“How long will this feed us?” Patrick asked. “It looks like so much.”
“It does look like a lot,” Ms. Mary agreed. “But with this many people, it will probably only get us through two days worth of lunches and dinners.”
“Wow,” Patrick breathed.
What Ms. Mary didn’t tell Patrick was that after their first night of soup, once there was room in the pot, she’d add more water, salt, and pepper to the mix. She did this for several reasons. First, a lot of the initial broth got absorbed into things like the pasta or the rice, especially when it sat overnight. This left the soup as more of a veggie mush. Second, adding water, yet at the same time continuing to add flavor through more salt and pepper, helped to extend the soup without the rest of the group getting wise. Everyone continued to enjoy the soup, not realizing there were fewer calories in it. It was a sort of mental game that Ms. Mary had grown accustomed to playing with her cooking for the group in a world where supplies weren’t easily replaceable.
“Next time I’ll use some of Charla and Wendell’s fish to try a fish stew,” Ms. Mary said. “But tonight, I think we’ll use their catch to have some breaded fish with our soup.”
“Mmm,” Patrick rolled his eyes in delight while holding his belly. “Can’t wait,” he groaned.
“Well, you’ll have to,” Ms. Mary smiled, liking the fact that not only was someone taking an interest in her cooking but was excited about it as well. “At least for another twenty minutes. That’s about all it’ll take for the fish to be done,” she nodded to a large frying pan pre-laden with Charla and Wendell’s catch of the day.
* * *
“What about the kids?” Julia asked. “They might have schools in St. Louis.”
“They might,” Michael conceded. “I have no idea. They didn’t mention anything about schools in the recorded message we heard on the radio, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t have them.
Christine Franko broke into the conversation as the Blenders sat around the campfire after finishing their fish and soup dinner. “For as much as I might want my own boys to continue their education, they’re getting a different sort of education right now. They’re getting an education on life, living, and how to survive. Math and science have been replaced by shelter building and biter avoidance…at least temporarily.”
“So our options are to try for St. Louis or stay put and make a go of it here,” Josh put it simply. “And if we stay here, what? We hunt, we fish, we farm?”
“That’s the general gist of it,” Ms. Mary nodded. “Doesn’t seem like there is much more to life…at least at this point.”
“How much longer would it take us to get there if we try to make it to St. Louis?” Wendell asked.
“Not really sure,” Michael shrugged. “I wouldn’t think that it would be much more than a week on the river. But that’s a very general estimate. There are all sorts of things that could lengthen that duration, including things like that dam we encountered back in Joliet.”
“So what if we decide to stay and it doesn’t work out?” Charla asked. “What then?”
“Then we go later,” Wendell shrugged. “Right?” he looked around at the rest of the group. “If they have things set up like it sounds like they do from the message they’re sending out, I doubt they’re going anywhere soon.”
“Who knows,” Michael shrugged. “Hard to predict what will happen tomorrow these days, let alone what things will look like in two or three months.”
“What if we go and it doesn’t work out?” Patrick asked. “I mean, what if they’re gone or what if they change their mind in the meantime and decide they have enough residents in their community by the time we get there? Where would that leave us?”
“I guess it will leave us pretty much where we’re at right now,” Michael considered.
“Not exactly,” Caroline interjected. “We’re giving up a situation that we know here. We don’t know how things will be there. Here, we have a relatively safe, secure environment. We have the ability to fish. There seems to be good ground to grow crops just across the river from us. And while we haven’t done much investigating of the forest, there might be some good hunting over there. We go to St. Louis, and it doesn’t work out, and we would have to start all over. And we might not find a place as suitable around there as we have here.”
“Well that doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence,” Wendell said. “What do you think, Michael?”
Michael shook his head and sighed heavily. “As usual, there’s no good answer…or at least not a definitive answer. I’m sorry, but I just can’t say. I’m as much in the dark on this as you all are. I’m not sure exactly what I want to do either. Part of me wants to return to some semblance of normalcy, and if that is what St. Louis is offering, then that’s what I’d like to do. At the same time, though, it’s kind of nice here. And this spot certainly seems safer than the big city. God only knows what lays along the route to St. Louis or awaits us once we get there. It’s a tough call…an impossible call. I guess if I had to pin myself down one way or the other, which is why we’re all here, I’d say I’m more of the mindset that we stay, but that we re-evaluate each week based on our progress, or lack thereof. If it seems like we’re thriving on our island home; that we’re hunting, fishing, farming, and surviving successfully, then maybe it’s a potentially longer term living location. But we’ll need more than a tent and a lean-to to make it through the winter. If it appears that we aren’t succeeding as we hoped, then I guess we could always make a run for St. Louis down the road.”
“That’s going to be kind of hard with our supply situation the way it is, isn’t it?” Caroline asked. “I mean, if we stay here for another week or two, even with Charla and Wendell fishing, we’ll continue to burn through our remaining supplies relatively quickly, won’t we? And if we don’t kill any bigger animals, we probably won’t have enough fish to make up the difference. It’s not like we’re hunters. I’ve never killed anything larger than a mouse or maybe a squirrel that I accidentally ran over with the car.”
