Breakdown
Episode 6: Hormones and Helicopters
A Piece of SHTF Fiction
Jordon Quattlebaum
© Copyright 2015 by Jordon Quattlebaum
Breakdown is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
A Word from the Author
Hello there, and thanks again for reading Breakdown. Your support has been amazing!
If you haven’t already, please tell a friend about what you’re reading. That’s the ONLY way I’m going to be able to make it as an author. You matter. Your opinion matters, and you suggesting my book to a friend is the highest form of flattery I could receive.
“Episode 6” is a bit different than the previous five, but in a good way, I think.
In Season 1, the action was frenetic, the story going a mile a minute, the idea there being that our cast was on the run to someplace safe. The shorter episodes and action-packed scenes helped (hopefully) to give a sense of movement and danger to the story.
Season 2 starts with a different sort of danger; a kind of danger that’s slower, and harder to identify.
“Episode 6” is sort of the “calm before the storm.” Our characters find themselves safe at Jackson Farm, recovering and planning what their next move should be, but I think if you look closely you’ll notice that there’s definitely a method to the madness.
The “calm” has given me a great opportunity to slow down (just a smidge) and get to know the cast of characters a bit better before things kick up again—something I’ve really been looking forward to.
They won’t be resting on their haunches for long, and neither will I.
Without further ado, please enjoy Breakdown: Episode 6.
- Jordon Quattlebaum
Chapter 1 – Meeting Mrs. Jackson
Thom woke once more from his rest, his eyelids slipping open slowly while the aches and pains of life on the road caught up to him on an old feather bed. The bed was of the older variety, with four large corner posts and a canopy. Thom smiled slightly, thinking of the “princess bed” Anna always used to ask him for when she was a much younger girl.
Looking to his left, he noted that the I.V. still fed painkillers and fluids into his veins, bringing with it a bit of relief. He still felt extremely sluggish, whether from the drugs or from the trauma he’d undergone during his rescue, he wasn’t sure.
The sun filtered through the old farmhouse windows, illuminating motes of dust as they floated through the bedroom. Handmade quilts and blankets were piled high on the bed, folded down slightly so that his bandaged torso was left exposed. It was spring in Missouri, which residents of the Show-Me State often joked could mean 80-degree weather one day and snow the next.
The woodwork was beautifully crafted; numerous hand-chiseled olive leaves and flowers marked the corners of each window and doorframe. It was unfortunate that they’d been painted over. He’d have loved to see the color of the original wood underneath.
The floorboards were a foot wide, in the old farmhouse style, each painstakingly milled, fit, and nailed down. They were a beautiful orange color, with swirls of black running through old knots on each board.
Thom appreciated the weight of the blankets, even though he was beginning to overheat a bit, his forehead slick with sweat. They reminded him of days spent at his great-grandparents’ house a lifetime ago. His lips twitched into a half-smile, and he closed his eyes once again, just for a moment. He could imagine putting his feet on the cold, wooden floor on a winter’s morning before his great-grandmother stoked the wood-burning stove they used for cooking and heating the small home.
He opened his eyes once again when footsteps and the rap of knuckles on the doorframe announced the presence of a visitor.
Thom gasped, and for a split second he thought that his wife had come back from the grave. A moment later, though, his heart sank. He realized it couldn’t be true. The woman entering didn’t look like his wife; not really. She did carry herself in the same self-assured stance, though. Her shoulders were squared and her chin was raised, ready to take on the world. This was a woman who believed in herself. For the first time in a very long time, he felt himself attracted to someone.
Pure reflex spurred Thom to pull the blankets back up over his bare chest, giving him a measure of decency in mixed company.
The woman grinned.
“You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen before, Thom,” she teased.
Crimson waves flooded into Thom’s cheeks, warming them several degrees. He felt the heat in them and hoped this woman wouldn’t notice.
The woman smiled and extended a hand. She smelled wonderful, like cinnamon and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Carla Grimes.”
Thom looked at the hand as if it were some sort of alien object.
After a moment of panic, he took the woman’s hand in his own, marveling at how soft it was. He must have held it for a bit longer than was technically proper, because Carla soon let out a tiny cough to clear her throat.
Thom dropped the hand as if it had bitten him.
“Thom Monroe.”
Carla’s thin lips shifted into a crooked smile, not beautiful exactly, but strangely endearing with a hint of mischief.
“Just here to check in on you, Thom. Everyone’s out doing their chores. Are you hungry?”
Thom thought for a moment and realized at once just how hungry he really was. His stomach was gnawing a hole through his back.
“Starving, thank you.”
