Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2)

by Nathan Jones

  He nodded and left Jack pottering around the coop as he hurried back across the fields to the fence. The storm approaching from the north and already pounding into the mountains from the northwest continued to get darker and fiercer, and as Matt tore up weeds and shoved them into his plastic bags the thin layer of clouds above thickened until he started to feel the occasional splatter of rain. In her cage his new hen squawked crankily.

  Winds started gusting, and Matt decided the job was good enough as he broke into a trot back for town, keeping an eye out for any possible threats as he went. He didn't see anyone at all, everyone likely either driven in by the approaching storm or by the desire to avoid trouble with roaming refugees. Although when he got home Sam must have seen him approaching through the window because she hurried out onto the porch to greet him, shivering slightly at the blasts of wind.

  “Where'd you get a chicken?” she asked, startled. When Matt offered the cage she was quick to accept it so she could get a closer look at the brooding hen.

  “Jack Dawson, out to the southwest of town. He keeps birds and offered a layer as thanks for Mom looking out for him all these years.”

  “How sweet of him.” Sam beamed down at the cage. “I don't know much about animals but she looks well cared for. We should call her Henrietta!”

  For some reason that made Matt laugh in spite of the day he'd had. Although he flinched as a cold drop of rain splashed the back of his neck. “Let's get inside.”

  The house was still a mess from the inspection. His parents seemed to have abandoned cleaning up to sit together on the slashed cushions on the couch. It looked as if his mom had been crying. When he and Sam entered his dad quickly stood, and although he made a big deal about Henrietta he was quick to get down to business. “I think it's time to talk about going for that cache.”

  Matt frowned. “Ferris just kicked down our door, and he said himself he thinks we have more food hidden around here. He's going to come around again to look for it, or at least have us watched.”

  His dad hesitated. “We can't survive on weeds, even with Jack's kind gift. If we wait too long we'll be too weak to make the journey. And now that Ferris cut Sam off from the ration line she's in the same dire straits we are. We have to go.”

  It was hard to argue that, but at the same time circumstances couldn't be worse for making that kind of trip. He looked down at the pathetic few handfuls of weeds he'd gathered, anguished. “Razor's thugs are still running around outside of town. We might not even make it there.”

  There was a long, tense silence. “I think we should wait,” Sam said quietly. “Things can't stay the way they are now. If Ferris is kicking down doors and cutting rations that means he's desperate. The town might not put up with him for much longer, and when his welcome wears out it might give us a better chance to safely get the cache.”

  His dad looked torn. “We'll all have to start foraging for food,” he finally said. “Together in pairs, for safety. At least until we can think of something to do.”

  There wasn't much more to say after that, so they had a sparse meal of weeds and sat around the table playing board games for a while, trying to ignore the rain beating down on the roof and windows and the hunger digging a hole into their bellies. But Matt knew his dad well enough to know he hadn't put the problem out of his mind, and although he did his best to stay involved in the family evening his troubled thoughts were far away.

  Matt was worried as well, but he knew his dad had to be feeling the weight of responsibility even more since he was the one who'd insisted on refusing the inspections and had personally hid the food in the shed. Not to mention he still grumbled about losing his .30-06 at the roadblock when Ferris first arrived.

  After a while his dad went out to the porch, and even though Matt knew he probably wanted to be alone he followed him out. He found his dad leaning against the railing, hands and arms being spattered by cold rain quickly turning to sleet.

  Matt came to stand beside him, noticing that he was looking north. Towards the storm or the cache? “We'll figure it out.”

  “Or die trying?” his dad said grimly. “None of us have the skills or knowledge to really fend for ourselves without trucks bringing us food. We've stripped our garden of everything, even stuff rabbits would turn up their noses to, and we're eating weeds. We don't have any livestock, we don't have guns to hunt any deer coming off the mountains to escape the cold, and if we do manage to survive this winter we don't know anything about planting crops or long term sustainability. The fact that your mother's managed to gather the heirloom seeds from the garden is something to hope for, but they won't give us a real crop like grain or corn.”

