better than what they are getting in the concentration, oops, I mean FEMA relief camps._


----------



## Bret F

*****​When Bill took the hay to the goats and Mischief didnât show up, it confirmed the thoughts he had had earlier. He looked in the barn and it was definite. He put the panel across the door and went back to the house and woke Amanda. âHey, you want to see some babies born?â

She rose up, instantly understanding what he meant. âOf course. Let me get dressed and Iâll be right out.â

âWhy donât you go get Mandy, and Iâll get Mark. Iâm sure they both want to see this.â

She agreed as she picked up her clothes to change and pushed Bill out the door before closing it behind him. He wasnât fifty feet down the street when he heard the door and then the gate close as Amanda ran for Mandyâs house. 

The kids brushed off the milk stand and sat on it side by side as instructed. âWhatâs that?â Mark asked, wide eyed, at the bag of waters that was hanging exposed. 

Bill explained as best he could, but it was short and simple. âIf you want to know more, maybe your Mom has the information in one of her books.â

Soon two small feet protruded, followed by a nose. The kids jumped as Mischief let out a load painful bleat as the head came out and the rest of the body slid to the straw covered ground. Mischief turned to it and began licking its head. After confirming it was breathing, Bill stepped back to let the goat do her job. 

âEh, gross,â a white faced Mandy said. Mark just looked on with wide eyed fascination. Amanda had seen it before and took it all in stride. _If she thinks this is gross, wait until she sees the final clean up_. 

Soon Mischief was having more contractions and began to deliver the second baby. When she pulled away from the new born kid, Bill went to it and wiped the exposed end of the umbilical cord with iodine and checked for sex. âWeâve got a girlâ. Soon the second baby was delivered and Mischief was cleaning it. While the kids looked on fascinated, the first baby tried to stand on wobbly legs, toppling back to the ground. On the third try, it stood shakily, swaying, but staying on its feet. Mischief nuzzled her, causing her to lose her balance again. After shaking her head, the little goat regained her footing, much faster and steadier. Mark had been quietly asking questions that Amanda was answering. Mandy looked like she was going to be sick.

Both goat kids were soon on their feet and with just a little help from Bill were nursing. After getting their fill of the rich colostrum they plopped down in the straw. Mischief expelled the afterbirth and when she sniffed it and began to eat it, Mandy ran for the door, muttering something unintelligible. Mark still looked on, amazed at everything that had taken place.

Amy walked up to the door with a resigned look on her face. She still didnât like the goats. âMom, weâve got a girl and a boy!â Amanda told her excitedly. 

âOh, great,â her tone didnât indicate she thought it was great. _So another girl will have how many more babies? Yes, thatâs just great._


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## Wren - TN

Thank you! Just the treat I needed to make me forget my earache for awhile.


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## stickinthemud

Thanks, Bret!


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## 355946

Thank you for the new addiction!


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## biggkidd

I hope you enjoy your writing as much as we are enjoying reading it!


Thanks

Larry


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## Bret F

biggkidd said:


> I hope you enjoy your writing as much as we are enjoying reading it!
> 
> 
> Thanks
> 
> Larry


Actually, I found these last two chapters pretty hard.


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 25: Tubthumping

_We'll be singing, when we're winning _
_We'll be singing _

_I get knocked down but I get up again_
_You're never going to keep me down _
_I get knocked down but I get up again _
_You're never going to keep me down _
_I get knocked down but I get up again _
_You're never going to keep me down _
_I get knocked down but I get up again _
_You're never going to keep me down_

_âTubthumpingâ performed by *Chumbawamba*_
_Written by Judith Abbott, Duncan Bruce, Paul Greco, Darren Hamer, Nigel Hunter, Alice Nutter, Louise Watts, Allan Whalley_

âEarth to Dad; I asked you if this was a weed,â Amanda said bringing Bill back to the present. 

âOh, yeah, thatâs a weed, pull it,â Bill told Amanda after looking at the plant she was pointing at. Before giving her the chance to pull it, he reached over, plucked it from the dirt and bit off the green stem and leaves and began chewing. âActually it was lambâs quarter. We can let them go as long as they donât interfere with the plants we want to grow.â He pointed out another for everyone to identify. 

They were in the greenhouse with Mandy, Brad and Mark. The kids were pulling weeds in the permanent beds. The beds had new seedlings of broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage and Brussels sprouts. The shelf along the back wall was a sea of green. The tomatoes, peppers and artichokes had sprouted and grown well and now needed transplanted into larger individual pots. The asparagus was wispy little green stems and would be fine in the flats for a little longer. 

Bill had been preoccupied with thoughts of his last trip to the news bulletin board. A second news board had been erected and it was dedicated totally to notices about the official response to increasing lawlessness. Yes, looters were being shot, their names and photos posted to drive the message home. Bill had been scanning the news board when a name jumped out at him; Jimmy Campbell. Looking closer, he confirmed it. _Oh Jimmy, why couldnât you listen at work? We tried to give you the help you needed to go into this mess but you just wanted to party on. Now look how that worked out. I wonder how many more âJimmyâsâ are out there?_ The few lines accompanying the name and photo said Jimmy and two other guys had been involved in home invasions within days of the crash. The authorities had finally been a step ahead of them. Bill shook the image of Jimmyâs lifeless, bloody body from his mind to focus back on the work at hand.

It was a beautiful early spring day. Bill had set up a sawhorse and OSB board table outside and was moving individual flats out to begin transplanting. He didnât have near enough pots and scrounged containers for the number of seedlings he had, but he would fill all of the pots and place them on the greenhouse shelf. The rest of the tender seedlings would be direct planted in hoop houses. He and a group of helpers had spread compost in the new hoop houses and tilled it in, as well as the green manure crop he had planted the previous fall. The remaining plants would be planted there. 

The week had been busy and productive. Bob and Cal had a plow mounted to one tractor, the disc on another and had worked up every patch of ground they could fit onto. The drawback to that was only one tractor was operating on wood gas. The other was using precious stored fuel. As soon as the ground was worked up, Bob and Cal were back to work retrofitting the second tractor.

The neighbors had pulled together to get the gardening under way. Phil and Lois Roberts worked tirelessly, showing their worth to their new neighbors since occupying Martinâs vacant house. Billâs second hoop house was erected as well as four more scattered throughout the neighborhood. Three were covered with clear plastic a painter had in his shed. They wouldnât be as durable as the rest, but they should last for at least one year, hopefully more. Everyone with a spare window had set up cold frames. Cold weather crops had been planted; some seedlings just beginning to show through the freshly worked soil.

âWhat now, Dad?â Amanda asked as she came out of the greenhouse. 

âWhy donât you guys take that stack of flat rocks and distribute them along those new furrows in the hoop house, and then get all of those milk jugs of water and spread them out there. I want to get some heat absorbers going while itâs warm. Weâll set them close to the plants after we get them in. Iâm a little nervous about the night time temperatures still. Weâll put some of that floating row cover over them once everything else is done.â The floating row cover idea was from the Elliot Coleman winter gardening book. Mr. Coleman said it greatly added to the protection of plants.

âOh yeah, before you do that, you better check on the goats. I donât see your little girl out with the rest and she was looking very close to kidding.â

Bill went back to his seedlings while the kids went excitedly to the goat barn. All the kids except Mandy. She stayed at the table and asked if there wasnât something she could do to help him until the others came back. Bill chuckled when he remembered how she had reacted to Mischief giving birth.

âDad, Dad, sheâs having her babies!â Amanda yelled from the barn. 

Bill walked over to the fence so he could be heard easier and asked, âSo do you need me, or can you guys and the goat take care of everything?â

âSheâs alright for now. Weâll call you if we need help.â

âOkay, Iâll be at the table transplanting.â He walked back and looking at Mandy asked her, âAre you sure you donât want to see the new babies arrive?â

The color drained from her face and she swallowed hard before saying, âNo, I think Iâd rather help with the plants.â

Bill chuckled again and began to transplant the tender plants. Soon a stream of neighbors joined them at the table. Bill took a group into the hoop house and showed them where and how to transplant, then directed others to do the same at the hoop house across the street. _Donât keep all your eggs in one basket_, he thought. After the seedlings in the flats were transplanted, they would move the brassica plants to hoop houses. As the flats were emptied of the new plants, Bill mixed more planting soil to start the process again. 

âDad, Dad. We have a girl!â A very excited Amanda shouted from the corner of the goat barn, the ducked back inside.

âMandy, Iâm going to go see the new baby. Are you coming along?â Bill asked, already knowing the answer. Seeing everything that went with live birth had really affected her.

âNo, Iâm fine. Iâll see them when they are out playing.â

As Bill walked to the barn he looked into the small chicken house. The bantams had done exactly as he had hoped, both of them setting on a clutch of eggs. He had secluded them in the section previously used to raise babies, keeping other hens from trying to lay eggs in the same nest. The addition of solar lights had brought increased egg production earlier than usual. _Or was it just that the new pullets were ready?_ The extra eggs were being shared with neighbors that were working hard on getting the gardens ready. 

When Amanda saw her Dad step to the barn door, she beamed at him, âDad, she was having trouble so Mark and I each grabbed a foot, and then we pulled when she had a contraction. It was tough getting the head out, but then she did the rest on her own.â 

âGood job guys,â Bill told them. He was happy to see the doe busy cleaning off the baby. He was concerned about first time mothers when they had a difficult birth. The first goat kid born there had been rejected by the mother after a difficult birth. âYell if you need me. Iâm getting back at it.â

The second baby was born and both had nursed by the time Amy called everyone together for lunch. Anticipating the group activity, she and Francis had made a large pot of homemade egg noodles and chicken. The large group of chicks Bill had hatched just before the crash was around half roosters that were now adding fresh meat to meals. The chicken and noodles was accompanied by a large salad from the cold frames. Plants that had looked dead in the cold of winter had sprung to life with vigor once the days warmed and daylight lengthened.


----------



## Bret F

At the end of the day, all of the young plants had been transplanted and watered in. The flats and greenhouse planters were replanted with seeds. It was gratifying to see so many members of the neighborhood taking the project seriously.

During a break in the planting, Bill had addressed fertilizer with the group. âThis may seem a bit out there to most of you, but have any of you ever heard of âHumanureâ?â

When all he got was negative responses, Bill showed them the pamphlet he had and quickly described the process. Most of the listeners didnât seem very receptive to the idea, but he asked them to take the paper, read it with an open mind, and then pass it off to another. âI should have shared this with you all earlier but better late than never I guess. If we do a lot of intensive growing, we will need to fertilize the ground and this is a ready source. Itâs pretty obvious we arenât going to be running to the garden store and getting the bags of chemical fertilizer so we have to make our own. So please, take it serious. And another good fertilizer is literally right at your fingertips, at least for the men; itâs urine. It is high in nitrogen and a lot easier to save. It can be diluted and poured on the ground at the roots and it can be poured over your compost pile.â There were some crude comments on saving urine that Bill tried to talk over. 

Bill had a stack of books and articles he had printed from the internet nearby that he showed to the group. The stack included The Encyclopedia of Country Living by Carla Emery, The Foxfire Book series, Making the Best of Basics: Family Preparedness Handbook by James http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/18...mp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1882723252Talmage Stevens, Gardening When It Counts: Growing Food in Hard Times by Steve Solomon, Seed to Seed: Seed Saving and Growing Techniques for Vegetable Gardeners by Suzanne Ashworth, All New Square Foot Gardening by Mel Bartholomew, Root Cellaring: Natural Cold Storage of Fruits & Vegetables by Mike Bubel, Outdoor Survival Skills by Larry Dean Olsen, Four-Season Harvest: Organic Vegetables from Your Home Garden All Year Long by Elliot Coleman, LDS Preparedness Manual, edited by Christopher M. Parrett, The Winter Harvest Handbook: Year Round Vegetable Production Using Deep Organic Techniques and Unheated Greenhouses Eliot Coleman, A Field Guide to Medicinal Plants and Herbs (Peterson Field Guide) , by Steven Foster and James A. Duke (Eastern & Central, and Western), Identifying and Harvesting Edible and Medicinal Plants in Wild (and Not So Wild) Places , by "Wildman" Steve Brill, Rodaleâs Illustrated Encyclopedia of Herbs, Claire Kowalchik and William H. Hylton, Editors. 


âI donât know why I didnât think to get these out before. There is a world of knowledge here that we can all use for what we are now facing. I want these to be used by everyone so we can all gain and share that knowledge. I have a sheet here that I would like you to write your name and the name of the book, if you take one. We can use this as a library resource for everyone.â

In no time everyone was leafing through a book. By the time everyone went to their own home, the stack was gone. 

*****​When Bill opened his pill bottle, it was empty. He sat it down and did some figuring. It had been nearly five months since the electrical power was stopped, the two months leading to that with bombings all around the country. Seven months of terror attacks. Seven months since life in the United States had been turned upside down with no end in sight. 
He went to the pantry and took out a fresh pill bottle and a Mason jar filled with dried pig and beef thyroids. He sat at the table and studied them intently while he sipped from his coffee cup. He hadnât been able to locate any further information on the use of pig thyroid. The main information was that âDesiccated Thyroid was the cleaned, dried and powdered thyroid gland of pork and beef.â He found a small mortar and pestle that had been a Christmas gift he never expected to use, then poured the dried glands out and began to crush them. After everything was crushed to powder he mixed it and after more contemplation, took out an amount about one and a half times the size of the pills he took and swallowed it. He would start taking a pill and the pig thyroid on alternating days and try to pay close attention to any effects it had on his body. 
*****​​The air had a sharp bite to it when Bill stepped out, milk bucket in hand. The chicken water had a thick layer of ice, giving Bill an icy feeling in his stomach. After he had taken care of the fresh milk, he went to the garden and looked at the cold frames. The sight of wilted plants greeted him. He wouldnât open the hoop house for a while but was sure it would not look good. 

When the air had warmed enough to open the first hoop house, Bill went in and checked on the plants. Under the floating row cover with water jugs and stones, the plants were standing tall, looking just as they had the day before. The second hoop house did not look as good. When he raised the row cover, he was greeted with a sickening sight. The small plants were flat on the ground, the leaves a sick color from freezing. The plants in the other hoop houses looked the same, except the hoop house at Russâs home. He had run large PVC pipes the length of the rows, nestled close to the plants and filled them with water since Bill had last been there. The water had stored enough heat to keep the plants from freezing. An additional layer of clear plastic was over the row cover. Russ was there, checking on the plants when Bill stepped in. âThat Elliot Coleman has some good ideas for us. The PVC pipe was something I came up with.â Bill was thankful he had made the books accessible and that at least Russ was reading them seriously.

The only plants not looking affected were the brassica family. As he looked at all the destroyed plants, he was reminded of a TV commercial from his youth: âItâs not nice to fool Mother Natureâ. Well, he hadnât tried to fool her, just get an early start on the growing season. _Okay, live and learn. Pay better attention to the weather and prepare to add heat if starting tender plants early_. _And donât cry over spilt milk or frozen plants_. He was pulled out of his down mood when he saw a patch of spinach that had sprung up as the sun started heating it. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

The days remained busy. The number one priority was caring for all of the new seedlings; keeping them watered and from succumbing to another freeze as the earlier batch had. The fruit trees were pruned with tin can rocket stoves, stones and cinder blocks placed under them. The goats thoroughly enjoyed all of the tender branches. The grapes were pruned with many canes cut and put into damp sand for rooting. The asparagus beds that had been getting choked out more each year by quack grass were slowly cleaned. _And all it took was the end of the world as we know it for me to get this done. How about that?_

When the next growth of plants from the greenhouse was ready for transplanting, the neighborhood was better prepared for them. Russ had heat reservoirs in place and extra covers all ready when the plants were ready for transplanting. The covers were allowed to vent in the heat of the day and covered again as the temperatures began to drop.

On one particularly warm and calm day, a large crew burnt the weeds in the irrigation ditches and cleaned to the canal. Two days later, along with the group of farmers arranged by Jack Parson, they burned and cleaned the canal to the diversion out of the river. The irrigation ditches were the lifeblood of western agriculture. Without the stored up water, the region would regress back to a semi-desert environment.

The raspberry patches in Bill and Calâs gardens were both sending up many new shoots. In the past, they had each given away hundreds of plants on Freecycle and Craigslist. Now they were carefully dug and patches started in the home gardens of everyone involved in gardening. They were accompanied by plum trees that shot up from the base of Bill and Alanâs established trees. Numerous shoots came each year; Bill had always regretted chopping them off. Now they would start new trees throughout the neighborhood.

*****​ 
As Bill started the head of water down the rows of the newly planted corn field he reflected on the past nine months. _Really, nine months since all this started?_ There had been a lot of changes, but they werenât all bad. Yes, his Mom was gone and his Dad seemed to be going downhill at a disturbing rate. That was probably to be expected after losing his partner of sixty four years. But so many other people looked much healthier. In his own case, getting away from a desk, coupled with outside working had done wonders. Added to the work was a much better diet, eliminating most all pre-prepared foods and the chemicals they were laced with. His thickening waist had dropped back down to a size it hadnât been in years. _Sure glad I boxed up all of those jeans when they got too tight_. As his belly diminished and his muscle tone returned, his back bothered him less and less. And he could see the same results in most of the people around him. _Too bad it didnât alleviate the joint pain._

The gardens and fields were all looking very good. Most everyone was harvesting fresh salad greens and radishes. The pea pods were heavy with growth and could begin to be harvested most any day. The cleaned out asparagus patches, with layers of compost over them and no longer competing with the quack grass were producing heavily. Early raspberries were plumping and would begin to turn red soon. The potato field was showing good growth and the weeding crews made sure they did not have competition although edible weeds were allowed to get large enough to grace a meal before being pulled. The hoop houses had provided a great head start for the plants in them. The tomato plants were all staked up, the first planting starting to bloom, the second planting not far behind. _That extra heat and protection has sure made a difference._ There had been enough seed to plant all of the empty lots and home gardens. An effort would have to be made to save seed for following years although Bill still had a large stock stashed away in the root cellar. It was refreshing to see the involvement of all of the neighbors. Bill had been concerned about a âLittle Red Henâ situation, but evidently a winter and spring short on food had made an impact on most everyoneâs thinking. _Wonder how youâre getting on in the FEMA camp Whiney?_ After the food distributions had slowed to a trickle and not getting handouts from the neighbors, he and his wife had gone to the camp. _How can you feel so entitled and lazy?_ It was a puzzle Bill just could not understand.

A secluded section of the garden Bill didnât show to other people was putting out a lot of new growth. It was his experimental pain killer patch that he hoped would never be needed but he was going to attempt it anyway. _Not to mention getting hauled off by the Fedâs if they figure out what Iâm up to_. It was a patch of opium poppies that he hoped to turn into morphine. Not that growing them was illegal, but the next step was when he had to be especially careful. He also knew of at least one patch of cannabis that was being cultivated although it wasnât necessarily grown for pain relief.

Daily milkings of the goats and jersey cow were yielding enough dairy products for everyone that wanted to help. Each morning and evening at milking time neighbors showed up to assist in the chores and share in the fresh milk. The goat kids and calf had been separated and were bottle fed, saving more of the milk for human consumption. Bill managed to keep enough to make butter and cheeses. He hadnât thought to store extra rennet for the cheese and would soon have to experiment. In his piles of documents was one that discussed using rennet from thistle and stinging nettle. He would have to give that a try before long, as his liquid rennet was nearly gone. Although Amy still turned up her nose to the goat milk and products, once getting used to the rich Jersey milk and butter, she no longer missed the weak milk she had purchased in the past. She constantly put Billâs Momâs churn to use making deep yellow butter.

After all of the goats had kidded, they ended up with two new doelings and four bucklings. The boys had been banded and all six disbudded. He guessed the weathers would become food, though he hated to do it. His goats had always been borderline pets and the kids were just too cute. Well, things had changed and he had to change too, no matter how much he disliked it. Amanda didnât like that idea at all and was working hard with her two favorites leading them and putting harnesses and packs on them. She argued that taught to drive and pull wagons as well as pack, they would be more valuable. _Weâll see I guess._ Bill had visited with a friend that raised goats and arranged to trade his buck for one of hers, getting new blood into each flock. The newborn calf was not the heifer they had hoped for; it was a bull that soon became a steer. Bill didnât have as much problem picturing him as part of the menu.

The chickens had begun laying in earnest once the daylight hours had stretched out and the temperatures had warmed. Bill had noted an increase in eggs after mounting the lights in the hen house but nothing like the natural change. _I guess they needed a rest too_. The new pullets had added to the production, allowing most of the neighborhood to share in the eggs. The bantams were living up to their reputation, each sitting another clutch of eggs, having weaned their first broods.

Bob, with Cal constantly in tow, had been keeping busy away from the gardening. He had struck a trade with Jack Parson to trade his wood gasifier knowledge for wheat at harvest time. One tractor was running on wood with one more and the combine to go. After they were complete, Bob was going to help with one for the pig farmer they had met the previous fall in exchange for hogs. Somehow, they had also found time to plant a large garden at the cabin. It still amazed Bill that the bears tended to leave it alone.

As Bill thought of all of the vehicles they had that now ran on wood as well as the wood needed for home heating and cooking, it raised another concern. They would need massive amounts of firewood and would have to start bringing it in as soon as they could fit it into the schedule. That was yet another drawback of their location. Few trees grew close by without irrigation and the river banks were crawling with people taking every stick of wood they could drag home. Time and fuel consuming trips into the mountains would be required. _Well, at least we have plenty of stabilized fuel and oil for the chainsaws._ 

_Then we need to figure out winter feed for the stock_. The animals were tied daily along the roads and in any patch that wasnât raising food, extending the pastures. Other patches, unsuitable for gardening were fenced off with the plastic netting fence and hooked up to the solar fence charger, allowing the animals extra grazing. But winter feed was a necessity and would have to be addressed soon.

âHey Dad, check them out,â Amanda called from the road. 

Bill looked up to see Amanda with Mandy, Brad and Mark working with the two small weather goats. They had fashioned harnesses from horse halters and had the pair hooked up to a red wagon. The kids were doing a great job in training. Bill could see the benefits in trained goats and could feel himself relenting on butchering them. _Weâll figure out meat some other way I guess._ âLooks good,â Bill called back as the kids demonstrated the goats performing a turn as directed by the reins. 

More people had joined Bill and were helping to get the water to flow through the new corrugates. _You know, if we continue to work hard and pull together, we just might be able to ride out this storm._


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## Bret F

Chapter 26: Silver Lining

_Woke up on the wrong side of rock bottom_
_Youâre all out of pennies and the well it done run dry_
_Youâd light âem up and smoke âem if you had âem_
_But you just ainât got âem_
_Ainât we always lookinâ for a bluer sky_

_But if youâre ever gonna find a silver lining_
_Itâs gotta be a cloudy day, itâs gotta be a cloudy day_
_If you wanna fill your bottle up with lightning_
_Youâre gonna have to stand in the rain_
_Youâre gonna have to stand in the rain_

_The lemonade keeps turning into lemons_
_And you wear your heart on a ripped unraveled sleeve_
_Youâve been run thru the ringer and pushed plum to your limit_
_You say, youâre just unlucky, but luck ainât what you need_

_âCause if youâre ever gonna find a four-leaf clover_
_You gotta get a little dirt on your hands_
_You gotta get a little dirt on your hands_
_If you wanna find a head that fits your shoulder_
_Youâre gonna have to go to the dance_
_Youâre gonna have to go to the dance_

_If you wanna find the honey_
_You canât be scared of the bees_
_If you wanna see the forest_
_Youâre gonna have to look past the trees_
_âSilver Liningâ Performed by Kacey Musgraves_
_Written by Josh Osborne, Kacey Musgraves, Shane McAnally_

âHey there Santa Clause, have you been down to the bulletin board recently?â Russ asked Bill as he and three other men joined Bill hoeing weeds.

âSanta?â

âYeah, arenât you hoe, hoe hoeing?â Russ asked with a grin.

âRight. Anyway, no, itâs been a while since Iâve been there. What do they have new posted?â Bill stood up straight, then leaned on his hoe handle, relishing the opportunity to stretch his back.

âNo more food will be distributed at least until fall. And only if they have enough to start up again. If you want the handouts, you have to go to the camps. It makes me wonder if the government just wants everyone gathered together so itâs easier to control them. Winco still has a little distribution coming in, but with cash hard to come by, they will only be open one day a week.â

âSo what do you think it means to us? Bill asked.

âIt was pretty thin eating for a while there, but now I think that we are doing well enough, although some more protein would be good.â Like most of the people, Russâs family had been eating two small meals per day for some time. Hunger had been a constant companion for many. âMy biggest concern is that any parasites that donât want to go to the camps will notice us. Now that we are pulling a lot of good eating from the gardens, we will be a target. Iâve been pondering how to watch over everything and think we have a plan, weâll just have to get it all set up.â

âWell, when and where do you want to meet?â Bill asked.

âThe sooner the better. How about this afternoon at your place, since a lot of us will be there to use your pump anyway.â

âThat sounds good. Why donât you get it rolling.â Bill was again thankful for having a neighbor like Russ; someone that saw a need and addressed it. As the other men left, Bill went back to hoeing, enjoying the feel of the sun on his back. 

The rest during the conversation had been very welcome. Although he tried not to let it show, he was getting fatigued a lot more than in the past. He was pretty sure it was from the thyroid medication not being the proper balance. As the fatigue had started to show, he had slowly increased the amount of pig and beef thyroid he was taking. So far he hadnât managed to get the amount figured out but felt he must be getting closer.

*****​ 
The plan Russ had put together had a rolling schedule of men and teens to watch the perimeter of the neighborhood. It was nothing elaborate, just watchers equipped with FRS radios. If scavengers were detected, the watchers would radio for assistance. One radio was in the home of a man with a shortwave that would alert the National Guard if needed. Confrontations could be handled by the trained men. As the group discussed the plan, Bill set back and watched and listened. _Security is definitely not my strong point._ A few people wanted to shoot first. Others questioned the need at all, but in the end, a plan was accepted. 

As the conversation dwindled, Bill addressed the group. âAnother bit of security we havenât talked about is animals. When I went to the corn field this morning I saw a couple of raccoons run off. They are going to be raiding us soon and could make a huge dent on the crops if we let them. Instead of them eating our food, letâs make them our food.â

That statement caused a bit of a stir from a number of people. âDonât tell me you would rather go to bed hungry,â Bill told one. As the man bit back his next comment, Bill continued, âI have had ****, and personally I like it. Besides, they are coming to us and a lot of people could use more meat.â He laid out two books on trapping and snares for the group to look over. âAnother good source of food is those rock chucks that live on the edge of the foothills. Unless you are going to be running down to the store and grab a package of meat, these are both good sources. And yes, I have eaten them too. I donât think they are as good as ****, but hey, itâs all meat. 

âOne more thing I was wondering if you all still had the papers I gave you on how to make a well bucket. Not that I mind everybody using my well, but now that it is warm you can rig one of them up. You might save a little time and effort packing water. You just have to be careful not to contaminate your well.â


----------



## Bret F

Soon everyone was looking over the information on trapping and a few were looking at the drawings of well buckets. Russ looked back to Bill after looking over a well bucket design and passing it on. âThis stuff is all good. So youâve always got something going on to adapt to the changes. What else are you working on Bill?â

âOh gosh, let me think.â Bill put his hand under his chin and looked like he was deep in thought. âYeah, I do have a project or two in mind. I want to do a little plumbing project. As you all know, any water used in the house has to be carried in. After it is used for washing, dishes, showers and whatever else, I hate to let it down the drain since it can still be used to water plants. So if I use it to water, that means packing it back out. I am going to go under the house â which I absolutely detest by the way â and unhook the drains from the kitchen sink and the bathroom sink and tub, then run drain lines out through the wall into the beds against the house. Once the water is in the beds, I have some old hose that I can make into soaker hose to distribute itâ.

âI like that idea,â Russ said. âWhat about odors from the septic tank?â

âI think I have what I need to cut the lines and cap them. I donât want to change it too much so if we ever get pressurized water back it will be easy to put back. Although if that day comes, I wouldnât mind redoing the whole drain so I could switch it depending on the season.â

âWell I have a huge pile of pipes and fittings. Iâll make them available to anyone that wants to change their drains.â Russ offered. âIâll sure change mine over.â

âThen I want to build an outdoor stove and ovenâ Bill continued. âIt is getting too dang hot to do the cooking inside, besides the traditional stove using so much wood. I have plans for a brick rocket stove and oven Iâm going to put together. Although I plan on using my solar oven as much as possible, there are some things that I want to fry and with the new stove, I can cook with a couple handfuls of sticks.â 

âHey, can you share those plans?â Paul, another neighbor asked. âI took up my brick and paver pathway to plant that area and now I just have them stacked against the garage. âIâd like an outdoor stove too, and seeing how Russ started out with an offer to share, Iâll make by bricks available too.â 

âThanks, Paul,â numerous men said almost together. 

âOf course growing food to survive is still the priority,â Bill continued again. âAnd a direct extension of that is preserving that food for the winter. The age old way of doing that is through drying. So I want to put together a couple of solar dehydrators.â

âAnd your plan on that is what?â Mike asked.

âI have the one I made in the winter, but I want more capacity. Although I would love to have a couple of more like it, I donât have everything I need on hand. So I am going to make some changes to my cold frames and utilize the frames and glass. Iâll put bottoms and screens in them and vent the ends. It will be far from fancy, but I think it will be effective with only a little extra material and effort. Then it can become a cold frame again when I am ready for fall planting.â 

âSpeaking of solar, I have a black plastic 50 gallon barrel. Iâm going to build a stand for it and plumb it for an outdoor shower. Besides those things, getting in a winter supply of hay and firewood are both something we have to get working on soon.â 

âSo, you had to take time to think about other projects that need done,â Russ replied wryly. âIt sounds like you have spent a lot of time on this already. So tell us about your plan for hay. Everyone here has benefitted from your livestock and I think we all need to help with feeding them.â

âWell, the first think I want to do is take advantage of the public land. Have you guys noticed the park?â The backside of the neighborhood was bordered by a large park that had not been maintained since the crash. âAlthough the grass isnât as high as pasture grass, it is getting pretty lush now. Thatâs why I havenât pastured the animals there; Iâve wanted it to grow as much as it could before it needed irrigated. I think in about a week we will cut that. Along with that, there is a lot of alfalfa growing at the sides of the road on the other side of the park. Weâll take that too. If someone squawks about it, well, I guess we will ask forgiveness since we didnât ask permission. Weâll cut my pastures too, since the animals arenât using them. We can get two cuttings from the pastures, but only one from the park unless we start irrigating that.â

âHey Bill,â Paul interjected, âSpeaking of irrigation, I have a few spots at my place that are higher the water wants to go. Do you have any ideas for that?â

âWell sure; you need to change religions. Havenât you ever heard that some guys can make the water run uphill after praying?â Bill said with a huge smile. âBut seriously, there are some options depending on what material we can scrounge up. Probably the easiest is to go up the ditch to where it is higher than your dry spots and start laying a water line and run it to where you want the water. Of course that takes a fair amount of pipe and hose. Another way is a water wheel. Around my grandparentâs old home, the canals were below the surrounding field. The irrigation district had put in large water wheels that were pushed by the current and when turning, they picked up the water and poured it into the smaller ditches. Personally, I always loved watching them. Bill thought back to the last time he had driven past the old farmhouse. The nearest water wheel was laying in pieces on the ground, replaced by a large electric pump. _I hope they can reassemble that old wheel_. It seemed so wrong, just lying there, just one more functional system replaced in the modern world. _Kind of like a lot of the jobs in our country_. Another possibility, I think itâs called a Wirtz, or Spiral pump. The principle there is about a coil of hose or tubing that the current turns, filling with water and creating pressure as it fills. I think we could build some of those, depending upon available materials of course, and put them in the drain ditch.â

âAnd you have diagrams on them?â Paul asked. 

âYeah I do somewhere. Iâll try to locate them this evening.â

âYou mentioned firewood Bill, âMike interjected. I donât think we can get by with the trees on the canal this winter.â

âNo, we canât. All thatâs left there are green and should age for quite a while for good burning. Bob has been going to his place in the hills recently and is looking for dead wood. Hopefully he will have something in mind the next time we see him. Speaking of wood, howâs you pickup coming Russ?â 

Russ had been copying the wood gasifier on Calâs pickup and was close to having an operating unit. âIâm real close. I just want to talk to your Dad and brother about a couple of things and then finish up.â 

It was good to see another vehicle being made useable without gasoline that wasnât in Billâs family. Everyone in the neighborhood was now aware of the materials needed to make one and was constantly watching for them. A few had posted notices on the barter boards requesting items. Two men were pooling their resources to put a unit on a pickup they would share. 

âWell, thatâs a pretty good list of things Bill. Anything else?â

âYep, get lots of rest so I can hit it all again tomorrow. Thatâs even more important since Russ has us up at night,â he said with an acknowledging grin and nod to Russ. âSo, who wants to milk the cow and goats tonight?â


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## Bret F

Chapter 27: Roseville Fair

_Oh, the night was clear, the stars were shinin'
The moon came up so quiet in the sky
All the people gathered 'round, the band was tunin'
I can hear them now playin', 'Comin' Through The Rye'

You were dressed in blue and you looked so lovely
A gentle flower of a small-town girl
You took my hand and we stepped to the music
And with a single smile, you became my world

And we danced all night to the fiddle and the banjo
Their drifting tunes seemed to fill the air
So long ago, but I still remember
We fell in love at the Roseville Fair
__âRoseville Fairâ Performed by Nanci Griffith_
_Written by Bill Staines_


Bob took off his sweat stained cap, wiped the layer of dust from his face, smearing the sweat into a light line of mud. He let out a long sigh as he joined Bill in the shade of the large pine tree. He settled onto a block of wood and picked up his water bottle. As he unscrewed the cap he looked at Bill and asked, âSo, are you doing alright?â

âYeah, Iâm fine. Just needed a break and some water.â 

âUh huh. You seem to be needing more breaks than usual.â

The brothers were part of a group of workers that had been falling trees and cutting them into blocks since first daylight. Bob had returned from a trip to his cabin with news of the trees and arranged for the wood cutting and hauling group activity. It appeared that an infestation of bark beetles had attacked and destroyed a grove of mature pine trees. The beetles had been wreaking havoc across the western forests for years. The hot and dry summer of the previous year had obviously weakened this grove, making them especially vulnerable to the beetles. Never one to pass a wood tree next to the road, Bob nearly drooled when he located the grove. He returned home as quickly as possible and arranged for the current action. While men cut the trees to length, others were taking the wood to the valley, dropping it off and returning with empty pickups and trailers for their next load. This grove wasnât enough for everyone for the winter, but added to other trees scattered along the mountain road, the area should yield enough burnable wood. 

Not wanting to respond to Bobâs comment, Bill changed the subject. âThis roadâs kind of outa the way to the cabin,â he said; the question obvious in his voice. âSo howâd you end up here?â

Bob took the water bottle from his lips and swallowed with a satisfied sigh. âDad and I have been doing some horse trading. Weâve been putting a wood gas unit on the sheriffâs rig. Even though he can still get a requisition of gas, he has to drive into town to get it, taking up almost a half day by the time heâs done. So weâve been helping him out and let him know we needed a bunch of firewood to get through. He told us how to find this bunch of trees and a few more. Cultivating good will with the local authority seemed like a good idea if we were going to be running to the cabin. Heâs pretty leery of strangers now since a number of the outlying farms have been raided. We figured it would be better if he knew us and we were in his good graces.â

âMakes sense,â Bill answered. 

They sat quiet for a while as the light breeze helped to cool them as it blew across their sweat soaked shirts. Bob reached up and ruffled his short cropped hair to allow the breeze to reach his scalp. They were just ready to get back to work when they heard an approaching pickup, the trailer empty, and ready to be loaded with more firewood to make the next trip back to the valley. Once it was backed up to the blocks of wood, a group of men began loading it right away.

âYou know, Iâm pleasantly surprised with these guys. I really expected that once they saw what kind of work was involved for us to get by, a lot of them would cut and run to the shelters,â Bob said as they watched the trailer being quickly filled with wood. âI guess being cold and hungry made an impression on them. Add to that the stories that leak out of the less than desirable accommodations at the camps and your comment about SSS, they seem pretty committed.â He chuckled as he thought. âAlan said your comment sure shut up that one idiot. He thought you nearly made him wet himself.â

âYeah,â Bill grinned. âHe was the typical guy that believed everything the media told us and that those ******** and survivalists were evil and would be the downfall of the country. The look on his face was priceless the last time he came and begged me for some food. Iâd heard whispers that he might come over so I was cleaning that AK that Jim gave me to store when he came in. He asked for food, I asked how hard he was willing to work for it and seated a thirty round magazine and gave him a hard stare. He gulped hard, turned white, and turned and left. He went to the camp that day. Iâm sure he and all of his ilk are getting what they deserve in the concentration, oops I mean relief camps.â 

âI think your intentional slip of the tongue is right from what we are hearing.â 

They each took one more long swallow from their water bottles and joined the group loading the trailer. The trailer was half loaded when the next empty pickup and trailer came rattling up the road. It was quickly loaded and the wood secured, then both loads started slowly back down the mountain. Each load had two men in the pickups and they traveled together, both for security and to have extra hands in case of problems.

The evening shadows were long when Bill climbed into the pickup with Bob and his dad to ride home with the last load of the day. The pickups had brought up camping gear for the men that would spend the night on the mountain and continue to work as long as the light allowed and hit it again early in the morning. They also had baskets of fresh vegetables, sourdough biscuits and another of cold fried chicken. Billâs batch of young roosters was nearly gone, having graced numerous meals. But the bantams and a few of his buff orpingtons were raising new chicks. The early hatches from the bantams were growing quickly and the roosters would soon be the main feature on the dinner plate. 

Although he would have liked to spend the night on the mountain, Bill was going home to his own bed. He had a rough time sleeping out now as various aches and pains would have him constantly rolling around and looking for a comfortable position all night. And if it was hard for him to sleep, Cal found it doubly hard, although he didnât seem to have problems napping in the lawn chair that had been brought along for him. Bill also considered the animals, but they were in good hands. They had nearly become community livestock as different people milked each day and were always willing to put them on new feed to extend the pastures.

After they made it down the mountain road and picked up speed on the highway, Bill said, âWow, it sure looks odd, doesnât it?â

âWhat do you mean?â Bob asked him.

âWell, we have the highway to ourselves. And thereâs not anybody on the river.â The highway was the main north â south connection and always had a large volume of traffic before the crash. And the river that ran along it was a popular white water destination for people from all over the country. It looked foreign to Bill not to have cars in the parking areas along the road and see rafts and kayaks going through the rapids. The last time he had traveled the highway was the elk hunting trip with Bob. The bombings had started, but there was still a lot of traffic. The river had been dotted with a few people trying to get in one more float before deep winter cold set in.

Bob and Cal had made numerous trips up the highway and had become accustomed to the lack of activity. âIâve gotten used to it now, but it sure was a shock the first few trips. Now itâs a surprise if we see someone else on the road. I have seen quite a few fishermen though. All of the good holes seem to have people at them.â 

As Bob was saying that, the pickup passed a popular beach and swimming hole. Bill could see a tent on the sand and people standing around a smoldering fire. In the failing light Bill thought he made out a rack over the fire with clumps spread on it. âSpeaking of fishermen, it looks like those guys are catching and smoking fish.â

âThereâs a lot of that along the river now. I think catch limits went out with the electricity. The other fishing and hunting rules are being ignored too. Most of them have trot lines set up across the good holes.â

They continued on in silence as Bill thought about the people camped along the river, the FEMA camps and the camaraderie that his own neighbors had shown. The next thing he knew, Bob asked him if he was going to spend the night in the pickup seat or if he was going to get out and help unload the wood.

Bill straightened his stiff neck and looked out the window, taking a few minutes to orient himself. âWow, I guess I was tired to sleep all the way home.â

âI sure wish I had my camera. You looked so good there with your head bent back, mouth open and drool running down the side of your face. It would have made a great calendar picture.â

âThen I guess thatâs one of the benefits of the crash. Although if youâre laughing at me, maybe it stops you from laughing at someone else.â

âOh no, I can laugh at lots of people at the same time. Now, letâs get this load dumped off so we can go home.â


----------



## Bret F

Amy came to the door and gave Bill a long hug when he stepped into the house. âYou look tired and dirty,â she told him. We made sure the shower had some hot water left in it. Why donât you go clean up and Iâll make you something to eat.â

âThanks Hon,â Bill answered, fighting a yawn. âThe shower will feel good. Iâm not very hungry. Do you have any biscuits left? I can just have one with some honey. Why donât you nuke it for me while Iâm showering?â

âDonât I wish! Now go get clean.â

After getting clean clothes and a towel, Bill went back outside to the tarped off area with the solar shower. It was a simple affair, just a black barrel on a stand with a shower head plumbed in with a shut off valve. A wooden grate was on the ground, keeping feet relatively clean while a person showered. The water was still hot after the long day in the sun. Bill saw that it had been used earlier and mentally thanked whoever it was. The water at the bottom was cooler and he preferred the warmer water closer to the top. A ladder was set up near the tank, with a funnel hooked to fittings into the large bung of the barrel. In the morning, someone would have to pump water and carry it in buckets from the pump house to refill the barrel. 

He envied the set-up at his Dadâs house. Years ago, Cal had bought a windmill at an auction. They had set it up over a shallow well in the garden. Bob had run pipes to keep a solar shower filled near the base of the windmill. He had incorporated the windmillâs structure to help support the barrel and the privacy tarp. _Oh well, I donât think anyone with a windmill would give it up now, so weâll just have to keep packing buckets and climbing the ladder_. He felt much better and more awake as the dayâs grime was removed. 

As Bill sat at the table and relaxed over his biscuits and honey, he asked Amy, âWhat would you think of a neighborhood party, dance and barbecue? Everyone has been working so hard, I was thinking if we could put something together, it would be a welcome break and morale booster.â

âI think thatâs a fabulous idea. Letâs do it. Now the barbecue part, what are you thinking?â

âWell, any good barbecue requires meat. I need to talk to Bob about that. Aside from that, though, I think I can find enough sweet corn for everybody. Umm, the first corn on the cob of the year. It makes my mouth water,â Bill answered dreamily.

âDo you have any other vegetables secretly ripening? Tomatoes, cucumbers?â

âActually, there are some in the hoop house that are real close. And that batch of pole beans I started in there are just about ready to pick. You know, maybe we shouldnât talk about all this now, this biscuit is starting to taste pretty plain,â Bill said grinning.

âYour Dadâs generator still works, doesnât it?â Amy asked.

âThe last I heard it does. What are you thinking?â

âMaking some ice. We could use it for drinking, but more importantly, you could make some ice cream. If we had cake, pie and ice cream, that would be incredible.â

They both sat and thought for a while, and then Amy got a paper and pencil to start planning while Bill took his plate to the sink and washed it and then put it in the drying rack. He refilled his water glass and joined her at the table. He had just sat back down when Amanda and Brad came in the door. They had been at Mandyâs playing a board game until they could no longer see, then went home, locking the chickens up before going in the house. 

âHi Dad,â Amanda said when she saw Bill and went to give him a hug. âHow was your day?â

âHi Dad,â echoed Brad, although he wasnât as generous with his hugs as his sister.

âOh it was good, tiring, but a good day. We are going to hit it again tomorrow, so you will have to handle the chores again.â

âOkay,â Amanda answered. âIt sure is easier with all of those people helping. What are you working on Mom?â she asked when she noticed the paper. 

âWeâre thinking of having a neighborhood party. What do you think?â

âAmanda didnât have to think long before she answered, âGreat. When are we going to do it?â

âWe havenât figured that out yet, in fact we had just started to discuss it. But part of it would be a dance, and you guys are the closest thing we have to a band,â Amy told her. âSo you get to provide the music.â

âBut Mom, weâve never done anything like that. Besides, if everyone else is having a good time, I donât want to be stuck playing the fiddle.â

âYou wouldnât be playing the whole time. Besides, your Dad will be right there playing with you, isnât that right Hon?â

_Wow, way to put me on the spot. I say no, it gives them an out, I say yes and I have to make my first public appearance, shaking hands, wrong notes and all. Thanks a bunch darling!_ âOf course Iâll play with you. You need to put together a list of songs we all know that has variety in tempo. And who knows, there might be other musicians in the neighborhood that can join us or even give us a break. And your Mom can be up with us and sing,â Bill finished, smiling.

Amanda busted out laughing. âWhat do you want to do, Dad? Chase everybody home early? You know Mom canât sing.â

âWell if we have to perform, why doesnât she?â

âBecause someone has to be hostess and watch over everything,â Amy answered innocently.

âAlright, maybe you can find some songs that your cousins know or can learn. They arenât afraid to sing.â Actually, Mellissa had been a big hit at the local karaoke bars. â Just remember, I canât play a lot of the songs you and Brad doâ, Bill finished with a big yawn. 

âYour Dad is tired and is leaving early again in the morning. Letâs all go to bed and we can work on more of the planning tomorrow. Bill, can you talk to Bob about it?â

âI guess so, if I donât sleep all the way back up the mountain.â

*****​âSo after your comment about how well everyone is working, I got to thinking about a way for them to celebrate,â Bill told Bob the next morning as they were returning to the mountain.

âYou must have dreamt it. You slept all the way home.â

âWell my mind keeps right on working even when I sleep. I donât have time to shut it down.â

âHope it didnât give you a headache,â Bob grinned at him. âSo what did you have in mind?â

âI was thinking a barbecue and feast, although I want to hear your thoughts for the barbecue part. We have a bunch of corn, tomatoes, green beans and cucumbers that will be ready to pick in about a week that we could serve. It just seems like a good reward to them for all the hard work theyâve done. Amy also wanted to know if you could make ice. Them we could make ice cream to go with pie and cakes. After the meal we could get the instruments out and try to play something they could dance to.â

Bob thought a while before answering. âI might be able to come up with something, but Iâll need that week or longer. After we finish with the wood, Iâll check it out.

As the week of hard, dirty work on the firewood wrapped up, Bill was relieved to have such a major concern taken care of. There were large piles of blocks at everyoneâs home. It all still needed split and stacked, but at least it was at each home, sitting out in the summer sun. The final load was still on the trailer at Bobâs request.

Amy had been very busy, taking the idea of a party and running with it. As soon as Bill was available, she needled him to take her through all of the vegetable patches to finalize the meal plan. One morning Bob hooked the loaded trailer to his pickup and left early. He had discussed the tentative plans with Amy the evening before. When he returned, pulling an empty trailer, he let Amy know there would be meat at the barbecue but did not tell her more. The next morning he has gone again before daylight. Jim, Ken, Alan and Cal had gone with him, leaving word they would be back in a day or two. Bob and Cal disappearing for days at a time was normal as they would go to the cabin and irrigate and work on improvements. Bob definitely had something different planned this time to have taken the other men along.

Just the anticipation of the âfirst harvest partyâ, as it was coming to be called was providing a spark of excitement to the neighborhood. As Bill was irrigating and weeding, he noticed that the other people with just plain happy. He had never seen that much cheer in the group. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

The morning chores were barely finished and Bill had just poured his first cup of coffee when Amy started rattling off what he needed to do before the party. âYou need to rake under the cottonwood trees and get as much of your goat poop out as you can,â she said with an irritated tone. âAfter that, the big trailer needs parked against the fence and cleaned off.â 

âThe trailer? What do you want with it? We can set up tables for the food.â 

âYes, we need the tables set up too. The trailer is our makeshift band stand. Bob is going to cook the meat in the barrow pit, but I donât know what he needs. I need a wheelbarrow load of fuel at the outdoor stove to cook with. You can fill some jugs and set them in the sun to pre heat for corn water. We need all the chairs gotten out and the dust cleaned off.â She paused while she consulted her list before telling more things that needed done. _Wow, this is going to be a long day._

The preparations seemed to be coming together nicely when Bill slipped away. He considered not letting Amy know where he was, but further thought convinced him she would make him regret it later so he told her his plans. He set up the reclining lawn chair in an out of the way shady spot, laid back and settled the head rest and was soon asleep. 

*****​ 
Feeling refreshed, but leaving the chair out in case it was needed again, Bill checked on the preparations. Amy had her portion well in hand but reminded Bill he still had to make ice cream. âAnd make sure you make some REAL ice cream from cowâs milk and cream. I donât want your funky tasting goat stuff.â

âSorry Hon,â he answered, almost apologetically. âAll I have is goat milk right now. Youâll have to sacrifice.â

âNo, we have real milk and cream too. I talked to Russ this morning and made sure he left me enough,â she told him smugly. 

_Too smugly. _The only response he could come up with that fit was âYes Dear.â Knowing the conversation could only go downhill, Bill excused himself. 

He walked to the front and saw Bob, not sure if he was surprised, knowing his brotherâs resourcefulness. A bed of coals was built up under the full carcass of a young pig, suspended from a spit that was being slowly turned. A barbecue that had been made from a barrel was next to it with a fire inside, heating large cast iron griddles. Bob was at a table next to it, battering fish to fry. _So, they had been cat-fishing while they were gone. Iâm bummed I didnât get to go. _The family traditionally spent many summer days on an area lake catching them.

Seeing nothing else that required him, Bill started on the ice cream after drafting the kids to crank. He looked longingly at the electric ice cream maker when he got the hand turned mixer off the shelf. _Dang, I miss electricity_. Soon he had the first batch going with the young arms taking turns cranking. The second and third batch were ready in the mixing bowls when he left the operation to the kids and went to shower and change clothes.

*****​​The air was alive with excitement when Mike had gotten the crowdâs attention and asked for quiet to ask the Blessing on the evening. He had told Bill that he should do it, but Bill insisted Mike do it for him. âMike, I have a tough time with that. I can be in the garden and see Godâs hand in everything and ramble on and on talking with Him. But when I ask for His Blessing with a large group, I get tongue tied and stammer through the whole thing.â 

Following the blessing, the assembled group started filling their plates. Besides the roast pig and fried fish, there was a bounty of fresh vegetables, highlighted by the corn on the cob coated with the deep yellow Jersey cow butter. Carla had baked large platters of rolls that were a big hit. Conversations and happy banter flowed as the people enjoyed the finest meal most could remember_. It doesnât get any better than this_, Bill thought as he looked over the contended people. Nearly everyone made it a point to come up to him and thank him for putting it all together. He responded that he had not put it together, that was all Amy and Bob, he just planted the seed. 

After the meal was complete and the trailer was finally in the shade, Amanda, after some gentle prodding from her mother, gathered her group of musicians to the trailer. Bill was surprised to see the group had grown. Beside their own family, two more guitar players were there, a stand-up bass and a second violin and; _Wow, is that an accordion case? I havenât heard one of those since Aunt Janet died._ Mark had a battery powered keyboard and another man had a clarinet. _This should be interesting_. 

While planning the party, Amy had put out feelers for any musicians in the neighborhood. After determining the present group could and would play, she had gotten them together for practice while Billâs group was off cutting wood. Although far from polished, they made a very passable ensemble once they began. The song list began with a fast paced hornpipe, onto an Irish Jig and slowed down the pace with an old waltz. Bill wanted to sit back and enjoy it all, but played along when he knew the songs. The asphalt road wasnât the best dance hall, but it didnât stop the more energetic people. They had all been working so hard, and it was time for many to just let loose and have fun.

At a break in the music, Amy directed the desert to be brought out. The ice cream was a big hit, as it had been non-existent since the crash. A number of ladies were interested in the recipe Francis had used in making pies from dehydrated fruit. All too soon for Bill, the desert was cleaned up and Amy was calling for the music to begin. Just before getting back on the trailer, Jim brought Bill a cup to sample. He had been playing with homemade wine for years and had just finished his latest batch from rhubarb. Although it was drinkable, Bill found it incredibly sweet and would have been happier with a cold beer, but that was not to be had. âWow Jim, this one has an interesting flavor.â

âYeah, itâs definitely different. I wasnât sure what to expect. I hadnât tried rhubarb before, but hey, itâs what is growing now. But I did use some of my canned grape juice with it. Now if I could just get the still finished and find a good source of corn,â Jim continued on as Bill climbed the ladder back to the trailer bed.

A few songs into the second set, Amy came to the trailer and beckoned to Bill. âOh, youâre finally coming up to perform, huh? What song are you singing?â

âNo my performance will be in private later,â she told him with a wink. âNow get up from there and dance with me.â

As Bill went down the step ladder against the trailer, Amy nodded to Amanda. Amanda passed a silent signal to the rest of the entertainers. As she started playing the next song, Mellissa began to sing; 

_It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart
Without saying a word, you can light up the dark
Try as I may, I could never explain
What I hear when you don't say a thing

_
_The smile on your face lets me know that you need me
There's a truth in your eyes sayin' you'll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall
You say it best when you say nothing at all

All day long I can hear people talking out loud
But when you hold me near, you drown out the crowd
Old Mr. Webster could never define
What's being said between your heart and mine_

It wasnât exactly Alison, but Melissa came very close. _Of course Alison is one of a kind_. âYou remember donât you?â Amy asked as she held tight to Bill and swayed to the rhythm.

âHow could I forget?â he replied happily. The song of their first dance on the night of their wedding. He held her tight and swayed in step with her and thought of that other night and said a silent prayer for many more to come.


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 28: His Hometown

_When he was a boy, sittinâ in school,_
_Starinâ out the window at the fields he knew,_
_All that he wanted was to be there too,_
_Drivinâ his tractor through the morning dew._

_Dust from the sun, mud from the rain,_
_Felt like an honor to him all the same._
_Itâs the simplest thing, heâs a self-taught man,_
_He loves his work because he loves the land._

_He can change the hills, plant the trees,_
_Dig the wells, spread the seeds,_
_Mow the fields, plough the streets,_
_In his home town._

_The seasons roll by, year after year._
_Heâs worked all his life and heâs worked right here. _
_The winterâs go slow if the snows donât come,_
_âBut itâs soon to be summer when the tractors hum._

_Iâve seen him do things I just canât believe,_
_Makes gentle giants of those big machines._
_He moves a boulder like a paper bag._
_He moves a tree like it was all he had._

_Blessed is the soul who has truly found_
_Something to rest on while the world turns âround._
_I think heâd say this is how he feels_
_When the dark earth is turning underneath his wheels._
_ âHs Hometownâ, performed by Cheryl Wheeler_
_ Written by Cheryl Wheeler_

The First Harvest Party was a happy memory as the work ramped up again. The gardens began producing prolific amounts of ripe vegetables, many of which needed preserved for the coming winter. Billâs modified solar dehydrators had been copied and were set up in many yards throughout the neighborhood. With the apricots already dried and packaged, green beans, summer squash, sweet corn and tomatoes were common sights in the driers. Everyone that had a supply of Mason jars was also filling and storing them.

As Amy carried a basket of laundry to the washtubs that had been filled and set up under the cottonwood trees, she looked over to see what Bill and the kids were working on. âJust what are you planning on doing with all of those crab apples? I donât remember eating them and besides, they donât even look ripe yet.â

A tub was set up on the table next to the outdoor stove, filled with the small apples that Bill had the kids washing, sorting and putting into a large stock pot. âIâm going to make pectin out of them. We really went through our stock with the raspberry jam.â _Not to mention what I gave away._ âThere is enough other stuff going to ripen soon that we can make into jam and syrup, so weâre going to be needing more.â 

âLet me guess, Bob told you the chokecherries are getting ripe?â Amy asked wryly. She had never developed Billâs preference for chokecherry syrup on sourdough pancakes. 

He grinned back at her, still amazed how she could figure out what he was thinking. âNo, he didnât tell me they are getting ripe. He only told me that a few patches are really loaded and we should be able to pick a bunch if we hit it at the right time.â

âSo is this going to take all day? I was hoping we could make some spaghetti sauce and can it after I get the laundry done. The kids really liked that last batch we made and I want to make a lot of it while everything is ripe.â

âNo, it shouldnât take too long. I need to cook them down for a while and then strain off the liquid. Iâll test it with some rubbing alcohol and if everything is right, weâll put it in jars. Once we have it cooking, I can send the kids out to start picking.â

âSounds good. And with you working so close, when you arenât stirring your brew, you can take turns with me on the wash board,â Amy answered sweetly.

âYes Dear. As you wish, Dear.â

With the apples over the fire, Bill joined Amy and Francis at the laundry tubs. âSo has Bob mentioned the elderberries?â Amy asked. âWith the drug stores closed, I was hoping we could get some of them this year.â

âYeah, he said they are really loaded. We missed getting the blossoms, but we should be able to get a lot of the berries when they start to ripen.â Most years, when Bill was on his elk hunting trips, he came home with buckets of the purple berries. After washing them, he stripped the berries from the clumps with a wide toothed comb, picked out most of the remaining stems and dehydrated them. The dried berries were put into Mason jars and vacuum sealed. _I guess the vacuum pump is out this year. Iâll have to work on that._ At the first sign of cold or flu symptoms, he would grind the berries and make tea, adding a small amount of cinnamon and honey to each cup. He thought it was a great help to get over winter sickness.

âGood, we need to make sure we get them this year. Your stock is getting a little low since you didnât get them last year with your bad leg. What about that other stuff you made with them, that elixir?â

âTo do that, I soaked the berries in vodka. I might be able to locate some, but I wouldnât count on it.â

âThatâs okay, letâs just plan on dehydrating them. That seemed to work pretty well.â

The work progressed and the dayâs activities ended with a nice display of jars of pectin and spaghetti sauce and clean, folded laundry. âSo whatâs on the list for tomorrow?â Amy asked as the family sat around the picnic table eating dinner.

âThere are a lot of cucumbers ready.â He held up the fresh cucumber that had been aimed for his mouth as an example. âWhy donât we make a batch of pickles? The temperature in the root cellar is about right that we could start a crock full to fermenting. Then we could make you some bread and butter.â 

âOkay. We need to think about doing a bunch of soup again too.â As they continued eating, Bill thought about the gardens and fields that were producing. Even though they were now growing almost all of their food, he felt they would be very well stocked once the cold season hit. Maybe even a little better than last year.

After eating, Bill went to the wood pile to split wood until darkness stopped him. Although there were times he missed using the hydraulic wood splitter, he enjoyed using the axe and maul for short periods each evening.

The failing daylight finally forced him from the wood pile so he showered, shaved and put on clean clothes. It was cooler outside than in the house so he joined the rest of the family settled into the lawn chairs under the trees. He had no more than gotten situated when Amanda began swatting mosquitos. 

âThese mosquitos are horrible tonight,â she nearly whined. âMom, do we have any more Off?â 

âNo honey, we used it all a couple of nights ago. I guess if they are too thick, you could always put on long sleeves or go in the house.â

âBut itâs hot in there tonight.â

âYou want to try something more natural?â Bill asked her. 

âI guess so, if it works. But youâre not going to make me stink are you?â

âMaybe, maybe not,â he said as he walked off in the direction of the herb beds. When he came back he had some leaves form the lemon thyme and the catnip. âTry rubbing these on your skin. They are both pretty effective against mosquitos,â he said as he handed a few leaves to each person.

Amanda took the leaves and smelled them. âYou are trying to make me stink!â

âItâs your choice,â he said as he rubbed some leaves on his exposed hands and face. âTomorrow letâs take a bunch of the catnip leaves and chop them up and steep them with some boiling water. We can put that in a spray bottle and spray it on our clothes. It wonât be as concentrated so you shouldnât stink as much,â he said as he looked at her and pinched his nose. 

Yet another mosquito landed on her and she saw they were avoiding everyone else, she said âFine!â and started to rub the leaves over her skin after smashing her latest victim.

âAre you done pouting?â Amy asked her, then handed her the fiddle, followed by passing the guitar and mandolin to Brad and Bill. âBecause Iâm ready for some music.â

âThatâs just because you donât play it,â Amanda answered in a petulant tone. Bill instantly directed a stare at her that was even effective in the near darkness. âSorry Mom. I just donât like being eaten up by bugs,â she said. 

âWell your Dad gave you a solution, so letâs make it better tomorrow. Now how about that new Irish Aire you guys have been working on.â

Soon the music had attracted a few neighbors who arrived carrying their lawn chairs. It had become nearly a nightly occurrence for them to sit down, start playing and soon have an audience. Some nights, other musicians joined them, sometimes not. _I guess entertainment is pretty hard to come by now_. Bill had managed to get over his stage fright from the Harvest Party and was getting a lot better playing in front of other people.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

When Bill rolled over in bed he looked at his nightstand. _Yep, the clock is still dark._ He rose up enough to see through a crack in the blinds. The first light of pre-dawn was showing so he got quietly out of bed, picked up his clothes and went into the living room to dress. 

After he relieved himself into the plastic juice jug he filled the wash basin from the bucket and was jolted awake by the cool water as he washed his face and hands. He filled the percolator and took it outside and started the fire and set the coffee to brew. He set out a basin of clean water near the fire to warm for the ladies. They still wanted warm water. 

While the coffee brewed he went to milk Mischief. The goat was definitely attached to him. If someone else milked her more than two times together her production dropped, but she stayed constant as long as Bill took care of her himself. _Funny old goat_. The rest of the animals stayed constant regardless of who milked them. Once the milk was taken care of, he removed the coffee pot from the direct heat and put the wash basin in its place. He sat and drank a cup of coffee while enjoying the sun rising over the eastern mountains. As he was close to finishing, Mike came down the driveway, bucket in hand to milk the cow.

After Bill rinsed his cup he started the dayâs activities in earnest. He picked enough catnip to make mosquito repellent, then began picking vegetables for soup. As he pulled carrots and admired them, he made it a point to thank the Lord for His Blessing. _This sure beats sitting in front of a computer_. Surrounded by all of the plants growing, hearing the chickens, he just felt so much more alive than he ever had in an office. 

Mike came from the barn and walked to the fence dividing the goat pasture from the garden. 
âWhat a glorious morning, huh Bill?â

Billâs hand kept moving as he looked over to Mike and answered, âYep, this is my favorite time of the day, seeing everything come to life.â His hand reached right over the wasp on the carrot stem. âOw,â he spat out, nearly letting out a rare curse as the wasp stung him. He looked over the spot then went to the end of the garden where he allowed plantain to grow. After picking a leaf he wiped it off and put it in his mouth and chewed it into a green pulpy glob. He spit it into his good hand then clasped it over the sting. The relief was nearly immediate. He mentally upbraided himself for his carelessness. After the previous fallâs scratch on the leg, he had to be mindful of everything when he was working.

âGee, Bill, sorry to distract you,â Mike apologized.

âThatâs alright. Itâs my own fault for not watching what I was doing. This stuff will fix it pretty quick though.â Bill answered.

âSo thatâs why you let those ones grow. Iâll have to remember what they look like. Well, I better get going. Leslie wants to can some corn today. Have a good one.â Mike headed out the gate and down the driveway.

As the pain from the sting went away, Bill continued to fill boxes and milk crates with fresh vegetables, making sure he watched his hand placement every time. Soon, he decided he had enough picked and put everything in the wheel barrow and took it to the back yard. _Now comes the experiment time_. No two batches of soup they prepared were ever the same. It was all dependent on what was ripe at the time.

He was back at the table under the trees cleaning vegetables, hearing occasional stirring in the house as the others got up. He was startled when Bob came up quietly from the other side. âSoup day again, huh?â

âOh,â¦.yeah. Weâre gonna can up a batch today.â

âSo how do you go about making your soup and how long do you can it? Bob inquired.

âI usually just pick whatever is ripe and try to figure out what I want more or less of. Most of the time, it has some sort of tomato base. We also pulverize a bunch of zucchini for thickener. We put everything together in the stock pot and let it cook together for a while, seasoning and adding herbs as we go until we get something we like. We try not to cook it too much at this point because it still needs to cook for a long time in the canner. When we can it, we look up the processing time for every individual item, pick the longest, and thatâs how long we run the canners at pressure.â

âSounds good. Maybe Dad and I can do a bunch of it one of these days. So anyway, in your piles of paperwork, do you have anything on getting the oil from black oil sunflowers?â Bob asked.

âYeah, I think I should have plans somewhere for an oil press. Why, did you come into some seeds?â

âNo, we planted some up on the mountain. We saw how the wild ones always seem to grow on a lot of those slopes without irrigation so we put in a bunch in a field we havenât run the water to yet as an experiment. We really didnât know what to expect for yield, but figured if it worked out, they could be used for feed or pressed for cooking oil or even bio-diesel.â

âSpeaking of diesel, whatâs the status of the cat?â Bill asked. Bob had a small bulldozer at the cabin. It was used to push snow, skid logs, grade the road and push rocks. It was also the last vehicle they counted on that still required refined fuel. 

âWeâve got it about half way done. I just located the last parts I needed for the gasifier and took a little more bargaining than I had hoped for. With all of the harvesting and canning, I probably wonât have it done for another month, if then. You know how thing go.â

âBoy, donât I,â Bill answered.

Bob followed Bill into his shop and started looking through the binder he was handed. âWeâre heading back up today and I think weâll pick all of the sunflower heads we can. I saw the birds were starting to hit them hard so we thought weâd pick them before there arenât any left. Alan and Ken are going too this time. Those hills are getting pretty hard climbing for Dad.â

âWell, theyâre hard climbing for me too.â 

Finally the documents were located and Bob was sure he could replicate the press. Their grandpaâs grinder that they used to crack corn should work perfectly as a de-huller. Bob removed the papers and left, eager to get to the mountain. There would be no need to build a press if there werenât enough seeds to justify it.

After Bob left, Bill returned to the soup preparation that was now being worked on by the rest of the family. Their quiet conversation stopped at the rare sound of an approaching vehicle. They looked up to see a dirty crew cab pickup driving slowly down the road. âI wonder who that is?â Amy questioned. 

A young man who appeared in his twenties was driving, accompanied by a middle aged man in front and another young man in the back seat. âI donât have any idea. Iâve never seen that rig before,â Bill answered. As it passed the house he noted the license plate. âTheyâve traveled a ways to get here, though; Washington plates.â

Bill laid the knife he was using on the cutting board and walked to the roadside to continue to watch the pickup. A short distance down the road the brake lights came on and the pickup stopped, then backed up to the house the Roberts family now occupied. After another pause, the pickup pulled into the driveway. _Uh oh. I wonder if thatâs a relative of Martin and Colleen_. Bill feared there might be an ugly confrontation if it was in fact some of Martinâs family, finding the house occupied by strangers. He told Amy he was going to go see what was up. _I guess Iâm responsible for them being in the house._

Before he had made it far, Phil Roberts walked around the house carrying a shovel, wet irrigator boots on his feet. Phil looked at the pickup and the three men that were now emerging from it. Suddenly, he threw the shovel down and ran to the oldest of the men and pulled him into a crushing hug. _I guess it wonât get ugly after all. _

Bill turned and went back and informed Amy what had transpired and continued preparing vegetables for canning.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

The screen door slammed with so much force, Amy was concerned something might have broken. Ready to lash out at the culprit, she quickly changed her mind when she saw the stricken look on Amandaâs face. With tears streaming down her face, Amanda ran to Amy and wrapped her arms tightly around her bewildered mother.

âWhatâs happened? Are you hurt?â

Amanda continued to cry and sobbed out barely intelligible âSheâsâ¦â¦leaving.â

âWhat are you talking about? Whoâs leaving?â

âMandy,â she got out before another round of sobs and tears rendered her further speechless.

âHoney, youâve got to calm down and make some sense. I donât know what you are talking about.â

Amanda continued to cry on Amyâs shoulder for a little longer, than stepped away. She wiped at her face with her hand then took out a handkerchief and noisily blew her nose. After a few more sniffles, she began, âThose guys we saw drive by,â¦..â her sentence was interrupted by another round of sobs. âThey were Mandyâs uncle and cousin. They live out in the sticks, somewhere in Washington on the farm Mr. Roberts grew up on. Most of their family has moved back there. They came here to get Mandy and her parents and take them back.â She stopped talking as another round of tears and sobs erupted from her. 

Amy could not find the words of comfort that were needed. Instead she thought about how unfair it all was. As a mother she wanted to keep her kids safe and happy. It was wrenching to see Amanda hurting so much. On top of the crash and primitive living conditions, to lose her best friend and constant companion was, well, it was just unfair. Billâs words to the kids when they claimed something wasnât fair came to her. _âA very important thing you need to know is lifeâs not fair. Itâs up to you to deal with it the best you can. Look at your obstacles as opportunities and come out stronger for it.â_

_But Bill, I donât see how she can come out of this stronger. _Amy pulled her distraught daughter close and held her as she cried herself out.

They were still clinging to each other; Amanda emitting occasional sobs when Bill entered the house. âSo, I see youâve heard the news,â he said.

Amanda raised her head and gave her dad a stricken look, âDad, why do they have to go?â

âThey want to be with their family Sweetheart. You know how much support we have here with your uncles, grandpa, and the rest of the family. They are going to have that. Uncle Bob and Uncle Alan do so much to help us and we work great together so well because we always have. We are usually a finely meshed team. I always know I can trust them. That is very important, especially now. Mr. Roberts needs the same security for his family.â

âBut we can be their family,â Amanda pleaded.

âItâs just not the same. Mr. Roberts has worked very hard to be a part of our group but he has always felt like an outsider. He feels going home will be the best for his family.â

A knock at the door interrupted them. Phil Roberts was standing there, his hat in his hand, accompanied by the three recent arrivals. âHi Phil,â Bill greeted him and stepped outside into the shade of the house. âThe stories are running strong that this would be your brother.â Up close, the family resemblance was obvious.

âYes, this is my brother John and his sons Jack and Jeff.â Bill shook hands all around. âYou might have also heard that we will be going back to Washington with them,â Phil continued after the initial greetings were made.

âI had heard that,â Bill said. âWeâll be sorry to see you go. However I understand about family.â

âMost of the family has returned to the farm. It has running water for most of the fields and is pretty secluded. We should be able to do well there. But you have set up some things here that John doesnât have. I was hoping that we could share a lot of your ideas with him and the boys before we leave.â

âMost of the things weâve done havenât been my ideas, itâs just things Iâve learned and saved the information,â Bill answered. âBut sure, you can show him around. Where do you want to start?â

âQuit being modest, Bill. Maybe the initial ideas werenât yours, but getting them all utilized and improving on them is all because of you. Everyone is this neighborhood would be lost without you, maybe with the exception of your brothers. Now, as to where to start. I think the wood gasifiers would be a great place. John had to scrounge long and hard to come up with enough gas for a round trip here. No one in his area is using anything like those wood burners. It would be invaluable to get them mobile again, but more importantly to get the equipment back in the fields. After that, the winter harvest features and, well, letâs just try to show him as much as we can if thatâs all right.â

âOkay, but Bob is the expert on the gasifiers and he is up on the mountain now. But we can look over the units on the pickups and the tractors.â Bill led the group first to his pickup and gave a very brief explanation and told them to look it over well. Then once they were looking, he went to his shop to find some of the paperwork he had printed out on the units. He also found a red pen that John and his sons could make notes of deviations Bob had made from the drawings. After they were done there, the group walked to Bob and Calâs home to let the newcomers look over the Allis Chalmers tractor and its wood burning set up.

From there, the group toured the greenhouse; John was especially interested in the rocket stove used to heat the ground. They saw the hoop houses and Phil explained about the extra layers of weed barrier and plastic that had been used, as well as the concept of heat reservoirs. From the hoop house they went and looked at the growing plants and noted the heavy leaf mulch around the potatoes. John pointed out the poppies and asked about them. Billâs answer was brief, âPain killers if the drug companies and pharmacies donât get back into operation.â

Phil raised his eyebrows questionably at Billâs answer but didnât press any further.

They continued to walk, looking at the solar ovens and dehydrators; stopping to look closely at the clay pot evaporation coolers and got a thorough explanation of their function. After seeing the root cellar and the lights in the chicken house, they ended up beside the outdoor stove and oven. Bill directed the visitors to lawn chairs as Amy brought glasses of tea for them. âSorry I canât give you ice tea, but I call it âkinda cool tea.ââ

âI sure like what youâve done here, Bill.â John started. âI think weâll try to incorporate some of your ideas at home. Especially the wood power and the winter gardening.â

âAnd Bill, I certainly appreciate everything you did for my family,â Phil said. âI donât know how we would have survived in that subdivision if you hadnât brought us here. And I shudder to think about what might have become of Mandy and Lois in one of the camps.â He stopped talking; clearly battling strong emotions. Soon he was able to continue on, âIt makes me feel a little guilty to be leaving with so much yet to be done.â

âNo need to feel guilt, Phil,â Bill answered. âI only wish we could have helped more people out. As it is, you have worked harder than anyone else here. Youâll be greatly missed. 

âSo Iâm curious, John, what was traveling like to get here and when do you guys plan on leaving?â he asked.

âWe were concerned we might run into trouble getting here, but luckily things went well. The Guard has the freeways monitored and the Columbia River bridges well-guarded. The fedâs have been using the main highways so they donât want to see their trucks picked off.â John paused, thinking before continuing. âThey check out everyone pretty thoroughly that they see. We had letters from our sheriff and the local Guard unit, so we were able to travel fairly easily. Not pre-crash easy, but not too bad under the circumstances. They also warned us away from a few spots where the riff-raff has managed to elude them so far.

âOur biggest problem was finding Phil once we got here. We got to their place about dark and of course didnât find anyone there. The close houses were also vacant so we couldnât ask anyone. The house showed signs of being ransacked, but we went in and after making sure there was no one there, we spent the night there. When it was light, I wondered long and hard how to locate Phil. Then I got to remembering how we hid notes for each other when we were kids. After that, it didnât take long to find the note heâd left me.â 

John took a long drink from his glass of tea before continuing. âWeâre hoping to get everything ready tonight and take off at first light tomorrow. Thereâs not a whole lot to load so it should be doable.â

âSo now that youâve seen our set-up,â Bill said, âwhat are you doing different that we might be able to use?â 

âNot a whole lot, since youâve got those tractors running on wood. Weâve been doing most of our field work with horses. We still had my grandpaâs equipment and harnesses from when he started farming the place. After Dad retired from running the farm, he restored everything and has been raising and selling work horses for the last few years. Weâve just put the horses back to work full time. Weâve also got a nice bunch of beef cattle. Dad has been teaching us how he lived as a kid so it hasnât been too rough on us.â

They were quiet for a while before Bill spoke again, âMy dad has been invaluable to us too. Under the circumstances I think our elders are our greatest resource. We need to get as much information from them as we can, while we still can.â

The men were interrupted by Amy. âPhil, you and your family are going to have supper with us tonight,â she spoke matter-of-factly, leaving no room for discussion. As she started the fire in the outdoor rocket stove, Jack and Jeff moved to where they could watch closely. After she placed a pan over the fire, Jeff asked, âSo thatâs it? Youâre going to cook with that little bunch of sticks?â 

As Amy explained to the younger Roberts men, Bill told their Dad, âThatâs the beauty of the rocket stove. Weâve just used the trimming from the trees for the cooking this summer instead of what I call real firewood.â

âDad, weâre going to have to build one of these at home,â Jack interjected. 

âWhat have you been using for cooking?â Bill inquired.

âOnce it got hot, we just packed the wood cook stove onto the back porch. That was another thing Dad had held onto and packed away in the barn. We cleaned it all up and set it up back in the house at the crash. We figured we could pack it back in the house when the weather cools off. But I sure like the idea of a permanent set-up outside, not to mention all the wood we donât have to split.â

Lois arrived, followed by two red-eyed girls. Amanda and Mandy were both finding the situation difficult to deal with. In a short time Amy was directing everyone to wash up and fill their plates. The fresh mashed potatoes were topped with canned elk roast that had been heated in brown gravy. Platters were filled with vegetables from the garden, another platter loaded with sourdough biscuits Amy had just removed from the outdoor oven. 

Once everyone was seated around the two tables, Bill asked everyone to join hands. âDear Lord, we come to You in thanks for all of the blessings You give to us. You have blessed us with this meal and You have blessed us with these wonderful friends sitting here. Thank you. I ask for Your Blessing on this meal. And I ask You for travel mercies for the Roberts family as they make their way home tomorrow. In Jesus Name, Amen.â Bill thought someone else could have done a better job with the prayer, but he had hit the points he wanted to.

As the meal progressed, Bill and John continued to talk, each trying to glean anything they could from the other. At the other end of the table, the girls were finding it difficult to eat. Soon, Amy and Francis had cleaned everything up and the Roberts clan felt they needed to leave to finish packing and loading. Hugs, firm handshakes and tears were shared before the group made their way through the gate and down the road.


*****​

Amy looked up at the sound of someone knocking on the door and saw Mark standing there, looking about half afraid. âCome on in Mark. What can I do for you?â she asked him.

Mark started to respond in a stammering delivery, âWell,â¦ I havenât seenâ¦.. Amanda in a few days;â¦.I guess since Mandy left. Iâ¦.uh, â¦.found some quotes in one of Momâs booksâ¦..I thought she might like.â He finished and shoved an envelope towards Amy.

âWhy that is so thoughtful of you Mark. Amanda is out at the bee hives with her dad. Would you like me to call her in?â Amy asked.

âUh, no maâamâ¦.Thatâs alright. You can just give it to her,â he got out as he was backing towards the door. 

_To put it in one of Billâs comments, that boy looks as nervous as a prostitute in church_. âIâd be happy to pass it on to her Mark. But Iâm sure it would mean more coming from you.â 

Mark was already out the screen door and Amy could not make out his response as he moved quickly to the gate.


*****​

Amanda looked at the envelope her mother had given her, puzzled. She was in her bedroom after cleaning up from helping her dad with pulling a full honey super from each bee hive. It was so hot to be all suited up at this time of year, she had rushed to get the bee suit off and shower. _Not to mention the smoke_. She hadnât taken time to look at the envelope, just dropped it on her night stand. Now she looked closely at the envelope. It was slightly crumpled, but had her name on the front in precise lettering. 

The paper in the envelope was in the same precise lettering. 

âAmanda, I know you are feeling down because Mandy is gone. I found these sayings in one of Momâs books I thought you might like:

âOdd how much it hurts when a friend moves away â and leaves behind only silence.â Pam Brown

âSeasons change, friends move away and life goes on from day to day. Flowers fade and streams go dry and many times we wonder why. Yet we can always be assured because God tells us in His Word, that unlike changes in the weather, love goes on and lasts.â Author unknown.

And then I thought of these two: Psalm 34:18 and Matthew 5:4.

Your Friend, Mark.â

Amanda looked at the note again. _Thanks Mark, youâre a pretty good friend too._ She opened her Bible and found the verse in Psalms and read, âThe Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.â She reread it, then printed it out on the paper. In Matthew she read, âBlessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.â That verse was also written down.

_Yes Mandy is gone, but there is my family, the neighbors, Mark. What a comfort to be surrounded by so much love even when losing someone so close._ She read the note one more time, wiped a tear and wedged the note into her mirror frame. _Thanks Mark, my very good friend._


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## katy

Thank you Bret, Very good writing and the large posting is very much appreciated. I for one like the way you handled some of the more gruesome birthing details.

Thanks again.


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## Ozarks Tom

Well done! Looking forward to the next!


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## puddlejumper007

wonderful story, i get a big smile when i see there is more written...thanks pat.


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## biggkidd

It gets better and better all the time Thank You Great Story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Larry


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## Bret F

Chapter 29: Grown Men Donât Cry
_Keep having this dream about my old man
I'm 10 years old, and he's holding my hand
We're talkin' on the front porch watchin' the sun go down
But it was just a dream
He was a slave to his job and he couldn't be around
So many things I wanna say to him
But I just placed a rose on his grave and I talk to the wind_
_And I don't know why they say grown men don't cry
I don't know why they say grown men don't cry, don't cry_
_I'm sittin' here with my kids and my wife
And everything that I hold dear in my life
We say grace and thank the Lord, got so much to be thankful for
Then it's up the stairs and off to bed and my little girl says
"I haven't had my story yet"
Everything weighin' on my mind disappears just like that
When she lifts her head off her pillow and says, "I love you dad"_
_I don't know why they say grown men don't cry
I don't know why they say grown men don't cry
And I don't know why they say grown men don't cry
I don't know why they say grown men don't cry, don't cry_
_ âGrown Men Donât Cryâ, Performed by Tim McGraw_
_ Written by Steve Seskin and Tom Douglas_


July 10, 2017

The preparations for the Fourth Annual âFirst Harvest Partyâ were nearly done and the neighbors that hadnât already been hanging around were arriving. The neighborhood now treated the event as a holiday. Only essential work was accomplished as people visited together, anticipating the afternoon and eveningâs activities. _Fourth annual, really? Wow, it seems like everything has gone so quickly._ While Bill took a breather, he surveyed the people that were gathering and talking excitedly. Many of the faces were new, relatives of the families moving in together. A slow trickle of additions had been showing up since FEMA had relaxed movement from the relief camps. There were also many faces missing. The most painful absence was Billâs Dad and Mom. Cal had gone through the second winter without power and passed away late in the following spring.

*****​​The corn was growing nicely and Bob and Cal decided it was time to run the cultivator through it. They had just gotten the implement hooked onto the Ford tractor when Bill arrived. âHey, thatâs good timing, huh,â he said.

âI guess so,â Bob answered. âSo how long did you have to sit out there and watch us before you showed yourself?â

âQuite a while actually. You sure were making me tired watching you. I thought I was going to have to take a nap to give you time to get done,â Bill told him with a grin.

âDo you think you can strain yourself and walk down to the field and open the gate for me?â Bob asked. âAnd while youâre at it, you can carry a chair for Dad. That is if you can manage to carry it and your shovel at the same time.â

âWow, youâre trying to make me bust a sweat, arenât you. I will need a nap,â Bill said as he stifled a fake yawn. He picked up a nearby chair and started to the field with Cal.

âThe corn is sure looking good this year,â Cal said as they were walking. âI think that fall green manure you had us plant was a good idea.â They continued towards the field, Cal going on about this field or that, never at a lack of words when he was talking about farming and gardening. After Cal was settled to supervise Bobâs action as he drove the tractor down the rows of corn, Bill left them to check the irrigation water running in the squash field. 

As he walked along the rows making sure the water was running where he wanted, Bill breathed deeply of the fresh morning air. _It doesnât get much better than this._ The sun was bright in the clear early summer sky, the temperature very comfortable in the low seventies. It would get hot enough in the afternoon that he would be seeking shade. But for now he relished the great morning. He found few weeds to pull as he irrigated but overall the field was mostly weed free. The neighborhood gardeners had been very diligent. He also kept a close watch for squash bugs, but didnât see any or detect any damage from their presence. The ring of nasturtiums and icicle radishes around each plant were effective so far. He had found they were a great deterrent as long as the foliage didnât get too overgrown. In the past, that had been caused by weeds in his garden or planting things too close together. 

With the water flowing where it needed for the next hour or so, Bill shouldered his shovel and walked back to the corn field. Calâs head was bent down, his chin resting on his chest. _He probably fell asleep right after I left._ Cal was napping more and more, not taking long to fall asleep after settling on a chair. Bill walked quietly towards his sleeping father and watched as Bob completed the pass he was on, turned the tractor and started down the next set of corrugates. As the sound of the tractor slowly faded Bill stood beside the chair and inhaled the scent of freshly turned soil. _That dirt smells soâ¦.good._ The silence around him eventually registered in his brain; actually the absence of Calâs soft snores; he always made noise while sleeping. Bill turned and knelt next to the chair and took up his dadâs hand. The hand was cool to the touch and there was no rhythmic movement to his chest. Bill turned the cool hand and checked for a pulse, not surprised to find it absent. His eyes misted over as he looked at his still father. _Well Dad, you sure picked a nice way to go. Dang, Iâll miss you! Make sure you hug Mom for me._ 

The tears flowed freely with the sound of the tractor growing louder as Bob approached the near end of the field. Bill walked over and intercepted him and explained what he had just found.

Cal was buried next to his bride of over sixty four years in the corner of Billâs garden. Nearly the entire neighborhood turned out for the services, standing across the fence in the goat pasture so they wouldnât harm the garden plants.

*****​ 
Bill wiped at his eyes as he continued to survey the gathering people. Besides his parents, many more of the elderly were missing: Eunice, Frank, and others. The crash was especially hard on the elderly; most had been on some form of maintenance medication that was cut off. 

Of the people that now were present, there was a strong healthy glow that had been missing prior to the crash. The couch potatoes and computer nerds had been transformed by hard work and exposure to the elements. As Mark walked past carrying a table and joking with Amanda and Brad, Bill couldnât help but compare him to the shy, nervous boy he had first met. Instead the young man was tall and fit and confident. The girls standing around were giving him moon eyes as he easily set up the table. _Wow, they better not see the look Amanda is shooting them._ Amanda was directing a strong glare at the other girls as she walked over and took one end of the table with Mark.

âHere, let me help you,â she said as they moved it to a mostly-level spot. She then asked for his help spreading the table cloth she had dropped on the table. The look she flashed at the watching girls was a taunting smile. A little of Markâs confident air left as he accepted the help. To Billâs observation, he saw a little of the shy nervous youngster reappear.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

After Mandy had moved away, Amanda had gravitated back to Brad and Mark. The three did everything together. Even as new people moved in with kids near in age, the three stayed tight. One morning Amanda had found Bill in the garden and stated matter-of-factly, âDad, you do know, its Markâs birthday in two days, donât you?â

âUh, no I didnât know that.â

âWell it is, and I think we need to give him a birthday surprise,â she stated.

âReally, and what did you have in mind?â Bill asked.

âWell,â she said, not sounding quite as confident, âI think we should give him Belle and her babies.â

As Bill gave her a questioning look, she continued on, talking faster, âWell, he helped me pull her.â Bill remembered the two of them had helped the first time mother to deliver her first baby. âAnd he really loves that goat. Havenât you seen how he dotes on her when he comes over? Besides, the way they are tied out and shared by everyone, itâs not like sheâs attached to us like Mischief.â

Amanda looked at her dad expectantly as he looked out at the goat pasture. âOkay,â he said.

âThatâs it? Okay?â 

âWhat, am I supposed to say no? Do you have a whole spiel ready for me about why he deserves Belle? Alright then, no, he canât have her.â Bill worked hard to keep a straight face.

âNo Dad, thatâs not it, I, well, I donât know. I just thought you would need convinced.â

Bill chuckled as he looked at Amanda as she showed a rare awkwardness. âAmanda darling, I have watched Mark with the goats and seen how hard he works. He is a great kid. I think he will do a wonderful job with the goats and it will be a good responsibility for him. But thereâs something we need to do first, no, make that you need to do first. You have to clear it with his parents. Remember how thrilled your mom is every time we have another goat? We need to make sure his parents donât feel that way too, or for all your good intentions, they wonât let him have them.â

âAlright, thanks Dad,â she said and gave him a quick hug, turned and trotted down the driveway and out onto the road. 

Two days later, Amanda had requested Mark and his parents to come over for an early supper. As Amy and Francis prepared the meal, Amanda and Brad made a cake. After everyone had eaten, Amanda asked everyone to stay seated and she and Brad left, returning with the Doe and her twins at lead. Belle had a bow on her that one of the kids was just getting into its mouth and pulling off. They led them over and handed the leads to Mark.

âSurprise Mark, happy birthday,â the two said together.

Mark sat stunned, his mouth slightly open. When he spoke, he said, âI donât understand.â

Amanda laughed at his expression. âTheyâre yours. We all know how much you love Belle so she is your gift. You do know the proper response when someone gives you something donât you?â

 Mark continued to look shocked. âReally?â he asked quietly. âAre they really mine?â

Bill was laughing at his reaction. âYes, really, they are yours; happy birthday.â

Mark looked from Bill to Amanda and Brad. âWow, this is incredible. Thank you all so much.â

Never one to miss such an opportunity, Amy said, âNo, thank you Mark. How about taking the rest of them to?â

Early the next morning Mark was knocking at the door. âHi Bill, I was wondering if I can borrow some books.â

âWell sure Mark. What books are you wanting?â

âEverything you have about goats. I know Iâve learned a lot with you and Amanda but there has to be a lot more to know.â

Mark left with everything Bill could easily locate and occasionally asked if Bill had found anything else. He also asked Alan to look through his books for anything useful. From that beginning, Mark would discuss his readings with Bill. When it came to illnesses, Bill soon decided the young man was the more knowledgeable of them. After that, Bill talked with Alan, and between the two of them they supplied Mark with everything that had on veterinary medicine. He soaked up the information like a sponge.

The next birthday wasnât as momentous, but Mark was presented with a crate of hens and a rooster. He was rapidly learning to provide a large portion of his familyâs food.

*****​ 
Bill smiled as he remembered the goat birthday while watching Mark and his daughter. _Boy, am I ready for this? Not a chance, but I donât think she could do any better._ From being great friends, they had developed an awkwardness towards the other. Mark was getting quieter all the time around her. _He better watch it, he might end up mute._

âBill, can you gather everyone and ask the Blessing?â Amy asked him, pulling him mentally back to the gathering.

âNope, but I can get Mike to,â he told her.

*****​ 
âMind if we join you?â Bill addressed the table where Mike, Leslie, Russ and his wife Kim were already seated.

âOf course you can join us. Besides, itâs your place. You can sit wherever you want,â Russ answered.

âNot anywhere, and only when she lets me,â he said making a gesture towards Amy.

âYeah, I can see she keeps a tight hand on you. In fact, Iâve asked her for lessons,â Kim said with a big grin.

After he was settled and eating, Bill looked at the others and asked, âDid any of you make it to the market today?â

An open air market had been established at the supermarket parking lot where the periodic food distributions took place. Once a week people set up awnings and tables and displayed their wares. Bartering made up the majority of the transactions, however silver was accepted as well as Federal Reserve notes. Unfortunately for anyone holding them, the amount required for any purchases was exorbitant. There werenât a lot of them in circulation and few places to spend them, but some slight commerce still remained. Gold could be used also; however change could be difficult to come up with.

Food products were the most popular items at the market; fresh vegetables, dried food, smoked and dried fish and meat, eggs, cheeses, fermented foods. A blacksmith was there most weeks. He had done a very good business on all tools related to growing food. He had been making serviceable hand well pumps that were also popular, if not for being out of the price range of most of the customers. Next to his booth was a man with handles that just happened to fit most of the tools the blacksmith produced. Clothing could usually be found. The source of much of it was unclear but with most people wearing more patches than original cloth, no one questioned it. A leather worker did a brisk business in work gloves. Different vendors would come and go; it was always interesting to see what was there each week. A popular fall item was foldable clothes drying racks. Many people used the market as a social gathering: a festival atmosphere surrounded it.

âWe made it down,â Russ said. âIt was mostly the usual stuff, except somebody had managed to get a bunch of Oregon hazelnuts. He claimed he should get some almonds and pecans in a few weeks. Those would sure be nice. Now if he could just find a source for coffee it would be even better.â

âThere were some good clothes for kids,â Kim added, but nothing in my size. âMaybe someday,â she said dreamily. 
âWow, new clothes, maybe some that actually fit right. Wouldnât that be nice,â Amy chimed in.

Bill wouldnât mind a better pair of jeans himself but was more concerned about the state of his work boots. They continued to eat, talking about what they would like to buy if the world was normal. _Nobody is mentioning anything electronic. Itâs all about needs now, not entertainment and bling._ He took a long drink from the glass of ice water. That was another thing he loved about First Harvest Party. Bob made enough ice for the drinks as well as to make ice cream. He was a little more generous with it since he had made the gasifier to run the generator; of course he was impelled to get it done when the generator would no longer run on the stored gasoline. Stabilizers only went so far.

Once the meal was complete and the music had started up, people began to kick up their heels. _You know we arenât half bad now days_. Amy drug Bill away from the musicians for a dance, then two; until he was glad to sit back down with his mandolin. _Dang, that just about whipped me._ One of the neighbor girls got Mark down for a dance. Amanda played the song as poorly as Bill could remember her playing it.

The music and dancing went late into the night. It seemed the longer the power stayed off, the longer the parties lasted. Jimâs home brew was a hit with a number of people, Bill had just requested that it be monitored and not let anyone overdo it. Bill had a cup with some of his own home made wine. _Wow, I sure would like a nice cold beer instead of this, uh, stuff. _

*****


----------



## Bret F

Jack Parson parked his pickup and walked over to where Bill was trying to direct a poor head of irrigation water. It just didnât have the normal flow. _Better look into that_. âBetter make that count Bill, weâve got problems.â

_Uh oh_. âThat doesnât sound good Jack. Whatâs going on?â Bill asked him.

âCan you go for a ride with me? I need to show you something and Iâll explain as weâre going.â

âSure, but I need to tell Amy. How long do you think weâll be?â

âAbout an hour I guess. Hop in.â Jack told him.

After Bill rejoined him, Jack began speaking, âItâs not good Bill; we lost the canal last night.â 

Bill felt like he had just been slugged in the guts. âLost the canal? What, where?â

âYou know that spot where itâs about forty feet above the road at that curvy section? Iâm guessing gophers tunneled through and it started washing. With that turn and the narrow bank, it really did a number on it.â As they drove they began to encounter water on the road. A subdivision on the low side of the road that had once been a nice alfalfa field looked to be flooded. The water surrounded all of the houses that were visible from the road. 

Jack continued talking, âWe shut it down at the river right after we found it, but itâll take some time for it to stop.â They rounded a corner in the road.

âOh Lord,â Bill said quietly. Water was running across the road from a large section of missing bank. At first glance Bill guessed it to be at least thirty yards wide. Jack slowed; the water was getting deep on the wheels of the pickup as they approached the running water. From the closer viewpoint Bill could see even more of the sandy soil ditch bank falling away. 

*****​ 
The two men sat silent for a long time. _That water is washing their lives away with it. Oh Lord, what are they going to do?_

Jack had no more than turned onto Billâs road than a man stepped out of a field to stop them. âHi Bill, Amy said you were with Jack. Weâve got problems here. The water is down to a trickle and Iâve walked the ditch to the feeder line and thatâs barely flowing too.â 

âYeah, thatâs what Jack and I have been looking at. I want a neighborhood meeting in a half hour at my place. Iâll fill in everybody at the same time.â Bill nodded and said, âLetâs go Jack.â The taste of bile was strong in his mouth.

Once Jack dropped him off, he directed the kids to get the word out about the meeting. âTell them it is extremely important.â He poured some water into the wash basin, cupped his hands in it as he lowered his face and thoroughly wet his face. He raised his face a short distance and watched the rings forming as drops fell from his nose into the basin. _Water means life. Oh Lord, what are they going to do? Why now? Why did this have to come now, right on top on top of that?_ _Lord, all Iâve ever asked was for their safety. I donât knowâ¦_ He clasped the counter as shudders ran though him, followed by a strong muscle cramp in his upper chest that threatened to drop him to the floor. He hung on and fought through the urge to curl up on the floor. Rinsing his face had done nothing to wash away any of his dread.

*****​ 
âThank you all for coming on short notice,â Bill told the group standing in the shade of the trees, some few occupying the chairs that were out. Bill had to stop and collect his resolve. âWeâve got a big problem people, really big.â Again he paused, the words not wanting to form. 

It was a rare time when the gathered people saw the torment he was going through and waited quietly for him to continue. Russ had never seen Bill like that. _It must be bad to have him this upset. He always has an answer. _

âThe irrigation water isâ¦. isâ¦.. gone. The canal washed out. Thereâs a hugeâ¦â¦breech in the bank. We would need dump truck â¦â¦ loads of big rock, fill dirt, compaction equipment. I just donât know â¦. where we could come up with â¦.. any of it. I just donât knowâ¦. What to do now.â

Mike sat a chair behind Bill and directed him to sit in it. The change in position caused his thigh muscles in one leg to suddenly cramp. He wanted to cry out. Sweat broke out on his forehead and face, his teeth grinding together as he tried to ride it out. Questions were asked, men cursed, but it was all like the buzz of the bee hive to Bill; nothing was legible. Finally the muscles relaxed, _how long did it last this time, an hour, a day?_ He was left panting from the episode. With the deep breaths he was assailed by the smells in the yard: the mashed over grass and goat poop, body odor of hard working people, faint smoke from someoneâs cooking fire. The assembled people thought his anguish was related to the irrigation water, but Mike looked on concerned, he knew something else going on. Bill didnât even notice that the people started to leave as he could only picture withered plants in the garden, his kidâs hungry faces asking why he had deserted them, why he wasnât there to provide for them.

Mike came from the back of the house with a glass of water. He pulled up an additional chair and held the glass out to Bill. Bill looked at it numbly for a while before reaching out and taking it.

The silence was broken by Russâ pickup driving by, loaded with men from the neighborhood. They were undoubtedly going to see the break in the canal for themselves.

âThanks, Mike,â Bill said softly and took a long drink.

âYouâre welcome. That wasâ¦interesting, Bill. So do you want to tell me about it? I know thereâs something else going on besides that ditch problem.â

Bill looked at him, saw the concern. âNo Mike, I just want you to pray for my family.â Billâs eyes were filled with tears. âTomorrow Mike,â he said softly and drained the rest of the water. He set the empty glass down and reached over and grasped his friendâs hands. âTomorrow Iâll be strong enough to tell you, I just canât go there today.â


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 30: I will see you again

_It was a gathering of some three hundred people_
_In the little church the crowd began to swell_
_Quite a send off for a simple country farmer_
_For many loved and knew the old man well_
_
And as his bride of sixty years came forward_
_She bravely walked to where his body laid_
_A hush fell over all that stood around her_
_She smiled through tears as she began to say

_
_I will see you again for this isn't the end_
_You're my forever friend and I will see you again

_
_Ever since a simple carpenter from Nazareth_
_Walked the mountains and the shores of Galilee_
_Ever since He died and rose again on Easter_
_Death doesn't have the same old victory

_
_Tonight I'll lay my head upon his pillow_
_And cry until the breaking of the day_
_For even in the pain of separation_
_There's a hope inside my heart that lets me sing

_
_I will see you again for this isn't the end_
_You're my forever friend and I will see you again_

_Jesus, He made a way, there is coming a day_
_So I will hold on till then and I will see you again_
_I will hold on till then and I will see you again_
_âI Will See You Againâ, Performed by Rhonda Vincent_
_ Written by Tammy Pockstaller_

Bob went to the door of the pump house where Bill was using the hand pump to fill a bucket. When the bucket was full Bill lifted it very carefully and turned with deliberate movements to the door. âGive me thatâ, Bob said and took it from Billâs hand and effortlessly poured the water into one of the water jugs in the nearby wheelbarrow. 

He turned and handed the empty bucket back to Bill âSo I hear you went a little whacko at your get together yesterday. Too bad Alan and I werenât back from the mountain and had to miss it,â he said but not with the usual humor in his voice at such a needling comment.

Bill took the bucket and with the same deliberate movements positioned the bucket and began to slowly draw water from the well. âIt just hit me rough is all. Iâm over it now.â

âRight. Iâm sure it doesnât have anything to do with you being as weak as a two day old kitten for some time now.â

Bill didnât answer, just slowly picked up the nearly full bucket, turned and handed it off to his brother.

Bob passed the emptied bucket back and continued, âOr maybe the fact you move like youâre ninety years old. That bucket should fill this load.â He took the full bucket and poured it in the jug. Once Bill was ready, Bob took the handles of the wheelbarrow. âWhere is this going?â

âThe greenhouse. I just got the fall stuff in it this week.â

âSo, most of the gardens have just about run their course for this year,â Bob stated. âSo losing the irrigation water to them shouldnât have set you off. Pretty much everything we store in the root cellars is mature enough; itâll be fine with the water being cut off. Yes, we can still get a fair amount of fresh stuff before the freeze up, but not enough for you to go crazy over. No, I think you have something else going on.â They arrived at the greenhouse and Bob took a full jug while Bill carefully opened the screened door. âSee, thereâs that type of movement again. Which bed do you want this water in?â

He poured the water carefully, not allowing it to gush and wash the dirt away, exposing the seeds. âHum, what else have I seen? You have been ramping up the things you have the kids do in a big way. I know you always tried to teach them how to do stuff, but this looks different.â He had both water jugs emptied and picked up the handles of the wheel barrow to get more water.

Once Bill was again pumping water, Bob continued, âSo when you look at all of those things together, add in you going goofy, I think thereâs something that you need to tell your family, me, Carla and Alan.â 

Bill handed him the bucket and leaned against the door frame. âI want you to take care of them Bob; Amy, Amanda and Brad. Well, Francis too,â he said to his brotherâs back as he was pouring the water.

âOh, and why would that be?â Bob asked as he handed the bucket back. 

Bill didnât talk while he pumped, but waited until he had passed the bucket to Bob. âIâve been out of medâs for some time now, just taking the dried animal thyroid. I think it worked well enough when I was alternating the two, but now, I just canât get it right. Some days it feels right, and other days I am so weak it is hard to get out of bed. The cramps have started again too. Remember back when my thyroid was irradiated those horrible muscle cramps I got? Any odd movement would cause that area to cramp up tight. Well, Iâm getting a few of them now. Yesterday happened to be a bad day.

âThose came the first time when my thyroid totally shut down. So after a cramp, Iâll take some more of the dried stuff. A couple of times Iâve found some that must be effective and taken too much of it. My heart starts racing about one hundred twenty beats a minute when Iâm just sitting around. So then, instead of waiting for my heart to cramp up, Iâm waiting for it to work too hard and stop. Talk about a roller coaster ride. Take my advice. Never get thyroid disease,â he was able to say with one of his grins.

âOk, letâs go get some hogs and get you some fresh glands,â Bob stated matter-of-factly.

âItâs too hot for the meat to keep now, but we could try just one. But still, if I canât keep it regulated, one of these days itâs going to be my heart that seizes up from too much of too little. Itâs the same result either way. It could be today, it could be in a year, but itâs going to happen.â All work at filling the water jugs had stopped. âSo I want your word; promise me youâll take care of my family!â The words were accompanied by an intense look. 

âYou know I will. But youâve got to do something for me too. No secrets. I want you to go sit down with Amy and the kids right now and tell them everything.â

âDo you have any idea how hard that will be? Itâs like Iâm failing them.â

âWow Bill, so youâre not perfect after all. Weâll have to look at you as human, tarnished image and everything,â he said, some of the needling returning. He handed the empty bucket back to Bill. âGet to pumping. You can talk to them after weâve watered your dirt crop. Thatâll give you a little while to think of what youâre going to say. And Iâll go trade for a hog and weâll have you some fresh thyroids to work with.â

âSo Iâve been wondering since last night. That canal break is bad,â Bill said as he handed the bucket over. âWhat if we canât get it fixed? What then?â 

âI donât see the electric economy jumping right back online, so thatâs out,â Bob said. They continued pumping water, passing the bucket and pouring while they talked. âPumps are out, at least pumps with the power to pull all the water weâve been using.â He held onto the bucket for a bit to emphasize his next statement, âThis wonât cut it. We could keep some stuff going all season by packing water, but not enough to feed everyone. The windmill only does a little better. It just draws enough to keep my garden watered. That Wirtz pump you guys put in the drain ditch can do pretty good for the places right next to it, so we could build more of them, but it wouldnât be enough.â

Bob picked up the handles of the wheel barrow and pushed it back to the greenhouse. âSo other than fixing the canal, I can only see one more possibility.â 

âAnd that is what?â Bill asked as Bob put the empty jug in the wheelbarrow and picked up the full one.

âWe go to the cabin.â They were quiet while Bob gave Bill time to mull it over. They were back at the pump house and Bill still hadnât responded to the suggestion. âUnless of course, you have some other idea.â

âNo I donât. Iâm just trying to get my mind around the whole concept.â Bill was deep in thought as he raised and lowered the pump handle.


----------



## Bret F

âHey Dad, what ya doing?â Brad asked as he and Amanda came up beside their Uncle Bob.
âWeâve been watering the beds in the green house. I was starting to think you were going to stay in bed all day,â Bill told them with a smile. âNow we need to get some water out to the garden. Why donât you guys take over for me?â Bob flashed Bill a knowing look.

âSo is this how we have to do it now?â Brad asked with a whine to his voice.

âYep. Without water flowing in the ditch, weâre going to have to pump and pack all the water we need,â Bill told him.

With a fair amount of complaining the kids filled the jugs and started a slow trek towards the garden. âWhat plants are we putting them on, Dad?â Amanda asked.

âLetâs start with the tomatoes and work from there.â Bill watched them struggling with the wheelbarrow and decided they would fare better with the wagon. He went to the shed and got it out, as well as two more water jugs and returned to the pump house to continue the slow process.

When Amy called everyone to breakfast, the kids were happy to take a break. âThereâs enough for you too Bob,â she said. âWould you like to join us?â

âThanks, Amy, but Iâll take a rain-check. I ate early and Iâve got to take off,â he answered.

âAre you sure? I have pancakes and there is plenty to go around.â

âNo, really, Iâve got to get busy.â He turned and told his brother softy, âBesides, youâve got quite a conversation to have and donât need me in the way.â

Bill and the kids washed and joined Amy and Francis at the table. After the blessing and everyone began eating, he was just ready to start the uncomfortable talk when Brad said, âMom, do you know what weâve been doing and just how rotten it is?


âNo, but Iâm sure it canât be as bad as you are insinuating,â Amy told him.

âYes it is Mom,â Amanda chimed in. âWe had to pump water, put it in jugs, carry it to the garden, and pour it out to water the plants. I sure wish the ditch was flowing.â

âWell, you know your Dad. Heâll be able to come up with something thatâs easier,â she told the confidently.

They all turned to Bill, waiting for his solution.

_Well here goes_. âActually, we need to discuss something thatâs sort of related to that.â Bill stirred his cup of herbal tea deliberately and took a sip. âOn top of the water problem, Iâve been having some other problems. My internal system has been getting all out of whack. I canât seem to get the thyroid doses right.â He continued to explain what he had been experiencing while everyone looked at him intently. Amy clearly remembered what he had gone through before and dropped her fork on her plate, the pancake in her mouth suddenly tasting foul.

The sound of the dropping fork startled her and she got up and went to the scrap bucket and spit out the mouthful. âOh Bill, weâve got to find a solution.â

âWeâll try. Bobâs going to try to find us a pig today so we can have some fresh thyroid. Even though there has been some commerce going on, itâs pretty basic. I havenât caught wind of any medâs coming available. Iâve even sent out feelers to the FEMA camps but havenât found anything.â 

âSo youâve known for some time but havenât said anything?â She said accusingly.

âNo, but I anticipated it. When I came to my last bottle of pills, I started checking. Thereâs just none to be had. Weâll continue to try animals glands, but,â he sipped from the now cold tea. âWe have to face the possibilities that I may be uselessâ¦or worse.â 

It was deathly quiet around the table while everyone contemplated what he had told them.

âSo what would you think of leaving home and going to Bobâs cabin to live?â Bill asked to break the heavy silence. 

âThe cabin? Why on earth would we go there?â Amy asked. She had never enjoyed spending time there like everyone else. âI mean, itâs fine to go up there for wood and to help Bob pick stuff and dig the potatoes, but why would we go there to live?â

âWell, I think the key words are âto live.â Just suppose we canât get the canal fixed, which didnât look promising at all to me. Where will your food come from? I donât think our old world is coming back right away. Oh, I think it will in some form eventually, but not any time soon. Another possibility is the FEMA camps. But from the stories weâve heard, I donât want anyone in this family ending up in one of those holes.

âSo, Brad, Amanda, you spent an hour this morning watering just a portion of the garden. Another alternative is to just stay here. What do you think your chances are to do that work to raise all the food we need? We also rely heavily on the chickens and animals. So you would also have to hand water every bit of their feed. So just think about that. And think about the last time we went and helped at the cabin. 

âOne more consideration is the fuel supply. There are always dead trees to be found near the cabin. It would be a lot easier getting in a winter supply there. Compare the two locations,â Bill finished and gave them time for it all to sink it. _Thatâs a lot to throw out all at once._

I donât like it that you are saying âyour foodââ, Amy told him.

âI just want you to consider that possibility that I wonât be here. You know nothing would please me more, but itâs all in Godâs hands and we never know His purposes,â he told her. 

âMom,â Amanda said. âIt was a lot of work to water what we did. Maybe you need to help us after we do the dishes to see exactly what we would have to do.

Before the crash, if Brad said something like that it would be a way for him to get out of work. It was different when Amanda said it. She truly wanted her mother to know first-hand what might be involved.

Amy looked shell-shocked after listening to Bill, but she agreed with Amanda that it would be a good idea. âBut I want to do something else this afternoon, Bill. I want you to take us all to see the canal breech. We really need to see what that looks like to form a solid opinion.â 

âSure we can do that. After we get the garden watered weâll go over there.â

Bill stayed out of the way and watched while everyone else worked on watering the garden. _I need to make sure they get a real feel for it, but jeez, I donât want to leave home any more than Amy does._ While he watched he considered a way in which he could make the process easier. Prior to the crash, it was easier to sprinkle some areas than rely on flood irrigation. He had pulled the fittings from his lines and rolled the black plastic pipe. He had planned on sending it to the cabin with Bob to extend some water lines, but two rolls were still hung to the side of the wood shed. He quit observing the family and went to look at the pipe. There was enough to reach from the pump house to the garden. _Now to figure out some sort of connection to go from the pump to the pipe._ It wouldnât eliminate the need to operate the hand pump, but it should eliminate the need for buckets and transporting the water. _But that just covers the garden, and I still donât know how we could grow enough food there._ _But every little bit helps. _He decided he would try to get it set up the following day.


----------



## Bret F

He was still deep in thought on the pump to pipe connection when Mike joined him. âHey Bill, you ready to talk to me now?â he asked.

Mike was very concerned as Bill told him pretty much what he had told the family earlier. âSo is that why you are just standing around watching everyone else work now? Are you that weak?â

Bill laughed at his comment even though Mike had not meant it as a joke. âNo, Iâve just finally gotten them trained and wanted to see if the training stuck.â At the questioning look Mike shot him Bill told him about the discussion about possibly moving to the mountain. âI just donât know how they would make it here, Mike, if I canât help. Also, I think itâs a lot safer up there since there are hardly any people.â

âThat means there are less people to watch your back and give you a hand when you need it. Iâd wager there are more natural hazards as well. Donât forget that when you are thinking how safe it is,â Mike said.

âYou make good points, my friend. Weâll have to keep that in mind.â Bill replied. âWe also want to go look at the canal today and see how bad the breech is. The water should be pretty much out of it by now so we can get a lot better idea of how bad it is. You want to go along?â 

âSure I do. I was hoping to get over there and see it for myself.â

Amy and the kids came to where they were talking, pushing the wheel barrow and pulling the wagon. âHi Mike, Itâs good to see you.

âOK, the garden is all watered; that was a lot of work,â Amy said as she removed her hat and wiped some sweat from her forehead. âThatâs a wise daughter we have to let me do it to see just what would be needed. I think youâre right that it would be near impossible to get enough food harvested if we had to do this.â

âSo do you want to go over and see the canal now? Mike wants to ride along with us when we go.â Bill said.

âNot yet, I need to rest for a bit and have a drink. So why havenât you ever put a cup beside the pump? It didnât seem right to pump all of that water and not have something to drink from,â she said.

âI just put my mouth in the stream from the pump to the bucket. On water not destined for the house, that is. I just never thought about putting a cup there,â he answered, half embarrassed that it had never occurred to him.

âWell, weâre going to put one there today. Now, about the canal, I think in about half an hour Iâll feel ready to go. Will that work for you Mike?â

âThatâs fine,â he answered. âSince youâll drive right by the house, would you mind stopping there for me?â

âSure weâll do that,â Bill told him.

They went to the lawn chairs in the shade and Brad and Amanda came back with cups and water. As they drank and cooled down, Bill told them his idea for the plastic pipe. He made sure to explain the limitations of it.

*****​ 
The group in the pickup was subdued on the drive home. The canal bank â or the lack of it â was extremely depressing. Even more had eroded away after Bill had seen it. A small amount of water was still trickling out but it did not hide any of the devastation.

