Anyway, since Jared was in sick bay, Roper was the star of the show. But he seemed uncomfortable. He wouldn’t give us a lot of details but said, “There’s bands of people, and you never know who is liable to shoot you in the back if given the chance.” I saw a shadow cross his face when he said that. I wished Jared was well instead of in sick bay so he could shed more light on that remark. But I’m thinking they must have had a few close calls out there. People kidded him about being so mysterious but Roper just shook his head and said, “It’s a jungle out there, that’s all there is to tell.”
No one mentioned my mother or Mr. Washington which I knew was because everyone had already got word that Roper and Jared had seen no sign of them. I was glad they didn’t talk about it—it would have made me cry all over again. Then the men discussed the new supplies. Roper said it wasn’t nearly as much as Jared wanted but we had more than before. All we needed now was for Jared to recover enough to use the stuff and start building those bombs!
There’s a tension growing in me day after day. I thought it was that I missed Roper and wanted word of my mother. But it’s actually a feeling of impending doom. I mean, those soldiers are bound to come back! Or those reports of nuclear strikes could be true, which means fallout could be affecting us. Every day that passes feels to me like one less day between us and disaster.
Anyway, everyone was happy to have Roper back and the mood became fairly jolly. And then Mrs. Martin surprised us by bringing in a real cake—with icing! She pulled a cake mix out of food storage (because she didn’t have time to make it from scratch) so we could celebrate the return of the men. I thought I’d smelled something really yummy coming from the kitchen but I didn’t dare hope! We don’t have dessert often except for fruit and cream.
Mr. Buchanan had left the room earlier, saying he had a contact to connect with on his radio. When he returned, he looked serious. Everyone was still around Roper so I watched as Mr. Buchanan went and spoke to Mr. Martin. In a minute Mr. Martin stood up and went to the center of the room.
Without a word his expression silenced everyone. He looked like he had bad news. “Mr. Buchanan has been on the radio,” he said, taking in first one side of the room with his eyes and then the other. “We’ve had word from known and trusted contacts that soldiers like the ones who attacked us are being seen like never before—as well as a few tanks. If ever we’ve needed to pray for the safety of this compound—and our country—it’s now.”
A heavy silence fell as the air of festivity vanished. And then, adding to the sudden sobriety of the atmosphere, Jared came into the room, walking slowly and with difficulty. The children gawked at his bandaged arm and hand, not missing the red-stained under-dressing, which was slowly beginning to leak through. Mr. Clepps put down his cake. “Jared—you had an I.V. on! You should not be up and about! Your body needs rest.”
Jared glanced at him but otherwise ignored him, moving further into the room. Like a wake after a ship, an aisle widened around him, as people moved their chairs or scrambled out of his way. I cringed at his bruised and swollen face.
He looked at Mr. Martin. “So there’s tanks, now? We got us some supplies but I’ll need more initiators right away. The amount we brought back isn’t enough. We need to destroy the road out there so nothing can come down it—not even a tank.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Mr. Martin asked. “And even if we destroy that road—somehow—tanks can roll over most anything.”
“There’s a culvert about a half mile down the road,” Jared said. He paused and winced in pain, bolstering his injured arm with his other hand. “If we blow up the bridge even a tank is gonna think twice before crossing that gully.”
My heart rose at that idea! Imagine if we could really make our road inaccessible! I’d feel safer—except for the nuclear threat, but there was still a chance it was only a rumor. I decided right then to cling to that chance.
“If they’ve got a tank, they don’t need a road,” said Mr. Buchanan. “I think you ought to prepare for what to use if and when they arrive at our doorstep—just like last time.”
Mr. Martin said, “I agree. I like the idea of taking out the bridge, but with our limited resources we need to keep our explosives on the compound to use if and when they’re needed.”
