by E. E. Borton
“Yes, sir,” said Jack, starting to tremble.
“I’m sorry,” said Perry, lowering his head and wiping his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice. I’m the one who killed your father. You need to know that.”
Aunt Donna pushed herself away from the table. She had seen the same pain in Perry’s face months ago when they realized their oldest son was never coming home. She walked up behind him and put her arms around his neck. As they cried, so did Jack.
“Your dad was right,” I said, doing whatever I could to help my uncle.
“About what?” asked Jack, raising his head and sniffling.
“He told you that you’d be safe and you’d have a real bed to sleep in,” I said. “Were you scared when you were out there in the woods?”
“Real scared,” said Jack. “Sometimes people tried to take our stuff. They’d always come at night.”
“How did you sleep last night?” asked Kelly, squeezing my hand under the table.
“I slept real good, ma’am. Real good. When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. But when I smelled that food cooking, I didn’t care.”
“I know the feeling, buddy,” I said. “The same thing happened to me. They took me in, gave me a safe place to rest, and fed me until I thought I was going to pop.”
“I know all of this is so hard for you to understand, Jack,” said Kelly, “but your father gave up his life trying to protect you. He loved you very, very much and still does. I know all he wanted in this world was for you to feel safe. He made that happen for you.”
“I wish he was here so he could sleep in a bed and have a dinner like this,” said Jack.
“So do I, son,” said Perry, lifting his head. “I hope someday you can forgive me for what I had to do. I’m just trying to protect my family like your father did. Because of what happened, I have an obligation to take care of you. I owe him that. Would you like to stay here with us for a bit while we sort this out?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack. “I don’t like sleeping in the woods.”
Chapter 5
Honey
It wasn’t the conversation I was expecting, but I believed it was the conversation that needed to happen. I hoped by getting that off his chest, he’d be more focused on our concerns about taking the train to Bridgeport. As I took the last bite from my plate, Uncle Perry was in the backyard starting a fire in the pit.
Light in the dark and heat in the cold is expensive. Most of our bodies have returned to the cycle nature had intended. When the sun went down, on most days so did we. When we’re asleep under a stack of blankets, we’re not burning fuel for warmth or light.
Gasoline still has its uses, but it’s not as valuable as most would think. We can’t use it to power cars or run generators. Even with full tanks, they wouldn’t start. All of our light and heat is produced by open flames. Gasoline and open flames don’t mix well at all. It better serves us as a cleaning solvent than a fuel.
Kerosene and paraffin wax are the best fuel sources for light and heat, but they’re not sustainable or replaceable. At this point, we can’t make any more of it. The reserves we have are stored in different locations throughout downtown, and Doc controls all of it. It’s used in the clinic to provide light and heat for patient care or for someone in desperate need.
If a home or building is lit up at night, more than likely the flame is fueled by animal fat, beeswax, or a combination of both. River, Uncle Perry’s daughter and my niece, made candles as a hobby. She’s now one of the most important – and popular – people in our community. (The byproduct of making a candle is honey.)
Learning how to program a computer is useless to us. In turn, a computer programmer is useless to us. For them to remain a part of our town, they need to learn a skill that improves our quality of life as a community. Free rides don’t exist anymore.
River wanted to become a lawyer. A lawyer is useless to us right now. (I had little use for them when we did have power.) When she started making candles from beeswax she harvested from hives in the woods, word spread like wildfire. People would show up at the house with animal fat and honeycombs. After she made their candles, she would keep a small portion of the supplies as payment. A container full of gold couldn’t buy someone a single candle. A container full of strawberries would.
They say a country boy can survive. I’ve found that’s a very true statement. Our town is full of simple country folk that are surviving while high tech cities crumble around us. A man who grew up playing video games and eating under golden arches would see a freshly killed deer and cringe. (He’d probably starve to death trying to figure out what to do with it.)
Any man or woman that grew up around Stevenson would see that deer for its worth. The most obvious would be the fresh meat, but they would see much more. They’d use the hide for deerskin coats and gloves. The tendons could be used to string a bow. Deer fat would be rendered and used as lamp oil or mixed with beeswax for candles. Bones could be used as primitive, but effective, tools. Nothing would go to waste.
But I believe they are surviving in Stevenson because people genuinely care about each other. Families are close, and most people have had the same neighbors for their entire lives. They looked out for each other before the event. That didn’t change after.
If you were hungry, a neighbor would feed you. If your neighbor was hungry, you’d feed them. If a roof was damaged in a storm, neighbors would show up with hammers and nails. If someone came to take from you, they would have to get through them first. It was rare for anyone in need to ask for help. It was always there in the form of family and friends.
Wood is the cheapest and most sustainable fuel we have. There are no restrictions on its use, as long as the person using it did the chopping or trading for it. (Since I have arrived in Stevenson, as far as I know not one citizen has stolen anything from another.)
By the time we joined Uncle Perry in the backyard, he had a fire blazing in the pit. Kelly gave him a hug before she sat down.
