After the Fall: Jason's Tale

by David E. Nees

  There was a broken window on the first floor. Someone had just tacked a sheet up from the inside to cover the opening. The front porch was beginning to sag. With a support post broken at one corner, it was yielding to the inexorable pull of gravity. Below the house, the barn door stood ajar, grounded from a missing hinge, it would no longer close.

  Jason patiently watched for two more days and the routine stayed similar, the woman getting water from the pump in the yard, foraging for food, always moving slowly, almost listlessly. Occasionally the metal chimney would smoke, indicating a fire, probably from a wood stove in the kitchen. There were no lights at night. He was oddly reluctant to leave and push further north. He told himself that he needed to be sure about this family before committing himself to another place.

  He began to question what he was seeing at the farm. Their gleaning of last year’s planting didn’t result in much to eat. He wondered if they were slowly starving, while he had enough to eat, even in his temporary camp. Should he get them some food? Jason was surprised at this thought. He toyed with it for a whole day.

  “What are you trying to do? You’ll scare them and blow your cover,” he said. He had begun talking to himself more and more. He was pacing back and forth around his camp area. “You set out to be on your own. Don’t change the plan. Just move on and let these people be.” Memories of how he had declined to help the group of young people came flooding back. That decision felt more painful now after his experience with Sam and Judy. He tried to talk himself out of helping, but to no avail; he had declined to help one time and later had been helped. He could not avoid helping this time. That night he set out multiple snares.

  The next morning Jason checked the snares—they were empty.

  Crap! Now I’m trying to help someone, I come up empty.

  The valley to the east had a stream in it. Jason had crossed it further south on his way to this ridge. He remembered how thick the cover was, not good for hiking. Perhaps it held a pond or marshy area? It certainly looked that way when he crossed it south of his current position. The creek came from somewhere. It was worth a hike down the east slope of the ridge to investigate. A marsh or pond would hold the promise of more game.

  Maybe there are ducks down there. He set off with his rifle. Once committed to the idea, he found himself energized by his new mission. The sheepdog, he thought with a grin.

  It was early afternoon when he got to the valley. There was a pond, as he had hoped. He noticed the soft ground around it was disturbed; dug up and muddied. Pigs. The mountains contained feral pigs. Their numbers may have been augmented by domestic stock that had escaped being eaten. The phrase “pigs gone wild” came to mind and brought a smile to his face.

  They’ve gone hog wild! He sat down chuckling to himself at the silliness of it all. It was the first real laugh he had since Sam and Judy.

  Pigs were a good sign. They were a valuable resource; every part of them could be used. Now since some were near, it made this area all the more attractive to Jason.

  There would be time enough to get them after a permanent camp had been established. “I’ll get you, you little piggies.” He started to chuckle again. The laughter felt good. It had been a long time.

  “Get back to work,” he admonished himself.

  Jason quietly approached the pond and sure enough, there was a small group of ducks floating at the far end. The pond was an irregular oval about eighty yards long and 50 yards wide. Jason hid in the brush at its edge. He would try for two but without a shotgun only one was a sure bet. He studied the group, working out which one he would shoot and which direction the others would move to take off. If he planned his second shot, he might be able to get the second duck as it struggled to get airborne. Take one shot and quickly point to where he expected the second duck to be.

  He fired and then quickly got off two rounds at the second duck he had targeted. Luck was on his side and it fell into the water. The rest of the group took to the air in a cacophony of squawking and flapping wings. Jason quickly ran towards where the ducks were floating, and just like a good retriever, plunged into the lake. It was only chest deep but he swam instead of wading. Swimming was faster than sinking his feet in the soft bottom with each step. He got the ducks before they could sink and made his way back out to his rifle. Sitting on the ground with his prizes, he felt pretty good about his shooting, but in his haste to retrieve the ducks before they sank he had not taken off any clothing.

  “Crap, now I’ve got to hike back up over the ridge with wet boots and clothes,” he said out loud.

  It was late that evening when Jason reached his camp above the farmhouse. His clothes had pretty much dried during the hike back up the ridge, but his socks were still wet. He spread everything out to dry and prepared the ducks for delivery.

  Jason decided against the direct approach, going up to the farm house and trying to meet the woman and her girls without panicking them. He probably looked dangerous and frightening. He would have to use a different tactic.

  Late that night he set out for the house. He would leave the ducks on the porch to be found in the morning. He tied them together with some of his line and hung them from one of the porch beams, keeping them safe from raccoons until morning. With his mission accomplished, Jason hiked back to his camp and settled into a deep and satisfied sleep.

  Back down in the valley to the east four men paused as they heard the faint report of three shots. “We’re not alone,” one of them said, almost to himself.

  “Shut up,” another replied, as they continued to listen. They were camped along the creek that came down from the pond where Jason shot the ducks. They were hiking up the valley with a growing disinterest, still a couple of days hike away from the pond. The increasing density of foliage and lack of signs of habitation were dampening their enthusiasm. This group was not interested in wilderness camping. Now they paused to reconsider their plans.