Jared shook his head. “Look, unless they’ve got ground-attack aircraft—and we haven’t seen any—our best chance of deflecting a hit is by taking out that bridge. The harder you make it for them to reach us, the greater the chance they’ll go elsewhere.” He seemed to be swaying on his feet. Mr. Clepps hurriedly stood up and moved his chair towards him.
“Sit down, Jared. At least sit down!”
Frowning, Jared did so. Mr. Clepps studied him while Jared returned his look with a scowl. “I think you’re burning with fever,” said Mr. Clepps. Jared’s forehead was red and bruised, so he put a hand on the back of his neck. “This isn’t good. If you want to live to build us anything, you have got to return to bed.”
Mr. Martin said, “You heard him, son.”
Jared nodded. “Give me five minutes.” He looked around. “I need you—all of you—to understand. There is no reason why those tanks will seek out this compound. It’s not like we got any military secrets stored next to the pinto beans. They’re more interested in targets that matter—military, manufacturing, even cultural. But they’ll attack us opportunistically if they happen to be going by and don’t like the looks of us. If we take out the bridge, it makes us a whole lot safer from opportunistic attacks—that’s all I’m saying. Chances are, a tank will never come our way. But those army trucks are all over the place. You take out the bridge—no more army trucks.”
For once I was totally in agreement with Jared. I longed for the safety of being inaccessible to those soldiers!
Mrs. Wasserman said, bitterly, “You haven’t heard, have you? We may be under nuclear threat!”
Mr. Martin said, “Now, we don’t know that, Sandra. We still don’t know for sure if there have been any strikes--."
“What’s up with that?” Jared asked him. Mr. Martin quickly filled him in on the scattered reports that had come via the radio—from unknown contacts. “We’re still trying to reach some of the people we’ve spoken with in the past, to get confirmation.”
Jared nodded. “Those reports could be planted by an enemy. Disinformation to destabilize us more than we already are. I say we work with what we know for sure—and we know there are hundreds of trucks and a few tanks out there.”
A murmur went around the room. Mrs. Buchanan spoke up. “What if things start getting back to normal and we’ve ruined that bridge for nothing? What if food and medical supplies become available? If we ruin the bridge, we don’t only make our compound difficult for the bad guys to reach us; we make it difficult for anyone to.”
“I agree,” said Mrs. Martin. “And God forbid, we could even be held accountable by the government for the destruction of public property—when things return to normal!”
Jared was staring at the ceiling as though far removed from the mere sound of voices. He returned a level gaze to us in the room. “We have no idea if or when things may return to normal. Things may never return to normal. Or it could be years before there’s any kind of normal. If we don’t do what we have to do to protect this compound, if normal does return, it will do so without us—because we won’t live that long.”
A louder hum of voices started up, and from the side of the room where all the youngest members of our compound were playing with toys on the floor, Lexie’s little sister Lainie stared at Jared in horror. “Mommy, are we gonna die?” Lainie asked. Her high, innocent question got the room’s attention. I think we’d all forgotten about the children.
Now my brothers stared at us with fear in their eyes. Quentin’s little upper lip began to quiver. “We’re gonna die?” asked Aiden. I hurried over to them.
“Nobody’s going to die!” said Mrs. Martin. And then, “It’s time for the little ones to
go to bed.” I reassured my brothers, repeating that no one would die, and then joined Lexie as we helped them put away toys so we could take the children upstairs. But my heart felt heavy, even hollow. The children had voiced the question we’d been suppressing all summer since the last attack—heck, since the pulse. Are we gonna die?
Mrs. Buchanan got up to gather her brood. Mr. Wasserman handed baby Emma to his wife and proceeded to take the other two Wasserman children from the room.
I hated to leave without a chance to spend time with Roper so I planned on getting the boys to bed and then hurrying back to the living room for the remainder of the meeting. Lexie surprised me by stopping me at the stairs. “I’ll put them in,” she said. “I’m taking the girls up anyway.”
