by L. L. Akers
“When did you draw it? Was it before or after you dropped my Amish well-bucket down the well and lost it forever?”
“Before.”
“So you knew you were going to drop the bucket? Or did you drop the bucket because of the picture?”
“No.”
Grayson raised an eyebrow. “No? No what? You knew…or you dropped it because that’s what you’d drawn on the picture?” he asked grumpily.
Puck’s chin wrinkled and his lip stuck out again. “I don’t know,” he whispered quietly. “I didn’t know anything.”
Ozzie crawled up on the bed and protectively laid his head on Puck’s chest, staring into the boy’s face with his big brown eyes.
Graysie popped her head into the room, looking from Puck to her father. “What’s going on, Daddy?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Graysie said, using his own overused line against him. “Puck looks upset.” She walked over and flopped down on the end of the bed. “You want to color something for me, Puck?” she asked, giving him a big smile.
Obviously, they’d made up.
Puck smiled back. “Sure.”
“No!” Grayson snapped. He stood up and snatched the crayons and paper away from Puck. “I don’t want you drawing Graysie anything.”
“Daddy! What the heck?” Graysie asked in astonishment. “Give those back to him. He’s bored.”
“Watch it, Graysie. You’re getting a little too big for your britches, girl.”
Grayson bulled up, knowing his daughter was right; he looked ridiculous. What he was thinking was ridiculous. No one could draw something into happening. And he didn’t believe in all that hocus pocus psychic ability bullshit that Jake had brought up on the way home, either.
It’s all just a big coincidence.
He blew out a frustrated breath and dumped the stuff back onto the bed. “Fine. But don’t draw any pictures of Graysie. Or Olivia.” He looked at his dog. “Or Ozzie. Just don’t draw any pictures of anyone. Draw some flowers. Or a rainbow.”
He walked around the bed to leave. “Hell, draw me a good tank of gas that’ll run something…” he mumbled as he walked out the door, followed by looks of confusion from his daughter.
Grayson stomped outside to find Jake driving nails into the wooden structure holding up the IBC water tote outside the bathroom window. They’d finished that project a few hours before the women had arrived home, hoping to at least provide them with a cold shower. Water was gravity fed from the tote, through the bathroom window with a hose pipe, and down into the shower.
But now Jake had a better plan.
“Jake, you ready to do this water thing?”
Jake pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. He tied it up around his forehead. “Almost done now.”
“Really? You figured it out that fast?”
Jake chuckled. “It’s not rocket science. The basic rules of plumbing are hot on the left, cold on the right, and shit won’t run uphill.”
Grayson stared at him somberly. He wasn’t in the mood for kidding around after his conversation with Puck.
Jake cleared his throat. “We still have to attach the hand pump to the wellhead. That’ll take a while, but the rest is nearly done. After I found the hand-pump that you couldn’t find—which, by the way, was underneath Olivia and Emma’s bugout bags that they left behind when they went on their trip—I just laid that beside the wellhead for now. We’ll hook that up next. But I ran a hose from the hand pump, straight to the IBC water tote.”
He pointed at a faucet on the side of water tote. “Here, I put on a splitter faucet. I ran a short hose from one side of the splitter to the RV Freshwater pump we pulled out of Mama Dee’s camper, and then hooked that to the main water supply line to the house.”
Grayson’s eyes widened. “You did all that already? Will that get us water pressure in the bathroom then?”
Jake handed Grayson the hammer. “Hold this…and no, not just the bathroom. It’ll pressurize the whole house. I hooked the main hot water supply line to that Instant-On propane water heater you had stashed in the shipping container. It’ll ignite off D batteries and run off propane.”
He drove a nail into the board. “Now we’ve got hot water—or we will have as soon as I finish this shelf to hold the 12V battery that runs the RV pump. Then we need to hook up the hand pump to the wellhead, and hook up the propane bottle to the Instant-On Heater.”
