by Bobby Akart
“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a different world out there, Emily. It’s a different world just across the river too.”
The three women stood silently for a moment until Bessie suggested they walk over toward the horse pen. Madison regained her composure as Bessie, who sensed what Madison was feeling, comforted her and led her by the arm.
The guys approached from the other side and eventually all of them were watching Alex take the distinctive leopard-spotted horse by the lead as she walked her around the circular structure.
“Hey, Allie-Cat,” shouted Colton. “Who’s your new friend?”
“Hi, Daddy! This is Snowflake. She’s an Appaloosa!”
“Javy, come on over,” instructed Stubby. A Mexican man not much taller than Stubby removed his straw hat and joined the group. Stubby explained that Javier Garcia had joined the Shiloh Ranch a couple of years ago as a general ranch hand and ultimately brought his wife Maria to America to work as the Allens’ housekeeper.
As the dairy operation grew, Javier, who preferred to be called Javy, added some friends from the mountain cattle ranches near the Mexican border of West Texas, who were most likely in the country illegally. Stubby didn’t ask and didn’t care. The men worked hard, were loyal, and asked that virtually all of their earnings be sent to their families in Mexico via Western Union. That proved to Stubby they were honorable and loyal.
“I gave up trying to understand the politics of immigration a long time ago,” said Stubby as Javy returned to help Alex with Snowflake. “All I know is this. If I had to be in a foxhole again, any of these men would have my back.”
Alex joined the group as they started back toward the house when a gust of wind shifted the breeze and a horrific odor into their nostrils.
“Whoa!” exclaimed Colton. “What the heck is that?”
“Ha-ha.” Jake laughed. “We showed y’all the good stuff first, but we’ve saved the best for last.”
“Ladies and gentleman,” started Jake, removing his signature charcoal black snapback cowboy hat and using his best circus ringmaster gestures, “presenting the Shiloh Ranch latrine and composting facility. Take a whiff, friends!”
“Ugh,” groaned Alex.
Stubby stepped forward and took over the presentation. “Jake can be a little dramatic at times. I think he’ll be a mighty fine entertainer when he grows up. We have indoor plumbing in the main house, as you all know. Our water wells are scattered around the property and each of the pumps is outfitted with a small solar array providing it power. This keeps water running to the toilets.”
“Is this the sewage treatment plant?” asked Madison as she burrowed her nose in her sleeve.
“Sort of, Madison,” replied Stubby. “A septic tank and sewer system has been in place since the home was built. But this summer I added a manure compost pit to create manure tea.”
“No way!” lamented Alex. “You guys are out of your minds.”
“Take it easy, Alex.” Stubby laughed. “It’s not to drink. It is, however, simply the best organic concentrated fertilizer you can make. What you have here is a self-contained sewage facility for both human and animal waste designed to create liquid compost made from manure steeped in water, just like you’d steep a cup of tea.”
“I used to like tea,” murmured Madison under her breath.
“It’s high in nutrients, especially nitrogen,” added Bessie. “We put it on all our vegetables, especially the green leafy ones. The liquid manure really soaks into the soil and hits the roots.”
“Gross,” said Alex. “Will it make the vegetables taste like, um, poop?”
“No, honey,” replied Bessie. “If anything, manure tea brings out the natural colors and flavors of organic vegetables. It’s easy to make and we can create a fresh batch in about two weeks.”
“Fresh?”
“Well, you know, a new batch.”
Stubby led the entourage back towards the main house and away from the ripe stench of the compost.
“Well, I wouldn’t want that job,” said Alex, who quickly broke away from the pack to avoid the smell.
The covered porch of the main house wrapped the entire perimeter of the home. The group pulled seven rocking chairs onto the east deck. A cool breeze emanated from the Tennessee River, which could be seen in the distance through the now leafless oaks.
Emily and Bessie went inside and retrieved a pitcher of sweet tea and glasses for all. They tinkled with the sound of ice. The scene was reminiscent of any Southern home’s porch in normal times.
