Simpler Times

by Jerry D. Young

  The rest of the students weren’t idle. It became obvious that the greenhouses would be vital to their continued food supplies and they were treated with TLC.

  Everyone that wanted to had a chance to go into Cape Girardeau to check on families, friends, and their possessions if they had any. Glenn would only take the Suburban to the moderately damaged outskirts of the city. The area around the actual detonation was too hot to approach.

  Those that went the earliest saw a few people scrounging in the debris, but they were few and far between. None seemed inclined to talk to Glenn or the students. After a while they saw no one and had covered all the city they could, without running up their accumulated dosages.

  Very few people recovered anything. None found any family or friends that had survived.

  After the inspections in Cape Girardeau, Glenn kept busy. Jeremy and Helen could both drive big trucks and he started taking them out onto Interstate 55 to recover everything they could from abandoned transport trucks, using the Suburban. It took a while to find two trucks that would run, but then they transferred trailer after trailer to the farm.

  The Suburban had a trailer attached and they loaded it up when they couldn’t move a trailer that had things they wanted. That kept them busy all summer and into the fall.

  Fall came early, and the harvest from the open fields was marginal. What wasn’t eaten, as with the greenhouse products, was pressure canned and put into storage. Glenn had several pressure canners, literally thousands of jars, and lids aplenty.

  The students were young and eager to learn. Several of them picked up the canning easily and supervised the steady activity of canning the produce from the greenhouses year round. Canning wasn’t the only method of food preservation for which Glenn had made arrangements. He also had several commercial dehydrators in storage. They were taken out and some of the produce was dried.

  Not all the animals had fit into the barns. As those with high radiation doses died, they were butchered and the meat processed. The butcher trimmed out the meat well away from the bones, and discarded the organs, to avoid the possibility of getting any radioactive portions of the animal.

  Much of the meat was dried and some was canned. They lost perhaps forty percent total of their beef herd to radiation sickness. The breeders had been taken to the barns and came out just fine. Many of the steers were put in the other animal barn, along with other, smaller stock. The two barns just wouldn’t hold all of the steers and the other animals. Why some of the outside herd survived was attributed to the fact that those animals were the ones that spent much of their time inside the weather shelters in the pastures during the worst of the fallout and ate mostly from the hay ricks, instead of grazing.

  Winter was hard on the heels of fall. They began to harvest the oil crops in early November, as the snow began to fall. Olive began to show some signs of recovery, but Tabitha continued to lie at death’s door.

  Gradually radio communications came back. Short range radios like the FRS/GMRS radios and two meter Amateur radios had worked shortly after the war, but were limited in the distance they could talk, even more so than before the war.

  The lower frequencies were now usable and Glenn spent much of the winter listening to Amateurs from around the world discussing their fates, and the fate of the world. Glenn kept the rest of the farm residents apprised of what he was hearing, often times having a shortwave and Amateur radio night of listening in lieu of watching the many DVD’s that had been stocked by Glenn.

  One night in late February, as a blizzard raged outside, those in the farm buildings were listening to the radio traffic from Glenn’s Amateur Radio and shortwave receiver. Suddenly a signal much louder than the ones they’d been listening to came on the air.

  “Hello. Can anyone hear me? Hello. Can anyone on the Mississippi River hear me?”

  The frequency fell silent for a moment, but then one of the stations that had been on the air initially responded. “I’ve got you, dude. Where on the Mississippi are you trying to reach?”

  “Anyone between Cairo and Memphis. We’re in trouble here. We’re almost out of food and haven’t been able to find any. Is there anyone on the river that can help?”

  “I don’t know, man. Food is a precious commodity. What you got to trade?” This from another person the group had not heard from before.

  “Coal. Lots of coal.”

  Glenn’s ears perked up. They burned wood in their outdoor furnaces, but they were made to burn coal or wood. He keyed the microphone. “How much food do you need, and how much coal do you have.”

  “My kids are starving and the adults are worse. We’re on a tugboat with sixteen barges of coal. It was just loaded in Ohio before the war. It was supposed to go to the Florida power plants. We found it and have been living on the boat, drifting down the Ohio. We just hit the Mississippi at Cairo. I’d give the whole batch to anyone that can feed us for a week. We just want to get to the Gulf. We have family there.”

  “Any chance you can bring it up to Cape Girardeau?”

  “Hey, buddy!” broke in the one that had commented about the food. “I got dibs on this deal. Back off. How much food you need, mister? How many people for a week?”

  “There are twenty-two of us. Two babies. Four adolescents, five teenagers and eleven adults. We desperately need milk for the babies.”

  “I ain’t got no milk, but I got four cases of Spam that I’ll trade for that coal. Forty-eight cans. That’s more than two apiece for the week. Bound to be someone that can use that coal if I get it.”

  “That’s all?” You could hear the dejection in his voice. “And we need something for the babies. They’re little. They can’t eat solid food. Can’t anyone help with the babies?”