Grayson’s eyes glazed over, trying to follow Jake’s explanation. “Just tell me this... we’ll have hot water for the ladies, and lots of it, right?”
“Right.” Jake held a short two by four in place and took the hammer back, pounding it in place. “Well, we’ll have an unlimited supply based on whatever propane we have on hand—which I know is a lot. But it won’t last forever. We need to use it sparingly. You can use the other side of the splitter faucet for hooking up a hose to water the garden.”
Grayson finally smiled. “You’re a keeper, Jake.”
He watched Jake finish up the wooden shelf and set the 12V battery on it, flush against the side of the IBC tote. He scratched his head. “I’ve got plenty of D batteries, but what happens when that 12 volt runs out of juice?”
Jake rubbed his hands together. “Then we let Old Ruby pull her weight. She likes to have a job.” Jake had a habit of speaking about his ’57 Chevy Truck as though she were a real woman. He loved that truck. “We just hook jumper cables to her, connect them to the battery, and let her alternator charge it.”
Grayson’s heart fell. “Well then we won’t have hot water for long. We’re almost out of gas now. Ruby can’t run without fuel. How much does she have in her?”
Jake slapped Grayson in the shoulder. “Fixed that too, brutha. Took ten minutes. I did that this morning before we left for Puck’s house.”
Grayson’s eyes were incredulous. “You fixed bad gas? How?”
“Old mechanic’s trick, but don’t get too excited. I couldn’t fix the big tank—yet. You had some old gas in smaller containers in the barn, and I was able to dig up enough mothballs and Seafoam to at least fix that. We’ll get a few of tanks of gas out of it.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. For real, dude. But don’t ever try that yourself. The newer mothballs won’t work. I went through your shipping container and found some really old ones on the floor, under the shelves. I assume they were in there when you bought it? I didn’t need many. The gas really wasn’t all the way bad. It smells bad, and it might not run anything newer, but it should Ruby just fine. Especially with the additives in it now. If we find more old mothballs and Seafoam—and a bunch of it—we might be able to fix up the big tank, too.”
“That’s great! So, back to this. We just need to install the hand pump on the wellhead and we’re ready to go?”
Jake laughed. “Not quite.” He slapped the side of the water-tote. “This bad boy has to be filled up. I’ll work on the hand pump, but then, you’re going to have to pump the water into it.”
Grayson grimaced. “Great.”
“What?” Jake asked. “It’ll be easy. You just have to work that pump up and down and up and down…over and over again…until it’s full. Stay on it, and it’ll fill up fast.”
Grayson hung his head. “Yeah. About as fast as kicking whales down the beach. I’ll be here for days…”
10
Tullymore
“Take anything you want, just bring me some formula!” Sarah screamed.
Tucker swiped at the sweat running in his eyes and raised his head at the outburst. He’d been neighbors with Sarah for years and had never heard her raise her voice. He put down his hammer and walked to the end of his driveway, looking across the street.
Curt was there, with Joe and another one of his goons, and a little red wagon, probably causing trouble. He’d heard that Curt was still trying to scaremonger everyone into giving up all their food and supplies—for the goo
d of the neighborhood of course—so he could best distribute them.
Tucker had said the opposite. He’d told everyone to keep their own food for now. He still held out hope the power would come back on eventually. If it didn’t, they could talk about the food thing later.
Oddly enough, Tucker’s people had all insisted on pooling some food in a ‘group pantry.’ It was mostly the wives’ idea, and they explained it would be easier on them, not to mention it would save food, to cook one big meal in the evenings for everyone.
Tucker had it stored in his own garage. Only two ladies had access to it: Katie, and one other woman from the group. They were on their own for the other meals during the day, and for now most of them were using their own backyard grills to cook those meals. So far, it was working out well that way; at least until everyone ran out of fuel for their outdoor grills.
He glanced back at the last of six hay-boxes they were building; and the only one he personally had been able to partially complete. The group loved the idea of using them to cook instead of wasting firewood and standing over the hot pots for hours. It would free up time for other things that needed to be done, too.
