by Ray Gorham
“Just call me Greg, and actually, things are pretty good, at least compared to most places. We’re a small community, but we have the essentials—farms, food, some medical capacity, along with a secure location.” He nodded at the bridge they had just crossed, then pointed across town. “The river’s a natural barrier, so between the bridge here and the one in Bonner’s Ferry, we have natural choke points to defend. There’s only one big road coming from the North and no big population centers across the border in Canada, so no reason for significant threats to come at us from that direction, though that road is still guarded, in addition to the bridges.”
“Any problems to this point?”
Greg shook his head. “An uptick in crime for the first month, but we’ve been lucky. We’re an isolated agricultural community with lots of arable land, water, wood, infrastructure, a sawmill with more wood than we can use in a decade, a jail, and schools. I could go on.” He stopped and looked at Kyle. “Listen, we know how lucky we are, so we don’t want people coming in and messing things up. Visitors get escorted through town and sent on their way if they don’t have a reason to be here. I’ll be the one going to your parent’s place with you. If you are not who you say you are, don’t expect to be able to stay. If you do have a connection, welcome to Moyie Springs, but remember, we don’t tolerate much. We have enough information about what is going on in the bigger cities to know we want none of that here. If you step out of line, you’ll be dealt with harshly. Do you understand?”
Kyle raised his hands defensively. “Loud and clear. I have no intention of messing things up for my family. You really don’t need to worry about me.”
“Good.” the Sheriff said. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
They reached the far side of the ravine, with Collin still clinging tightly to the stirrup, and Kyle walking beside Greg. Another RV was parked just past the end of the bridge, and Greg told Kyle to wait while he went to the vehicle. The door swung open, and two armed men emerged, eyeing Kyle while they talked to the sheriff in hushed voices. Kyle talked to Collin while they waited, then hefted him back up on the horse. Eventually Greg returned, and the other two men retreated back into their RV.
The clouds had cleared away, and the sun was warming things up, causing the thin layer of snow on the road to melt off and mists of steam to rise in the cool air. “We good?” Kyle asked.
Greg nodded. “Just giving them a heads up. This side of town is pretty quiet, not many people coming through, so they’re curious. There are a lot of long, cold, boring days out here.
Greg followed Kyle’s lead, cutting back south along the top of the ridge that overlooked the river.
“What brought your parents here?” Greg asked as he scanned the far side of the river.
“Retirement. They were both teachers, retiring after thirty years in the profession. Mom taught fifth grade, and dad taught high school science. He still substituted here to keep busy. Mom grew up in Sandpoint, and loved the area. Dad is from Seattle, but had no desire to return, as big and crowded as it is anymore.”
“They chose well to not retire in Seattle. Much lower survival rates there. Lots of fighting going on.”
“Is there military involvement?” Kyle asked, his ears perking up.
Greg shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just too many people in too small a space with too few resources, and no sense of community for that matter.”
“I’ve worried about other countries coming over, especially to cities on the coast. You hear of anything like that?”
Greg laughed. “No. No invasions, at least not yet. To me, it wouldn’t make sense for anyone to do that, at least not yet.”
Kyle looked at him, surprised, and Greg continued. “First off, why put yourself in the middle of anarchy? A military force would have to restore some law and order, which would be a major drain on their resources. Anyone smart will just sit back and let us fight it out, then see what and who’s left when we’re all done. Hell, if the Chinese landed on the West Coast, it would give people someone to fight instead of each other. Probably do more to unify us than our government has in the last six months.”
“You don’t think they want our land or our stuff?”
“Nope,” Greg said, shaking his head vigorously. “We’re so far across the ocean it would be cheaper for them to manufacture it than to come over here, fight for it, and ship it back. Most of it probably came from China in the first place. They don’t need the land because their people don’t know to want what they don’t have, and besides, we took out most of their command infrastructure and have promised to drop the big one on them if they try anything, and they know we’re desperate. In other words, we should be good, if you consider our current status good.”
Greg smiled at Kyle. “You wonder what we talk about during the long, boring shifts at the end of the bridges?”
“Let me guess,” Kyle said, rubbing his chin. “Politics?”
Greg laughed, the first indication of humor he’d shown since they met. “Got it. My theory is that China just needs to hold tight for a few years until we’re ready to start buying again. We’ll have to replace everything, and I mean everything. Every factory owner in China is going to be crazy rich in a few years, just like America got after World War II when Europe had all their stuff bombed out and had to buy it from us. Amazing how things cycle through history.”
“From what I can see, this isn’t too bad a place to be, up here out of the way like you are.” Kyle turned to make sure Collin was doing okay, then continued. “You have everything you need to survive and can spend your guard time discussing politics instead of fighting off the bad guys.”
Greg nodded, smiling. “You’re not far off. Not many places in America I’d rather be right now, that’s for sure.”
A strange beeping sound startled Kyle. Greg reached down and pulled a radio Kyle hadn’t noticed from his belt and spoke into it. After a short conversation with a guard at another checkpoint, the radio was replaced and Greg turned his attention back to Kyle. “There’s always something,” he said, dismissing the call.
