There was a restaurant supply store in the city I’d interviewed at, and I’d found food in bulk. I’d spent less than I would have on a night at a fancy hotel for food that’d last for years and years. It made me not feel guilty for fibbing to Grandma when I told her I wasn’t going to sleep in my truck, but frugal is frugal. Along the right wall were five more of the blue barrels we used to hold water and for making our mash. I had just enough light to see that one of the airlocks on one of them was bubbling still, but the other three had stopped fermentation. I had a large wheeled dolly and would move the barrels closer to the still in a day or two to begin the process.
With our improvements, we could run more shine faster, and I hoped of a better quality than what Grandpa had been putting out. His family out of the town, by the same name in Tennessee, were moonshiners. He’d grown up doing it his way and had done it here the same way until I’d made a setup of my own and showed him the differences. He’d soon adopted mine, and I’d built another still to put it in reserve. Two is one, and one is none. That was why I liked having three of everything. A spare stainless steel beer keg was with a local welder who took payment by the jar. It was how I liked to do things.
I heard a soft bark as I walked out, turned out the lights and locked my stall with supplies in. I looked around and felt something brush against my leg. I almost jumped out of my boots, but the creature backed up and danced on its back legs and barked again.
“Who are you?” I asked, kneeling down and seeing a medium sized dog, a young shepherd by the look of it.
The dog responded by rolling on his back, feet in the air, butt wiggling on the cement and straw-littered ground. I gave him a belly scratch and then walked to where Grandpa was. He was kicked back with his feet on a bucket, his eyes half open.
“You got this?” he asked me, one hand pointing at the still.
“Sure,” I told him.
He looked old right then, worn out. Granted, it was warm in here, and I always fought off getting sleepy myself, but I’d done a lot of my homework and research in this here room, and I had mental games and tricks to keep from becoming lethargic.
“What’s up with the dog?” I asked him.
A snore was the only reply, and I grinned.
“You want to come in here where it’s a little warmer?” I asked the young pup.
It barked and came bumbling in. I grinned and sat down in the old ottoman chair that used to be my Grandma’s in the main house. We’d replaced hers, and I’d found the smashed seat cushions fit me just fine, and it’d become a standard fixture for me to sit in. I sat down, and the pup came up and put his paws on my legs. I reached down and picked it up with some effort. It was a good forty or more pounds of long legs and big paws. I saw it was a boy, and the way it moved reminded me of the gangly way I had been while growing up. All arms and legs, not finding my coordination until the end of middle school, early beginnings of high school… about the same time the girls noticed me.
“What are you?” I asked the puppy who was rubbing his head on my stomach.
He looked like a German Shepherd, but I wasn’t sure. I sat there petting the puppy with my feet up on a bucket of my own until the one-gallon jug was full. I knew by experience and lots of practice that once you got to hearts, you’d get a solid gallon until the scent and proof changed and you’d have to watch the still more. Once I switched it over to quart Jars, the pup had lost interest in me a little and wandered out into the barn to sniff around.
Had it come in while I was pulling the truck in? Had Grandpa and Grandma gotten a dog while I wasn’t looking? Grandpa didn’t cotton to pets much. If you couldn’t eat it in hard times, it was hard to justify the extra mouth to feed. Still, maybe he’d softened up some. I’d always wanted a dog, but we could barely afford things for ourselves. The past year and a half had changed a lot. We’d gotten ahead of fixing up the house, and as more people moved into the area, the thirst for untaxed corn liquor and sour mash had gone up. So had prices. With me continually improving methods and efficiencies, our costs had actually gone down.
Like the keg, I usually had a water heater blanket over much of it to trap in as much heat as possible, but Grandpa didn’t like using it. Part of him resisting change if I had to guess. When I started smelling the tails of the spirit run, I switched jars and labeled everything we’d taken.
“You shutting it down?” Grandpa asked suddenly.
“Yeah, last bit of the tails,” I told him, pointing to a jar.
“Good, sorry about that, been tired lately. Might have been getting over a… what’s that?” he pointed to the dark shape sleeping at my feet between us.
“I was going to ask you, when did y’all get a dog?” I asked him.
“Ain’t our dog,” Grandpa said.
The young dog rolled over, showing his belly, then flopped until it regained his feet, scampering to Grandpa, putting his front paws on his legs.
“You’re about a hyper little fella, ain’t you. He yours?”
The dog saw Grandpa’s eyes look over at me and the dog came back and jumped into my lap before turning a circle and laying down.
“I don’t—”
“Sure looks like your dog. He makes a mess on the kitchen floor, you’re cleaning it up, you hear!” He said in a loud voice, but I saw him fighting the smile.
Things had been tough, but not as much lately. Things had actually been pretty good, and if I started making a good income teaching science, I could fix this place up good for them before finding a place of my own. See, I wasn’t the usual college age kid that stayed at home in his parent’s basement like everyone joked… I was there because if I left, Grandpa and Grandma couldn’t make it just on their social security. If I weren't there, the family homestead would be up for auction, and they’d be in section eight housing somewhere, which would kill them. They liked this life, and I didn’t mind helping out. Just the way it was.
