Dead End Stories From the End of the World

by P. S. Power

  Did he think that Jake would pull a Holsom and try to take everything? He didn't need that much and a bag of gold jewelry wouldn't help him at all. His regular weapons and maybe a rifle, a bit of ammo, and food. A wood stove would be good, if wherever he found didn't have one already. An axe. He'd have to scramble to get wood and water in. He could do it. Maybe. Or he'd just die, but that would be all right too really. It was a chance and really, could anyone ask for more than that? The other man kept staring at him for about half a minute, then looked away suddenly.

  “I'll have to talk to the others. I... You said you were planning on the spring, I... guess I thought I had time to talk you around, or fix things. This... It isn't good Jake. But, let me get with some people. We can have a meeting tonight about it. Take a vote...”

  Now it was his turn to blink.

  “A vote on what? I suppose people could vote to fight against letting me have anything, which is likely to be what happens if they get the chance, but I actually put the work in, so if they do that, well, everyone else will eventually realize that they don't count either. It's a bad plan. They all really hate me. If we vote on it they'll just decide that the work I did doesn't count or something. Especially the women, they can't be trusted really. If you want to screw me over, just do it yourself. No need to show me how much the world doesn't want me around. What's the point?”

  Nate shrugged.

  “No one has left before, that's all. The only ones to try were Holsom and his harem. Part of his harem. We don't exactly have a plan in place and you've done a lot more than most people. Enough that it would actually be easier if it were someone else. Then we could just figure out their portion and call it even. I'll... Let me see?”

  They agreed to do that after dinner. In the meantime he decided to start working on the forge. He had brick for it and a rudimentary chimney, now he just needed something to hold it together. Clay? Would that work at all? He'd try it and see. It meant a trip to the stream in order to get it, but that would be fine. He borrowed a plastic tarp, shovel and some rope, put it on the wooden wagon and set out.

  The digging went fast. Yes, the heavy damp clay weighed a lot, but it just sat on the surface where he went. The ground on the bank above was halfway flat, a couple of rocks blocked the thick rubber wheels well enough that he was done in about an hour. As he wrapped the rich red clay in the old worn blue tarp, he saw the deer, just standing there, watching him.

  The shot came so fast and naturally he didn't even realize he'd done it at first. The second one too. A buck and a doe. As he strung them up to bleed them, he noticed the baby deer. Just watching him, instead of running. Not a real fawn anymore, but little. A yearling. Great. Did he shoot that one too now? Or, just let it go and die? It certainly didn't want to close with him, which meant capturing it for later wouldn't work, so he finally killed it too. He felt bad about that.

  Like he'd shot Bambi or something.

  He field dressed them all, making the incisions like Carl had shown him and hurried back as fast as he could. It had taken four bullets in all, because the buck had moved after his first shot took the female. The pile of dead things rested on top of the clay package as he moved, the bumpy ground and grass more noticeable with the now heavy load.

  As he pulled in people came over, looked and started taking the deer away rapidly, without asking if it was for them or not, just grabbing and making them disappear. They were to share, but no one even said thanks or anything. Or good job. Not even something conversational like, “oh, hey, lucky...” Kind of rude. They still said things like that to each other, or Lois and the kids for making dinner each night. Only Jake got left out. Only he didn't count. No one else even seemed to notice that.

  Lois looked at the little deer and grimace.

  “I suppose it's another meal. We can have it tonight, people will like that. Not too much meat, not for a group our size. What's the clay for? Are you going to make dishes? If you build a kiln it might work. Pots and what not, too. I hadn't thought about it because we have enough for now, but that won't last forever. Things break.”

  “Forge. I need something to hold the bricks together.” He said, not gruffly, because her idea of a kiln was probably a good one too. He'd need more brick.

  Really he needed his own cart, if he was leaving. He looked down at the one in front of him. Wheels, a metal axle and some bolts to hold it together? Maybe he could get the parts and cut some wood for it. Another trip into town, if he had the time. For now, even if he was leaving, these people would need a forge. He owed Burt that much at least, didn't he? He went to work and had the base started and stuck together with a clay and sand slurry by meal time, ran to wash and got in about the time the food came out.