Carla stepped through the frame of the door, disappearing for a moment. When she reentered the room, she carried a tray full of food; apple juice, scrambled eggs, toast, and a large glass of milk. She lay the tray down on the bed, folding out a pair of legs so it would rest above Thom’s stomach.
Thom dove in to the plate of eggs first, bits of scrambled egg sticking to the weeks’ worth of beard that had cropped up on his face.
Carla gave a soft chuckle at the ferocity with which Thom attacked the plate, and he realized that he was eating like an animal, not even using the fork and knife that had been provided.
“Breakfast in bed,” Thom smiled.
“Eggs, milk, and apples are in good supply here at the farm.”
Thom nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t really go hungry along the journey thanks to some friends I met along the way. Not sure why I’m so famished.”
“I’m guessing it’s your body healing,” Carla started. “You lost a lot of blood, and it takes a lot of fuel to replenish those reserves. Like when you donate blood, but worse.”
Thom nodded, tucking back into his meal, this time with a bit more reserve.
“You some kind of nurse?” he asked around a mouthful of eggs and toast.
Carla shook her head mirthfully and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “I’ve kissed my share of boo-boos, but no, not a nurse. I’m an elementary school teacher.”
“Enjoying your spring break?”
Carla gave out a little chuckle and took a moment to push her shoulder-length hair back behind her ears.
Something about the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed left Thom feeling at ease.
“You know, aside from the world ending, it hasn’t been all that bad. I haven’t had to pay any bills or worry about taxes, and I’ve met the nicest people!” she said.
It was Thom’s turn to chuckle, which turned into a sputtering cough as the stitches on his chest stretched tight with each laugh.
“You okay? Should I go grab Trinity?”
Thom’s face was beginning to grow red between the coughs, but he shook his head and held up a hand to signal no.
A few moments later the coughing fit had settled, and Thom was catching his breath.
“Mental note: don’t make the patient laugh,” Carla said with a slight wink.
Thom nodded in agreement. He wondered briefly if the woman was flirting with him or if she’d simply gotten a speck of dust in her eye.
It had to be dust, he thought to himself. No one ever flirted with him anymore.
“What about you, Thom? Anything you won’t be missing about the old world?”
“Mortgage payments. Looking for a new job…my self-worth being tied to a bunch of ones and zeroes that make up my bank account and credit score.”
Carla nodded emphatically with each addition.
“Oh! Telemarketers!” she added.
“Come on, they weren’t that bad,” Thom said, a bit too forcefully.
“Oh, no. You weren’t one of them, were you?!” She caught the look on his face and gasped. “You were!” she said in mock astonishment. “Away with you!” She made an X with her fingers in an attempt to ward him away.
“Guilty,” Thom said, a grin painted on his face.
“And here I was starting to think I’d finally met a nice guy,” Carla said, smiling.
Thom clenched his stomach muscles in a desperate attempt not to laugh. He failed, and another coughing fit started.
A booming, larger-than-life voice rang through the room. “Carla Grimes, you stop tormenting that man! He is a guest in my house.”
A grey-haired woman with tanned skin the color of seasoned wood stormed into the room. Her plump frame was covered by a large, flowery apron, a pair of rugged, khaki-colored canvas pants, and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She smiled when she saw that Thom was awake, firing off a chain reaction of wrinkles that cascaded across her face.
Thom couldn’t help but smile.
“Mrs. Jackson,” he said, more statement than question.
“Thomas Monroe.”
The old woman’s leathery grin gave Thom a good deal of joy, right up to the point where she walked over and slapped his face. “Don’t you ever put a scare like that into me again, you understand? Bleeding all over my entryway like that…”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thom smiled.
“Ms. Carla, we’re needing your help with the children outside if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Mrs. Jackson,” Carla said with another wink at Thom before leaving the room.
Thom blushed. “I knew I didn’t imagine it,” he muttered under his breath.
“No mumble-mouths in my house, young man. You speak up or you don’t speak.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thom said once again, flinching slightly, but purely voluntarily. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Mrs. Jackson nodded, a slight smile in her old eyes. “Now then. We need to see about changing your bandages.” She walked over beside the little twin bed and pulled the blankets down to Thom’s knees. So much for modesty. “Lean forward a bit, Thomas.”
“Thom, please,” Thom said, leaning forward.
“Thom it is. Just hold still.”
Mrs. Jackson’s hands worked deftly, unwrapping the gauze. She clicked her tongue and placed a hand on Thom’s forehead.
“Something wrong?” Thom asked.
“Tissue’s a bit heated around the wound. Could be infected, or could be you strained your stitches from laughing too hard. We’ve got some major-league antibiotics pumping through that I.V. of yours right now, so chances are good that you just pulled at the stitches.”