“That chili was amazing,” said Kelly, poking at the perfect fire with a stick. (That woman loves to poke fires.) “I need to get the recipe from Donna.”
“Not unless you plan on marrying Henry,” said Perry. “That’s how Donna snagged me.”
“I snagged you with my chili?” asked Donna, walking up behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders.
“And all the fixin’s that came with it, Momma” said Perry, reaching up and squeezing her hand.
“Nice recovery,” said Kelly, squeezing mine.
“I just put Jack to bed,” said Donna, taking the chair next to Perry. “He was worried that you were mad at him.”
“Mad at him?”
“It’s okay,” said Donna. “We had a very nice talk. He understands more about what happened tonight and the things you told him. He really is a sweet boy. He’s going to be just fine, honey. So are you.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Perry, looking over at me and Joey. “I owe you two an apology.”
“For what?” asked Joey.
“For being so short with you and flying off the handle,” said Perry. “Henry was right. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way in front of the other men. Sometimes the line between being your father and your boss gets a little blurry.”
“Forget about it, Pops. You’ve got a lot on your mind. I shouldn’t be questioning any of your orders. Sometimes the line between being your son and your slave gets a little blurry too.”
“What’s so funny?” asked River, joining us as the laughter was subsiding.
“How did you and Donna end up in this family?” I asked.
“Divine intervention,” said River. “That’s the only way we can explain it.”
“I’ve decided that I’m going with you tomorrow,” said Perry, changing the mood.
“Not a good idea, Uncle,” I said. “We can’t have our commander-in-chief running around in the woods. You could trip on a root.”
“That’s why I need to
go,” said Perry. “Not the root thing, the chief thing.”
“A show of force?” asked Joey.
“No, son,” said Perry. “Gunny needs to know the truth. He needs to hear it from me.”
Alan “Gunny” Redford was Perry’s equivalent in Bridgeport. He retired from the Marines as a master gunnery sergeant a year before the event. He had a reputation of being tough, but fair. There was no question Gunny would understand the situation. It was the rest of Bridgeport that I was worried about. They would listen and follow Gunny’s orders, but I wasn’t sure how long that would last after the food and fuel ran out.
“There has to be more to your plan than that,” I said. “Come on, Uncle. What’s really going on here?”
“The hardest part is not knowing what’s going on up there,” said Perry, leaning back in his chair. “I figure this is going to go one of two ways. Either they’re going to continue to help us, or they’re going to start hurting us. I want to know that answer by tomorrow.”
“I don’t get it,” said Joey.
“I’m with Joey,” said River. “What do you mean, hurt us?”
“He wants to poke the bear,” I said, realizing his plan. “but I still think it’s not a good idea.”
“It’s the only way to know for sure,” said Perry. “You know that.”
“Do you mind if we’re a part of this conversation?” asked Kelly. “Enough with the skirting.”
“We’ve all heard the rumors, and some of us have even seen a little of what’s going on up there,” I said. “But we’ve been isolated down here. That was part of the deal with Bridgeport and Scottsboro. Their job is to keep looters and refugees at bay. Our job is to provide those towns with supplies and a safe place to rest.”
“We haven’t taken the train up there in weeks,” said Perry. “With those groups of refugees getting so close to us, we decided to postpone the last resupply run. There’s no telling how bad it might be. As you all know, things can go from bad to worse these days in a matter of minutes, let alone weeks. We need to put our eyes on them and talk to the leadership. We need to know how things stand between us.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Kelly. “You’re taking the train, our most valuable and desired asset, up to Bridgeport, and you have no idea what type of welcome you’re going to get. You don’t know if they’re going to be happy to see you, or try to kill you and take the train.”
“Well,” I said, “when you put it like that, it does sound a little crazy.”
“This is no time to be a smartass,” said Kelly, glaring at me. “You two are gambling with your lives and every life in Stevenson. They have no idea what you’re doing or why.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said. “You’re right. I know how serious this is, but my uncle is right as well. It’s the only way for us to know for sure.”
“Then go talk to them first,” said Kelly. “Tell them that times are lean right now, but that’s going to change soon. Once we get the wall built, we can focus more energy on harvesting crops. You both said that we have enough livestock to get us through the winter. You told me there’s enough deer and small game in the woods to –”
“I need to see what’s in their hearts,” said Perry, leaning forward and smiling at Kelly. “The only way to do that is to bring something they believe is valuable. Something we own that they want.”
“It’s irresponsible,” said Kelly.
“They don’t have weapons large enough to penetrate the steel plates wrapped around the train,” I said. “We have .50 caliber machine guns mounted on top that can level a brick building, and our best shooters on the triggers. We also have the element of surprise.”
“That’s the main reason why we’re doing it this way,” said Perry. “If I go up there and talk to them like you suggest, then they can say anything they want to me. If it’s in their hearts to steal from us, they’ll agree to anything that’ll bring a train full of supplies to their front door. They’ll have days to plan an ambush.”