“And if we’re successful with our farming efforts, most of the crops won’t be ready for months,” Ms. Mary added.
Michael nodded, studying the faces of those sitting around him. He was searching for signs pointing him toward one decision or another, but he didn’t really see any. “Well,” he finally breathed heavily, “should we give it another week and see how things go? If we manage to kill something big like a deer, added to the fish we catch and our remaining supplies, it might give us time to make a clearer decision. By that point in our stay, we may have learned more about the island and our surrounding location that can help point us in one direction or another.”
“I think that’s a reasonable idea,” Wendell agreed. “In a week, we shouldn’t have drained our remaining supplies so substantially that we couldn’t make it to St. Louis if we’ve decided that’s the right move, right?”
“Right,” Michael nodded, liking that Wendell was taking a more positive approach to his participation in their group meetings. “Ms. Mary, based on the fish that Wendell and Charla are catching, and the steps you’re taking to extend our remaining inventory of goods, how long would you give us before we’re completely out of food?”
Ms. Mary considered for a few seconds and then said, “We’ve been doing really well at stretching our meals…”
“You’ve been doing really well stretching our meals,” Michael corrected.
“Thank you,” Ms. Mary bowed her head with a smile. “Taking that into consideration, and based on our inventory count, I’d give us around two weeks, depending on Charla and Wendell’s daily catch, before we start encountering situations where we’re eating things as meals that we might not consider real meals.”
“What is a real meal?” Patrick asked.
“Meals where substitutes or additives include things like wood pulp or acorn mush or dandelion greens or parts of the fish you might not typically consider eating. Or we mig
ht include other more natural, and not necessarily bad ingredients, but ones that also don’t provide much in the way of caloric or nutritional value.”
“Ugh,” Patrick made a face at the mention of some Ms. Mary’s the options. “As long as we don’t turn into the Donner Party here or anything,” he gave an inadvertent shiver.
“God forbid,” his mother added.
“What’s the Donner Party?” Justin leaned over to ask his father sitting beside him.
“Don’t worry about it right now,” his father whispered back, waylaying the inopportune subject matter being raised.
“Okay then,” Michael said, getting the meeting back on track. “Should we vote?”
“What exactly are we voting on here?” Caroline asked. “Just stay or go? Or stay for a week or go? Or stay for a week or a month? Stay for a week and then vote again or go?”
“I’m in favor of the latter,” Josh spoke up, realizing that Michael often had more of the responsibility in these sorts of group decisions thrust on his shoulders than maybe there should be. “Stay for a week, see where we’re at then, and sit down for another one of these meetings at that point.”
Michael nodded. “Sounds good to me. All those in favor of staying put for another week and reconvening to debate our situation again then, raise your hand.”
Everyone in the group raised their hand.
“Then it’s decided. Next week we’ll revisit the issue. Until then, I say we get together a scouting party to investigate the woods across from us to see how the hunting looks. Maybe tomorrow.”
“And I’d like to offer my services,” Wendell announced. “In my former life as a school teacher, my particular area of focus was history, mainly American history. But I’m proficient in other subject matter as well. If you’d like, and when there is time,” he nodded to Josh and Julia Justak as well as Christine Franko, “I’d be more than happy to tutor the boys in their studies. We don’t have books or anything like that, but we can still do some history lessons, work on mathematics, handle a little grammar, and I think this island and surrounding woods could provide some excellent opportunities for science studies.”
“Aww,” the Franko boys both groaned in unison, tilting their heads back in exaggerated despair at the thought of schoolwork.
“That would be wonderful,” Julia Justak perked up excitedly. “I’d be more than willing to help you out with that, Wendell.”
“Yes, Wendell,” Christine Franko agreed. “That’s very considerate of you. Contrary to what you might think from the boys’ reactions,” she shot them a look, “we would welcome the opportunity to get back to a little school learning.”
A rumble of distant thunder drew eyes up toward a rapidly darkening sky. Gray, almost black in some instances, billowy clouds were rolling in from the west, consuming what little remained of an otherwise clear evening sky.
“Looks like we might have to call it an early night,” Michael announced. “Better get started on dinner cleanup and putting things away around the camp before we get soaked.”
CHAPTER 18
The third day of heavy rain brought with it some real concerns from the Blenders.
Huddled inside their tent after a lunch of tuna fish salad on crackers, the group waited impatiently. Their meal had done little to enhance the already pungent aroma lingering inside the tent after having a dozen people cooped up inside it for multiple days.
Patrick was playing cards with Justin, Jack, and Andrew. It was one of the best ways the youngsters had found to pass the time during the tediously long days spent crammed inside the cramped tent. The kids had upgraded to games like gin rummy, blackjack, and various versions of poker. And while their parents didn’t necessarily approve of these games at such young ages, the kids weren’t betting. And if it kept them from fighting and out of their parents’ hair, the adults were willing to forgo intervention. In fact, sometimes they even joined in playing the games just to kill an hour or two.
