The entire thing was buried to within an inch of the ground with the tops of the pipes wrapped in basic plastic wrap. The idea was to make what was called a toe popper, Pastor Duncan had explained. You step on the pipe sticking out, and the shotgun shell’s primer goes off from the screw. Ugly, but effective. It wasn’t hard to find enough materials to make two dozen.
Lastly, the junk in the barn was moved around to artfully hide the root cellar. A heavy slide lock was installed on the inside to use as a last resort panic room. They stored extra water and some of the pistols they got at the auction.
This work took most of the week, and Pastor Duncan spent most of his days watching from down the lane, trying to spot trouble before it came up. When Blake and Sandra weren’t working at a feverish pace, they kept the garden watered and weed free and read more of the Foxfire books.
“It’s too bad you don’t have any livestock,” Duncan told him one night.
“Never needed any.”
“It’d be nice to have eggs again.”
“You know, I don’t see any reason why we can’t find some chickens someday. I don’t have any feed for them, but they could forage and get scraps like my grandparents’ chickens did.”
“I wonder what it’s like out there,” Sandra pointed towards town.
“It’s been a little more than two weeks since the grid went down. I got close to the end of the lane the other day using one of Blake’s bicycles. There wasn’t anybody around. I am curious though.”
“Wait another week?” she asked her father.
“Yeah, probably. I don’t know how bad it’s going to be. The town could be gone, or the prisoners could have made it out here. Anarchy, Armageddon, you know…the end of the world as we know it.” Duncan was deadpan when he said this, but was surprised by their reaction.
“And I feel fine,” both Blake and Sandra sang out loud before their jaws dropped and they laughed. It was one of those surreal moments that ended with a big hug between the two while her father watched awkwardly.
“You know, since I’ve been here, I’ve stayed in the camper at night. It’s got more than one bed.”
“The bed in here is comfortable enough,” Sandra said, and Blake turned four shades of crimson when he got the drift.
“No Sandra, he means…Pastor Duncan, Sandra and I tradeoff the bed for the recliner every other night. That way one of us can get some good rest and the other is close to the front door.”
Relief washed through the old man’s face and he fanned himself.
“Phew. I’d been meaning to ask, but in this day and age, I don’t know if that’s polite or…”
“Oh Daddy, stop. Both of you men look like you’re going to have a heart attack.”
Blake smiled at that and walked down to the basement. More to give them some time to talk, but he was also wanting to look at his store of food. A single person didn’t touch his dried food stores as much as the three of them had, and more and more of his pest-proof buckets were emptying. The timing of the grid going down was horrible; he could have picked up the Azure Standard order from the farm and fleet store before his date with Sandra, but he had put it off, and he had to admit to himself, it was because he’d been distracted by her.
He’d thought about her plenty of times, and had grown comfortable and fond of her. Her energy and enthusiasm had made the hermit a little nervous more than once, but she’d grown on him. It was a struggle to keep his emotions in check now that her father was here. Love at first sight? Cupid had shot Blake true. He was smitten. He was pretty sure she felt the same way, but he worried that with the way things were, the timing was all wrong. He would wait.
Heavy footsteps came downstairs as he was running through Sandra’s list of his dried goods, and a heavy hand touched his shoulder. Duncan was smiling when Blake turned to face him.
“I’m sorry about that. You two hit it off so well, and with you two being alone together…and me wanting to give you space, but I had this dad moment and—”
“Duncan,” he said, using his name without pastor for the first time, “it’s okay with me. Your daughter is very special to me, and I imagine to you. I just can’t believe that I never ran into her before.”
“Went to Catholic school.” He smiled, and Blake laughed.
“Well you know what they say about…never mind,” Blake cut off, turning a dark red.
“About the pastor’s daughter, or Catholic schoolgirls or…?”
“I did it again. I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”
Duncan laughed out loud and slapped a meaty hand against his shoulder and looked around the basement. “My daughter could do worse than you. You seem an honorable man. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Well, we only had the one date.”
“When we are safe, maybe you should make plans for a second one.” Duncan winked and headed back upstairs.
“Wow.”
Chapter 9 -
Everything had been quiet for another two weeks before they decided that with summer winding down, they should go get a better feel for what was happening in the world. They decided to use the quads from the convicts, knowing the speed and maneuverability would give them a better advantage, despite the sound they made. Duncan packed some tools in his kit, and they took off. Everyone had a rifle and gun on them, and they took a roundabout way to the end of the lane so they wouldn’t have to reset any of their traps. Two gas cans were tied on to the back of Sandra’s quad, which had the bigger storage area, and they headed into town.
Burned out buildings, cars with peeling paint from the intense heat, and all kinds of scrap and debris littered the town. Where the plane had crashed, the ground had been scraped clean, and the gas station in town was just a big hole in the ground with scorch marks. What didn’t burn was flattened or simply blown apart by the explosive forces of the crashing plane. The wreckage was everywhere, as were the charred remains. The worst of it missed the church, and half of the Pastor’s house was still standing.
