After the Fall: Jason's Tale

by David E. Nees

  “So, what’s your point?” Catherine repeated.

  “Well,” Anne said slowly, “Jason and I have grown close together over the months he has been with us. We all have grown closer. Jason is good for us as a family. We have come to realize that we both have a lot of affection for one another, so we have decided to become a couple.”

  “Like, being married?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes dear. We can’t get married, there’s no one around to do the ceremony, but that’s how we feel about each other. We want to join our lives.” Anne paused to let her words sink in.

  Finally Catherine spoke, “I figured this would happen.”

  “Are you okay with it?” Anne asked.

  “Jason is a good man and we’ve learned a lot from him. I think he’s good for us and good for you. So, I’m okay with it.” Catherine seemed a bit sad with her reply.

  “Sarah?” Anne asked, turning to her younger daughter.

  “It’s good, Mom, I want Jason to stay with us forever.” Anne breathed a sigh of relief.

  The family continued to grow closer. Catherine took responsibility for many of the tasks. She was a good worker and organizer and took a great deal of weight from Jason’s shoulders.

  “I’ll finish the camouflage for the shooting holes,” Catherine said one evening.

  “That would be great,” responded Jason. “I can start on the rooftop shooting platform. That’s going to be a lot of work, but worth it.”

  “It will make the house look funny, the way you describe it,” Sarah said.

  “It might. Maybe you can figure out how to make it look better,” he replied.

  “I could hang potted plants on the walls,” she said, only half seriously. “You know you need a feminine touch in this rooftop project.” She gave him her most grownup look. “Without me helping you, it will look like a bridge construction, or part of the barn.”

  Before Jason could reply, Anne broke in, “Sarah, you’ll get to help keep Jason from making it look too much like a barn project, but I need your help in the food gathering.”

  “Not fun,” Sarah said.

  “Don’t complain,” Jason offered, “I do want your help in making things look good. It may even help disguise the purpose of the platform.” Sarah smiled triumphantly at this acknowledgment of her importance.

  Book III: The Gang

  Chapter 1

  Bud survived the attack on the farm by fleeing over the fence. He ran for an hour before stopping, thoroughly winded. Crouching in a hedgerow and listening, he could hear no pursuit and breathed a sigh of relief. Later that night he came to a ridge line where the land sloped down to a river. He nestled himself in the bushes and fell into an exhausted sleep. In the morning he could see a town to his right, on the other side of the river. There were people about, so he dropped down and waded across the stream, hoping to find some food. A lookout spotted him and saw that he was armed. A shout went out and he was ordered to drop his weapon and get on the ground. As guns were leveled at him, Bud turned and ran. He didn’t know if word of the fight at the farm had reached town and he would be arrested, but he didn’t want to wait to find out. When he was out of site, he turned south, skirting the town and rejoining the road when he was past it.

  He kept wandering south, barely surviving on scraps he found at abandoned farms and houses. He was good at looking in all the hidden corners. Often there were scraps of grain, an overlooked box of dry goods or, if it was a good day, a can of beans. Hunger was his constant companion, driving him to keep moving, keep looking for food. At night he dreamed of extravagant meals that left him feeling even more hungry and desolate in the morning.

  Alone and struggling, he didn’t know where he was going to wind up, but kept moving south. He had no desire to go north; that had almost cost him his life. He saw more signs of human activity the further south he went. He tried getting into some small towns but was challenged and clearly told he wasn’t welcomed. After a couple of aggressive rejections he gave the settlements a wide berth. Yet he was clever enough to note their defenses as he passed by. That information might be helpful to him one day. With very little ammunition left, threadbare and foot sore, he came upon a gang encampment.

  Bud spent some time carefully studying the gang before he approached them. It was a large group, maybe fifty or more members, large enough to dominate any of the towns he had passed. They looked wild but Bud had few options by then. With much trepidation, he approached the lookouts. When spotted he was ordered to stop and lay down his rifle. After doing as he was told, the guards asked him what he was doing around the camp. Bud replied that he wanted to join them.

  “We don’t need you,” came the reply. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here.”

  “But I can help you out,” Bud responded. “I’ve come from up north and know about some of the communities up there.”

  “I’m telling you, you should just keep going.”

  “I got no options, and I can help,” Bud replied despondently. He didn’t relish going it alone any more.

  The two guards looked at each other, then the kid. “You’re taking your life in your hands,” one said.

  “Yeah,” the other chimed in. “You’ll be safer getting out of here. If you want to stay, it’s your ass.”

  “I want to join up.”

  “Take him to Big Jacks,” the other guard ordered.

  With a shrug, he took Bud and headed into the camp. By the time they reached the center of the camp, many of the gang members were tagging along. Bud got more and more nervous. Was the rest of the gang expecting some kind of show, at his expense? They were camped around a small group of houses at a rural intersection with tents and a few pickups spread around. At the front of one of the houses, the guard spoke to an armed man on the steps.

  “This guy wants to join up.”

  “We don’t need another mouth to feed. Get him out of here,” the guard replied after giving Bud a disdainful looking over. “He’s too skinny to eat,” he said with a grin.