  The room smelled good. The meat wasn't roasted, but boiled and tender. There were new potatoes and a small salad to go with it, almost a real meal. Like what people used to eat. After they finished everyone moved into the living room. Almost everyone. Sammi and Ken weren't there, or Yvonne. Off doing their actual jobs he guessed instead of goofing off with the rest of them. Jake really didn't want to do this anymore. It had seemed a bad plan before, but now he wondered if he'd have to fight his way out of the room, given the covert and hostile glares he was getting. Not from everyone, but about half the room. Both his weapons were loaded and he shifted the forty-five to his lap, ostensibly for comfort. No one really seemed to buy that reasoning though.

  They'd set up a hot seat for him, in front of a table, as if he were on trial. There were seven people at the front table, which didn't make him feel any better. There had only been five when they were thinking about killing Yvonne, Justine and Tracy.

  Who sat there didn't help reassure him either.

  Burt and Nate were fine, they wouldn't cheat him. Carl probably didn't care much about him at all, so those people weren't bad. Even Lois would have just divvied up, he thought and let him have his part of things. She didn't seem to hate him nearly as much as she used to. But for some reason Vickie, Tipper and Carley were up there, too. What that was about he didn't get. Some trick to abuse him again probably. It also made him uneasy that most of the people were at his back. He glanced around.

  “I just asked for an accounting Nate, not a trial. Is this going to be a problem?” He forced himself to stay relaxed. If he had to move, he would, even if he liked some of these people.

  He hadn't lived this long to go down in a policy dispute. Not alone at least.

  “Nothing like that Jake. Um, I asked everyone to make an accounting of your contribution over the last six months, like you asked. These are just the people that you've worked with mainly. Let's start with Carley and work this way?”

  The girl, a woman, older than he was, he realized if only by about five years, cleared her throat and started reading from a little list she had.

  “Um, well, he cleared about seven cord of wood himself, helped dig the saw pit and set that up, but the whole push for wood gathering was his idea too, at least the part that actually got it going, so how do we calculate that? If we live through the winter, it's probably thanks to that bit of initiative.” She sounded bored or maybe a little depressed. That probably came from having to say that a man might be marginally useful. She continued for a while, going over what had been done by him in greater detail.

  Then Carl and Lois went. That had to do with food mainly, and to his amusement, kitchen duties he'd performed. Really he hadn't thought anyone had noticed that. He certainly wouldn't have counted it. Lois counted the fact that he'd gotten the processing group together too, as if that was something hard. Carl pointed out the hunting, that the current drive there was his too, and included the new deer brought in, and the cows they had which after all, Jake had found and organized with Randy to manage. Burt went over the well, the help with the windmill and the nursery for the babies as well as the greenhouse. The work on the forge too as well as the wood stoves.

  Vickie covered the guns and ammo he'd gotten and the supplies collected.
That she knew about some of the things almost baffled him. She'd been keeping a tally for a while then, he guessed. Why that was he didn't get at all. He didn't even remember getting the kitchen supplies or new drinking glasses that clearly for instance. That had been months ago. Who remembered things like that? The woman read it all out of a notebook, a yellow legal pad that flipped open at the top. It wasn't something hastily put together, but something she'd actually been doing for a long time?

  Weird.

  Tipper covered his cleaning work, house defense and guard duties. The fights with the police that probably would have killed a lot of them if he hadn't been there, the gangs and all that.

  That left Nate who sighed and stared around the room.

  “Not to mention the leadership duties and how many needed projects you've started Jake. Can we even put a price on that?” The tone was almost Pollyannaish, a kind of “see how good he's been” thing that made him feel good, which had probably been the point. Nate was good at things like that.

  Then casually, probably thinking that everyone would take the point, Nate opened the floor for discussion.