They stopped and got off, killing the noisy gas engines so they could talk and check things out.
“Where is everybody?” Blake asked no one in particular. “There has to be survivors, somewhere.”
“Probably in hiding, but I wouldn’t count on finding survivors from around here,” Sandra answered.
“How come?”
“The fire would have been too intense. People might be moving back into the area, like we are checking it out right now,” Duncan said.
“Is there anything here you’d like to take back to the homestead?” Sandra asked, walking up to the exposed and charred skeleton of the house.
“No. It looks like it’s a loss. I do have a cache of supplies on some state land that we might want someday. Mostly food.”
“What about your guns, daddy?”
The pastor walked to the edge of the charred remains of his small house. “Gone. It was over there. Somewhere.” He pointed vaguely.
The entire interior had burned, but somehow two walls remained.
“We can pick through there and look,” Sandra told him, putting her hand on her father’s arm for comfort.
“There’s no point. Let’s—”
A shot rang out, and the three of them dropped down, Duncan slapping at his left shoulder. Crimson stained the material of his shirt and he grimaced in pain. Two more shots followed, hitting close to Sandra’s prone form. She rolled behind the quad for better cover.
“Dad?” she shouted, worried.
“I’m okay. Hurts. Get eyes up there,” he motioned with his head while pulling his pack off his shoulders, his eyes closing in pain.
“I can see them, two shooters. Both ducked down behind a burned out car,” Sandra said, aiming her long gun scavenged from the convicts.
“If you get a shot…”
They all rolled tighter behind cover as more shots came in, this time from a new direction.
“Where are they?”
Duncan’s rifle went off, and
he watched for a moment before turning to Sandra and Blake.
“Somebody trying to be cute. Watch your sides.”
Sandra’s rifle barked three times as she took a shot, and two figures stood and bolted, trying to put distance between them. Her first shot toppled the figure on the left and missed the one on the right. The bolt action let out an empty click as she tried to fire a round that wasn’t there. The angle was wrong for Duncan, but Blake dropped him with a snapshot before he could disappear between some wreckage.
“That was impressive,” a wide-eyed Sandra whispered to Blake.
“I don’t usually eat store-bought meat. Have to be a good shot, or I’d have to triple my garden.”
“Is that all of them?” Duncan asked.
“I think so. Is it safe to come to you?”
“Blake? Come here, grab my pack from the quad,” Duncan said. Blake could see he was sweating.
“I got it, Dad,” Sandra interjected.
“No, you watch for more. Remember your training.”
“Sorry Dad, I—”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” he told her calmly as she started to scan the distance for more shooters.
Blake made his way to Duncan in a crouching lope and pulled the pack down. He helped the pastor to pull his shirt off. Duncan’s shoulder was bleeding profusely, the bullet having gone through the meaty part without hitting bone. They put a compress of gauze bandages on it, and used what looked like an ace bandage to hold the wads in place. Very carefully, Blake cut the sleeve off the shirt and helped the pastor put it back on.
“I don’t see anything else,” Sandra said after a pause.
“Okay girl, go check on them and make sure they are down. Grab the guns, ammo, and anything of use. I’m going to have Blake help me up, and we’ll cover you from here.”
Sandra took off, her gun following her line of site as she worked her way carefully to the first downed man who’d tried to shoot them on the side angle. Blake covered her while Duncan propped his rifle across the luggage rack of the quad and scoped the other areas. Sandra brought the supplies the man had to the guys and picked her way towards the man who had shot her father and his partner that almost got away. She found his backpack right off and emptied his pockets into it, then she headed towards where the last man fell. When she got there, she looked around and then looked back to Blake and Duncan. She pointed to the ground, questioning.
Duncan understood what she was asking right away and nodded yes. She looked down again and brought her rifle up, covering everywhere. Her actions made Blake wary, and she soon turned, hiking back to them.
“What happened?” Blake asked her.
“The last man was gone.”
“I must have just winged him.”
“No, you got a solid spine shot on him,” Duncan said, pain making rivulets of sweat drip off his face.
“So what does that mean?” Blake asked.
“That there’s somebody else out here.”
“We have to move.”
“I know, I know. Let me think for a moment.” He sat in silence for a little while, but Blake Interrupted.
“What if we head through the business district and avoid this section of town, then we can loop back through the park and head up to my place?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Sandra added.
“Okay. Let’s get this stuff strapped down and we’ll split.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“I’ll live. It hurts. It’ll hurt worse when we get back and you have to open the wound up and clean it out.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, Dad.”
“Don’t worry Sandra, I can,” Blake told her with a sad smile.
They had to make a few last-minute diversions—once when they saw someone darting from house to house, and again to avoid some wreckage. That had sent them down an industrial drive where they were weaving in and out of stalled cars and semis. The area seemed deserted, so they stopped and topped off the gas tanks from the jerrycans. Sandra took the chance to check on Duncan’s bandages, and Blake wandered around the stalled trucks, thinking.