He sighed.
It was hard for him to take a turn on any of the teams his group had established because of all the interruptions. If he didn’t start doing more, he might be accused of using his leadership role to slack off. But Sarah was one of his group, and he wouldn’t let Curt bully her into anything.
Sarah’s husband was a soldier, and currently deployed. She was on her own with their first baby and her nerves were shot before the lights went out. Now, she was a real mess.
“Sarah, what’s wrong?” he yelled, as he hurriedly crossed the street.
Curt shot him a glare from over his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re just having a conversation.”
Joe nodded agreement, ready to parrot Curt once again. “That’s right. We’re just talking.”
Tucker rolled his shoulders and then straightened them. He was tired, sweaty, and would love to beat the hell out of the little hot-headed fireplug. “Anyone can talk to anyone…but we’ve already established Sarah is in our group. You can’t ask for her food, Curt. Take your little red wagon and go the hell on.”
Sarah began to cry. The poor woman was rail-thin—and it wasn’t from the apocalypse. She’d always been thin. She’d barely even shown at nine months pregnant. But now, dark shadows circled her eyes. Her clothes draped from her too-skinny frame. Her long hair hung in greasy, flat sections.
She wrung her hands. “Tucker, I’ll give them food if he can give me baby formula. I have to have some. Today!”
Tucker’s brows came down. Sarah was a normally a beautiful young woman, but she hadn’t been blessed when God was handing out breasts to start with, and pregnancy hadn’t really affected that, as far as he could see. He looked away from her nearly-flat chest before asking, “You can’t…er…make your own milk?”
“No, I can’t,” she snapped. She dropped her head into her hands and began to sob. “I can’t do it!” She turned to go back into the house, leaving the four men staring after her with open mouths.
Tucker hurried up her steps, shooting a look over his shoulder for his wife, and giving Curt and his buddies a dismissive glare. “Sarah, hold on. What’s going on? Talk to me,” he asked, hoping that Katie would soon rush over and save him if it was to be a conversation about breast-feeding.
He shut the front door behind him. Sarah rushed over to a blanket on the floor where the baby lay. Tucker followed her and looked down in shock.
Sammi, only six weeks old, looked nothing like the cute little wiggling bundle of joy that Sarah and her husband had brought home. Tucker and Katie had missed the baby shower, so they’d taken over a gift and a cooked meal a few weeks after her arrival.
Gone were the rosy cheeks and plump lips on the baby girl he’d seen before. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear this was a different child. Sammi’s belly was bloated, and her arms and legs were thin as sticks, and limp as noodles. Her skin was wrinkled, and she looked small; too small. Her eyes were huge, giving her an alien-ish look.
She barely moved, and when she did, it was with slow and jerky movements. The infant was weak as a kitten.
Tucker kneeled down beside them. “What happened to her? Is she sick?”
Sarah looked up at Tucker with pleading eyes. “She’s hungry, Tucker. I can’t make milk, and I ran out of formula two days ago. I’ve been trying to get her to eat baby food but she can’t yet. I’ve tried water—she’ll drink a little of it, but it’s not nourishing. I’ve put a little sugar in it, but that’s not working either. I need formula.”
Sammi let out a long wail, her body convulsing. She even sounded like a kitten, with no oomph behind it, but it was full of heartbreaking hunger and pain. Tucker’s heart lurched. He had four kids of his own. He couldn’t let this child go hungry.
He stood up. “You should’ve said something. I’ll go now. I’ll find some.”
Sarah held Sammi to her chest and rocked back and forth. “I didn’t know this would happen. I thought my milk would come back in again. No matter what I do, she has diarrhea. She cries constantly from the cramps. She went downhill so fast. I’m really worried,” she sobbed.
