by Joel Shaw
"Nothing like a little competition to load ammunition in a man's pistol."
"What do you mean by that?"
“Her eyes really lit up when she mentioned the new kid at the library. What was his name?"
"Goodthunder. Jerry Goodthunder." Leland had seen Faye's eyes sparkling, too.
"Yeah, Jerry, that’s it. Did you catch the look on her face when she said 'terrific shape?' Man, she was hot and ready to roll right then and there. I guess your dad noticed it too."
"I hope that wasn't the only thing on his mind."
Milton walked into the living area wearing only boxers. He was hiding his groin with one hand as he walked to the stove to warm himself. “Why is that?”
"I mean, I hope he told her about number eight."
“I hope he told her, too. We need to pull together now that we are about to face a, what do you call it ... hostile takeover." His tone of voice had dropped an octave as he said ‘hostile takeover.’ Leland could almost hear the wheels of unreason churning in Milton's head.
“About this Jerry guy...do you meet him?”
"Yup."
"What did you think of him?"
"He's a pretty cool guy. I liked him. He talks a lot, though... about himself, mostly. He’s had some cool experiences if you believe what he says.”
“Don’t you believe him?”
“I’m not sure...he claims to have done so many things...and I have done so few...I don’t know, maybe I’m just jealous...”
Milton was interested now. “Like what? What’s he done?”
“He says he knows how to build a bow from scratch...arrows, too. He also says he knows how to weld, fix engines, sew clothes, cook and...well, you name it and he’ll say he’s done it...”
“Sounds like a good man to have around, doesn’t he?
“Maybe...maybe not...Depends on whether he’s telling the truth or not. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m going to test him. See if he’s full of shit or what.”
#
CHAPTER 10 - JANUARY 12
As was her routine, Faye was up before sunrise. With the aid of her headlamp, she tiptoed past Harold who lay sound asleep on the faded settee. She relieved herself in the chamber pot and carried it and her hot-water bottle down two flights of stairs to the large kitchen at the rear of the restaurant. She pulled some kindling from the wood bin, arranging it over the still glowing coals in the wood-fired oven. She blew softly on the coals until the pine ignited.
She lit a row of large candles on the shelf above the oven and prepared a pot of coffee, placing it on the hot spot over the center of the oven's fire chamber. She added some hardwood to the fire then descended the worn, wooden stairs to the basement.
Pulling a large brass key from the pocket of her robe, she placed it in the bronze railroad padlock and turned the key. The hasp sprung and she hung the lock on a nail beside the door and pushed the heavy, wooden door open. A rush of warm musty air filled her lungs. She walked between the rows of shelving, taking comfort in her well-stocked pantry. She grabbed a tin of pancake mix and returned to the kitchen, locking the basement door behind her. Once the skillet was heated he made a stack of pancakes and put them in the oven to stay warm before returning to her bedroom with two large cups of hot coffee. She gave Harold a nudge with her knee as she passed the settee and set the mugs of coffee on a small Victorian end table near her chair. Pulling her comforter from her bed, she wrapped it around her body and sat.
“Harold.” She probed him with her foot. “Hey Harold, it's time to get up. I made some coffee. She poked him again. “Come on, get up. We need to talk."
Harold peeked out from under his comforter, reluctant to give up the warmth and peace of slumber.
"Good morning Faye," he said as he pulled himself into the sitting position.
"Did you sleep well?"
"I did," Faye said, handing him his cup of coffee. "I always sleep well."
"Lucky you." Harold took a sip of the coffee.”This is really good, thanks.” He took another sip.
“You’re welcome. I made it myself...fresh ground.” Faye grinned. She knew the Quarry Boys, as she liked to call them, drank nothing but instant coffee.
"I figured that." Harold said. "Do you have a basement full of the stuff, or what?"
Faye was startled that he was so close to the truth, but let it pass, not wanting to open that topic for discussion. She dismissed it for what it was, an idle comment. “
I have, let's say, an ample supply of coffee. I made some pancakes, too. Do you like pancakes?"
"Do I like pancakes? Are you kidding? I haven't had pancakes in years. Where did you get the pancakes?"
"Cmon, Harold. I made the pancakes, too What do you think, I had them delivered?"
"I meant to say, where did you get the ingredients to make pancakes?"
"Hmmm. I would tell you but then I'd have to kill you."
"Seriously, Faye. Where do you get this stuff..these treats that nobody else seems to have?"
"As I recall Harold, that is exactly where the conversation ended last night. You wanted to know what I have been doing all this time while you and your cohorts have been doing whatever it is you've been doing out in the quarry park. What was the last thing I said to you last night?"
"You said that you would tell me what you've been doing after I told you the truth about what we had done.”
“Right, and it sounds like whatever you have been doing is finished. So, tell me what it is. I’m not going to play the guessing game again. Either you trust me or you don't. It hurts me to think that you don't, but I do understand. Things...life is different, now. We all have our secrets.”
Harold sighed. He thought about how upset Leland would be to find out that he hadn't told Faye the truth about number eight and the hanging garden. He thought about Milton's desire to make their oasis public knowledge.