“Oh wow, would you look at him,” the girl behind the counter said as I walked in with Raider, the name I’d given the dog. “How old is he?”
“Vet thinks he’s a few months old at the most,” I told her. “Might be a little older, but the guy who dumped him must not have been feeding him regularly. Going to fatten him up some.”
I’d spent the previous two days with the dog, first brushing him out and then giving him a flea bath, killing creepy crawlers, before brushing again. Then I’d taken him to the vet. He’d been given his shots, and a checkup for the cost of two quarts of the most exquisite white dog ever been drank this side of the Mississippi. That was how I liked to pay for things as much as possible and, surprisingly, people loved it the same way I did. A cashless society.
“He’s a cutie,” she said.
April was probably right out of high school. I thought maybe I’d dated her older sister once, but I had a hard time remembering if that was how I knew her or… I waved and got a cart, picking up Raider and putting him in. He whined and wouldn’t let up till I petted his head and told he was a good boy. I headed back and found leashes, finding a couple styles that fit. One was the choker variety, and the other was a simple leather collar. I put both in the cart and found a good leash, one nearly eight feet long. Since I had been feeding him table scraps and a mixture of chicken and rice with oats mixed in, I needed food.
I headed back to the aisle and was looking at different varieties when I smelled lilac and could tell somebody had walked up behind me.
“Find you something?”
I turned to see Jessica standing behind me. I’d gone to school with her, but her family had moved out my senior year. She had ended up being my first crush so seeing her and recognizing her for the first time in almost six years I did the smooth thing.
“Jessica!”
“Yes, you found me,” she said and did a mock curtsey.
“No, Jessica, we went to school together forever ago. Wes, Westley Flagg,” I said.
Her eyes opened wider in recognition, and she smiled
. “Oh yeah, how are you?!”
“Great! Just getting some chow for Raider here.”
Raider let out a whine, and with big brown doggy eyes, he pleaded to be let out of the cart.
“Ohhhhh a shepherd!” she said reaching in and took his head in both of her hands and gave him some loving.
“So I was going to get a couple bags of food,” I told her.
“That’s great. You looking to sign him up for some obedience training?”
“I uh… Huh?”
“Shepherds are brilliant dogs,” she told me, “if you don’t give them something to learn or a job to do, they can get quite… mischievous.”
Her eyes twinkled, but not at me. My God, I was jealous of the damned dog?
“Sure,” I told her, “When are classes?”
“Depends on your schedule. I run classes three days a week. Mondays are early days, Wednesdays are 2pm, and Fridays are 6pm.”
“What’s a gal like you doing working on a Friday night?” I asked.
“Making the money, anyway I can now,” she said, “What’d you do after high school?”
“Two years in Texarkana, then finished my degree at University of Arkansas.”
“You play football there?” she asked, an eyebrow arched.
“No,” I laughed, “Lanky guys like me make horrible linemen.”
“Or a good cornerback or wide receiver.”
I turned a little red at that but kept talking to her. I got a couple bags of food and put them under the cart and got her card, promising to call her to set things up for Raider. I left the pet supply store with a spring in my step, Raider digging at the new leather collar around his neck. It was bigger than he needed but it had enough holes to keep it tight, and he’d grow into it. I had a couple more stops to make, so after loading the bags of food in the bed of my truck, I took off. The card was burning in my pocket, and I had to smile at getting Jessica’s number years and years later. I knew she was just selling services but I had been kind of socially awkward my whole life and always having a few gallons of moonshine rolling around the truck made me paranoid. Still, I’d avoided trouble for a long bit and only did direct trades with people I knew close.
My next stop was the bakery in town, and I cranked the windows down a few inches before pushing Raider back and closing my door. He whined piteously.
“I’m sorry buddy, you can’t come in this one, but I’ll be right back!” I told him.
He started barking at me, and I felt my heart breaking. I wasn’t abandoning him, but he didn’t know that.
“Hey there Westley!” A rosy-cheeked woman said from behind the counter.
“Mrs. Guthrie! How are you doing?”
“Great! I’ve been saving buckets up since last time, but it’s been a while!” She said and came to the counter, hugging me.
“I had a job interview near Little Rock,” I told her.
“Oh, nice. Did you get it?” She asked me.
“I haven’t heard back from them yet,” I told her, shrugging.
“Well then, come on back and let’s get your stack!”
I followed her behind the counter to the back of the kitchen. A double stack of buckets almost chest high greeted me.
“Oh wow,” I said softly.
“We use a lot of frosting,” she told me by way of explanation. “I ran them all through the large dishwasher, so all you have to do is a rinse out if it didn’t do a good enough job.”
“These are perfect. Will you have more?” I asked her.
She laughed, a deep belly laugh only the happiest of humans can manage.
“You need more? I thought you wouldn’t need all of these,” she told me.
“Well, I don’t know how much I’ll need,” I admitted.
“Prepping?” she asked me.
Caught flat-footed, I stammered.