When I went back to my seat, Roper was watching. He came and sat beside me, where Mrs. Buchanan had been before. We shared a smile.
“Jared, I’m taking you back to your bed.” Mr. Clepps said. He put his hand on Jared’s good arm, but Jared pulled away.
“I’m not done, yet.” In a voice that rose above the room (which amazed me considering how weak he looked) he called, “We have the right of self-defense, and if that means taking out the road, then that’s what we do. Like I said before, we’re not special in a military sense. We’re just an opportunity.” In a lower tone he added, “I’d like to deprive them of this opportunity, if it’s all the same to you.”
Many adults around the room nodded in agreement. “I guess it’s settled then,” said Mr. Martin. “What else do you need, Jared?”
“Unless you know of a good supply of fertilizer, I could use a whole bunch more airbag initiators.”
From there it was only a few seconds until Roper—to my horror—volunteered to go back out. I looked at him, aghast, and poked him in the arm. “What? Why you?” I hissed, in a whisper.
“Because he wants airbag initiators and I know how to get them,” he whispered back.
“You keep risking your life! And breaking my heart!” I was actually on a fast track to getting boiling mad at him.
He stared at me, looking faintly amused, though sympathetic. “I got here to begin with and that was a miracle. I came back after being out there for weeks—and that was a miracle. I can come back again by God’s grace.”
I shook my head. “Let someone else go! You did your part! ‘Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God!’”
He pressed his lips together. “I’m the only one on this compound who has removed a hundred of those things from all types and models of cars. I can do it faster and safer than anyone else.” He looked pensively towards Jared as he spoke.
I wanted to voice more objections but other people came around to speak to Roper. I waited, biting my lip, to have his attention again. I wanted our compound to be safe from attack as much as anyone but I did NOT want Roper going out there again!
As soon as I had the chance, I resumed our whispered conversation. “There’s gotta be somebody else who knows how to do it.”
Roper nodded. “Yup. Jared.”
“I thought that’s how he got hurt.”
“It is. He knows better now.”
I wanted to say, “So let Jared go,” but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Jared didn’t look like he would be doing much of anything for awhile. It was so unfair!
Before the meeting broke up, Mr. Buchanan came over and volunteered to go with Roper. But Mr. Simmons, who is our ex-cop, said, “I ought to be the one. I’ve done little besides lookout duty and cabin work. I’m ready to do my part out on the road.” He paused. “In fact, with my training as a policeman, I’ll be more of an asset than a lot of you all.”
I’m glad Mr. Simmons will go with him. Better him than Jared! At least I have that small comfort.
EVENING
After thinking about it, I realized Roper was right—he has to be the one to go. He’s the best qualified, and look what happened to Jared when he tried to pull an airbag! Would I want that to happen to someone else? No. I can’t just think about what I want, anymore. I have to think about what’s best for the compound.
My sweet, beautiful man has to go!
Chapter 31
ANDREA
I insisted that Roper give me a good hour of his time before leaving the compound again. Mr. Clepps, to my delight, went even further. “He ought to have a few days to recuperate, eat well, and rest,” he said. But Roper (who I’m finding out has a stubborn streak) said, “If Jared is in good enough shape to use the things, then I need to get them ASAP.”
“Well, he’s not in good enough shape,” Mr. Clepps returned.
We were at breakfast in the dining room, and Mr. Martin sat listening. Roper asked him, “Is there anyone else here who can build the weapons?”
Mr. Martin looked thoughtful a moment. “I have a lot of printed material about how to make defensive weapons—but I don’t recall seeing instructions on how to use airbag initiators.” After a pause he said, “You understand them more than anyone. You’re our best shot at using them—if Jared can’t.”
“Why couldn’t he?” I asked. “That’s what he’s been wanting to do.” I saw a guarded look cross Mr. Martin’s face. Looking around the table, I saw that Mr. Clepps, Mrs. Martin, and even Lexie all had a similar shadowed expression. And then I realized: They weren’t sure Jared would recover!