“If my memory serves me correctly, I think you’ll like this,” said Bessie as she handed Colton his glass. “Do you still like an Arnold Palmer?”
Arnold Palmer, the golfing legend from the sixties and seventies, created his own Southern concoction consisting of sweet tea and roughly half lemonade. Palmer and his wife experimented with the mix at their home until it became his signature drink. In his memoirs, Palmer recalled how he ordered his favorite drink while in a Palm Springs restaurant and a woman overheard him place the order. She told her server that she wanted an Arnold Palmer and the simple drink became legendary.
Colton took a sip and smiled. “Sweet nectar of the South. Let’s raise our glasses to the recently departed Arnold Palmer. God rest your soul, my friend.”
As everyone raised their glasses, Colton continued. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see an ice cube again. I have to say that you guys are very well prepared for the apocalypse.”
Jake responded, “We owe it all to Stubby and Bessie. They had a homesteader mindset, which has translated into one heck of an operation, as you’ve seen. But, as you may recall, Stubby is a former Army Ranger. He understands weaponry and defensive measures that, frankly, never crossed my mind until the compost hit the fan.”
Stubby laughed and then stood to sit on the rail, where he could face everyone. “Folks, all of the things that we have goin’ for us here won’t make a hill of beans’ difference if we can’t defend it. Simply said, if you can’t defend it, it isn’t yours.”
Madison nodded her head in agreement. The Rymans had experienced firsthand what desperate people would do to survive. They had defended their neighborhood and their home from depraved human beings who were willing to kill to take what they needed or wanted.
Madison set aside her glass of sweet tea and spoke up. “Listen, we’ve come here uninvited, but we can help. We want to be a part of your family and pull our weight. None of us knows anything about gardening or milking cows or composting, but we’re willing to learn.”
Alex chimed in, “Speak for yourself on that composting part, Mom.”
“Maddie is right about that,” added Colton, ignoring Alex’s comment. He turned his attention to Jake but then looked directly at Stubby. “There is one thing we’ve experienced that only you’ve seen in your lifetime—the depravity of man. We’d appreciate some training in the use of firearms. We’ll help defend Shiloh Ranch as well as make it a place where we can all live together without fearing for our lives. We’d like to make this our home too.”
Chapter 5
Sunset, September 29
Cherry Mansion
Savannah
The Brumby Rocker was far from being in bad condition despite being one of the oldest pieces of furniture remaining in the historic Cherry Mansion. The white paint looked a little faded from its exposure to the setting sun, an event the Brumby had experienced since it arrived on the porch in 1933. Like its present occupant, the bones of the Brumby were pretty old, but they were still sturdy. Both the chair and Ma Durham had a steely resolve—hardened by years of weathering storms.
Creak, creak, creak.
The Brumby Rocker continued its back and forth motion as Ma slowly pushed it on the old wooden floorboards of the covered porch. She sat alone with her thoughts. Her boyfriend, Bill Cherry, the former president of the Hardin County Chamber of Commerce, was the owner of Cherry Mansion and a direct descendant of the original owners. Wild Bill, as he’d beco
me known around Hardin County, had a penchant for partying, which Ma tolerated to an extent. Like so many other men in her life, Wild Bill Cherry was nothing more than a tool to advance her goals. She didn’t care for alcohol but allowed Wild Bill his fun as long as he obeyed. It was a relationship that suited both parties.
Creak, creak, creak.
Ma, like the Brumby Rocker, was showing telltale signs of aging, including crow’s feet, gray hair, and older looking hands. She stared down at her bony, wrinkled digits that resembled those of a much older woman than Ma’s mid-fifties. She realized long ago that she was not a looker like many of the hussies she’d grown up around. Ma knew, however, that she had feminine wiles, a woman’s power, which she covertly used to influence the men who needed it.
Men were weak in Ma’s mind. For the most part, their minds were focused on one thing. Her ability to manipulate men when she was younger brought her into a position of power in Hardin County. After the solar flare brought the power down, she created a brilliant plan to control the horny fools of the county, including Wild Bill and her son the sheriff, Junior, to do her bidding.
