“Yes, yes. Michael?” the commander held out his hand and helped Michael to his feet, only to see him flop on the bench facing the guards.
“Yes sir?” Michael’s voice was quivering, his nerve endings still feeling like sparks were shooting through his body.
“We cannot have that sort of treasonous talk. You are new here so you aren’t aware of it… Your country suffered an attack upon its infrastructure and an orderly rebuilding process is necessary to preserve your culture.”
“Commander, I don’t mind working. I’ve always understood an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work, but my hands are killing me. Is it possible for me to do another job?” Michael held up his hands to show how quickly the blisters had formed.
“Why was he issued no gloves?” Lukashenko asked Yosef.
“We do not have any at this moment.” Yosef said.
“Resupply was supposed to come in today, has it not all been checked in?”
Michael listened to them chatter and realized that the commander had been away from the facility for a time and neither of them had a chance to catch up. Michael was largely forgotten and wondered if he should wait, or return to work…
Somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see Les across from him. He showed him his palms that had three inches of duct tape across them. Michael showed him his ruined hands, the blisters covering that area. Les winced and shook his head.
“Ok, so in the problem of the new kid here?” Yosef asked.
“Michael, you will work with me, your hands are a mess. Yosef, I shall return him in a few days after his hands have healed.” The commander told him.
“Yes sir,” Yosef snapped to attention and saluted.
It was a salute that Michael wasn’t familiar with, but he recognized it for what it was. The commander was one of the big dogs in this place and ran more than a couple military APC’s around the countryside kidnapping survivors. He was in charge of a forced labor camp.
“Have you eaten yet?” Lukashenko asked.
“No sir,” Michael said softly, standing to join the commander.
“Come with me, we shall get something to eat and you can tell me about your eye. It looks like you’ve already had a difficult time here.”
“You aren’t kidding,” Michael mumbled, but it was heard and Lukashenko laughed and clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.
“A fighting spirit. That is good.”
+++++
The lunch was strained and Michael was getting strange looks from survivors who saw him sitting with the commander and his lieutenants. The NATO soldiers were looking at him funny because they were probably curious why a boy had the right hand seat next to the commander. Michael just kept eating and remembered his vow to King earlier and had filled his tray with those items. The conversation at the table was halted and strained until somebody asked a question in a different language. Michael’s look of confusion was all they needed and the table talked again. That went on for a while until a lull in the conversation had Michael looking up to see everyone looking at him.
“…And this American boy,” Lukashenko said in English, “is a perfect example. He was struck in the face, bruised his knuckles defending himself, and tore his hands up knowing he did not have proper gear. Then Yosef tased him before the boy knew the rules. He stood up and talked to us with respect, when he has every reason to despise us. I think he’d be perfect to help us explain things before we have more… unpleasantness like last week?”
“What do you have in mind Commander?” One of his officers asked, and Michael noticed the subtle differences in the uniforms now.
“His hands are no good for wiring, we could ship him off to a different camp, but what if I allowed him to work with me on some projects while he heals and let him talk to whoever he talks to. You,” Lukashenko pointed to a different officer, “says he was seen with Les and King. They are our biggest troublemakers and the boy already has at least their respect if not friendship. Is this crazy idea?” His English was good, but in some spots he struggled to find the right words.
There was a pregnant silence at the table for a while and then an officer two seats to Michael’s right spoke up, “As long as he isn’t in the long term planning meetings I see no flaws to the plan Commander.”
“Da, yes, ya,” was chorused around the table.
“Do you want to work with me?” Lukashenko looked at Michael over his right shoulder.
“Yes sir, sounds good. Can I ask a question?”
“Yes, by all means,” Lukashenko answered.
“You want me to report back to the others? They’ll think you’re planting misinformation, won’t they?”
The table got silent and then everyone including the commander busted up laughing.
“Yes, that isn’t something I thought of, but now that you mention it… No, no, I am kidding. That is a valid concern, one I had not thought of. See, this American boy will be the perfect… how do you say it… the go between? Translator? So we can make the folks here understand.”
There were nods at the table and genuine smiles of relief. Michael went with it because he didn’t understand their relief, but as long as they weren’t making the evil eye or sharpening a spoon to use on him, he’d do it. His hands were starting to throb worse, and he hoped that working for the commander wouldn’t put too much distance between himself and the rest.
“Ahhh, some snacks to return to the bunks?” Lukashenko asked Michael quietly.
Michael looked at the handful of sugar packets and the unopened juice box, “Uh... yeah.”
“Here, take mine,” Lukashenko pulled a handful of sugar packets out of his pocket and slid them into Michael’s hand under the table, “Gulag wine is an acquired taste. You surprise me, truly you do. Bring me some.”
“I don’t know what they’re going to do with it, I was just told that these were valuable for trade,” Michael whispered without moving his head.
“Good, whoever told you that has your best interests at heart. Don’t be obvious, but you should be able to get some from time to time.”
“Yes sir.”
