by Mic Roland
“We’re not looters,” Martin said.
“Quiet!” the man hollered.
The man resumed muttering to himself. “What do you do with criminals when there ain’t no law? Slave labor, maybe? Nah. Not that much to do around here. I don’t fancy feeding a pack of slaves with little to do. They’d run off, first chance they get anyhow. Too much trouble.” The man continued to pace and mutter. He was the dog that finally caught the car he was chasing, and had no idea what to do with it.
Not daring to move his head, Martin moved only his eyes to check out a crunching sound coming from beyond the house. He caught a glimpse of a faded red station wagon pulling up the gravel driveway. It disappeared from view behind the house. After a car door creaked and slammed, a woman’s voice called out.
“Linny? You out there?”
“In the back, Pat.” Linny hollered. He did not relax his aim as he continued muttering. “She didn’t think they’d come, but this’ll show her.”
“I tried shopping at the Shaw’s in Plaistow,” said the woman. “But people there were going nuts.” A dowdy woman with short gray hair rounded the corner. She gasped. “Linnwood Varney. What on earth are you doing?”
“I captured me some looters, Pat. Caught ‘em red handed, I did. They were sneaking up on our house through the woods, but I saw ‘em. I was watchin’. I’ve been monitoring our perimeter ever since things went down, and this right here is why. I told ya they would be coming. Didn’t I? Only a matter of time.”
“Looters,” Pat said slowly with wonder.
After what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence, Pat stooped down for a better look at Martin.
“We’re not looters, ma’am,” Martin said. “We were just trying to…”
“Shuddup you!” Linny kicked dirt at Martin’s head. He got his eyes shut just in time.
“How do you know they’re looters, Linny?” Pat asked. “They look like plain folks to me.”
“Bah. Looks don’t mean nuthin. You think looters always wear striped shirts and masks and carry canvas bags? Looters is looters. This is just like I told ya. As soon as things got bad down there, there’d be a hoard of these mass-holes crossing the border to loot and pillage for supplies cuz they were too stupid to…”
Pat cut him off with a wave. “I know, Linny. You’ve told me. But how do you know these two are your hoard of looters?”
“They got some loot right there. Check out that guy’s backpack first. Then that bag they dropped over there.” Linny waved the shotgun barrel at the roller bag. “Probably find all kinds of stuff they stole from other people’s houses.“
Pat squatted down and began looking through Martin’s backpack. “Socks, a torn shirt. Oh. He’s got a laptop in here.”
“See? Didn’t I tell ya? Stealin’ computers. Dirty thievin’…”
“That’s my laptop,” Martin said.
“I told you to shuddup!”
“Hold on,” Martin interrupted. “I can prove it’s mine, Just open the cover. A little white box will come up in the middle.” Pat opened the laptop. “Now type in k-r-o-n-o-s-1-9-5-7. A looter wouldn’t know the password for a computer he just stole, would he?”
Pat held the laptop on one arm and pecked out the password.
“Hey. It worked. Ooo. Pretty pictures,” said Pat. “I just love mountains.”
“See?” Martin turned his head towards Linny. He squinted, expecting more dirt to be kicked at him.
“Okay, so that’s his computer,” grumped Linny. “Don’t prove they ain’t looters. Maybe he uses that computer to hack into people’s security systems. Could be that, ya know. What’s in that big bag? Check it out. Probably been stealin’ people’s pre-64 silver or their ammo, or maybe their food.”
Pat squatted down, unstrapped the bundles and unzipped Susan’s duffle bag. “There’s no silver or ammo in here. Sweaters, pants and ladies underwear.” She held up a bra. “Linnwood, do you really think they were stealing ladies underwear?”
Linny lowered the shotgun. “How am I supposed to know what people steal, woman? I ain’t no mind reader of the criminal brain. Maybe they’re perverts.”
“Oh Linnwood hush,” snipped Pat. “You’re just getting silly now.” She stooped down beside Susan. “So who are ya, honey?”
Susan turned, keeping a wary eye on Linny and his shotgun. “My name is Susan. This is Martin. We’re not looters, honest. We didn’t mean any harm. We were just trying to get to Cheshire.”