She provided them sex but not from her, of course. There were plenty of others around to do the dirty work of servicing the menfolk within her charge. Initially, it was designed as a barter system of sorts.
“Everyone must pull their weight,” she’d told the townspeople in those early days after the grid collapsed.
The young women of the town were told that they could either work at the Vulcan Quarry or they could do other, less strenuous work. Initially, many of the women were appalled at the suggestion. They would not sacrifice their morals by having sex with Ma’s crew. But after several days of pounding rock at the quarry, the façade of chastity came crashing down. Brothels controlled by Ma sprang up around Savannah to service the men.
Not unexpectedly, the men would get out of hand from time to time, usually as a result of too much alcohol. They would abuse the women, and soon the brothels began to empty of able-bodied employees. The women of Savannah simply ran away.
This was bad for morale, in Ma’s opinion, so a solution had to be reached. She needed new recruits, and she quickly developed a new plan of attack. She was proud of two major decisions she’d made related to the collapse of the power grid.
First, Ma considered herself brilliant for having armed men ready to secure all of the major retail stores around the town. She had a hunch the solar flare might cause more damage than the media let on. She was right. When it came crashing down, she instantly became the power broker she’d always dreamt of being. Controlling the government as mayor was one thing. But there were restrictions, rules, and watchers—prying eyes making sure she did the right thing. But after the collapse, she could run things the way she saw fit. Uninhibited. Lawless.
As this newfound unrestricted power took hold, Ma solved several problems with one brilliant plan. She used the Emergency Broadcast Network and the local radio station to invite folks from all over to join them in Savannah. The new residents needed to meet certain criteria. She was looking for working automobiles, muscle, medical personnel, and more girls for the boys.
Her invitations via the radio broadcasts worked. Cars began to arrive from far and wide, and they were greeted by Wild Bill. He would prescreen the occupants of the vehicles to determine if they helped fill the town’s needs, and if they did, they were taken to the county jail for additional screening.
Their cars and belongings were confiscated. The men were told harm would come to their women if they didn’t go to work in the quarry. The women were then placed into sexual slavery.
The newcomers didn’t always cooperate and the result was the execution of the men in front of the women. The women were then turned over to Junior and Wild Bill, who trained them.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Ma didn’t care. She had a town to run and expansion plans in mind.
Nooooooo. Pleeeeeease. Nooooooo.
The screams could barely be heard over the creaking of the Brumby Rocker. If a stranger walked onto the front porch of the Cherry Mansion, they might have heard the muffled sounds emanating from the basement cells, which had been built during the Civil War. However, those strangers would be focused on the aging woman slowly rocking on the porch of this magnificent antebellum home as she watched the sun set on another day.
Chapter 6
11:00 a.m., September 29
Main House
Shiloh Ranch
Of course, Chase Allen remembered Alex from their visit four years ago. Back then, she was a standoffish preteen who was friendly enough to pal around with, but wasn’t interesting enough to lose sleep over. As he rode up to the stables and saw her standing with her parents, his surprise at seeing them was quickly replaced by his astonishment at how beautiful she’d become.
“Well, I’ll be dogged,” said Chase as he approached the group and dismounted. “Hey, Alex. Hi, Mr. and Missus Ryman. I didn’t expect to see you guys.”
“Hey, Chase,” said Alex as she walked up and grabbed the bridle. Chase dusted off his clothes before they shared an awkward hug. “We decided to come visit for a while. You know, things were getting a little heated in Nashville.”
“I can imagine.” Chase laughed. He shook hands with Colton and gave Madison a hug. “It’s really great to see you guys. Sorry I’m such a mess. We went huntin’ for a few days.”
“I see that,” said Alex, who studied the one-hundred-forty-pound white-tail deer draped across the back of Chase’s horse.
Chase looked past everyone and hollered towards the barn, “Hey, Stubby, are you in there?”