Kyle shook his head in wonder. “Okay, how do you still have radios? Thought we lost everything like that back in September.”
Greg shrugged. “We lost most things back then, but not everything.”
“What? You just happened to find some radios that worked?”
“No, guess we got a little bit lucky. There are a few preppers in the area, myself being one of them, at least to a degree. I read an article on a blog once that said microwave ovens make a good Faraday cage, and…”
“A farawhat cage?”
“A Faraday cage. It’s a device that protects electronics from an EMP, so they aren’t affected by the electrons or whatever it is that causes the damage. There are different things that’ll work – metal trashcan, steel cabinets, whatever. A microwave is just one of them. Anyway, I had a few old radios and a couple old microwaves I didn’t use, so I wrapped the radios in foil, stuck them in one of the microwaves, and forgot about them. When all this happened, I pulled them out, popped a couple of batteries in, and they worked.”
“Where’d you get the batteries?”
“Batteries are cheap, and they last a long time, so I always kept hundreds of them on hand. Just had to be sure and rotate them.”
“I’d say that seems like a lot of trouble, but obviously in hindsight, it wasn’t.”
“Not everything worked. I had an old cell phone and my first ipad that I stuck in there too. They work if you want to play games, but with no cell systems, I can’t communicate with them. There are a couple guys in the area with HAM radios though, so we’re not entirely cut off.” He looked up ahead at a log home with a business sign hanging out front. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he indicated with a lift of his chin.
Kyle sucked in his breath and nodded. “It is.”
CHAPTER 37
Wednesday, February 15th
Central Montana
&
nbsp; Rose stared towards the West, her heart pounding as she watched the figure in the distance drawing ever so slowly nearer. Encountering a stranger out in the middle of nowhere made her chest tighten and her breathing difficult. She tried telling herself to relax, but it didn’t work, as she couldn’t find any reason to convince herself she was safe. Reining Smokey to a halt, she pulled out her gun and peered through the scope.
The figure was still a long ways off and appeared to be a man wearing a dark coat, jeans, and a backpack, trailed by a small dog that had to trot to keep up with the walker’s long strides. “What do you think, Smokey?” she asked.
Smokey didn’t reply. He just dropped his head to graze on the knee-high, brown grass, concerned only with finding something more to eat and oblivious for the moment to any tension Rose felt.
She glanced back at Blitz, still plodding steadily along after all these miles. “You two good with this?” she asked, trying to summon her courage as Smokey gave a good shake.
Rose kept her rifle in her hands and spurred Smokey, mildly reassured by the fact there were few vehicles for someone to hide behind. Smokey tugged on a final tuft of grass and set off again, resigned to his fate of nonstop walking. Rose felt the familiar tug on the saddle as Blitz was roused into action, and the small procession was once again on its way.
A little under fifteen minutes later, the man was close enough to communicate, which he did with a wave. Rose returned the gesture, but still held her rifle tightly in her right hand. “Breathe deeply,” she told herself, feeling the tension in her chest ratchet up another notch. To her dismay, the man began heading across the median in a line to intercept her. She had seen a few people over the last week, but only two had made any attempt to communicate, and then with just with a wave.
Rose mentally urged Smokey onward, willing him to hurry and get past this unwanted stranger, but without any physical prodding, Smokey maintained his steady pace, unconcerned with the approaching man. Rose’s hands shook. She grabbed the saddle horn and squeezed it tightly, clenching her jaw to steady her nerves.
“Hello!” The man’s greeting was carried on a stiff wind, which blew in her direction.
Rose waved but didn’t speak, certain her voice wouldn’t carry that far. She stopped Smokey, took her gun in both hands and aimed it in the general direction of the man, then waited.
After crossing the median, he leapt nimbly over the rail on the south side of the road, not more than forty feet away. Rose’s finger rested on the trigger. She was sure he could sense her anxiety, and it was obvious her rifle was aimed at him, yet he made no attempt to reach for the rifle slung over his back.
“Good afternoon,” he shouted, one hand cupped to the side of his mouth. He continued walking towards her, though his pace was slower and his hands were held out where she could see them. “Nice day today, isn’t it?” His smile was warm and friendly, non-threatening.
Rose nodded. “A little windy for my taste, but at least it isn’t too cold.” He stopped a dozen feet away, too far to grab at her. Rose kept a firm grip on her rifle.
The man nodded, turned partway into the wind, and held up his hand to test it. “The wind is nice for me at least. Helps push me along. I’m sure you feel it more than I do, riding into it.”
Rose smiled and felt her chest loosen slightly, but still maintained the grip on her gun. The man turned back to her and smiled. He looked young, maybe twenty, and was either clean-shaven or didn’t have much of a beard yet.
“Where you headed?” Rose asked.
“Minnesota,” he answered with an optimistic grin. “You?” His eyes were bright blue, his complexion clear, and he had a slender build.
“Missoula. Looks like I’ll get there first.” Rose studied him, still wary.
The boy shrugged. “More than likely. I’ve got a lot of miles to go, but I’ll get there eventually. I passed through Missoula a few days ago. With the horses, you should be there soon.”
“Do you have food?”