âIf we do go to the cabin,â Amy asked, âIs the whole family going? Itâs not big enough for everyone.â

âAlthough not ideal, I think we would have to get Jimâs, Dad and Alanâs campers and trailers up there and use them like small apartments. We could do bigger meals together in the cabin and smaller meals individually,â Bill told her.

âThatâs fine for all of them, but what about us? We only have a tent. I refuse to spend the winter in that, especially up there,â Amy said indignantly.

âIâve got a possible solution if I can work it out,â Bill began. âPat and Angie have been wanting more goat products. They make that cheese that everyone loves and he thinks he could sell and trade it at the market. He also has that nice travel trailer behind his house. We have too many goats to take up there. Now maybe, just maybe, we could trade some goats for that trailer. Itâs useless to him currently and he has told me quite a few times he wants any doe kids we have available. So maybe some producing, pregnant does might be enough. That is unless you want to keep all of the goats. I know how much you adore them,â he finished with a grin and dancing eyes. 

âOffer him all of them, just keep the cow,â was her blunt reply.

Their conversation was interrupted by Alanâs grandson at the door. âGrandpa and Uncle Bob are getting ready to butcher a pig and said you needed to come and help.â

OK, Iâll be there in a few minutes,â Bill told him. âBrad, Amanda, you two can help with this.â

After Bill and the kids got to Bobâs, Bill was surprised when he looked in the barn. âUh Bob, thatâs a lot more than one pig to butcher now.â

âYeah I know. But as I was driving I was thinking a little further out. This isnât the last pig you are going to need, and I donât know how long it will last. I donât want to keep running out there every month or so. And besides, if we decide to make the move to the mountain, I want some pigs there too,â Bob explained.

âThat sounds logical, but what are you going to feed them? And just what did you have to trade for all of them?â Bill asked.

âOld Tom has been lusting after our pickups since the crash. Iâm trading for Dadâs old GMC,â Bob said. âWe have all the other rigs running and I figured we needed the hogs more. He is also giving us enough feed to feed these guys for quite a while.â

âWow Bob, Dadâs pickup. Thanks.â

*****​ 
The rest of the family looked over the canal break and had long discussions on the merits of staying in place or going to live at the cabin. Emotions ran high, voices were raised. But in the end, it was decided that they would all go in the upcoming spring. Plans were made and solidified. Everything that was not needed to winter in the valley was moved to the cabin before the snows made the road impassable.

Amy still had misgivings about the move but happily bid good riddance to most of Billâs goats in exchange for Patâs camp trailer. It was readied as well as possible and taken to the cabin along with the rest of the campers. They were all set up and leveled with insulating panels running to the ground. Heavy tarps were placed over them and secured tightly to help keep the winter snow off. 

Billâs health improved with fresh thyroid supplements. He wasnât back to normal but was happy with the improvements. Although he no longer had the feeling of impending doom, he spent the winter months compiling a thick journal. He wrote down as much information related to growing food, raising chickens and goats and every bit of information he could recall. No detail was too small, even if everyone already knew it. As the pages were filled, he made an accompanying calendar, giving the range of dates for accomplishing specific actions. Fall gardening, spring seed starting, working with the bees, milking and making cheese; he included everything he could remember.


----------



## Bret F

_Wow, what a day_. The air told Bill that spring had definitely arrived. In the valley at least; Bob still had to use snowshoes to reach the cabin to make sure the snow load was off the roofs. Bill looked at the green house, actually where the green house had stood. Now the glass doors and frames were a neat pile ready to transport. They hadnât gone to the cabin before snows made the roads impassable as the family ate fresh vegetables deep into the winter. _Iâd sure like to be getting some seeds started. Days like this were made for playing in the dirt._ But instead of planting seeds, he was busying himself getting more things ready to move. 

He walked into the garden and looked at the row of fruit trees. There were two peach trees he had started that he thought â and hoped â were still small enough to transplant. He would dig them and wrap the root ball with burlap bags to make the move. Although Bob didnât have peach trees, the home at the bottom of the hill had a few so Bill assumed it wouldnât be wasted effort. He began digging a fair distance away from the tree, circling the tree and getting ever deeper.

In a short time he encountered a large river rock at just the wrong spot. _Danged rocks! Just once it would be nice to dig a hole here without hitting rocks!_ He could not work it loose with the shovel so he went to the shed and got his pry bar. He jammed the point of the bar as far under one edge as he could and leaned into the bar to pop the rock free. Straining with all his might he was hit in the chest with a blinding pain. He dropped the bar and doubled over, his hands on his chest. It felt like every danged rock on the place was suddenly crushing down on him. The pain moved into his neck and arm. _The crush!_ Sweat beaded his forehead as he fought the crushing pain. The crush was threatening to force out his breakfast; some part of his brain registered the nausea as the rest was overwhelmed with the crushing weight in his chest. He couldnât catch his breath no matter how fast and hard he breathed. _Oh God, not now, I canât desert my family. Please God._

He was lying on the ground in the fetal position when Brad and Amanda found him. âDad, Dad, are you alright?â His head was resting against the freshly moved dirt, a line of drool from his mouth making a patch of mud on his cheek.

The words came to Bill through a thick fog. Some of the rocks had been removed from his chest, but not all and he still could not catch his breath. His words were slow, soft, croaks. âHelp me sit up.â 

Amanda looked around, _sit up, how_? âIâll be right back Dad. Hang on.â She ran through the gate, her tears trying to blind her as she went. She opened the back door and yelled inside, âMom, get some blankets, quick. Itâs Dad, in the garden,â and she slammed the door and ran to the garage. She threw lawn chairs out of her way until she could get her hands on the reclining lounge lawn chair. She pulled it forcefully from the pile and ran with it back to the garden. Brad was kneeling at his Dadâs head. He had lifted Billâs head slightly and was gently cleaning the mud from his face.

Amanda had the lounge chair in position as Amy and Francis ran into the garden with blankets. Amanda pulled one from her mom as she dropped to the ground beside Bill. Amanda could hear her Mom talking to Bill but focused on the task at hand. When the blanket was arranged on the lounge chair she directed everyone else to help get Bill onto it.

They rolled him up and he breathed through tightly gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. After he was settled on the lounge chair with another blanket covering him, Amy spoke again, âBill can you hear me?â She was barely controlling the emotions trying to sweep over her.

Billâs eyes fluttered open for a moment as he took them in and then closed. Again his words were slow and soft croaks. âI hear you. I want you all to know how much I love you all, how proud I am of each of you.â He paused often, each word a new labor. Francis slipped away from the group to go find Billâs brothers and sister. Billâs eyes flickered open and he found Brad. âSon,â he raised his shaking hand slowly toward Brad. He continued speaking with the slow, jerky delivery. âYouâve made very happy. Your happy walk through life; your infectious good humor. Youâre the man of the family now. You have to watch out for everyone; take care of them; protect them.â His mouth clinched and he fought to breath. âAmanda, my amazing daughter. I couldnât have been prouder. Help Mom, stand strong with Brad.â He grimaced again, the hand not held tightly by Amy going to his chest. _Lord, give me the breath to talk._

Billâs eyes flickered again and he looked at Amy. âAmy, darling. You are my light in darkness. I would have been lost without you.â He clinched his eyes and mouth tight again. Amy lightly brushed the dirt from the side of his face.

Bob came to the garden, followed soon by Carla and then Alan, as well as the rest of the family. The lounge chair was gently raised and carried to the house. Billâs worn recliner was repositioned near the wood stove and the men shifted him onto it; his face a rictus of agony during the move. The agony shifted intoâ¦_nothingness. I donât feel it. The rocks are gone, but why canât I breathe_? He was covered again with blankets and a glass of water held to his lips; a very slight amount allowed into his mouth. Amy, Amanda and Brad sat around him, holding tightly to his hands.


----------



## Bret F

*Part III: Amandaâs Story, Part 2*

Chapter 31: Oh Lord Itâs Hard to be Humble

_Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble
When you're perfect in every way
I can't wait to look in the mirror
Cause I get better lookin' each day
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble
But I'm doin' the best that I can!

I used to have a girlfriend
But I guess she just couldn't compete
With all of these love-starved women
Who keep clamoring at my feet
Well I could probably find me another
But I guess they're all in awe of me
Who cares? I never get lonesome
Cause I treasure my own company.
âOh Lord Itâs Hard to be Humbleâ Performed by Mac Davis_
_ Written by Mac Davis_

âHello Baby, just where have you been hiding all my life. I was thinking I was going to have to head back to the valley to find some good scenery, but holy crud, I sure wonât find anything down there near as easy on the eyes as you. Why donât you come stand next to me; the two of us together would be so good lookinâ, nobody could stand to look at us.â

Amanda fought the urge to stick her finger in her mouth as she looked at the man that had just rode up to the barn. _Give me a break!_

The man swung his leg and hooked his knee over the saddle horn as he leered at Amanda. âIâm Kris, your neighbor and future husband. Iâd get down and give you a proper greeting but Iâd end up on my backside. The spell you cast on me has totally swept me off my feet with just one look. I see youâve been rendered speechless by me too. I can have that effect on women.â 

Amanda was at a loss for words for the buffoon all right, but not for the reason he thought; Mom always said if you canât say something good then donât say anything at all. _So I guess I wonât say anything, but really, is this guy for real?_ It was a relief to hear Bob come up behind her.

âWell hey Bob. Iâd tell you itâs good to see you but after seeing this incredible vision in front of you, Iâd probably just be lying,â Kris said with the same brash manner.

âKris,â Bob said and nodded his head toward him. âSo I see youâve met my niece.â

âYour niece, holy crud Bob. That means weâre gonna be family.â

âOh and howâs that?â Bob asked him dryly.

âWell we just got engaged. Just look at her. Itâs all she can do to stop from pulling me off my horse and dragging me into that hay pile.â The leer he directed at Amanda made her want to knock him off the horse all right, but beyond that his interpretation was all wrong.

Shaking her head at the brash arrogance of the guy Amanda took her bucket to the cabin not bothering to look back. _If this is what Iâm going to have to put up with, Iâd rather pack water all day._ As the milk strained she stared out the window, trying to see back down the valley, already missing home.

*****​ 
The Greenhouse was quickly erected. Amanda assumed the duty of sifting dirt and compost together and planting the seed flats. _Hi Dad, Iâll try to do it like you taught me_. She was able to forget most of her homesickness while she was doing the familiar calming action. Brad joined her after the first hoop house was put up. The two of them worked with quiet conversation of past seed plantings and home while they worked. 

The plants grew swiftly, the location near perfect for early growth on the south facing slope. All around the cabin the trees and plants came to life after the long winter. Amanda was amazed by the resilience of the bushes. Many had been flattened under feet of snow, but with spring they sprang right up and began putting on new growth. 

The campers all had wires run from the generator house. What a change to flick a switch and have the lights come on! And running water again. It was only cold, but lines ran from the spring-fed cistern to the campers. It was almost like living in the modern world again. _Too Bad Bill wasnât there to enjoy it._

Amanda did her best to duck away when Kris appeared. _Doesnât he ever do anything? I thought he was here to help out his elderly grandma_. Amanda had not accompanied Uncle Bob to meet Bernice, Krisâ grandmother. She was afraid of how Kris would interpret the visit, so decided it was best to stay away. But Kris; that guy was as bad as dog poop: he showed up underfoot all the time, and usually when least expected. She still shuddered to remember the last time he had got close to her. 

Bob had disced an area that they were planting with potatoes. Amanda had a shovel and would make a hole, Brad had a bag of seed potatoes and would drop one in the hole as they moved down the row. Other members of the family were spread across the field doing the same thing. Bradâs bag was empty and he was going to refill it. Amanda stood straight, stretching her back and noticed a shadow of someone reaching out to her from behind. âYou touch me and I will beat you to a pulp with this shovel!â she said as she turned, furious at his audacity. _The nerve of this guy to try that._

âAh darlinâ, how long are you going to play so hard to get?â Kris asked with a hurt puppy-dog look.

âTo you, as long as I have breath, now back off,â she hissed at him as she held the shovel menacingly.

Brad came walking up with a bag of seed potatoes and quickly sized up the situation. âThis isnât dinner theatre Kris. Either get to work or get out of here. We arenât here for your entertainment.â

âWell Brad, youâre getting it all wrong. Me and gorgeous was just thinking about going off for a break together. Weâve got our wedding to plan after all.â Kris was just beginning to ramble as Amanda marked the spot in the row and left the field at a fast walk.

As Kris started to follow her, Brad blocked his way, shaking his head. Amanda had told her brother that the less contact with Kris, the better. âNope, Kris, let her alone.â

Something in Bradâs tone finally sunk in. _Youâre the man of the family now. You have to watch out for everyone; take care of them; protect them._ His Dadâs words were always there for him. He wasnât going to let either of them down for this creep. 

âOh, alright. I probably better be getting back home anyway. Granny wants me to help in her stinkinâ garden today,â Kris said as he turned and slowly walked back towards his tethered horse.

Kris never tried grabbing her again, but he still pestered her, always keeping a watchful eye out for Brad. Brad accompanied her everywhere he could if she wasnât with Uncle Bob. _With all this open space, I should feel free, but that guy has me so creeped out I feel almost like a prisoner. _

*****​


----------



## Bret F

The air was full of perfume of the syringa bushes blooming. Grouse were constantly drumming in the undergrowth. Spring was showing its full glory all around.

The electric fence was around a new area Bob wanted to clear for planting. The goats were quickly stripping the tender branches and the bark from the brush. The pigs were ârooto-tillingâ the ground, cleaning up all of the plants and roots the goats left. âAfter they finish up weâll pull any brush thatâs left, disc and harrow and get some green manure into it. That should have it in pretty good shape when weâre ready to disc it again and plant it,â Bob told Amanda and Brad. 

They sat down in the shade to make sure the animals were content when Kris âjust happenedâ to appear. He had most likely been holed up somewhere watching, just waiting for them to take a break. Amanda decided to take another approach. Ignoring him sure hadnât worked. If anything it had just made him try harder. âWell imagine that, the work is done and who should show up.â

Kris grinned at her for acknowledging his presence. âWell of course Sweetheart. Your beauty is a magnet that just draws me no matter where you are. I know you feel the same to me.â

âWhatever. So do you ever do anything except ride your horse around? I heard a rumor that you were here to help your grandma, but I think that was all a lie. I bet that fencepost there does more than you do,â Amanda said. _Sorry Mom, I know you raised me not to talk like this, but man, this guy just rubs me wrong._

âOf course granny does a lot of work. She says that is what keeps her going, so I sure donât want to do anything to kill her off none too soon. Besides, since we are getting hitched, itâs about time we get to know each other better. So, how are you at skinning and butchering? Iâm kinda handy with my rifle, but after that Iâm a rookie.â

Amanda looked at him sweetly, âI donât think I could handle that for you. I really donât think you want to be close to me when I have a knife in my hand. I might accidently slip at just the wrong moment.â

âAw darlinâ, thatâs alright. I know women can get kinda clumsy and awkward sometimes. But really, I can stay out of your way and make sure you donât cut me.â Kris looked thoughtful for a moment. âYou look pretty strong though. I bet you could pack a quarter of an elk in at a time, so you could make it in only four trips. How about cooking? You any good at thatâ.

âOf course Iâm a good cook. No matter how you like your meat I can make it black on the outside and red on the inside; except when itâs black all the way through. Thatâs about the extent of my cooking,â Amanda told him. âI only knew how to heat stuff in the microwave and certainly canât do that now.â Bob was biting his tongue and getting a lot of entertainments from the conversation. Brad was debating where to punch Kris first.

âJust the way I like my meat,â Kris said happily.

âIâm surprised you donât just eat it raw. Anyway, thatâs how I used to cook it when my Dad insisted. Iâm a vegetarian now and canât stand the thought of cooking meat. The last time I tried to cook meat, it made me sick and I threw up right in the frying pan,â Amanda replied.

âOh well, weâll figure it out somehow. But look at them arms on you. I bet you can split wood all day. Thatâs good. Grannieâs house uses a lot. My cousins got her about eight cords last summer,â Kris was on a roll.

âYour cousins?â Amanda asked. âI thought you were the one helping her.â

âWell, they need wood each year too and they just love to help the old gal out, and who am I to stop them?â He actually laughed when he said it. âSometimes I think they feel guilty that she is up here and they canât do more for her.

âI know you like to work in the garden, thatâs good. I donât really care âcause I mostly eat meat. But if youâre a vegetarian, youâre gonna hafta grow quite a bit of stuff. Iâm sure you can do it when youâre pregnant and have the rest of the kids out there with you. I been thinking, we need about six of them,â Kris stated.

âIs that six gardens or six kids?â Amanda asked.

âWhy, kids of course; unless you want more. I suppose you could have more but thatâll be a handful for you to watch when youâre doing the other stuff.â

 âYouâve got it all figured out, huh? So your wife doesnât get input on the number; she would have six kids and the seventh big one?â she asked facetiously. 

The comment was totally lost on him. âWell I said you could have more, so sure we can have seven if thatâs what you want.â His eyes took on a dreamy look as he thought of it.

Brad looked like he was going to hit him. Amanda stopped him with a look and shake of her head.

*****​With all of the crops planted Bob decided they could begin working on the fuel supply. As Bill had told them the previous fall it was much easier now, if they only had viable fuel for the chainsaws. Now they bypassed the huge trees that Cal had coveted in the past. Instead they concentrated on smaller trees that were drug to the landing with the cat, cut to manageable lengths with the cross cut saw and returned to the cabin. There, the logs were cut to stove length with the tractor mounted buzz saw. Still, they could bring in multiple loads in the same amount of time that had been required to get one load home. 

Some days, Kris would appear on his horse and lean against a tree trunk and watch them work. Once they had as much wood in as Bob anticipated would be required for the winter, they doubled that amount. âI could be way off on what it takes to winter here, and itâs a whole lot easier to get it now than if there was six feet of snow on it,â he told them when saying they needed even more. âI was also thinking we could take a big load down to the market. We could use it for trade if we see anything we want. Or we could drop it off to the folks watching our houses.â 

âOh, can I go Uncle Bob?â Amanda asked. âAnd Brad too? I really would like to go see home andâ¦, well, Iâd just like to get out of here for a while if I could.â

âI think thereâll be room for you. But remember that itâs a working trip too,â he told her. âMaybe we could take some extra cheese or butter down too. Do you want to check with your mom on that?â

âSure, although she still wonât make the goat cheese. But I think we can get some going in time.â She thought for a moment, blushed and gave him a quick hug. âThanks Uncle Bob.â

*****​


----------



## Bret F

âAmanda, are you all right honey?â Amy asked as her daughter stared off into space and didnât acknowledge that she had been spoken too. âAmanda?â

âWhat? Oh sorry Mom, what did you say?â A distracted Amanda said.

âI commented on how good the fresh peas are and then I asked if you would pass the bowl,â Amy told her. âAnd then I asked if you are all right. So are you?â

âSorry Mom,â Amanda answered as she picked up the bowl and passed it down the table. âYes, Iâm fine. Iâm just thinking about getting to go with Uncle Bob tomorrow, thatâs all.â

âWell your brother is going too and I donât see him forgetting where he is and that this is the only supper we will have tonight.â Amy directed a look at Amandaâs nearly untouched plate while Brad was helping himself to yet another biscuit and jam. _My goodness, Bob must have worked him hard today._

Amanda blushed from her Momâs admonishment and began to slowly eat. Someone chuckled from down the table. Five people would make the trip in addition to Bob. Although Amy desperately wanted to go too, the pickup would be full and she knew Amanda needed to get away even worse than she did. _That Kris is a lot to take._ 

That night, Amanda got little sleep. Her mind would not shut down as she thought about getting off the mountain, not having to watch for that buffoon Kris everywhere she went, getting to go home even if for just a short time, anticipating what and who she would see. She was still wired up when the sun started coming through the windows. She had the morning chores done, the fire roaring, water hot and breakfast started when the rest of the family started moving about. 

Unlike the previous evening, Amanda wolfed through her meal, finishing long before anyone else. Then she began to fidget and urge Brad to eat faster. In typical brother fashion, the more she pushed, the slower he went. Eventually Brad pushed away from the table and joined Bob and Jim where they checked the load and got the fire going in the gasifier. _Finally! Could you guys possibly move any slower?_

When Amanda opened the door of the pickup to get in, Bob looked closely at her. âSo, no water bottle? Are you going to help unload wood with your bare hands? I would recommend some gloves.â

Chagrined, Amanda turned and trotted away, returning with both in her hands in addition to the bag of lunch that had been packed for them. It felt to her like that the rest of the group was in slow motion as they got into the pickup to start down the mountain.

*****​ 
âUncle Bob, could you drop me off at our road, please? I can skip going to the market,â Amanda said as they began to get near their home neighborhood.

âNope. Iâm sure your mom would like you to see if there is anything available she needs,â Bob answered. "And I donât want you walking around alone. You never know how things are now, even though we havenât been gone that long.â The second comment was made in complete seriousness.

âBut Brad can go with me, then weâll be fine,â she pleaded.

Bob caught her eyes in the rear view mirror. âUntil we know what the situation is around there, we stay together. End of discussion.â

The look she shot him showed her displeasure at his decision. He glanced back at her and said, âNo pouting now. Thatâs not one of the traits Mark likes in you.â Amandaâs face instantly turned bright red and she quickly looked out the side window.

Brad and Amanda looked at the wares on display at the various vendor booths, Amanda very uninterested in the activity. Brad pulled her to some jeans that looked right for her and Amy and finally got her somewhat engaged. Brad paid for the pants with some of his Dadâs hoarded silver dimes. They also picked up new work gloves. Eventually Bob and the rest of the group returned. Bob hadnât found anything he wanted to trade the firewood for so they got in the pickup and drove back to their home neighborhood. 

They were happy to see most of the garden patches lush and green. Russ was just leaving a field so they stopped to talk with him. As soon as he indicated everything was fine in the neighborhood, Amanda interrupted, âCan I go now, Uncle Bob?â

âSure, get out of here,â he told her.

âAre you coming Brad?â she asked as she nearly drug him off of the seat. Everyone but Bob got out to go look around their own homes. He stayed to talk longer with Russ.

Brad and Amanda jogged to their house. Brad tried to go slower but his sister would have none of it. He was finding the entire situation humorous. He had never seen his calm and collected sister soâ¦.goofy. They slowed at their fence and looked everything over. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief at what she saw. She had been remembering the night before they went to the mountain; the nightmare of their neglected home. 

 It looked much as they had left it. Even the grass under the trees had been eaten down by goats. The rest of the place looked well kept. Even though the full garden wasnât planted, all of the perennials had been watered and cared for. Weeds had not overtaken everything as she had feared. The plants on their dadâs grave were growing very well. After they had looked around for a few minutes, Brad said, âOK, we can go over to his house now.â

âWh,..what?â she asked.

âDonât play dumb. I know where you want to go. Now letâs get with it before I change my mind,â he said smiling. âBesides, I miss him too.â

Amandaâs feet were tapping nervously as she knocked on the Williams familyâs front door and waited for someone to answer it. _Come on already. _ She was just reaching to knock again with the door swung open and Leslie looked out at her. âAmanda!â she exclaimed and stepped out and pulled the young woman into a strong embrace. âBrad!â and she gave him his own hug. âOh, itâs so good to see you both. Mark will be disappointed when he finds out he missed you.â

Amandaâs face dropped. âMarkâs not here?â

âNo honey, Iâm afraid not,â Leslie said. A bunch of men have been working on that canal bank and he went with them today. Iâm guessing they wonât be back before dark. So come in, come in. Tell me all about living in the mountains.â

Amandaâs disappointment faded as they talked about life on the mountain and what had been happening around the home neighborhood. It truly was a pleasure to talk with Leslie again. All too soon Bob rapped on the door. âWell there you two are. Thanks for all your help unloading that wood,â he said with a fake hurt look. âBut now, we need to get going,â he told them. Amandaâs disappointment again registered on her face as she looked at her uncle. âAfter talking with Russ, I want to go see what the canal looks like before we head back up.â Brad and Amanda both instantly jumped to their feet and gave Leslie hugs before rushing to the pickup. Bob chuckled as he watched them go then turned to Leslie, âI guess your son must be with the crew working on the canal.â

âOh, how could you tell?â Leslie answered. âThe kids are looking good Bob. The mountain air must agree with them.â 

âItâs different up there, but theyâre managing. I think Amanda especially would like to be home. She seems pretty homesick at times. Well, we better go,â he told Leslie, turned and went to get in the pickup.

A group of men were adding dirt and rocks to a low wall in the canal breach when Bob parked the pickup. Most of the group was familiar, but there were a few strangers working. Everyone got out of the pickup and started towards the group activity. Amanda was anxiously scanning the faces.

Bob looked down at the low wall as Mike joined him and shook hands and began to describe the work. âWe started by dredging out the bottom of the canal and moving everything over here. Once the bank was built up about two feet, we let some water start flowing and monitored it constantly. We canât run a lot of water but itâs keeping our places and Jackâs watered. Each chance we have, we get another work party together and add more to it.â The canal that had been a favorite summer swimming spot for Bob and his siblings was flowing about a foot deep. _No swimming in there for a while, but at least they are getting some water._

Bob asked about the concrete lining the section where the curve was that had suffered the worst of the flowing water. âWell, we kind of borrowed it from that flooded out subdivision.â When Bob looked at him questionably, Mike continued. âSince most of the houses suffered major damage, we didnât figure people would just move back in any time soon. So we took as much of the sidewalk as we could. It was quite a job, but with jacks, timbers and cribbing blocks, we could get them up enough to put a trailer under them and bring them over.â

After Bob had seen all he wanted to see he began to round up his group for the drive home. He walked to where Brad, Amanda and Mark were engaged in conversation, âSorry to break up the reunion, but we have to get going.â He turned back to give them privacy. It was odd because teasing Uncle Bob actually did sound sorry.

Brad shook his friendâs hand and pulled him into an embrace as he said good bye. Amanda took her turn and hugged Mark tight and whispered in his ear, âIâve missed you Mark. A lot.â She followed that with a quick, shy kiss, and looked into his eyes as she backed up a few steps before turning and jogging after Brad.


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 32: Look at them beans

_This time last year there sure was
A lot of sad faces around this old house
Our papa died without fulfillin' his life's dream
Of producing one of the best crops in Grimes County_

_Though papa died with that dream still in his head
A desire in his heart, a promise on his lips, calluses on both hands
And two dollars in his pocket
Papa didn't live long enough to see his dreams come true_

_So he died from too much work, broken spirit, I guess_
_But I promised our mama that if it was a last thing he'd ever do
He'd live long enough to see just one good crop come through
But you see we can't plan on things without first talking to God_

_Because we don't know his plans
And if we don't include him my friends the way can get mighty hard
They say that every time a good and righteous person
Is buried in God's good earth it's just fertilizer for the soil_

_And I guess there must be some truth to that
Whether we believe it or not
I just wish that papa was here right now
So that he could see this good crop that we finally got_

_Hey look at that beans and look at that corn
And I bet them watermelons must be three feet long
Man look at them tomatoes and look at them peas
Well I know if papa was here right now he'd sure be pleased_

_But I just wish that papa was here right now
To see this good crop that we finally got
Man, look at that beans and look at that corn
And I bet them watermelons must be three feet long_

_Man, look at them tomatoes and look at them peas
Well, I know if papa was here right now he'd sure be pleased
And papa, if you can hear me look at them beans_
_âLook at them beansâ Performed by Johnny Cash_
_ Written by Joe Tex_

âSo did we jump the gun by coming up here?â Bob asked that evening between bites of supper. âI mean, they seem to be doing all right getting water going, so maybe we would have been all right staying home.â

Alan swallowed his mouthful and stated, âIâm fine here. Iâm not missing it at all being down there.â


âWell I do miss it,â Jimâs wife Lori said. âThe kids arenât getting any interaction with other kids and I definitely miss Leslieâs teaching.â Jim and Lori had a son one year younger than Brad and a daughter two years younger than the boy. Even though the two boys were so close in age, each spent most of their time with their sister.

âThatâs a good point, about school work,â Amy said. âMellissa, Tammy, are you two up to teaching your kids everything theyâll need if things never get back to normal?â

Tammy looked doubtful and Mellissa just shook her head. 

âWell Iâm with Alan,â Carla said. âIâm totally fine being here. And Amanda is just so entertaining when she is leading Kris on and encouraging him like she does.â Carla was having a very hard time keeping a straight face.

âLeading him on? Encouraging him?â Amanda stated loudly. âI canât stand to be around that buffoon. He makes my skin crawl every time I see him.â Carla busted out laughing at Amandaâs reaction. _The poor girl._

âSo it sounds like we are split; at least I am assuming you would rather be at home, Amy?â Bob said.

âYes and no,â she said softly. âBillâs presence is there everywhere. The reminders are good, but the pain is even worse. I have a big hole in my life right now that needs time to fill. Iâm not sure, but that might be easier up here.â

A quiet settled over the room as most of those present had their own thoughts of Bill.

Lori finally broke the silence,â So if we were to go back home, we donât have any garden in and itâs too late to start fresh, and we donât have any firewood either. It seems like we are here at least for this season but I want to see if we can do whatever is possible to go home for winter.â

*****​ 
âI missed you yesterday and last night,â Amanda told Brad. Brad had been sleeping outside recently and had been moving deeper into the timber on a whim. Amanda was picking pole beans when he silently appeared beside her. She held a handful up. âRemember how much Dad liked fresh green beans after eating canned ones during the winter?â Amanda asked and then dropped them into her bucket. âHe would love to see this crop.â

âYeah, heâd be impressed with these. He did love his beans.â He was quiet before addressing her other comment, thinking.

âIt seems strange with all this open space around, but then with everyone tight together here, Iâve just been feeling sort of boxed in. Remember Dad telling us about backpacking trips and how much he liked being away from people and waking up in the middle of nowhere? I finally get it. I can be real quiet and get right in with the wildlife as long as the breeze is the right direction. I sat and watched a mama bear and her cubs for about an hour yesterday evening. They never knew I was there. It was pretty cool.â Brad had a far-away look in his eyes as he finished speaking.

âI like to watch them too,â Amanda said. âAs long as they keep their distance. So what did you think about the conversation the other night, about maybe going home?â

âIâve got different views, which is kind of funny. You know, before the crash I liked to come up here for a day with Dad but couldnât imagine living here. How could you live here without the internet, after all? But now after going through what we have, it is so cool up here. When Iâm off by myself like yesterday, I just want to keep going and see whatâs behind the next hill. I miss our home and old life, but not as much as I expected. I do miss Mark quite a lot though. You know what Mom said about Dadâs presence at home. I felt it when we were there pretty strong. But when Iâm back in the woods, itâs like he is with me. Oh, I canât explain it, but itâs like heâs watching out for me. Pretty silly, huh?â

âNo itâs not silly. I know the feeling. I get it sometimes too. Especially when Iâm doing something we used to do together.

âI guess I like it here too and could be happy if not for you know who,â Amanda said with a frown. Brad chuckled at that. âBut I miss home a lot. I would rather be there, but not if Mom and you werenât there. It seems like the same thing though, since the crash. Get up, start a fire, milk the goats and cow, work all day in the garden, take a not warm enough shower, repeat again tomorrow. With all things being equal I miss the interaction with other people, civil people.â

They continued talking quietly while picking until Amanda heard an unwelcome sound. âBrad, did you step in something?â she asked quite a bit louder. âI think you better check your boots. I smell fresh poop; it smells like a lot of it.â

âWell there you are beautiful,â came an obnoxious voice. âYou look so good today I can hardly stand it. Iâm bettinâ when we get hitched weâre gonna have the best looking kids around. And not just around here, either. I mean how could they not be? You and me together? So Iâve decided the first one will be Kris junior.â

âWhy stop at one. You could always do like George Foreman did. You could have a whole pack of little Krises running around,â Amanda retorted.

âWow,â he said dreamily. âI never thought of that. You keep having good ideas like that and you can be the brain of the family to go with my looks.â

Brad looked at Amanda and grinned. âYeah, I smell it now too. Itâs a good thing weâre done with this row. Letâs head over and get these ready for canning. Uncle Alan is waiting for us.â They started to the cabin with Kris following, but none too eager. Something about Alan made Kris nervous. Alan thought it might be the beard and long hair, added to the comments Alan made toward Kris that made him come off about half crazy. Brad had first noticed the wariness Kris showed around Alan and had taken full advantage of it.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

âIâm thinking about going down to the market this week,â Bob said one morning. âAnyone want to ride along? Iâll bet those dried elder berries will be real popular, the butter always goes good and Iâd imagine those elk antler sheds we picked up might have a market. Of course someone always wants firewood.â

âUncle Bob, why donât we take some goats to trade too. I love them all, but realistically we have too many to keep up here now. Theyâre fine now but winter would be tough with that many,â Amanda offered.

âThatâs a good idea,â Bob answered. âGoats are more popular than ever.â Amy snorted at his comment.

Amanda was ready to ask for a spot to take the trip down, but she changed her mind when she saw the expectant looks on other faces. _No, I guess I better let someone else go._ Iâve been down since they have. She turned away but planned to check with Bob later if he had any seats available.

She walked slowly out to a rock outcropping. She had been spending a lot of time on the rock in the evenings. The slope below it was free of trees and offered an unobstructed view far down the river canyon â the view towards home. _Oh Dad, why did you have to die? I know you thought it was best for us to come up here, but itâs horrible. We work all the time and never get to do anything fun. You made the work fun. You always had neat things for Brad and me and Mark to do. Now Iâm looking out for that insufferable boor all the time. You know, I havenât jammed with anyone since that last night with you. Itâs like the music just dried up in me. I just wish you were still with us._

Amy came to the rock and put an arm around her daughter, pulling her tight. Amanda tilted her head and leaned it against Amyâs shoulder. âI was sure you would jump at a chance to ride down to the valley with Bob. Why didnât you?â

It was a long pause before Amanda answered, âIâm afraid to. I miss Dad and home and everything so much sometimes, Iâm afraid that if I go home, I wonât want to come back. Some days it feels like you and Brad are the only thing keeping me here. Well, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Francis.â She sat quiet again. âDidnât you see the others faces, Mom? They want to go home too. Iâve been there since they have. They need to see home again too.â 

âMy sweet girl,â Amy said softly. âI so wish you could have had a normal life like I did.â 

The two sat quietly on the rock, sniffing occasionally and wiping at an errant tear. They watched as the long shadows came across the river canyon, followed by darkness until they could no longer make out the uneven line that pointed its indirect line back toward home.

*****​ 
âMom, letâs take the day off. With everybody going back home today, I want to do something different too,â Amanda said as they were cleaning up from breakfast.

âWhat did you have in mind?â her mother asked.

âWell, you remember when Brad and I came up here with Dad elk hunting and brought the goats along? He took us down a trail to a beautiful meadow. It had a lot of thimble berry bushes growing and a small stream running through the middle. We sat on a log and ate our snacks and just watched the meadow and hillside for a long time. Squirrels would chatter at us and we got to see a lot of birds flying over. I want to go there again.â Amanda had a far-away look in her eyes as she talked, remembering that hike many years ago. 

âThatâs a wonderful idea,â Amy said. âLetâs pack some lunch and do it. Itâs too bad your brother is off wandering and wonât be there too.â

âYeah, I miss him when heâs not here, but he explained some of what heâs going through. Iâm glad he can find some peace that way,â Amanda answered. âSo are you carrying our stuff in a pack or should I get one of the goats ready?â

Amy wrinkled her nose, âI can carry what we need just fine, thank you.â

_I guess Mom will never change no matter how helpful the goats have been._

The two women were walking along a section of trail when a pine cone hit the ground at Amyâs feet. She didnât think anything about it and kept following Amanda. Another pine cone plopped the ground at Amandaâs feet so she stopped and looked up. âThatâs odd. Thereâs no tree there for it to fall out of or for a squirrel to drop it from,â she said, puzzled.

Yet another pine cone hit between the two women and Bradâs voice from a clump of brush said, âIf you walk the noisily, youâre never going to see any elk or bears.â

âBrad?â Amy asked nervously. âWhere are you?â

He materialized from some brush and walked to where they stood. âIâve been right behind you since you hit the trail. Donât you ever pay attention when youâre in the woods?â

âDonât do that!â Amy admonished him. âYou could have scared us all the way back to the cabin.â

âReally, the bears are more scared of you, and you are making too much noise. But OK, Iâll try not to spook you. So whatâs in the pack? I hope itâs food and you brought enough for me too,â he said.

Amy laughed at the growing boyâs appetite. He had transformed from a picky eater that had to nearly be forced to eat to a seemingly bottomless pit. âI could never carry enough to satisfy you, but weâll share what we have.â

âWe were going to the meadow Dad showed us when we came hunting with him and brought the goats. Do you remember? Amanda asked.

âOh yeah, I go up there a lot. Itâs a pretty neat place,â he said. âLead on.â

They made it to the meadow and Amanda pulled a blanket from the pack and spread it out in front of a downed log. âYou were right, itâs beautiful here,â Amy said. âI see why Dad brought you here.â

The day was spent lazily; eating, napping, chatting. Finally Brad said if they wanted to be at the cabin in time to do chores in daylight, they had to get going. Amanda turned on the trail to gaze over the meadow one more time and remember the first time she had been there.

*****​ 
âLetâs step up on getting more firewood tomorrow,â Bob said when they were all sitting around the table. âIf you guys are going to move back home,â he nodded towards the group that had ridden with him, âwe need to have fuel and food ready for you when you go. Iâll get the dozer going and start for the trailhead. You guys get a trailer and all the gear and follow along. 

What little slack time they had disappeared in the drive for ever more fuel. When they werenât cutting wood, they were harvesting and preserving. The gardens and fields were producing bumper crops. The canners were run deep into the night on many occasions. Amanda found one benefit to the work: Bob and Alan ran Kris off if he wouldnât help, which he never did. They were done being his entertainment. 

As the weather cooled, Bob and Brad killed three elk that were processed into Mason jars. They were followed by three young pigs. All too quickly October was past; the gardens froze and trailers were loaded to take three families back to the valley. Amanda was giddy, excited, anxious as she got in with Bob for the drive.

They hadnât been at Jim and Loriâs long when the first neighbors started appearing, happy to see them and pitching in to help unload. Amanda looked up eagerly at each new arrival, searching for one face and anticipating. 

âYou need to quit moping, itâs not very becoming,â Bob said when they had everything unloaded. âLetâs go see how they are doing unloading at Mellissaâs.â

Amanda resignedly got in between Bob and Brad and made the short drive to Mellissaâs house. The unloading was going very well so she told Bob she was going to her house to look around. She wandered around aimlessly hardly noting that the place still looked in good order; that someone had been diligent in keeping it up. She found herself back under the cottonwood tree and absently lowered herself onto the rope and board swing her Dad had put there for them. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes tightly as she gently swayed.

âHi Amanda,â she heard behind her. âI was hoping Iâd see you.â


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 33: Season Suite: Winter

_It's cold and it's getting colder
It's gray and white and winter all around
And oh, I must be getting older
And all this snow is trying to get me down_

_There's a fire in the corner slowly dyin' away
Sometimes I just don't feel like goin' on anymore
And yet I know it's more than worth the waiting
For another chance to see the summer sun
Come on, shine on me_
_âSeason Suite: Winterâ, Performed by John Denver_
_ Written by Kick Kniss, James Taylor, John Denver_

Amanda fumbled with the match in shaking hands and lost it in the darkness. She took another from the box, carefully closing the box to prevent more from falling out. She guessed she had already spilled a third of the box, her hands were so cold. Finally she was able to strike the match and held it to the tinder in the rocket stove. _Thatâs it. Iâm going to start getting up in the night to keep it warm in here. When Dad said living in a trailer would be less than ideal, he was way off. This plain bites!_ As the tinder ignited the small sticks she held her hands close, absorbing all the heat she could. The wind howled outside the trailer, finding every tiny crack around the windows, despite the layers of blankets over them. Occasional gusts caused it to sway slightly. The bucket of water she had brought in the previous evening was now a hard bucket of ice. _Oh, I donât want to milk this morning._ Once winter had set in they had analyzed their milk needs, then dried off all the animals except Min, Amandaâs doe that had borne Belle and the cow. The pigs were happy to consume any excess milk. Amanda had recently checked her notes; the cow would need dried off soon. Min would be dried off after Mischief kidded. Anticipating having nothing but goat milk, Amy worked to accumulate a stack of ârealâ butter in the generator house.

As the trailer began to slowly warm, Amanda picked up all of the matches from the floor and put them back in the box. Then she bundled for the outside weather. She lit a lantern and picked it and her milk bucket up and opened the door. The wind instantly tried to rip it out of her hand but she managed to keep her grip and was met face to face by Brad. âLet me in,â he said through chattering teeth. She stepped back and he entered, pulling the door behind him as the wind tried to tear it from his grasp.

âItâs cold in here!â Amy exclaimed. âWhy didnât you start the fire before you went out?â

âBecause I was in a hurry,â he answered. When she gave him an irritated look he continued, âBut the seat in the outhouse is warm if you hurry.â

She let what he said register and began to laugh. âOh, I get it. You shouldnât have had that third bowl of chili last night.â

Brad laughed along with her and said, âWell, you know what they say about hind sight.â

The mass heater had raised the temperature in the small space quickly, it wasnât pleasant yet, but at least Amandaâs hands no longer shook. She was able to put one more stick of wood in the fire and stood up and said, âWell, if you can stay out of the outhouse for a while, come and help me with the chores.â 

They went out into the wind and snow making deep tracks into their path. It had been shoveled before they went in for the night; before the wind had drifted it full of snow. The wind rushed into the barn when Brad rolled it open far enough for them to get in, along with a blast of snow.

The lantern glow showed the animals all laying close together. Mischief looked at them and informed them she was ready for breakfast as she stood and stretched. The movements were mimicked by the other animals. The chickens stayed huddled together on their roost, although the roosters began trying to outdo each other with their crowing. While Brad started putting out feed, Amanda separated Min and began to milk her. The goat jumped at first contact with the cold fingers, but soon they had warmed up.

âSo,â Brad said, âYou ready to tell me yet?â He had been pestering his sister about the last trip home constantly but she was very tight lipped. 

âAs I told you before, ânunyaâ.â 

âYeah, yeah, I know; none of my business. But you were gone for quite a while and you sure were blushing when we saw you again,â Brad teased.

âOK, Iâll tell you one thing. Mark sat on the board swing beside me and I gave a little push off. Thatâs when the rope broke and we were both sprawled onto the ground.â She wouldnât tell Brad anything else no matter how he badgered her, but they both got a laugh from the story of the broken rope. Instead she changed to the most constant subject recently, âSo how long do you think this storm is going to last? I thought it was the pits carrying stock water at home but this is way worse.â

âIâm with you there. But I think itâs even worse giving them access outside. The snow couldnât drift somewhere else. At least with this wind, we wonât have to shovel the roofs this time.

âYou know what I want to do since we have all this snow? I want to build a snow cave and sleep out in it. Remember Dad told us about when he did it and keeping it warm with a single candle? After the storms over, Iâm going to try it. You want to join me?â Brad asked.

âNo way. Itâs cold enough in the trailer. Thereâs no way I want to sleep out in the snow,â Amanda exclaimed.

âBe that way,â he said. âI guess Iâve been wrong; you are a girly-girl.â

Her âgirly-girlâ response was to stick her tongue out at him making them both laugh.

*****​ 
âSo how was your night out?â Alan asked Brad when he came in for breakfast. Alan had watched Brad dig his snow cave, helped him move some snow and gave him a lot of pointers. 

âIt was real good. I had one candle lit and it did so good to warm it up in there that I lit a second. Then the top started melting it was too warm, so I put one out. The cold sink idea was neat too. I could tell a difference in the temperature when I put my boots on.â

âWell good. Thatâs a good thing to know if you get into trouble out there. Now after breakfast Iâll show you another shelter.â Alan was as excitable when discussing emergency shelters as when he told about edible plants.

After they ate, Alan and Brad filled a pack with emergency items, strapped on their snowshoes and went in search of the perfect evergreen tree. As they walked, Alan was telling Brad all about fire reflectors.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

Amanda shot straight up in bed as she heard the cows and goats frightened bawling. âBrad get up,â she nearly shouted as she pulled on her boots. She flew into her coat, hat and gloves as quickly as possible and grabbed up her Dadâs large Maglite flashlight. They had babied the rechargeable batteries as much as possible, saving them for emergencies. It sounded like this might be such a time.

Brad was ready just as quickly and picked up his Dadâs 30:06 that rested at the head of his bed. As soon as they were outside he rocked a round into the chamber and pointed the rifle where Amanda shone the light. The light found a large furry animal at the side of the barn that turned to them, eyes shining in the light and spun and ran into the darkness. The door of the cabin closed and Bob hurried out, armed as well. âDid you see anything?â he asked as he joined the two as they were making a slow circuit of the barn.â

âJust a quick glimpse,â Amanda told him. âIt was huge, fast and furry.â

âI was afraid of that,â Bob said. âWith the deer and elk moving down country because of the heavy snow, the wolves are moving too. They must have smelled the stock and figured it would be an easy meal.â

They didnât see any more animals as they looked around the barnâs perimeter, but stood transfixed as they looked down at the fresh tracks in the snow. The tracks were deep and large, nearly the size of their dinner plates. âWow, thatâs a huge dog,â Amanda said.

âYep,â Bob said, âHuge and vicious. They could make short work of the goats. We better go in and calm them down.â

They went into the barn to comfort the terrified animals. They had quieted, but the cows and goats were quivering in fear, their eyes wide. It was light outside by the time the animals had settled down. 

Bob and Brad examined the tracks and saw the ripped metal of the barn wall where powerful claws had tried to get in. âIf we hadnât chased him off, he would have gotten in,â Bob said as he pointed out the beginning of an opening. They followed the tracks a short distance to where two other pairs of tracks joined the set leading from the barn. Brad looked at them and turned and looked at the barn. âIâm going hunting, you coming?â

âWell I canât let you have all the fun, can I? And I donât want to face your mom if you go alone. It would be safer in the woods,â Bob said grinning.

A short time later, the two started following the wolvesâ tracks, carrying backpacks, rifles and wearing snow shoes. Bob had asked Alan to get the barn wall beefed up. While Brad was packing, his mother asked, âHow long are you going to be out there?â

His answer had been short, âAs long as it takes.â _Iâm not letting a wolf eat Dadâs goat!_

When night approached with no sign of the hunters, Alan did his best to comfort Amy. Amanda sat near and listened while she looked constantly out into the snow covered landscape. âTheyâll be fine. Theyâve got all of the equipment they need, Brad makes a good snow cave, they took plenty of food. If something is wrong, one of them would have come back for help.â

*****​Amanda had looked at the near hills all through the following morning. âAre you sure theyâre fine?â she asked Alan when he joined her gazing at the hill Bob and Brad had started up the previous day.

âTheyâre both very capable. But what would you think of skiing over to the trailhead to look around? Depending on where the wolves led them, the trail off the top at the end of the road is a lot easier to come back on,â Alan told her. She quickly agreed and ran to get her equipment.

It was late in the afternoon; Amanda and Alan were at the end of the road. The road actually ended at the head of two trials, one that went through the meadow Amy and Amanda had hiked to, and one that side-hilled up the river canyon. There was no sign of human activity, but a number of elk had moved down from the upper trail and kept going towards the distant river. Alan also considered it a good sign that there were no wolf tracks.

After resting a while, Alan and Amanda turned to make the trek back to the cabin. âI was really hoping weâd find them here,â Amanda said worriedly. They were nearing an open ridge when Alan stopped and pointed up the ridge line. Just clear of the timber line were two figures struggling to drag a load behind them. Alan took his rifle from his back and looked through the scope at the figures. âItâs them. You want to look?â After confirming there wasnât a round in the chamber, he handed the rifle to Amanda when she said she did want to look.

âWhat on earth are they dragging?â she asked.

âI figured it must be a wolf, but it looks wrong. I guess weâll see when they get to the road. Letâs get on down there,â he said and held his hand out for the rifle. He slung it over his back and led off for them to intersect the hunterâs path.

Alan and Amanda were waiting, Amanda anxiously, when Bob and Brad appeared above the road. Brad led, breaking trail, with a rope sling of sorts over his pack straps extending back behind him to their load. Bob followed in the broken trail, a similar shorter rope sling leading back. The ropes extended to a partial elk carcass. As they dropped onto the road, Alan could see a bundle of wolf fur tied to the elk. âI thought you were hunting wolves, not elk,â he said.

Amanda studied the pair carefully. Bob and Brad were both bent over, hands on their thighs, breathing fast. They appeared none the worse for wear, although winded from tromping through the deep snow. Aside from looking quite tired, Brad had a sort of exuberance and confident manner she didnât usually associate to him. Brad caught his breath first, âWe didnât kill the elk, but there was so much meat, we didnât want to just leave it there. Itâs been a pretty tough haul, though, getting it back here. Can you guys take our packs to lighten our load?â Brad just assumed the answer was yes and dropped his pack in the snow.

Brad further lightened his and Bobâs load by removing the bundles of wolf fur and tying them onto the packs that were passed to Alan and Amanda. Amanda continued to watch her brother and the confident manner he went about the job. _He has really changed from the goofy gamer kid he used to be._

While Brad worked, Bob began telling them the story. âWe were way back there and hadnât seen anything but tracks and were starting to look for a good spot for the night.â

âThere was no way I was coming back empty handed,â Brad interjected. âNot after they had discovered the barn.â

Bob continued the narrative, âWe were in a place where the rocks were exposed from the wind so we pushed on to the next draw. We were getting close and heard all kinds of snarling going on. We slipped around a tree as easy as we could and saw them. There were the three wolves and they had killed this elk and were ripping into it. We settled down and took aim and counted out and dumped the two outside ones the first shot. The third hesitated just a moment too long. My shot hit it and Bradâs finished it. They were actually at a pretty good spot so Brad made a snow cave while I started skinning. Then he started a nice roaring fire and propped some of the elk meat over it to cook. We finished skinning the wolves and cut off the worst of the elk. We had a good supper by firelight and slept pretty warm although it was a little smelly using the fresh hides for ground covers. But it was worth it. They sure kept the cold out. In the morning we cooked a little more meat and rigged up the sling and started back.â He looked at Brad, âI guess itâs my turn to lead for a while.â

âOh sure, you want to lead now that weâre on the flat road where the skis have partially flattened the snow down,â Brad said with mock indignation.

âYouâre one to complain. You got the downhill section,â Bob shot back at him with a big smile. _He reminds me of his Dad._

Amanda thought by the tone of the discussion that they had been over the same subject numerous times. _Those two are actually enjoying this._

They started up the road to home, the skis further pushing the snow down for the snow shoes.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

âIsnât this winter ever going to end?â Amanda asked rhetorically looking out at the fresh snow. âNow we get to shovel again, oh joy.â She had loved snow at home. There never was a lot and it usually melted off after a few days. But the snow on the mountain just kept falling and piling up ever higher. After shoveling the snow off the roofs, the piles were high enough to walk right out onto the cabin roof without the assistance of a ladder. The paths were lined with vertical walls. Very much more and Amanda wouldnât be able to see over it. She made sure to keep the track cleared to her rock overlook; she still spent a lot of time sitting on it staring down the river canyon. She often sat until the cold rock had leached the warmth out of her and she would be shivering uncontrollably when she went in to warm by the stove.

They did a lot of skiing, but even that was getting boring. On most clear days, a group of them would ski out to the trailheads and make forays on either trail until the conditions forced them to turn back. The slope where Alan had first sighted Bob and Brad after the wolf hunt became popular for working on telemarking. Amanda never skied the road the opposite direction. That road led towards Krisâ grandmotherâs house, a house Amanda had never visited nor wanted to. She didnât want him to get any material for his fantasies. The more distance away from him, the better as far as she was concerned. The best thing about the snow was Kris was just too lazy to venture out in it. 

Brad was often gone, an absence that pulled hard on Amanda. Since the wolves had found them, Brad made it a priority to make circuits through the surrounding timber to see if another pack had moved in. He would rise early, don his pack, rifle and snow shoes and not be seen again until dark. The first time he didnât come back at night fall, Amy had been so emotional when he did return that she forced a promise from him to not stay out at night again. Amanda had the thought as he came back at nightfall in a snow storm that he was getting nearly as wild as the wolves he was watching out for.

*****​ 
Brad found Amanda on her rock after returning from his latest foray. âGot room there for me?â he asked her.

âSure. How was your hike? Did you see anything interesting?â

âI went down country this time to where a bunch of elk are wintering. There were some wolf tracks around but not many,â Brad said. âI did find some antler sheds that I brought back. One was pretty big.â 

They sat quiet before Brad said, âYouâre not going too stir crazy here are you?â

âSome days it feels like it, especially when youâre gone. I mean, thereâs snow everywhere. We take care of the animals, shovel snow, carry wood and then we do it all again. Same stuff, different day. Why would I go stir-crazy with so much variety in my life?â

âAmanda, itâs not becoming to mope around all the time and feel sorry for yourself, so as your favorite brother I have to tell you to knock it off.â He grinned at her. âYou could go with me next time I go out. But now I want you to think about something besides how miserable you are here. Whenâs the last time you heard Mom cry at night?â

Amanda thought about his question. âI really donât know. I guess I havenât really been paying much attention.â

âWell I do, and youâre right, you havenât been paying attention to much at all since the snow got deep,â Brad told her. âIt has been three weeks since I heard her cry at night. So shelve your pity party and think of Mom. Dad meant a lot to her too, he was her life partner after all. The winter has been therapeutic for her. She needed time to get over him and this place seems to have done it for her. She might be ready to go home when the snow melts. So think on that.â 

âWow,â was the only reply she had.

âSo I want to change things up tonight. Letâs play some music and liven up the place. Neither of us has picked up our instruments in a long time, actually, not since weâve been here. So letâs get them out tonight. You know how much Mom and Dad both liked us to play together. What do you think?â he asked her.

âI suppose we could. But it will be different without Dad,â she said non-committedly.

âSure itâll be different. But do you think he would want us to just quit because heâs not here? Why do you think he took us to lessons all the time, and then pushed us when we couldnât get lessons? Letâs do it,â he told her.

The cabin came alive that night. The lights didnât get shut off early with everyone going off to sleep early. They played late into the night. After a few rough tunes, the fingers remembered what to do. Amanda and Amy both shed tears over special songs, while Brad looked grim. But when they put away the instruments, they all felt lifted.

The winter didnât seem to drag so much after that. Brad still made his treks, but took Amanda on many of them and showed her some of his favorite places. Amy was even convinced to go out on occasion. And each night the cabin was filled with music as they went through all of the old songs. As Amanda put her violin away one night it occurred to her that she had a pretty sharp brother. _Maybe Iâll even tell him someday. _


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 34: Daily Growing

_The trees, they grow high and the leaves, they do grow green_
_Many is the time my true love I've seen_
_Many an hour I watched him all alone_
_He's young but he's daily growing_
_âDaily Growingâ Performed by Altan_
_ Traditional_

âI hate mud!â Amanda exclaimed as she went into the cabin after doing the chores. Her mud covered rubber boots were outside the door and she was in her socks. âAs if the snow wasnât bad enough, now everywhere itâs melted is mud. I donât remember it being this bad before.â

âThatâs because you never came up in early spring. Your Dad always made sure it was mostly dried out before he brought you up to help in the garden.â Bob explained. âAlso your animals tromp around the one area and make it that much worse. Of course thatâs not just mud.â

Amanda wasnât placated and went to the sink grumbling to herself. âMud, mud, mud. Mud everywhere. I hate mud.â 

She was still grumbling when Brad opened the door excitedly, âDoes anybody want to see some baby bears?â 

âCan we see them without slipping in the mud?â his sister asked grumpily.

âOf course not. Havenât you figured out that there are only two seasons now: winter and mud. Now grab your coat and rubber boots and come on,â Brad ordered her. He reached up on a shelf and picked up two pairs of binoculars, handing one pair to Bob and hanging the strap of the other around his neck.

Brad led the way to the road and told the group it was about a half-mile to where they could see the bears. Amanda forgot about hating mud and trailed along happily, eager to see the cubs. Before the road curved to an area with an open south-facing slope Brad stopped them and whispered they had to be quiet. He led them around the curve and bent down as he walked to the road bank and lay down on his stomach. Amanda noted the spot was neither mud nor snow. He pointed at the open hillside and put the binoculars to his eyes. A short time later he passed them to his sister. Bob had passed his pair on also.

The group was enthralled watching the black fur balls tumble along the hillside. The sow was grazing on the fresh greenery; the cubs would occasionally go to her to investigate what she was eating, then tumble away again. The sow approached a half rotten log and showed her tremendous strength when she ripped it apart and licked at the exposed insects.

Bob slid away from the bank and walked hunched over until he was out of the bears view and stood up straight. He was soon followed by the rest. âThat was so neat! Thanks for coming and getting us Brad,â Amanda said. She failed to notice she was standing in mud.

They began walking back to the cabin. Alan and Bob were pointing out all of the new spring growth that seemed to change daily. The hills came to life quickly as the snow melted off. Small trees that had been bent over one day were standing upright the next and covered with green buds a few days later. In the distance, Bob pointed out a figure on horseback riding up the road in the direction of the cabin. âI guess itâs not only warm enough for the bears to come out, but now the snakes are coming out from under their rocks too,â Alan quirked. The comment was greeted with gales of laughter.

*****​ 
The compost pile was broken up and spread over the garden plots, and a pile moved near the greenhouse. There wasnât enough compost to cover all of the growing areas. Bob thought it rare when there was enough. More compost was always needed. 

The new compost pile was begun immediately, fueled by all of the bedding and droppings from the barn that had accumulated over the winter. New clean bedding was laid out. Mischief was ready to kid any day. Amanda wanted the birthing area as clean, dry and warm as possible. After Mischief, the rest of the animals would have young. It was another reminder that spring was coming on in full force.

*****​ 
The seedlings in the greenhouse had grown rapidly with the lengthening daylight hours and were quickly outgrowing the seed flats. A whole group was inside transplanting the seedlings into individual containers. Amanda noted her motherâs presence. _Thatâs nice that sheâs helping out this year. I just wonder why she never bothered to help Dad. _ Amy had been involved with Amanda, Bob and Alan in every step. In the past she was more concerned with keeping the house up, cooking, cleaning and laundry, leaving the gardening to Bill and the kids.

Amy looked deep in thought as she filled a fresh container with the compost and soil mix Amanda had prepared. Finally she looked towards Amanda and Brad when she addressed Bob, âSo Bob, are there going to be enough plant starts here to do the gardens here and our garden at home?â

Amanda looked up so quickly, her right hand involuntarily pulled the seedling she was putting dirt around out of the pot. âMom, are you serious? Really, we can go home?â

âWell, I would be fine going back home now. But I thought we could talk about it,â Amy told her. âSo judging by your reaction, you would be willing to go back home?â

âIâll get my stuff ready right now!â Amanda answered.

âThatâs kind of what I thought,â Amy said. âBob, what are your plans? Do you want to stay on here or do you want to go back? And before you answer just on our account, tell me what you really want. I know Bill asked you to keep an eye on us.â

Bob considered his response while he packed a seedling with the potting soil and started filling another pot. âActually, you remember before the crash, I ran back and forth between home and up here? I managed to keep a decent garden at each place. I wouldnât mind doing something like that, but honestly I donât want to winter up here again. That wasnât very fun. So, I would be around a lot to give you a hand when you needed it, but not all the time.â

âBrad?â Amy asked. âWhat about you?â

âWould I have to be home all the time, or could I split time too, like Uncle Bob? I think itâs been cool up here and I donât want to just live at home anymore. I could be there and help and be around people, and then I could spend time up here, tooâ Brad said.

âI think we could work something like that out,â she told him. _That boy, no, make it that young man, has matured and changed so much._ âAlan, Carla, what about you?â

âI live here now. This is home,â Alan answered.

âIâm with Alan,â Carla said. âBesides, Mellissa doesnât need us in her house again. She never said anything but it certainly made things inconvenient for her family when we moved in.â

âSo, how do we make it happen?â Amy asked. âBecause Iâm sure to Amandaâs disappointment we canât go today.â

They discussed the logistics of the move while they continued transplanting. Bob assured Amy that yes, there would be enough plant starts for both locations. The jersey cow, Mischief with her twins and Min would go back with Amy as well as half of the chickens. The rest of the livestock would stay at the cabin. Amy argued to leave all of the goats but Amanda was adamant. âMy goat and Dadâs goat are going!â she told her Mom with a defiant look. Amy grudgingly conceded.

Firewood and preserved food would go down with all of their personal items. Ample amounts of garden seed and the new seedlings would be taken. One of the hoop houses would be taken back home and set up. Amanda went through the rest of the day in an elated state while Brad appeared melancholy. Francis was nearly as bad as Amanda. She had expressed her opinion to her sister in private many times. She couldnât wait to see the mountain behind them.

Amandaâs happy mood even lasted through a visit by Kris. She sighed resignedly when she saw him approaching, and then remembered why she was loading a trailer with firewood. He was put off by the total indifference she showed him and finally got on his horse and left, puzzled by her behavior.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

Amanda was milking Mischief when she heard a vehicle approaching the cabin. _I wonder who that is. _She craned her neck to see after the engine shut off but she couldnât see anything. _And If I stop to check Mischief will think weâre done and be a royal pain when I start again._ She stayed on her stool and finished milking despite the curiosity. She turned the goat loose and started for the door.

A shadow approached the door and then a young man materialized. She was momentarily confused with the light at his back. _Is that him or my imagination?_ âMark?â she asked hesitantly.

âHi Amanda, you donât have to sound so thrilled to see me,â he said.

She dropped her milk and ran to him and wrapped her arms around him; a motion he returned.

âMark, huh,â came the unwelcome irritating voice behind him. âSo Mark, what are you doing hugging my wife?â


Chapter 35: Between Here and Gone

_Tonight the moon came up, it was nearly full
Way down here on Earth, I could feel it's pull
The weight of gravity, or just the lure of light
Made me want to leave my only home tonight

I'm just wondering how we know where we belong
Is it in a photograph, or a dashboard's poet's song
Will I have missed my chance to right some ancient wrong
Should I find myself between here and gone 

Now I could grab my keys, peel out my truck
With every cent on board bringing me their luck
I could drive too fast like a midnight sleeve
As if there was a way to outrun the grief

I'm just wondering how we know where we belong
In a song that's left behind, in a dream I couldn't wake from
Could I have felt the brush of a soul that's passing on
Somewhere in between here and gone

Up above me
Wayward angels
A blur of wings and grace

One for courage
One for safety
One for 'just in case'

I thought a light went out, but now a candle shines
I thought my tears wouldn't stop, then I dried my eyes
And after all of this, the truth that holds me here
Is that this emptyness is something not to fear

Yeah, I keep wondering how we know where we belong
After all the journeys made and the journeys yet to come
When I feel like giving up instead of going on
Somewhere in between... 

Yeah, I'm just wondering how we know where we belong
Is it in the arc of the moon leaving shadows on the lawn
In the path of fireflies and a single bird at dawn
Singing in between here and gone_
_âBetween Here and Goneâ Performed by Mary Chapin Carpenter_
_ Written by Mary Chapin Carpenter_

âWife?â Mark croaked out. He felt like someone had just sucker-punched him in the gut. He couldnât breathe. He had to get out of there. The shadows had enveloped him and were pressing in. He turned and stumbled back to the pickup he had arrived in.

âMark, donât listen to that idiot,â Amanda called after him. She turned to Kris and with venom in her voice told him, âIf you come near, I swear I will beat you with an axe handle.â Then she ran after Mark.

âMark, wait, Iâm not his wife. He just thinks the world revolves around him. Mark stop and look at me,â she pleaded as the tears soaked her face.

Mark had managed to get into the pickup and sat with his head down on the steering wheel. He looked at her and said, âI guess it doesnât matter anyway. I just came to say good bye.â

âGood bye? What are you talking about? Weâre going back home tomorrow, to live in our house again. To be close to you again.â 

âI wonât be there, so you can stay with your guy there,â Mark answered quietly.

âMark look and me! No, look at me and listen,â she stated firmly. When he raised his head to look at her she continued, âHe means absolutely nothing to me. There is only one guy I care about,â and she put her hands on both sides of his face and lowered hers to his, her lips eagerly seeking his. When she finally lifted her head, she was nearly breathless, but she got out quietly, âAnd thatâs you. And here I always thought you were a smart guy.â

Mark was again having trouble breathing, but differently from the feeling in the barn. His head was spinning and he was glad he was sitting down. It might be hard to stand. His whole body felt weak.

âNow that weâve got that out of the way, what do you mean âgood byeââ, Amanda asked him more forcefully.

âWow,â Mark murmured. He looked stunned, staring out at nothing.

âMark? Are you going to talk to me?â Amanda asked, not as forcefully.

âSo that guy there, who is he? Why did he say youâre his wife?â Mark finally asked. 

âHeâs just a jerk that has been a pain in my backside since the day we got here,â Amanda told him. âThe first day we were here he told Uncle Bob we were engaged. He is just so full of himself and too dense to pay attention. I havenât done anything to give him that idea but he just doesnât get it.â

âReally?â was Markâs one word answer.

âReally! Have you and I ever lied to each other?â she asked.

âNo, I guess not,â he said as he turned back and looked at her.

âSo what did you mean about good bye,â she asked. _Iâm finally getting out of here and heâs leaving? _A feeling of panic was quickly settling over Amanda.

âOh that. Things started changing a lot at the end of the winter. A lot of areas have electricity again. We donât in our neighborhood because the crews are going slow to make sure everything is safe before they power up a section, but a lot of Boise has electricity working. We should have it in another couple of weeks. When the power came back, President Paul made it a priority to get theâ

âWait, wait,â Amanda cut in âPresident Paul?â

âOh yeah,â Brad said. âI guess there was an election sometime. Senator Paul got elected and has been pushing hard to make changes on immigration and root out any terrorists we have left. So then he wanted the medical facilities, food production and colleges and technical schools running again. There were all kinds of things lacking. Iâm not sure how his stuff compares with Rooseveltâs policies after the Great Depression, but he claims heâll get things going without bankrupting the country. I donât know how he can pull it off, but Congress is actually working with him, so maybe things will be better.

âSo anyway, Iâm going to Pullman. I got accepted in the veterinary school there. Remember how helpless your Dad felt when we lost that doe in childbirth? We just didnât know what to do. And he felt even worse when Rand and Perrin your pack goats died.â Amanda well remembered. _Those goats were nearly family to Dad. He moped around for days._

âCows and goats, well all livestock have been so important since the crash, I want to be a vet so we have a chance to save the animals next time,â Mark said. 

For the first time Amanda noticed that the pickup had a lot of things packed away in it. 

Mark continued, âSo I had to see you before I left. I came here to tell you good bye and, maybe, â¦. oh never mind..â 

âMaybe what, Mark,â Amanda asked him.

âWell, I was wondering if â¦. um â¦. maybe you would go with me?â Mark asked very nervously.

âGo with you?â Amanda whispered. âMark, what are you asking?â 

âWell,â¦.I know you wouldnât just go with me because, so, â¦. I â¦. was no, forget it.â

âMark spit it out! I canât read your mind,â Amanda said.

âI guess Iâve had this daydream since I found out I could go.â Mark was again looking at his steering wheel. âThat maybe we could get married and go there together.â _There, I said it out loud and talk about un-romantic. And to just pop out of the blue like that. I sure blew that._

âMark,â Amanda whispered. âReally, you want me to marry you?â

âWell, yeah, but I understand if you want to stay here. It was stupid of me to bring it up. Forget I ever said it. I should be going. Itâs a long drive.â

Amandaâs head was spinning, but she knew she couldnât let Mark just leave. She reached in and pulled his hand, âCome with me.â


----------



## Bret F

sorry, double post


----------



## Bret F

Amanda pulled him by the hand from the pickup and turned towards the cabin. Thatâs the first time she noticed the audience that had been watching them. âHey Brad, be a good host and get Mark something to eat and drink. And donât let him leave,â she said as she left Mark with the group and walked right past. She didnât notice the bear hug Brad wrapped the confused young man in as she slipped away. Mark was confused as he turned and watched her walk out of sight past the cabin. _Wow, that sure went over good._

Amy followed her daughter to her rock outcrop and sat down beside her. âDo you want to talk about it?â she asked as she draped an arm around Amanda and pulled her tight.

âMom,â Amanda said softly. âDo you know why he is here?â

âNo, when he drove up we greeted each other and then he went to the barn when I told him thatâs where you were.â

âHeâs leaving Mom. Just when we are going back home, heâs leaving,â Amanda said haltingly between sobs.

âThatâs rough. Is that all he had to say,â Amy asked, sure there would be more.

âHe asked me to go with him. But I canât do that. Iâve got to go home with you,â the young woman choked out. 

âAnd just why canât you go? Your feelings for him have been pretty obvious for a long time. Even your Dad knew, and you know how oblivious he could be about some things. I swear that man could read his goats better than he could you and me.â Amy had a wry smile as she talked about Bill and his goats.

âWell who would take care of you and Aunt Francis?â Amanda asked.

âIt might surprise you but we are grown women and managed all right before you came along,â Amy chuckled.

âYeah, but that was different. You donât know how to do all the stuff Dad and I did. And if Brad and Uncle Bob arenât going to be there all the time, you need me.â

âYouâre right, we donât know how to do it all, but thatâs what friends are for. How many times did you two not milk the cow, but I always had cowâs milk? There are people at home that will help out. And we do know a lot about the garden, we just chose not to work on it. Your Dad loved it, and would rather be outside than washing clothes and dishes. The bees, now thatâs different. But I think they can just stay here with Alan and we can get honey from him.â Amy looked at her daughter close. âYou do want to go with him donât you?â 

âYes,â Amanda answered. âAre you sure itâs OK?â

âHoney, I want you to be happy and I think Mark can make that happen. Not only that, your Dad loved him enough to give him some of his goats, that counts for a lot. He wouldnât let just anyone have one of his precious goats, let alone three.â _Bill and his goats, I swear_. âSo is there anything else stopping you?â

âHe asked me to marry him, in an off-hand way. But thatâs Mark being nervous. I wonât go unless weâre married.â

âThen letâs have a wedding,â Amy said with wet eyes as she squeezed her daughter tightly. âNow, there is a confused young man over there wondering what just happened. I donât think Brad will let him get away, but he might feel cornered and you know how a trapped animal can be. Go find him.â

Amyâs eyes were very wet as she watched her daughter take Markâs hand and lead him away from the group. Brad looked at his Mom and said, âDid Amanda tell you Markâs going to Pullman tomorrow?â

âPullman? No she didnât tell me where they are going.â 

âThey?â asked Francis.

âYes, both of them. Weâve got a wedding to plan if they are going tomorrow. Itâs too late tonight, so weâll have to do it in the morning.â Amy said. âDoes anybody know where we can find a pastor to perform the ceremony on short notice?â

âMom, let me do it. I know Iâm not a pastor, but I can study the Bible and as long as it is witnessed before God, isnât that the important thing?â Brad asked. âBesides, itâs my sister and best friend. Please?â

Amy had her doubts, but he seemed sincere. âAll right, but you better be serious.â She looked at Alan and Bob, âCan one of you go down and get Mike and Leslie? They need to be here.â

âIâll go,â Bob said, âAnd take a trailer down tonight. We can unhook it at your place and unload it when I take them home. Brad can you read and make notes while riding shotgun?â

âSure, hang on just a minute.â Brad emerged from the camp trailer a few minutes later with a pack slung over one shoulder and joined Bob where he was getting the wood gasifier going. When they started down the road he waved to Mark and his sister. Amanda held her hands out in a questioning manner and he responded by thumbing his nose at her.

It was well after dark when Brad knocked on the Williams door. They were elated when he told them why he was there, but not as elated when he said Bob wanted to be on the road at 6:00 in the morning. Although he was offered a bed in their house, he said he would rather sleep at home and procured the house keys from Mike. 

After his sleeping bag was laid out, Brad hoped for the best as he flipped the switch to one of the strips of LEDâs his dad had mounted at the time of the crash. _All right, the charger and batteries are still working, some at least_. He read and made notes quickly as he wasnât sure how well the system might work after the winter. Soon, he flicked the light off and settled into his sleeping bag. The floor wasnât soft, but he had slept in lots worse places in the woods. He was soon asleep in the familiar environment.

When Bob arrived, planning to leave soon, Brad had the trailer half unloaded. âI decided we didnât need to go back with the trailer empty since weâll have enough stuff to need it again, so why not unload it. So get the fire going then give me a hand.â The trailer was soon empty and they were on the road after picking up Mike and Leslie.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

âBrad is doing the ceremony? Are you serious?â Amanda asked her mother. She stopped her action of carrying her belongings to Markâs pickup to look straight at Amy.

âYes, I am. I wasnât sure about it, but he asked and seemed very sincere, so I said it was OK. I guess I should have asked you, since itâs your wedding,â Amy said.

âHe better be serious, but OK. In answer to your question of where; I want to be looking out over my rock and down the river with Brad, really, Brad?, oh well, with Brad standing on the rock. That spot is so pretty now,â Amanda said, very unsure about her brother. _Heâs changed a lot, but has he changed enough?_

She packed away the bag Amy handed her, the last part of her life that she was taking along. âI canât believe it Mom. Iâm getting married today and leaving. Itâs all happened so fast and Iâm terrified. Am I doing the right thing?â

âIf your heart says so, it is. I was sure when I married your Dad, but things were different then. Mark will be a good husband, but things will be hard. Maybe even harder than the last few years. So just follow your heart.â

*****​ 
Brad stood nervously and looked at his sister and Mark before him. They were in their best clothes; Amandaâs jeans only had two patches and her work shoes were still in fair shape. She had sewn the shirt that winter and had not managed to rip it yet. Marks clothes looked somewhat better; the market must have had some items in his size recently.

Brad cleared his throat as he looked at them and then spoke. âIt is a rare opportunity for me to perform this ceremony for my two best friends in the world. For Amanda, you have been much more than just a sister to me.â _I better hurry before I get choked up._ 

âI want to read to you from Ephesians, a message for wives and husbands: _âWives, be subject to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ also is the head of the church, He Himself being the Savoir of the body. But as the church is subject to Christ, so also the wives ought to be to their husbands in everything. _

âThis isnât an all-encompassing order, but applies to righteous activities. Not if heâs being a knucklehead_.â _He paused at the chuckles from the family members.

_âHusbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her; that He might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, that He might present to Himself the church in all her glory, having no spot or wrinkle or any such thing; but that she should be holy and blameless. So husbands ought also to love their own wives as their own bodies.â _Brad thought about the last words his Dad had spoken to him,_ âYouâre the man of the family now. You have to watch out for everyone; take care of them; protect them.â _âSo, best friend or not, you hurt my sister, I will smash you like a bug.â

There were more chuckles as Brad motioned Mike to come forward as they had arranged and Brad moved to stand next to his mother. She turned to him and mouthed âknucklehead?â He just shrugged in response.

Amy remembered Billâs words to her one evening after he had revealed his thyroid problems. â_You know, I could die at any time. If that happens, my main regrets are leaving you and not being able to give Amanda away at her wedding.â Sheâs missing you being here too, Bill_. Amy clasped Bradâs hand and gave it a squeeze while she wiped her eyes with her other hand.

Mike had a few more encouraging words, then asked the Lords blessing on the union. Then he pronounced them husband and wife. âYou may kiss your bride.â

Amanda could barely control her trembling hands as Mark turned to her to kiss her. The butterflies in her stomach just beat their wings harder.

*****​ 
The reception dinner was the finest shriveled vegetables out of the generator house, rewarmed roast elk and home cured ham removed from canning jars, fresh greens, sourdough biscuits, and pies from reconstituted dehydrated apples. It was quickly eaten and Amy and Mark were ready to leave. It would be a long day to get to the college town. Amanda went to everyone and hugged them while Mark got handshakes and hugs. Finally Amanda, with Amy on one arm and Brad on the other started to the loaded pickup, while Mark walked with his parents. Amanda and Amy exchanged hugs and goodbyes, then Amanda turned and pulled Brad into an embrace. âKeep safe when youâre out there alone and watch over Mom and Aunt Francis when you can. And thank you, I love you, you knucklehead.â


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## Bret F

Epilogue: Heartstrings

_Way up north where the snow flies and the sun don't hardly shine_
_If it weren't for my true love, I'd long ago lost my mind_
_I'd long ago lost my mind_

_There's good folks here, good folks there, most everywhere I go_
_But the land of my heart is down where the snow white cotton grows_
_Where the snow white cotton grows_

_When the river runs over from the melting snow, we'll take to the higher ground_
_When the water goes down again we'll saddle our old paint_
_We'll be homeward bound_
_Me and my love will be homeward bound_

_Heartstrings hold tighter than the roots of a live oak tree_
_Holdin' through tornado winds_
_Tougher than timber, stronger than steel_
_They'll guide me back southward again_
_They'll guide me back southward again_

_When the river runs over from the melting snow, we'll take to the higher ground_
_And when the water goes down again we'll saddle our old paint_
_We'll be homeward bound_
_Me and my love will be homeward bound_
_âHeartstringsâ Performed by Alison Kraus_
_Written by Marshall Wilborn_

âBill, come on Bill, honey. Weâve got to be going.â

âNO!â came a yell from a bedroom. âIâm not going anywhere.â

Amanda walked into the empty bedroom and got down on her knees in front of the nearly three year old boy. âBill, honey, we have to get going. We have a long drive to get home.â

âThis is home,â the boy said in a petulant tone.

âYes it has been our home, but just while Daddy was going to school. Heâs done now, so we are going back to our real home.â Now Amanda spoke with excitement in her voice, âHome where we have the goats in the field just outside the yard; we wonât have to go to friendâs houses to see some. Home where we have chickens and they walk around anywhere they want, except the garden. Home where we have a big garden you can dig in and not just the pots like we have here. You can go out and eat all the tomatoes you want and never run out. 

âYour grandpa and both your grandmas live there. And you have some cousins that you can play with that live right next door. There is even a gate into their yard so you donât have to go into the road. What else is there, let me think?â She acted like she was deep in thought. âOh yeah, Uncle Brad lives there sometimes too.â Brad made yearly trips to visit Mark and Amanda. Bill had been leery of the stranger at first but warmed up to him and his tales of the woods. âAnd the baby goats. Did I tell you there are baby goats now? You can play with them all you want.â

Bill looked thoughtful for a long time â for him at least â then picked up his favorite blanket and stuffed goat. âCome on Mom. We need to go. Those baby goats need someone to play with,â he said importantly.

Amanda got slowly to her feet, her late term pregnancy hindering her movements. Once she got to her feet she rubbed her round belly and told it, âDonât expect me to have to bribe you, you need to learn to obey from the start.â _Yeah right_.

She knuckled her back as she looked around one more time to be sure nothing had been left behind, left the key on the counter and went out the door, pulling it closed behind her and making sure it was locked. She walked toward the loaded pickup where Mark was strapping Bill into his child seat, then stopped and looked around. âBill, you were right, this was home, but itâs time to move on.â She looked at the house that had been her and Markâs since their marriage and all of Billâs life. _Our first home together_. It had been a struggle for the young newlyweds with Mark working hard to complete his studies. It hadnât been made any easier with the birth of Bill, but Amanda wouldnât trade the experience for anything. _Just like I wouldnât trade my time with Dad after the crash for anything._ She looked at the house one more time and walked with misty eyes to get the long trip started. 

In his veterinary training, Mark had specialized in large animals: mostly cows and goats. There were few vets that knew more than the basics about goats and Mark had wanted to learn all he could about them. In a small way it was a form of thanks for the help Bill had given him and his family, but it was also for himself. He had grown to love the goats and felt as much anguish as Bill had when one died. 

He had been fortunate to be hired to work with the vet in Horseshoe Bend, the small town that was the midpoint between their familyâs homes and Bobâs mountain cabin. He had a week to get established before he started working.

The drive was uneventful; it just included many bathroom stops. _Ah,_ t_he joys of late pregnancy_. Most areas started restoration soon after they had been reconnected to electricity. Things werenât as good as before the crash, but conditions seemed to improve daily. Soon Bill fell asleep in his seat and missed the scenery until they stopped to eat along the Salmon River and let him throw a few rocks into the river under Markâs watchful eye.

Hours later, as they approached the area where Bobâs cabin was located, Amanda strained to see up the mountain. There would be no way to see the cabin and her rock outcrop, but she looked anyway. âThat was an interesting year up there,â she told Mark. The running water and generator power were nice, but man, I wouldnât want to do that again. The winter was almost unbearable.â She looked at Mark, âThanks for showing up that day and not just going north alone.â 

âMy year wasnât much fun either,â he answered. âNot too get sappy, but it was pretty lonely in the neighborhood without Brad there.â At the look she shot him, Mark chuckled, âOh yeah, and without you there too.â

A short time later, the daylight nearly gone, they entered Horseshoe Bend. Mark drove slowly and they saw the small sign marking the entrance to the vet clinic. âThatâs where Daddy will work, Bill,â Amanda said and pointed at the dark building. Mark sped up as they left town and climbed the hill separating the area from the Treasure Valley. When they got to a vantage point where they could see the opening valley below Amanda asked Mark to pull over. They sat there and gazed down at the lights below. 

Amanda was amazed at the lights stretching far across the valley in all directions. âI never really thought we would see it like this again. Remember that Halloween night? We had to take Mandy home, so while we were in the car, Dad brought us up here and it was so dark. I was terrified that night and Mom was crying quietly. But dad was calm and steady; he seemed to have the answers for dealing with everything. After the shock wore off and we had been without electricity for a couple of years, I figured it was gone forever and never really thought much about it. Mom sure did though. There werenât many days that passed that she wasnât missing something electric.â Amanda gazed long at the lights stretching out for miles below them. âItâs beautiful. Now, letâs go home.â She reached across the child seat and squeezed Markâs hand.

Mark turned onto their street and drove very slowly. Other than many houses being lit up things looked much as they had last seen them. He stopped at Amyâs house and Amanda opened the driveway gate so he could pull through, and then closed it behind him. Mark turned off the engine in front of the garage and unhooked Bill and lifted him out. Amanda hadnât joined him yet so he looked up the driveway for her. She was leaning on a fence, her arm through the wire scratching an old doe. âItâs Mischief, Honey. Mom still has her.â Even though she had made her mom promise to keep the goat she was still surprised to see her there.

The back door of the house opened and Amy stepped out and saw where they were. âYou can stay there with that goat, but get my grandson here. I want to finally meet him.â

âSorry Mom, I was just walking down the driveway and she called me,â Amanda said. She took Bill by the hand and went to the door and gave her mom a warm hug. 

âYouâre getting pretty big. When do you kid, and is it twins or triplets?â Amy asked her laughing.

âWow Mom, goat humor out of you? If only Daaaad were here to hear that.â Amanda said, making the Daaaad sound like a goats bleat.

âAnd who is this?â Amy asked as she bent toward the boy clinging to the back of his momâs leg.

Amanda took his hand and drew him away from her leg. âBill, this is your grandma,â she told him as she held him toward Amy.

âI am so glad to meet you Bill. Iâve heard so much about you and wanted to meet you since you were born. Would you like to come in and read a story book with me?â Amy asked him. 

The little boyâs face showed indecision before he asked âWhat book would we read?â

âI have a whole stack of them out. Do you know the âB Bookâ with the big brown bear? I have it out and I have another one called âThree Billy Goats Gruffâ. 

âOK, letâs read a book,â he said as he took her hand and led her inside, saw the couch and went straight to it.


----------



## Bret F

Amanda got glasses out of the cupboard and looked for the bucket on the counter, then laughed. âI guess I can just use the faucet now, huh?â She had gotten used to running water again, just not at that sink. She filled a glass for Mark and herself and went in to hear the story of the goats crossing the trollâs bridge. When the story was done, Amanda pointed Bill to a box of toys her mother had evidently gotten down from the attic storage area. Some of the kidâs toys were just too special for Amy to give away and she had held onto them since Brad and Amanda had outgrown them.

âSorry, I wasnât sure when youâd be here so I donât have supper ready. You didnât eat already did you?â Amy asked.

âNo, we had lunch along the Salmon River. Iâm hungry at least, but I guess I seem to want something to eat most of the time now,â Amanda said. âSo what can I do to help?â 

Amy pointed to her phone. âFirst thing is call your Aunt and Markâs parents. Bobâs back at the cabin right now, and goodness knows where that brother of yours is.â At Amyâs questioning look, Amanda said,â He just comes and goes, you never know when heâll pop up. I wouldnât put it past him to be here tonight.

âSo how are things going with the baby? Have you had any problemsâ Amy asked her rounding out daughter.

âItâs been a normal pregnancy so far, but this one has been getting pretty active. I thing itâs about ready to come out and meet us,â Amanda answered.

âIt?â Amy looked up with the question from peeling potatoes. âYou do know there are ways to find out what it is, donât you? You wouldnât have to call my grandchild an âitâ.â

Amanda laughed at the comment. âYeah, we know, but what would the fun be in that? If I remember right, you and Dad never found out what Brad and I were before we were born.â

âThatâs true. When our friends asked saying they wanted to know what to buy, he just told them that a boy or girl would both need fishing poles.â Amy smiled at the remembrance. âMost people waited but one of his friends actually bought you a fishing pole.â

Mike and Leslie arrived and had a nice reunion with Mark and Amanda and got to meet their grandson for the first time. Bill was nervous with the strangers but soon warmed up to his Grandma when she asked him to tell her all about the toys he was playing with.

The front door opened again and Francis entered the house with a man Amanda had only seen a few times before they moved to the cabin. After Amy and Francis had returned to the house, the widower had begun helping the two women out constantly when Brad and Bob were absent. The courtship was swift, followed by a simple marriage ceremony and Francis had moved to his house. Suddenly, Amy was in an empty house. It had been hard being alone even though Brad showed up often. He never stayed long however, some wild urge drawing him back to the mountains. The year spent there had certainly changed him. Bob began staying at his house more and more. He wanted to help Amy as much as possible, remembering his promise to his brother. The hills were getting pretty steep for him too, although he didnât like to admit it. He had insisted Alan and Carla with their spouses move into the cabin. When he went to the mountain, he now occupied the camp trailer Amy and the kids had lived in.

The supper was full of conversation with everyone catching up on what the others had been up to. They were just nearing the end of the meal when there was a tap and the door, followed by Bobâs entrance. âHey, I heard my favorite niece and some doctor guy were going to be here so I came back down tonight.â

Amanda jumped from her chair and gave him an awkward hug. âWell, I see youâve been eating good,â he told her with in a grin. âYou need to cut out on the sweets or you wonât fit through the door much longer.â Amanda just gave him a longer hug for the needling. _Same old Uncle Bob._

The conversation went long until Amanda was falling asleep in her chair. Bill had already been put to bed after he had curled up with his blanket on the floor with the toys pulled tight.

Amanda woke up before daylight, a habit she hadnât changed when going with Mark. She went to use the bathroom, glad that she didnât have to use a jug still. It was a relief to turn the tap and have water flow. _Hand-pumping water wasnât that bad, I guess, except in the winter. But I sure wouldnât want to do it packing this baby._ She went into the kitchen and heard the coffee maker. _Mom must have loved having that back so she could have her coffee waiting for her when she gets up._ 

Amy joined her while she was searching the pantry for an herbal tea. âDid you sleep good?â Amy asked.

âYes, I was exhausted after the trip.â She turned from the pantry and hugged her mom. âNow whereâs your tea?â

Amy found it for her and put a cup of water in the microwave to heat, then made her own cup of coffee. âIt seems so different, Mom, to have everything working again. I mean, I was used to it in Pullman, but everything here, it just seems so different. I even looked for the tea pot on the wood stove for hot water.â

âIt did take a little getting used to,â Amy agreed. âBut I did and I decided I liked it and didnât want to go back to the other way again. Get dressed and Iâll show you some things I had done.â

Amanda emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later and they went outside. The morning air was crisp, but didnât require more than a light jacket. Amy led the way to the street and had Amanda look around. âDo you see anything different about the house?â

Amanda looked up to see the roof lined with solar panels. âI really didnât like not having electricity, so as soon as I could, I got a system that would operate the entire house, including the pump. I am not going to hand pump all my water and pee in a bottle again!â 

Amanda couldnât help but laugh at her mom. âAnd it keeps the freezer going too. I could eat all of that stuff we canned, but I will never prefer canned meat over frozen. Brad and Bob keep me stocked with elk and pork and it is so much better frozen,â Amy added.

They continued to walk around. âMom, you got another greenhouse!â

âThat was one thing your Dad did that I did like to eat. Vegetables just arenât the same when you buy them. And it gives me something to do. The days were pretty long after the schools opened again and Leslie and I werenât teaching the kids. Now she and I can spend hours out here talking and doing something productive. And when sheâs not with me, I can feel your dadâs presence,â Amy finished quietly.

âI know what you mean Mom,â Amanda said and squeezed her motherâs hand. 

âIâm kind of surprised at you though. You still have Mischief,â Amanda said.

âYeah, I know, but I figured if I got rid of her, your dad would come back and haunt me,â Amy said with a chuckle. âI just have her and one weather to keep her company. Sheâs getting old enough; we havenât had her bred for a few years. Just let her eat and annoy me. Mike takes care of them, but they stay here for some reason.â Amanda thought she knew the reason. âMike has the cow and brings me milk and cream when I need it. So it works for us.

âI only have a few chickens now,â Amy continued. âI figured why should I take care of all those chickens and just give the eggs away like your dad did. I just gave away the chickens except for four. I get all the eggs I need from them.â

âRemember, he gave away a lot of chickens too.â

âYes he did, but he always managed to keep a lot more hens than we needed.â

They continued their walk. âYour garden looks good, Mom.â

âThanks. You notice itâs smaller and not so much planted. I always tried to convince your dad to just plant our favorites so he could keep it under control, but you know how he was, always trying to fill every inch of space,â Amy said.

âSure I know how he was, he kept us fed when we needed it,â Amanda answered.


----------



## Bret F

A wisp of smoke came to them from behind the garage. Amanda looked at her mom with a question and Amy just shrugged. They move to where they could see the source. Brad was hunched beside a small rocket stove with a battered pot on it. A rolled up sleeping bag was behind him, next to another, occupied sleeping bag. âAbout time you guys got up,â he said. âYouâre missing the best part of the day. Grab some chairs and letâs watch the sun come up.â He pointed to some nearby chairs he had already brought from the garage.

Amanda shuffled to him and embraced him and asked, âWhen did you get here? Why didnât you come in the house?â

âWe came down the road just as Uncle Bob was getting to his house last night. He said you were all going to bed because someone was falling asleep and ignoring everybody. So we parked at his place and grabbed our stuff and decided to sleep out here,â Brad told them.

âWell you should have come in,â his mother said while his sister asked, âUs?â 

âYeah, thatâs Debra,â he said, motioning towards the occupied sleeping bag.

âYouâve never mentioned her before,â Amanda said. âWhere did you meet? How long have you known her? Are you serious?â

âSlow down. Iâll just say that our first meeting was memorable. She really got my attention.â Brad said.

âWell donât stop there,â Amanda ordered. She was always curious of women her brother was interested in.

âHe was tromping through a meadow, making all kinds of noise,â a female voice said from the sleeping bag. âJust like now.â

âI was not. Those elk didnât even know I was there.â Brad retorted to the form.

A shroud of tousled hair framing a very pretty face rose out of the sleeping bag and looked at Brad. âYou were too. I had a perfect spot and they changed direction when they heard you coming. So anyway, since He-Man wonât tell you, I will. He was banging up the trail to where I was hiding, and I saw the elk sensed something, so I sent him a message to be quiet.â

Brad looked ready to argue again, and Amanda was ready to tell her to continue when Debra said, âSo there was a tree a little ahead of him. I put an arrow into it just in front of his eyes. He stopped making noise then.â 

âYou could have shot me!â Brad said.

âI missed you by a good ten feet, and I hardly drew my bow anyway,â Debra responded. It sounded to Amanda like a long continuing discussion. âSo anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted,â and she directed a taunting smile to Brad, âHe quit making noise and hid himself. The elk continued to come our way and we both got one.â

Brad took over the story, admiration in his voice this time. âI had no idea where the arrow had come from so I froze right there. No matter how I looked, I couldnât see anyone. But I did see that I was in good position for the elk. After we shot, I still didnât know where she was until this bush grew taller and there she was in a ghillie suit. Thereâs nothing like a fine dressed girl to get your heart thumping.â

Amanda thought the story was hilarious. _I can see why Bradâs attracted to her._ They all settled into chairs with a cup of the tea Brad offered to watch the sun come up together.


*****​

After the family had eaten breakfast, Amanda stated, âI want to take Bill out to his grandpaâs grave. Iâd like it if you would all come with me. They set the dishes aside to do later and walked as a group to the corner of the garden. Amanda had Billâs hand as he was looking around at everything, wanting to run off and explore.

âBill,â Amanda said and pointed to the graves, âThere are your great grandparents. And that one is my Dad, Bill, your grandpa. You know, there was a time that we didnât have electricity and the stores werenât open. We couldnât get gas for the cars. Your grandpa knew what to do. He made it so we could all live here and grow our own food. He helped all of the people around us too. Things would have been a lot harder if not for your grandpa. And I might not have met your father either.â Amanda reached out and squeezed Markâs hand. âMark, can you say a prayer please.â


Mark began to say a prayer, but Amanda didnât hear a word of it as she was seeing her dad and many of the things that he had done for them and how happy he had made them in a horrible time. _I love you and miss you Dad._ She was jolted back to the present when she felt a pain in her abdomen and felt a sudden wet sensation. Through gritted teeth, she whispered in Markâs ear, âYou might want to finish hon, I think my water just broke.â

After Mark recovered from the momentary shock, he wrapped up the prayer with a request for everyone, âAnd everyone say it with me, Amen.â As they all voiced âAmenâ with Mark, it was echoed by the bleat of the old goat.


What a Wonderful World

_I see trees of green, red roses, too,_
_I see them bloom, for me and you_
_And I think to myself_
_What a wonderful world._

_I see skies of blue, and clouds of white,_
_The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night_
_And I think to myself_
_What a wonderful world._

_The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,_
_Are also on the faces of people going by._
_I see friends shaking hands, sayin', "How do you do?"_
_They're really sayin', "I love you."_

_I hear babies cryin'. I watch them grow._
_They'll learn much more than I'll ever know_
_And I think to myself_
_What a wonderful world_

_Yes, I think to myself_
_What a wonderful world_
_âWhat a Wonderful Worldâ Performed by Louie Armstrong_
_Written by George David Weiss, George David, Bob Thiele_


----------



## Bret F

I want to thank everyone for reading my little story and especially everyone who commented on it. You are truly the ones that kept me writing. If it hadnât been for you, I would have stopped some time back; so thanks again for not allowing me to quit. (I wanted to know what happened too.) This is the first time I have ever attempted anything like this, so I was very nervous when I began posting. I had never written anything more than an essay and even that was a lot of years ago. I appreciate hearing any feedback you may have, good or bad.

When I first read this thread and thought about the topic, I figured, well five years â Iâm dead. I drafted the first two pages in my head (while milking the goat of course) and figured that would be it. But after I wrote that down, it got me to thinking. OK, Iâll be gone, but what do I need to do to give my family a better chance of making it if Iâm gone? At times it became an exercise in that direction â what could I do. Another thing I decided was to try to make the story somewhat educational as it went along. Some things I have learned by trial and error, some things I still want to try. But I hoped I could share some information that might inspire other people. Other things I tried to include â if I had an answer â were things that I have seen asked about on line or other gardeners have questioned me. Therefore my focus was the time period leading up to âFive Years Laterâ.

Iâm not a hard core survivalist: I am more into providing as much of my families food as I can; hence the main direction of my tale. Nor am I in the camp that believes TEOTWAWKI will become a âMad Maxâ type or a zombie apocalypse. I am more concerned about our governmentâs fiscal policies and going into a slow, but ever increasing in speed, death spiral.

In the end, I have enjoyed bringing this tale out and again I say THANK YOU to everyone for going on the ride with Bill and his family.

Bret


----------



## Heidi

I have been reading your story since the beginning and while I have not commented, I have looked forward to each chapter...always happy when I saw that you had posted. Just finished reading and while I am thrilled to have so much to read today I am also sad that the story is over! Thank you so much for all your work, I know writing is a labour of love that involves a lot of blood, sweat and tears! 

Thanks again! Cheers!


----------



## biggkidd

This story is fantastic! I appreciate you taking the time to write it. How people like your self can come up with such interesting tales is beyond me. 

You have a wonderful talent. I sincerely hope you decide to write more stories. I know I would love to read them. I am sure everyone who has read this would too! 

Thank you again 

Larry


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## 355946

Thank you for the story. It was brave of you to have Bill die, I thought, but it makes the points about teaching and about how fragile our lives can be. Much appreciated.


----------



## WV Farm girl

Like any good story you feel depressed at the end when you have to say goodbye to characters you have come to know. Sorry to see it end, but all good things do. 
Thank you


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## jkhs

Thanks for the great story, I'm sad to see it end.


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## puddlejumper007

Bret, thank you for the great story, and all the info in it. sure made me think of things that could happen and what we would do..... if you ever write anymore and i hope you do let us know.....pat


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## MO_cows

Thanks, Bret. You are a good story teller and writer. Outstanding considering it was your first attempt.


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## K.B.

Many thanks for taking the time and effort to share your thoughts and story. Much appreciated!


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## SpaceCadet12364

That was so *A W E S O M E!!!!!* Bret, if you aren't published, you should be!

I was reading the first ones on page 11, thinking 'alright, a couple new installments!'.......and had completely forgotten (if memory serves) that you had actually started out at a point when Bill had already died, and that most of the previous ones of late were actually flashbacks......and started bawling like a baby when I got to the one where he died! :sob:

:goodjob:


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## txliberty

Bret,

Thank you so much for the great story. I loved it from start to finish.

txliberty :goodjob:


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## stickinthemud

Thank you, Bret!


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## udwe

Did Amanda have a boy or girl? Thanks so much for the story, loved it. Keep writing, you're awesome!


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## Bret F

udwe said:


> Did Amanda have a boy or girl? Thanks so much for the story, loved it. Keep writing, you're awesome!


I can't remember, but a silver fishing :spinsmileyole looks good with a pink or a blue ribbon around it.


----------



## Ozarks Tom

Bret, I want to thank you so much for a very enjoyable tale. I've looked forward to each new installment, and been both entertained and impressed with the seeming ease of your storytelling.

You brought out enough of each character to understand their actions, without getting bogged down, and letting us imagine their emotions beyond what was written.

You've shown a great talent, I hope you'll pursue it.

p.s. You know you hit the mark when you can make a mean old man mist up.


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## biggkidd

I keep looking back every time there's a new post hoping maybe there's a sequel. lol

It was such a good story.

Larry


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## puddlejumper007

any other writers available, we love to read the stories.....please....:sob:


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## Bret F

Thanks everyone for the comments. I appreciate it.



biggkidd said:


> I keep looking back every time there's a new post hoping maybe there's a sequel. lol
> 
> It was such a good story.
> 
> Larry


Stay tuned. I'm working on something from a different viewpoint. It's making me think more. Too much thinking gives me a headache


----------



## Wren - TN

Bret F said:


> Thanks everyone for the comments. I appreciate it.
> 
> 
> 
> Stay tuned. I'm working on something from a different viewpoint. It's making me think more. Too much thinking gives me a headache


This makes my day! I really enjoyed your writing. You did such a good job with the perfect balance of storyline and information. Can't wait to read more from you.


----------



## biggkidd

Bret F said:


> Thanks everyone for the comments. I appreciate it.
> 
> 
> 
> Stay tuned. I'm working on something from a different viewpoint. It's making me think more. Too much thinking gives me a headache


Come on Hurry up ANTICIPATION is killing me.  

Thanks Bret if you do decide to write something else I can ('t) wait to read it. lol

Have a good night.

Larry


----------



## Bret F

_The Long Darkness_
Chapter 1

&#8220;Oh, for the love of &#8230;..&#8221; Steve Miller exclaimed as the television and lights shut off. The house was instantly pitch black inside. The blinds had been drawn tight in an attempt to dissuade any trick-or-treaters from bothering them, so no ambient light was visible. It was dark enough Steve could not even see shadows as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change. The house was totally quiet, spookily quiet for Halloween, except for Steve&#8217;s cursing. &#8220;It&#8217;s not bad enough to have all those kids coming by and interrupting us and begging for candy. Now this&#8230;.&#8221; And he continued to curse. 

The expletives that erupted from his wife Jenny were even worse. &#8220;Just when Snooki and Sasha were going to dance! They better get the power back before Corbin Bleu dances or I&#8217;m really going to&#8230;.&#8221; And she continued to rant about the power cutting off during Dancing with the Stars. The lack of power didn&#8217;t upset her near as much as losing the feed to her favorite television show.

&#8220;So where&#8217;s the flashlight?&#8221; Steve asked as he finished his last string of cursing.

&#8220;Beats me,&#8221; Jenny answered and fought to get her cell phone out of her snug jeans pocket. Once it was out she searched for the flashlight function. &#8220;That&#8217;s odd,&#8221; she said puzzled. &#8220;I don&#8217;t have any service.&#8221;

&#8220;The power must be out at the towers too,&#8221; Steve told her. &#8220;Hey that&#8217;s better,&#8221; he said as the cell phone cast its light into the room. &#8220;Not a lot, but better.&#8221;

&#8220;Yeah, better than pitch black,&#8221; Jenny echoed. &#8220;Now if the TV would just come back on. I really don&#8217;t want to miss Corbin. But I think the flashlight is in the catch-all drawer in the kitchen.&#8221;

They followed the meager light to the kitchen drawer and opened it. Steve cursed again as he stubbed his sock-clad toes on the edge of the kitchen cabinet. The flashlight wasn&#8217;t readily visible, but Steve dug around until he found it. &#8220;Ah here it is!&#8221; he exclaimed. Now we can have some better light.&#8221; He clicked the switch and let loose another string of cussing as it remained dark. &#8220;Here, put your light over here, so I can see something,&#8221; he snapped as he started to unscrew the end. As he pulled the end free, green and white globs and powder fell onto the counter, accompanied by a portion of a corroded spring. 

Steve tipped the light up and tried to dump the batteries out, having to hit the side numerous times for them to free themselves and drop out. They were so badly corroded, they were difficult to recognize in the poor light of the phone. He cursed again, and spat out &#8220;Well, we sure aren&#8217;t getting any light from this thing. Do we have any candles?&#8221;
&#8220;I don&#8217;t think so,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;I got rid of them when I got that Scentsy electric candle thing.&#8221;

&#8220;Well isn&#8217;t that just great,&#8221; he said disgustedly. He reached to slam the drawer shut and glimpsed a birthday candle in the clutter. &#8220;Hey, look at this,&#8221; he said as he picked it up, showing Jenny the wax number three.

&#8220;Oh yeah, that&#8217;s from Nick&#8217;s last birthday. I forgot about it. Do you see any matches?&#8221; 

Steve dug through the drawer looking, &#8220;So why do we have all this junk anyway,&#8221; he hissed, irritated at the evening&#8217;s events. Yes it was Halloween, but he just wanted to sit back and watch TV and maybe have a drink or three in peace and quiet. Their son Jake was taking Nick, their grandson trick or treating in Toni, the boy&#8217;s mom&#8217;s parent&#8217;s neighborhood, so Steve wouldn&#8217;t even get so see Nick in his costume. Jake had at least sent a picture on his phone. Finally Steve located a book of matches and turned to light the candle. The match flared to light, an echo of the flaring anger Steve felt at the moment.

&#8220;That&#8217;s not much light!&#8221; he snapped as the candle wick caught the flame. &#8220;I need a drink!&#8221; he stated and picked up the candle and walked to the refrigerator. &#8220;You want anything?&#8221;

Steve stood in front of the open refrigerator door as the coolness inside rushed out; he searched by the candle&#8217;s light until he located the Coke and removed a can. &#8220;Do you see the wine?&#8221; Jenny asked, &#8220;I want a glass of it.&#8221; 

Steve pushed aside a jar of pickles and a mystery takeout container of leftovers to pick up the box of wine. &#8220;Here it is, but it doesn&#8217;t feel like there&#8217;s much left in it.&#8221; He sat it on the counter near the fridge and glanced around at the contents before closing the door. &#8220;Get me the J.D., would ya?&#8221; he asked Jenny in a tone that sounded more like an order. He took a glass and wine glass out and after setting one beside the wine box, held the other to the ice discharge built into the door. When nothing happened, he cursed again and opened the freezer section and dipped his glass into the ice bin to fill it. Ice cubes fell to the floor at his feet that he left there. He filled his glass with bourbon and Coke while Jenny filled her glass. 

&#8220;Yeah, there&#8217;s not much left here,&#8221; Jenny commented on the box of wine. &#8220;We&#8217;ll have to pick up another one tomorrow.&#8221;
Whatever response Steve grumbled as he picked up his drink and the candle was unintelligible as he turned and walked to his seat in front of the dark television.
As the sunlight started peeking through the cracks in the blinds, Steve and Jenny were still in front of the blank screen, sleeping soundly. The candle was a lump of wax on the coffee table, long burned out, next to the empty wine box. The empty bourbon bottle was on the floor.

Jenny roused, bleary eyed and looked around in the muted light, confused. As she rose to a sitting position on the couch and looked around, she remembered the events of the previous evening. She looked at the blank clock face, then pushed the knob on her watch and squinted at the glowing face to see the time. _Dang, I&#8217;m late; stinking alarm clock_. She went to the wall switch and flicked it off and on numerous times before she was convinced the power was still out. She went to the window and opened the blinds, momentarily blinded by the bright light. The light sent a needle of pain through her brain and she had a momentary regret at drinking the last glass of wine. 

She looked at where Steve still snored in his chair. Since his work had slowed down, he slept late every day and watched TV deep into the night. Steve thought his work-mate Bill was nuts to take the morning shift and was glad Tom had given him the chance to go in late.

Jenny walked to the bathroom and started the water in the shower. Late or not, she would not leave the house without a shower. She failed to notice the decreased water pressure as the water ran. Goose bumps covered her skin as she undressed. _Brrr, the heat&#8217;s out too_. When she finally got into the shower, she did notice the cooler temperature. She tried to adjust the water to her preferred temperature, but showered in a fraction of her normal time when it would not warm up. She hurriedly turned off the diminished flow and quickly toweled off as she began to shiver from the cold. Once dry, she wrapped her towel around her body and looked at the still blow drier. &#8220;My hair will be a mess if I can&#8217;t dry it,&#8221; she mumbled into the dark shadow in the mirror. She walked, still wrapped in her towel to get her phone to call work. She decided there was no need to go in if the power was off, but she needed to make sure. 

The cell phone was on the couch, where it had slipped from her lap sometime in the evening. She picked it up and could not get any response from it. It came to her suddenly that she had needed to charge it before she and Steve had used it for light. She cursed her negligence for allowing the battery to go dead. She was lost without a working cell phone. She went to the end table where Steve always dropped his and picked it up. It did still have power but she could not get a signal. The home phone had been long ago removed so she had no choice but to dress and drive to the office.

She opened more blinds as she went to the bedroom to dress. Still shivering, she dressed quickly, finishing with a thick sweater. Her shivering gradually subsided. 
She cursed again at the state of her hair when she made a futile attempt to brush it to her normal look. _I can&#8217;t go out looking like this! _She went back to her dresser and found a scarf and wrapped it over her hair, glad the weather was cool so she wouldn&#8217;t look too nerdy. 

She went to the fridge and looked in, hoping there would be something to settle her stomach. The shelves were mostly bare and nothing looked appetizing. _Steve did have to finish off all the Coke last night!_ She stared a little longer before she closed the door too forcefully and walked to the living room. She looked into the dish of candy that was near the door. _Steve buys such junk; I don&#8217;t want any of that._ Steve purposely had the least appetizing candy he could find, trying to further dissuade the Halloween beggars.

&#8220;Hey Steve,&#8221; she said to the figure in the chair. When he stirred enough, she continued, &#8220;Hey Steve, it&#8217;s morning. I&#8217;m going to the office. The power is still out here, but maybe they have some. Do you think maybe you can clean the house today since you can&#8217;t watch TV?&#8221; she said bitingly.

&#8220;Whatever,&#8221; he mumbled and closed his eyes as she went out the door.


----------



## Bret F

Jenny started her SUV and plugged her phone into the car charger, and then let the car idle with the defroster running while she got the ice scraper and cleaned the windows. _This stinks. If Steve would just get that junk out of the garage, I wouldn&#8217;t have to do this all the time._

She started driving, her head swaying to the CD she was listening to. The streets were eerily empty. Traffic had been getting lighter since the bombings had started; especially dropping off after September 11th but nothing like this. The first stoplight she came to was not working. The few drivers that were out were courteously treating it as a four way stop and she got through it much faster than waiting for the light to cycle. All the lights were out as she made the commute. 

Only one car was in the office lot when she arrived and the door unlocked. &#8220;Sorry I&#8217;m late, but I sure hope you have coffee made&#8221;, she told her supervisor as she went into the semi-dark office, the only light coming from the windows. 

&#8220;Don&#8217;t I wish!&#8221; Carol answered. &#8220;But that&#8217;s hard to do without power. I can&#8217;t even heat water and use instant. I&#8217;m already starting to get a headache without my caffeine.&#8221;
&#8220;I was sure hoping there would be power on here,&#8221; Jenny said. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t call because my phone was dead and Steve&#8217;s didn&#8217;t have service.&#8221;

&#8220;It wouldn&#8217;t have helped if your phone was charged. The radio said the power is pretty much out everywhere. They think the terrorists changed their tactics and targeted electricity and communications. I could only find one station working here. They said it was because they have a generator and fuel as part of the Emergency Broadcast System.&#8221;
Jenny felt her face flush. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t think about radio news. I had a disc in and listened to it while I was driving. So it&#8217;s out everywhere?&#8221; 

&#8220;It sounds like it and the power company doesn&#8217;t have any idea how long it will be to get it back up. So I guess we are closed down for now. We sure can&#8217;t do anything without our computers and the internet. I was going to stay here for another hour to tell anybody that comes in,&#8221; Carol told her. &#8220;You might as well leave. But come back if you find coffee!&#8221;
_Wow, the power&#8217;s out everywhere? That&#8217;s not good_, Jenny mused to herself as she went to her car. She made sure to find the working radio station to hear the news. It was depressing enough that she almost switched it back to the disc. 

As she drove, Jenny noted she was down to a quarter tank of gas and decided she had better fuel up. Now that she was thinking about it and paying attention, she noticed the stations were closed. _Oh right, no power, no gas pumps_. She was considering giving up when she passed a station on the opposite side of the five lane road that must be open, judging by the cars. They were lined up in the far traffic lane and the center turn lane for at least two blocks each way. She debated getting in line or going home, before she finally did a U-turn and got in the line. Idling the car through the wait time made her really need to fill up. When it was finally her turn at the pump, she had her hopes dashed. &#8220;No, you can&#8217;t be serious!&#8221; she shouted at the mute gas pump.

The hand lettered note on the pump stated in large letters, &#8220;CASH ONLY, NO CHECKS, NO CREDIT OR DEBIT CARDS, NO EXCEPTIONS. Pay before pumping.&#8221; Jenny had failed to notice the number of cars that had left the station soon after entering.

&#8220;No,&#8221; she groaned as she looked into her purse. She didn&#8217;t use cash. She relied on her debit card for everything. She found a five dollar bill in her wallet and nothing more. She looked in the change container in the console and picked up the handful of coins and quickly counted it. _That should be enough for a coffee_. She went into the convenience store to pay.

When Jenny had put the paltry amount of gas in the tank, she got in the car and sipped at the coffee, savoring the flavor until the driver in the car behind her honked his displeasure at her just sitting there. She started up and pulled out away from the pump as she carefully nestled the cup. _This is so good. I better not spill it. I want the power back so I can make a pot at home._ She had no way of knowing how long it would be before the power was restored. 

