The Damaged Climate Series (Book 2): Drought Warning

by J. R. Tate

  “I’d like that, Ryan. I don’t want to just leave him down here all alone.”

  He spotted some lawn equipment in the corner of the cellar. There were a couple of shovels that would help. Grabbing them, he went back up and handed them to Darryl and Doug.

  “See that grove of trees back there? That’s where his shop was where he liked to work on his cars and things. If you don’t mind, can you guys start digging? The ground is probably going to be hard.” He worried about his father’s wheezing, but he seemed to be doing okay considering the situation. Maybe he was just good at hiding it but if so, he was an excellent actor.

  Darryl took the shovels. “We don’t mind at all, Ryan.”

  Ryan took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. Watching them digging Charlie’s grave was one of the hardest things he had ever witnessed. It made him think about the old cowboy days when this was something normal that families went through. Someone died on the trail? Dig a hole and put them down in it. It was their way of life. And now it was full circle – they were back to doing the same thing now.

  He didn’t want Margaret seeing it. It also allowed her a little more time to say her goodbyes to her soul mate. Limping back down the stairs, he stood at the bottom and continued to wait. Margaret finally looked up and nodded, wiping the moisture from her face. She was putting up a brave front and Ryan admired her for it.

  “Let’s do this, Ryan. Let’s do this and get back to Cecilia and Ty.”

  The three men carried Charlie up the stairs, his heavy weight hard on Ryan’s leg. The hole wasn’t the standard six feet that a usual grave required but with the drought-stricken land, they were lucky to get it as deep as they had. It’d be good enough and hopefully animals wouldn’t mess with him. If the dry conditions weren’t so bad, Ryan would’ve suggested a cremation but the chances of setting off another wildfire were almost certain.

  All three men took their baseball caps off and Ryan ducked his head. He wasn’t good at this. It was probably best to keep it short and simple. Darryl didn’t know Charlie well and Doug was being respectful. His new found helpful attitude was a fresh change.

  He didn’t want to spout of cliche’s. He didn’t want to be corny. But what else could he do? Hesitating, he looked up and took a deep breath.

  “Charlie Johnson was one of the hardest working men I have ever met. He raised the love of my life. I wish y’all could have known him better. I’m sorry it had to end like this but at least he won’t have to suffer through the imminent struggles we are going to face before we can get things back to normal.” Ryan wasn’t a praying man and through all of this, he had questioned his faith. For the sake of Margaret and Charlie, he began The Our Father, relieved when they all recited it with him.

  When it was finished Margaret clasped her hand in Ryan’s and squeezed. “Thank you, Ryan. Thank you for the kind words.”

  Nodding, they slid him down into his grave and Doug and Darryl proceeded to cover him. No one said another word. The wind blew, knocking the tree branches overhead together. The faint scent of smoke lingered in the air, burning Ryan’s nostrils, reminding him that their time was limited.

  After they finished, Ryan found a large rock and placed it at the head of the grave. “Maybe one day we can come back here and give him a real headstone.”

  The mood was solemn and everyone stayed silent. They gathered up their supplies and organized the remaining food in the cellar. There was quite a bit and it would be a nice addition to the dwindling supply they had back home.

  “We’ll ride together from here on out. Let’s go into Fox Lake and pick up the man who gave you the horses. We can double-check and make sure no one else needs help. And then we’ll head back.”

  “The fire looks to have gotten bigger,” Darryl said, pointing at the large smoke wall south of them.

  “We’ll have to go west first and make a wide circle around it. At least we have horses again. Should cut the travel time down significantly.”

  “What are the chances that we’ll actually find a wagon to carry the food?” Doug asked. “I’m telling you – the remains of Fox Lake make Harper Springs look like a thriving metropolis.”

  “We can build something to drag behind a horse. We should go ahead and do that. I don’t want to leave anything behind in case we can’t make it back here. Not to mention the looters. We leave it unattended for a few minutes and they’ll rob us blind.”