“Ask ‘em what they was doing in my woods, and back by my rabbits. Go on. Ask ‘em,” shouted Linny.
“Okay, okay,” replied an irritated Pat. She turned to Susan. “You’re both a long way from Cheshire. What were you doing in our woods?”
“We were trying to walk to Cheshire from Boston, you know, because of the power outage, and we got chased into the woods by two really bad men, who we think might have killed some people.”
“Oh my,” exclaimed Pat.
“They chased us into the woods, but we hid and they lost us. We got away,” Susan said.
“We came out the woods to your place,” added Martin.
“Load of hooey,” said Linny. “Can’t trust no mass-holes.”
Martin rolled slowly onto his side, hands held out in plain view. “Look, sir. I’m not a mass-h…I’m not from Mass, okay? I live in Cheshire. Lived in New Hampshire for many years. Here check out my wallet.” He slowly pulled it out of his pants pocket with just his thumb and index finger. Linny had his eye behind the bead, ready for any sneaky moves.
Martin held out the wallet. “We work in Boston. We were stuck there when the power went out. We’ve been walking home since Monday.”
Pat opened Martin’s wallet and studied his driver’s license. “Oh Linnwood, you old ninny. You didn’t capture any looters. These are just poor folks trying to get home.”
“Well how was I supposed to know, huh? They came a traipsin’ out of the woods from Mass, all sneaky like. Violated our perimeter.”
“All sneaky like,” Pat mocked. “You’re so fired up for looters and zombies that you’ll be shooting at shadows.”
“We can’t take no chances, woman. This is serious. There’s gonna be trouble. Big trouble. You’ll see. Them city people are gonna be swarmin’ up here lookin’ to steal food or whatever they can get cuz they were too stupid or lazy to prepare.”
“Yes, yes. I appreciate how you’re protecting our little home, dear,” Pat said diplomatically. “But these two aren’t your swarming hoard of city people. This here’s just a man and his wife trying to get home.” Susan blushed slightly but attempted an agreeable smile. Martin gave Susan a little look to say ‘go with it.’
“That’s right. Just trying to get home,” Martin repeated. He minced his words so as to not lie, technically. He was a New Hampshire resident, but Susan being a Massachusetts resident was an inconvenient truth best avoided for the moment, if possible.
“Could we get up off the ground now?” Martin asked.
“Of course you can,” said Pat. Linny backed up a step, but kept the stock at his shoulder.
“Linnwood!” Pat scolded. Her husband reluctantly lowered his shotgun.
“No hard feelings,” Martin said with a smile. “Simple misunderstanding. We’ll just gather up our stuff and be on our way.” Martin slung his backpack around so he could push the loose clothing back inside. Pat handed him the laptop. Susan reassembled her bundles while keeping a careful eye on Linny.
“It’ll be lunchtime soon,” said Pat cheerily. “Did you two have lunch plans?”
“Um..no ma’am?” Martin answered. He was taken aback by the sudden shift from a being a prisoner to a dinner guest.
“Actually, we haven’t had much to eat for the past couple days,” he said.
“Ah, then you must be famished. You should stay for some lunch.” Pat seemed almost giddy at the opportunity to be the gracious hostess. “I started a big pot of soup this morning. I’m sure it’s done by now. How abo
ut I pour you both a nice cup of soup to help make up for Linny’s…um, enthusiasm?”
Pat stepped towards the back door, motioning for Martin and Susan to follow her.
Linny stepped between Martin, Susan and his house. “They ain’t comin’ in the house, woman. Ain’t no one comin’ in the house. That would totally blow our OPSEC. No one’s gonna recon my defenses and scout out my preps.”
Pat cut him off with a wave. “Fine. Fine. I’ll bring the soup out to the picnic table. That be okay?”
Linny grumbled, turned and stomped back to the house.
“I’m sorry my husband was a little rough on you. He’s really not a mean man. This outage has him spooked pretty badly, though. He’s been certain that hoards of desperate city folk will come streaming up from Mass since Y2K. After the elections and the crash in 2008, he was certain the country would go to pieces in a few months and the hoards would be coming through our woods. Now with this outage being so widespread, he’s all on edge again.”