  Bud’s heart jumped. The rumors of cannibalism were true! It was too late to turn around; he would have to play out what he started. The leader of the gang, Big Jacks, emerged from the house. He stood about six feet eight inches tall and weighed close to three hundred pounds.

  “What’s this?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “It’s a kid who showed up and wants to join. Say’s he has info on towns to the north.”

  “And for that we should let you join us?” Big Jacks looked at Bud. Bud could not even nod his head in response. “Maybe we just squeeze the information out of you and then carve you up and eat you?”

  Bud just stood there trembling. His bowels felt like they would let loose any moment. His brain finally engaged and he took a chance.

  “I’m a good shot.” It was true. Bud had a knack for aiming well. Now his knack might save his life. Big Jacks just stared at him, so Bud pressed on. “I’ll bet I can outshoot most of your gang.”

  Big Jacks laughed, “That’s a big brag, runt. I’ve got some sharpshooters.” He paused for a moment, then said, “If you can outshoot one of them, maybe I’ll let you in. If not, we’ll be eating you for dinner.”

  Big Jacks called for two Coke bottles to be set out on a table at fifty yards, and summoned one of the gang. The man came forward with a wicked looking military rifle. He glanced at Bud with disdain and got into a prone firing position. He took a long minute to sight his target. The rifle fired with a loud report and shattered one of the bottles. They handed Bud his rifle and he lay down on the ground. His heart was racing and his breathing was too rapid. He took some deep breaths and tried to calm himself.

  “Shoot already,” one of the gang shouted.

  “Maybe he don’t know where the trigger is,” offered another.

  Bud settled himself down, steadied the rifle on the bottle and squeezed off a shot. The bottle shattered.

  The gang erupted, shouting insults at the gang’s marks
man whom Bud had equaled. Big Jacks looked like he was enjoying the show.

  “Put out two more bottles, only further away,” he commanded. This time the bottles were set at around seventy yards. The gang’s shooter told Bud to go first. Bud got on the ground again, now more confident since he had made the last shot. He was smart enough to know that he needed only a very slight adjustment to hit this bottle only another twenty yards away. He calmed his breathing again and squeezed off his second shot. The bullet hit the top of the bottle, shattering the neck and sending it tumbling to the ground. The gang started whooping it up again. Now the pressure was on the gang’s marksman. He got on the ground and slowly took aim on the bottle. His shot rang out and the bottle shattered. Everyone erupted in cheers; the game was going to continue.

  “Move ’em further away.” Big Jacks ordered. Two new bottles were now placed about a hundred yards away. Bud was ordered to shoot first again. He quieted himself. He closed his mind to everything but the bottle. He knew his rifle, a 30-06, was good for the distance, he just had to aim correctly. He adjusted, raising his aim slightly to compensate for the distance, and squeezed off a shot. The bullet smashed through the edge of the table, caught the bottom of the bottle and shattered it. The gang erupted in hooting and hollering, exhorting their man to meet the challenge of Bud’s shot. Bud sighed audibly; he might have just saved his life.

  The gang’s shooter lay down and quietly took aim. After a long moment he took his shot. The bullet whistled past the bottle which remained standing. There was silence for a moment as he got up cursing and making excuses about someone stamping their feet. Then the group erupted in laughter and ribbing, with the shooter cursing them all in return.

  Big Jacks looked at Bud, “This seems to be your lucky day, runt. I’ll let you join us for now. But you’ll still have to prove your worth if you’re gonna stay.” He pointed to one of the gang. “Go with him to get you one of our sniper rifles. Looks like you know how to use one.” Pointing to his captain, Big Jacks said, “He’ll tell you the rules. Follow’em and you’ll be okay; don’t follow them and you’ll be in trouble with me.”

  Chapter 2

  By late summer, Jason, Anne and the girls had made much progress. The house was set up with concealed and sandbagged firing positions on the second floor. The rooftop observation and firing platform were completed and sandbagged. They had hauled sand and dirt until they were totally sick of the task. They had trekked over the ridge to shoot pigs down at the pond. The pigs proved to be a great resource, not only providing meat to smoke and cook, but fat to use for making soap. They now had a homemade version, scented with crushed flowers they gathered from the fields. It was crude, but it worked. Life was not easy, but it was improving. Jason often thought about what else he and Anne could do to return more normality to their lives. They talked about traveling to the school to scrounge up some books for home tutoring, but the day to day needs of gathering food, preserving what they gathered, and repairing their equipment and clothes seemed to take up all their time and energy.

  “No wonder kids dropped out of school early on the frontier,” remarked Jason one day.

  “And I can now see why, in spite of the dangers, women had lots of kids,” she replied. “It certainly helps with the work.”

  Their day would start at first light. Anne or Jason would get the wood stove in the kitchen going to boil water, while the other would harangue the girls until they got out of bed. After a breakfast of herb tea, some fruit and left-over meat or grains, they would all set about doing their chores. Some days would be spent on the house defenses; some days would be spent with the girls going hunting, either alone or with Jason. Anne spent much of her time gathering food and repairing clothing.