  That... didn't go well at all. Which really Nate should have gotten already, being the people-person he normally was. Well, Jake had warned him, hadn't he? It started with a man he didn't even really know, except from around over the last four months, calling him a murderer. The guy didn't raise his voice, but he sounded angry, livid really.

  “He killed Gloria!” The man husked to the room. “Murdered her in cold blood in front of me, and a lot of others too. Anyone that had a bad day and raised their voice even a little! He'd use that as an excuse to shoot me right now if I yelled at him. We don't need bullies here. I say we should kick him out and not give him shit. He doesn't deserve what we've all worked so hard for.”

  A lot of the room nodded along.

  Then joined in.

  It went on for a while, going into how mean he was, how he was bossy and pushed people around, making them work when they were tired or sick and not caring about their feelings. Jake listened, each word getting harder to hear. They all really hated him, didn't they?

  He tried to keep it from showing on his face, but it built up with each grievance. If this was what Nate had in mind it wasn't a good plan at all. Before Jake had felt a little like women were less than kind to him, not picking him to have sex with even though they'd gladly spread their legs for other guys and in a few cases most of them. Now he realized that almost everyone here just hated him. Actual, honest to god personal dislike. As in wanted him dead. A lot of them spoke out against him anyway, supposedly afraid or not. Made brave by the support of all the others doing the same thing. Most of those holding the opinion that he shouldn't get much at all, if anything.

  Someone called out for a vote from the back of the room. A man, one of the guys that had to be the father to Holsom's kids. Tracy's new guy? He asked for a show of hands. One saying Jake should be asked to leave and not be given anything. Over half the hands went up. Forty-three of them. None of those came from the front table, so at least there was that.

  Well.

  That made him feel like part of the group.

  Nate tried to call for order, but in a sea of whispers and happy sounds the voice got lost. Jake stood. He was taking his things, he decided. If they wanted to kick him out, he'd go, but, and he whispered this gently, the things he collected were his. He'd fight for them if he had to. He said this with a weapon in each hand, but no one heard him, except Nate and Tipper, who'd both been staring. Tipper mouthed a single word.

  “Fuck.” She grabbed Nate's arm having to stand to do it and pointed, eyes wide and a little scared looking.

  Yeah, he could get that. But he'd done his share of the work. Life wasn't fair, but sending him without anything was a death sentence most likely. It was night too. Safe enough for him probably, but scary to try and move in. Oh well. The unwashed masses had spoken and their word was that Jake wasn't welcome. They didn't need or want him. Fine. He was only one person, they'd get by without him, no problem.

  Jake wouldn't make the trip that night, but the farm house they'd used for hunting was free. He really doubted the cops would be back there anytime soon and it was close to water. He'd want a well, but there was wood and stuff around. He needed tools, but could leave his mattress. There were some serviceable ones already. Jake needed a wood stove, but the little one in the second bedroom would work for that, he was just one person and could huddle close to it, which would save on fuel anyway.

  About half the people, made bold by numbers, started to move on him, fists clenched where weapons weren't in hand. That got a laugh from Dave which brought everyone's attention around quickly, the room going silent.

  “Fucking morons. Are you all trying to die, or are you just really that stupid?” He emphasized the moron part by chambering a round in his shotgun and pointing it at the head of the man in front of the crowd. “You all think that by sending Jake away you're killing him, but you're not, you're killing yourselves. Didn't you pay attention during that accounting? I didn't even get to finish the eighth grade and I can count high enough to know that most of you would be dead already without those things.”

  It got them to all stop moving. Nate spoke quickly.

  “We need to think about things carefully here people, this wasn't about attacking Jake, it was about trying to get him to stay. Everything is holding by a few scant threads here and one of the main ones is him and you...” He buried his head in his hands, which got some of the people to at least shift around uneasily. “You really are morons.”

  Jake walked out. He headed to the forge area, deciding to sleep there. It beat the porch and was less exposed now, plus no one knew to look for him there if they decided to attack. For the second night he was uncomfortable, but that was all right. He'd leave and it would get better. Or, possibly, he'd die. Even Holsom was going to be sent off with a full share per person... and they wanted him to go with nothing? In the dark? Jake had to fight down the urge to kill a whole bunch of people, which made it hard to sleep, but he finally managed. In the morning he got up early and started loading the smaller cart.