"Everyone will benefit," is what Milton said dozens, no, hundreds of times during the dome's construction. Harold suspected it was an effort by Milton to get more helping hands during the construction of the dome. Harold resisted going public. It wasn't a singular point of objection. The dome was his idea and he wanted to own it. He wanted it to stand as a monument to his ingenuity and vision.
"I told you the truth, Faye. It's like I said. We pumped water from number three into number two quarry."
"BS. You're telling me it took you twelve years to accomplish that? You must think I'm a fool, Harold."
"That's not all. We built living quarters in the machined shed. Like you, we salvaged building materials and spent a lot of time looking for food and fuel on abandoned properties. We cut firewood. We prepped the one remaining fire truck so it's ready to fight a fire. We built passive solar collectors. I found a battery operated short-wave radio this past summmer. I'm teaching myself Morse Code so I can understand all the activity on the radian. Maybe make some contacts in other towns.”
"OK, fine. You've been keeping yourselves busy. I'm happy for you. I guess you're not ready to include me in your family of confidants. So, don't expect me to confide in you, Mr. Cooke. I thought...well, obviously I have different priorities. I want some companionship, Harold. I thought you wanted the same thing. I was wrong. "
"I'm sorry I've upset you, Faye."
"I doubt that Harold. Either you are an idiot or extremely selfish. I haven't figured out which. Forget it. Let's eat those pancakes before they dry out." Faye rose, discarding the down comforter and robe. Harold glimpsed her naked flesh before she pulled on some heavy canvas jeans over her flowered long underwear and donned a thick, black, turtle-neck wool sweater.
Harold listened to her over-sized winter boots emphasizing her disgust on each step.
Harold sat for a moment until he began to feel like an interloper. He quickly dressed and proceeded down the stairs. The second floor windows were covered with corrugated metal on the inside, but just enough light filtered pas
t to illuminate multiple cases of coffee and dry goods stacked head high in every room. He felt the fool. Faye would be a formidable ally.
He hung his head, as he descended the final flight of stairs to the main floor, again noting the heavy building materials that Faye had installed over and around the windows and front door. She was preparing for battle. He walked into the kitchen, hat in hand.
"I have to get going, Faye."
"Don't you want any pancakes? I have them dished up."
"No thanks, Faye. I'll see you later."
"Suit yourself, Harold."
Harold unlocked the back door and slipped outside. He heard the bolts being slammed into the locked position. He stepped off the porch as something shattered against the steel door. He knew it was the plate of pancakes.
#
"Hey Casinova," Milton yelled as Harold entered the smelly confines of home. He was immediately ashamed of the condition of their living quarters. Compared to Faye’s, they were living like rats in a barn. What would she think? She would probably refuse to enter.
"We need to clean up this dump,” he said, kicking at the miscellaneous items scattered on the floor.
Milton scowled. "I thought you'd be nursing a worn out winky, man. What's up? What are you mad about...didn’t you get laid?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Where is Leland?”
"He's gone for water. It was your turn, you know. He was so happy, he decided to take a turn for you."
"What's he so happy about?"
"He thought you were going to come clean with Faye, man. You know...tell her the truth about number eight and then play kissy face all night long. I'm guessing that ain't what happened."
“You got that right.” Harold threw his jacket into the small office.
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
"No."
"Care to tell me why?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Really? I've know you for what...twenty-five years? You think I don't know you? I know you Harold, and I respect you. What I don't know is why you insist on keeping a secret from a woman who obviously loves you."
"That's what I said. You wouldn't understand."
"You're right. I don't understand that particular aspect. And, I'll tell you this. Leland will not understand either."
"Not understand what?" Leland asked as he pulled the water wagon through the door.
Milton couldn’t contain himself, “Your dad didn't tell Faye about number eight and Harold's Hanging Gardens,” he blurted.
"Shut up, Milton." Harold barked from his office. He turned on the short-wave radio, put the headphones over his ears, avoiding eye contact with his son. "Leave me alone."
Leland was stunned. He sat down and put his head in his hands to muffle his sobbing.
CHAPTER 11- Twelve Years Later - May 1
Amber Kirby knew her mother was soon to die of Lupus, or malnutrition, or dehydration or a spider bite. She had weakened to the point of helplessness. Despair etched her already hollow features; there was no fight left in the once exuberant woman. She had all the symptoms, the same symptoms that dozens of their friends had displayed just before passing. Amber knew it would be soon.
She mopped her mother’s lips with a damp rag, then tilted her mother’s head back slightly and squeezed the rag over her gaping mouth, hoping some of the water would finds its way down her throat without choking her. Jade choked on the drizzle of water and began to drool. Amber took a sip from the straw of her HydroPack and placed her mouth over her mother’s, transferring the water as best she could. It spewed forth from her mother’s mouth and Amber did her best to suck it up, knowing she couldn’t afford to waste a drop. She glanced at the HydroPack’s gauge; it bobbed slightly under the one gallon mark. Enough for a day if they didn't exert themselves. She hoped to find a Federal Water Dispenser before her mother died. Which was a tall order. Most Federal Water Dispenser’s (FWD) had been rendered useless by years of hacking and abuse making it nearly impossible to survive in her neighborhood. The FWD closest to the house was gone completely. Carried off by some yahoo’s a long time ago.