A thoroughly soaked Josh ducked inside through the tent’s zippered opening. He did his best to shed his jacket without dousing any of the others or making a sopping wet mess on the tent floor. Keeping their sole sleeping space free from moisture was at this point fast becoming a lesson in futility.
“So how’s it looking out there?” Michael asked as if he really didn’t want to know.
“Not good,” Josh shook his head and then shot a wary look over to where Justin sat huddled beside Julia. He didn’t want to worry either of them, but considering their situation, there was little way to break the bad news without them overhearing. “River has come up probably another foot at least. I don’t know how much longer we can wait on this rain to stop. Another few feet, and the water will have made it to the camp. Beaches are long gone. I’d say that half the island is under, and the water is coming up faster than before.”
“How fast would you estimate?” Michael asked.
“Hard to give you an exact reading. It’s probably rising at a rate of a couple inches every hour.”
“Mmm,” Michael nodded, his eyes drifting away from Josh, and away from the worried stares of the others to settle upon one side of the tent. A bead of water had seeped through the tent’s outer shell. It was trickling down the outside of its inner lining leaving a silvery trail in its wake.
“Current is really moving out there,” Josh added after a moment. “A lot of debris coming down…big stuff…trash, limbs, I even saw a car float by while I was out there.”
“So what’s our move here?” Wendell asked, praying that someone, anyone had an idea.
Wendell looked the most worried of all the Blenders squeezed inside the tent. He had been proud of himself up to this point. It had taken so much effort to control his fear of water and of drowning. Only Charla knew just how much the trip had bothered him. And he recognized that even she didn’t realize the full extent of the fear that had gripped him during certain portions of their journey. He’d even managed to find some enjoyment in their new island home, rationalizing that should he ever want to abandon their living location, it would only take a short boat trip across the smoothly flowing river to do so. A minute or two at most and he would be freed from his proximity to water.
But now, his worst fears were coming to fruition. He found himself trapped on a water-created prison, a situation born from his worst nightmares.
“The way I see it,” Michael said, “there isn’t a whole lot we can do other than sit tight and hope that the rain stops. With the current the way it is, we couldn’t venture out in the boats even if we only wanted to get across the river to shore. We’d be swept downstream so fast that we would probably capsize in the waves or be hit by some of the same sort of debris that Josh mentioned.”
“But what if the rain doesn’t stop?” Wendell asked.
“Has to stop at some point,” Patrick pointed out.
“But what if that point is too late for…for…us?” Wendell finally got out the words, not wanting to say them, especially in front of the kids, but finding himself forced by the severity of the situation.
“That’s a question I can’t answer,” Michael said, his eyes steely, almost glazed.
Wendell could tell the man’s thoughts were elsewhere. He wasn’t sure where; maybe a place Wendell had no desire to go, or that he had already gone but didn’t want to return to.
“For now,” Michael continued, “I don’t see any other way forward but to sit tight and hope this damn rain stops soon.”
Wendell wished he hadn’t asked. He found Michael’s words worse than the man having said nothing at all. He needed reassurance, confirmation that everything would be okay. He’d been so strong recently. Now it was time for the others to be strong for him, but he wasn’t finding that strength, not in this situation. It seemed that everyone was just as frightened as he was. The thought of just sitting and waiting for the water to come to them was torturous to Wendell. And yet, Michael was right. At this point, there was no other good option.
* * *
Michael stood beside Josh at the river’s edge, now just yards from where their camp was positioned.
“We need to get off this island,” Michael said. “If we wait much longer, the whole place is going to be submerged.”
“The question is, how?” Josh shook his head. “You already said the current is too swift. I mean, look at it,” he gestured to the rapid flow, swirling and eddying past them. And look at all that debris.”
“It’s too swift for the canoe and the fishing boat, but maybe we could make it in the kayak,” Michael suggested.
Josh made a face of uncertainty as he considered the idea, tilting his head to one side. “Maybe, but even if you could make it, it’d only get two people across. Then they’d be stuck. It’d be too dangerous and take too long to try to ferry people back and forth to shore across the river. Plus, the kayak only holds two people. You’d have to send it back with just one person to be able to ferry someone else across. And I don’t think any of us are strong enough on our own to battle those sorts of currents. I don’t even know if two of us are. It’s just moving too damn fast.”
“I know,” Michael breathed heavily. “I thought about that too. But what if we made a safety line?”
“What? Like a rope or something hooked onto the kayak? I don’t think we have a rope long enough to span the river.”
“We have a couple shorter ropes. We could knot them together.”
“They’d better be damn tight knots,” Josh nodded toward the current. “That current looks strong enough to take you a half mile or more downstream in just a few minutes.”
A moment of silence passed between the two men as each contemplated their own thoughts.
“So okay,” Josh picked up where Michael had left off with his point, “you get your tether tied onto the kayak so that you can pull the boat back to shore if something goes wrong. Then what? We’re still in the same predicament. The current is too doggone strong to fight. We’ll just end up having to haul the people in the kayak back to the island with the tether when they can’t make it across.”
The Last Bastion Box Set [Books 1-5] Page 77