  Three of them, Nate, Randy and Zack, were friends from Ashland, a small town one hundred miles east of Hillsboro. They were in their twenties and had been involved in petty crimes from their teenage years. After the EMP attack, they began looting. There was a shootout with the local police, from which they barely escaped. Leaving town seemed like a good idea, looters were being executed on sight.

  They picked up Bud shortly after departing. Bud and a friend had been wandering, looking for food and other resources. Bud’s friend had been killed in a run-in with a small gang. The encounter scared Bud. He was an easy going eighteen year old who tried to get along with everyone. But without a good moral compass he was often willing to do whatever was expedient. Generally he avoided the worst people and made his way looking for the easy path in life. His one notable asset was his marksmanship. He had a good eye for shooting and carried a 30-06 rifle. He quickly proved his worth by his ability to shoot game.

  The problem for these young men was that they were all city bred. They did not know how to live without the systems a city provided. Communities now could not provide the infrastructure on which they depended, so they were struggling to function until the power came back. The towns that had not descended into chaos were under tight control to allocate the scarce resources. These men rejected that control and were constantly on the move, becoming opportunistic scavengers, trying to find food and shelter for the winter.

  Chapter 3

  Jason awoke early the next morning with great excitement and immediately went to his lookout position to see how his gift would be received. Just like the other mornings, the mother came out first. She saw the ducks hanging on the line and looked quickly around in all directions. She went back into the house and came out a few moments later with a shotgun at the ready. She scanned the woods at the edge of the yard directly in front of the house, the strip of trees down slope towards the road, and the forest line uphill, to her left beyond the orchard. After some time, seeing nothing, she called inside and the taller girl came out and took down the ducks. They both went inside, and
a half hour later, smoke rose from the chimney.

  Jason smiled and went back to his camp. He ate some smoked venison and greens he had collected and then went to check his snares. Two of them paid off, rewarding him with a pair of rabbits. He moved away from camp to clean and skin them. His anticipation grew again with the thought of another meal to give to the family.

  Much later that night, Jason settled in at the edge of the woods to watch the house. With his binoculars, he could make out someone at the window watching for hours. Finally they disappeared from the window. Two hours later Jason crept out to hang his gift of the rabbits on the porch. Dawn found him napping at his observation position. This time the mother came out earlier and she came with the shotgun at ready. Again she spent some time studying the woods around the house and then took down the rabbits.

  “So what do you do next?” he asked himself aloud. “You going to keep sending them food? What’s your goal?” The question hung before Jason. He shied away from it not wanting to examine his motives or address his actions.

  The snares remained empty. A second day went by. After the third day Jason wrapped up a large portion of his smoked venison and hung it on the porch that night, then retreated to his lookout position.

  This time when the mother came out and saw the package of venison she began shouting something towards the woods. Jason couldn’t hear what she was saying from the ridge. With no answer coming, the woman took down the venison and went back into the house. Jason sat back to think about the situation.

  Maybe this is getting too creepy. Should I introduce myself? The thought both excited and scared him. He kept a dialogue going in his head throughout the day. Asking questions about his motives, whether he should move on, the potential of the valley, his memory of that time he didn’t help and what may have happened to that group. The answers came as the day wore on. He was looking for shelter, a place to stay, but now, there was something more. The unanswered question rose up again. What do I want out of this? The answer was companionship—someone to help and take care of.

  The thought startled him even as it came to mind. It had been hiding in his thoughts ever since his experience with Sam and Judy. He recognized his enjoyment in the tasks he had now taken on for this family. He was invigorated by a new sense of purpose. He had even begun cataloging some repairs he could see that were needed around the farmhouse and yard. It was time to meet this family, and with that realization, came a sense of dread. What if they reject me?

  He would not force himself on them. Did I show I can be a provider? “Suck it up, tough guy. You’re more nervous than you were in the gun fight with the gang.” He told himself.

  The decision made, Jason tried to clean himself up, but there was little prospect of helping his tangled hair and beard. Still he washed his face, trimmed his hair as best he could with his knife and straightened out his camp clothes before heading down to the farmhouse. He carefully approached the house, and found a good hiding position where he could wait. His heart was racing. He felt lightheaded.

  Why am I so nervous? The possibility of rejection certainly loomed large, perhaps larger than it had with Sam and Judy, but he couldn’t shake the realization that, somehow, this was more important than Sam and Judy. This family needed his help. There was no movement so he called out to the house.

  “Hello in the house!” He shouted; and then repeated himself.

  From the house, came “Who are you? Where are you?”

  “I’m just one person, and I’m in the woods, across from your front yard,” he replied. “I’m the one who’s been bringing you the food.”

  The door opened and the mother came out with her shotgun raised. She was looking in Jason’s general direction but could not pinpoint him. She was tall, around five feet nine inches and looked to be in her late thirties, possibly forty. She was thin and plainly dressed in shirt and jeans. She stood confidently on the porch, her straight posture accentuating her height. She wore her hair, light brown in shade, shoulder length, framing a finely proportioned face with full lips, strong chin and clear eyes. Even seen from a distance, there was an air of dignity about her. She was taking a risk to show herself in spite of Jason’s presents to demonstrate his good intentions. She stood poised and ready with her shotgun on the porch.

