by Dave Conifer
"I haven't seen any of that protection," Del countered.
Mark glared, but otherwise ignored the comment. "Okay then," he said. "We’ll finish our coffee and get going in, say, fifteen minutes.”
Nick hadn’t gone far when Mark called his name and waved him over to the Warehouse. After they stepped inside, Mark handed him a pistol. “They said you know how to use this. I’m handing them out to a few crew members. Everything I said before was true, but right now, this morning, we’re out in the wild with no protection.”
Nick inspected the pistol and then looked up. “Does Grover know about this?” he asked. "He always looks at me funny. He doesn’t like me too much."
Mark smiled. “I think you know by now that Grover knows about everything.”
“Okay, then. I’ll hold on to this and take out any bad guys I see,” Nick said.
On his way back to the workshop Nick heard the already tiresome voice of Del Ketcham. “Hey Pedro!” Whatever it was he was saying, it was obviously directed at Miguel Cantos. “I saw you and su familia last night at dinner. The bad news was they weren’t serving no tortillas, were they?”
Miguel turned and walked the other way. Nick sensed that this was something he dealt with every day, and that was the best strategy. Hopefully Del would knock it off. If not, Nick decided he wouldn’t stand aside and watch this play out over and over again. He’d seen too many guys like Del, and how they treated guys like Miguel. The longer it was ignored, the worse it would get.
They were divided into three teams. Two of the teams would work on building trusses, which were more complicated and would take longer. The other would build walls. Nick found himself assigned to one of the truss teams. All three teams, at Mark’s urging, adopted the same strategy. Build the components, build the piece, and put it aside. Accordingly, everybody was given a job of measuring, cutting or assembling. All groups spent a few minutes drawing templates and patterns for the parts, which they shared with each other. Then the generators and compressors were fired up and the work began.
Nick was glad Dwayne had brought up the questions about camp security, because the same issues were on his mind. He’d gotten to know Dwayne over the past few days. He’d been working for years as a non-union electrician. “They just didn’t seem to want me around, so I quit,” he’d said when Nick asked him about the union. Instead, he’d built a small, one-man business doing both residential and commercial work in the area. Although Nick didn’t recognize him, he and his family had lived in Crestview for years. Nick laughed when he imagined Brian Martinsen’s indignation over the “Griffin Electric” van that Dwayne said he always parked in his driveway. Maybe he got one of those letters from the homeowner’s association every year, too.
~~~
That evening, and most evenings afterwards, everybody was required to remain in the cafeteria after dinner for the first of many mandatory seminars. That night they reviewed the many rules and procedures that had already been decreed, such as mandatory brushing of teeth and washing of hands on the way out of the bathroom. As time passed, seminars covered topics such as weapons training and cleaning and maintenance of firearms. One such seminar was run by Medical, who announced new rules about distribution of pharmaceutical medications and demonstrated some natural remedies for common health issues. Another night they went outside and learned how to create fire using various methods, some of which Nick had never heard of.
Nick appreciated the practical nature of the seminars, but was uncomfortable when they sometimes felt like propaganda sessions. He never brought this up with anybody, because he knew he couldn’t explain why he didn’t hold the Committee in as high regard as most of the others seemed to. It was something he didn’t quite understand himself.
Nine
Construction fell into a productive work pattern. Rising early, breakfast at the school followed by a quiet ride to Tabernacle during the final tugs of dawn for a full day’s work. It wasn’t long before a substantial number of cabin kits had been assembled and set aside. Specialization was a good idea. Efficiency improved every day.
One afternoon Nick watched Penny emerge from a newly-arrived van just after lunch. He’d been watching for her, knowing that the Food Production subcommittee was going to be making a visit. In a move that surprised Nick, he and Dwayne had been assigned as liaisons to this subcommittee, who’d arrived to pick sites and discuss construction of three structures: a slaughterhouse, a smokehouse, and a canning factory.
Because of recent developments in the subcommittee hierarchy, Nick wasn’t even sure why Penny was there with Food Production. A new, separate Farming subcommittee had been separated out from Food Production, and Penny had told Nick with relief that she was being assigned to the new group. Not only did she prefer growing food to hunting and gathering it, she was uncomfortable around the efficient but blustering head man of Food Production, John Markle.
Since the split was announced, Penny and the other members of the new subcommittee had immersed themselves in research at the library, working to determine what crops could be grown in New Jersey, and of course, how to grow them. After some debate, it was agreed that the farmers would use whatever fields were to be available to raise crops of corn, soybeans, wheat and potatoes, all of which had been grown in the state on a regular basis in the past. Satellite gardens would be cultivated for smaller-scale crops like carrots, cucumbers, radishes and tomatoes. Wild fruits and vegetables that could be gathered would still be in the purview of John Markle’s subcommittee, which would retain the name of Food Production, but the food would all go to the same place as Farming’s would for processing and distribution.
After they’d placed orders for seeds and farming supplies with the Committee, Penny couldn’t help wondering what the process would be for acquiring them. Nobody seemed to know who procured the massive amounts of materials and supplies that had accumulated at Tabernacle, or how it was done. Whoever they were, they were known informally as The Scavengers. The name fit. That’s exactly what they were and what they did.
