He’d scrounge food and other supplies from the trailers left at the truck stop. He’d melt snow and boil the water to drink. And Lenny had a secret he didn’t tell the others. In the back of the yard sat a nondescript twenty five foot trailer full of cigarettes and booze. It was headed to a chain of liquor stores in San Antonio when the trucker decided he’d rather spend his last few days with his family instead. So he dropped it in the yard and told Lenny what was in it.
“I won’t be back,” the trucker had said. “Help yourself to whatever is in the trailer.”
Lenny had been an alcoholic all his life. And his mouth watered at the prospect of an unlimited supply of free booze.
It wouldn’t be an easy life on any of them. But it was relatively safe. And home is what you make it, after all.
By the time the sun set in the chocolate brown sky, the four in the compound were exhausted. But Marty was the leader. So he volunteered to take the first watch. He told Joe, “Go grab a few hours of sleep. Then you can relieve me for the rest of the night.”
And as the other three cranked up their tractors and let them run through the night, Marty spent the night crawling back and forth around the compound, kneeling down to watch, from underneath the south trailers. Watching for any sign of movement that would indicate trouble.
It was going to be a long seven years.
Chapter 7
It was Tuesday evening, and time for the weekly “tribal meeting.”
The day the group had assembled in the abandoned salt mine to ride out the storm, they had met to decide their form of government. They fashioned it upon some of the Native American tribes. Every man and woman over the age of eighteen would have his or her say on key decisions that affected the group. Children would be expected to watch and learn, but to stay silent. Each adult who had something to say would have the opportunity to say it, and then given a chance to vote once all the talk was done.
A small group of tribal elders, placed in their positions based solely on their age, would cast ballots to break all tie votes, and would also use their inherent wisdom and experience to settle disputes. As in most Native American societies, the word of the tribal elders was law and could not be disputed.
As spokesperson for the tribal meetings, Mark was merely a mouthpiece whose job it was to steer the meeting in an orderly fashion and to ensure all protocol was followed. He had no more real power than anyone else in the group.
“Good evening, all of you, and thank you for coming. I’d like to start off with a personal note of gratitude, if you will allow me, to those of you who have stepped up to the plate and agreed to help fill the volunteer positions needed to keep the mine running. Bryan and I knew going in that keeping the animals fed, keeping the power going, keeping the water flowing, was going to be more than we could handle alone. Thank you to all who have volunteered to help out.
“You can see on the whiteboard behind me that we only have three more positions to fill. Karen is looking for a backup in the greenhouse, to grow fruits and vegetables, and to care for the fishes. It should ideally be someone with a green thumb. Or, at least someone who doesn’t kill every plant he touches like me. This position is part time, two days a week, and is needed solely so that Karen doesn’t have to work seven days a week.
“We also have one position left for the water treatment plant. This person will drive a golf court to each of the RVs twice a week, to collect the gray water from each RV’s tanks. Then he’ll drive a different golf cart, with a fresh water tank, to each RV a couple of days a week to fill up the RV’s fresh water tank. It’s not a glamorous job, but it’s a necessary one.
“Lastly, we’d like someone with some mechanical experience to help Robert maintain the motor pool. The motor pool is the fleet of vehicles we will need to survive after the earth thaws and we go back outside. Even though the vehicles sit most of the time, they still need to be started occasionally to keep their engines and batteries at peak operating levels. Also, routine maintenance and lubrication schedules have to be maintained.”
A hand went up at a table in the back. It was Sami, Sarah’s childhood friend and confidant.
“I’m good with plants, I can help Karen. But what will I be doing?”
Karen spoke up.
“It’s simple, really. We only have a small greenhouse, so we’re very limited for space. Therefore we don’t grow food to eat, although we will manage to provide an occasional tomato or strawberry for everyone. The primary reason we grow our plants is to collect seeds.
“Seeds have a short life expectancy. Two or three years, tops. So we can’t just sit on seeds for seven years and then expect them to grow when the earth warms again. They would be worthless. So we’re growing just a couple of each plant, so that we can collect seeds. We’ll take those seeds and replant them a year later, so that we can do the same thing. That way when the breakout comes, we will have fresh seeds that we can use to plant an orchard of fruit trees, and a wide variety of fruits and vegetables.”
Someone else asked what kinds of plants were in the greenhouse.
Karen went on.
“In the center, at the tallest part, we have two apple trees. A Granny Smith and a Washington Red. Next to those we have a peach tree, a walnut tree and a pecan tree. In the tropical section of the greenhouse, which we keep extra warm with sun lamps, we have a lemon tree, an orange tree, a banana tree and a pineapple plant.
“All of the trees are kept trimmed so they don’t exceed a few feet in height. The smaller they are the less water they require. That means that each tree will only produce a couple of fruit during any one year, but that’s really all we need for seed collection.