She glanced at the fuel gauge. _That&#8217;s barely what it was when I got in line._ It had become an automatic action over the years, to just swipe her card to pay whatever it took and not really think of what it cost to drive around. Now, in a crucial time, five dollars hardly registered. It was almost enough to make her scream. _Thank goodness I at least got some caffeine._

The garage door was open when she pulled into the driveway. There were even more boxes scattered about than usual, with Steve bent over one rummaging through the contents of one. &#8220;What are you looking for?&#8221; she asked as she walked up to him. 

&#8220;My Dad gave me his old camping gear, remember? I was trying to find it. It seems like there was a lantern and a camp stove in that stuff,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;Got any idea where it is?&#8221;

Jenny instantly got a guilty look on her face, and after a sharp inhale said, &#8220;It&#8217;s not here anymore,&#8221; and waited for him to explode.

Steve looked at her, a building storm behind his eyes and asked very slowly and quietly, &#8220;What do you mean, it&#8217;s not here anymore?&#8221;

&#8220;Well,&#8221; she stammered, &#8220;That stuff was right in the way for me to open the car door. I kept asking you to put it all away and you never did it. You were always watching a football game or NASCAR race or something. I figured you must not want it if you didn&#8217;t want to take care of it, so, I, well, I gave it to Goodwill.&#8221;

&#8220;You gave it to Goodwill?&#8221; he hissed out. &#8220;I sure don&#8217;t remember sitting alone watching the games. You have always been worse than me about them, and so, since I spend my time with you, it&#8217;s my fault the stuff was there and so you got rid of it?&#8221; Steve&#8217;s face was beginning to turn red as he talked; each word very deliberate. &#8220;So just what do you propose we do for light? What about food? It&#8217;s getting cold in the house. What about that?&#8221; He put an exclamation on the last loud question by slamming a vase he had picked out of the box to the floor. &#8220;You get rid of those things but you keep this crap! That is great, just stinkin&#8217; great!&#8221; The red in his face had darkened while he spoke; spittle flew from his mouth as he delivered each word. After throwing the vase, his hands formed into tight, white-knuckled fists at his side.

Jenny jumped as the vase crashed to the cement floor, shards of glass flying everywhere. She was searching for a response when he turned and stomped into the house, slamming the door behind him. 

She stared at the closed door. _Wow! It&#8217;s been a while since I&#8217;ve seen him that hot._ His temper had been growing shorter fused since the bombings had started. He used to be light hearted, but the more time he spent home from reduced work hours, watching television, he grew ever more morose. 

Jenny was shaking slightly as she picked up the broom and swept up the glass shards, hoping it would give him enough time to have cooled down. She had to work around the boxes he had brought home from work the previous month. He had dropped them in her parking spot, stating irritatedly that it was his Christmas bonus. They had not been disturbed since.

When she stepped into the house she looked around cautiously, keeping one hand on the knob while her eyes adjusted to the low light. She found Steve at the table, looking into a bowl of cereal that was quickly growing soggy. 

He didn&#8217;t look up right away but began talking, &#8220;Sorry about that. I&#8217;m just kind of tired of the whole terrorist crap and it&#8217;s really gnawing on me. We shouldn&#8217;t have that here. That stuff happens in other countries. That&#8217;s why we send troops all over the world.&#8221; He finally looked up at her. &#8220;It&#8217;s just not supposed to happen in America.&#8221; He looked again at his cereal bowl. It was not setting well with his sour stomach.

&#8220;No it&#8217;s not supposed to happen here, but it is,&#8221; she said, not acknowledging his attempt at apology. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t eat yet. Is there more milk?&#8221;

&#8220;About enough for one more bowl. Probably a good thing, though. It is pretty warm. That&#8217;s crazy; the house is getting cold and the fridge is getting warm. We&#8217;ll have to get some more milk today. The power can&#8217;t be off long,&#8221; Steve said.

&#8220;About that,&#8221; Jenny began. &#8220;It might be longer than a regular black out. The radio said the blackout is nationwide; terrorists have destroyed power plants and substations and something they called power hubs all over. They wouldn&#8217;t even guess when it might be back.&#8221;

&#8220;Well isn&#8217;t that just great!&#8221; Steve said. &#8220;No lights, no stove, no heat, no hot water, no..&#8221;

&#8220;Speaking of hot water,&#8221; Jenny interrupted, &#8220;The water company only has one pump set up with a back-up generator. They can&#8217;t provide the city with enough water from it. So they said if people want water they have do go to that pump station with containers. But they did say they were working to get others set up; then they could get water to the houses, just not much and it would be at a low pressure.&#8221; 

&#8220;You&#8217;re just full of all kinds of happy news, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221; Steve said sarcastically. &#8220;What other gems of misery do you have?&#8221;


----------



## Bret F

Jenny&#8217;s eyes moistened as she recalled her frustration earlier. &#8220;I was really low on gas, and most all of the stations were closed since they can&#8217;t run their pumps. I saw one that was operating with a generator. The line was really long to get in, and when I finally did, &#8230;.&#8221; She paused and dabbed at her eyes. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t use my card. They only take cash. How are we supposed to get anything without the debit card? I never use cash.&#8221;

&#8220;Doesn&#8217;t that just figure. The banks push you all the time to use their stinking cards, then it won&#8217;t work when you really need it,&#8221; Steve stated as he sat and fumed. He looked at the cereal bowl and fought down the urge to throw it across the room. _I better not waste the food._ He took a bite of the soggy flakes and swallowed the soft food after minimal chewing. 

&#8220;So did the guys on the radio have any pearls of wisdom about what we are supposed to do? Or do we just bend over and put our head between our legs and pucker up?&#8221; Steve asked bitterly.

&#8220;They didn&#8217;t really say anything like that. They were talking more about what happened and everything that&#8217;s not working.&#8221;

Steve picked up his bowl and drank noisily from it, milk running down both sides of his face. When it was finished, he sat it down and wiped his face with the back of his hand and belched loudly. &#8220;So just what the heck do we do?&#8221; he asked rhetorically.


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## puddlejumper007

Thank you Bret,,,i think you nailed a lot of people, this should be a real interesting story.....:dance:


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## biggkidd

Good deal 

Can't wait to see what happens.

Larry


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## Ozarks Tom

Wow! Thanks for changing my brother-in-laws name!


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## Bret F

Ozarks Tom said:


> Wow! Thanks for changing my brother-in-laws name!


Thanks for making me laugh Tom. I almost spewed on the key board.

I think we all know this couple in some form. (See why writing this story gives me a headache?)

Confession: According to the web, that episode of "Dancing" happened the next night. (I wouldn't know. I saw about 2 minutes one night and wondered how much they would have to pay me to watch it.) So, sorry if my information is slightly off. (And I have no idea who those people are that I mentioned.) Oh well, it's fiction, right - or is it?


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## Heidi

Yay! A new story! Thanks, Bret!


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## Bret F

Chapter 2


Jenny and Steve were ill equipped to face the harsh realities that suddenly confronted them. With normal power outages, when it was dinnertime, they would just drive to a part of town that still had power and eat and hang out. Most of the time, the power would be restored in a short time.


Jenny had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. Her mother had grown up in the family of a laborer, barely making ends meet. Scraping everything together she could manage, she had attended the local community college. One night while accompanying her dorm mates to a party, she attracted the attention of an up and comer that was working for Tyson Foods. Following a whirl-wind courtship they had married and she settled into a nice home in Springdale, Arkansas, Tyson Foods home. She made a personal promise that any children they had would have an easier life than she had. When Jenny was born, the spoiling began immediately. When it was determined there would be no more children, she increased her efforts. 


As she grew, Jenny wanted for nothing; she saw something she wanted and her mother made it happen. The housekeeper picked up after her and kept her bedroom tidy and her laundry clean and put away. Meals seemed to magically appear on the table each day. She rarely saw her grandparentâs modest home, her mother doing her best to shield her from that life. When she entered high school, she was openly welcomed to the cheerleading squad. Her life was perfect. She was popular and carried an open credit card. Her world was crushed when her father was transferred.

In order to make sure they serviced their top customers, Tyson located salesmen at the customerâs home offices, the salesman dedicating all their efforts to the individual company. Upon the retirement of a top seller, the company needed a new salesman in Boise, Idaho to manage the Albertsonâs account. Jennyâs father was given the assignment. Jenny and her mother didnât want to leave and move out to the hinterlands, but her father refused to separate the family. After many heated discussions the family moved. Jenny was devastated to move just after starting her senior year of high school. She was sullen until she attracted the attention of the star receiver on the football team.


Steve had more modest beginnings but his father was a sports-nut. His position in the bank he worked for allowed him flexibility to push his passions through his son. Steve began playing optimist football and little league baseball as soon as he was eligible, pushed ever harder by his father. Summers were filled with camps and tournaments. By the time Steve reached high school, he was an accomplished athlete, but less than a stellar student.


High school meant two things: sports and girls. Classes took a back burner. When it looked like he was in danger of failing a class, his coach stepped in. Failing grades meant no sports. Sometimes the coach could work with the teacher of the class in question to get a grade changed, but always with promises â that were quickly broken â that Steve would buckle down and do the work. Other teachers were more rigid. A tutor would be provided to Steve that crammed him with enough information he could pass the class. 


Steve was quickly drawn to the lovely, sullen Jenny. The new girl had long blond hair, and when she spoke, her soft southern accent nearly melted him. At first, he figured she would be just another in a long line of girls that he dated and dumped. There were way too many girls to get stuck with just one. But something about Jenny was different. They were still dating in the spring, when she brought his world and dreams tumbling down. 


Steve was preparing with his team for the state baseball tournament. His team was a strong contender for the title, a rarity for his school. Steve was the leader of the team with strong defense at shortstop and his hitting prowess. His playing was abysmal after Jenny dropped the bombshell just before the first game; she was pregnant.


The young couple married right after graduation. Steve gave up his athletic scholarship and went to work in his fatherâs bank as a teller. Jennyâs mother continued to dote on her, but both of the newlyweds carried strong resentment to the other about the events that transpired. Steveâs dreams of becoming a professional athlete were over along with Jennyâs dream of hanging on his arm in the spotlight. 


Steve began to chafe at working for his father, always reading disappointment in his eyes. He took drafting classes in the evening; the one class he had enjoyed in high school, eventually breaking away from his fatherâs yoke and looks by taking a job with a small construction and remodel company. Yankee Stadium had never looked farther away.


While Steve worked, Jenny continued to play the socialite with her mother, only slightly encumbered by Jake. The day Tyson announced Jennyâs father was being transferred was another devastating blow. Jenny was ready to pack up and go along but her father would not allow it. The idea of spending the day in her small house was detestable. Jake had entered school and she was suddenly more alone that she had ever been in her life. A member of her motherâs social circle was starting a company in internet sales and took pity on Jenny and hired her. Jenny thrived in the officeâs social environment but she still longed for something else, something better. When she and Steve spent their weekends in front of the television watching sporting events, she always got wistful at seeing the beautiful spouses in the front rows. _That could have been me. That SHOULD have been me!_


Home cooked meals were unheard of in the Miller house. Each went out to lunch daily with their co-workers. Steve had started the practice as a way to get out of the oppressive bank environment and saw no reason to change his habit when he changed jobs. For Jenny, it was a brief return to the social environment that she had been missing since her mother had moved away. If for just an hour each day, she could forget about being a wife and mother before she had wanted, well at least the mother part. She did skip the social lunch once a week; she had a standing appointment to get her nails done three weeks of the month, the fourth week at her hairdresser. On those days she bought something at a drive thru and ate as she drove.


The evening meal was always at a restaurant, accompanied by a few drinks. They did keep cereal in the cupboard so Jake could have something before school. There were also boxes of junk food so he could have a snack when he got off the school bus. As he and his appetite grew, they began to keep some pre-prepared food in the freezer that he could microwave. 

The exception to home cooking was summer barbecues. Steve loved to get a slab of beef and a six pack and spend the summer afternoons in the backyard. They usually had friends over for the barbecues; Steve cooked the meat and furnished beer and wine, the guests provided the side dishes. Jenny was in her element as hostess. Steve rarely invited his high school buddies. When they did come, the conversation invariably went to Steveâs exploits in sports. It was a painful reminder of what he had given up. HE KNEW, HE JUST KNEW that he could have made it in professional sports! Instead he was drawing up remodels and going to parent teacher conferences. He grew morose during those encounters and consumed more beer than he should have. Those evenings ended with Steve and Jenny silently watching the television, each one feeling alone in the room.


----------



## puddlejumper007

`watching for more,,:whistlin::whistlin:


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 3

The color had drained from Steveâs face as he and Jenny sat in his car and listened to the radio. It was one thing to have Jenny tell him about it, but hearing it broadcast on the radio put it in a different light. It was hard to accept despite the past two months of almost daily bombings. Denial had been running strong in him. And to have only one radio station working. He had scanned through the dial time and time again, refusing to believe the radio could not pick up another signal. _How can that happen here, in America?_ _How could they knock off the power everywhere? And just what are we supposed to eat?_ Out loud he said, âWow, we are so screwed. I just donât understand. How on earth could they do that to us? Isnât stopping this kind of stuff why we have Homeland Security?â He stopped talking and thought, while he burped and swallowed down a rancid taste in his mouth. âSo just what do we have to eat here, and how are we supposed to cook it?â

âI sure donât know,â Jenny answered. âBut do you think you could start the car up and warm us again?â

Steve started the motor and looked at the gas gauge. âI can run it a little, but we better not do it too much; Iâve got a little over a half tank of gas left.
âI wonder if Winco or Albertsons is taking cards or checks.â He wasnât too hopeful after hearing the news reports. With the power being off, all electronic banking would be off line; most likely all banking. The retailers would not want to accept payment in ways their banks wouldnât reimburse them for. He looked chagrined as he continued, âIâve got two hundred and twenty cash in my wallet, so if we canât use the card, does that go to food or gas?â

âWhere on earth did that come from? You told me a couple of days ago you were broke, so where did you get it?â Jenny asked accusingly.

âDrop it, OK!â Steve said, not enjoying confessing about his stash. âLetâs just be glad I have something set aside.â

âNo, Iâm not dropping it. You said you were broke and now you have that kind of cash. So,â¦.where did it come from and what else are you hiding from me?â

Steve took a deep breath and cleared his throat. âOK, I had some cash tucked away in my wallet so if I wanted to buy something I could, all right?â
Jenny stared at him while she thought about what he had said. âSo, you pay with cash so there wouldnât be a record. Just what have you been doing, stopping by the massage parlors and the girlie bars? Are you doing something illegal, buying pot or something?â

Steve looked abashed as he thought about his answer. After a long awkward pause he looked her straight in the eyes, âNo, itâs not like that. There are just some times I want to have cash for impulse buys, or maybe I stop and have a couple of drinks with the guys. Iâve never done those other things.â

He stopped talking while Jenny scrutinized him carefully, her eyes misting up. Steve cleared his throat again and took a deep breath. âI know I can be a real butt head at times. I donât always show it, but, â¦.I adore you and donât want to do anything to mess that up.â After another long pause he said quietly, âSo, Iâm sorry about lying to you.â

Jenny looked at him for a long time before dropping her gaze. âOkay. Now you better turn the engine off.â The inside of the car had gotten comfortably warm during the uncomfortable conversation. _He lied to me! He stinking lied to me! Is he sorry he lied or that he confessed?_ She took deep breaths and considered what she wanted to say. She wiped her misty eyes and stared at him again. âYouâre right, we are screwed, so no more lying. If youâve got other secrets, tell me now, so we can figure out what we are going to do.â 
When he just shook his head, she said, âSo alright, as to what do we do now; I think we should see go see what we have in the house and then see if we can buy anything that we need. I also want to check on the kids.â She made a wry smile, âSince I guess we canât watch a replay of Dancing with the Stars.â

Steveâs hang-dog look faded slightly at her comment. âNo, I guess we wonât be seeing that.â Then he addressed her other comment. âSounds good,â he replied, still having a hard time meeting her gaze despite her attempt at humor. âLetâs go in, but Iâm afraid we donât have much.â They got out of the car and headed for the house, Steve sidestepping the boxes he had left in Jennyâs parking area.

They started with the refrigerator. âItâs pretty much what I thought,â Steve said shaking his head. âWe sure canât eat long on whatâs in here.â It contained a jar of pickles, bottles of condiments, a few bottles of water and various takeout containers. Three of the containers were growing mold; two looked like the food might still be fresh enough to eat. âI think we got these two nights ago,â he said, âSo they should be safe. But they wonât last long, this fridge is warm.â He set the moldy boxes on the counter.

âYeah, I think itâs colder in the bedroom than in the fridge,â Jenny answered. âMaybe we should keep what food we have back there.â 

Steve thought about her statement for a while. âThatâs a good idea. But how about we put everything in Jakes room and open the window a crack. I think we could stuff a towel under the door and not let too much cold in the rest of the house. Although the way itâs cooling off in here, it might not matter. So whatâs in the freezer section?â

Steve opened the freezer section and peered inside. âItâs not much better here. It looks like we have a pizza, two small pot pies and a tube of cookie dough. Thereâs still some ice in the bin though, so I guess itâs as good in here as in the bedroom.â He closed the door to preserve the coolness. âI donât think weâre going to have to worry about overeating for a while,â he said ruefully. 

âThatâs for sure; I hope they get the power figured out quick.â Jenny said. âI think we have something in the pantry, but there isnât very much. Do you want to check it or wait for me? Iâve gotta go to the bathroom.â

âIâll wait for you. We might as well get the bad news together.â

Steve stared sightlessly out the window until Jenny interrupted his spell, âSteve, the toilet didnât flush.â

âOh crud, I didnât think about that. Of course if the waterâs not flowing, the toilet wonât work.â He contemplated what that might mean to them. âSo I suppose we donât have any water except those bottles in the fridge. Geez. I havenât used the other toilet, have you?â he asked.

âNo, just the one in our bathroom. Why, what are you thinking?â Jenny asked.

âThat we better not flush it until we absolutely have to. Remember when we had the water shut off at work and we just had water in jugs. One of the guys said something that was pretty funny at the time, but it doesnât sound funny now: âIf itâs yellow, let it mellow. If itâs brown, flush it down.â We have water for one flush, so we better make it count.â

âEwh, gross,â Jenny said, wrinkling her nose at the thought. âSo to follow up that cheery thought, whatâs the pantry look like?â

âIt looks like our junk storage,â Steve said as he opened the door and looked in. All of the shelves except one had papers, boxes, gift wrap, and an array of non- food items. Steve pulled the food items out and placed them on the counter where they could both see them. It wasnât an impressive display when he was done. There was a box of cereal, two cans of soup, a jar of pasta sauce, a package of spaghetti, and four Cup-o-Noodles. âWow,â he said softly, âWe are so screwed.â

Jenny couldnât come up with a response. Steve had thoroughly described their situation.

One other cabinet had some storage that Steve went to and opened. He pulled out the bottle of vodka and poured a double shot in each of two glasses and handed one wordlessly to Jenny. He stared into his own before holding it up, âCheers,â he said and clinked glasses with her. He tipped his glass and downed his drink in one long swallow. He savored the fire as the strong liquor burned its way down to his stomach. After letting out a long sigh, he capped the bottle and returned it to the cabinet. âSo, what now?â


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## WV Farm girl

Love it! More please. 
Eagerly awaiting the contents of the boxes to be discovered!


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## SpaceCadet12364

...am sure I'm not the only one thats mentally screaming "open your boxes from work, silly!"










count me in among the eagerly awaiting more, Bret! ditto the more, please!


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## 355946

Thank you - it was nice to find this "treat" after work today. These cliffhanger stories are my new addiction!


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## Bret F

Chapter 4

Steve handed Jenny a sweat shirt then pulled one on and joined her at the table. âSo, we donât have much food, no heat, no water, little gas, no way to cook, no light. Does that about sum it up?â he asked.

âThat about covers it,â she answered. âSo what do you think we should do?â

âWell, the radio said where we can get water, so I suppose we should go there to fill up any jugs we have. That gas station you stopped at is that direction, should we fill the car up too?â

âHow about we put the twenty in gas? After today, I donât think we should drive unless we really need to so we can save as much as possible. Thereâs no telling when we can get more,â Jenny said.

âAll right, then letâs map out our route as well as we can,â Steve said. âThereâs that Albertsons store on the way, so we could see if they are open. Iâd rather go to Winco for their prices, but do we take a chance?â He made a fist, snapping the pencil in his hand. âDang it, I hate this. I want to go out and get a burger and pay with my card and fill the tank up when it needs it. I need a shower. I donât want to scrounge up every container we have to bring home water.â 

Jenny watched him following his outburst. It was such a reflection of her own thoughts. âYeah, me too, but until we can do that, we better try to figure out what to do. So, Winco is on the way to the kidâs house, and there is that other Albertsons out there. How about we get gas, then water, and check the grocery stores on the way to the kidâs house?â she suggested.

âThat should work,â Steve said. âMaybe while we are going weâll see something else thatâs open that would have something we need.â

Jenny gave a âhumpfâ and then said, âYou mean like the cleaners? I dropped off the laundry yesterday, so now all those clothes are gone. Maybe if someone is there, we can get them back dirty. That would be better than not having them.â

Steve lowered his face to his hands and gave an involuntary shudder. âWhat else could go wrong? Just what next?â he muttered.

The line at the gas station was much shorter than when Jenny had been there earlier. The reason was obvious as soon as Steve pulled along the curb and shut off the engine. A plywood sign had been placed well before the station entrance stating âCash Only.â They proceeded fairly quickly to the pump and put in the twenty dollarsâ worth. Steve winced when he glanced at the fuel gauge as he pulled away. âBoy, twenty bucks doesnât go very far. It only got us about a quarter of a tank.â 

The radio was on, but turned down low. It seemed to be telling the same gloomy news over and over. Steve considered turning it off, as little attention as he was paying to it. Instead, he was brooding over the gas situation and how little twenty dollars had gotten them. _And knowing fuel companies, theyâll jack the price like mad. _As the car was approaching an intersection with a non-working light, he slipped the transmission into neutral and started coasting from a block away. âWhat are you doing?â Jenny asked him.

âItâs something Bill did when I rode with him one day. He was always coasting to the stops from as far away as he could. I thought it was goofy as could be when he did it and told him so. So he showed me what he was getting for mileage. By driving like an old granny and coasting, his junker was getting as good mileage as a Prius. I told him, âIf that was all that was about just drive and Iâll give you five bucks for gas.â And do you know what he said to that?â

âWhat, that heâd save even more gas if you got out and pushed?â Jenny guessed.

âNo, nothing like that,â Steve said. He looked at me very concerned and said, âWhy donât you put that five bucks somewhere that you wonât spend it. There will come a day, not might come a day, but WILL come a day when that money might make a big difference to you.â

Steve thought about the ride and conversation with his co-worker. âI think he was right. That five would be nice to have right now. I just wonder how many other little kernels of wisdom he dropped for something like this and I never heard.â Bill had been mostly quiet while Steve and Greg chatted through the work day, but when he did comment on some news story, Bill tried to direct them to consider âWhat ifâ they were faced with that situation. 

âSo, yeah, some of the things he did were goofy as could be, but I think we need to save as much gas as possible. Besides, itâs not like we are delaying traffic.â That was definitely true. There was very little traffic, although it was increasing as they approached the water centerâs operating pump. There was also more and more foot traffic. People were pulling wagons, pushing strollers, pulling bike trailers, all loaded with containers for carrying water. Some carried backpacks; most carried the vessels in their hands. 

Steve pulled to the curb when he noticed the people were becoming a line. He and Jenny got out and retrieved their containers. _Like these are going to keep us for long_. They owned little in the way of water containers. Besides a large pitcher, the best container they had was the milk jug they had emptied that morning. _I know Bill told me something about water, but what was it?_ They walked to the end of the line and hunched up to the cold breeze blowing, already missing the carâs heater.

They took their place in the line, Steve wracking his brain to remember while Jenny started a conversation with the couple in front of them. _What did that guy just say? Wishes he hadnât put in the tankless water heater? Water heater, water heater, watâ¦., Thatâs it!_ Steve felt a momentary relief as he remembered. Bill had told them they could drain the water heater as needed. It wouldnât last long, but it was a lot more water than they would be taking home. A bit of Steveâs gloomy mood was removed as he slowly moved forward in the line. 

Near the point where water containers were filled, a sign had been erected with a number of water saving tips. Steve glanced at them, not spending a lot of time. They included hygiene, washing dishes and clothes, cooking. He glanced over one item in the hygiene section and quietly snickered. âHey Jenny, there are some good tips here for saving water. You better read them. Oh, and check out number eight, about washing your hair,â he finished innocently.

Jenny cursed as she read the list. âWhat itâs not bad enough that we canât flush the toilet, now we canât wash our hair either? This bites, Steve. It really, really bites!â She forgot all about her friendly conversation with the other people in line as she contemplated an abysmal future without clean hair. 

Jennyâs eyes misted up and Steve bit back the comment he was ready with. Jenny was incredibly vain about her hair. _Dirty hair just might be what pushes her over the edge. Added to everything else, this just might do it._ They waited quietly until it was their turn to fill their jugs, responding in the affirmative that they had read the conservation tips. 

They carried the water containers carefully to the car and secured them. âSo what do you want to do now?â Steve asked after they were both settled in the seats. Jenny seemed so fragile he decided not to push any of her buttons â this time.

Jenny sniffed loudly and wiped her nose. âI WANT to go to the Olive Garden, but I suppose it wouldnât do any good.â She sniffed again and fought to maintain her composure. âLetsâ go to the kidâs house, but go past the cleaners on the way, just in case. We can check on the grocery stores on the way back home. Would that be all right?â

âSure, thatâll be fine,â he said and started the engine and pulled carefully away from the curb. It was hard to start off easy after years of take offs with the maximum acceleration the car could give.


----------



## Bret F

It was a very pleasant surprise when they saw a car parked in front of the cleaners and the door closing behind a figure that was just entering. Jenny went quickly to the door and pushed it open. _Oh, thank goodness! Finally, something good_. She stepped into the lobby that was well lit by sunlight through the large windows.

The owner was just going through the door to the back and turned to look at her. &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry ma&#8217;am, but with the blackout we&#8217;re closed,&#8221; he told her. _I should have locked the door behind me._

&#8220;Yes, I know,&#8221; she replied, &#8220;But I was hoping I could take my dirty laundry back. I just dropped it off yesterday. We really need those clothes. Please?&#8221; she asked her eyes again misting over.

The shop owner studied her for a bit before he said, &#8220;Let me see what I can find. The name is Miller isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;

&#8220;Yes,&#8221; she said, barely over a whisper as he went into the back room, pulling a flash light from a pocket to light his way. 

He returned a few minutes later with a bag in each arm. Here you go Mrs. Miller. I&#8217;m sorry we didn&#8217;t have time to clean them.&#8221;

&#8220;That&#8217;s totally all right, besides, if you can&#8217;t run my card I couldn&#8217;t pay you anyway, so this is better,&#8221; she told him nearly overwhelmed by the first good thing to happen all day. She gave him a spontaneous hug. &#8220;Thank you so much,&#8221; she said and sniffed loudly, wiping at the tears that had begun to slide down her cheeks.

Steve stepped through the doorway and looked at the two of them standing so close together. &#8220;Is everything okay?&#8221; he asked.

Jenny turned to him and just nodded, afraid to speak with the large lump in her throat. Instead she turned back and took the bags, croaking out, &#8220;Thank you!&#8221; and then left the store.

The apartment complex where Jake, Toni and Nick lived had a few kids outside playing, but lacked the usual bustling activity. The window blind moved in an apartment window next to Jakes when Steve parked in front of the door, unnoticed by either Steve or Jenny. When Steve knocked on Jake&#8217;s door and tried the knob, a girl around Nick&#8217;s age opened the next door down and stepped out. &#8220;Are you looking for Nick?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;He&#8217;s not here. He said he was going to his grandma&#8217;s until the lights come back on.&#8221;

&#8220;But I&#8217;m his grandma,&#8221; Jenny told the girl, a knot forming in her stomach. She was still walking the emotional tight rope she had been on for most of the day.

You live in the country?&#8221; the girl asked excitedly. &#8220;Nick said you have bunnies and chickens. That would be so fun.&#8221;

&#8220;No, that would be his other grandma,&#8221; Jenny told her with a pained expression. &#8220;Do you know how long ago they left?&#8221;

The girl got a thoughtful look and was still thinking when a sharp voice behind her said, &#8220;Rachel, what have I told you about talking to strangers. You get in here right now and close that door.&#8221; She reinforced her order by taking Rachel&#8217;s arm and pulling her back through the doorway. 

&#8220;Wait, please,&#8221; Jenny pleaded. &#8220;We&#8217;re Nick&#8217;s grandparents. We wanted to make sure they were all okay. Do you know how long ago they left?&#8221;

The woman stepped out and gave Jenny a calculating look. Jenny nearly cringed under the scrutiny; she felt weighed and measured by that sharp gaze.

&#8220;Yeah, I remember you from Nick&#8217;s last birthday.&#8221; Her tone indicated that she considered Jenny and Steve like something she had stepped in and wanted to scrape off her shoe. &#8220;They&#8217;ve been gone about four hours. They loaded a lot of stuff in the car like they planned on being gone for a while.&#8221; With that statement, she took Rachel by the arm into the apartment and closed the door behind her. 

Jenny was stunned by the sudden departure after the terse answer. &#8220;What was that all about?&#8221; she asked Steve.

&#8220;I have no idea, but let&#8217;s get out of here,&#8221; he said and started for the car. &#8220;That woman gives me the creeps.&#8221;

Steve gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared through the windshield at the closed apartment door; his jaw clenched. Finally he broke the silence, &#8220;So, what do you want to do?&#8221; he asked.

Jenny looked at him with wet, red eyes. &#8220;I can&#8217;t believe it. They went to Paul and Ruth&#8217;s just like that. They left us to figure it out on our own.&#8221; She stopped talking while she wiped the stream of tears running down her face. She looked down at the tissue and saw the makeup mixed in with the tears. &#8220;I must look a mess,&#8221; she whined and started crying harder.

Steve&#8217;s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. &#8220;Well we sure can&#8217;t do anything about it; they&#8216;re gone. So I ask again, what do you want to do besides cry about your makeup?&#8221;

The insensitive comment hit home and Jenny wiped even more. After a long silence, she looked at him again. &#8220;I want to go see them. I know it will burn a lot of gas, but we have it now and we might not have any later. The way the radio has been talking; this might be our last chance to see them for a long, long time. Is that all right?&#8221; she asked in a near pleading tone.

Steve loosened his grip and looked at her for the first time since getting in the car. He reached out and took one of her hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. &#8220;Sure we can go out there. It beats sitting in a dark, cold house.&#8221; _That might give you a chance to turn off the waterworks and it gives me the chance to give that kid a swift kick in the backside_. He squeezed her hand again and then started the car. 

Toni&#8217;s father Paul had grown up on a small farm. He happily left it behind when he entered college and never looked back; at least not until he had been in the business world for enough years to sour him. He began to miss the strong values his parents had instilled in him as he navigated the cut-throat business world. When his company was sold to a larger competitor, the company quickly shuttered Paul&#8217;s operation and outsourced all of the jobs to India. They had to keep those stockholders happy, even as it destroyed the American economy. 

Paul and Ruth did a lot of soul-searching for what to do next. Finally they sold their upscale home in the suburbs and put that money with his severance and bought a large plot in the country. He and Ruth started gardening and raising animals; they sold their produce and meat at the local farmers&#8217; markets. They had less money and more happiness than they had ever had together.


----------



## Bret F

Steve drove mindlessly through the countryside. He failed to see the vibrant fall colors, the occasional pheasant stalking across a field. As the long silence drug on, Jenny looked defiantly at Steve. She pulled the mirror open on her sun visor and studied herself carefully. She ran her fingers through her hair numerous times, turning her head from side to side. After a long study, she opened her purse and took out her makeup and began to slowly reapply it. Steve gave her a sideways glance and tightened his grip on the wheel. 

A border collie ran up the long driveway, announcing their arrival as they turned off the country road at Paul and Ruthâs house. Steve had laughed at the house the first time he had been there; an older farm house that had been built decades ago. He failed to appreciate the work Paul had done on it with extra insulation, new wiring and roofing. To Steve it was just an old farmerâs house. 

Steve pulled up to a stop behind Jake and Toniâs car where it was parked next to the garage. He slowly loosened his grip and turned to Jenny. She was staring at the car in front of them and was startled into awareness when Jake pulled her door open. 

âMom, Dad, wow; what are doing out here? We were going to go to your place tomorrow,â Jake said happily.

Jenny turned to him, on the verge of tears yet again. âReally, you were going to come to our house?â she asked quietly. Steve didnât say anything as he glared at his son.

âOh yeah, we were going over there. Itâs just that we didnât have enough gas in the car to go to your house and then come out here. We figured Paul would give us some out of his bulk tank to go let you know what we were doing and where we are. And well, Iâm sure you know we couldnât use our card to get more,â Jake told them. He finally noticed his parentâs state. âReally Mom, we were going to see you tomorrow. I knew you would worry. And uh, well, we just didnât think we could stay at the apartment. We werenât set up for anything like this, especially without water flowing, you know. Paul and Ruth have the extra rooms, so we just guessed we could stay here until the crews get the power back on.â 

Jake looked in the car at his father; Steve was staring straight ahead, his hands wrapped in fists around the steering wheel. âDad, you look ticked off. What did you want me to do? Go to your house, then not have enough gas to get here? Iâm guessing you arenât set for this any better than we were. Should I have left a note on the door that we were gone? That would have been giving the punks that live there a welcome mat to come and rob us. So think about it, what should I have done?â After a long pause, he told them, âNow why donât you get out since you came all the way out here?â

Jenny looked at Steve while he brooded over their sonâs words. Finally he made a slight nod to her and opened the door and stepped out into the chill air. Once out of the car, Steve felt awkward about the entire situation, not liking that his son had felt his in laws were the best option in a crisis. He didnât like it one bit; especially because he knew Jake was right. That might be what irritated him the most. _Some Dad I am, my son canât even come to me when the lights go out._

Jenny got out and wrapped her arms desperately around her son. Steve looked across the car hood at them. âOkay son, I guess youâre right. But Iâm just mad because we were worried about you guys. Now that we know you got here all right, we better be going home.â

Jake looked sharply at his dad. âWhat are you talking about? Youâre not going anywhere for a while. First of all, you havenât even seen Toni and Nick. You remember them right? My wife and your grandson? I know Nick especially would be very disappointed if you just left. Secondly, Ruth and Toni made a large dinner and set two extra plates as soon as we saw who it was the dog was barking at.â He looked at them very sharply. âTruthfully, when will you get another hot meal at home? You can start eating cold dry cereal tomorrow.â

Jenny winced at the stark truth in his statement. She had no idea how she and Steve could cook. With everything they were facing, she had avoided trying to figure out how to prepare a meal. They would face that hurdle in time and hopefully Steve could think of something. She stood there, the indecision obvious; Steve on one hand, Jake on the other. Her rumbling stomach gave extra weight to Jakeâs argument. She looked at Steve and raised her eyebrows. 

Steve still felt very awkward about being there._ Theyâll probably have me eat a healthy portion of crow, but I suppose it would be more filling than the pride Iâm eating._ He met Jennyâs eyes and nodded, nearly imperceptibly. She turned back to Jake and softly told him they could stay for a while and followed him sheepishly into the house.

Ruth met them at the door and sized up Jennyâs state in an instant before pulling her into a hug. âItâs been a trying day, Jenny. Come in and have a cup of coffee while we finish up the meal.â

âCoffee? Iâd love some,â Jenny answered and followed Ruth to the kitchen while Steve stayed in the family room with Jake. She savored the heat from the wood cook stove as Ruth led her to a nearby chair and directed her to sit. 

âDo you take anything in it dear?â Ruth asked her. âAnd what about Steve, do you think he would like one too?â

âIâm sure heâd like a cup. I use cream and sugar if you have it; he drinks his black.â

âWe have cream, but it might taste a bit different. We get milk and cream from a neighbor. Do you have a problem with raw milk?â Ruth asked.

âI donât know,â Jenny said. âI donât think Iâve ever had it before.â

Ruth chuckled, âNo, I suppose not. Thatâs all we drink now, but I remember it was different when we made the change. Iâm sure you wonât notice in your coffee.â Ruth handed her a full cup and took the other to Steve. 

Jenny took a tentative sip, wanting the jolt from the coffee, yet nervous about the raw milk. She had read somewhere that it wasnât safe to drink. When the taste seemed normal she took a larger drink; the desire for the caffeine jolt overcame any concerns about raw milk. 

Ruth returned and went to the cook stove and checked on a pot on the stove. Jenny studied Ruthâs actions carefully. âI didnât know you could cook with this. I always thought it was just for decoration.â

âWell, it was for decoration for a long time. Paul saw it at an auction and bought it because it was just like one his parents had when he was young. We had it for more than a year before he got it all set up, then another year before we started having fires in it. We just used it to heat water before, so it should be interesting learning how to cook on it. We might have to get used to burned biscuits.â Ruth saw a pained expression on Jennyâs face as she had talked. âSo what about you; do you have any way to cook?â

Jennyâs shoulders started shaking and a sob burst out. âCook? We donât have any way to cook or anything to cook if we did.â She gulped in air and squeaked out, âI donât know what to do; I just feel so helpless now.â She dropped her face into her hands as she began to cry uncontrollably.

Ruth went to her and put a comforting arm around her. âThere, there, dear. I know itâs a big shock, but Paul and I will help you out. Weâll all get through this.â

âBut, the radio said the power might be out for a long time,â Jenny got out between sobs.

âYes I know, but weâll figure something out and make it work. Now why donât you take that little lantern there and go to the bathroom and get yourself ready for dinner. We have a bucket of water in there; you can pour what you need into the sink.â Ruth looked at Toni and gave a head motion for Toni to accompany her mother in law.

Toni picked up the lantern and showed Jenny how to turn it on and led her down the dark hallway. Ruthâs gaze followed the two women. _They donât have a clue of how to deal with a power outage. One day into it and sheâs already putty. What will happen to her if this drags out?_ She shook her head as she called in to Jake, âJake, honey, would you please show your father the bathroom so he can get ready for dinner? It is just about ready. Paul, I need you in here please.â When Paul joined her, she quickly filled him in in hushed tones. 

The table was illuminated by a gas lantern when Steve and Jenny returned. The aromas that greeted them from the platter and bowls on the table were nearly unbearable. The bowl of cereal had long worn off and they were both famished. Steve sat down eagerly, ready to jump right in and eat the delectable fare Ruth and Toni had prepared. Instead, Paul reached out to Toni and Ruth on each side of him and waited for everyone else to join hands before he asked Godâs blessing on the meal. Steve didnât hear a word of it, instead berating a God that would allow his country to go through the turmoil it had been suffering recently. But he did hear Paul say âAmenâ and was quick to start filling his plate. 

Steve had finished his first serving and was eyeing the platters longingly when Paul picked up a plate of fried meat and held it toward Steve. âWould you like another piece of rabbit, Steve?â he asked. 

Jenny stopped chewing the bite in her mouth. It seemed to grow larger and larger. _Rabbit? Thumper? I thought that was fried chicken, not a bunny. _She sat with her jaws unmoving while images of fluffy bunnies jumped through her mind. Finally she swallowed what was in her mouth and washed it down with a long swallow of water. She sat quietly for a few minutes before her hunger won out and she went back to eating the vegetables on her plate. The remainder of the piece of rabbit was untouched. 

It was mostly quiet during the meal. Steve was still at odds with the entire situation yet glad to eat; Jenny was on edge and the other adults could sense the stress the two were under. The exception was Nick. He jabbered on with the exuberance of youth, happy to have all his family together. That usually happened just for his birthday. He was pretty sure there wouldnât be gifts tonight but it didnât curb his enthusiasm.


----------



## Bret F

When the main meal was finished, Ruth refilled coffee cups for everyone that wanted some and Toni set Nick up to play near the warm stove. Paul fiddled with his coffee cup for a while before finally looking first at Steve and then at Jenny. âSo, how are you two set up for a prolonged power outage?â he asked them. 

Steve was staring straight ahead while Jennyâs eyes started to grow misty. It was an awkward silence before Steve answered the question. âNot well, not well at all. We just donât have anything ready for something like this.â It cut deep into his pride to admit he was unable to cope with the current problems. 

Paul looked at his wife and they passed a silent message; the type that long married couples seem to do easily. âWell,â Paul began, âYou could stay with us. We have an extra bedroom, heat, food water; pretty much everything you donât have there in town.â

Steve stared down at his plate, noting the swirl pattern left by the trace of mashed potatoes. âI appreciate that very much Paul, but we canât impose on you like that. Weâll make it work somehow. Itâll just be harder than what you are used to,â he answered.

âAt least take some food,â Ruth said. âWe have a lot of stuff that we put up from the garden. And I wonât take no for an answer.â

âItâll have to be things that doesnât need cooked,â Jenny said. âOur stove is electric, so we are pretty limited on what we can use.â

âI can fix you with that too,â Paul interjected. I have an old camping stove that I donât use anymore. It can run on unleaded gas, so weâll give you the stove and a can of gas. Speaking of gas, before you leave, pull your car up to the barrel and Iâll fill the car up to.â

Steve looked like each comment was a slug to the gut. He looked at Paul quickly, too embarrassed for more. âThatâs not necessary, Paul. Really, weâll figure something out.â

âHogwash!â Paul stated firmly. âThe Good Lord provided us with everything we have and if we see someone we can help, well we are going to. So quit arguing and accept the Lordâs blessing. Now come on, Jake, you too, and letâs gather some things up.â His action suited his words as he stood up and started from the room. Jake obediently followed; Steve trailed behind like he was walking to face an executioner.

Jenny watched them leave and then turned to Toni. âToni, I want you to do something for me.â She got up, beckoned to Toni to follow her, picked up the small lantern and started down the hall.

Toni wondered what was up as she followed along. Jenny went into the bathroom and held the light near her head and looked in the mirror. âI want you to cut my hair for me.â She held her free hand near her ear. âAbout here.â

âAre you sure? Why do you want that?â Toni asked, confused. She knew how much Jenny thought about her long blonde tresses. 

Jenny was fighting hard to keep control of her voice when she turned to Toni. âWe donât have any water. I wonât be able to wash it or shower for who knows how long. I canât take care of it anymore.â She was openly crying. âSo, I would rather get rid of it now and have something I might be able to manage.â

âAre you really sure?â Toni asked again. âMaybe this wonât last long.â

âYou mean do I want it cut off? Of course I donât, but what else can I do? Just listen to the news.â Her voice had risen in pitch and she sounded close to panic. âNow cut it off. I canât stand for it to get all dirty and ratty.â

Toni did as she was told and took a pair of scissors from the cabinet and began cutting. At the first cut of the scissors Jenny winced sharply. After that she remained still, but with each snip, it appeared an equal number of tears ran down Jennyâs face. She stared stoically at the dimly lit mirror, feeling her life being cut off with each clump of hair. 

When Toni was done, Jenny helped her clean up the mess. They placed the hair in a small trash can, except for one clump. Jenny stared at it for a long minute before she rolled it up and slipped into her pocket. When all the hair was cleaned, up she poured water into the sink and washed her tear streaked face. She stared back at the unfamiliar reflection and whispered, âThank you Toni.â

Ruth gave a start when the two women returned to the kitchen before breaking into a huge smile. âJenny, itâs lovely,â she said, trying to reassure the other woman. Jenny looked unconvinced. Ruth crossed the room to her and reached out and framed her face in her hands. âReally dear, it looks wonderful. It makes me want to do the same thing.â Jenny remained unsure and stood mutely.

âI put together a few things here for you to take home with you. Now, would you like one more cup of coffee before the men come back in?â As if on cue, the back door opened and the three men entered. 

Steve had a look of fury on his face, ready to explode at a momentâs notice. He failed to register the drastic change in his wifeâs appearance; just stated, âWe need to get going.â

Jenny knew any discussion with him would be futile; she had seen these moods too many times before. He needed time to calm down or he would vent his frustration at her. She crossed the room and kneeled to where Nick was playing and gave him a long hug. âI love you Nicky, you have fun here on the farm.â She followed that up with hugs to Toni and Ruth, thanking them both for what they had done. To Ruth, she whispered, âIâm not sure Steve thanked Paul, so from both of us, thank you very much. He can get pretty prickly when his pride is bruised.â She pulled apart, leaving Ruth with a damp cheek.

Ruth turned to the counter and picked up two shopping bags that she held out to Jenny after she had donned her coat. âThese are for you dear,â Ruth said. Jenny hesitated, seeing Steveâs stormy face from the corner of her eye, but took the offered bags anyway. They went to the car accompanied by the other adults. Jenny placed the bags in the back seat that had gotten mostly filled up while Toni had cut her hair.

âRemember, you have a place here if you need it,â Paul told them as Steve and Jenny got into the car. Jenny looked longingly back at them as she pulled the door closed. Steve didnât say a word as he pulled his door closed and started the engine.

After pulling onto the road, Steve suddenly slammed a hand hard against the steering wheel. âJust who does he think he is?â Jenny wasnât surprised by his outburst; she had expected it to happen. She waited quietly for him to continue. âHeâs just like my dad. Thinking heâs so superior, and I canât do anything on my own.â Steve changed the tone of his voice to a mocking tone as he quoted Paul, âThe Good Lord provided us with everything we have and if we see someone we can help, well we are going to.â He slammed the steering wheel again. âSo what, weâve become charity cases just like that?â The rest of the drive home was silent.

The brooding silence in the car was magnified by the eerie darkness. It looked to Steve like they were driving through a foreign land. There were no street lights or yard lights anywhere. Very few car lights illuminated the roadways. Any light from houses was extremely subdued. â_How can they do this in America_?â Steve thought, â_How_?â


----------



## puddlejumper007

thank you...:bouncy:


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## booklover4ever

Now I see how this ties in!


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## biggkidd

Top notch Bret! I was a bit skeptical at first but now ya got my attention!!! 

Thanks 

Larry


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## puddlejumper007

ok enough of the birthday party,:buds: and cake, how about writing some more. PLEASE....:kiss:


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## wormlady

I have not checked this thread for a long time, but thanks to a bad cold had some down time for reading.

I devoured _Danged Rocks_, yesterday and today. Thank you so much for sharing your time, talent and story with us. Looking forward to reading the next installment!


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 5

The house was temporarily illuminated by the carâs headlights as Steve pulled into the garage. After Jenny pulled the overhead door closed and Steve shut off the lights it was momentarily pitch black; until he opened his door and the interior lights came on. He left the door open and looked in the back seat, quickly locating the lantern Paul had placed within easy reach. Steve cursed as he picked up the lantern and turned it on and walked to the door leading into the house after slamming the car door. Jenny found the gallon jug of water and hurriedly followed after him.

It was noticeably colder in the house than when they had left it hours earlier. Jenny wasnât sure what was colder, the house or Steve. He was still in a deep funk from accepting help from Paul. âIâm going to get ready for bed,â Jenny told him, knowing if she attempted conversation a grunt would be his best response. âCan I use the lantern?â _Yep, just a grunt._

She sat the water jug beside the sink and thought about the conservation tips from the water center. _Was that really just today I read that. It seems longer ago_. She bushed her teeth and used a small amount of water in a cup to rinse her mouth and the brush, used the toilet, closing the lid over the non-flushed liquid and went to the bedroom. It was so cold there; she was sure she would have trouble sleeping so she went to Jakeâs old bedroom and pulled the blankets from his bed. She spread them over her bed and quickly changed into her nightgown and put on her robe.

She walked back to the living room and looked at Steve stewing in his chair, staring at the blank large screen television. âAre you coming to bed or staying out here?â she asked him. 

Again his only response was a grunt so she turned the lantern off and made her way to the bedroom by feel.

Steve awoke sometime later, still fully clothed in his chair, chilled. After considering finding a blanket and staying there, he decided to join Jenny in the bed. He felt his way to the bedroom and cursed loudly after kicking the doorframe, unmindful of Jenny lying in the bed. _Sure glad I didnât pull my shoes off out there_. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed while he pulled off his shoes and socks, then stood and stripped to his underwear before crawling under the blankets next to Jenny. She was awake but didnât acknowledge his presence as he wrapped his arms around her and snuggled close. _First the cold shoulder and now the cold embrace._ Sleep was hard to come by for her, but eventually the exhaustion of the stressful day overcame her troubled thoughts.

Steve pulled his cold arm back to the warmth beneath the blankets. _Wow, it felt cold out there, _he thought. He let go with a mental string of curses at the terrorists. _If they had to pull this, why couldnât they have done it in good weather?_ He needed to get up and use the toilet but wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible. He felt across the bed; Jenny had already gotten up. He tried to fall back to sleep but his bodyâs need to void would not let him. _No, itâs cold. I donât want to go out there._ Finally when he couldnât put it off any longer, he arose and dressed quickly in the cold room.

He opened the door to the bathroom and was assailed by the odors. _Yeah, of course, Jenny had to get here first. Oh geez, thatâs gonna make my eyes water._ He didnât spend as much time in the bathroom as normal; his sock clad feet were getting cold on the vinyl floor, the smell was horrible, and he hadnât taken the time to put on a sweatshirt. As he finished, he flushed the toilet without thought and instantly remembered the fact they only had this one flush. As he stood there mentally upbraiding himself, a sound broke through to his consciousness; the tank was filling. Slowly, but it was filling. He froze in place, totally forgetting about his earlier discomfort while he listened to the tank continue to fill and finally shut off. _We have running water! Not a lot but,â¦we have running water!_

âHey Jenny,â he yelled as he started to the front of the house. âHey Jenny, where are you?â

Jenny came from the garage with a questioning look. âIâm right here. What are you yelling about?â

âThe water is running. Itâs not fast or with a lot of pressure, but thereâs some.â He froze in place when he finally looked at her for the first time since the previous nightâs dinner. He stood in place and stared at her. Finally he was able to talk, âYour hair,â he said in shocked amazement. âWhen, how,â¦â he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed about his behavior at Paul and Ruthâs. âOh wow, geez Jenny, Iâm sorry, I, â¦.. I was such a jerk.â

When Jenny just stared back at him without responding, Steveâs eyes broke away first and he looked around the room. âSo anyway,â he said, âThere is some water running. I flushed the toilet and it refilled.â

âThatâs nice,â she replied quietly and went back to the garage.

Steve followed meekly and watched as she began looking in the back of the car. âWhat are you looking for hon?â he asked.

âI have no idea whatâs in here so I wanted to find out, and maybe pick something for breakfast. So you were there when Paul was getting stuff, what should I look for? Or did you have your blinders on the whole time?â

Steve walked to where she was bent into the car and rested his hand on her back. She immediately stiffened at the touch. âReally, Iâm sorry. I just have a hard time believing a bunch of rock chuckers can shut down our country like this. I mean, forever we have seen them on the news facing the Israelis with just rocks. How on earth can they come here and do this? And I just feel so useless to you right now,â he added barely above a whisper. 

She relaxed slightly but didnât move. âSo, again, do you know what is here and what to look for to have for breakfast?â

âHe put in a couple of jars of milk. Maybe we could get one of them out and have cereal. Will that work for you?â Steve asked.

âYeah thatâs fine. Do you know where it is?â she asked and got out of his way.

They were both absorbed in their own thoughts as they ate. When she was finished, Jenny tried the sink and a slow trickle of water flowed out. She rinsed her bowl and put it in the dishwasher to dry and gave Steve an accusing look as she left the room.

Jenny came back with her toothbrush to find Steve â surprisingly â rinsing his bowl. She glanced out the front window and saw a pickup and trailer pulling to a stop in front of the house. She walked closer and studied the man behind the wheel. âSteve, Iâm not sure but I think your boss is here.â 

Steve joined her at the widow and looked out. âYeah, thatâs Tom. I wonder whatâs up.â Tom owned the small remodel and building company that Steve worked for as a draftsman. Steve went to the coat rack and took his coat down and pulled it on over the sweatshirt he had been wearing.

Tom was walking towards the door when Steve went out and greeted him. âHey, Tom. This is a surprise. I wasnât really expecting to see you here.â

âWell Steve, I decided since I couldnât use a phone Iâd make the rounds to everyoneâs house. Iâm sure youâve already figured this out, but for the time being we are shut down. Thereâs no way we can operate the way weâve been going, and nobody could pay us anyway.â

Steve was disappointed but not shocked at the news. âI understand Tom.â Steve stared at a crack in the walk as he wondered what the future held, to not have a job on top of everything else. While he was looking down, Jenny came from the house and stood close to him.

âSo Steve, how are you guys set up for this?â Tom asked.

Steve was all set to lie about everything when he glanced to his side and saw the noticeable lack of Jennyâs long hair. Instead he thought of his actions the previous night before telling Tom, âActually weâre floundering. We didnât have a stinking thing to help with this until our sonâs in-laws gave us some stuff yesterday. To put it honestly, weâre totally clueless.â It was hard for Steve to admit that to Tom, but it felt better to him to have it out in the open.

âSo what about that stuff we got from Costco right after those sons ofâ¦..excuse me Jenny, before the bombings started?â Tom asked him, puzzled.


----------



## Bret F

It took a moment before the realization set in of what Tom was saying. âOh crud, I kind of forgot about that. I, well, Iâve been out of sorts since this whole mess started.â

âOh Steve,â Tom said shaking his head. âDid you even look at what you have?â

âUh, no, I just plopped everything down and left it there.â

âWell, itâs time you looked. Thereâre some things there that you could be using.â Tom spoke in the forceful tones he used when lining out his workers.

Steve led the way to the garage door and raised it then went to the boxes still lying in the floor. He looked very chagrined as he bent down and started to expose the contents of the boxes. They contained a veritable treasure of supplies. There was a variety of beans, rice, pasta, soup, dried fruit, hard candy, pancake mix, syrup, sprouting seeds, honey, nuts, rolled-oats, along with other food items. There was also a thermos, candles, sterno, flashlight, batteries, bleach, vitamins, 1st aid supplies, a bucket with a lid, squeeze water bottles and flannel cloth. 

Jenny stared at the treasure, amazed that it had been right in her way for more than a month. âI recognize most of the food, but, well, we donât know how to prepare anything,â he told Tom. âWe were given a camp stove yesterday but we donât know anything about using it. And some of that other stuff, why on earth is there a bottle of bleach? We arenât going to be doing laundry. And the thermos? I donât get it.â

Instead of answering, Tom bent and picked up the disc of information Bill had compiled. He held it up to Steve and said, âLet me guess, you didnât look at this either?â

Steve shook his head. âYou know Bill. Heâs such a survivalist nut; itâs probably just got gun manuals and tips on how to hide out like Ted Kaczynski, or something; maybe tips on eating pine trees. Shoot, Billâs probably hiding out in a cave or something until this blows over.â

Tom gave Steve a level stare and shook his head. âWow, you sure donât know Bill at all I guess. Do you have a laptop that will run so you can see what is really on that disc?â

When Steve just shook his head and said âNo,â Tom went wordlessly to his pickup and returned with his laptop computer. 

"It sure would have been easier on you to read this at your leisure and print out what you needed but I guess itâs too dang late for that.â _And too late to find a cure for stupidity._

As the computer was booting up, Tom asked, âSo youâve got this stuff and a camp stove. What about heat?â 

âWe donât have anything. Just blankets.â Steve answered.

âThatâs about what I figured,â Tom said. âDo you know what a sheep herder stove is?â At the blank looks on both of their faces he explained. âItâs a light sheet metal wood burning stove; the herders would set up in a tent. You canât burn it constantly or it will burn through. But if you sealed up the house to just one room, it could take the worst of the cold off. Ah, this is ready. Put that disc in Steve and open it. Then take me inside your house.â

Steve obediently did what he was told. Inside the house, Tom looked around critically. âI asked about the stove because I have one. I used to use it in hunting camp. I brought it and some parts and tools along with me. He pointed to a kitchen window. If we pull that window and replace it with a sheet of aluminum with a hole cut in the center, we could run the stove pipe out it with the stove in front of that cabinet. You could drape blankets at those entries and this room could be almost comfortable.â 

âThat would be great; could you really do it?â Jenny asked in a pleading tone. âAnd what would we burn?â

âYes, I think we can get it set up. And wood, well thatâs why I have the trailer. Now letâs get to work. Steve, you and Jenny go look through the stuff on that disc and read everything that will help. I donât have any way of printing so you better take some notes.â When they seemed stuck with the notes, Tom shook his head and went to the pickup and returned with a spiral notebook and pens. âWell what did Bill put on that?â he asked to himself, looking at the screen.

He quickly scanned the table of contents. âOkay, Jenny, you asked about bleach. Make sure you read that section on water. Oh, speaking of water, the news said the water corporation has two more pumps running on generators. Theyâre putting water back to houses, but it wonât be a lot. Mostly enough for drinking and very limited sanitation, so use it wisely. It would also be a good idea for you to store as much as you can while itâs running. Thereâs no telling how long they can run those generators.â

Tom pointed to another article in the contents on slow cooking. âRead that one to know why you have a thermos. Iâm guessing thereâll be information there about a wonder box cooker too. Youâll need to know it.â As Tom scanned through the contents he chuckled on one line âOptions for no toilet paper.â He pointed that one out also and told them, âThat must be why thereâs water bottles and cloth in the supplies. Make sure you read it. Well enough about that, you two read, Iâve got a stove to put in.â

They started reading the articles Bill had burned on the disc. âWow,â Jenny said. âHe put a lot of good stuff on here. I donât know if I can do some of this though. It seems so, well so old fashioned.â 

Soon Jenny was copying pages while Steve went to help Tom. The portable generator attracted some neighbors to their windows when Tom started it, but none were curious enough to venture outside. Steve was glad it didnât take long to cut the aluminum sheet and shut the generator off. He really didnât like the faces staring at them. The wood from the trailer was stacked in the garage. Tom took a single bit axe from his pickup and leaned it against the stack. 

When the stove was set up, not leaving anything to chance, Tom showed Steve how to start the fire and put a full box of kitchen matches on the nearby counter. âI canât stress enough Steve, donât burn it all the time with a hot fire or youâll burn it up. You got that?â

âYes, I understand.â

âOne more thing,â Tom told him. âHereâs your pay. He pulled an envelope from his pocket filled with cash. âThings are going to be tough, so use this sparingly. And hide it until you need it.â

Steve stood stunned for a few moments. âTom, I really appreciate you doing all this. Are you helping everybody like this?â Steve asked, starting to feel his pride rise up again.

âI plan on going by everybodyâs house before Iâm done. I stopped by Gregâs place first. He was packing up. Heâs headed off to his Dadâs place in Oregon. So I paid him and made sure his gas tank was full. Jimmy was drunk when I went by his place. I paid him but Iâm sure heâll have that spent in no time. I sure canât remember why I hired that guy.â


----------



## Bret F

âWhat about Bill,â Steve asked. âAre you going to see him?â

âSure, Iâll go by his place. Iâd imagine heâs got a good handle on things though.â They had walked back to where Jenny was reading the computer screen. âYou about done, Jennyâ Tom asked her.

âI want to take notes on one more page, is that all right?â she asked.

âSure, go ahead.â Tom noticed her left hand wandering up to where it used to play with her hair. _Iâm not going to ask._

After Tom had gone, Jenny looked at everything on the floor and the pile in the back of the car. âI want to spend some time getting this all in the house and figure out just what we have and put it all away, all right?â 

âItâs fine by me,â Steve said.

âOh Steve, Jenny said, âThe light is nice, but I donât want to be doing that with the neighbors watching. Can you close the big door and latch it?â

Steve did as he was asked and the two of them moved all of their supplies to the kitchen. There was still noticeable warmth coming from the small stove so after adding a small piece of wood to the fire, Steve followed Tomâs advice and began hanging blankets to seal off the room. 

By the time Steve finished, he watched Jenny pouring water into a pot with some of the dried beans in it. âAre you getting those ready for today?â he asked.

âNo, tomorrow. That recipe for red beans and rice said you have to soak the beans first, so I was getting them ready for that.â

Steve had seen some powdered drink mix in the supplies. He located it and mixed two glasses and topped them up with vodka before a final mixing. He pulled two chairs near the small stove and motioned for Jenny to join him. He looked out the window at the late afternoon sun as he searched for the right words. He reached over and took her hand, relishing the feel of her small bones in his much larger hand. âWow, this day flew by. But do you know what, I feel almost good about it. Itâs not what weâre used to but it feels so much better that yesterday.â _What a difference one day makes for good or for bad._ He took a slow sip of his drink. 

âOh, I forgot to tell you earlier,â he said. âTom paid me for the last week while he was here; in cash. So, now if anything is open, we have a bit more spending money.â He took another sip. âSo what do you think we should eat?â

âWe still have those pot pies. We should do something with them before they go bad,â she answered. 

Steve considered cooking them. âYou know, I think I can start one burner on the barbecue and heat it up like an oven. I think thatâll work,â he said.

âItâs worth a try. Just try not to burn them,â Jenny answered.

Steve gave her hand a final squeeze and put on his coat and went outside. He fired the grill up and went back for the pies while it heated. Smoke was coming off the grill and drifting over the fence when he returned. He placed the pies on the grill and went back to the kitchen, returning with his drink. The smell of accumulated fat burning off let him imagine that he was having a real barbecue. He stood where he wasnât in the thickest part of the smoke, but where he could still smell the cooking odors. He began to day dream about the last time he grilled a steak, sucking in the aroma. He took a sip of his drink. It wasnât a cold beer, but it helped to enhance the mood. The stress of the previous day was leaching out of him. _Steak and beer, enjoying the solitude of the back yard._

 He was lost in the daydream when a sharp pain to his head made him drop his drink and fall to his knees. He wrapped his hands to his suddenly throbbing skull and pulled one hand away after it encountered something sticky. He stared down at the red hand, not comprehending what he was seeing. He was only dimly aware of the person that ran from behind him to the barbecue. He looked on dumbly as the cover was opened. He couldnât gloat about the figure pulling his hand back quickly after burning his fingers on the hot food and plunging his tender fingers into his mouth. It didnât register in his muddled mind. And it didnât register when the figure used the grill brush to pull the hot pies into a bag and throw the brush at Steve, still on his knees in the grass. _Whoâs that? Did I invite him to the barbecue? He must be some friend of Jennyâs._ He looked confusedly at his red hand. _Was I drinking red juice?_ He saw his drink that had somehow managed to land upright into the grass. He reached out for it and picked it up, seeing the red fingers through the glass. He tilted his head from side to side, looking at the strange red fingers from different angles. _Wow, thatâs weird_. He raised his throbbing head back and took a long drink before falling into the grass.


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## puddlejumper007

thank you, nice read.....


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## biggkidd

Wow nice job bringing these stories together. Can't wait to read more.

Thanks
Larry


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## puddlejumper007

watching for more....eep:


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## 355946

I am going through some withdrawal waiting for my next dose of this cliffhanger. I think you are the prepper's Charles Dickens! "Please, sir, more?"


Rabbi Hillel â 'That which is hateful to you, do not do to another. That is the whole Law. The rest is commentary.


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## Bret F

Chapter 6

Steve noticeably flinched at the sounds from in front of the house. He picked up his baseball bat and walked softly to the window and carefully moved the blind aside enough to peer out. He soon located the source of the noise. The family in the home straight across the street was hastily packing items in the back of their SUV. As he watched, the man stood near the back of the car looking nervously one way, then the other. When the wife and kids came out with their arms loaded, they stuffed the possessions haphazardly into the car, hastily got into the stuffed vehicle and backed out of the driveway and drove away.

Jenny stepped beside Steve and he jumped, startled by her quiet approach. âOh man, donât sneak up on me like that!â he snapped at her, his hands gripped tightly on the bat, ready to swing. After his heart rate returned to normal he turned to her, âSorry hon, Iâm still kind of uptight after getting beaned. 

âIt looks like the Stewarts are getting out of here. I wonder where theyâre going.â He had unconsciously run his hand over the tender section of his scalp while talking. He had been very nervous and jumpy since being attacked in his back yard. Although he didnât remember anything about the incident, Jenny had filled him in. 

When Steve hadnât come back into the house when she expected, Jenny went to the back door to look for him. At first all she saw was the barbecue with the lid up, the heat coming off it in noticeable waves. Puzzled, she scanned the yard and saw something lumped on the grass. 

âSteve? Steve. STEVE!â she said softly at first, questioningly, getting louder as it became evident he was the crumpled shape in the yard; she cried out and ran into the quickly cooling evening air. When she came up to him she saw the blood matted in his hair, running into his face. She quickly looked away â blood always made her queasy â and instantly reached for her cell phone to call for an ambulance. She swore loudly to the sky when she didnât find her phone in her pocket and remembered it wouldnât help anyway. âThink, Jenny, think!â she told herself and looked desperately around. As she looked, she again noticed the barbecue and had the sudden thought of the food Steve had been cooking. Needing something to do while her mind raced, she stood and walked to the barbecue. _Thatâs odd, those pot pies are gone._ She stood looking at the gas flames, momentarily hypnotized while she tried to get her thoughts arranged. Finally shaking herself, she turned the burner off and looked around again. _Okay, I have to do something. This isnât the time to be the shrieking whimpering chick in a movie._

She considered going to a neighbor for help but instantly discarded that thought. Even though they had lived in the house for years, she didnât know the neighbors, let alone trust them to know she was so vulnerable. When she was home she kept to herself and only rarely saw any of the neighbors. She had always wanted Steve to find a house in a âbetterâ neighborhood, more like she had grown up in. _They probably came and hit Steve anyway_, she reasoned. Finally, with no other options available to her, she knew she had to take care of Steve on her own.

Jenny moved back to Steve, trying to avoid looking at his bloody head, trying to avoid getting sick over the sight. She shook him and spoke his name, then shook harder. The only response was a low moan. _Oh geez, I donât know if I can do this; oh GEEZ._ She gulped a large breath of air and looked skyward at the darkening sky. She rolled Steve onto his back, forcing out another low moan.

_I can do this; I have to do this; Steve needs me_, became the running chant in her head. She went to his head, _Oh geez, thatâs a lot of blood_; and reached under his arms and raised his head and shoulders slightly off the ground. She stayed in that position, paralyzed, as she watched a line of blood run across her sleeve. The chant resumed in her mind and she pulled Steve the first foot towards the house. She quit looking at the blood and focused her mind on getting Steve to the house, her slight frame straining under the exertion at each pull. Steve moaned loudly when after a jerking motion, his head bounced on the lawn. 

Jenny could not have said how long it took to drag Steve into the house; ten minutes? An hour and ten minutes? All she could remember was the chant in her head; raise, strain, pull, rest, again. Going over the step at the door was the worst. The height caused her already tired muscles to strain harder; the uneven surface caused Steve to groan louder; the groans made Jenny wince each time. But she didnât stop. _Iâm this close, just a little farther_, was added to the mantra running in her head. She no longer noticed the blood running off Steveâs head across her arm. She failed to notice that it was mostly stopped. The moving was much easier once Steveâs upper body was on the slick vinyl kitchen floor and she was able to get him in the house and the door closed with two more strong pulls. 

Once the door was closed, Jenny stood and tried to think of what to do next. In a bit of despair she mentally wailed, _Iâm not made for this. Dang you Steve, how could you let this happen_. She looked at him lying on the floor then and her pity party quickly dissolved. She felt how the house had lost all of its heat with the door open so long. _Okay, warmth; I need to get Steve warm, then clean . . . his head and see about bandaging it. Now how did he put wood in that fire?_ She went to the newly installed sheepherder stove and studied it; pulling her hand away from the hot handle when she attempted to open it. With a hot pad in hand she was able to open the door and lay another piece of wood over the embers. She jerked her hand away from the heat in the fire box, hitting the side of the stove; the quick flash of pain accompanied by instant redness on the back of her hand. 

Jenny went quickly to the sink and put her hand under the slow trickle of cold water. As the pain receded she noticed the water that was going down the drain and remembered going the fill water containers. She plugged the drain and turned off the faucet as soon as there was enough water to place her tender hand in. She stared down at the reddened skin and considered Steve. Okay, I need to get him off the cold floor and I need to clean his head. Iâll have to use cold water, but maybe the cold will be better. She studied her hand as she thought, then, _well duh, I could warm some water on that stove_. She dried her hand and set a small pan of water to heat. 

_Now, get him off the floor. He needs to be where the heat is. I donât think I can get him into his chair. What about the couch?_ She studied it and its location and decided that was the best alternative â after she moved it. She moved the table and chairs aside, and then started on the couch. _Okay, one end at a time._ She pulled the couch away from the wall a little, frustrated at the short distance it moved. Her eyes misted over and she plopped onto the couch and held her face in her hands. _Iâve got to get it moved. He needs to get warm. _ Stiffening her resolve, Jenny went back to moving the couch, first one end then the other until it was positioned near the wood stove. 

After resting a few minutes Jenny drug Steve across the floor. _All right, this isnât going to be fun_. She tried raising him and pushing his limp form up and onto the couch but didnât have enough strength. _Okay, dragging was easier. If I get back the way I was and drag him up like I did over the step._ Her actions followed her thoughts and with her tired muscles screaming at the effort, she was able to drag his upper body onto the couch. Panting from the effort, _boy it sure feels warm in here now,_ she was able to keep him balanced in place while she repositioned and managed to push his legs up into a stable place on the couch.

Jenny pulled a dining room chair to the side of the couch and fell more than sat in it. _Iâm exhausted. I havenât worked this hard since getting rid of the extra baby weight._ Catching her breath and allowing her tired muscles to rest, she looked at Steveâs dark form. A shudder passed through her and she gasped out a loud sob while looking at the still figure.

When she felt rested enough she found the lantern and lit it and placed it where she could see the side of Steveâs head. She studied the exposed side of Steveâs head. _I can do this._ She gulped a large breath of air and fought the nausea she got from looking at the blood. _Itâs just a little blood. Everybody has blood. I can do this._ The blood was oozing slightly from all of the jostling around, but it was slight. She carefully moved his matted hair and saw the cut didnât appear to be very long or deep. She was more concerned by the goose-egg that had formed beneath the cut.

After she was sufficiently composed, Jenny found blankets and tucked Steve into a cocoon. She folded a towel and positioned it gently under his head; got a wash cloth and her warm water and sat in her chair near Steveâs head. The nausea returned and was quashed and she gently cleaned the blood away from his scalp, his matted hair and his face. Taking deep breaths, she separated his hair to study the wound. It looked much better with the blood out of the way. _What now?_

She glanced around the room and saw the shadowed supplies on the counter they had brought in from the garage that day. She found the triple antibiotic cream in the stack and applied it to the cut as carefully as possible. _Steve, hereâs one more thing to thank you workmates for when you see them._ 

She capped the antibiotic cream and replaced it on the counter. When she looked back at Steve she felt totally spent; mentally as well as physically. She was unsure if she should do anything else, but it was a moot point. She had to lie down before she fell down. All thoughts of the missed meal were gone as she turned off the lantern, pulled up the blankets and wormed her way between Steve and the cushions. She repositioned the blankets and wrapped an arm over Steve and fell instantly to sleep.


----------



## Bret F

Sunshine was streaming through the window when Steveâs movements woke Jenny. âHey babe, whatâs going on? What are we doing here?â 

âSteve, youâre okay,â Jenny answered, her voice shaking as tears started to run down her face.

âWell yeah Iâm okay, I guess, but man, I feel like crap. Whatâd we do, empty the liquor cabinet last night?â

Jenny struggled to extract herself from her tight spot behind him. When she was finally out she kneeled at his head, âDonât you remember anything? I found you collapsed in the yard, bleeding.â

Steve tried to think about it through the headache and nausea. âNo, I remember Tom leaving and we brought all the stuff in. Thatâs it.â He rose to a sitting position and rested his head in his hands. âMan, by head hurts.â He winced painfully as his hand went over the fresh wound.

âWell, you went out back to cook,â Jenny began and filled Steve in on the previous eveningâs events. While Jenny was talking, Steve got unsteadily to his feet using the nearby chair to help support him. Jenny reached out to help him, but he shook her off, instantly regretting the extra movement, making his head throb more. When he felt steady enough, he took her offered arm, interrupted her by saying he wanted to go to the yard and began to move that direction with slow, precise steps. 

Jenny supported him as he stepped off the threshold and slowly looked around. The brisk morning air felt good on his head. Jenny led him carefully to where she had found him. Lying on the ground nearby was a wrist-thick tree branch with a small clump of Steveâs hair on it. âI think somebody hit you and stole the food you were cooking,â Jenny stated.

Steve turned and looked slowly around the yard. His thoughts were slow to form but he was certain of the conclusion he came to. âYou know, there was always some left over grease on the grill that burned off each time I fired up the barbecue. I think someone smelled that and knew we were cooking. So now, we are going to have to hide our cooking odors or our food gets stolen.â He closed his eyes while a sharp pain shot through his head. âDang, I wish we had my gun here.â

The look of fear on Jennyâs face showed she didnât agree. âYou know what I think about guns. It was too dangerous having one in the house. What would have happened if Jake had found it when he was little? You know why I had you take it to your Dadâs house.â 

âYeah, I know. But I didnât have to watch over my shoulder when we cooked then either.â Steve turned and started an ambling walk back to the house.

****
Steveâs grip re-tightened on his baseball bat as he looked out the window at the neighborâs newly vacated house, recalling the events of the previous week. His headaches had lasted for days and he never did remember being in the yard cooking. He had found his ball bat in the closet and carried it with him everywhere. They did not use the barbecue again. All cooking was done in the house. They also limited the use of the stove and the lantern. Neither of them had left the house. The outside world had suddenly become too dangerous to venture into.

_Dang, I wish I had my rifle; this isnât a lot of protection._ He was just about to drop the widow blind when a movement at the neighborâs house caught his eye. A figure with a sweatshirt hood pulled tight around his face â _I think itâs a he_ â moved away from a shrub and looked all furtively around. Not seeing anything to concern him, he moved quickly to the door, kicked it forcefully near the knob, fracturing the wood around the latch. Another strong kick and the door swung open. The figure darted inside, closing the door behind him. Breathing like he had just run a race, Steve gripped his bat with a white knuckled hand as he made his observation hole smaller. After watching the house for a full five minutes, he dropped the blind and made a circuit of the house, checking the latches on the windows and doors. He peeked out the window one more time at the house across the street. _Dang, I wish I had a gun._


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## biggkidd

Wow good job! Can't wait for  MORE

Larry


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## puddlejumper007

thanks,, i was going to come here and ask for more, to my surprise you had wrote more.....:clap:


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## puddlejumper007

still watching for more....:bored::bored:


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## Bret F

Chapter 7 

Steve dropped his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal with a disgusted growl. Globs flew from the impact in the bowl onto the table; one glob landed on his shirt and began a slow, ponderous slide downwards towards his pants. It left a trail that marked its passage that resembled the line left by a slug.

âDang, Iâm getting so tired of stinking gruel!â he snapped as he stared down into the unappetizing bowl. âWhy couldnât they have given us a big stock of bacon and eggs or maybe biscuits and gravy?â Actually Paul and Ruth had sent them home with a stock of fresh eggs but those were long gone.

Jenny agreed with his sentiment â but she would rather have yogurt, fresh fruit and waffles. âWell, Iâd guess they got the things they did because it wouldnât need refrigeration. Probably the cooking methods influenced their choices too,â Jenny offered tentatively. âEven if we had Bisquick, I donât know how we could bake biscu.â

âYeah, I know,â Steve interrupted her. âBut man, Iâm getting tired of this â¦.. stuff.â He picked up his spoon and filled it, held it up over the bowl and turned the spoon over, allowing the oatmeal to plop back into the bowl. âThe honey and cinnamon and powdered milk helps, but honestly, Iâve never eaten so much grain in my life. I donât see how cows can eat it like they do.â He glared into his bowl, never noticing the line that now extended to his belt line. âAnd donât even get me started on beans and rice. What I wouldnât give for a good steak right now.â He quietly pondered for a while. âWell for that matter, even a bad steak.â

Jenny swallowed the spoonful in her mouth before responding. âOkay, itâs boring and bland, but at least weâre eating. It doesnât look like everyone is.â With nothing to do with all their time besides stare longingly at the black big screen television - before the loss of power, their evenings had revolved around the TV. They had no hobbies or activities to occupy their time, just television and dining out - they now spent a lot of time watching out the front window. 

During those hours watching outside they saw a few people moving about, usually in groups. Although most were heavily bundled against the cold weather, their movements were slow trudging walks, the coats appeared to hang loosely more often than not; small children had sunken in faces. The exception was the younger men with shifting heads and sneaky movements, sweatshirt hoods usually helping to obscure their faces. Each time Steve saw one of those, his sweaty palmed hands unconsciously tightened around his ball bat.

 Jenny had asked Steve if he knew any of those people walking past the house and wanted to talk to them. He had instantly turned pale and started breathing fast. He hadnât stepped outside since Jenny had told him about his assault. That, and seeing the Stewartâs home broken into had made a strong impression on him. He had a hard time admitting to himself, let alone Jenny, but he was terrified of the outside world.

âYeah, yeah, weâre the lucky ones. But it doesnât feel all that lucky,â Steve retorted as he made patterns in the bowl with his spoon. âSo okay youâre right, at least weâre eating,â Steve agreed as he swirled his spoon around in the bowl and finally took a bite.

Jenny swallowed another spoonful and looked at him. âSo if you donât want to eat it anymore, I guess you can just skip breakfast. I donât see any other choice. I suppose we could go see if any stores are open.â She didnât mention Paulâs invitation to them. Steve bristled at any reminder of his offer and got even more sullen and snappish when she did. _Stubborn pride._

âNo, Iâll eat it, but Iâm not going to enjoy it,â Steve said as he stared at a spoonful before putting it in his mouth.

They finished eating in silence, the contents of Steveâs bowl getting cold before he finished it; the temperature and congealing factor not making the dish more appetizing. Jenny had already cleaned her bowl, spoon and the thermos they had cooked the oats in by the time he was finished. Steve set his bowl in the sink, thought better of it at seeing the scowl Jenny directed at him, and washed it and his spoon. 

âSo, do you want to go out with me and see if thereâs anything on the news?â he asked. With no portable radio, they had been going to the garage and listening to the news on the car radio. The story they longed to hear never came; how the power would be coming back on soon and all the terrorists responsible had been detained. 

Jenny chuckled wryly, âNaw, Iâd rather watch that Fast and Furious movie we got at Redbox since we didnât get it watched after Dancing with the Stars.â She got a very concerned look on her face. âOh no, I hope we arenât racking up big charges on our credit card for not turning back in on time.â At the puzzled looked Steve shot her, the serious face was replaced by a big grin. âOh wait, the credit cards arenât working. Maybe weâll be alright.â

Steve shook his head at her. âThe way things are going, thatâs probably the one thing that they have on back-up power. Come on, letâs see if thereâs anything new on the radio.â There was rarely anything new but anything from the outside broke up the long monotonous days.


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## Bret F

They went to the garage and got into the car. Steve was concerned about the battery running down so each time they listened to the news he started it and let it run a few minutes. The broadcast came on and this time there was something new. âSteve, did you hear that? The governmentâs going to help out by distributing food. Oh wow!â Jenny said, very excited about the news government commodities were going to made available to the public. 

âHush,â Steve snapped. âI want to hear this!â They listened intently to determine the nearest location to their house and time for the distributions. After they got all the information they needed and the news had gone into repeating mode, Steve shut off the radio. He was quiet, thinking about the announcement. _The different food would be welcome, butâ¦ Iâd have to go out. Will the house be safe if we leave; will we be safe if we leave? They did mention the National Guard at the distribution spots._ Jenny was quiet while he pondered, knowing he would soon come to a decision and voice it. The only sounds were the pings that came from the carâs cooling engine. Finally, he looked at her and cleared his throat, âWe still have plenty of gas, I think we could drive over,â he said. âIt would be a good thing to get some additional food and have more of a variety in our diet.â

Jenny thought about it before stating, âI think we should go too. My car hasnât been run in weeks. Why donât we use it and then fix the garage so we can get it in here again. That would save the gas in your car.â She mentally added _to have enough gas to get back to Paul and Ruthâs house_. Steve considered her words. _But that means going out to the car. But is it that different than opening the garage door? Iâve got to go out sometime; this is totally nuts, being scared to even go out. But what if the guy that clubbed me is out there watching and waiting? How on earth has it come to this, feeling like a prisoner in my own home in the greatest nation on earth? This shouldnât be happening, none of it._ His mental battle raged before feeling tired to his core he told Jenny softly, âOkay, letâs get the garage rearranged, and then we can get your car in here, and use it tomorrow.â _I hope I made the right decision._ 

Steve got out and dejectedly began picking up the stuff he had scattered when looking for his dadâs camping gear. He took his time, making sure everything was neatly arranged on the shelves. Jenny joined him and despite his best efforts to make the job last, it was quickly accomplished. The stack of wood Tom had given them was next; it was restacked against one of the walls. To Steveâs amazement, the physical action invigorated him and he felt better than he had in the previous days spent moping in the house.

After the floor was swept Jenny went to the overhead door. She was reaching to unlatch it when Steve said, âJenny, stop! I want to check out the yard and driveway from the window before we open the door.â His voice had a slight shake in it as he talked.

They went to the front window and Steve peered out of a small opening. Not seeing anything to arouse suspicion, he opened the blinds farther and studied everything for a long time. He cleared his throat and told Jenny softly, âI donât see anything. I guess itâs okay to go out.â

Jenny had her keys in her hand and Steve had his ball bat when they went to the garage door. As it began to rise, the outside light began lengthening across the garage floor, Steveâs body reacted. The light hit his feet then began inching up his legs. He watched the light increase in a near panic. The anxiety climbed inside at the same pace the light climbed his legs. His breathing started pumping; in-out, in-out; fast and shallow. He could feel his pulse pounding and sweat was breaking out. The side of his head began to ache where he had been hit. His hands began to go numb from the vice-like grip he had on the bat. With the door at waist height, his mind was shouting out âStop, put it back down!â but he breathed hard and looked around frantically for somewhere, anywhere for him and Jenny to conceal themselves. 

Unable to focus clearly on an escape route he turned to Jenny and saw the door had somehow stopped rolling, it was open above their heads, the sound of the rollers had died. He looked quickly around the driveway, scanning Jennyâs car, looking for the shadow figure running at him with a raised club. With his head pivoting back and forth, everything looked normal, his breathing slowed down, his pulse no longer pounded. He closed his eyes and said a silent âthank youâ, although he had idea who he was addressing it to.

âSo are you coming?â Jenny asked him, âOr are you just going to stand there and bask in the sunlight?â

âOh, uh yeah, Iâm coming,â he stammered out and slowly raised one foot to step forward. The foot came up like he was walking through thick mud; it resisted his efforts to rise from the floor. Slowly and deliberately he moved towards the outside, his eyes constantly shifting from side to side. 

He was startled by a cry from Jenny. âOh Steve,â she wailed and followed that with some choice cussing. Torn between retreating back to the safety of the house or going to his wife, her next words got through his muddled thoughts. âCan you believe it? They busted the window out of my car!â Jenny was standing at the passenger side of the car looking at the absent window; a pile of glass chips on the ground and the car seat. She looked into the car and cursed again. Steve found himself involuntarily standing behind her looking past her shoulder. Glass crunched underfoot. âAnd they took the stereo.â A hole in the dash greeted them as well as the scattered contents of the glove box and the center console.

Steve reached an arm around Jenny, receiving as much comfort from it has he was sharing. âI canât believe it. My car has been out here for what, two or three months before the blackout, now after three weeks some dirt bag busts into it.â She continued to fume as Steve got full control of himself then began to look around more critically, noticing the hood wasnât closed tightly. 

âHey, Hun,â he said, and nodded towards the hood then moved to the front of the SUV. He raised the hood and looked inside, instantly seeing the void left by the missing battery. The string of words from Jennyâs pretty mouth would have made a sailor blush as she saw what had been done. Finally convinced he wasnât going to be mugged, Steve went back to checking out the car. The back hatch was ajar and he tried to remember if Jenny kept anything stored there. Thinking about the spare tire, he glanced around once more before getting on his hands and knees and peering underneath. The tire was gone and he saw something else that troubled him. A stain was on the cement in front of the tire. He crawled to where he could see the source. His curses were as bad as Jennyâs when he saw the hole that had been punched into the gas tank.

Steve got back to his feet and looked at his furious wife as she was looking into the ransacked car. He took her hand and led her to the garage, closing and latching the door behind them. They went to the kitchen and Jenny sat down with tears slowly leaking from her eyes as Steve made them each a stiff drink. After he handed one to Jenny and had taken a big gulp from his own he told her, âItâll be fine. We can just use my car to go to the food distribution tomorrow.â

âYeah, I guess,â she answered him. _And burn up the gas in the car so we canât get out of here if we really have to._


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## Ozarks Tom

Bret, you posted at 6:14, and by 8:14 had 3 "likes". Seems quite a few people are looking forward to each new chapter. Thanks for not letting us down!


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## 355946

Thanks again for writing this. We know you could be pruning or doing other chores instead. I really enjoy your work - the people seem so real. 


____________________________
Rabbi Hillel â 'That which is hateful to you, do not do to another. That is the whole Law. The rest is commentary.'


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## biggkidd

Cool beans Bret. Enjoying the new story. THANKS


Larry


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## puddlejumper007

know you are busy, but....more please...


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## Bret F

Chapter 8

âHey Hun, hereâs one for ya, âWhat is malâ¦toâ¦dexâ¦trin?â Steve spoke slowly, struggling with the pronunciation of the word. Jenny gave him a flat stare for a reply. âOkay then, what about sorbitol? And soy lecithin? How about carrageenan?â

Jenny gave an exasperated sigh and fighting the urge to snap at him, replied, âI donât know what any of those things are. They arenât words that usually show up in my conversations. Just imagine itâs science talk for steak and eggs. â 

Steve had been reading labels on any food containers they had, trying to cope with the constant boredom of their existence. âI sure wish you wouldnât have gotten rid of those encyclopedias and the dictionary. It would be nice to have them now.â

Her eyes flashed with a fiery glint and this time she did snap out at him. âIf I hadnât gotten rid of them! You better clear up your memory buster. It was your idea to get rid of all of that stuff. If I remember right you said, âWith the internet and smart phones, why do we need all the junk on that bookshelf? Everything is just a few mouse clicks and key strokes away. And besides, the information will be all up to date, not limited by the publish date.â Does any of that seem familiar?â

âOkay, I said that, but come on, who wouldâve ever dreamed that someday we would lose all that? I mean really. The internet, electricity? No one could have possibly thought something like that would happen. I still have a hard time believing it, and Iâm living it.â He looked longingly into the living room trying to make the television power up by his will power and strong yearning. 

âAnd another thing,â Jenny continued, âYou said how we didnât need any of the other books either. So, I went along with you and WE got rid of all the books and the bookshelf. Now here we are stuck in the house with just a few books that I kept to read to Nick. Should I start reciting the story of the Big Brown Bear, the Blue Bull and the Beautiful Baboon to you*? Maybe youâd rather hear me do âGreen Eggs and Hamâ?

âOne trip to Best Buy and seeing that big television you just had to have was all it took. So how is that working out for you now?â Jenny stared at Steve and fumed; Steve imagined smoke coming out of her ears.

Steve ran a hand through his greasy unwashed hair and scratched at a spot before answering. âYes, I wanted the TV, but you did too. We both messed up by getting rid of those books. But man, NOBODY could have imagined not having the phones and internet.â _Or shampoo._ Steve turned his gaze back to a label. Softly he said, âSo I wonder what thiamin mononitrate and hydrolyzed soy protein is. Hydrolyzed; that sure sounds appetizing.â

Steveâs reading material had greatly expanded once they started getting the hand-out food. He still felt nervous when going to the distributions, but after three trips with no incidents, he was slowly getting over his fear. 

The first trip had been one of the hardest trips he had ever made. He had stood at the window for a full ten minutes, looking at everything over and over. Finally Jenny had told him she was ready to go and went to the garage door. He stood at the threshold, his heart rate increasing and the familiar cold sweat returning. She raised the overhead door and turned and looked at Steve. âWell?â she said, shaking him from his trance. 

Despite his concerns, the trip had gone smoothly. The people waiting for food distribution had been well behaved; the National Guard had the area cordoned off and was keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area. 

Steve looked back at the label, and in a conciliatory tone said âHey, hereâs something thatâs familiar, âContains egg, milk, soyâ; wow, I know at least some of the food weâre eating. Not that I recognized it in this.â

He stared at the label for a long minute before looking up at Jenny. âSorry. I guess I never appreciated books. It didnât seem like we needed any of that with all the conveniences we had.â After an uncomfortable pause he continued, âSo just think, the NASCAR season would be over by now. I wonder if Jr. could have won the title. And then thereâs football; the early bowls should be played about now. The pros should be making their playoff surges. I guess we wonât have a Super Bowl party this year. Basketball should be ramping up.â He slammed down the hand that wasnât holding the food label. âHow on earth could this happen?â

He stared longingly into the living room at the black screen. âThey took so much from us,â he murmured. After staring pointedly at the screen without it miraculously powering up he sighed, âShoot, I really wish we didnât get rid of all of Jakeâs games either. I used to hate Monopoly but Iâd sure love to have a nice long game of it now. Or cards. How is it that we donât even own a deck of cards?â

They sat quietly as his hand holding the label slowly dropped to the table. Steve turned his gaze to the window looking onto the back yard and looked wistfully at the accumulating snow. âThat sure is pretty and peaceful. Remember when we went to Sun Valley and got the condo?â He got a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered another snow storm in a happier time. âThat was such a fun trip. After a day of skiing, then eating that great dinner â I had steak and I think you had some smelly old fish â we sat in the hot tub with the snow falling on us. We donât have any of the wine we were drinking then, but thereâs still a little vodka left.â 

He went to cabinet and removed the bottle. After pouring the remaining liquid into two glasses he looked back into the cabinet hopefully. _Come on, there has to be something left in here._ Instead of seeing a bottle pushed into a dark corner he was greeted with emptiness. âDang it! This is the last of it. Now things are really getting serious,â he said with a grimace. He poured some powdered drink mix in the glasses, topped them with water and mixed it together. After sitting on the couch near the sheepherder stove, he beckoned Jenny to join him.


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## Bret F

Taking the glass he held to her, Jenny sat down and snuggled against Steve. They clinked glasses and Jenny took a drink and turned her face up to him. &#8220;It tastes like you could have made this into one drink. It&#8217;s pretty weak.&#8221;

&#8220;Yeah, I guess,&#8221; he answered glumly. He wrapped one arm around Jenny and began to sip from his glass, enjoying the familiar feeling as the mix went down. They began to reminisce about memorable trips they had been on; skiing trips, snow storms. Steve chuckled and asked, &#8220;You do see the good part of this don&#8217;t you?&#8221; 

Half dozing, Jenny turned slightly, &#8220;The good part?&#8221;

&#8220;Yep. We don&#8217;t have to drive to work on slick roads.&#8221;

Jenny groaned and finished her drink. She sat the glass on the floor at the edge of the couch and pulled a blanket around them and snuggled closer to Steve.

&#8220;No wait,&#8221; Steve said. &#8220;There&#8217;s an even better thing about this.&#8221;

&#8220;Okay, and what would that be?&#8221; she asked sleepily.

&#8220;Your mom didn&#8217;t fly in for Thanksgiving, packing all of her negative baggage and drama. Toni must really be relieved not to hear the lecture about how deprived Nick is.&#8221;

She had started to bristle at the criticism of her mother but her tired mind couldn&#8217;t come up with a proper retort to his barb. Instead she mumbled, &#8220;Yeah, I guess,&#8221; and snuggled even tighter.

The room was dark and cold when Jenny woke up. &#8220;Steve,&#8221; she said, and nudged him, the loud snoring stopping. &#8220;I&#8217;ve got to pee and it&#8217;s cold. We should go to bed.&#8221;

&#8220;Just grab a couple of blankets from the bed,&#8221; he said groggily. &#8220;We&#8217;ll sleep here. I&#8217;ll get some wood in the fire.&#8221; He moved stiffly to the sheepherder stove and opened the cold door. There weren&#8217;t even coals remaining. &#8220;_I don&#8217;t want to start this_,&#8221; he thought, his head fuzzy from sleep and alcohol, a headache coming on from the drink. After the clouds had passed, the moonlight cast a weak light off the snow into the house. He rose back up and noticed the shadow of the camp stove on the counter. _I&#8217;ll just start that for a while turn it off after she gets back with the extra blankets. _

With both burners started, he settled back onto the couch and pulled the blanket around him, almost instantly falling back to sleep. Jenny quickly returned with extra blankets and snuggled tightly against him after spreading the blankets over their bed for the night. She was shivering from the cold, thinking only of getting back against Steve to get warm. 

Pressure in Jenny&#8217;s bladder woke her again. _Oh geez,_ _I shouldn&#8217;t drink that much before bedtime. That drink didn&#8217;t taste that strong. It&#8217;s probably a good thing we&#8217;re out of booze. __I feel like crap. _She had a headache and was feeling sick to her stomach, making her think she would need the toilet for more than to pee. After unpeeling herself from the blanket cocoon, she stood up shakily. The room seemed to be&#8230;tilting &#8230; and she noticed she has breathing fast. 

&#8220;St&#8230; Steve&#8221; she stammered out. &#8220;Something&#8217;s wrong.&#8221; When he didn&#8217;t respond, Jenny shook him hard, fighting the queasiness in her stomach. She shook him even harder, &#8220;Steve, you&#8217;ve got to wake up!&#8221; she nearly shouted, panic entering her muddled thoughts. She looked all around the room and saw the guttering flame from the camp stove. Even in her confused state, she was able to connect the dots. She turned back to the couch and kicked the empty glass. It clattered unnoticed across the floor. &#8220;Steve, I think we&#8217;re breathing bad air.&#8221; She shook him with a new urgency still not getting a response, finally grabbing his arm and dragging him off the couch. He landed with a thud.

His head lifted slightly and he looked at her with non-focusing eyes. &#8220;Jen?&#8221; He asked with slurred speech. &#8220;What&#8217;s goin&#8217; on. Man I&#8217;m sick.&#8221;

&#8220;We&#8217;ve got to get out of here. NOW!&#8221;

He looked towards her and groaned. &#8220;Man my head hurts and I think I&#8217;m gonna hurl.&#8221;

Pulling on his arm, Jenny began to drag him toward the garage door. &#8220;Come on Steve, we&#8217;ve got to get out of here.&#8221; She started in a shambling hunched over walk, tugging on his arm as he made an effort to crawl. At the door to the garage, she was able to get him to his feet with the help of the door jamb. Balancing him through sheer adrenaline, she made it over the threshold and slammed the door behind her. In lurching motions they went through the dark to the car; Jenny hissed in pain when she ran into it before she expected. Working along the side of the car, she got to the door, opened it and allowed Steve to collapse onto the seat. In his stupor he didn&#8217;t notice the brake handle jamming into his side. Jenny felt her way to the back door and opened it and fell across the seat, noticing her breathing was already getting easier. For a moment she thought about the interior light they had turned off to conserve the cars&#8217; battery but the thought was instantly gone. 

She breathed long and deep and as her head began to clear slightly; her nausea was fighting with the feeling of her full bladder. _Oh not now_, she wailed to herself, but managed first to sit up and then to rise shakily to her feet. She turned her head in the direction of the door back into the house, but could not bring herself to return. Instead she felt her way to the garage door, then to the corner. _I&#8217;ll clean it later_ she thought as she squatted. Fumbling her way back to the car, she shifted Steve around as much as she could. He mumbled something unintelligible as she got him in a more comfortable position. 

She felt on the passenger seat until she found one of the blankets they covered up with while listening to the news. She had never been so happy to feel a blanket before as she blindly draped it over Steve. She felt for the second blanket and wrapped it around herself as she collapsed back onto the car&#8217;s back seat. 


_*The Berenstein Bears "B Book" for those without young kids._


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## Bret F

Much of the inspiration for the Steve and Jenny characters comes to me from conversations I've overheard, mostly at work. One I heard this week won't be included but it sure made me shake my head. A man that lives pretty much like the character, although he does get out occasionally and golf, told the guy nearest him how he pays $120 a month for some one to pick up the dog poop in the yard. He has a small yard, one medium dog. Wow!:shrug:

When I was considering this current story, I made a list of things for them to do, including carbon monoxide poisoning. In checking the symptoms I found that it is a leading cause of poisoning deaths in the U.S. I was saddened about two weeks ago when a family died in our state from CO from (I think) the hot water heater.

Survival and Emergency Prep item: From now on, at the time for changing batteries in the smoke detector, I want to include checking the venting and exhaust for the water heater and furnace.

And on another note, thank you all for reading the story, commenting and liking. I appreciate it. This one has been harder for me to get into, thinking in a "non-prepper" way is so foreign. Especially now when I can be out working on my own preps.


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## manygoatsnmore

Bret, I hadn't checked this thread in a LOOOONG time, and have to tell you I stayed up all night reading your fine stories! Now that I'm all caught up, I have to join the chorus....please, sir, I want some more!:sing:


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## 355946

Bret, I read another EOTEAWKI novel last night (free from Kindle). Pretty heavy handed - editorial comments about politics everywhere. I certainly missed your more plausible and personality-based writing. Thanks again for keeping us entertained while educating. 


____________________________
Rabbi Hillel â 'That which is hateful to you, do not do to another. That is the whole Law. The rest is commentary.'


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## Bret F

Thank you both very much for the kind comments.


MGM, I hope you're not disappointed that there aren't goats in the current story.


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## Bret F

Chapter 9

The incident with the camp stove had totally unnerved Steve and Jenny both. Although there was still a little of the fuel remaining that Paul had sent with them, they used the stove sparingly, relying more and more on the sheepherder stove to cook their meals. Steve was afraid to repeat the carbon monoxide poisoning; Jenny wanted to save every drop of remaining fuel for the car so they could leave. She still held out hopes they would go to Paul and Ruthâs farm. 

But heating food with the wood stove had its own consequences. The small pile of wood Tom had given them was dwindling rapidly. Steve looked over the remaining wood with a deep concern. The house was never warm. They had opened up the windows and back door to clear the air and had never been able to replace the lost heat. They spent their days in their heaviest winter coats and their ski bibs. The bed was piled high with blankets and they slept huddled close together. 

âThis should be the food day,â Steve said from his vantage point at the front window. âWe better go and see whatâs on the menu this week. Everything looks clear outside; Iâll meet you out in the car.â Steve never left the house â nor allowed Jenny to leave â without looking the area over first for possible threats.

Jenny looked out the window at the bright sunshine. There was no snow on the ground and a warm breeze had blown away the clouds, making the day look almost spring-like. Her mind was racing as she went into the garage and saw Steve looking puzzled at the carâs dash and fiddling with the radioâs buttons. âSomething else wrong now?â she asked him.

âThe radio isnât working. Iâve gone all through the AM and the FM band and canât get anything,â he answered her and turned the key off.

A knot of ice formed in Jennyâs stomach as she heard the news. âSteve,â she began tentatively. âLetâs reconsider everything. Obviously the radio being off isnât a good thing. I know you donât like to take help from other people, but maybe itâs time.â She stopped, giving him time to consider the idea. âIf we went to Paul and Ruthâs like they offered, it wouldnât be like we were total charity cases. We could work with them on everything they do to raise food.â Now that she had brought up Paul, she continued on more rapidly to try to make her point before he could blow up. âI mean, you mentioned how Bill never seemed to do anything fun; he was always working in his garden or canning food, butchering chickens or chopping firewood and all that stuff. It was a lot of work doing all that stuff and it has to be even more work now. We would be earning our keep. We wouldnât just be sponging off of them.

âSteve,â she caught his eyes. âI really think we need to get out of here. Iâm tired of being scared and cold all the time. I donât think I can keep living like this.â


His hands had tightened on the steering wheel at the mention of Jakeâs in laws but had slowly relaxed as Jenny finished speaking. He looked at the few pieces of firewood that remained then turned his gaze back to his wifeâs tear stained face. _I shouldnât be putting her through this. Iâm supposed to be the provider and protector._ âWell, Iâm not sure if we have enough gas left to get there,â he replied quietly as he ran his fingers through his hair and felt the reminder of his assault. âBut maybe we can figure something out. Letâs think on it while weâre out and come up with a plan after we get back.â He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to open the garage door.


âMaybe we shouldnât drive today,â She said. âIf you already think weâre low on gas, shouldnât we save what we have? Itâs not that far to walk and the weather looks nice. Itâs probably warmer outside than in the house.â


âWalk?â Steve asked quietly, some of the fear returning. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the steering wheel, searching for calm, away from the anxiety that had come on him so quickly. When he felt under control, he turned and slowly got out of the car. âWell, we better getting moving if weâre going to do it.â He reached back into the car and brought out his ball bat. âI think our packs are out here somewhere. They would make the trip a lot easier.


He peered into the deep shadows along the wall until he located the two day packs hanging from a hook. He pulled them off with a jerk, creating a cloud of dust that set off a sneezing fit. When it was finished, he took the soiled cloth from his pocket and blew his nose. _Man, I sure miss Kleenex_. âWell, here they are.â He beat the remaining dust from one and passed it over to Jenny. 


âI donât remember it weighing this much,â she said, puzzled. Letâs take them in to better light, she told him as she started back for the house. 


After laying the pack down on the kitchen counter she opened the main compartment and found it empty. One side pocket bulged so she opened it next. âWould you look at this,â she said as she pulled out a tube of childrenâs sunblock, her suntan lotion and a water pistol. âI must have left this stuff in here after we took Nick to the lake.â


Remembering that trip, Steve hefted his pack hopefully, already knowing the answer, but was disappointed nonetheless not to find a bottle of beer. âI donât think weâll be needing those things today. If you think of anything we do need, letâs get it and get this trip over with.â His own pack was empty, except for two caps from the longed for beer bottles.


âWhat would you think about riding the bikes instead of walking?â Jenny asked. âI had forgotten all about having them, but when you were getting the packs I noticed them hanging from the ceiling out there.â The bikes had been purchased on a whim. Jenny had given Nick a new bicycle for his birthday, envisioning Steve teaching him to ride; the three of them having enjoyable cruises together through the parks. The enjoyment had lasted for one ride, unused muscles protesting from the effort. After taking two days for their legs to feel normal, the bikes had stood unused in front of Steveâs car until he had suspended them above the car to free up floor space. They had remained there forgotten ever since.


----------



## Bret F

âAre you sure?â Steve asked with raised eyebrows. âI know we could go faster, but the last time we rode I seem to remember you making an oath never to get on that torture device again.â He couldnât help grinning as he remembered the tirade she delivered once they bikes were parked.


âAm I sure? Iâm sure I absolutely hate that thing, but things are different now,â she snapped at him. âYou say we might not have enough gas to get somewhere safe; well I want to save every bit of gas we can so Iâm willing to try it this time. Besides, this trip would be a lot shorter than we rode before.â 


âWell, all righty then. Letâs see about getting them down.â He went back to the dark garage and looked into the deep shadows waiting for his eyes to adapt to the lack of light. âOkay, I see what I did. Weâll need to take the car out first, but at least then weâll have light to see. Iâll go look around first then tap the door when it looks safe to open.â He went to the window and looked all around the yard, the street and the neighboring yards. After not seeing anything of concern he walked slowly out the door, his bat clutched tightly. 


A noise at the corner of the house startled him and he spun to look, fighting his panic while trying to determine what to do: fight of flight. His instantly sweating hands wrapped tighter on the bat handle and he tensed for a powerful swing. A skinny cat slinked around the corner and out of his view. He breathed a sigh of relief and stood watching the spot for minutes while his heart rate returned to normal. 


After he had walked slowly around, checking behind the leafless bushes and the tree trunks, he tapped on the garage door. Jenny opened it and sunlight flooded the garage. It was much easier to see the suspended bikes and the ropes that held them in place; the place where they were tied to a hook screwed into the wall. 


Opening the car door, he moved the gear selector into neutral, and then went to the front of the car. He looked at Jenny, âWell, you wanted to save gas. It starts right here. Give me a hand pushing this thing out of the way.â He bent over the hood and started pushing, quickly joined by Jenny. The car rolled away on the flat cement floor with both pushing. With the space under the bikes open, they stopped pushing and Steve set the hand brake, noting the rear wheels were nearing the point where the driveway began to slope down to the road. 


The knot securing the ropes was a twisted mess. It had never been important enough to Steve to learn knots that could be untied easily. He fought with it for long minutes before the first knot began to loosen, got it apart and went to work on the next gob. Jenny moved to the direct sunshine to wait for him, basking in the sunâs rays. The feeling of even slight warmth was welcome after the long cold hours spent in the house. At last Steve called to her that he was lowering the first bike to the floor.


Jenny reached for the bike as it descended and helped guide it to the floor. Another plume of dust was released into the air with her touch. The knots on the bike frame were as cumbersome as the other knots had been and even more time was spent getting them free. _Finally._ Steve went back to the rope attached to the wall hook while Jenny rolled the bicycle into the direct sunshine. âSteve, the tires are flat,â she told him. âHow do we fill them?â


He let out a curse, directed at both the gob of rope at his hands and the news Jenny had just shared. âWell, we used to just go to a gas station, but we sure canât do that now.â 


âI remember the bike salesman tried to get us to buy a pump; didnât we do it?â


âNo, we didnât,â he snapped. âBy the time be paid for three bikes we were already stretching the budget, if you remember. So we decided to save the money because âthereâll always be gas stationsâ, remember?â


âOh yeah, youâre right.â She chewed on her lower lip while she thought. âDidnât Jake used to have a tire pump? Remember he was always riding through the goat heads and had to patch his tires all the time. I thought you got ticked off taking him to the gas station all the time and got him a pump.â 


His hands froze on the mess of rope as he thought. âIâd forgotten all about that, but yeah, I did get him a pump. I wonder what happened to it after his bike got swiped.â Jake had always been neglectful with his bicycle, dropping it in the front yard. They had no idea how long it had been gone when he finally missed it. Steve refocused his efforts on getting the second bike down from the ceiling while he considered where the tire pump might be.


The second bikeâs tires were just as flat as the first, the bike itself as covered in dust. âWe sure arenât going to be able to ride them like this. What do you say to us going ahead and walking, then we can try to find that tire pump later?â Steve asked.


âYeah, I think thatâs what we should do. Letâs put them where my car should be and get yours back in its place. She looked longingly into the driveway at her disabled sports utility vehicle. _I sure wish we could just get in my car and go away._


They moved the bikes and went to the back of the car, putting all the effort they had into pushing. _I guess we had reached the sloped section after all._ Steve was about to give up on pushing and drive it back in, but Jenny asked him for one more effort and pushed as hard as she was able, the car slowly started to roll. As the car neared its normal parking area, they eased up and allowed it to stop. Jenny remained leaning over the back of the car catching her breath while Steve huffed his way to the door, opened it and reached across the seat, setting the hand brake. Never very active, pushing the car had been difficult after their sedentary existence of the last months.


Her breath restored, Jenny went into the house and soon returned with the packs and a glass of water. Steve stood up straight; he had been bent over with his hands on his knees while he breathed deeply. âHere,â she said, handing him the glass. He drank deeply while she pulled her pack over her shoulders. When it was settled, she picked Steveâs up from the hood of the car where she had set it and held it out for him to get into the straps. After it was in place he looked hesitantly out the door while Jenny picked up his ball bat and handed it to him and walked out onto the drive way. She turned and looked expectantly back at him. 


He gave a short jerk of recognition and shuffled out, pulling the door shut behind him. He looked around, cleared his throat, and muttered, âAll right, letâs get going.â 


Steveâs head pivoted constantly while they walked down the deserted street. One they turned onto a larger street they began to see groups of people walking and bicycling in the same direction. Some few were coming back the other direction carrying bags that appeared to hold food containers. He kept a close eye on all he could; he slowed nervously at any cars that were parked on the street, any board fences running close to the street.


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## Bret F

&#8220;So,&#8221; Jenny began tentatively, &#8220;Were you serious? About trying to go to Paul and Ruth&#8217;s, I mean.&#8221; 


&#8220;You know I don&#8217;t want to, but it is looking more and more like this isn&#8217;t going to be a short term thing. So, yeah, I guess I am serious.&#8221; They walked in silence for a half block before he added quietly, &#8220;We probably should have gotten out of here a long time ago.&#8221; _I&#8217;m sorry for putting you through this_ went unsaid.


&#8220;But you don&#8217;t think we have enough gas?&#8221;


&#8220;No, I&#8217;d guess we&#8217;ve only got enough to get about half way there.&#8221;


&#8220;So what are we going to do?&#8221; Jenny asked him, a slight quaver in her voice.


&#8220;Let&#8217;s ask the officials at the food drop if they know where we can get gas. I sure don&#8217;t want to go looking for it and burn up what we have.&#8221; 


They quieted as they encountered even more people moving up the street. Many more were coming back the other direction carrying bags. Being closer, Steve noted that most of those had grim expressions on their faces. He bent close to Jenny&#8217;s ear and spoke softly &#8220;I wonder what&#8217;s going on up there. They don&#8217;t look none too happy about free food.&#8221;


&#8220;I guess we&#8217;ll see when we get closer,&#8221; she replied just as quietly.


Besides the people&#8217;s faces, the next thing they noticed that was different was the National Guard&#8217;s presence. There was half-again more men and women in uniform than normal; spaced around the large parking lot. The two standing where Steve and Jenny entered looked them up and down, giving an extra-long look at the bat. They passed by wordlessly and joined the line of people slowly snaking towards the back of the open semi-trailer.


Steve and Jenny listened to the muted conversations around them but didn&#8217;t join in. At one point Steve nodded ahead of them and asked, &#8220;Did you hear that? He said the radio station was destroyed two nights ago and last night one of the water company generators was wrecked.&#8221; As they moved slowly forward, they learned there had been firefights between the Guardsmen at each location and the bombers. Two Guardsmen and four terrorists had been killed. There was gunfire at another well with a generator set up but there had apparently been no casualties. &#8220;Wow, no wonder those guys look so uptight right now. Get hit again instead of things getting better.&#8221;


When Steve was handed his allotment, he hefted the bag. &#8220;This doesn&#8217;t feel like as much as usual,&#8221; he said.


&#8220;You&#8217;re right about that,&#8221; he was told. &#8220;We&#8217;ve been ordered to cut back. There&#8217;s a supply problem.&#8221; At a glare from another man he told Steve,&#8221; That&#8217;s it. You need to step aside for the next people.&#8221;


&#8220;But wait,&#8221; Steve said, and quietly asked, &#8220;So do you have any idea where I could find some gas? We can pay cash.&#8221;


The response was an ironic laugh. &#8220;If I knew how to get my hands on some gas, I&#8217;d get out of here before things go even further downhill. What fuel is coming in goes to the officials. We had heard that most of the refineries had been destroyed. And our so-called friends in the sand box haven&#8217;t helped us a bit since we aren&#8217;t sending boat loads of money over there. There are rumors about gas on the black market, but I don&#8217;t know about that. I sure wouldn&#8217;t trust anybody that can come up with fuel now. I certainly wouldn&#8217;t wave cash money around in front of them. So no, I don&#8217;t know where to get gas. Next please.&#8221;


Steve and Jenny stepped to a nearby table where they transferred the food from the bag into their packs. They went about the job unaware they were being scrutinized closely. They hadn&#8217;t noticed the man a few places behind them when Steve had asked about gas. He had gently nudged his friend with an elbow and indicated he was watching and listening to Steve. If anyone noticed the pair seemed cleaner and better fed the rest of the people in line, no one gave it additional thought. Steve definitely missed the predatory gleam in the man&#8217;s eyes.