  “We'll figure it out,” Matt said uncomfortably.

  His dad shook his head. “Generations of farmers worked the same land, learning when to plant, when to harvest, how to irrigate and what weeds and pests to look out for, and how to tell by the weather if there was something they should worry about. The town could lose more crops than we brought in before we figured it out. If we even had the seed.”

  It was hard to argue with that. But then again talking about this stuff didn't help them in the short term, which was what they really needed to worry about. “We can cross that bridge when we come to it. For now let's just focus on finding enough food to get by.”

  “Our foraging has been feast and famine up til now,” his dad answered. Even in the fading light he looked old and tired. “We can't afford to have bad days when there's nothing to fall back on. And our good days? If we bring in enough to last us a few days who's to say Ferris won't come and take it?” He punched the railing. “Thanks to my stubbornness none of us are going through the ration line. At this rate we'll be the first ones in town to starve.” He abruptly turned to face Matt. “Son, we have to go for the cache while we still have the strength to make the trip!”

  “We already talked about this,” Matt said impatiently. “It's too dangerous to just run off after it. We have to figure things out here first.” He put his hand on his dad's shoulder. “Come on, you're going to freeze out here. Things won't look so hopeless in the morning.”

  His dad resisted his hand. “Go on. I'll be in soon, I just want to brood a bit.”

  Matt considered insisting, but he couldn't see what good it would do other than to make his dad feel even less in control of things. So he nodded and turned for the door.

  Just before he reached it his dad spoke quietly. “I'm sorry. I should've known this was coming.”

  He turned. “You did. You buried our food storage.”

  His dad waved, almost angrily. “Not Ferris. The attack, the nation running out of gas and no trucks coming in bringing food. I should've done more to prepare, like Lewis did. Even if I hadn't subscribed to all his doom and gloom predictions anyone could see where things were going with the price of gas shooting up and necessities getting more and more expensive. I should've prepared when I had the chance.”

  Instead of replying Matt went back inside, noting how his mom and Sam gave him worried looks. He could only shake his head. His dad wasn't thinking rationally with his talk about Lewis, since for all his preparations Lewis had still ended up getting his shelter and everything else stolen by Ferris. If his dad had prepared he would've just ended up in the same boat unless they'd made their preparations somewhere else, maybe up in the mountains. That or Aspen Hill had kept FETF out from the start and stopped Ferris from taking over.

  Either way there was no point dwelling on the past. What had happened had happened, and the only thing they could do now was find a way to go forward. Matt just hoped worry didn't give his dad a sleepless night since he didn't seem to want to be reassured. They'd all just have to try harder to find food tomorrow, and hope that whatever they found wasn't immediately snatched up by FETF.

  And while they were at it they'd have to seriously plan out how they were going to safely get the cache and prevent it from being stolen once they got it back.

  Before bed Matt
and Sam sat together on the couch talking quietly, not about anything significant but mostly just to spend time together. The storm was still going strong when they kissed goodnight and she headed up to the guest bedroom while he went to his room and did his best to fall asleep.

  He was woken up the next morning by his mom's frantic cries. He stumbled half awake out of bed and rushed to her room, clutching his bear spray in one hand and the baseball bat he'd taken from the would-be mugger up in Orem in the other.

  Sam arrived at the same time, looking disheveled and sleepy in her pajamas, and together they burst into the master bedroom to find his mom slumped against the foot of the bed, clutching a piece of paper in her hands. “The old fool,” she said, tears streaming from her eyes.

  As Sam hurried over to comfort the older woman Matt took the note and read it over. It was in his dad's handwriting, apologizing for his stubbornness in balking Ferris and getting them all banned from the ration line, as well as his failure to protect and provide for the family as he should.