The nearest one was outside the Constable’s office in Gunflint, Texas, twelve miles to the North. She studied her mother...it may be too late.
Jade Bowles sat motionless in the shade of the old Oak tree. She was lost in her past. She had enjoyed her life in spite of the Lupus, but was disturbed by the fact that her two children, Leland and Amber had never met. She once thought she would live to see her children united. Leland was given his father’s, Harold Leland Cooke, middle name. Harold was her first lover. She regretted leaving them, now. Not knowing her son was a wound that never healed. She pampered her daughter, Amber, to make up for her transgressions. Sometimes that worked, most of the time it didn’t.
Public schools closed shortly after the water rationing began. Jade taught Amber as best she could using the few school books she could find in the neighborhood. Mostly middle school books, mostly propaganda; especially in the Early-American history books. Lies...all lies. She used a black marker as her primary editing tool and her pen to fill in the truth’s, making sure that Amber understood what really happened to the Native-Americans. Eventually she let Amber spend the day doing whatever she liked. Amber liked to walk, and would be gone for hours on end, exploring the deserted, development once populated by people they both loved and missed. They were alone now.
She never really recovered from Ethan’s sudden death. She had done the best she could and now she was tired. She felt her usefulness had been fulfilled and was unwilling to fight to live in the caustic, parched environment that surrounded them now. She was ready to die and had said as much to Amber.
Eventually Amber accepted the idea. She could see it in her mother’s every slow, reluctant motion. However; Amber had no desire to watch her mother die an agonizing death inside the single-wide. Moreover; if she died soon, Amber would have to dig a grave in the red-clay of East Texas by herself. A task she wasn’t eager to attempt, having put shovel to the earth on many occasions, she new the clay would, like frozen caramel, resist her best efforts. Besides, she did not have the strength. She too was borderline dehydrated and semi-malnourished, having had only one protein bar a day for the past week. Three hundred calories per day was barely enough to keep one human alive, much less two.
Still, she was prepared to try. She desperately wanted to get her mother to the nearest Dehydration Station before she died. The DS in Tyler was the closest.
Transporting her mother sixty miles in the oppressive one-hundred and twenty degree heat wasn’t going to be easy. If she could get her there before she died, she would not have to suffer the stench of her decomposing body. The thought made her shudder. It was callous and selfish but pragmatic, nevertheless.
She needed fuel for the car. Low-octane gasoline was two hundred and twenty-six dollars a gallon last she heard. She aired up the tires on her old bicycle and pedaled from one neighbor to the next begging gas from folks she didn’t even know, sometimes pedaling over ten miles while carrying her precious gas can in one hand and steering with the other. Of the dozen or so folks that she found, four had donated one cup of gasoline each. She promised to pay them back, when she returned. They had nodded, smiled knowingly then wished her good luck, knowing she was unlikely to return.
One quart wasn’t enough, but it would get the little car moving in the right direction. She poured the gasoline down the fill valve of her Costco Cutter, givng the can several taps to claim the last dribble of fuel before rotating the cover to the locked position. Based on past experiences she should be able to drive the twenty-three miles to Murchison,TX before running out of fuel. The remaining twenty-seven and a half miles to Tyler would have to be covered at the peril of fate and circumstance. Or mercy, if indeed there was a God. After that? She had preferences, she just wanted to get there.
”The Great Spirit is dead." Jade blurted.
“What?” Amber was stunned. Her mother hadn�
�t spoken a word in days. The cryptic outburst meant nothing to her. She thought it may have been a reference to her mother's Native American spiritual beliefs; a topic she avoided as much as possible. She didn't believe in anything she couldn't see or touch. But the random statement struck a note .
"If you're talking about humanity, you’re right mom. We suffer through life now because of the greed and carelessness of many generations before us."
That's what really made her mad; the plunderers and extractors whom had ravaged the earth’s resources long before she was born.
“Lets get going.”
Jade stared blankly at her daughter but said nothing.
“To Tyler, mom. I need to get you some help.”
“Tyler? Going to see my doctor?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to see the doctor, honey, I just want to sleep.”
Amber fought back tears while helping her mother into the compact car. She strapped the makeshift wheelchair to the roof and shifted the Cutter into gear.
Her distance calculation was spot on. The little Costco Cutter, a Chinese version of the Volkswagon, putted to a stop one-hundred yards short of the crossroads in the heart of Murchison, Texas, just another dusty, deserted East Texas town. She pushed the Cutter off the road gaining a little momentum on the downward slope, she managing to push it behind a collapsing metal shed obscuring it from view of the road. She doubted if she would retrieve it, but instinct told her to keep all options open for now. It was early and anything cold happen. A little luck would help. Somebody might stop to give them a ride. She knew that too was wishful thinking. What chance did some crippled old lady and her daughter have? They won’t get a glance much less a helping hand.
Amber hauled the shopping cart out of the roof rack, and carried her mother to it, pushing her butt first, into it. She mounted and adjusted the umbrella to shade them from the unrelenting midday sun then began to push the makeshift wheelchair east along Highway 31.