“Some. My pack is mostly food, and a couple changes of clothes. I try and shoot what I need or work for it when I have the chance. Churches have been helpful.”
She noticed a handgun tucked in the belt of his pants and tensed up. Though he’d done nothing to threaten her, the weapon still worried her. “You had many problems on your trip?”
“A couple,” he said while nodding. “But nothing too serious. I ran track at UW, so I’ve been able to outrun everything to this point, sometimes literally. I’m not carrying much, so no one’s wanted to waste a bullet on me I guess. Hoping my luck continues. You?”
“Don’t ask,” Rose replied. “Things I don’t want to think about, much less discuss.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s sad how far we’ve fallen, isn’t it? Hopefully the rest of your journey will be smooth.” He glanced up at the sky to the bank of clouds slowly closing in on them. “Weather looks like it’s going to change soon. I guess I should let you get on your way.”
“Probably best,” Rose agreed, assessing the clouds herself. “Have a safe journey and be careful, okay?”
He smiled again, a broad, bright grin lighting his face, deep dimples denting his cheeks. “I’ll try and be safe, Ma’am. Thank you.” He crouched down and rubbed his dog’s head. It was a small, mangy looking thing, half-starved, but happy. The dog wagged its tail and licked the boy’s hand. “Good luck to you too,” he said as he started past her, his pace brisk and energetic.
Rose watched him stride by, confident, unencumbered with fear. “Hey, Minnesota,” she called out to him when he was thirty feet past.
He stopped and turned towards her, the smile still on his face. “What is it, Missoula?”
“Thank you.”
He looked puzzled. “Thank you for what?” he asked, sincerely curious.
“Thank you for restoring a little of my faith in humanity,” Rose answered, giving him a smile and a wave as she gently kicked Smokey in the flanks.
CHAPTER 38
Thursday, February 16th
Deer Creek, MT
Jennifer quickly tied her bootlaces and slipped on her jacket before pulling the door open and letting herself out. The brisk morning air momentarily took her breath away as she put on a hat and pair of gloves, then quickened her pace towards the Shipley Ranch. She covered the mile and a half to the ranch in fifteen minutes, though without a working watch or clock to consult, she just knew it took awhile.
Once at the ranch, she only needed five minutes of milking time, as there was only one of the three females in milk, that one being a fortunate consequence of an early pregnancy resulting in two kids being born in late September. Still, all of the goats needed to be fed and tended to before milking, if for no other reason than to keep them occupied so she could milk uninterrupted. The two other females had recently had their babies and would soon be producing milk for the community, so it was important to keep them all healthy in order to grow the herd size.
The Shipley’s had four mature Nubian goats, three does and a buck, which were valuable for both milk and meat. The goats had always been like pets, remnants from kids’ 4H projects, and Bryan’s wife, Katie, enjoyed having them around, finding them to be better companions than Bryan’s dogs, with the added benefit of weed control. Additionally, the goats’ natural diet was much cheaper than the truckloads of dog food Bryan’s dogs consumed. Now, however, the goats had become one of the most valuable possessions in the community, especially since the cattle the Shipleys raised were Angus and not a dairy breed.
In exchange for a quart of milk each morning, Jennifer had volunteered to take care of the goats, a task which included feeding the small herd, cleaning the pen, washing the milk containers, and caring for the animals, something Carol, a thirty-year veterinarian, and Katie coached her on as needed. Once the kids were weaned, there would be all three does to milk, but Jennifer, now accustomed to the work, was confident she could have the milking done in less than ten minutes, five if she really got g
ood at it.
Emma usually helped with the animals each day but had been coughing through the night so had stayed in bed. Jennifer was glad for the opportunity she usually had to work with her daughter, as it gave them time together plus gave Emma something good to do, helping her state of mind. Emma had nearly returned to her old self after Kyle’s return, but then with his banishment she’d sunk back into a funk that once again worried Jennifer.
Madison’s arrival had changed things, however, helping all of them, but especially Emma, to focus on something else and to forget, for portions of each day at least, their own problems and how much they missed having Kyle there. Emma glowed when she held her little sister, as she now referred to the baby, beaming proudly as she fed her and even willingly changing diapers and rocking the baby when she cried. Jennifer continued having nightmares about the night the young mother died, but recognized that good was coming from the new life that had been brought into their home.
Jennifer offered more help to the Shipleys than just tending the goats, knowing the value of the milk she received far outweighed the work she provided, but her repeated offers were graciously declined. “Help with the goats,” she had been told, “and take good care of the baby.” Jennifer choked up a little when she thought about the kindness of others, especially when there were dire needs in every home.
Jennifer worked quickly through the chores, lost in thought as she finished up the milking. She rubbed the doe affectionately, pleased the animal hadn’t stuck her foot in the bucket like she had the day before. Jennifer poured her portion of the milk into her quart container and the remainder in a pail for the Shipleys, washed the milk bucket, delivered the Shipley’s milk, and headed home. The sun had cleared the mountains and was quickly warming things, giving her hope for a warm, sunny day that would get them out of the house and not require them to burn too much wood. Two days of colder than normal temperatures and running a steady fire all day had made her anxious for a break from that routine.