Once the packs were arranged and slung back over their shoulders, Steve and Jenny walked towards home. Tired at the start, the walk had drained them even more; they trudged down the street dejectedly. &#8220;_Less food and no gas available. How are we getting out of here?&#8221;_ was the thoughts running through both their minds. Steve lacked the diligence of the first part of the walk, mentally drained from the day&#8217;s events. They never thought to look behind them to see the two men following at the same pace some distance behind them, and later, turn onto their home street that was devoid of any other foot traffic.


Jenny closed and locked the door behind them after they entered the house and joined Steve in the kitchen where he dropped his pack heavily onto the counter. He filled two glasses with water and sat down beside Jenny where she had dropped onto the couch without removing her pack. He passed a glass to her and took a drink from his own. Across the street, two forms melted into the deepening shadows.


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## udwe58

Really enjoying this story. Keep it up, please!


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## manygoatsnmore

I sense some excitement coming! Loving the story, Bret!


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## Marthas_minis

Bret, I think this is an excellent gateway story for people who have no idea they should have at least a minimum of preps. It's sad knowing a large part of our society is just like this couple. Very believable & realistic. Great imagination to be able to come up with this. Keep it going, please!


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## puddlejumper007

watching for more please......eep:


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## Bret F

Chapter 10

âThis is the last piece,â Steve told Jenny as he put the piece of firewood into the sheepherder stove. âI guess this is one more reason to leave, although with spring coming, we wonât need the stove that much.â

âBut we would still need it for cooking, remember?â She responded. She checked the pot of water that was heating and decided to leave it a few more minutes before pouring it over the oats in the thermos. âOr maybe you want to eat your oatmeal cold and congealed,â she said with a grin.

Steveâs face twisted thinking about that, âNaw, Iâd prefer it hot if I have to eat it every day. So what else do we take?â

They had been talking off and on about leaving and what to take with them. Jenny looked around the room and into the living room. âItâs pretty funny isnât it, all the things that used to be so important that weâre just leaving here. But still, I sure hope itâs all here when we come back.â 

The large television set instantly drew Steveâs view. âYeah, hopefully nobody takes the stuff since itâs not really useful to anyone now. Someday thoughâ¦â he said wistfully.

The kitchen counter held two shopping bags with an assortment of their meager food supplies; they had decided they shouldnât show up at Paul and Ruthâs with hungry appetites and nothing to contribute. Two gym bags were on the floor containing their important papers, photo albums and clothing. Jenny had been hard pressed for utilitarian clothes to pack; most of her wardrobe tended to be a little dressy for working in a garden or handling livestock. 

Noticing the water had come to a boil, Jenny poured some in the thermos, capped it and shook it. She added a little cool water to the pot and set it on a corner of the stove to heat; she would use it to clean up their dishes after they had eaten.

âLetâs take a walk through while the oats cook and see if thereâs anything else that we should take with us.â 

In the living room, Steve pointed to the computer under the desk. âIâd like to take that. It has about ten years of photos on it that I would hate to lose.â The pictures were rarely viewed; they were shot, looked through when they were downloaded to the computer, and ignored except for rare occasions. Still, Steve wanted to have them if the power ever come back, no, when the power DID come back on. 

By the time the cereal was ready, they had pointed out enough things to load the car multiple times. It would need pared down considerably when they began to load up.

The oats were poured into two bowls and set on the table along with a can of peaches. The opening on the can was a jagged affair, where Jenny had opened it with a kitchen knife. It had been yet another trying event the first time they had opened a can. The only can opener in the house was electric; Jenny wouldnât have known how to use a manual opener if she had located one. They had fought with the can, spilling the soup over the counter when Steveâs knife thrust had glanced off at an angle. It was only blind luck neither had cut a hand. But at that, Steve did get a nasty cut from a jagged lid later that had taken days to heal.

They sat down and began to eat; Steve no longer griped about the oatmeal, resigned to the fact that was as good as it got. âSo how far do you think we can get with the car?â Jenny asked between bites. 

âWell, itâs hard to tell judging by the gas gauge, but I think we should get within at least four or five miles of their place. Hopefully we wonât have to walk too far.â They had decided to drive until the car stopped and then walk the rest of the way. They hoped Paul would still have fuel for his truck to drive to the car and at least unload it if he wouldnât tow it in.

âFour or five miles, wow. But I guess we can do it; no we have to do it.â It seemed like an incredible undertaking considering the exhaustion she had felt after walking for the food distribution. She was raising her spoon for another bite when the silence was broken by a sharp knock on the front door. The spoon froze in place. She stared at Steve, waiting forâ¦.what?

She jumped when the knock was repeated, followed by a manâs voice, âHello is anyone home? Weâre with Idaho Power Company. Weâre going through the neighborhood discussing the restoration of electrical power.â

The spoon lowered to the bowl seemingly of its own volition, forgotten in the nervous euphoria that suddenly surged through Jenny. âSteve,â she whispered, âWeâre getting the power back. Oh wow, the powerâs coming back. We can live like normal people again!â

Steve got up wordlessly and walked to the front window and peered out. _Can it be real? The power is going to be restored? Just when we were going to get out of here?_ The front of a white Chevy pickup was visible, parked at the side of the street. The cab was obscured from view by the SUV in the driveway. He changed his angle to look at the door, just able to see a sliver of a manâs back. He was dressed in dark blue Dockers and a snug jacket. _That looks like the clothes Iâve seen Idaho Power workers in._ He took a deep breath and went to the front door wishing he had installed a peep. He was nervously reaching his hand out to the knob when there was another sharp rap on the door, followed by the same message; his hand jerked back automatically and his heart started racing, his breath coming in gasps.

When his breathing was controlled, he told the unseen person, âYes weâre here. I need to see some identification.â

âAll right sir; here it is. We are going door to door to make sure everything is shut off. When we restore the power we donât want such a powerful draw on the line all at once that it throws our breakers. Iâve got a pamphlet here explaining everything for you. Now, if you would just open the door a crack please, Iâll pass it in to you.â


----------



## Bret F

Steveâs hand was shaking as he released the deadbolt and reached for the doorknob. The other hand tightened, but the ball bat was leaning against the kitchen counter where it had been forgotten when he went to the window. The sudden realization came to him just as the door flew open in a shower of splintered wood from the shattered door frame, the door hitting him in his exposed face and knocking him back into the room. He shook his head slightly to clear the cobwebs that had suddenly coated his brain and felt warm blood pooling in his nose. Three men burst through the doorway, two with ski masks over their faces; the third, the man with the power company uniform wearing a Groucho Marx glasses, nose and mustache.

Before Steve could regain his senses, he was thrust against the wall, his hands viciously pulled behind his back and secured with a large zip tie. Jennyâs screams came to an abrupt stop with a smacking sound from behind him. 

Steve was jerked around in a move that sent pain surging through his left shoulder and slammed back against the wall, his head bouncing painfully off the surface. The intruderâs actions all seemed very practiced. There was no wasted motion. âSo, I hear you have some cash to buy gas with. I think you should just give it to us and weâll take care of it for you. And anything else you have here thatâs worth having in this screwed up world.â

A part of Steveâs muddled thoughts focused on the voice but didnât make sense of what it said. _That voice, itâs familiar. Where have I heard it before?_

âDid you hear what I said? Iâd sure hate to hurt this sweet little gal of yours to get you moving.â

_Sweet little gal? Sweet little gal_. A memory was growing in Steveâs mind. He had heard that same voice say that same exact phrase before. He studied the man closer, an image coming clear. The body size and build looked right too. âJimmy?â he asked. âJimmy Campbell?â

Recognition flashed in the eyes through the ski mask as Steve spoke his name and he quickly turned away. âYou handle this,â he said quietly to the other ski-masked man.

âWait, Jimmy, Itâs me Steve, I know you recognize me. We worked together for Tom, remember? We drank beer together on occasion.â

A fist slammed against the side of Steveâs face, knocking his head aside. âNever heard of him, but you have five seconds to tell us where the cash is or your pretty wifeâs face isnât going to be near as pretty. Or do you think you are gonna do, call 911?â he asked with a sneer. âOr better yet, we might just take her along with us. She looks like someone Iâd like to get to know better, a whole lot better.â The laugh he made turned Steveâs blood cold.

âWallet on the kitchen counter,â Steve croaked through his rapidly swelling lips, swallowing a mouthful of blood. âSo this is how it is now huh Jimmy?â The hand hit him hard again as Groucho went into the kitchen. 

âIâve got it, and how about this; they bagged their food all up for us. We donât even have to pack it.â He returned with the bags of food Jenny had prepared and dropped them on the floor near the door and returned to the kitchen. âDang, no booze,â he shouted over the sound of breaking glasses. He returned to the group carrying the gym bags. The first was dumped on the floor and kicked. âNothing here worth having,â he snarled disgustedly then repeated the action on the second bag. âWell isnât that precious,â he said it a fake high voice. A photo album had landed open to a page with Jenny holding a birthday cake alongside baby Jake. âI donât see anything else worth having in this dump. Whereâs the car keys?â he snapped at Steve with a glare. 

âThe car doesnât run. Someone stole the battery and drained the gas.â

Again the hand made powerful contact with Steveâs face, snapping his head back to bounce off the wall. Each hit in the same place hurt more than the previous. âQuit playing me for a fool. Youâve got a running car. I heard you talking about getting gas for it. Keys now; before we beat the answer out of Blondie.â 

Steve saw the terror in Jennyâs face. âTheyâre in the carâs ignition. In the garage.â 

Groucho went to check and they soon heard the carâs engine zoom and garage overhead door open. 

Ski-mask hit Steve one more time and went to the garage, followed closely by Jimmy, carrying the two bags of precious food. Steve leaned his aching head against the wall and slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The carâs engine and the sound of a second vehicle faded until it was quiet except for Jennyâs soft sobs.


----------



## Bret F

Steve couldnât have told how long they stayed like that, but eventually Jenny cried herself out and crawled across the floor to Steve. âSteve, are you alright?â she asked. She shook him slightly before he turned his half-dazed eyes to her. âHere, letâs get you loose.â 

She moved him around to see his arms then ran to the kitchen for the heavy scissors. She cut the zip tie and his hands tingled from the sudden change when he pulled them around in front of him. Jenny was crying again when she pulled him into a crushing hug. âOh Steve, we have to get out of here. We canât stay here!â The fear she had through the ordeal came out in her voice, the words high pitched and urgent.

He savored the feeling of the strong hug and was disappointed when she loosened her hold. âOkay, weâll get out of here,â he said slowly as he got his feet under him and stood shakily, and then helped pull Jenny upright. He groaned with the effort; his shoulder still hurting from being slammed into the wall.

The doorframe was destroyed around the knob catch but still had some wood remaining at the deadbolt. He locked it and looked around the room, his gaze caught by the recliner. âHelp me drag the chair over here.â Together, they drug the chair across the room and pushed it tightly against the door. Steve looked around again, âThe garage. What did they do out there?â He led the way to the garage. The overhead door was open revealing a brilliant early spring â late winter day. The day went un-appreciated; Steve just saw an open door, a threat inviting anyone to come in. He went to it and pulled it closed, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Once he latched the door, he turned and leaned against it as he breathed a sigh of relief when the room was enveloped in darkness.

When his eyes had adjusted he surveyed the room, going back again and again to the absence of his car. His eyes closed to block out the sight, wishing he could have the day â no, the week â over; to have just got in the car and drove away while they could. They could have left everything behind and just gone away. Now that wasnât possible. _Iâm such a failure._ His head and shoulder hurt from slamming into the wall; his face hurt from the door and the thiefâs hand. He was quickly spiraling into a full scale pity party.

He beat himself up mentally until Jenny returned him to the present, âI think we have one tea bag left. Letâs go inside for a while.â Steve numbly followed to the kitchen and stood watching as she put the tea bag in the hot water still on the stove. She opened the pantry â thankful she hadnât completed packing and took out their last jar of honey and put a spoonful in each of two mugs. Steve was still standing, mutely watching her so she eased him onto the couch. 

The room had a distinct chill and Jenny wanted comfort. She went to the living room and Steve jumped when he heard a crash from breaking wood. He looked up nervously when Jenny returned with two legs from the coffee table and stuffed them into the stove. She poured the tea, stirred the mugs and gave one to Steve and settled in beside him.

The empty mugs were long cold when Jenny asked, âDo you think we can find the tire pump? We can walk if we have to but it would sure go faster on the bikes. We need to get busy so we can leave in the morning.â

âIn the morning? Yeah, youâre right, we need to get going. Sorry, Iâm just having a hard time dealing with this. Jimmy? I worked with that guy and this is what he does.â He glanced at the baseball bat; _Iâd love to hit a home run with his head right now_. âMan, if this is how our friends act, I hate to think what the real scumbags are doing now. Dang, Iâm sorry I mentioned buying gas down there. We should have just left.â

âItâs water under the bridge. I wish weâd have left a long time ago too, but we didnât; now weâve got to go so something like that doesnât happen again. Now, where do you think the tire pump might be?â Jenny decided she would need to take a firm hand with Steve until he snapped out of the funk he was in.

 âThe tire pump? Yeah, we have those boxes of who knows what against the wall by my car, er, I mean next to where the car parked. â 

_How long will he answer every question I ask with a question of his own? I wonder if bouncing his head off the wall did something more to him, especially after that other time?_ âWell, letâs go look.â Jenny stood and waited for him to stand also. When he hesitated, she went to the garage alone. She had just pulled the first box away from the wall when he joined her. 

âSorry Hon, Iâm still a little stunned.â

âThatâs alright.â She handed him the flashlight, thankful it had been included in the boxes of supplies from Costco and the batteries hadnât gone dead. âPoint this in there while I move the stuff around.â As she went through the first box, she wished she could load it up and take along to Nick. Most of the contents of the box and subsequent boxes were from Jakeâs childhood; toys, books, games. âHowâs the irony of this? Weâve been going nuts with boredom and now we find Jakeâs books and games. Weâd have gotten a lot of use out of this stuff this winter.â

The third box was the one she was looking for. The tire pump stood up in the corner, wedged by a small skateboard, helmet and elbow pads. She pulled it out triumphantly. âUh Steve, Iâve never used one of these. What do I do now?â

He raised the dangling hose and studied the end under the lightâs beam. âOh right; we take of the valve cap, put this around it and snap the little lever down, then pump the handle up and down.â


----------



## Bret F

Jenny noticed a slight slur to his word but didnât comment on it. Instead she bent to the first bike tire and hooked the pump the way Steve had described and started pumping. Air seemed to move in the pumpâs cylinder but not into the tire. âWhat am I doing wrong?â

_Think Steve, think._ He was quiet while he tried to remember something his dad taught him long ago. _What was it?_ Jenny looked at him expectantly while he tried to come up with the solution. At last he remembered. âDad would unscrew the top here and pull out the actual pump; the piston part. The seal on it would get dry and shrink. He pulled the dipstick out of the car motor and wiped the oil onto the seal good, then put it back together. It usually got it to seal so it would pump the air.â

âWe should be able to do that with my car, right?â

âYeah,â he said and haltingly continued, âBut your car is outside.â

âIt is, but weâve got to go out there eventually,â and she freed the latch and raised the overhead door.

The light was nearly blinding after the near darkness of the garage. She was chagrined, thinking there might have been someone waiting outside and she had opened the door without checking first, but no one was around. 

Her feet crunched on the glass chips when she opened the door of the Explorer. More glass was on the seat; she pushed most of it onto the carâs floorboard with the base of the tire pump. She sat on the seat, leaned across the console and released the hood latch. After finding the latch at the front and raising the hood, she looked bewildered into the engine compartment. âSteve, whereâs the dipstick?â

He had slowly walked out into the daylight when she was inside the car and stood beside her while she looked. He pointed the dipstick out to her and took the pump and removed the piston while Jenny got the dipstick. They coated the seal, smearing oil on their hands in the process. While Steve absently wiped his oily hands on his pants, Jenny found a napkin in the car and wiped her own hands. They took the pump back into the garage and she stopped him from closing the door. âLeave it open. We could use the light.â

âAre you sure?â he inquired.

âYes, I need the light to do this.â She hooked the pump to the first tire and was pleased to see it began to inflate with her pumping action. When all four tires were up she told him, âNow you can close the door.â

He did as told while she rolled the first bike into the house, then the second with Steve following behind. She returned once more to the garage and came back to the living room with the tire pump. âDo you feel up to helping me?â she asked, concerned about his dulled mental state.

âYeah, I just need to go slow for a while.â

Jenny picked up the scattered photo albums and after glancing at a few pages through her tear-filled eyes, took them to the bedroom and replaced them in their spot on the dresser. Soon, the two gym bags were repacked with less clothes, two blankets and as much food as she could fit in beside the extra water bottles. The food was from the remaining stock Tom had arranged to buy, food that could be eaten without cooking first. Fresh water bottles were packed in the holders on the bikeâs frames.

Steve watched her go back to the garage and return right away with the ropes that had held the bikes to the ceiling. She placed the first bag on the rack over the back wheel of her bike and after getting Steve to hold it in place lashed it down. It wasnât pretty, but after pulling each direction she decided it would do. She repeated the process with the second bag, the tire pump at the top of the bag, then stepped back to admire her work. âItâll have to do, I guess,â she said, âUnless you can think of something else.â

âNo I canât think of anything else.â

She glanced out the window at the angle of the sun. _How did it get so late?_ âWe better eat a good meal and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day.â The rest of the coffee table was broken up and put in the stove. The splintered door frame made good kindling. Soon the fire was going again and she had two pots of water heating. She would use one to wash Steveâs bloody face and the other to cook the remaining pasta. _Carbo loading before a tough work out â isnât that what they told us in school?_ With the water heating, she went back to the living room, dragged an end table out to the garage and smashed it on the cement floor until it was reduced to pieces that would fit the stove. 

Steve had settled on the couch while she worked, flinching at each crash. Jenny came back with an armload of the former end table and dropped it on the floor. She started dipping a washcloth in the warm water and gently washed the dried blood off Steveâs face. âWell, your lips are a little swollen and one cheek is swollen and bruising, but otherwise you donât look too bad,â she told him as she surveyed his face and hair. She covered him with a blanket then resumed the meal preparations.

As the pasta cooked she poured a jar of home canned tomatoes from Ruth into another sauce pan and set it to heat. When the pasta was done, she mixed them together, filled two plates and took them to the couch. 

âI donât feel all that hungry,â Steve said as he looked at the pile on his plate.

âI know, but you need to force as much down as you can. Tomorrow will be a long hard day and we are going to need to eat good now if we are going to make it.â 

After doing a minimal clean up, Jenny put more of the demolished end table into the stove. _Itâs not like we need to save the wood anymore._ She got more blankets and nestled onto the couch with Steve and pulled the covers up snug over them. She thought about the next day, worried about the trip and Steve. _It will be a very hard day and I can only hope that we DO make it._


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## Bret F

Again, I thank you for reading and commenting.


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## SpaceCadet12364

oh, please, I hope they make it to Paul & Ruth's.... :shocked:


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## Bret F

SpaceCadet12364 said:


> oh, please, I hope they make it to Paul & Ruth's.... :shocked:


Not sure. Maybe we'll all find out next week, but maybe not. I'm helping at the district championship track meet just before going on a boy scout camp out. 

For those of you in the north Idaho, Northeast Washington area that like traditional music, next weekend (26-27) in Spokane is an excellent fiddle contest. I wanted to be there with by kids, but they got us double booked so we will skip the long drive activity.


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## SpaceCadet12364

Looking forward to more, whenever you have a chance.  Sounds like you have an action packed weekend coming up, not to mention springtime and whatever else you have going on. 

Thanks again for such good stories, Bret! :dance:


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## manygoatsnmore

Another good installment, Bret! I really enjoy your storytelling ability. 

I'm rooting for them to make it to Paul and Ruth's.


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## MrSmith

Dangit, I had been away from this thread after the first few months when it slowed down. Then I noticed Bret's story(s) and got all caught up over the course of a few days last week, just before you posted the last installment. Now I have been checking this thread every day!


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## Bret F

Chapter 11

âYou need to wake up now Steve,â Jenny repeated for what, the fourth time?He would look at her blankly for a moment and then his eyes would close again.He seemed unable to focus on her face, shadowed as it was by the dim glow of the lantern behind her in those brief moments.

âI need to sleep some more,â he finally mumbled.âIt might help my headache go away.Besides, whatâs the rush, we never get up early.Itâs not like weâll be late for work or something.â

For her part, Jenny also wanted more sleep, but it would have to wait.She had slept fitfully.Her mind kept reliving the encounter with the thieves, the terror she had felt while they were in the house.She inwardly flinched at each remembrance of Steveâs head slamming into the wall.She would fall into a light sleep and wake up in a near panic when her mind flashed back.âWeâre leaving this morning, remember?â she told him, slightly exasperated that he needed reminded._Those knocks on the head must have done something to him._âTry to think Steve.We have the bikes all packed and we are taking off early this morning.âShe had knelt beside him, talking in a soothing tone._Please be able to go.We have to get out of here.I canât stay here another day._

He opened his eyes again and looked past Jenny.The sky was heavy with night shadows, just a slight gray light beginning to appear.âBut itâs not even light out yet.â

âI know, but letâs eat a little and go.We have a long way to go and we can be partially hidden by the shadows.â

âMan my head hurts,â he said and rubbed his temples with his open palms.He sat like that for a few moments before he put his legs on the floor and pulled himself awkwardly to his feet.He stood unsteadily, wobbling like he had downed a six pack.Jenny reached out and helped steady him.

âIâve got some oats and honey mixed together.Try to eat some,â she told him as she led him to the counter where a bowl waited.

âIâm not hungry and Iâm not sure I could hold anything down if I did eat; Iâm pretty queasy,â he answered. 

âJust try,â she told him.

Instead of trying to eat, he turned and started to slowly walk away; picking up the lantern.âI need to use the toilet.Iâll try after that.â

When he returned, Steveâs face and hair glistened with water droplets.âThe cold water helped quite a bit.Iâll give the food a try, but Iâm not sure.âHe ate sparingly before he said he wouldnât be able to eat anymore.The remaining grain and honey were spooned into a sealable plastic container and slipped into Jennyâs coat pocket along with a clean spoon.She sat the dirty bowl in the sink and started to walk away before turning back to the sink.She rinsed the bowl and spoons and laid them upside down to dry.

âThen I guess itâs time,â Jenny said, âAs soon as I use the bathroom once more.â

Jenny rejoined Steve beside the bikes.She started looking slowly around the room getting misty eyed until her gaze landed on the shattered door frame and steadied her resolve.âLetâs do it; weâve got a grueling day ahead of us.âShe shut off the lantern, instantly missing its comforting glow, and turned on the small flashlight.

Taking the bike by the handlebars, she pushed it out into the garage; the light beam bouncing; and stopped at the door.She aimed the light back to see if Steve was following.After a confused look crossed his face, he followed suit.She held his ball bat up to him but after he didnât take it right away she tightened her one-handed grip and released the door latch, clicked off the light and dropped it in a coat pocket, and pushed the door upwards.The loud noise in the early dawn made her cringe but she continued to raise it, trying to look in all directions at once.The driveway and street were still and she pushed the bicycle outside, resting it on the kick stand beside the immobile Explorer.Steve again followed, but slowly.

She took a deep breath and pulled the door down until she heard the satisfying snap of the latch and then looked sadly at the front of the house.Even in the dark shadows she could make out enough of it, her mind filling in the rest._Goodbye home._Then she swung her leg over the bikes center bar and whispered to Steve, âLetâs get started.âThe ball bat was held awkwardly across the handlebars; she was concerned she might drop it if she had to react to anything quickly.

He nodded silently and mounted his own bike and they started pedaling slowly out into the street and into the unknown.The quiet was eerie; Jenny hadnât ventured out into the darkness except into their own yard.She didnât try to set a fast pace, instead letting a mantra run through her head, _Slow and steady wins the race_.It wouldnât do to tire out too much right off.She tried to stay in the deeper shadows, searching for as much concealment for their movements as was offered.

Even at the slow pace, the unfamiliar activity quickly began to make their legs ache.The sun was just beginning to show over the eastern horizon when Jenny braked and dismounted.When Steve stopped beside her she spoke quietly, âLetâs walk for a while, then weâll ride some more.âShe took a long pull from her water bottle and offered it to him.He took it gratefully.âAre you feeling any better?â she asked him when he handed the bottle back.

âYeah, the cool air is helping clear my head.â

âDo you want to try to eat more?â she whispered hopefully.

âNaw, the water feels like a rock down there.Letâs see what it feels like when we switch back to riding.â 

Their tired likes, rubbery from the activity, pushing the bikes, they set off once again.The sun at their backs was casting long shadows in front of them, drawing them forward.It really would have been a glorious morning for a walk and bike ride if they could have enjoyed it; not been pushed with a near desperate need to get away.

They couldnât tell if they were observed or not, but they never saw any other people until they were nearing the edge of town.And something about those people made them wish they hadnât been seen.Their suspicious stares seemed to bore through the bags, seeing all of the contents and weighing and measuring if it would be worth the effort to stop the travelers.


----------



## Bret F

Even though they hadnât been walking long, Jenny urged Steve back on his bike so they could make better time away from the burning looks. They pushed hard on the pedals for a short time, each push causing aches of protest from their tired legs. Jenny was looking behind them often to see if anyone was following, failing to register the cars that were parked across the street, neatly blocking it. They were nearly on top of the barricade when it registered. 

Strong arms wrapped around her as she tried to stop the bike and a foul stench of unwashed body assaulted her nose. Behind her she heard a muffled âUumphâ, followed by the sound of Steveâs bike hitting the ground.

Jenny was dragged kicking and screaming off the bike and forcibly turned to face the man. Her first impression was of the homeless people she used to pass on her way to work, unshaven, dirty, brown chipped teeth where there werenât gaps. But the eyes captivated and terrified her with the leer he directed at her. They were cold, hungry, predatory.

âWell what do we have here?âA gruff voice asked.

Jenny instantly recoiled, as much from the breath odor that assaulted her nose as from being grabbed.

The man released one hand and reached to the snaps on Jennyâs coat and pulled it open despite her struggling. Twisting and pulling with all her strength, she was unable to break the vice-like grip on her left wrist. Two men standing over Steve where he was lying unmoving on the ground instantly looked over, expecting a good show. He was totally forgotten, the men edging forward, anticipating. The man holding Jennyâs arm turned away from her and began to drag her forcibly away, the other men close behind, a half-crazed giggle coming from one.Jenny continued to struggle and lost her footing. The brute never paused, continuing to drag her across the ground. Her arm was stretched at a painful angle.

Steveâs muddled thoughts noted the ball bat mere inches from his outstretched hand where it had fallen when Jenny was grabbed. He slowly extended his hand out to it, not noticing the lines of blood on the palm where his hand had slammed on the pavement. He got his legs untangled from the bike and pulled himself up into a kneeling position. _Focus! Iâve got to focus. Jennyâs in trouble. _He looked at the retreating figures as he used the bat to help haul himself to his feet. The knee that had hit the pavement buckled, but he was able to get it back under him and stood upright. The figures were moving further away and he was unsure the knee would support him to catch up.

Steve looked around franticly, desperate for help. âHelp usâ, he screamed as loud as he could. He was answered by the silent doors and windows staring back at him ._Iâve got to help her! Something, Anything;_ he quit looking for help and instead started looking for another weapon other than the bat, an equalizer, anything, there has to be something. _They canât take her! NO, THEY CANâT HAVE HER!_

Suddenly his eyes stopped at a rock in the gutter. As adrenaline surged through his body, the knee was forgotten. The rock was slightly larger than a golf ball and he snatched it up feeling the heft of it in his hand. His muddled mind shifted back to a time many, many years before.

His high school baseball team was in the district championship game for the first time in recent history. With his team leading in the final inning and two outs, the tying run was on third, the go ahead batter at the plate. The pitcher was noticeably tired but he was staying in the game, the rest of the pitchers exhausted after the grueling tournament. The pitcher took the signs, went into his windup and threw the ball with all of his remaining strength. He had velocity, but his control had faltered.Instead of hitting the inside corner, it was right across the sweet spot of the plate. The batter recognized the pitch and swung for the fence; the runner on third breaking for home the moment the pitch was thrown. The batterâs swing was slightly off; instead of lofting the ball, it was hit sharply on the ground toward the gap between third and short. Steve charged, throwing himself at the ball. He knocked it down, stood, palmed it, squared up and threw a bullet into the catcherâs outstretched mitt. The ball hit the target, the catcher made the tag and Steve was the hero. All of this flashed through his head in moments as he hefted the rock in his hand and saw his wife, his Jenny, being dragged away screaming and pleading.

Steve squared up and saw the catcherâs mitt center over the manâs head. He threw with all his might, the rock sailing true. There was a sickening thunk as the rock hit squarely on the head; the hand holding Jenny instantly released as the man grasped his head and fell to his knees. Everyone else, including Jenny stood in place, not realizing what had happened. Steve reacted first, stumbling to the stunned group, and grabbed Jenny by the arm and dragged her into action. âRun Jenny, Run!â he shouted and turned and swung the bat at the head of the nearest thug. He felt the satisfying contact and turned and pushed at his still immobile wife, and started running with her in tow as swiftly as they both could move. Some part of him wanted to stand over the man and gloat. _Howâs that feel you piece of trash_, but survival instinct overruled and he ran, oh how he ran.

As they ran, his senses slowly came back and he saw Jenny favoring one foot. The shoe was gone, making her hobble on that side. He stopped and nearly screeching in his panicked state told her kick off the other shoe. âWeâve got to move faster. Now!â

They ran on; in a slow shambling manner. Steveâs knee threatening to give out with each step, Jennyâs feet protesting from the contact with the road surface. The remaining thug looked at his fallen companions and the two retreating people and took chase. The glint in his eyes showed no compassion for the two figures on the ground. It was wolf-like and the prey was in sight. As he ran, one hand pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped it open. 

Steveâs breath was coming in ragged gasps as he was hit from behind and knocked to the ground. A blinding pain flashed through him as the knife slid easily through his coat and deep into his side in a well-practiced thrust. He lay there as the thug grabbed Jennyâs arm where she stood stunned, yanked hard and started dragging her towards a vacant house. 

Steveâs face was lying in the dirt at the roadside, his eye close to the ground; a pool of blood growing under him. The vision he saw wasnât the dirt against his face: it was the ball field again, the dirt between second and third:he just wasnât fast enough. His mind, occupied by Jenny and the unborn baby, he hadnât broken soon enough. His peripheral vision had seen the flash of the ball as it passed his head by inches and he dropped into his slide, knowing he wouldnât make it. _Jenny, he thought, Iâm not going to make it. Jenny! _He raised his head just enough to see the sidelines. Jenny was standing with the cheerleaders, her shoulders slumped and tears running down her face. The opposing teamâs fans erupted in a loud, thunderous roar.


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## Wren - TN

Ooh, ouch - that was hard to read. A friend of mine and I were just talking today about haw dull and predictable it is when stories all have a happy ending, but then when they don't, we're like, "NO. don't do that to me. Arrg, why did I read/watch that?"!

Still hoping for a rescue, though.

Thanks for keeping the story going!!!


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## puddlejumper007

awwwww is that the end,??? i did not expect a alfred hitchcock story....lol good read althogh i am still grinding my teeth....


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## SpaceCadet12364

:shocked:

:strongsad:
:sob:
:awh:
:Bawling:


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## Ozarks Tom

A hard, but necessary lesson in human nature. Many of the characters in your story can be easily related to people we probably all know, including the villains.

It's really a shame this story will only be read by people who already have preparedness in mind. How many people could be awakened from their stupor if they had the opportunity to read this and learn the harsh realities of their folly?

Thanks again Bret!


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## Wren - TN

Bret, you aren't through writing, are you? PLEASE say you are going to continue to write!


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## SpaceCadet12364

Sadly, Steve sounds done for.... but maybe Jenny will survive to make it to their destination? Perhaps taking out the nasty dude first chance she gets, so she gets free eventually.


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## MrSmith

A fitting ending for an end of the world story. If something happens to our society, 99% of the population will not have a happy ending. A good warning for those unprepared for the harsh realities of lawlessness. Thank you Bret.


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## Bret F

Ahh springtime in Idaho: the district track meet had a good thunderstorm with hail and rain so we had to clear the field for almost an hour.

Then on the scout camp out there was mud, rain, thunder and lighting, wind, hail, snow, and did I mention mud? Those E-Z up awnings sure do roll in wind storms, but they donât fold too well after. I had finished up my notes on Saturday for chapter 11; the worst of the storm was on Sunday. Good thing too, with all of the problems Steve and Jenny were already facing, they might have had to go through a hail storm.

When I began thinking up this story, I was going to end it in a version quite like chapter 11. The message was going to be harsh: preparedness is very important. There may come a time when Uncle Sam is overwhelmed and cannot take care of you. Ozark Tomâs and Mr. Smithâs comments summarized my thoughts very well. 

I try to drop subtle hints to my co-workers; directness gets that tired old comment, âIâll just come to your houseâ, so I try to stay as low key as possible. My general response to the comment is they better bring heavy work gloves, because thereâs no charity at my house. You work for every bite.

One day I was out working in the dirt and I had a thought for a different tact on this story. So suddenly what was going to be a shorter tale started growing longer in my head. The new ending evaded me for a few days, but with enough outside activity (while I was mentally working on chapter 8 or 9) it finally came to me. So, the story continues. I hope you enjoy.

THANK YOU ALL VERY MUCH for reading and commenting.


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## Bret F

Chapter 12

âSo they even have fireworks, well goody for them,â Steve thought at hearing the loud pops.âGo ahead and celebrate!âThe roar of the crowd stopped abruptly.âThey must be going to make an announcement.âYour state baseball champions forââ.

âSteve, Steve are you hurt?â asked a girlâs voice as a figure ran to him from the large diesel powered pickup that had rumbled up beside him.He looked at the concerned face as she knelt beside him.It was hard to focus._I donât remember that cheer leader.She must be new_.

Toni saw the pooling blood and gently as she could, rolled Steve over.He let out a loud groan and his eyes fluttered closed as he settled roughly on his back.Toni could see the hole in the coat where the blood had flown through.She noted the location and opened his coat and shirt to expose the area.The tee shirt wasnât going to open as easily so she put her fingers in the bloody hole and ripped a long tear in the cloth, exposing the hole in his side.Blood was coming from the hole.Not knowing what else to do, she used her Swiss Army knife to cut off a piece of the cloth, folded it and pressed it tightly over the wound.
*****​Jake ran to his mother where she stood motionless looking down at the unmoving body at her feet.She was having a difficult time processing everything that had happened in the last few minutes._Jake, what are you doing here?Where did your dad go?_

Paul watched from the road where Toni had let him and Jake out.His 270 was held at a ready position as he looked around his surroundings.When he didnât see any current threats, he kneeled, still watching, picked up the spent brass from his two shots and dropped them in his pants pocket.Assessing the body language of Jake and Toni, he started toward his daughter, keeping up his vigilance of the surroundings.Where Jake was now hugging his mother tightly, Toni was kneeling over a prone figure, looking around desperately._I suppose if that round will drop a bull elk, it was effective when it hit that guy._A knot formed in his stomach when he had the thought._Later; take care of business now.You can dwell on that later._As he walked, Paul saw a face look out through a window in a nearby house that quickly disappeared when he shifted his rifle in that direction.

Paul took a quick glance at Steve, noting his pale pallor and resumed his watching.âWhatâs it look like sweetheart?â he asked Toni.

âI think heâs been stabbed.He was awake but delirious when I found him.He passed out when I rolled him over.Heâs lost a lot of blood; it looks to be about the amount we get when we butcher a chicken.â

âWell, heâs a lot bigger than a chicken, but that still seems like a lot.Do you have it stopped?â

âI think so for now.â

âOkay.As soon as Jake gets his mom over here weâll get Steve in the truck on the back seat.We canât do anything for him here besides getting the blood stopped.You can sit beside him and keep the pressure on the wound.â

âBut whoâll drive,â Toni asked. âYou and Jake need to be ready if somebody tries to stop us.â

âJake will have to drive.Weâll chance it with just me and my rifle this time.Besides we made it fine getting here and Jake will still have the shotgun next to him if we need it,â Paul answered reassuringly.Inside he was quaking, praying they didnât have any encounters.He knew once they were safe the gravity of his actions were going to hit him hard.

âYeah, we made it fine getting here, but now the goons have had time to get ready for us.â

âWeâll deal with things as they come.âPaul looked over to Jake leading his mother towards them.Jenny looked in shock.âBesides,â he said quietly, âI donât think Jenny is going to be in any state to help, so itâs up to you to keep that bleeding under control.âHe surmised that it had to be very traumatic to see a guy that was assaulting you be shot right at arms-length.It had been bad enough pulling the trigger from a distance.

âDid they hurt you Jenny,â he asked when the two had gotten closer.

âNâ¦no, not really,â was her subdued answer as she saw Steve.âIs he â¦? She left the rest of the question unspoken.

âHeâs alive, but he needs some medical care.Iâd like to get him in the truck and get back to our place as quick as we can.

Jenny thought about Paulâs words before responding.âOur bikes and stuff should be just the other side of those cars up there.Can we at least go that far before we leave?â she asked hopefully.

Paul looked at the cars not far up the road.âWeâll go there, but then we need to get Steve where we can care for him.â

Steve remained unconscious while he was placed none-to-gently on the backseat of the extended cab pickup.ââI never wanted a king cab, but it sure would be nice right now,â Paul mused.

Steve was bleeding again once he was settled and Toni got in position to try to staunch the flow.Jenny was white face seeing his condition and had to be led to the truck and helped in.Toni instantly recognized her fatherâs wisdom.

Jake drove slowly to the makeshift barricade, Paul standing in the bed of the truck, still looking all around.They both got out and walked carefully around opposite ends of the cars.Jake was holding Paulâs 12ga. Wingmaster at the ready.They came closer together on the back side of the cars.Paul looked disgustedly at the bikes lying in the road with the loose ropes thrown haphazardly on the ground around them.âWhatâs this world coming to?Some hyena uses your folks getting mugged and worse as a chance to run off with all of their stuff.Lord help us!

âIâd like to drag these rigs off the road so they donât trap other people but we better get your Dad out of here.The bikes and rope are still useful. Letâs get them loaded and get out of this cesspool.âThey were soon driving down the road at a rapid pace.

When they were in mostly farm country, Paul dropped his vigilance slightly.âHowâd you come to be there, in that situation?â he asked Jenny in the soothing tone he used with scared or hurt livestock.

âI was wondering the same thing about you,â she answered.


----------



## Bret F

âWe were coming to get you,â he said matter-of-factly. âWeâve been hearing some disturbing stories from people that got out of town that is was getting pretty dangerous. So we decided we were taking you to the farm. We werenât going to take âNoâ for an answer.â

âIâm glad you were coming, I just wish it had been two days earlier,â she said softly. âThings ARE bad in town.â She stopped talking and sniffed loudly while she wiped at her eyes. âSteve has never liked having someone help us, and he still canât accept something like this could happen here.  He has always believed in the âMight of Americaâ and we can do anything we want. So he wouldnât accept that we needed help. He always thought things would be back to normal any day, so he refused to budge. Even after being assaulted in our own back yard and having our food stolen.â

âHey, hold it Mom,â Jake interrupted. âAssaulted in the back yard? What are you talking about?â

âWell, it was right after we saw you last; your Dad was cooking on the barbeque,â and she went on to describe the unforgettable night. 

When she finished, Jake let out a breath he didnât even realize he was holding. âMan, I wish youâd have just stayed out at the farm. We shouldnât have let you leave.â

She looked wryly at her son. âI wish weâd have stayed to, but just how do you think you would have made your father stay? Knock him over the head yourself, and then tie him up?â

They drove on without talking while Jenny cried softly. Jake removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. âHere Mom. I havenât even used it yet.â

âWow, a clean hanky,â she said with awe in her voice. She began to cry again when Jake slowed and turned off the road onto Paulâs driveway.

Jake drove the truck across the lawn and stopped as close to the front door as he could. Ruth stepped out of the house, knowing something was wrong for them to park like that.

âSteveâs hurt,â Paul told her. âWe need to get him in a bed and take care of him. It looks like a knife wound.â

Ruth turned and quickly prepared a bed. Jake and Paul got Steve out of the truck and with one on each side, carried him into the house. They followed Ruth awkwardly to the bedroom and stood for a moment. âPut him in the chair first and get his clothes off so we can see what we are dealing with,â she instructed them. 

As the layers of clothing were removed, they were able to see the wound in his side that had begun to bleed again. Also revealed were the lacerated palm and the bruised, swollen and bleeding knee. âWow Dad, havenât had a bath for a while huh,â Jake quipped.

Ruth looked him over thoroughly and didnât see any other wounds. âThe knife wound is obviously the worst. Lay him down on a towel and weâll work on that first.â She left the room while her orders were followed. When she came back she had a pot of warm water and cloths. Jenny stood back white faced watching.

âToni, get Jenny a chair before she falls down. Paul and Jake; you two clean that wound,â she ordered as she thrust the pot and cloths forward, âToni, you can clean his hand and knee,â she said and left the room again. 

Jenny looked up when Ruth re-entered the room carrying a dish pan. Jenny couldnât tell what she had packed into it. âDo you have medicine to take care of it?â she asked hopefully.

âI think we have just what he needs,â she answered reassuringly before turning to Paul. âHowâs it look dear?â

âIt looks pretty clean. The bleeding is light so Iâm guessing the knife didnât hit anything vital.â

âGood, good. Now you and Jake roll him up on his side.â

With Paul at Steveâs shoulders and Jake at his hips they rolled the motionless form, making room for Ruth between them. She took a squeeze jar of honey out of her dish pan and held it over the wound. âPaul if you can free a hand up, Iâd like you to try to open that cut a little.â

Jenny looked on confused. âRuth, what are you doing? I though you said you had medicine. I was expecting iodine maybe and some kind of creamy ointment.â

Ruth glanced at her before continuing her ministrations. âThis is even better. Honey is an incredible medicine. When it combines with the fluid from the wound, it will create hydrogen peroxide. It wonât be strong enough to irritate the tissue but it is strong enough to kill bacteria. Also, itâs high sugar content and acidity kills bacteria. It is a wonderful antibiotic. It is thick enough that it will seal over the top of the wound, not allowing the wound to dry out.â While she was talking she squeezed honey directly into the wound. âBy keeping everything moist, scarring will be reduced because it lets new skin cells grow without forming a scab. Itâs also wonderful as a burn treatment. Some honey is better than other depending on what the bees forage on. Supposedly there is some in New Zealand that is the best, but this is what we have.â

Jenny looked on amazed at what she was hearing. âBut if it is such a wonder-drug as you say, why doesnât everybody know about it?â she asked confused.

Ruth had been putting honey on a gauze pad to place on top of the wound. She gave Jenny a flat stare before continuing, âJenny Dear, you really donât want to get me started on the medical industry racket and the drug companies.  Just rest assured, this will work.â She put the honey infused pad over the wound and taped it in place. âYou can let him back down now,â she directed the men. âNow for those other two.â 

She gave the hand and knee a quick perusal and started to put honey on more gauze pads. She handed the first to Jake and instructed him to tape it over Steveâs knee. Looking back to Jenny, she said, âActually, this one will probably hurt him the worst when we try to take the tape off his hairy leg.â After looking at her husbandâs grim face, she secured the pad on Steveâs hand. âToni Dear, we need to warm him up. Go fill some hot water bottles please. Paul, weâve got this under control. Donât you have some chores to get done?â

Paul nodded gratefully and silently left the room. The rumble of the diesel engine soon split the air as he moved the truck away from the front door.


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## Bret F

Toni brought in hot water bottles and they were placed under each arm and between the legs. Ruth made sure they werenât too hot; that would have required a towel wrapped around they to protect Steveâs skin. The bottles in place, quilts were piled over Steve.

âJenny Dear, letâs get you closer now,â Ruth directed and nodded towards Jake to move the chair to the side of the bed. She spread another quilt over Jenny and tucked the edges down snugly. âCan I get you anything dear, a cup of tea, water, something to eat?â

âSome tea would be wonderful,â Jenny answered quietly. She didnât avert her gaze from Steveâs pale face.

Back in the kitchen while the tea was steeping, Ruth told Toni, âWhen this is ready put some honey in it and take it to her. When Steve wakes up, replenishing his fluids is going to be important. Have some rose hips ready to make tea and chicken broth ready to heat.â She put a piece of firewood in the cook stove, put on her jacket and went out the back door. 

Ruth found Paul sitting near the window in his shop. His Bible was open on the bench beside him; his head was bent forward, his face in his hands. He looked up with tears streaking down his face when he heard the door close.

âPaul, honey, are you all right?â Ruth asked.

âNo Iâm not. I did a horrible thing today, a truly horrible thing. I ended a manâs life.â The words came out in a soft whisper. Ruth had to strain to hear him.

âDo you want to talk about it?â

âNot really. It looked like someone had put up a makeshift roadblock with some cars so we were approaching it slowly. As we neared it we saw some goon dragging Jenny away. I didnât see Steve right away but Toni saw something on the ground so Jake and I piled out to help his mom. I put a shot right at the guyâs feet and he looked at me and then started pulling Jenny even harder. The next shot was for keeps,â he finished, barely audible.

âYou only did what you had to do. Jenny was in grave danger. That man didnât leave you any choice, especially after he ignored your warning shot. I think you were placed there at that time for a purpose. If you would have hesitated or been just a little slower, Jenny wouldnât be here now.â She pulled one of his hands up and wrapped it in both of hers.

âI know that; I knew I might have to do that when I first started carrying a gun. I made the decision then; that faced with my family in peril, I would shoot. But that doesnât make it any easier. Life is precious; even though a lot of people donât share my opinion, it is. That man was someoneâs son and I ended his life.  Some parents might be sitting in their own house wondering when their son will come home. He never will and itâs something Iâll have to live with the rest of my life.â Fresh tears started to run down his face, contrasting sharply with the sun and wind hardened features.  

Ruth was at a loss for words to comfort him. After a long silence Paul spoke, âI would do it again, faced with the same circumstances,â he said grimly. âBut I would cry and pray over being thrust into that situation. I can only ask the Lord not to place that load on me again.â


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## MrSmith

Well dang, Bret went "Hollywood" with the last minute arrival of the cavalry. The thought did occur that I may have been a bit premature, when I re-read the last bit of story and my last post, as there was still some hope. Not that I'm rooting for bad things on anyone, but Steve sure seems like he had it coming. I did feel extra sorry for Jenny.
So, to get this ramble over I'll conclude with I'm torn. The "first ending" is going to be the reality many will face, but I sure am glad to have more story to keep reading. This has really helped to get me back in the the mood to work on my own preps after a bit of burnout. 
Thank you again Bret. I eagerly anticipate continued installments.


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## Marthas_minis

Great story, Bret. I'm enjoying this a lot!


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## Bret F

MrSmith said:


> Well dang, Bret went "Hollywood" with the last minute arrival of the cavalry. The thought did occur that I may have been a bit premature, when I re-read the last bit of story and my last post, as there was still some hope. Not that I'm rooting for bad things on anyone, but Steve sure seems like he had it coming. I did feel extra sorry for Jenny.
> So, to get this ramble over I'll conclude with I'm torn. The "first ending" is going to be the reality many will face, but I sure am glad to have more story to keep reading. This has really helped to get me back in the the mood to work on my own preps after a bit of burnout.
> Thank you again Bret. I eagerly anticipate continued installments.


 Not Hollywood, more like "http://www.christianbook.com/hermie-a-common-caterpillar/max-lucado/9781400317479/pd/317479 . Hermie complains about being a common caterpillar. God say He's not finished with him yet. 

I wasn't finished with Steve yet. I still have hopes that he might be salvaged.


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## MrSmith

Sorry Bret, didn't mean to insult you with the "hollywood" phrase. I appreciate you taking the effort to write all of this for us. You sound like a busy man. Hope Paul has a lot of patience for Steve's reformation.
ETA: Also, I went ahead and ordered that book for my 2yr old daughter. I hope God is not finished with me yet either...


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## manygoatsnmore

Thank you for the arrival of the cavalry, Bret - I, too, think Steve has a lot of growing left to do, and I'm glad you're giving him the opportunity. Realistically, most unprepared people (and some that ARE prepared), are going to die...we can't all be the PAW fictional survivors. But it makes for really short stories if they are the ones being written! From a purely selfish point of view, I'm enjoying the story too much to want that. Looking forward to the next installment!


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## Bret F

Chapter 13

Jenny was amazed at Steveâs recovery. The honey did everything Ruth had assured her it would do. Daily changings of the dressing showed the wound was healing rapidly and cleanly. If she hadnât been so concerned for him she would have laughed at his reaction when the tape was removed from his knee. Now that he appeared to be getting better daily, she did laugh when she thought of the ribbing Jake gave him at his insistence to shave that section.

Steve was soon sitting up in bed trying to get up and move around. Ruth forbid it; requiring him to stay in bed until she was satisfied the knife cut wouldnât open up again. The first two days, she had only allowed him liquids, however there was a lot available. He never knew Jello made a good hot drink; he had only had it in the chilled, gelatinous form. After the two days, the chicken broth had become chicken soup with soft vegetables, noodles and small bites of meat.

He was going stir crazy lying in bed all the time. Even though he had done little more for the last four months, at least he could move around in his house. He made up shapes in the textured ceiling surface, just like the clouds on the outside. He would gaze longingly out the window, seeing the early signs of spring starting to show and daydream of sitting out in the sunshine, watching the real clouds. Other times, he was lulled to sleep by rain hitting the window.

âHow you holding up,â Paul asked him one morning, pulling up the chair beside the bed .âI know Ruth can be a pretty determined warden when she sets her mind to it.â

Steve grinned at the warden comment. âYeah, she keeps pretty tight tabs on me. My side is feeling good, but man, Iâm about to crawl the walls here.â

âAre you a reader?â Paul asked 

âNot usually, but Iâm willing to start now. Anything to break up the monotony of just laying around.â

Paul held up two books. âHere are a couple of books you might try. This one,â he held up _The Encyclopedia of Country Living_ by Carla Emery âis full of useful information for the way we are living now. And this one is fiction.â He held up _One Second After_ by William Forstchen. âYou might find it interesting too.â He passed both books over to Steve.

Steve studied the book covers. âIt doesnât look much like âSports Illustratedâ but Iâll give them a shot.â

Paul stood and hitched his pants up. He reached over and patted Steve on the shoulder. âYouâll be up and about soon. Then weâll see about fixing your boredom.â

Jenny had watched the exchange from outside the door and followed Paul to the kitchen. âThat was nice of you Paul. I, ah, I mean WE are so grateful to you and Ruth for everything, but we donât want to just be treated as guests. Weâve been discussing it, and we want to earn our keep here. We really donât have any idea of what to do but weâre both willing to learn. If youâre patient with us weâll do whatever you need done to help out.â

Paul looked over his coffee cup at her and thought. âWell, there is a lot of work here since we are pretty much providing for ourselves. But itâs messy business. The rabbits and chickens donât magically appear in a cellophane wrapper, or delivered by the waiter to the table. The manure doesnât just fall on the ground where itâs needed.â

She digested what he said before answering, âYes we know it will be hard and messy, but we have to do it.â

âAll right then, I was just going to go back outside and get to work. Letâs get our coats and Iâll show you around. âHe went to the coat and boot rack near the back door. âFirst thing is footwear. Thereâs a cowboy poet by the name of Baxter Black I like. One of his lines that has stuck with me forever is âHere in cow country, there are two seasons:winter and mudâ, or something like that. It just happens that we are in the mud season now. Once the ground thawed and then getting those rains weâve had recently, itâs a mess out there.â He pointed to a pair of irrigator boots. âThose are Ruthâs. I think your feet are about the same size. So put those on instead of the shoes youâre wearing. There are some spare boots in the shop. Letâs try to remember to bring them in when we come back to the house.â He knew very well Jenny could wear Ruthâs shoes; that was what she had been wearing since arriving at the farm without any shoes. They each changed shoes and Paul handed Jenny her coat before donning his own. A shelf above the coat hooks held a box that he took down. âThese should work for you,â he said, removing a pair of brown Jersey gloves and a wool cap. When they were both prepared for the cool weather he led the way outside.

He took her first to the chicken house and pen. âSo here is the egg factory. Now while it is freezing pretty hard every night, we pack out a tea kettle of hot water each morning to melt the ice and make sure they have good drinking water during the day.Lack of water slows down the egg production more than lack of food. This time of year, they are just starting to lay more eggs as we get more natural daylight. The amount of light really effects their production. The hens lay during the day, so we gather eggs in the late afternoon.If we leave them over night, theyâll most likely freeze and break.â He pointed out the feeders. âI keep food in those feeders pretty much all the time. They can eat what they want.We also give them all the vegetable scraps.â

âSo why do you have two big pens for them but I donât see any chickens out in the other pen?â Jenny asked.

âBecause Iâm lazy,â he said with a big grin. The fenced off areas were each about a half-acre in size with the hen house between them. âIâd love to have the hens free range and feed themselves as much as possible, so this is the next best thing, at least for me. See those plant stalks there? Thatâs from last summerâs garden. Once the garden freezes up, I put the chickens in there. They spend a year cleaning up the ground and spreading fertilizer. They are also great for bug control. While they are on this side, weâll grow the garden in the other patch this year. We switch sides each year. That way one side is not having the nutrients pulled out but instead is getting nourished and cleaned up by the hens. Another thing about the chickens is the manure.â He pointed at a pile behind the chicken house. âThey poop a lot from the roost and every so often we have to shovel it out. We let it sit in the pile as l long as we can before spreading it on the garden. And we spread it pretty thin. Chicken manure is very hot, I guess technically itâs high in nitrogen. It will burn up the plants if there is a lot of it. So we spread it in a thin layer and work it into the soil. But we try not to put it where the root crops are going to be. Lots of nitrogen tends to make some interesting root shapes.â

âThat seems like a lot to know,â Jenny said, already feeling slightly overwhelmed by the information.


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## Bret F

âIt is a lot but you donât have to remember it all right off. It will become easier the more youâre around it.â

âI hope so,â she said doubtfully.

Paul led the way towards the machine shed where the tractor and equipment were parked out of the weather. One end section didnât have anything parked. When they got there, Jenny saw there were rabbit hutches lining the wall. âSo there are the rabbits. We donât raise them for pets; we raise them for the table.â Paul had noticed she hadnât finished eating the piece on her plate when she and Steve had been there right after the blackout began. âWe give them food and water daily. When the young are six weeks old, I take them away from the mother and put them in the grow pen. He indicated a much larger pen with a number of rabbits inside it. When they are three months old they are usually around five pounds, perfect size for eating, so thatâs when we butcher. When we went to the farmers market, I would butcher a bunch of them at the same time. Now we butcher strictly for the table. Speaking of that, Ruth wants me to butcher a couple today. Do you think youâll be up for it?â

Jenny took a deep breath and said, âI guess Iâll have to be wonât I.â

âThatâs the spirit,â he told her. âTo tell you the truth, I donât like killing them myself; but itâs that or become a vegetarian and Iâm not ready to make that change,â he said with a chuckle. âBut if you want to take a pass on it this time, Jake is working in the greenhouse. There is always stuff to do in there, and Iâm sure heâd be happy for your help.â

âI have to learn it sooner or later, so I might as well do it now.â

Paul studied her, liking the resolve he saw in her face. âAll right, Iâll also welcome the help. Now another thing about the greenhouse, notice those trays under the hutches catching the droppings? We take that and use it to fertilize the soil in the greenhouse. Itâs a lot easier to work with than the chicken manure. Besides that, it doesnât smell as bad; thatâs pretty important to me in the enclosed space.â

He began to walk away and Jenny dutifully followed. He went to a pasture where a group of red cattle with white faces were eating hay. he saw one smaller brown cow. âThat one cow is different.Why?â she asked.

âShe will soon be our milk cow. I traded a beef steer for her this winter; sheâs a jersey, the rest are Herefords. A jersey cow produces a lot of milk that is really rich with cream. Once she freshens,â Paul saw the puzzled look at the term and changed the wording, âOnce she has her calf that is, weâll milk her each morning and evening. Sheâll produce more milk than we can use and weâll have all the fresh butter and cottage cheese and cream that we want.â

âNow the cows, we have to make sure they have water and we put out a couple of bales of hay each morning and evening.âPaul continued to walk and pointed to the large greenhouse. âOf course, thatâs the greenhouse. We grow a lot of vegetables in there. We have been picking fresh salad greens, carrots, beets and small onions out of there all winter. Youâll have the opportunity to spend a lot of time working in there. The fruit trees are there,â he said pointing, âand the grapes over there.â Again he indicated by pointing. We have to do a lot of pruning on them pretty soon. I usually prune after the hard freezes are past but the new growth hasnât started yet.â

Paul led the way toward the shop. âWell, Ruth asked for rabbits so I better get that job done. I understand if you donât want to watch.â

âNo, Iâll help. But I need to know now; do you provide barf bags like the airlines?â

Paul looked aside at her to see if she was serious or joking. He couldnât tell, maybe a little of each. âWeâre going to need a pan to put the meat in. Would you mind going to the house and getting it? Ruth or Toni either one can show you where they are.â

Jenny went to the house while Paul continued on to the shop. He took his container of pellets off the shelf and put them in his coat pocket, picked up a sharp knife and a cut hook from the same shelf and his pellet rifle in the other hand. He returned to the machine shed and laid his tools down on a small hand-crafted wooden table. The table wasnât much to look at, but was sturdily built to a height that made for easy working.

The rabbits came toward the door of the cage when he opened it, thinking he might have a treat for them. He felt the twinge of guilt he always had at that moment and asked a quick blessing on his activities while thanking the Lord for providing for his family. With a struggling rabbit in one hand, he managed to get the gate latched, barely, without losing his hold. He went behind the structure to an area with a short fence around some grass. It was wilted and dormant with the winter weather, the first new shoots of green just showing, but would be a lush green spot in a few weeks. A similar round of wire was a few feet away. The rabbit snuffled around in the grass while Paul returned for the rifle.He pumped it up, loaded it and went back to the pen. After another quick prayer he held the rifle to the back of the rabbits head and fired. It collapsed on its side and began to kick and thrash around. He turned and saw Jenny at the corner of the machine shed, staring white faced at the rabbit. Paul wordlessly got a second rabbit and repeated the process.

After putting the gun back inside the machine shed, the rabbits were mostly motionless, just a few light spasms. He picked up both rabbits and led Jenny to the side of the building. âSet the pot on that table there,â he instructed Jenny and after she did, he handed her one of the rabbits. She held it far away from her body like it was going to turn and chew her face off, her arm stiffly in front of her. 

Paul stopped where a number of bailing twines hung from a rafter with loops on the dangling ends. He showed her how to feed the twine back through the loop and hung his rabbit, the twine tightening over the back foot. Jenny copied his actions, glad to not be holding the dead rabbit, but not thrilled to have it hanging in front of her either.


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## Bret F

Paul picked up the knife and made a cut mid-way down the torso on the rabbits back. After setting the knife back down, he pulled on the hide, removing it from the body like a sock, and then cut it free at the legs, taking the feet with the hide on all but the one the held the rabbit suspended. The hide was pulled as far down to the head as he could before he took the knife and cut the hide free. &#8220;Now that we&#8217;re doing for ourselves, I&#8217;ve been saving the hides and trying to tan them. I never bothered before, but they will come in handy if this lasts for a long time.&#8221; After setting the hide aside, he cut through the meat to the bone at the base of the head. A pair of heavy snips was hanging on a nearby nail that he used to cut through the bone, removing the head cleanly. He handed the knife handle first to Jenny and told her, &#8220;Your turn.&#8221;

She took the knife tentatively and held the point to the rabbit and stopped while she gulped a large breath. Paul decided she had been serious about the barf bag. After a couple more deep breathes she pierced the skin and made a cut like the one Paul had done. &#8220;About like that?&#8221; she asked in a voice that was steadier than Paul would have expected.

&#8220;That looks good. Now you can start to pull the skin off.&#8221;

She handed the knife towards him point first, then realized what she was doing and set it on the table instead. Expecting to be grossed out by a slimly feel she hesitantly reached for the skin and started to pull it off the same way Paul had. Her arms were stiff, nearly straight out from her body, as if she was fending off the offending creature. Eventually the rabbit looked like Paul&#8217;s, hanging without its skin. Paul mused that he would be cleaning up by now if he had done the job himself, but that was how it went when teaching.

&#8220;So the next thing is to open it up and remove all the organs and intestines.&#8221; He picked up the knife again made a small incision into the abdomen. &#8220;You have to be careful with this. If you cut deep, you can cut through an intestine and make a mess. So try to just get through the muscle.&#8221;

Jenny made the cut with clenched jaws. _Don&#8217;t cut deep. Don&#8217;t cut too deep._

&#8220;That&#8217;s good Jenny,&#8221; Paul told her. &#8220;Now we&#8217;ll trade tools. He picked up the cut hook and showed her. &#8220;See how it has a cutting edge here on the inside of the hook and it&#8217;s smooth on the outside? That lets it slide past the intestines and organs without damaging them while it cuts the animal open so we can get inside.&#8221; He put the hook in the incision and began to pull down, opening the abdominal cavity, and cutting right down through the ribs. After setting the cut hook back on the table, he picked up a metal bowl that was sitting upside down on a nearby shelf. He held the bowl under the rabbit with one hand and put the other hand into the abdomen and pulled out all of the organs, dropping them into the pan. He set the pan on the table. &#8220;Most of this is waste, but I do save the liver and heart.&#8221; He showed her both organs, removed them, and then showed her the green, pea-sized gallbladder attached to the liver and carefully removed it. He glanced over at her. _We just might need that barf bag yet_. The liver and heart were both dropped in the pan Jenny had brought from the house. He noted that Ruth or Toni, whichever had gotten it for her had instructed her to put some water in it.

Paul looked at Jenny expectantly so she picked up the cut hook and stoically, began to copy his actions. When the organs dropped into the pan, the white look on her face made Paul certain she was going to drop it and run to the back of the shed, but after several deep breathes and some eye closing she continued.

&#8220;Very good,&#8221; he told her. &#8220;We&#8217;re almost done. Now we just have to make it fit the frying pan.&#8221; He cut the carcass into six individual pieces; the front legs, the loins and the back legs, dropping each piece into the pan of water as it came off. The final hind leg was separated from the foot and it was done. Jenny found this step much less disgusting than removing the organs.

&#8220;So other than clean up, that&#8217;s about it,&#8221; Paul told her. &#8220;You did a really good job for your first time. It just gets easier from here. Now, if you&#8217;ll take the pan to the house, Ruth can help you out. After we&#8217;ve rinsed the meat, we soak it in a light salt water until we&#8217;re ready to cook it.  We used to refrigerate it for a couple of days in the salt water, but that was when we had refrigeration.Now we just let it go as long as we can.&#8221; 

Jenny took the pan and headed towards the house. _Well, I did it, but I&#8217;m not sure if it wouldn&#8217;t be worth it to become a vegetarian._

Paul watched Jenny walk toward the house with the pan. _Well, she got it done, I wasn&#8217;t sure she would. _He went to the table and gathered the tools first. After cleaning them he ran a whetstone over each blade a few times and applied a very light coat of mineral oil. A hole was dug and filled with the organs and the pan washed and returned to the machine shed with the clippers. He picked up the two hides and went towards his shop to begin working them. _I&#8217;ve sure got a ways to go in making good tanned rabbit skin, but I&#8217;m gaining. _He looked at the house, seeing shapes at the kitchen window. _And those two have a REAL long way to go, but at least they&#8217;re on their way._






I want to acknowledge and graciously thank &#8220;That&#8217;ll Do Pig&#8221; for the invaluable information on rabbits.You can read and learn much more on the rabbit forum.


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## manygoatsnmore

Yes! Thank you for both another great installment to the story and a reminder of the first time *I* butchered a rabbit.


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## moldy

We killed our rabbits by snapping the neck. Holding the head in one hand with thumb between the ears and fingers under the jaw, and the hind feet with the other hand, stretch the rabbit out and quickly snap the head and body in opposite directions. The neck snaps and the rabbit dies quickly. And you don't miss - like I've been known to - with your bullet.


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## Bret F

moldy said:


> We killed our rabbits by snapping the neck. Holding the head in one hand with thumb between the ears and fingers under the jaw, and the hind feet with the other hand, stretch the rabbit out and quickly snap the head and body in opposite directions. The neck snaps and the rabbit dies quickly. And you don't miss - like I've been known to - with your bullet.


I've heard of lots of people using that method. I've only killed wild rabbits with my shotgun, never butchered a pen raised one, so I had to pick a method I haven't used.

One of my brothers is a butcher. He has always killed cows and pigs with 22LR against the head. I never had a problem with that. But lambs: he gets them in a grip, twists the head snapping the neck, then uses his long knife to stick them to bleed. I always hated seeing that. Oh well.


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## puddlejumper007

hi Bret,,,i know you are busy, but------i am still watching for more please.eep:


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## 355946

Thanks again for keeping me entertained, making me think about what I need to do, AND for saving those two yet again!


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## Bret F

Chapter 14

Steve looked up from his reading when he heard someone enter the room. âHave you read this book?â he asked Ruth. âIâm thinking that despite everything thatâs happened, weâve been pretty lucky, no, make that extremely lucky. Do you think they are eating dogs somewhere, like the family does in this?â

âYes, we are very fortunate here. One of the neighbors has a shortwave radio and can hear people talk from all over the country. The major cities that havenât burned are pretty much war zones. They are eating dogs, rats and anything else they can.We are even hearing about cannibalism. The president declared martial law in those places, but doesnât have the manpower to enforce anything. So yes Steve, we are extremely fortunate. I was devastated when Paul lost his job, but now I am incredibly thankful. I shudder to think what would have happened if we were still in the city.â She was quiet for a while thinking. _We would be dead now. I just pray our friends got out of Chicago safely before it erupted._

âWell enough of that. And enough of you laying around. Itâs time you got out of that bed.â _Even though I know youâve been getting up when you thought I didnât know._

He quickly set the book aside and came out of the bed; much too easily, adding more confirmation to what Ruth already knew.

âDoes it pull at all?â she asked, looking at the fine red line on his side.

âNot at all. The only thing that feels off is my knee. Itâs kind of stiff.â

âMaybe a soak in hot sudsy water with Epsom salts will help it, because thatâs where youâre going. You might not have noticed, but, well Steve, you stink. We have the bathtub full for you with everything you need. There are even scissors and a fresh razor if you want to shave.â

Steve pulled his hand away from his beard at the comment; it was itching enough he almost thought he had lice. âWhat about clothes? All we ended up with was the clothes we were wearing.â

âYours have been washed and Jake and Paul have each set some things out for you. It wonât be a huge variety but you wonât be naked on laundry day either.â She scrutinized him closely. âIâm not sure if thatâs a good or bad thing.â The corners of her mouth twisted up into a grin and she began laughing. âNow go get clean while I fumigate this room,â she told him, still chuckling.

He looked at her, not sure how to take her comment and the laughter. _I donât think that was so funny_. He didnât spend time to puzzle it out, but obeyed her orders, anticipating the hot water and chance to finally get clean. Jenny had rattled on and on about how good it felt to soak in a hot bubble bath and get really clean for the first time in so long. And her hair!She had washed her hair and it didnât feel greasy, gunky and itchy anymore. Then she had sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose at the strong odor from the bed.

Steve stripped off his underwear thinking they probably needed burned and eased himself into the water, luxuriating in the feeling as he was enveloped by the hot water. After he had totally submerged, he laid his head back, appreciating the tub full of water, the conversation with Jenny came back to him.

âA hot bath? Well where did the water come from? Do they hand pump it and heat it on the stove? Thatâs a lot of work for a bath.â

âNo, I wondered about that too, but when Ruth was getting my bath ready, she just turned the faucet on and adjusted the temperature. I was shocked and asked how that worked because when we came here before we had to use water from a bucket, remember?â

Two days of hand pumping and carrying water had been enough for Paul. Although he hadnât planned on the current circumstance, he had lucked out when he bought the farm. He had loved the location of the creek that bordered the farm and had the water rights to use it for irrigation. With some work he could bring the water to use for livestock water. Domestic water needed to come from somewhere else. A small seep came from the hillside above his orchard. He allowed the water to run into the orchard but had never done anything with it beyond getting it tested. The state division of water quality had proclaimed it safe to drink, but he still hadnât done anything to utilize it further, just taking the occasional drink when he was working in the area.

He and Jake had taken the better part of two weeks setting it up to supply the house; still hand pumping in the meantime. They had buried a large poly tank below the seep and run black poly pipe in a three foot deep ditch to the pump house. The ditcher attached to the tractor had aided greatly with the top half of the trench. The rest was done with shovels, leaving them both exhausted at the end of each day. The lines were teed into the existing house supply line, with an extra valve put in place to flush the tank when needed. The line was buried, the tractor doing the job with the scraper blade for which Paul and Jake were each grateful. They dug out the seep and put in a Rubbermaid container that was filled with fine clean sand to act as a primary filter.Pipes were placed connecting the filter to the large tank. The tank began to fill very slowly, but it was filling. They secured everything and added a new fence to keep all but very small animals out.

The wood stove Paul had purchased was just like the one his parents had, only missing the hot water jacket. He had some stainless steel pipe and fittings he had paid a steep price for a previous project, then hadnât completed the project they were intended for. He dug them out and made a loop through the side of the stoveâs firebox and plumbed them for the water to flow through and then into a spare hot water heater he had. A neighbor had replaced his water heater and was going to throw out the old one when Paul had stopped by. He had carried it home, planning on making it into a stock tank. Now he was glad he hadnât gotten it done. He made sure the relief valve opened, cleaned the tank and he and Jake got it hooked into the hot water line. By the time they had the water heater set up, the tank at the seep had accumulated enough water to test the system. Everything worked just as Paul had envisioned.

It was cause for a mini-celebration that night. Ruth made a cake and Paul brought out a dusty bottle of wine. The tank didnât provide as much water as the well, but with careful use it supplied their needs. They had to space the heavy water uses out to different days, but they had developed an efficient system over the winter.


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## Bret F

Steve only knew part of the story, he couldnât relate to the hard days of work and aching muscles his son and Paul had endured, but he luxuriated in the results of their hard work. He stayed until the water was noticeably cool, drained the tub and took another five minutes getting the grime cleaned out of it. Looking closely in the mirror, he decided he didnât want to start shaving each day, but he was looking pretty ragged. He trimmed his beard neatly and put on fresh clothes, feeling like a new man when he stepped out of the bathroom. 

The door was open to the bedroom he had been occupying and he looked in.The window was open with the spring breeze blowing through. The blankets, sheets, mattress cover, everything, had been removed from the bed. The mattress was standing upright against the bed. He didnât see anyone as he walked towards the back porch.

When he stepped into the back porch, Ruth was standing over some kind of contraption; he had no idea what it was. It looked like a cut off barrel on legs with a handle sticking up on one end.A wringer was attached to the opposite end. Ruth saw him enter the room. âYou definitely look better.Do you feel better?â she asked as she directed her attention back to her work.

âYea, almost like a new man.But what are you doing? Iâve never seen anything like that before, except the part that looks like it came from a schoolâs mop bucket.â

âWhy this is the pinnacle of modern conveniences; itâs a washing machine.I have one of the blankets from your bed in here and Iâm just running the agitator now.â She finished that, raised the clear plastic lid, started the blanket into the wringer and began to turn the crank. The blanket was fed into the deep laundry sink beside the washer. âPaul thought he was so funny when he bought it. He said since we were moving to the outback where there wasnât electricity, I would have to use this to do laundry. It had sat in storage in his shed so long after that; we had forgotten we even had it until I tried doing some laundry here in the sink. So he and Jake got it out and assembled it. They took the electric appliances out to store. I just hope they donât sit so long I forget about them too.â

She put another blanket in the washing machine, agitated it enough to get it thoroughly wet to begin soaking and returned her attention to the blanket in the sink. She moved the blanket around in the sink while she began talking to Steve again. âI wash in there and do the rinse in here. Then I run it through the wringer again and hang it to dry.â She continued to slosh the blanket around until she decided it was as good as she could get it. The wringer was moved and she fed the blanket into it, this time directing it into an empty laundry basket. âNow we take it to the solar clothes dryer.â

âSolar, I thought you just said you hang it to dry,â Steve asked, puzzled.

âYes, I hang it in the sun, my solar clothes dryer; the ultimate in green power. It cracks me up that green power was the in thing, but so many subdivisions prohibited clothes lines. Figure out the logic in that.

âAnyway, in the winter, we used the wood powered clothes dryer: portable racks around the wood stoves.â She reached to pick up the basket but Steve beat her to it. âNow you tell me if something hurts.Letâs go out to the back yard.â

Steve carried the laundry basket to the back yard; Ruth watching his movements like a mother hen, making sure the work wasnât causing him discomfort. Stiff wires were run between two steel âTâ supports; the sheets from Steveâs bed were gently flapping in the breeze. Ruth made sure he was hanging the blanket properly and using enough clothes pins before she went back to start on the next blanket.

After the blanket was hung, Steve took some time to look around and bask in the feel of the sun hitting him. _Itâs so nice and peaceful here and â¦ I donât have the feeling someoneâs going to jump out at any moment. _He looked at the greenhouse and saw the shapes of people inside. Jenny had been telling him about starting seeds and transplanting the young plants. She was taking to that much better than butchering rabbits, though she had helped Paul with that chore a second time.

Supper that night was the best Steve could remember in a very long time. Home canned ham was accompanied by fresh asparagus, radishes, green salad and potato salad. He wasnât sure if it was because the food was exceptional or the fact that he was able to sit at the table and be part of the conversation. He didnât even begrudge Paul asking a blessing on the meal.

The buoyant feeling accompanied him through bedtime. Climbing in between clean sheets and snuggling next to Jenny brought him the most contentment and peace he had had for a long time, a time long before the power outage had hit.

The sun was shining brightly as Paul led Steve and Jenny to his small orchard, each one carrying a pair of loppers and hand snips. Shadow, the Border Collie was running ahead of them, dashing one way and then the other. âYou notice that the orchard yard connects to the chicken pens,â he told them as they walked. Paul opened the gate to the orchard yard and led them through, then re-secured it behind them. âThe chickens do a lot of clean up in here. So I let them run in here as well as the garden plots.

âThe apple trees are the most labor intensive so I usually start with them.â He had stopped near an apple tree. âYou see all those sprouts that are shooting straight up? They all have to go. We need to cut them as tight against the branch as possible. Watch this,â and he demonstrated by cutting the sprout away cleanly. âAfter we get those out, we look for branches that look damaged or diseased. Then I look to make sure they donât cross or overlap. We want each branch we leave to have sun exposure and not be blocked by another too close above it. And look at how the branches come off the main branch. We want them out the sides, not the top or bottom. The more square they are to the source branch, the more sturdy it is. Not like this one,â he pointed to a branch and snipped it off. âIâm not sure how I missed that one last year, but I always manage to miss a few.â

He had brought ladders out earlier and leaned them against the corner brace of the fence. He got one, set it up, climbed and began trimming. His helpers began working. They were hesitant at first, asking nearly every time before making a cut.


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## Bret F

When the obvious sprouts had all been removed, Steve looked at the tree questioningly. âI really donât see what else needs cut here. Would it be all right if I start on the next tree?â

âThatâd be great Steve. Thereâs not a lot left to do on this tree. Do you want to go along with him Jenny?â

She gratefully agreed and the two of them moved on to the next tree. When Paul joined them, Steve said, âI donât see the same kind of growth on those other trees. What do you do for them?

âNot near as much. Like I said the apple trees take the most work. On those ones, I look for damage, then branches in anotherâs space. After that, just a general look at the tree; if it is too thick or sometimes I work a little on the shape, but nothing drastic.â

They worked on, enjoying the sunny spring day, chatting and asking occasionally about a certain branch.

They were interrupted from their work by an enthusiastic call from Nick.âHey Grampa P, Grampa S, Gramma J; weâre having a picnic. And when weâre done, Gramma R said I might get to stay and pile branches for you.â

Ruth was coming through the gate with the garden cart. It was loaded with lawn chairs and a box, a couple of boards extending out the end. She set up the chairs and laid the boards across the cart body, turning it into a makeshift table. The lunch was spread across the table and a wash basin set up on the edge of the cart and filled with water from a jug. She set out some soap and a towel while Nick excitedly brought the workers over to eat.

After everyone had washed, Paul asked a blessing on the meal and on the dayâs activities. They filled their plates and sat contentedly and began to eat. Steve was especially glad for the break. The long period of inactivity had sapped his strength. Even though the pruning wasnât strenuous work, it was more than he was accustomed too. With a full stomach and the sun heating him, he was soon nodding off. His plate sat precariously on his lap until Ruth took it and packed it away in the box with the lunch containers.

While Paul and Jenny got back to work pruning, Ruth helped Nick put on a pair of gloves then she put on her own. They started to pick up the cut off branches and pile them in a corner away from the trees. âWeâll give the cuttings a while to dry out and then weâll burn them,â Paul told Jenny where they were working.â The cut off branches tend to attract bugs and if there are enough of them, they attack the trees, so I try to keep them all cleaned up. Iâll take some of the tender ends to the rabbits to chew on.â

Steve soon awoke and got back to work. By the time evening shadows were growing long they had finished the last tree. âSo are done here?â Steve asked.

âWe still need to do a little raking. I try to keep the vegetation away from the trunks. If it grows up against the trees, it offers a place for mice and bugs to attack the tree. So after we do that clean up, weâre done here except for burning the branch pile.â

âBut we still have other work to do, I take it,â Steve said, more of a question.

âOh yeah, spring is a busy time. With everything coming to life, weâve got to be a step ahead. I promise you wonât run out of things to do for a while.â

âOh great,â Steve muttered half under his breath.

The sun had barely risen over the horizon when Paul led his crew back to the orchard, this time armed with rakes and pitchforks. The jackets that had felt so nice in the early chill were soon shed as the vigorous activity warmed them up. When the last forkful was going onto the pile, Paul told them, âWe might as well move on to the grapes now while we are in pruning mode. But weâll start that after a cup of coffee.â

The tools were put away and after a break the pruning tools were picked up and Paul led the way to the grape vines. âAll of the grapes grow on last yearâs new growth.â He pointed out the difference in appearance of the old growth and the new growth. Then he showed them the buds. âEach bud like this will put on a clump of grapes. You see how much new growth the plants put on last year, well that is too much for the plant to produce good grapes. I try to keep the vines fairly compact and leave enough new buds for around sixty clumps of grapes on each plant. The end plants, Iâll do a little differently.â He led them to the end to demonstrate.

âI have been slowly letting the vines expand along this fence row. Now I could take cuttings and root them in wet sand for new plants, but I have to stay on top of that and make sure they stay moist, and then transplant them at the right time. As a rule I have too many things going on to keep track of, so my cuttings dry out and I donât manage to get the plants going. Another way to get a new plant going is to take a tip like this one.â He freed a leading vine from the support wires and dropped it on the ground. He picked up the shovel he had leaned against the fence. âNow those buds, besides making clumps of grapes, will make roots in the right environment. I bury at least two good buds and run the vine back to the support fence. Those buds will send out roots and by fall we will have a new plant established here, extending the vines farther along the fence. The vine is nourished by the existing root system so I donât have to make sure they are watered as closely.â He completed the action and made sure the vine was supported. âWeâll do the same with the vine on the other end. Now, all we have to do is start cutting.â

Jenny and Steve both watched Paul work for a while, getting the idea of what he was taking off. Soon they were both working their own clippers, although they would pause often and ask Paulâs advice. The grapes went much faster than the fruit trees and everything was pruned, piled and cleaned up before the day was over. 

âWhat are we going to work on tomorrow, more pruning?â Steve asked as he stretched his tired muscles.

âNo, weâre done with pruning for now. The easy stuff is done.Tomorrow, we really get to work.â


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## moldy

Many people don't realize what hard work it is to farm.


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## campfiregirl

Wow, Bret! I haven't looked at this thread in over a year, so I've been reading your amazing stories for a few days now. They are so realistic to me, especially since I live in the Treasure Valley... Great job! You need to get these published!


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## Bret F

Thank you very much Campfiregirl.

Our district track meet was in Horseshoe Bend and got over about dark. When I came back across the hill, it was the first time I had crossed it in darkness since I had written the story. I had to pause and imagine no lights all across the valley. It was unsettling to think of.


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## manygoatsnmore

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Enjoyed the new installment.


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## Wilbursmommy

Really enjoying your stories! Makes me realize how far my prepping has fallen. Time to get back on the ball!


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## Bret F

Chapter 15

While walking to the shop to put the tools away, Paul led his helpers on a detour to look at the cattle.Jake had already fed, but the Jersey heifer and another young cow were not eating. âYou notice those two staying away, thatâs not normal. Now look at their udders, they are both pretty full, ready to start producing milk.â The tools were laid down and the group walked slowly behind the two cows. âNow you can really see things are happening. The cows each had a string of mucus hanging. âI think we might be getting babies tonight. Letâs move them both into the barn. Itâll be a lot easier to monitor them in there than trying to find them out here with a flashlight. Jenny, could you go open the gate and then get around to the side. Steve, Letâs just move them nice and slow.â

The cows were soon in the barn and Paul filled a bucket with water and tied it to the feeder and put out some hay that was ignored. âThe Hereford has had a calf before, so chances are sheâll do fine, but still, nothingâs ever certain. This will be the Jerseyâs first calf so I want to keep pretty close tabs on her. They both look fine for now, but weâll need to check on them pretty regularly.â

âSo they just have the baby and thatâs it?â Jenny asked, remembering her own time. The epidural was the greatest thing ever!

âWe can hope thatâs it, but you never know. The Jersey is pretty small framed and she was bred to a big bull. Hopefully things go smooth, but we need to be ready to help her if she needs it. Thereâs nothing else we can do now, so letâs get our tools taken care of and have some supper.â

*****​âSteve, Jenny Dear, can you get up,â Ruth said after tapping on the bedroom door and opening it a crack. A slight glow from the lantern came through the small opening.

Jenny raised herself groggily and sat up at the side of the bed. Steve rolled over to see the window. âItâs still night. I want to sleep more.â He rolled back over and buried his face in his pillow.

Shaking him none-to- gently, Jenny told him, âNo, youâre not sleeping more. Ruth must have a reason to be getting us up this early. Remember we discussed how we were going do everything we could to help out.Now get up.â

âYeah, weâll help, but come on; itâs the middle of the night.â

âThatâs how itâs going to be, huh. We only help when itâs convenient. All right.Iâll tell Ruth we canât stay here any longer. We need to go back home.âJennyâs eyes were misting over, ashamed that Steve could be like that so soon.

âOh all right,â he snapped. âIâm getting up.â He started to get out of bed but didnât look too happy to be doing it. Jenny dressed quickly, hoping Steve wasnât going to be sullen and resentful every time things didnât go just how he wanted. _And he has been so good the last two days._

Ruth and Toni were bustling about in the kitchen and Jake was just leaving by the back door. Jenny stood near the cook stove, hoping for some heat but decided Ruth had just kindled the fire and it hadnât had time to get hot. âJenny Dear, Paul went out to the barn more than an hour ago. Iâm afraid something is wrong out there. Could you and Steve go check please? Jakeâs on his way out there too, but, well, Paul has been out there a long time.â The concern was evident in her voice. âWe were going to get an early start today so I was getting the oven hot and starting biscuits. Now Iâm wondering if I should start cooking.â

âOf course weâll go out, wonât we Steve?âHe had come to the edge of the light, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lantern glow. When his eyes were adjusted he glanced at the clock on the wall. _Man, heâs been up half the night._

They put their coats and hats on and went out into the darkness. Jenny lit their path with the flashlight that had somehow remained in her coat pocket.

The pair stood frozen in place, looking at the scene in front of them. Paul and Jake were on their knees at the tail end of the small brown cow. Her head came off the straw covered floor and she made a pained bellow, causing Jenny to jump, before plopping her head back down. âSteve, we need you here now,â Paul snapped.

Steve moved quickly to Paulâs side while Jenny got in a position to see what they were doing. Two small feet were protruding, each with a small nylon rope tied around it. The ropes went to an axe handle Paul and Jake were holding. âShe canât deliver the calf on her own so we need to pull it. Iâve tried but Iâm not strong enough.â For the first time Jenny noticed the band of sweat on his forehead.

âGet ahold of this handle Steve and the next contraction, weâll pull for all weâre worth.â Steve took the proffered end as Paul repositioned himself at the center of the handle and braced his feet against the cowâs bottom leg. The new Hereford calf in the opposite corner went unnoticed by Steve and Jenny. 

The cow raised her head and bellowed again as she was wracked by another contraction. âPull!â Paul commanded, the corded muscles standing up on his arms from the strain. All three men pulled hard, the calfâs legs stretched tight, a nose showing, and then the head came free, Steve and Jake both falling back at the sudden release.The cow lay flat breathing hard as the rest of the calf came free. The calf was covered in bloody amniotic fluid, its head partially covered by the bag of waters. After getting his breath, Paul picked up a nearby burlap bag and began to vigorously rub it over the calf, partially drying it and stimulating it at the same time. He was relieved when the calf gave a slight, wet cough and started breathing.

Paul sat on a straw bale, bent over while he took a few moments to recuperate. The others stood and sat in whatever position they had been in when the calf had been delivered, each with their own thoughts on what had just happened. Jake sat where he had fallen amazed at the whole process and how much force it had taken to get the head clear. Jenny was having thoughts of Jakes birth and the pain she had been in before the epidural started working. _How could the cow stand that?_ Steveâs thoughts were nowhere close to the others:he was picturing a calf-like cork suddenly popping free from a champagne bottle, the amniotic fluid replaced by the bubbly liquid. _Wow, that was intense!_


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## Bret F

After Paul had sat enough he looked at the others, still frozen looking at the calf. âThat was hard on both of them. That heifer has been trying to get that head out for a couple of hours, and I wasnât tough enough to get it done. Itâs too bad she couldnât have done like that girl there.â He indicated the Hereford cow and calf, each of the three noticing the new arrival for the first time. âLetâs try to get them both standing.â He stood stiffly to his feet and walked to the calf. He bent over it and hoisted it to its feet. It stood on wobbly legs, unable to support itself. It would have fallen onto the straw bed but for Paul supporting it. âSteve, do you think you can take my place here so Jake and I can get the mother up?â The request sounded much more like an order than a request and Steve jumped to obey, much to Jennyâs surprise.

âJake, over here,â he continued and bent over at the young cowâs side. âDang big bulls,â he muttered as Jake joined him. He showed Jake where to push, and the two of them lift/pushed the cow until she was on her feet. She stood unsteadily for a bit before she turned shakily to the new calf and nuzzled it. Soon she was licking it, cleaning the fluid Paul had not gotten off with the burlap sack. âCan the calf stand on its own Steve?â he asked. âIf it can it would be better to let the momma alone with it.â

Steve raised his hands and the calf remained upright, although none too steady. âBarely,â he answered. The mother gave an extra vigorous lick, sprawling the calf between Steveâs spread legs.

He was reaching to stand it back up when Paul stopped him. âLetâs see how they do without us helping for a minute.â

They stood back to watch while the cow continued to lick the calf and bump it with her nose. Some of the bumps were quite forceful. The calf soon tried to get to its feet. â_Wow, just like Bambi_,â Steve thought as it stood unsteadily, swaying.

Jenny was still staring at the scene in wide-eyed amazement. They had ripped that calf out like that and now the cow was standing, licking it! And the calf, after having its legs nearly dislocated was standing, albeit shakily. The cow suddenly stopped licking as a contraction ripped through her and she expelled the placenta.

âHey, are you guys having trouble? Oh, what a beautiful calf!â Toni stated as she came into the lantern light. She admired the calf with a delighted look on her face. âMom is wondering about breakfast, should she start it or hold off.â

âThey are both looking pretty good now, but it was a tough birth. I want to make sure the calf gets some colostrum before I head in.â

âColos, what? Steve asked.

âColostrum. Itâs the first milk that is produced after birth. It contains the antibodies that will protect the calf. They donât get their immunities when in the womb, so it needs to transfer from this milk. Itâs also easier on the digestion and high in protein. Itâs the most important meal that little guy will ever have.â Paul looked back to Toni, âWhy donât you tell Mom we should be ready in about a half hour. Jake, Steve, Jenny; could you guys feed the rest of the animals and check all the water? Iâll make sure this one eats.â

âCould I stay?â Jenny asked. âThis is just soâ¦fascinating.â

âSure,â Paul told her. âWeâll give these two a little longer to get acquainted and then the calf should try to eat. Weâll just be here to make sure it goes smooth.â

The two of them settled on the straw bale and Paul finally noticed the chill in the air. He wiped his arms as well as possible, rolled his shirt sleeves down, retrieved his coat from a nail and sat back down with Jenny after pulling the coat tight and zipping it up.

âDoes this type of stuff happen often?â Jenny asked. âI mean, having to pull a calf.â

âMost of the time, the cow can get everything done on her own. But this does happen on occasion. And just like people, sometimes they even need a C-section. The most problems happen with first-time mothers, but not always. And usually the parent animals are closer matched in size. But this little cow is on the small size and the wrong bull got to her. The man I traded her for had a Jersey bull ready to go, but a bigger Angus bull in the neighborâs pasture went through the fence and took care of business.â

Jenny had a puzzled look when Paul mentioned Angus. âSo, I remember the grocery stores were pushing Angus, you call that one over there Hereford and this one a Jersey. You told me before that this would be the milk cow, but Iâm not sure I understand the difference.â

âLook at the differences in these two cows. See how the Herford has much heavier muscle mass than the Jersey. They grow bigger and faster. The cow industry is pretty much specialized now. There are certain cows that produce a lot of milk that are used in dairies, those are mostly Holsteins; the black and white cows Iâm sure youâre familiar with. The Jerseys produce a lot of milk, just not as much as the Holsteins but I prefer them because they produce so much more cream. And then there are cows that produce great steaks and burgers. Thatâs the Herefords and Angus. Thereâs not a lot of crossover nowadays. When I was a kid, my Dad had âmilking Shorthornsâ. They produced a good amount of milk as well as a good animal for butchering. They werenât the best at either so they grew out of vogue in the modern world.â They sat quietly while Jenny looked more critically at the two cows and considered what Paul had told her.

âThere now, thatâs what weâre waiting for,â he said in a satisfied tone. The calf was nuzzling at the cowâs front legs and slowly moving towards the udder. âIf he doesnât get it on his own in a little bit weâll help him out.â They watched, Jenny with continued amazement as the calf found what it was looking for and started to suckle. âIt looks like we can leave them on their own for now. This evening weâll milk the cow. Thatâs always fun for the first few times.â He checked that the water bucket was still filled, took the lantern from the nail and the two of them started for the house.


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## Bret F

The aroma of fresh biscuits and sausage welcomed Paul and Jenny to the house. After Paul had scrubbed his arms and hands thoroughly he settled into his chair at the table after graciously accepting a cup of coffee from Ruth. 

Following the blessing, plates were filled with fresh biscuits, sausage gravy and fried eggs. Steve paused between bites and told Paul, âWell, when you said the real work started today, I wasnât sure what to expect, but that was quite a job with that calf.â

Paul finished chewing and swallowed then chuckled at Steve. âThat was just a little bump in the road. The real work starts after breakfast.â

His fork frozen partway to his mouth, Steve asked, âAfter breakfast? But itâs still dark outside.â 

âYes it is now, but after weâve cleaned up here and walked down the road about a mile, itâll be light then.â

âWhatâs down the road?â Steve asked, not at all liking the way the day seemed to be lining up. 

âOur neighbor Scott; he came by a few days ago and asked if we could help him today. He has about forty sheep that need sheared and itâs a bigger job than his family can handle on their own.â

âSheep shearing? Whatâll be next, sitting up a spinning wheel and making socks?â Steve asked snidely.

Paul shot a level gaze at him. âThat wonât come right away, but it will happen this summer and fall when we all have a little spare time. If you remember rightly, youâre not going to run down to Wally World and get a new pack of socks. Or would you rather go barefoot next winter?â

âSteve looked away from the direct stare. âSorry, Iâm still having a tough time adapting.â He finished his breakfast in silence.

They walked down the road with the sun coming up and waking everything from its slumber. Meadowlarks were on fences singing to the new day. They would fly a short distance into the nearby fields when the group came near. Shadow ran from one side of the road to the other looking and smelling everywhere. A group of quail exploded from a wild rose she was snuffling excitedly. She gave chase for a short distance, barking at the fast flying birds.

The sheep were bunched together in a small pen next to the barn when they arrived. Paul led the way into the barn where Scott, his wife Janet and teenage boys Mack and Ben were working. They had cleaned and swept the plank floor. A stationary bicycle was set up near a support post.

Paul greeted the family and made introductions to Steve and Jenny. Scott lined out what he had in mind. âOne of the boys can move a ewe in the chute there from the pen. At that point we need to pick any cling-on stuff off the wool.â He saw the questioning look. âThe dirtier the wool, the more we have to sharpen the clippers. Then we pull the ewe out and shear her. Paul, youâve sheared before, do you want the power clippers or the hand ones?â

âPower clippers? How are you running them?â

Scott pointed to the bicycle. âThatâs my power unit. See where the chain goes up to the pulley we mounted next to the motor? As long as someone pedals we can run the clippers. We tested it on a couple yesterday and although itâs not as handy as an electric motor, it is quite a bit faster than using the hand shears.â

âYouâre a lot faster than me so you better use the power clippers.â

Scott nodded his head in agreement. âSo, anyway, the rest of you can wrestle the sheep to each of us, help hold the fleece out of the way of the shears, stack the fleeces and get the ewes back into the pasture. Might need to take a turn peddling that bicycle too. All right boys, get us some sheep.â

A sheep was soon brought to each of the men. Paul upended the ewe onto its rump, its back leaning against his legs with the head close to his crotch. His left hand was under the jaw, circling the nose. With the skin as taut as possible, he started clipping the wool away from the belly, going from the breastbone to the udder. He took special care around the udder not to nick it. 

He moved to a hind leg, supporting it with his left hand and shearing from the hoof as far as he could get with the sheep in its sitting upright position. He did the same with the other hind leg.

âHowâs it going there?â Scott asked as he straightened and directed the crew to get him another sheep. And get the first one in the pasture.

âItâs going, but not near as fast as you. Itâs a good thing Iâve been doing all my pruning the last few days. It helped my hand quite a bit, otherwise Iâd probably be cramping by now.â He continued to work while talking with Scott, working the wool off the front legs in the same manner he did the rear. âSpeaking of working on my grip, I get to do it some more when we get home. That Jersey heifer calved this morning so Iâll have to milk her once we get back.â 

âHey thatâs great,â Scott told him while starting on the next ewe. âWhatâd you get, a heifer or bull calf?â  

âUnfortunately itâs a bull,â Paul answered while holding the head and going as far around the sides of the neck and the top of the head as far as he could.

âYeah, thatâs unfortunate; a heifer would have been nice. Oh, well, maybe next year. So did I ever tell you what I read about the professional sheep shearers? Those guys can do a sheep in under two minutes. Hey, Mack, Iâm getting pretty close to having this one done.â 

Paul glanced up while he was repositioning the sheep on its side with its head up near his knees. _Heâs finished with his second and Iâm still on my first._


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## Bret F

âSo that paper I read said the world record was something like eight hundred and thirty lambs in eight hours. Can you believe that?Oh and with those clippers youâre using, a guy did fifty sheep in eight hours with those. Man, Iâd like to see those guys work.â

Paul found it hard to believe a man could shear that many, but if thatâs all a guy did all day he had to get good. He worked the wool as far down the side as he could with Toni helping hold it away, rolled the sheep to its other side and repeated the process. He raised the ewe up, made a few of more snips and Toni removed the fleece. Paul stood straight and gratefully stretched his back, thankful for the break, and the delay while the next ewe went to Scott. All too soon he had his own sheep and began to shear again.

Mack, Ben, Jake and Steve each took turns shearing, giving Paul and Scott breaks from the back-wrenching, bending action. Paul noted Mack and Ben were both faster than he was, but with their youthful energy they could also handle the sheep and peddle the bicycle better. _Ah, but itâs the pits to get old. _

By early afternoon, the last ewe was in the pasture, her lambs happily by her side. Janet had taken Jenny to the house some time earlier and the two of them now had a large meal prepared and set out on the picnic table. The water in the wash basin was changed after each person cleaned away the accumulated grime on their hands. They all ate with appetites enhanced by hard work.

âWhat do you do with the wool now?â Jenny asked. âI mean it doesnât look like you are going to just start making sweaters out of it how it is now.â She unconsciously rubbed her hands where the lanolin had coated them while she was working.

Janet chuckled. âNo, the wool is a long way from being a sweater. The next thing we do is clean it. Weâll lay each individual fleece out flat and untangle any curls that are holding dirt or junk in. Then we shake it real well to get as much stuff off it as we can. We fill a barrel or wash tub with hot water and soak it to get as much dirt and whatnot off as we can. Thatâs the pre-wash soak. Then we put it in another tub of soapy hot water. We donât agitate it because that will damage the wool fibers; just make sure everything is well soaked.

âIt goes from there into another tub with clean water to rinse it. We try to keep it hot or the grease will reattach to the wool, and each tub of water needs to be about the same temperature so the wool isnât shocked. We need to keep rinsing until we get clean water after a rinse. Sometimes, if the wool is quite dirty or heavy in lanolin, we might have to wash it again.â

âWow, I had no idea,â Jenny said. âNo wonder nice wool sweaters cost so much, all the hard work to get the wool and then cleaning it. I just always thought somebody made the prices high to get rich.â

âNo thereâs a lot of work involved. And at that point itâs still just a fleece with a lot more to be done on it. Of course after it is clean, we have to dry it in a way that letâs air circulate around it, but it still stays clean. Next comes carding. That is a process where we have tools with steel fingers that separate and straighten the fibers.And during this, we still find pieces of stuff that gets picked out and flicked away. It is so hard to get the wool perfectly clean. The fibers are then twisted back into one another to form strings of wool. The shorter strings are twisted into one another to make long continuous ropes of wool called rovings.

âThen out comes the spinning wheel to make yarn. The spinning process is best seen, but I take the rovings and spin it into yarn. And then it is finally time to get out the knitting needles and start turning it into something useful. It is all quite a process. Iâm just glad I was able to learn to do it as a hobby because it has become a very valuable skill again.â Janet was silent in contemplation. For Jenny, it was as good as an exclamation point on her narrative.

âThe cleaning, I do outside. Iâll probably do it pretty soon so I can keep the water warm with fires and keep the smell, did I mention wet, hot wool tends to stink, anyway, keep the smell out of the house. The rest of the process and of course knitting are best done on long winter evenings beside the wood stove.â

Once the remnants of the meal was cleaned up and the dishes were done, Paul started his group toward home. Shadow had to be called away from the pasture where she had been keeping close tabs on the sheep.

At home, Paul resignedly put some warm water in his steel bucket and told the group he was going to the barn. Without telling anyone directly, he told them all that the young plants in the greenhouse would need watered, the cows and rabbits fed and watered, the chicken feed and water checked and the eggs gathered. Luckily, the wood box could wait a day to be filled since they hadnât kept the fire going through the day. All he wanted was to sit and rest, not go milk a young cow for the first time ever. He wasnât sure he was up to the fight.

Jenny thought about the new calf and mother, how amazing she thought the whole thing was and asked if she could go along and help him. He saw the anticipation on her face and thought he really might need some help.âSure, you can help. And when you guys feed the cows, see if any others are close to calving.â They had all been bred in a close time frame so the calves should all come soon.

The two calves were both on their feet looking strong when Paul and Jenny went into the barn. Jenny looked at them then asked Paul, âSo if I understand right, the red and white cow, I mean the Hereford, doesnât need milked because she wonât give extra milk. But the brown Jersey cow will give more than her calf will eat?â

âThatâs pretty much it,â Paul told her. âNow weâll put grain in the feed box in the stanchion â that head lock contraption there and secure the cow. And then, look out for flying feet.â

âWhat do you mean?â

âCows that are new to being milked donât like it at all. They stomp and kick and make for a not very fun time. Just watch.â Paul brought a pan of grain in and after getting the cow to eat some directly from the pan, he coaxed her to the stanchion and poured the grain in. She instantly jerked back as soon as her head was secured. He talked soothingly to her and soon she went back to eating. âGet me that bucket and rag there, would you please Jenny,â he said as he pointed to a plastic bucket hanging from a nail. He poured his wash water in the bucket, dipped the rag in, wrung it out and went to the cowâs side.

He patted her, then bent to her udder with the rag, keeping one hand on her flank. The moment his rag enveloped hand touched the udder, she kicked at it. He deflected it as best he could, lowering his left hand, and continued to try to clean her. The cow, kicked, crow hopped, and kicked some more. âThere is a little contraption made, well it used to be made that was a sort of shackle system that chained the legs together to stop them from kicking. They work fairly well, but even with them, I had cows kick me when I was a kid. I prefer to have them just get used to me and accept this.â He continued to clean and the cow did slow down on kicking â a little.


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## Bret F

He picked up his milk bucket and holding it with one hand began to milk. He was instantly yanking the bucket away with each squirt. Once, he was too slow; the cowâs foot landed in the bucket, the side pinned to the straw covered floor and all the milk he had accumulated ran out. He got her foot moved shook his head and rinsed the bucket and started again. Eventually the cow accepted his actions and he tried using two hands, just to yank the bucket away again in the nick of time. He had Jenny get him his milk stool, two pieces of two by four nailed together in a tee and settled on it to try again. 

âThatâs a milk stool?â Jenny asked. âIt doesnât look anything like the stools Iâve seen in those specialty shops.


âNo, itâs sure not like them. They are too stable. Youâve seen how this cow acts. Can you imagine setting on one of those and getting away from her kicking hoof?â Right on cue, the foot flashed out at Paul and he rolled away, avoiding contact. âIf I was on a three legged stool, she would have nailed me a good one there.â He started laughing softly. âTrue story for you; my granddad was milking his cow one morning and the dog came in and spooked the cow. He wasnât expecting her to kick and she connected perfectly. It broke his leg. Iâve always remembered that and try to watch for any movement from any cow.â

Finally Paul had the cow milked out and he stood. He released the cow from the stanchion; she instantly returned to her calf and started smelling it as if something had happened to it on the other side of the room. The milk was deep yellow with floating pieces of dirt and straw and whatever else had been clinging to the cowâs foot. âSee the deep color? Itâll lighten up when sheâs done producing colostrum and look more like regular milk. Now, I put a dish out here a few days ago. Letâs fill it for the cat, give a little to Shadow and put the rest in a pan for the chickens.â

âYou mean after all that youâre not even going to keep the milk?â

âWell for one thing, look at all that stuff floating in there. Her foot isnât exactly sanitary.â He watched Jenny for a reaction and saw she got his point. âBesides that, I donât care for the first milk. Iâve tried it but it just tastes different. But itâs loaded with protein so it makes a great supplement for the chickens. He poured the bowl for the cat and called her. She soon came from the hay stack where she had been watching for mice and started lapping hungrily at the milk. Jenny gave the cat a few strokes on her soft back before Paul started for the door. 

Jenny followed noticing for the first time just how tired Paul was. She reached down and took the bucket form him and went to the chicken pen. âSave a little for Shadow,â Paul reminded her. She nodded her head in affirmation and continued. 

That evening after supper, they sat around in the relaxed state caused by a day of hard work. Paul was nodding off in his chair. Jenny was thinking about all of the new things she had seen that day and how incredibly fascinating it had all been. A far buried memory surfaced of her own grandfather, milking his cow and squirting the face of his cat. The cat opened his mouth and caught as much of the milk as he could in his mouth, but still got a lot on his face. A very young Jenny had laughed in delight at that. It had been so fun at her grandparents. _I wish Mom would have let me go to their house more. If I knew half of what Grandma did, Steve and I wouldnât have been in such a horrible spot._


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## manygoatsnmore

Thank you, Bret! A lovely long chapter this time, and lots of good, accurate info included. Just as an aside, we had Milking Shorthorns when I was growing up. Lovely animals, and if I had the pasture for them, I'd have them again in a New York minute.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret, made me feel like i was there watching.....


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## Bret F

Thank you very much for the kind comments.

MGM, Dad always had a Jersey Milk cow (therefore my preference in the stories), but for a couple of years he had a shorthorn bull. The calves that he kept from him were some of the nicest cows we had. 

My grandpa (another inspiration in parts of these stories), after scraping and barely getting by for years was able to get a nice 40 acre farm and some Holstein cows that he sold the milk from. My how things have changed. He would fill the "old milk cans" and set them on a wooden stand by the road. The processing company would come along in a truck and pour the milk into the large tank; hence the need for the stand. (My brothers and cousin got to rebuild it one weekend after hooking the milk cart up to a neighbors horse- I was too young to see it, but I heard about it for years). But the Holsteins were the job, Grandma insisted he have a Jersey for her. The butter churn was always in view when we went there.(And the cow did break his leg once).


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## dogbone62

Loving every single chapter from every writer! First time poster. You guys are so sneaky though. Giving us information with real life(in a fictional form) examples. Applause to all. :bandwagon:


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## manygoatsnmore

Bret, we had a variety of milk cows, and Polly, my favorite was a Jersey. I didn't have a horse, but I rode Polly! Our first purebred and registered bull was Mark, a Milking Shorthorn, and he put his stamp on our stock for generations, along with other MSH cows Dad added. In fact, if you traced the lineage of my brother's cattle (he bought the farm from Dad), you'll still find Milking Shorthorn in a number of them. So, both MSH and Jerseys are near and dear to my heart!


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## udwe58

Really love reading your stories. So glad Steve & Jenny survived!


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## upsidedown

I have loved these stories.. Keep them coming


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## puddlejumper007

:rock:watching for more, when you get a chance....


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## dogbone62

More please!


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## Bret F

Wow, has it been a week already. I need a weekend, but the last one left me with a "weak end".

Thank you all so much, reading and commenting!

Things are crazy right now. I've got this chapter ready, but I'm not sure when I'll get the next one.

Bret


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## Bret F

Chapter 16

Jenny got out of bed stretching and looked out the window. It was nice to get a full nightâs sleep after the early start and hard work of the day before. She could see that the cows were eating contentedly; someone had fed them already. While she watched, Paul came out of the barn with his milk bucket and walked towards the chicken pen.

Steve reached for her missing form and raised enough to see her standing at the window. âHey Baby, what are you doing up already. Crawl back in here with me for a while.â

âNo, Paul is already out doing the early chores so we should get out there and see what needs done.â She continued to look out the window while Steve buried his face in his pillow. âI had the most vivid dream last night about my grandparents. You never met them, but they were the sweetest people. My Mom didnât let me go to their place much because she was ashamed of where she came from. When I was little, I could never understand it. I loved to go out to their farm.â Her eyes began to mist over. âI fell into Momâs ways after I got a little older and started to think I was better than them too. I could see how it hurt them but I didnât care because I was so full of myself, just like Mom.â Tears were running down her face. âMom was so horrible to them and I turned out just as horrible. Staying here is making me remember them a lot.â

âForget about that, come back to bed with me.â

âNo, Iâm going to go help. I wonât treat Paul and Ruth that same way. I canât ever make up for the way I acted, I mean, I did it. But I can keep from repeating the same mistakes. Itâs about time I grew up.â She watched Paul leave chicken house and walk to the shop.

âWasnât that an amazing day yesterday Steve? I mean it was hard work, but wow. To be there and see that calf born, well, I guess you got to do more than see it And then the sheep. Itâs incredible how much work goes into getting a wool sweater. Janet said I could come and learn how to make the wool into yarn. Did you hear what she told me about the grease on the wool? Itâs actually lanolin, you know like they use in makeup and lotion. It was just so much stuff yesterday. I wonder what weâll do today?â

âI donât know; get up too stinking early, bust my back all day, Iâd guess. I could think of a lot of things that would be more incredible though. Like flicking a switch and a light coming on. Or opening the fridge and getting out a cold beer, then watching a game. Now that would be incredible. But yesterday; thatâs about as far from incredible as I can imagine.â

âSteve, donât be that way. We got to see and do some neat stuff, so what if it was hard.â

He finally raised his head from his pillow. âI can see you arenât coming back to bed, so I better tell you something. That stuff would all be neat if you were barefoot in some grass hut somewhere. But our country was part of something called the industrial revolution. You ever hear of it? It made it so we shouldnât have to manhandle sheep and get up in the middle of the night. Now Iâm planning on getting a little more sleep. You go back in time all you want, but youâre doing it by yourself.â He rolled with his back to her and wrapped an arm over his head.

Jenny looked at him aghast. âOh Steve, havenât you learned a single thing?â she said in a whisper.

He ignored her as she gathered up her clothes for the day and left to change in the bathroom. After dressing, she opened the bedroom door enough to toss her nightclothes on the bed and shoot a disappointed look at Steve. 

âGood morning Ruth,â she said as she entered the kitchen. Ruth was cracking eggs into a bowl. âSorry I slept late, but Iâm here now and ready to do whatever you need help with. Are you making scrambled eggs for breakfast?â

âGood morning, Dear. I hope you slept well. You had a busy day yesterday and needed the rest.â She looked at the bowl in front of her, âNow this is going to be noodles.Paul asked if we couldnât have chicken and noodles today so he will butcher a chicken later and Iâm making the noodles.â

âYou can make noodles? I didnât know that. Well, there is so much I donât know about cooking, but I never really gave it a thought about making noodles. Would you teach me?â

âOf course I can teach you dear. This is a very simple recipe Paulâs mother gave me. They were extremely poor like most people during the depression so this recipe is pretty basic. I crack eggs into the bowl and for each egg, I put in one half of an egg shell of water.â She held the open end of the shell under the faucet, filled it and dumped the water into the bowl. âThe more eggs you use the more batter you get. Then some salt; I never measure it.â She reached into the salt container and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it into the egg and water mixture and repeated that two more times.âNow mix this all together well.â

She wiped her hands on the bottom of her apron and went to the pantry cabinet and returned with a can of flour. âNow we mix in flour until the dough is quite thick. I have heard of people putting other things into the mix, but this is so simple and I always loved it when Paulâs mother served it.â She poured some flour into the bowl and began to mix everything together with her hands. âWhen I have it the consistency I want, Iâll roll it out flat with the rolling pin and let it dry out a bit. When itâs dry enough, Iâll cut it into noodles and let it dry further. Sometimes I might roll the flattened dough and cut the noodles off as coils, then roll them out again to dry. Either way, by afternoon they will be all set up and ready to drop in the pot with the chicken.â 

âSo thatâs about it. Since my hands are covered with this, would you mind getting breakfast started? You can get a jar of bacon from the pantry, whip up some eggs to scramble and put the leftover biscuits in the oven. But donât close the door all the way; we only want to warm them up.â

Jenny looked in the pantry and found a number of pint Mason jars with bacon inside them. She took one to the counter and removed the ring and popped the sealed lid free She tipped the jar up over a plate expelling a roll of parchment paper, that when unrolled had slices of bacon arranged on it. After she had two frying pans out she noticed the large pot on the stove and raised the lid to peek inside. âCan I move this water to have the place on the stove for the eggs?â


----------



## Bret F

âOf course Dear. Paul is just warming that to scald the chicken later.â

âI donât have a clue what youâre talking about,â Jenny answered while she was moving the pot around.

âWhen we butcher chickens, we always dip them into very hot water; it makes the feathers come off easy.â

Jenny looked aghast. âYou mean like a lobster, you throw a live chicken into a pot of hot water? And I thought butchering rabbits was bad.â 

âNo, no, not quite like that,â Ruth said, the mirth obvious at Jennyâs reaction. âThey are dead when they go into the water.â

The frying pan was on the stove to heat and Jenny started to remove the first slice of bacon from the paper and it came off in pieces. âWell, thatâs a relief. I canât imagine putting a live chicken in hot water. Is there a secret to this?â she asked, looking at the small pieces of bacon she was holding, knowing that when Ruth cooked it wasnât bacon bits.