+++++
Michael had just gotten back inside the men’s barracks when Les stepped out, leaning in a doorway. He stepped in front of Michael to slow him.
“Hey,” Michael said.
“So, special assistant to the big dog. You have to suck a lot of—“ Les’s words were cut off when a big brown hand grabbed his shirt front and pulled him off his feet.
Les’s butt hit the floor at the same time as Michael moved to stop King from hurting the downed man.
“Hey, King… I got what we talked about. Les,” He held his hand out and helped the man to his feet, “You’re right. The commander has me working with him. I’ll tell you all about it, maybe you can help me make sense of things?”
King gave Michael a look and then walked to the row of cells. Les looked at Michael with a more than a little anger.
“You got what he talked about?”
“Yeah, he asked me to grab some stuff from the cafeteria for helping me earlier,” Michael told him and Les’s face relaxed.
“Oh, I thought it was something worse… weapons like a knife or…”
“What is it with you two? I got the impression that you’re in charge of the men’s dorms but King—“
“King’s got his own thing going,” Les answered before Michael could point out that nobody including Les messed with the big man.
“Ok. Let me drop my stuff off to King and I’ll fill you in. It’s really really weird.” Michael’s voice was excited, but he winced in pain when he put his hand in his pocket.
“Ok, hurry back.”
Michael’s trip to King’s cell was without incident except for catching sight of Jeff who slunk away before Michael got close. There were two men outside Kings open cell door but they saw the bandaged hands and looked Michael in the eyes before stepping aside and allowing him in.
“King, I got—
“
“Kid, are we going to have a problem with the commander?” King was abrupt, his brow furrowed.
“No, no. In fact, he said this stuff was for Gulag wine or something?” Michael pulled out a pocketful of sugar packets and two juice boxes.
One of the men in the doorway whistled and King gave him a sharp look that silenced him.
“How did you smuggle all of this out?”
“I… I didn’t. I just… Lukashenko gave me his, he had a pocketful too.”
King pondered that for a second, until the furrowed brow eased into an easy smile.
“I think he was trying to get on your good side. Is he having you be the prison liaison or something?”
“Yeah, but I got the impression that he was trying to be sincere.” Michael said, sitting on the end of the cot that King had pointed at.
“Let me see your hands,” King said, no question in his tone.
Michael showed him. King unwrapped them slowly, “The officer’s medic did this?”
“Yes,” Michael told the big man.
“Good, maybe they are being sincere. Lord knows we have them outnumbered.”
The look of relief that Lukashenko had… the thought was like a jolt of lightening. He explained it to King who smiled and they talked for a while, forgetting about the contraband they had left out in the open.
Chapter 9 -
The Homestead, Kentucky
“Sgt Smith, do we have everything set?” Sandra asked him as the core group all had dinner together on Blake’s porch with many of the other residents sitting in the grass around them.
“Yes, ma’am. We have about a battalion’s worth of ‘Rebel’ units in the gulf area. I’ve put that Seal in contact with the closest group. They’ve been organizing quietly, ready to start pushing back. It was much worse than we thought. I’m sorry we didn’t know—“
“I didn’t know,” Blake said, “and I’ve been married to that radio as much as David and Patty lately,” placating him.
Chris smiled and pulled on his dad’s arm, vying for attention. He pulled his son close with his bad arm, feeling the stiff muscles work.
“What do we do now?” Somebody from the crowd asked.
Blake looked around. Everyone was looking at him, and it was an uncomfortable thing to realize. He was the man who wanted to live in the hills, have a solitary life. So much had changed in just a handful of months that it blew him away… Love, change of lifestyle, family and now a small community was growing up on his ten acre homestead… Granted he still had all the fields his grandparents had handshake agreements on… But what to do now?
“Duncan, you were the one who studied this much, much more than I did. Do you have any idea?” Blake asked.
“Well, I can tell you that I don’t have enough information to tell you that. It sounds like people are starting to get organized and scrape enough parts together or, “Duncan paused a moment, “acquire the radios like your young video game kid you talk to on the radio sometimes.”
“What about the invasion? The notes Neal and I found…” Patty said, her voice somewhat shrill.
“I don’t know. But if NATO is here and our own Navy isn’t, I don’t know. I don’t have enough information. Organize, get ready for the winter, and survive.”
“No bigger picture ideas from me. When I studied this kind of stuff, they didn’t have a quick and easy solution to jumpstarting the country after something like this. We always thought it’d never happen within our lifetimes. I really hope they were wrong,” Duncan’s words were off the cuff and they had a chilling effect.
“You know what, this isn’t so bad. My kids love it here and I think I’m healthier now than I was two months ago when I had a car to take me everywhere,” One of the women spoke loudly from the back of the group.
There was a general murmur of agreement, but the notion that not in this lifetime … it was a hard one for many of them to swallow.
“You’re all welcome to stay here, for as long as you want,” Blake told them.
“If we can get your old tractor fired up, could we start laying in our own crops? Like a bigger scale?” Sandra asked.