“The rest of the floor space… the areas between and on each side of the trees, is used to plant all of the various fruits and vegetables. We currently have strawberries, cucumbers, four types of melons, seven types of beans, five types of squashes, three types of tomatoes, two types of wheat, two types of corn and three types of potatoes. Coffee beans and tea plants. Then of course, we have carrots, several kinds of peppers and some assorted herbs and spices. And, oh, yes. Three types of grapes.
Hannah interrupted her at that point.
“Oh, goody!” Hannah said. “That means when we get out we can make our own wine.”
The group erupted in chuckles, and some of the adults seemed appreciative that wine would be available again sometime in the future.
Karen went on. “We don’t have the room to grow everything at one time, of course, but it helps that we only grow a couple of each thing. We’ll plant as many things as we can, and when they mature we’ll pull them up, harvest their seeds, and plant something else.”
Sami said, “Okay, I’m in. Sign me up.”
Mark wrote Sami’s name on the whiteboard, and addressed the group again.
“Are there any other issues that need to be brought up?”
Joe Kenny stood up.
“Any chance we can get some more water for the RVs? I’m having a hard time getting by on just fifty gallons a week.”
A couple others in the group nodded in agreement.
Mark said, “We can put that to a vote in a moment, but let me explain the rationale behind the rationing. Right now we only have the capability of recycling two thousand gallons of water a week. As we get more experienced in the process and get better at it, we might be able to recycle more, but at the present time, that’s the best we can do.
“When we incorporated the RV water rationing, it was based on that limit. If we use more of our drinking water than we can recycle, we’ll run out of it sooner. Then we’ll either have to stop putting water in the RVs completely or start drinking the recycled water. We could do that, because it’ll be safe to drink. But it will taste pretty nasty.
“Ultimately, though, it’s everyone’s decision, and we can certainly vote on it if you wish. Does anyone else have anything to add?”
John stood up to address Joe directly.
“Joe, try taking
a military shower, like they do when the Army is in the desert or somewhere else where water is in short supply. Turn the water on for just a few seconds, long enough to get your body and head wet. Then turn it off while you put soap on your body and shampoo on your head. Then turn the water back on and rinse everything off. That’s what I do and I only have to run the water for about three minutes each day. Fifty gallons a week is plenty for me.”
Phyllis stood up and added, “When we first got here we were using the RV water to make our iced tea and coffee. The taste wasn’t a problem because the tea and coffee masked the bad taste of the water. But we drank between four and five gallons a week, and that was coming out of our fifty gallon ration. So now we carry water jugs over to the kitchen to get drinking water. Not only does our coffee and tea taste a bit better, but that’s an extra shower we can get each week.”
Joe nodded at the suggestions. They made good sense.
Mark went on.
“Why don’t we take a quick vote first? We’ve vote on whether or not to increase the water quota. If we vote to increase, we’ll then have another discussion to decide how much. Is everyone okay with that?”
A few heads nodded.
“Anyone else want to speak before the vote?”
No one stood up.
“Very well, then. All in favor of increasing the RV water ration, please raise your hands.”
No hands went up.
“All in favor of leaving the water ration as is, please raise your hands.”
The hands of every adult present went up, including Joe Kenney’s. Joe was a reasonable man. He’d try the suggestions given by his neighbors and was now confident he could live with the water restrictions..
“Very well, the motion carries unanimously to leave the restriction as is. Is there any other new business, or anything else anyone wants to discuss?”
There was no other business. The group as a whole were content with their lives in the mine. They could see on the television how difficult life was on the outside, and they knew they were luckier than most. To complain about their living conditions would be very small minded under the circumstances.
They all knew they were lucky to be alive.
Chapter 8
Mark looked through squinted eyes at the alarm clock. It was just after three a.m.
He was never one who awakened easily in the middle of the night. Even when his body moved that early, it did so by rote. His mind was always in a fog that time of morning, a step or two behind his movements.
So when Hannah nudged him awake and said, “Honey, it’s time,” it took him a few seconds to comprehend. Time for what? Time for sleep? Sure. Good night, my love.
No, wait, time for… “Oh, my God!”
He was suddenly wide awake, and moving, his mind going from zero to sixty like a souped up Camaro.
But Hannah was the one carrying the baby. And she was the one who’d taken the courses on midwifery. She knew exactly what to do and when to do it. And she knew that the best course of action in this stage of the process was to remain calm.
Mark was in full panic mode. “Okay, is it coming now? I mean, right now? Can you stop it until everybody is up? I mean, how much time do we have? Does it hurt? Can I get you something? Should I go get Karen and Sarah?”
Hannah smiled the same beautiful smile that had won his heart the day they met so long before.
“Relax, sailor boy. We have plenty of time.” She reached out to him and held him against her breasts and brushed her fingers through his hair. “We need to do this thing methodically, and carefully, and I’m going to need you to not panic. Are you with me on this part?”
Mark’s mind was racing a hundred miles an hour, but she was right. He needed to be calm or he was no good use to her. And they needed to go through this together.
“My water broke an hour ago. It made a big mess on the bed, but we can deal with that later. I’ve been timing my contractions, and they’re about twelve minutes apart now. So we’ve got plenty of time.”