  “We can,” Glenn said, keying the mike again. “We have milk. And we’ll give you more than Spam. Enough for a month for all of you if you’ll bring that coal to Cape Girardeau.”

  “I told you to back off!” came the annoyed voice. “This here is the River Rat and don’t nobody cut into his deals. Mister, you just bring that old tug on down here to Memphis and you’ll get yourself plenty of that Spam. I’ll throw in another case.”

  “Well never make it to Memphis without some of us dying. You, there, with the milk. We’ll be there tomorrow evening. Have something showing on the shore where we can pull in.”

  “Actually,” Glenn replied, looking at the large scale map of the area pinned to one wall, I need you to take the Headwater Diversion Channel off to the west in that bend just south of town. You should be able to go all the way to the Interstate 55 bridges in it. Can you do that?”

  “Hang on a minute.” There was silence for some time, but the same voice came back on and said, “Yeah. Someone on board knows where it is. We’ll be there.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow then. Have your appetites ready. Murphy Farm signing off.”

  Fredrick flicked the intercom button in the common room of the residence and work building. “You know, don’t you, that there is a blizzard out there?”

  “A Unimog with a snow blower will make it. I need some volunteers to get the food ready, and someone to go with me in the morning.”

  There was no shortage of volunteers for either job. Glenn and Thomas left the next morning at 6:00 AM with the blizzard moderated somewhat. It was still windy and snow was falling, but it wasn’t as bad as the night before. There was a two foot accumulation of snow, with drifts up to eight to ten feet high. The Unimog had no difficulty clearing a path for itself toward the Interstate 55 bridges that crossed the Headwater Diversion Channel.

  Late that afternoon Glenn saw the barges and tug boat approaching the bridges as he drove the Unimog, snow blower still going, on the dirt road that led from the county road almost to the Channel. He pulled off the road and ran almost up to the river, reversed and cleared more area of the two feet of snow covering it.

  Glenn and Thomas got down out of the Unimog and watched as the barges were maneuvered against the bank of the c
hannel, just clear of the bridge supports of the northbound I-55 lanes. There were several tents set up on top of the coal on one of the barges connected to the tug boat.

  Several men swarmed out of the tug onto the barges to tie them off to the bank. They worked the heavy cables around trunks of half a dozen trees. One man jumped down to the ground in front of Glenn and Thomas.

  “I take it you’re from Murphy Ranch? You have the food?”

  Thomas went back to the Unimog to start transferring the boxes of provisions as Glenn held out his hand toward the man. “Yes. To both questions. I’m Glenn Murphy.”

  “Seth Gromacher.” He shook Glenn’s hand and then turned back toward the barges and waved.

  It was only then that Glenn noticed five people stand up from where they were laying on the snow covered coal in the approaching darkness, rifles in their hands. Several other people began to approach, walking the edges of the barges.

  Glenn, a burning feeling in his stomach, slowly walked over to the truck and took a box of the supplies from it and took it over to the small crowd gathering. A few of them went back with Thomas to the truck to help with the rest of the boxes.

  Tense, Glenn, standing out of the way with Seth, asked, “What are you going to do now?”

  “Guess we’ll all get back on the tug. It’s crowded, but we can make it. Head on down the river to the Gulf. We have people there. I sure am glad you were on the radio last night. We really are starving. We never should have brought the coal with us. It really slowed us down. If we’d just made a run with the tug, we’d have been there by now. I don’t know what you plan on doing with all this, but you’re welcome to it.”

  Glenn nodded, the tenseness beginning to ease. “We can use it.” He frowned slightly. “Though I’m not sure how we are going to get it from here to where we need it.”

  Seth laughed. “Not to be rude or anything, I’m glad it’s your problem and not mine.” A couple of men approached.

  “We got it. It’s at least a month for all of us,” one of the men said.

  Seth shook hands with Glenn again. “Thanks. You ever get to the Gulf you look us up.”

  “We will.”

  Two men had been working on unhooking the tug from the barges. It was only a couple of more minutes before everyone from the tug was back on it and the tug was backing away from the barges. It was tight maneuvering, but the pilot turned the tug around and headed back down the Channel toward the river.

  Thomas walked over to Glenn. “We got it. Now what do we do with it?” He laughed.

  Glenn smiled in return. “We’ll figure something. Let’s get going before the snow gets worse.” With that they got back into the Unimog and Glenn headed them for the Farm, not needing to use the snow blower again until they were halfway there.

  It was after midnight when Glenn pulled the Unimog into the farm compound. He said goodnight to Thomas and went to the farm house, and then into the basement shelter. Going to a cabinet built into the wall, he tripped a hidden latch and swung the cabinet away from the wall. There was an opening into a small room built onto the outside of the basement wall.

  Glenn flipped a light switch. It illuminated the room full of weapons, ammunition, and related equipment. He took a PTR-91 from a rack holding several identical rifles. He took a loaded 30-round magazine from a stack on a shelf and inserted it into the magazine well of the PTR-91.

  Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Glenn picked up one of several cordura musette shoulder bags and put six of the 30-round magazines into it, and then slung it over his other shoulder. Glenn turned out the light, left the room and secured it again.

  When he went to bed Glenn’s nightstand had the musette bag on it, and the PTR-91 leaning against it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Glenn instituted firearms lessons the next day, amid many objections. He did not make it mandatory, but strongly encouraged everyone to consider it. He made the announcement at a meeting he called, held in the common room of the residence and work building.

  Tabitha was the first to leap to her feet and protest the presence of firearms. “We don’t need them! We are a peaceful group!” She was still pale and unable to contribute much to the running of the farm. Her anger put a little color in her cheeks.

  “Thomas and I made a grave error yesterday when we took the food to those on the tug boat. They had at least six people armed with rifles watching us. They could have easily killed us, taken the food and the truck, and been on their way. My pistol would not have made much difference at all if they had decided to attack us.”

  “You took a gun to the meeting?” yelled Tabitha as others muttered softly. “No one authorized that! I didn’t even know we had any guns here. I would have protested if I’d known.”

  “I’ve been carrying a pistol daily since early on,” Glenn said. “I realized yesterday it wasn’t enough.”

  “Where are you going to find guns now?” asked one of the students.

  “I’d thought about this from the beginning and made preparations. I didn’t do anything earlier about it since it just didn’t seem necessary. Yesterday, being under the muzzles of half a dozen rifles changed my mind. I want as many people as possible trained in firearms handling. Many of you heard River Rat on the radio warning us not to interfere. He could be a danger to us and our life here.”

  Again it was Tabitha that spoke up. “There won’t be any trouble if we don’t start it. If you had just given that family the food without trying to get something for it, that guy would never have said anything. From what you said the family would have given up the coal without any problems to them.”

  “I am not going to make anyone take the firearms training that doesn’t want to take it, but the training will take place. All of those interested see me after this meeting.”

  “I protest!” Tabitha said. “We should vote on this!”

  “This is not a democracy,” Glenn said, his voice rising just a bit. “This is my place and my rules go. All of you are guests here, except for my direct employees. Anyone is welcome to leave if they don’t like the way I’m running things.”

  “You can’t do that!” someone else called out. “This is the only really safe place there is around here. Everyone else is just barely making out.”

  Glenn saw Tabitha struggling to get to her feet again, but Brittany was talking to her urgently and keeping her in her chair. Quickly Glenn said, “The meeting is over. Those that want the training, see me at my house in a few minutes. Those that want to leave, if there are any, get packed and let me know. I’ll have someone issue the food and you can leave.”

  Before Tabitha or anyone else could complain, Glenn was out the door. He went over to his house, looking around the Farm building compound with a jaundiced eye. There had been some thought of defense when he laid out the building plan, but it was suddenly obvious that much more could be done.

  A full dozen people showed up at the house a few minutes later, including Jeremy; Helen; Fredrick, his wife, and oldest son; Alison; and six students. Four male and two female. Neither Tabitha nor Brittany showed up, which didn’t surprise Glenn.

  Fredrick, his wife Janine, and his oldest son Fred, Jr. were each carrying a long arm, and all three also wore a gun belt with a holstered handgun. “We all shoot,” Fredrick told Glenn. “Janine and I have Ruger SP101’s in .357 magnum, Fred has a Ruger Mark III .22 LR.”

  He hoisted the scoped bolt action rifle he was carrying. “Got a Ruger M77 Hawkeye in .30-’06. Janine has a Marlin .410 lever action shotgun, and Fred a Ruger 10/22.”

  “You any good with the .30-’06? Glen asked.

  “Out to three hundred yards,” Fredrick replied. “After that my groups start to open up.”

  “How do you feel about being a sniper?”

  “I can handle it if I have to.”

  Glenn nodded and turned to the others. “Anyone else have their own weapons?” The rest shook their heads.

  “Okay. We’ll keep this simple.” Glenn
went through the basics of firearms safety, as he’d been taught not so long ago. Then each person had a chance to fire the various firearms types that Glenn had provided for the Farm. Rifles, shotguns, and handguns.

  Glenn was disappointed when everyone picked their preferred long gun and side arm. No two people made the same selection of both. But he decided it was best for each to have what they were comfortable with, rather than dictate commonality across the board. It wasn’t too bad, anyway. Glenn had limited his purchases for the Farm to only a few options, so there was some inherent commonality.

  It was cold and clear when Glenn led the group to a safe area to shoot. They waded through the snow to place several targets at different ranges so everyone could get in some practice.

  Again Glenn went over the safety aspects of firearms and then led the way in firing his PTR-91 and the Para Ordinance P-14 he carried. The others practiced with their choices until it began to get dark in the early afternoon, and the wind and snow began again.