He opened the cab on a Wal-Mart truck and disappeared inside. When he got out, he was grinning ear to ear, carrying a clipboard. He handed it to Duncan to read and headed back to the rear door, smiling at the shiny new padlock holding the door closed.
“What’s that?” Sandra asked the guys.
“Well, it looks like your boyfriend here found us a big cache of stuff.” He handed her the clipboard with the shipping manifest. Blake’s face flushed, but Sandra was already reading the list and her eyes went wide as she read aloud.
“Dry goods, camping supplies, gardening…” She looked up. “This is the mother load, isn’t it?”
“The lock is still intact in back. I don’t have any tools with me to—”
“I brought some.” Pastor Duncan rummaged with his good arm through the pack until he held up a crowbar.
Blake and Sandra tried two or three different ways to use it to break the lock open, but the opening of the hasp was either too small, or the end of the crowbar was too big. They considered beating it open, but worried that it would make too much noise, and they didn’t want to attract attention to what they were up to. There had already been one gunfight and injury. In the end, they left it, but took the shipping manifest. The ride home left them on edge, but they made it there without any more troubles.
Chapter 10 -
A few days after Duncan’s wound was cleaned out, it still didn’t show signs of infection, so they all breathed a little bit easier. They kept the wound open so it could drain, and it was evident that although they had enough medical supplies to handle this one incident, more would be needed. Duncan spent his days watching the lane leading up to the homestead while Blake and Sandra kept the gardens weeded and watered. Produce was coming in heavy enough now that canning things was going to start taking a priority. The problem was, they didn’t have enough hands to do everything they needed and not enough hours in the day.
They discussed letting their traps and tripwires take care of their early warning system so Duncan could free himself up and help them with food acquisition and storage, but it was decided that they’d rather take the pickup and the trailer to town to unload what they could out of the Wal-Mart truck and any other truck they found out there stalled. It amazed them that they’d never thought of it, and apparently it hadn’t occurred to the desperate souls who had come after them.
One morning, while Blake and Sandra were working nonstop on the gardens, Duncan heard something slowly making its way through the underbrush towards the lane, so he moved deeper into the shadows of the stump he was sitting next to. He’d modified his camo outfit to a homemade ghillie suit from burlap and interwoven leaves and small twigs, so he looked like a stump himself when he sat still. He kept his gun low and waited. Soon he heard another sound, another branch snapping and a hushed whisper.
He took the safety off his gun. He saw the movement before he could make out the outline. Somebody was creeping through the woods with a shotgun in hand. He drew his gun up and rested it on the stump so he didn’t have to strain his bad arm and settled the crosshairs on the lead figure. He didn’t want to take the shot without knowing who it was or why. For all intents and purposes, the stranger could just be out hunting game. Then the man turned his head over his shoulder and whispered to someone behind him.
Duncan kept his gun on the first figure, but he let his eyes refocus and saw another dark shape. This one was moving more slowly, without as much grace. Soon he could see it was a figure dressed in dark pants and a dark hooded sweater or jacket. They were moving carefully, trying to choose every step to reduce the noise they made. The second person wasn’t visibly armed, and was not having as easy a time as the one in front did stepping over taller branches or downed logs. One nasty stack had the figure stumble, and a third one that had been out of sight stepped forward to help the…woman?
Her hood had
fallen aside, and she pushed her blonde-gray hair out of her eyes before the figure behind her held her arm and helped her to her feet and pointed silently.
“Thanks,” she murmured so quietly that Duncan could barely hear it.
Trying to figure out if the woman was with the two men willingly or not would be the deciding factor in whether he would break cover or watch and wait. The woman rubbed the third figure’s arm slightly, and they started off again. The leader finally made it to the edge of Holloway Lane and held up a fist. Their group stopped while he looked up and down the lane silently. He was close enough now that Duncan could see the camo face paint that had been obscuring his features. It was a young man, not much younger than his daughter. Things clicked into place for Duncan, and he decided to wait and see until the three of them walked up the lane.
“This is private property,” Duncan boomed, training his gun on the surprised young man who dropped his own.
“Hey, wait!” the woman said, rushing to the young man’s side. The last person in their group walked up, his rifle pointed to the ground.
The three of them looked around until a glint of sunlight reflecting off the scope had the woman pointing to the stump.
“Mister, please don’t shoot us. We’re just looking for a place to hide.”
“Who are those young men?”
“My sons. We had to get out of town, you see—”
“Put the guns down, boys. I have you covered. Put them down and we can talk.”
The boy’s voices were angry, and he could only make out bits of the conversation. They wanted to fade into the woods, but their mother overrode them and shamed them into listening. They put the rifles down and undid their backpacks.
“Walk up the lane with your hands overhead.”
They started up until Duncan could see no side arms were hidden in their waistbands. One of the boys had a knife, but out in the woods that was pretty standard equipment, and he probably didn’t think it was anything special.
The World Burns: A Post-Apocalyptic Story Page 5