“I don’t see why not. I’ve always done things on a smaller scale. I could take care of a big garden… You know, there has to be full fields planted all around here, would it be safe for us—“ Blake was saying but Martha interrupted him.
“You know what Blake, that’s a damn good idea. I don’t think enough people in our county survived the fires from the downed plane to have picked the fields clean. I bet you there’s a ton of food out there…” Martha said, letting her words trail off at the end.
“Ok, so we’re good for food. I’d still like to look for some livestock,” Blake grumbled.
“You getting tired of squash and pork?” Sandra ribbed him.
“You know, I never thought that the end of the world would have me missing ice cream,” Blake said, his words wistful. I would have that as a treat about once a month and now it’s gone… I was thinking about it and I think we could figure something out. We have to get smarter about food preservation. I don’t have enough jars to can everything for everyone… Granted that last food truck had almost two pallets full.”
“You worry too much,” Sandra said, sitting on his knee, his good leg.
Her weight comforted him, her very presence. He put his good arm around her waist and held her close. Chris took his free hand, perhaps for a little bit of jealousy or to remind Blake that he was still there. He had to smile and decided to listen to his wife.
“You know, I have an idea on making a cold storage room, but I don’t think I can handle the construction for a while.”
“You have enough volunteers who owe you one,” a yell from one of the rescued men and several more laugh and cheered.
Blake was amazed. He knew folks were grateful, but he’d never expected this of them and for a moment he realized something that somewhat shocked him. Sandra and Duncan ran the security of The Homestead as well as Sgt. Smith who in turn his own men… But Blake had become the figurehead of the group. They looked at him expectantly.
“Ok, well I had an idea for building a springhouse. Any of you know what those are?”
A teenage girl who was sitting with her parents slowly snaked her hand up in the air. She’d been sitting in the grass with her mother and brother. She was one of the newer members that Sandra’s squad had found walking and looking for somewhere safe.
“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t know your name or if I did the knock to the head might have scrambled me some.”
“I’m Viola, Mr. Jackson. We learned about them when we were doing our history lessons,” her eyes cut sideways to confirm with one of the other kids, “People would cut ice from the lakes and put it in an icehouse. The runoff would go downhill or something into a house and the cold water and evaporation kept it cooler?”
“Very good. If anybody’s interested in helping, I’d like to build one of those.”
“That sounds like a good idea Blake, but uh… there’s no lake around here and more importantly, there’s no ice.” Duncan said, his expression betraying the fact he thought Blake was a little scrambled after all.
“No, but we have cold runoff already. The artesian well that runs through the Barracks. We make a different place for the bathrooms down there and then…”
“None of us use the bathroom there Blake,” Bobby said, “No privacy, although some of us have dunked our heads in the water a time or two. That waters cold!”
Blake thought about that a moment. It raised the question on where they were going to the bathroom already, but didn’t voice it. He figured Martha had sorted that one out, but he made a mental note to ask her later on.
“Well, I guess we need to figure out where the water comes out of the barn, then pick a spot for the springhouse. We’ll dig a spot out, line the bottom with plastic or clay and fill with a bunch of gravel. The water’s natural evaporation and temperature will keep the temp
s down. It’ll be like a fridge if we can insulate the side.”
“The side?” Duncan asked him.
“Well, I was thinking about digging into the hillside, a good ways actually and have it earth sheltered,” Blake told him.
“How is that different than the big room in the bottom of the barn Daddy?” Chris asked from his side.
Sandra got up to walk around and Blake smiled, in truth his leg had started to get pins and needles. Blake stood as well and gripped the railing. His shoulder and arm still hurt, his leg throbbed but not even half as bad as it did a week ago. He was healing, and healing fast.
“That artesian well must be deep if it’s colder than the air in the barracks. The barracks will stay 55 all year as deep as it is without a heat source. I figure that water has to be in the forties. Almost as cold as a refrigerator. If we earth shelter it and put a good side on it with an insulated door, we might even be able to make and store our own ice inside of it for the coming months next spring. Maybe even be able to make ice cream at that point,” Blake smiled at his own joke.
“Good thing then,” Sandra said, running her hands across Blake’s stubble, “because I’ll be dying for ice cream and pickle sandwiches soon.” She gave him the biggest smile and walked over and picked Chris up.
Realization slapped Blake square in the face and his jaw dropped open.
“Are you sure?”
“Yup,” Sandra said smiling.
“Does that mean I’m going to have a baby brother to play with?” Chris asked, his voice loud and clear.
The group had gone silent and the ladies present were smiling, some whispering to their husbands who just didn’t get the joke until they heard Chris’s question. Blake let out a surprised sound and almost crushed the two of them in a bear hug, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. The Homestead erupted in cheers and polite clapping. Blake didn’t hear any of it, he was too lost in his wife’s eyes.
“I was scared you would be upset,” Sandra whispered to him.
“No, never,” Blake told her.
The World Bleeds: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 5) Page 5