by Jf Perkins
“Maybe I can try a little harder to get her to talk,” Mom said, seeming doubtful.
“Do what you can, Honey. That’s all you can do.”
“Ok, David. I’ll try.”
“Ok... Here’s my plan. I want to move us up into that tree. That’ll make us safer, until cold weather at least. We’ll have to find something else before winter. If we can build a shelter over there, we can use this as our campfire and kitchen, since the fire won’t draw people right to our tents. I don’t know about you guys, but I could really use a good campfire.”
“I don’t know about living in a tree, David,” Mom said.
“Well, I can’t think of a better option right now. We need to stay close by, so Arturo can find us when he gets back, and it might be good to keep an eye on the school, and the Carrolls are ok with us being here. That’s a lot better than wandering around, looking for a better place, at least until we know the deal out there.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Mom answered slowly.
“Besides, you know me. I’ll make it nice, just like Swiss Family Robinson!”
Kirk and I perked up at that. We loved that movie, and the glorious treehouse they had.
“Ok, David. Knock yourself out,” Mom said, with a smile.
“Hey, Dad. Can we make some coconut grenades?” Kirk asked in all seriousness.
“Kirk, show me a coconut, and we’ll give it a try,” Dad replied.
Kirk’s face fell. He obviously hadn’t thought it through.
Chapter 3 - 3
That afternoon, Dad managed to construct a platform twelve feet up the tree, made out of the saplings we had cut, and some wild grapevine he showed us how to gather and split into strong strapping that he used as corner bracing. It wobbled too much when all three of us were standing on it, so Dad cut some braces that stretched from the corners of the platform to the trunk of the massive tree. After they were in place, the platform was stable and sturdy. The ladder stuck up through a hole Dad had left next to the trunk.
“Ok, good. Time for another ladder.”
We were about to climb down when we heard a chugging motor approaching from the west.
“Stay here!” Dad snapped as he scrambled down the ladder and ran over to the campsite. He was gesturing emphatically.
Lucy came running with the younger boys, and soon all of us kids were sitting up in the tree, watching Mom gather her shotgun. Kirk climbed down the ladder and disappeared into the pit. He scrambled back out with the hunting rifle and handed it up to me, before he climbed back up. When he was back on the platform, he took the rifle back and stood against the tree, waiting to see what would happen.
The chugging got louder, and circled around towards the school, before it changed direction to head for us. We saw a red and yellow tractor appear in glimpses through the trees; an ancient tractor with a mower on the back, crawling towards out camp. It was driven by a hefty old man, wearing overalls and a tall green baseball cap. Dad waved at the man, and we relaxed, thinking it must be the landowner Dad had met. The tractor squealed to a stop on old brakes, and the man shut the diesel engine down.
We saw Mom walk over to shake hands with the old man, who stepped stiffly down from the tractor and pulled out a wooden walking cane from somewhere next to the seat. We couldn’t hear the words, but we knew they were talking. Dad picked up an empty water bottle and showed it to the man. The man gestured and smiled back at Dad. He hoisted himself back up on the tractor and started the engine. Our parents were waving and smiling as the tractor chugged away.
Dad waved us over, and we helped the little boys down from the tree, which offended them, of course. We walked back the campsite, and started asking questions, tripping verbally all over each other.
Dad held up his hands to get us to shut up. “That was Mr. Carroll. He’s a friend. He’s going to get something. He’ll be back in a little while.”
Someone came to our camp, and wasn’t trying to kill us for our stuff. That was a first. It’s hard to express how much time, how much human experience was stuffed into those several days since we had left the interstate. Already, each minute of the day had expanded into more thought, more texture, and more freaking work than I thought possible. The endless busyness of modern life, with its TV and phones, and video games, and school, and soccer practice, had been yanked away to reveal long moments filled with an unexpected gift of silence.