“I’ll be back.” He hurried out the door and nearly ran straight into Curt, who had his hand on the door-handle, peeking in. He ignored Curt as he walked past him and down the steps. “Go away, Curt. She’s not giving you anything, unless you have formula.” He stopped and turned around. “Do you?”
Curt studied him a long moment, and then sadly shook his head. “I don’t. I’d give it to her if I did. I’ll ask my people, but we haven’t had a new crumbsnatcher in this ‘hood for years.”
Tucker nodded his head and walked on, intent on getting home to recruit Katie and the kids in his search for baby formula. He was no doctor, but even he could see this child was in very bad shape.
One of Curt’s goons spoke up. “Curt, don’t we— “
“—No. We don’t. None of us do. We don’t have any babies,” Curt snapped.
Tucker stopped and turned to stare at Curt. His eyes narrowed. “If you have some, you need to give it to her. That baby girl in there looks really bad. She could die.”
“I said I don’t,” Curt answered stubbornly.
Tucker stomped off, met halfway by Katie, hurrying through the yard and out onto the road.
She grabbed his arm and turned to walk back toward their house with him. “What’s wrong?”
“Sarah’s baby is sick. She’s literally starving. She’s not able to make any milk with…” he waved his hands in front of his chest.
“Oh…” She hurried to keep up with Tucker. “What are you going to do?”
Tucker kept walking. “I’m going to go door to door to our group. See if anyone happens to have some. If not, we’ll siphon the last bit of gas from everyone’s car, and hopefully get enough to take a trip to town. There’s got to be some somewhere.”
Concern was replaced with panic on Katie’s face. She gripped Tucker’s arm tighter. “Isn’t that dangerous? I thought the stores were all wiped clean? And what about all the fights and shooting we’ve heard about?”
Tucker stopped and stared into his wife’s eyes. “Katie, I can’t let Sammi die. What kind of leader would that make me?”
Katie crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “A live one.”
11
Grayson’s Group
Olivia walked out on the porch to find everyone standing around taking a break from their many assigned chores. Grayson was missing…which was probably why they were all standing so leisurely at the moment.
Grayson was on a mission now that his family was nearly all together, to get everything done right now, that they may need long term. If he saw one moment of idleness he was assigning a new chore from chopping wood, to weeding the garden, to hand-washing laundry and/or hanging it. It was almost as though he was anticipating this
new homesteader life-style with excitement.
Tina and Tarra exchanged a glance at Olivia’s arrival, and abruptly stood up from where they were perched. They walked away together—away from Olivia. Ozzie padded along behind them, always looking for adventure.
Olivia glared at the two women’s backs. “Where’s Grayson?”
Jake pointed toward the opposite way from the women, toward the barn. Jenny was casually walking around, inspecting the yard. “Grayson’s chasing the chickens. He wants to put them up early. Getting worried about someone stealing them. We’re going to make them a movable chicken pen in the next few days. No more free-roaming.”
Olivia frowned. She loved her chickens and that seemed mean. They would hate being cooped up like that.
She looked around. “Where’s Emma?”
Gabby and Jake exchanged glances, neither saying a word.
“Where is she?” Olivia asked again, seeing the look that passed between them. When neither answered, she looked at Graysie and raised her eyebrows, expecting her to answer.
Graysie stared at the ground, unable to lie to her step-mother, or be the bearer of bad news.
Gabby cleared her throat. “She’s gone.”
Olivia looked confused. “Gone? Gone where?”
“She took off with Elmer, hiding in the back of the wagon inside the hay-fort with Graysie’s bike. He probably doesn’t even know she’s there yet. I hope she doesn’t give him a heart attack with her Pop Goes the Weasel routine,” Gabby said, and laughed.
“Wait. What? Why would she go with Elmer?”
Gabby shook her head. “She left to find Dusty and Rickey. She’ll pop up and let Elmer know she’s there when he gets close to her turn off. It’ll put her hours closer to Bald Head Island riding with him at least that far.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “You let her go? She’s going to go alone? What were you thinking, Gabby?”