  They gathered up a couple of tree branches sturdy enough to support the weight of the food, long enough to cross over at the saddle horn, and also long enough to drag on the ground behind the horse. They laid shorter branches perpendicular and weaved willow switches to serve as a small net to keep the food from falling through. Ryan double knotted the switches, being gentle enough to not rip the drying wood. It took longer than he thought and Doug could’ve gone to Fox Lake and back by the time he felt comfortable enough with his homemade contraption. But he didn’t want them to split up. They had to stick together from then on out.

  Darryl piled the food on it and thankfully all of the items were big enough to not fall through the small holes in the willow net. There were also a few boxes of Mason jars that would come in handy when it came time to do some canning for the winter. Adding those to the pile tested the strength of his makeshift trailer but it stood strong, bowing in the middle from the added weight.

  It was a lot like when he weaved the switches back at his own cellar, making ropes to allow easy access in and out of his shelter. To make sure the supplies wouldn’t bounce off from the uneven terrain, he braided more switches together and tied everything down.

  “Who taught you how to make a travois?” Darryl asked.

  Ryan rocked the big branches back and forth, making sure nothing would jolt out of place. It was as good as it was going to get and they couldn’t waste any more time on it. “I guess all those westerns I used to watch helped.”

  “I guess if there’s one thing we can take from all of this, it’s learning to do all of this. When would you ever have done that, otherwise?”

  Ryan pulled himself up on the horse that would be pulling the travois and helped Margaret climb on behind him. Doug and Darryl would have their own horse for now, until they picked up the stranger in Fox Lake.

  “Let’s get to Fox Lake and then get home.” Ryan glanced over his shoulder, taking one last look at Charlie’s grave and to see how the travois was faring. So far, the food was staying in place. “You need anything, Margaret?”

  She patted him on the side and held on, her smile easing the knots in Ryan’s stomach. “I’m doing just fine, Ryan. I can’t wait to see Cecilia and Ty.”

  “Me too. It’s been too long.”

  ***

  Steve walked through the plowed rows in the field, hoping he’d see some form of vegetation popping through the dirt. The soil was cracked and dry. It would need another round of watering for it to stand a chance in the heat. Not to mention, many of the seeds planted were off of volunteer plants and that didn’t always prove to be a success in years past when he had tried it out, experimenting to see what he could come up with.

  Kneeling, he skimmed his fingers over the ground, the dirt crumbling, the dust flying up with the hot wind that swirled around him. If he had to guess, the temperature was at least one hundred and ten. Any sign of humidity was gone so at least the heat index wasn’t up but the dryness made it feel like a furnace was on full blast.

  Corn took a lot of water, so he rolled the large wheelbarrow down to the river and filled it with water, struggling to keep it balanced on the front wheel. It was low on air so pushing it back to the pasture was next to impossible. Grunting, he fought the resistance and got it to the section where the corn had been planted. Ducking a foam cup into the water, he gently poured it on the ground, watching the soil absorb it instantly, like a dry sponge that had been tucked away under a sink for years.

  He continued to distribute the water down each row and turned his attention to the
cotton. It wouldn’t take as much water so he would worry about it later. Cotton was beneficial and eventually would become a necessity but right now his focus was on food supply. If he could get it going, the cotton would be an added bonus and would be used to make clothing and supplies.

  The wheelbarrow didn’t hold water long and he found himself down at the banks, filling it up again. It took longer than anticipated without any help and he felt the sweat drip down his face, into his eyes and on his lips, the salt heavy on his tongue. Looking up at the sky, he hoped to see storm clouds on the horizon. A small rain shower would be helpful but the only thing that he saw was the blazing sun high above with no clouds building around them.

  Watering a second round, he moved on to the tomatoes and other vegetables they were planting. A few other men had joined him, no one saying much as they worked. The mood was solemn, like each of them was thinking about future and what it entailed.