Of course, even the best silence can be filled with the chattering of siblings. Lucy, in particular, was speculating out loud about how much we could expect from the Carrolls. Maybe she was expecting to ride home on an old diesel tractor, or to borrow a much missed hair dryer for Mrs. Carrolls no doubt huge collection of appropriate pretty-products for teenage girls.
My Dad let her go for a minute or two before he appeared to have some kind of daughter-at-the-mall flashback and threw a figurative bucket of cold water on my sister. “Lucy, Mrs. Carroll may have the best blow dryer on the planet, but I can guarantee you that without electricity, it won’t do anyone any good, not for a very long time, so cool your jets girl. We’re here because they are kindly allowing us to be here, and we should be thankful for that, because very soon, this entire country is going to be crawling with poor folks with no place to live, no place to go, and no food to eat. We’re not going to ask the Carrolls for anything that we don’t absolutely need. Understand?” Dad was clearly serious without leaving any room for coddling. “Every one of you is going to absolutely polite, respectful, and friendly to Mr. and Mrs. Carroll, and if they ask for any help from any of us, we’ll give it – cheerfully.”
We were all nodding our heads, wearing slightly abashed expressions. Especially Lucy, who didn’t understand why she was being singled out. To drive his point home, Dad sent us all back to work. “Now, I need you all to go look around the edges of the woods for rocks about this big,” he said, holding his hands about eight inches apart. “Bring them back here. Now go. Get busy.”
We headed out to look. We didn’t know it at the time, but Dad understood that most of the old farmers would take any rocks they turned up while plowing the fields, and set them along the edges of the field as a matter of course. Kirk and I headed over to the place where we had chopped our first trees down, remembering a jumble of rocks we had seen there. Lucy followed along quietly, having no idea where to look for herself. Tommy and Jimmy naturally fell in line behind the rest of us.
We hit the motherlode of weathered red and gray stones, and spent a good hour walking back and forth with the heaviest rocks we could reasonably carry. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but looking back, I think part of the plan was to strengthen us up as fast as possible. It was just like Dad to kill two birds with one stone – pun intended. Tommy and Jimmy, having napped while we cut and lifted wood, were still quite energized, and managed to carry a respectable pile of smaller stones. They trotted while we trudged, and sometimes staggered. Even Lucy stopped complaining when she ran out of extra energy to speak. We had an impressive collection of rocks piled near the tents by the time we heard the distant lumping sound of the tractor again.
Mr. Carroll drove in with two white plastic barrels tied to the mower deck of his tractor. We could see the water sloshing around inside through the translucent material. As he pulled to a stop, I noticed that each one had a hose spigot near the bottom. There was a stack of blue plastic tarps wedged in between the barrels. He pushed a little lever to drop the mower deck and its cargo to the ground before he shut down the engine and swung his stiff leg to the ground. He plucked the walking cane from its PVC pipe sheath, which he had cleverly bolted to the tractor’s left fender. Then he turned to face us.
We had unconsciously lined up as a family, and it reminded me of a scene from the “Sound of Music” movie we were forced to watch at least once a year. My dad made the introductions. “Mr. Carroll, you’ve met my wife. This is my oldest, Lucy.”
Lucy smiled and said, “Hello, Mr. Carroll. It’s nice to meet you.”
She was the picture of pleasant politeness, and none of the disinterested attitude that normally came with meeting adults.
“This is my oldest boy, Kirk.”
Kirk stuck out his hand, and Mr. Carroll gave it a firm single shake. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“This is Bill.” Dad said.
I adopted Kirk’s example and said, “Glad to meet you, sir.” Mr. Carrolls grip was iron strong to me.
“And this is my youngest, Tommy.”
Tommy picked up on the formality, and greeted the old man, who was smiling down like a proud grandfather at that point.
“This little rascal is Arturo’s boy, Jimmy.”
Jimmy broke under the pressure. He hopped forward twice, gave Mr. Carroll a grinning high five, and then fell theatrically on his butt. We all laughed at his performance, as the little fellow got to his feet and made another show of shaking and dusting off his rear end. He had instinctively transformed us from strangers into instant friends, and all awkwardness dissolved.