  He taken Matt's old wagon and gone after the cache, hoping to bring back as much as he could manage to tide them over until they could figure out a better solution.

  Matt crumpled the note in his fist. He had no idea which way his dad had gone other than him often talking about trying to find back roads through the hills to the north, to not only reach the cache more directly but on a path where they'd be less likely to encounter other people. But more importantly, the note had specifically forbidden him from trying to follow, and given him the responsibility for taking care of his mom and Sam and looking out for April's family until his dad returned.

  Struggling to keep his legs from shaking, he made his way over to sit next to his mom on the side opposite Sam and put his arms around them both. He didn't know what comfort he could offer, because whatever he might say he felt mostly dread.

  His dad was a capable man, physically strong for his age, who'd led by example all his life, and Matt had every confidence that if it could be done he'd manage it. But at the same time it was a dangerous journey and his dad wasn't a young man, not to mention he was already weak from hunger. What if he got injured like Trev had, all alone out in the middle of nowhere? What if he ran into Razor's thugs or some other bandits?

  He wanted to go after him, but he knew his dad was right that he was needed here. All they could do was pray, pray and trust that he knew what he was doing.

  Chapter Six

  Moving On

  The first storm lasted for just under two days.

  Lewis and Trev endured it restlessly in the small confines of their hideout, only popping out for firewood, to use the outhouse, or to check around during lulls. When it finally ended they emerged to a world covered with snow, with iron gray clouds still brooding over the mountains. It was impossible not to admire the wild beauty of the scene, but the lingering clouds warned of the possibility of more snow to come and encouraged them to make the best use they could of the time they had.

  Their first priority was to take what they'd learned from conditions during the storm to set things up more comfortably, as well as clearing trails in snow that was already a few feet deep to the outhouse and the woodpile and icehouse.

  After he'd packed fairly decent if narrow trails Trev got to work transferring the woodpile over to within easy reach right next to the lean-to, while Lewis threw together a crude screen in front of the hideout's doorway so the snow wouldn't pile up in it and force them to dig their way out every time they needed to make their way outside. His cousin also cut lengths of rope and stretched them at waist height between the hideout and the necessary locations, so even if a storm got bad enough to pose the risk of them getting lost they could follow the ropes where they needed to go.

  Their hasty modifications and adjustments took most of a day, and they were just settling in to enjoy some venison steaks when growing gusts of wind rattling the new screen outside the hideout confirmed that another storm had blown in.

  This one lasted less than a day, although it deposited another several inches of snow, and when it finally ended the day dawned clear and cold.

  That cold wasn't enough to deter them. With little to do aside from wait and plan Trev and his cousin had agreed that once it was clear they should get back to searching for food. Foraging was going to be difficult to the point of impossibility with the snow, but they could still try fishing and hunting. It wasn't all bad, either, because the snow would reveal tracks and allow them to set snares or follow big game. They'd both seen rabbits in the area so they knew there were warrens nearby, and traps were just what they needed there.

  Lewis had learned how to do most of the standard snares and spent some time during the storm teaching Trev. Trev was ready to try setting them along any rabbit tracks he discovered, but they'd agreed that since he had more experience with fishing he'd make his way down to the river and see if he could catch anything while Lewis did a search around the hideout for any signs of game he could hunt or trap.

  His cousin's leg was healed enough for some exertion, and Lewis insisted now was the time to start pushing himself a bit to keep his muscles stretched. There was no saying how many chances they'd have to get out when the snows got deep enough to make moving around difficult, even with the snowshoes they'd brought.

  So Trev finished checking his Mini-14 to make sure it hadn't gummed up or anything in the cold, then grabbed his fishing pole and blazed a trail to the gap in the cliffs where he'd climb down. He took it very, very slowly, aware of how treacherous snow would make the gap and then the steep mountainside below, which had been treacherous enough beforehand. It took him what felt like forever to wind his way down through the thick tangle of deadfall and trees to Huntington River, and he didn't see any signs of animal tracks along the way. He dearly hoped the fish were biting to make this trip worth it.