  “Come out and show yourself.”

  “Promise you won’t shoot?”

  “No promises. So you are the one bringing the food?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause you looked like you needed it.”

  “I am not going to keep shouting to the woods like this, show yourself,” she said with all the authority she could muster.

  “I don’t want you to shoot me.”

  “I know you are armed,” she called back, “so I need to see you.”

  “How about I empty my pistol, it’s all I have on me, and throw it out into the yard? Then I’ll come out and sit on the ground. I don’t want to alarm you. Then will you not shoot me?” This was similar to the difficulty he had in connecting with Sam and Judy—a sign of the times, he thought ruefully.

  “Go ahead.”

  Jason pocketed the magazine, cleared the chamber and tossed the 9mm into the yard. He took a deep breath, then stepped out from the covering brush and walked slowly into the middle of the yard, near the pump and sat down.

  “My name is Jason.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, ignoring his introduction.

  Jason gave her a condensed narrative of his odyssey since the EMP attack. He emphasized the growing corruption he had observed in Hillsboro and how he thought he would be better off away from large groups of people until this disaster sorted itself out—if it ever did.

  “I’m grateful for the food, but you will have to move on, my husband is coming home soon.” The woman declared.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, “I’ve been watching for a number of days and I don’t think your husband has been around for some time.”

  Her eyes flashed.

  “Think you are so smart? How about I shoot you right now?” she said. Her eyes flashed in anger; the shotgun now pointed at his chest. “He is coming back…soon.”

  “No, I don’t think I’m so smart, and please don’t shoot. I just noticed the house needs repairs and you don’t seem to have had much to eat. That’s why I went hunting for you. I guessed your husband got caught away when the power went out last year, and you’ve been making it on your own since then.” He was trying to calm her down. “As I told you, I lost my wife. Her plane crashed when the power went out. I know what you’ve experienced. Many people have experienced separation and loss of loved ones like we have. Everything is shut down. Our world has changed.” Her face remained inscrutable; he couldn’t tell how she was taking this in.

  Finally he added, “Could you sit down and not point your shotgun at me? It might go off and that wouldn’t be good for me.”

  The woman’s eyes softened slightly as she digested what Jason had said. “I’m sorry. It sounds like you have had a difficult time as well. It’s been hard, but we have survived to this point. I still believe my husband is coming back.” The last said with extra emphasis as if to reinforce her conviction. As she finished she carefully sat down on the top step of the porch, resting the shotgun in her lap, keeping it pointed at Jason. Her body remained tense, alert, as she stared at him with a still-wary look in her eyes.

  Chapter 4

  This is strange. This man shows up and he provides food for us. When that starts getting too weird he shows himself. Anne pondered the situation thoughtfully, not sure what her next move could…or should be.

  Her husband, Ron, was not coming back soon. She had been bluffing. He had left last year two months before the EMP attack. Ron had become disenchanted with their experiment in country living. Seven years ago they had decided to live in the country; Anne came from a small town and was enthusiastic about the plan, Ron less so. He was a salesman for a manufacturer of ind
ustrial machine tools. The job didn’t require him to go into an office on a regular basis. He spent much of his days traveling to small factories around the Carolinas, showing his products and checking up on prior sales and installations. In addition, much of his work could be done on the phone or computer so living in the country was possible.

  When they discovered this remote valley and the farm for sale, they both became enthusiastic about the romance of an idyllic, bucolic lifestyle. The farmhouse was old, but in good condition when they purchased it; two stories with a porch and tin roof. It was located up from the valley floor and provided long, peaceful vistas of the valley. They would often sit on the porch in the evenings, just drinking in the views.

  They were not farmers. They leased out their fields for hay production, as did some of the other newer valley residents. When they moved in, it took some time to get to know the other families in the valley. There was a mix of multi-generational families and newer owners, like Ron and Anne, who wanted to experience rural living.

  A year before the EMP attack, Ron began showing signs of discontent. They had been living in the valley for six years. Getting to and from the farm had become an ever increasing irritant as Ron’s career advanced. He was moving up in the company and worked more frequently at headquarters. He kept telling Anne that his career was suffering and the girls were not getting nurtured by all society had to offer. Anne argued that quality of life was most important, not career advancement. She insisted that life was better, saner, in the country than in a big city like Charlotte. She relished the simplicity of life growing up and wanted that for her girls, almost as much as a college education. Sure, they would probably not stay in the country, but Anne was also sure, that country values would stay with them throughout their lives.

  Their conversations did not progress and Ron’s position hardened. He began to stay overnight at the office more frequently. Anne missed him and tried to make Ron’s time at home as pleasant as possible, working hard to reinforce what had attracted them to their experiment in country living, but it became increasingly clear that Ron was not happy. He grew distant. A coldness settled into their marriage, which Anne and the girls could not thaw.