âI use a pancake turner to separate the slices from the paper. Itâs still pretty fragile but you can get it loose in almost full pieces that way.â Jenny got everything started for the meal and began to set the table. She almost didnât set a place for Steve. _No, one of us acting like a baby is enough._

Jenny was just taking the eggs off the stove when Paul, Jake and Toni came into the house. Everyone cleaned up and sat down at the table. Paul glanced at the empty seat and Ruth gave him a quick shake of her head. 

âWe need to do something with some of the plants in the greenhouse,â Toni told her dad. âA lot of them need to be transplanted and weâre almost out of space.â

âI figured we were getting pretty close, but was hoping to put it off a little longer. I guess I know what weâre doing today.â Paul chewed and swallowed another bite of eggs before he continued. âLetâs get the compost and manure spread and till the garden. We can get the Wall Oâ Waters set up and move a bunch of the plants to them.â

âSet up the what?â Jake asked. Jenny was glad her son asked, saving her from asking herself or remaining clueless.

âWall Oâ Waters. They are a season extender that makes it so we can get things out in the garden a lot sooner. Basically they are a series of tubes joined in a circle that are filled with water. The plant goes in the middle. They are like a miniature greenhouse. The water absorbs solar heat during the day and releases it at night. They can protect tender plants down into the teens.â

When the meal was finished, Ruth shooed everyone out of the kitchen. âIâll take care of this and wash the dishes and sweep. You have a lot to do outside. Iâll join you after Iâve got everything done and fed Nick.â Jenny noticed there was no mention of feeding Steve. 

Outside, Paul directed Jake and Toni to the compost and manure piles. âThat all needs spread out on the garden and then weâll till it in. Letâs put the tiller on the tractor and Iâll show you how to run it Jake. I had the gas and diesel barrels both filled and stabilized just before the power went out. I donât know how long itâll be good, so we might as well use it for this. Iâm going to get Ruth a couple of chickens for supper so Iâll have to let you guys do it without me for a while. What about you Jenny? Two wonderful choices, you can shovel manure or learn to butcher a chicken.â 

âWith the mental picture I have right now about chickens, Iâd like to help you if thatâs all right.â 

âOf course itâs all right. Well, letâs get the tiller on the tractor first.â

After Jake and Toni were lined out and working, Paul led Jenny to the chicken house. There was a cage inside with two hens inside it.âI put these in before I let them all out this morning. It would have been hard to catch them once they were outside.â

âDid you just catch two random hens or did you pick these on purpose?â Jenny inquired.

âI pretty much chose these. They are both pretty old. A hen only produces a set number of eggs in her life with most of them coming in the first year or two. Also, compare their combs to that hen on the nest. See how deep red hers is and these two are light pink? That is an indication they arenât laying.â He reached into the door panel and pulled out the first struggling, squawking hen. When she was calmed he held her out to Jenny. âWrap your hand tight around a leg and if she starts to struggle, donât let go. You can rest her across your arm and she will be fairly calm.â

He removed the second hen and led Jenny to the wood shed. A large tree round of wood had an axe leaning against it. Small remnants of feathers and dark stains were on the top of the block where indented lines marked places the axe had struck. 

Paul repositioned the hen; holding both legs and the tips of the wings in his left hand. âI try to control as much of their movements as I can like this. If a wing is free, sometimes they flap around making the next part tougher to do cleanly.â He quickly thanked the Lord for His provisions and laid the henâs neck and head across the block, pulling it slightly. His right hand came down swiftly, the axe removing the head in one stroke. He turned and tossed her into the grass.

âSo thatâs what the saying means,â Jenny said with a touch of awe in her voice.

âWhat saying is that?â Paul asked as he took the second hen from her hands.

âJumping around like a chicken with its head cut off,â she murmured, mesmerized watching the chicken jump all around the area. âI had always heard it but it didnât mean anything to me. Do they always do that?â

A loud thunk sounded from the chopping block before Paul answered, the second hen jumping all around. âMost chickens do that, well except for broiler chickens. They are so heavy and weak legged they just lay there and kick. I sometimes refer to them as Dolly Parton chickens if you get the reference.â He watched them for another few seconds before continuing. âNow we need to get that hot water from the house.â


----------



## Bret F

The pot on the stove was close to boiling when Paul got it, and the dishpan with two paring knives that he passed to Jenny. He carried it to his butcher table in the machine shed then went to pick up the motionless hens. He held the first by the legs and put it in the water, sloshing it up and down. âThe water needs to be short of boiling. Too hot and the skin rips and too cool, the feathers donât release.â He dipped the hen up and down making sure the water had gone past the feathers and pulled it up and grasped some leg feathers and tugged. When they pulled away freely he told Jenny, âThatâs about right. This one is ready to pluck.â He set the hen on the table and repeated the action with the second. 

He laid the second hen on the table and held one leg tight. âNow I remove the feathers. Notice how easy they come off.â He wrapped his other hand around the leg and pushed, coming away with a handful of feathers, only a few remaining attached to the leg. He continued to push his hand firmly across the breast removing even more feathers. He dropped most of them in a pile, some still clinging to his hand and started on the other leg. Jenny reached tentatively to the chicken in front of her and held the first foot. _Okay, itâs just wet feathers. Itâs no big problem._ The feathers came away easy and she deposited them in the pile with Paulâs, shaking her hand to get rid of the last feathers. Paul was on the wing on his bird and showed her how he grasped the feathers and tugged hard to release them and the same with the tail feathers. He was doing the fine picking and looking closely for pin feathers while Jenny was still on the first leg. 

She looked up from the bird when the back door of the house closed a little louder than normal. Steve was stomping head down towards the garden, a couple of paces behind Ruth and Nick. The thoughts she had about him and fertilizer, she kept to herself. She was sure Paul wouldnât approve. Instead, she attacked the feathers with a new vigor, quickly stripping feathers off. Paul observed the change in intensity and the reason for it as he scraped the feathers into a scrap bucket and waited for Jenny to catch up.

When Jennyâs hen was mostly picked he continued. âNow see this nubbin in front of the tail, thatâs where they get oil that they rub on their feathers. I cut this whole section away, taking the grease out with it.â He flipped the bird on its back and straightened a foot out. âCut here at the joint and the foot will come right off. I cut the end of the neck off, both the skin and the bone. I donât want to keep that dirty end after she jumped around everywhere.â He pointed out the raised area at the base of the neck. âThis is the craw or crop. The food goes here. We remove it.â He split the skin and pulled the rounded pouch out and pulled the connecting tissue loose. âNext is the guts.â


Jenny was taking the entire process much better that she had the rabbits. She took the other knife and prepared her bird the same as Paulâs. The craw split as she pulled it free and she gasped as grain and grass spilled onto the neck. âOh! Did I ruin it?â

âItâll be okay,â Paul reassured her. Just pick off what you can easy and weâll make sure to wash that section. In fact weâll wash the whole thing well, so itâs all right. Just try not to have the same thing happen with the intestines.â He took the knife and carefully cut the flap of skin free below the tail bone up towards the breast bone. He reached inside the chicken and worked his fingers around at the opposite end of the cavity.âIâm trying to get the heart free. I can do it this way or pull out what comes easy and go back for the heart, but if I pull it that way, it usually pulls the liver apart.â He tugged and most of the internal organs came out onto the table. Holding the carcass up to Jenny, he told her, âSee the lighter, almost pink parts? Thatâs the lungs tight to the ribs. Work your fingers under them and pull them out. After that just look it over and remove anything that is still hanging on.â

She was extra careful opening the chicken up after splitting the craw and was able to remove everything without rupturing an intestine. 

âVery good,â Paul assured her. âThe hens go in the dish pan. Now the organs, we save the heart and liver just like on the rabbits, after removing the gall bladder. But the birds have one more part I take; the gizzard.â He pointed out the hard nearly round muscle. âThe food goes here and gets ground up. Remove the connecting tissue and then make a shallow cut across the muscle. There is another layer inside that we try not to cut through, although it happens often enough.â He rolled the muscle away from the inner layer and removed it, then cut off everything that connected to it. âSo there, we have a nice piece of some of the toughest meat youâll ever eat. Itâs tough, but I sure like them.â He tossed the gizzard into the dishpan and slid the knife across the Jenny.

She was concentrating very hard on cutting just right when she was startled by Ruthâs appearance and question. âAre those about ready for me to take in and get on the stove?â The knife cut deep when she jerked, scoring deep into the gizzard and exposing the ground grain and gravel. 

âOh, I ruined it,â she said, disappointed in her action.

âNo itâs going to be fine. You just need to clean that all out.â He showed her where to start working it then told Ruth, âAlmost there. Weâre just cleaning the second gizzard and then you can have them.â

Ruth looked at what Jenny was doing. âOh youâre doing great. My first time was a lot messier than that.â

Jenny looked at Ruth, âThanks.â _She actually means it._ She finished the gizzard and put it in the dishpan, relieved to have the chore done.

âSo now, the chickens need cleaned up and the mess here needs cleaned up. Ruth, do you want to show her how we singe them now?â

âWait, thatâs another term I donât understand. Remember, I still donât speak fluent country,â Jenny told him with a smile.

âRight. See all the hairs on the carcass?â he asked as he held one near her. âI donât like to eat hair, so we singe, or burn, them off. In the past, we used a small pan with some rubbing alcohol in it. I would light it and hold the bird over the flames, rolling it all around to burn off all the hairs. I liked the alcohol because it burns so clean. Nowadays, not knowing when weâll be able to get more, we have been lifting a plate on the cook stove and using the flames to singe off the hair. Itâs not as clean but we scrub the birds anyway before we cook them.â 

Ruth put the knives in the pan and picked it up and started for the house, Jenny falling in beside her. Paul turned back to the table and began to clean up the mess. When it was done he would take care of the axe.

The tractor started up before Paul was finished so he looked at the garden to check on the progress there. Steve and Toni were still spreading fertilizer on one side. Jake was on the tractor with Nick nestled in front of him. They drove to the side that already had the manure spread on it and started running the tiller. Nick was making a great show of helping his Dad operate the tractor. Paul chuckled and got back to work.
*****​


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## Bret F

Jenny and Ruth found Paul at the shed where he was loading the garden cart. âThe chickens are on the stove cooking. What do you need us to do?â Ruth asked.

âWell, I was just getting everything loaded to set up the Wall Oâ Waters. Iâve got them in, now I need a couple of five gallon buckets and a bunch of hoses. Weâll also need the hand cultivator.â He pointed to a contraption against the wall with a high metal wheel, two handles and a cultivator blade. When the cart was loaded, Paul wheeled it to the garden while Ruth pushed the cultivator.

âIâll put in the row first. Weâll use it for a line for the transplants and set the plants close enough to it theyâll water good but not tip over the covers.â Paul took the cultivator and picked an aiming spot at the opposite end and started cutting a row in the freshly tilled dirt. He turned around at the other end and pushed the cultivator back to where Ruth and Jenny were waiting, removing more dirt from the row. After he leaned the cultivator against the fence he admired his work. âWell, itâs not exactly straight, but Iâll bet itâll run water and the plants will grow. 

âIâm going to run the hoses from the ditch in the pasture. Iâm hoping weâll get enough flow to fill the tubes up. Why donât you start laying the Wall Oâ Waters out while I do that.â Paul picked up a hose and began rolling it out while Ruth and Jenny started to lay the Wall Oâ Waters on the ground at two foot intervals. 

When the hoses were laid out and a small dirt dam put in the ditch at the end of the last hose, Paul returned to the other end, pleased to see a slow trickle of water flowing. He stood a bucket on its end and set a Wall Oâ Waters around it. Jenny stood to the side to see the process. The end of the hose was put into one of the tubes and it began to fill with water. âThe bucket will hold it upright while we fill the tubes with water. I like to fill one on each side, then in a cross pattern If I just start going around the circle, the weight will pull the whole thing over.â

After watching for a couple of minutes, Jenny set up the second bucket to be ready. Paul soon handed her the hose end and she began filling. He lifted the bucket out of the middle of the one he had filled with water and moved it to the next spot. Indicating the first, he told her, âI overfilled that; see how it stands pretty straight and is open at the top? After we get the plant inside it, weâll squeeze the top together so it looks like a miniature teepee. The plants will need any water we squeeze out.â Jenny nodded her head in understanding.

âYouâre doing fine with this so Iâll go get a load of plants,â Paul said and picked up the cart handles and started for the greenhouse. 

Jenny had just started on the next Wall Oâ Water when Steve sauntered over. âBoy, donât you get the easy job. Holding that water hose looks a whole lot easier than all that shoveling and pushing wheelbarrows.â

The icy stare she gave him should have frozen him in place. She held the gaze while coming to a decision to be the bigger person. âAll right, you do this, Iâll shovel,â she told him quietly and thrust the hose at him. The reaction caught him by surprise; the hose fell to the ground as she strode away.

âWell, I see somebody could have slept in a little longer,â he quipped to her back. He picked up the hose and started filling the plastic tubes. He had about a third of them on one side filled when the weight pulled the bucket over, all the water spilling out onto the dirt.

*****​ ​ The transplanting was done for the day and Ruth had gone to finish supper while the rest went separate ways to get the evening chores done before they ate. Steve followed Jenny to the chicken house and held the door closed when she tried to open it and go inside. âSo are you going to talk to me? Youâve been pretty shrewish all day.â

âI just didnât know what to say to you. You donât seem to get it that Paul and Ruth are putting us up out of the kindness of their hearts. They donât owe us anything so I am trying to do as much as I can to help out in return. But you,â she had been stewing all day, hoping the right words would come to her. As she had worked, she kept remembering her grandparents and her motherâs horrible treatment of them. _Am I mad at Steve or Mom? Probably both of them._ âYou need to get it through your head that things are different. We canât work for a paycheck and then pass it off to a waitress, then go home and watch Sports Center. We have to adapt and personally, Iâm done being an embarrassment.â The look she leveled at him left little doubt she considered his actions embarrassing.

âIt looks like youâve adapted enough for both of us. Youâre turning into a regular little Laura Ingalls,â he snapped back.

âSteve, I know you said that to mock me, but that might be the best compliment youâve ever given me. Now if youâll move, I have work to do.â She pulled his arm from the door and went into the chicken house, leaving him stunned in place.

*****​


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## Bret F

Jenny walked into the living room where the rest of the family was set in a circle, Steve trailing behind. There were two empty chairs in the circle. Paul finished the verse he was reading, lowered his Bible and looked at the two of them. âDo you know Jesus as your personal savior?â he asked with concern in his voice. âWe would love to have you sit in with us.â

Steve scoffed at the statement. âYou mean an all-powerful being that allowed a bunch of illiterate sand crawlers to turn our wonderful country into a third world, backwoods place? For the survivors that is. Who knows how many millions of people have died because of this. And how many more are going to die before itâs all through. If thatâs what youâre talking about, then no, I donât know him and donât care to know him.â

âWe can never know the reasons the Lord allows things to happen as he does. But you need to know, Satan is the one causing all of these things. However, I do believe it was the Lord that drew us to that road block just when Jenny was being taken. We were put there at that time to save you both.â

âIt seems to me that he put you there a little too late. I can still feel that knife going into me. I wake up at night sweating as that dirtbag stabs me again.â Steve delivered each word forcefully, small bits of spittle flying with each word. âFor that matter, your lord put you there days late. How about getting my head knocked against the wall? Getting over the headaches was even worse than the knife wound.â 

âThe Lord,â Paul began before he was interrupted by Steve.

âIâve listened to all Iâm going to and said my piece!â He turned on his heel and stormed out the door, rattling the door casing with the force of closing.

âIâm so sorry,â Jenny said. âHe just, he just, â¦.â

Ruth stood and walked to her and put a comforting arm around her. âItâs all right, Jenny Dear. We understand, we are concerned about him, but we do understand. Would you like to sit with us?â

Jenny nodded and allowed Ruth to lead her to a seat. âI havenât looked at a Bible since I was little.â She sat down beside Ruth and the other woman took her hand and patted it comfortingly. The seat that was there for Steve was conspicuous in its emptiness.


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## whiskeylivewire

Thank you for making a boring, slow day at work much more entertaining!


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## Bret F

whiskeylivewire said:


> Thank you for making a boring, slow day at work much more entertaining!


Glad I could help. That is actually what got me started on this. Maybe you could be inspired and start adding your own story.


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## dogbone62

We all realize that all of you that have been writing have full time lives. And we thank all of you for sharing your creativity with us. We are blessed to have you giving of yourselves to our community. Please accept this with the sincerity with which it has been given. Once again "Thank You".


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## 355946

I appreciate the time and effort it takes to share your talent with us! I am really losing patience with Steve but I admit that's probably because I see some of myself in his procrastination and denial!


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## manygoatsnmore

Thank you, Bret! I needed another "fix".


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## biggkidd

Good Job!!!!

I think I may be as lazy as Steve. People who have never done it have no idea just how much work it takes to make everything you eat. Along with all the work it takes to get to that point before the first crops even go in the ground.

Thanks again 

Trying to work myself out of steve type ways.

Larry


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## puddlejumper007

yeah, i think i am a little like steve also, just reading it makes me tired..lol thanks Bret nice read...


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## whiskeylivewire

Bret F said:


> Glad I could help. That is actually what got me started on this. Maybe you could be inspired and start adding your own story.


While I do occasionally write,I am not cut out for "prepper porn"


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## puddlejumper007

watching for more when you are able......:happy2:


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## Bret F

puddlejumper007 said:


> watching for more when you are able......:happy2:


Oh all right, since you asked nice.


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## Bret F

Chapter 17

Jenny found Paul seated near the large window in the living room. His reading glasses were perched on his nose and he was poring over printed pages in a manila folder. He skimmed one page and crinkled his brow. Two pages later, he must have found something more agreeable. The look on his face had become more content. Jenny thought he was actually pleased by what he had just read.

âPaul,â she said softly, breaking the reverie. âYou said I could try to milk Jennifer this morning.â

 Jenny had accompanied Paul to the barn numerous times when he milked the cow. She had decided the cow was now an important member of the family and deserved a name.

âSo what do you think would be a good name for her?â Paul had asked, looking up from milking.

After some time to think, her face suddenly flashed in an elated smile. âJennifer,â she stated.

âYou want to name her after you?â Paul asked, confused. âI must be missing something here.â

âNo, not Jenny; Jennifer or maybe J.F. Itâs for Jennifer Farley,â she stated, very satisfied with the idea.

Paul wracked his brain but was unsuccessful in coming up with the name. âSorry Jenny, but Iâve never heard of her. Was she that actor Chris Farleyâs wife?â

She looked back at him; initially shocked he didnât know and then reconsidered. Paul and Ruth lived so differently than she and Steve had before everything had fallen apart. âNo, not Chris Farleyâs wife; Jennifer from Jersey Shore.â She watched him closely to see if that would make a connection for him. The look on his face showed he was as confused as she was when he used farm terms. 

âJersey Shore was a reality television show and Jennifer Farley was one of the characters. I just thought tying Jersey cow to Jersey shore was a fit, especially considering the other aspect of Jennifer.â 

âThe other aspect? Iâm sorry Jenny, but I really donât have a clue what youâre talking about. Iâve never heard of that show. I wasnât much for TV after I was down-sized and went through a lot of soul searching.â 

âOkay, I understand. But Jennifer, well, in a way she reminds of the cow. For her twenty first birthday, she, well, â¦ she gave herself breast augmentation. And just look at that cow. It doesnât look natural!â

Paul bust out laughing, the cow startled by the outburst.

âWhat?â Jenny asked, not sure if she was being mocked. âYouâre the one that calls your chickens Dolly Partons. I was just following your example.â 

âOh itâs perfect, although now youâll have me wondering about Jennifer hereâs namesake.â He continued to chuckle while he milked.

*****​ âOh sure, you get to milk this morning. I was just doing some reading while I was waiting,â he said as he set the folder and his glasses on the coffee table. He picked up his coffee cup and took it to the kitchen to rinse. He looked longingly at the pot, but didnât pour himself more. He had cut back to one cup a day, knowing they were nearly out. The lack of caffeine might give him a headache but he couldnât think of an alternative at the time. It would be much easier on his system to cut out the stimulant from just one cup than the numerous cups he used to consume each day.

âSo what were you reading?â Jenny asked as they put wash water in the milk bucket. 

He handed her coat to her and started to pull his own on before answering. âI was reading about bio-diesel and using vegetable oil in a diesel engine. I found some pretty good stuff in that folder.â 

A crowing rooster announced the morning as they were walking to the barn. âSo does that mean you have some oil stored and can start using it in the truck?â Jenny asked.

âNo, not exactly. What I have is a lot of edamame seed. They were very popular at the Farmerâs Markets with the health food crowd. I got more seed than I needed to grow enough for the markets and with some left over. So I was thinking we could grow them and make oil. We can mix it with the diesel in the fuel tank and run it in the tractor. That makes it so we can do so much more by stretching our fuel out. One of the neighbors has a small combine we could run. A combine harvests grain crops and beans and separates the edible part out,â he said after seeing the confused look from Jenny. âAnd grain, well besides the soybeans, can make flour and we all feed grain to our stock. Grain also makes ethanol. Another neighbor used to grow a lot of mint and has a mint still. Now I donât know the first thing about stills. I had enough alcohol during college to last my lifetime, but still I wonder. Can it be much different to distill mint or grain? Really, I donât know, but I think I need to do some visiting real soon. 

âWe are all in a rough spot, but I think the best way for us all to get through this is by cooperation. We have to work together for things to work out. I think Ben Franklin said it best: âWe must all hang together, or assuredly we will hang separately.ââ

He poured the water into the wash bucket and called Jennifer to the barn with the help of a shaken grain pan. When the cow was in the stanchion, contentedly eating grain, Jenny sat on the milk stool, remembering Paulâs instructions. 

âGrasp tight with your thumb and forefinger to hold the milk there and then squeeze the rest of your hand closed, all the way down to your pinkie.â

âI did it!â she exclaimed happily as her right hand managed to produce a small squirt; far short of what Paul produced. The left hand produced two drops of milk. 

âThatâs it; thatâs a real good start,â Paul told her encouragingly.


----------



## Bret F

Soon, she was producing good squirts of milk with each hand, though still not matching Paulâs production. It wasnât long before she was feeling aches in her fore arms and hands. âMy arms feel dead and I bet I donât have much more than a cup. Iâll never be able to get as much milk as you do.â

âIt takes a lot to work up to milking her without your arms hurting.â He well remembered aching arms and pushing through until he was done. âWhen youâre ready to take a break, Iâll take over until youâre ready to take another turn at it.â They would end up switching off numerous times before Jennifer was milked out; Jenny wanting to get as much time milking as she could bear. 

âI sure hope youâre able to milk her alone soon; weâre coming up to my least favorite season for milking.â

âReally, why is that?â she asked, looking up from her milking.

âWell, in the summertime, the cow is hot; she seems to emanate heat. And then there are the flies. They buzz her like crazy and she is constantly swatting them away with her tail. It hurts to take a full blow from that tail, so I lean in to her even closer to protect my head and face.â 

Jenny got up to trade off again on the milking. âYouâre not really encouraging me to master this you know?â she said as she handed him the bucket.

Paul grinned as he resumed milking. âBut I havenât even told you the worst part yet.â He glanced up to gauge her reaction. She was still taking the information in good humor, but would it hold?

âWell?â she asked.

âYep, the worst is after she switches to fresh green pasture after eating dry hay all winter. It comes out the other end in nearly liquid form. It splatters all over everywhere. And it clings to the tail. Thatâs when you really have to duck.â Again he was watching for her reaction while he fought to suppress a grin. 

âThatâs quite a mental picture youâre giving me. You know a real gentleman would have explained all this before getting his victim hooked on the milk. I thought you were better than that,â she said shaking her head with a deep frown on her face.

Paul thought he might have gone too far and looked at her, ready to apologize. Her frown couldnât hold and she grinned at the concerned look on his face. âEviscerating rabbits, beheading chickens; whatâs a little runny poop to the head after all that? The party never stops here.â Paul had a tough time deciphering her final words that were delivered in a burst of laughter. âAll right, my arms and hands are ready for another shot at it and now I guess I need to practice ducking too.â She traded places with Paul, still chuckling at their conversation.

When the milking was done, Jennifer turned out in the pasture; they took the bucket and left the barn, continuing the light hearted conversation, laughing often. A noise at the hay shed made them look that way. Steve was muscling a bale of hay free and looked at them with a scowl on his face. An uncomfortable silence enveloped Jenny while Steve shot her an accusatory look; Paul greeted Steve and thanked him for getting the cows fed. 

Steveâs response was an unintelligible grunt and he turned his back and took the hay to the feeder. Jenny began to apologize to Paul when he interrupted her. âDonât Jenny; heâs responsible for his own thoughts and actions, just like you are. 

âI have to admit, I think I can relate to what he is going through. After I finished school, my life revolved around work and climbing the corporate ladder. Iâm sorry to say, but I missed too much of Toniâs special times because I had to work. I always had to work; the goal of the corner office drove me on. Once I got it, I thought everything would be perfect. But the stockholders, well, they didnât think everything was perfect. So they found a buyer and sent all of our jobs overseas. Oh, I could have had a job in the new company but my pride was hurt, my dream shattered; my worldâ¦.â He was quiet for a while, thinking of his past.

âStubborn pride wouldnât let me take a demotion, not after everything Iâd done and given up to get where I was. And I certainly wasnât moving to India. We men can be kind of funny. We put on a tough exterior, but our egos can be bruised very deeply, very easily. One of my friends looked for answers in the bottle. The last time I saw him he was a hopeless mess.

âI got sullen, not unlike how Steve is now. I floundered. Ruth was so patient with me, that womanâs a saint. At the time, I thought it was the lowest point of my life but looking back, I feel I was delivered. Iâm not saying that Steve will ever come to the same realization I did, but he needs time and support to find his place in this new reality.â 

Jenny was deep in thought, digesting everything Paul was telling her. She thought he was so strong; it was hard to picture him any other way. His humbleness and willingness to admit his faults was just more of his strength. She resolved to try to be more patient with Steve.


----------



## Bret F

After breakfast they started for the greenhouse and garden to water, weed and transplant. A tarp suspended under the large maple tree drew Jennyâs attention. âWhat is that for?â she asked pointing. âIt looks like itâs filling up with all of the helicopters.â Like so many people, she had often taken maple seeds and tossed them in the air to watch them spin their way to the ground. 

Toni was closest to Jenny and explained to her. âDad is collecting the seeds to eat.â 

âYou eat them?â Jenny asked. 

âWell, weâve all been having them on our salad the last few days,â Toni answered. âYou know those things like pine nuts; thatâs the seeds.â 

âI thought they tasted different but I never thought about it enough to mention.â

Paul joined them looking at the tarp and picked up a seed. He used his thumbnail to split the hull and pulled out the green seed and held it up. âThis is what Iâm collecting. You can eat it like this but itâs kind of bitter. The ones weâve been eating, Ruth has been putting on a cookie sheet and lightly roasting them. We can also boil them and it takes the bitterness out. Theyâre pretty good either way, but I like the crunchy addition to salads. And look at how many are collecting. Thatâs just too much food to let go, even with the work to hull them.â He popped the seed in his mouth and grimaced at the flavor. As he resumed walking to the garden, he muttered, âShould have roasted it.â

There were few weeds in the garden to pull, but a number of chickens paced the separating fence hoping for a treat. Jenny saw the hens and remembered something she had meant to mention to Paul. âPaul, when Iâve gathered eggs the past few days, thereâs been a hen on the nest that really doesnât want me to get her eggs.â 

âHas it been the same hen on the same nest?â he inquired.

âYeah it is, and she sure pecks hard.â 

âSheâs probably gone broody. She wants to hatch some chicks,â he added, remembering she wouldnât know what the term meant. âWhy donât you show me?â He nodded toward Steve before Jenny started for the chicken house. 

âSteve would you like to come along?â she asked, quickly understanding Paulâs intent after their earlier conversation. 

He looked up from the water he was directing and gazed at his wifeâs face for a moment. âSure, I wouldnât mind coming along.â He took his hoe and hung it on the fence and joined Jenny and Paul. Jenny couldnât keep from wondering if he was curious to learn or just wanted to stop working for a while. She suppressed the thought.

Once in the chicken house, Jenny pointed out the hen, âThatâs her. Sheâs been on that same nest three days in a row.â 

Paul reached under her as she squawked loudly and repeatedly pecked the offending hand. âYeah, I think she wants babies. I do too. We are going to need new chickens for eggs and meat. I canât go to the hatchery and get new chicks to replenish the flock like I used to. We have to do it the old-fashioned way. So we need to get her on eggs.

âI donât like to set a hen with eggs in here because the other hens will fight for the nest, eggs get broke and extra eggs get laid in here. The side of the henhouse that isnât used, thatâs my brooder room where I always raised chicks. Weâll set up a feeder and some water in there. Tonight, when itâs dark, weâll put twelve to fifteen eggs in one of the nest boxes in there and put the hen on them. Iâve been able to move a hen pretty successfully that way, though they donât always accept it the first time. If they wake up on a bunch of eggs it works a lot better than moving her during the day.â

Paul led them to the brooder room. He pointed out the nest box they would use and made sure there was clean, albeit dusty lining in it. A feeder was on the floor that he took to fill with grain and he picked up a dusty waterer to fill. âYou called this the brooder room and that you raised chicks in here?â Jenny asked.

âUh huh. When we did the farmerâs markets, fresh chicken was always popular. I would go to Dunlap Hatchery in Caldwell and buy broiler chicks that I raised in here. Iâd usually pick up a few pullets, the girls of good laying varieties too. Those broilers were the worst chickens Iâve ever been around. All they do is eat and poop.â He started chuckling before he continued. âDid you guys see the movie Wall-E? Nick brought it along once when he spent the weekend with us so Ruth and I watched it with him. Those people in deep space all their lives; they reminded me of those broiler chickens.â He chuckled more at the memory. âThose chickens lay around so much it rubs the feathers off their breasts and their legs have a hard time supporting them. Eat and poop. I would put layers of newspaper under the brooder and change it out twice a day. Those chickens grew so fast, at six to eight weeks I would butcher them. Sometimes, they would have heart failure about that time because of the way they grew. Iâm glad I wonât be doing that this year. That is something from the past I certainly wonât miss. Still, I wouldnât mind being able to go buy a bunch of chicks anyway. However, now I would get a variety that lays eggs good and makes a decent sized carcass for eating.â


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## Bret F

They returned to the garden in time for Jake to pull up with the garden cart loaded with plants from the greenhouse that were ready to be put into the garden. âI think frost danger is pretty much over now so weâll get everything into the garden in the next couple of days. We also need to take off the Wall Oâ Waters and drain them and put them away,â Paul told them. It had been many days since they had staked the Wall Oâ Waters to stay open and tomato leaves were sticking out the top of many of them.

Paul soon excused himself and returned sometime later with the wheelbarrow, steel fence posts sticking out the front. A post driver was in the load as well as loops of baling twine left over after feeding the cows through the winter. After stopping the wheelbarrow at the end of the garden, he went into the garden section currently occupied by the chickens. A number of chain link fence top rails were against the fence. He picked them up one at a time and dropped them on the other side of the fence. The chickens ran to investigate his actions and were soon scratching the dirt where the rails had been. A rooster started calling to the hens, inviting them to the spot he had just scratched up. The hens were in a frenzy ridding the spot of any bugs or worms they could find.

Back in the new garden, Paul started moving the top rails to the newly planted row of pole beans, laying them on the ground with a slight overlap at each end. Jenny was curious about his actions and wanted to learn what he was doing. She looked at Steve, on his knees one row over, placing the final squash plant from the greenhouse in its new location. âSteve, I want to see what Paulâs doing. You want to join me?â 

He finished placing the dirt around the plant before answering. âNo.â Jenny got a pained expression on her face at his abrupt answer. He didnât notice it but continued to talk. âNo, Iâd rather join you at Big Alâs with a nice tall, cold beer, beads of condensation running down the side of the glass. The big screen showing the NBA playoff game. At least I think itâs time for the playoffs.â He grimaced. âBut somebody made it so we canât do that, can we.â He picked up a dirt clod and threw it forcefully at the fence. âFine, Iâll go see what heâs doing since weâre stuck here in purgatory.â He got slowly to his feet and brushed the dirt off his knees with a faraway look in his eyes.

âWhatâs all this Paul?â Jenny asked as they approached him.

âSupport for the beans,â he told them. âOnce they start producing, I pick green beans two times a week and canât stand that much bending over so I grow pole beans. Theyâll grow up instead of bushing out. Theyâll get higher than our heads, so this is to support the vines so thereâll be a lot less bending over. 

âThese pipes are about twenty feet long. Weâll put in steel posts to support them, one at each end and another in the middle. After we drive the posts, weâll lash the pipes to the posts. That will put the pipes about eye level for me. Then along the bottom of the posts, weâll run a strand of baling twine about three or four inches off the ground. Then we tie twine vertically from the pipes to the bottom twine runner about every six inches. The bean vines will grow up the twines so we will have a wall of bean plants. There will still be a lot of bending, but a lot of the beans will grow where we donât have to bend over to find them. I know my back sure appreciates it at the end of the day. Itâs quite a bit of work to set up, but the twine is just left over anyway so we might as well use it for something else.â

Jenny worked close with Steve during the process, trying to engage him in conversation while they worked. It was awkward at best; Jenny was thrilled about learning new things that tied her to memories of her grandparents while Steve continued to fester over their situation. 

A memory of her grandparentâs garden tugged at Jenny. âI donât remember pole beans but it seems my grandparents grew tomatoes in some kind of supports. Do you do that too?â she asked Paul.

âI do, but not like other people. The stores used to sell light tomato cages, that personally, I think were junk. The plants knocked them over, the welds broke, the legs broke off. I was intrigued when I read about people using concrete rebar matting for cages. It is real heavy mesh mire. I bought a roll planning to make cages, but then changed my mind. I didnât know about storing them; it just seemed as many as I needed would be in the way when I wasnât using them. Instead, I cut the roll into twenty foot long pieces. I stand two of them up parallel to each other, one on each side of the tomato plants. I have a bunch of sticks that I cut notches into eighteen inches apart. I slide the notches over the wire, joining the panels together. Three or four of the sticks go on each side of the plants at various heights. I drive one steel post at each section and wire the panel to it. So I have support walls and cross pieces instead of individual cages.â

They spent the rest of the day in the garden, putting in supports, planting seeds and the young plants from the green house. Jenny tried to work near Steve without pressing him. With Paulâs words echoing in her head she kept any comments to herself when she wanted to lash out at him. More than once she compared Steveâs work with Nickâs and wasnât sure which one was accomplishing the most. Much of the time he had a faraway look or a look of disgust; occasionally he would join her in conversation. She rode the wave of his moods and tried to be encouraging without being pushy. Slowly there was a slight thawing of the iciness that had been growing in each of them.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret...i did not know that about mapel helicopters. nice read something else to make a note of...tried them as a kid and yes they are bitter lol


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## manygoatsnmore

Thanks for the newest chapter, Bret. You've given me a good idea for tomato supports - I have the rebar mesh already.


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## puddlejumper007

ok Bret, when you come out from under that shade tree with your glass of tea, how about another chapter...:happy:


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## Bret F

puddlejumper007 said:


> ok Bret, when you come out from under that shade tree with your glass of tea, how about another chapter...:happy:


Shade tree? You real-fun guy, err fun-gal. My wife and daughter decided the girl's bedroom needed totally redone. I just got off my knees from pulling tack strip and pounding nails. I keep hearing Danny Glover from the Lethal Weapon movies in my head "I'm gettin' too old for this ...."

Next chapter: I have the rough draft done but need to proof it. I'm not sure when I'll get to it with the bedroom project and other stuff. But I'm trying to work it in. Really. (However I did run away from painting the bedroom on Saturday to go fishing with my brother and folks.) But I really am working on the chapter.

Shameless Plug: Starting Monday is the National Old Time Fiddle Contest in Weiser, Idaho. I'll be there on Wednesday stressing over my daughter. (I'm amazed how she is so calm while I'm nervous as can be.) It's fabulous entertainment for anybody that can make it. (Hear that Campfiregirl?)


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## Bret F

*MGM*: you're welcome. I used the mesh last year for the tomatoes and the beans. Once the garden froze, I used tem for goat panels, plus the goats cleaned them all up.

*Puddlejumper*: I have to be reminded how bitter they are occasionally. Most of the time I toss a few on top of the wood stove and toast them that way. Still a little tannin in them, but a big improvement.


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## MrSmith

You've done a great job adding more depth and dimension to this tale Bret. I'm glad you decided to keep it going. You have gifted writing skills, and I'm thankful you are willing to share them with us.


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## Bret F

MrSmith said:


> You've done a great job adding more depth and dimension to this tale Bret. I'm glad you decided to keep it going. You have gifted writing skills, and I'm thankful you are willing to share them with us.


Thank you for the kind comments.


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## Bret F

Chapter 18

âSo, Iâve been thinking,â Jenny told Paul.

He rose up from the row he was mulching and addressed her before she could continue. âA dangerous thing for a blonde,â he said with a twinkle in his eye. 

She grimaced at him and retorted, âWell, I do try to keep it to a minimum. Anyway, it looks like work is slowing down just a little now and we are waiting for everything to grow. After we get all of this fine smelling stuff spread out, I was wondering about going to see Janet and see if she is doing anything with the wool.â

The âfine smelling stuffâ was the half rotted, manure laced hay that had piled up in front of the cowâs feeder over the winter. Jake and Steve were pitch forking loads into the wheelbarrow and garden cart and wheeling it to the garden where everyone else was lining the vegetable plants with it and covering the bare ground between plants. The mixture would continue to decompose, feeding the plants while helping retain moisture in the dry summer climate and slowing down weed growth. But the hay was sure to contain seeds that would germinate and flourish in the garden. Paul felt the benefits outweighed the disadvantages.

Steveâs participation was reluctant at best, but surprisingly, he was actually enjoying the time with his son. He was impressed with Jakeâs hard work, never slowing even when Steve stopped and leaned on his fork handle, panting. _I guess Iâve missed out on a lot with him._ When Jake was growing up, Steve remembered how his own father was always driving him on in sports, constantly pushing him to be better. He vowed not to do that to Jake, and instead nearly neglected the boy, letting him find his own way and do his own things. _Heâs turned out pretty good. I guess I didnât totally mess him up._

Paul stretched his aching back muscles, glad for the respite from bending over. âI think thatâs a good idea; itâll be good for you to go see Janet.â His brow furrowed in concentration. âBut,â¦I want you to go armed.â

âArmed? Do you mean carry a gun? I donât like guns.â

âYes, I mean carry a gun. Now tell me, why donât you like guns? Have you had a bad experience with them?â

âNo, well, I donât know. I guess because of all of those school shootings and everything. I mean, the things I saw on the news, well, there seemed to always be something bad happening because of guns. They are just so dangerous.â

Paul wasnât surprised by her response. Sensational news coverage had gone a long way in demonizing firearms. âI saw a news story about a guy over in Ontario that ran his car through a park full of people. I saw another story of the same thing in Reno. So I guess cars are dangerous weapons and we should all be afraid of them.â _They mention those stories once and bury them but any story with a gun involved runs and runs_. He bent down to lay more mulch near the plant he had been working around. Uninvited, a slow motion image came to his mind; the cross hairs of his scope settled on the bulk of the man that was dragging Jenny, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, as his finger gently tightened on the trigger, the man collapsing in a heap. 

Sweat beaded on his head and the hands than had held the rifle so still began to tremble. He stood back up and swallowed hard at the taste of bile that had flooded his mouth, snatched his water bottle from near his feet and walked swiftly towards the shop. 

âI didnât mean to make him mad,â Jenny said, concerned about his sudden departure. 

âItâs not your fault, dear,â Ruth said as she came to stand by Jenny. âHe has some personal demons he is still fighting with. He just needs a little room and time while he works through it.â Ruth followed Paulâs path with her eyes, wishing she could comfort him. A tear ran down her face leaving a line in the dust that had clung to her during the dayâs activities. Paul had been awoken on countless nights when the nightmare returned of that day when he rescued Jenny and Steve. After those instances, he needed time to himself while he settled his mind. It had been some time since he had had the nightmare. Ruth could only surmise that the discussion of guns and Jennyâs safety had brought the memories back.

Toni joined her mother and Jenny. âYou know, a gun is only as dangerous as the person that uses it. Dad has one with him all the time. Do you consider him a danger?â 

âWellâ¦no.â Jenny answered.

âDuring the winter,â Toni continued, âThere were quite a few people going past the house, getting away from the cities. Most of them looked like good people, just hungry, scared and tired. We helped them when we could. But some other people just looked unsavory, not much different than those guys that attacked you. Dad always had his gun visible when he talked to those people. Just seeing he was armed was enough. He has only had to fire a gun that one time since this whole thing started. Think about what happened that time. Where would you be now without that gun?â Toni went back to the row she was working on and continued to mulch the plants.

Following Toniâs example, Jenny got back to work, her mind awhirl with thoughts of guns, violence, the feel of the iron grip on her arm dragging her away. _Alright, there are good people that use guns, just like there are bad people that drive cars. Maybe, no, probably, the media focused on the bad stuff._ Her mind continued to go over what she knew of guns and people that used them as she worked. _Didnât Grandpa have a couple of guns for hunting? He wasnât evil._ She looked up, surprised that she was at the end of the row and that Jake and Steve had finished transporting the hay.


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## Bret F

After cleaning up as well as she could in the irrigation ditch, she walked to the shop. Paul looked up at her entrance and set his worn Bible back on the shelf. âPaul,â she began, âIâm sorry for the way I acted when you mentioned guns. I guess I have to admit, I only know what I saw on television. Iâve never been around them.â

âI understand, but you need to understand too, I didnât make the suggestion lightly, Jenny. Carrying a firearm is an incredible responsibility. I donât like it, but I strongly believe it is a necessity in our current situation. I donât like it one bit,â he stated firmly.

âAll right, but really, I donât know anything about them. Youâll have to teach me,â Jenny said. âWhenever youâre ready.â

Paul took a deep breath and pinched his eyes closed for a few moments. âWell, the number one thing to know is that every gun is loaded. Even if someone tells you itâs not, you still treat every gun as if itâs ready to fire. More accidental shootings have happened with guns someone thought wasnât loaded. 

âThe next thing is to never point a gun at anything youâre not willing to destroy. Stuff happens, guns discharge when they arenât expected to, so always, always make sure of where it is pointed.

âYour finger never touches the trigger until the sights are on the target. Again, accidents can happen, so you must learn to keep your finger clear until you are ready to fire.

âThe fourth major rule of guns is to be certain of your target and what is behind it.â

Paul stopped talking to give her time to think about what he had told her. When she looked at him like she was ready for him to continue, he told her, âNever forget those four rules. They are the most important rules of gun safety. Now I guess we better get a couple of guns.â

They went to the house and Paul left Jenny in the kitchen while he went to the bedroom. Jenny was instantly drawn to what Ruth was working on. She was just pouring liquid out through the screened top of the butter churn, leaving clumps in the glass container. While Jenny had seen her skim the cream off the milk and pour it into the churn, and start turning the crank, she had never seen what happened next. She looked at the clumps she thought was butter and the thin liquid Ruth had collected in a pan. âIs that butter?â she asked. âIt doesnât look much like what youâve been putting on the table for us.â Jenny had been amazed with the deep yellow color of Ruthâs butter, and the flavor. She had never eaten butter that compared to it. She didnât even use jam on her bread most of the time, the butter was so much better than what she had been used to.

âItâs a start, dear. I just finished churning it, now Iâm going to wash it.â Ruth drained off as much of the buttermilk as she could and added some cold water to the churn. âI prefer to drink the fresh milk, so I give the buttermilk to the chickens. They love it. Now to rinse it out.â She began to turn the crank, mixing the cold water into the clumps of butter. Jenny noticed that the crank turned much harder than the one time she had seen Ruth start with just cream in the churn. Two rinses later and she was getting mostly clear water out. âNow I want to get all of the moisture out,â she said and dumped the contents of the churn into a dishpan, after she had drained the water out. She tilted the dish pan up in the sink so there was a low side and began to knead the butter. Moisture ran slowly to the low end of the pan as she kneaded. The water she worked out was dumped out of the pan and she continued to work the lump, releasing as much water as possible. âAfter Iâve gotten as much moisture out as I can, Iâll add a little salt and work it in. Once the salt is mixed in, Iâll pat it out into the glass baking dish youâve seen butter in.â

âMay I?â Jenny asked holding a finger near the pan.

Ruth gave her a flat stare. âNot a chance, I know where your hands have been. Now, if they were cleanâ¦â

Jenny glanced at her hands, embarrassed she had to be reminded to wash. âOh,â¦ right.â 

When her hands were thoroughly cleaned, Jenny dipped her finger into the fresh butter and removed a small sample that she popped into her mouth. âUhm, thatâs good. It makes me want to get one of those biscuits we had left from breakfast and slather that all over it.â

âHelp yourself,â Ruth said. âAfter all, the way Jennifer is producing, weâll have more soon.â

âNaw, Iâll wait until supper and try not to drool too much until then. So thatâs really all there is to making butter.â

âYou missed the fun part, turning the crank on the churn. The temperature makes a big impact on how long it takes to churn. Fortunately, the house is about right now so it churns pretty quickly. But yes, thatâs about it.â


----------



## Bret F

Paul had returned to the kitchen and saw the two women huddled around the sink, so he quietly set a box on the floor near the back door. When he had gone to the bedroom, he opened his gun safe and took out a 9mm pistol and 20ga shotgun and laid them gently on the bed. He followed that with a box of shells for each and closed and locked the door. A cardboard box filled with hearing protection and safety glasses was on top of the safe that he took down and set near the guns. He took two paper targets from near the safe and set them on top of the box. After seeing Jenny and Ruth with the butter, he decided to leave the guns in the bedroom for the time being. After he closed the door, he checked to be sure Nick was occupied with his father and wouldnât wander into the bedroom and see the unattended firearms.

âYou might want to see this too,â Toni told Jenny once Ruth had finished telling about butter. She was slowly stirring a pot on the stove, a thermometer clipped to the side of the pot. 

Jenny crossed the room and looked in the pot. âYouâre making warm milk? Sorry, I know Iâm blonde, but I think I know how to do that,â she said facetiously, certain Toni was doing something more. 

âThis will become cottage cheese,â Toni told her with a chuckle. âThis is the milk that Mom skimmed all of the cream off of. I need to get it to 120 degrees and then Iâll put vinegar in it.â

âVinegar, in cottage cheese?â Jenny asked.

âThatâs what we use because thatâs what we have. It will make the milk form the curds. A lot of people use something called rennet to make it curd. Mom didnât have any of that though. I think I heard it is something that comes from a goat stomach, so Iâm okay with using the vinegar.â The milk had reached the right temperature while Toni talked so she set the pot on a trivet she had ready on the counter. âNow I mix in the vinegar.â She poured in a measured amount and stirred gently for two minutes. âAnd now I cover it and let the curd form.â

âHow long does that take?â Jenny asked.

âAbout a half hour. Iâll pour it through a cheese cloth in the colander after that and drain off the whey.â

âCurds and whey; just like Little Miss Muffet?â

âYes thatâs it. But weâll give the whey to the chickens too. We wouldnât want to invite a spider to come sit down beside you,â Toni said with a laugh. âAfter it drains, I need to rinse it too, just like Mom did the butter. Mix in a little salt and we have cottage cheese.â

Paul saw they were done for the time being so he brought the two guns in and set them on the table. Toni brightened up when she saw them. âAre you going to shoot some Dad? I could use a little practice.â 

âWe need to teach Jenny, but everyone is invited that wants to shoot a little. I want to get Nick out there too so we can make sure he knows these arenât toys and what kind of destructive power they have. Now, Jenny, what are the four most important rules of guns?â 

Jenny went through the rules and then Paul picked first one of the guns and then the other, explaining everything about it he could without loading it. âWell, I guess we need to go out and use them for real,â he stated as he handed the pistol to Jenny. He watched to make sure it was pointed properly and was happy to see she was very conscious of that rule. He held the shotgun out to Toni and she got a dejected look on her face.

âI have to finish the cottage cheese first,â she said. âIt should be all formed up by now.â She had just washed her hands and raised the cloth over the pan and pressed on the curd. âYeah, itâs ready; Iâll have to stay here. But Jenny come and look at this curd before you go out.â 

While Jenny was looking, with Toni pressing it with a finger, Ruth came to her daughterâs rescue. âIâll take care of that dear, you can go play with the guns,â she said with a smile.

âThanks Mom, but you donât play with guns,â Toni said as she took the shotgun from her dad.

Paul called to Jake and Nick to join them and then picked up the box and led the women past the small orchard. He stopped them some distance from a pair of hole-riddled pieces of OSB board. He had the women wait while he went to the boards and attached new paper targets. Jake and Nick soon joined them and Paul began to stress safe handling again.

âOne other thing,â he said. âJenny, you said you only know guns from what you saw on TV. Well, dispel all of that. Itâs pretty much rubbish. Hollywood loves to have people hold guns all wrong and they have guns that shoot forever and donât have recoil. Try a âgangsta holdâ on this pistol and itâll twist right out of your hand. And they really overdo jacking a round into the barrel. If you do that as often as some director calls for it, youâd drop half your rounds out on the ground unfired.â He was shaking his head slightly as he finished.

By the time evening shadows were long, Paul was suited that Jenny would be safe with either weapon. He was chagrined that with his age weakened eyes, each woman had better patterns than he did with the open sights of the pistol. Nick was wide-eyed at the results of the shots and promised to never play with a gun. 

âAll right, that was good. Now letâs go to the house and learn how to clean those guns,â Paul said as he returned to the group with the destroyed targets.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

After the morning chores were complete, breakfast eaten and cleaned up, Jenny rolled her bicycle out of the shop where it had been accumulating dust for the past months. She wiped it down and checked the tires. While not flat, they both needed more air. She lamented losing the tire pump when they were attacked, the last time she had been on the bike. _I hope Paul has one_. She found Paul and was relieved that he did have a hand tire pump.

He led her back to the shop to show her where it was kept. âIs Steve going along with you?â he asked.

âNo, he said heâd rather stay here and see if he could find any weeds in the garden.â She didnât tell Paul the rest of Steveâs response.

âGo back down there and see those stinkinâ sheep. Are you kidding me? I especially donât want to help wash the wool, if thatâs what sheâs doing now.â He had ranted more before Jenny wished him a good day and said she would enjoy the ride by herself.

âI could go along if you want,â Paul told her. âI havenât seen any strangers go by for a long time but you never know.â

âI appreciate it, but Iâm sure Iâll be fine. If I see anyone on the road, Iâll just turn around and come back as fast as I can. Besides, somebody taught me how to use this dangerous weapon,â she said with a grin, tapping the holstered pistol on her belt. 

âSuit yourself. It looks like a beautiful morning for a ride. Just make sure you donât get caught out too late. Do you have a water bottle?â

She said she did as she returned the tire pump to its hook. She put her water bottle in the holder and shouldered the small pack Ruth had asked her to take along. It contained the butter and cottage cheese Ruth and Toni had just made as well as two freshly butchered rabbits. Jenny had almost pouted when she saw the fresh butter go in but Ruth assured her they had plenty. She sat astride the bike and gave Paul a wave as she started down the driveway. The weight of the pistol on her belt felt strange to Jenny as she rode her bicycle toward Janetâs house but as she remembered her last time on the bike, she was comforted by the presence. _It all depends on the person holding the gun_, she reminded herself.

Paul was right; it was a wonderful morning for a ride. The late spring morning was warm enough that only a sweatshirt was needed for warmth and that soon became too much. She took it off and secured it to the rack, happy for the bungee cords Paul had provided. Her legs were already tired from pedaling but she didnât push the bike as she had before. Instead she put the bike in a lower gear, resolved to pedal the entire way. She made a personal pledge to start riding the bike as often as possible to get her legs in shape to make longer and longer rides.

*****​Jenny thoroughly enjoyed the time with Janet, even with pulling smelly, water-laden sheep fleeces from a barrel and helping spread them on drying racks in the barn. As they worked the beautiful day slowly darkened, a cool breeze was blowing and the sky filled with black clouds. Jenny insisted on helping spread the last fleece, ignoring the clouds. The result was a steady drizzle of rain falling when she finally got on the bicycle and started pedaling for home.

Her shoulders ached from the dayâs work and the unaccustomed weight of the pack on the ride there as she bent over the handlebars. Janet had exchanged the food in the pack for fresh lamb. It was noticeably heavier so Scott had secured it to the rear rack. She was grateful to not have the straps pulling on her shoulders.

The rainfall soaking through her clothes did little to dampen her spirit initially. What was a little rain anyway? The wind on the other hand was more of a problem. Steadily pushing her from the side, sudden gusts would threaten to dump her and the bike at the road side. Her good humor soon evaporated. Her legs, already tired from the early ride were soon screaming from the effort as she went to a still lower gear. The ache in her shoulders intensified. _Who knew wool could weigh so much. Those poor sheep when they get rained on_. As she fought through the tired aching muscles that seemed to spread from her hair to her toes, she began to berate herself. _Thatâs it Jenny, youâre a wimp. I bet Nick could make this ride easier than you. You better toughen up girl if youâre going to last long in this new world you live in._ It soon became a mantra to keep the pedals moving; _Jenny you wimp, toughen up_. She continued to push herself and was happy to see the shape of the house and outbuildings growing larger.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as two dark figures materialized through the rain at the side of the road. Adrenaline shot through her as her mind flashed âfight or flightâ? Before she could decide, Jakeâs voice cut through to her. âHey Mom, we were getting kind of worried about you. Why didnât you come home sooner?â

She got close and stopped the bike. She was able to see Steve was the second figure; his face half hidden by the hood of the raincoat. He had a distinct scowl on his face, obviously irritated to be out in the rain. âOh you scared me. I was concentrating too much just on going forward and didnât notice you there.â She made a mental note to be more aware of her surroundings in the future, no matter what the conditions were. _If they had been beasts like we ran into when we were leaving townâ¦._She squelched the thoughts and continued what she had been saying. âBut anyway, we were busy and werenât really paying attention to the weather until it was already on us.â While she stood in place with her legs on each side of the bike, they were slightly rubbery and she hoped a strong gust of wind didnât hit just then, it just might knock her over. Her wet clothes clung to her skin and she gave an involuntary shudder as the heat she had been generating through movement was quickly drained away by the wet clothes and the wind.

Jake noticed the shake and her lip that began to quiver. âGet to the house Mom and get some dry clothes on and warm up. Leave your bike by the front door and Iâll put it away.â

Jenny gratefully accepted and pushed off again, her legs even more rubbery after the pause, but she pushed on. Remembering to be more aware of her surroundings, she noticed the cows through the rain, all backed up to the wind, the calves huddled to their motherâs sides. _Poor cows. At least Iâll be able to get out of this_. She turned onto the driveway, happy to be moments away from the dry house. _Note to self: also pay attention to the weather._ She stopped the bike right at the front door and started to reach for the handle. _No, I wonât soak Ruthâs floor_.Instead of opening the door, she put her head down and plodded around the house to the back door of the enclosed back porch. She peeled the soaked sweat shirt off and hung it over the faucet in the utility sink to drip there.


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## Bret F

âOh there you are Dear,â Ruth said, looking up from the stove. âYou need to get out of those wet clothes right away. Iâve got a towel here warming for you to dry off with.â Jenny looked at the puddle she was making and grimaced. 

Ruth saw the look. âDonât worry about it dear. Thatâs what mops are made for. Now you go change and then sit here by the stove and get warmed up.â

Jenny was amazed yet again at Ruthâs compassion and by reflection Paul. _He probably told Jake to go look for me. I highly doubt it was Steve, seeing how thrilled he was to be out there_. She gratefully accepted the towel that was offered to her and went to her bedroom.

When Jenny returned to the kitchen in dry clothes, Ruth sat her in a chair near the stove and took her wet clothes to hang and nodded towards the counter. âThat cup is some rose hip tea and honey I just made for you. You drink that and warm up while I take care of these wet things.â 

Following supper, Paul went back into the rain and secured the chicken house for the evening to keep the raccoons and other predators out. He walked through the garden and pushed into the dirt with the toe of his boot, happy to see the moisture depth. Summer rains were rare in the region, usually just thunder storms that were fast to pass over and quickly dried out by the wind. A good soaking rain would be welcome as he had noticed the cheat grass on the surrounding hills was already brown and yellow. He studied the cloud cover more, not seeing a break anywhere. He wasnât a weatherman but it looked to him like this rain would last for a while.

After he had shaken his raincoat to remove as much water as possible and hung it in the back porch, he joined the family at the kitchen table where they were playing Rummy. âJake, can you milk in the morning? I have something else I want to work on.â

Jenny looked up from her hand of cards. âIâll help.â

Jake looked doubtfully at his mom. âAre you sure? You looked done in after your ride. You can sleep a little longer and Iâll do it.â

âI guess Iâll see how I feel in the morning,â she said. 

*****​ Paul was up at first daylight, such as it was, as was his practice. He was pleased to see the light rain was still falling, a good soaking rain; the sky still enveloped in dark clouds. He took a butter knife out of the drawer and put his irrigator boots and rain coat on and a light pair of gloves. Slipping the knife in his pocket, he stepped out into the gloom. At the shop, he picked up a bucket and walked towards the road. 

He was soon rewarded by a night crawler on the pavement. He slipped the knife under it and plopped it into his bucket, then continued down the road, searching for worms that had come up from the soaking rain. The key he knew was to get to them before the robins and starlings. In the past there would also have been cars, but that was no longer a problem. He stooped often over a squiggling worm and dropped it in his bucket. 

Jake and Jenny were leaving the barn with the milk bucket when Paul walked up the drive way. Always curious, she left Jake with the bucket to take care of the milk. She waited for Paul and looked to see what he was carrying in his bucket. âWow Paul, Iâve done some strange things since weâve been here, but donât tell me youâre going to feed us worms now. Yuck!â

âHey, donât knock them till youâve tried them. Havenât you seen how fat some birds get? Why if I hadnât got these ones first, the road would be covered with fat little birds, to plump to fly.â

âNo really, what are you going to do with them? Are we going fishing?â

âFishing, wow, donât I wish. No, Iâm going to pour these out all over the garden. They are very beneficial out there. Their tunnels aerate the soil, and they will break down the compost. All of that stuff that we mulched with, they will help to break it down and make even better fertilizer. Tilling always takes a toll on the worms and the chickens get a lot of them in the section they run in. So whenever we get a good rain like this one, I like to walk the road a couple of miles and get as many as I can to replenish the stock. So Iâll go dump them out, unless you want to try a couple. You know theyâre full of protein.â

âTell you what, Iâll eat as many of them as you do,â Jenny retorted with a grin.

Paul gave her a wry look and turned to walk to the garden. _And I just bet sheâd do it too_. âI better get these in the garden before they start to dry out.â


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret, just came in for a break from painting on my deck and found this...:clap:


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## manygoatsnmore

Another great read, Bret! I'm getting more and more interested in what is going to happen to Steve....his attitude is showing. Jenny is awesome, though, a real trooper.  Keep up the good work, buddy; it's always so nice to find a new chapter waiting. I can't tell you how much I enjoy and appreciate the work you put into bringing us info and entertainment, all in one. I know writing can be hard work, even if you're born to write! :goodjob:

BTW, I planted my tomatoes out today, using the rebar mesh for supports.


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## upsidedown

Thanks for giving me another "fix". Can't wait for next chapter.


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## stickinthemud

More Thanks!!


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## puddlejumper007

hey Bret, it is supose to rain here for three days, any chance of another chapter while i am house bound?


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## Bret F

Thanks everyone for reading and commenting.

Puddle: painting the deck? aint ya country enuff that ya got a porch?:happy2: This won't occupy you for three days, but I hope it helps.

MGM hope the supports work well for you. I finally got mine on the beans, still need to do the tomatoes.


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## Bret F

Chapter 19

Jenny parked her bike in the shop and wiped the sweat from her face. She didnât wear a watch but she was certain she had just made the return trip from Scott and Janetâs house faster than ever. Since riding home in the rain, she had made time to ride the bike almost every day. It didnât take long before she could easily make the ride to Janetâs and asked Paul to show her a different route to add extra miles to the trip. The changes in her strength and stamina shocked her. _Working hard and eating healthy food; whoâd a thunk it? I think Iâm in better shape than my friends that spent big money at fitness clubs. Of course they had the ever present mega-cup of pop and loved to follow their work outs with cocktails and finger-food. What good was a work out if you couldnât boast about it with your friends? _

Invites to Steve to accompany her on rides were always turned down. She didnât know if it was from the memory of being knocked off his bike at the road block, irritation at their current circumstances, or just plain laziness. It was probably a combination of all of them and it was reflected in more than just refusing to go for rides. She still wasnât sure if he could outwork Nick. That boy always wanted to help while Steve went about everything half-heartedly. She was certain it wasnât because he had developed a love for gardening. _Paul said he just needs time, but really, how much time does he need?_ 

Jake and Toni each rode with her on occasion, but Jake decided she rode too fast and too far. Paul had ridden with her a few times, actually she had accompanied him. She took it easier with him than she did with the two younger people. He was using the rides to talk with the wide spread neighbors. Over the weeks they had determined what everyone had in excess that could help others out. It was all barter; both materials and labor. Paul used his equipment to put up hay for one neighbor that provided fuel and manpower to help Paul with his own. Paul would help fuel one manâs combine in exchange for grain. The combine would also harvest the beans and they would share the oil from the beans once they were pressed. The pressing would be done by another neighbor that would take beef once the weather cooled enough for it to keep. Meat, firewood, grain, beans, hay, labor; the trades went on and on, to the benefit of everyone.

Paul was relieved that the fuel was still good to put up the hay. He had dreaded what it would be like to scythe and hand rake enough to get the cattle through the winter. But that didnât stop him from working the scythe around the buildings and loose stacking the dried grass. Every one took a turn with the scythe but no one could match Paulâs rhythm. He swung the long handle with a grace, the tall grass falling before it. He would love to have at least one more scythe if not more, but he had never seen the need when he could have gotten one. So he made do and spent long hours swinging the one he had.

Jennyâs rides with Paul had been extremely enjoyable. It gave her the opportunity to learn about more of the countryside and meet the neighbors. It relieved the feeling of isolation she had begun to have with just the family; although it was better than the winter spent with no-one to interact with except Steve. Until she started meeting the surrounding people she hadnât even realized how much she was missing being around people. She tried explaining to Steve but if he understood how she felt, he still wouldnât accompany her. _Yes, there are other people out there; living and working hard to get by just like us.Maybe if I told him one of them has a working TV and a stack of Nascar DVDs heâd want to go along._

Jenny wiped her face again and drank what water remained in her bottle. She saw Ruth and Toni walking towards the garden with the garden cart filled with boxes and went to join them. _All right, more canning today_. Once the vegetables had started ripening, they spent countless hours preserving the bounty for winter. Besides canning, they had loaded racks drying vegetables and herbs, crocks filled with fermenting sauerkraut, other crocks filled with cucumbers. 

âDid you have a nice ride dear?â Ruth asked when Jenny caught up to the other women. 

âYes, it was very nice, although itâs already starting to feel like today will be a scorcher,â Jenny said. âI saw some fox pups playing. They were so cute, I would have liked to watch them, but kept going. I hope they donât come here and try for the chickens and rabbits. It would be a shame if we have to shoot them.â 

âThatâs why we keep the chickens and rabbits locked up tight at night. Youâre right though; it would be a shame if we had to shoot them. They really get a lot of mice; and mice and voles can be especially damaging if thereâs nothing to control the population,â Ruth said. 

âSo what are we putting up today?â Jenny asked.

âThe same as every day the past couple of weeks; whatever is ready,â Ruth replied. 

The three picked rapidly, trying to beat the heat, the sun already beating down on them. They loaded the boxes in the garden cart and rolled it to the outdoor kitchen. Paul had set up a partial outdoor kitchen from his days of working the farmerâs markets. He had large benches and a utility sink under a screened in lean-to where he and Ruth had cleaned and prepared the vegetables they sold. 

As the weather warmed, Paul had traded for a wood stove a neighbor had gathering dust in his barn. Payment for the stove would be a half beef once the weather cooled. In the meantime, the stove was set up in the outdoor kitchen to heat the canners. It was hot business, but at least the extra heat wasnât added to the house. Paul had considered taking the stove out of the kitchen, but didnât want to unhook the hot water system he and Jake had put in. Not that it was used during the summer. Instead, he had a water line running through a full roll of black ABS pipe he had never used. The summer sun heated the water nearly as well as the wood stove. 

Paul was cleaning ashes from the stove when the women rolled the cart in. âAre you going to put the ashes in the garden?â Jenny asked. âIt seems I heard somewhere they are good for gardens.â As she spoke she realized she hadnât seen ashes in the garden but knew Paul had cleaned the stoves numerous times. 

âNo, I donât put ash in our garden. It depends on the dirt whether or not it is helpful; you need acidic soil to use ashes. Most of the ground around here is alkaline, so adding ashes just makes the ground worse. In fact, Iâve put ashes out under fence rows and it has killed the grass under the fence.â _And a whole load of new seedlings. _Paul hadnât known about the alkaline soil in the area and had learned the hard way about soil additives. The county extension agent had since provided him with a lot of helpful information.


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## Bret F

âSo what do you do with it? Are you pouring it out to kill weeds?â Jenny asked.

âNo, have you seen that wood hopper by the shop? I pour them in there,â Paul told her.

âHopper, do you mean that big wooden box on legs?â Jenny asked, still needing help with a lot of the terms Paul used. 

âYep, thatâs it,â Paul said as he stood up and picked up the ash bucket.

âOkay, but what do you do with them then? I mean, I donât think you made that hopper box and pour the ashes in for the fun of it.â

âIâm going to make lye with the ash,â he told her.

âLie? Youâre turning into a liar now?â Jenny asked, knowing that was wrong, but not sure what he was talking about. 

He chuckled at the response. âNot l-i-e lie, but l-y-e lye,â he said and started walking away.

âWell, thanks for the spelling lesson, but what on earth is l-y-e lye?â she asked following him.

He had arrived at the hopper and took off the cover. âIn your past life, you would have bought lye to clean your drains. It is very caustic and was widely used for drain cleaner. It also is used in making olives. But we wonât use it for either of those things.â He poured the contents of the bucket into the hopper and looked in after the dust had settled. âI think we have about enough in here now.â

âHey, wait a minute. Youâre telling me they use corrosive drain cleaner in olives? Now Iâm glad they donât grow around here,â she said.

âThey sure do. Remember the bitter taste in the maple seeds? That is something called tannin. Olives have it too and it has to be leeched out before they are edible. A brine is mixed up with lye and water and the olives put in and soaked. It takes quite a few days and changes of the brine, but eventually all of the tannin is leeched out.â 

âSo what do you want with it?â Jenny enquired. âYou donât usually do things on a whim, so what will you use the lye for.â

Paul had set his bucket down and started walking to a hose bib, Jenny going with him. âWell, it has three other uses that Iâm interested in. First of all, lye can be used as the catalyst to make biodiesel. Now I donât know what all that entails, but Jerry, you remember meeting him a couple weeks ago? He has played with making the stuff for years and said he will use any lye I have left over. 

âThe next thing I want to use it for is to make hominy. Weâll put some lye and water and dry field corn in a pot and boil it for a while. After it has set for a time, we rinse the lye out. It takes a number of rinses to get it all out. The dark tips will separate from the kernels; we have to work it with our hands to get that. Weâll separate the corn out and then start cooking again. We boil it, then change the water and do it again; and again; and again. After the kernels are soft we can eat it and can it.â

âHominy, huh,â she said. âI used to eat that when I lived in the south but havenâ had any for years. That sounds like a good thing to make. But you said youâll use the lye for three things. Whatâs the other one?â

âThe other thing that we need it for is if we make it strong enough, it will dissolve fat.â He had reached the hose bib and turned it on and picked up the hose end and started back towards the hopper. And he waited for the next question, working to keep the grin off his face.

âWow it dissolves fat. Iâve sure been looking for something to that. âPaulâs wonder fat-dissolverâ. Actually, it seems to me all the work we are doing is pretty effective at that. Now would you quit being cryptic and tell me what you want it for,â she said with an exasperated tone.

At her remark, he couldnât keep the grin from forming. âAll right. Weâll make something youâll be very happy to have. You mix the lye with fat and water, maybe mix in some good smelling stuff and it makes soap.â 

Jenny stopped walking and stared at him, looking for the joke. âReally, youâre not lye-ing to me? You mix fat, drain cleaner and water to make soap?â They had been extremely careful with soap usage lately as Ruthâs stock was going fast. She had never intended on having it last for a long crisis, especially with five extra people using it.

âReally,â Paul stated. âFats and lye make soap; we can also use milk in it.â He continued on to the hopper. 

âSo what are you doing? I mean, how are you going to get the lye out of the ashes?â she asked, even more interested now that she knew what the end product would be.

He indicated the hopper with his free hand. âIâve been putting the ashes in there pretty much every time Iâve cleaned the stoves since we lost the power. In the bottom of that hopper, I have gravel and straw to work as a filter to keep the ashes from draining out. Now Iâm going to add water and mix it into a sludge. It is recommended that rainwater or boiled water be used, but weâll have to make do with what we have. Iâm hoping the water from the spring doesnât have anything that will react with the lye.â He held the hose over the hopper and started running water into the ashes.

 âAfter it has leeched for a few of days, weâll drain the liquid out the bottom. We have to be really careful doing that. It will burn if it touches skin. Weâll drain it off into a plastic bucket. Then we need to test it to see if it is right to make soap with. It would be easy if we had PH strips, but we donât so we have to go old school. One way to do it is put an egg or potato in it. If it floats with an area about the size of a nickel above the liquid, it is just about right. Another way is to put a wing feather from a chicken in it. If it dissolves the feather, itâs strong enough to dissolve fat to make soap. Now, if we do those tests and it isnât strong enough, we need to heat it and cook off the water until it is strong enough. Iâve heard of some people that run it through the ashes again to get it more concentrated.â Paul dropped the hose on the ground and stirred the sludge with a stick he had leaning against the hopper.


----------



## Bret F

He rinsed the stick and leaned it back against the hopper and went to the hose bib and shut the water off. âBut how do you get soap?â Jenny asked.

âMost of the soap recipes I have are for using crystalized lye. We could take our bucket and leave it in the sunshine and the water will evaporate, leaving us just the crystallized lye. But I was looking at some literature a couple days ago and found some instructions that use the lye water we will make. To use it in that form we will mix some of the water with fat, a little vinegar and some hot water. We have to boil it for quite a while and eventually weâll have liquid soap. Put a little salt in it and it will make hard soap. Donât ask me to explain why, I donât know. I just know from my reading that itâs supposed to work.â

âSo you keep saying fat. What fat?â Jenny asked.

âIf we need to make some before fall, weâll use lard. We still have quite a bit of that. If we can stretch what soap we have until fall, weâll use the fat when we butcher. Iâve read that it works pretty good to do a mix of beef tallow and hog fat. I donât know; Iâve never done it. And I told you I read about using raw milk. So weâll just have to see how it goes.â 

âSo once we butcher, we can use all of the fat and make as much soap as we want?â Jenny enquired while they were walking back to the outdoor kitchen. âBut we need to butcher to get the fat.â

âYep, as much as we want,â Paul answered.

âYou know, a barbecue and neighborhood party sure sounds good,â she said grinning.

Before stepping back into the shade, Jenny looked around, wondering where Steve, Jake and Nick were, what they were doing. She finally spotted Steve in the pasture, leaning on a shovel while Nick ran and splashed in the irrigation water. _It sure seems to take a lot of time to irrigate._ She never saw Jake but was sure he must be working harder than his father.

Ruth and Toni were busy cleaning vegetables so Jenny joined them while Paul worked on getting the stove ready to start and brought in another wheelbarrow full of firewood. The temperature rose rapidly once the fire was burning and the canners with filled jars were heating. The group took a break outside under a shade tree where chairs had been set up, but still close enough to keep close tabs on the pressure gauges and the fire. Tall glasses of cool spring water were a welcome relief after the stoveâs heat.

Jenny was thinking about a cool shower and unlimited soap. Her hair had been growing out and she had been feeling guilty about keeping clean, but nowâ¦. _No, I want Toni to cut it again. It has been so much easier to take care of and I like it this way now._ She was shaken out of her thoughts at something Ruth had just said. 

âIâm sorry Ruth, what did you say we need to do?â she asked.

âOh, I was just saying that since we are getting more eggs than we use, we should dehydrate some for the winter. I donât know if you are aware of it, but chickenâs egg laying is tied to sunlight. Once the days shorten, the hens really drop off. We wonât get near as many eggs, so I was just telling Toni that we need to dehydrate a lot of them for winter,â Ruth said.

âThat sounds like a good idea, but how do you do it?â Jenny asked.

âWeâll break a bunch of them into a mixing bowl and whisk them up. Now if we had electricity, we would pour that on the fruit leather trays and dry them in the dehydrator. But since we canât do that, weâll still use the trays, but also cookie sheets and lay them out on the seats of the car.â The immobile car had become the defacto dehydrator for many things. âAfter they are dry and brittle, weâll crush them up and put them in canning jars and store them in the pantry. It would be nice to vacuum seal the jars, but they should be good enough to last until the chickens start laying a lot again.â

Supper was prepared and served in the outdoor kitchen, everyone filling their plates and sitting around in lawn chairs enjoying the coolness of evening once the sun had dropped below the horizon. Jenny marveled at all of the sounds that had become music to her ears in the short time on Paul and Ruthâs farm: a distant owl hooting, frogs croaking, crickets chirping and the very satisfying ping of sealing lids on the Mason jars.


----------



## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret. i use my car to dry herbs makes car smell good too...


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## Bret F

Chapter 20

After the table was cleaned up, Paul delivered the dishpan with the fresh rabbit meat to Ruth. While in the house, he gathered a number of items and set them all in the empty bucket he had carried along. He went to the shop and added a container of small finish nails, hammer, and a well-used file to his bucket and picked it up along with a section of plywood.

He carried it all back to the machine shed and laid everything down on the work table. Flies were buzzing all around the two fresh rabbit skins and the scrap bucket. He brushed away the flies from the hides and laid them out flat with the hair side down and sprinkled salt on them and spread it evenly on each skin. With the hides covered, he picked up the scrap bucket causing an eruption of the irritating insects, took his shovel in the other hand and went to bury the offal. After he was finished he washed the bucket and returned it and the shovel to the machine shed, turning the bucket upside down to drain.

He swept his hand over the hides, shooing the ever-present flies away. He had decided to set up there instead of the shop to take advantage of the light breeze that was blowing through. He could be fly-free in the shop, but along with that came the stifling heat of an enclosed room on a hot summer day. He settled for shooing flies.

He laid the first hide out flat on the plywood with the hair down and stretched it out, nailing the edges to the plywood. When it was secure he repeated the process with the second rabbit skin. Once the second skin was secured, he took the file and fleshed the hides, pushing any remaining scraps of meat and fat free. He paused often, brushing his hand over the annoying flies. When both hides appeared free of scraps, he wiped the file clean and set it aside.

He took two bowls from the bucket he had filled in the house and shop, and set them side by side on the table and then took out two eggs that he cracked into one bowl. He took a water bottle from the bucket, and with the lid off, he squeezed most of the air out and placed the uncapped end on an egg yolk. Releasing his grip, the yolk was sucked into the bottle. He expelled the yolk into the empty bowl and repeated the process with the second egg. The bowl with the egg whites and the water bottle were pushed to the back side of the table.

Something brushed his leg and he looked down at Shadow. She was snuffling all around the table and the work area, hoping for some morsel that had fallen on the ground when he had butchered the rabbits. Tuning out the dogâs noises as she worked her way outside, he picked up the fork and whipped the egg yolks thoroughly. He poured about half of it onto one of the hides and was just beginning to rub it into the skin when Shadow came back into the machine shed and lay down near him. The egg tanning wasnât the best tanning method, but it was a close substitute for brain tanning. He was sure it would be good enough for the rabbit skins that were thin and would most likely wear through quickly with much use.

Shadow crunched on something she had carried in with her, making him wonder if she had dug up the waste he had just buried. He was intent on rubbing the egg yolk into the rabbit skin when the dog passed gas; long, noisy and stinky. âOh man, Shadow, did you have to do that here?â Paul said. âWow, youâre making my eyes water and my nose hair curl with that one. Itâs a good thing thereâs not an open flame here; youâd blow us both up.â

He continued working the egg yolk into the skin while the air slowly cleared. Suddenly his hands froze in place as it dawned on him what he had said. âShadow,â he said excitedly, making her jump up in alarm. She looked all around trying to locate the cause for her masterâs excitement. âYou wonderful, stinking dog. Why didnât you remind me about this sooner?ââ He could hardly concentrate on what he was doing as his mind raced. Eventually he had the egg yolk rubbed thoroughly into each of the skins. He picked up the rag and went to the hose bib and washed his hands and soaked the rag. He hurriedly carried the board with the skins on it to the shop and set it flat and covered the skins with the damp rag. 

He looked around the shop and located the dusty box on an upper shelf. He wanted to pull it down then, but had to put everything away before that. _Put away the stuff from one project or youâll never get back to it._ At least the rabbit skins could wait until morning. He resignedly went back to the machine shed and gathered everything up, his mind filled with possibilities, not on what he was doing. Shadow watched over him as she lay in the shade chewing on her treasure, unknowing and uncaring about what she had caused with her blast of flatulence.

He carried the bucket to the pump house and set the bowl with the egg whites in the box he had adapted as a make-shift refrigerator. When the weather had warmed too much for the dairy products to keep well, he had emptied a Rubbermaid tote and arranged a trickle of the cool spring water to run through it. A couple jars of milk, cottage cheese and butter were generally in it. It wasnât as good as a refrigerator but it extended the life of their products, keeping them cooler than they would be otherwise.

He hurried to the house and cleaned everything he had used and set it to dry and went back outside quickly. Ruth watched him, perplexed at his manner. Paul usually moved at a settled, steady pace. She wondered what was on his mind, but knew he would tell her when he was ready.

In the shop, Paul put away the tools and looked back at the shelves. _Iâll need the step ladder._ He set the ladder in front of the shelf and pulled off the box, dust filling the surrounding air as he jostled it towards him. After picking up his reading glasses from the work bench, he carried the box to the chairs under the shade tree and sat down and opened the box. It was filled with old magazines; mostly the original Mother Earth News, a few Grit and others thrown in. They had been there when he bought the farm. After thumbing through them briefly, he had repacked them, planning on looking at them more thoroughly someday.

He started pulling magazines out and glanced through the headings on the covers before setting them aside. A smile formed on his face when he saw a heading he was looking for: âHomemade Natural Gas:The Mother Earth News Methane Digesterâ. He found the story and read it thoroughly and marked the page with a subscription return card. He set the magazine by itself on an empty chair and picked up the next one in the box. Once he had gone through the box, he had four magazines set aside and started back through the pile, looking at each with a more careful eye. He failed to notice the garden cart pushed past with a load of vegetables to the outdoor kitchen.

âI didnât realize today was a holiday,â Jenny quipped to him. Paul was so engrossed, he never even looked up. âWow, whatâs going on with your dad?â she asked Toni.

âI donât know, but there must be something good in those old magazines. I guess we get to bring the wood in ourselves today.â She looked at the cart load and the blazing sun. âI can hardly wait to get the fire going.â

Paul soon left the chair carrying the box of magazines, leaving the short stack, and returned with a clipboard of papers and a pencil. He opened first one magazine and then the next, reading and making notes. After finishing the last article, he scanned his notes and stood and looked around.

He began to talk softly to himself while he looked. âAll right, where to build it? Close to the house I guess, where itâs going to be used. And I need heat, as close to 85 to 95 degrees as I can get it; and that will have to come from the sun.â At another glance at his notes, he added, âIt still works a little down to freezing, but pretty much stops doing enough to be beneficial at 60.â He walked slowly towards the house, looking the area over with a critical eye. 

âToni, your dadâs acting weird,â Jenny told her.

Paul was near the house and glanced at his notes again. âGood, no tree roots around there and itâs in the sun. I can bury it as much as possible and use the ground as insulation. If I put it right there against the chimney, it should pick up some heat from the stove. I think I could scrap together enough material to build a greenhouse type shelter over it, and itâll only need to be three sided if I use the house. Thatâll save some materials. Have to make it so I can vent it easy and shade it when itâs too hot out.â He studied the site a bit more and perused his notes again. He turned and went back towards the machine shed looking at all of the materials he had neatly stacked.


----------



## Bret F

Reading through his notes again after looking at his pile, he considered his options. âThey say the vertical designs tend to plug easier than the horizontal, so if I can pull it off I need to go horizontal. And that also makes it easier to be a continuous feed rather than a batch system.â He looked at his notes and back at the material pile. âSo, I shouldnât use metal parts because the hydrogen sulphide will corrode it, unless I build a âwasherâ. I donât think I can build that in our current world, and Iâm not sure I can be that picky about metal. Have to see what I can scrounge up. It sure would be nice to have access to a good junkyard now,â he muttered as he looked over his supplies. âBut some old farmers living at the same place forever might be just as good.â He got a big grin at the thought.

An idea quickly formed. He picked up his short stack of magazines and walked back to the shop and removed a day pack from a nail and put his magazines and clipboard in it. After he had filled two water bottles, he went to the bicycles and put one bottle in the pack and secured it to the back rack and the other bottle in the holder. He pushed the bike to the outdoor kitchen. âIâm going to go see some neighbors. Not sure when Iâll be back.â He mounted the bike and started down the driveway.

The group watched him ride away. âHis mind is really on something,â Ruth said. âI havenât seen him this distracted for a long time. Steve, would you be a dear and bring in a wheelbarrow of wood. We need to get the stove going soon.â

It was a rare instance when Steve helped with canning. _And I had to be in here today. Sure Iâll get the wood and start the fire while he goes and shoots the breeze with his friends._

The evening chores were complete and everyone was relaxing in the lawn chairs when Paul finally returned. Ruth saw him and went into the outdoor kitchen and stirred up the coals in the stove and added some small wood to get the fire going to fry the rabbits. The pan was already on the corner nearly warm enough to cook, as well as a pot of water for cooking fresh ears of corn. Jenny and Toni followed along and started slicing tomatoes and cucumbers. Jake picked up the box of corn he had picked earlier and moved with it to the seat next to his dad. After shucking one ear and Steve not getting the hint, Jake removed two ears from the box and dropped one on his dadâs lap. Steve stared at it for a bit. Nick saw his hesitation and excitedly told him, âHere Grandpa. Iâll show you how itâs done,â and took the ear and started to pull the husks free.

Supper was ready to serve by the time Paul joined them from the shop. They filled plates and sat down in a circle and Paul asked the blessing. They began to eat, except for Ruth. She looked expectantly at Paul. âWell, are you going to tell us or not?â

He chewed and swallowed the mouthful he had and then unable to keep the grin off his face said, âHow would you like to use the gas stove in the kitchen again? And have gas lights in the house?â 

His answer drew everyoneâs attention, at least everyone that had been working over the woodstove in the summerâs heat. Toni was the first to respond to him. âThat would be incredible! How are you going to do it Dad?â

âWeâre going to build something called a âmethane digesterâ. Once it is done, weâll feed it manure. Weâll be able to take methane gas and fertilizer out of it. Iâm hoping we can plumb the gas into the natural gas line and burn it in the stove.â He took a bite of his corn while everyone thought about what he had said.

âThat sounds like in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome,â Steve said. âI always thought they made that up, you know how movies do. I mean really, making power from manure?â 

âIâm not sure if I saw that movie,â Paul said. âAnd if I did, I donât remember it. So they made power with manure, huh? Iâm happy to say itâs real and weâre going to be using a form of it soon. We wonât make electricity however. Iâd need a generator for that but I never bought one. But we can burn the gas.â

âHey Dad,â Jake said. âItâs like that story you told me about you and your buddies at the movie theater, only weâll harness the power.â 

âWhat story?â Toni asked. Jenny dropped her face over her plate, knowing the story Steve had been so proud of. While it used to be funny, now it was flat out embarrassing.

âDad and his buddies had a whole bunch of chili and more than a few beers then went to the movies. They put their legs up on the seats in front of them and were lighting their farts on fire until they were kicked out,â Jake told her. He and Steve both laughed while Jenny felt her face getting hot.

âNice dinnertime story Jake,â Toni told him pointedly. âSo Dad, how do we make this thing?â

âJerry has an old water tank he used with his bio-diesel until he got some better tanks. Weâll get it over here and use it for the digester tank. Weâll need to put a hole in each end and put in sewer pipe that we cap off on the outside. We will pour in the manure on one end and take it out from the other.â

âPour it?â Toni interrupted. âHow do you pour manure?â

âWeâll mix it with water; make a slurry out of it. One article says you can mix it as thin as six percent and have it work and another says it would work with mostly manure and just a little water. It seems like most of them mix it from one to one up to three to one with water being the three. I think thatâs what weâll start with. Weâll just have to experiment.â He took another bite from his plate before continuing.

âWeâll need one more hole and pipe near the bottom on the discharge end for cleaning. The papers say invariably, sludge will form over time and will need cleaned out.â 

âI donât get how youâre going to get the gas if there is a sewer pipe going into it,â Jenny said. âWonât the gas just escape out the sewer pipe?â

âThe pipes will go down into the liquid manure and the gas will collect at the top of the tank, above the slurry. We also need to pipe in a line in the gas collection area for the methane to exit.â Paul savored a bite of the fried rabbit and washed it down with a drink of cold milk.

âBesides the digester, weâll set up some gas collection tanks. The process works best at 85 to 95 degrees. Weâll bury the digester for the most part and build a greenhouse type enclosure around it. I donât know how well it will work in the winter, but really itâs not as important then since we use the cook stove for room heat as well as cooking. Hopefully itâll make enough gas that we can run some lights on winter evenings. But Iâm sure we can make gas and quit burning wood during the summer. Any wood we save will be a big improvement.â

âSo this methane will burn in our kitchen stove just like the natural gas?â Ruth asked.

âIt wonât burn as hot,â Paul told her. âThe BTUs in methane is under half what natural gas is, so it will take longer to cook. Iâll probably have to tinker with the air intake on the stove a little bit too.â

âSo how are the gas collectors made?â Jenny asked. 

âI have some barrels; fifty and forty gallons. Weâll set the large one on the ground with the open end up. The smaller one will fit inside it, open end down. Weâll put water in the bottom barrel and it will make a seal between the two barrels. Weâll have an in and an out fitting in the top for the gas to flow. If we need even more gas storage, I have a couple of tractor inner tubes that we can put in line to collect the methane. If we push all the air out, they will inflate as the methane enters and fills them. Who knows how warm we can keep it in winter. The inner tubes might become the primary collectors.â 

âIt all sounds good, but Iâm not so sure about having that right at my kitchen window. What about odors?â Ruth asked.

âThatâs why weâll have caps on the in and out pipe. As long as we keep everything capped it shouldnât stink,â Paul said. âWe should only open it when we add more slurry and drain off the same at the other end.

As they ate, there was further discussion of the project, each of them excited to get started on it. Steve was having mixed thoughts. _It sounds like a lot of work. But once itâs working I guess we wonât be splitting and hauling that much firewood. No wait, weâll be hauling manure instead. I guess weâll see if itâs worth it â if it even works. Power from manure, really?_


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## Bret F

Following chores the next morning, Paul, Jake, Jenny and Toni mounted bicycles and started for Jerry&#8217;s house. Paul had arranged for Jerry to drive the tank over, along with the needed piping, but it would be a big job to load it. Steve had turned down the chance to go along, saying parts of the garden needed irrigated and he would stay and take care of it with Nick&#8217;s help. Ruth stayed and worked on removing dehydrated food from the racks and then refilling them. 

Ruth had just replaced two racks when Jerry&#8217;s old flatbed truck rolled into the driveway. After Paul directed him to a place near the back of the house, Jake and Toni got off the back of the truck and started to unload three bicycles while Jerry got out of the cab. Ruth looked at the load and noticed Jenny&#8217;s absence. &#8220;Jake, what happened to your mother? I don&#8217;t see her.&#8221;

&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure what she&#8217;s up to. She told Jerry she wanted dropped off before we got home, I can&#8217;t remember what the road is. She unloaded her bike and started down that road. She wouldn&#8217;t tell us what she was doing.&#8221;

&#8220;Well I&#8217;m sure she had her reasons. So that&#8217;s our gas generator huh?&#8221; she said looking at the large steel tank.

&#8220;Yep, now we get to unload it and start digging.&#8221; Jake didn&#8217;t look enthused at the idea but went straight to unhooking tie down straps.

The tank was soon upended onto the ground and Jerry said his goodbyes, promising to be back in a few days. He was interested in any alternative fuel, and although he didn&#8217;t have livestock on his farm, he wanted to see the digester when it was finished and working. If it did everything it was hoped for, he just might have to get some animals. As he drove away, he thought more about it. _Or just run the drain from the house into a digester instead of the septic tank. I might not need animals after all._

Paul laid out the footprint of the digester&#8217;s destination and they started digging. When he took breaks from the shovel he worked on the holes in the tank. Jenny soon came peddling home and parked her bike and took a turn digging. Enquiries by Jake about what she had been doing went unanswered.

By evening, the tank had been rolled into the hole and the dirt packed around it everywhere except at the drain. That would have to remain accessible. The pipes were all put in the holes and sealed with silicone. Paul really wanted to get some slurry in the tank, but decided it would be wise to wait for the silicone to dry. _Patience, Paul, Patience. What&#8217;s one more day after all?_ Wearily, he carried the tools to the shop to put them away and for the first time that day noticed the stretched hides. _Oh, those still need to be taken care of_. He pulled the nails and carried the hides to the machine shed, picked up the empty bucket and went to the hose bib and filled the bucket with water.

He put the hides in the water and started to wash the salt and egg yolk off them. He was pleased to see Jenny go to the barn with the milk bucket. _Good, I sure don&#8217;t want to milk this evening._ He returned to the task at hand, continuing to wash the hides. After the water had been changed, he rinsed the hides again, then hung them on the clothes line. They needed to dry some, but should still be damp for the next step.

Ruth was putting the finishing touches on supper when Jenny came in with the milk bucket. &#8220;So Dear, are you going to tell me what secret mission you were on today?&#8221; she asked.

Jenny looked around to be sure no one else was in listening range. &#8220;What would you think of having a working refrigerator?&#8221; she asked quietly.

&#8220;I think that would be wonderful, but how would you do it?&#8221; Ruth said.

&#8220;When we were going to Jerry&#8217;s, I saw something down one of the roads I&#8217;ve seen a lot on my rides but never really paid attention to. While we were loading the tank Jerry was going on and on about all the things we could do with methane gas, besides cooking. I tell you, that man is passionate about alternative energy. He barely took time to breathe. But anyway, when he mentioned gas powered refrigerators, I remembered there is an old run-down travel trailer down there. The roof is caving in on it, but I figured the refrigerator might still work if it&#8217;s there. So I went to find out. It&#8217;s still there and I think we can trade some milk and eggs and a couple of rabbits for it. Think about it Ruth, a refrigerator; ice in summer. We could take some of that wonderful cream and make ice cream for Nick&#8217;s birthday!&#8221;

And Ruth did think about it. &#8220;Yes, that would be incredible. Paul would really be thrilled with that. He always considered ice cream its own food group. He went through worse withdrawals from that than coffee,&#8221; she said with a chuckle.

Following supper, Paul retrieved the skins and a shovel. He rested the shovel handle across the front edge of his chair. He picked up one hide and started to work it across the wooden handle. When Jenny saw what he was doing she got another shovel and started to work the second skin. She had assisted him on many evenings by working rabbit skins across a handle while it dried, making the skin soft and supple. It was much better than allowing them to air-dry where they would end up hard as a board.

When they were totally dry and pliable, Paul would have Jake climb a ladder and clip them to a rack he had arranged over the chimney. The smoke would help make them waterproof. After that they would be ready to cut for mittens or whatever Ruth decided to make out of them. He had a good stack of tanned skins that were waiting for cutting and sewing. 

The following day, they worked steadily to complete the gas collectors and the piping between the digester, the collection tanks and the gas line into the house. Paul was checking the silicone seal on the input pipe when he saw Ruth whispering in Jenny&#8217;s ear. He stared at her for a moment and asked, &#8220;What?If you have something to say, share it with everyone.&#8221;

Ruth and Jenny both busted out laughing to Paul&#8217;s irritation. At his pointed look, she controlled her laughter enough to answer him. &#8220;I was just telling Jenny you were just like a little boy shaking all his presents at Christmas. I swear Paul; it will be dry when it is dry. You don&#8217;t have to check it every five minutes. There&#8217;s an old saying, maybe you&#8217;ve heard it. &#8220;A watch pot never boils.&#8221; Now just relax and wait for it to be ready.&#8221;

He glared at her for a bit longer and then his gaze softened. &#8220;Yeah, I guess you&#8217;re right. I just want to get the slurry in there and let the bacteria get to working. It&#8217;s supposed to take a couple weeks if not longer before it works.&#8221;

&#8220;Tell you what, it looks like we&#8217;re done here for now. Go milk the cow and after that fill the wheelbarrow with manure. It will have to be ready to pour in by then,&#8221; Ruth told him.
He stood immobile for a while. &#8220;Yeah, I guess you&#8217;re right. See, I told you I married you for your brains as well as your beauty,&#8221; he said and gave her a quick kiss as he went to get his milk bucket. When he was out of hearing, the two women started laughing again.

After Jennifer was milked, Paul filled and rolled a wheelbarrow load of chicken manure to the digester. _I needed to clean the chicken house anyway, so at least it&#8217;s good timing._ He checked the silicone seals and mentally complemented Ruth on her wisdom; she had been right. He had kept busy and it was now dry enough to start adding slurry if he was careful. He mixed water with the load of manure and started pouring it in the input pipe. When the load was empty, he checked the seal on the clean out pipe and was pleased to see there was no leakage.

While he was checking Ruth and Jenny rolled the garden cart up, filled with cow pies. &#8220;We thought you might want this,&#8221; Ruth said flashing him a grin. &#8220;After all, you&#8217;ve been acting like this is your Christmas present and you always need batteries with the good presents. Consider this the batteries.&#8221;

&#8220;Thanks. Your timing is perfect, I was just ready for some more.&#8221;He transferred the cow manure to the wheel barrow, added water and started impatiently mixing it.

Each morning and numerous times during the day, Paul checked the gas collection chambers. When he noted one chamber raising, he was initially elated, then remembered it was supposed to make carbon dioxide first. He knew that, but he still couldn&#8217;t stop himself from getting a long lighter and holding it over the tank release valve as he carefully cracked it open. He fought his disappointment as the release didn&#8217;t ignite. He closed the valve dejectedly_. It just needs more time. The articles said it will take two weeks it not more._ He looked up as Ruth and Jenny peddled past the house on the way to the road, a filled pack on Jenny&#8217;s back rack. _Now where are those two going? Ruth doesn&#8217;t ride bikes like Jenny._ He shook it off and went to don his bee suit to go check on the bee hives. 


*****​


----------



## Bret F

Paul was elated. He had held the lighter over the valve, opened it and flame had shot forth. _It works, it really works!_ He had hoped and prayed it would work, but really, harnessing the gas from manure seemed like it would take something more complex. While he had been monitoring the digester, he had remembered some of the large dairies setting up digesters. They had spent thousands and thousands of dollars on each system. And he had made one that was so simple, _make that *we* made one that is simple._ He decided the USDA must have had some kind of grant for setting up a system. _Oh well, their policies donât affect me now_.

He opened the valve to send the gas into the house and was just stepping though the doorway when Ruth and Jenny came into the driveway, pushing their bikes. _Now what happened that theyâre pushing instead of riding?_ He failed to notice the large object strapped on Jennyâs back rack. He was going to go check on them when he remembered what he was doing. _Iâve got to go check the stove and make sure it is right._ _I guess they can tell me later what happened that they are walking. _

Paul had done a little plumbing in the time he had waited for the digester to work. The gas line to the hot water heater was disconnected and capped off, the shortest possible route remaining for the gas to the stove. He sniffed around the new connections and didnât detect any odor. After going to the stove, he cracked open a valve and held the lighter flame to it. Nothing. After an interminable wait, he finally smelled the methane and held the lighter flame to it. It burned, but was a small flame. He stared at it trying to figure out a solution. _More pressure, the gas needs to come in under more pressure._ He was starting for the back door when he remembered the new fittings. He gave another sniff test and ran the lighter around them all and was pleased there did not appear to be leakage. _Now to increase the pressure._

He stepped out the door and nearly ran into a large object. Ruth and Jenny were standing behind it with big grins. âMerry Christmas,â they chimed in unison as he looked up at them. He looked back down at the boxy object.

âWe were worried you didnât have enough to do and would be getting bored, so we found you something, well Jenny found something, that you might have fun with,â Ruth beamed.

âIs that a refrigerator? Whereâd it come from?â Paul asked, amazed at the two women.

âIt sure is. Jenny found it in a travel trailer so we made a little trade for it and got it out with some help from Jerry,â Ruth said.

âJerry?â Paul asked.

âYes, he was so interested in your project that when Jenny told him what she was working on, he jumped right on board. I think he wants you to get all the bugs worked out so he can copy your system.â Ruth was pleased with the happy expression on Paulâs face. âSo if you notice some missing rabbits from the breeders, thatâs what happened to them. We had to pay for this after all.â

âSo, will you be able to make enough gas to cook with and run this too?â Jenny asked.

âWell, Iâm not sure, but weâll find out,â he answered. He looked around at the digester area that had become a construction project. He had been busy working on the building enclosure. A pile of bricks were nearby that he had planned on laying between the dirt and the lumber. He picked up four bricks and set them on one of the inverted barrels. 

Paul looked at the women with a very satisfied grin. âI was just burning a flame on the stove. It worked, but was weak. I think this weight will increase the pressure. You want to see it?â 

The women followed him into the kitchen and watched expectantly while Paul started a burner. The flame was greatly increased with the added pressure. Ruth moved the teapot from the cook stove and set it on the burner, all three staring at the blue flame. Paul cleared his throat, âUh, I think it might take a while. So, where do we set up that refrigerator?â

*****​ 
Paul looked up at the unfamiliar sound of an approaching vehicle. It seemed odd that the one-time familiar sound now generated alarm. He remained tense until he recognized Jerryâs old truck turn onto the driveway. He walked over to intercept the truck and instantly regretted it. The truck braked to a stop creating a large dust cloud in the dry dirt. 

Jerry climbed out and heartily greeted Paul. âGood morning Paul. So, is it working?â

Paulâs face wore a wide smile. âItâs working great, just like the articles said. Did you want to go see it or just stand here in the sun and talk about it?â

âLead on Trailblazer.â

They walked to the digester, the building around it slowly taking shape. âDo you have enough material to get it fully enclosed?â Jerry asked.

âBarely; I didnât have enough cement for a foundation, so Iâm just going with pier footings. Iâve got some brick to separate the ground from the wood, but some wood will sit on the ground. Iâll have to make sure I give it good ventilation in the warm part of the year. Iâm sacrificing three of my cold frames for the glass and the wood. But thatâs all right; I didnât use them much after I got the greenhouse.â


Paul showed him the full set up, answering all of Jerryâs questions about it. âSo you are making gas; how about the heat? Does it do what you hoped for?â

Paulâs smile broadened. âThe ladies have been canning with it. It takes quite a while to get the canners to pressure, but no worse than the wood stove. And then itâs lots easier to keep the heat adjusted. I just wish Shadow would have clued me in earlier in the summer.â Jerry had laughed and laughed when Paul had told him his inspiration for the system.

âWhat about the refrigerator, do you get enough gas to run it too?âJerry asked as Paul led him into the house.

âSee for yourself,â Paul said. Ruth approached them as they entered the kitchen holding out two glasses filled with ice tea. 

After Jerry had seen all he wanted to see and made some notes on the system, he walked back to his truck, accompanied by Paul. âWill you be back for Nickâs birthday?â Paul asked.

âWith those ladies making a chocolate cake and ice cream? I wouldnât miss it.â Ruth had told him of the plans she and Jenny had for Nickâs birthday and insisted he attend. 

âYouâve given me a lot of good ideas here Paul. I think I should have something working before long. Iâll come and get you when itâs going and let you look it over.â He started the truck, turned and drove away, kicking up nearly as much dust as when he arrived.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

The meal was cleaned up and Ruth put four candles in the cake and had Nick stand in front of it while everyone encircled the table. She clicked the lighter and the breeze immediately snuffed out the flame. _Thatâs odd, itâs been so calm_. âCan you hold that tray to block the wind, Paul?â she asked, indicating the tray they used to carry the stack of dishes. 

Paul did as he was asked and held the tray as Ruth lit the candles. They sang âHappy Birthdayâ to Nick and he bent to blow out the candles. The swirling gust of wind coincided with Nickâs action, the candles all going out. 

Paul stepped back and looked out across the fields. The sky to the west was filled with black menacing clouds. A cloud of dust was on the horizon and trees were bending from the wind. âWe need to get under cover, thereâs a storm coming fast,â Paul snapped.

They moved quickly, carrying chairs and everything needed for the desert into the outdoor kitchen. Ruth covered the food and dishes with a towel just as the strong winds hit, accompanied by flying dust. The dust cloud was gone nearly as fast as it arrived but the wind continued with strong gusts. The sky darkened, then lit briefly at a flash of lighting. Rain began to pound, making Nick put his hands over his ears as it hammered the tin roof. The rain was intense and short lived, but the clouds remained, sheet lightning flashing all across the sky. There were constant rumbles of thunder. 

Paul watched the sky with concern. Summer thunderstorms were responsible for many range and forest fires in the region. _So how bad is it gonna be without the fire crews out on them._ He anticipated the valley filling up with smoke soon if fires began to burn unabated, which they were sure to do. _Have to make sure we keep everything here irrigated and green._

âHey Nick, come over here,â he said as the women again started to fill bowls with cake and ice cream. He arranged a chair and sat down and pulled the boy onto his lap. He pointed out at the sky. âHowâs this for your birthday? You not only get ice cream, you get fireworks.â


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## puddlejumper007

THANKS BRET....i needed that.....:banana:


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## manygoatsnmore

Awesome, Bret! Continuing to enjoy the story, and I'm learning more all the time as you write. It was lovely to find not one, but 2 chapters waiting for me, and a good long one in chapter 20. Keep up the good work, mate.


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## stickinthemud

Thanks, Bret!


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## puddlejumper007

HEY BRET...we are over here watching for more...eep:


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## Bret F

Chapter 21

âSo I always thought gardening was a summer thing. But you mean to tell me we can grow stuff all winter?â Jenny asked as she helped plant seeds in the newly worked beds in the greenhouse.

âNo, it wonât grow all winter, I said we can harvest all winter. The key is to get the seeds in now so the plants are close to maturity when the big freeze hits. But we canât have everything like we do in the summer garden. The fall and winter garden will have to be made up of the cold hardy plants.â

Jenny glanced at the small seeds in her hand. âWeâre doing lots of different salad greens now. Are we going to do anything else?â

âWe need to get the garlic in the outside garden soon. It needs to get some good growth and then it will winter there but we wonât be using it until next summer. But for winter harvest, besides the salad greens, weâll put in root crops; the carrots, beets, green onions. With a little luck, the peas we put in last week will be ready in time. If not, Iâve over-wintered some plants when the winter wasnât too harsh. Every little bit will help in the winter,â Paul told her.

âWill we have to heat the greenhouse for this to work?â she asked.

âNo, not with these plants we wonât. But we will add extra row covers over the plants when it gets cold for one more layer of insulation. Just like when we dress in layers. Something else Iâve been contemplating is the compost pile; setting it up in here. You know, when the decomposition is happening, it creates a lot of heat, maybe enough to make a difference in here. I donât know if it will or not, but weâll never know until we try it.â He paused while he covered some seeds with screened soil. âMaybe you can pull out your smart phone and google it up to see if anyone has done it,â he said with a grin.

âGood idea,â she retorted. âWhile Iâm online, why donât I order a pizza too? What do you want on it? Everything but the kitchen sink, and extra anchovies?â

*****

The new plants were flourishing by the time cold fall temperatures killed most of the summer garden. The long storage foods had been harvested. Squash was stored under most of the beds in the house. The potatoes had been dug and put in gunny sacks, and stored in the pump house. Paul lamented not having a real root cellar, but the pump house would maintain a cool temperature with higher humidity from the water he had flowing through. 

The fruit had all been picked. Most had been canned and dehydrated, but a few boxes of apples were in Paulâs shop. He knew better than to sore the apples and potatoes together since neither spot was well ventilated. Other boxes in the shop held all of the tomatoes that had remained on the vines when the cold temperatures hit. Some would ripen; others would go to the chickens. 

Beets, carrots and parsnips were left in the garden and heavily mulched. They could be dug as needed throughout the winter. The onions were in mesh bags next to the potatoes. Jars of fresh honey filled a shelf in the pantry. Dandelion and chicory roots had been dug, cleaned and were drying. They would be ground and used in place of coffee. It wouldnât have the caffeine kick Paul had been accustomed to, but he hadnât had real coffee all summer so it wouldnât matter. The final cutting of hay was baled and under cover.

It was very satisfying to see the bounty of the summer all stored and ready for winter. There was just one more thing Paul wanted to add to it. The weather had a distinct bite to it and he was ready for some fresh red meat. Canned meat, rabbit, and the occasional chicken were getting pretty old. Just imagining a juicy steak next to one of those large baked potatoes had him nearly drooling. 

He wasnât a meteorologist by any stretch of the imagination but he had gained a feel for the weather over the past few years. It felt to him like the weather would be cool for some time and he planned on taking advantage of it to hang a beef and eat as much fresh as they could while it aged. They could always can and dry meat at any time if the weather warmed.

Paul wandered out to the pasture fence and looked at the cattle, still grazing on the dry grass. They had done very well over the summer and he would be taking a load to sell soon if things were normal. He tallied how many were spoken for due to summer trades. He came up with two and a half. He glanced at the full wood shed and praised that trade especially. Besides the wood, he had a pile of fir bark. He hoped the tannin in the bark would tan the cow hides into leather. It would definitely be a bigger job than rubbing egg yolks onto rabbit skins. 

He would ask some additional neighbors to help with butchering and pay them with the remaining half of beef. One more steer for his own family brought the number to four they would butcher. There was also an older cow that had been barren the past spring. There was no need to continue to feed her. She was well past the age to make steaks but could be ground for burger and canned into stew. He imagined his arm aching from turning the hand grinder that much. 

Five in one day would make for a long day, especially without power equipment. But it needed to be done; he wanted to get it done before he had to break into the hay stack for winter feed. That wonât be long. He looked back at the steers. I think we might even butcher one more in the middle of winter and let it freeze hanging. Then we could take meat off it whenever we wanted. He continued to gaze across the field, enjoying the colors that came with fall. The colors of fall rivaled spring for with all of its new growth for him. Itâs hard to believe itâs been over a year now without power. So many changes, yet that view looks just like always at this time of year.

Standing still too long allowed the cold air to work through his coat. He gave an involuntary shudder as he cooled and he came out of his trance. Okay, time to get on with it. He walked to the house and removed his coat, allowing the comforting warmth from the cook stove to displace his chill. âAnyone want to go on a bike ride with me? Iâm thinking we need to butcher some cows in two days, if that will work with you,â he told Ruth with a questioning look. âI was going to go around and invite everyone to the party.â 

âThatâll be fine with me. Itâs not like our calendar is filled with pressing engagements,â she said with a chuckle. She looked at the pile of rabbit skins in front of her. Many of them had hand shapes traced where she was going to cut them and start making mittens. âIâll stay here and work on this and get something started in a while for supper. Besides, if you get to talking to Jerry, you might be out half the night.â

Always ready to ride, Jenny agreed to go along. Jake and Toni said they would stay and do all of the chores. Steve was in the other room with Nick, playing checkers and of course, declined the invitation.


----------



## Bret F

The wind on their faces was cold as Paul and Jenny peddled up the road, their fingers cold from gripping the handlebars. Elsewhere they generated enough heat through the physical activity that the cool temperature wasnât very uncomfortable. As they were heading back towards home, Jenny said, âYou know, this will be the biggest group of people Iâve seen together since last winter, when we went to the food handouts. It seems so funny to think that around twenty people is a big gathering.â 

âI know what you mean,â Paul said. âI havenât been around a crowd of people in over a year now, at the last Farmerâs Market of the season. Since then, I guess when we put up the hay was the most people Iâve seen in one place.â

They pedaled on in silence for a while. âMaybe itâs wrong of me, but for the most part, I like the new world we live in,â Paul said breaking the silence. âThings arenât as convenient now, we have to work hard, but I go to bed at peace with myself nearly every night. There are things I miss on occasion, but there is so much of the old world I donât miss.

âWhen I was a kid on a farm not too much different than ours, I couldnât wait to get out. There was a big world out there with all kinds of opportunities for someone with ambition. I got out all right and was all wrapped up in everything. Iâm sorry I wasted all those years, because I saw a whole lot of ugliness out there and nearly lost my family to boot. Family values have been pushed so far back. The cities, even before the crash had areas that the cops were afraid to go to. 

âI could go on for a long time and editorialize about so many things; our government, waste, greed, ill-behavior, feelings of entitlement, children growing up without their parents guiding them, but I wonât. I can only pray that when the long darkness ends, the people who step forward have a vision of something better than what we had become. I look at little Nick and pray every day that we make him a better world than he was born into.â 

âPaul, I know what you mean. And Steve would totally freak if I told him something like that. He certainly misses the old ways,â she half snorted. âBut not me; not anymore. I can hardly fathom all the personal changes Iâve had this past year. That woman that almost blew a gasket when âDancing with the Starsâ blipped off the TV screen was so shallow and self-absorbed.â Jennyâs eyes began to mist thinking about it. She was glad there was no traffic or she would have to stop at the side of the road. âI donât even know who that person was anymore. She kept her composure while she pedaled, barely. 

âI think about my grandparents all the time now. Grandpa worked hard every day of his life. He had a job that didnât pay much, but he also had his home. He always had a milk cow, chickens and a big garden. He and Grandma grew most of their food to get by. But they seemed happy. I know I was little, but they always seemed so perfect together, nothing like my parents, â¦ orâ¦ orâ¦. Anyway, I miss them so much now. My mom, well she hardly ever let me see them. Sheâs a whole lot like my husband. I can see now why she was so happy I got a hold of him.â She rubbed her hand across her face, pushing tears away. She was glad to be riding the slower pace Paul preferred, rather than the speed she went when alone. 

âI can never express to you how grateful I am to you and Ruth. I feel more like a part of a family than I ever have before. And the opportunity to see Nick every day; well, I would only see him once in a great while before,â Jenny nearly sobbed and stopped the bike. Paul braked beside her and waited while she cried. Through her sobs, Jenny got out, âJust look, now Iâm turning into a blubbering idiot.â

Paul sat his bike patiently, âTake all the time you need,â she told her softly. âItâs a tough road youâre on.â

When she was ready to continue towards home, Jenny looked ashamedly at Paul. âThanks, Iâm ready to go now. Now, why donât you tell me about what we need to do for this party youâve got planned. I may be a blonde city-girl, but Iâm guessing itâs going to be a lot more work than a couple of bunnies.â

âMaybe a little bit more,â Paul told her with a smile.

*****

The steers and the old cow in the small pen looked expectantly at Paul when he left the barn. They had been penned up the previous afternoon and were ready to join the others and start eating. Five steers and the old cow were in the pen. During the visits with the surrounding neighbors, Paul had traded an additional steer for a pig and a spring lamb. Despite his preference for eating beef, too much of it would get tiring. The other meat would be a nice change. 