  Steve tried to keep a brave front when it came to talking about how everything was going to play out. A positive attitude was hard to keep but Cecilia had enough worry on her mind. He didn’t need to let her know his true worries and add onto her fears. He hoped this would all work out – replenish the food supply, rebuild, and get things back to normal, whatever the hell that word meant.

  He needed a break. He had been at it almost all day, so he left the pasture and strode toward the foothills in the direction of the mountains. The grass crackled under his shoes as he walked, worrying about how dry everything was. The area was transitioning into a desert. Soon, any kind of farming would be impossible and they’d likely have to move.

  Leaning against a tree, Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The negativity came and went and he’d have to strip it clean from his attitude before he went back to the shelter. Mindy was going through her own demons of being taken by the looters and he really cared for her. Being alone felt good but he also felt vulnerable, being so far away from the rest of the group. He had almost succumbed to the looter’s evil plan and if Ryan hadn’t come by, he would’ve been in the same situation as Mindy had been in.

  Glancing at the horizon, he watched the sun lower. The heat rays appeared to be moving and if he stared too long, it was going to burn out his retinas. Sliding his back against the tree trunk, he sat down, grabbing a hand full of dirt, allowing the granules to slowly trickle through his open fingers. It blew away, drifting off into air, the wind carrying it to its new resting place. It was poetic and Steve found the art in it. The dirt was like so many others – having to leave their homes to find food, water, and resources to keep themselves and their families alive. He wondered about his ex-wife, his family, and his friends – were they still alive and fighting for survival?

  When Steve looked back up, his heart skipped a beat. Standing, he squinted toward the sun again, wishing he had some sunglasses. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he tried to make out what he saw. Silhouettes of men on horses, like what was seen in old western movies. The cowboy spots the Indians, their safety in immediate danger.

  Was it Ryan and his father? They were too far away to be able to tell but if it was, they were coming from the wrong direction. This was to the southwest of Harper Springs. Ryan had gone north to Fox Lake. Steve wasn’t the best with the area but he at least knew his directions and was learning where everything was.

  “Who is that?” he asked out loud, talking to himself as he speculated what it could be.

  More men joined on horses with a group of people on foot behind them. Some were small enough to be children. Was this the group of looters that Mindy had been talking about? He didn’t want to be caught away from Harper Springs alone – chancing being taken again wasn’t worth the risk. Reaching toward his ankle, Steve felt the revolver in the holster tied around his leg. It was loaded with six shots, which would never be enough to take that whole group down.

  Could they see him? If he could see them, it was likely they had already spotted him. They didn’t have the sun working against them and since he was down in a valley, maybe it was the perfect shield for them to not know he was there. They were still at least three fourths of a mile away and up near the mountain range. Maybe their plans weren’t even to come toward Harper Springs.

  Staying low, Steve made his way back to the shelter. Mindy would know how many men were in the group and would be a good source to know what to prepare for in case they were coming. She was sitting near the pasture when he got there, reading a book. Looking up for a split second, her lips curled into a small smile.

  “Where did you find a book?” Steve asked, scoffing at his curiosity at a time like this.

  “It’s a medical journal the doctor had stowed away in his basement at the clinic. It’s about all we have for entertainment and it beats sitting downstairs, twiddling my thumbs. Besides, with all the injuries and lack of good healthcare, why not read up? I’ve always wanted to be a nurse.” She flipped the book shut and looked up at him. “What’s going on with you? You look pale.”

  Steve sat beside her and took a deep breath. “That group of looters you were with...” he trailed off, trying not to act panicked.

  “Yeah?”

  “How big of a group was it?”

  “You saw them, didn’t you?” Mindy’s eyes widened and she scooted back. “Oh, shit. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “Just answer the question, would you?”

  “I don’t know. Ten or fifteen men. Seven women. And don’t even ask me to count the kids. I don’t even know. And that’s just a rough estimate. They could’ve picked up more along the way… or lost a few, like me.”