“We’ll be coming up the tracks early in the morning at daybreak,” I said. “They won’t have time to organize an assault. If they’re desperate, they’ll try anyway. As soon as the first shot is fired, Bruce and Parker will know what to do.”
“What about the dam?” asked Joey. “Isn’t that the reason why we’re going up there?”
“It is,” I said. “And we’re still going. If Gunny allows us safe passage through town, we’ll take the train all the way to the bridge. We’ll get off there, and the train will head back home. If they’re not happy to see us, we’ll have to find a way around Bridgeport on foot. Is that what you had in mind, Uncle?”
“It is.”
“And put more miles on a bad leg,” said Kelly. “Brilliant.”
“I hope I’m wrong,” said Perry. “Lord knows I hope I’m wrong.”
“What if you’re not?” asked River. “What happens after?”
“We write them off, get that wall finished, and repel anything coming south,” I said.
“I trusted the preacher,” said Perry, getting everyone’s attention. “He tried to kill all of us and take over our town. I don’t trust anyone anymore except the people sitting around this fire. I want this town to survive, but not as much as I want my family to survive. I need to know sooner than later if Bridgeport is with us or against us.”
Chapter 6
Front of the Line
Nothing is easy anymore. Nothing happens when I push a button or flip a switch. If I want a cup of coffee, I have to work for it. I have to earn it.
Not too long ago I’d pour water from the sink into a reservoir and scoop grounds into a basket. I’d press a button and then go take a shower. By the time I finished, I’d be enveloped by the aroma of a fresh, hot brew. A little cream and sugar later, I’d be sitting on my deck sipping and reading e-mails. I can do without many things. Coffee isn’t one of them.
Francis Watkins is one of my favorite people in Stevenson. Uncle Perry warned me that people in town considered him a bit of a curmudgeon, but I didn’t care. He had been growing his own coffee in a greenhouse on his property for twenty years. I call him Saint Francis of Stevenson.
He has twelve ten-foot coffee trees that produce a continuous flow of fruit year-round. (A coffee bean is the seed of a cherry harvested from its branches.) As long as he maintains a certain temperature range, the trees can live for thirty years. As long as I bring him a steady flow of honey, candles, and chopped wood, he sends me home with a can full of beans. I will do everything in my power to keep than man alive and healthy.
I awoke an hour before Kelly and two hours before sunrise. After walking to the temporary town cistern for a day’s supply of water, I reignited the cooking fire in our wood-burning stove. As I cranked our coffee grinder, I inhaled deeply. Other than waking up with Kelly by my side, it was the favorite part of my day.
While the water heated in the stove-top percolator, I gathered more wood than usual and stacked it inside our kitchen. Before I left, I wanted to make sure Kelly wasn’t burdened with all of my chores. She’s one of the hardest working people I’ve ever met, and she does it with a smile so brilliant and warm that it’s hard for me to describe.
Every morning she checks in at the clinic before hitting the road with her medical bag and her rifle slung over her shoulder. She carries a second bag filled with food and water in case someone is too sick to provide for themselves. (Kelly would give an infantryman a run for his money with the amount of weight she carries while making her rounds.) Her job is to take care of this town. My job is to take care of her. When I leave, it makes everything harder for her, but I have yet to hear her complain about anything.
She gets it. She’s grateful for everything that we have and never asks for more. She appreciates the hard work of others and doesn’t take any of them for granted. She doesn’t waste anything and makes sure that we use very little of our irreplaceable supplies. We both know how much worse it could be for us. Stevenson
is an oasis. I doubt there are many – if any – of those left in the world. We know that. It’s the reason why I had to leave her.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I said, smiling as she walked into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” said Kelly, giving me a hug. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”
“I slept enough,” I said, pouring her a cup of coffee. “You were out like a light.”
“You wear me out,” said Kelly, putting a frying pan on top of the stove and then walking away. “You’re making us bacon and eggs. You’re going to need the energy, and I need to get ready. Doc and I have a busy morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, watching her leave the room.
Donna and River are experts at preserving meat. Even when they had power for refrigeration, Donna would continue the curing process that was handed down to her from her mother. She was teaching River everything that she knew. When Donna chose the house she wanted closer to downtown, she made sure there was a large cellar. It was cool, dry, and the perfect space to continue her craft. I thanked her in silence as the meat began to sizzle in the pan.
After I set our table by candlelight, I took a step back. I thought about the many good people I had met along the way during my journey from Atlanta. They were strangers, but they offered me shelter and food when I was weak or injured. They showed me that the only way to survive was to hold on to the hope that not everybody I came across wanted to hurt me. For the most part, they were right. But when they were wrong, they were very wrong.
Other than the weather, I believe hesitation is the second leading cause of death for humans in our new world. Instinctively, we give the benefit of the doubt to strangers that we meet. We want to believe that they mean us no harm. We want to believe that showing them kindness will be enough to ensure that they won’t hurt us. That’s usually the point when they do. When they sense that someone is weak, even the gentlest person has the ability to become an animal. Survival of the fittest, and the smartest, is the only law now.