~~~
Nick finally located Dwayne, who was already wiping his hands on his pants and preparing to greet the subcommittee. Neither Nick nor Dwayne had met John in his role as subcommittee head, although Nick was sure they’d crossed paths in Crestview sometime in the past decade. They all converged, the principles shook hands, and the other nine Food Production subcommittee members were introduced.
“So this is Tabernacle,” John said. “It ain’t much to look at, is it? Well, we’ll fix that.” He was a large, muscular man, his hair somehow slicked back despite living in a time when hair gel was as rare as gold. Now that Matt had given up and was letting his whiskers grow, Nick was pretty sure John was the only clean-shaven man left.
“Work in progress, work in progress,” Dwayne told him.
“You’ve got an important job,” Nick told him. “If you don’t succeed, we don’t eat.”
“Nick and Dwayne, right? A word of warning to you guys. I don’t know much about farming or picking berries,” John said, his voice booming. “What I know is hunting. Bow hunting, to be exact. I’ll be the man bringing down the deer. But we got people who know the other stuff. Besides hunting, our job is to get out in the woods, and the fields or whatever else we got here, and grab all the fruits and berries we can find. Then the ladies can bottle them up so we’ll have something to eat this winter.”
“Understood,” Nick said. “They told me you need three buildings. I don’t see any reason not to put them in the same place. My boss suggested that they go over there,” he continued, pointing at an open space beyond the Warehouse. “But of course, that’s up to you and the rest of the higher-ups. You’ll probably have a lot of loads coming in from the woods, so you’d be right there to take them in. And for now, they told me you can carve out a corner of the Warehouse to store food, until we build you your own place for that.”
“Show me,” John grunted.
“Wow,” Dwayne said under hi
s breath.
“Sure,” Nick replied. “Dwayne, want to lead the way?”
~~~
After a couple of hours and seven pages of notes, they’d sketched and written up some basic specs for the three new buildings. The Slaughterhouse and Cannery were simple. They were simply miniature versions of the Warehouse. Once they’d been erected, John and his people could put whatever they wanted in them, and, of course, request help from Construction with any of it.
The Smokehouse was tougher. Nobody knew exactly what it should look like. John had experience with smoking meat before, but only on family-sized backyard smokers. What they needed now would be both larger and more rudimentary. Nick knew he could dig up some information on how smokers worked, and rough out some plans, but that wasn’t his job. As gently as he could, he urged John to do some research on exactly what was needed and get back to him. That was the whole point of dividing the work into subcommittees.
In the meantime, Nick assured him, they would allocate some framers and get started on the other two buildings. That was important, John stressed, because the hunters and gatherers, as he called his people, would be out at Tabernacle the very next day to start work. “We can store meat and berries in there for a little while,” he said, waving at the Warehouse and the Food Distribution Center, “But we’ll grow out of it quick.” He grinned. “At least that’s what I’m hoping. I Never thought I’d get a crack at these woods out of season like this. It’s crawling with targets.”
Judging by how he threw his weight around and gave orders so freely and loudly, Nick was reasonably sure that John was a member of the Committee. That would make sense based on what Mark had told him about heads of all subcommittees. And some subcommittee heads seemed more connected than others. John acted as though he knew he could do whatever he wanted. Nick still wasn’t sure how the chain of command worked when it came to Grover’s almighty Committee, and that bothered him. It bothered him a lot.
~~~
Various representatives from Security came by from time to time, bringing updated plans and ideas for what they wanted built. In addition to a central office which would double as an arsenal, they usually talked about strategically-placed guard shacks around the edge of the camp. It wouldn’t be a problem to design them. The problem was going to be clearing each site and finding available workers to do the building. There was always so much to do as it was.
~~~
A few days later, after the Construction teams had settled in at their assigned tasks, Nick was patiently cutting blocks for a new truss when his head involuntarily jerked toward the woods, probably a reflexive reaction to something he’d heard without realizing it. Suddenly he was eye to eye with two faces peering at him from behind a cluster of leaves at the edge of the workshop. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, this time less sure that he wasn’t imagining them.
He dropped the wood block onto the table and stood up, his hand going to the pistol in his sweatshirt pocket and pulling it out, all without breaking eye contact with the faces he thought he saw. Then they were gone, and he was left to wonder again if he’d dreamed them. He convinced himself that he had. His imagination was going wild, he decided, most likely because Mark had given him a gun and warned him about intruders. Regretting that he’d shown the rest of the crew that he was armed, he set his mind back to his work.
Later, though, when lunch break was declared, it was still on his mind. He sat down with everybody else and received his rations, but quietly got up and walked away without being noticed. Trying not to attract any attention, he moved into the woods, fingering the gun without pulling it out. As expected, there was nobody where he’d seen the faces, but it was obvious from the trampled bushes that somebody had been there, and not very long ago. This just got real, he told himself.
He looked back at the workshop, where everybody was too busy gnawing on venison jerky to notice that he’d slipped away. With no idea where to go or what he was looking for, he walked deeper into the woods, his eyes sweeping the surroundings and his finger tensed on the trigger. When he heard a rustling sound he stopped cold, still not sure it wasn’t his own feet he’d heard dragging through the dead needles and leaves. He heard it again, off to the left. This wasn't his imagination. He pulled out the gun and walked slowly toward the sound.