  No one said anything, until he took two boxes of ammo, one for each of his weapons. It was less than his share, even discounting the fact that he'd brought in most of it himself and had helped with a large chunk of the rest. The same guy from the night before, Bill, pregnant Tracy's boyfriend, or man slave, whatever they were calling it, came out with three others, to try and take the bullets back. He explained the need and fairness of it calmly, but they didn't listen. Of course. Jake ignored them and kept packing up.

  They might have tried to shoot him, but they were largely homebodies. Those too afraid to fight as a rule. They could bluff and bluster, even act tough, but when it came down to it, they didn't have what it took to do much. Oh, one might panic and shoot him in a gun fight, but with him simply packing up a lot less than he should have had? No, even these morons wouldn't try it.

  Nate and Carl came out, walking fast. The muscular black man looked at the others and shook his head, a slow and ponderous thing, his facial expression amazed.

  “Go inside now. Move. I don't want to have to clean up your bodies today.”

  Nate just stared and then shook his head, a large and over exaggerated move.

  “God, Jake, I... we can't afford to lose you. They're just upset, let me talk to them and we can work this out.”

  “Work what out? They hate me for killing people they loved, Nate. I did it. It saved a lot of their lives, but they won't like me for it, no matter how long you talk at them. It's better this way, besides,” Jake decided to go for a joke of sorts, feeling a little sad already. Lonely. “With the brain surgeon team in there calling the shots, I can probably come and scavenge from this place during the winter. What do you think? Four months? Five? Half of you could make it just fine, being solid workers and people that are just this side of incredible, but you need to lose the dead weigh
t, not let them lead. If you could go easy on the preserves please? I'm going to want that later. I really like the strawberry. Just saying.”

  The other men grimaced, but didn't laugh.

  They got his meaning though, the winter, a full winter, would be hard. In the last one they had a common enemy to fight daily and food to scavenge from stores and the cupboards of dead people, and people still died of the cold and hunger. That was early spring really, not winter even. Now they just had themselves and a lot of these people weren't going to make the right choices on their own.

  Jake needed to move, he knew that, before people freaked and came at him all at once. No one tried to stop him when he pulled the small round metal stove from the second room. No one helped either, so it made a lot of thumping noise going down the stairs and left a few scratches in the wood. As he walked away with a fully loaded cart, no one even said goodbye.

  Wonderful.

  He hadn't expected that anyone would, but it would have been nice if someone had cared at least a little. Jake didn't look back. There was too much to get done and no time for it.

  Really he had to figure out how to get food and wood in fast. That, and water. He wouldn't need as much, not just for him, but it would have to mainly be meat as far as that went, no time left to grow anything now. That meant drying it somehow. Smoking? He could hunt for a while but having something to hand would help a lot. He felt like a tool now, after doing all that hard work on the harvest for these people. Well, that was life. Right now he needed to survive, not whine about things being a little difficult.

  Jake hit the house fast, set up the stove in the kitchen, deciding it would be the main room, and unloaded most of the tools. Then he got to the real work, which took days. He barely rested, and didn't take the cart back, needing it to scavenge supplies from town. On the good side he didn't see anyone the whole time. No land sharks, no people, and the animals that looked at him funny got turned into jerky. Tough leathery bits that he used most of the house's window screens for. He collected more of those from in town during his trips. Wood was both easier and harder to come by here. The river had a lot of trees along it, but they were mainly too big to take down alone. No chainsaw either. He collected branches, practically running through his days. Jake thought he had about four cords put by after the second week, and a lot of meat. Not enough, but a refrigerator full of dried deer, raccoon and red squirrel. It didn't work without power, but made a handy storage box. He actually passed by a bunch of deer, because he couldn't dry the meat fast enough and didn't really know any other way to save it with what he had to hand.