Roper asked, “How bad is he?”
“Raging fever today,” said Mr. Clepps. “We’ve given him pain relievers and antibiotics—but I don’t have the right stuff to treat him. We’ve got amoxicillin—he needs something stronger.”
I was filled with pity for Jared. And then it hit me that if he didn’t recover, we wouldn’t be able to tear up that bridge—at least, I didn’t think so. I felt frightened by the thought.
Mr. Clepps said, “If we had a hospital he’d lose that arm but live to talk about it. Here—I don’t dare try that.”
Lexie said, “Mr. Clepps, during the Civil War didn’t doctors do amputations right on the field? Without any hospital? And lots of those men survived.”
Mr. Clepps pursed his lips. “Most of them didn’t. And I’ve never done an amputation, Lexie. We don’t have the right equipment. I can’t even do a blood transfusion.”
“But you’re giving him an I.V.,” said Mrs. Martin. “Can’t you do a transfusion with that tubing?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s much too narrow and I’d need a bigger gauge needle. And he’s already lost a grave amount of blood.”
Mr. Martin said, “Okay, we get it. But you think the odds are against him anyway, so what is there to lose?”
Mr. Clepps drew in a deep breath. He shook his head. “I understand where you’re coming from, Grant, but—I may just make him suffer more on his way out.” He looked around, as if pleading with us to understand. “I don’t want to be responsible for giving him that misery—he’s suffering enough as it is.” Then, when no one said anything he added, “Look, if he comes through this fever, he may be alright.”
Mrs. Philpot spoke from the doorway. I didn’t know how long she’d been there listening. “Charles,” she said, to Mr. Clepps. “You know that the longer you wait, the less chance there is for him to survive. That gangrene will be systemic. I agree with Lexie and Grant—you need to do this.”
Gangrene? I shuddered.
Mr. Clepps stood up in agitation. “I am only—technically qualified! I have no experience with amputations!”
Mr. Martin said, gently, “Sit down, Charles. Just think about this a moment. You are the best qualified. No one is expecting you to work miracles. But we do have good medical books. My wife and I—and anyone else who wants to—will be by your side to coach and support you.”
Mrs. Martin’s face blanched. I remembered she didn’t like the sight of blood. I had to admire her because she nodded, accepting what her husband had said, despite her dislike of it.
“You’re not hearing me,” Mr. Clepps said. “I don’t have the equipment!” His voice was thinner, no longer as
strong. Maybe he realized he’d have to give in.
Mr. Martin said, “Let’s pore through the books and see what we need. I think we’ll be able to do whatever we have to do.”
“He’s gonna lose a boatload of blood,” said Mr. Clepps. “Like I said, if we attempt an amputation, it’ll just usher him out of here faster than he’s already going.”
Mr. Martin seemed to consider this. “There must be a way to minimize blood loss.”
I met Roper’s eyes. He looked the way I felt: sorry for Jared. “Can I talk to you?” I asked.
In a few minutes we’d cleaned our dishes and then we headed outdoors. It was a fine, hot day for early August, less humid than it had been of late. The gardens were exploding with growth. I had much labor waiting for me in those beds but for now I would think only of Roper. He took my hand and swung our arms casually as we walked. Passing the empty playground, we went and sat side-by-side on two swings.
He looked at me expectantly.
“I want to know more about what happened out there,” I said. “How many close calls did you have?” Roper nodded, but was silent for a few moments.
“I really only had one close call.” He paused. “There were a few times shots came close—and you know we lost the horse—but there was only one time when I thought I might be about to die.”
I gazed at him with a full heart. Softly, I prodded. “What happened?”
He pursed his lips. “I hate to talk about this--."
“Why? What are you not saying? Are there more enemies out there we don’t know about? You have to let us know!”
He smiled gently. “No. Only one enemy—and it’s my enemy, not yours.”
The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set Page 79