“Don’t shoot!”
Nick nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the hoarse whisper from the foot of a giant evergreen. “Don’t shoot!” He'd nearly stepped on a man who was lying flat on his back with his arms raised over his head. Nick had already forgotten that he’d pulled the gun out and was pointing it at the man’s chest.
He found himself looking at one of the grubbiest human beings he’d ever laid eyes on. Everything about him was brown and filthy except for his pale face and gray, matted beard. He knew instinctively that this terrified man was not a threat, but he didn’t let his guard down; for one thing, he had an unseen partner lurking nearby. He lowered the gun but didn’t put it away.
“Who are you?” Nick demanded, realizing immediately how silly he sounded. What difference did it make? “What are you doing out here?”
“Nothing! I swear!” the man croaked, not moving a muscle.
“Where’s your friend?” Nick asked. “I know you weren’t alone.”
“He took off,” the man said. “I couldn’t run no more.”
“Where is he?” Nick pressed.
“Don’t know,” the man answered. “Honest. Can I put my hands down?”
“Why couldn’t you run?” Nick asked.
The man stared at him. His face contorted silently. He was trying not to cry. Nick couldn’t stop himself from taking a knee next to him, but he made sure to keep the pistol at the ready. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Too thirsty to run,” he whispered. “We're all dying.”
Nick uncapped his bottle of water from lunch and held it out to the man. After laboring into a sitting position, the man took the water and gulped. Rivulets dripped down his filthy beard, each leaving a trail. Nick held out a strip of venison, which the man snatched and jammed into his mouth. While watching him chew, Nick heard the snap of a twig. Looking up, he saw the man's partner, who'd been watching silently from a few yards away. Knowing he’d been spotted, he sprinted through the trees and out of sight.
When the man on the ground saw Nick raising the pistol, he stopped eating long enough to speak. "That's Luis. He's with me. He's okay."
"Then why's he running away?"
"Maybe because of the gun you pointed at him," the man said.
"Where's the rest of your group?" Nick asked. "Are they armed?"
The man swallowed a hunk of meat as he shook his head. "We don't have anything. We got chased into the woods weeks ago. We've got nothing but the clothes on our backs. We're eating berries and leaves. And tree bark. You got nothing to worry about."
"Where are they?"
"Right through those trees," the man told him. "We've been watching you all day."
"What do you want with us?" Nick asked.
The man held up the water bottle. "Maybe some of this? At least for the kids, if you got any to spare."
"Kids?” Nick asked. “Out here in the woods with you?"
"A few. Not many left."
Nick sighed. "Look, I have to go report this. How about you stay put for a bit.” He thought for a second. “No, wait, maybe you should just come with me. What's your name, anyway?"
The man handed back the water bottle and shoved the last bite of venison into his mouth before standing up, which he did slowly and unsteadily. "Jesse," he said, out of breath from the exertion. "Jesse Cobbins."
Ten
Matt was bouncing through the corridors, excited to be on his way to the next Water Supply subcommittee meeting. He was as giddy as he’d been back in school when he knew he’d done a bang-up job on his homework, which, he realized, was exactly the situation he found himself in now. He couldn’t wait to get into that room and show them
what he’d learned since the last meeting.
When he walked in and saw only three others he stopped in his tracks. He’d have backed out and checked the room number except he recognized everybody that he saw as members. Sue Stocker, Grover Monroe’s wife Crystal, and Robby Gruber, somebody he knew from Crestview. Where was everybody else?
“Come on in, Matt,” Sue said. “Yeah, you’re in the right place. We lost a lot of members to Sanitation. We’ll get them back when we need the labor. Right now we just need brainpower.”
“Really? My wife’s on Sanitation,” Matt said. “They really are running low on workers.” He was still focusing on the brainpower part. He knew Sue was a chemist, and he remembered that Crystal ran the pathology lab at Cooper Hospital in Camden. There were some brains there. But after that it was just him and Robby.
“So why don’t we start where we left off last time?” Sue said. “Based on the number of residents, figuring everybody needs three gallons a day, plus occasional bathing, miscellaneous needs, we want six hundred gallons of drinkable water a day.”
“I’m picturing six-hundred of those gallon milk jugs right now,” Robby announced. “Full of water, of course.”
“We have enough water on hand in the tankers for about ten more days,” Sue said. “So that’s how long we have to get this system up and running. We don’t have much time at all.” She looked at her notes. “Robby, you were going to research filters. What can you tell us?”
“A lot. My family does a lot of camping and hiking,” Robby said. “We bought a bunch of those little filtering straws. They’re pretty great. You can suck dirty water right through them and they clean it up enough for drinking. I thought we should invest in a bunch of those.”
“Invest?” Sue asked.
Crystal stared at Robby before speaking. “What about everything we talked about last time? We’re going to be working with huge quantities of water. Six hundred gallons a day, to be exact. Sucking it through a straw isn’t even in the same magnitude as what we’re talking about.”