by Reed, N. C.
“Can you give it a percentage?” Jose asked.
“Not an exact one, but if I had to spitball it, I’d say down by seventy to seventy-five percent,” Shane shrugged. “Literally to a crawl right now and has been for over six hours. Closer to ten hours I guess, overall.”
“We’ll have some help tomorrow,” Jose promised. “Gleason and his bunch are all but clear. Nine-and-a-half days and still clean. At this point it’s almost a formality. That will let everyone get a little more time off.”
“I heard Boss is down for the moment,” Shane fished for news.
“You heard correctly,” Jose nodded. “He’s been on go all this time and it caught up with him. He’s got a forty-eight from the gate by order of the Doc. Lainie is off with him, keeping an eye on him in case it’s more than just exhaustion. Jaylyn seemed pretty sure, though.”
“Some of the rest of us have been hitting it hard, too,” Shane nodded. “But none of us have the stress of running things on us. All we have to do is show up for work.”
“True,” Jose agreed.
“You got it covered?” Shane asked.
“I do,” Jose nodded.
“Well, call if you need me then.”
-
Clay came awake very slowly, having to almost pry his eyes open. When he was able to get his eyes open enough to see, there was a mass of red hair in his face, attached to a head resting on his shoulder. No sooner had he moved than the head lifted, Lainie Harper looking at him with concern.
“How do you feel, Clay?” she asked him gently. He knew as soon as she called him ‘Clay’ rather than her usual ‘Cowboy’ that something was off.
“I’m hungry, and a bit tired,” he admitted, slowly sitting up on the couch. She moved at once, flowing off the floor and taking his shoulder and arm to help him rise.
“What’s going on?” he asked, suspicious. “Why are you so worried? What happened?”
“You’re exhausted is what happened,” she told him flatly. “I told you, time and again, that you had to rest. Had to eat. You didn’t, and it caught up with you tonight. If Doctor Thatcher hadn’t been there, there’s no telling what might have happened.”
“When was this?” he frowned, trying to remember.
“About six hours ago, give or take,” she answered after looking at a clock. “Gordy came and got me, and we brought you home, got your gear off you and put you on the couch. You were out of it already. I put some soup on and sat down beside you as it simmered. I fell asleep too, but I knew if you moved it would wake me.”
“I’m sorry you had to worry so much,” Clay apologized, which surprised her. “Everyone is tired. We’re tired and mentally exhausted as well as physically. I didn’t think I was in any worse shape than the rest.”
“The rest don’t have all the other responsibilities of this place on them,” Lainie fired back, though in no way harsh or unkind. “All they have to do is follow orders. You are doing much more than that. I told you we can’t afford for you not to be at your best, and that was before this nightmare came to life. Dammit, Clay, you have got to take better care of yourself!” she insisted, tears brimming in her eyes that she refused to let out.
“Okay,” his simple agreement surprised her yet again. “I have no memory of meeting Thatcher, or coming home, or any of the rest of it. I do remember being in Operations and being called to the clinic to see her. Nothing after that.”
“Her diagnosis was exhaustion,” Lainie repeated. “Fatigue that is so far advanced that it’s threatened your health. You’re on two days enforced rest, by her orders. Jose is in charge until you’re back on your feet, and your father and brother will handle any non-security related matters for you, with help from Greg Holloway. Come on,” she tugged on his arm, pulling him to his feet.
“Where are we going?” he asked, confused.
“I told you I made soup,” she informed him, leading him to their small table. “There’s also fresh bread. Well, mostly fresh,” she amended. “It’s left from yesterday but warmed up nicely. You’re going to eat,” she plopped him down in his normal chair, “take a hot bath, and then go to bed. Those are also doctor’s orders, before you start,” her hand came up like a traffic cop to start his objections.
“I wasn’t going to,” he told her. “In fact, all that sounds great. But maybe we can just curl up on the couch and watch a movie later?”
“We can do anything that keeps you out of the snow and the cold, and away from decision making,” she promised. “First, you eat.”
“Eating sounds good.”
-
“Sounds as if just that small amount of rest helped him,” Jaylyn told Lainie when the latter called to check in. “I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember being here, but that in itself is a dire warning sign. If he gives you any trouble at all about the two full days of rest, call me. I can always make it three,” she chuckled.
“I’d make it a week if we weren’t in such a pickle right now,” Lainie told her. “He’s in the tub, with the water as hot as he could stand it. Once he’s done there, it’s straight to bed.”
“Good,” the doctor’s nod was almost audible over the phone. “If he asks, everything is fine for the moment, and last reports I heard were that the Exodus was slowing. ‘Petering out’ was the actual term I heard used at one point. It’s possible this is ending. At least our terrible part in it. Also, Gleason and his men are officially cleared, so they’re helping hold the line now. Tell him to relax and let someone else do the lifting for two days. I’m sure most of our problems will still be here when he returns.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
-
“It is colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Gleason stated as he stood with Jose behind the roadblock. “That said, I am so glad to get out of that barracks that I don’t care.”
“It’s a big help to have you guys able to be out here,” Jose promised. “We’re run ragged, and this has been a mess from the start.”