  “Not that I want to be the bearer of bad news but they’re in the area.”

  “That’s not good, Steve. Holy...” Mindy cut herself off when she saw that Ty and Cecilia were walking toward them.

  “What’s going on?” Cecilia raked her hand through Ty’s hair as he played in the dirt.

  Steve’s voice trembled as he replied, “I think Harper Springs might be in danger.”

  “What? Why?” There was hesitation in Cecilia’s voice, a look of disbelief on her face as her eyebrows arched. “What did you see, Steve?”

  “A bunch of men on horses. And others on foot. I don’t think they’re looking for a place to stay. I think they’re looking for a place to take over. And we’re that place. Look at what we’ve gotten done so far. I haven’t seen other towns but we’re in pretty good shape, considering the situation.”

  Mindy slipped the medical book into her bag and stood up, her usual sarcastic self was different. Her brow creased in worry and she paced. The group of looters must have had a huge impact on her.

  “He’s right, Cecilia,” Mindy replied, nodding her head. She looked over at Ty and lowered her voice. “They don’t even think twice when it comes to getting what they want. Killing, pillaging, raping...” Her voice caught in her throat and she quickly swiped a tear away with the back of her hand.

  “Oh my God… and you’re sure it’s them?” Cecilia asked.

  “I don’t know. But gut instinct is whoever I saw is up to no good.”

  Cecilia folded her arms over her chest, glancing back and forth from Ty to Mindy and Steve. She looked exhausted and the worry on her face had to have added at least five years to her features.

  “So what do you propose we do?” It was a good question, and one Steve wished he knew the answer to.

  Mindy chimed in, her small exterior a disguise for the fighter deep inside of her. “We get everyone together. Load all the guns. Gather all the knives. Make weapons out of whatever we can find. We can’t let them take us over… not without a fight. They’re used to people just surrendering and giving them what they want. We have to show them we won’t let that happen.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ryan was surprised what they saw when they got to Fox Lake. The town was in much worse shape than Harper Springs, as if they didn’t even know what had hit them. He steered the horse slowly, keeping an eye on the travois
. They hadn’t lost any supplies so far which made him feel confident in his handiwork.

  Margaret had been quiet during the ride into town and his heart ached for her. Leaving behind the love of your life was probably the hardest thing to go through and he knew if she had it her way, she’d have stayed behind to be with him. With Cecilia and Ty still alive, she had reason to get to safety and be with them. That was something to live for.

  “Doug, where is the guy you got the horses from?”

  Pointing, Doug motioned north. “He’s that way. Has a small cellar behind where the courthouse square used to be.”

  “And he’s the only one you saw?”

  “Yeah. Either they didn’t take cover or they got hit with a lot bigger tornadoes than we did.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible,” Ryan replied, shaking his head. “Shit, I didn’t think things could get worse, and look at this.” He motioned across the debris with one hand while holding the reins with the other.

  “There might be survivors outside of town. Seems more people lived out in the country up here,” Darryl said. “But we gotta think about time. As much as I’d love to try and find more people, we have to get back to Harper Springs. We’ve got things to add to the food supply and we have to make sure the wildfire didn’t get to them.”

  Ryan nodded his head in agreement. It was a farming town where most people drove in to shop and for church but didn’t live there. “You’re right. We’ll find the man who helped Doug and then we’ll go. I’d love to head a rescue effort here but right now isn’t the time. Maybe we can come back once we get Margaret reunited with Cecilia.”

  “See the open cellar over there?” Doug pointed to a wooden door that stuck out of the ground. It was in the middle of nowhere and had Doug not been there to show them, Ryan would have missed it completely, chalking it up to another piece of debris that was sticking out of the ground.

  The man was older than all of them, his graying beard thick as he chewed on a wooden pipe. Ryan couldn’t tell if there was any tobacco in it or if the man just had a habit of keeping one in his mouth. He looked up at them, showing no expression of excitement or fear. He was neutral, as if he knew all of them.