Paul looked around. He could not see anything else they should have accomplished the previous day. Everything was ready as far as he could see. He dropped to one knee and started to talk, âDear Lord, You have provided for my family as we have gone deeper into this new situation. I canât guess what your plan is in this, but my life is in your hands. We are about to take the lives of animals you have provided for us and I pray that we are worthy. I ask your blessing on all that we do today. You are the great provider and you put them in my hands and I pray that I havenât taken your gifts for granted, that my family and myself are deserving. In the name of my savior Jesus, I ask this, Amen.â

Paul stood up and looked at the animals again. I really donât like to do this. It was so much easier when everything came packaged, but those days were gone. And I better get on with it
.
He went to the house with his milk bucket. Ruth and Jenny had breakfast nearly prepared and everyone was up and ready to eat, even Steve, he noticed. Jenny must have guilted him intogetting up today since we have a hard dayâs work ahead of us.

They had breakfast and all but Ruth went to the small pen; she stayed to clean up from breakfast. Clouds formed as they breathed out in the cold morning air and Paul was glad for the gloves he was wearing, one hand wrapped around the twenty-two rifle. To everything there is a season, ran through his head. Paul directed Jake and the others in general to bring one of the steers into the chute near the overhead beam they had erected the previous day. A come-a-long and chain hung from the timber. He looked around at the sound of approaching people. Just in time. The people that would get the meat were coming down the driveway in various forms.

Jerry was in his old flatbed truck, the cab filled with two other people, others huddled on the bed. Paul couldnât stop his grin when Dallas turned the corner with his wagon, pulled by two mules, the bells on their harness jingling. His wagon was also loaded with extra people. Well, I better get his over with. Paul pictured the imaginary X on the steerâs head, aimed and fired.

*****


----------



## Bret F

The last animal had been quartered and each section was hanging in the machine shed with the rest. Paul walked through the hanging meat again, happy to see it was too cool for flies. A few yellow jackets were out however. âHey Jenny, come and watch this,â he said.

Jenny walked over to where he was standing and saw him watching the busy insect. âArenât you going to kill it or **** it away?â she asked.

âNaw, I donât mind them too much if they arenât right where Iâm working. Just watch it for a bit.â

Jenny watched in fascination as the yellow jacket cut a small piece of the meat free and flew off with it.

âWhen we are working the meat, they will come and take the tiny pieces off our hands. It feels pretty strange some times, but they donât sting if they arenât bothered. Now flies, on the other hand. If they were out, weâd have someone in here trying to keep them shooed away,â Paul told her.

Ruth called from the outdoor kitchen for everyone to come in. She had chairs, hot tea and a large pot of soup ready for everyone. The soup was a thick vegetable blend, nearly a stew, with ample chunks of canned beef. The meat had been in their freezer when the power had gone off and they had canned it all to keep from losing it. The soup was accompanied by sour dough bread Ruth had baked that morning.

The stove was burning, emitting comforting heat into the room that had had Visqueen wrapped on it the day before. The group of workers settled in to the chairs, grateful to sit down and have something warm to drink and eat after the hours spent skinning and quartering the animals. Despite the hard work in cool weather, it was a festive atmosphere. Most of the people had only limited interaction with others. As Jenny had stated two dayâs previously, this was a big gathering. 

âRuth, this tastes so good, I can almost forget about all those steaks hanging out there,â Jerry said loudly. âNo wait a minute, I canât forget about them after all,â he said with a hearty laugh. âBut at least it looks like you cooked with clean heat, not that cow manure stuff. That might stop me from eating if you cooked on â¦.. that,â he said with a big grin.

Ruth was up for the needling. âWhat Jerry, you want me to put a wick in a chamber pot and start it on fire like you do at your house? Thank you, but Iâm fine with whatever my wonderful husband gives me to cook with.â

The gathered people erupted in laughter at Ruthâs reply; even though most of them had looked at both Paul and Jerryâs system and made a form of one of them for their own methane digesters.

Paul carried his bowl over and sat down near Dallas, finally getting a chance to ask about his team. He was especially interested; not knowing how long the stored fuel would remain viable, and whether or not his edamame experiment would pan out. The beans had been harvested but they had run into problems pressing them. 

âThe mules look pretty well behaved. Iâm sorry I didnât get over to your place when you were putting up hay. How did they do with that,â Paul asked.

Dallas laughed loudly like he was hearing a great joke. âOh man, you should have been there. It was a real rodeo. They had been doing great pulling the wagon. And then the fun started. I hooked them up to that old mowing machine and everything went fine until it actually started cutting. You know how the sickle bar rattles on a mower, well, it spooked the daylights out of them. The more noise, it made, the faster they went so it made even more noise. They did their darndest to outrun that evil thing that was out to eat them. I was holding on for dear life; the reins were pretty much useless. They started getting close to the end of the field. Thereâs a ditch and fence there. I didnât know what was going to happen, but I started trying to turn them for all I was worth. Well, they turned, and ran about halfway down the field the other direction. I wasnât sure if the mules would tire out or the mower would bust into pieces first. Luckily, the field is pretty long so the mules ran out of gas first.â Dallas laughed long and hard, joined by everyone else that was listening. âI can laugh about it now, but I was afraid all three of us were goners while it was happening. They did pretty good after that, I guess they figured out that thing wasnât going to eat them. Or they were just too tired after their run.

âRaking went better. The first couple of passes across the field, they lurched ahead every time the dump rake cycled, but they settled down soon. It probably didnât help a bit when I let out a yell when I triggered it the first time. I hadnât been on one since I was a kid and had forgotten that you just hit the peddle and jerk your leg back.The dang thing nearly busted my leg the first time.â Dallas laughed again at the memory, joined by most everyone else. One of the older men didnât laugh; he just nodded his head in remembrance of a sore leg.

Jenny was sorry to see the gathering coming to an end. It had been hard work, but a satisfying day to have all that meat hanging and have a chance to interact with everyone. She knew them all from her rides and had welcomed the chance to get to know them a little better. She had noticed when talking to one couple that Steve was scowling at her. Thatâs your problem. She continued to enjoy the remaining time with the neighbors. 

The quarters of meat were wrapped in a variety of tarps and loaded onto either Jerryâs truck or Dallasâ wagon to be delivered. Scott reminded everyone he had trades with that more of the same fun would be happening at his place in four days. âAfter all, youâll probably be sick of that beef by then and want to get some good lamb meat thatâs more palatable.â

If the weather remained cool enough, a few days after that, there would be another gathering to butcher hogs at a different farm.


----------



## Bret F

There were still a couple of hours before darkness so Paul went back to the butcher area. Jenny saw he was going back to work so she followed along. On the way past Jake and Steveâs chairs, she lightly kicked each one and nodded towards Paulâs retreating figure. Jake got up immediately, Steve much slower to follow. 

Paul had pulled the garden cart up beside the pile of skins. Five of the six remained; one had gone with the man that had traded them firewood. He wanted to try making leather himself. Paul was just beginning to fight with the first hide to get it into the cart when Jenny and Jake joined him. They soon had two loaded and rolled them to the machine shed. âI take it weâre going to tan these. Are we doing it like the rabbits?â Jenny asked.

âNo this will be different. I think weâll try to do two with the hair on and three without. The egg yolks and brains donât really make leather. From what Iâve read, we need chemicals to do that. So weâll use that pile of bark Iâve been chopping up to make chips. The tannins in it is what will make the changes in the skins. So now we need to stretch these hides out and cover them with salt. Weâll stack them one on top of the other so we donât take up all of the space in here.â

âSo whatâs the point of the salt?â Jake asked. 

âIt is to cure the hides. It will dry them out without disturbing the structure of the skin. They will start decaying right away if we just leave them, so if we want them to be useful we need to do this pretty quick.â They were pulling the first hide out flat while Paul was telling them about the process. 

As Paul was spreading salt, Jenny dropped to her knees and used her hands to get an even coat, making sure it was spread to the edges. She glanced at him. âWhat next?â

âThis might not make a lot of sense, but then we rehydrate them when weâre ready. But drying with the salt stops decay and buys us time. Weâll use water to soak them, getting them pliable and cleaning all of the salt and blood off of them. Weâll do that when weâre ready for the next step. In this cool weather, we wonât need to rush, between the salt and the cold they should be fine for quite a while.â He set the salt box on his bench and started to pull the next skin from the cart.

âAt that point, we do different processes for making leather or buckskin, you know, tanning with the hair on. The ones we are going to de-hair, weâll fill a garbage can or two with some ashes and water and mix it up good and put the hides in. Remember me telling you that lye is caustic? Well, it will eventually loosen the hair up to where it will come loose. It also frees up any fat or meat we left on skinning. So we donât have to flesh those ones like we do the rabbit furs. Weâll stir our brew two or three times a day. Itâs supposed to take a couple of weeks or more.â 

The second skin was stretched out so he handed the salt to Jake and picked up the cart handle. âSteve, can you help me load up some hides while these two spread the salt?â He walked away, not waiting to see if Steve would follow; which he did reluctantly.

âSo weâve soaked them in the lye solution until the hair comes out,â Jenny said when Paul and Steve returned with the laden cart. They began to stretch the top hide out on their pile. âI guess we clean all the hair and lye off?â

âThatâs right. And we need to stop the action of the lye, so remembering your science class; you neutralize an alkali with an acid. Unfortunately we canât just run down to the hardware store and get something for this so weâll have to make our own. Come to think of it, if we could run down to the store and get what we wanted, we sure wouldnât be doing this. But anyway, while the skins are soaking in the lye, weâll be making lactic acid.â He stretched and knuckled his tired back, glad for the short break while Jenny and Jake salted the skin.

âWeâll soak some rice to get starchy water, then save the water separate in a jar. The jar will need to be covered with a rag and then stored in a warm dark place. The starchy water will attract bacteria from the air. Our jar of water will get cloudy and have a scum line at the top. Thatâs the bacteria, although more than just lactic acid bacteria.â

He pulled the edge of the next hide free from the cart and they all took a side, stretching it out. âSo now we need to isolate our bacteria, and lactic acid loves milk. We can mix one part of water to ten parts milk and put it in a warm spot. In about a week, it will be full of lactic acid. If we time everything just right, weâll have the acid just in time for the hides. After we get the hair and everything cleaned off, we soak and rinse the hides in the acid bath a number of times.

âThen those hides are ready for tanning. In the meantime the other hides, the ones with the hair, should already be in the tanning solution. Before that, we will have already scraped and fleshed them. Weâll use the chunks of fir bark and water and soak them for a few months. Modern chemicals make it go a lot faster, well when they were available anyway, but weâll make do the slow way and hope we donât need a new fur coat before theyâre done. The tannin will displace the water in the hide and combine with the collagen fibers in the skin. This may take a lot longer than the other methods, but makes for the longest lasting leather.â

Jenny stood up, glad to have the last hide salted. âAnd thatâs it?â she asked Paul.

âYou should know better than that. Of course thereâs more,â he said with a smile. âThe hides will need washed in soapy water and rinsed good, and then we have to work them to keep them supple while they dry, just like the rabbit skins. Then we can finish them off with a coating of beeswax or neatâs foot oil. Which brings us to the next thing we need to do.â He took the handles of the cart and started back to where they had butchered.

âOkay, Iâll bite. Whatâs the next project?â Jenny asked as she and Jake walked along with him.

âIf weâre going to use neatâs foot oil, we need to make some first.â He bent over and picked up two of the cows feet and put them in the cart. 

âThis is starting to look almost as fun as most of your projects,â Jenny said wryly as she joined him in gathering feet. âSince we donât have electricity, these beauties arenât going to become lamps stands. How do they fit in?â

âI thought youâd never ask,â he told her with a grin. âThe term âneatâ is an old name for cattle. Weâll skin these shin bones and feet off, remove the hooves and boil the bones and skim off the oil. That oil is called âneatâs foot oilâ. It can be used as a preservative and softener for the leather.â

âThat just soundsâ¦.wonderful,â Jenny said slowly, not sounding like it was even close to wonderful. âIâm sure Ruth will appreciate you cooking that in the house.â 

He chuckled at that. âI guess itâs a good thing I have the outside stove.â He parked the cart in the machine shed. âThese can wait until tomorrow. Letâs do the chores and call it a day. Iâm kind of tired.â

The wood box was filled and they gathered eggs and milked the cow. When they entered the kitchen they were greeted by the aroma of frying liver and onions. âThat smells heavenly, Ruth,â Paul told her as he breathed deeply. âThatâs the best part of butchering day,â he added to Jenny. 

He didnât hear Steveâs less enthusiastic opinion from the living room. âYouâve got to be kidding me. We work like dogs all day, we have all that beef hanging and she is feeding us liver and onions. Give me break!â

*****


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## Bret F

The weather cooperated enough that first sheep and then hogs were butchered and shared amongst the workers. The hogs could be either skinned or have the hair scraped off, since the skin was edible. That would have required a vat filled with hot water however to dip them in and one was not handy, so they opted for skinning. 

When the butchering was complete and the hogs were hanging, Paul went through the waste pile and started removing the small intestines. âDoes anyone else want any of these?â he asked. 

âI donât know; what are you going to do with them?â Jerry asked.

âIâll make sausage casings the traditional way,â he said.

âYouâve got to be kidding me,â Jerry said.

âAm I to guess by your underwhelming response you donât want any of these?â

Paul raised the intestine and cut it free from the stomach, traced it down to the large intestine and made a second cut removing it. He held it by the end and pulled it through his fingers, forcing out as much of the contents as he could. Jerry was watching him expectantly. 

âIâll wash this off good and squeeze as much out of it as I can, then Iâll turn it inside out. Iâll wash that side real good and then itâs ready for stuffing. Tie a knot in the end and push it onto your sausage stuffer. If you donât have a stuffer attachment for your grinder, just use a big funnel. Fill it as tight as you can, then tie the ends into a circle and hang it in the smokehouse. After itâs cured, itâs ready to eat.â He looked at Jerryâs expression as he started looking for another. âAfter all Jerry, parts are parts.â

He found another small intestine and worked at freeing it. âOr if you want links, fill about five inches and make some twists and do that until you get to the end. Tie the links in a circle and smoke that. Iâll try some that way too.â Jerry shook his head as he watched Paul rummaging through the gut pile.

The following day, the meat was prepared for smoking. Paul cut off the hams and bacons and directed the others to rub them thoroughly with salt. They were set in a wooden box to give the salt time to be absorbed. If the weather held, he hoped to give the meat another good coating in a few days and let it absorb before he started smoking it. While the salt was absorbing, Paul would throw together a small enclosure to act as a smoke house. He had a decent pile of alder wood to smolder for the smoky flavor.

He cut off the lions and the spare ribs and boned out the rest of the hog carcass. They never canned meat with the bone in; it seemed a waste of valuable space. But the bones would be set on the stove in a large stock pot to cook down and make broth. They would can the meat and the broth and make sausage from all the trim. The ribs however, would be cooked and eaten fresh. 

When the hog was cut up, Paul went to the shop and looked at the beef and sniffed it in various places. The old cow had already been processed. The meat had been removed from the bones; a lot of it was course ground into burger and cooked into large stock pots of chili that was canned. Other pots were cooked with thick stews, with bite size chunks of meat. It was also canned and added to the pantry. In one form or another, all of the meat and broth was now in jars. 

He had been closely monitoring the steer while enjoying fresh steaks. âProbably better take care of this tomorrow.â He removed the bottom round from each hind quarter and carried it to the house. He cut the meat into strips and dropped them in a pot of salt water. After it soaked for a day, he would hang it to dry. When it was dry, it could be stored in canning jars.

After working with the fresh meat all day, Steve was anticipating a nice pork chop, or maybe spare ribs. He face fell when he saw Ruth rolling the slices of heart in a pie tin of seasoned flour. He put on his coat and walked out into the cold evening air muttering, âAll that fresh meat and sheâs going to feed us guts again!â


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## Bret F

Thanks Everyone for reading.
Bret


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## SpaceCadet12364

Thanks to YOU for your wonderful writing, Bret! :bow:

:dance:

You :rock:!!


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret. nice to come in for a break from the garden and find this.....


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## upsidedown

I can't wait for the next chapter. Thank you so much for sharing.


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## Wren - TN

Thank you!


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## 355946

This is fun AND educational - thanks. I'm wearing locally made sheep hide slippers - tough leather outside and warm fuzzy inside. Now I have an idea of how it might have been done. I hope Steve turns himself around.


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## Kmac15

If his name was Jon instead of Steve I would say you really know my BIL LOL


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## dogbone62

We continue to appreciate each and every installment. I wish some of the other writers would post. I've enjoyed each one.


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## campfiregirl

dogbone62 said:


> We continue to appreciate each and every installment. I wish some of the other writers would post. I've enjoyed each one.


Me, too! :clap:


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## puddlejumper007

hey Bret, got time for another chapter, or three or four...?:bored:


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## Bret F

puddlejumper007 said:


> hey Bret, got time for another chapter, or three or four...?:bored:


 I've got the next one almost ready to post. I'll probably have it ready in a day or two. In the meantime, I think I spent too long in the hot sun yesterday afternoon and came up with this one, totally unrelated. 


Bob



Bob ignored the sweat running into his eyes. It burned like blazes but he kept still and didnât wipe it away. The flies that were buzzing around his face were irritating, but he ignored them too. Even when one bit him, he focused on the small cabin down the slope from him. He could be patient. He was always patient. He no longer had a reason not to be. Time meant nothing to him. Time had stopped.

He caressed the trigger lightly; just likeâ¦.no you canât go there. It is over and done. She is dead and nothing will bring her back. This wonât bring her back but, still,â¦ His finger again started to lightly caress the trigger, like it had a mind of its own. NO. NO. NO.

A bird quickly flying away from the building told him so much. It spoke volumes. There were indeed people inside and they were moving around.

He squinted again at the sweat that was slowly running into his eyes, burning, oh how they burned. The image formed unbidden of her, in the house, burning. _NO, let her out. Iâll give you what you want. We donât have much, but itâs all yours. Just let me get her._ A boot in the back took the words away. It moved from there, pressing against his face, forcing it down into the gravel until he wasnât sure he could draw a breath. But why should he. If she was gone what was the point in breathing. The bullet in his side wasnât painful. The view from the eye above the gravel was painful. Nothing had ever hurt like that. The flames licked the house, licked the sky and he licked his dry lips, stopping himself from pushing away the sweat, the burn inducing sweat. Still; he had to remain still and wait.

âBobâ was what he had come to call himself since he had started wandering. It wasnât the name his parents gave him but it worked. He tended to bob around like a piece of driftwood. There wasnât a home; there hadnât been a home since that night. He had bobbed around, hoping for news, a rumor, a whisper, anything that would point him in the right direction. All the time while he bobbed around, going wherever the current pushed him. Wherever the wind moved him; the wind with its whispered rumors.

He had no family; of course he had no family, not since that night. Well, maybe there was someone that might consider him family, but what was the chance they were still around? They had been even less prepared for what happened than he had. Happily living the life, chasing the dreams, and then in a moment it was all gone. No, his family had certainly been among the early casualties. And he was going to join them, happily, once he finished this one task. 

Another drop of sweat worked into his eye making him squint. NO, Keep watching, theyâre in there. His eyes closed against his will, against the sweat to force the salty burn out. The face; that other face came to his mind; the beard and greasy hair framing the face, laced with grotesque tattoos. And the laughing. He laughed the whole time. The collapsing roof had brought a state of insane hilarity. And the whispered rumors had pointed here; the rumors and the trail of bodies; he had bobbed along on the current to this cabin. 

He held his hand down. Oh how he wanted to reach out and wipe the sweat. Adjust the headband that was supposed to be keeping it out of his eyes. But he didnât. He couldnât. He had to remain perfectly still. He couldnât let them know he was there. His mind drifted again; back to the night. It had started as such a fabulous night. The roses, the dinner with the wine. He had wondered why she didnât want the wine; she usually ordered a glass of wine with her dinner. Maybe she was still queasy, she hadnât felt good that morning. But it didnât matter. Whatever it was had passed. It was their anniversary, two wonderful years with the most incredible woman, no, the most incredible person he had ever known. Hands down, the most incredible. Not that he was widely traveled and had known a lot of incredible people. But still: he had been a member of Boyâs State and got to meet the governor and the legislature. Incredible? That bunch of squabbling twits? He had seen better behaved kindergarten classes. 

No, they all paled in comparison to her. But why didnât she want to drink wine; to celebrate with him? And why was she so giddy, even without wine? She absolutely glowed that night.

And then it all went black. The lights went out; even the emergency lights came on and then flickered out. It was chaos. And thenâ¦.

No he wouldnât think about it, he couldnât think about it. Not now, not when he was so close. Focus! He had to focus. He had tracked them, followed them, whatever it took to this cabin in the mountains. Now he just had to wait for them to show themselves. This was supposed to be some survivalistâs bug out spot they had unearthed. A lone guy that hadnât held out long against that many. What better place for them to sit around and get fat and sassy while the world went to pieces. 

But what about him? Another lone guy facing them all. But he had an advantage. The road flares in his pack would start the fire. Burn! It was only fitting they should burn. But he wanted to see the face, the one face. The ugly tattooed face as a bullet ripped into him and then the flames devoured him. He had to burn!

He blinked hard, trying to push the memories back, erase them from his mind. But his mind wasnât an Etch a Sketch. The memories stayed, no matter how much he tried to spread the powder; the dry dusty powder on it. 

The drought was bad according to the news, but really, how bad could it be. Somewhere there had to be water, food. Water always ran from the tap. It was a concern for other people, developing countries. Until then. Who could have dreamed they were that vulnerable.

He pinched his eyes shut trying to force the picture out of his mind. It wouldnât go. The dust, the powdery dust. It floated in the air. It coated his face making mud trails as it mixed with his tears and sweat, slowly running down his face. The dust as he dropped another shovelful of the dry parched earth onto the sheet wrapped figure. Itâs just a sheet. Thatâs all, just a sheet, thereâs nothing in there. He fell to his knees, and pushed more of the dirt with his hands as he cried. Oh yes, he had cried like a baby. He couldnât help himself. His hand moved slowly up and brushed away the tears that were running freely from his eyes. Itâs not like they can see me from the cabin anyway. _Come out, you rotten dogs. Come out or burn. Iâve followed you long enough._

Carol froze as she saw the slight movement beside the rock. It was just where she would lay if she was looking for game, that is if the cabin was a meadow, instead of, no, never mind. It was the slightest movement in the most perfect place. She studied the area carefully, bringing to mind the leaves, the shape, everything about the slight hollow.

Yes, it was definitely different. The leaves settled over a rifle barrel. She shifted her position, allowing her left arm to raise the bow to a vertical position. _Forty yards, no big deal, wind is absolutely calm. About thirty feet below me. So the arrow wonât drop like normal._ The calculations were fast and automatic. At her dadâs urging, she had worked tirelessly on developing the skill to instantly judge trajectory both downhill and uphill. 
 Now to figure out what it is, who it is.

She let out a bird call, the killdeer in distress. Killdeers actually lived lower; they did not range up the mountain this high. She knew that, Dad knew that, but did the shape in the hollow know that?

The cabin door opened and a man stepped cautiously into the opening. She allowed herself a small smile. _Nice scarecrow Dad._ A shot rang out instantly, coming from the hollow she was watching. The arrow pierced the camouflaged shape an instant later.

Bob looked in surprise at the broad head arrow point that was suddenly jutting out of his chest. He had risen to his knees after he fired. He wanted to see the face, the ugly tattooed face as his life drained away. His legs no longer wanted to support him. He looked once more at the arrow head. Blood and pieces of tissue hung from it. âIâm sorry Katie, I wasnât good enough. He closed his eyes against the pain that was suddenly fanning out from the arrow. There, he saw her; he really saw her, right there across from him. He held his glass of wine up to her and clinked glasses with her. He raised one eyebrow quizzically and her lips just started to move when darkness enveloped the restaurant.

Carol looked down at the still body lying in the dirt and leaves, tears flowing freely from her eyes. Her father joined her and pulled her close. He had stayed in the cabin until he heard the curlew sound. _Like curlews live here. We need to learn some better birdcalls._

âDad, why do they make us do this? We were so happy here. We werenât bothering anybody. Why did those bikers have to leave the city and come up here?â 

He pulled her even tighter, if that were possible. âI donât know why they had to come up her Hon, probably the same reasons we did. But as we saw, when they first came in and killed Russ, they arenât any good. We canât take them all out at once, thereâs too many of them. We have to keep a close eye on them and if they force us, weâll eliminate them one at a time. I wish it wasnât that way, but as long as theyâre in the next draw over, we have to always be vigilant.â


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## puddlejumper007

wow...


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## SpaceCadet12364

ditto..... O.O


...another awesome story (with sequels to come? ) from the writings of Bret......


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## Ozarks Tom

Quite an unexpected change of pace!

Thanks for keeping us entertained.


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## manygoatsnmore

Thanks for teaching me about neatsfoot oil, Bret. I didn't know that was where it came from. 

I'll pass on the liver and onions, but fry me up some heart and I'm in gastronomic heaven! MMMmmmm, good.

FYI, did you notice you started on chapter 21 and then reverted to chapter 20? Oh, Steve is really starting to get on my last nerve...what a spoiled baby. Gonna be interesting to see how you bring him around or what happens to him. Looking forward to the next installment.

I liked the new story, but I was a little confused at the same time...how did the tattooed jerk end up being the good guy and "Bob" end up dead? I think I missed a tie-in somewhere...probably just need to go back and re-read it. :shrug:

As always, I want to thank you for taking the time to write and post your stories for us. Any chance of them being available in .pdf form in the future? I'd love to be able to print them out for future (read that, post grid/internet) access. Pretty please? 

ETA: I'd also love to read more stories from other authors. I'm not talented enough to write good PAW fiction, but I sure enjoy the efforts of those who are so blessed! Now, if anyone needs a proof reader/editor, I'm your gal!


----------



## Bret F

Now back to our regular programming

The Long Darkness
Chapter 22

Steve heard the strange sound and took a while for it to sink in what he was hearing. _Thatâs a car or truck._ He looked around nervously and saw the approaching vehicle. He forgot all about the row he was irrigating. His heart started hammering when he saw the vinyl lettering reading âIdaho Power Companyâ on the side of the white pickup. His shovel was mindlessly dropped and the pistol he carried was in his hand. He didnât recall drawing it but there was no way that trick was going to work on him twice. It had been five years, but the sight of the truck brought the memory from his subconscious like it was yesterday. 

_âHello is anyone home? Weâre with Idaho Power Company. Weâre going through the neighborhood discussing the restoration of electrical power.â The front of a white Chevy pickup was visible, parked at the side of the street. The cab was obscured from view by the SUV in the driveway. He changed his angle to look at the door, just able to see a sliver of a manâs back. He was dressed in dark blue Dockers and a snug jacket. âThat looks like the clothes Iâve seen Idaho Power workers inâ. _

_The door flew open in a shower of splintered wood from the shattered door frame, the door hitting him in his exposed face and knocking him back into the room. He shook his head slightly to clear the cobwebs that had suddenly coated his brain and felt warm blood pooling in his nose. Three men burst through the doorway, two with ski masks over their faces; the third, the man with the power company uniform wearing a Groucho Marx glasses, nose and mustache._

_Before Steve could regain his senses, he was thrust against the wall, his hands viciously pulled behind his back and secured with a large zip tie. Jennyâs screams came to an abrupt stop with a smacking sound from behind him. _

_Steve was jerked around in a move that sent pain surging through his left shoulder and slammed back against the wall, his head bouncing painfully off the surface. _

He could feel his arms being pulled and secured behind his back, his head hitting the wall. Phantom pain laced through his head and shoulders. The terror he had felt when they had threatened Jenny. His heart pounded and his breathing felt labored. His hands began to tingle from hyper ventilation.

He looked around desperately for cover or concealment. _Something, anything, Iâve got to hide, they canât do that again._ There was little to be had in the early garden butâ¦; the railroad tie corner post would have to do. He slipped in behind the post while a man exited the pickup. Steve pointed the pistol in the general direction of the man, the end moving all over in his shaking hands. He tried to make himself smaller as he watched the stranger. The man walked directly to the front of the houseâ no sneaky or suspicious movements - and posted a notice without knocking. The man returned to the pickup, turned it around and drove off down the road. 

Paul approached the door cautiously â _where on earth had he been_, Steve wondered. Steve hadnât seen any other movement, though to be honest he had been focused on the stranger. He worked to control his breathing and get the shaking under control. He saw the moving pistol and used both hands to holster it before it could fall into the dirt. The shovel lay forgotten where it had fallen, the water now running over the handle. He walked slowly toward the house watching the road in case the pickup returned. 

He got to where Paul was looking at the paper with Ruth, Jake and Toni. Paul couldnât decipher most of the paper without his glasses so he handed the paper to Ruth. Steve finally noted the absence_. Jennyâs still out on that danged bike. Why canât she learn to stay where itâs safe? I hope sheâs got brains enough to hide if she sees that guy. _He had no idea where she rode. He was jolted from his thoughts when Ruth began to speak.

âHere are the highlights of what it says. Idaho Power Company has restored all of the hydro capacity on the three big Snake River dams and has checked the power lines and repaired them as needed to the main Boise substation. They have been working out from there. Most of Boise now has power. They make a note the capitol is powered and our exalted leaders are back in their offices. They are slowly restoring power outwards from there. We should expect crews in our area in two weeksâ time.â 

Steve forgot all about Jenny being away. _Boise has power!_ _I can finally get out of here and go home! _He came to an instant decision. âPaul, could we put some of that fuel Jerry made in your truck so I can go check our house and try to find my old boss? You have been wonderful, but if we can get out of your hair and back to our normal life, it would be for the best.â

Ruthâs face fell at hearing Steve. Paul had a grim look when he answered, âAre you sure thatâs what you want Steve? Youâre more than welcome to stay on here. Youâre family, you know.â

âIâm sure. Weâve imposed on you too much, so if we can stand on our own again, we really need to,â Steve answered.

âIf thatâs the way you feel, and I canât say anything to change your mind, well, you know where the fuel is. At least take Jake with you to ride shotgun. You have no idea what youâll run into.â Paul took Ruth by the arm and led her into the house.

Steve made a quick trip to his and Jennyâs bedroom. He picked up his wallet where it had lain for years, then went and got the truck keys while Jake was getting two shotguns. After putting some fuel in the truck, they roared out the driveway in a cloud of dust.

*****​ 
Jenny rode her bicycle to the machine shed and noted the absence of Paulâs truck. _I wonder what heâs up to._ She walked around a little to allow her legs to re-accustom themselves to walking instead of pedaling. The rides invigorated her, especially in late spring and early summer when so much was changing. Everything was growing with such vigor after the cold winter. She headed to the house to change out of her sweaty riding clothes and put on something more appropriate for spending the day transplanting. 

Ruth was staring, unseeing out the window when Jenny entered the kitchen. She turned her head and Jenny saw her stricken look. âRuth, whatâs wrong? Has something happened?â 

Ruth dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief and held out a paper to Jenny. âYou need to read this dear.â

Jenny read quickly and looked back at Ruth. âRuth, this is fabulous news! I mean electricity, and all the comforts that come with it. How many times have we talked about it, how wonderful it would be to have all of that again? And itâs going to happen. So I donât get it. Why do you look like the dog died or something?â 

âYes, it will be wonderful to have the power back on, but, well, Steve drove to town. He wants to check on your house and get back there just as soon as he can. The house will feel so empty without you. Youâve become the sister and best friend I never had.â

Jenny felt as if her bodily functions quit working. She couldnât breathe. She couldnât talk, she only stammered, âHeâ¦..heâ¦..â

Ruth instantly became the comforter, pulling Jenny into a tight embrace and patting her back. âIt will work out somehow dear. We canât know Godâs plans when he puts us on a path, but it will all work out.â 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

Steve and Jake approached the city slowly. Burned out shells of buildings greeted them everywhere, some entire neighborhoods. Many of the cars near the road had been riddled with bullets. âWow Dad, this looks like some of those pictures from the middle of wars. Geez, Iâd have never believed that would happen right here, at home. Man, itâs a good thing we got out to Paulâs place.â

âYeah, I guess,â Steve mumbled. 

As they progressed, the destruction lessened, with fewer burned out shells of houses and buildings. If cars had been abandoned along the road, they had been removed. Steve and Jake began to see a few people and more evidence that people were living in the area. 

Steve stopped the truck when he made the turn onto his street. Two houses had burned, the foundations marked with their stark charred remains. The rest of the houses appeared in good shape from the outside. Closer scrutiny showed most had been vandalized. 

Every lawn looked dead, just showing a spattering of hardy, drought resistant weeds. Where shrubs had been, there was just roughly hacked stumps. A few trees were showing green growth, though most had died without water. All the remaining trees had jagged busted branch ends. Small stumps looking rougher than a beaver gnawed stump marked where smaller trees had once stood. Wood for heating and cooking had obviously been at a premium. The road was full of large cracks, weeds sticking out from many of the gaps.

Steve finally put the truck back into gear and eased off the clutch. He stopped again in front of his house. Jennyâs Explorer was still in the driveway but was missing the glass in every window. The house looked in nearly the same state: each window he could see had rock holes through them. The garage door had been pulled free of the rollers. 

Jake and Steve got out of the truck and moved cautiously towards the open garage, holding shotguns at the ready. Steve cursed and went back to lock the truckâs doors. They ducked under the broken garage door and stepped into a mess. Everything Steve had stored in the garage was strewn across the floor. Many of the items had been broken. He stepped carefully through the chaos and looked wistfully down at his busted up sports trophies. 

Jake continued on through the door leading into the house. The door was askew, hanging from one hinge. The kitchen was just like the garage, only worse. Besides having all their belongings scattered, holes had been busted into the sheetrock walls. Water had come through the busted out window. The flooring was swelled and buckled. Tomâs sheep herder stove was missing. A few splinters were all that remained of their oak table and chairs.

The rest of the house was more of the same; senseless destruction. In the master bedroom Jake bent and picked up the strewn photo albums. _Iâm pretty sure Mom would like to have these_. He carried the shotgun in one hand and cradled the albums in the other. Steve followed him out to the truck and unlocked the doors. After Jake had the albums deposited in the back seat of the truck, he asked, âSo what now Dad? The house is quite a mess.â

Steve studied the house a little longer before answering. âLetâs see if we can find Tom. Repairing this place is exactly the kind of work his company did.â

The truck pulled away and started in the general direction of Tomâs house.

âHey Dad, do you see that?â Jake asked excitedly. âI think that Winco store is open.â

Steve hit the brakes and came to an abrupt stop right in the street. They had encountered a few vehicles once they had reached town; Steve quickly checked the mirrors and was glad there were no cars behind them. His gaze shifted to the store. _Yes, thereâre a few cars in the lot. An armed guard at the door._ He was sure Jake was right when a figure exited the store and went to a bicycle, carrying bags. He stowed the bags in his panniers and rode away.

Steve pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. âLetâs see what theyâve got,â he told Jake and got out and walked towards the entrance doors.

The guard looked them over carefully as they approached. âCan you pay? If you canât, turn around right now,â he stated.

Steve pulled a twenty out of his wallet and showed the guard. He had picked it up on a whim before leaving the house. He had hoped to find businesses operating but hadnât counted on it.

The guard grunted something that they took to mean they could go in, and walked into the store with wide eyed fascination. 

The shelves werenât full by any means but still, there were a lot of things available that Jake and Steve had lived without for a long time. âDad, look, toothpaste. Think we could get a tube?â Jake asked. 

Steve looked at the prices. He thought they were higher than in the past, but honestly, he wasnât sure. âYeah, get a tube. Itâll be nice after all that salt and soda weâve been using.â

They continued to look at what was available. Jake froze at one spot. âLook, they have real tea and coffee.â 

Steveâs gaze had slid past them to another display. âUh huh, but I see something even better.â He walked to a small cooler stocked with beer. âIf we get the toothpaste, Iâve got enough for a six pack, but we canât get coffee.â He didnât hesitate before he withdrew a six pack. âAll right letâs pay for this and hit the road.â 

Steve was barely seated in the truck when he pulled a can from the plastic ring and popped the top. He took a long swallow and smacked his lips. âMan that is good! Iâve definitely missed that.â 

âUh Dad, if youâre going to be drinking, I should drive,â Jake said uncomfortably.

âIâll be fine. But arenât you going to have one? I didnât get it just for me. Itâs for both of us.â

âNo, I better not. I want to stay alert in case we run into trouble.â Jake told him.

âHumpf,â Steve grunted and looked at Jake puzzled. âI thought you were my kid.â He took another long drink and emitted a satisfied belch. âMan, thatâs good,â he repeated, and took another drink, emptying the can. He tossed if over the back seat, instantly pulling a second can out and popping the tab before he started the engine and roared out of the parking lot.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

âOkay, this one is it,â Steve said in a slur. âIâm sure this time.â 

âYeah Dad, right. Thatâs what you said what, three or four roads ago?â Jake said, giving his head a shake.

âHey, donât cop an attitude on me!â Steve snapped. He crushed the beer can in his hand and tossed it behind him. âI was only out to Tomâs house that one time, and itâs been a few years.â He looked in the bag. âDang, weâre out of beer. We should have bought more.â

Jake rolled his eyes in response. _Oh yeah, more beer is exactly what we need now_. âThat barn up there is covered with solar panels. Is that Tomâs place?â

Steve slowed the truck and looked at the barn and house carefully. âYeah, that might be it.â He slowed even more when he saw the mailbox. âTom Robertsâ was still legible in faded paint on the side. âAll right, thatâs the place. See I told you I could find it,â he told his son defiantly.

He made a sharp turn onto the driveway, nearly missing it. One front wheel dropped into the barrow pit. Jake was sure the truck would either get stuck or take out a fence. Steve managed to get it back on the driveway without doing either.

Steve parked the truck in the circular drive in front of the house and got out unsteadily. Jake followed hesitantly. A man came from behind the barn, a pistol strapped on his hip and carrying a long gun in his hands. Jake stopped where he was while Steve moved towards the man.

âTom?â he asked as he got closer. It _looked_ like Tom, just older, more worn. 

Tom studied the bearded man in front of him in the loose fitting clothes. âWell Iâll be. Steve Miller. I canât believe youâre standing here. After I went by and saw the mess your house is in, I wrote you off.â He shifted the shotgun to his left hand and walked to Steve with his right hand extended.

âYou went by my house? Why?â Steve asked.

âYeah, I did. Thereâs a big rebuilding effort on, now that services are being restored. Iâve still got some connections in the county and they came by to see if I would be involved,â Tom told him. He looked at Jake still standing by the truck. âDonât tell me this is your son.â

âOh yeah,â Steve said. âThatâs him. Jake come on over here. You remember Tom donât you?â

âHi Tom, itâs a pleasure to see you again,â Jake said.

âYouâve sure filled out since I saw you last. You must be getting good food and lots of exercise. What about that son of yours? What is he, about ten now?â Tom said as he shook Jakeâs hand.

Jake was impressed with Tomâs memory. âClose; heâll turn nine later this summer.â 

Tom noticed Steve was slightly unsteady on his feet. âSo do you want to come to the back and have a seat, have a glass of water?â _I donât think he needs anything else now: it appears heâs had enough of whatever he found._

âSounds good, but can you point me to the facilities first,â Steve said.

Tom directed him to an outhouse and Steve instantly considered just stepping behind it to drain his bladder. He hated using outhouses. _Better not do that if I want him to give me a job._ He opened the door and stepped in. He was puzzled about the set-up; a bucket under the seat, a second bucket at hand filled with sawdust. _Wow, it doesnât stink in here._

Steve stepped out and saw Jake sitting in a lawn chair, half in the shade. The late spring air was nice, but not quite warm enough to sit in full shade. It would be perfect if they were active. Steve pulled a chair into direct sunlight and settled in, anxiously waiting for Tom to join them.

Tom returned with a jug of water and stack of cups. He offered a cup to each and began filling them. Steve stared at the water as it filled the cup wishing it was something else. âSo you didnât tell me why you were at my house,â he said before Tom had a chance to get seated.

âRight, I figured if I was going to start up the company again I would look for the guys that used to work for me. So Iâve been going around to where everybody lived to see if anyone was still around. Of course I didnât find you, but now that youâre here, what do you think?â Tom asked. âDo you want to get back to work?â

âIâd love that Tom.â

âOne thing though,â Tom told him. âIâm not anticipating needing full time drafters for some time. You would have to be doing a lot of physical work this time around; you know actually working on houses. There will be only limited desk time for a while. Do you still want to do it?â

Steve contemplated for a bit. No, he didnât want to do the work, but really, could it be any worse than farm work? At least there wouldnât be manure to shovel every day. âWhat about this,â he asked slowly, a thought coming to life. âWe make my house livable first thing so I can have a place to stay. I donât really have anywhere to live thatâs close enough, so if I go to work for you, well, Iâve got to have a place thatâs close, and well, I donât have any transportation either.â

âI think we could work something like that out,â Tom said.

âOh and one more thing, I know Iâm not in any position to make demands here, but if you bring Jimmy back, Iâll take a hammer to him, unless I can get ahold of something bigger.â 

âIs that so? I didnât realize you didnât get along with him.â Tom thought about the days before the power shut off. âIn fact, I thought you went drinking with him on occasion.â

âOh yeah, I drank beer with him. A fat lot of good that did me when he and his goons busted into my house.â The venom was obvious as Steve nearly spat the words. Steve then told Tom about the break in and Jimmyâs part in it. âAnd after they got what they wanted, they took my car. We were getting out the next morning, so we had to go on bikes. That led to me getting getting this.â He pulled his tee shirt up and showed Tom the knife scar. âSo no, we arenât drinking buddies any more. Iâve had years to think about him so itâs not going to be pretty if I ever run into him again.â

âWell, you wonât have to worry about that,â Tom said. âHis activities caught up with him.The National Guard finally cornered his bunch and used them for target practice.â

âGood,â Steve hissed. âThe only thing wrong with that is I couldnât spit on the corpse. Now, if youâll excuse me, I need to go visit your outhouse again.â


----------



## Bret F

Steve returned and worked out the arrangements with Tom for work. He felt like he was walking on air when he got back into the truck and headed for home, no wait, Paul and Ruthâs place he mentally amended with a chuckle. âJake, what an incredible day! Too bad we donât have more beer to celebrate.â

Jakeâs look was filled with disappointment. âNo Dad, you donât need more beer. In fact you had about five too many already.â

âWell arenât you Mister Gloomy Gus. Thatâs okay; Iâm not going to let you get me down. This day has been too good to let that happen. In fact, I canât remember when Iâve felt so good.â He began to hum and then to sing;

_Green Acres is the place to LEAVE_
_Farm living is the life for fleas_
_Land stretchinâ out so far and wide_
_Donât want Manhattan but get me out of that country side._

He finished with uncontrolled laughter at his wit, turning that lame song from the old show into something more appropriate. _Man, what a moron that guy was._

They were within a couple miles of home when Steve stopped the truck and urinated in the road. When he was finished he opened the back door and brushed all of the beer cans out into the road.

âClassy Dad, that was just so classy,â Jake told him when he got back in and started driving again. _I guess Iâll ride a bike over here tomorrow and clean up his mess._

The remainder of the ride was completed in icy silence. 

They pulled in just in time to see Jenny going to the barn with the milk pail. âPut my shotgun away, will ya? Iâve got to tell your mom the good news.â He dropped the keys on Jakeâs lap and got out of the truck and went to the barn.

He leaned against the wall while Jenny got the cow in the stanchion and settled on the stool to milk. âGreat news Babe, weâre getting out of this hole.â

Her hands froze for a moment and tears leaked from her eyes. _Havenât I done enough of this already today_? âThis isnât a hole, Steve. Itâs a wonderful home and farm.â

He continued undaunted, unhearing. âSo Tom is getting his company back together and of course, he wants me back. In fact, Iâm the first one, isnât that great? The first house we work on will be ours, so that I can have a place to live in town again. While weâre doing that, he is going to let me stay in his camper. Then as soon as the house is ready, I can come and get you and take you back home.â He sounded so pleased. 

Jenny paused in her milking long enough to wipe at her eyes and blow her nose. âIt sounds like youâve got everything figured out. But what if I donât want to leave? We have a good life here, Steve. We donât need to go back there. That life was so. . . empty.â

âWhat are you talking about? This is a good life? We bust our fannies every day just to get by. No, forget it, weâre going home.â He no longer sounded pleased; his good humor had been replaced by a smoldering fury.

âI really donât want to go. Iâm happy here. Please reconsider.â The milk bucket plopped with the tears dripping from her face. 

âNo I wonât reconsider, but you consider this. That Bible you are always reading has some pretty direct words for you. It says wives are to obey their husbands. You remember that one? Well I say we are going home as soon as I can have the house ready.â He stomped out of the barn, leaving Jenny motionless, her head leaning on Jennifer while she wept.


----------



## Bret F

Thank you all again for reading, commenting. Sorry about messing up the heading last time.

Bret


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## biggkidd

Thanks again for sharing.

Larry


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## manygoatsnmore

Looks like good ol' Steve forgot about the part that says husbands love your wives!  Thanks for another "fix", Bret.


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## udwe58

It seems Steve turns into more of a JA every episode. I'd sure like to see him turn around.


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## puddlejumper007

Bret,,make my day and let jenny shoot steve and swear it was a accident...:stars:


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## stickinthemud

Thanks for more story, Bret. And for the short, sad tale of 'Bob' before.


----------



## Bret F

*Chapter 23 â The Final Chapter*

Jenny sealed the lid on the paint can and filled an empty coffee container with water to start cleaning her paint brush. She looked at the stove where the supper she had prepared was continuing to dry out. _Okay, Iâve waited long enough. Heâs evidently âunwindingâ again as he calls it. I call it getting plastered._ She left her brush in the water, filled her plate and carried it into the back yard. She sat in the lawn chair near the small chicken pen that held her only companions. âItâs just us again tonight girls,â she said. 

The time at home - she was trying to consider it home even if it didnât feel like home any more â had been even worse than the first cold winter without power. She was trying hard, Lord knows she was trying hard to make it a home, but she was doing it alone. Steve got up early each day and drove away. He had had the gas tank on the Explorer repaired and obtained a new battery for it. The windows were still busted out, but that didnât seem to bother him. He returned home most nights after she had already gone to bed, smelling of beer.

When she asked him about it, he had blown up at her. âI work hard all day and Iâm just unwinding with the crew for a while. And getting something good to eat in the process.â He had expressed his displeasure for any meals that reminded him of his time on the farm. He seemed to be living on beer, burgers and fries.

Jenny spent most of her time working inside the house. Oh yes, Steve and Tom had repaired the house: they had fixed the doors, windows and walls. Everything else was left for Jenny. She spent countless hours scrubbing and painting, trying to bring the house back to what it had been. 

She tried visiting the neighbors for some respite, but they were just plain weird. The nearest one had a husband that worked for the FEMA shelter. She would drone on and on about all the good things her husband and the wonderful shelters had done for everyone. She looked at Jenny like there was a horn growing from her forehead when Jenny described some of the things she had done in the past five years.

The next closest neighbor had spent time in that same shelter. She didnât describe it with the same glowing terms; in fact she jumped at nearly every sound. She didnât say it happened to her personally, but said that beatings and rapes were commonplace there. 

The bright spot in Jennyâs existence had happened one day when she heard a diesel engine shut off in front of the house. She had looked out the window and nearly squealed with joy when she recognized Paulâs old truck. Paul, Ruth, Jake, Toni and Nick were all getting out and she ran to greet them, hugging them all in turn.

The back of the truck had quite a load. There was a dog house like structure on legs that Paul said was her new chicken coop. A crate held three hens. There was wire and steel posts to make a pen. Two feed sacks were full of grain for the chickens. A large pile of compost filled part of the bed and was accompanied by tools, a wheelbarrow and young plants. âWe didnât want you starving here on the . . . stuff they call food,â Paul had told her with a smile. 

The house was forgotten for the day. They spent a happy day putting in the chicken pen, turning over the sod in half the back yard and transforming it into a garden. For the day, Jenny was able to forget her existence; for one day she felt alive again. 

Jenny brought herself back to the present. She finished her meal and scraped the plate off for the hens. âThere you go girls; eat up. Iâll come out and lock you up after I do the dishes.â She walked to the house. _Wow girl, now youâre down to talking to your chickens. How long before you start to understand them when they answer?_

*****​ 
The doorbell ringing startled Jenny. It was an uncommon sound and always made her very alert when it broke the oppressive silence. She didnât recognize the person she saw through the peephole. âYes, what is it?â she asked through the door.

âMrs. Miller,â the man said. âIâm Jeff Wallace with Century Link. Your husband arranged for us to get your phone hooked up today.â He held an identification tag in front of the peephole.

The pistol was in her right hand when Jenny opened the door and asked to see the tag closer. After she looked it over closely, she allowed the man in but kept the gun in hand and watched him the entire time he was working. He was glad to have the job done and leave. _Man, I think she was ready to shoot me if I did anything sudden. I wonder what her story is._

Jenny watched him leave then walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver. _A dial tone, itâs really a dial tone._ She pondered what to do now. Did she even know anyone to call anymore? She found her address book that had somehow survived the vandalism that had happened in the house. Steve had told her she should toss it when she put all of her contacts in her smart phone, but she had put in in a drawer in her nightstand instead. Now she opened it and started turning pages. _Mom and Dad, I wonder. Are they alive? Are they home?_ Her hand was shaking as she dialed the number.

Jenny heard the phone ring. And ring. And ring. _Thatâs a good sign isnât it? For the phone to ring, it must mean that there are people there, right. Itâs good that itâs ringing isnât it?_ On the fifth ring, a tentative voice answered, âHâ¦ hello.â

_Is that her? Itâs been so long._ âMom,â she said uncertainly, âItâs Jenny.â 

âJenny, is it really you?â she said and broke off sobbing into the phone; Jenny doing the same on her end. âOh darling, itâs so good to hear your voice. I just knew Steve would take care of you.â

It was an emotional afternoon as they talked and caught up with each other. Jennyâs parents had used their wealth and influence to buy a position in a community that was prepared for the crisis. It was a process that played out in many places: if you were wealthy enough, you got by.

*****​ 
Tom had piles of paperwork to do with the new subsidized building program he was participating in. One day a week, he did nothing but paper work. Those days, he had Steve complete any drawings they needed prior to doing a job. Business had been picking up and Tom had added another crew. He was afraid he would soon be stuck at his desk more than not. And this day was the worst one yet. He heard Steve make a call for the third time that morning. 

âHey Jen, are they there yet?â he asked into the phone.

âNo they are not. I told you I would call you when they came. Iâm starting to reconsider that. Tom isnât paying you to pester me, now start earning your pay.â

âOh all right, but you make sure you call me.â He hung up and dreamed about the evening. Finally his home was going to be his castle. After so long, the new dish was being installed. He had set up a new big screen television two nights before. It was all happening just in the nick of time.

The NFL had put together twelve teams and the first game was going to be that night. America was finally back! Nothing said that like Monday Night Football.

Steve could barely contain himself at the desk until the phone rang. He spoke excitedly and quickly hung up.

âTheyâre on their way Tom, so Iâll be taking off now. Are you sure you donât want to come over tonight?â he said as he picked up his jacket and lunch bag and nearly ran out the door. He didnât listen for Tomâs response.

Tom took his glasses off and ran his fingers through his hair. He shook his head as he heard the car door slam, the engine start and speed away. âNo matter how long I live Iâll never understand the injustices in this world. Someone as pulled together as Bill is dead and buried yet that guy came through it all somehow.â He looked towards the ceiling, âLord, please grant me patience to accept what I donât understand. I can only guess youâre not done with this one yet.â

Steve sped down the road, unmindful of speed limits. With all the other concerns in rebuilding, enforcing traffic laws was low on the priority list. Many areas were still unsafe to venture into but it seemed each day brought improvements.

The car came to a stop at the liquor store, kicking up a cloud of dust. The powers that be seemed intent on the adage âBread and Circusesâ. The liquor stores had been some of the earliest business re-established. Keep the populace inebriated and stupid; they are much easier to control. Not to mention collecting all of the sin taxes. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

Jenny watched quietly while Steve and his friends yelled at every hit on the field. _His friends; where were they when he was bleeding by the road?_ Popcorn and chips were scattered on the floor and ground into the carpet; the carpet she had worked so hard to clean. Pop and alcohol was spilled on the floor and the couch. She flinched when they jumped to their feet and yelled for an extra hard hit. _Just like when that thug knocked him down. The only thing thatâs missing is slipping a knife between his ribs. No wonder they turned savage, itâs been programmed into them and theyâre all too stupid to see it._

She picked up her sweatshirt and ran out the back door unnoticed. The tears ran freely once she was outside. Steve never noticed, only looking up once to see if she would refill his drink. He muttered a curse as he had to extricate himself from his chair and go to the kitchen and help himself.

The three chickens in the small run were blurry through Jennyâs eyes. But she went to the side of the run and clung to the wire. The hens saw her and ran over, expecting a hand out. She held onto the wire like she was grasping a life-line, grooves forming in her hands and told the hens she was sorry she didnât have a treat for them. She turned around, her vacant gaze passing the small garden she had been nurturing. She didnât appreciate the nearly ripe tomatoes that always gave her so much satisfaction, the cucumbers and zucchinis that were ready to pick.

Her distant gaze was on the farm with Paul and Ruth. âThank you for saving us Paul and Ruth, or at least me. I love you and can never begin to make it up to you.â Her vision shifted and instead of Paulâs farm, she saw a hard-scrabble farm in Arkansas, a little girl laughing with her grandparents. âGrandma, I wish I could live here with you always,â the girl said. âSo do I sweetheart. Nothing would make me happier.â The little girl was scooped up and held close, then nose to nose, the woman told her, âNothing would make me happier than to have you here, always.â

Jenny jumped at the sound of breaking glass in the living room followed by a curse and raucous laughter. âWow man, your wifeâs gonna be ticked at you,â came out in alcohol slurred speech.

âBig deal,â came Steveâs boast. âShe can get glad in the same pants she got mad in.âThe comment elicited howls of drunken laughter.

She walked to the sliding glass door and looked in at the scene, then back at the small garden and chicken pen. Her mind flew over the time since she had returned to the house with Steve. âItâs so good to be back home,â he had said, and then avoided the place as much as possible. When he wasnât at work, he was with his friends, more often than not at a bar. He had shown absolutely no interest in her garden and threatened to kill the chickens each time he ventured into the yard.

She thought of all the hours she spent at the house alone, cleaning and trying to restore it to how it had been. Oh sure, Tom and Steve had replaced the windows, repaired the door casings, patched the sheetrock. But there was so much more to it and she and done it alone, always alone. And now he was trashing it with his friends.

As she looked in at the mess in the living room, her resolve firmed. âThis isnât home. This is prison and Iâve been in solitary confinement!â She went unnoticed to her bedroom and took out a small pack. The few clothes she had and her Bible went into it. Steve had insisted she buy more clothes, _why they had a great line of credit with the bank_, but she had refused. 

She opened another drawer and took out a fleece vest and fur mittens. Holding them tight to her chest, the memories flooded her mind; Ruth and Janet so patiently teaching and helping her. She put the items in the pack and took the knitting needles and yarn out of the drawer and forced them into the now full pack. It was a strain to secure the zipper, but she got it closed. 

She sat on the bed and took a piece of paper and pen from the nightstand and jotted a quick note and folded it across the alarm clock. She reached into the nightstand drawer once more and removed Paulâs pistol and box of ammo. He had forced it on her when she had left. After she checked the magazine, she dumped the remaining ammo into a side pocket in her pack. She carried it and the pack to the garage and set it by her bicycle. 

The crate Paul had brought the chickens in was still in the garage. She carried it out to the pen and coaxed the hens close, caught them and put them in the crate. The crate was awkward but sat fairly firm once it was secured on the bikeâs rack. 

She went into the house and ignored the request for another beer while she filled water bottles. 

Even over the televisionâs noise she heard the drunken voice, âDude, your lady has some âtude happeninâ. I thought you said you had her trained.â The comments were followed by howls of laughter.

As she looked around she really didnât see anything there she wanted. She looked once more at Steve. The man was truly in his element: he had his television with the sports channels and his drinking buddies. He really didnât need anything else.

She walked out and packed the water bottles for travel. She strapped on the holster, put her pack on and got on the bicycle, and pushed off, riding rapidly towards the setting sun. She never looked back; it was time to look ahead. She should be out of town by dark if there wasnât anything to bother her. It would be smooth riding after that. 

She thought once about the note she had left for Steve, âYou told me once to go back in time all I want, but I was doing it by myself, and then tried to insult me by calling me Laura Ingalls. You are the one thatâs gone back, and frankly, I donât want to relive that past. Have a good life.â She had signed it simply âJennyâ, nothing else. _Should I have taken him aside and actually told him? No, we havenât really talked to each other in so long, or did we ever, she amended the thought. _

She quickly dismissed it from her mind and reminded herself it was time to look ahead, always ahead. _No more going back to rebuild the broken past._ She looked towards the future and the nearly setting sun and did some quick calculations. âI should be home a little after midnight, one oâclock at the latest.â


----------



## puddlejumper007

well i guess that is much better than shooting him....:banana: thanks Bret hope you write more stories...i enjoy every word....
it was educational, and very entertaining...this was better than most books i have been reading more realistic..you could make money with your writing.....thank you


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## manygoatsnmore

Awesome story, Bret...I was sad to see it come to an end. Here's hoping it's really the beginning of a sequel for Jenny. 

Please keep writing...you have a real knack for story telling. It's a gift that should be shared!


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## Heidi

Another great story...I'm going to miss the updates but I can always go back and reread!


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## biggkidd

I think you guys are jumping the gun. I doubt Bret is done with this story yet. I sure HOPE not anyway.

Thank you Bret. :goodjob:

Larry


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## Bret F

Man, have I opened a can of worms here. I exposed Tom and Kmac15's brother in law (I had no idea you guys were related) and then Puddlejumper wants me to arrange a hit on him. Wow!

MGM, if you come over, I'll keep the L&O for myself. (The family smells that when I cook it and ask what stinks, so you're not alone.)

Udwe58, about turning Steve around. Sorry, but you better talk to Tom and Kmac15, after all he's their BIL. I'm hoping they have more influence on him than I do. But watch out for Puddlejumper when you do it. I think she's kind of ticked at him.

Spacecadet wants to hear more about "Bob", while MGM and Larry want to see what Jenny's up to, and all the while, I can't even see the vegetables in the weed patch that used to be my garden. (No facetiousness here, I really have been neglecting it because I've been drawn to working on the stories when I've been home, but I've enjoyed it.)

*Really not facetious:* Thank you all so much for reading the story, commenting, and liking. As I've said before, this is new territory for me. Your encouragement has been incredible. So again, THANK YOU!:goodjob:


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## 355946

Thank you Bret for the thought-provoking entertainment. I enjoy the plot twists (none of them too far-fetched or coincidental), the attitude and education on self-sufficiency, and the minimal editorial and political comments - you let the story make the points.


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## udwe58

Good for Jenny! That's a lady who knows what she wants & needs! I hope Steve doesn't even notice she's gone.


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## udwe58

I'm actually glad that you didn't turn steve (doesn't even deserve capitalization) around, you gave Jenny some backbone & that's even better.


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## puddlejumper007

udwe58 said:


> Good for Jenny! That's a lady who knows what she wants & needs! I hope Steve doesn't even notice she's gone.


oh i hope he notices she is gone and cries in his beer all night....:sob: like they say in texas he needed killing


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## udwe58

I'd be afraid he goes to the farm & starts a bunch of crap...with his buddies.


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## Bret F

udwe58 said:


> I'd be afraid he goes to the farm & starts a bunch of crap...with his buddies.


Naw, too much effort.


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## SpaceCadet12364

Well, I know we won't hear much on "Bob" (unless its flashback to his backstory that got him to that point), but the people he was mistaken about probably have an interesting story that might be rattling about somewhere in that talented writing skillset of yours. 

I don't think Steve would last long if he went a'ranting out to Paul & Ruth's place to try and fetch Jenny..... probably will take him a bit to notice her absence, and then whether or not he would care now that he has his big TV and junk food again. 

L&O is good eating....but, I have never been able to cook it quite right myself...always seems to be like leather. That, and I'm pretty much the only one that would eat it anyway. :\


You :rock:, Bret!  :goodjob:




Bret F said:


> Man, have I opened a can of worms here. I exposed Tom and Kmac15's brother in law (I had no idea you guys were related) and then Puddlejumper wants me to arrange a hit on him. Wow!
> 
> MGM, if you come over, I'll keep the L&O for myself. (The family smells that when I cook it and ask what stinks, so you're not alone.)
> 
> Udwe58, about turning Steve around. Sorry, but you better talk to Tom and Kmac15, after all he's their BIL. I'm hoping they have more influence on him than I do. But watch out for Puddlejumper when you do it. I think she's kind of ticked at him.
> 
> Spacecadet wants to hear more about "Bob", while MGM and Larry want to see what Jenny's up to, and all the while, I can't even see the vegetables in the weed patch that used to be my garden. (No facetiousness here, I really have been neglecting it because I've been drawn to working on the stories when I've been home, but I've enjoyed it.)
> 
> *Really not facetious:* Thank you all so much for reading the story, commenting, and liking. As I've said before, this is new territory for me. Your encouragement has been incredible. So again, THANK YOU!:goodjob:


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## Ozarks Tom

Thanks again Bret for both the entertainment and the learning experience. Over the past few months there have been 2 things on the net I've been looking forward to, The Woodpile Report on Tuesdays, and Bret F's stories anytime.

And no, there's no fixing my BIL.


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## puddlejumper007

Bret are you going to write any more for us? please....:huh:


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## Bret F

puddlejumper007 said:


> Bret are you going to write any more for us? please....:huh:


What, you're not tired of me yet? Especially after letting Steve have his beer and TV?

So I do have a short story that I did a few months ago while I was writing the other stories. I dusted it off and cleaned it up some this week. After this, though, it might be a while. I have a few ideas, but they won't form together into a bigger picture. 

The one that I know where to go with it doesn't fit this thread or forum though. So anyway, it may be some time before I get something else together. In the meantime, here's one more fix.


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## Bret F

*Prepared For Anything*
_ (*Almost)*_

*By Bret Friend*

The midafternoon sun warmed the ground in the blasted land, the desolate area that had once been known as Oregon. It was an old name, a reference from a destroyed world. Broken, dead snags stuck out of the ash, stark reminders of the lush forest that had once grown there. Other remnants of the forest were merely indistinguishable mounds, long ago buried. The stark gray stretched on endlessly in all directions, only broken by occasional splashes of color.

Years of rain and runoff had slowly scoured away at the heavy ash layers, exposing some rare patches of soil. Windborne seeds, seeds from those rare pockets that had miraculously avoided the devastation, had fallen into those spaces; rain had followed, creating struggling blotches of green in the otherwise endless gray landscape. The patches would remain green as long as the rains came, until the leaves withered and died like everything else in the blasted lands.

The gray of the ash absorbed the sunâs rays, heating the ground and the adjacent air. The warm air rose as a cool pocket of wind flowed into the former meadow, pushed by air currents from the Pacific. As the pockets of air collided, a rotating motion developed, the warm ground air rising rapidly in its spinning cocoon of cooler air. As the spinning column moved across the ground, it pulled particles of dust and ash with it, creating a grayish-brown column rising high into the air. The column spun across the desolate landscape, over one of the dirt patches with its curled, withered leaves. Tiny particles were shot skyward, dandelion seeds being pulled upward at a great rate of speed.

Hundreds of feet above the ground, the gray dusty ash covered ground, the rotating motion lessened. It was overwhelmed as the cooler air from the west pushed across the column; the air-borne particles were no longer rising, but being carried by the air as it made its way to the east, deeper into the blasted lands. The wind pushed on, flowing over the once mighty Snake River, another name for a bygone time. The landscape changed. Instead of the gray ash, now everywhere was black rock. Rough, imposing rock. No broken trees stuck out of the rock. The flowing rock had consumed most everything before it. 

As the force of the wind diminished, its ability to carry the ash and dirt particles also diminished, and the light layer of dust was deposited over the layers of rock. A large mound in the endless rock created a break to the wind, the rock raised in a rectangular shape, one of many such mounds. Small outcroppings of brick protruded from some mounds, twisted rusted metal rose from others. 

A dandelion seed floated gently over one mound. It settled softly, its parachute shape allowing it to land seed end down, into the accumulated dust of a slight round indention in the rock. Its weighted end pulled it partially into the soft fine dust, where it was covered over as more tiny dirt particles were deposited over it.

The cool air was pushed on by the cloud filled sky, rain falling in large drops, splattering the fine dust and ash. The small area of dust absorbed the raindrops, the damp dirt softening the covering on the seed. 

The rain passed, the sunâs heat returned with wind; the wind with its ever present dust and ash particles. The seed swelled, sent out a tiny sprout, and root that sought the remaining moisture in the light soil layer. The tap root followed the path of previous roots, going deeper into the rock, finding the trapped water particles. It came to a solid obstruction where ash and lava had settled. It traveled sideways, following the path of previous roots; utilized the stored moisture, gaining nourishment from the dead plant material. 

The root came to a juncture where the lava had flowed against a steel pipe and had shrunk in slightly as it cooled. A thin gap had formed, giving a slight space for the root to continue. For a time, the sprout rose, reaching higher, giving a tiny splash of green in the gray world. Additional rain fell, giving the struggling plant strength as it grew. A crack in the lava expanded. Like plants before it, the root expanded and exerted pressure, making the crack grow.

The wind, the dust infused wind blew over the mound, drawing what small moisture remained from the rain. The splash of green withered, turned yellow and brown lying on the small patch of dirt to be covered with the particles settling from the wind. 

The seasons turned and snow fell on the indention. It warmed, melted and froze. The lava yielded to the ice, finally cracking and dropping away in pieces into the void. The rock fell through the open pipe, dropping into the void below. It dropped onto the shape beneath it. The hard leathery like skin pulled tight over the skeleton. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

I listened to the final track of the audio book again, thinking deeply about the ending. So Katniss and Peta ended up together after all, and did have kids. The nightmares they still have, so many years later. Wow, I thought, I sure hope our world never deteriorates into something like that. I mean, I have faith that both of the political parties are filled with liars, cheats, and power hungry goons. But to have someone like President Snow; with so little regard for human life, to stage those games year after year. Thank goodness itâs fiction. I remembered some comedian joking about Dick Cheney being evil like that, but really? Well, and those warlords in Africa, and all of the ethnic cleansing that has happened around the world. I gave an involuntary shudder to think of that and just what would need to happen for such horrific events to ever happen here. Thank goodness we are above all that! Really, itâs only fiction.

I ejected the disc and was trying to get it back in the case while driving down the road. It probably wasnât the smartest thing to do, but I wanted to make sure I had it in the case before I took it in the library and looked for another audio book. I was jolted out of my concentration when the radio blasted the emergency broadcast signal. I quickly regained my composure and turned the radio down. I sure wish the volume of books was the same as the radio, but the radio is invariably too loud when I eject a disc. 

I went back to the disc case and was surprised to hear the signal again. We have all heard the signal, countless times. It is always followed with âThis has been a test of the emergency broadcast system. If this had been an actual emergency,â yada, yada yada. 

Only this time it was different. It took a while to sink in that the announcer was talking about a real emergency. I heard âYellowstoneâ and âcalderaâ just as the broadcast turned to static. I fiddled with the knobs and the scan button but couldnât find anything except static. I quit fiddling with it when I noticed the noise. I could hear a noise outside, getting louder and louder. It was a rumble, jet engine type noise but exponentially louder, something I had never heard before. 

I dropped the CD and pulled over to the side of the road. I got out to see if I could tell where the noise was coming from and what it was. Thatâs when the ground started shaking. I had never been in an earthquake before, but it was pretty obvious what was happening. I fell down and was reaching for the car to pull myself up when it started hopping. Actually hopping up and down like some of those cars with all the hydraulics in them. I half scooted away from it as a big willow tree came crashing down in front of the car and the roaring was momentarily covered by the sound of screeching tires and ripping metal as a car crashed into the tree. I have no idea how the driver had kept the car going while the ground moved like a trampoline filled with kids.

The ground was still shaking and I didnât trust walking so I began to crawl towards the car to check on the driver. I couldnât see him or her, but I could tell the air bag had deployed. As I crawled, the noise increased to a painful level. I put my hands over my ears just as they experienced a sharp, stabbing pain and everything went quiet. Too quiet. I couldnât hear a thing. I put a hand to an ear and pulled it away and saw a little bit of blood on my hand.

I forgot all about the driver of the car. I had to get away, get away now. The ground had stopped shaking enough I could stand. I had no more than got seated in the car when it started again. I had to hold tight and fight to get the seat belt on, the car was bouncing so much. I was sure my head was denting the roof on some of the hops.

The pain in my ears had lessened, but they still werenât working right. That noise had been just too loud to go away just like that. I could only hear a low continuous thrum. As a test, I clapped my hands in front of my face. Nothing. Great, earthquakes and now I couldnât even hear. Just great.

 As soon as the shaking lessened, I started the car. I couldnât hear the engine and had to go by the panel lights and gauges to make sure it was running. The road ahead was blocked by the down tree, so I had to turn around. There were only a few bridges across the river, and of course I was on the opposite side from home. I turned and started back towards the nearest bridge. I didnât get far. A pile up of cars totally blocked all the lanes. A few people were dazedly clinging to the cars. There was one cross street before the wreck and I took it with all of the speed the car could handle. I was sure if I could hear, the tires would have screeched loudly. Instantly, I had to hit the brakes to keep from hitting a large pine tree stretched across the road. 

I jammed the transmission into reverse just as the car started bounding again. It jumped even higher than before, and numerous trees started toppling all around. If I hadnât been so danged scared, I would have marveled at the site. Sitting in a car that was jumping up and down while trees fell all around; it was other-worldly. I held tight, not realizing I was holding my breath. I didnât even notice the warm wet spot that formed on my seat, I was that terrified. 

Finally it stopped again and I took a deep breath, thankful that with all of the fallen trees, none had hit my car. I got out and looked around slowly. It didnât really matter that the car wasnât hit. It wasnât going anywhere. The fallen trees had it nicely boxed in. I was going to have to walk home; there was no way around it.

I got my get home bag out of the trunk and took the pistol out and put the holster belt on. There was no need to check the magazine. An empty gun is about as effective as a rock. The magazine was always loaded. I did jack a round into the chamber however. I slung the bag over my shoulders and got out the walking stick and looked in the general direction of home. Thatâs when I first noticed the houses. It wasnât just trees that had fallen; a number of houses within view were collapsed. 

I needed to get home. No, I should already be home. I started towards the river as fast as I could. Roads, yards; it didnât matter. I doubted anyone was going to report a trespasser. Besides, with all on the downed trees, there wasnât a straight path to be had. I thought about the fold up bicycle that I had in the garage and had been meaning to put in the trunk with my bag. It would have been useless in this mess. 

Thatâs when I thought of Maggie; Maggie and her kids. I had been trying to get her to move in with me for a couple of months, but she wouldnât do it. âNot without a marriage certificateâ, she told me. âIâve made enough mistakes in my life already. Iâm not getting into something like that unless youâre ready to commit. I deserve better, my kids deserve better.â

âIâm committed,â I told her. âI just donâtâ want to get married. We have such a great relationship, why wreck it by taking vows.â She wasnât swayed. In fact Iâm not sure if she was more ticked off or disappointed. Well, she lived close enough to me; Iâd go get her after I made it home. 

I jogged on, my mind made up. Maybe I could use the four wheeler to go and pick her up. That ATV would go just about anywhere. Throw the chain saw on to cut any trees that were in the way, I was pretty sure I could get to her. I had no idea how naive I was.


----------



## Bret F

I was nearing the river when it started to snow. What? Snow? No way, it canât be snowing, itâs too hot. The sky had also begun to darken, but I hadnât noticed it; I was so intent on finding a good path. The air was suddenly illuminated by a slashing bolt of lightning. It was quickly followed by more. The sky darkened to near nighttime conditions, the only light coming from the seemingly ever-present flashes of lightning. I stopped jogging and looked at the heavy dark clouds and held out my hand and caught some of the âsnowflakesâ. While I was looking over the rough gritty stuff, my mind finally added things together.

Earthquake, lighting, the radio dead after saying Yellowstone and caldera, the black cloud with dirt and rock falling from it. Wait, thatâs ash. Holy Mother of God! The Yellowstone supervolcano must have blown! I couldnât believe it. I mean, the fear mongers had been squawking about it for years, but really? I stood in denial for I have no idea how long while the evidence accumulated all around me, on me. 

I was shaken from my reverie, really shaken from it as the ground started shaking again. I had already peed my pants, but I swear, by bladder let loose again. 

The Yellowstone Supervolcano! When I first learned about it, I read everything I could about it. If it was the full eruption that many warned about, I was in a bad, bad spot. Actually all of southern Idaho was in a bad spot. According to some guys, the entire Pacific Northwest would be destroyed, as well as everything on the other sides of Yellowstone. Oh geez! I had to get home, fast.

Panic set in and as soon as the tremors stopped, I was on my feet. I started sprinting, no longer keeping to the steady jog I could maintain for miles. I had to get home! I had to get to Maggie and get her over to my place. I had everything at home I needed to get through this, or so I thought. Yep, thatâs what I thought at the time.

I tried not to talk about how my place was set up, but every now and then I let something slip. See, the great thing about not getting married and having kids like my friends did, that is the ones that werenât still partying all the time, it allowed me to spend my money on preps; long term survival preps. I had dropped some hints that they should get some preps ready for emergencies but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, they all considered me a paranoid survivalist nutcase. Oh well. When the stuff hit the fan I would be sitting pretty while they starved. Weâd see who the nutcase was then. 

 I had built an underground bunker and filled it with everything I needed. Let the Chinese nuke us, I could stay underground for a long time. Drought, famine; I had enough food to make a whole Mormon family jealous. Economic collapse; a few ammo cans of silver coins would take me through that no problem. Underground tanks were filled with gasoline and diesel, and the 500 gallon propane tank was topped off. And pity any fool that tried busting in. I had enough firepower to defend the bunker. Yep, I had enough guns and ammo in that bunker that I could â¦.

I ran smack into a fallen tree that had materialized out of nowhere. Between the heavy black cloud overhead and the ash that was falling so thick, visibility had been reduced to just a few feet. The close lightning flashes left me momentarily blinded. My eyes would just get readjusted to the darkness when another flash would rip through the sky. The further away flashes looked dull and dirty, the brilliance muted by the falling ash. While I was doubled over waiting for the pain to subside, waiting to catch my breath after the mindless running, I let go with some cursing that, well, I could literally taste the soap in my mouth, thank you Mom. I cursed the ash, the cloud, the lighting, the earthquake, the volcano that was far from super in my mind, and I cursed Maggie.

Maggie, why couldnât you just move in with me? Youâd be safe now. Inside the house should be fine for the time being, at least I thought the house would weather the quakes, and then we could go into the bunker once I got there. Why Maggie, why? And I cursed her again, seeing her face as the last flash of lightning left me temporarily blinded to my surroundings. Her and her old-fashioned ways; I cursed her.

Finally I worked my way around the tree to a very welcome sight. The parks departments had made a greenbelt, a paved pathway that followed the river. I had made it to that. Now I had to decide, follow it to the next bridge or wade the river? The next flash of lightning helped me decide. The greenbelt path had numerous trees down, blocking it. It would be slow going if I followed it. As bad as the earthquakes had felt, I wasnât sure Iâd even find a bridge intact if I went that way. 

However If I crossed the river, there was a nearby sports complex, the playing fields all devoid of trees. It would be easy going for a while. And not far from that would be a five line street. It would certainly have cars on it, but they would be a lot easier to go around than trees were. I had a glimmer of hope that traffic might even be moving and I could hitch a ride. Of course that hope proved to be in vain.

I waited for another flash of lighting to find a pathway to the river bank. Blackberry bushes were thick in the area and I sure didnât want to get wrapped up in them. At the flash, I made out an opening and started forward. Now the question was if it led to a shallow riffle spot or one of the deep holes that were so popular with fishermen.

A lighting flash saved me just in time. The pathway led to a deep hole and I was one step from discovering it the hard way when the lightning revealed it. I took a step back, thinking it would be fitting to have the ground start shaking again when I was so close to the steep bank. 

I waited for a chance to see again and when I did, I couldnât believe my luck. A large, no make that huge cottonwood tree that had been growing against the river cut had toppled across the river. The bank had been slowly undercut under its roots by the water flow and the earthquake had finished the job. Even without the earthquake, downed trees in the river were a common occurrence. The fire department always spent some time before float season removing fallen trees.

I struggled through the roots and climbed onto the tree trunk and slowly made my way across the river. At about the half-way point I was able to see the water, or what should have been water. It was a thick, gray-brown-sludge. Added to that was a heavy sulfur smell in the air. It kind of reminded me of when I had the septic tank pumped, it really looked like that and the smell although different was far from pleasant. I shouldnât have had that thought because all I could think about was falling into it. Man, I wish I had suction cups on my shoes; there was no way I wanted to come into contact with that. Not that the falling ash was exactly comfortable, but at least it wasnât wet.


----------



## Bret F

So naturally, thatâs when I started encountering branches in the way. The first one was directly in my way. Lucky, it was large enough to support my weight as I hugged it tight and slowly worked around it. My backpack threatened to pull me into the soupy water at one point but I clung tight and eventually got around it. There were other large branches to work across, but none as hairy to get around as that first one. My walking stick would have been lost if not for the strap around my wrist. 

The main tree trunk was getting noticeably smaller when I a flash showed thankfully, a gravel bed under the tree. I waited for the next flash of light to decide which way to go. Great, thick brush on each side, and I was sure there was some poison oak on the left. Wow, the choices were so good. Poison oak, blackberries, or the sludge filled water. I tasted soap again as I considered each lousy possibility.

Finally I went off the tree on the side towards home. The brush extended to the water, but thankfully the water was pretty shallow there, it wasnât as deep as my hiking boots as I tried to skirt the brambles. I waded in and soon found an opening through the brush, just as my left foot stepped into a deeper hole and my boot was filled with water. I thought I tasted soap again. 

The opening soon filled in and I forced my way through the brush, the sharp thorns digging into my clothes, snagging on my pack. I had to fight for every step and soon had bleeding scratches everywhere. Man, if that kept up, Iâd never get the taste of soap out of my mouth. I got out of the thicket with a final bunch of thorns shredding my shirtsleeve.

I was panting from the effort and took a minute to breathe deeply, just for it to turn into a rasping hack. Crud came up with the coughing and I almost, almost tasted soap again while I upbraided myself. Of course I was breathing in all of the rotten ash. 

The sports field was right in front of me, I donât know how I lucked out enough to come out there, but I had. I walked over to a dugout and took my pack off and plopped down on the bench. It didnât totally shelter me from the ash, but it did deflect most of it. 

I dug into the clothes section of the pack and found the clean tee shirt. I took off my filthy one and wiped down as well as I could with a bandana. I felt so much better, having the clean shirt against my skin instead of the sandpaper clothes I was wearing. Somehow, Iâm not sure how, the grit even managed to get into my undershorts, and let me tell you, that certainly wasnât comforting. I had clean shorts in the pack, but not pants. But there was a full rain suit so I put on the clean shorts and rain pants and rolled up the filthy pants and shirt and stuffed them in the pack.

I took another bandana out and wrapped it over my face. Just like a thief in an old western movie, gun on my hip, face masked over. I didnât notice an instant change but it had to filter the fine ash out. 

I dug deeper into the same pocket and found my spare socks. I changed out of the wet one, and put the other clean one in my pocket. Chances are the sock I just put on would soon soak through due to the wet boot so I wanted to have one more dry, clean one just in case. 

I got my rain slicker out and put it on too. The way that stuff was coming down, the slicker and pants would have to make a difference. I donât know why I wasnât smart enough to put them on back at the car, but oh well, you know what they say about hind sight. Although the blackberry thorns would have shredded the rain suit, so I guess it was just as well.

I took my headlamp out and strapped it on under my cap and tried to think of anything else I could do before getting moving again. I could only think of one thing. Before standing up, I took a long pull on my water bottle, re-zipped the pockets on the pack and stood up just in time for a coughing fit. I sure wish Iâd thought of the bandana earlier. It would have been fine in the berry patch.

I set out again, this time at a steady jog, though slower wearing the rain suit. The sports field ended way too soon and I was again dodging around trees and cars. But it was still pretty decent going to the main thoroughfare I was aiming for. Even at the slower pace, it was harder to maintain than I would have expected. Yes, I didnât usually jog with my pack and rain clothes on, so that was part of it. That, and the ash, the rotten, dirty ash. My feet were sinking into it; it was amazing how fast it accumulated. It was just like a heavy snow storm. And every step caused it to billow up. It was working under my bandana and I could feel my lungs burning as I breathed hard from the efforts. 

I slowed to a walk and worked at tucking the bandana into the neck of my shirt. It wasnât totally effective but it helped. I trudged on; clouds of dust at each step, a headache developing from the constant sulfur smell. The ominous darkness persisted, the lighting flashed through the sky, and the slight thrum in my ears that never changed.

Any hopes for hitching a ride were instantly crushed when I came to the wide road. Cars werenât moving, and I soon saw where a number of them had collided. A few people sat in the cars with vacant stares, waiting for who knows what; the police and fire departments to clean up the wrecks and get traffic going? I was pretty sure that wasnât going to happen. More people were making their way between the cars, trying to get home on foot.

I was glad to have my walking stick when a couple of punks materialized from between two cars. Oneâs lips moved but I couldnât hear anything he said. He was holding a knife towards me while his goon pal started to reach for my pack. Time seemed to slow for me, I donât know how, but it did. I had so much clarity for what I was doing right then.

The walking stick swung up instantly, landing solidly in the crotch of the knife wielder. As he collapsed, the other guy paused to see what had just happened. That gave me time to pull the stick back and jam the end forward at his face. He reacted pretty quickly for it being so dark and moved back trying to avoid the attack. His movement changed the angle of my stick attack just enough that instead of sinking in an eye socket, the stick made solid contact with his windpipe. It didnât hit as hard as I would have liked. You see, I donât like thieves, not one bit; I wanted to hurt them. The adrenaline was pumping thorough my system, fueling me. I swung the stick, hard, hitting the goon solidly just below his ear. He dropped like a rock and I gave a solid whack to the guy that had already been on the ground. It had all happened so fast, I hadnât even considered drawing my pistol. Besides, there was something satisfying about feeling the stick come into contact with them the way it had.

They lay on the ground like a couple of slugs. It didnât appear they would be any more threat so I started back on my way in a jog, slower than I had been going before. As the adrenaline left my system, I had to fight the shakes. That had been close. I was glad the taekwondo lessons had stuck and I had reacted automatically. As I thought about those two maggots, taking advantage of the situation, I really tasted soap. From what I had read, if this was a major eruption, we were going to be lucky to live through it, and yet there were parasites like them, ready to prey on the weak. I pulled my bandana aside to spit, the imagined soap taste strong. 

It took a lot longer to get home than I ever would have thought. I didnât have any more trouble with goons. Most everyone I saw out walking had desperation written all over their faces. Iâm sure they would have seen the same thing in my face too, but for the bandana. The jogging was harder and harder as I had more coughing spells; they were coming much more often and would leave my chest hurting. In one flash of lightning, I spit a gray-brown glob out. Even with the bandana, I was taking in way too much ash. I looked at some people nearby walking in the ankle deep stuff. Only a few had their faces covered. They were gray shadows moving in a gray world. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

I would have breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my house if it hadnât hurt to breathe deep. It wasnât just my chest; my eyes burned and teared, my throat felt raw. The blackberry scratches were all itchy and burning. My good breathable rain suit was stored at the house. The set in the pack was a cheap set that didnât breath. I had sweated like mad from the effort of walking and jogging. The salt had gotten into all of the scratches setting them on fire. The sweat also worked with the ash that I hadnât wiped off. It was wet sandpaper all over. I felt abraded and raw everywhere.

Besides the discomfort, I had somehow turned on the wrong road. How on earth did I manage to do that? Iâve been that ways hundreds, no make that thousands of times. How could I not know the way home?

So I went into my driveway, full of trepidation. I wanted nothing more than to get cleaned up, but . . . Maggie. Where was she? She was the only person I ever told about the bunker. Would she have known to come here? Where were the kids? She would never come without them? I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that she wouldnât be there but although I didnât pray often, I said a silent prayer as I walked down the drive way that she would be there.

I went to the bunker first and flicked on the light. The bunker wasnât hooked into the grid. It had its own separate solar set up with a nice bank of batteries. The lights were all low usage LEDs. Of course there was no one inside. I turned the light back off, irritated at the amount of ash that had gotten in with just that one opening of the door. Iâd have to shovel and sweep the crud away as soon as I could, otherwise the bunker would end up being a filthy mess.

I trudged back to the garage, again asking for help through prayer. How would that work I wondered. I hadnât been to church since my mom let me off the hook, and prayer, well it wasnât a habit I was into. How would prayers go over now? I donât know why, but I had a thought about all of the relatives youâve never met that call you out of the blue when your name is announced as winning the Power Ball lottery. I know I wouldnât be too responsive to that. Wasnât I doing the same type of thing now? So what about God? Wasnât He forgiving? And then I remembered the story from Bible School about Sodom and Gomorrah. That didnât seem very forgiving. I squinted into the ash; shoot it looked to me like we were facing the wrath of God right now. Oh well, I prayed anyway, even if it didnât feel sincere.

I got inside the garage and swiveled my head, following the light of the headlamp. I had been hoping Maggieâs car would be there. Of course it wasnât. A lantern was always on my workbench, so I got it started and turned off the headlamp.

I fought my disappointment and took off my pack. I was amazed at the amount of ash that fell off it. I got another visual image. I seem to get those a lot. I saw Pigpen, from the Peanuts comic strip. You remember, he always had the dirty face and the dirt cloud was surrounding him. The swirl of gunk coming off me and my pack was just like that kid. 

I got my little bench broom and went to the overhead door and cleaned as much of the stuff off as I could. I wanted nothing more than to clean up, take a shower, put on clean clothes, but that was definitely out. But I would take time for a spit bath, albeit a quick one and another change of clothes. I stripped to my birthday suit, dropping everything in a filthy pile and went into the house, lit by the glow of the lantern. Too bad I never got emergency lights set up in the house.

A fast wipe down never felt so good. I could only imagine how good a shower would feel if something this simple felt so nice. Followed up with nice clean cotton against all the raw spots, man, that felt good. Too bad I would have to go back out into all that junk. But this time I would have the good rain gear. 

I went back to the garage and prepared to go. I filled the chainsaw with fuel and bar oil and strapped it onto the front rack of the four wheeler with bungee cords. I paused, looking at the saw and the ATV. I thought I had read about the ash from the Iceland volcano and Mt St. Helens messing with air filters, clogging them up. I looked over both motors but couldnât really see a way to protect them easily. I just hoped they would hold up for this outing. 

I put my backpack, walking stick and a plastic tarp on the back rack and secured them. I figured Maggie and the kids could pull the tarp over them like a makeshift tent to keep the majority of the ash off. 

What else? Did I have everything I would need? No! I needed the good dust masks . . . and goggles. I took my safety goggles from above the bench and set them on the ATVâs seat. The dust masks, though, were a different story. They were out in the bunker. Why didnât I have some in the garage? Oh well. I put on the good rain suit and stepped out into the still falling ash. It had probably dumped another couple of inches since I had been home. I couldnât believe the way it was coming down. The lantern light couldnât penetrate the gloom; it seemed to die as if it had hit a wall.

But it was different than when I went into the house. It took a few steps for me to figure it out. Now there was rain mixed with the ash. Well it might have been rain if not for all the ash. Instead, it was mud falling from the sky. What next? First ash and now falling mud. I trudged into it, one foot sliding in the slippery gray slurry. Wow, this just gets better and better. I really thought we were facing the wrath of God here. I didnât bother to pray this time; instead my thoughts led me to remember the taste of soap.

I went into the bunker, irritated again about the ash that got inside. Oh well, Iâd get it all cleaned up as soon as I got Maggie settled. The glow of the LED lights was so much more comforting than the lantern light that was eaten by the mud. I opened the box of masks and took out a stack and put them in my rain jacket pocket, then put one on over my nose and mouth.

I opened the door ready to go out, but unwilling to leave the comforting light for a few moments. Resignedly I reached for the switch as I turned to look out at the falling mud. What I saw made my blood freeze, my breathing stop, and my treacherous bladder empty itself involuntarily for the third time that day.

*****​


----------



## Bret F

It wasnât mud and ash flowing toward the door; it was lava, molten rock. 

I stood there unable to move. The sight was terrifying. There were a string of houses blazing from the heat of the molten rock. My garage was just starting to burn. Trees were burning; torches rising high into the air. I stared, unable to accept what was happening until I had to jerk my foot back in pain. A channel of the lava had flowed into the bunker and was cooking my foot. I slammed the door closed, fighting to get it seated against the pressure pushing in on it. Once I had it closed I turned the deadbolt and put the bar across it. 

I breathed deeply triggering a coughing fit. I yanked the dust mask off and expelled yet more gray-brown phlegm. When I could breathe freely again, I stepped back and looked at the door and the still steaming rock where I had been standing. I couldnât believe my luck. I had put in a steel security door for, well for security. I had no idea it would be keeping lava out. 

I got a bottle of water down and settled on the bed and took a long drink while I stared at the door. And then it dawned on me. I was stuck. My bunker had become my tomb!

I think I panicked about then and totally freaked out; Iâm not really sure. But somehow when I could think again I had burned hands that matched a discolored patch on the door. My nails were chipped, broken and a couple of them were bleeding.

Then the panic yielded to despair. Maggie, oh Maggie, Iâm not going to be able to get you after all. I hope you can get out, get to safety. And that time when I prayed, I was sincere, so sincere that Maggie be able to get out of this. I had my doubts, but that didnât stop me. I prayed, begged and pleaded until my raw throat had left me croaking like a frog.

It was time to analyze my situation. Some fool had really designed the bunker well and I didnât have anything stored in it that would cut through the reinforced concrete walls. I stood on the bed and felt the roof, yanking my hand away instantly from the heat. Okay, the top was evidently covered in lava. I already knew the door wasnât useable, that if I opened it, the bunker, tomb, whatever would be filled with the molten rock. I donât know maybe that would be the way to go, fast. But I couldnât do that, I couldnât just burn up. Call me a coward if you want, but I just couldnât open that door. 

So the walls were impossible, the door impassable. I couldnât slither through the drain pipe. I looked at the ceiling vents, the filtered fresh air inlet. The one vent was a pipe direct to the outside air with a screen and hood over it. I wondered if the lava was over it. I didnât know how I could take advantage of it if it was still open, but I just had to know. I had an overwhelming urge to find out. Try as I might, I couldnât stop myself. 

I moved a chair to where I could stand on it and reach the vent. I removed it and a cloud of ash drifted into the room. Okay, that wasnât good, but . . . it didnât tell me about the lava. 

When I looked around, I saw my push broom leaning against the wall beside the door. I had meant to put it back in the garage but hadnât done it yet. After I unscrewed the handle, I thrust it sharply up into the vent pipe. Ash rained down on me, but that was all. It wasnât a good sign I thought. I thrust again and again to more ash coming in. Finally I felt the screen give away and the handle came up against the hood. 

Thrusting again for all that I was worth, I instantly regretted the action. A drop of hot molten rock dripped onto my hand. It instantly seared the skin and flesh away to the bone. I dropped to the floor writhing in pain. I probably peed my pants again, but Iâm not sure. The white hot pain overwhelmed everything else in my brain.

When I could think I poured what was left of the bottle of water over it, not caring one lick about the water splattering onto the floor. I grimaced in pain and looked at the chair I had just gotten off. The seat was smoldering, the rank smell of melting vinyl filling the enclosed room as the molten rock dripped onto it. I kicked it out of the way, not caring what it landed against. 

And then I sat down and cried like a baby. I cried for myself, for Maggie for my family, for everything; the end of life as we knew it if the scientists were right. It was kind of funny that I cried like that. You remember, I was one of those paranoid survivalist nuts. I spent all my time and money on everything I needed for the end of the world, in fact I kind of looked forward to something happening. Maybe it was a feeling of superiority, I donât know, but I had planned to thumb my nose at all those who were too foolish to prepare. You know the ant and the grasshopper story. This ant was going to be ready to face it and not take care of any foolish grasshoppers. 

It was the ultimate irony. Idaho was supposed to be a great place for surviving. Low population, favorable political views, natural resources, farming, and everything else that made for a good location. Yep, it had all that all right, and a ringside seat to Yellowstone, the biggest disaster the world hadnât seen. Just how stinking ironic was that?

I looked at the room again and wondered how long the air would last. Probably not very long, but I didnât know. There were so many ways I could make it all end faster, but I wasnât ready to do that, not yet. It was hopeless I knew, but still, I would cling on for a while yet.

Oh Maggie, I wish I would have married you. Hindsight again you know. I should have done it. Is there any chance you survived, and will ever try to find out what happened to me?

I had never been much of a drinker but I did have a good stock of liquor. It was going to make such good barter items when the time came after all. That and I had a lot of vodka for medical elixirs. After looking over the shelf, I removed the board that kept everything in place. I busted out laughing, I couldnât help it. The board to hold everything in place if we got an earthquake. Like an earthquake would ever happen in this part of the state. Oh yeah, other parts of the state have earthquakes, but this spot was usually free of them. But I put in the boards anyway. I held the bottle of bourbon and laughed until I cried. 

With that bit of hilarity out of my system, I went to the medicine cabinet and found the aspirin with codeine. A friend had brought it back from Canada. I had some stronger pain reliever, but didnât want to check out too soon. I just wanted to quit feeling my hand.

Three tablets were washed down with a large swallow of bourbon. I nearly spewed right there. It burned all the way down and felt like a rock in my stomach. Setting the bottle none-to-softly on the table, I went to another shelf and took out a spiral notebook and pen. I turned all the lights off except the one directly over the table and sat down. After another stiff pull from the bottle â it wasnât quite as bad as the first, but almost â I opened the notebook. Oh Maggie, if you make it and find me, I love you darling, and sure wish Iâd done some things different. Another pull from the bottle, the pen in my right hand, I stared at the blank page while I tried to decide where to start. Finally, I began to write.

_I listened to the final track of the audio book again, thinking deeply about the ending. So Katniss and Peta ended up together after all, and did have kids. The nightmares they still have, so many years later. Wow, I thought, I sure hope our world never deteriorates into something like that. I mean, I have faith that both of the political parties are filled with liars, cheats, and power hungry goons. But to have someone like President Snow; with so little regard for human life, to stage those games year after year. Thank goodness itâs fiction. I remembered some comedian joking about Dick Cheney being evil like that, but really? Well, and those warlords in Africa, and all of the ethnic cleansing that has happened around the world. I gave an involuntary shudder to think of that and just what would need to happen for such horrific events to ever happen here. Thank goodness we are above all that! Really, itâs only fiction._

*****​
The cloud filled sky drifted over the blasted lands, the unending flows of lava. The rain began; a soaking rain that had always been so welcome when crops grew in the area. The raindrops ran down a solitary pipe that was jutting out of the endless stone. The water dripped onto the open page of a spiral notebook. The pages began to curl and the ink ran as the rain continued to fall.


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## SpaceCadet12364

:shocked: :bow:


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## Ozarks Tom

A very versatile mind, I'm impressed!


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## 355946

Spooky. Being smug is not a survival skill I guess. Thanks as always for all the work that makes talent apparent!


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## MO_cows

You really know how to weave a good story! Thanks for the entertainment and the thought-provoking nature of it.


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## udwe58

Awesome!


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## campfiregirl

Dude. :clap:


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## manygoatsnmore

Awesome, well written story, but so sad. Living in the shadow of Mt St Helens, and having been here when the mountain blew in 1980, this story cuts a little close to home for me. 

Bret, I'd love to make it your way someday - I don't even mind the smell of L&O - just don't ask me to eat them, lol. I might even be willing to help weed your garden if it means another good read!


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## Bret F

Thank you all for the nice comments, I appreciate it. (Luckily, my hat still fits )

MGM: I was wondering if you were affected in '80. The ash didn't come here, (just traces as I remember) but I know (knew) lots of people that were affected. At the time I had some family in Kalama that had some good stories to tell.

No L&O until October, and then only if the elk hunt goes good. 

I'm hoping to go in your direction (somewhat) the first weekend in August. There is a fiddle contest in Corvallis and Dad's only remaining brother is just south of there. Dad, Mom and my uncle all have some concerning health issues so it would be nice to get Dad and Mom over there, but I don't know if they will be up for the ride. The contest is secondary to getting them together one more time; my daughter is willing to go for that but will be fine if she misses it.
Did the PDFs work?

I saved the two long stories as PDF's (I think) at MGM's request. If anyone else wants them, let me know.

Thanks everyone!
Bret


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## texastami

Brett,

That was fantastic! Living in the willamette valley, that definitely hit home for me... man I was on the edge of my chair... what a read! Definitely finish this story!!!


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## MrSmith

Bret, 
Thank you so much for another great read. The worst part about your stories is they seem to end much too soon. You definitely have a gift, and I hope it brings you as much pleasure writing these, as it does for us reading them.


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## puddlejumper007

Bret are you going to write any more for us? still watching:


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## Wren - TN

puddlejumper007 said:


> Bret are you going to write any more for us? still watching:


Me, too. This thread is what I have bookmarked for HT. I go to the rest of the forum from here. I was always so excited if there was a new post showing. I'm REALLY having 'Bret's writing' withdrawals!


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## puddlejumper007

Bret. are you still with us?: gone on strike? on vaction? gone fishing, playing possum??::gone to heaven? i hope not yet....


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## manygoatsnmore

Bret, thanks for the .pdfs. They worked!

I was in Kelso when the mountain blew, so not far from Kalama. Grew up in Castle Rock with a 2 mountain view from my home. Mt St Helens was such a pretty ice cream cone before 1980. I've gotten used to its new look, but I still miss that beautiful mountain of my youth.

I wish I wasn't already booked for the weekend - would loved to have met up in Corvallis!


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## Bret F

Thanks again for the wonderful comments.

Tami, sorry, but that is as much of this story as there will be.

Wren, you better brace yourself, because you may have to go through with drawls for a while. If it gets too much for you, you might try a little of this: http://www.councilmuseum.com/Diffendaffer.html Itâs not fiction, but has some interesting stuff about some of the early people around here (at least to me since a number of the people included were family).

Puddlejumper, as a matter of fact, I did go fishing. We had our family reunion so I spent five days in the mountains where Grandpa grew up. Itâs a combination reunion â camping trip. Itâs not heaven, but itâs pretty darn nice. I got a load of firewood (that I need to split and stack), hiked with the kids to a hot springs and soaked, took the kids fishing a couple of times, took them to the waterfall to play, picked huckleberries (the best picking I can ever remember), took the kids shooting the 22 and had some good food and visiting. I didnât take anything to write with or on and just had a great time with the family.

While we were gone, a nephewâs significant other did my chores. I have two goats now; a wether and an older doe that didnât breed last fall. The doe has horns and a beard. The young lady asked if they were both males. She couldnât accept the fact that a girl goat would have those extra parts. I guess she dismissed the other dangling parts. She decided since the goat had kidded before and I milked her for years, it must be a hermaphrodite. Sometimes it is a hard decision on what to tell her: educate her or tell a yarn based on her assumptions â she can be very gullible.

At home, Iâve made the most amazing discovery. In my weed patch, I actually found some vegetable plants. A few things were even ready to pick, Iâm not sure how that happened. The apricots also were ripe so I had to take care of them. Now a plum tree is ready.

I had been doing my writing early in the morning, and on lunch breaks at work.I just got my elk tag and remembered how much work elk hunting is, so instead of writing, Iâve been riding my bike in the morning and walking at lunch. We have all heard about global warming, but I have noticed another frightening trend each fall. The hills are somehow getting steeper and gravity pulls harder each year. Itâs an amazing phenomenon. Something tells me it will be even worse this year. Too bad the deficit is so huge; otherwise I might be able to get a grant to study it.

So, after all that blabbering, I have to say Iâm not very focused on writing right now. I do have a number of ideas bouncing around in my head that I will jot down a few lines for but nothing too concentrated at this time. In fact I seem to be skipping around with notes for different threads. (Most of the time on my walks, I get one story going through my head and have to make some notes once Iâm finished walking, so itâs not taking me totally away from writing.) I wonât post something until I have a sustained story line. I donât want to start something and leave you all hanging forever for the next post. All I can say is stay tuned, Iâll eventually have something, but it will be a while.

On top of everything else, we are going to take a few days soon and go to the Rocky Mountain Regional Fiddle Championships & Music Festival in Casper Wyoming in August. (We nixed the trip to Corvallis; Mom had an MRI today to see if they can figure out her problems. She wasnât up to the trip.) We havenât been to the Casper contest, but want to go there because my daughter can compete with the fiddle and my son can compete with guitar. It will be his first competition. In our region, there arenât many contests that have the variety this one does.

So again I thank you all for reading and the wonderful comments. I hope the rest of the summer goes well for you.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret.. sounds like you are enjoying life,and family that is what is important. maybe after you have taken care of your elk, and winter sets in you can write more... will be watching...thanks pat


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## manygoatsnmore

Your camping trip sounds pretty heavenly to me! 
Spending time with family is more important than writing for the rest of us, so I'll be patient! 
Funny how those hills get steeper as we get older, lol.


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## Bret F

I thought Iâd take a few minutes to update everyone. I havenât forsaken everyone here. I have a story in mind and have a few pages written, but I havenât been able to concentrate on it. I wonât post until I am able to sustain it.

After some of you commented that my work should be published, I asked myself if it was really possible. I decided Iâll never know unless I try. So I have been going back through The Danged Rocks. I read something from an author that said once you get a story written, back away from it for a while. Iâm glad I read that. I have been changing, adding and removing a fair amount of stuff as I am going through it. I see things that seemed very clear to me when I wrote it that makes me go âHuh?â

I am at page 94 of 274 in my Word document. It seems funny to me, it is taking nearly as much time to do this as it did to create it originally.

Once I get it all redone, then I will do some submittals. I have no idea of the timeframe for any of this. Iâm also considering posting on another site to get exposure in case it does get published. I havenât looked into that very deep since I donât get online much. Once I get back onto the new story, everyone here will see it first.

Again, THANK YOU all for reading.
Bret


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## 355946

Good luck Bret. Your writing deserves a wider audience. I have read that editing takes more time than writing so you're probably on the right track!


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## manygoatsnmore

Good for you, Bret. Editing, rewriting, rewriting again, proofreading....writing is WORK! But, if you're meant to be a storyteller, it is a labor of love. I'll be proud to say I knew you when!


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## Wren - TN

Great! I wish you much success. I also can't wait to read more from you.


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## Ozarks Tom

We've all got faith in your abilities. You can do it!!


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## udwe

Miss your writing very much. wish some more people would start writing here too.


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## puddlejumper007

i have been thinking that also, wish someone would write something...please...


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## Ketoriverfarm

I just found this thread on nov 20. Today is the 24th. And I have been reading practically non-stop. 

You are a very gifted writer. Good luck on getting published. And I cannot wait for more of your writing. 

Your stories have given me much to think about especially if the grid would go down for a long period of time. Where I live our power goes out frequently and often for 3-5 days at a time. 

Thank you for your stories. Susan


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## Bret F

I hesitate to presume the recent comments are all for me; after all Cindy in NY started this thread. I feel like I&#8217;ve hijacked it. However, I will respond.
Homeagain, MGM, Wren Tom: thank you so much for your comments after my last post.

Udwe, Pat; your timing is incredible. I had just emailed Tom about my (lack of) progress and sent him a page from &#8220;The Long Darkness&#8221; where I had re-written the laundry scene to utilize his washer. And then I found new activity here. Tom was also on the verge of emailing me.

Susan, it&#8217;s nice to see you found your way here. Thank you for the wonderful compliments.


I went back through &#8220;The Danged Rocks&#8221; and thought it was better and sent a note about it to a publisher that does just prepping type books. I thought it was a fit, evidently they didn&#8217;t. After sending a sample, I&#8217;ve never heard back.

So I kept reading about publishing. Sheesh! First of all, any aspiring writer needs an agent. Not just any agent, but one that likes your style - type of writing. (We are so non-main stream in prepping, that didn&#8217;t sound good.) But I looked at lots of them, seeing if there were any that I thought might work.While I was researching, I found out about the &#8220;Query letter&#8221;. To get the agent, the writer has to wow them with a one page letter. There is that one time five paragraph chance so it better be good. IF it is accepted, then there are submittals of which everyone of them has their own wants. Some want a complete summary of the manuscript chapter by chapter, others just want a sample. One thing I found that is universal is they all want the manuscript formatted a specific way. That&#8217;s not how I submitted my sample, oh well. Then some say have an editor go over it first so it is it&#8217;s absolute best. Some say to get going on that social media so you have your audience lined up at the right time. And there was more and more. I finally decided to have an editor look at the story. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, so I ignored it and got in my fall plantings (a few weeks late, but it sure felt good).

I started posting the story on another forum, thinking about getting more readers hooked.

I looked at self publishing, feeling that the niche market this book was written for wouldn&#8217;t be attractive to a publisher. I sent some PMs to another submitter there that had experience with Amazon. He had stated upfront he would only post 70% of his story. I learned from him that Amazon has bots scouring the web searching for the stories they have published at lower (or free as my story is) prices. If the bots find that, Amazon drops the price to reflect what they have found.

I got a meeting with the editor. She confirmed a lot of what I felt , that the story is &#8220;too niche market&#8221; and gave me even more thoughts that if I want this story published, it needs a major overhaul.

Again, I had to do a lot of thinking, trying to figure out what to do next.

Then I was reading some guys comments on a college football game and read this tagline from one: "Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It's about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy." - Stephen King

I read that over and over and tried to think about my story. When I began writing the story, there were no thoughts about getting published. The whole thing was about sharing information; things I knew or had learned that I had seen people ask about on the forum. It finally cleared it up for me. About that time I saw the new comments on this thread. How about that timing, huh?

So I posted the final five chapter of the story on the other site and found the document I had started months ago for a new story. (I just wish I could find the missing hand written pages, but oh well.) So I am starting a new story, but it won&#8217;t be seen until I have enough to sustain the posts.

Thank you all for your patience and well wishes when I looked into this.
Bret

BTW, it took a lot of trips but we got that fresh liver and onions.:sing:


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## puddlejumper007

Bret, having to jump through that many hoops would make me dizzy.... in my opinion your stories were much better than some of the ones i paid money for...through amazon... best of luck and keep writing....thanks pat 

ps. did you get your elk?


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## Bret F

puddlejumper007 said:


> Bret, having to jump through that many hoops would make me dizzy.... in my opinion your stories were much better than some of the ones i paid money for...through amazon... best of luck and keep writing....thanks pat
> 
> ps. did you get your elk?


That's why we got fresh liver and onions.


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## manygoatsnmore

Congrats on the elk, Bret! I'm looking forward to the new story, and hope you keep on working on getting the other stories fine-tuned. Let me know what I can do to help.


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## maclynx

Brett I will look forward to your next writing journey. I have been checking back regularly and hoping that as your side of the world heads towards winter you might start writing again. I get addicted to the stories - you have a talent for story telling. Thank you for sharing with us


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## stickinthemud

Thank you, Bret!


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## Ozarks Tom

Bret, I'm glad you've decided to let writing success come to you, rather than chasing it. I'm certain it will in time.


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## MrSmith

Bret, Thank you again. Especially for thinking us worthy to put your time and effort into enriching our lives, just for the good it will do us. Your stories certainly helped me to regain my focus on ensuring I can provide for my family should the need arise.


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## Bret F

I was looking at some comments while editing - rewriting and this idea hit me. (And kept me awake half the night by the way.) It took me off task but here it is.

*The Long Darkness &#8211; A supplement*

&#8220;Are you sure you won&#8217;t come back home?&#8221; Jenny&#8217;s mother asked her yet again. Her arms were stretched out in front of her, her hands clutching her daughter&#8217;s hands. They were standing in the Boise Municipal Airport, in the area leading to the security gates. The older woman would soon board an airplane for the first leg of her trip home to Arkansas. Nick had accompanied them and stood next to his grandmother Jenny. &#8220;After all, you don&#8217;t have a husband anymore,&#8221; this statement was delivered with a sour look on her face, &#8220;And Jake is grown. There&#8217;s really nothing holding you here anymore. Come home with me. A few of your old friends are still there; some of them made it through those troubling times. And I&#8217;ve told you all about Kevin. He&#8217;ll have your Dad&#8217;s job after he retires next year. A woman could do a lot worse.&#8221;

The conversation was another round of the same conversation they had had nearly constantly since Jenny&#8217;s mother had arrived ten days earlier. Although Jenny loved her mom dearly, she couldn&#8217;t wait for her to leave. &#8220;Thanks Mom, but the answer&#8217;s the same. I&#8217;m staying here. I have a good home. I get to see Nick here every day and see what a great young man he is growing up to be.&#8221; She freed one hand from her mother and gave the boy an affectionate squeeze around his shoulders.

&#8220;Then if you won&#8217;t come home with me, what about&#8221;

&#8220;Mom, no! I&#8217;ve told you Steve and I live totally different lives now and we have for the last five years. We are not getting back together. So don&#8217;t even try to go there.&#8221;

&#8220;But Jenny, you can be so much more than a simple farmer. I know it was important during the troubles, but that&#8217;s all in the past. Leave it in the past and get back to the life you deserve. And I&#8217;m sure Steve&#8221; 

&#8220;Mom, I know it&#8217;s not for you, but I love the way I&#8217;m living now. I feel more fulfilled than I ever did when I lived in town. You need to face up to it that you and I are different. This is the life I&#8217;ve chosen.&#8221; Jenny hadn&#8217;t told her mother about another reason she wouldn&#8217;t ever go back to the city. She would really freak out if she knew her daughter was dating a common farmer. She would be aghast to learn they had discussed marriage, but were taking it slow. The man was a neighbor of Paul and Ruth&#8217;s that Jenny had seen a few times during the crash. It was always at the gatherings where the neighbors got together to work on labor intensive projects. Jim was the anti-Steve. He loved the land and what it provided to them. He had been quiet around her at first; now the two of them spent hours talking, hiking, and working together.

&#8220;Oh darling, I just want something better for you. You deserve it,&#8221; Jenny&#8217;s mother said.

&#8220;Mom, I love you, but my mind is made up. Now you better get in line. You don&#8217;t want to miss your plane.&#8221; _I don&#8217;t want you to miss your plane!_ &#8220;If you stayed here, Paul would have no choice but to put you to work,&#8221; Jenny said, grinning.

&#8220;Oh all right,&#8221; she said and pulled Jenny into a hug. &#8220;You too Nick,&#8221; she said and pulled an arm free to include him.

Jenny and Nick stood to the side and watched while the carry-on bag was run through the x-ray machine and the body scan performed. When she had her shoes back on, Jenny&#8217;s mother gave her one more imploring look, waved and walked towards the boarding gates.

&#8220;Well, we better hit it Kiddo,&#8221; Jenny told Nick. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and turned him towards the exit. &#8220;Since when did you get this tall? You&#8217;re as tall as me now.&#8221; 

&#8220;Grandma,&#8221; Nick said. &#8220;I don&#8217;t mean to be rude, but well, your mom is kind of a snob.&#8221;

Jenny hugged the boy tighter and steered him to the escalators. &#8220;Yes she is. I&#8217;m glad I grew out of it. Now let&#8217;s get out of this crazy place.&#8221;

They maneuvered through the building and went to the short term parking area for the truck. Jenny and Nick would have parked as far from the concourse as possible enjoying the long walk and cheaper rates in the long term lot, but her mother wouldn&#8217;t hear of it. She directed Jenny to park in the covered short term lot and had placed a ten dollar bill beside the parking ticket. She wasn&#8217;t about to walk all the way across the lot. They paid the parking fee and exited the lot.