“I can understand,” said Martin. “Things have been going a little crazy down there since everyone’s lost power.”
“Yes, well, they can go crazy later, after you’ve had some soup, eh? There’s the picnic table over there. You go have a seat. I won’t be but a few minutes. It’s already hot.” She turned and scurried into the house. The screen door smacked shut behind her.
Martin and Susan sat on the same side of the picnic table, so they could face the house. They kept a wary eye on the door. Linny was not as inconspicuous as he imagined, peering at them from the kitchen window.
Susan spoke in a half whisper. “Mr. Varney is a Doom People, isn’t he.”
“It would seem so,” said Martin.
“Doom People are soooo weird.”
“Maybe he’s just a bit too enthusiastic, like Pat said. One of those people who are so ready for trouble, it doesn’t take much of a ‘boo’ to make them jump.”
Susan nodded. “I’m getting pretty familiar with jumpy. Seems like whenever I say to myself ‘I’ve never been so scared in my whole life,’ something even worse happens. I’ve decided that I have to stop saying that.”
“I’ve gotta say,” Martin said quietly. “Ol’ Mr. Varney did have me worried. I noticed he had his finger on the trigger the whole time. I was afraid he’d flinch out of nerves and blast me by accident. All I could think to do was lay totally still and hope he’d calm down.”
“I couldn’t think of anything. My mind went blank.”
The screen door creaked open as Pat backed out. She carried a mug in each hand. “Here we go.” Her voice had the musical tone of a grandmother dispensing cookies.
“Thank you,” Susan said. “I hope we aren’t an inconvenience…you know, eating your food and all.”
“Nonsense,” assured Pat. “We have plenty. I’m sorry the biscuits aren’t ready. I wasn’t expecting guests.”
“This will be just fine,” Martin said. He sipped the hot soup from the spoon. The salty broth eased his chills. It felt great to chew boiled carrots, potatoes and diced meat. A hot meal is magical medicine. Susan was devouring her soup too.
“I am soooo hungry,” said Susan. “This has to be the best chicken soup I’ve ever had.”
“Oh, it’s not chicken,” said Pat. “It’s squirrel.”
Susan stopped in mid chew. She shot a glance at Martin.
Oh, please don’t spew, Martin thought. Please don’t spew.
She held his eye for a couple seconds, then resumed chewing and swallowed. “You don’t say,” she said in sing-song voice.
“It’s true.”
“There’s a different spice or something in there.” Susan continued to play the good guest.
Martin realized his mouth was hanging open.
“Oh, you’re probably tasting the dill.” Pat beamed as she sat next to Susan. “I put in a little dill and lemon juice. Takes away any gamey taste. Not that they get gamey. Linny’s real good at cleaning ‘em. He’s always saying ‘why should we eat our rabbits when we got meat growin’ on trees.’ “ Pat laughed at her impersonation of her husband.
Pat peered into Susan’s empty cup. “You must have been starving, you poor thing. Would you like another cup?”
Susan looked like Oliver Twist as she handed Pat her cup. “If that’s alright.”
“Of course it’s alright. I’ll be right back.” Pat took Martin’s cup too, and shuffled back into the house.
“Squirrel soup?” Susan said. “I thought it was just dark chicken meat.”
“From the look on your face, I thought you were going to spray it all over.”
“Well, I have to admit I started to gag. But then I thought that would be really rude, considering how nice Pat was to give us something. You talked about eating squirrel. Then I asked myself if it really tasted weird or not. I had to admit that was actually a good soup. Add to that, the fact that I am really hungry.”
“But what was that whole spice thing all about?”
Susan waved off his comment. “ I don’t know spices. Salt, pepper, garlic sometimes. Just being a gracious guest.”
Martin glanced around the Varney’s back yard, trying to be careful not to look like he was looking around. Linny, with binoculars, was poorly concealed in a bedroom window. Martin did not want to appear to be “recon-ing” their spread.
A long garden flanked the house and driveway. Most of the plants had died back or been cleared. Many rows of corn stalk stubble hinted at a recent harvest. They had their meat rabbits out back and plenty of trees for firewood.