Stubby and Javy emerged, wiping their hands on a couple of red shop towels. They had been working on an old Ford tractor used to plow the fields. Stubby immediately walked to the deer carcass and felt it.
“Still warm,” he muttered. “She’s good sized. How long ago did you bag her?”
“About an hour,” said Chase. “We were fixin’ to head home and I came upon her down at Childers Hill near the Wolven place.”
Stubby took the reins and handed them to Javy. “Get them in the barn and we’ll dress her. This will be an opportunity for y’all to learn how to field dress a deer. Follow me.”
Javy led the group into the barn, but Chase and Alex lagged behind. “It’s been a long time, Alex. You’ve, um, changed a lot.”
“For the better, right?” asked Alex. Chase sensed she was flirting with him. She is cute!
“Yeah.” He started putting on his best suave and debonair approach. “You’re prettier and more polite than you used to be.”
“You know what, Chase?” Alex bristled and then she hesitated. Her voice calmed. “I am pretty. Politeness is half good manners and half being a good liar. You’re better lookin’ and polite too. Chew on that.” Alex kicked up some dust with her boots and strutted ahead of Chase. Alex had spirit in a sassy kinda way. He liked that.
Stubby began the tutorial. “First, you should always field dress your deer within the first two hours after the kill while it’s still warm. The first step is to drain the deer.”
Javy removed the deer from the back of the horse with the help of Stubby. They had a place set up in the barn for this purpose. A bed made of hay bales had been positioned near a galvanized bucket of water. The deer was placed onto the bales with its backside down and head elevated. This exposed the deer’s belly and allowed for gravity to assist in the removal of its internal organs.
“Ladies, I know this is a new experience and you might be squeamish, but we live in a different world now and the meat market at the grocery store ain’t around. I need you to stay with me as we go through the process, okay?”
“Okay,” replied Madison, but Alex stood with her arms folded and didn’t reply. Chase surmised that she wasn’t comfortable with this.
“The key to safe and efficient field dressing is a sharp, sturdy knife,” continued Stubby. He pulled a fixed blade out of a sheath on his leg. He rotate
d it for everyone to see and then gently ran his finger along the blade. “You’ll wanna use a knife with a blade at least four inches long, a guard like this one, and a large handle. A small knife can turn sideways if the blade hits bone. You don’t need something like those grossly oversized Bowie designs. I’ve had this knife a long time. It’s called a Coyote Stag.”
Stubby approached the deer and spread the fur from its belly to provide a clear view of his incision point. He began at the bottom, slowly cutting deep enough to get through the skin clear up to the base of the neck. Blood began to trickle out of the carcass.
Madison turned away, but Alex continued to watch. Chase was studying her to gauge her reaction. He was impressed that she didn’t faint or do the usual girly backlash. Her eyes seemed unfazed. He began to wonder what she’d been through on the trip to Shiloh Ranch.
“Now, I have to begin to cut through the muscle and cartilage. Gutting a deer is more like precision surgery than it is barbaric brutality. It’s a process that requires an orderly transition from skin to muscle, to ribs, and then organs.”
Stubby methodically made his cuts through the belly muscle and then he maneuvered the knife through the ribs with a prying motion, which caused the crunching sound of cartilage breaking. Everyone winced, which was a natural reaction. Chase had done this many times, so he was unaffected.
“After you’ve made your way into the chest cavity, you can remove the esophagus by cutting it free. With that chore behind us, we can pull out all of the guts in one fairly continuous mass.”
Stubby and Javy worked together to remove all of the inner workings of the deer into a galvanized tub. Javy then wrapped a leather strap around the deer’s head and shoulders and hoisted it into the air. He quickly tied off the hind legs with a rope to drain out any remaining fluids from the body.
Alex pointed to the galvanized bucket. “What do you do with this?”
“Ordinarily, we’d discard the contents of the bucket and leave it for the coyotes,” replied Stubby. “But food is a scarce commodity now. Meat is meat and the gut pile is no exception. Javy and Maria will remove the heart, liver, kidneys, and tongue and prepare them as a dish.”