Driving away from the airport, Jenny noted all of the empty lots where motels and apartment complexes had stood before the crash. The burned rubble had been cleared away, but the blackened concrete footings remained like skeletal reminders of what had been. A few houses were being constructed, but not many. The population had taken a big hit and there was still a surplus of housing. Jenny shuddered at the thoughts.

&#8220;We need to stop and get some groceries since we&#8217;re here, but we&#8217;ll stop at the store across town so when we&#8217;re done we can get going easier, and you won&#8217;t have to drive in as much traffic. Does that work for you?&#8221; Jenny asked.

His face lit up. &#8220;Really, you&#8217;ll let me drive home?&#8221; Nick had been driving around the farm &#8211; fuel allowing &#8211; for years, although most of the time it was on the small tractor. Once fuel supplies were re-established, Paul had been letting him drive the truck on the country roads around the farm. 

&#8220;Really. After all you&#8217;re going to turn fourteen next month. That used to be the age you could get a license.&#8221;

*****​Jenny pulled the truck into the Winco parking lot and parked near the back of the lot. Besides liking to walk, she didn&#8217;t like trying to maneuver the truck into parking spaces with cars on each side. One end of the store was newer than the rest of the building. She had been told that looters had started it on fire to create a diversion while they stormed the front entrance. She was still amazed that she and Steve hadn&#8217;t fared even worse by staying in town that first winter. 

Jenny turned her shopping cart into the baking aisle. &#8220;Okay, Nick, we need baking soda, baking powder and vanilla from this aisle. There might be more things we need; we&#8217;ll just have to see what else is here. Jenny glanced at a woman inn front of the soda and stopped. _That woman looks familiar, but where would I know her from?_ She continued to shoot glances and tried in vain to dredge up the memory of where she might have known the other woman. So many of her memories of her old life and the people in it were blurry when she could remember at all. It truly felt like a different life and she had been a spectator rather than a participant.

The woman put a box of soda in her cart and was ready to push the cart away when Jenny&#8217;s curiosity made her speak. &#8220;Excuse me, but you look familiar, and I can&#8217;t place where I might know you from. My name is Jenny Miller by the way.&#8221;

The other woman studied Jenny&#8217;s face and mouthed the name. A look of recognition swept over her features. &#8220;Of course, I remember now. I&#8217;m Amy Moser. Your husband is Steve isn&#8217;t he? My husband Bill used to work with him for Tom.&#8221;

&#8220;Right, Amy Moser, of course. Well, that would be ex-husband now, but, yes that would be Steve. 

&#8220;I was so sorry to hear about Bill. I always wished we would have had a chance to tell him how much the stuff he arranged for the guys at the shop helped us and thank him for it. That first winter was brutal, and I&#8217;m not sure I would be here now if it wasn&#8217;t for him. It doesn&#8217;t seem right that he didn&#8217;t make it.&#8221;

&#8220;I appreciate that Jenny. He would be happy that you to made it through everything. But you aren&#8217;t with Steve now? That&#8217;s too bad,&#8221; Amy said.

&#8220;Well, I feel that I finally grew up, and in doing so, we just grew apart. Steve went back to the old ways, but I couldn&#8217;t.&#8221;

A younger woman came around the end of the aisle walking toward the two women. A boy of about four or five was carrying a coffee container, while a little girl that looked just big enough to walk was carrying a box of tea bags. &#8220;I thought you were coming over there Grandma,&#8221; the boy said. He dropped the coffee over the edge of the cart.

&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry honey. I ran into someone I knew from before you were born. This is Jenny, her husband worked with your grandpa Bill before the lights all went out. Jenny, this is Billy. And this little lady is his sister Jessica. The taller one here is my daughter Amanda,&#8221; Amy said. 
Jenny held out her hand to Amanda, &#8220;It&#8217;s nice to meet you,&#8221; she said. She dropped to one knee and greeted both of the kids. After she stood back up, she put her hand on Nick&#8217;s back. &#8220;And this strapping young man is my grandson Nick,&#8221; Jenny said.

Jenny looked down at the two children. &#8220;Amanda, you are so blessed to have such lovely children after what we went through. There were times I thought nothing good would survive.&#8221; She sniffed, remembering. 

&#8220;It was so good to run into you Amy, and again I&#8217;m so sorry about Bill. I can really appreciate the type of man he was now; something I couldn&#8217;t do when I knew him. But we better get going. We&#8217;ve still got to get home in time for chores,&#8221; Jenny said.

Amy and Amanda both said goodbye and watched Jenny and Nick go down the aisle. Amy was questioning her memories. Jenny seemed nothing like she remembered.

After the shopping was done and the purchases loaded up, Jenny tossed the keys to Nick. He got a huge grin on his face and climbed into the truck behind the wheel. He was so close to his grandmother&#8217;s size that he didn&#8217;t have to adjust the seat or mirror. He pulled out of the parking spot after making sure it was clear, then made a cautious entrance to the highway and picked up speed gradually. Jenny watched him and admired how well he was doing. _What a fine young man he is turning out to be. And those lovely children of Amanda&#8217;s. She is so blessed to have both a son and daughter._ Jenny was filled with a surge of hope for the future.


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## Ketoriverfarm

Bret, you are back!

So nice to be reading your stories again. Susan


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## manygoatsnmore

Bret, I sent you an e-mail.


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## puddlejumper007

Yahoooo


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## stickinthemud

Well worth waiting for! Thanks, Bret!


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## udwe

Loved it, Brett! So good to know that Jenny's doing great, esp. without Steve!


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## puddlejumper007

i have down time now.....sure could use some good reading.......HINT HINT....


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## Bret F

Let me see what I can do. I think I have a couple of Mad Magazines hidden under the mattress I could part with.


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## puddlejumper007

ahh haa, i knew your writing sounded familiar hee hee


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## Bret F

"What me worry?"

I have no idea why I visit this forum.


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## sniper69

I must say there are many good stories in this thread. And Bret - you have a good writing style, I've enjoyed the stories a lot. 

Now I need to get back to some stuff around the house now that I'm caught up in this thread. It's been a busy few days of reading whenever I had a spare moment. Thanks to all who posted stories or parts of stories.


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## udwe

More, please, more!


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## Bret F

Thank you everyone for the kind comments. I really appreciate it.

I have started another story, I work on it a while, then I get sidetracked and work on something else. Progress has been slow, but MAYBE if I start posting, it might encourage me to stick with it. So I will give you the first chapter now. I am afraid it may be a while between posts, but we'll see.

Much appreciation to ManyGoatsMore for the help on the story.

Bret


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## Bret F

*The Ashen Horse *
_âAnd I looked and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. And authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.â_ Revelations 6:8

*Chapter 1*

Sergei Bubka looked around the park again, his head swiveling, and gave a shiver. The weather was much colder than he liked to be outside, yet he was sweating. It was a puzzle; how could he feel so cold, so chilled to the core with icy fingers constricting around his stomach, yet be sweating like he was? His forehead and neck were both beaded with perspiration, while his damp hand threatened to soak through the paper on his cigarette. He wiped one sweaty palm on his pants leg while raising the cigarette in the other trembling hand to his lips. Bubka shuddered as he exhaled and looked through the veil of smoke. He didnât usually mind the cold; after all, the lab was kept cool. But the outside cold . . . 

He was always cold when he wasnât in the lab. He found it odd, the lab was kept cool by necessity, but he was comfortable there, why was it so different outside? Would it be different where he was going? He longed for warm weather, sandy beaches with warm water. If those places really existed. Yes, there were magazines and television programs showing those places, but it was hard to wrap his brain around. He was so accustomed to the cold, those other places were mysterious, like the secrets he unlocked in the lab. He tried to dismiss the thought and focus on the present; he looked around again. So much could still go wrong.

Many people were out despite the chill. They werenât bothered by the cool temperature, they seemed to relish it; the chance for a few more minutes out of doors before darkness enveloped the city. They didnât share his feelings of foreboding; the oppressive weight pulling his shoulders down. He studied each of them as carefully as he could without staring. Was one of them watching him? What about the man looking at his feet? Did he just avert his gaze? Bubka watched the man while his shaking hand raised his cigarette for another drag.

The approaching dusk was casting deep shadows all around the park. Deep shadows that he could no longer see into. Anything â or anyone â could be in those shadows. He took a drink from the bottle of vodka, savoring the warmth as he swallowed, feeling the liquid fire travel down his throat, imagining warm air. âMaybe heâs not going to show,â he thought. He drew from the cigarette then crushed the butt under his foot. 

So many things could go wrong with this meeting. It all could have been arranged to see if he would sell out; a test to see if he would sell his soul and end up spending the rest of his life in a concentration camp in Siberia. Then he would really be cold; he would never know warmth again. He took another drink, but the vodka failed to give him comfort and warmth. He took another drink and yearned for the warmth. There was only the burn on his irritated throat from chain smoking the dozen cigarettes, their remains littering the ground at his feet. What was going to happen? He shook another cigarette from the pack, controlled the tremble in his hands long enough to light it, expelling the smoke in a cloud that he looked through, looking for the clouded shape; the shape of one of the watchers that always seemed there; looked through the cloud while wishing it would conceal him. The shadows grew deeper, creeping along the ground, devouring everything in their path. Was someone hiding there; using the darkness to conceal his presence? He took another drag from the cigarette.

âHow did they find me anyway?â he wondered. âThe research was supposed to be a state secret.â And then he gave a wry chuckle. âJust like the American research was a secret.â It was such a joke. He knew there were really no secrets. Not in his business. No, there were no secrets. The Americans certainly knew as much about his research as he knew about theirs. They should just hold biological weapon trade conventions for the ease that the research information was obtained. Maybe they could hold the conventions in Las Vegas. He knew many conventions took place there and it was supposed to be very warm. No, probably not in Las Vegas. There were no secrets and there would be no conventions. Still, the research information changed hands. It didnât matter about the ideology of the different governments; greed was the universal ideology. As long as there was money, the information would change hands. And it continued, all these years after both countries had signed the treaty that they would discontinue research.

He chuckled again before drawing in another lungful of smoke followed by a swallow of vodka. Actually, that wasnât what the treaty had stated, that was just how it was spun and presented. And the gullible public had eaten it up. No, it wasnât written that way at all. The treaty actually stated that neither country would strike first, at least not with these weapons. But if they were attacked first, well, what choice would they have but to respond in kind. So riding the wave of the happy media blitz, the facilities had been closed, only to be replaced by new secret research facilities. The happy citizens all slept better at night, believing one more threat to their safety had been eliminated. While the research for even more lethal killers had gone on. 
Bubka and his team had discontinued their research until the new lab was operational. The new secret lab; the Americans probably knew about it before he did. And now there he was, sitting on a park bench at dusk; the universal ideology indeed.

He tipped the bottle again and followed it with another lung-full of smoke. The American Ben Franklin said it so well, âThree may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.â The thought wasnât comforting and he looked around again then took another drink. The thought made him want to get up and go home. Get out of the madness before it was too late. But wasnât it already too late? He felt the weight of the canisters in his jacket pocket. They were small canisters, but Bubka could feel them pulling his shoulders down. The weight threatened to overwhelm him; the weight of what he was about to do.

But was it really too late? What if he left right now? Just stood up and walked swiftly away; left all of the insanity behind. If he left now, could he avoid the authorities; keep them from holding him? He chuckled again and snorted. Since when had the authorities needed reasons to hold someone? Two things never changed no matter how the face of the country changed to the rest of the world. It was always cold, and the authorities did what they wanted when they wanted. No, if the authorities were watching him, it was very much too late. Maybe it had been too late when he read the first note, certainly too late when he first listened to the proposal.

The chill deepened over Bubka, and it wasnât from the weather; the icy fingers constricting tighter. He took another drink, longing for the warmth that usually accompanied it. Instead it felt like more ice; and the ice flowed outward until he shuddered from its grip. He drew from the cigarette and ground it out, determined to leave before he became prey. He reached for his newspaper when a figure materialized out of the gloom and sat on the end of the bench he occupied.


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## Bret F

Bubka could no longer hear the happy squeals of the children still playing. He felt his heart hammer as his shaking hands attempted to fumble another cigarette free of the pack. It fell on the ground and he stared at it momentarily before picking it up, his hands trembling as he placed it between his lips. The tip was waving around and his hand quivered so much he barely managed to light it. The blast of light so near his eyes left him looking blindly into the gloom; was someone watching him, watching them? He asked himself again if this was what he wanted or if he should just get up and leave now. After all he hadnât done anything, yet. All he had done was go to the park. The weight in his pocket pulled on him. He took another drink, a longer drink from the bottle and failed to notice the look of disapproval on the olive skinned face of the newcomer.

The man spread his newspaper in front of him even though it was too dark to read in the gloom. âHave you decided?â he asked; his accent made it obvious Russian wasnât his native tongue.

Bubka wouldnât have tried to guess the origin of the accent. He had little exposure to foreigners. To him, there were Russians and non-Russians; that was all. So what was he doing there, on a bench at dusk with a stranger? Why did he have the canisters? 

âWell,â the man said. âWill you answer? Will you become a wealthy man, a free man?â

An interminable wait ensued for Bubka while his mind screamed at him to run, run away as fast as you can. In reality, it was only seconds before he swallowed the lump in his throat and chanced a glance at the man. Despite the deepening gloom, Bubka could make out his fascial features. The manâs hooked nose and intense stare reminded Bubka of a bird of prey. The look was enhanced by the shadows. The fierce look before it ripped into the flesh of an animal it had just killed.

Bubka looked away and responded, âI am ready.â The words came out raspy, his throat irritated by the nearly constant smoke and the strong liquor. He followed the words with another drink.

âThen we should go,â the stranger said. He rose and looked at Bubka, waiting for him to move.

Bubka got slowly to his feet, the jacket weighing him down. âHow could something so small be so heavy?â he asked himself. He looked into the gloom, searching. âI . . . is . . . is it safe?â he spoke softly, his nervousness obvious.

âMy associates are watching. We made certain you were not being observed before I approached you.â The words sounded strange in the accent, words that were nearly foreign. 

Bubka raised the bottle with his shaking hands one last time and drained the remaining liquid in one long swallow. Again he missed the warmth, the comfort; instead ice formed in his stomach and radiated out. He dropped the bottle on the ground beside the bench, near the ground out cigarettes.

Bubka followed as the man led the way into the growing darkness. He walked like a condemned man, dragging his feet in short steps as if he was going to the gallows. âAnd maybe that is exactly where Iâm going,â he thought. The stranger beside him was a marked contrast. His crisp steps and intense manner radiated impatience as he waited for Bubka in his slow shuffle.

A car was waiting at the side of the park and the rear door was opened for Bubka. He looked into the dark interior, then swung his head around and looked at the park, at the cityâs skyline. His shoulders slumped even farther and he settled onto the carâs seat and jumped as the door closed beside him. The sound echoed in his mind. He found the handle and pulled, finding the door locked. The ice spread through his system again and he shuddered. âOh Bubka, what have you done?â he asked himself. The stranger joined him in the back seat from the opposite side and spoke to the driver in a foreign language. Bubka had no idea what had been said, but recognized the meaning as the engine started and the car pulled onto the street, driving into the darkness. He looked out the window at the diminishing lights of the city and asked himself again just what he was doing.

Bubka gave a wry chuckle as the lights faded, finding a bit of levity in his situation. âSo who will know I am gone first, the Americans or my own people?â he asked himself. âAfter all, there are no secrets.â If he was a betting man, he wasnât sure which one he would put his money on. âProbably both will know at the same time.â He didnât see the questioning gaze of the man he shared the seat with.

Bubka looked into the darkness. âI hope it is warm there,â he mused.


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## puddlejumper007

thanks Bret, i was running out of things to read....ice storm here..nothing to do...but hunker down...


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## manygoatsnmore

My pleasure Bret - I'm still working on figuring how to get the edited version back to you. I wonder if I could send it in a PM here....hmm. Thinking, thinking, thinking. 

Awesome story so far, and I think folks are gonna like what's coming. No spoilers from me, though!


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## stickinthemud

Something to look forward to! Thanks, Bret!


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## Bret F

Puddlejumper, are you writing science fiction now. You can't have an ice storm in the middle of global warming. :spinsmiley:

Stick, I hope it turns out to be worth looking forward to. I'm stretching this time.

And again, I have to recognize and thank Manygoatsmore for her assistance on this. She is definitely helping to make my writing look better.


*The Ashen Horse *
*Chapter 2*

Abdul Mueed stared through the shielded binoculars at the sprawling Bagram Airfield. The assembled planes and trucks appeared as a childâs miniature toys. Heat waves shimmered from the barren landscape, but he still made out the infidels, tiny in the distance even through the powerful optics as they scurried around the base. Just like a teeming ant hill, the tiny creatures going this way and that. Just like insects when they scurried for cover when another of the faithful delivered a rocket right into their midst. Mueed remained motionless and watched the rapid response even though he had seen what he wanted. The unmanned drones were in the air in moments, firing their own rockets into the hills. 

Mueed had seen enough. From past observations he knew the drones would begin to expand the area they were searching, looking for more of the mujahedeen. He backed away from his observation post, his clothing blending into the arid landscape. He jogged to a small rise, the AK47 bouncing against his back with each footfall, ever mindful of the sky with its silent assassins. Soon he saw what he wanted and dropped flat on the ground and crawled into a small opening in the dirt bank. The refuge was large enough to conceal two men but it would have been snug. Mueed avoided the edges where scorpions and spiders were most likely to be lurking. Now the drones with their heat seeking capabilities would never find him. 

Besides removing him from the eyes of the enemy, the cavity offered relief from the heat. As he waited in relative comfort for the sky to clear, he recounted what he had learned. After numerous days of observation he had determined the infidels were going to make his final act almost too easy. They were predictable, too predictable. The bus from Kabul ran on a precise schedule. That, coupled with a slight depression between the road and the tall fence offered everything he needed to send the infidels to meet the devil while he would bow before Allah. They almost made it too easy.

He trembled in anticipation. The bus would be full, loaded with some Americans and the rest of the seats filled with the pretenders, those that claimed they followed the faith, but did not. A low growl came from his throat as the thought about the women, the harlots that showed no shame and revealed themselves to the men. Bin Ladenâs fatwa was to be heralded; it was time to remove all of the unfaithful and the American dogs they worshipped. He just wished he could look in their eyes in the moment before his bomb detonated; in the moment of realization that they were going to die and go to an afterlife of fire. Just to look in their condemned eyes.

He recalled the other time; the eyes, the look in the eyes when Allah had tested him. The harlot had come to him, seduced him, and taken over his mind with her witchery. He had been so close, so very close to failing Allahâs test. She had totally overwhelmed his senses. Then Allah had delivered him. As he felt for his belt buckle, overwhelmed by desire, his hand brushed the handle of his knife. Instant recognition flared in his brain as it burst free of her spell; it was a test and Allah had placed him there for a purpose. The knife had slid soundlessly free, and he looked right in the harlotâs eyes as he pushed the sharp blade in to the hilt and then cut upwards. He watched her eyes as they turned to terror and then became lifeless as her life force drained from her around his hand. Her hot blood running over his fingers was sending jolts to his now-clear mind. And those eyes, inches from his own that showed the flash of recognition that she would atone for her sins. He shuddered with deep physical pleasure at the memory, again feeling the hot blood and seeing those eyes.

*****​Mueedâs head emerged from the hole, and he searched the sky before pulling the rest of the way out of the ground. All was clear as he made his way further back into the hills to prepare for the next day. He paused before entering the valley where the faithful were to meet. Nothing appeared out of order, and he proceeded into the encampment. 

Mueed ducked into the hut and stopped. A stranger looked at him from across the meager room. âYou are Abdul Mueed? You are ready to kill the unbelievers?â 

Mueed studied the stranger before speaking, noticing the cup of kahwah he held with the scent of saffron coming from it. Just who was this man, that he was being honored this way? âReady to kill the unbelievers? I have killed many and tomorrow I will kill more,â Mueed answered.

âYou kill small numbers! Would you broaden your sights to kill thousands at once? Tens of thousands?â The stranger raised the kahwah to his lips and took a sip, his eyes never leaving Mueed. âAyman al-Zawahiri has the means to drive them from our lands while delivering a crippling blow in their homeland, possibly even a fatal blow. Would you help deliver the blow and stand before Allah in glory?â He sipped again, still watching Mueed.

Ayman al-Zawahiri? The Americanâs thought by killing bin Laden the movement would die, like a snake with its head chopped off. But al Zawahiri had kept the faithful together and now led them in the fight against the infidels. Could it be true? Could al-Zawahiri really have the means to bring down the Great Satan? He was nearly trembling with anticipation. âI am listening,â Mueed said thinking how glorious the world would be after the infidels all burned. 

*****​
The cave entrance was totally black as Abdul Mueed and the other fighters were led down the sloping rock floor. He had no idea how the guide could tell where he was going, but the man led him with confident, practiced steps. While traveling to this remote location in Pakistan, he had reflected on his sudden change in direction. He was disappointed to be called away from the fight. The American army had been a challenge, but they hadnât been able to stop him. He relished their reaction with each strike; so much like the scurrying bugs when lights were suddenly turned on. The superior armed soldiers would run and search for cover from his attacks while he melted back into the hills. But to have the opportunity to deliver such a crippling blow in their own homeland; he knew Allah was smiling on him.

A light appeared ahead of them and the group entered a large room that had been hewn from the stone. Many more fighters were arranged in the room. At the head of the room; yes, it was him. Ayman al-Zawahiri sat looking out at the gathering men. Next to him was another man that reminded Mueed of a falcon with his hooked nose and intense stare. Mueed settled with the rest of the newcomers and accepted the tea that was offered him.

The tea was gone when another group of men joined the assemblage. Mueed guessed it brought the total to around two hundred. It would certainly be a major blow to the infidels for so many to strike at once. Mueed refocused on al-Zawahiri as he stood to address the assemblage.

âWe are here to begin a new Jihad against the Great Satan; a Jihad that they will be powerless to stop, that will destroy them. You true warriors of the faith will fight this battle on the enemyâs own ground. Without them, the Zionists will soon fall, along with all of the heretics that have welcomed the imperialists onto our soil.

âWe are the true children of Islam, our Lord the Prophet Muhammad is one, and we, the true believers are brothers. We shall bring in the true Muslim world, free of the puppets masters and their followers that corrupt our people. We shall all be purified under Sharia Law. This is in accordance with the words of Almighty Allah. There will be no more tumult or oppression, and there shall prevail justice and faith in Allah.

âOur brother,â and al- Zawahiri indicated the falcon man, âhas the means for us to complete this glorious undertaking. But you will need to humble yourselves and do the unthinkable. You will learn to be like the enemy, to look at them and smile. You will first learn to think and act as them before you take the life from them. Then you shall stand before the Almighty Allah in full glory.â

Al-Zawahiri had increased his volume as he talked, ending in a loud voice that captivated the men in front of him. The cave erupted in a deafening roar when they realized he had stopped. Abdul Mueed was with the other men, on his feet shouting. âAll Glory to the Almighty Allah!â The roar in the cave lasted long. 

*****​
Abdul Mueed looked through the small window at the city of Dubai as the airplane made its final approach. The skyscrapers were such a contrast to the Arabian Gulf, most notable the needle-like tower of the Burj Khalifa standing high above the rest. The fighters had been transported to Islamabad where they had boarded planes bound for Dubai. The cityâs penchant for tourism, catering to the infidels made it perfect for the next stage of the plan to destroy the Great Satan. The view was shocking after coming from Afghanistan and Pakistan where the mountains dominated the skyline, not man made buildings. He relished the day such extravagance was burned and forgotten. The leaders of Dubai were no more than prostitutes to the Americans and their lackeys. 

Mueed pulled the paper from his pocket and looked at it one more time. âThe One&Only Royal Mirageâ was printed in large typeface on the brochure. He swallowed down bile as he thought again of the degradation, the humility he would have to endure. He prayed that al-Zawahiri was right, that he would be forgiven for what he was about to do. Forgiven for going amongst the dogs themselves; for lowering himself to the infidelâs level and smiling and nodding the whole time. 

But he would be able to look them in the eyes. It was written, "Tell the believing men to lower their gaze and be modest", but he would not lower his gaze. He would look them in the eyes as he delivered their death to them. His regret was that they would not recognize their death, that he would not see their eyes turn to terror. He saw the womanâs eyes again and quivered in pleasure at the memory. âAlmighty Allah, you have tested me before and delivered me. 

âI shall not fail this test. We will rid the earth of the unfaithful,â he murmured as he shook the vision of the eyes from his mind and looked at the decadent brochure.


----------



## Bret F

*I want to thank ManyGoatsMore again for the incredible job of catching my poor sentences and punctuation. *

*Chapter 3*

Dan Smoke completed the bead he was welding as the last echo of the lunch whistle ended. He straightened, removed his welding helmet and laid it near his work, and turned to the welder behind him. He flicked the power switch off and closed the valve to the gas bottle. Around him, the other workers were shutting down; some of them already slipping on their coats and heading for the doors at a fast pace.

A dark cloud hung over the work stations, left from the welders, while the scent of burning metal came from the plasma cutter, the only machine still running. The computer controlled machine would continue to cut parts while the crew had lunch. Trailers in different stages of completion filled the shop space. Dan laid his welding gloves, leather apron and ear protection by the helmet and followed the other men making their way to the sinks.

The lunch room was a welcome relief from the smoke filled, noisy shop. A long table and chairs ran through the center of the room. A sink, coffee maker and two microwaves on a long counter were along one wall. A refrigerator stood in one corner, a pop machine and snack vending machine against another wall. There was also a water cooler with a second spigot for hot water. 

Dan got his lunch out of the refrigerator and sat down with a sigh. As the men settled around the lunch table, two of them watched intently while Dan opened his lunch box. The contents were always a topic of speculation. &#8220;So what&#8217;s it gonna be today?&#8221; John asked while he pulled the top on his own lunch &#8211; a Cup O Noodles &#8211; and moved to the hot water dispenser to get them cooking.

Matt took out his lunch &#8211; leftover chicken and potato logs from the supermarket deli counter. &#8220;I hope she sent enough for you to share this time.&#8221; 

Dan chuckled and started laying out the contents of his lunch box. Lisa his wife always packed him a full meal, usually more than he could eat, and most of it home grown and homemade. &#8220;Well, let&#8217;s see, here&#8217;s a quart of raw milk, a bag of vegetables, a container with canned fruit and a sandwich.&#8221; The sandwich had slices of homemade bread with a thick slice of ham. &#8220;I&#8217;ll share the veggies and the milk but the sandwich is all mine,&#8221; he told them. 

&#8220;Don&#8217;t you know raw milk&#8217;s not safe?&#8221; John asked as he pushed his cup over for Dan to pour him some. &#8220;And that fertilizer you grow your vegetables in, man that&#8217;s all untreated manure. Just think of all the disease you&#8217;re spreading.&#8221; John reached into the baggie and pulled out some carrots and radishes while he was talking.

&#8220;I just know where I&#8217;m going if the brown stuff ever hits the fan,&#8221; Matt said.

Dan finished chewing the bite of sandwich and swallowed before he addressed the well-used comment. &#8220;Like I told you before, you better bring your work gloves if you do. There&#8217;ll be no freeloading. I&#8217;m not Mr. Obama. You work your butt off or you don&#8217;t eat. These things don&#8217;t just magically appear like your food at the deli,&#8221; he said before crunching into a carrot.

Dan chewed and swallowed another bite. &#8220;I guess shouldn&#8217;t have said that. The President didn&#8217;t invent welfare; it just seems sometimes he has perfected it for the slackers. Did you know our country has actually had an assistance program since the very beginning? Originally it was the British Poor Laws. They made a distinction between those who couldn&#8217;t work as opposed to the unemployed. It continued after our nation was formed. There were different programs throughout the years. Franklin Roosevelt and Bill Clinton&#8217;s administrations seemed to really emphasize it and made much more visible changes.&#8221; Dan looked at the glazed looks around the table. &#8220;Sorry, I didn&#8217;t mean to slip into lecture mode. But if you can tune in for just a moment, I&#8217;d like you to think about this. The welfare system has grown over the years and I don&#8217;t remember any years we have had a one party system. And how many politicians from either side have you ever heard campaigning that want to raise taxes, yet taxes always go up regardless of who gets in; especially the indirect taxes.&#8221; Dan stopped, took a drink of his milk, and popped a radish in his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, &#8220;But saying that, doesn&#8217;t mean I think the current occupant of the oval office isn&#8217;t doing everything within his power to appease his voting bloc.&#8221; 

Fred, one of the guys further down the table guffawed. &#8220;Thanks for the lesson professor, but the only welfare I can think of this week is if the Seahawks lay down for Peyton Manning since it&#8217;s his final game. The way they played two years ago, well, you all saw it. So it would take welfare to the old guy from the Seahawks for Denver to stand a chance.

Larry held up a piece of poster board with &#8220;Broncos&#8221; printed across the top and &#8220;Seahawks&#8221; down the side. The rest of board was in a grid, most of the squares had people&#8217;s names written in them. &#8220;There&#8217;re still some squares left. We need to fill it up and pick numbers today so I can have all of you guy&#8217;s money on Monday. And I for one hope Peyton doesn&#8217;t lay an egg like last time. Since this is his last game, I want to see him go out a winner.&#8221;

The hype for the upcoming Super Bowl 50 had been going at a fever pitch. The game was getting even more hype than normal, being the fiftieth meeting, the first super bowl in the new Levi&#8217;s stadium in San Francisco, and the final game of one of football&#8217;s all-time greats. Peyton Manning was finishing his celebrated career back in the ultimate game of the sport. Coupled with that, his Denver Bronco team was matched up against the Seattle Seahawks, the team that had embarrassed them so thoroughly two years earlier. Manning was making assurances that this time around the game would be different; he wouldn&#8217;t put up two interceptions. Richard Sherman of the Seahawks countered that Manning better get ready to be hit hard and often, and it would more likely be three or four picks. And it went on and on.

&#8220;Did I tell you about my busted vacuum cleaner?&#8221; Fred asked. &#8220;It hadn&#8217;t been working, but I put a Denver Broncos bumper sticker on it right after that Super Bowl and it started sucking again.&#8221; The joke was met with hearty laughs from the Seahawks fans and a thrown paper towel from Larry.

&#8220;So what do you think Jackson&#8217;s up to now?&#8221; Fred asked. &#8220;Man, can you believe that guy&#8217;s luck? He not only has one hot babe for a wife, but her old man takes him to the game. I&#8217;d love it if my father in law took me to the game.&#8221;

&#8220;He&#8217;s probably at a party about now,&#8221; Larry said. &#8220;I&#8217;d like to be there too, but not necessarily with my father in Law. I saw a story online about all the call girls that are flocking into Frisco for this. There are thousands of them. They generate as much money as all of the other activities combined according to the article.&#8221; His phone chirped and he pulled it out of his pocket and pulled up the message and started reading. &#8220;Well that son of a . . .here, look at this.&#8221; He handed the phone to Fred. 

The screen showed a photo of the front of the Fairmont San Francisco, a luxury hotel in Frisco. &#8220;Now look at the next picture.&#8221; There was another photo of a large ballroom, a buffet table set up on one side and people everywhere eating, drinking and apparently having a great time. The attire of the party goers was immaculate. A short note accompanied the photos. &#8220;Hey guys, I&#8217;d be lying if I said I missed you, LOL. I&#8217;ll put a lot more stuff on my Facebook page when I can. And Larry, that article you told me about, well it&#8217;s true, and man some of them look incredible. Have fun at the shop. Sean.&#8221;

The phone was passed around the table, everyone getting a chance to see the pictures and the note. It was accompanied by a lot more grumbling about how lucky Sean Jackson was to be there for the game. 

&#8220;So get your money out guys, we have to fill this board up,&#8221; Larry said. He started needling each person to pony up. &#8220;What about you Dan, I don&#8217;t see your name on this anywhere. Or do the Amish do things like this?&#8221; 

Dan looked at the poster board. &#8220;No, I&#8217;m sure this is forbidden.&#8221; He tried to keep a straight face while he was talking. &#8220;So how did you say this thing works anyway?&#8221; His lips curled in a slight grin at the look Larry shot him. 

&#8220;You know dang well how this works; now get out your wallet.&#8221; 

Dan took out a dollar. &#8220;Okay, I&#8217;ll take one square.&#8221;

&#8220;Just one, come on man. You can do better than that. Are you even going to watch the game?&#8221;

&#8220;Of course not. You know we Amish don&#8217;t have electricity or televisions.&#8221; 

Larry thought anyone that grew his own food had to be Amish, an idea Dan hadn&#8217;t discouraged, in fact he encouraged it. Larry seemed to miss the fact that Dan had most of the same modern conveniences everyone else in the shop had. Dan handed his dollar to Larry and signed his name on a square.

&#8220;So, are you even going to watch the game?&#8221; Matt asked Dan.

&#8220;I might see some of it after I finish up outside, but it&#8217;s not going to be the focus of the day. I&#8217;m going to get a bunch of trays started in the greenhouse. It&#8217;s about time to start a lot of the seeds so the plants will be ready to put out when the weather warms up. Then I need to turn the compost pile and clean the chicken house. By the time that&#8217;s all done, I&#8217;ll probably have a beer or two and watch some of the game.&#8221;

&#8220;Man, you are so bizarre,&#8221; Fred said, shaking his head. The thought of missing the Super Bowl was sacrilegious in his view.

*****​
Sean Jackson laughed at his message, thinking how it would irritate the guys back at the shop. He slipped his phone into his pocket and surveyed the ballroom. He found it hard to believe that he was really there. In the Fairmont Hotel, leading up to the greatest sporting event known. He nearly pinched himself to make sure it wasn&#8217;t a dream. He would have a quick lunch then take a nap before going back for more food and drink. San Francisco was alive with activity. Parties would go non-stop up until everything was complete and the crowds started returning home Monday morning. There would be food like he had never eaten before, booze, and yes Larry, women, although he wouldn&#8217;t indulge in that activity. 

The air in the room was alive with noise, and Sean could hear numerous languages being spoken. The game had become a world event. Judging by what he heard and the appearances of many of the people, numerous countries were in evidence just in this one room. He had read that the game was being broadcast to nearly two hundred countries and most of them had their own crew on location. It was staggering, and he was right there for it. He was grateful to his father in law; other than his marriage and the birth of his children, this was the most incredible thing he had ever experienced. He couldn&#8217;t imagine anything the rest of his life that would be more monumental.

Sean couldn&#8217;t keep the smile off his face as he moved through the crowd toward the buffet. A serving man in a white shirt brushed against him, the sweat soaking through the man&#8217;s shirt. Sean glanced at the man, his face in a fierce scowl as he maneuvered through the assemblage. &#8220;That guy doesn&#8217;t look too happy to be here,&#8221; a man near Sean said. He had also been brushed when the serving man went through. 

Sean agreed and continued to make his way to the food. The delicious aromas were enough to make his mouth water. The server ambled through the crowded room, brushing against numerous people as he took their empty glasses and plates. 

Abdul Mueed left the ballroom with his tray full of dirty dishes. Once out of sight of the revelers, his face contorted in pain. His head was pounding and he had a raging fever. He coughed onto the tray, bits of spittle landing everywhere. The wall supported him; he was so weak; he closed his eyes and asked Allah for the strength to complete his mission. 

The attack was happening throughout the unaware city. Mueed had accessed the hotel&#8217;s ventilation system and released the contents of an aerosol can into the system. He had two more of the cans and would release one each day. The other phase of the attack was direct contact with the infidels. 

Mueed felt satisfaction mixed with revulsion. The injection he and the other faithful in the decadent city had been given was obviously at work. His fever was increasing as the day went on, his sweating increasing. The coughs were more frequent and he was having muscle tremors along with the fatigue. It was working through his body, now it needed to spread to the infidels as they had been assured. The results on his own body satisfied him that it would spread; Almighty Allah would use him to dispense death upon the unbelievers. The faithful had been told that although it would spread best through body fluids, some spread would happen through the air.

Yet he was revolted. He had to look at their faces and bow and scrape as a servant. Each time he held his hand out to one of them, his muscles tensed and he longed for his knife to wipe the smiles from their faces while he cut their throats. He was even more revolted by the women. They were all shameless, putting their bodies on display for all to see. He longed to see their eyes as he had seen that other woman&#8217;s eyes at the moment of recognition. The look of the dying.

He had refused the order to bed as many of the prostitutes as he was able. It didn&#8217;t matter how well the virus would spread in that method, he would not lower himself to perform such acts. That the virus would spread more readily wasn&#8217;t enough. He would not be able to stand before Allah with that shame. He knew others did not share his views and were relishing the opportunities. He remembered the harlot&#8217;s eyes again and shuddered in pleasure. If they only knew he was delivering their death, if he could see it in their eyes he would relent. But he had seen the lifeless eyes of the whores when they came from a room, their bags tight with cash. No, they would not know he had killed them. 

His body surged with newfound strength; Almighty Allah had granted his request. He carried his tray through the swinging doors and set it down near the others and reached for a new tray, stacked with clean plates. Mindful of watchers, he coughed into the arranged plates, glasses and silverware without being obvious. Small particles of spittle flew with each cough, adhering to the utensils. Mueed coughed once more and returned to the ballroom. His hands and forehead glistened with perspiration as he worked through the crowded room.


Note: When I was drafting this story idea in my head, I came up with this super bowl idea, thinking it would lend some intrigue and the Denver - Seattle match up had a possibility of actually happening. Now I see after Denver lost last weekend, Manning is considering his future now. If he makes the wrong decision (for my story) this chapter and the next chapter will be wrong, so if that happens, please bear with me, I won&#8217;t rewrite until the full story is complete. I guess I never considered them canning the coach and Manning looking around.
Bret

BTW: My incredibly excellent reviewer thinks I should change it for the Seahawks going for a three-peat. I told her I don&#8217;t write fantasy. I haven&#8217;t heard back.:sing: If you have a problem with that, take it up with her. I live halfway between these two teams, but don&#8217;t follow either. I&#8217;m into college football and the bowl game I cared about turned out right, although my fingernails are down to the nubs. (And that was listening on the radio).


----------



## Lilith

Bret, great story so far! on the football front, I know you don't write fiction and all - so you could place another infected terrorist at a Tostitios bowl three peat and not even stretch the imagination


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## manygoatsnmore

Now, we'll just have to wait a few more weeks to see if you'd be writing fantasy, lol! I'll try to get that next chapter back to you ASAP - these folks don't want to wait, I'm sure. 

Check your email, Bret - sent you back the next chapter. And I'm still pulling for that three-peat, lol! I'm not a huge football fan, but most of my friends are, so I can't help but follow the Seahawks. Rooted for Oregon in the Rose Bowl successfully, even if they didn't win the new championship game! I'm really more a Wazzu fan, but they don't seem to make it to the big games, lol.


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## sniper69

Thanks for the chapters Bret, it is starting out as a very good read (as I'm sure the whole story will be). Again, thank you.


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## Ozarks Tom

Bret, are you sure you're writing fiction?


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## manygoatsnmore

Hey, Bret! Seahawks are going to the Super Bowl again....I still see a three-peat possibility!!!! :sing:


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## Bret F

*Thank you everyone. *
Lilith, I&#8217;m sure the scenario would work there or anywhere else where a lot of people congregate and breathe recirculated air. But I sure hope it never happens anywhere. One place with a lot of people where it wouldn&#8217;t be as effective would be the track, so you can breathe easy.

Sniper, Thank you very much, I appreciate it.

Tom, man I hope it&#8217;s fiction, but based on a lot of true events. I read a report on something similar years ago and it stuck with me ever since. 

MGM, I guess if I have to re-write, a three-peat by the Seahawks is as good a reason as any.

And thanks again to MGM for her incredible editing skills. This wouldn&#8217;t read near as well without her underpaid assistance. 

*The Ashen Horse Chapter 4*

Sean Jackson entered Levi&#8217;s Stadium and stepped out of the throng to look around. He had stayed up later than normal the night before and had a few more drinks than he was used to and the results were obvious. Although not a full hangover, he was feeling the effects of the previous night nonetheless. But it couldn&#8217;t dampen his spirits for being there.

_The Super Bowl! I&#8217;m at the Super Bowl, number fifty_! The smile that had been present since the shuttle dropped them at the stadium broadened further. He pulled his phone out and snapped a picture. He would send it to a few of the guys at home after he got to his seat. Ernie, his wife&#8217;s father was waiting at the side of the crowd for him. &#8220;Hey Ernie, I&#8217;m going to look around the stadium a bit before I sit down,&#8221; Sean said.

&#8220;All right, you go ahead. I&#8217;ll find the seats and meet you there,&#8221; Ernie said.

Sean worked through the crowd taking in everything like a kid in a candy store. It was still hard to believe he was actually there. Finally, he decided he had better get to his seat.

Ernie stood up and waved to him when he made it to the section where they would sit. Sean waved back then worked his way to the seat. He settled into it with a loud sigh. Ernie held out a large cup of beer to him. &#8220;Hair of the dog, my boy. This will fix what ails you.&#8221;

Sean wasn&#8217;t sure, but he took the cup &#8211; Ernie was footing the bill for this experience after all &#8211; and held it up. &#8220;Thanks Ern. This is incredible. I don&#8217;t know what to say, this is the most amazing day in my life.&#8221;

Despite Sean&#8217;s protests, Ernie furnished beer throughout the first half. _Man, I better slow down on this; I&#8217;m feeling kind of woozy_. And his body wouldn&#8217;t let him remain in his seat to watch the half time show. _Man, this sucks, the half-time show is almost as important as the game. _When the last play of the first half was finished, he told Ernie he was headed for the can. &#8220;Do you need anything&#8221;?&#8221; he asked. 

Ernie laughed at him. I don&#8217;t think you can drain my bladder remotely, so I&#8217;m going with you,&#8221; he said and stood up and followed Sean down the aisle.

There were many more people that had drunk too much to sit through the half-time show- or just weren&#8217;t interested in the entertainment. The line was long and Sean was starting to wonder if he should have waited for the game to start again. He was feeling tired, more than normal and he berated himself for staying out too late the previous evening. _What was I thinking_? He forgot that line of thought when his phone chirped in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the name, grinned, and accepted the call.

&#8220;Larry, what are you doing buddy, isn&#8217;t it past your bedtime?&#8221; Sean said.

&#8220;Yeah man, right, I&#8217;m in bed. So come on, tell me what it&#8217;s like there dude.&#8221;

&#8220;It&#8217;s incredible, but I may have imbibed just a bit too much last night. The hotel had parties going on everywhere. I&#8217;m kind of tired, but at the same time, it&#8217;s all such a rush. I&#8217;ll probably crash big time on the way home.&#8221;

They chatted more as Sean made his way to the urinals, Larry wanting to know all the details of the game, the stadium, the spectators. &#8220;Okay man, my turn to take a leak. I&#8217;ll catch you later,&#8221; Sean said and pocketed the phone. 

He took his spot and despite his best efforts not to, couldn&#8217;t help but listen to the man bragging at the next urinal. &#8220;Man, you should have seen the woman I was with last night. That chick was incredible; the things she could do. I wanted to go for two rounds but she was booked with somebody else.&#8221; The man appeared to be talking to a friend beside him, but was making sure everyone heard.

Sean shook his head to himself as he finished up and went to the sinks. Yes, the women were gorgeous, but still, he didn&#8217;t need to mess around with one.

The rest of the game seemed to go by in a fast paced blur. Peyton Manning failed to live up to his pre-game boasts. Instead he played like a guy ready to retire; a bit slow on the scrambles, a little less zing on his passes. Sean was reluctant to leave his seat when it was over. He felt in his heart that this experience was one of those once in a lifetime moments. He stood up and gazed over the stadium one more time before following Ernie toward the exit.

The festivities at the hotel were even more lively than they had been before the game. The energy from the game had transferred with the people. Sean had considered a nap; he was tired, but one look at the ballroom was all it took to reenergize him. He went to his room and changed clothes as fast as he could and went back to the party. He could always sleep when he got home after all.

He stood at the entrance to the ballroom and surveyed the crowd. _Man, I could get used to living like this. Don&#8217;t think it will happen though unless I win the lottery. So I better take advantage of it this time._ 

Sean got a drink and began to mingle with others in the crowded room. There was such an energized feeling in the room, Sean&#8217;s fatigue melted as he was swept up by it. As he was talking to a man, reliving the game and some memorable plays, the surly serving man stopped in front of them. &#8220;Can I take your glasses?&#8221; he asked in rough English. He said it with a glare for each man, making direct eye contact. Sean couldn&#8217;t describe the look the man shot at him. In a way it was taunting and defiant. It also gave him the impression of loathing. Sean broke eye contact and passed his glass to the man.

After Abdul Mueed walked away, one man said, &#8220;Man that guy has some kind of attitude. He ought to be packed up on the first bus back to Mexico if that&#8217;s how he likes working. You&#8217;d think he would be more appreciative to have a paying job. I&#8217;ll bet he&#8217;s getting paid under the table too and won&#8217;t pay any taxes.&#8221;

&#8220;Well put yourself in his shoes,&#8221; another man said. &#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t you hate to be working now when everybody else is having a good time? They probably had to work through the game too, getting everything ready. And just look at him; it&#8217;s obvious he&#8217;s been busting his butt. He&#8217;s sweating like a whore in church. And thinking of that, if you&#8217;ll excuse me gentlemen.&#8221; The man started walking to a well-made up woman that was displaying a lot of flesh. 

The other man with Sean followed the man&#8217;s line to the woman in question. &#8220;She does look good, I&#8217;ll admit, but I think she has more paint on her than my house does.&#8221; 

Sean chuckled but stopped when he saw the server pass the woman. The look in his eyes was intense; and he wasn&#8217;t admiring all the skin on display like most of the men and a few women in the room. Sean could only think of it as pure murderous hatred. _Somebody needs to keep an eye on that guy._

*****​
It had been a long time since Sean had pulled an all-nighter. He glanced at his watch; it was nearly four in the morning and the festivities were still going strong. Hours after the game had finished, the room still held a raw energy, like it was electrically charged. But he was feeling fatigue, despite the energy. He glanced at his watch again. Ernie had left the party hours earlier. A wake up call was set up for his room in a little over an hour. Ernie had arranged for an early flight so he would be home in time to put in a half day at the office. Sean had no such inclination. He would get home and crash while Sharon and the kids were at work and school respectively. If he were to go into the shop, it would be at the end of the day so he could tell Larry and the rest of the guys about the whole experience. 

Sean swirled the glass in his hand, making the ice and liquid spin around, raised the glass and drained it. He went to the exit with unsteady steps, set the glass on the table just inside the door, and turned to survey the room for a last time. It was with regret when he peeled himself away and left the room, headed for the elevators.

The mirror was fogged over when Sean stepped out of the shower. He debated skipping shaving but decided he better do it. If he made it home looking like he had just returned from a four day binge, something not far from the truth, it would be a long time before Sharon gave her blessing for him to do anything like that again. He wiped the mirror and looked through blood-shot eyes at his reflection while he shaved. He was brushing his teeth when the phone rang with the wake-up call. 

He finished getting ready and packed and checked his watch. There was a little while before Ernie would be ready to go. Ho could catch a little sleep; he certainly needed that. Or, better yet, he could update his Facebook page while everything was still fresh in his mind. Sleep would have to wait. He hoped that like him, his Facebook friends would check their pages soon after the got up. He couldn&#8217;t keep the smile off his face while he was getting his laptop out of his bag. He opened the cover and pushed the power button. When it was ready, he entered the Wi-Fi code and was deep into his narrative on the game and parties when Ernie knocked on his door. He logged off with regret, wishing he could see everyone&#8217;s faces when they read his posts.

The airport shuttle was full when it pulled away from the hotel. Sean had been concerned about getting a seat when he saw the number of people waiting. Ernie explained that he had reserved their places for the ride, having experienced the situation before. Sean sat beside a man in a Broncos coat that seemed down, quite understandable Sean thought, for the way the game had turned out. The man didn&#8217;t want to talk, so Sean opened his program from the game. He hadn&#8217;t done more than glance at it before, he had been so caught up in the atmosphere of the game and celebrations.

He was deep into it when Ernie nudged him from behind. &#8220;Look at that Sean. I&#8217;ve gone through here a lot of times and never seen it like that before.&#8221; They were going past the International concourse of San Francisco International Airport. It was packed with taxis and shuttles. &#8220;It looks like our game has gone international big time.&#8221; People were thick at the entries; the baggage handlers filling one cart and jumping to help the next person. It reminded Sean of Black Friday at a Walmart.

The shuttle stops had been pre-arranged at the hotel. It went past the international terminal and terminal one, which had the flights to the east coast region. Instead it stopped at the entrances to terminal two with the flights to the mid-section of the country. About half of the van emptied. Sean welcomed the change. It had been tight and stuffy in the van and the open door allowed him to breathe easier for a while. And he welcomed the extra room, although his seat mate remained in the van. The driver got back in and drove to terminal three. The planes to the intermountain west region all flew out of that terminal. The rest of the van was emptied at that stop. Again Sean thought of a black Friday event because of all the people and baggage. There were so many people, it was impossible not to bump into others. Their baggage was taken care of and they went through the terminal to the line at security. He lamented the days before 9-1-1 when it was so fast to get through. Not that he had flown much, but on the rare occasion he had, it had been fast. This however, made him wish he had hit the restroom before getting in line. He had a few choice thoughts for the terrorists and was happy they had been dealt with. By the time he and Ernie made it to the scanners, he was afraid his full bladder was going to evoke suspicion if he couldn&#8217;t stand still. He didn&#8217;t want to stand around any longer for further scrutiny. _Man, I knew I shouldn&#8217;t have had that last two or three drinks._ He was relieved when he made it through and got his shoes back on and headed for the toilet. 

The restrooms were nearly as full as the rest of the airport. Most of the early travelers must have been drinking a lot of coffee, or judging from appearances, spent the night partying like he had. He was getting irritated at the guys ahead of him, but when it was his tune, he savored the release. He felt the relief through his entire body and exhaled deeply with the feeling.

*****​
Sean settled into his seat, impatient for the plane to get in the air so he could lay the seat back and close his eyes. His hand was adjusting the air in his direction when coughing in the seat behind him changed his mind. Instead, he closed the air off. _Man, just what I need some guy with a cold or something. The way the air circulates in these tin cans, he&#8217;ll expose everybody on this thing to it before we get off. What a butt head. Jeez, I hope I don&#8217;t catch it. I used the rest of my vacation time on this trip. _He closed his eyes and was soon asleep without laying the seat back.

Ernie nudged Sean again. &#8220;Hey Son, you want to Detroit, or do you want to get off this one and go home with me. 

Sean felt like his head was in a bucket of mud. &#8220;Huh? Ernie?&#8221; he asked trying to focus. 
Ernie chuckled. &#8220;Come on Son. We&#8217;re in Salt Lake City. We have to get off this plane and get on another one. Unless you want to go with this one to Detroit. But if you do, you explain it to my daughter and don&#8217;t plan on me taking you to another game. Although, I might take you on a hunting trip.&#8221; 

There was a message in what Ernie said that sunk through. &#8220;Yeah, I&#8217;m coming. I was just really out of it.&#8221; He got out of his seat and followed the rest of the departing passengers up the aisle. Once in the concourse, he followed the crowd to the monitors. He was rubbing his eyes when Ernie told him which gate they would leave from. Most the people from their flight scattered in different directions, just two going to the same gate as Sean and Ernie.

Sean and Ernie had a short layover before they could board for their next flight. They settled into seats near the televisions. &#8220;Did you hear the guy behind me on the plane?&#8221; Sean asked. &#8220;That guy was hacking his lungs out. I&#8217;ll bet he spread his crud to everybody on that plane. You know, I hate all of the security we have to go through to fly now, but I guess we&#8217;re stuck with it. But since they have it, wouldn&#8217;t it be nice if they could watch for people with the flu or colds. Keep those people off before they could infect everyone else on the flight.&#8221; Sean had no way to know how prophetic his idea was; that within a month health screenings would be a part of the security process at airports. He also didn&#8217;t know how short lived the new mandate would be.

They boarded their plane and Sean didn&#8217;t even bother with the air before he fell asleep. The next thing he knew, Ernie was shaking his shoulder to exit the plane. 

Ernie dropped Sean off at his house; he had driven his car to the airport and left it in long term parking. Sean thanked him again and took his bag and went into the house. He glanced at his watch and thought about Larry and the rest of the guys at the shop. They still had to work quite a while. Maybe he would go to the shop at quitting time to tell him about the game and everything else. Or maybe not. He stretched out on the couch and was still there asleep hours later when his Sharon and kids came through the doorway.

&#8220;Daddy, you&#8217;re home,&#8221; his youngest daughter Katy squealed. She ran to him and wrapped him in a hug just as he was sitting up. The force almost knocked him back down. &#8220;We missed you a lot Daddy. Did you miss us? Did you have a good time?&#8221;

&#8220;Of course I missed you guys. I had a good time but it would have been an even better time if you would have been with me.&#8221; He extricated himself from the eight year old and stood up and hugged his wife and his fifteen year old daughter Jessica. He dismissed the idea of going to the shop; he would have a lot of time to tell the guys about it. This was something better than bragging.

Dinner was ham with macaroni and cheese, a staple item with children in the house. He thought how different it was from what he had been eating the last few days and savored every bite. And he savored every moment back with the family. It had been incredible to go to the game and attend the festivities, but that was a different world. This was real. After dinner was cleaned up and the kids sent to bed, Sean and his wife followed suit. They took the time to show just how much they had missed the other.


----------



## Backyardcreek

I've truly enjoyed your short stories. Just stumbled upon your recent stories (2014 to current entries).

You possess a talent that I appreciate every time I read them. Don't know what your 'real' life career is but you certainly have a gift in storytelling.

Btw do you have a Facebook page or other social media that you also contribute stories to? Are you compensated for your writings in anyway? I'm not wealthy but I do feel that I should contribute in some manner towards your talent


----------



## Bret F

Backyardcreek, thank you for the incredible comments. "Compensation" you just did it!:ashamed:

I don't post on social media; a friend tells me I should but I haven't ventured there. 

I just work 8 hours each day and fit this hobby in when I can. It's up to a higher power if anything ever gets published. If it happens, I've heard that good reviews from readers help. But until that day comes, if it ever does, your positive comments will do.


----------



## Bret F

Many thanks to Manygoatsmore for the excellent editing of this story.

*Chapter 5* 

Dan Smoke unlocked the shop door, stepped inside the building and shivered. Despite spending most of Sunday working in his green house, it was still winter, and the thermometer was just above zero that morning. He would like to see the plants start growing right away, but Mother Nature controlled that. He could cheat a little by planting the seeds inside, but unless he added constant heat and lights, he would have to wait until the soil and seeds were ready. 

The shop flooded with light when he flicked the light switches on. He slid the thermostat on the heater a little higher and started the air compressor before going into the break room. After the coffee was started, Dan put his lunch bag in the refrigerator. Then he went back into the cold, got the newspaper and tossed it on the break table. He hung his coat and hat and sat down with the paper spread out in front of him, waiting impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing. 

The door opened and Matt walked in. He was wiping his nose, running from the walk in the freezing temperatures from his car to the shop. &#8220;Hey, Dan. Man, it&#8217;s a cold one this morning. I&#8217;m ready for some hot coffee,&#8221; he said. The coffee maker had just finished dripping so he started the second pot and filled his and Dan&#8217;s cups from the full carafe. He pushed Dan&#8217;s cup across the table towards him. &#8220;You got any of that toxic milk in your lunch?&#8221; he asked. He had long ago figured out the fresh milk tasted better in his coffee than the powdered creamer. 

&#8220;You know where it is,&#8221; Dan said, suppressing a grin. After Matt had started to use it, Lisa had begun putting an extra pint in Dan&#8217;s lunch just for the guys' coffee. Three of them now used the milk, but Matt never failed to mention the hazards of raw milk. Matt doctored his coffee and took a seat across from Dan, who slid the sports section across the table. 

More of the crew filtered in, filling coffee cups and sharing the newspaper between them. They all stopped and looked up when Sean entered the room, greeting everyone in a loud voice. &#8220;Guys, did you miss me more than I missed this place?&#8221;

Greetings were given, and Sean took the laptop from under his arm and set it up on the counter. &#8220;I made you guys a slide show. Man that was such an incredible experience.&#8221; He continued to ramble on while the computer was booting up. It was just ready for Sean to find the pictures when the door to the office opened, and Lee, the shop boss, joined them.

&#8220;Nice of you to join us, Sean. I know you&#8217;ve got lots of stories to tell, but it&#8217;s time to get to work. You can tell them all about it at break and lunch time,&#8221; Lee said. He stood in his doorway, making sure everyone left the room to start work, grumbling or not. Although he liked watching football, he didn&#8217;t like what it did to production. If all the time lost talking about the game before and after was tallied, Lee felt the loss added up to not just hours, but days. His reasoning was verified by the amount of completed product going out the back door. 

Dan watched Lee shadow Sean and felt conflict. On the one hand, he was sympathetic to his fellow shop workers. Yet on the other hand, it ticked him off to see guys loaf on the clock. To Dan, that was stealing, and he could not condone it.

The lunch room was packed soon after the whistle blew for break. It seemed everyone wanted to hear Sean&#8217;s stories and see his pictures. Even the guys that usually spent most of break time outside, smoking, had just taken a few quick puffs and then joined the group elbowing for position to see the laptop&#8217;s screen. Seeing that the view was obscured to a lot of people, Sean put the computer on top of the refrigerator for better viewing and continued with his narrative. He loved every minute of it, getting to share the once in a lifetime experience with everyone. The room was stuffy with so many bodies inside, and Dan was relieved to get back to work when break was over. 

Sean assured everyone he would show the rest during lunch. A group lingered beyond break time, deciding to call for a lunch time pizza delivery. They never packed anything for lunch, always going out or ordering in food.


*****​
Dan was even happier to get out of the break room after lunch. Despite the freezing outdoor temperature, the break room had become stifling with everyone there. Even the office staff joined in to hear Sean&#8217;s story. Dan put his gear back on and started working, his mind not on the pieces of steel in front of him. _That blows me away, how much Sean&#8217;s father-in&#8211;law spent on one long weekend for them. I swear I could buy a small farm for what he spent and wouldn&#8217;t have to weld all day. Not that I don&#8217;t like to watch an occasional game, but seriously? Spend that kind of money to watch grown men play a game? I just don&#8217;t get it._ 

Dan didn&#8217;t waste any time getting out of the shop at the end of the day. He couldn&#8217;t shake his thoughts about the money that had changed hands over the weekend. He amended his earlier thought. The money Ernie had spent just might buy a decent sized farm if he went far enough out of town. He shook his head in dismay. His modest home had never looked better than it did when he pulled his car into the driveway.

Lisa was sitting on the couch when Dan went into the house, Alison and Brooke, their four year old twins, on each side of her. She had been reading to them and helping them sound out words. &#8220;Daddy,&#8221; they both squealed in unison and ran to welcome him home.

&#8220;Hey Dad,&#8221; their son Chad said. He was at the table with books and notebooks spread out. He glanced at his mom and when she nodded he started putting everything away. She usually let him stop schoolwork when his dad got home from work. He glanced at his dad while he was stacking his stuff, &#8220;Guess what, Dad? We got together with the other homeschoolers today and Will showed me something cool. The work we&#8217;re doing is the same as the ninth graders in the regular school. Can you believe I&#8217;m so far ahead of them; doing ninth grade work when I&#8217;m only in sixth grade? Public school must be so easy!&#8221;

Dan and Lisa had decided she would homeschool the kids rather than send them to public schools. Once the federal government had started mandating things, they had decided the kids wouldn&#8217;t be taught to think, they&#8217;d just be taught to pass certain tests. Stories of schools altering test results for &#8220;No Child Left Behind&#8221; reinforced their thinking. Chad was eleven and was doing very well with the tougher curriculum. The homeschooling was one more reason Larry thought Dan was Amish.

Instead of answering Chad, Dan knelt and hugged the two squirming girls, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. Then he stood up, walked to the table and rested his hand on his son&#8217;s shoulder. &#8220;That&#8217;s great buddy. I knew you could do more advanced work than the school kids do. So what did you guys do with the homeschool group today besides talk about curriculum?&#8221;

&#8220;It was physical education day. Since it was so cold, we met at the Y and had to swim laps. Then we had some gym time.&#8221; 

&#8220;Sounds like a fun time. I wish I could&#8217;ve been with you instead of working,&#8221; Dan said and gave Chad&#8217;s shoulder a squeeze. Lisa had come to the table and gave Dan a hug and kiss. &#8220;I missed that, too,&#8221; he said and kissed her again. 

&#8220;Eww,&#8221; the twins said in unison. Lisa had been teaching them about germs. 

Dan tussled their curly hair and said, &#8220;Remember to keep that opinion when you&#8217;re teenagers. 

"Chad, after you take care of the chickens, I&#8217;d like you to give the cows their hay while I milk. I don&#8217;t want to stay out in the cold any longer than I have to.&#8221; 

&#8220;Sure, Dad, and yes, I&#8217;ll take hot water down to the chickens. The water I gave them this morning has probably frozen by now.&#8221; Chad had been taking care of the chickens for years, selling the extra eggs when they were available. For two years, with his dad&#8217;s help, he had raised and sold pullets. 

&#8220;Thank Bud. I appreciate the help.&#8221; 

Dan was happy to have the chores done and stood close to the wood stove, savoring the radiant heat. The aromas from the kitchen were making his mouth water. Lisa called him and the kids to wash and then to the table. Dan looked at the faces around him and listened to their stories of the day. He loved them more than anything. He thought of the opportunities he had missed out on with Mateo; what it would have been like. But then again if things had been different, he wouldn&#8217;t be here with Lisa and the kids. As the saying goes, you can&#8217;t have your cake and eat it too. He tuned back in to Brooke talking about swimming and racing with Alison and kids in the homeschool group. He soon zoned out again, thinking about the money Ernie had spent and how nice it would be to have a small farm in the middle of nowhere. 

*****​
Sean Jackson&#8217;s cell phone chirped, so he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. &#8220;Dang, I think I&#8217;m going to have to leave,&#8221; he said. He answered the phone and listened more than he talked. &#8220;Yup guys, I&#8217;ve got to hit it. Sharon&#8217;s working late, and I need to get Jessica from basketball practice. District tournament starts Thursday and I expect to see you all at her game." Sean was at the shop&#8217;s favorite watering hole, continuing to tell anyone who would listen about the game experience. He drained the rest of the beer in his glass in a single swallow and pushed the glass across the bar, then stood and pulled his coat on. &#8220;See you guys tomorrow.&#8221;

Sean went into the cold and got into his car, starting for Jessica&#8217;s school. He wished again that he had seat warmers. It had felt good to have at least part of his body warm before the car had heated up when Ernie had dropped him off the previous day. 

A shadow moved behind a window when Sean pulled up to the school and the door opened. Jessica ran out. Her hair was wet from showering, and she didn&#8217;t waste any time getting into the car. &#8220;Hi, Hon. How was practice today in the big league?&#8221; Jessica had been on the junior varsity team all season, and their season had ended the week before. The league rules allowed the varsity team to add two players from the JV squad for a little deeper bench at tournament time. 

&#8220;It was a good practice, but I don&#8217;t think I&#8217;ll see any play time in the game unless it&#8217;s a blowout. They&#8217;re really good, a lot better than me. But they were really nice. When practice was over, they told me I did a good job and hugged me. They didn&#8217;t even mind that I was all sweaty.&#8221;

&#8220;You&#8217;ll get there,&#8221; Sean said. &#8220;They just have a lot more experience than you do.&#8221;

Jessica grunted something in response. She had her phone out and was texting her friends, sharing a lot more information with them than she did with her dad. He wouldn&#8217;t have wanted to hear the gossip anyway. 

*****​
&#8220;Housekeeping,&#8221; the young woman said after knocking on the door. When there was no response, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The blinds were drawn and little light was coming from the window. There was an odd odor in the room that she couldn&#8217;t place. That wasn&#8217;t unusual however. Maria was used to odd smells in the rooms. The motel didn&#8217;t attract the top level of travelers. In fact, it tended to attract the bottom level, the ones that paid with cash and wanted to be unseen. She thought the man occupying this room fit that category. He had been there for more than a week and had the &#8220;Do Not Disturb&#8221; sign out the entire time. She wasn&#8217;t looking forward to what she might find in the room. 

She didn&#8217;t mind the fact that most of the customers used cash. It was beneficial for her to work strictly with cash, also. She flipped the light switch on and stepped deeper into the room. The single bare bulb didn&#8217;t light the entire room, but it did light up the entryway and cast some light on the bed. &#8220;Sir,&#8221; she said when she saw the shape on the bed. &#8220;It&#8217;s check out time. You need to leave sir, or go to the registration desk and make arrangements to stay longer.&#8221; Again there was no response, so she stepped closer to the bed. She shook the man under the covers and spoke again. &#8220;Sir, it&#8217;s checkout time. You need to leave or make arrangements with the desk clerk.&#8221; She got an uneasy feeling when he lay still.

Maria went around the bed to the window and opened the blinds wide. Light flooded the room and she could see the black hair of the man&#8217;s head. Grasping his shoulder through the sheet, she shook him again and spoke louder with the same results. She shook harder, and moisture seeped through the sheet onto her hand. She looked down at her hand, then pulled the sheet back to expose the man&#8217;s torso. She gasped and jumped backwards, hitting the window. She continued to gasp, drawing breath made all the worse since the odor had intensified. Abdul Mueed wasn&#8217;t breathing, and his body was covered in lesions, oozing bloody fluid onto the bedding. More blood had drained from his mouth. His face was a grimace of pain under the lesions. 

&#8220;Madre de Dios,&#8221; Maria whispered. She was rubbing her hands on her pants, trying to remove whatever it was that was on them. She crossed herself and ran for the office. Mueed would have smiled had he been able; if he could have seen her eyes, filled with raw terror.


----------



## stickinthemud

Aaaaaagh---yucch, sounds like things are about to get ugly! Good story! Thanks, Bret (& Manygoats)!!


----------



## Bret F

Thank you very much Stick. You just might be right. 

Sunday, I was at my parents and doing a chapter 3 & 4 re-write in my head to get MGMâs three-peat in, since the game was Seattleâs to lose at the end. Then they managed to do just that of course, and saved me the trouble. Oh well MGM, maybe next year.

Thanks again everyone and special thanks to MGM for her great work editing and cleaning up my writing.

Chapter 6

It had been a tough day at work and Dan was glad to be winding down and getting ready for bed. Lee had pushed them hard, trying to make up for the time that had been lost while everyone had talked football for the past few days. Dan was sure there had been a lot of grumbling at the watering hole that evening. Lee had taken Sean aside and explained that he had turned a blind eye for part of the previous day to let him share his experience, but now it was work time. He seemed to be all over the shop, and wasnât even carrying his coffee cup. If his tone and presence didnât say he was serious, the empty left hand did. 

Dan flicked the television on as he walked past it to the bathroom. The weather report should be on soon, and he was hoping the forecaster would predict the end of the current cold spell. He was sick of winter. With his toothbrush in his mouth, he stood in front of the TV and watched the news. It was one of the news readers he was certain was hired more for her looks than her ability to read. Her left hand reached up and played with her hair for a moment.

âThere is disturbing news from San Francisco today. A number of bodies were found in motels scattered throughout the metro-area. We go now to our affiliate station in San Francisco with more on the story.â

âI went into his room and he didnât wake up. I opened the curtains and shook him and my hand got all wet. When I moved the sheet, he was covered with blotches that were draining all over the bed.â The distorted image of woman in jeans and a loose-fitting sweat shirt was talking into the camera.

The camera shifted to a man in a suit. âThose are the words of the terrified housekeeper at the Golden Key Motel that made the grisly discovery. At her request, we are keeping her identity anonymous. The dead man had been in the motel for over a week, seen only on rare instances. The manâs body is now in the hands of the medical examiner. Officials have yet to issue a statement on the cause of death. Authorities have released this photo of the man from security cameras. They are requesting that if you have any information at all about him, that you call immediately.â A phone number showed along the bottom of the screen.

Danâs hand was frozen on his toothbrush while he listened to the reporter.

âWe go now to Ann Makovec in San Mateo. This is Kiet Do, KPIX5â.

The woman reporter was standing in front of the San Mateo police department with the departmental spokesperson. Dan remained transfixed during the report. _They have over fifty bodies at dive hotels from the Bay area? Man, itâs a good thing Sean got out of there. That is so strange. _Dan went back to the bathroom to spit and rinse. He returned to the living room for the rest of the news before bed. _Good, the weatherâs going to warm up for the weekend according to the weather guy, and heâs never wrong. Well, not more than five days a week._

*****​
Dan pushed the sports section across the table for Matt like he did almost every morning. Matt filled and pushed Danâs coffee cup towards him and got the milk out of the fridge and poured some in his own coffee without commenting on it. âAre you done with the front section? Iâd rather see what theyâre saying about that stuff in Frisco instead of the sports. Besides, footballâs over for now,â Matt said.

âYeah, I finished it. Itâs pretty bizarre. But they arenât saying much more than I saw on the news last night. Itâs almost like the authorities are restricting any information about it,â Dan said.

Matt sat down and started reading the front page story. He turned to page six to read the rest of it, then closed the paper and tossed it into the middle of the table. âYouâre right, they arenât saying a thing. One more thing I got on the radio coming in, though, that wasnât here; some guy with the Coronerâs Office let slip that he thinks they were all Middle Easterners. I doubt it was some kind of ritual suicide, so what would they have been up to? It doesnât sound good to me.â

John sat down beside Matt, staring at the front of the newspaper. He managed to slosh his coffee on the table. âDang it,â he said and stood and got a paper towel and cleaned his mess up. When he sat down again he was shaking his head at the newspaper. âThat is so crazy.â

More guys entered the room and got coffee. The news out of San Francisco was the main topic of conversation. The door opened again and Sean walked in. âBoy, did you get out of there in the nick of time. It looks like some kind of nasty bug hitting there,â Fred told him.

âIt would be even better if Iâd been on a different flight,â Sean said. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his nose. âSome jerk on the plane was coughing like mad, and I think he spread his cold to me. I wish they could keep sick people off those tin cans, the way the air circulates.â Sean went on to describe the man in words that Dan rarely used and hoped his daughters had never heard.

âI hope this doesnât get worse. Jessica has her first varsity game today after work,â Sean said. His words were cut off by deep, raspy coughing. When he was finished, he blew his nose on a fresh tissue and tossed it in the trash.

âI thought she was on the JV team,â Fred said. 

âShe was, but they finished last week. The varsity gets to add a couple of players for the tournament, so Jess got to move up. There are two tourney games today, and Jess is in the first one, but I really want to see both games. The top team in the state is in the second game, and theyâve got some incredible players. The two winners meet tomorrow night.â 

The work whistle sounded, and the crew headed out to the shop. Sean blew his nose again and knuckled his sore back. _I better not miss the game because of that guy!_

*****​
âTen Hut!â A United States Marine corporal swung the door inward. He stood at attention in his pressed dress uniform as Barack Obama, the President of the United States, entered the Situation Room, followed by California Governor, Jerry Brown.

âAt ease,â the President said to the group of men and women that had stood at his entrance. They relaxed slightly, but remained standing until he took a seat at the head of the table. Only then did they sit, Governor Brown taking an empty seat. The wall of the conference room opposite the President had a large video display screen, currently showing two maps. One was the San Francisco area, the other a map on the entire continental United States, a number of red dots marking it. Members of the National Security Council were seated around the room. A notable absence from the council was Vice President Joe Biden. CIA Director John Brennan, while not a regular member of the council, was present.

âThank you for coming on short notice, Director,â the President said to Center for Disease Control Director, Tom Frieden. He addressed the rest of the room, âThe agenda for the meeting has changed. I believe you all know Director Frieden and Governor Brown.â Nods were exchanged around the table.

The President continued, âThe United States has been subjected to a suspected terror attack with a genetically altered strain of smallpox. It appears to have been directed at San Francisco and the Super Bowl. Besides the deaths that have been all over the news, new cases are being reported at many area hospitals. It displays many characteristics of both smallpox and ebola. As of this time, no one has taken credit for the attack. Governor Brown?â

Jerry Brown cleared his throat and began. âThank you Mr. President. Numerous bodies have been found, appearing to be of Middle-Eastern descent, all males, all with the lesions common with smallpox. We have tried to keep a lid on it with little success. The body count is currently at one hundred forty one.

âEmergency rooms in most Bay area hospitals are very crowded, and many hospital staffers have failed to show up for work. They fear a smallpox infection they might bring home to their families. Despite our efforts, the media is broadcasting nonstop news about a possible weaponized smallpox outbreak. Our resources are nearly overwhelmed, and I am giving strong consideration to calling out the National Guard to maintain order. I am ready to declare a state of emergency, and Mr. President, I request that you do the same. I will go before the news cameras in a few hours. I would like to be able to tell the people of California that they all will get the smallpox vaccine within 72 hours.â 

Director Frieden stared at him, the look cutting deep. âGovernor Brown, I have to ask this. Were you at the Super Bowl and the festivities surrounding it?â

âNo sir, I wasnât. I was in Mexico on a trade mission,â the governor said.

âThat brings up another point,â the President said. âVice President Biden _was_ in San Francisco and attended the game. He is currently in a contamination room at Bethesda. Director Frieden, if you will.â

CDC director Frieden briefed the council on smallpox. The video display screens on all walls began to show a series of slides on smallpox as the director talked. âThe majority of the information I have is from actual cases. Based on past outbreaks of smallpox, conservative estimates of transmission were placed at ten to one. However, those numbers were from a period when the populace was not nearly as mobile. With modern conditions, coupled with the attack coming where and when it did, we believe a transmission rate of fifty to one is more realistic. Smallpox has an incubation time of nine to seventeen days. Based on the number of cases arriving at hospitals in the Bay area, we believe we are now dealing with an incubation period of seven days. By the time the first victims are diagnosed with smallpox, the disease will have already begun spreading to a second generation of victims. Some of the initial victims and the second generation of victims will have traveled to other cities by that time. Since few American doctors have ever seen a case of smallpox, and since the initial symptoms resemble flu, diagnosis is liable to be slow.â Frieden paused and drank from the water bottle in front of him. While many Security Council meetings were rapid-fire comments between the members, the directorâs words were met with stony silence as each digested what he had said.

Frieden resumed his address, âTraditional smallpox is fatal in the range of thirty percent of the cases. Of course, it is unknown with this strain. Vaccinations against smallpox stopped in the United States in 1977 when the disease was eradicated, and had slowed even before that. Most people over sixty have been inoculated, but it is unknown if it will give any protection. It is believed immunity is good for five to ten years.â A number of people at the table looked even more troubled at hearing that. âIsolation is our only sure defense, though we will use the vaccine we have. Only twelve million doses of vaccine for smallpox are available, and as I said, it is unknown if it will even be effective against this strain. The worldwide supply of vaccine is sixty million doses, but some of it is believed worthless due to inadequate storage by some countries. 

âIsolation is achieved by the âRing Methodâ. It is the forced quarantine of infected individuals and mandatory tracing and vaccination of anyone who may have come in contact with them. It is the method that successfully eradicated smallpox in the 1960s and â70s. This was effective because the vaccine is effective for someone that has been exposed to traditional smallpox.

âThe CDC has sent one hundred thousand doses of smallpox vaccine to California, with vaccinations restricted to health care workers, infected people, their close contacts, and investigators,â the director continued. âWe believe the attack most likely occurred from February 3 â 8, when the city was hosting the Super Bowl, due to a seven-day incubation period for the disease. The second generation of cases, then, would be about February 10-15, starting yesterday. Urgent action is needed to halt the spread of the disease, but as pointed out earlier, a modern, urban, mobile population, coupled with a limited supply of vaccine, does not offer encouraging prospects for controlling the outbreak. It will be extremely difficult to contain it since people from every state and at least two hundred different countries attended the game.â Then in a soft voice, almost spoken as an afterthought, he said, âif not impossible.â In a louder voice he said, âI might also note, the maps that were up earlier; the red dots indicate areas where emergency rooms are seeing an upswing in patients presenting flu-like symptoms.â

âOne more thing, besides the attraction of the Super Bowl, there is another item that had to excite the terrorists. Smallpox spreads most readily in the winter.â The room was again filled with stony silence.

The Presidentâs Chief of Staff, Denis McDonough broke the silence and nodded towards the Central Intelligence Agency Chief, John Brennan. âJohn, if you will, please.â

John Brennan began to speak after glancing at some notes. âThe agency is concerned the virus came from a Russian program. Ten months ago, Sergei Bubka, a lead researcher in the Russian biological weapons program, disappeared. The Russian Federal Security Service, the FSB has been unable to locate him; neither have we, although some whispers indicate he may be in Syria. 

âDr. Valdimir Paschenick defected from the USSR some years ago. He had been with the Soviet biological warfare program of the 1980s. According to his information, the Soviet view of World War III included the possibility of biological and chemical-tipped missiles being lobbed into the United States. 

âThe former Soviet Union is believed to have developed smallpox as a biological weapon in the 1980s. In 1992, after the fall of the Soviet Union, Boris Yeltsin admitted the existence of the secret program and promptly discontinued it, or so he said. Some 60,000 scientists and technicians were suddenly out of work. The agency feared at the time that some of them may have sold their expertise and samples of the smallpox to other nations. We believe Bubka may have just been the latest.

âDr. Ken Alibek, the former deputy chief of Biopreparat, the civilian arm of the Soviet Union's program, stated that the Soviets had been working to genetically alter the smallpox virus, and had explored combining it with Venezuelan equine encephalomyelitis and with the Ebola virus. The entire thrust of the Soviets' biological warfare program, according to Dr. Alibek, was to develop agents "for which there was no prevention and no cure". 

âThe danger has been that suicidal terrorists, if they were able to get hold of some of the smallpox, would infect themselves and walk among us in crowded cities. Once infected, people are contagious for 7 to 10 days. Even smallpox that has not been genetically altered is still a virus, and viruses do not respond to antibiotics. We questioned if Muslim terrorists would realistically consider this, knowing that it would most likely spread globally. With the rise of Al-Qaeda and Isis, we no longer have doubts. They believe that Allah would save only the faithful, that most practicing Muslims are unfaithful. Their beliefs dictate that all unbelievers should die. 

âAdditionally, the late Dr. Nelja Maltseva is thought to have given the genetically-altered strain of smallpox to Iraq. However, this was never confirmed and was not used against our troops in either Gulf War.â

âThank you John,â President Obama said. âJames, what can you tell us?â he asked Federal Bureau of Investigation director, James Comey. 

âMr. President, at this time we have two hundred and fifty agents being vaccinated and sent to San Francisco. Our agents already in San Francisco have been vaccinated. One of the dead men has been identified as a Jihadist by the name of Abdul Mueed that was known to be in Afghanistan and Pakistan until three months ago. At that time, he and a large number of jihadists disappeared. We believe they will be identified amongst the dead in San Francisco.

âMueed entered the country under a false name with a passport issued in Dubai. We have confirmed a number of other false passports from throughout the Middle East, thought to be for Mueedâs companions in the morgue.â Comey continued to account for most of Mueedâs movements during the time he had been in the United States. 

âThank you James. All right people, what do we do about it?â Denis McDonough said.

The meeting turned into a fast paced discussion with many ideas. They would go for isolation and the ring method. When the idea of forced vaccinations came up, the idea was tabled for the time since it wasnât known if the vaccination would be effective. The FBI would gather data on everyone going through the Bay area in the time frame and begin isolation. They discussed whether schools and public meetings should be curtailed until the crisis was over. The decision to allow them to continue would prove to help spread the virus. 

They discussed the remaining vaccine and how it should be distributed. Research for an effective vaccine had to begin immediately with all available resources. Governor Brown should, in fact, activate the National Guard. Other states should be ready to follow suit.

Then the big question: what to tell the public. In the end of the heated discussion they decided to inform the public to insure cooperation with efforts to control the disease. Undoubtedly, the internet had much more information than what authorities in California had released, some correct, some far from the truth. A large number of doses of the available vaccine would be sent to all military bases, National Guard units and health care facilities; those personnel must be inoculated first. The meeting ended with Governor Brown returning to California without making the statement he had earlier planned. 

A somber President Obama left the room with Denis McDonough. âThis may be the most important speech weâve ever had to make, Denis. How do we assure the public we can contain this thing when I feel nothing but dread after that meeting?â The President would be addressing the nation and all foreign nations they could feed the speech to. Not only the speech would be important, but the delivery, also, in the face of possible chaos.


----------



## Bret F

*****​
Sean Jackson cleaned as much of the dayâs accumulated grime off as he could and changed clothes. He had just enough time to down a burger and make it to Jessicaâs game for the tip off â he hoped. He knuckled his back, wondering if he had pulled a muscle or something. His cold had gotten worse through the day, too, but he would go to the games anyway. He popped three Tylenol and hoped it would get a handle on the fever that had come on just after lunch; the fever and the headache. He knuckled his back again and carried his dirty clothes into the break room. 

âReady to go, buddy?â Larry asked. He was going to follow Sean to the game. Sharon would meet him at the school where the games were being played. She had no desire to watch any game her daughter wasnât in, so she would leave right after the first game was in the books. Jessica wanted to stay with her teammates and watch the second game.

âYeah, letâs hit it,â he said and bundled up for the outside. The radio in the car was broadcasting something about the President when Sean got it started. His head was pounding, so he reached up and turned it off. They turned in at a burger joint, went inside and ate in a rush, then headed for the school.

Sean and Larry found good seats near mid court in the lower level of the gym. After a short time Sharon and Katy joined them. Sean suggested they change seats to some next to the wall leading to the upper deck. His back was killing him, and he wanted something to lean against. They settled into the new seats, Sean still far from comfortable, though better. He coughed a few times, and Sharon handed him her bottle of water. He took it gratefully and took a swallow, fished into his pocket for his Tylenol, then took another drink, washing down more pills. 

The game went well for Jessicaâs team. With a big lead late in the game, she got to go in along with the other member of the JV squad. When the game ended, the team turned into a single exultant mass of girls before they formed a line to shake hands with the other team.

Sean remained in his seat and waited for the second game, questioning his wisdom. The warm ups were finished and the teams had gone to the locker rooms for the last word from their coaches when Jessica emerged from the locker room and worked through the crowd to him. âDad, I got to play in a varsity game!â she stated, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

âI saw, darling, and you did great. Thatâs just the start; youâll be in a lot more before youâre done. Good job!â She gave him a hug and went back through the crowd to her teammates.

The gym had filled to capacity before the game tipped off. It seemed few people wanted to leave before seeing the top team. They always drew the best crowds everywhere they played. One of their girls had drawn interest from college coaches all over the country. Sean began to question his decision to stay. The air was getting hot and stuffy, and the Tylenol didnât seem to be doing any good. Not much at least. He was glad he stayed however. The final game, though not competitive, didnât disappoint. He was able to ignore his aches and pains for a while, picturing the day he would watch Jessica showing the skill he was witnessing.

The woman beside Sean pulled her phone out of her pocket and read the message. âOh God,â she exclaimed, stood and pulled her son to his feet beside her. âWeâve got to go home,â she told the boy, unmindful of the people around her.

âBut Mom, you said we could stay till it was over,â he whined.

âNo, weâre leaving now, right now,â she snapped and pulled his arm, bumping across Seanâs legs as she went.

âMan that was rude,â he told Larry as he watched the woman make a path towards the exit. Only then did he see other people making their way for the doors.

âThose people are nuts,â he said. âThat girl is on fire tonight.â 

The girl Sean referenced had twenty eight points in the first half alone. âThey might never again get the chance to see a performance like this.â


----------



## manygoatsnmore

There's always next year, Bret! They literally through the game away on the half yard line. But, it IS just a game, and my well being doesn't depend on a pro sports team winning or losing. :shrug:


----------



## Bret F

Thanks as always to MGM for the incredible job editing and pointing me in the right direction on this.



*Chapter 7:* 

Dan was reading the account of the Presidentâs address from the previous evening and getting a sinking feeling. The ringing phone made him jump, he was so intent on the article. That article made him feel, well, jumpy. âGood morning, Robinson Fabrication, this is Dan,â he said into the phone. 

He listened a bit, then said, âThanks for calling Sharon. Sure, Iâll tell Lee as soon as I see him.â He listened again. âThatâs fine Sharon, go get the door. It must be important to have someone there this early. You take care now, bye.â

He hung up the phone and stared at it, the jumpy feeling spreading, threatening to swallow him.

âDid you say that was Sharon? As in Seanâs wife Sharon?â Matt asked from behind him, making him jump again.

Dan filled his coffee cup while his breathing returned to normal, then went back to his seat to answer Matt. He didnât trust his legs to support him. The feeling was turning into crushing dread. âYeah . . . that Sharon. She called to say Sean wouldnât make it in today. They think he caught the flu from a guy on the plane out of Frisco.â He stared into his coffee without drinking.

Matt walked to the coffee maker, dumped the spent coffee and filter, put in fresh, and started the second pot. For the second day in a row, he didnât have his usual comments about raw milk. After his coffee was the way he liked it, he sat across the table from Dan and pointed to the top story in the paper. âDid you watch the President last night?â he asked.

âNo, I was out in the shop, and the radio there quit working some time ago. Lisa and the kids had an activity at church, so the TV was never turned on. I was just reading that story though. According to that, I think we should be quarantined.â

âThatâs what I thought too,â Matt said. âBut I hoped that Sean wouldnât be sick or anything; that somehow he avoided it. So, did Sharon give you any specifics or just say itâs the flu?â

âWell, like I told you, she said they thought he caught the flu from a guy on the plane. Then she said that he ached all over and had vomited a few times last night. I hadnât finished that article when she called.â Dan looked back down and started reading. He uttered a rare string of cuss words. âFollowing the incubation period, a sudden onset of flu-like signs and symptoms occurs. These include: fever, overall discomfort, headache, severe fatigue, severe back pain, nausea and vomiting,â he read out loud to Matt and cussed again. âThat sounds like Sean. He had a headache and backache yesterday, now Sharon says he has body aches and is vomiting.â Dan cussed again. 

Larry stepped in through the doorway and looked at them. âHey guys, whose dog died?â he asked. Dan and Mattâs moods were evident.

âHave you heard any news?â Matt asked him.

âNah, I was at the games last night with Sean, and the news was over when I got home. I had a disc playing in the car. Why, whatâs up?â Larry asked.

He sat down at the table with a full cup of coffee, and Dan pushed the newspaper to him, pointing to the top story. âYou need to read that,â Dan told him.

The phone rang while Larry was reading. Matt reached for it, but it was picked up in the office. âLee must be here,â Matt said. I guess weâll get the official word before long.â They sat and sipped their coffee in silence. All of the color drained from Larryâs face while he read. Two more calls came in while they waited. About half of the crew was in the break room when Lee emerged from the office. The room was quiet, unusually so, all eyes on Lee.

Lee looked pale, like many of the crew. He looked at them each in turn and spoke. âMen, thank you all for coming in this morning . . . although after the Presidentâs address . . . I donât believe any of us should be here.â His voice caught more than once. âIâve been on the phone at length with the owner, Mr. Robinson this morning. That was the second long talk I had with him this week. Monday afternoon . . . he was in my office telling me all about his weekend. He went to the Super Bowl and stayed at the Fairmont San Francisco.â Leeâs voice caught again, and he wiped at his eyes. âI told him at the time that one of the shop guys, Sean, was in that very hotel. We laughed at the chances of that, and he continued to tell me all about it. 

âThis morning when we talked . . . we didnât laugh. Mr. Robinson had visitors last night. They were all decked out in contamination suits. The FBI has put together some of the movements of one of the terrorists. The man was apparently working at the Fairmont San Francisco.â Lee stopped talking and dabbed at his eyes before continuing. âThe FBI recovered aerosol cans inside the ventilation system that tested positive for the virus.â Again his voice caught, and he turned away from the crew, holding his face in his hands. When Lee turned back, he said, âWe all have to go into quarantine. I donât have any idea what will happen so I guess you should all take your personal tools home, just in case . . . .â

The rest of the sentence went unsaid. The door to the office opened, the receptionist entering, followed by two men in puffy blue body suits and helmets. The lead man did a fast survey of the crew. âIt looks obvious you know why I am here. My name is Frank Michaels. I am with the Center for Disease Control. This facility has been exposed from two separate sources to the virus. It will be sealed off, and each of you will be required to go into isolation. We are asking that you do this voluntarily, but we will do forced containment if it becomes necessary. Voluntary isolation would be in each of your best interest. You will be confined to the comfort of your own home. If you refuse to comply, you will be detained in a holding area with other people that refuse. I want you to think about that. The odds of catching this disease increase dramatically if you are held with other people that have been exposed.â He watched them for a reaction. It looked like a good group of people that could be reasoned with, but nothing was ever certain. Some stared at him with a look of resignation, some nodded. He breathed easier when he didnât see the look of defiance on any face.

âAll right, Iâm glad to see you understand. I need each of you to fill out these forms.â When he walked to the table and dropped a pile of papers, Dan noticed the manâs companion was holding a pistol in his right hand. âThe most effective weapon at hand to battle this virus is through isolation of everyone exposed, as well as isolation of the people they have been exposed to. You need to write down the names of everyone you have made personal contact with this week, their addresses if possible, and where the contact was made. Consider that if you have had contact with someone and they manage to catch it, the disease spreads that much faster. There is a space for you to write down anything you need. You cannot go to a grocery store to pick up food or supplies. That just exposes even more people. Your needs will be taken care of. In addition, you and everyone you had contact with will be given smallpox vaccine. It is imperative that everyone that has been exposed have no further contact with other people. Failure to cooperate will result in instant incarceration.â 

Dan and Matt were the last from the shop to leave. Matt helped Dan load his tools, then Dan returned the favor. They looked at the shop for a minute without speaking. âMatt, you know youâre like a brother to me. You always said youâd come over when the stuff hit the fan, so why donât you come now. Iâm going to camp out in the shop until itâs safe to be around Lisa and the kids. We can set up a second cot for you. It would beat staying at your apartment by yourself. Two person card games beat solitaire.â

Matt kept looking at the shop and cleared the lump in his throat. âThanks, I really appreciate it, but Iâll have to turn you down. You heard the man. Iâve been working more closely with Sean than you, so if just one of us was to get sick, it's more likely to be me. I wouldnât want to give it to you if Sean didnât.â 

They stood silent again, staring at the building. Matt broke the spell first. âI better be going. Take care, buddy. Your family needs you.â 

âYou take care yourself. I still have a couple of good fishing holes I havenât shown you yet.â Dan grasped his friend and fought the tears that threatened to burst out. âStay well, brother.â He stood watching Matt back out of the parking lot and drive away.

Dan walked back to the break room and sat down, taking the note pad and pen from their spot by the phone. After he had a list of items written down, he called home. âHey, Sweetheart,â he said when Lisa answered. The term had none of the enthusiasm it usually had when Dan used it.

âWhatâs up, Babe? You donât sound good.â

âNo, itâs not good, not at all,â Dan said and went on to explain the morning. âI donât want to be around you and the kids until we know Iâm not contagious. Iâll basically be living in the shop for the duration, so I'll need you to set it up for me. Iâll need food, water, a bed; you know, everything for me to camp out there.â He listened for a bit and told her, âYes, the portable camping toilet, an FRS radio with fresh batteries and . . . â

âSir, Iâm going to ask you to leave. Youâre the last one, and weâve got everything sealed but that side door.â

Dan looked up from his list and spoke into the phone, âHang on just a bit, Hon.â 

He looked up at the man in the blue suit â he had given his name, hadnât he? Dan was sure he had, but he was having trouble concentrating; ever since he had sat down to read the paper that morning. He looked up at the blue suit. The light reflected off the plastic face shield. âThere might not even be a real person in there,â Dan thought. He looked a moment more, willing it to be a person, a real person with real feelings and emotions behind that reflection. Dan had never thought of the break room lights as harsh before, but when he saw the light reflected by the impersonal plastic face shield in the blue suit, that was exactly what he thought.

âPlease,â he said, though he thought it was hopeless. âIâm talking to my wife. Iâm asking her to get my shop set up for me so I donât have to be around her.â Dan broke down and sobbed. He didnât care if Blue Suit saw. âBe around her and my kids,â Dan finished when he could get the words choked out. 

Behind the mask, Frank Michaels looked at Dan and closed his eyes. He saw his own wife meeting him at the door after a hard day. His daughter Rebecca. She tried to be indifferent now that she was in high school â but when she was younger, she greeted him with more enthusiasm than her mother. And the boys. Josh was starting to grow indifferent himself when Frank got home, but Ben, gentle Ben, was always happy to see him. He wouldnât see them this night or maybe any night for weeks. The impassive plastic mask looked down at Dan's tears running down his face, the man unashamed to expose himself like that. The man inside the blue suit said softly, âTake as much time as you need, sir.â

âThank you,â Dan murmured. He spoke into the phone, âOkay Sweetheart, where were we?â

Dan parked the pickup truck beside the garage and carried his tools to the small storage building behind the house. Lisa and the kids were on the back step watching him. Lisaâs eyes were puffy and red, Brooke and Alison were crying. Chad had a concerned look on his face. âHey guys, thanks for getting my new apartment ready for me. I guess Iâll have to skip Valentineâs Day festivities with you all on Sunday, but Iâll be thinking about you.â

âForget Valentineâs Day. Show me you love me every day after you walk out of that shop healthy when this is all over,â Lisa said, tears flowing down her face. They stood and stared at each other.

âChad, buddy,â Dan said. âOnce I go in the shop, I canât come out until we know Iâm not contagious. Youâll have to take care of all the chores now. I wish I could help, but I know you can handle it. Iâve got all the faith in the world in you.â Dan stood there uncomfortably, fighting down the urge to run across the space separating them and pull them all into a tight embrace. âIâd better get inside,â Dan said over the lump in his throat. He turned and walked in to the shop. The room was comfortable despite the cold outside. The fire was going in the woodstove and had taken the chill off the room. Dan looked around. Lisa and the kids had set the room up to be a decent apartment in the short time they had. Looking at everything, he couldnât think of anything else that he needed. Except his family. He had just entered the room, and he already missed them with an aching passion. A noise at the door drew his attention. Lisa was standing at the other side, her face pressed against the glass. Dan crossed the space to the door and held one hand flat against the glass pane. Lisa matched it. Then Dan pressed his face against the glass directly in line with Lisaâs. They stood that way, their faces pressed together, yet separated by the pane of glass as their tears made tracks down their faces.

Dan had never endured longer days in his life. Every day passed at an excruciating slow pace. He would sit or stand in front of the window and watch his family move about doing the chores. The girls had taken over Chadâs duties with the chickens. They each carried small buckets of water to the chicken house and returned with eggs. Chad milked the cow morning and night and gave the cows hay from the stack. Lisa pushed the wheelbarrow, loaded with firewood. She would dump Danâs wood in a heap near the door to the shop, and after she was gone, he would move it inside, safe from the weather. He longed to go out and take the handles from her, or go to the barn and encourage Chad while he milked the cow. Instead, he stayed in solitary confinement.

Lisa talked to him over the FRS radio daily. She filled him in on the details of the visit from the blue suits, how the kids were doing, even what they'd eaten for dinner. And more than anything she told him how much she missed him. 

The blue suits gave Dan the only almost face to face interaction he had with another person. After inoculating Lisa and the kids, and getting the contact information for them, one of them went to the shop to inoculate Dan. Although he had provided details at the shop on everyone he had come into contact with since Sean's return, he was asked if he had thought of anyone else he may have missed.

The fifth day of confinement, Dan decided the camp cot was a crummy bed for long term sleeping. Instead of getting used to it, he got up with a backache. By noon, he had a headache to go with it. He pulled out the paper from Blue Suit - he still couldnât remember the manâs name - and re-read it. The main things he got out of the treatment section was to remain hydrated and take acetaminophen for fever. He made tea from dried elderberries, seasoned with honey and cinnamon and sipped it constantly through the afternoon and evening. It was accompanied by Tylenol at regular intervals. With early evening, he ached all over and had a rising fever. 

His ringing cell phone that evening jerked him out of his stupor. Mattâs shaky voice was on the other end. âHey buddy, howâs it going over there?â

âNot so good. I think Iâve got it,â Dan said. âIt came on today. When I read the papers those guys gave us, everything fits. I guess I need to call them. How about you; you doing okay?â

Matt didnât answer right away. When he did, his voice was tremulous. âNo man, Iâm not okay. I started to feel wrong last night, and itâs really hitting me hard.â

âCan you drive?â Dan asked. âIf you can, you need to get over here right now. We donât have to worry about you giving it to me. I have it, too. Maybe if we help each other out, weâll have a better chance.â

âI donât know if thatâs a good idea or not. That would be two sick people around your family instead of just one.â

âTheyâre staying away from me. I think my home remedies are actually making me feel better than the Tylenol does, or maybe itâs the two in combination. Anyway, you donât have anything like that at your place. So come on, get over here. Iâll set up a second cot.â 

It took a lot of talking, but Matt eventually agreed. He knew he should stay at his apartment, but the last few days had literally driven him up the wall. Besides, when he died, he wanted his best friend to know. He didnât want to die alone in an apartment, undetected for who knew how long. He sent an email to the contact from the paper the blue suits had given him. He got an instant reply, but ignored it. He was sure they would be ordering him to stay in place. He packed a bag and left before they could intercept him.

Dan had a bed, elderberry and honey tea, and Tylenol ready for Matt when he arrived. They settled into chairs, comforted by the companionship although they both felt miserable. They were jerked from their quiet conversation when both their cell phones received a text. It was from Lee to everyone in the shop. âGuys, I have symptoms. Sharon Jackson and the girls have it and are bed-ridden. Sean passed away this morning.â 

Dan stared at his screen while Matt slammed his hand down on the nearby workbench and cussed the terrorists. Dan thought his ears were burning by the time Matt finished. He forwarded the text to Lisa and sat back in his chair, trying without success not to cry.


*****​


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 7 - continued

&#8220;Ten Hut.&#8221; The marine corporal swung the door open and stood at attention while the President of the United State entered the situation room. The National Security Council was meeting for the second time to discuss the emergency created by the terror attack in San Francisco.

The President took his seat and addressed the members. &#8220;Before we proceed with the meeting, an update on Vice President Biden is in order. He is on life-support in Bethesda and is not expected to survive the day. In addition, Secretary of State Kerry is hospitalized with early symptoms of the disease.&#8221; The statements were met with stunned silence from the group. 

Denis McDonough broke the silence. &#8220;Governor Brown has closed all schools and universities in the state of California, as well as cancelling all sporting events. He is considering closing all stores. The malls are deserted, both in California and the rest of the country.

&#8220;Panic buying at grocery stores and shortages are occurring in most cities. Rumors of possible closures are fueling the panic, as well as shortages of truckers, due to illness and reluctance to venture out. The delivery system has nearly ground to a halt.&#8221; McDonough nodded and a news clip appeared on the screens. Greg Abbott, the governor of Texas, was shown. He announced the suspension of all travel between &#8220;the Republic of Texas&#8221; and surrounding states and Mexico. He urged all governors in the nation to follow suit. He stated it was up to the individual states to stop the spread of the disease, that the federal government was either unable or unwilling to stop it. 

McDonough continued, &#8220;The lack of vaccine, at least an effective vaccine, and the tactics of some states to stop the epidemic has led to serious economic disruption and civil unrest in many areas.&#8221; He looked at President Obama and nodded that he was finished. 

&#8220;That is very troubling Denis,&#8221; The President said. He turned to James Comey. &#8220;James, what do you have?&#8221;

The FBI director glanced at his notes. &#8220;There are reports of people with dark skins who appear to be Arab-Americans being assaulted on the streets. Four mosques have been defaced and three more burned in the last twenty four hours. In downtown Atlanta, four dark skinned youths were shot dead, apparently because they looked Middle Eastern.&#8221;

&#8220;Americans killing Americans; as if we don&#8217;t have enough problems,&#8221; McDonough said. &#8220;What about the investigation in San Francisco?&#8221;

&#8220;In San Francisco, we have linked most of the original men found dead to Al-Qaeda and Isis. However, the investigation has slowed dramatically as the majority of the agents in the metro area are now sick.&#8221; 

John Brennan agreed with the information. &#8220;Our operatives in the Middle East have come to the same conclusion. The jihadists appear to have left Afghanistan. Also, our assets were able to confirm that Sergei Bubka is somewhere in Syria. At this time, we have not been able to pinpoint his exact location. All evidence points to Bubka and a strain of the disease he engineered in Russia. Syria has been vaccinating their military and ruling party.&#8221;

The President closed his eyes, lowered his head and rubbed his forehead. The news got worse and worse. When he looked back up, his eyes shot daggers at Director Brennan. &#8220;John, I want that man&#8217;s exact whereabouts, and I want the vaccine the Syrians are using. Do I make myself clear?&#8221;

Brennan met the stare. He hadn&#8217;t achieved his position by being timid. He nodded and answered, &#8220;Crystal clear, sir. Oh, and one more thing. The Russians are also inoculating their leadership, military and health facility personnel. They are known to have a stockpile of smallpox vaccine, but it has not been made available to the public. Our field operatives believe it is not standard vaccine that is being used.&#8221;

The President redirected his stare to CDC Director Tom Frieden. &#8220;Director Frieden, your turn, and please have something positive to report.&#8221; 

&#8220;Mr. President, I&#8217;m afraid positive news is hard to come by now. The only thing I have anywhere close is that one team working to find a vaccine thinks they have made progress with blood samples from the few survivors. But this thing is just spreading too fast for proper research. The team has done limited testing on patients with high exposure levels to the disease. The test vaccine kills as many as it saves. That sums up all of the positive news I can share.

&#8220;As of this morning, more than twelve hundred people have been reported dead and fifteen thousand are known to be infected in all fifty states. Besides the United States, the epidemic has been confirmed in more than one hundred countries. Many are asking for vaccine, which, of course, we cannot provide. Health care personnel report the disease kills around ninety percent of the people that contract it. The current vaccine is about fifteen percent 
effective. Hospitals everywhere are overwhelmed; many employees are not showing up for work or have contacted the disease despite being inoculated. Vaccination sites are overwhelmed by thousands of people demanding vaccine.&#8221;

&#8220;Besides the overwhelming number of people, violence is breaking out at the sites,&#8221; National Security Advisor Susan Rice added. &#8220;Two sites have been destroyed by riots. The National Guard units and police are unable to contain the violence. They are suffering the same staffing difficulties as hospitals.

&#8220;The federal government is being widely criticized from all quarters for failure to have an adequate supply of smallpox vaccine on hand. It wouldn&#8217;t matter if we did. The genetic strain is resistant to the vaccine. Still, the criticism is coming from many fronts, Governor Abbott being just the most vocal.

&#8220;The lone pharmaceutical company capable of making smallpox vaccine says that at most it can produce five million doses per month, even if all FDA regulations are waived.

&#8220;Most countries have closed their borders. The southern border of the United States has become a killing ground. A reverse migration is underway with the epidemic. The border has become high security for Mexico. Mexican troops are shooting and killing anyone trying to enter their country.&#8221;

&#8220;Sir, if I may, I would like to clarify some things for you,&#8221; Attorney General Eric Holder said. &#8220;The Stafford Act, the Posse Comitatus Act, the Federal Quarantine Law, the Insurrection Act, and Martial Law are all laws designed to invoke federal authority in the case of a national emergency. Among other things, the laws allow you to declare a national emergency and use military troops to quell civil disturbances. Additionally, they authorize the forced inoculation and isolation of anyone who could spread the disease, travel restrictions and disposal of bodies in ways contrary to personal beliefs. It would not be popular, but you may suspend habeas corpus, arrest without due process, and curtail other liberties as needed.&#8221; 

&#8220;Thank you Eric. We may be past that point already,&#8221; President Obama said. &#8220;Director Fugate, we haven&#8217;t heard from you,&#8221; the President said to FEMA director Craig Fugate.

&#8220;Mr. President, most of what I have has already been addressed by others, so what I say may be redundant. &#8220;Health care facilities have become nonfunctional in many communities due to overcrowding and workers staying away from their jobs. At least forty hospitals have closed their doors in California. In many states, National Guard troops are providing security at hospitals, though they are short on manpower. The Guard is delivering food and critical supplies where they are still able. Many states have prohibited public gatherings, stopped transportation, and closed airports.&#8221;

&#8220;Anything else to add?&#8221; The President looked around the table. When no one responded, he said, &#8220;Then what are we going to do about this?&#8221;

Martin Dempsey spoke first. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had been silent to that point. He was also distrustful of everything that Brennan said. The rumors saying he was Muslim, along with the shift in U.S. policy on Islam, Sharia Law and the Muslim Brotherhood in particular since Brennan had been influencing national security troubled him to no end. Whenever the man spoke, Dempsey took it all with a grain of salt. 

&#8220;We lock down the bases. All of them, both domestic and abroad,&#8221; he stated.

&#8220;General, please explain,&#8221; McDonough said. 

The general thought it should be self-explanatory. &#8220;We have to maintain a powerful military. We can&#8217;t allow our armed forces to be weakened while the rest of the country is vulnerable. If that happens, we would be a sitting duck. There are many powers out there that would love nothing more than to take a shot at us when we are weak. We might withstand a few, but if we are weakened too much, we will fail. It is imperative we remain strong.&#8221;

&#8220;So you are advocating we let the rest of the nation suffer? The reports we&#8217;ve had indicate the troops are needed to maintain order domestically. The police and National Guard are out of resources and being overwhelmed,&#8221; Holder said.

A heated discussion ensued. The President stopped it by ordering the General to lock down all overseas bases, but prepare domestic troops for peace-keeping duties at home. The General didn&#8217;t look pleased.

After further discussion, the council decided to leave the quarantine issues and control of the National Guard units in the hands of the states, unless requested. At that point, control would be transferred to FEMA. 

Travel would be suspended unless it was vital for stopping the spread of the disease.

A knock on the door interrupted the discussion. The marine allowed a man to give a memo to Director Brennan. He read the paper, then said, &#8220;Syria has evacuated the area around a suspected bioresearch facility near Salhab. Activity at the facility appears normal, but a ten mile radius around it has been abandoned.&#8221; The group didn&#8217;t need a lot of discussion to determine the meaning of that.

John Brennan left the room with a number of assignments. It was imperative they find Sergei Bubka&#8217;s exact location and find out what the Salhab facility produced. He was also to determine if the Syrian government had any accountability for Bubka being in the country. Brennan&#8217;s people also were to obtain samples of the Russian vaccine. He asked himself if he should also discover the long searched for formula to turn lead into gold while he was at it; that might be easier to accomplish in two days.

Dempsey&#8217;s duties were no less daunting. Not only were his troops to begin peace-keeping duties, they would man the depleted supply lines. Both of those assignments had him questioning the intelligence of the men he was surrounded by. He also had two other assignments. He was to come up with plans, based on Brennan&#8217;s information, for a strike on Syria. The first option was a surgical strike on the facility where Bubka was located. The second option was more drastic. If the government was found to be culpable, it was time to give the world a lesson. It would have to be more memorable than Iraq and Afghanistan. A response would be required to make even the most militant group stop and reconsider before deciding to mess with the United States, even in her weakened state. 

The last assignment was a re-visit of plans the country had worked on and updated time and again since the end of World War II: the Russian menace. All evidence pointed to their biological weapons as the source. It could have been a rogue researcher, or it could all have been a smoke screen and they were ready to attempt what they hadn&#8217;t attempted during the cold war. It was too coincidental that they appeared to have vaccine but were choosing not to make it available worldwide. McDonough&#8217;s staff was going to make a strongly worded statement to the Russians. Their response would be key to Dempsey&#8217;s planning.

Denis McDonough felt even more ill at ease when he left the meeting. The crisis facing the nation wasn&#8217;t enough. Now he had to direct the crafting of a statement that had to be forceful, but without touching off World War III. Add to that the address they had to prepare for the President. President Obama would address the nation in two hours. They had to relate the gravity of the crisis, appeal for all Americans to remain calm, work together to defeat the virus and heed the advice of their elected leaders and health officials.

Three hours later, a somber President Obama left the Press Room. McDonough joined him and they walked down the hall together. &#8220;You know Denis, when we did that parody video &#8220;Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis&#8221;, I&#8217;m getting the feeling he asked me the wrong question.&#8221;

&#8220;Sir, what question was that?&#8221;

The President didn&#8217;t answer the question. Instead he said, &#8220;Why did this have to happen on my watch? Why couldn&#8217;t Bush have had to deal with it?&#8221;

&#8220;Sir, we can get through this,&#8221; McDonough said. &#8220;I&#8217;ll agree things look grim right now, but we&#8217;ll pull through it.&#8221;

&#8220;I&#8217;m not so sure Denis. Anyway, the question Zach asked me was what it was like being the last black president. The way things are going, maybe he should have asked me what it&#8217;s like being the last president, period.&#8221;


----------



## manygoatsnmore

Bret, you're gonna make me blush! Of course, on reading through it again, I see we (I, since I'm supposed to catch that kind of thing) missed a few commas, etc. :facepalm: What can you expect from volunteer labor, lol! (contract, not contact).

Seriously, folks, I'm having so much fun playing editor and proof reader for Bret. He writes a wonderful story, and I get to read it first, lol!


----------



## Bret F

Thanks so much to ManyGoatsMore for the incredible assistance on this story.

*Chapter 8*

Chad walked past the shop, pausing, hoping to see his dad through the window. He was disappointed â again. It had been two days since he had seen his dad through that window. The three days prior to that, Chad had seen him looking out nearly every time he walked past. But now, nothing was visible; no shapes moving about, or his dadâs face near the window. He continued toward the barn with the milk bucket in hand, wishing his dad could have been outside with him to enjoy the day. It had been a wonderful day after the cold spell they had just endured. Dan loved the season's change when winterâs icy grip was being broken. The days were warmer, the nighttime freezes not as hard, and green shoots were appearing on the south side of buildings. Chad looked around the home, seeing so many things his dad would be working on if he was able. The boy looked back at the shop with a twinge in his chest. He loved spending time with his dad, learning new things and helping him work. Even though many times the task at hand would have been faster if his Dad had just done it himself, he was always patient, helping Chad learn and develop his own skills. 

Earlier in the day, Chad had made sure everything in the greenhouse had the proper moisture. The greenhouse seemed empty and cheerless without Dan, despite the new growth. Fragile seedlings were popping up everywhere in the trays. Dan would be excited to hear that. New green growth after a long, cold winter always lifted him up. Chad thought. If his dad couldnât go to the greenhouse, what about taking the greenhouse to him? Maybe he could transplant something into a pot and put it at the shop door with the firewood. It might cheer them up to see something green and alive; it was certain to cheer his dad, at least. Chad decided he would find something after the cow was milked.

Chad set the milk bucket on the counter. His mom wasnât in the kitchen, but he knew she would take care of it when she saw it. Besides, he had something else to do; he went back to the greenhouse. The salad greens they had grown through the winter looked vibrant. He filled a pot with moist compost and planted a clump of spinach in the center. It was tight, but he added rosettes of corn salad at four spaces around the spinach. While not an arrangement a florist would ever make, Chad was satisfied his dad would like it. He carried it to the door of the shop and set it on a block of firewood. Then he knocked on the door and retreated to the back steps of the house to wait. 