“What do you need for me to do, honey?”
“The first thing I need from you is to remain calm. I need to move over to the clinic. Karen and I set up everything we’ll need over there two days ago when I told her I felt close.”
“Should I wake Karen up?”
“No, let her sleep. We’ve got at least a couple of hours to go. We’ll wake her when I’m five or six minutes apart. What we need now is to move over to the clinic and just let nature take its course.”
“Wait here, I’ll get you a wheelchair.”
“No, I’d rather walk. But I’ll move slowly, and I probably won’t make it there in twelve minutes. So I’ll need you to walk with me and support me when I have a contraction, or if I get dizzy or weak.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Hold your horses, sailor. Wait until after my next contraction.”
He held her hand and looked into her deep brown eyes.
“Have I told you that you are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you? I mean, I’ve always heard that women are most beautiful when they’re carrying a child, but now I believe it’s really true.”
“Thank you, honey. Will you still feel that way in four hours, when I’m covered with sweat and cursing your very existence for doing this to me?”
“Yes, my love, even then.”
She smiled and said, “Well, at least in a few hours I won’t be as big as a house any more.”
He leaned over and kissed her.
“Honey, you’re not as big as a house.”
He could have left it at that, but he couldn’t resist.
“A two car garage, maybe, but not a house.”
It was his turn to smile, and Hannah laughed.
“Wanna guess who’s not getting lucky tonight?”
Then her smile went away and her face contorted into one of pain. Mark squeezed both her hands and held her close, but he knew that’s all he could do. She shuddered and whimpered like a small puppy in pain, waiting for the cramps to subside.
Once they were gone, she took a deep breath and said, “Okay, my love, let’s go. But we’ll go slowly. There’s no rush.”
They were within sight of the small clinic, perhaps fifty feet away, when the next wave came. It was a little bit harder than the one before it. Hannah assumed it was because she was on her feet and moving. She stood, slightly stooped over, and held her belly with both hands as she leaned into Mark. He steadied her while she rode out the contraction. Once it passed, she drew a deep breath and looked around, making sure she wasn’t too dizzy or weak to proceed.
When she was ready, she moved on, holding onto her husband for support.
Once inside the clinic, Mark helped her up on the table, and they timed the next three contractions. They were now just over eleven minutes apart, and almost perfectly spaced.
From the patient’s table, Hannah very calmly instructed Mark on the preparations to make. She told him how to scrub up, then to glove his hands and get out the towels and instruments they’d sterilized ahead of time just for the event.
Once he had everything laid out, he sat next to her, holding her hand, as they cycled together through the pain and laughter. They talked of their hopes and their dreams and their plans for this little boy, or girl, whichever God chose to give them. They agreed that this was a night that would stay with them forever. Mark offered to run to his small television studio in the back of Bay 8 to get a digital camcorder. “So we can capture it all for posterity,” he said.
She smiled, but was very firm: “Don’t you dare.”
When the contractions were six minutes apart, she said, “Okay. Now you can go wake up the girls. I need for you to be strong so they don’t panic. You have to tell them that everything is going according to plan, and they’re all going to deliver their first baby soon. Go now, and don’t dally.”
Mark dutifully gathered up Sarah, Karen and Sami and led them all back to the clinic. There were equal parts joy, ex
citement and stress in the room. Everyone present was nervous but trying not to show it. And everyone in the room loved Hannah enough to not let her down.
The first thing Karen did was take charge of the room. She took out her carefully written notes and laid them to the side of the exam chair. Hannah was the experienced midwife. She would guide them, unless she passed out or there were complications. If there were complications, someone would run to get Debbie. Debbie was a trained medic and EMT, and would know what to do.
Silently, Karen said a prayer. Then she carefully took a measurement to see how much Hannah had dilated, and compared the number to the chart in her notes. Everything appeared to be going well.
When the contractions were three minutes apart Mark lightened the mood by telling his wife the faces she was making looked just like the face she made during an orgasm. Hannah came back with, “Don’t make me come off this table…” and for a few brief moments it seemed everyone was having fun.
At just before noon, the baby crowned and Hannah began pushing. She squeezed Mark’s hands until they were purple. He didn’t care, and actually barely felt it. He was busy wiping the sweat from Hannah’s face and telling her how gorgeous she was.
When the time came, Karen handed him the baby to hold while she severed the umbilical cord and gathered up what was left of the birth sac. She bundled the waste up into a bloody sheet for disposal while Mark bathed his newborn son for the first time.
Hannah was beaming. The tears on her cheeks were tears of happiness. And as she held little Markie for the first time, he looked at her and smiled. The whole room cried. Karen said, “It’s just gas,” and Hannah countered, “Na-uh. He just wanted to let his mommy know he’s happy to be here.”
For the rest of the day it was just Hannah, Mark and the baby in the small clinic. The girls had helped Hannah transfer to the hospital bed, so she’d be more comfortable. The baby took to the nipple with no problem, prompting Hannah to comment he was just like his father, and Mark stood by with a bottle of newborn formula in case it was needed.
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