“I thought so; it’s ok, I’ve got a few hundred of these myself. My husband loves putting up food as much as he likes drinking your whiskey. Speaking of which…”
I took off my backpack and pulled out two jars that had been wrapped in a shirt. One was entirely clear, but the other had a slightly golden color.
“Thought the rum came out clear and only got the color from aging?”
“I’m cheating a little bit with this batch, but I have another one on the oak,” I told her.
“Touch of iodine and raw molasses?” she asked.
My jaw hit the floor, that wasn’t a commonly known trick. “I… yeah, how’d you know?” I asked her.
“Your grandpa’s tricks will never be shared by me,” she said ,crossing her heart, “but when you’ve been in the food service long enough, you learn all kinds of useless information. A little bit of iodine never hurts anybody, and molasses gives it more of a flavor, with a little color.”
“Yes ma’am,” I agreed. “Since you brought up the food service industry… When I was out of town, I found a restaurant supply store. Is there someplace local I can use to stock up?”
“No, mine comes in on the truck, but if you want to put in an order of stuff, let me know, and I’ll add it to mine, and you can pick it up here.”
“Thanks!” I told her, then explained I’d gotten a new pup and was leaving him outside.
She admonished me for not bringing him in, but as we carried buckets out to my worn truck, Raider started barking excitedly. I put my load down and opened the door and let him jump out. So far he had been really good about sticking around by me, and this time was no different. We loaded the buckets and then I made one more trip inside for the lids as Mrs. Guthrie loved on Raider.
“You keep this guy,” she told me, pointing.
“Oh, I plan on it,” I told her, “I’m getting him signed up for some training. Grandma says somebody dropped him off on the road and by the time she got up the driveway she couldn’t find the dog or the guy who dumped him. Then half a day later, Raider here found me.”
I watched as he walked over to a light pole and raised a leg, making his mark on the world before running back and jumping in my open door.
“Looks like he’s ready to go,” she told me, grinning.
3
I spent the next two weeks doing chores, running shine and working with Raider. I’d gone to two classes with Raider and had been working with him, finding a lot of literature and information on the internet. We didn’t get high speed where we lived, but last year I’d bought a WeBoost and ran the antenna up a tall tree and put the receiver end inside the house. From there I kept an older Verizon prepaid phone turned on as a wireless hotspot, and from that, I could use my primary phone or laptop.
“Hey,” Grandpa said, coming into the dining room and sitting down in front of me.
“Hey, you want me to fix you a spot of lunch?” I asked.
“Not too hungry,” he said, but he was eyeballing my cornbread.
I got up and made him a plate anyway. Beans with bacon, and a wedge of cornbread. My grandma preferred to make sourdough, but I rebelled and loved everything corn. Even our spent grains and corn from making liquor went to feed our chickens. That way if Johnny Law ever showed up, we didn’t have a ton of spent grains smelling like a brewery outside somewhere, composting, though I did use some for that purpose from time to time for the garden.
“Thanks,” he said, dipping his cornbread in the beans and eating it without the spoon.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked him after a moment.
“Lester stopped out yesterday while you were getting more water barrels.
I knew Lester Doyle was an old time friend of Grandpa’s, one of the few people who knew we had the still right here on the property and not in the hills somewhere like most other people did.
“What’d he want?” I asked.
“Seems that he’s got a new client looking for product,” he said, scraping a pile of beans on the cornbread and taking a bite.
“What kind and how much they looking for?” I asked him.
“White dog, twe
nty gallons to start.”
I whistled, and he nodded.
“How soon?” I asked him.
“A week.”
“I need to get some more going, but I have enough mash in my storage room ready to run to do it,” I told him.
“I’ve got way more than you do,” Grandpa said, “but it’s somebody brand new to Lester, and if they like the twenty gallons, they might be wanting to do this on a somewhat regular basis.”
“No jacking the price down for quantity?” I asked him.
“That’s just giving away money, boy. I’m kind of leery about things lately.”
“How come?” I asked him. “The locals around here leave us alone, a few of the state boys buy from Lester directly.”
“Not that so much, it’s just that… the world has gotten a bit weird lately.”
“You’ve been watching the news again,” I observed.
“Yeah, I’m starting to think you doing your prepping ain’t such a bad idea after all.”
“So it’s not silly?”
“I said it wasn’t,” Grandpa said grumpily.
“Where’s Grandma? She put you up to this?” I asked him.
“She’s out in the garden. Says it’s time to pick the ‘taters. I’m gonna get the tractor out and…”
“Last year you got too close to the row and sliced half of them,” I reminded him.
“I can’t dig it by hand anymore,” he said quietly.
He’d developed a limp a few years back, and most of the days he walked without a cane, but he had one for the days when he desperately needed it.
“Well, I’ve got another interview in a week, so say I get out there with Raider and get them dug up and get some of the old mulched straw in the bed while it rests?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be around long,” Grandpa said. “You should be getting out more, meeting a girl, making a life for yourself.”
Blackout: Still Surviving Page 2