  When he reached the river, however, all thoughts of fish vanished.

  A bit down the road to the south, on the other side of the river, there was a turnoff with a sign of information for fishermen. A few tents had been set up around the sign, as if in some vain hope it might offer shelter from the storm. Trev pulled out his binoculars to check the tents and what he saw worried him.

  For one thing the snow piled around them confirmed that they'd been there since the storm began yesterday, and he didn't see any sign of tracks. And even though it was late morning he saw no signs of anyone stirring. There was no sign of a campfire, either.

  The temperature had dropped sharply with the storm, enough that for the first time since arriving Trev had donned his full set of winter gear, including ski goggles. Part of him hoped that these refugees were just late sleepers reluctant to venture out into the cold, but in the back of his mind a sense of dread was building that those meager tents weren't enough to offer any sort of protection from the cold, and if the people inside hadn't come equipped for the sudden storm it might have sealed their fate.

  Caution urged him to head back up to the hideout and report this to Lewis, but at the same time if those people were in serious trouble he wasn't sure they could afford that sort of delay. So he made his way to the ice-crusted rocks they regularly used to cross the river and hopped across them, being extra slow and cautious to avoid the disaster of falling into icy water.

  Then he unslung his rifle and started forward quickly but cautiously, alert for any signs of people emerging from the tent or approaching along the road. He didn't see anyone, and it was unlikely there'd be too many travelers during a storm, but unlikely wasn't impossible.

  Although he had the urge to call out he kept quiet, and moved quietly as he approached. He wasn't sure if that was to avoid risk if these refugees were unfriendly or because he was secretly bracing himself for the sad sight of tents full of frozen corpses.

  He'd come within twenty feet of the still camp when he abruptly froze, ears picking up the softest murmur of conversation from the tents. The noise filled him with a surge of relief, and he cautiously
moved a bit closer.

  “Come on, Jen,” a man was urging. “The storm has stopped and the sun is out. We need to get up. We need to see if everyone else is all right and then keep moving. If we stay here we'll die.”

  A weak, listless woman's voice replied. “If we go out into the cold we'll die too. I'm freezing even next to you in the blankets. Can't we at least wait until afternoon when it's warmer?”

  “What if it doesn't get any warmer? Or what if there's another storm? Our only hope of survival is getting out of these mountains. It'll be warmer down in Sanpete Valley, and they might have the help for us we couldn't find in Huntington.”

  Trev wasn't sure if Jen's response was a sharp catch of breath or a quickly held back sob. “We won't make it. No food, not enough warm clothing, already exhausted, and now we'll have snow to trudge through.” There was a long, miserable pause before she continued. “Let's just stay in here, Peter. No matter what we do we're going to die. We might as well be together and as warm as possible when the end comes.”

  The two fell silent, and Trev slowly backed away for a while before turning and trotting back to the crossing. He had nothing to offer aside from the clothes on his back, which he wasn't about to give, but as dire as the camp's situation sounded it didn't seem like they were in danger of dying within the next hour. Now it was time to go back to the hideout and talk to Lewis.

  He took the trail a bit quicker on the return trip, although he still moved cautiously, and when he reached the hideout he left the fishing pole and bucket by the door and hurriedly followed his cousin's tracks south along the meadow.

  About five minutes later he found Lewis crouched beside some distinctive rabbit tracks breaking the pristine untouched snow in a line as far as his eye could follow. His cousin was using a nearby branch to set up a snare across the tracks. Trev hurriedly caught up to him and explained the refugee situation down below.

  To his relief Lewis immediately straightened, wincing slightly at his wounded leg. “Let's gather up as much firewood as we can carry, and enough food to keep them going for a few days. We can also give them those coats and the axe you took from the bandits. They'll need it to chop firewood.”