“The Varney’s have a pretty nice setup here,” said Martin.
“Oh? Looks a little dumpy to me.”
“Don’t look around,” Martin said out of the side of his mouth. “Mr. Varney is watching us.” He continued, looking only at his spoon. ”Sure, the house and buildings could use a little TLC, but they have a nice big garden over there and he has a winter’s worth of wood laid up.” Martin gestured with his eyes to a several cord of wood, split and stacked beside the back deck.
“He’s got some sort of small scale solar thing going on with a couple panels on the roof. We know he’s well armed.”
“Pfft. Ya think?”
Martin chuckled. It was easier to laugh afterward. “So my guess is that the Varney’s are pretty well situated to handle the outage.”
“Do you think he’s right? That there will be hoards of hungry people coming up through the woods like we did?”
“Hmm. Hoards, maybe, but through the woods? Not so much. That was a lot of work.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I figure most people — the hoards — tend to be creatures of habit and take familiar paths of least resistance. I figure they’ll follow the roads. The Varney’s are set so far back here, that we can’t even see the road. Odds are, most of any hoard will pass them by looking for the obvious.”
“That would be good. Pat’s nice. I like her.”
“What about Mr. Varney?” Martin teased.
Susan scowled at him. “He needs to be less weird.”
Pat used her rump to push open the screen door. “Sorry I took so long. I had the dough rising while I was shopping. Put a few in to bake. I just took them out of the dutch oven, so they’re kinda hot.” She set a mug and a biscuit in front of them.
While he finished his soup, Martin gave Pat a quick summary of their trials since leaving downtown. He was not trying to sensationalize, but Pat kept inserting a periodic ‘oh my’.
“You two have been through so much,” Pat said. “I wish I could just drive you two back home up to Cheshire. But Linny would be furious with me. He’s all strict about ‘no unnecessary trips’ and trying to conserve our gas. I know he’s right and all, but still…”
Pat stood up quickly, her eyes brightened. She turned so her back to the house. “Ooo. I’ve got an idea. You two get your things together and set off walking down the driveway. Turn left on the road.”
She gathered up the e
mpty cups and spoons, then said, rather louder than necessary, “Well, goodbye you two. Safe travels.” She waved exaggeratedly and let the screen door slam behind her.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Martin mused. Susan shrugged. They carried her bundle down the long dirt driveway.
They had walked only a few yards down the pavement when Martin heard the crunch of tires on gravel. A car was coming down the Varney’s driveway. Pat’s red station wagon lumbered out onto the pavement.
Pat pulled up beside them and rolled down her window. “Hop in you two. We gotta be quick.” Martin motioned for Susan to sit up front. He muscled the roller bag into the back seat.
“I had to run to the store,” Pat said over her shoulder. “We still need a few supplies and couldn’t get them at Shaw’s. I figured I could give you two a ride up as far as Harstead.”
“Thanks Mrs. Varney,” Martin said. “This helps a lot already.”
“Oh, you can call me Pat. And you’re welcome. I wish I could drive you two all the way home, but Linny would have a fit. I’m only supposed to go to the store and straight back. No wasting gas.”
“It’s good to conserve what you’ve got,” said Martin. “Might not get any more for a long time.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Pat. “But we’re not hurting for gas. Linny’s been storing cans of it in our basement for years. Must have twenty of those five gall…” Pat clamped her mouth shut tight, her eyes grew wide.
“Oh dear. I’m not supposed to have said anything about that. Linny says it will ruin our app-sack, or something. Please don’t tell anyone, okay? He would be so cross with me.”
“We won’t,” assured Susan.
“But you will have to be more careful, Mrs…Pat.” Martin said. “Gas is hard to come by already. Most people won’t conserve and will run out pretty quickly. A few people might turn nasty trying to get more. We’ve seen some of that nastiness coming out already. Best not to let anyone know what you have.”
Susan chimed in. “Your husband is a little weird, no offense, but he’s right to be careful. The two guys who were chasing us were definitely not good people.”
“I know, dear. I know. I just wish he had a bit more manners.”