“We heard gunfire at times,” Gleason nodded. “I’ve spent this time talking to my boys, explaining what the situation is and how important this place will be for the survivors. They understand what’s at stake, and what’s expected of them. They’re scared, hell they’re horrified I think by what they may have to do, but I’d be worried if they weren’t. I am dead certain of all but one man, and I’m reasonably sure of him as well. But he’s in an observer/driver post for the time being, since I have that tiny doubt.”
“Excellent,” Jose nodded. “Boss is out for the next two days. Doctor’s orders. He’s suffering from complete exhaustion. Doesn’t even remember seeing the Doc. Three others of our group are out as well. This has been a rough deal all around.”
“The Lieutenant gonna be okay?” Gleason asked, concerned.
“He’s already responding favorably with just a few hours rest,” Jose informed him. “He should be fine in a couple days. Were you told about Gillis?”
“I was,” Gleason assured him. “He’s a good kid. Smart. Lowell is a steady NCO for him as well.”
“They’ve got probably four more days in isolation, but so far they’re fine,” Jose told him. “They’re in a farmhouse about three miles west of here, along the back side of the road. I think since we’ve opened the house, we’re going to make it a post, too, but it won’t need his entire group. Probably just a reinforced fireteam. Enough to blunt an attack and report in.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Gleason nodded. “I’m going to make a round and check on my guys. They’re steady, but it never hurts to keep them on their toes.”
“Good deal.”
-
“Pancho, this is Rattler. How copy?”
“Go for Pancho,” Jose answered, sleepily.
“We haven’t seen anyone along the interstate for two hours now,” Shane reported from a hide they had established to watch the flow of traffic. “Not a single soul. That doesn’t mean we’re clear, but it’s good news. Right?”
<
br /> “It could be,” Jose agreed. “Maintain your post for now. We can’t afford to drop our guard. I’ll have Operations try and raise Adcock again.”
“Roger that.”
-
“AC, AC, this is Home Plate. Please respond.”
Silence. Leon had tried every frequency available to them for ten minutes. No response of any kind from any source. He looked up at Jose and shrugged.
“It’s not us,” he informed the temporary Boss. “We’re transmitting fine. No one is answering. Our main transmitter can reach Lewiston without breaking a sweat, let alone Peabody or Jordan. I know Gillis is here,” he jerked a thumb toward the Plum farm, “but there should be someone down there. Right? The bulk of his command was there, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Jose replied, grim. “Keep listening, but no more transmitting. Stick to the GMRS radios for now and keep the signal scrambled. Like we did when things first started. We may be on our own. Again.”
“Got it.”
-
“How are you doing, Zach?” a female voice asked. He turned to see Kim Powers coming up behind him, bundled against the cold and carrying her gear.
“I’m tired, I guess,” he shrugged. “How are you? You guys making it okay?”
“We’re all good, so far,” she nodded. “But none of us are in spots where we have to shoot, either.”
“That’s good,” Zach told her. “No reason for everyone to have to do it.”
“I’m sorry you have to do it, Zach,” she put a hand on his arm. “I wish I could help.”
“No, you don’t,” he told her at once, shaking his head. “It’s better like this. Limiting this kind of thing to just a few. It’s going to be hell for some, I’m sure. No sense in adding to Beverly’s workload.”
“Have you seen her?” she asked, curious.
“Nah, I’m good,” he said absently.
“Good?” she sounded startled.
“Good to go,” he clarified. “I’m okay,” he tried again. “No problem.”
“How can you not have at least some issues about this?” she sounded incredulous.
“It’s my job,” Zach shrugged. “It’s what I do for the farm, that’s all. This place is our last line. We have to protect it. Period.”
The flat sound of his answer almost stunned the former cheerleader, who studied him carefully.
“I tried to tell you before,” he started, but she immediately shook her head.
“No, Zach,” she raised a hand, her voice firm. “I told you. I’ll figure it out for myself. You’re stronger of will and mental fortitude than some of the others. That’s commendable. But you should at least consider seeing Beverly, even if it’s just to talk things out. Or, you can talk to me,” she added softly. “I’ll be here if you need an ear.”
“I appreciate it, Kim,” he nodded. “If I do, I’ll call on you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She studied him for almost another minute before seeming to shake herself out of whatever train of thought she was in.
“I have to go,” she sighed. “I’m due on watch.”
“Things have slowed up for the moment,” he told her. “Might not last, I don’t know, but the break is welcome. Be careful,” he warned.
“I will,” she smiled at him. “See you later?”
“Sure thing.”
-
“I don’t understand,” Gordy sighed, stretching out in the chair as he looked at Beverly. “They just keep coming. Burned bodies, signs, obstacles in the road, warnings from the P.A., and they keep coming. Almost daring us to shoot them.”
“Some of them may be,” Beverly nodded. She was keeping chats like this one very informal. “In law enforcement it’s called ‘suicide by cop’. People who don’t want to take their own life, for whatever reason, will do something that forces a police officer to shoot them in the line of duty. They may have a religious deterrent to suicide, or else lack the nerve to pull the trigger. Some just want to make others suffer with them if they can, and a guilt trip over protecting your own family is a prime way to do that.”