“I’m happy to meet you all,” Mr. Carroll said, still chuckling. “I figured I could save you some trouble with the water. Me and Martha bought a stack of these water barrels to collect rain water from the roof, and we only ended up needing two of them for our little garden. I got these out of the barn, washed ‘em up, and filled them on the tractor. Might need some help getting them off, though.”
“Thank you, George. You just made our lives a whole lot easier,” Dad said. He said it with such sincerity that Mr. Carroll actually blushed.
“Aw, well. We didn’t have any use for ‘em,” George replied, shuffling his feet a bit. “Me and Martha talked it over last night, and we don’t have any room in the house, but if you want, you can come up and live in the barn. The truth of it, though, is if you’re willing, I like the idea of having ya’ll out here, watching the back forty. Might get cold in the fall, if things don’t settle down by then.”
“Well, George... I think you’re right. We’ll spend the summer out here, at least. It’ll work better for everyone until we know the lay of the land,” Dad said.
George nodded in agreement. “Well, I want you to know we appreciate it. We’ll do whatever we can to make it easier. Feel free to work things as you see fit.”
“Likewise, George. If you need any help, we’ll come running.”
George shook hands with my dad, and I could see the powerful promise that was made that day.
We got to work unloading the barrels, and discovered that Mr. Carroll was as strong as a bear, cane or no cane. Dad said later that the man could have lifted the 300-pound barrels all by himself. We were wrestling with the first barrel, trying to tilt and roll it off the mower. George squeezed in across from Dad and just sort of heaved the thing onto the ground. We all knew it, but Kirk rubbed his hands together as if he had personally done the job. The second barrel came off just as easily. Mr. Carroll, after a lifetime of hard farming, treated it like tying his shoe. Task finished, he just scooped up his cane and moved on to the next item on his list.
“Couple other things,” George said. “I brought you some tarps for roofing. A couple of them are worn through in spots, but most of them are in good shape. And this,” he added, pulling a silver flask from the chest pocket of his overalls, “Is for you, David. To take the edge off, you know? I made it myself. Corn whiskey, aged long enough that it might not burn your nose hairs out.”
We thought that was hilarious, as it conjured a cartoon image of my dad running around with flames shooting out of his nose, but Dad accepted the flask with great ceremony. “Thank you again, George. This could come in handy,” he said, giving George a meaningful look.
George nodded as if he understood completely.
There was one of those weird adult breaks in the conversation, long enough that we started casting around for anything to use to pick it back up. Mom finally said she was going to get dinner started, and George sat down on the edge of the mower deck.
“Take a load off, men.” George said.
Dad sat down next to Mr. Carroll, and Kirk and I sat on the back side of the mower. Lucy rounded up the boys and headed off to help Mom with the cooking, although her help was mostly moral support.
“So, David. What’s the plan?” George asked.
“Well, we’re going to build a sort of fort in that big maple over there, and try to do our sleeping in the tree. We’ll cook over here. We’ll run out of fuel for these crappy little stoves soon enough, and be cooking over the fire. I figure if anyone sees the fire, it’s better if it doesn’t draw them right to us in the middle of the night.” Dad replied.
“Sounds pretty smart to me. You ever serve, David?”
“Yeah, but not in a useful way, for this setup. I was a submariner, in the Navy. Nuke subs.”
George chuckled. “This is about as far from a nuke sub as you can get. Served in the Marines, myself, long time ago.”
“Did you see combat?” Dad asked.
“Not really. Got sent out a couple of times, but it was the end of Korea. Not much happening by the time I got there. I was out before Viet Nam really got rolling. I was just as happy to come home; had a girl waiting for me.”
“Martha?”
“Yep. She was a pretty little thing. Been married fifty years.”
“Good for you. Fifty years is a long time.”
“Sometimes longer than others. Women...” George said, trailing off in thought.