  Part of the day was always allocated to gathering and splitting wood. They needed a constant supply, not only for each day’s cooking, but to build up a winter reserve. And there were always repairs to be made—windows, door latches, roof leaks and the continuing work on the rooftop shooting platform. Every five or six days, Anne insisted they all take the day off. Sometimes they went on a picnic, sometimes they hiked down to the pond to swim and collect marsh plants and sometimes they just relaxed at the house with the girls taking long baths in the tub outside.

  No one stayed up very long after the sun went down. They had kerosene oil lamps that still worked but they didn’t provide good light for reading. And by the evening the family was generally spent from the day’s activities. Before retiring to bed, they always went through a routine of locking down the house.

  Jason’s work on defenses now focused outside. He had dug a ditch in the front yard partially circling the house. On the house side of the ditch he put up a chest high barbed wire fence from the supplies he found in the barn. As he explained, the point was not to stop, but to slow down any rush on the house, giving the defenders more time to fire.

  Catherine was the best shot besides Jason. She even took up the bow, practicing every time she could. Jason encouraged her, as hunting with the bow saved ammunition and was quieter. Her skill developed to the point she could bring down a deer. Even though Jason and Anne were a bit nervous, Catherine would take Sarah out to hunt, sometimes leaving before dawn. They no longer feared the woods like they had when Jason arrived. They moved with quietness and confidence, often bringing back substantial game. If they bagged a deer, they were not squeamish about field dressing it. After the gutting, they would tie the carcass to a pole and carry it back to the farmhouse.

  No one left the house without being armed. When the girls went hunting, they took the appropriate weapon for the game they were after, and always carried 9mm pistols on their belts.

  Jason had not grown up with sisters. Some days he learned that he had to just take it easy as task master. The girls wanted to dress up, to do domestic things with their mother and to not concern themselves about guns or house defense, or splitting firewood. On those days, Jason learned to give in and work on projects alone or go hunting.

  At other times the girls, especially Sarah, would flirt with him. They would make him the center of attention, practicing their skills on the only male around. Even Catherine flirted with Jason at those times. She was certainly more reserved than Sarah but more mature in her approach. Anne watched as these scenes played out, intervening when she sensed Jason needed help.

  Nights were for sleeping. Jason and Anne rarely indulged in making love at night, preferring the privacy during the day, when they could be apart from the girls. It didn’t help that most nights everyone was spent from the day’s activities. Life had its routine and that mostly consisted of manual labor. Jason often worried if their idyllic situation would continue. He knew gangs like the one that had attacked Sam and Judy were still out there.

  Chapter 3

  One morning Sarah came running down the stairs and breathlessly reported that there was some smoke way to the south. They all ran to the roof lookout. Jason studied the smoke through his binoculars. It seemed too large for a campfire, but he couldn’t tell much else. It was fairly far away, but very disturbing.

  “What do you think it is?” asked Anne.

  “Not sure. It seems to be more than just a campfire.”

  “Clifton Furnace is in that direction,” Catherine said. “Could a fire have started in the town?”

  “I doubt a fire could have started spontaneously,” Jason replied. “We haven’t had any storms with lightning. Something’s up.”

  “Could it be a gang?” Sarah said with tension in her voice.

  “Maybe.” Jason hoped she was wrong, but he had a growing knot in his stomach: this could be trouble.

  The family went down to the kitchen to discuss the situation. “I could go and scout what this is. It looks like it’s a ways off, so I might—”

  “No way!” Sarah said. “You can’t leave us alone…tell him, Mom.”

  “I agree,” said Anne. We have to stick together, if anything happened to you, we’d be in a terrible spot.”


  “Let’s talk about the worse case and prepare for that,” Catherine said.

  “Okay,” Jason abandoned his idea. “We won’t have as much information, but Catherine’s right, we can figure out the worse scenario and plan for that.”

  “So what is that?” asked Anne.

  He paused, then said, “Possibly a large gang like the one that attacked Sam and Judy’s place. That is what I’ve worried about all along as we’ve worked on the defenses for the house. They’re dangerous, but on the positive side, these groups aren’t well organized. It’s not in their nature. They don’t fight in a disciplined way and we’re probably all better shots than they are.”

  “Do you really think so?” Catherine asked.

  “Yes, you especially, you’re a good marksman.”

  “You mean markswoman,” corrected Sarah.

  “If you say so. The point is, not only is Catherine a better shot, you and your mom probably are also. We represent a formidable team if we don’t fall apart in the noise and pressure of a battle.” In spite of their concern, everyone looked proud of themselves.

  “The key is being able to function in the heat of a firefight. It’s loud and dangerous. I’ve made you practice with a lot of noise and distractions, but that is nothing like what we will experience if a gang attacks us.”

  Jason talked about whether or not they could shoot another person. He knew that Anne and the girls could not afford to hesitate. “If we are attacked, you must be able to aim your rifle at someone and pull the trigger. I know you can do that with a target. You’re all comfortable with your weapons, but this time you won’t be shooting at targets.”