“That is just fu-, messed up,” he caught himself.
“I’ve heard the phrase before, Gordy,” Beverly laughed lightly. “You’re okay. And yes, it is messed up, as you say. It’s selfish, and wrong on a number of levels, ignoring the pain and suffering that you’re inflicting on another human being. People still do it, even knowing that.”
“Are we in the wrong, Miss Beverly?” Gordy asked suddenly. “Are we murderers now?”
Beverly took a minute to study the teen, taking in his posture, his eyes, the set of his face.
“Gordy, do you love Samantha?” she said finally, shocking him out of his fugue.
“What?”
“Do you love Samantha Walters?” Beverly repeated.
“I…yes,” he didn’t quite stammer.
“Do you love your parents?” she pressed.
“Of course!” he exclaimed.
“Sister?”
“Well….”
“Gordy,” Beverly chided in a teasing way.
“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted grudgingly.
“And the rest of your family as well, I imagine,” she was nodding. “What happens when people who are sick, or who are carrying the virus, make it onto this farm and start spreading the disease among your loved ones?”
“I…I see,” he nodded. “It’s self-defense, isn’t it.”
“Absolutely,” Beverly was firm in her reply. “It is a horrible thing to have to do, Gordy. It’s terrible to have to ask any of you to participate. And yet, if we don’t, then many of us will die and we lose what we need for the future. Those who challenge the quarantine really leave us no choice.”
“It’s their fault,” Gordy nodded.
“I’m not placing blame, really, but rather responsibility,” she told him. “Actions have consequences. There are plenty of warnings, signs included, and they ignore them. We have no choice but to defend this place, being literally backed into a corner. If they persist, then the responsibility for what happens is theirs. Whether we can call it blame or not isn’t really up to me, but I can say that your actions are taken in defense of others and that means something not only here, but in God’s eyes as well.”
“I hope so,” he sighed, his tone wistful. “I really do.”
-
Charley Wilmeth and Gail Knight rode with Gordon Sanders, checking on the cattle and the fences. Charley was finally free of the cast on her arm and was likely the best pure horse handler on the ranch. Gail Knight was a former calf roping champion and had worked cattle through her teen years before her family had sold their operation. Both were good choices for helping the Sanders’ patriarch check the pastures.
“Your cattle look good, Mister Sanders,” Gail noted.
“I’m pleased to hear you say so, my dear,” Gordon replied, eyes constantly moving as he checked everything. “It’s been a bit of a struggle at times, since the Storm.”
“I see that they finished separating the herd into smaller groups,” Charley noted. “Good plan. We’ve done that with the horses as well.”
“It mitigates the threat of any diseases,” Gordon nodded, “but it makes caring for them much more difficult. And time consuming,” he added. “That’s the biggest loss really, is man hours. Woman hours, now,” he joked and got two good laughs from the young women. He stopped abruptly and the two women reined in their horses as well.
“Is something wrong?” Gail asked softly, hand drifting to her rifle.
“That fence is loose,” Gordon told her, reaching into the bags behind his saddle for a pair of heavy pliers. His assistants watched in silence as the old cattleman used the pliers to tighten the sagging line of barbed wire until it was taunt once more.
“Neat,” Charley told him when he was finished. “Never saw that done before.”
“No, I’d imagine you didn’t use this kind of wire on horses
,” Gordon replied.
“We used it for our cattle when we still had any,” Gail told them. “I’ve seen it done, but not for a long time, and never that easily and quickly. Our bunch would make a drama out of everything,” she snorted.
“I try to avoid that kind of thing at my age,” Gordon chuckled. “Too much excitement and agitation isn’t good for an old man.”
-
Abby was just finishing a run with an ATV and a blade, scraping snow and ice from walkways along the road and from house-to-house. Normally they wouldn’t bother, but the snow had been fairly heavy and was still falling at times. Six inches of snow had accumulated so far, with a good bit of ice beneath it. It was much better to plow a little than treat a broken bone.
She pulled the small utility vehicle into the open tractor shed, lowering the blade and angling the rig so the blade wasn’t in the way. She climbed out and was gathering her gear when someone spoke behind her.
“Just can’t stay away from those blades, can you?” Greg Holloway teased. She jumped only slightly and turned to look at him, red-faced.
“Stop sneaking up on people!” she fussed, flustered at being caught by surprise, and flustered worse by it being Greg of all people.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” he managed to look affronted at the suggestion. “I saw you working and trudged over here through the snow to see how it was going. So…how’s it going?”
“You jackass,” she laughed at his humor. “It’s okay. I’ve got walkways open down the hill and between all the buildings. Should be fine unless we get more sleet. If we do then I’ll have to do it again. Last thing we need is someone breaking something.”
“That is very true,” he nodded. “And how are you doing?” he asked more pointedly. “How are you making it right now?”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically. “Just working and trying to make sure I’m contributing to the farm, or wherever I can,” she shrugged.
“You’re doing that and more, Abby,” Greg promised. “Don’t worry about those who don’t see that. Others do see and realize how hard you’re working. You’re doing fine.”