“Amen to that. I married Beth 17 years ago. Met her at my first job out of the service. She took it upon herself to annoy me at least once a day until I noticed her.” Dad said.
“They have their ways, that’s for sure.”
“They do.”
A woman’s voice intruded on our man time. “You were in the Marines?”
We turned to see Francine standing there, and talking. Miracles never cease. George levered himself to his feet, and Dad hopped up like someone yelled, “Fire!”
“Yes, ma’am, I was a Marine. I’m George Carroll.”
“My Tom was a Marine. I was a nurse. We met in the service, when he was in the hospital,” Francine said, as if she had just walked into a restaurant instead of spending several days in a near-coma. “I’m Francine, Francine Henderson.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” George replied.
“How are you feeling, Francine?” Dad asked.
Mom and Lucy were staring openly in our direction.
“Oh, fine. Fine. I’m could use a drink, though. I’m very thirsty.”
Mom took the cue and walked over with one of our last store-bought bottles of water. Francine took it and drained it in one long drink. We all took turns looking at each other and shrugging in confusion.
Mom took Francine by the elbow and said, “Francine, why don’t you come with me? I could use some help with supper.”
“Alright. I’d be happy to help.” Francine accompanied Mom back to the tents and accepted another bottle of water from Lucy.
“Well, if that ain’t the craziest thing...” George said.
“Yeah, we were beginning to wonder how long she would last,” Dad remarked, rubbing his head.
“Wait ‘til I tell Martha. Speaking of... I’d better head back. It’s almost dark.”
“Ok, George. Thanks again, for everything. Let me know if you need anything from us.”
“Will do, David. Be safe out here. See you boys later,” George said, nodding in our direction. He waved at the ladies, and swung himself up onto the tractor seat, stowing the cane in its holster with a practiced motion. The tractor clattered to life, and made a slow turn out into the field. George changed gears and chugged off to the northwest.
We ate the canned spaghetti and meatballs, keeping a close eye on Francine as she shoveled noodles into her mouth. I was trying to decide exactly what kind of meat the balls were, and Kirk was working hard to stay awake. As soon as we were finished eating, all of the kids went to the tents and slid into sleeping bags. I
was happy to go, even over the curiosity I was feeling about Francine. We heard her talking and talking into the night, as I collapsed into sleep at the end of another longest day of my life.
Chapter 3 - 4
Terry was lost in thought.
Bill drained the last of his beer, and looked to the reddish-orange sun, sinking low over the trees down at Cathey Ridge.
“She just woke up? Just like that?” Terry asked.
“Just like that.”
“Mr. Carroll was just about the best neighbor you could have had.”
“Yes, indeed. He and my father were tight for a number of years. Just like father and son. It’s normal for me to think of George Carroll as my grandfather, too. He was a bigger part of my life than my true grandparents, but then, that’s not entirely fair since they died during the Breakdown, as far as we ever knew. Even today, there’s no real way to find out.” Bill said. “I went up to Nashville to look for my mother’s folks, about twenty years ago, but there wasn’t even a place to begin. My dad’s folks up in Louisville, Kentucky... Too far to even make the trip.”
“Yeah, my grandfather talked about all the places people used to go, all the time. Seems like you could hop in the car and go farther to work every morning, than I’ve been in my whole life.” Terry said in support.
“Hell, I remember we used to drive halfway across Nashville just to take Kirk to soccer practice. Maybe thirty miles, round trip.”
“I’ve never even been thirty miles.”
“Well, that will change, if you spend much time around here. We’ve scavenged across a third of the state.”
“What’s it like out there?” Terry asked.
“Mostly like here. Tin pot dictators running their own kingdoms without any real oversight, people always hungry, but scraping out a living working for the local lords. Some places are much better, kind of like us, usually very small communities that work together. We have contact with several of them and share back and forth. Some places though... Civilization is a distant memory. Up in Grundy County, on the mountain, it’s fallen back to hunter-gatherer, tribal warfare type stuff. Usually the winners eat the losers. It’s bad.” Bill replied.