The old woman squeezed something from a tube, and a moment later she added a liberal coating of antibiotic ointment to his skin before changing out the cotton pad and wrapping the whole thing up again. The process took less than five minutes, but Thom found it exhausting. When it was finished, he collapsed back onto the pillows.
Mrs. Jackson sat down next to Thom in a rocking chair and just watched him.
“Ma’am?” Thom asked curiously. It wasn’t that he minded the company, he was just a little confused as to why the elderly woman was still there.
“I’m not leaving until you finish those eggs and drink some of that milk. That’s good goat’s milk. It’ll help your body knit itself right again.”
Thom picked up his fork and began to eat. He knew when he was beaten. Besides, if he didn’t eat, he was pretty sure Mrs. Jackson would make him cut his own switch. There was a mean-looking old willow tree just outside of the window, and he didn’t want to find out.
Chapter 2 – Atonement
“Ow!” Linus hissed involuntarily.
Talia stared daggers at the man and continued to pick the dead skin from the popped blisters on his hands.
There was another sharp intake of air as the tweezers slipped, digging into the tender new skin on his palms.
“You’re right,” he agreed, “I should have said something about the blisters.”
Talia just nodded and looked over to her right where her children slept curled together in a wagon padded with supplies.
Linus was worried about the woman. As strong as she was, she hadn’t said much more than a word or two since they’d left the Willis house in an attempt to reach Jackson Farm.
John had apparently mapped out the journey shortly after he’d been told about the farm, leaving them with a nicely laminated state map with their route highlighted in red. The route had detailed notes written in John’s hand. That, combined with the red ink, must have been too much for Talia to bear. She’d given Linus the map without a word shortly after hearing the news of her husband’s passing.
The kids were holding up all right, though. At least, he thought they were. He didn’t know a lot about children other than the fact that they were loud. He didn’t really like kids all that much, but these two were different somehow.
Juliana was sharp and full of life, even in her mourning. She asked him question after question while she was awake, wanting to know what was going on in the world that would cause such a mess.
Initially, when they left the house, Linus had loaded Juliana and some supplies into a wheelbarrow they’d kept out back. Nathan was small enough that he could be carried in a baby carrier, and Juliana could walk a surprisingly long time without complaint, but Linus wasn’t satisfied with the amount of ground they’d covered, so while the others rested, he took a wagon from a storage shed near the bike trail they were traveling on, leaving the wheelbarrow in exchange. The group had managed to cover a few more miles that way before Linus was too tired to go any further.
He’d customized the wagon, using rope attached to the wooden handles to create a makeshift harness to take some of the weight off of his hands and place it on his shoulders and legs. It had helped, but the damage had already been done.
Talia disinfected and bandaged his hands, and then curled into a ball on the ground near the kids. It was still only mid-afternoon, but they’d traveled most of the night before in order to reach the Katy Trail before sunrise. Linus figured they were due for a rest. Talia’s face was stained with tears, but he wasn’t sure when she’d cried them. The woman was strong, and not just physically. Emotionally, she was extremely resilient. She’d taken the news with a few tears and a nod of her head before she
packed the kids and brought out the map.
Linus worried that she was strong to the point of being brittle, like the old adage of the willow bending in the breeze, and the stubborn oak snapping in the storm. He worried she was an oak.
Being selfless wasn’t in Linus’ DNA. He was the only child of an only child and grew up being doted upon. Every little thing that Linus did was magic, right up until a few short days ago when society had fallen apart. He hadn’t cared about rules then. Rules were just something to keep the normal folks in line. People like Linus were made to live above those rules, or so he’d thought at the time.
He’d kept on thinking it after the power went out and after he was rescued. It wasn’t until he watched John Willis die for his selfish mistakes that he started to understand. The rules weren’t there to keep him in check, they were there to make sure he wasn’t becoming a danger to the people around him.
So Linus sat and wondered what was keeping him with this group. They were only slowing him down, after all. He’d be able to cover a lot more ground each day without them. He was fit, and young enough to cover the distance in just a couple of days if he really pushed himself hard.
It was the fact that Talia’s pack held the food, he lied to himself. She’d unloaded the bags and repacked them to balance the weight out a bit more evenly, she said.
Linus unrolled the sleeping pad from his own bag and laid it out for Talia. She didn’t move.
“Come on, now, you need to get off of the cold ground or you’ll get sick.”
He reached down to help her roll onto the mat but stopped just short. She was armed, and he didn’t want to risk Talia taking his help as an unwanted advance.
After a minute or so, she edged herself onto the pad. Linus took the sleeping bag from her pack and unzipped it, laying it over her.
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