The wait was long enough that he questioned the decision to disturb his dad. Dan must be asleep or really sick to take so long to get to the door. When the door creaked open, Chad wished hard that he could take back the last few minutes. Chad looked at his dad standing there, unsteady on his feet. He clung to the door with one hand and the door jamb with the other. Dan was flushed with fever. His face and hands were covered in spots; some flat red blotches, other blotches that looked like pus filled blisters. His jaw moved like there was something painful in his mouth he was trying to get out, and he raised the tissue in his right hand to dab at his nose. The movement was gentle, like his nose was tender to the touch. 

Dan looked at Chad, confusion evident on his face. Chad fought the urge to cry at the sight and pointed at the pot. âDad, Iâm sorry to disturb you. I didnât know you were so sick. But I made you that pot. I thought it might make you feel better.â

Dan looked down, recognition slowly coming to his face. Chad would have sworn his dad looked just a little stronger at that moment. Dan looked back at Chad with liquid eyes. âThank you, son. This is just what I needed today.â Dan bent with careful movements and picked up the pot. He gave Chad one last look and said, his voice cracking, âThis is worth more right now than you can ever know. I love you, son.â He turned and pushed the door closed with his hip.

Chad stood on the step and stared at the closed door, willing himself not to cry. "I love you, too, Dad," he whispered. His dad had always been so strong, able to do anything. Now, he was almost unrecognizable, so weak, vulnerable and helpless. Despite Chad's best efforts, a tear trickled down his cheek, and he wiped it away. He had to be strong now. His dad needed him to do the things he wasnât able to do. There was no one else to do it, and letting his dad down was unacceptable. He sniffed loudly, steeled himself and went in the house.

The bucket was still on the counter where heâd left it. He found a clean jar, put the strainer across it and started the milk running though. The girls were at the table with crayons and color books. âHey Ali, Brooke, do you know where Mom is?â he asked.

Brooke looked up. âShe went back to her bedroom and told us to color. We asked her to read a story. She said she couldnât.â Brooke picked up the red crayon and went back to working on her picture.

When he had the milk in the refrigerator and everything rinsed, Chad walked towards his parents' bedroom. âMom, do you know if we have any pruning shears that arenât in the shop? I know Dad would be working on the fruit trees now if he was able, so I want to start prun . . . â He froze when he stepped into the hallway and saw the door to the bedroom. The doorway was covered over with plastic. The hum of a fan was coming from deeper in the room, but he couldnât see just where through the milky plastic. 

âMom, wha, whatâs going on? What is all this?â he asked, his voice shaky. He was still off-balance from seeing his dad so transformed, and now this. He didnât know whether he should wait for his mom or run.

Lisaâs silhouette appeared from the bathroom attached to the bedroom. Chad thought she held a roll of duct tape, but it was hard to be sure through the plastic. âChad, honey, I should have thought of this sooner. Iâm so sorry I didnât. But this, well, you know I was . . . closer physically . . . to your father, and well . . . . from what I've read and heard on the news there's a slight chance he could have been contagious then. I need to stay away from you and the girls just in case. If I do get it, it's less likely that you kids will catch it from me.â

âNo, Mom, not you, too!â Chad said. His voice was filled with anguish.

âI hope I donât get it, honey, but itâs a possibility we have to consider. I feel fine, but your dad did too, right up until it hit him. So I need to talk to you about something thatâs very important. I really, really donât want to put this on your shoulders, but we need to take precautions. I need you to take care of the girls. Until we know Iâm safe to be around, I need you to carry even more of the burden.â

âMom, NO!â His face was stark with despair. When Chad had gone out to do the chores, a capable, determined young man had stood before Lisa. Her heart had longed then for the innocent little boy, while it was buoyed by what she saw. He had grown up too fast. Besides everything else, this . . . stuff . . . had robbed him of his childhood. Judging by the timbre of his voice, that determination was missing now; replaced by a scared boy that needed comforting, comforting she couldnât give. 

âChad, honey, I have to tell you what a wonderful job youâve been doing since Dad went into isolation. Iâm so proud of you, and I know your Dad is, too.â Lisa said.

âI saw him this evening. I made him a pot with stuff from the greenhouse; I thought it might cheer him up. When he opened the door and stood there, I almost didnât recognize him. Heâs not getting better, is he?â Chad sniffed and looked back at her. He longed to see her face clearly. âAnd now you might get it, too.â

âOh, honey, itâs not something I want to talk about, but, well, yes, youâre right. Your dad is getting worse. So thatâs why Iâm doing this, in case I get it too. And thatâs why I need you to take care of your sisters. We all need you to be strong, honey. There isnât anything you canât do here. Yes, youâre young, but you know how to do everything that needs done. If something comes up you arenât sure about, well, Iâm right here. I know you can do it. Will you?â

Chad wiped his eyes and in a soft voice said, âI guess Iâll have to, wonât I.â 

âThank you, honey,â Lisa said, almost inaudibly. âNow, please go get your sisters.â 

The brief respite was spent wiping her eyes, blowing her nose and getting her emotions back in check. 

âMomma, whatâs this over your door? I canât see you very well,â Alison said.

âHow do I get through this? I want to see it from the other side,â Brooke chimed in.

âGirls, I need you to listen for a little bit, please,â Lisa said. âThis is to keep me apart from you. You know how Daddy went into the shop, to stay away from us so we wouldnât get sick? Well, I might get sick, too, and if I do, I canât be around you guys. So, no, Brooke, you canât come into the bedroom. Now, I want to be sure that you understand; you canât come in and I canât come out.â

âBut how are you going to read to us?â Brooke asked.

Alison added, "Who's going to make us supper?"

âThatâs the next thing I wanted to talk to you about. Chad will be doing those things for me. You need to listen to him and do what he says, just like you would do for your father and me.â

âBut heâs not our daddy,â Alison giggled.

âNo, heâs not, but until Daddy and I are back with you, you have to mind Chad just like he was Daddy. All right? And if you do mind him, Chad can read to you. Remember how he makes the voices? But you have to mind him and help him. Okay?â

âOkay. Can I go color now?â Brooke asked. 

Lisa assented and they left Chad standing alone in front of the plastic lined doorway.

âIâll be right here, honey, if you need to talk through anything. I probably wonât get sick, and this will just be a precaution,â she tried to reassure him. Neither of them really believed her. Again, she wished she could hold and comfort him.

âChad,â the girls called in unison from the kitchen. âWeâre hungry.â

He sighed and looked at the shadowed form of his mom through the plastic, then turned and walked to the kitchen with slumped shoulders. 

Lisaâs eyes followed her sonâs retreating shape. He was very mature for eleven, but that was the kicker. He was only eleven, so she had held back. She needed to tell him more, but even without seeing his face clearly, she knew he was feeling overwhelmed. She certainly couldnât voice her greatest fear; she had to keep that one hidden away. What if this horrible . . . stuff . . . left the kids orphans, or worse yet, only spared the girls. She couldnât face that fear; not yet anyway.

*****​ 
Dan stared at the pot of green, growing plants which he had placed near Mattâs cot. His wet sleeve jolted his mind back to what he was doing. He removed the dripping wash cloth from the bucket of cold water, wrung it and folded it in a strip. With the utmost care, he wiped Mattâs face and laid the cloth across his forehead. 

Mattâs eyelids fluttered, but didnât open. âThanks buddy,â he croaked out, almost inaudibly. 

âSure. Now, I want you to open your eyes, and try to sit up.â 

âI canât, man.â Dan had to strain to hear the raspy words.

âThen Iâll help you,â Dan said and put a hand behind Mattâs back. Dan had to do all of the work; Matt was too weak to help. When Matt was sitting up, Dan said, âIâve got some more Tylenol for you.â The tablets had been smashed to a powder and, along with a crushed multi-vitamin, were stirred into applesauce, filling a spoon. Dan slipped the spoonful between Mattâs lips, then tipped a mug of sweetened elderberry tea to wash it down. After a couple of painful swallows, Matt raised a hand to stop Dan. Dan lowered the mug, wishing he could get Matt to drink more. âCan you open your eyes?â Dan asked.

Mattâs eyes opened; mere slits. âI want you to see something,â Dan said. Can you stay up if I let go?â A slight nod of his head was the answer.

Dan raised the pot in front of Mattâs eyes. âLook at this, buddy. Chad made it for us. You see that? Itâs alive. Things are growing. You need to be like these plants. They fought and struggled through the winter, and now theyâre shaking it off and starting to grow again. You can fight this Matt. You can get through it.â

Mattâs eyes closed again, and he groaned. âI donât think so. Iâm going downhill fast.â The words were a little easier to hear after he had the tea, but only a bit. What strength he had mustered failed, and he fell back onto the cot before Dan could help support him.

âLet me get you some broth,â Dan said. He took the pot from the edge of the wood stoveâs top and checked the temperature. It was too hot, so he mixed a little in a bowl with an equal amount from a jar on the work bench. A turkey baster was lying on a paper towel by the bowl that Dan filled. âHere you go, buddy. Sorry, itâs still not that sodium laced stuff you would get at the grocery store. Just our boring home-made stuff.â He put the tip of the baster between Mattâs lips and dripped in a little fluid at a time. Mattâs throat worked in painful swallows. His hand raised and tapped Danâs arm to stop him from giving any more.

âOkay, Iâll get you some honey now,â Dan said.

Dan picked a wooden match out of the box on the bench and snipped the head off. The smooth end was dipped in the honey jar. He moved that to a bowl with crushed, dehydrated elderberries, coated the honey and slipped the end of the match stick between Mattâs lips. At a loss of how to help when Matt quit eating, Dan had come up with that method of getting some calories into him. He knew elderberries were beneficial for fighting flu, but had no idea if it would help with the virus they were battling. But it was all he could come up with. When the honey had dissolved off the match stick, he bathed Mattâs face again and replaced the wash cloth. The efforts left him exhausted. He wanted to collapse in his chair, but checked the wood in the fire before he did. The lesions in his mouth made it painful, but he washed down his own Tylenol and vitamin with a large glass of water. The chair was a welcome relief when he plopped into it, and despite his fever he pulled a blanket over his legs. He picked up his cold cup of elderberry and honey tea and sipped. He nursed the tea and stared at the pot with its greenery. He mentally thanked Chad again for the bit of cheer in his gloomy existence. 

Mattâs glistening, pock-marked face drew his eyes, sapping the cheer the plants had given him. Matt was the best friend he had ever had. He closed his eyes, trying to remove the vision from his mind and replace it with the Matt of a week ago. His disease ravaged body was soon asleep. 

*****​


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 8 (continued)

President Obama took his seat at the head of the table in the situation room for the meeting of the National Security Council. Two additional seats that had been occupied during previous meetings were empty. Presidential counsel Neil Eggleston and Secretary of the Treasury Jacob Lew were in Bethesda being treated. For all the good it was doing. Secretary Kerry was failing fast. A state funeral ceremony was planned for the next day for Vice President Biden. The Presidentâs staff had assembled a list of candidates, but he was yet to consider a replacement. He knew he had to get it done soon; things were bad enough without considering John Boehner was next in line for the oval office until the position was filled.

As soon as he was seated, President Obama snapped a question to CIA Director Brennan, âWhat do you have, John?â

âWe have unequivocal evidence that Bubka is at the compound in Salhab.â He referenced the documents that had been placed before each member of the council as the information found on the first page flashed on the wall displays. "Also, we have confirmed he is there at the behest of the Syrian government.â 

The room was quiet while everyone went through the information. 

McDonough looked up from his papers at the director. âThese are authentic? You arenât photo-shopping Bubka to give us the answer we want to hear? Itâs not something like Saddam Husseinâs weapons of mass destruction propaganda, is it?â

Brennanâs eyes shot daggers at him. The audacity of that man to ask such a question. âI assure you,â he said with ice in his voice, âthat everything in these documents is true. We also have a credible Syrian defector who claims Syrian based Al Qaeda members are behind the attack with full governmental involvement. Syria has denied involvement of course, but has also warned that they will retaliate against any United States attack in 'highly damaging ways.'â Brennan continued to glare at McDonough until he looked back at the documents in his hand.

âNow if you will direct your attention to the displays, this is the image of a letter that was received by four prominent newspapers in our country. The letter demands that the U.S. withdraw its forces from the Persian Gulf, Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia. The author of the letter claims responsibility for the smallpox attack, and the letters contained a fingerprint of the smallpox strain matching that of the strain causing the current epidemic. Unless the U.S. forces withdraw in one week, it warns of renewed attacks.â

The President looked troubled when he finished reading. âThank you John. This is all very disturbing. General, what is your response to this?â

âSir, My personal opinion is that that cesspool has been a boil on our butt for far too long,â General Dempsey said. âThe second set of documents before you contains two scenarios: with the first scenario, you can lance that boil and have it fester up again. The second scenario will ensure we wonât ever have to deal with that particular boil again.â Brennan paled while he read the second option.

âSir, the Russianâs have always been very touchy regarding Syria. We need to take their response into consideration when considering how to react,â Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta said.

âSpeaking of Russia,â Denis McDonough said, âThey maintain complete deniability. They claim, as we should well know, that their biological weapons program was ended by Boris Yeltsin 1992 and that our claims on the source of the virus are false. Further, they claim they are administering âthe same vaccine as everyone elseâ. They finish their response with a strongly worded statement that we should be very careful about making false accusations, as there may be dire consequences to such libelous talk.â

âSir, this morning we identified a Russian Federation submarine approaching Norfolk. When we made contact, the skunk fled back to deep water,â Dempsey said. 

President Obama voiced a colorful description of the Russians. âAnything else internationally?â he asked.

âSir, the Chinese are mostly quiet, but we have detected troop and naval movements. We believe they are getting into position, waiting for the perfect moment to seize Taiwan. North Korea also appears to be sensing weakness and has amassed troops on the border with South Korea. India and Pakistan have increased their verbal barrage at each other. The Middle East is its normal killing field, although attacks on our forces have lessened in Afghanistan,â Secretary Panetta reported.

The President stared at the ceiling for a few moments, then asked for a progress report on the disease. Before it was finished, the report would cause him to swear again.

âSir,â CDC director Frieden said. âIâm afraid my report is not good.â He began to make his presentation while the same information was displayed on the video screens. The number of smallpox cases had reached seventy five thousand, with twelve thousand people dead. The epidemic was confirmed in one hundred fifty other countries. Although investigation suggested all cases were related to the initial attacks in San Francisco, the evidence didnât rule out additional or ongoing attacks. The disease was spreading too fast to be certain of anything.

In the past 48 hours alone, there had been sixteen thousand new cases. Of the twelve thousand dead, six hundred had been from reactions to the experimental vaccination. 

âNone of the original vaccine remains. The tests on the experimental vaccine are still inconclusive. Some people live after being inoculated while others die. The researchers have made little progress.â

âDirector Frieden, what is your worst case scenario?â President Obama asked.

âIt is stark sir, very stark. We estimate that by the end of the second generation which will be approximately March 1, four hundred thousand will be infected and one hundred twenty thousand dead. By the end of Generation 3, around March 20, one million will be infected with four hundred thousand dead. By the end of Generation 4, around April 5 which is eight weeks after the start of the epidemic, seven million will be infected with nearly half that many dead. Beyond that sir, the spread of the disease is, well, letâs just say the world has never seen anything like this before. It may well be a slate wiper."

The grim reality of what they were facing began to register to some members for the first time. President Obama closed his eyes and shook his head, willing it all to go away.

He opened his eyes and looked at the Attorney General. âEric, you're next up. For God's sake, tell me you have some good news.â It was obvious by his hollow tone that he did not really expect any such thing.

âI'm sorry, sir, but my news is also grim. Violence is spreading across the nation, as individuals try to keep others suspected of having smallpox at a distance. There are reports of police officers and civilians being killed when the police try to escort infected patients to an isolation area. Hospitals that remain open are full and have become subject to riots by people who canât receive treatment. The National Guard is undermanned and unable to keep order. Army troops delivering food have also come under gunfire in numerous locations. Civil order is breaking down everywhere.â

âAlso,â McDonough interjected, âWe are suffering severe economic damage. Most businesses are closed and massive traffic jams are occurring across many states as people try to flee the disease. Those traffic jams are happening outside of most every major city nationwide. I donât think those people even know where they are going; they are just trying to get out. All they accomplish is to spread the disease faster. "Most state borders have been closed, but it is mostly ineffectual without manpower to enforce it. 

âA New York Times poll indicates that most Americans think that the state and federal governments have lost control of the epidemic. A CNN/Gallup poll says nearly half of Americans think the President should use nuclear weapons against any nation proven responsible for the smallpox attack.â 

Again the room fell silent while the members of the National Security Council dwelled on the ramifications of what they had heard. The nation was unraveling, and they, this group of powerful people taxed with preventing such an occurrence, were powerless to stop it. An almost palpable weight of despair filled the room.

The President stood and cleared his throat. He looked hard at McDonough. âGet Boehner in here. Iâm going to have a cigarette.â

âSir?â McDonough asked, unable to complete the question.

âNo, I donât want him here, but we find ourselves stuck with him as next in line for the Presidency if something was to happen to me. Besides, weâll be roasted for whatever we do from this point forward, so we might as well put some of the heat on him too. Now get him in here.â 

The meeting re-convened ten minutes later. They began by briefing the Speaker of the House. When Boehner was caught up, the President scanned the room. âSo is there anything else we can do about this pandemic? Anybody? Mr. Speaker?â

âContinue to push for a vaccine,â Frieden said. âThat is our only hope at this point.â

âDoes anyone else have any viable ideas for dealing with the pandemic?â the President asked. Again his question was met with silent stares.

âSince no one has anything to help with the main problem, what about our response to Syria?â McDonough thought his boss should go have another cigarette. He was clearly agitated. âMr. Speaker, what do you recommend our official response to Syria to be?â

âMr. President, I wouldnât presume to formulate the nationâs response to this.â

âRight. And you wonât tell your guy at the Post how we screwed up, either. So no, Mr. Speaker, that answer wonât do. How would you respond to this?â

âSince you insist, Sir,â Boehner delivered the words with a hard stare back at the President. âI would take the Generalâs second scenario and turn that nation into a bad memory. I would send a message to the Muslim world and the world in general that if they try to bring us down, they will be annihilated in a mushroom cloud.â The President gave a very slight nod to the Speaker when he was finished.

âSir!â Eric Holder nearly shouted. He had seen the nod of confirmation. âYou canât be seriously considering this. We canât use nuclear weapons. This convoluted conversation shouldnât even be taking place. It is a conversation Bush would be having, not this administration.â

âMr. President, I must respectfully concur with Mr. Holder,â John Brennan said. âWe have too many assets there, and friends. Just think what this would do to relations in those countries.â

General Dempseyâs eyes narrowed as he looked at Brennan. âYes, heâs showing his true colors now. He cares more about his Muslim brotherhood than what they did to our country,â he thought to himself.

âSecretary Panetta, do you have anything to say?â President Obama asked.

âMr. President, our country is weakened and growing weaker daily. As you know, the vaccine we had available is ineffectual. Our domestic troops are beginning to suffer from the disease, and it has greatly weakened our bases. The virus is spreading through most of our bases here and a few overseas. Isolation of those bases is no longer an effective option. We are rapidly losing our ability to conduct conventional warfare. We are weakened, Sir, and being further weakened with each passing hour. In a very short time we will be vulnerable on most fronts. I recommend we implement the generalâs second option and employ nuclear weapons on Syria. We have to show strength before too many see just how vulnerable we are.â

âSir, you canât!â Brennan shouted, but the President cut him off.

âJohn, I want to hear what the others have to say.â

Surprising McDonough, National Security adviser Susan Rice, agreed with Panetta. âSir, I canât believe Iâm saying this, but I believe Mr. Panetta is right. If we donât send this strong message now, our country will soon be subject to another attack like the one in San Francisco, only next time might be even more deadly. We have to become ruthless, and that is through the use of nuclear weapons.â

Brennanâs eyes widened at hearing her. He wouldnât have thought the woman would ever advocate the use of nukes. 

James Comey had nodded his head at the comments from Rice and Panetta. âJames, are you in agreement?â the President asked.

âYes Sir, I am,â he said, keeping his answer short and sweet.

âDirector Frieden, I would be interested in hearing your opinion on this matter. How do you think we should deal with the Syrians?â President Obama asked.

âThank you, Sir, but I canât give a recommendation for military action. Iâm just here in an advisory role from the CDC.â He stopped and held up on finger, then started to talk again, showing more emotion that at any time when reporting the status of the pandemic. âBut in my equally important position as an American Citizen, I welcome the opportunity to respond to your question. 

âSir, I am outraged that those people would let something like this loose on our soil. I am outraged that the ones who did it are making demands that we sit on our hands and not do anything about it. I am outraged that some people in this room are willing to go along with those demands and let those people get away with this. I am outraged that our way of life has been destroyed. Yes, parts of our society still exist, but as I said earlier, this is a slate wiper. Our society is dying. A remnant may pull through, but what legacy will we leave them? Will we leave them with pride that we fought back? That we took the hardest hits ever seen in any model of warfare and we struck back with equal force and saved those remnants? Or do we allow that remnant to be under the thumb of whichever petty dictator is strong enough to take charge of that remnant. I am outraged to contemplate our strong nation, weakened though it will be when this has run its course being reduced to such a state.â When he spoke of outrage at those people in the room, he gave each a glare. He stared the President down with the most intense look while he finished.

âSo in my role as an American Citizen, I will be outraged further if my President does not set an example in Syria, an example that will get everyoneâs attention; that shows we are not going to lie down and take this crap from anyone. I advise, Mr. President, that you turn the sand of Syria into nothing more than a glistening patch of glass.â The room was silent for a few moments, a few surprised looks shot at Frieden. 

âDirector Frieden, you make a very compelling case,â the President said. âNot to short change anyone's opinion but when the director spoke of the remnant, the few that will survive this pandemic, I thought of Sasha and Malia, and the legacy we will leave them. I am resigned to the fact that thereâs not a thing we can do to stop this, that the death knell is being rung for our once proud country. Based on that, I will not allow the Syrians to get away with this. I will not bow to their pressure. General Dempsey, I want the final plan to eliminate that boil from our collective butts, as you so colorfully put it, on my desk within the hour.â He had one more order for Dempsey that stunned most of those assembled. âDenis, you have some statements to prepare. This meeting is adjourned, and God help us all.â

But sir, you canât do this,â Brennan shouted at the Presidentâs retreating back.

Eric Holder sat, clearly stunned. General Dempsey had a satisfied look on his face while he gathered his material. It was a rare moment that he left that room satisfied with anything.

*****​
McDonough was shaken to the core when he left the situation room. âThis canât really be happening. The President really thinks we wonât pull out of this mess,â he thought. The entire situation was beyond imagination. The President was going to order the unthinkable. He was defeated and planned to go down swinging. McDonough tried putting the words in order for the statements his staff had to craft. The statements to their allies would be the easiest. Saudi Arabia and Israel would be tougher due to their proximity to Syria. China was the wild card, and Russia, well, that one might not even matter. The allies, Saudi Arabia and Israel, would have the most time after being notified. Russia would be notified with no time to react, just accept. But how would they accept this? He considered the verbiage of the statement to Moscow. Should the statement include the information that all of their submarines and silos were isolated; that they were unaffected by the virus and capable of launching? The Russians should know that anyway. 

The last instructions the President gave to General Dempsey came back to him. âGeneral, following the strike, there is one more thing. Control of the missiles will go to the commanders. In the instance that any retaliation is detected, and only in that instance, they canât wait for my response. At such a time, they will have to react instantly.â

McDonough shuddered. Nuclear weapons could not be fired without the Presidentâs approval. After the first series, effectively eliminating the boil from his butt, he was transferring that control. McDonough was sweating as he made his way to the transport moving critical personnel to the bunker.

*****​


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## Bret F

Chap. 8 cont.

Chad read to the girls that night, going longer than their mom usually did. It was comforting to read the familiar children&#8217;s book and get his mind off the earlier conversation. He loved helping his dad and mom, but he was afraid his head would burst from the idea of filling in for both of them. He didn&#8217;t know if he would be able to do any of it, let alone everything that would need done. In his own bedroom, he pushed the window curtain aside and looked out into the dark. The edge of the shop was just visible if he got at a sharp enough angle.

His dad had been leaving a light on all night. Chad stared with longing at that light. He wished more than anything that his dad would walk out the door, strong and healthy, but no amount of wishing could make that happen. He didn&#8217;t want his mom to end up out there, too. He kept his face pressed against the glass until he was chilled through. He left the window and crawled under the covers. He ran through the conversation again and murmured into the dark room, &#8220;Don&#8217;t let Mom get sick. I need her, and so do Ali and Brooke. And please get Dad and Matt better.&#8221;


*****​
Dan jerked awake, the sudden movement causing pain to shoot through his body. His breath came in gasps while he tried to get under control. It wasn&#8217;t just the pain making him gasp. The dream had been so vivid. While most of his dreams faded away when he woke, this one seemed etched in his brain; just as was Guadalupe. His breathing slowed, and the dream came unbidden to his conscious brain. Lupe looked exactly like she had so long ago. He did the math in his head and came up with thirty years. And yet he saw her lovely face as if it was yesterday. He hadn&#8217;t seen the girl many times, but had been instantly smitten. He thought he was in love at the time. His heart broke the day Lupe told him her family was moving on the next morning. But she made the night memorable for him, oh so memorable. That special night added to his pain when she was gone. It wasn&#8217;t until years later when he met Lisa that he truly understood being in love, but those feelings of puppy love were still strongly etched in his memory.

The dream refused to leave his thoughts. He was standing at the alter, showing all the wear of his forty six years. Lupe stood beside him in all her youthful beauty, holding the baby. She beamed up at Dan. &#8220;Meet your son. His name is Matteo, and he is strong just like you.&#8221; 

&#8220;The baby? Matteo?&#8221; he questioned. He had never seen the baby, in fact, he hadn&#8217;t even learned of him until years later. Lupe&#8217;s family didn&#8217;t return to work the local fields the following summer, or the next. It was four years later before any of them returned; Lupe and her father weren&#8217;t with them. Dan was home for the summer after his first year of college. Lupe&#8217;s cousin found and told him he was a father. He was still ashamed of how he reacted to the news. 

When he did find a picture of the boy on the internet, he was a strapping young man enlisting in the army. Lupe was evident in his features, but Dan wondered again if her cousin had told him the truth about the rest.

In the dream, Lisa and the kids were standing off to the side, Alison and Brooke crying. The girls stopped crying and in unison asked why he was leaving them. Chad&#8217;s face was filled with disappointment. Lisa wasn&#8217;t crying. She looked at him with her eyes full of love. &#8220;Come home, Dan. We all need you.&#8221; She crossed the space separating them and took his hands. &#8220;Come back to us, darling - we need you. Matt needs you.&#8221; She pulled his arms, her words echoing in his mind, pulling him back.

Dan struggled to sit upright and focus on his friend. The sight pushed the dream from his thoughts. Matt&#8217;s skin was flushed red from the raging fever, marred by the numerous blisters. His breathing was labored with occasional gasps. Dan groaned as he stood and went to the water pail. He carried it to Matt&#8217;s cot and peeled the blanket back. His trunk was like his face; the skin red with fever where it wasn&#8217;t covered by the sickening blotches. Dan placed wet wash clothes over as much of Matt&#8217;s body as he could and dabbed softly at his face. The coolness had woken him on previous times, but failed to rouse him now. Dan did notice that Matt&#8217;s breathing seemed easier, at least Dan made himself believe it was. Dan dribbled a few drops of water between Matt&#8217;s lips. He would have liked to given him more, but didn&#8217;t want Matt to gag. He also put a small drop of honey in Matt&#8217;s mouth. 

The fire was down to a few glowing coals, so Dan added wood and opened the draft. He didn&#8217;t want to overheat the room, but didn&#8217;t want the fire to die completely. It took too much energy to restart a cold stove, energy he didn't have to spare. He would close the draft back down when the wood had caught. The teakettle on top was still hot enough to make tea so he set a cup to brew, then drank a cup of water and another cupful of chicken broth while he waited. His own fever was still high, but seemed to be somewhat controlled by acetaminophen. According to the note on his small white board, it had been long enough that he could take more. When he couldn&#8217;t remember the last time he had taken a dose, he had begun writing down the time he took one. He took more and noted the new time. The wash cloths were already warmed from contact with Matt&#8217;s skin, so Dan went through the motions of changing them, trying to drop Matt&#8217;s temperature. 

The actions sapped what little strength he had. He collapsed in his chair and pulled a blanket around him, his teacup in his hand. Matt&#8217;s chest rose and lowered in a steadier rhythm than when he had awoken, so he dozed off, thinking they had just cleared a small hurdle in their path.


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## Bret F

manygoatsnmore said:


> Bret, you're gonna make me blush! Of course, on reading through it again, I see we (I, since I'm supposed to catch that kind of thing) missed a few commas, etc. :facepalm: What can you expect from volunteer labor, lol! (contract, not contact).
> 
> Seriously, folks, I'm having so much fun playing editor and proof reader for Bret. He writes a wonderful story, and I get to read it first, lol!


Seriously, folks, she is doing an incredible job at making this tale a better read.


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## puddlejumper007

wow this is really good....thanks


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## Backyardcreek

I appreciate your talent & wait for the next chapter.

Very few possess the story telling / writing talent which obviously you have.

Thanks again!


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## Bret F

*Thanks to MGM for the wonderful contributions to the story!*

*Chapter 9*

Dan woke with a start and looked through partially closed eyes at the clock, then at the window beyond. It was only two hours since he last worked to cool Matt down, and it was still pitch black outside. Through muddled thoughts, he had the sense that something had woken him, but what? A wheezing breath from Mattâs cot answered the question. With his body craving more sleep, it took Dan some time to fully awaken. He studied Matt while his awareness increased, feeling more helpless than at any other time in his life. The realization of what he was seeing made him want to curl up in a ball and close off his mind. Nothing he had done appeared to have any effect on Matt's fever. The room had cooled off, the fire just smoldering. Smashed Tylenol and wet wash cloths were administered as often as Dan was able. Water and broth were carefully dribbled into Mattâs mouth. And none of it seemed to be doing the least bit of good. With every passing day, Matt seemed to fade a bit more.

Dan checked the pulse in Mattâs arm and compared it to his own. Mattâs felt quite a bit weaker. The breathing was much easier to gauge, and it was beyond a doubt getting worse. It appeared that each breath was a struggle, accented by a gasping breath at irregular intervals. Dan watched Mattâs struggles and glanced at the papers from the blue suits again. There was nothing written on the paper that Dan hadnât been doing, in fact he had read it so many times he had the section on treatment memorized. He taxed his brain for anything else he could do, but it was hard to think with the pounding headache and the near-overwhelming fatigue. He had grown used to the body aches, but his throbbing head was hard to ignore. Again, he had the urge to curl into a ball and close everything out. A louder than usual gasping breath from Matt drew Danâs attention back to him. Dan looked at his friend, feeling despair at not being able to do anything to help ease his pain. 

The absence of sound registered to Dan; the comprehension that Matt hadnât taken a breath since the loud gasp rocked him. Dan had no idea how much time had passed since that breath. He had just been relieved when he noticed a relaxing of the muscles in Mattâs neck. He thought at first that Matt was resting easier, but full comprehension came like a blow to his gut. Dan dropped to his knees at the side of Mattâs bed and grasped Mattâs hand. âNo!â he tried to yell at the ceiling. Instead, he croaked out the word. He gripped Mattâs hand tighter and bent his head over the still form. Tears ran down his face and dropped onto Mattâs still chest, absorbed by a wash cloth. 

Dan hadnât exaggerated when he had told Matt he was like a brother; in fact he had understated it. Matt was closer to Dan than his own brother had ever been. Dan stayed bent over Matt until he was cried out. If asked, he couldnât have said how long it took. Time no longer had meaning to him. 

Dan had never seen anyone die before. It wasnât like he had seen on TV and movies countless times. Matt didnât have a chance to make a memorable final statement. He had just faded more and more until he gasped that final breath and everything stopped, including the pain. Dan couldnât find solace in that. Pain was a part of life, and Mattâs had just been snuffed out prematurely. He felt something else building inside. He had always told the kids that hate was an unhealthy, wasteful emotion. There was no reason for hate. Anger maybe, but never hate. But at that moment, his fever burning, his face soaked with tears, he felt hatred, a deep burning hatred for those responsible. More time passed while he raged inside. As the rage diminished, the mental and physical exhaustion won out. His face settled against Mattâs motionless chest, and sleep took him again.

*****​
Chad was out of bed and had the fire roaring in the wood stove with the first light of dawn, as he had done every morning since his mom had gone into isolation four days earlier. Dan had taught him to start a fire when he was eight, much to Lisaâs consternation. She was terrified the boy was going to burn himself. He was very cautious, however, and learned to get the fire going safely. It was only after he became overconfident that he got burned. That lesson reinforced everything Dan had taught him about safety around open flames. Following the burn, which he kept hidden from his parents, he was always cautious around the fire. 

The cow was fed and milked, the milk strained, and everything cleaned and put away, when he heard his dadâs voice coming from the FRS radio down the hall in Lisa's isolation room. âHey, Lisa,â Danâs voice croaked. 

Lisa flipped the covers back and sat up, groaning from body aches, and pinching her eyes closed against the shooting pains in her head. She fumbled for the radio and spoke into it. Sheâd see what Dan needed now and think about what the pains meant later. âIâm here, Hon.â 

The radio was quiet while Dan tried to find the ability to say the words out loud. Voicing the fact that Matt was gone would add finality; make it more real that he was truly dead and gone. Lisa was about to confirm again that she was there when Dan keyed his radio. âI need you to do something. You need to let the blue suits know . . . that . . . Matt . . . passed . . . away . . ..â

âOh, honey, thatâs terrible. Iâll try to get a hold of them as soon as I can. Is there anything I can do for you, Hon, anything at all?â

âNah, just let them know. And . . . well . . . ask them if thereâs any chance they can bury him here.â

Lisa had to restrain herself from going straight to the shop to comfort him. The emotional pain was evident in his voice, on top of the hurt and weakness from the disease. She considered how she was feeling physically and decided she would be with him soon enough. She never got back pain or headaches. The presence of both seemed to mean only one thing. She rubbed her temples with her eyes closed and mentally ripped into herself. How could she have been so stupid as to stay in the house with the kids? She had avoided contact with them and wiped down everything she touched with bleach. It was four days since she'd placed herself in a negative pressure isolation room, using a fan to blow a small amount of air out the window and prevent air flow back into the house. She prayed that it had been enough, and she hadnât passed it on to them.

âChad, honey,â she called softly through the doorway. She hoped he was in the house and would hear her without disturbing the girls. 

âYeah, Mom,â he said, just beyond the plastic barrier. His quick response, so close, made her jump. It took a few deep breaths for her heart beat to return to normal.

âOh, honey, you startled me. I didn't know you were so close. Did you happen to hear what your dad said?â

âYeah, I did,â he said, flatly.

âSo, I need you to do something for me. I need you to go to the computer. There is a paper there from the CDC with contact information. You need to follow their directions, and let them know about Matt. Can you do that, honey, since I canât go out there?â

âYeah, Mom, I can. I'm sorry about Matt.â

âAnd Chad, thereâs one other thing,â Lisa said, following it with a sob. Chad didnât answer, just stood where he was and waited. âIâm going to be going to the shop with your dad. Iâm afraid Iâve caught it.â

Chad put a hand out against the wall as the room started to spin. This couldnât be happening. Not his mom, too. Their world was being ripped apart.

*****​
Lisa looked at the phone on the night stand, fighting a mental battle. She wasnât sure if she could call or not, or how Heather would react if she did. Trying to put herself in Heatherâs shoes, she wasnât certain how she would react if she was called with the same need. Finally, she decided she had to call, otherwise Heather might not find out until it was too late. She picked up the phone and dialed, saying a silent prayer before pressing the last button.

The phone was answered on the third ring by a cheery voice. âHey, Sis, is it time for us to meet for lunch already? I thought that wasnât until next week."

âNo, thatâs not what I called about,â Lisa said. Her voice was a sharp contrast to Heatherâs.

âWow, Lis, you sound like crap. Are you sick or something?â Heather asked. The cheer was gone, replaced with concern. 

âYeah, Iâm sick. Have you been catching any news?â Lisa asked. 

âOf course not; Iâm in the middle of writing my paper and didnât want to be disturbed. You know how I am when I'm writing - a bomb could go off, and I'd never know it hit me! Whatâs going on?â 

Lisa certainly did know how Heather could be, totally immersed in her work. She was a biologist studying the decline in the sage grouse population and their habitat. She had just completed a study; now she was writing up the results prior to publication. When she talked about the project, Lisaâs head swam and she had to ask Heather to repeat that in English. Lisa still had no clue what her sister was talking about, other than manâs effect on a bunch of birds, but knew Heather was driven to get the paper completed and published. Her house was far from the distractions of city life. When it came time to compile data and release the results of her studies, she became a virtual recluse, getting more exposure to the birds than to people. Thank goodness for caller ID, or Lisa was sure Heather would have ignored the phone.

âMaybe itâs better youâve been cut off from the news, because itâs horrid. Thereâs a big epidemic, or pandemic, whatever; Iâve heard it called both,â Lisa said.

âWait. A pandemic? What is it?â

âThe news says itâs some kind of modified smallpox. Some terrorists let it loose at the Super Bowl, and it has spread world-wide,â Lisa said. 

âYouâre right, that would be horrid if, oh shi . . . Lisa, no.â Heather whispered the last words as she got the full meaning. Lisa must have it.

âYeah, I think Iâve got it,â Lisa answered nearly as quiet.

âOh, Lis, is there any chance youâre wrong? What about Dan and the kids?â Heather wanted her sister to be wrong; she had to be wrong.

âNo, I donât think Iâm wrong. It started the very same way for Dan and now he is totally covered with those lesions. Do you remember his friend, Matt? He got it about the same time, and well, he died from it last night.â

âOh, my God! Lisa, thatâs terrible. What can I do to help? Are the kids all right?â 

âThe kids are all right, and I pray they stay that way. Dan went into isolation in the shop as soon as he found out, but I guess he found out a day or two late. He and I, well, letâs just say I had a better chance of getting it from him than the kids do,â Lisa wiped her nose then said, âIâm going to join him out in the shop. Chad will have to take care of the girls and the place.â

âMy God, Lisa, heâs so young. Tell you what, I can be there in about four hours. Why donât I come and stay with the kids?â 

âNo, Heather, donât do that. Youâre safe where you are. Stay away from here, and keep away from all people. What I really want is to ask you a huge favor. If you donât hear from any of us in two weeks, then I want you to come check on the kids, and take them with you if they aren't sick. I donât want them to be left alone. I don't know if the phones will still be working, so best case, you'll get here and find us all okay. Worst case,â her voice broke, and she struggled for control, "worst case, Dan and I might not make it..."

âOh Lisa, you think it could come to that?â

âYes, I do. From what they say on the news, not many people live through this. Matt didn't. Dan is very sick, and Iâm not sure if he can hang on. I'm just starting to get sick, but I already feel awful. So, I need your promise that youâll take the kids if we don't make it.â 

Heather raised a tissue and wiped tears away from her cheeks. âOf course Iâll take them. But Lisa, you better beat this thing. You have to beat it.â

âIâll do my best. Now Iâve got to get out of the house. The longer Iâm here, the more chance of exposure the kids have. Luv you, Sis.â

âLuv you back,â Heather said. She held the phone to her ear long after she heard the click. She saved her work documents and opened her web browser. It was time to find out just what was happening in the rest of the world.

*****​
Dan came out of a fever dream and sensed, more than saw, the presence of another person. He was confused. Were the blue suits there for Matt, coming in without him hearing? Forcing his eyes open, he focused on the other person. His eyes widened. âLisa? Oh, God, what are you doing here? You canât be here. You need to leave now!â It came out as a croak, though he tried to shout.

âI canât, Hon. I canât be around the kids anymore. Itâs safer for them this way,â she said. Her words were delivered with obvious fear in her voice. 

It took some time for her meaning to get through to Dan. When it did, he groaned and closed his eyes tightly. âOh, God, no! Not you, too!â Lisa sat on the edge of his cot and took his hand. Dan pulled her into an embrace, glad to feel her in his arms again, but horrified with the enormity of what it meant. She buried her face against his chest and sobbed. 

*****​
General Dempsey paused before stepping into his office. âGet me Admiral Gortney on the line,â he said to his aide and closed the door behind him. He sat at the desk and stared at the phone. Admiral Bill Gortney was the commander of NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command. He was based at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado.

âSir, the admiral is on,â the aide said through the phoneâs speaker. 

âGeneral, to what do I owe the pleasure?â Gortney asked.

âItâs not a pleasure call, Admiral.â In detail, the General described the recent meetings of the National Security Council, his comments about the boil that was Syria, and the President's decision. âIâm certain the Russians wonât be happy, but the big question is how will they react? Will this give them the impetus to do what they never did in the past, though we all know they wanted to? The President is releasing control to you; authorization will follow our conversation. If they launch, youâll need to react with everything we have without delay.

âAnd one more thing, Bill, if anything happens, China is poised to seize Taiwan, and North Korea is ready to go into the South. If the Russians hit us hard, I donât know that we could do anything for Taiwan, but we sure could remove one more boil off our butt inPyongyang. Give that some thought.â

*****​


----------



## Bret F

Chapter 9 continued 

Sergei Bubka sat on the rooftop of the tallest building in the compound where he had spent most of a year and soaked up the warm sunshine. He lit another cigarette and looked out across the landscape. It was so much more open there than in Russia, and he could see farther than he would have imagined from his vantage point. He went to the rooftop often to enjoy the warmth and have a smoke or two. That was the one positive thing about the arrangement. At least it was warm. Actually at times it was down-right hot, but he didn&#8217;t mind. What he did mind was the feeling of entrapment. He was no more free here than he had been in Russia. The Russian police had been replaced by sour faced men that glowered at him each time they looked at him. The glares were especially fierce after they finished their prayers. His own mother used to pray, but nothing like these people. These zealots were on their knees five times every day. His knees hurt just to watch them. 

Everything they had promised him; the money, the home on the beach with lapping waves of warm water, the freedom; he hadn&#8217;t seen any of it. He was their prisoner, having made the mistake of giving them what they wanted before they made good on any of their promises. The least they could do was give him vodka, he reasoned, but they wouldn&#8217;t even allow that, the rotten zealots. 

Six feet away, a guard drew on his own cigarette and tossed it away. Bubka had decided the rooftop guards weren&#8217;t watching him, but were watching for threats to the compound from outside. Not that they would hesitate to shoot him if he tried to run. The rooftop was lined with sandbags and had a large gun mounted on a tripod behind them. Bubka assumed it was a machine gun, but he really didn&#8217;t know weapons at all. Other weapons were there, also, and boxes with ammunition. He didn&#8217;t understand any of it, nor did he try. He knew that he would be killed easily with any of the weapons if he chose to run, so he stayed, smoked and soaked up the sunshine. 

Bubka stood and took a final drag on the cigarette, tossing it off the roof. He stretched, looking to the south for one last time before heading back down the long staircase. An intense bright light appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. It seemed to Bubka like he had looked directly at the sun, the light was so bright. Pain seared through his eyes, and he raised his hands to cover them. The pain stayed, and Bubka fought to open his eyelids despite it. The world was black. No light showed behind his cupped hands. He lowered his hands and the world remained dark. Panic flashed through his brain. What had happened? What was that light, and why couldn&#8217;t he see? He started to stumble in the direction he thought the stairs were located. The guard was shouting something in Arabic, but Bubka didn&#8217;t understand what he said. He continued to stumble, wincing in pain as his arm was grasped by a strong hand just as his feet hit the sandbags. The strong grip yanked him backwards and off-balance. Bubka and the guard were knocked off the roof a moment later when the shockwave hit. 

Bubka lay where he fell, his body twisted at an odd angle. His brain registered pain everywhere, and neither arm would work right. He tried to move, and the pain intensified. The pain and blindness ended moments later in another bright flash within yards of where he lay.

*****​
It was nearly ten hours after Chad had sent the email when a pickup pulled to a stop in front of the house. Two blue suited people got out and moved with tired steps to the tailgate. Frank Jeffries fought off the exhaustion he felt. His crews were overwhelmed with casualties, with little time for rest. The ring isolation method had failed, at least in this area. The epidemic, the pandemic, he amended the terminology in his mind, was raging out of control. 

They pulled out a gurney, ducked through the quarantine tape, and walked towards the door. Chad stepped out and stared at the gurney. The girls were huddled together behind the screen door. &#8220;Do you have to take him?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;My dad was hoping he could be laid to rest here.&#8221;

Jeffries didn&#8217;t need this. He just wanted to pick up the body and get on his way to all of the other bodies they had been called to attend that day. He tried not to think of how many they weren&#8217;t notified about, that died alone, or where everyone in a house died without getting a notice sent. It was going to be a mess that could never be cleaned up. He figured those houses would just be burned to try to prevent the disease from spreading further. That is if there was anyone left to burn the houses. He looked through weary eyes at the boy and said, &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, but we need to take him. Can you stand aside, and let us in, please?&#8221;

Chad knew his dad would be disappointed that Matt couldn&#8217;t be buried there. Would it be the same answer if it was his dad? Don&#8217;t go there, he told himself. &#8220;All right, but he&#8217;s not in the house. He&#8217;s out in the shop.&#8221;

Jeffries thought it odd that the body had been moved out of the house, but he had seen a lot of other odd behavior since the whole mess had started. He and the other blue suit followed the boy to the back yard. Chad pointed at the shop and said, &#8220;He&#8217;s in there.&#8221; Then he went to the back door of the house and watched. The girls had walked through the house and were staring out the back window.

Jefferies was surprised when he stepped into the shop. The room looked cozy, with the cots, the camping equipment, the supplies and wood stove. A flushed woman was sitting in one chair. A second chair was occupied by a man with heavily pocked features, who stood and turned around to look at Jeffries. The man was flushed, unshaven, and squinted his eyes from the pox around each eye. A hint of recognition came to Jeffries, a feeling that he should know this man. He helped wheel the gurney between the two cots and lowered it.

&#8220;So, I guess we can&#8217;t bury him here, huh?&#8221; the pock faced man rasped. 

Again, Jefferies had the thought he had seen the man before. &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry sir. We just don&#8217;t have the manpower or equipment to do that. We need to take him with us.&#8221; Jeffries positioned himself at the head of the bed, and Matt&#8217;s body was shifted to the gurney and covered. They raised the gurney to an easier height to maneuver, and Jeffries turned back to Dan. &#8220;Sir, I don&#8217;t mean to be callous at a time like this, but, well, if you survive, you should burn your bed and this other one.&#8221;

Dan gave a slight nod and reached out an unsteady hand to stop Jeffries from taking the gurney away. &#8220;Just a moment, please?&#8221; he said. He pulled the blanket back from Matt&#8217;s face and looked at him one last time while he gripped his cold, stiff hand. Lisa walked up behind Dan and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. &#8220;Goodbye, brother,&#8221; he murmured, then stepped back.

Jeffries spread the blanket back over Matt&#8217;s face, gave a nod to the man at the other end of the gurney and they rolled it out the door. Dan watched them round the corner of the house out of sight and collapsed, more than sat, into his chair.

Chad was waiting near Jeffries&#8217; pickup when they rolled the gurney up. &#8220;Son, you need to step back,&#8221; he said. He didn&#8217;t say just how tired he was, or that he wanted to get on with this so he could get to his room and try to forget the past few weeks, at least for a few hours.

Chad backed up a few steps. &#8220;Sir, I was wondering if you had any contamination suits that you could give out. Not the one like you wear; but I saw some on the internet that are more like a disposable suit.&#8221; 

The gurney was at the back of the pickup, and the two men had to move to the sides. &#8220;And just why would you want one of those?&#8221; Jeffries asked.

&#8220;Because my dad is very sick, and my mom started feeling sick today. They are both staying in the shop. I might have to take care of them, but I also have to take care of my little sisters, and I don&#8217;t want to spread it to them. I mean after Matt,&#8221; he pointed towards the gurney, &#8220;they might need somebody to help them.&#8221;

Jeffries helped set the gurney in the pickup, then studied the innocent, earnest face of the boy before him. Recognition dawned on him. The boy was the younger version of the man that had touched him that first day he had been involved with the isolation team. That was why the sick man in the shop had looked familiar. &#8220;Sure, son, I&#8217;ve got some on the seat. I&#8217;ll set one out. But my gloves could contaminate it, so I'll wipe it down for you. I&#8217;ll put some wipes with it, too, that are supposed to kill the virus so you can clean it up before and after you use it. Let&#8217;s just hope you never have to.&#8221; Jeffries wiped his gloves down before touching the suit, then set the items on the ground. He hoped the information was true, that the wipes would work against the virus. He&#8217;d had his fill of bodies and didn&#8217;t want to see this boy or his sisters catch the virus. And he didn&#8217;t want to have to come back for the boy&#8217;s parents.

*****​
The statement by the President was short and to the point. He laid out the evidence and the current results of the attack by Syria. That was followed by confirmation of the United States response. He continued by making it clear that although the country was weakened by the epidemic, they were prepared to react with previously unseen force if there were further hostilities.

McDonough had stood to the side and watched while the statement was recorded. He thought the President was acting like a man who had nothing left to lose, and everyone knew how dangerous those people could be. The statement had been recorded in an undisclosed location; definitely not the White House press room.

As was to be expected, the statement created outrage in some places, but it was praised in many more. The epidemic had spread nearly worldwide and was affecting most countries. Commerce was at a standstill everywhere, and health facilities were overrun. There was a wide-spread feeling of outrage toward the terrorists who had unleashed this plague upon the world.

Russia did not condemn the bombing nor cheer it. In fact, the Russian government was silent. The CIA operatives in Moscow could only confirm that private meetings were taking place. No information at all was being leaked by those attending. The silence was deafening.

*****​
Heather spent the rest of the day on the internet, learning everything she could about the pandemic. When the news about the action against Syria flashed on the screen, she stared at it, dumbstruck. &#8220;No stinking way!&#8221; she told the monitor. No other words could form as she read the accounts. She was so engaged in the story, she had to be called three times for dinner. 

When working, her research occupied her so completely, she tended to skip meals and let the house go. At the urging of friends and family, she had hired a caretaker couple to alleviate those needs. Kate and Rudy kept the house up and kept her fed in exchange for their own meals, housing and a stipend. It worked well for all three of them.

Heather sat at the table, and once her plate was filled, she played with the food, hardly eating. &#8220;I&#8217;m going on a trip tomorrow,&#8221; she announced. 

Kate looked shocked at the news. Heather never left her work part way done. &#8220;What is it? Has something happened?&#8221; she asked.

Heather explained about Lisa and what was happening everywhere. &#8220;So I&#8217;m going to go stay with the kids until Lisa is better. As soon as she and Dan are past the contagious stage, I&#8217;m bringing the whole family back here. And Rudy, it sounds like people have fled the cities in mass droves. I want you to carry a gun at all times, and be ready to keep people away. Our isolation out here is probably the only thing that&#8217;s saved us so far. Although I honestly don&#8217;t know why anyone in their right mind would come out here,&#8221; she said with a chuckle. Heather&#8217;s home, in the least populous county in the state, was seven miles from the nearest paved road and another thirty miles from there to a town. There were a number of buildings and one business where her dirt road met the pavement. It even rated a name on the map, but she didn&#8217;t consider it a town. If you couldn&#8217;t sit down to a beer and sandwich &#8211; she could buy a six pack to go, but not drink it there - or attend church, it wasn&#8217;t a town. A real town didn&#8217;t need both, but in her opinion, had to have one or the other, and her fly speck had neither. She also kept an apartment in Meridian, where she spent time when she couldn&#8217;t avoid it, but when she did serious work, she retreated from human contact as much as possible. The power came from solar panels and a propane powered generator. Her phone and internet were from satellites. 

Kate and Rudy tried everything they could to dissuade Heather from leaving, but nothing would change her mind. Her sister and family needed help, and there was no way on this good earth she was going to wait two weeks. She spent the remainder of the evening gathering up what she needed to take with her. 

The jeep was given a quick check and the gas tank topped off. The vehicle was well equipped for spending a few days away from home. Besides her bag with supplies, it carried a well-stocked tool box, tire chains, spare gas can, a high-lift jack and a winch. When she had first moved out here, she had found out the hard way about the Owyhee county mud on the unmaintained dirt roads in the back country. One memorable hike of twelve miles to a ranch house after spending the night in the car, had been enough for her. After the rancher had drug the jeep out of the mud bog, she had taken his advice on what to carry and had used some of it on more than one occasion. 

In her bedroom, she opened the safe and took out the AR15 and a bundle of magazines. She cleaned the rifle and filled the magazines, putting them in her vest pouches, and set the rifle and vest with her bag. She had only fired a gun at targets since she&#8217;d returned from Iraq, but was steeling herself to the idea that things could change soon. No one better get between her and her family! 

When everything was ready, she taxed her brain for anything she had missed. Only one thing came to mind, and she resisted it. She hadn&#8217;t prayed for a long time, but she felt if ever there was time for prayer, she was facing it. Her prayer was short, asking for the well-being of her family and safe travel to them. She finished it with the request that no one get in her way on the trip because she really didn&#8217;t want to have to shoot someone.


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## 355946

Brett, thank you! I have always been glad I didn't have to read Dickens in installments but here I am, waiting for the latest chapters from you. Worth the wait!


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## Ozarks Tom

Wonderful work Bret, your best yet!


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## Cindy in NY

Don't forget to wish Bret a Happy Birthday (March 7th)!!


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## Bret F

Thanks Cindy.

Puddlejumper, Backyardcreek; thank you, I really appreciate it. Youâre embarrassing me.
Home again, see above
Thank you Tom.
I appreciate all your comments. And truly, Mary is giving me incredible assistance in this; making it read better, keeping me on track.
Bret

*Chapter 10 *

Chad stood in front of the opened refrigerator after putting away the morning's milk and thought about his sisters. What did they have on hand that they would like? Breakfast had better be something simple so he didnât start off the day on the wrong foot with them. He had passed muster the past few days, but, even though she had kept herself isolated, their mom had been in the house. This day felt totally different. Lisa wasnât on hand for support, and talking to her on the radio just wasn't the same. The girls wouldnât forgive him soon if he messed up, and they might run for the shop and Mom. That just couldn't happen. Boiled eggs and toast would be the thing, he decided; oh, and bacon, too. Everything was better with bacon. He would just have to make sure he didnât burn it. He remembered how his mom had filled the house with smoke once when she had the bacon started and went to do something else. That had really stunk! If something else needed his attention, heâd better turn the burner off, even if it took longer to cook. 

The aroma of cooking bacon was filling the house when Brooke emerged from her bedroom, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She looked around the kitchen in confusion before remembering Lisa was in the shop. Chad would have to do. She walked to the stove and wrapped her small arms around him, edging him towards the living room and its inviting couch. Brooke always needed a little snuggle time with Lisa when she got up, so Chad started for the couch with her. They were just about to sit down when he remembered the frying pan. âJust a minute Brooke,â he said and went back to turn the pan off. He berated himself for almost forgetting. He was going to have to do better than that if he didn't want to burn the house down. He got a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the responsibility resting on his shoulders now.

Chad sat on the couch, and Brooke snuggled in close to him. His arm went around her in a protective gesture and he held her close. While he sat like that, he wished he could get some support himself, a hug or proud pat on his back. Heâd had no idea how important those were when his parents gave them or how much he would miss them. He made a silent wish that Brooke wouldnât look at his face right then. He brushed at his cheek with his free hand.

They were still snuggled together when Alison come out of the bedroom. âYum, Chad, youâre cooking bacon. Is it ready? 'Cause I am. Iâm real hungry,â she said. She was a sharp contrast to her sister, getting out of bed wide awake and ready to go.

âWhat do you think Brooke, should we finish breakfast?â he asked.
âYeah, Iâm hungry too,â she said.

Chad extricated himself from her and stood. âDo you guys want to help? It would sure go easier.â 

âIf it means we can eat sooner, weâll help, wonât we Brooke,â Alison said.

While not as thrilled as her sister, Brooke nodded her head, stood and followed along to the kitchen. Chad directed them to put eggs in a pan so they could start boiling. The burner under the frying pan was started again, and he set out mugs and chocolate mix, then got the toaster. The girls stayed busy, putting chocolate in the mugs and bread in the toaster. Chad didnât mention the chocolate that was spilled on the counter. He was just glad they were willing to help. With a pang, he thought about some of the messes he had made while he âhelpedâ his dad on projects. He sure had a greater appreciation for his dadâs patience now. Chad handled the hot water for the eggs and poured milk in the cups the girls got out. The twins set the table and got the butter and jam out. The whole time Chad kept his mind focused on the bacon; he really didnât want to scorch it. 

When they sat down to eat, Chad praised the girls for all their help. He knew things wouldnât always go that smoothly, but if he kept them involved, it would beat arguing with them. They had always liked to be outside working with their parents, so Chad asked, âSo can you help me outside today? I sure could use your help. Then we can read one of your books when we take a break.â 

*****​
Heather drove as fast down the Reynolds Creek Road as conditions would allow, with her mind flying just as fast. The road was gravel, and the county kept it well maintained. _Had_ kept it maintained it, she decided. With the plague sweeping the nation, it would be the end of road maintenance. And sage grouse studies. It was just as well Lisa had called her; there wouldnât be a need to complete her paper now. She thought wryly that the birds just might stand a chance now to make a comeback. 

Wildlife biologists were often grouped in with the tree-hugger ilk, but Heather didnât fit that category. She just liked the birds and the wide open spaces a lot more than she liked cities and the unwashed masses. Actually she detested the crowded cities. Before she left the army and enrolled in college, she had done careful research into occupations that would allow her to work in the open air and away from the congestion of too many people and too much concrete. She had been happy with her choice.

Her mind jumped to the plague; yes, she knew it was a smallpox epidemic or pandemic, but to her, it was simpler just to consider it the plague. What she had read the previous day was reminiscent of the accounts of the Black Plague that had swept through Europe in the Middle Ages. With her opinion of overcrowded cities, she wasnât all that sad about the plague. Her army shrink would have a heyday trying to analyze her feelings about that, but she didnât give a rip. Chances are he had it by now and should be more concerned with his own feelings than hers. She just cared about one family getting it, and that set her to fuming. Fuming that after all the time and resources spent in the Middle East â her own time notwithstanding - they were no closer to peace than ever. And now those ************* had pulled off this crap. That part of the world had never known peace, and she didnât think they ever would. Well, maybe Syria would be peaceful for a while, what still existed of it. But the rest of that wretched region would never know peace; they just werenât wired for it. 

The buildings clustered at the intersection with Highway 78 came into view, and she slowed, scanning the area for signs of life. No one was visible at the early hour, and she made the turn onto the blacktop, flattening the gas pedal. There wouldnât be any cops watching for speeders now, would there?

Heather slowed on the long straightaway approaching Marsing when she saw something in the road ahead. It looked to be close to the state highway maintenance facility. She slowed further, wondering if something had gone wrong with some of their equipment. Her tires screeched on the pavement when she finally recognized what it was; large combines were parked side by side from fence row to fence row, effectively blocking the highway and the barrow pit on each side. The words from Heatherâs mouth were a sharp contrast to the words in her prayer the previous evening. She hadnât known what to expect, but it certainly wasnât this. She picked up the binoculars from the passenger seat and studied the road block. There were three men that she could see, all armed with rifles. One appeared to be in an Owyhee County Sheriffâs uniform. She dropped the Wrangler back into gear and approached the road block at an idle. 

At about one hundred yards the man in the uniform raised a bullhorn and spoke into it. âDonât come any closer. If you do, you will be fired on.â

Heather stopped the Jeep and got out slowly, making sure her hands were visible. When she was clear of the car, she called out to the man, âI just want to drive through town and cross the river. Iâve been back on Reynolds Creek for months and havenât had contact with anyone. Thereâs no way Iâve been exposed.â

âDo you see anyone else with her?â the officer asked in hushed tones. One of the other men had a spotting scope and had been studying the Jeep carefully.

âNo, just her,â he said.

ââKeep watching,â the officer ordered and stepped out between the two combines. âIâm Deputy Douglas, maâam, and I have to order you to return to your home. Governor Otter has mandated that everyone stay in place for the duration of the emergency. All travel has been curtailed in order to stop further spread of the disease.â

âBut I just want to go through town, cross the river and get to my sisterâs house near Middleton. Her kids are alone right now,â Heather called back. âI swear thereâs no way Iâve got the plague. I wonât stop anywhere; Iâll just drive straight through.â From what she had read the previous day, travel restrictions were kind of late; the disease had spread too far already. 

âIâm sorry maâam, but we canât allow that. There are absolutely no exceptions. Now get back in your vehicle, and return to your home.â

She stood and glared at him, shooting daggers with her eyes. Finally, she turned back to the car, muttering. âIdiot! More like Deputy Dawg than Deputy Douglas! Give some bumpkin a badge and a gun and they lose every bit of sense they might have once had. It probably wouldnât do any good to shoot him either, thereâs bound to be more of his kind in town.â She turned the Wrangler around and drove back up the highway the way she had come, watching the lunkhead in her rear view mirror.

When the combines were tiny in the distance, she stopped the car, got out and grabbed the tube of topographic maps from the back seat. She pulled the rolled maps from the tube, located the one for her location and laid it out on the hood of the Jeep. There was an unmaintained road that ran right along the Snake River, but she didnât think it would help. It ran right into the city park below the bridge at the edge of town. If there was a road block out here, the bridge was undoubtedly blocked. The largest population area in the state was right up that highway across the river. That would be the townâs biggest chance of exposure. She cussed the map, the disease, Deputy Dawg, Governor Otter and everyone else she could think of.

She took another map out of the roll that showed a wider area. Studying it confirmed what she already knew, but she had to make sure anyway. There were few bridges crossing the Snake River, and most of them were next to towns. If the Marsing bridge was inaccessible, she was sure it was the same at Homedale, Grandview, and most likely the bridge outside of Bruneau. The fact they were all in Owyhee County didnât help; there had to be a slew of Deputy Dawgs out there. She expanded her search; the next bridge to the east was another twenty five miles or so upstream. She looked the other direction and found the next bridge downstream was in Oregon. The town there was pretty small, but with the river forming the State border at that point, she reasoned it would certainly be blocked and heavily guarded. She decided to drive up-river. The bridge past Bruneau was the only one without a town directly beside it, only that one was out in nowheresville. She put the maps away and started driving mostly east, irritated that she was going further away from Lisaâs place. The speed was kept below what she had driven to get there; she was watching a lot more closely for people now. If travel was restricted, anyone she saw could be a potential danger. Extra caution would be needed near Grandview with its close proximity to the Mountain Home Air Force Base. There was no telling what kind of security would be out there. A string of cussing directed at the deputy and the ************* blasted through the car as she drove down the deserted highway. 

*****​
âGood job you two,â Chad told Alison and Brooke as they finished watering the beds in the greenhouse. While they had done that, he had watered the trays filled with seedlings. âIn about a week, these will need bigger pots, or planted in those beds. Iâll bet with your small hands, youâll be better at it than me,â he told them. 

Brooke dropped the hose and bent over the bed, grasped a carrot and pulled it. âI want a carrot with my sandwich,â she stated. 

Chad had promised grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. He just hoped he could get them cooked right. âPull me one, too, please. What about you, Ali; do you want one?â he asked.

âUh uh, I want two,â she said. 

Chad took his pocket knife out, cut the tops off all four carrots and dropped the greens in a bare spot in one of the beds. âOkay, letâs go have lunch,â he said. âAfter you wash the carrots and set the table, maybe you can talk to Mom a little on the radio.â

Both their faces lit up at the prospect, and they hurried to the house, urging Chad to hurry. They rushed through washing and getting the table ready for lunch and sat down at the table with the FRS radio. Alison squeezed it and spoke into it. âMomma, are you awake? Can you talk to us?â

Lisaâs voice soon came over the radio. âIâm here, Baby. Is everything all right?â

Her voice full of excitement, she said, âWeâre okay, but we miss you. Chad had us cook eggs for breakfast, and we helped him in the greenhouse.â The girls continued to tell Lisa about all the things Chad had done with them since she had gone to the shop. At the stove, Chad listened to his mom talk and wished it was her making the sandwiches and him telling about things he had done with his dad. 

After lunch, the dishes washed and drying in the rack, Chad had the girls pick out two books. One sat on each side of him on the couch and took turns reading alternate pages while Chad helped them. The second book, he read. By the end, each had slumped down on him asleep. He laid them down carefully and covered each with a blanket. Through the window in the back door, he gave a longing look at the shop, hoping to see one of his parents. When they didnât appear right away, he went to the bookshelf, found âThe Encyclopedia of Country Livingâ and sat down at the table. He wasnât looking for anything in particular, but started going through it, looking for anything he might be facing soon.

*****​
In the limited time Dan was lucid, Lisaâs presence in the shop both terrified and comforted him. After watching Matt go downhill and die, he loathed the idea that she might have to endure the same anguish with him. Witnessing his friendâs deterioration had been more painful and disheartening than what was happening to his own body. He had to keep Lisa from experiencing that, and he would, if his system could just be strong enough to beat this disease. A bright spot was that she seemed to be resisting the disease better than he and Matt had, but it was probably too soon to draw any conclusions.

Then there were the kids. Whenever he thought of his kids being left alone, the simmering hatred he felt for whoever had loosed the virus and started the epidemic boiled up again. He had never been prone to violence, but fear for his family fueled him; given the opportunity, he would deliver the reward those vermin deserved. His fever-fueled imagination ran wild with various horrors that could befall three kids alone. Chad was capable of doing a lot of things, but after all, he was only eleven. Dan woke in cold sweats that werenât all caused by the fever.

In spite of his fears, and his wish for a trusted adult to care for the kids, he was elated to have someone with him. Mattâs death had left a huge void inside him, and he welcomed Lisa's companionship. Most of the time he slept; he was exhausted and had been running mostly on will power while helping Matt. Time no longer had meaning in his state. But when he was awake, Lisa gave him comfort he hadnât know he needed. 

Those times he was coherent, while he slurped down his pabulum, he urged Lisa to eat as much as she could hold. In a short time, the lesions would form in her mouth. She wouldnât want to eat once that happened. The more reserves she had then, the better she would be for it. The nausea that accompanied the disease hadnât manifested itself in Lisa, and she was able to eat her fill, accompanied by multivitamins. She did have the body aches and a low fever, so she adopted Danâs schedule for taking Tylenol.

Dan didnât want to eat, but he did. He was eating little more than baby food. It was mostly soup they had made from the garden. Each jar he opened was dumped into the blender and turned to soft pulp before heating. The lesions in his mouth were so painful he found it nearly impossible to chew. His vitamins were mixed with the soup; it didnât improve the flavor. The most flavorful item he had was the honey he let dissolve in his mouth or drank in tea. Fasting would have been preferable, but it wasnât an option. As his body battled for his life, it needed every bit of energy he could provide. 

With Dan feeling so miserable when he was awake, Lisaâs aches and their worries about the kids, the two of them didnât engage in any of the playful interaction they usually had with each other. Instead they drew silent comfort from the others' presence.

*****​
Heather turned the air blue, figuratively, with her colorful speech as she looked through her binoculars at Grandview. Not only did the distant bridge appear to be blocked, but Highway 78 was blocked by cattle trucks. A car behind the road block was definitely from the sheriffâs department. She mixed in more colorful phrases about hillbilly deputies while she got the topo maps out again. She found some roads that would go around the town, a long way around and slugged her seat in frustration. Her statement to Lisa came back to her, about being able to get to her house in about four hours. âFour days might be more like it at the rate Iâm going,â she said. 

The tube of maps was returned to the back seat, the map for the immediate area on the front passenger seat. She pulled out a bag with jerky and another with dried fruit and nuts mixed together, and topped off her water bottle from the jug in the back. The map was consulted one more time, and she was happy to see a few ranches scattered along the route she would take. âWell, maybe the road will be gravel and not mud, but I sure wouldnât count on it.â She turned the Wrangler around to backtrack again to the gravel road, cussing everything she could think of again. 

The road was, in fact, graveled, and she was able to make good time. No movement was seen at the first ranch house she drove past. At the second home, smoke was coming from the chimney and a tractor was pulling away from the haystack, the wagon it towed loaded with hay. The pasture fence was lined with cattle watching the tractor. The grizzled man on the tractor looked up and waved at Heather just like any other time. âWow, something normal. Maybe heâs like me and doesnât know the news. Although I guess the cows need fed, anyway.â She drove on, in a better mood for the next two miles. 

Her good mood evaporated in an instant when the gravel ended next to a sign. âROAD NOT MAINTAINED â DRIVE AT YOUR OWN RISKâ. âGreat,â she yelled at the sign. âJust stinking great!â

*****​


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## Bret F

*Chapter 10* continued

The girls were refreshed after their nap. They put their coats and hats on and followed along with Chad to do the outside chores. They filled the feeder in the chicken pen, gathered the eggs, and refilled the water dishes. It still froze each night, so Chad would pour a tea kettle of hot water over the ice in the morning, just as he had that morning when he went out to milk. 

On the way to the house with the eggs, Chad asked, âWhat do you think we should have for supper?â

âI want mashed potatoes,â Brooke said.

âI want corn,â Alison said.

âWe can have both. I took a package of steak out of the freezer early this morning. Both of those will go well with it,â Chad told them.

âCanât we have hamburgers instead of steak?â Alison asked.

âIt wouldnât thaw in time for tonight, but if we get a package out now it will be ready for tomorrow. Now letâs get the potatoes.â Chad led the way to the root cellar and went down the steps and inside. The girls stayed back; they thought the cellar was spooky. Chad returned with his coat pockets filled with potatoes, and they went to the freezer for the corn and hamburger.

After depositing everything in the house, they went back outside to feed the cows. Besides the milk cow, there was a recently weaned calf and a yearling steer. Dan kept a rotation of steers growing, each winter putting half of one in the freezer for the family and selling the other half. The first calf they had, Chad had named and scratched and petted it every chance he could, in spite of his parents' warnings not to grow too fond of it. Dan and Lisa had a very upset son the day the steer was butchered. Since then, Chad tried hard never to become attached to any animal they would eventually eat, no matter how cute they were as babies.

Next on the list was firewood. They filled the wood box in the house and dumped a wheelbarrow full in front of the shop door. Until it was time to milk, they were finished outside. They went in the house, the girls taking turns watching the shop door from a perch at the window, while Chad peeled potatoes at the sink. 

âBrooke, itâs Momma,â Alison said excitedly a while later. 

Brooke ran to the window and stood on the second chair they had arranged earlier. They watched Lisa through the window as she moved the firewood inside the shop. They longed to run out to her, but obeyed Chad and stayed away. Chad left the sink and went to a place where he could also see their mother. After studying her, he looked past, hoping to see his dad, but there was no sight of Dan. As terrible as his dad had looked the last time Chad saw him, he didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened at his absence. Then, with the last piece of firewood in hand, Lisa stood and stared longingly at them for a few moments. Finally, she waved to them with a wan smile on her lips before turning to go back inside the shop, closing the door behind her. 

Chad heard his sisters sniffle from their vantage point. He walked over to them and, with a catch in his voice, said, âHey you two, turn around. I need a hug.â They turned, and the three of them wrapped in a tight embrace. 


*****​Heather threw her muddy coveralls onto the passenger side floor, slammed the door and stomped around the back of the Wrangler and got in. Mud flew as she buried the gas pedal. Her inner fury raged, personifying every anecdote relating to her fiery red hair. She had just spent close to an hour getting free of a muddy patch in the road. Two earlier encounters hadnât been as bad; she had put the tire chains on and plowed through, having to back up and take second runs through the ruts she had already created. The last pit, however, was a different story. After numerous times of rocking back and forth, mud flying everywhere on the car, she was stuck in place. She fought into her coveralls, no easy task in the driverâs seat, put her rubber boots on and stepped out into the muck. When she stepped into the mud, every step threatened to suck her boots off. 

A quick survey of the fence along the road showed the posts were set deep and firm. The cable was run out from the winch, making her wish it was longer. She was concerned the angle was too sharp and would pull her sideways instead of out along the road. A twenty foot chain was added onto the cable, lessening the angle, but it still wasnât ideal. She wrapped the chain on the base of the farthest fence post from the jeep it would reach and slogged her way back through the muck. With the winchâs remote in hand she tightened the cable and put the Wrangler into gear. The cable tightened, while the wheels spun in place. Instead of the Jeep moving forward, the fence post started to give, the four strands of barbed wire getting tighter. She momentarily thought of tightly stretched guitar strings. Concerned the fence wire was going to start popping, she stopped the winch just as the Jeep moved forward a bit. She started the winch turning again and was gratified to see the Jeep began inching forward, albeit slowly. Her jaw ached from clenching it so tightly by the time the Jeep finally got enough traction to pull itself free. 

A few miles later, a ranch house set back from the road was accompanied by a maintained gravel road. She removed the tire chains, relieved that she might be able to travel at a decent speed again. The sun behind her made long shadows, and she wondered how the day had flown by so fast. Despite all her hard work and effort, she was no closer to Lisaâs place than when she had started that day. One more check of the map and she kicked up gravel as she took off. The roads she had taken had bypassed Grandview and the town of Bruneau - at least some people called it a town. Well, she _could_ sit down and have a beer if things were normal, so she decided it _was_ a town, small though it was. The road she was traveling on should only pass scattered ranches the rest of the way to the bridge. Another side road almost drew her off course, but she resisted. A natural hot spring was a few miles up that road and she would really like to clean the mud off. Rotten, stick to everything, Owyhee County mud!

The highway was deserted when she pulled onto it. She increased her speed, but was more wary than she had been earlier. At the top of a long hill, she stopped, seeing the Snake River and the bridge in the distance. Getting out of the Jeep for a better look, she didnât like what she saw, but raised her binoculars to make sure. Land levelers had been parked across the bridge entrance, effectively blocking it. The highway leading to it from the other side looked like a parking lot. Carloads of people had evidently fled the cities and gotten boxed in there. Just visible at the spot opposite her vantage point was a pile up of vehicles that had dropped blind over the hill and plowed into the stopped cars ahead of them. The people must have been just like animals running from a wildfire; a flight in blind panic, heedless of other hazards. She shuddered at that and looked at the bridge again, then slammed her fist into the roof of the car in frustration. Maybe the hot spring would be a good idea after all, to soak the mud off, drink a beer and figure out what to do next. No, she decided, that wasnât an option; not at the present time at least, not matter how appealing it was. 

There had to be a way, some way, to get across that rotten river. She studied the bridge and the parking lot behind it. It would be easy enough to get across that bridge, or maybe one of the others on foot, and she could steal a car on the other side, but should she? How did the plague spread? Did it survive in cars of infected people? A shiver ran up her spine at the thought. There might be boats in the water at places she could âborrowâ also, but again, she would be on foot and would have to procure another ride. She wasnât thrilled at the idea of leaving her car with everything in it. She couldnât carry all her supplies on her back. There just had to be a way across that she hadnât seen. "Think, Heather!" she growled to herself.

The map was spread out across the hood and she studied it again, looking for bridges upstream. There were more, getting further and further from Lisaâs house, and still with no guarantee she could get across. Maybe she _should_ desert the Jeep. She started looking the other direction and saw the CJ Strike dam. There wasnât an option there that she could see, but she followed the path of the river further downstream and froze on the next dam. The Swan Falls dam was tiny by modern standards, but was it possible that it gave a crossing? She got her laptop out, linked to the satellite and pulled up Google Earth. The dam came into view as the picture formed, and she let out a slow breath she didnât know she was holding. It looked like a dirt road led up to a gate on the south side of the river and part of the dam itself looked almost like a paved road. The big concern was the building across the dam. Could a vehicle pass through it? There was only one way to find out. She moved the picture to follow the road to the spot where it intersected with Highway 78.

âSon of a . . . man, I canât believe this crap,â she fumed. The road she needed was less than a mile from the intersection with the Reynolds Creek Road where she had started the day. 

Thoroughly ticked off at the loss of a day, she started back the way she had come. Back towards that same stretch of mud that passed as a road that had taken so long to get through the first time. The sun dropped behind the horizon before she left the gravel. The temperature plummeted with the sun. It gave her a bit of hope for the crossing. She was mentally whipped and needed some sleep. She would sleep in the Jeep, just short of the huge mud bog, and maybe, just maybe, it would freeze enough that she could get back through it without the winch. The way the day had gone she doubted it, but it was the most she could hope for at the moment.

*****​
Brooke and Alison sat on a bale of straw and watched Chad milk the cow. They had been uncharacteristically quiet after seeing their mother earlier. 

âChad, when we saw Momma, she didnât have any spots. Maybe she doesnât have the same stuff Daddy has. Maybe she wonât get as sick as him,â Alison said. 

âI donât know, Ali, but you could be right. We can only wait and see.â He was glad she hadnât mentioned Matt in her comparison. 

The girls stayed in the kitchen with Chad while he prepared supper, each helping as much as they could. Sometimes, they were more in the way than helpful, but Chad was glad to have them there. After supper, they didnât want the movie he offered, choosing instead to sit close on each side of him while he read. 

When he tucked them into bed, they took turns praying. âGod bless Momma and Daddy, and help them feel better, so they can live in the house with us again. Say hi to Matt, he was nice and made us laugh. Amen.â

Chad put another block of wood in the stove and shut it down for the night. After turning out the lights and making sure the doors were locked, he went to his own bedroom and pulled the curtain back to look out the window at the shop. âGoodnight, Mom. Goodnight Dad. I love you.â


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## jkhs

Thank you, Bret. This was the perfect way to start my Monday morning. This story just keeps getting better.


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## claytonpiano

Thanks Bret and happy late birthday. This is SOOOOOOO good.


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## manygoatsnmore

Thanks for the compliment, Bret. You tell a great story - I just help a bit around the edges. I am having fun, though! Keep up the good work - I always look forward to seeing what you come up with next.


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## puddlejumper007

thank you Bret, wonderful story...


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## stickinthemud

Thank you, Bret & hope you had a very happy birthday!


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## 355946

Your stories just fascinate me with their flawed but maybe-they-will-rise-to-the-occasion characters and compelling plots. I loved Swiss Family Robinson as a girl and am reliving the curiosity about what they will endure and create to survive!


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## 355946

First place I visit on this site... Going through some withdrawal here, Bret. Also, I appreciate the editing by ManyGoatsNMore . It is noticeably clearer & fewer typos - just what a publishing house editor does for their writers - nice collaboration.


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## manygoatsnmore

Thank you, *HomeAgain* - your comments just made my day.  Next chapter should be up soon...evidently Chapter 11 got lost in cyberspace. I re-sent it back to Bret for his perusal and any further rewriting, so hopefully, your withdrawals will be back under control shortly, lol. 

eta: I found out he'd sent the chapter from a different e-mail and so when I hit return, it got caught in a giant spam filter somewhere. I forwarded it with the changes this time, so hopefully, Bret got it this time.


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## manygoatsnmore

I heard from Bret F - he has Chapter 11 back now. 

I asked him if it was okay to share why there may be a slowdown in his writing for a while and he gave me the go ahead. He just had surgery on the 16th and will not be typing easily while his arm heals, plus he's having some pain issues, so is on pain meds. So, send him prayers for healing, good thoughts, pixie dust or whatever you can offer up. Hopefully, he'll be feeling much better soon and will be back to dreaming up wonderful plot twists.


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## 355946

manygoatsnmore said:


> I heard from Bret F - he has Chapter 11 back now. Hopefully, he'll be feeling much better soon and will be back to dreaming up wonderful plot twists.



Bret, I hope for your sake AND mine as a loyal reader, that you feel better soon!


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## Backyardcreek

Truly understand how recovery from surgery can be difficult. My prayers are with you for a speedy healing & you're back to you normal self (or even better than that


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## puddlejumper007

Bret, prayers going out for you. just take your time, and get some reading or movie watching caught up....


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## NBC3Mom

Hope you are feeling better soon, Bret. Your stories make me think, and that is a good thing. Each time a new situation comes up, I wonder how my family and I would cope. I wish some of the characters were my neighbors. And I love Paul and Ruth's dog. We had a Border Collie named Shadow, too.


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## puddlejumper007

one second thought....' WHAT YOU CAN NOT WRITE ONE HANDED'??


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## Bret F

Thank you all very much for the wonderful comments, and the birthday wishes. I spent most of that beautiful spring day working outside, trying to get as much cone as possible while I still had two arms. That evening, we had a school talent show, fund-raiser. I coerced the kids into performing a couple of songs for my present. Even though I hear them play those songs all the time, it never gets old seeing them perform for other people and sharing the magic of music.


And thanks for the well wishes for my bum wing.I just had a check &#8211;up and the PA was almost giggly saying how the shoulder was much worse than they saw from the MRI.I&#8217;m glad I could lift his spirits &#8211; I guess.The first day after the nerve block wore off, I equated him to Satan-Spawn, so I guess I&#8217;m OK with his good humor.


Speaking of that, Puddlejumper are you sure?There&#8217;s no telling what I might post under so much pain and good med&#8217;s.It might bring on some dire results.Oh well.


There will be more delay.I&#8217;m going out of town for a week, and doubt I will write anything while I&#8217;m gone.I haven&#8217;t sent anything to Mary yet either for chapter 12.BTW, thanks again Mary, wonderful job!


*Chapter 11*

Heather was thrilled to see the thick layer of frost on the grass and sagebrush when she stepped out of the jeep. She wasn&#8217;t as pleased with the frost when she crouched too low to take care of nature&#8217;s call. _Whoa, that was cold!_ She finished in a hurry and shivered back into her jeans. 

She sighed in resignation with the prospect of putting the tire chains on again. But she knew she would need them, so with a lot of grumbling, got started. With the chains on, she hit the mud and churned through, mud flying over the Wrangler&#8217;s roof and covering the sides. Forward progression nearly stopped once, but the Jeep inched its way through, grabbed traction and lurched forward. Her fist pumped in the air, and she whooped at the top of her lungs. A loud growl came from her stomach, and she wished she had thought to get something out of the back to eat, but chose not to stop. She wanted to get back to gravel before the temperature raised and the mud got soupy again. Food could wait until she took the chains off. She compromised by taking a long drink of water.

The other mud pits were no harder to get through than the previous day. The filthy chains were returned to the back of the Wrangler and she gave herself a thoroughly inadequate cleaning with wet wipes. Real cleaning would have to wait; how long a wait would was the mystery. The ice chest Kate had put in the car contained an English muffin, ham and cheese sandwich that Heather especially liked. Heather had no idea how Kate had anticipated the need for it, but was happy she had. Heather started back down the road, wishing Kate had anticipated coffee, too, but she would have to do without. 

Highway 78 was as deserted as the previous day, but she still drove slowly, watching all around. The turn off she was looking for soon came into view, and she took it, but with misgivings. She was pretty close to her own house, and could go get a shower and clean clothes without taking too much time. She could get coffee too. That combination almost made her turn around, but thoughts of Lisa&#8217;s little girls kept her going forward. She was still thinking about the kids when she topped a hill and saw the river ahead, Swan Falls Dam spanning its width. She slammed on the brakes, shifted into reverse and got back below the hill. 

When she was sure the Jeep couldn&#8217;t be seen from the area around the dam, she crawled up to the crest of the hill. Lying prone behind a sagebrush, she studied the area through her binoculars. The dam was open and broad for the first two-thirds of the way across from her side. It would make a perfect roadway. The gate blocking vehicle access was simply a pipe, locked across the approach. The final third of the dam was the stickler. It was covered by the aged power house building. She had no idea what it was like inside, but was heartened to see a large door, sized for a truck, on the end she was facing. After watching for several minutes and seeing no sign of life, she went back to the Jeep and dug into her emergency bag. If she was going to be there a while, she could at least have a cup of coffee. She set up her backpack stove beside her vantage point and placed her Sierra cup full of water on top. Once the water was hot, she stirred in some instant coffee, sugar and powdered creamer. It wasn't Starbucks, but she contented herself with what she had, just happy to have the hot, liquid caffeine. 

Taking her time drinking the coffee, she studied the area but still didn&#8217;t any signs of life at the dam. When her cup was empty, she figured it was time to move and find out just what it was like down there. She packed her supplies back into her bag and stowed it in the Wrangler. Taking the AR from the seat, she started to move slowly towards the dam, keeping sagebrush and boulders between her and the dam as much as possible. She was thrilled to see tire tracks on each side of the pipe gate. 

At the last cover, she remained tucked behind the boulder for a half hour studying the dam before stepping tentatively into the open. Crouching to make herself small, she moved across the dam, expecting to be spotted at any time. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when she was able to flatten her back against the power house. Edging around the corner, she inched to a window and looked inside. Elation filled her when she saw the building was wide open on the immediate end. Wide doors led into the next section and could easily accommodate the Jeep, if the doors would open. If they wouldn&#8217;t, the winch should be able to move them, but she wanted to avoid destroying something if at all possible. 

Her elation was short lived. The next section of the building appeared to have been converted to a museum. A sign at the corner confirmed her conclusion. The Dam and power plant was first built in 1901. The power plant was decommissioned in the 1990s when a modern power plant was set up at the site. The old plant became a museum. Heather studied the displays closer. They looked like they could be moved, so again, the doors would be key. 

With no sign of people in the area, the facility appeared to be deserted. She became emboldened and checked each door, finding them all locked. Not liking the idea but without a better solution, she broke a window to access the latch, opened it and crawled through. 

Glancing at the displays and noting the bolts anchoring them to the concrete floor, she went straight to the door. The two swinging doors were latched from the inside, without keyed locks. She released the latches and the doors swung easily. After a fist pump, she went to the other end and checked the doors. They opened with the same ease. It appeared they were well maintained for moving the exhibit displays into the building.

She relocked the far doors before moving to a window and peering out, searching for any sign that the facility was manned. Again, it appeared to be deserted. She left by the first door she had checked, leaving it ajar. At the gate, she studied the lock. Although a quality brand, it would be accessible to the master key she kept in the tool box. She returned to the Jeep much faster than she had left for the dam. After another scan of the area, she got in and drove down the hill.

Her bolt cutters, also known as her "master key" when circumstances required it, made quick work of the lock. The pipe swung easily to the side and she drove past it, across the dam, and into the power house. With the Jeep out of view, she jogged back to the gate and closed it, hanging the cut lock to hold it closed. Then she ran back to the building, hurried inside and locked the doors behind her. The moment the doors were closed, she felt exhausted. The tension she had been under all day had sapped her energy as effectively as if she had run a marathon. 

After she got a MRE and a bottle of water out of the Wrangler, she sat on the floor with her back against the wall. While she ate, she studied the displays. Mounted on rollers, they would move without too much effort. Remove a few lag bolts and they could be rolled out of the way. She wanted to make sure she didn&#8217;t damage anything. Looking at the information displayed, it might come in handy in the future. After she had spent the afternoon following Lisa&#8217;s phone call learning about the pandemic, Heather didn&#8217;t think there was any way the nation could avoid a complete meltdown. The rebuilding process, more like crawling out of smoking ruins, would be monumental. The technology from over a hundred years ago would have to be easier to restore than the modern computerized systems. She was wondering if civilization could ever be restored as she dropped off to sleep.

Heather was refreshed, but stiff when she woke. The cold concrete wasn&#8217;t the greatest place for a nap. She looked out the window to check again for people and also to see the angle of the sun. After debating the best time to leave, now that she was on the highly populated side of the river, she decided to travel at night. The full moon was just two or three days past, and with the cloudless sky, she could travel without her head lights on. Travel would be slower, but she thought it would be safer. She found the right tools and started moving the displays. 

The displays were all out of the way and the jeep parked just short of the door. The spare gas can had been emptied into the tank, and she had eaten again. She looked regretfully at the window she had broken out. It felt wrong to leave with the room exposed that way. She kept a roll of Gorilla Tape in her tool box, so she searched until she found a sheet of cardboard that could be cut to fit over the broken pane. After taping the patch in place, she drove the Jeep through the doors and blocked them shut from the outside with a handy rock. She planned to come back this way eventually, and it would be nice not to have to break another window on this end to get back in.

With the sun setting beyond the Owyhee Mountains, she drove out of the river canyon, onto the relative flatness of the lava plain. &#8220;Well, Lisa, it&#8217;s a lot more than four hours, but I should be at your place before morning, barring other problems. According to the map, it&#8217;s about fifty miles to your place.&#8221; She thought how in good times it was only one hour away and wondered what the night would bring her.

*****​


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## Bret F

*Chapter 11* - continued

Chad was glad to be in the house with supper finished. This day had been harder than the one before. The girls were missing Lisa more, and to Chadâs point of view, they had gotten pretty whiny at times. Upon reflection, he decided he had snapped at them too much. It was just such a load, trying to take care of everything, and anticipating the things his dad would be working on if he were able. They had started pruning the apple trees that day, with Chad cutting branches off and the girls carrying the trimmings to the burn pile area. He just hoped he was cutting the right branches off. It was usually his job to stack the cut branches. Dan did all the cutting. He thought again about how he had gotten snappy with the girls.

âHey Ali, Brooke, I need to tell you something. I was a little short tempered today, and I guess I didnât treat you as good as I should have. Iâm sorry.â

Brookeâs answer held all the wisdom that a child can have and express so easy. âThatâs okay, Chad. We know you just miss Momma and Daddy. We do, too. Now can we watch the show you promised?â

âSure. Go ahead and start it.â He had promised them they could watch some âVeggies Talesâ shows after supper. He planned on watching, too, but wanted to check his parentâs email first. He didnât know what he would do if they had messages, but thought they might want it checked. Bob and Larry, the stars of the show, started to sing the Veggie Tales theme song while the computer booted up.

*****​
Heather slammed her hand against the steering wheel in frustration. âFirst the stinking river, now the freeway!â Interstate 84 lay ahead of her, with the road that crossed it full of cars, choking off access to the other side. It was reminiscent of the scene at the bridge the previous evening; the roads looked more like parking lots. âStupid people driving like idiots and not paying attention to anything else.â She thought again about panicked animals running heedless from a wildfire. She turned the Jeep around to continue driving to the west. She didnât necessarily have to cross the interstate, it was just the most direct route to Lisaâs house. She had more colorful words for the terrorists, wishing that she had met up with those particular individuals when she had been stationed in the Middle East.

*****​
Dan woke and lay in place, thinking, trying to understand; something felt different, but what? His mind ran through all kinds of scenarios before it finally occurred to him: he wasnât cold. The fever chills had subsided. Instead, he was drenched with sweat. His fever had broken. He lay there, relishing the feeling and trying to recall the past few days. Something had happened, something important, but what was it? He taxed his brain trying to come up with it, but the answer evaded him, no matter how he tried to pin it down. He soon fell back to sleep, a dreamless, healing, restful sleep.

On the other cot, Lisa tossed. Her fever was rising as the virus spread throughout her body.

*****​
Admiral Bill Gortney walked into the war-room at NORAD and surveyed the wall of display monitors. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so he started walking to his office. He was stopped by a loud alarm, accompanied by a change in the video displays. âLaunch detectedâ, came the computer voice over the speakers. Gortney froze, just as everyone else in the room had. âLaunch? They actually launched?â He was broken from his reverie moments later when the voice repeated itself, then changed to âmultiple launches detected.â 

Though able to think again, part of him refused to believe what he had heard and what was showing on the screens. Russia was actually doing it. A child of the cold war, he had grown up with the menace of nuclear destruction always present. But like so many hazards, familiarity led to indifference. With each nation being assured they would be annihilated, neither wanted to start something. They contented themselves with supporting opposite sides in every petty conflict throughout the world. But apparently, the Russians thought they could win this time. Gortney voiced the commands that would show them just how wrong they were to make that assumption. 

âSir, do I include the other targets, the boils as you referred to them,â the man nearest Gortney asked. He was staring into his computer monitor, his fingers flying on the keyboard.

âYes, those targets too,â Gortney responded. Gortney had spent a lot of time the past few days thinking about General Dempseyâs idea about Pyongyang. The lunatic that was in charge there had certainly run his mouth off, but did that justify what the General had suggested? Gortney tried to picture that region, if the United States wasnât available to help South Korea. It wasnât a pretty picture. He could imagine the South falling in short order and the people enslaved. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that if nukes started flying, that threat needed eliminated. 

After making up his mind, he had another thought. If he could eliminate one trouble spot, what about another. He remembered his cousin, dead now for the past thirty six years. He had been so proud to be serving the country, and he had been killed soon after the Islamists overthrew the Shahâs regime in Iran. The Iranians were always trying to develop their own nuclear weapons, just like the North Koreans. What would it be like if they became the major power in the Persian Gulf region? Again, he didnât like the picture, and he made his mind up. If the Russians, made a move, it was time to show them both firsthand what kind of power they were dealing with. Now, two full days later, and his resolve hadnât changed.

At the Day of Atonement, he would have to answer for himself, but so be it. He would do what he could to remove two of the worldâs major threats. His country was faltering, if not dying outright. He knew that it would be many decades before they regained any semblance of their former glory, if ever. 

He turned to a woman, still frozen over her screen. âAlert the President and the Joint Chiefs. We donât have time to stall. Get all our bombers off the ground. NOW!â

*****​
Chad went to the sink for a glass of water while the computer was booting up. He filled the glass and stood at the back door, looking out the window at the shop while he drank. Like so often, he didnât see any sign of movement, so he went back and settled into the chair at the desk and clicked onto the web browser. The message on the Yahoo home page in bright red letters drew his attention. âUNITED STATES FACING IMMINENT ATTACK. MISSILES LAUNCHED FROM RUSSIA, ATLANTIC AND PACIFIC OCEANS, ON TRAJECTORY FOR UNITED STATESâ.

Chad had seen news accounts of wars as they waged in the Middle East, and old footage of nuclear blasts. He had read the accounts of the bombs that had ended the war with Japan and had seen the pictures. But none of it gave him any real grasp on what was about to happen. He just couldnât put it all into context. He clicked on the headline. The story didnât load right away, in fact it timed out. He hit refresh with the same results. The last time he hit refresh, Yahoo went blank.

*****​
Heather continued the slow path towards her sisterâs house, not at all happy with the pace she was traveling. It seemed every time she picked up a good head of steam, there was an obstruction that she had to backtrack around, as she was doing at the moment. She glanced at the dashboard clock and voiced her opinion at it. âFor the Love of God, how can it take so stinking long to drive fifty stinking miles? I swear, I could do better on a stinking bicycle.â She continued to fume, as she turned onto a road, going the right direction. âAnd Iâm getting stinking tired of all the stinking detours.â 

A light in her rearview mirror drew her eye. âItâs not time for the sun, yet. I know Iâve been slow, but not that stinking slow.â Something felt wrong about the glow so she stopped and got out of the car to look behind her. âHoly Mother of God! This canât be happening. The bright moon glow illuminated the mushroom cloud rising into the air above what she thought could only be Mountain Home Air Force Base. âOh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord!â she said as she got back in the Jeep and floored it. She was no longer running without lights, but turned the headlights on high beams and sped down the road. She squinted her eyes as another flash lit the sky behind her. The second flash was much closer; she judged it to be the area of the Boise airport and the Idaho Air National Guard Fighter Wing. Lights in houses, yards and intersections shut off as far as she could see. From one bright flash, the area was plunged into darkness. The only light was from her headlights and the moon; the moon seemed unnaturally bright. For the second time in three days she did something that she had neglected for years; she prayed with an intense passion.

Years later, scholars would question if Bubka and the Syrians had acted alone. Many would argue that Vladimir Putin had enough of the endless staring matches between Russia and the United States. The United States support for Ukraine was the final straw. Those scholars argued that Putin had directed the Syrians and delivered Bubka to them with one purpose: to bring down the United States. No definitive answer would ever be found. The Russians had guessed wrong, very wrong, about the weakened state of America. There was little left alive in a large section of Asia following the quick exchange of missiles. 

*****​
Chadâs water glass rattled on the desk as everything went dark. âChad, why did the lights and the TV go out,â Brooke asked. She was more concerned about missing the rest of Veggie Tales than being in the dark. Although they had seen it numerous times; it was the girlâs favorite episode; the story of Rack, Shack and Benny. Bob, Larry and Junior were about to be incinerated for being bad bunnies. âI wanted to see them get saved just before they were burned up.â

Chad was afraid he knew why the lights had gone out, that it was related to the bulletin on the computer. But he didnât want to say so. Instead he got up and opened the blinds, the moon casting its glow into the room. âIâll get a flashlight, then light a candle. We should brush our teeth and head to bed anyway. Itâs getting late.â He was amazed that he was able to talk to the girls in such a calm voice. He didnât feel calm. He was afraid it was too late now for a lot of stuff, not just late in the evening.

After the girls were tucked in, Chad stood at his parentâs room and stared at the plastic covering the doorway. He was scared, more than he had ever been in his life. The twenty gauge shotgun his dad let him shoot was locked away inside that room, and he debated with himself if he should go in and get it. He decided against it for the night, hoping nothing weird happened. But there was another option, just not as comforting. The air rifle was in the broom closet, kept close at hand in case of dogs attacking their chickens. Chad got it out of the closet, pumped and loaded it. He had no idea what he would do with it; he was just scared and wanted some protection, any protection. More than anything, he wanted his dad to give that protection. He stared out the back door window at the shop, missing the little comfort he had gotten on previous nights from seeing the glow through the window.

Instead of going to bed, he sat in his dadâs recliner, with two blankets covering him, facing out into the darkness. He was glad his sisters werenât out there with him, to see him crying in the darkness.

The beam of a carâs headlights woke him, shining straight into the house as a car turned into their driveway and drove to the back of the house to park next to Danâs pickup. Chad untangled himself from his blankets and hurried to the back door. The pellet gun was clutched tight in his shaking hands. His heart was pounding a staccato beat, and tears started running down his face again. He looked with a severe longing at the shop, then at the strange car. The brake lights went dark, and the black night engulfed the car. The moon that had been so bright when Chad had opened the blinds was gone and light snow flakes were falling, further obscuring the car. Chad stood at the window, trembling in fear.


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## sniper69

Thanks for sharing this update, it is very much appreciated.


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## manygoatsnmore

I always see more typos AFTER the new chapters post! Wish I could fix them, wish I was able to catch 100% of them ahead of time. :ashamed: 

Bret, you've left us with quite a cliffhanger...is it just snow, or is it something more ominous? Folks, I don't know either! I guess we'll all have to wonder together until Bret is up and running (and back in town) again. Safe travels, friend!


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## puddlejumper007

great story.....you know Bret when i ask if you could write one handed i thought, he will be on pain meds, and that will be very interesting....


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## udwe

More, please!!


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## puddlejumper007

udwe, look up on the survival writers corner , Bret is writing again.....yipeeee:nanner::nanner:


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## udwe

Thanks!


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## anniew

What ever happened to Alan's story? Is he okay?


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## AngieM2

http://www.homesteadingtoday.com/sp...ault/192640-fiction-we-interrupt-program.html


There's his story.

And he faded away. I've even checked his blog a little while ago and doesn't seem to be posting.


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## Catshooter

He does that. Posts for a while, then goes away to somewhere else. He's posting here: http://thisbluemarble.com/forumdisplay.php?f=85 but don't expect him to reply to anything and you won't be disappointed.


Cat


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## AngieM2

Heck! Canada Sue is there. I remember her from TB2K days many years ago when it was smaller. Thanks


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## Catshooter

Canada Sue is a peach. I sure enjoy her writing, it would be great if her and Alan would start again.


Cat


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## Lady89

Ok here is my first go.


I pull the over sized zucchini out from under the leaves where it had been hiding, every year i miss one and let it get too big. This one was as long as my lower arm and three times as thick. My husband would tease me about growing phallic symbols, as he did every year. At least this year the squash beetles were not to bad, picking them and the japanese beetles off by hand was a pain. I looked around my garden wandering when it had gotten so big. My husband never had gotten that pool he wanted before the great collapse, so I had taken over the place set aside for it with raised beds. Now that I look I have taken over every sunny spot in the yard with raised beds..Oh well its not like growing a lawn is worth any thing now.

Sarah stuck her head out of the goat barn and called to me over. Sarah had taken well to this life. She and her husband Rodney had been truckers most of there life, but Rodney had come to work at my dad’s lumber yard a few years before the great collapse. Rodney and her are hard workers but they drink more then they should, and it can be a problem some times. “We have a problem, the large pumpkin field has not been weeded in a week.” “Who’s turn is it?” I ask but I think I already know the answer. “Who do you think?” “Wade?” “Yep” My cousin Wade was a consistent problem. As my husband described it working with Wade was a 70 to 20 deal. He never did any more work then he had to. He also worked at my dad’s lumber yard pre-SHTF, dad would have fired him years ago but my grate uncle Glen, the half owner, would have thrown a fit about firing family. It is hard to believe that such a dedicated and hard worker as Wendell could be his brother. “he is so not my responsibility” I tell Sarah “He is your family” she tells me. “We have council meeting in a few days let the group deal with it then”

“Who is on fence repair up in the beef fields?” “oh my Rodney and Dave are up there now, did you know some of guys are trying to tame down some of the young heifers to train them as milk cows” I smile at this idea “They can have that project, those beef cows or a bit to wild for me to milk, I will stick to goats.” “You and me both” It feels good to smile, there are not always a lot of reasons to. “Hay Sarah are you and Rodney coming over for diner tonight?” “What are you having?” I hold up the giant vegetable I had tucked under my arm, “zucchini.” “I will pass” She makes a face of mild disgust, it is summer and we are all eating lots of zucchini this time of year.


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## Lady89

let me know what you all think


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## Lady89

so should i wright more?


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## kalmara

yes please


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## Lady89

I said good bye to Sarah, then put my zucchini in the shade of a maple tree, so I could get on with my garden chores. I pick up the baskets I had put down to pull free the big zucchini and start back up the harvesting. The one of the baskets was already mostly full with peepers and tomatoes, but the green beans had taken off in the last few days and a few onions were ready to be used. I do the weeding as I go, checking each bed for ripe stuff and weeds. Weeds go in one basket to be put in the compost and veggies go in the other.

Next on my list is to pick the japanese beetles off my blackberrys. I was so proud of the thornless high yield variety I chose, little did I know at the time it was much less pest resistant. So here I am every day of the growing season picking the bugs off my plant. After the blackberrys I move on to the rest of the garden picking off bugs as I find them and throwing them into a bucket with some water in it. The chickens go nuts when I pour the bucket out in the run. I grab a few eggs that had shown up after I collected the other eggs this morning. Tomorrow I will have to get the kids excused from their normal duties to help me debug the trees in the orchard.

Working the hand pump on the well reminds me I was going to ask Chris to put some oil on it for me. It takes a little more work then normal but I get some water for washing the veggies before I take them inside. The well is good for washing but I don't trust drinking it without boiling first. I remember my grandfather telling me the story of his grand father adding Lime to the well after his great grandmother died from drinking water from it.

I call to my girls who are hanging washing out on a line to dry in the front yard. “Jan finish up, then you and Rose come in. I will make you some lunch.” My husband and I had been trying to adopt children before the great collapse, now I seemed to always having a new child show up at my house every few days. The village knew I would always take in a child and there are plenty of children with no family to go around these days. Some of the children are rehomed into other family in the village or in the other villages we trade with, others stay with me. 

It is just lunch time but I need to start diner now if I am to have it done on time. One thing no one ever told me about the apocalypse was how much drudgery would be involved


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## Lady89

My kitchen was both different and the same as it had been before SHTF. A small generator hummed happily part of the day filling up a battery bank in the cabinet below it. A pipe going into the wall allowed it to vent outside. The batterys powers all the houses electrical appliances we could not give up, in summer that is mostly fans. My wood counter tops look a lot more worn then it had, but a weekly treatment of bee’s wax had kept in reasonably good condition. I stoke up the wood stove to boil water. The wood stove had lived down in the basement for years pre-crash but now lived in the dining room off the kitchen. To make a simple lunch all I will need to do is cut some cattail bread I made yesterday and add some of my home made dried soup mix. Simple meals are a life saver for me with so much other work to do.

Jan rushed eating lunch as always, so she could run off to her half day of classes. She was one of those wonderful odd children who truly loved her school work. I try to put Rose in her wood play pen my husband had made her, but she is feeling clingy and no toy pre-crash or home made can distract my girl when she is like this. I would have to start diner prep ether holding her or letting her scream in the play pen. I let her stay in the pen so I can go to the basement and get some dried beans from the cool pantry. After I put the beans into water to soak I let her out to toddle along with me. We go back outside to get the turnip greens for diner that I forgot earlier. As I walk past I look in the half barrel of water, left in the shade, to see if all the fish in it are still alive. Jo had pulled the small bass and bluegill in from the pond this morning and I planed to use them in diner.

I put the greens on the table and take Rose into the dining room. “Ok Rose, I need to go get some stuff in the basement you stay here and play with your blocks.” “No! Don’t wana!” “Do you want your dog toy?” “No wana go with mommy!” “You have to stay up here.” “Waaaa!” Rose drops to the ground throwing a tantrum. I pick her up and put her in the play pen, then go to get the dry goods I need. After I set them out on the counter top I go to check on Rose. “Are you done?” “ya” she answered grumpily. “Then you can come help.” I help her out of the play pen and take her into the kitchen. “Lets pack food for daddy.” Chris was heading out for a savaging trip with Wendell and Wade. It would thankfully for now put off the problem of Wad not doing chores on his time between savaging trips. I showed Rose the things we were packing and had her hand them to me. I has set out Beef jerky and pork cracklings for meat. A variety of dried vegetables including some beans and split peas. For snaking on I included mix dried fruit, some home made trail mix and the nuts we still had stored from the fall. They would have basic cooking gear to make meals from the things I sent them.

After I was done with that Rose and I did some house cleaning and some laundry. Hand washing clothing is one of the times I most miss the grid. By the time we were done with that I needed to do the rest of diner. “Rose stay inside and play for a few minuets pleas” this time she kept thing easy and build with her ruff wood blocks. The first thing to do is go out side and get the fish. I bring them inside, put the beans on the stove to soften, then start cleaning the fish. The scales and bones go in the compost and the guts get put off to the side for the cats. Rose is happily talking to her wooden animals and knocking over blocks in the other room. I mash the beans and mix in the shredded fish and an egg to make simple fish cakes that I fry up in a little butter. Last to go on the stove are the greens for a quick cook.

My small wood burning stove is a lavish luxury there are only a hand full of them in the whole town. But even the few people who had small stoves cooked at the community center if they wanted to do more then a simple meal. The community center has 2 huge wood cook stoves scavenged from a home and farm supply store. Several stone cooking ovens and a spit setups for roasting large joints of meat. The majority of the food I and every one ells produced went to the community pantry to be divided up. I have herd that Roman soldiers were paid in salt we have a similar system. Work and you get access to the community pantry. This did two things it helped every one get a good variety of food and it made certain that people who did non-food producing jobs like doctors and guards got a fare share.


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## Lady89

( i forgot to say there is shredded zucchini in the fish cakes as well) after all i did say we were having zucchini for diner =p

Also i only just discovered this and it is amazing. So portable soup is being added to Chris's travel pack


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## Lady89

Dose any one know if Narshalla ever posted her story finished some where? I want to read the rest


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## Lady89

This may be the last post I put on here, but I am planing to start this story up in the Survival Writers' Corner

5 years ago the great collapse began. It all started with the stock market, a lot of people saw the global down tick coming and were prepared for the depression that would surly follow. It was expected this would increased tensions between China and Russia over resources in central Asia, what no one saw coming was north Korea finally having felt pushed around by their once beloved allie China signed a formal alliance with Russia, the result was China invaded with in a month. China calmed it was all just part of a joint effort to bring a rogue country to heel. But every one knew that China had no intentions of having a rogue nuclear power for a neighbor and the added bonus of annexing North Korea for their rich mineral deposits. Russia of course came to the defense of their new ally, It was not long until eastern Europe broke down into a proxy war-zone causing the EU and Nato to join in viva proxy nations in hopes of destabilizing both powers. The depression became a global economic disaster, the likes of witch no one had seen in over a hundred years. I think that society would have survived longer if it were not for the not so surprising surprise that came next. I don’t know who ended up unleashing the first biological weapons, rummer is it was north Korea in a plague upon both your houses moment but no will ever know.

A third of the worlds populations died during the first couple of plague waves, or that is what the guys from the near by civil control base tell me. But less then half of that was actually just the plague. It hit the large urban areas hard but did not make too far from the cites. The big killers came when the lights went out and the water stopped flowing. Dysentery, Botulism, the Flu, added to the rioting and food shortages. Up north heavy snows and gas outages caused many to freeze to death with in their own homes. From what I understand the rural areas did better cooping with the secondary causes of death as well as the plague, because less people equals less sanitation problems and a slower spread of illness. But that did nothing to keep people from killing themself's with incorrectly canned food, forging in the wilds, or the learning curve of a chainsaw. The collapse happened over a span of three years, I don’t know if it is still going on some where else but I guess it stopped here and that is all that matters to me.

I get most of my news of the happenings outside of my immediate area from the civil control base. After all ham-radio only has so much range, Traders carrying news have a longer range but you never know how much is gossip vs fact being past around the trader trains. But apparently the military still has long range communication, we all have a love and hate relationship with the base or at least the upper civil command. They claim they represent what remains of the American government, I don’t know if that is true or not as we have yet to get the vote back but that’s quietly understood, for now. The soldiers from the local outpost drop by a few times a month to ask us if we have had or seen any bandit or unusual predictor activity. They also send a caravan around though out the year to collect taxes, they are on a sort of sliding scale based around a settlements populations and its ability to produce more goods then it consumes. Some settlements pay in lumber others in wool, grain, or in livestock, like we do. When the civil command eventually came around years after the collapse demanding taxes the settlements as a whole told them to **** off. The civil command didn't enforce the tax, they didn’t have to, they cleaned up miles of highway, pulling off the abandoned cars and patrolling the cleared areas to keep raiders off the roads opening up trade. Then they went on to tell traders who used the roads how they were only able to keep up the patrols because of taxes they collect. They also let it “slip” who was not paying taxes, causing all the settlements who didn’t pay to be black listed by the more reputable traders, some of the settlements still refuse to pay the tax to this day. Don’t get me wrong the side roads are as dangerous as ever, you take your life in your hands on salvage trips. But personally I think keeping the main roads open for trade is well worth giving them a couple of our steers each year.


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## kruschev

99% wont survive the starvation, disease, bad water, fire and in-fighting of the first year. Being above ground during daylight hours will almost certainly get you shot. People with kids aint gonna watch them starve rather than kill you and take your stuff, folks.


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## McMacy

Giving up and dying does not sound like a good strategy either.


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## Bret F

kruschev said:


> 99% wont survive the starvation, disease, bad water, fire and in-fighting of the first year. Being above ground during daylight hours will almost certainly get you shot. People with kids aint gonna watch them starve rather than kill you and take your stuff, folks.


Maybe, and maybe not.
It's just possible the old adage is right: "one size doesn't fit all"
Perhaps the area you are familiar with this is how it will be, and it might not be true in other areas.
But regardless, it's all speculation by all of us.


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## ergo

I see myself as being 1000x lucky to still be alive, after all the fighting, fires, starvation, diseases, etc. I have to live underground all day, and come out at night with NVD goggles, and passive IR scanner for which I have a solar charger. All the animals are long since dead, and only small, well hidden plots of sprouts or root veggies are likely to evade the starving remainder of humanity.


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## Lady89

ergo said:


> I see myself as being 1000x lucky to still be alive, after all the fighting, fires, starvation, diseases, etc. I have to live underground all day, and come out at night with NVD goggles, and passive IR scanner for which I have a solar charger. All the animals are long since dead, and only small, well hidden plots of sprouts or root veggies are likely to evade the starving remainder of humanity.



I think the only chance for survival would be to form protective pact communities, to guard resources, like crops and life stock. Keeping your food production will involve lots of eyes on watch and lots of guns


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## Texasdirtdigger

Gosh, I have missed reading this. Bravo!!


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